#*i* don't think it has to be said in exact words BECAUSE it's so obvious. but i'd just like to see people who believe otherwise get shut up

[backseatsoldier]

"Broken", Not Stupid - 7

Pairing: alpha!Simon "Ghost" Riley x unusual omega!OC (13)

CW: Omegaverse; cult-like situation; dehumanization; selling children to a cult

Author's Note: Weee~ I swear these two are just using me as a way to get this story out. I don't know what's going on lol

"Keep eating. I'm going to step outside and make a phone call," Simon points to the window next to them. "I'll be standing right there. Tap on the glass if you need anything."

13 nods and slowly places another french fry between her lips.

As soon as Simon was in the exact spot he promised, he hit the call button. It rang twice before he answers.

"Simon," John greets him in a clear voice.

Simon's not sure when his captain ever sleeps. He called John first not only was he sure he would be awake, but also because he holds the most sway out of 141. If John thinks something needs to be done, it will be done.

"Need to run something by you," he says, jumping right in. There's a shuffling of papers on John's end of the line before Simon continues. "What do you know of the organization Salvation?"

By the end of the phone call John was informed of how Simon came to even know of Salvation and be on one of their properties, what he found there, what 13 had told him so far, and all of the warning signs he'd seen so far.

"What are you asking, Lieutenant?" His voice is tense, measured; he's also controlling his anger about this.

"I'm asking what we can do about it," Simon says cooly.

"We need more. Proof, evidence," he growls the words. "And your omega, 13? You said she's American so I'll get a hold of Laswell. Let her know what's going on, your suspicions, and see what information she has so far." John pauses. "This is going to take time, Simon. I'll also ask Laswell about some kind of therapy for... 13. She really didn't give you an actual name?"

"No. She's made no mention of it. First time she's said anything about her life before Salvation was that she was 13 when her father 'sent' her to Salvation."

The pure anger in Simon's voice was obvious to John, but anyone who happened to be listening wouldn't know anything was wrong without hearing the full conversation.

Not that anyone was around. It was after midnight.

"I see. Well... I'll call Laswell now. At least get her attention about it. And Simon?"

Simon waits, listening for whatever John has to say. His voice softened a bit so curiosity picks at Simon's mind.

"I'm glad you found an omega." Then the call ends.

When Simon makes it back inside, 13 has eaten about half of the box of french fries he was picking at to feed her.

"Alright?" he asks as he lowers into his chair.

She nods and looks at the tray of food.

"I wasn't sure which 'main dish' was meant for me so I just kept eating the fries," she admits.

Wordlessly, he pushes the chicken nugget box closer to her.

"Want anything to dip them in?"

She shrugs as she opens the box.

"Ranch?"

His sudden movement to get up to go to the counter seems to startle her a bit so he slows his movements. On his way past her, he rests his hand hesitantly on her shoulder in an attempt to apologize and comfort her. She doesn't flinch away but she does go a bit stiff.

Retreiving the ranch was quick and he gently places them in front of her when he returns.

"Thank you," she whispers as she peels one open.

They eat in a silence that is both tense and comfortable all at once. As soon as the food is gone, Simon cleans up the wrapers. Then he taps the empty cup he got for her.

"Um... Coke? I can get it-"

"No. I'll get it, just stay here," he insists and plucks the large cup from the table. "Ice?"

13 shakes her head and Simon walks off to fill the cup. When he returns, the cup has a lid and straw on top of being almost over-full.

"Do you want to sit for a bit more or go?"

"Can we go? I'm... I know there's hardly any people here, but I don't know when I was last in public this long so..." she trails off and takes the cup from his hands to sip from it.

"Come on," he tugs gently on the sleeve of his shirt he'd brought for her. "Get you home."

There's a flicker of something unknown across her face when he says 'home'.

John's right, this is going to take time. And 13 needs therapy.

Masterlist | CoD Masterlist | Part One

Tag List: @lucienofthelakes @lostintransist @demothers-empty-blog @scaredyspooks @tessakate @one-really-annoying-tree-rat @nerdyphantomtheorist @gazsluckyhat

[ace-and-the-rpg-horrors]

i found Ena5 a nice story for the most part, but i seriously need Mizuki to straight up say "i am a girl" or at least "i'm not a boy" soon because the vagueness by itself wouldn't be all that annoying if there weren't transphobic idiots clinging to it as their "proof." but there are

[lizardsfromspace]

The factchecking this cycle has been so profoundly incompetent that it's finally getting some real backlash, but the extent of it really should be clear. So much of factchecking is not based in reality, but in a kind of contorted moon logic that can find true claims to be false and false ones to be true based on wildly inconsistent reasoning.

But this one really shows off some of the base assumptions of modern factchecking, and also bc it got a community note which is funny:

Let's take this one by one

The idea that quotes have any options but "he said it" or "he didn't say it". It is a binary, maybe with a third option of "it was clipped wildly out of context", but something you see constantly now is the idea that quoting someone's direct words without deceptive editing or removal of context can somehow be false

Pointlessly noting that it's from 2016, and that it's not clear if he currently believes it. What the hell does that matter to the question of if he said that in 2016? People understood that the "dig up someone's tweets from when they were 17" thing was inane, but they counter-balanced by apparently deciding that citing anything someone said more than about six months ago is Misinformation if we don't have objective evidence they would say the exact same thing now, even if there's no evidence they believe anything else. Analyzing someone's high school tweets and analyzing something the literal President said seven years ago are not equivalent

Noting that he walked it back following criticism. You see this constantly, too. Again, what does that matter to the question of if he said it? But this is just taken as a given now: if someone gets blowback and says "whoops I didn't mean it", that should be taken at face value. Effectively, Politifact is letting Donald Trump self-factcheck Donald Trump: their only evidence (and I read the article too) this is at all false is that Donald Trump said Donald Trump didn't really mean the words he said, so they must agree with the judgment of Donald Trump that Donald Trump was treated so unfairly here.

A general confusion over what factchecking is. If you're asked "did Donald Trump say this in 2016?", your sole job is to determine if he really said that in 2016. It's not to divine if he, deep in his heart, still believes it now. That's completely irrelevant.

The two guiding principles of modern factchecking are this: one, it's strongly rumored - and also, obvious to everyone literate - that the major factchecking sites have either standing orders to find equal numbers of lies on both sides, or are staffed by people who think it's their job to hold both sides equally to account (the exception is Snopes, whose writers are just terrible at their jobs). In the name of this, Donald Trump can say something on camera only for it to be judged false, while a Democratic politician can be excoriated for mildly rounding down a figure in a speech. A factchecking website once determined that saying climate change was a threat to life on this planet was a lie, because climate change won't kill all life on this planet. Politifact's lie of the year one year was a Democrat saying a Republican plan would "end Medicare as we know it", which was judged to be a lie because it wouldn't literally end Medicare completely. Figurative language needs to be scoured, comments said directly on camera need to be made fuzzy. This makes factchecking sites worthless at factchecking, because what even is this?

It's not true that Donald Trump will refuse to accept the election results, because he's merely said he won't accept, and has said if he loses, it's only because the election was fraudulent. Okay, what, do you demand that people prove he said his plans in exact words? What is the actual, functional difference between "he said he won't accept it" and "he said if he loses it's because he won and they stole it from him, and he won't commit to saying he'll accept it"? What are you talking about, who is this for? When you go to the Logic and Reason Site for Debunking & end up having to puzzle out their convoluted logic and reasoning to understand anything, the plot's been lost a bit

The other is the idea that context is exonerating. Any context at all. If they said they didn't mean it, partially false. If they walked it back, partially false. If they said it was taken out of context, partially false. If they said it a certain number of years ago, partially false. If there's a longer video, even if it shows functionally the same thing, pants on fire, five pinocchios.

Again, we have footage of Trump saying this, and the footage in the ad is unedited, and the factchecking website is declaring something that OBJECTIVELY HAPPENED WITH HARD EVIDENCE IT HAPPENED didn't really happen bc we don't know his heart, maybe he believes something different now, we simply can't know for certain. But we do know for certain. Because "false" at least used to mean "didn't happen". But factchecking sites are now on those Beyond Belief definitions of "true" and "false" I guess

But the real problem here is that they just accept anything someone being factchecked says at face value. Because, and I can't believe I'm saying this

It seems like the people paid to determine if other people are lying...have forgotten that people lie sometimes

[vaspider]

Since I just turned off reblogs on another post that quickly went from "let's have fun" to "this is fucking awful, I'm taking away this toy," please read this BlueSky thread from rahaeli, who I don't think is on here.

Most of it I've c/p for ease of readability bc BSky's threading sucks.

Okay, it's time again to talk about what the experience of having a social media account with a bunch of followers (*) is like. (* "a bunch" of followers is platform dependent. I'm getting irritating shit at 2k on Bluesky I didn't get until 10k on Twitter.)

(Ugh, wait, nevermind, I hit 3k while I wasn't looking. Anyway.) Someone who has never had more than 100 followers literally cannot comprehend the sheer volume of the responses you get. Even if individual posts don't get a ton of replies, if you post with any frequency, it accumulates.

Once you hit the first degradation threshold, your experience gets a little bit shittier. It's overwhelming volume, but the people who are following you are mostly ideologically, socially, and culturally aligned to you. You have the same concept of social media manners.

You'll get a few duplicate comments, because nobody reads the comments before they reply, but they're mostly from cool people, so you just roll your eyes a little at the same joke five times. You still make friends. You still have fun and can wind up finding neat new people.

And then those neat new people retweet your stuff, and it starts reaching out to an audience of people who are less aligned with what you think of as social media manners. You start getting some replies you find obnoxious: they're in good faith, you can tell, but they just grate on you sometimes.

And then *those* people start reposting your more viral threads, and you get people following you who are three degrees of separation from the people you are most likely to vibe with. And three degrees of separation is the second degradation threshold.

The second degradation threshold is where you start getting the constant, low-grade sand-in-a-pearl annoyances. The person who wants to argue with everything. The 15 people making the identical shitty "joke" that's actually just doing the exact thing you're complaining about, "ironically".

The people who look at a post that contains no question marks and think "there is an implied question here and I will answer it!" and leap to offer the most basic advice that you already thought of because you have existed for more than three seconds and can, in fact, think of the obvious answers.

The people who are spoiling for a fight no matter what, because you used one word in the post that is their particular berserk button and they're going to scream at you for hating waffles because you said you like pancakes even though you never mentioned waffles.

It is constant. It is never-ending. You cannot escape it. Every time you post anything at all, opening the app means wading through twenty garbage replies for every reply from someone who is actually cool and you'd vibe with just fine if you chatted with them.

You want to bitch about a minor annoyance? There will be 40 people all giving you the same useless advice. You want to squee about something you're enjoying that's making you happy? There will be 40 people coming to scold you because that thing isn't morally pure enough.

Every post. Every day. About 75% of the time you compose a post, you will get halfway through writing it and think "I can't deal with the replies this will get today" and delete it. You stop talking about things you enjoy, because you're tired of people shitting on them.

You stop complaining about the tiny annoyances in your life that you want to bitch about, because weirdly enough you already HAVE tried the first fifteen obvious suggestions you're going to get, and you don't want to spend an hour explaining why they won't work to everyone who's "helping".

(But you can't just ignore the "helpful" posts and not engage with them, because then you start getting accusations of being "elitist" and "standoffish" and jesus, lady, we're just trying to help here, why do you have to be so fucking rude and stuck-up, you full of yourself bitch.)

If you are any less gracious to the 40th person than that person thinks they deserve, there is a very good chance they're going to call you a cunt and drag allot their friends in to dogpile you and make the site unusable for at least three days.

The third degradation threshold is when you start needing to regularly call your local police department and politely remind them there are people who get very mad at you online and will try very hard to have you murdered by armed agents of the state and you'd appreciate it if they didn't do that.

I first had that conversation with my local police department in 2003. It's gotten faster now, at least? You usually don't have to start by explaining what social media even is.

Bluesky has tighter thresholds than Twitter did. On Twitter it was nicely exponential: the breakpoints were around 1k, 10k, 100k. Bluesky is running faster. I'm getting Twitter 10k annoyances at a Bluesky 3k. I am trying very, very hard not to switch over into Twitter 10k defensive posting.

I want to leave the defensive posting back on Twitter. I really do. I want to be able to bitch about a thing without having to wade through 20 "go try [extremely obvious thing]". I want to post about a thing I enjoy without 20 people yelling at me I'm bad for enjoyjng it.

There's a difference between arguing about an idea (which I love) and the onslaught of constantly infuriating replies plucking at your last goddamn nerve. And the more "last goddamn nerve" replies you get, the crankier you are, and then people lose their shit at you because you snapped at them.

