#I was a hater at first but maybe i am coming around

[bybdolan]

The album is growing on me i love being a swiftie

[stxrslut]

LET HIM REST 𐙚⋆.˚

pairing; s4 jj maybank x cupcake!reader

summary;  it's safe to say jj may have crashed out tonight, and you are the only person he can turn to. so you make it your goal to get him taken care of, and at least a little content after the turmoil of tonight

content; hand job, mommy kink, titty sucking, adjacent to s4 plot

authors note; as much as I am a season 4 hater I did happen to find a small bit of inspiration from it... so without further ado...

jj is pacing around your room, hands on the back of his head, breathing erratically. you’re sitting on your bed. his boots are loud against the wood floor which is the exact opposite of what he’s supposed to be being right now. he’s supposed to be laying low and that involves staying quiet so that anyone going past or around the house wouldn’t hear him. 

“jay.. just.. just sit down.” you sigh, trying to get him to be calm, but he doesn’t listen. he’s limping a little, only because he’d jumped off a roof after starting a whole fucking riot, not a big deal at all. 

god, if you weren’t being the responsible one here you’d burst out crying. he’s being so frustrating, you need him to be calm so you can be calm. 

“can’t— I can’t fuckin’ do this anymore!” he yells and kicks the wall, making you flinch. you need him to calm down. 

“jj.. jj please. please sit down.” you stand now, placing a hand on his arm only to be pushed away. you sigh, “jj.” the agitation in your voice is made obvious by the weary sigh you let out. 

“shit.” he kicks the wall again, it cracks a little. you’re not sure if it’s sweat or tears coating his cheeks, maybe both. 

“come here jj,” you pull him back, speaking with only a little forcefulness in your voice. “please sit down… please.. let me help you.”

he complies, though he’s still agitated and probably still ready to break something. you guide him to sit down on the bed where you were before and then you take a place next to him. you put an arm around him and rest your head on his shoulder in an act of attempted comfort for both him and you.

jj reaches a breaking point right about now, you think. now it is tears. you're certain of it as his breath becomes ragged and his body begins to shake with small sobs that he's trying ever so hard to hold back. 

“jj… oh jj dont cry.” you rub his side. you feel so much sympathy for him in this moment, his whole world has fallen apart in the last few days. there's no legitimate solution that you can offer him. the least you can do at this point is try to help him get his mind off of it. “what do you need? tell me what you need, jj.” 

he sniffles, “just.. just don’t wanna think about it okay. don’t wanna talk.” okay, you can do that, you can not talk. you press your lips into the side of his arm. he needs a distraction, you can do distraction. 

“hey… why don't i look after you for a bit… take your mind off it.” your hand goes to rest on his leg as you look up at him from where you are. his eyes are red and sore, filled with excess tears. 

he sniffles almost pitifully but he nods, realising now just how much he needs a distraction. “yeah,” his voice is breathless, from the tears and the yelling. “please.” 

your hand begins to run up his leg, stopping when it reaches the top of the zipper on his jeans. “just concentrate on me, okay. i'm gonna take real good care of you baby.” you pull it down, revealing his boxers which you also pull down by the waistband.

he exhales shakily, leaning back on his arms. you pull him out of his pants and slowly begin to work him with your hands. it doesn't take much to arouse him, despite all the turmoil, it's still jj. 

you start to jerk him off, slowly at first, you don’t want it to be over too quickly. when you’re sure he’s ready you begin to move. 

you guide him and reposition gently to have him laying down on his back, you get onto your side next to him. your hand keeps working on his dick with a practised skill.  

you don’t quite notice when his hand comes up to tug on the neck of your shirt. it takes you a moment to realise what he wants, but when you do you’re happy to comply. you pull the clothing off, revealing your tits to him. his lips part and he moved himself over to easily attach his lips to your nipple. 

“mmh.. m— ma-” he’s babbling incoherently, but it’s okay, you know what he wants to say. you’ll let him say it. 

“it’s okay baby… mama’s gonna take care of you. s’all gonna be okay.” you murmur, free hand tangling in his hair whilst you keep jerking him off. 

his whole body is reacting. his hips buck and jerk and his stomach ripples though you don’t see it through his clothes. he keeps letting out noises too, whimpers and whines, ones you know that he only lets out when he really needs to. 

you don’t care that your nipple will be sore after this, you don't care that your arm will ache from moving it like this, you don’t care that you’re not receiving an ounce of pleasure. you love this boy, you need to take care of him otherwise you’ll be good for nothing. 

jj’s hips move more, you can tell he’s approaching a much needed climax. you keep going until he cums, making a mess on the sheets and both of your clothes but you don’t care. 