So maybe let's all start keeping a few principles in mind: 1) if there's more than one reply, check to see if your point has already been covered. If it has, you don't need to repeat it.

2) Even the funniest joke gets old after the 20th time you hear it in 3 hours.

3) "I'm going to jokingly do the exact thing you just were complaining about because ha ha the real joke is I would never do that asshole thing" is never funny, and it is indistinguishable from you actually doing the asshole thing.

4) If there is no question mark in the tweet, think twice about offering "helpful" advice unless you and the poster know each other *mutually*, not just parasocially, you know it's likely to be new info for them, and you ask "do you want to hear how I handle this?" first and get an affirmative.

5) If you are going to ignore 4, ask yourself "is this a suggestion that someone with a reasonable level of generalized adult knowledge would think of trying within the first 15 minutes of approaching the problem?" If so, do not suggest it.

6) Do you really need to nitpick that grammar, spelling, or word choice? Did you understand what they were trying to say before autocorrect mangled it or they blanked on the exact word they wanted and found a close one? If you understood the meaning, don't be their volunteer copyeditor.

7) Is someone excited about a thing you hate? Are they having fun with the thing? Is the thing a front for white supremacist recruiting or organizing the overthrow of the US government? If the answers are yes, yes, and no, respectively, shut the fuck up and let people enjoy things.

8) We are all occasionally That Commenter. If someone you have a pre-existing relationship with replies to you and lets you know you're being That Commenter, it's because they have a positive enough impression of you they don't want to go straight to block. Treat this like the warning sign it is.

9) It deserves repeating: remember the Law of Large Numbers. Even if you only commented once, you may be the hundredth irritating comment that person got that day. Bluesky's terrible threading makes this worse: people don't keep a single thread of mounting crankiness the way they did on Twitter.

9a) If someone's top tweet sounds really annoyed at something, maybe check their timeline or follow back their nested self-QTs to see what level of irritable they're at and over what so you don't step straight on the same rakes they've been dodging all day.

10) However, remember that BSky also doesn't show replies made by people the OP has blocked in a thread. If they post about a pattern that's making them cranky and you look and don't see anything, they probably already blocked the worst of it. They still saw it in their mentions in order to block.

I really cannot overstate how absolutely exhausting and soul-destroying the experience of having a large account can be. It's also somehow still rewarding, or we wouldn't do it. But especially if you're a woman or a person of color or a female POC, that balance is really, really close most days.

And of course, the ones who stay are the ones who do find it still rewarding enough to keep doing it despite the constant irritations.

From here, the thread moves into a conversation about stuff specific to BlueSky, but the majority of the thread is truly applicable to Tumblr as well.

You may be the first person to comment "op lives on a planet without music," or "op has never heard of [thing OP didn't mention for whatever reason]," but you're probably not, and at a certain point, it becomes like someone tapping a sunburn.

So yeah.

[howtofightwrite]

Most traditional boxing instructors will tell you that if the opponent is taller than you, has longer arms than you, or is heavier than you, you're fucked and you need to stay extremely aware and work really hard to compensate for all the advantage he has over you.

In a recent forensic survey, it was determined that most traditional boxing instructors who get into real world altercations die when they're shot in the head.

This is the problem with a lot of these kinds of arguments. No one practices traditional boxing. At least, no one does so publicly. How do I know this? Because traditionally boxers fought in the nude. Yeah, we're not seeing that, are we? Now, maybe they meant bare knuckle boxing, but really no one does that either, these days. Boxing without safety equipment is not a particularly good idea, for fairly obvious reasons.

The only reason the word, “traditional,” is in the ask is to lend their statement unearned credibility. It's an attempt to make their statement sound more authoritative, without offering any evidence to support the statement.

Who said that?

“Traditional people did.”

Okay, but, 'traditionally,' people cleaned shit off their ass with a stick. So, maybe appealing to Hellenic sports isn't the best gauge of how a fight will play out.

Also, I know I just said it, but, who are these authoritative sports guys? Because they're not named. We're simply told, “most,” of them agree. Which starts to sound a lot like “four out of five dentists agree.” Who are these instructors? What do they teach? Why are the currently in prison for indecent exposure? And how much did you pay them to get their uninformed opinion? Salient questions which may need to be answered, if the original question wasn't invalid on its face.

Why do I say it's invalid?

Because boxing isn't fighting.

Boxing is a sport.

Boxing has rules.

Kick your opponent in the groin, or shin, and you're punished.

Step on their foot, push them, and watch them tumble to the ground before you start stomping on them, and you'll be punished.

Throwing your opponent will be punished.

And of course, as mentioned at the top, pulling out a gun and expanding your opponent's mental horizons is extremely frowned upon.

These are all things that can happen in a real fight.

These are all things that do not benefit from increased height or reach.

There is one genuinely accurate statement. In a fight, you do need to be very aware of what's going on around you. Everything else is the product of someone who's been punched in the head repeatedly until the CTEs got them thinking that boxing is analogous to a real fight in any way. (And, statistically, will probably end their career sitting in a jail cell over an aggravated assault charge, because their emotional self-control was completely destroyed by those same head injuries.)

The rules that boxers need to follow are designed to (somewhat) protect the participants. It reduces the dangers of a boxer being killed in the ring. In an observation that I would hope to be self-evident, those rules don't exist in actual combat.

It's also amusing, because the original Asker had to go so far as to single out an ill-defined, “traditional” boxing, because no other martial art they checked gave them the soundbite they wanted.

And, of course, women box. Historically, you could say, “traditionally,” there were even boxing matches between men and women. It wasn't until the 1880s that women were excluded from competitive boxing in the UK. (I'm not sure of the exact date when women were banned from boxing in the US, though that prohibition lasted for less than a century, before the modern return of women to the sport.)

So, either these “traditional instructors” don't know the history of their own sport... which doesn't sound particularly “traditional” to me, or they're full of shit.

My advice to everyone would be, maybe, don't take the advice of a sports coach about how he's secretly an absolute badass in all the delusional fantasies he's cooked up about how he'd like to inflict violence on others because they wouldn't date him.

-Starke

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[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

The Cracking of a Cold Heart

Summary: "Every man has his secret sorrows which the world knows not; and oftentimes we call a man cold when he is only sad." – Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Pairings: Dean x Reader (Reader's 1st person POV)

Warnings: None. Angst. Fluff.

Word Count: 2,804

A/N: So, while watching an episode of Criminal Minds the other day, the above quote by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was at the opening of the episode and it just struck me as very Dean. 😢 So, I had to write him something. Hope you enjoy! ❤️

“You're still awake?”

I asked the obvious question as I walked into the kitchen to see Dean sitting at the table, slowly swirling amber liquid inside a crystal glass.

He nodded. “Yep. You too.” 

“Yeah, I just came to get some water; it's so dry in this bunker, don't you think?”

Dean just grunted. 

“Maybe we could add some humidifiers, or something.” I said awkwardly.

A shrug was my only answer.

Dean's rough, coldness still made me nervous around him sometimes, especially when he was in an overly grumpy or frosty mood like this. Even though we'd been working together for a year and roommates for at least half that time, I always felt like I just annoyed the hell out of him.

I decided I should just go and leave him alone with his whiskey. I poured my glass of water quickly and nodded towards him as I left.

“K, goodnight.”

“Yeah, night.”

I went back to my bedroom, just down the hall from Dean's, and sighed as I walked through the door. I really wanted things to be different. I wanted to make him like me.

Actually, what I really wanted was to make him love me.

But I'd settle for getting more than grunts and one word answers from him most of the time. 

He’d always been gruff with me, never seemed to want me around. It was always Sam that let me know about hunts and invited me along. And every time I joined them, Sam had to fight his brother to let me leave the car when they got out to fight the bad guys.

He clearly thought I was a shitty hunter too. 

So, he'd surprised me with how quickly he'd agreed to let me stay at the bunker when I told the boys about a demon I was dealing with that seemed particularly fixated on me. Sam convinced me it was safest there and Dean had agreed, though he was scowling the whole time. I couldn't help but think he only let me stay cause he didn't want me to die.

Not wanting me to die wasn't exactly friendship, but I supposed it was better than not caring one way or the other. So, I'd agreed to move in. The demon had been taken care of quickly with the boys help, but I stayed on.

I liked it there, and despite Dean's usual attitude towards me, I was happy in the bunker. Sam and Dean were funny and their dark, sarcastic humor, especially Dean's, often made me laugh in situations that would otherwise demand only horror.

It was also the safest I'd ever felt. 

Because no matter how he felt about me, I knew beyond a doubt that Dean would always have my back and look out for me. That was just the kinda guy he was.

If only I could actually make him want me around.

An idea dawned on me as I climbed back into bed. Maybe that was why Dean wasn't warming up to me. Maybe he felt like I was overstaying my welcome there. It made sense; they'd invited me to stay while I was in danger, and then I just never left.

I was embarrassed that I hadn’t thought of it earlier. I would talk to the boys in the morning, I decided, and then fell into a restless sleep, thinking about where I'd end up when I left.

The next morning I walked into the kitchen to see Dean sitting at the table in the exact same spot as the night before, his whiskey replaced with a cup of coffee. 

“Morning.” I said shyly.

“Mmm.” Dean said around his cup as he took a sip. 

I started to get things together to make my breakfast, looking over my shoulder. “I'm making oatmeal, did you want some?”

Dean shook his head. “N’ah. M’good.” He mumbled in his deep, craggy voice, staring at the table. 

“Okay.” I said, sighing at his usual taciturn answer.

I put the water on to boil, salting it slightly, and then turned back to him just as he stood up and walked towards me. He drained his cup along the way and then reached past me to put it in the sink.

I made the mistake of taking a deep breath as he leaned close and I had to bite my lip to keep from moaning. God, why did he always have to smell so good? Why did he have to radiate warmth from his big, broad, flannel-covered chest, so that I desperately wanted to cuddle into him. 

Completely unaffected, Dean turned to leave, but I put my hand out, touching his arm to stop him from going. I could feel an almost imperceptible flinch from him and I pulled my hand back, embarrassed that he was literally recoiling from my touch.

“Sorry.” I said as my cheeks got pink. “I was wanting to talk to you and Sam. Do you know when-” 

Just then we could hear the screech of the bunker door as Sam returned from his morning run.

“Perfect timing.” I said with an awkward chuckle.

I left the kitchen, glad that Dean followed so I could talk to them both at once. We met Sam at the bottom of the stairs. He pulled out his ear bud, still breathing deeply. 

“Hey.” He said with a small smile. He looked back and forth between me and Dean. “What's up?”

“Oh nothing, really.” I said, waving away the conversation's importance. “I just wanted to talk to you guys. I've…well, I was thinking about it and I realized, I mean now that there's no demon tracking me, no one threatening me, I should probably move out. You know?”

Sam scowled and shook his head. “We're hunters, we're always under threat. This is still the safest place for you. Why would you leave?”

I shrugged. “Well, I mean, I've been here a long time.” Sam scoffed at that, but I continued. “And I don't wanna…you know. I just think I should get out of your hair.”

“Don't be stupid. You're not in our hair. You should stay. Right, Dean?” He asked his older brother.

I looked back at Dean and he didn't say anything for a moment, just stared at the ground. Then he shrugged and looked up. His face was the same cold, indifferent mask I'd seen him wear so many times before. 

“If she wants to go, can't stop her.”

I smiled thinly, a small pinch of hurt starting in my chest. 

“Yep,” I said in a cheerful tone. “Can't stop me.”

Sam started to speak, but I waved him away. “No. Seriously, I should get my own place. But I really appreciate you guys letting me crash here for so long.”

I stood on tiptoe to give Sam a kiss on the cheek and then tossed Dean a smile which was all I could manage before taking off, heading back to my bedroom so I could start looking for a new place to live.

About an hour later, as I was on my computer looking at apartments, there was a light knock on my door.

“Come in!” I called, expecting Sam's tall frame to walk through. Instead the door swung open and Dean was there. 

I was shocked and I set my laptop down beside me on the bed, sitting up straight. Not once in the six months I'd lived there, had Dean knocked on my door; nor had he ever sought me out for anything.

“Hi.” I said lamely.

He nodded at me as he walked slowly into the room. 

We were quiet for a moment before I cleared my throat. “Do you need something?”

Dean pushed out his lips and shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugging his broad shoulders.

“I, uh…I wanted to…Sam said that he thought you were…” He rolled up onto the balls of his feet a couple of times as he paused.

I raised a quizzical eyebrow and Dean scowled, pulling his hands out of his pockets so he could cross his arms over his chest. The flannel pulled tight across his shoulders and biceps, thoroughly distracting me. 

But then he spoke roughly and brought my attention back to him.

“Sammy thinks you're just leaving cause of me, so I need you to tell him it's not true.”