“oh.. there you go.” you make sure he rides it out, and when he does you let go and bring your hand up to rub his side. 

“felt good.” he breathes out, his mouth is still not fully detached from your boob but you pay no mind, he has needs. 

“yeah.. I’m glad.. you just relax now okay.. just relax.” you stroke his head as he settles down to shut his eyes. he’s still messy but it’s okay, you’ll clean him up when he’s asleep. get him changed too, his clothes are mucked up and ripped. 

but for now, just for now, you’re going to let him rest. 

[rxmye]

" 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 "

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 — For so long, he found art in his surroundings, nature was his muse . . who would've thought that he'd be able to find another muse, within you.

gender neutral reader / yandere oc x reader / obsessive / unhealthy themes / I guess the reader is his 'hater' / perfectionist yandere / kind of egotistic yandere / he has a praise kink frfr / maybe a bit self centered . . / kind of unedited / also might appeal to ppl with a savior complex

masterlist | requesting rules | character info . . . a/n: I feel like Lore takes up a good chunk of this fic, but enjoy . . also might be one of my longest fics . .

He was a calming presence, and a thoughtful friend to all he called his own. Elegance took a human form, in Xavier Wilson—A beautiful work of art indeed . . Born presenting a talent that could rival many others in the industry.

From a young age, Xavier presented himself as a man of the arts, often drawing out vivid tapestries of his dreams or memories. He would often lose himself in the pages of his notebook, scribbling away with intricate drawings and stories, his mind was his own magnum opus.

However—people was never his strong suit. It left a bitter taste in his mouth, surely if he was as magnificent as those around him expressed, he'd most certainly be able to recreate the portraits of those around him?—But no, none of his portraits could compare to his various other works.

As he got a bit older, his mother decided to enroll him in classes that could help expand his talents, which ranged from various music lessons, theater (didn't end well), art history—etc . . .

Xavier let out a breathy sigh, staring at the keys of the grand piano absentmindedly—his gloved fingers gently glide over the keys, tired would be the best way to describe him as of right now—his professor had left an hour ago, yet Xavier couldn't find it in himself to move.

Truth be told, Xavier wasn't a fan of music, he preferred quiet solitude—and though he had long since gotten used to the sound of the piano, violin, and any of the other ridiculous instruments his mother was so keen on getting him to play—he still preferred the silence over all.

Over the course of time, Xavier disinterest towards music dimmed—Alongside his distaste towards instruments . . He figured the reason he disliked it so much was due to his inability to play as perfectly as his professor . . Xavier was a perfectionist, and anything he couldn't perfect was simply 'wrong' in his eyes, and as he reached his teen years, he accepted that fact wholeheartedly.

Xavier stood still, as his mother fixed his tie for him—he could do it himself but he let her enjoy this moment, she always disliked watching her son 'grow up so fast'—"are you nervous?", she asked softly, gently holding his hands, smiling so brightly.

'Am I nervous?—' he thought, clearly not. He felt calm, neutral even. It was his first big show, yet internally he knew that things would end well for him, he could feel it. He's always been lucky, in fact his father's nickname for him as a child was quite literally 'Puer aureus' which translated to 'the golden boy' from Latin.

He clicked his tongue, a common habit of his—especially when he wasn't being exactly truthful—he paused for a moment as if to think, then he smiled at his mother, "Just a bit, but I'll be fine" he spoke calmly, gently squeezing her hand to reassure her. "Don't worry, I've prepared well for this . . Haven't I?"

Praise, he adored praise, and that day he received quite a lot of it—not just from his parents, or acquaintances . . .—but crowds of people. Honestly, it stroked his ego, quite a bit . .

By seventeen years of age, Xavier's talent was known worldwide, his rise to fame quite massive and fast . . He had to attend class, while also hosting live performances and art galleries. (such a struggle, really . . .)

University admissions were coming around, and most of his friends had chosen what schools they plan on applying to—what path they plan on going into—what school they hope to go to the most, the conversation was an eye opener and yet it all felt so bitter.