I wasn't surprised that Sam had read me so well, he wasn't easily fooled and I often thought he might know about my unrequited feelings for Dean. 

But I shook my head. “No, of course not. It's not you. It's just time.”

Dean nodded and looked away. “K well, tell my dipshit little brother that will you, so he gets off my back?”

He sounded angry and for some reason his anger annoyed me. I was moving out, leaving, just so that he’d be happy, and he still wasn’t. 

“Sure.” I attempted a teasing tone, but it didn’t really work. “I'll get right on it. Right after I find a new place to live.”

Dean scowled at me again, but this time I scowled back. 

Something seemed to occur to Dean and though his voice was rough, he sounded slightly shocked when he spoke. “You are leaving because of me. Why?”

I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck like that. “Oh, I don't know Dean. I can't imagine why I'd think you don't want me around when you're always so warm and welcoming. Always so eager to chat and hangout. I must just be crazy!”

Dean's frown etched deeper on his brow. “So you're leaving cause I'm not acting like your bestie? I'm not friendly enough for you?”

“I’m leaving because you hate me and obviously don’t want me around!” I shouted.

Silence rang out and my embarrassment filled it. I stood up from my bed and brushed past him, calling back to him as I left.

“Look, don't worry about it. I'll tell Sam it's not your fault so he leaves you alone.”

I left quickly, but I wasn't sure where to go. I couldn't stay in my bedroom with Dean there, but I didn't want to run into Sam either. So I ended up hiding in the gym, hoping neither of them would find me there.

But that plan didn't work very well, since minutes later Dean strode through the door. I growled slightly in frustration. All I wanted was to avoid further confrontation about this.

My voice was quiet, trying to discourage any more conversation. “Look, let's just leave it alone, okay? It's fine.”

“No it's not.” Dean responded.

I let out a little huff. “I’ll be gone in a few days, and everything can just go back to normal for you guys.”

Dean stared at me. “No it won’t. I don't want you to go.”

I scoffed and stood up from the bench. “Dean, enough. I told you it's fine. I'll make sure Sam doesn't blame you.”

I walked towards the door, aware I was going to have to get past him to leave. I gave him a wide berth but he sidestepped to intercept me. 

“I don't want you to go.” He repeated quietly.

“Yeah, okay.” I said sarcastically. “If you say-” 

In a blink Dean grabbed hold of my upper arms and yanked me forward so that I stumbled into him, gasping. His mouth crashed down on mine and I squealed in surprise.

He kissed me hard and quick, stroking up into the roof of my mouth with his wide tongue and then ripping himself away from me.

He was breathing hard as he stared down at me and spoke in a rough whisper. 

“I don't want you to go.”

I just blinked at him, confusion overwhelming me. “What…what are you…what?”

“I don't want you to go.” He repeated for the fourth time. “But you should go. You should run long and far and never look back.” His voice sounded desperate.

I was so confused. “What are you talking about?”

He cupped my cheeks and kissed me again slowly, sweetly. I started to comprehend what was actually going on and I felt like my mind was going to explode. He left me reeling, my whole world turning upside down in disbelief as he pulled away from my lips to bury his face in my neck and kiss his words into my skin. 

“God, Sweetheart, all I dream about is you; you're all I see when I close my eyes. But you can't stay; you can't love me back.”

I listened to his words as I dropped my head back so he had better access to all the sensitive spots on my neck.

“…you can't love me back…”

My voice was breathless and bemused as I spoke. “But you don’t love me…you can't love me…you don't even like me.”

Dean pulled back to look me in the eye and I was shocked to see that his eyes were slightly glassy. I shook my head again, though I didn't know why I was trying so hard to deny his words when they were what I'd wanted to hear for so long. 

But I continued. “No, it’s not possible.” I said. “You don't like me. You're always angry at me, cold and distant. You think I'm a shitty hunter; I'm a burden and liability to have with you on cases.” 

I was shaking my head. “You leave me in the car!”

Dean closed his eyes and spoke quietly. “I leave you in the car because when you're with us I'm completely distracted trying to make sure nothing happens to you; I can't  do my job properly. And I'm cold and distant with you because…”

He opened his eyes slowly. “Because I know I can't have you.”

For the first time since I'd known him, I could easily read the emotion swirling in his deep, forest green eyes. And what I saw was just immense sadness.

He shook his head. “I can't have you.”

“What do you mean, you ‘can’t have me’? Says who?” I asked croakily, my throat constricted.

His jaw clenched and he looked away from me, over my shoulder. “Every single person that's been ripped out of my life since I was four years old. And the list is long, so very long. They're all telling me over and over that loving you is a selfish, impossible daydream. They're screaming at me from the grave, reminding me that trying to hold on to you is going to get you killed.” 

He was staring past me as though he could actually see the ghosts that haunted him, could hear their words of warning.

“You know,” I said with a sniffle as my eyes and nose started watering, “I think that might be the most you've ever said to me at one time.”

Dean let out a puff of air that wasn't quite a laugh, and he shook his head again. “I don't want you to go, but you should go.”

I swallowed several times, the tears still flowing as I realized that all of this was really happening. 

He loved me. Truly. 

Finally I dashed away my tears and sniffled again. “Not a chance, Dean Winchester. You say you love me? Well, great, cause I love you too.” 

He pulled in a stuttered breath and I could see the fear in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak again and I took the chance to steal a kiss, pressing close to him and winding my arms around his neck. 

He let out what I hoped was a groan of capitulation and wrapped his arms around my ribs, squeezing me to him tightly and deepening the kiss. His tongue swept through my mouth, exploring every inch, pulling soft moans from the back of my throat as I raked my nails through his hair and he shuddered against me.

After kissing me senseless for several minutes, he broke it off so we could both suck air into our starving lungs. He rested his forehead against mine and I could still hear the sadness in his voice and it made my heart ache. 

“If you stay here with me, you can’t ever leave. Okay? Promise me if you stay, if we love each other out loud, promise me it'll be okay. That I won’t have to live without you, that you’ll always be safe.”

He touched my lips briefly with his, and then spoke against them, whispering. “I couldn’t take it. So promise. Even if it's a lie. Promise me anyway.”

“I promise.” I told him with my whole heart, and sealed it with a kiss.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 * @alwaystiredandconfused @jzackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly * @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma @luvr4miya * @arcannaa @viviwatchestv @winharry @ladysparkles78 @kr804573

* @whimsyfinny * Dean Fics Only: @roonthelittlespoon920 @slamminmine @zepskies @safiyas-world @aylacavebear * Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @hobby27 * @waywardcheshire @libby99hb * Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 * @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester * @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96 @stoneyggirl2 @fanfic-n-tabulous

[sensorydephrivation]

Amatonormative assumptions and the language of a hard launch: a rambly DnP essay thing

I have a lot of Discourse Thoughts about hard launching and all that, but there’s not much I can say that hasn’t already been said. This fandom is one that generally has significant representation on both sides of any major issue; any take you look for you can find someone genuinely believing. What I am interested in analyzing is how some people are insistent, whether or not they want it to happen or believe it will happen, that they haven’t Hard Launched, and others are equally insistent that they have. Because on the surface those should be completely contradictory takes, but a large amount of people believe each to be true.

I’ve seen posts making comparisons to PJ and Sophie, and I definitely think that’s a useful tool because it brings up the real question here: how do we speak about romantic and platonic relationships, and what underlying assumptions are at play when we use or don't use certain words?

Firstly, this issue is obviously mostly to entirely due to homophobia. Why do people assume PJ and Sophie are a couple just because they live together, even though they've never used the words? Because they're a man and a woman. Why couldn't DnP be publicly open about their relationship back in the day? Because they're gay. I'm not going to spend too much time on this point because it's obvious, but I feel like it's important to remember that Dan and Phil's relationship wasn't some Great Secret for no reason. They weren't no-homo-ing because of privacy or whatever, but because they weren't yet ready to face the immense challenges being publicly out sticks you with, especially in the early 2010s. If homophobia wasn't a thing, everything else I'm going to say in this post would still be true, but it would all be significantly less charged. Just remember that gay marriage wasn't legal in the UK when DnP met each other, and that 2000s pop culture overall was routinely, openly, virulently homophobic. Just keep that in mind. (Also, everything I talk about in this post refers to 2019 onwards, after they came out. I wasn't around for the no-homo era and can't speak on it. I'm also not going to be talking about the speculation around their relationship, because that's been talked about so much. It definitely is a factor in all of this, but you know that already)

Onto the main point of this post. The reason DnP haven't "hard launched" (that term itself is incredibly vague, but its popular meaning in this fandom seems to be explicit confirmation of a romantic relationship, which is how I'm using it here) while also having clearly done so is because their use of language does not line up with conventional expectations of how language around romantic and platonic relationships should be used.

The concept of "dating" as we think of it today is relatively recent, and language around it is even newer. The terms "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" only became prominent in the mid- to late- 20th century, and it took a while for them to gain the connotation (of almost always meaning a romantic relationship) that they have today. And yet people have still had romantic relationships for forever! How these things were described would depend on the society's norms around marriage and sex and often on the exact social dynamic of the couple. Today, we think we're better than all that and can find words for anything.

I'm no expert on what makes a relationship romantic vs platonic or even how to define those terms. I find it hard to define the concept of romance in a way that doesn't bring with it centuries of heteronormative amatonormative assumptions. And boy are there assumptions. (No, people who live together for life do not have to be romantically involved, that's a silly thing to believe.) When people see a relationship that lines up or does not line up with those assumptions, they expect it to have a clean, simple label. But the words we used for romantic relationships outside of marriage, due to how new they are, are completely not simple!

While these days they seem to be the most "unambiguous" terms to describe a romantic relationship, "boyfriend" and "girlfriend" are essentially euphemisms that can seem infantilizing and demeaning of the seriousness of a relationship. It's easy to see how they aren't for everyone, even if many people are fine using them for serious committed relationships. "Partner" is kind of ambiguous on purpose, thought like bf and gf, I think it's on its way to becoming a word with mainly romantic connotations. The term "significant other" is out of fashion these days, but just like bf, gf, and "partner," it's basically a euphemism that doesn't mean much in and of itself. We have no words to describe an unmarried romantic couple that aren't on some level unclear or unindicative of the actual nature of the relationship.

Dan and Phil have acknowledged that they were once in a romantic relationship, have made many many jokes about having sex with each other, and are committed life partners. On some level, you can take the combination of these things as a very clear confirmation of a current romantic relationship, which many do. Yes, this requires making a few assumptions, but they aren't the craziest assumptions in the world. In fact, as one can see from the PJ and Sophie example, they are assumptions that are often normal and expected to be made in social situations. So why do so many others not see it this way?

Well for one, we are a mostly queer community that understands the complexity of queer relationships and how these assumptions do not get applied equally. We see how these assumptions are often used against queer people to devalue their identities, especially those on the ace-aro spectrum and/or in queerplatonic relationships. We also are an extremely online community, familiar with the complicated layers of discourse around RPF and shipping, and hesitant to make assumptions in a way that could potentially damage relationships or invade someone's privacy.

But honestly? It's because DnP don't call themselves boyfriends. They don't explicitly frame their activities in romantic ways (e.g. call things dates). The terms they use and jokes they make, even in 2024, are not the sort of things we expect from the set of assumptions that go with a committed romantic relationship. (This is also where the discourse about whether or not they're open/poly comes from, but that's a topic for another day.)

The Date Night video stretches this to its absolute max. The game is full of cards about kissing and other things that fit cleanly into the set of romantic relationship assumptions, but they didn't use any of those cards. They only used things that were ambiguous, and tried to downplay the romantic implications as much as possible aside from the lampshading of it at the start of the video ("this is a great game to play with your best buddy as well" "phil says no homo" as well as the entire "ugh i can't believe they send us this" tone of the intro). The use of "partner" in this video is the clearest example of this. The game uses this word exclusively- after all, it's a standard, accepted, gender-neutral word for people in a romantic relationship. Phil confidently reads it off the card, with the "I don't care which set of assumptions this assigns us" attitude that's been prevalent over the past year and past few months especially. Dan avoids it half the time, and at the end of the video, seems to clearly mock the term, saying it in a silly voice and then comparing it to how stereotypical cowboys use the word. This stuck out to me; it made it very noticeable that they don't use that word at least in videos, and made me think about the connation of the word they do use-- "friend." That term, unlike any of the words I've mentioned so far, implies literally nothing. "Friends" can be people with a barely positive relationship or people with an incredibly meaningful relationship they center their life around. With no other qualifiers, it also implies that the people in question don't have a romantic relationship (are "just friends"), or even (because of amatonormativity) that their relationship is not especially deep or meaningful.