Xavier tapped his pen on the table, zoning out from the conversation his friends were having . . only to zone back in when Neva spoke, "—so Xavier, have you decided where you'll be applying too . . ? I'm sure you'll get in."

He clicked his tongue in response, closing his eyes absentmindedly as he spoke, "To be honest, not really . . probably something arts related?", Xavier was about to speak up again but stopped himself, starring down at the table, a sigh escaping his lips.

"That seems like a waste of money", he looked up, starring at Oliver with questioning eyes, and Oliver quickly explained himself, "Art school is great and all—But it won't really make much of a difference for you, in fact the rules could restrict your talent . . It could be better for you to just try something new? You're good in school a degree outside of your comfort zone may be something good for you!"

He hated that his friend was right, he hated being wrong. He prided himself for always knowing what was best for himself and his abilities, and in a spur of pettiness he found himself taking art anyway, trying to prove his friend wrong . . even though he was well aware his intentions were pure in all ways.

Xavier had done well in his courses so far, and with his fame, he was breezing through classes—and yet, when the topics of portraits came up . . he found all that floating out the window.

None of the models they had for class, felt right—none of the art he did, felt authentic . . felt like himself, when it came to art, Xavier took everyone to paradise, his art felt like peace . . his art was calm . . his music was soft, lulling almost . .

Yet now, as he stared at his canvas, covered in mixed harsh colours, a vibrant mess of paint, his brushes wrecked, paint dripping from the easel . . It felt like anything but calm.

And that's when he dropped out, a question to his perfection would wreck the fragile image of himself he had created in his mind, a man so perfect and lucky in his own right a humbling experience like that was to never see the light of day.

Xavier found himself turning to something different, just like Oliver suggested, his alternatives were selective, yet he kept many paths open, Photography, fashion, and business were his top picks and things he found himself surprisingly enjoying . . Surely if he could paint and create melodies of such wonders, then he can stitch some fabric together, solve a few equations, and take a few photo's here and there just fine . . right?

A few years had past, and Xavier was now running his very own Luxury fashion line, he still hosted art galleries here and there, and composed music on the side, but his business took up most of his time.

But on his free days he'd turn to photography, taking pictures of things he sought comfort in . . and people, he'd often take pictures of unsuspecting people, pretty ones . . people not so pretty as well, just to try and recreate the life they had on a canvas . . yet somehow always failing to do so.

The moment Xavier found himself close, he'd reach a dead end . . and that destroyed him, internally.

Over the years, he accepted the small flaws in his behavior, and tried his best to reform them, presenting himself as the perfect public figure. He did go to therapy in the past, but when things started rising up, he quit entirely.

Xavier laid back on his office chair, and scrolled through his recent posts comment section, and as expected almost all of it was praise . . some of envy, but that only fueled his ego more . . Until he found a comment that set him off, "His art is so melancholy, it feels a bit sad . . His previous works were brighter, like more happy but now it kind of feels sad . . Like the life in his work isn't there anymore."

Xavier stared at the comment dumbfounded, never had he received that kind of feedback . . portraits he drew were indeed lifeless, but his other art was always regarded as lively, and that was what he always strived for . . Curious, and in a fit of rage . . he clicked on the commenters profile, and saw you.

You, you . . You were what he was looking for, his muse. So, full of life . . He scrolled through your page, and couldn't help but feel the urge to draw you, and paint you . . and paint you he did. . Because soon his entire studio was filled with pieces inspired by you . . so full of 'life' . . .

Yet at some point, he had reached the end of your posts, and it just wasn't enough . . he needed you . . He wanted your feedback, he craved your praise . . like no other, he wanted input . . he wanted to know if his work was truly still lifeless . . he wanted you.

After all, a artist isn't complete without his muse.

@ rxmye , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

[sanaexus]

social's as chigiri's girlfriend

-liked kuniisuke, nagi.seishiro and 155.6k others

yourusername: he lets me touch his hair i win losers

tagged: chigi.who

kuniisuke: yeah but i'm the one who he kicks balls with ↳hiyori: MATE. NO. ↳yourusername: yeah and i'm the one playing with his balls ↳karasu_tabito: okay what the fuck ↳chigi.who: not true please don't trust her ↳eita.otoya: you sure ab that princess? ↳yourusername: ew don't you have enough bitches already?

nikkoki: he looks so tired of you in the second picture ↳yourusername: YOU CAN'T EVEN SEE HIM WHAT ↳nikkoki: exactly. his annoyance radiates off the picture ↳yourusername: go back to crying like a lil wuss or something

user1: i love your eyelashes ↳yourusername: i love you ↳chigi.who: no you don't ↳yourusername: i'm a free independent woman with my own free will ↳chigi.who: icecream if you shut up ↳yourusername: ok ↳karasu_tabito: so you just buy her silence? ↳chigi.who: yes ↳yourusername: HE LETS ME TOUCH HIS HAIR TOO SO HONESTLY I'M WINNING ↳karasu_tabito: valid

kenyu.yukimiya: what the fuck is he doing in the first picture? ↳chigi.who: can't you see? ↳chigi.who: oh wait no nevermind he actually can't ↳yourusername: THAT'S SO RUDE?? SAY SORRY ↳chigi.who: i'm sorry that you're blind as a bat i guess ↳kenyu.yukimiya: fuck you

mikka.kaiser: why is everyone fucking everyone in this comment section ↳alexis.ness: could be us? ↳isaichii: no one's fucking

-liked by megubachi, reo.miikage and 163.9k others

yourusername: in a world full of boys he's a gentleman (the last image is me n him)

tagged: chigi.who

chigi.who: no that is not us what the fuck. ↳yourusername: aww hyo don't be shy ↳chigi.who: you like playing w my hair right? ↳yourusername: no i'm sorry+ i love you+ don't remove my hair touching privilege + i'm js a girl + don't be a hater

megubachi: the last image is canon (i was the chair) ↳yourusername: my real one fr ↳isaichii: bavjura i didrn except tjis frmo yoi ↳rin.itoshi: what ↳yourusername: "bachira i didn't expect this from you" ↳megubachi: you're still my number one ↳isaichii: sorry guys kaiser was chasing me around like a mad maniac ↳mikka.kaiser: come to papa ↳reo.miikage: what the fuck

nikkoki: was the last picture really necessary? ↳yourusername: are you really necessary ↳isaichii: throwback to the time when someone asked chigiri if his haircare was necessary and without any hesitation he went "are you really necessary" ↳shiidoryu: dk ab that but i can throw a back ↳chigi.who: did it once and i'll do it again

user2: you should date me instead i'll let you touch my hair ↳yourusername: oh emm gee let's go on a date to the park and we'll terrorize kids tgt !! ↳user2: ofc bae ↳chigi.who: i am that kid because what the fuck . ↳yourusername: 🙁 ↳chigi.who: ew ↳yourusername: BEO YOU BETTER FUCKING SLEEP WITH A EYE OPEB I'M GONNA FUCKING CHOP OFF YOU'RE HAIR STEAL YOUR SISTER AND THAN LIKE DRAW IN YOUR FACE ↳mikka.kaiser: bro* an* open* your* then* on* ↳shiidoryu: SHUT UP CAN YOU NOT ENJOY THE DRAMA W/O BEING AN GEEK FOR 2 MINUTES ↳alexis.ness: it's a geek and don't talk to kaiser like that you good for nothing zesty butt loving horny demon ↳itoshi_sae: please help he keeps touching my butt ↳shiidoryu: you're into that bae 😘

-liked by julian.loki, oliver.aiku and 211.5k others

chigi.who: i actually act like a normal boyfriend

tagged: yourusername

julian.loki: just how broad is normal in this situation? ↳yourusername: broader than yo mom ↳julian.loki: .. ↳julian.loki: ok i kinda maybe sorta might have laughed ↳yourusername: normal can mean pushing me off a swing or fighting w a 7 year old who was rude to me btw ↳oliver.aiku: bro got bullied by a 7 year old ↳yourusername: you got cooked by a guy who does puzzles btw ↳oliver.aiku: bye

yourusername: i'm spiderman (REAL NOT CLICKBAIT 3AM CHALLENGE GONE WRONG 🙀🙀😱😱💯💯) ↳rin.itoshi: weren't you batman? ↳yourusername: shhhh that's a secret ↳megubachi: I'M BATMAN??? ↳yourusername: no but you can be hello kitty ↳megubachi: deal