Dan and Phil have defined their relationship in quite a few ways-- or rather, Dan has, in BIG and in his interviews for WAD. These quotes circulate on here constantly as people discuss the meaning of them. I'm not really interested in talking about those as they've already been talked to death. I do think it's worth noting that we only get these things from Dan-- the one time Phil has ever spoken on his "current dating life" it was just to say "I don't want to talk about that, the door is closed." Obviously some of this is because the interviewers were pushy, but also I'm sure Dan enjoys his elaborate poetic metaphors enough to not be able to shut up about them haha. (Very unrelated but I wonder if this will come up if they end up doing interviews for TIT?) The thing is, these definitions show a deep, meaningful, complex, committed relationship. They include directly romantic terms like "husbands," "soul mates," and "normal gay relationship." You would think being willing to call someone your husband, even with a million other words around it, would mean you wouldn't have a problem calling them your partner, right? Yet these words do not reflect the language they use when speaking about each other in videos!

There are times when they say "friend" "buddy" or "mate" in a clearly humorous, ironic way, and seem aware that it isn't a term that makes people think of a committed, long term relationship. Other times, they use the word as if it is a fully accurate descriptor of their relationship-- in the glue story, Dan jokes about being ashamed to be seen as "the friend of the glue guy," and in How Phil Nearly Died, he quotes himself telling the hospital staff he is looking for "my friend." I use the hospital stories as examples because they are high-stakes (or seemingly high-stakes in the case of the glue story) situations and examples of how other people in their real lives perceive them. The way they choose to tell these stories to the internet is one in which the fact that a random hospital worker would likely interact differently with Dan if he was Phil's friendly roommate as opposed to his life partner doesn't matter. In other words: if they actually do call each other "friends" irl around strangers, those strangers probably have a very different impression of their relationship than we do. Their consistency in describing themselves doing so just means that they want to consistently use the term "friends" in their videos, not that they actually do that in real life. But to a viewer who is unsure about their relationship status, the fact that they are clearly life partners, no matter platonic or romantic, but in all situations opt for a word that does not imply that seems to be confirmation that their relationship is not clearly romantic, or at least that they don't want to refer to it as such.

If I have to draw a conclusion from all this, it's that DnP consider their relationship very complex and unusual (ymmv on if it is, lol) and have had to deal with a ridiculous level of scrutiny about it nonetheless. Again, Phil has almost never spoken on this, but Dan clearly dislikes any descriptor that carries with it a sense of assumptions about the nature of the relationship, hence why he uses like fifty contradicting ones or strange metaphors instead. "Friend" carries with it no assumptions. You can be "friends" and be in a romantic relationship-- plenty of people say "I married my best friend." But our society considers romantic relationships to be more meaningful and important than platonic ones. People assume that if you are in a romantic relationship, you would want to describe your relationship exclusively using terms that carry that set of assumptions, because that is the most important part about it. I honestly think Dan is being quite subversive in refusing to do so.

I have no idea if or when this will ever change, but I hope I've given enough context for those who are convinced they've already hard launched to understand why others are still waiting, and for those who don't think they have to understand why the issue is more complicated than it seems. This topic has fascinated me ever since I first started watching them, and I hope this post can help people reach a bit more of a understanding, rather than inciting more discourse.

[outromoony]

Love confession

@wolfstarmicrofic | Soulmate AU | Word Count: 683

"Do you believe in soulmates?" The moment those words escaped Sirius's lips, he knew he must have said something wrong. Remus was looking at him with an expression of surprise, his eyes wider than usual. He tried to take back his words. "I mean... of course soulmates exist. Look at James and Lily. They are soulmates, without a doubt."

"Why question the existence of soulmates when you've already found yours?" Remus finally spoke, clearly swallowing the emotions that had gripped him just moments before.

"It's just... I don't know. Aren't soulmates supposed to be reciprocal? If someone matches your soul, aren't you supposed to match theirs as well?"

"You don't think you match Mary's soul?" Remus was looking at him with something like a mix of confusion and pity. "And... no. Soulmates are not always reciprocal. Souls aren't perfect, just like their owners. Nothing in the world is perfect—not magic, not humans, not wizards, and certainly not souls."

"I found my soulmate, but they haven't found me."

"What are you talking about? You've had your tattoo since first year. And then dated the one who caused it years later. You broke up with her, yeah, so what? That doesn't mean she isn't the one for you. Just like soulmates, time isn't perfect either. You will find the right time, Sirius; you always do."

Why was Remus always so good with words? It only made him feel even guiltier when he spoke again.

"Mary... she isn't my soulmate."

"What?" Remus's eyes widened, as if he were just looking at him properly for the very first time. "What do you mean?"

"Mary isn't my soulmate; she isn't my permanent tattoo."

"I-" Remus had to shake the surprise out of his face. "But why would you lie about something like that?"

"Maybe because I barely knew you lot at that time?" Sirius laughed with obvious sarcasm. "I just saw the first pretty girl and said it was her. But it wasn't; I never even spoke to her once all first year."

"Then your tattoo..." Remus began, but Sirius cut him off.

"I didn't lie about that. I did get my tattoo at eleven."

"Then why lie about who it was?" Remus was waiting for an answer, and Sirius wanted to give it to him, he always had. But fuck, it was so hard, to look at him in those gorgeous brown eyes and say the words he should have said a long time ago.

So he didn't; instead, he just lifted the sleeve of his shirt until the black ink was exposed.

Sirius could still remember it as if it were yesterday—the first time he met Remus Lupin. The quiet boy had been annoyed with him and James for causing a rampage on the train. He never said anything, but he would shoot them annoyed glances from behind the book he was reading every five minutes.

When all of them were sorted into Gryffindor, Remus was the last one to join them at the table. There was something about him, from the very first moment, that made Sirius want to be close to him forever. He recalled shoving James out of the chair next to him, making it the only available seat so Remus would have to sit beside him.

The first time Remus ever spoke to him was when he realized where and with whom he had ended up. He sat next to Sirius, avoiding eye contact at first. But then he smirked—a malicious, playful smirk that left Sirius feeling breathless and weak. Then he spoke.

"Ah, the universe has a sense of humor, I see."

Those were the exact same words that were now tattooed on his skin. The same words that had been there since the moment Remus met his gaze for the very first time. Sirius looked up to see Remus's reaction after seeing the tattoo. It was one of shock and disbelief, but as he recovered, Remus rolled up his own sleeve as well, revealing a fresh tattoo still red around the edges:

Do you believe in soulmates?

[joeys-babe]

Joey B Imagines: One Night Standards

————————————————————————-

Summary: Joe reflects on the night before and confesses something to his teammates.

(Part two to - part 1, part 3)

Warnings: Angst, mentions of hookups

Pairing: Joe Burrow x *athletic trainer* reader

imagine Universe: Misc.

————————————————————————-

September 12, 2022

Slowly waking up, I rubbed my eyes. After wiping the sleep from them, my entire body halted when I realized what happened last night…

I hooked up with y/n, even with knowing her reputation.

Over the month of her working with the Bengals, I thought we'd become good friends. I spent a few lunches in her office, and all the guys made jokes to me about my relentless flirting.

Our night together just felt different. It didn't feel like a casual fuck. It felt like making love.

We cuddled for a bit after, with her lying on my chest, giggling as I pressed little kisses on her forehead and cheeks.

Yesterday was my first start of the season, coming off of an appendectomy. We lost, but one thing led to another, and I ended up at y/n’s place.

We were just supposed to hang out like we'd done a few times before, but it ended in one of the most emotional, whiplash-filled nights of my life.

Like I said, the sex was amazing because it was soft and giggly. After was even better as we just stared into each other’s eyes and talked about anything we could think of.

I thought it would lead to a possible confession of feelings or maybe even just a date, so when the quite opposite happened, not only did I feel disappointed, but I also felt used.

“Listen. This has been nice, Joe. but let's just stick to the one-night standards.” - you

“Oh… I- I what?” - Joe

“I don't want a number you're not gonna answer. I don't care about the morning after or if you're even here when I wake up.” - you

“I don't want that…” - Joe

“What do you want then?” - you

“To take you out, be more than just co-workers that flirt at work.” - Joe

“Can't you just use me like I'm using you?” - you

I left right after that, immediately pulling away from her arms and jumping out of bed. After putting my clothes on, I left her apartment and slammed the door behind me.

Her words hurt. I'd never been rejected before because I'd only dared to ask a girl out a couple of times.

Those stupid fucking “one-night standards”.

——

“What do you mean you hooked up with y/n?! Joe, we told you to do the exact opposite!” - Sam

“Fuck… I know! It was just that I liked her, and she matched my energy so much that I thought she might've liked me too.” - Joe

“Yeah. Are you okay? It was obvious that you liked her. It has to hurt after she pulled that.” - Ja’Marr

“I think I will be eventually, but it does hurt. I just feel used, you know? She basically told me I was nothing more than a one-night stand.” - Joe

“The way she looked at you doesn't match up to any of that. I thought you would end up being more to her than that.” - Sam

“Me too…” - Joe

A second later Tee rushed up to the table.

“Guys… I was eavesdropping outside of Nick’s office, and I heard him talking to y/n about something.” - Tee

“What's something?” - Joe

“You, Joe. They were talking about you.” - Tee

————————————————————————-

Authors note: 👀👀👀👀. I'm in love with this mini-series!!

Hope you enjoyed! 🤍����

[aslashphoenix]

So, it’s time that we discuss GO2 ending and why I think Metatron has ASSURED the success of the INEFFABLE PLAN a.k.a, the second coming. (Or has he?)

So first things first: the obvious.

After 6.000 years together on earth, we have established, with any trace of doubt that Crowley and Aziraphale LOVE EACH OTHER. 

We’ve also learned that Demons have morals (by Crowley refusing to destroy everything Job holds dear). And that Angels can be TEMPTED (by Aziraphale accepting the food and lying not only to the archangels but to the SUPREME archangel, that those were Job’s new kids). 

So, that brings us to the declaration. 

Crowley it’s trying so hard to make Aziraphale see that he loves him, completely and unapologetically. That they are more than Heaven and Hell, they are an US.

During that speech, we see Aziraphale very conflicted. He jumps from happy to confused, to sad and angry. He even forcefully pleads Crowley to accept going to heaven with him, using every word that he knows works, in hopes to change his mind (He was desperate when he blared that “I NEED YOU”). 

But Crowley doesn't yield, he's still trying to make Aziraphale realize he's wrong for choosing Heaven over them. Which brings me to this dialogue: 

C: “Listen, do you hear that”  A: “I don't hear anything”  C: “That's the point, no nightingales”. “You idiot, we could have been US”

At that exact moment, Aziraphale looks away from temptation, because let's be clear, Crowley IS TEMPTING HIM. But when Crowley sees that words won't reach him, he launches into a desperate kiss, pouring all his heart. 

When they brake apart, Aziraphale looks distressed, almost on the brink of tears. He is fighting too many emotions within himself and you can see a split moment when he almost says yes to Crowley, but instead, he resisted temptation by saying “I forgive you”

But why you ask? Why is Aziraphale trying so hard to resist Crowley's temptation? Simple: Metatron. 

Metatron used his celestial powers of conviction on Aziraphale by using the coffee as a ploy for his manipulations, but not by spiking it. Metatron went to earth with one simple plan in mind: Make Aziraphale convince Crowley to convert into an Angel or break them apart.  

When Metatron arrived, Aziraphale was clearly uncomfortable with his presence and made quite clear that he had no intention of hearing him out, “I don’t believe there’s anything left to be said. I’ve made my position quite clear.” but then, everything changed with this conversation:

A: “You brought me a coffee?” M: ”Are you going to take it?” A: ”Shal I…?” M: “Drink it? Of course. I’ve ingested things in my time, you know.“ A: “It’s …Oh, it’s very nice”.  M: “Yes, I should jolly well hope so”

This for me, it’s the utmost form of manipulation from Metatron. The coffee represents an olive branch, offered as a ruse for Aziraphale to completely trust him and let his guard down, by implying that he is not so righteous himself and also enjoys the guilty pleasures that humankind has to offer (let's remember that Angels do not require eating for sustenance, so when Aziraphale does it, it's simply for the pleasure of it. Something viewed as a lack of strong morals for an Angel). Metatron even reinforced this by smiling at him, knowingly.

But he is clearly FAKING THIS, because the second Aziraphale can't see him, he looks at Crowley with utmost disgust. (I firmly believe that was Metatron who Crowley spoke to, about his suggestions on God's plan for the universe. Marking him a person non grata, and by default a Fallen Angel).(Also golden star to Metatron for not just getting Aziraphale out of his safe space (the bookshop), but also for getting him away from the person that could smell his bullshit speech from miles away: Crowley)

The next bit of the conversation is filled with pleasantries towards Aziraphale, saying that he is the only Angel fitted for the position.“ You are a leader, you are honest and don’t just tell people what they what to hear” And while you might think that those are good things, they are actually the qualities that Metatron HATES about Aziraphale. 