nagi.seishiro: how much we betting y/n fell of the roof on her ass ↳yourusername: RUDE !! I HOPE CHOKI DIES ↳nagi.seishiro: not cool dude :x ↳chigi.who: she did in fact actually fall on her ass ↳yourusername: ihy ↳chigi.who: not what you were saying last night ↳yourusername: I'M STILL A MINORR ↳eita.otoya: TRYNA STRIKE A CORD AND IT'S PROLLY A MINORRR ↳mikka.kaiser: drake fr got cooked ↳yourusername: so did you ↳karasu_tabito: drake x kaiser

yourusername: no but i fr love you ↳chigi.who: i know you do ↳yourusername: WOULD IT KILL TO TELL ME YOU LOVE ME BACK?? ↳chigi.who: i'm js a girl ↳kuniisuke: I FUCKING CALLED IT HE WAS TOO 💅💅 TO BE A SWEATY MAN WHO KICKED BALLS ↳reo.miikage: what ↳megubachi: wajt ↳isaichii: huh ↳hiyori: the fuck ↳mikka.kaiser: why ↳alexis.ness: what ↳eita.otoya: 💀 ↳karasu_tabito: w h a t . ↳rin.itoshi: what the actual fuck ↳shiidoryu: I FUCKING KNOW RIGHT ↳itosh_sae: no ↳barou.shoei: get help and sleep because it's 2 fucking am ↳chigi.who: :p

chigi.who: you're pretty ↳yourusername: i know

wellll that was mid asf i don't know how to write chigiri exactly if you can see but it's fine

[corroded-hellfire]

hi, babes! i saw that you’re open to some AYW blurbs so i wanted to shoot my shot 🥹 i am YEARNING for jealous!eddie sooooo bad so could we pretty please with cherries on top have a lil blurb about him where a different dad hits on the reader while they’re picking up the boys from school or maybe while they’re doing some kind of errands like grocery shopping or something? it could be from when they’re already dating or from when they’re just pining over each other, it’s up to you! i just want possessive!eddie to come back lmaooo thank you in advance if you choose to do this! i love youuu and the entire AYW universe ❤️

Jealous!Eddie? Possessive!Eddie? Oh, you're definitely speaking my language. As much as I love Eddie being possessive after he and Reader get together, there's something about Eddie being a total jealousy monster while they're still just pining for one another that butters my biscuit.

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: age gap, Eddie is technically married to someone else but if you know this series you know what that's all about

[As You Wish masterlist]

The stoplight turns green, and you put pressure on the gas pedal of your gold Elantra. The car rumbles down the road as you bop your head and sing along to the radio. Everybody (Backstreet’s Back) by The Backstreet Boys is a great song, you don’t care what boy band haters say. 

It’s part of the usual routine for you to be early when arriving at Hawkins Elementary School to pick up Ryan and Luke, but since your literature class let out twenty minutes before it was supposed to, you’re extra early. You turn your car into the school’s parking lot and find a visitor spot that will allow you to easily swing into the pick-up line when the time comes. 

Car in park, you turn the volume on the radio up and tuck one leg underneath you. You’re so engrossed in the music that you have to do a double take when you see an attractive man walk past a few cars, headed toward the school.

It’s Eddie. Something is in his hand but he’s moving so briskly that it’s hard to tell what it is. Lead fills your stomach. Why is he here? What happened? Did something happen with the boys? Are they okay?

You yank the key out of the ignition mid-song and throw open the driver’s side door. 

“Hey, Eddie!” you call as you jog to catch up with him—his long legs striding further in one step than either of his sons can go in three. 

Eddie turns his head as he reaches for the handle of the door. He’s just reached the entrance, and he stops with his hand on top of the silver bar. You could almost swear his tense face eases into a smile when he sees you coming up behind him. But perhaps that’s just wishful thinking. Of course it is. What else would it be?

“What’s going on?” you ask. “Is everything okay?”

He sighs and pulls open the front door of the school, gesturing for you to step inside first. You do, and he follows in behind you. He lifts his other hand which is holding a pair of small pants.

“The school called me at work and said Luke spilled glue all over his pants, so I grabbed a pair from home for him to change into,” he explains. “I tried calling you when I got to the house, but I guess you were already on your way.”

It should probably surprise you more than it does that Luke got into such a sticky situation, but you’ve known him for long enough that this just seems par for the course.

“Oh, Luke,” you sigh as you and Eddie stride side by side down the hallway.