Metatron played Aziraphale expertly, making him VERY EXITED for the prospect of going back. Because If he can change how things are done in Heaven, that means that Heaven was not the problem but the people running it (and by default, making him a good Angel by lying just to save Job’s children). He could even make space for someone like Crowley, who is neither good nor bad. In other words, Aziraphale intends to PAINT HEAVEN IN DIFFERENT SHADES OF GREY, so he and Crowley could be TOGETHER on the “right side”.  

That’s why you can see how pained Aziraphale looked after Crowley left the bookshop and almost backtracked his decision. He didn't because his desire to fix things and create a just and truly good system is greater than Crowley's temptation.

(Aziraphale is saying: The system is unfair and I can change it. FOR YOU, FOR US. Whereas Crowley: The system works as intended. This is not a Bug, but a Feature. We should stay out of it, in OUR SIDE, TOGETHER).

But why would Metatron, a supreme celestial being care about any of this? Because he FEARS THEM.

It was very early established that Demons and Angels are enemies and should not, under any circumstance dwell or interact with each other, because they are hereditary enemies. But what if that's not the real reason? What if Angels and Demons should not work together because they would become extremely powerful? 

Through the ages, Crowley has been making miracles for Aziraphale and vice versa, but the first time that they perform a miracle TOGETHER, the Lazarus scale went bananas, saying that that magnitude of power could only be compared to a supreme archangel. And all that happened while they were trying to perform the tiniest of miracles. Imagine what they can achieve by truly joining forces.

TOGETHER as HEAVEN AND HELL, they have the power to tip the balance and frustrate what Metatron think is the ineffable plan. 

So, with the second coming afoot, it’s only logical to eliminate that threat. Whether by transforming Crowley into an angel and getting reed off his Hell powers, or by removing Aziraphale from earth and by default, Crowley.

Metatron made a gamble and he thought he won, but he lost.

If we know anything about these characters it's that they could always rely on each other “I can always rely on you and you could always rely on me” The love and care that they share for each other it’s a crack on Metatron’s manipulations, that  will grow and shatter his plan. (At first, Aziraphale will truly believe that he is making a difference and that he can change Heaven like Metatron implied, but soon he will learn the truth: Heaven and Hell won't change unless forced to). 

These two ARE THE INEFFABLE PLAN that God designed: 

Bringing BALANCE INTO THE UNIVERSE by destroying Heaven and Hell, not their residents, but the institutions themselves. No more Heaven, no more Hell, just celestial beings going as far as they can with what they think is right. 

[bisclavret]

what SICKO wrote the last scenes between gwaine and merlin is what i want to know. because even lancelot's last episode with merlin - which had to have been intentionally gay-coded since it's obvious the man is grappling with his feelings for merlin morphing from platonic to explicitly romantic - is still subtext because he doesn't have the tools to healthily express his feelings so he goes for the biggest romantic gesture he can think of: sacrificing his life to save a loved one. the writers also make sure to root this gesture back to gwen by adding a scene where she's inadvertently asking him to make that sacrifice first, so although it's very obvious that it's more for merlin than for gwen that lancelot dies for, she is there to add some plausible deniability, thus keeping his sexuality within the realms of subtext.

i don't want to delve too deeply into arthur's last scenes with merlin as there is both so much to unpack about what they mean to each other and there is also somehow nothing left to say that hasn't been said before. my point is just that there's so much at stake that if the viewer doesn't want to deal with the romantic subtext between them they can hang onto the 38 other dynamics merlin and arthur have represented to each other that the writers spent 5 years plastering on top of the gay subtext. basically, while the romance feels textual emotionally-speaking, it isn't "canon".

i don't mean to say that any relationship is better than another (even though i obviously have a preference) but that in gwaine's final scenes with merlin there's just no subtext anymore. his becomes the most explicit expression of romantic love towards merlin, and therefore the most explicit acknowledgment of homosexual love and the existence of queer people on the show:

it starts out with merlin suggesting that gwaine saved a girl from the saxons and then looked after her because he has a more than platonic interest in her, and they show us that merlin is right - gwaine and the girl eira slept together - even as gwaine half-heartedly denies any interest (which, why even deny it? merlin saw them holding hands! unless the lie is part of the point). then in that very same scene and directly after this exchange, merlin needs rescuing from the saxons, calls after gwaine, and gwaine performs the exact same role for him that he performed for eira: he saves him from the saxons and looks after him (for as long as merlin lets him).

the parallel between merlin and eira with such quick cause and effect (it literally all happens within the same minute) is where the shift from subtext to text becomes undeniable. yes, there have been other moments on the show where a character's affections towards two different genders are beat-for-beat the same, but, again, there has always been plausible deniability. in this case the parallel is meant to be taken at face value: the core point of it is to show us how gwaine expresses his attraction.

then, the dialogue they chose to bookend this scene with takes it a few steps further by functioning as a textual love confession to merlin himself: the scene opens with gwaine thanking merlin for everything he did for eira, and merlin saying that there is no need to thank him as it was the least he could do. a minute later, after merlin thanks gwaine for protecting him from the saxons as both merlin and the show just concluded gwaine did for eira for romantic reasons (even as he denied it by outright lying), gwaine parrots what merlin said when gwaine thanked him: no need to thank me, merlin, it's the least i could do.

but this comes off as the opposite of dismissive: in fact, this echoing of merlin's words is meant to jolt both merlin and the audience. by saying this right after saving merlin from the saxons, gwaine has now intentionally pointed merlin's attention towards the explicitly romantic parallel between himself and eira. gwaine is directly implying he just did for merlin what merlin correctly deduced he did for a woman because he desired her sexually and romantically, and he is using merlin's own words to challenge him into seeing past the initial flimsy lie that there is nothing between them. and what's behind the lie, of course, is that gwaine has done all of this and more because he desires merlin sexually and romantically. the camera even lingers on merlin, allowing him and the viewer to absorb what just happened. that for as long as we have known gwaine, his motivations have always boiled down to "i want to be there for merlin". and now both the audience and merlin finally know for sure what was motivating him the entire time.

what's more, by using merlin's own dismissive words, gwaine also implicates merlin's penchant for repression and denial and never allowing himself to be given credit where it's due. this unfortunately never properly gets dismantled on the show, but this moment shows that gwaine knows merlin well enough to know that he goes above and beyond for people, and that merlin's reasons for this ring as false to gwaine's ears as gwaine's reasons for saving damsels do to merlin. it also bittersweetly implies that gwaine has accepted that these are the platonic, repressed terms on which he can have a relationship with merlin. but i think the way in which he explicitly points all of this out to merlin is meant to imply that he isn't entirely happy about having to accept that. or, to circle back to eira, that merlin seems to be cheering for him to enter a heterosexual relationship when gwaine would clearly rather be with him.

what's additionally interesting to me about this is that this is one of the only scenes on this show that touch on same gender attraction that isn't using magic as a metaphor - because merlin doesn't have magic at the moment, yes, but also because gwaine is the more active character in this sequence, and he's an adventure hero, so he simply fights the bad guy to protect the person he loves. there is no metaphor to wrap this in, so he just gets to explicitly state his bisexuality. in the next scene, the very last one he and merlin share, it all becomes about magic again, which is both representative of merlin's sexuality and the show's "plausible deniability" approach to gay-coding, and so neither gwaine or merlin are permitted to acknowledge it. also, and this is for another post altogether, but all things point to "gwaine knew". not least because he gets to come out as queer without the complications of the magic-as-gay-metaphor which in turn emboldens him to ask merlin for the truth as directly as the metaphor-suffocated narrative will allow it.

tldr gwaine textually and canonically expresses and then confesses his feelings to merlin in a shockingly well-written and layered scene which makes gwaine the most explicitly queer character on bbc merlin and it's entirely because he exists outside the magic-as-gay-metaphor plot while loving someone who embodies that entire metaphor and it's crazy to me that we don't talk about this more. once again i ask what SICKO wrote this and where were they for the entire rest of this fucking show

tldrtldr at least gwaine is bi. its like i always say. at least gwaine is bi. at the end of the day. gwaine is bi. dont cry ok? gwaine is bi. at the end of the day. gwaine is bi. when all else fails. gwaine is bi. we'll always have. gwaine is bi

[thelesbododo]

This is a headcanon circulating around a sensitive topic and one that you may not agree with so if you don't want to read it please scroll.

This headcanon revolves around the character Osamu Dazai and the concept of sexual assault

I believe that Dazai was sexually assaulted as a child

This has nothing to do with Mori and takes place long before they even meet

While it is true we know little to nothing of BSD Dazai's past, it is also true that it is highly likely the Irl author and his No Longer Human counterpart was SA'd

There are two specific pieces of writing are evidence of this

"My true nature, however, was one diametrically opposed to the role of the mischievous imp. Already by that time I had been taught a lamentable thing by the maids and manservants; I was being corrupted. I now think that to perpetrate such a thing on a small child is the ugliest, vilest, cruelest crime a human being can commit. But I endured it. I even felt as if it enabled me to see one more particular aspect of human beings. I smiled in my weakness. If I had formed the habit of telling the truth I might perhaps have been able to confide unabashedly to my father or mother about the crime, but I could not fully understand even my own parents. To appeal for help to any human being - I could expect nothing from that expedient. Supposing I complained to my father or my mother, or to the police, the government - I wondered if in the end I would not be argued into silence by someone in good graces with the world, by the excuses of which the world approved.It is only too obvious that favoritism inevitably exists: it would have been useless to complain to human beings. So I said nothing of the truth. I felt I had no choice but to endure whatever came my way and go on playing the clown"

- No Longer Human

"I ceased being a child soon after entering grade school. It was then that my younger brother’s nurse taught me something that took my breath away. It was a beautiful summer day, and the grass by the vacant house out back had grown tall and dense. I must have been about seven, and my brother’s nurse could not have been more than thirteen or fourteen. My brother was three years younger than I, and the nurse shooed him off. She said, ‘Go get some leaf grass’ - that’s our word for clover back home. Then she added, ‘And make sure it’s got four leaves too.’ After he left, she put her arms around me and we started rolling around in the tall grass. Thereafter we would play our secret little game in the storehouse or in one of the closets."

- Memories

Both No Longer Human and Memories are semi-autobiographies, meaning they're somewhat based in truth

I can't speak from experience but SA has a big effect on the lives of the survivors

Some of thes effects include;

Sleeping or Eating disorders

Dazai canoniclly has issues sleeping and there are scenes that imply he has issues with and/or doesn't see the point in eating, at one point saying that it is "so much trouble"

Nightmares

There is a specific scene within one kf the light novels where Kunikida asks if Dazai has nightmares.

(Unfortunately I can't find the exact moment so I can't quote it so if anyone can find it please let me know)

Self-hatred

It might not be clearly stated that he hates himself but ay the same time its rather clear that he does

Suicidal thoughts or self-harm

He is a suicidal maniac

Riskier sexual behaviors such as having many partners

He canoniclly has had quite a lot of lovers

Substance abuse

The one scene we see of his apartment we see that there is more alcohol than furniture (it's also a popular hc that Dazai smokes which makes sense considering his past with the pm and that irl author smoked)

Another moment to mention was when he seduced the nurse (which technically counted as SA too but that's not the point of this)

I'm probably gonna end it here because it's late and I'm tired but anyone willing to add or correct anything please go ahead and I hoped you enjoyed my hc

[glowinggator]

First I need you to know I absolutely love the way you write rocky! He feels so in character!

Second I saw requests are open so speaking of rocky: imagine if reader was a wealthy client who helps fund the speakeasy but they're only really there for rocky

like everyone else thinks it's pretty obvious they're into him but I imagine rocky would be clueless lol

(can be neutral or fem pronouns, whichever you prefer :) )

A/N: Thank you so much! I'm always worried that I'm a little too heavy-handed with his speech patterns, so I'm glad that it comes off right! And wow, I loved this idea so much! I got a little bit carried away with this it, actually -- never let it be said that I don't love this silly cat. Buckle in friends, it's gonna be a long one -- 3.4k, to be exact. Thank you all for all of the lovely asks and reblogs thus far -- because as much as I love writing, it's all of you that keep that fire burning when times get rough. Enjoy!

Content Warnings: None! Gender neutral reader, no pronouns or presentation indicators used.

Deafening raindrops turn into quiet pitter patters as you descend the long, spiraling staircase into the speakeasy. Comforting and familiar walls lift your spirits from the dreary outside world, caked in gloomy clouds and ever-growing smog. You wipe your boots on the doormat as you reach the bottom of the stairs, frowning a little when you notice just how far the mud splashed up the leather. 

        What a shame -- you'll have to clean them off when you get home tonight. Lord knows how your coworkers love to gossip, and with how calm things have been lately, they're just itching for something to discuss. Like how the head doctor has mud on their evening boots… after a heavy rain. How scandalous. 

        You're pulled from your thoughts by the gentle voice of the doorman, peering over at you with a hint of concern -- Horatio, you think his name was? Sweet boy. 

        "Is everything alright, Doctor?"

        You tear your eyes away from your shoes, smiling kindly. 

        "Of course," you chirp, "Just a bit of mud. Do be careful when you head out tonight. That suit looks nice on you, I'm sure you wouldn't want it getting dirty." 

        He straightens his posture at the compliment, adjusting his cufflinks with an endearing -- if not a little overenthusiastic -- nod. Content, you smooth out your outfit and move forward once again. You stride through the door, flashing your pin for formality's sake, and slink into the main room with a neatly contained excitement of your own. 

        Red satin curtains line the wall, contrasting beautifully with the natural grey stone -- the Lackadaisy speakeasy has a unique atmosphere, and despite having seen it no less than a hundred times, it never ceases to light a twinge of admiration within you. You weave between the towering stone pillars, letting your eyes rake across the room as you pad towards the bar. But… something is missing. Or, more aptly, someone. 

        The barstool squeaks in protest when you plop down at the bar, brows furrowed. Although before you're allowed to stew in your disappointment, a drink is placed in front of you. You look up, meeting eyes with the tall cat in front of you. Victor Vasko, resident bartender, for lack of a better word. He glowers down at you, although you know him well enough by now -- it's hard to be intimidated when you know his scowl is all but carved into his face. 

        You're also acutely aware that you're one of the last benefactors of St. Louis' finest speakeasy. 

        You slide a ten across the bar -- more than enough to cover drinks for the night, if not everyone else's too -- before swirling the drink in your glass. The amber liquid dances just shy of the rim before settling back down against the ice -- it's liquid gold in these parts, and they call it that for more reasons than one. You don't miss the subtle widening of Victor's eyes as he pockets the money and moves to the other end of the bar, presumably to clean -- or more aptly, shatter -- a handful of glasses. 

        Sweetness cascades over your tongue when you raise the glass to your lips -- it's a far cry from the common coffin varnish. That is to say, it's a luxury reserved only for new patrons… and those with deep pockets. You smile to yourself, savoring the taste. It's not the greatest drink in the world. Even a priest could tell you that. It's bitter, and burns in a way that tells you that its creator would really prefer to put the "fire" in firewater over anything else… and yet you couldn't fathom going anywhere else. It's not like you're aiming to get drunk here, anyways. 

        "So," Zib drawls, lumbering onto the bar stool next to you, "What's a man gotta do to get a drink around here?" 

        You huff a laugh into the glass, rolling your eyes. "Sorry, I only buy drinks for pretty boys."  

        He leans forward onto the bartop, leaning his head on his arms and gazing at you. His eyes are half-lidded, pupils lazily tracking your glass as you raise it to your lips. It's hard to tell if he's just tired, or if he's already gotten a headstart on drinking tonight. You'd put money on the "all of the above" option, if you could. 

        "I can bat my eyelashes if you want," he says.         "Jesus Christ, shut up," you laugh, swatting at him but waving down Victor nonetheless. He stomps over, rolling his one visible eye, but acquiesces and pours him a drink at your soft smile. It's clearly a cheaper alcohol, but Zib doesn't seem to mind. He seems to prefer it, if anything. He takes a strong drink, sighing at the burn. He pulls himself up from his crossed arms, leaning back with a groan.

        "Thank God, I don't know enough violin to pull anything else off. Or Shakespeare."

        "Hey!" You sputter, kicking his leg beneath the countertop, "What's that supposed to mean?" 

        "Nothing, nothing." He hums, pausing. Sips. Tilts the glass. "Just that you seem to have a favorite here, no shame in that. Other than the fact that you've chosen the strangest man in all of St. Louis to set your sights on." 

        "Excuse me, for one, I don't play favorites. And two, he is-- he isn't…" Swirling the liquid around in your own glass, you furrow your brow. When nothing comes to mind you take a sip of your own, thinking. 

        You know well enough that your protests are just for show at this point. It's become a near-daily point of banter between the two of you, considering how obvious you are in your affections. Many moons have come and gone since Wick showed you the Lackadaisy, but unlike the astral body, your interest in Rocky Rickaby has never waned. 

        It's hard to remember what kickstarted your affections for him -- maybe it was his natural lyricism, or perhaps his flair for theatrics. Maybe it was his unwavering spirit, or his penchant for getting into trouble. If you asked Wick, you're sure he'd tell you that you were simply attracted to the danger he brings with him, but he's never seen the way his eyes sparkle when he's excited. He's never seen the way he glows when he's truly happy -- not like you do, anyways. Maybe it was a combination of all of those things and more. What you do know is that…

        "He's got his own charm. He's different, yes, but I like different. But again," you say, looking at him over the rim of your glass, "I don't play favorites."  

        Zib chuckles, shaking his head, but says nothing. You wait one breath, then two. 

        Silence. 

        You scoff, muttering to yourself. "Set my sights on… You make it sound like I'm picking out a dog at the pound." 

        He grins, and you sense that you've fallen directly into his trap. Damn it. 

        "He'd bark if you asked him to."

        "Oh, you reprobate," you exclaim, laugh tinging the edges of your words. You swat at him once again, this time making contact. You'd like to say he choked on his drink, or sputtered at your attack, but this has become such a song and dance that really, you'd be more surprised if he didn't expect it. "You're incorrigible, you know." 

        "Just being honest," he says. 

        You shake your head, sipping lazily at your glass before slipping back into easy conversation. It's nice to simply chat the hours away with him -- despite his dour outward demeanor, he's quite good at keeping a conversation going. His taste in literature doesn't hurt much, either, nor does your own affability towards his own theatrics. For as much shit as he gives Rocky, he isn't all too much better in the drama department. 

        You weren't always treated so casually -- the memory of Mitzi all but batting Zib and Rocky away from you still brings a smile to your face. Hell, you're sure if Mitzi heard the dreary remarks falling from Zib now, she'd pick up the broomstick again… if only for her own sanity. But once it became clear that you'd sunk your claws into their best -- and up until recently, only -- rumrunner, the air changed. 

        You don't have to guess why -- everyone's been plenty clear about it.

        'If Rocky hasn't driven you away yet, there's not much anyone else can do to scare you off.'

        You cast a look over your shoulder every now and again, glancing at the door, aflutter with anticipation. It's impossible to hear the rain this far down into the cave system, although it's unlikely that the rain has let up at all considering the torrential downpour you weathered just a few short hours ago. You nervously bite at your lips, forcing your head back into the conversation. 

        'It's just the storm holding him up,' you tell yourself. 

        You vaguely realize that somewhere along the way your simple affection and interest has bloomed into something more all-consuming, and you can only hope that Zib doesn't catch your sudden fluster. Best to file that thought away for later. 

-----

        It's half past midnight when Rocky waltzes through those towering wooden doors, caked damn-near head to toe in mud. His suit seems to have taken the brunt of it, although the drying flakes embedded in his fur and the single symmetrical pair of clean streaks along his lapel tell a story all on their own. He clasps two bottles in his hands, mysteriously absent of any dirt or grime. 

        Calvin is hot on his heels too, pupils pinpointed with what you assume are the remnants of adrenaline. He too comes through the door with bottles of what you presume is liquor, although he certainly has an… abundance compared to Rocky. Because for Rocky's two, Calvin anxiously clutches no less than eight bottles to his chest. He practically waddles through the door, more out of fear than exertion. He, however, is almost entirely clean of grime… save for his pant legs, which are all but drenched. 

        Once Calvin is past the doorway Ivy comes skipping through too, hands wrapped around her own pair of bottles. Her wardrobe seems to be in slightly worse condition than Calvin's. Mud dapples her sweater, and the twigs tangled in her fur so abundant that you could probably call her a fire risk. But she seems joyful nonetheless as prances past Calvin and falls in line right behind Rocky in his march towards the bar. You realize in the back of your mind that she's chatting happily with Calvin behind her, although the words turn to water in your mind as you gaze at Rocky. If he's noticed you yet, he gives no indication. His tail, slicked thin with muck, flicks happily behind him. Small drops of mud hit the stone floor, causing Calvin to flinch back and clutch the bottles tighter to his chest. There must be a story there, you think to yourself. 

        You huff out a laugh -- partially out of amusement, and partially out of relief. You'll have to ask for the story of tonight's escapade later on. 

        "Praise be to the rain, protector of your ever faithful moonlight servants," Rocky finally reaches the other end of the bar, placing the bottles down with a thunk. He spins, his back towards you as he casts a hand in the air with a flourish. The smile that stretches across your face is painfully lovesick, if the way Zib nudges you gives you any indication, but you pay him no mind as you lean forward to watch the show. 

        "For such modern ventures, we need no stream to wrench forth our gold from the Earth, dearest raindrops. Rather, it is you, oh dearest clouds who bring us such prosperity, such joy. It is--"  he spins back towards you, locking eyes. He stiffens, blinking owlishly. A moment passes before his eyes sparkle in that perfect way you've come to adore, fangs peeking beneath his lips as his expression changes into a grin, and then a beam. 

        "You," he moves across the floor towards you, stretching his arms out for a moment before realizing his state of dress and letting his arms fall back at his sides. His tongue darts between his lips, practically buzzing with excitement as he pads towards you. 

        (You briefly catch the shocked looks of his, quite literal, partners in crime. Eyes wide, the two look at each other inquisitively, then at him, then back at one another. Clearly they're shocked at his willingness to drop his monologue, and the feeling is mutual. It makes the smile stretch further across your face, and you realize that if he hadn't silently retracted the offer, you would have accepted the hug, velvet be damned.)

        You spin your stool to face him, pushing your drink to the side with a wave in his direction. And it should be illegal for anyone to be so damn cute, because the way he lights up -- at your acknowledgement? At your excitement to see him? -- sends a hot flush through your cheeks that has you melting from the inside out. Up close you realize that despite (somewhat) clearing himself of mud, he wasn't able to keep entirely dry from the rain. Water drips down his nose, and you fight back the obnoxiously domestic thought of drying his fur for him. Tender looks and loving touches, of hands carding through fur… It's soon replaced by the vision of him toweling off himself, and Christ, something so mundane shouldn't be so damn attractive. That too, you tuck away for later. 

        He stops at your feet, eyes crinkled with mirth. 

        "I didn't think you'd still be here," he says, leaning against the bar countertop. Although he quickly notices the muddy stain he's left, and while he does pull back to attempt to clean it… it's not like there's much clean real-estate left on his suit to wipe with. You giggle -- honest to god, giggle -- at his antics, and just like that his attention is pulled back to you. He leans back against the countertop, resting his face against his hand. It squishes his cheek with a boyish charm, ears flicking towards your voice. It's cute. He's cute. 

        "Well, I wouldn't want to miss my favorite…"  Heat rises to your face at your own use of the word 'favorite.' Zib will never let you live this one down. 

        "...Musician." 

        Said cat snickers behind you, and oh yeah, you really aren't living this one down. It takes a lot of willpower not to shove him off the barstool then and there. But Rocky simply waves his free hand at him before turning it upwards, fingers splayed. It's clear that he's attempting to be casual in his body language, but the energy in his voice and barely hidden beam ousts his joy at your praise. 

        "Pay him no heed, dearest muse. Now, what form of entertainment would you desire tonight? Pick a key, any key! Through spoken word or melodic strings--"

        Any other night you'd be enraptured with his rambling, but tonight you seem to get lost in his words. Your eyes rake across his face, taking in the little details that make him, him. You're only a little ashamed at the way your eyes keep darting to his lips while he speaks -- truthfully, you're more embarrassed at the longing it sparks within you. Maybe you should have taken the time to unpack this earlier, but alas. You force your eyes upwards, taking in how his own bright blue ones shine with excitement, before letting them fall once again.

        And Rocky is nothing if not unique. The bridge of his nose tells stories beyond your imagination -- no matter how many times he tries to tell you their stories. They all just seem too wild to be true -- littered with little dots and lines that you could connect like constellations, they convey decades worth of life. A knife trick accident here, a wire snap there… allegedly, a horde of bees created many of the smaller dots. An experiment from youth gone wrong, he said, but you can't imagine he'd do anything different if presented with the opportunity again. Your lips upturn at the thought, and let your eyes roam to his cheeks: his fur bounces with every word he speaks, but even still, you can see little uneven patches. A thin line here and there, not quite reaching skin; a patch that's just a fraction shorter than the rest; all from recent incidents that simply came a little too close. But on his left cheek there's something new, something that you've never seen before.