“He keeps life interesting,” Eddie says. He checks his watch and sees there’s less than half an hour left in the school day. He gestures toward a classroom door covered in student’s artwork. “Might as well grab Ryan from his class since it’s right here.”

You wait out in the hall as Eddie slips inside to get his oldest son.

“He did what?” you hear Ryan asking as Eddie opens the door on his way out. The little boy looks as if he’s going to say something else, but he sees you standing in the hall and immediately steps forward and wraps his arms around your waist. “Hi!”

“Hey, Ry.” You chuckle at his eagerness and ruffle his honey brown hair. “How was school?”

“Pretty good,” he says as he takes your hand. Both Munsons head down the hall, you tagging along since you don’t know the right direction to go in. “I played kickball in gym. I ran the bases so fast!”

“Nice!” You hold your free hand up for a high five, which he gladly returns.

Eddie stops in front of another classroom door and nods towards it.

“Okay, I’ll be right back.” 

He slips inside and Ryan swings your joined hands between the two of you for a few moments until the door opens again and Luke waddles out in a bow-legged stance, feet slowly shuffling him along.

“What did you do?” Ryan asks with a sigh. It’s in the same exasperated tone that Luke brings out of a lot of people.

“Nothing!” his little brother defends. “The bottle was clogged so I took the lid off. Then it slipped out of my hands!”

Eddie lets out a silent chuckle as he closes the classroom door behind them. 

“I think they’re stuck to me!” Luke says.

“Okay,” Eddie says, gently taking Luke by the shoulders and leading him towards a bathroom a few doors down. “I can help get them off.”

“Can Ryan?” Luke asks, reaching for the door handle.

“Ry?” Eddie looks at his oldest son.

“Yeah, let me help.”

Ryan holds the door open and Luke crab walks his way into the single bathroom. The door clicks closed behind them and Eddie gives you an amused look. You can’t help but giggle as the two of you wait out in the hall. 

Sounds of movement come from the other side of the door, along with the murmur of Luke’s voice as he speaks to his brother. A few minutes pass before the door opens a crack and Ryan sticks his head out.

“Daddy?” he asks. “Can you get a Band-Aid from the classroom?”

“He’s bleeding?” Eddie asks, slight alarm creeping into his voice.

Ryan sighs. “Glue pulled off a scab on his knee.”

“Alright, I’ll be right back,” Eddie says. He looks at you as Ryan pulls his head back inside, and you nod, letting Eddie know you’ll be here with the boys. 

Parents begin to trickle into the hallway. It’s the kindergarten wing so it’s not unusual for guardians to be waiting right outside the classroom to pick up their kids. Luke was more capable than that, he assured when he said that he could walk to the pick-up lane outside all on his own—or sometimes with Ryan. 

“Everything okay?” a voice asks from behind you.

“Oh!” You’re slightly startled as you spin around to see a man standing near you. 

A smile quirks up on one side of his mouth when he sees he surprised you. His smile is nice, you notice. In fact, all of his face is nice. He’s around Eddie’s age and height, with short black hair and piercing green eyes. Very attractive. 

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” you say with a wave of your hand. “Um, yeah, everything is okay. Just a glue incident.”

“Been there,” the man says with a gruff laugh. “Nail polish remover.”

“I’m sorry?” you ask.

“Nail polish remover will get the glue off of clothes,” he clarifies. “Just in case you or your husband didn’t know that.”

His words fluster you. Had he seen Eddie and just assumed he was your husband? Or was he just assuming in general? Either way, it takes a moment for you to compose yourself. 

Part of you doesn’t want to correct him. But it’s possible the boys can hear this conversation through the wood of the door. Also, what if the man says something similar after Eddie comes back? Eddie would obviously refute, and you’d be mortified all the way around. 

“Oh, uh, he’s um, he’s not my husband. He’s their dad. I’m the babysitter.”

“Ah, my mistake. Sorry.” He doesn’t look the least bit sorry though. “I should’ve guessed. You’re far too young to be their mom.”

He must’ve seen Eddie and at least Ryan, then. 

Again, you’re flustered. He’s clearly flirting with you, so why does part of you want Eddie to hurry up and come back? This man is handsome and charming and neither of you are doing anything wrong by having this conversation with one another. There’s not a ring on his finger either, you notice. 