        There's one last streak of mud on his face that, clearly, he had missed. You're so focused on the mark that you hardly even feel yourself move to grab your handkerchief. 

        "--But in an art such as this, moderation is for the weak. If you'll give me just five minutes I'll have--" 

        He stills at your gentle touch, halting his speech for the second time tonight. His fur is softer than you expected, despite its dampness from the rain outside. You tilt his head upwards by just a fraction, your thumb and index gently holding his chin in place. Stricken with a sudden wave of adoration, you drag your thumb experimentally across what you can reach. The movement is so painfully fond and oh, so close -- just millimeters away from his lips. It's a gentle action that lasts no more than a second -- hell, maybe you didn't even realize you were doing it -- but it feels like a lifetime to him. He thought he'd get used to the lightheadedness that you always seem to inflict upon him, but he couldn't be more wrong. And before he has any time to recover, you're dabbing at his cheek with a silken cloth. 

        And for all your observations tonight, you end up missing the way his breath catches in his throat. You miss the way he leans into you by just a fraction, how his eyes widen at your softness; how they take to memorizing every contour of your face in awe; how he melts in your hold, like he's never been held with such kindness before. He doesn't think he has. 

        And that's nothing to say of all the things you can't see -- how his heart leaps into his chest, pounding so hard he's half sure you can see it through his shirt; how he prays for the world to stop just as it is now, so that he could enjoy this for just a few more seconds. How he's so sure that he's dreaming, but far too joyful to even consider pinching himself awake. 

        He's so enraptured with your touch that he hardly even processes your movements. It's only once you lean in -- close, so damn close, so easy to close the gap -- to get a better look at the spot that he finds his voice again. 

        "Oh, you don't have to, it's--" he curses himself for stumbling, for being so breathless in your presence, considering your previous praise for his eloquence. He doesn't know why you keep coming back here, why you keep entertaining him as you do, but he's not going to complain. He swallows, counting to five before starting again with renewed, albeit artificial, confidence. "I'm sure that lovely, lovely silk piece cost you quite the pretty penny." 

        And this time, it's your turn to blink owlishly. You look at the cloth, then back at him, before laughing softly. And just like that you're leaning back in, once again coaxing the mire from his face. It's silent between the two of you for just a moment, so quiet that you damn near forget where you are. And in a moment of courage, you up his face in full. You feel his jaw clench beneath your hand, emboldening you to push just a bit further. You catch his eye, smiling softly. 

        "You know money doesn't mean a thing to me, Rocky," you murmur, just loud enough for the two of you to hear. 

        A million words are left silently humming in the gap between you, a million words you hope he can pick up on in your silence. 'Not when it's you,' you think to yourself. 'I'd give up every penny for just another second with you.' 

        There's a glimmer in your eyes that can only be described as fond, and he basks in it before you turn back to your task. This time, he doesn't stop you. 

[cremateyourlife]

Endeavor sucks so here's a rant cause i've seen too many people say he isn't that bad lately

(CW / TW for abuse, ptsd mention) going in best order of episode events, but also including manga spoilers (sections are indented so you can skip the manga parts)-

this is pulling from source material but also very opinioned based. I get people saying he's an interesting character (kinda) but i hate seeing people excuse what he did because "aww he feels bad now." like him if you want but hating on other's for not liking him is just stupid.

it will also be long, but I have a lot of thoughts, hope at least some people agree with me lmao

i started typing this around when ch 390 came out so i know this has all been said before but with the new season coming out and like i said more people defending him i wanted to finally post this

"The Boy Born With Everything."

"That kid of mine will beat you some day, I'll make sure of it. That's why I created him."

Endeavor admitting he only had kids to be heroes, ones better than All Might, shows he does not truly care about his children. He only wanted them because he couldn't handle his failures. He sees them as a tool, not as his own kids, not as people. That's obvious in almost everything he says to and about Shoto.

And while I hate him, he isn’t a failure hero wise. He’s literally the # 2 hero out of however many hundreds there are. He’s simply mad he can’t beat AM? What is he a child who thinks he deserves everything he wants because he’s never been told no?

When Shouto finally used his fire Endeavor yelled about him finally realizing his “purpose.” More proof he sees his children, Shouto specifically, as tools. They aren't humans to him, they don't have their own feelings or goals, they are a means to an end. A means to his end. Shouto overcoming his own guilt (guilt caused by Endeavor) doesn’t matter to him. What matters is he now feels Shouto is worth something.

Class 1A vs 1B (i dont remember the exact episode names)

the flashback we get after Tokoyami talks to Shouto we hear Endeavor say, “Touya was close… Come on Shouto you’re the only one who can master this move.” Endeavor was putting the weight of his dead son's “failure” on the shoulder of his 5 (?) yr old kid. Making the kid who just lost his older sibling feel like he has to be better, or he could die too.

“Quit pretending to be weak.” Bro that is your very young kid. He is weak. Train him early, sure, whatever, but this is just abuse. You aren’t training him. Pushing your kid to the point of throwing up isn’t just training. It isn’t him being weak. It’s abuse.

I know this show is very flashback heavy in the first place but I really do interpret all the flashbacks Shouto gets of his dad as PTSD. Often times when fighting and in battle, after getting hit, he has memories of his dad. Sure, this could just be his motivation but I think it’s more than that.

"The Unforgiven."

"I thought if I saved you, that you might never say a word to me ever again." Aka Endeavor saying, "I should save my son, so he maybe likes me again." Natsuo my beloved. I love when he is an ass to his dad. His own son is saying he could never forgive him because why does he "need to be the one to make an active effort to change?" and that even though Endeavor wants to make up what does he think he can do now? Natsuo will always see his dad as the one who killed his older brother, and I don't blame him. Because that is who Endeavor is.

"He literally says in the episode he doesn't want forgiveness." And? He doesn't deserve it. He doesn't need to make Natsuo feel better for hating him when he has every right to after what his dad did to him and his entire family.

Sure, this episode is us seeing a "change" in Endeavor because he wants to be better, however, this is my post so I will say why I have a problem with this lmao. When did we see Endeavor start to change? After he became the number one hero. After he realized people were going to be looking at him even more.

The only good thing he does is realize that in order for his family to be happy he cannot be in the picture.

"Dabi's Dance"

Not including all the scenes I want to bc if I did, I'd just insert the entire ep lmao

"Oh, but he is changing. He regrets his actions." Why didn't he have regrets years ago when, to everyone's knowledge, his 13 yr old son had died? Endeavor didn't start feeling "guilty" until he became the number 1 hero. (as stated before)

And yes, we see and hear how upset Endeavor was over Touya’s death, but did he change? Did he stop being abusive and neglectful? Did he apologize and see his faults? Nope. So how bad did he really feel.

Dabi himself called him out on this during "Dabi’s Dance" when he said, “Is that why you finally decided to try to bond with your children? Keep looking toward the future and you can be a better man?"

On top of it all, Endeavor didn’t even step in to fight. Yes, he was shocked seeing his dead son in front of him again, but do you not think Shouto was shocked seeing his dead brother? He still fought.

Chapter 350

Many people say Dabi was born in the fire. However, that isn't true. Touya didn't die in that fire. He died and Dabi was born 3 years later when he went back home and had seemingly been forgotten about. He woke up in a strange place, covered in burns and sounding completely different. He wanted to go home. He wanted to apologize for all the awful things he said. He was told that he has been severely injured and once again that he was a failure. He was scared and alone. So, he goes home thinking he will be accepted with open arms, that maybe everything would be better, and everyone will celebrate yet he gets there, and his dad is still the same. Abusing his siblings and his mom is gone. Not only that but to Touya's POV, he has been replaced by his younger brother.

Plus does that not show you who Endeavor is as a person? That even after pushing his son to death he didn’t change.

"The Wrong Way to Put Out a Fire"

i won't include any clips or panels from this bc it is very intense and while this post will talk about it i still don't want to include those pictures

Going ahead and getting this out of the way because people love bringing it up for some reason, while what Rei did to Shouto was awful, obviously, it is not even close to being on the same level as the things Endeavor did to the entire Todofam. Rei was scared to look her own kids in the eyes because when she did, she saw Endeavor. She saw Endeavor's rage and feared for her safety, and in a moment of a clear panic attack and mental break defended herself, because look at Rei and tell me that woman doesn't have PTSD.

If the entirety of this ep didn't make you hate Endeavor and see he is incapable of change then idk what to tell you. Him convincing his very young child that his sole purpose is to be the next number 1 hero. He then finds out his kid physically won't be able to do that he tells him that he simply isn't good instead of sitting down and talking to him.

Buying Rei because he wanted to create his perfect child, then forcing her to be some baby machine. (Random fact that always haunts me is that Touya and Fuyumi were born in the same year.) Abusing Rei repeatedly. As well as, hitting her in front of the kids with a very young Shouto between them while the other two hide in a corner. Blaming Rei for Toya continuing to train when it is his own fault. Then on top of that, not going to Sekoto peak. He could have shown up for 2 seconds but no.

We also see another instance of Rei seeing Endeavor in her own kids when she tried to stop Toya from going and training like when Shouto came to check on her when he was little.

When Touya had a breakdown and tried to kill Shouto, instead of seeing the pain Toya was feeling and realizing his own mistakes, Endeavor just isolated Shouto from his siblings. Didn’t let him play with them, by what Natsuo said at dinner he monitored what he ate and when.

Also, I don’t wanna her “Dabi was insane from the start” after trying to kill Shouto. That was an abused child, turned neglected child, asking to be seen. Begging to be looked at. He, like Rei later on, snapped. He realized that if he wanted to be seen then the only one his dad cared about needed to be gone

Chapter 390.

Shouto finally shows up and brings Dabi down. Somehow Dabi is still alive and this is where he states that everyone, including him, should die. Endeavor then apologizes. Sure, he apologized, better late then never, whatever. However, it just really feels like he is speaking over Dabi. Dabi could be dying, could be saying his last words, and Endeavor starts talking. I will say I like how he acknowledges exactly what he did in some way. That he "pushed Rei past her breaking point", "put everything on Fuyumi's shoulders", and "abandoned Natsuo." It just all feels so empty and really doesn't mean anything with his entire family burned and scarred and Dabi lying on the ground, as well as Shouto passing out.

Endeavor’s “I’m sorry” only goes so far when his son is lying almost burned to death yelling for them all to die, Shouto over working himself to stop Dabi when even his dad couldn’t, and his non hero family standing on the battlefield as well.

In conclusion, Endeavor is an abuser. He pushed his 13 yr old son to death, pushed his wife past her breaking point then sent her away, neglected his other two children because they weren't what he wanted, and only felt bad after he achieved his dream. After he got everything he wanted despite it being built on a broken home and the victims he created along the way.

Like I said if you want to like him that's fine, but don't get mad at others when they don't like him. The Todoroki subplot hits home for a lot of people. It is a very serious and real situation. Take away the hero aspect and Endeavor is just another abuser in the world, something many people have been through.

Anyways if anyone read all of this hope you enjoyed. Hope some people agree. If you didn't leave an ask or comment lmao let's debate.

[max1461]

The meaning of an utterance is dependent on context and shared knowledge. This is true in a weak sense and in a strong sense. The weak sense has traditionally more interested philosophers, while the strong sense has more interested linguists.

The weak sense is this:

You and I both learned the words we know through exposure to them in context. Because our life experiences have been slightly different, the meanings we have picked up for these words will differ slightly. So, for instance, when I hear the word "tree", I picture in my mind a certain thing, and when you hear the word "tree", you picture a slightly different thing. And so when someone says "there's a tree outside", the image you get in your mind will be slightly different than the one I get in mine. This doesn't so much matter with "tree", but with subtler ideas like "responsibility" or "inherent" or "help" or so on, this can be a significant impediment to communication.

The strong sense is this:

Contained within the grammar of every human language are explicit references to context, which directly affect the semantics of sentences. The most obvious examples are deictics: words whose referent is contextually determined. English deictics include words like this, that, here, there, etc. The place to which "here" refers is not an absolute, it varies on a sentence-to-sentence basis in response to context. If I am in Munich and I say "this here is a lovely city", I am making a different claim than if I said the exact same words while standing in Paris. This is not a subtlety in the process of interpretation generally, it is an explicit element of English grammar. Every known language has deictics, and languages have subtler grammatical references to context, too.

Another place where this manifests is in the referent tracking of pronouns. Imagine the following exchange:

Alice: "I met my new neighbor yesterday. Interesting guy. And he a dog named Bertrand, which is kinda funny." Bob: "Yeah that is kinda funny. So what's he do, what's his job?"

In this exchange, "he" in the second sentence refers to the neighbor. Of course you can intentionally interpret it as referring to the dog instead, and this is a common way to make a joke:

Alice: "I met my new neighbor yesterday. Interesting guy. And he a dog named Bertrand, which is kinda funny." Bob: "Yeah that is kinda funny. So what's he do, what's his job?" Alice: "He's the world's first canine philosopher!"

Ba-dum-tss.

But this interpretation is not the default one. However, you can shift the default interpretation by changing the context a little, for instance like this:

Alice: "I love dogs with jobs—you know, guide dogs, sled dogs, that kinda thing. I think that's so cute. So anyway, I met my new neighbor yesterday. Interesting guy. And he a dog named Bertrand, which is kinda funny." Bob: "Yeah that is kinda funny. So what's he do, what's his job?"

These examples pull on shared context in different ways. The first exchange uses general knowledge about the world to disambiguate pronoun referents: people have jobs and dogs don't. In the third example, immediate conversational context overrides this general context: we're talking about dogs with jobs, so "he" probably refers to the dog here.

There are even subtler cases of interpretation determined by context in these examples that you might have missed. For instance:

Alice: "I met my new neighbor yesterday. Interesting guy. And he a dog named Bertrand, which is kinda funny."

What's funny? That your neighbor has a dog? No, that's not it. It's that the dog's name is Bertrand. Why? Because we know Bertrand isn't a common dog name. Someone from a culture where, say, dogs are usually kept in zoos rather than owned as pets, but where Bertrand is a perfectly common name for one, might interpret this sentence in the opposite way.

Language is absolutely rich with this kind of context dependent semantics. And I mean basic, everyday language, too—not just literature or poetry or places where metaphor and linguistic ambiguity are employed intentionally.

There are basically three points I want to make here:

For the linguists: world knowledge is part of linguistic competence, or is at least a load-bearing pillar on which linguistic competence depends. Much of language can be characterized formally, in a way that a computer can understand. Indeed, large fragments of the referent tracking of pronouns can be formally described. But there are places where these formal systems abdicate responsibility; they defer to the speaker's world-model and say "you figure it out". Modeling these situations is very hard.

For the historian or the reader of history: you're screwed. Ok, that's an exaggeration. But when the basic structure of a sentence can often only be disambiguated using contextual information, much less the subtleties of the meaning of words, parsing ancient texts whose contexts you lack can be a very fraught affair. This opens up the door both for misinterpretation and for bad-faith reinterpretation, where someone comes along and supplies spurious or spuriously-relevant "contextualization" that actually does not bring you closer to the intended meaning. Cf. the Sumerian bar joke that no one understands.

For those who treat language as basically transparent (that is to say, those who think they can be confident in what things mean without devoting any meta-thinking to the question): this will probably not be a consistently successful strategy.

[unforgettwble-sumii]

SWEET SWEET JEALOUSY 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ

(Wednesday x Gn!reader)

—

• Scenario #1 - Xavier attempting to worm himself into your heart.

Now, it is quite obvious that Wednesday was not much of a fan of Xavier but after his attempts of trying to woo you, she was sure to start planning his funeral.

Wednesday was on her way to the table you were sitting at. She suddenly stopped in her tracks when she saw Xavier running his way to the same exact table she was about to go to. Your table.

She was curious at what he was about to do so, instead of making her way to your table, she quietly watched his every little step from behind one of the pillars.

curiosity has always been one of Wednesdays weakness so she couldn't help but "spy" on you guys. She didn't mean to, she just wanted to know what he wanted from you. Is that wrong? She doesn't think so.

"Y/N!" Xavier called out, his smile was so bright that he could be used as a backup when the sun decides to give up.

Wednesday made a face of disgust the minute he flashed that bright smile of his. He probably only smiled like that in attempt to charm you.

"Oh, hey Xavier." you smiled back, yet instead of Wednesday making a face of disgust, Wednesdays sharp gaze softened.

But Wednesday wasn't the only one who was enjoying that sweet smile of yours.

Xavier stood beside you, he was holding something behind him. You wondered what it was so, you asked him.

"Xavier, what's that behind you?" You asked curiously. Oh that sweet voice of yours not only caused Wednesdays face to lightly redden, but also Xavier's.

"Oh! Uhm- I got you these..heh" Xavier pulled something from behind your back and it was a, flower. Not just any type of flower, it was a red tulip.

Red tulips represent a declaration of love from someone who is begging the recipient to believe them when they confess their love.

"We grew it in class awhile back" He said sheepishly scratching the back of his neck.

That sly bastard.

"Oh...wow, they look pretty" you say admiring the flower. You thought that it was kind of weird for him to gift you this but you didn't wanna be rude, so you accepted it.

Oh how Wednesday wanted to rip his head off and feed it to the vultures that fly freely outside her home.

She decided that she wasn't gonna wait any further and made her way to the table where you and Xavier were talking.

"I think it's pathetic." She replied. Her sudden appearance and comment startled both you and Xavier.

"You declaring your love to someone who clearly isn't interested in you and who you know has a lover is merely pathetic." She continues, glaring into Xavier's soul.

Xavier was about to reply to her comment but before he could get a word out of his mouth, Wednesday pulled you to her side surprising you at her sudden action.

"Let's go, amor." She says while eyeing Xavier then quickly glancing back to you.

Your expression showed her that you were confused, though you decided not to ask her about her actions.

"Okay! See you in class Xavier!" You say waving him a goodbye. Xavier was about to wave goodbye but brought his hand back down when Wednesday turned her head to glare at him.

"That is if he actually gets there." Wednesday whispered under her breath causing you to turn your head to glance at her.

"What was that?" You asked.

"Nothing, amor."

—

• Scenario #2 - "I'll need to borrow this little cutie for a while, hope ya don't mind ;)." - Yoko

You were laying down on Wednesdays bed, phone in hand. While Wednesday was sitting infront of her desk.

She was doing her daily 1 hour of writing time, and she let you stay as long as you promised to keep quiet and not bother her while she typed on her typewriter.

You were getting quite bored because of how quiet it was and you were running out of ideas of things to do that won't tick Wednesday off.

You tossed and turned around on Wednesdays bed causing the bed to make loud creaking sounds, making Wednesday turn her head to glare at you.

"What did I say about keeping quiet?" She said. Voice firm as ever. "sorry, sorry. It's just- I'm bored."

You say laying on your stomach while hugging one of Wednesdays pillows.

Her pillow cover was black and at the bottom right corner there was an embroidery of her initials. W.A, stands for Wednesday Addams aka the love of your life.

But you would never say that to her (directly, at least) because that would probably scar Wednesday for life.

Wednesday sighed and continued to type on her typewriter. You were quietly laying down and thinking of what to do next until you heard a knock at the door. "I'm busy." Wednesday spoke up.

"stop that or I will butcher your hands and feed it to Cerberus himself." Wednesday yelled, causing you to glance at her.

"What if it's Enid???" You say getting up to go check out who was knocking.

"She can climb through the balcony to get in." Wednesday shot back.

You opened the door and to your surprise, it was not Enid. Instead, it was Yoko. "Hey there" Yoko gave you a playful smile.

"Hello, Yoko" you replied, giving her your own smile in return. "What is it that you so desperately need that made you disturb my writing time?" Wednesday asked. her typing not faltering even once.

"I'll need to borrow this little cutie for awhile, hope you don't mind." She replied to Wednesdays question, jokingly giving you a wink.

Yoko knew how possessive Wednesday could be when it came to people she cares about.

She just wanted to see how long Wednesday could keep it together before Wednesday decides to chokes her to death.

Wednesday turned around, stood up and replied to her with "I do mind. So, no you will not be borrowing them." The ravennette replied, eyeing the vampire. Her hand held yours in a defensive manner, and you and Yoko noticed that making Yoko give you a smirk.

"I need them for a project in botany cla-" Yoko didn't even have a chance to finish her sentence before Wednesday shut the door.

"she talks to much." Wednesday says staring at the door, causing you to giggle.

Wednesday tensed quite a bit when she heard your giggle but it made her small black heart warm up.....

—

• Scenario #3 - A new student has arrived and he happened to sit on her seat, right beside you.

You were sitting at your usual seat, right beside Wednesday. Except she wasn't here yet.

You wonder where your girlfriend could be since she's usually the first one to arrive in the classrooms.

Your hand was resting on your cheek, and while you were lost in thoughts a voice pulled you out of your trance

"Y/N!" A familiar blonde came running your way. "Hello, Enid." You say giving her a sweet smile.

"A new student is on their way here EEECKKK!!" The bubbly blonde squealed in excitement.

"Really?" You asked, now completely engaged into the conversation. Completely forgetting about your girlfriends absence.

The blonde quickly nodded. "That means a new friend!!!" She says dramatically clasping her hands. You chuckled at her actions.

"Oh, I should probably go! ttyl!!" She says running to her seat.

A little while later the professor arrived. And yet, still no sign of Wednesday. "Hello class, today we have a new student. I expect you guys to welcome them with open arms." The professor spoke up.

Then came a young student with white hair and fangs. By now, you knew that he wes a vampire.

"Hi, everyone. My name's Louise Nelson." He says with a small smile. He seemed like a shy boy, based on his posture and body language.

"Alright, Louise please sit down next to that student on the right, Y/N L/N. It seems like Addams won't be with us for today's discussion so I'm sure she wouldn't mind." The professor says pointing to the empty seat next to you.

Louise nodded and made his way next to you. You gave him a smile and he gave you a small shaky one in return.

The professor continued on with his discussion. A little while later, the door opened and in came a sweaty, out of breath, Wednesday Addams.

"I am sorry that I am late. It won't happen again." She says unnoticeably panting. The professor gave her a chance since this was the first time she was late for discussion.

"It's completely alright, Miss Addams. However, you'll need to sit in another seat since Mr. Nelson has taken your seat for today's lecture."

The ravennette glanced beside you and indeed, someone else was sitting on her seat. Wednesday nodded in response since she felt like nothing needed to be said.

She sat at the empty seat right behind yours. While on her way there, she completely stared at the back of Louise's head with a predatorial gaze

Knowing the young Addams, you knew she was planning something in her head, and it most likely included the following items; rope, shovel, and a bat with nails.

You gave her a smile in hopes of changing her mind, and you did. Kinda.

She sat at the seat behind you begrudgingly. She couldn't focus on the lecture and instead stared at the boy infront of her.

You turned to look at the ravennette behind you. She was staring so intently at the boy beside you that you felt it was appropriate to distract her.

'it's just for one lecture.' you mouthed to her while your hands make way on top of hers. she glanced back at you, "I'm trying my best not to lunge at him, Amor."

"And you're doing great." You gave her a smile and turned back to continue paying attention to the discussion infront of you.

Finally after 30 minutes of an excruciatingly long lecture, it was lunch time.

"Thankyou for letting me sit next to you. Even if your girlfriend seems to hate the fact that I was right beside you.." The young boy says, scratching the back of his neck.

"Oh, no worries. I know how hard it is being the new student at school." You say facing him and giving him a smile.

The boy felt his cheeks heat up and oh boy did Wednesday notice that...

"I'd like to have my lover back now." The ravennette spoke up. "Oh! Uh- yeah" Louise stuttered out.

Wednesday stared at him with a deadpanned expression the continued to look at you. "Uhm..- Y/N if you're free, do you wanna grab some coffee at the weathervane sometime?"

The boy said giving you a more confident smile than he gave you earlier on, and this time aswell the redness of his cheeks were very much visible.

Before you could respond, Wednesday went ahead and decided that she was gonna respond for you. "No. She wouldn't." And pulled you to the door.

You gave Louise an apologetic smile and a mouth 'sorry' while Wednesday pulled you along.

"I do not like him." Wednesday admitted. You giggled and cupped her cheeks. "But I'm glad he's out of sight now." She added, cheeks red at the sudden touch.

"You are all mine, Cara mia." Wednesday closed the remaining gap by pulling you into an unexpected hug making you give her a closed eye smile, completely feeling comfortable at the sudden closeness.

"Yes, all yours."

a/n:

Hello mi amor's, this was requested by a lovely anon: here.

Sadly I could only fit about 3 oneshots but they ended being quite long so I hope it makes up for it.

૮₍˶Ó﹏Ò 🎀₎ა

anon didn't specify the gender so I figured that I would just make it a gn!reader, hope that's okay! (⁠｡⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠) :D

it's the 2nd day of our sembreak and I hope that I'll be able to publish/make more oneshots and your requests!

ε(´｡•᎑•`)っ 💕

That's all remember that I luv u all so muchhh!! xoxo ♡ - ©unforgettwble-sumii

©unforgettwble-sumii's work. Pls do not repost, steal modify, or translate.

Bonus!! As a token of gratitude for all the support I've been getting, here are pics of Jenna/Wednesday ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა

Credits to:

@livilmc15, @oneway_closet, & @lucasinclairsbff On Pinterest for these lovely pics! <33