You still haven’t responded though.

“You have a beautiful smile,” he says.

You hadn’t even realized you were smiling. 

“Thank you,” you say, your smile turning shy.  

The man takes a step closer to you and tilts his head to the side.

“Do you come by here every day? Or is it just my lucky day?”

Behind you, Eddie comes back with a Band-Aid in his hand. He hears the man’s question and immediately his hackles go up. His back straightens and his jaw sets as he purposely squeaks one of his black boots against the tile floor. 

The sound has the intended effect, and you spin around in his direction. Why do you feel as though you’ve been caught doing something wrong? An image of Brittany’s beautiful, cold face flashes in your mind and the trace of guilt disappears.

“You got it?” you ask Eddie.

“Yep,” he states curtly. 

He brandished the Band-Aid, realizing he had crumpled it in his fist in his irritation. He knocks on the bathroom door. “It’s me. Here’s the Band-Aid.”

Ryan opens it a crack and sticks his hand out. Eddie lays it in his palm as you hear a footstep right behind you.

Spinning back, you see that the handsome man is closer to you now. Eddie is not happy. But neither you nor the man notice. 

“I feel like I would’ve noticed you here before,” the man says to you.

“I’m usually in the carpool,” you explain. 

“See, I knew I would have recognized you,” he says with a bright smile. “You’re very pretty.”

Your face immediately fills with heat. So does Eddie’s, but for another reason entirely. 

“Thank you,” you say.

A fist banging on the door behind you startles you, and you spin around to see Eddie pounding on the wood.

“How’s it going?” Eddie asks loudly. 

“Good!” Luke calls back. “I’m almost all the way unstuck!” 

Eddie takes a breath and turns towards you.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to stay here through this.”

Though he didn’t consciously intend it, there’s possessiveness in the pet name. It’s not uncommon for him to call you “sweetheart,” but this time there’s a harshness in his tone that whispers he’s staking his claim on you.

This may be the only time Eddie has ever wanted you to go away from him. And it’s not because of him, but because of the flirtatious father that is not him. The father who can’t leave with you because he’s still waiting for his kid.

“Oh no, I’m fine,” you assure Eddie. “I can take the boys back home and you can go back to work.”

Eddie waves a hand dismissively.

“Nah, I already took the rest of the day off.” 

The stranger behind you opens his mouth to speak, so Eddie makes sure to beat him to it.

“What do you say we go get some food once Situation Sticky Pants is solved?” Eddie asks. “The gremlins are always hungry.”

“If I had a nickel for every time Luke climbed into my car and immediately brought up food, I’d be able to buy this school,” you say with a fond smile. 

Eddie’s responding chuckle makes your heart leap into your throat. You’re so ensnared by the man you’re so infatuated with that you almost miss his eldest son calling your name through the bathroom door.

Quickly, you shake it off and press your ear up against the smooth wood.

“Yeah, Ry?”

While your focus is on the boy talking to you from inside the bathroom, Eddie looks at the man behind you, steel in his deep brown eyes. The man doesn’t react or respond one way or the other. It irritates Eddie even further. 

“What was the name of that movie we watched yesterday?” Ryan asks you.

“Flubber?”

“That’s it!” you hear Luke say.

“Okay, thank you!” Ryan adds. 

You pull away from the door with a soft chuckle.

“I really hope whatever conversation they’re having about that movie has nothing to do with getting Luke’s pants unstuck,” Eddie says. 

You lean back against the cool, white brick wall next to the bathroom door and the man sidles up closer to you. Eddie doesn’t have the chance to intervene before he speaks this time.

“I know it’s a shot in the dark,” the man says to you, “but would you want to get dinner sometime?”

You’re stunned speechless. Sure, he had been flirting with you, but you assumed that’s all it was. Just some innocent, fun flirting. A date could also be some innocent fun, you tell yourself. And this man has been nothing but kind and respectful towards you. But…it doesn’t feel right. It’s hard to parse out if it feels wrong accepting another man’s advances in front of Eddie because of how you feel for your boss, or you just don’t want to go out with the guy, as nice as he seems. Just because he’s nice doesn’t mean you owe him anything. Regardless, you feel a sense of relief when you decide to decline his offer.

What you don’t know is that Eddie is ready to combust behind you. Waiting for you to answer the question is pure agony for him. He’s pretty sure he’ll burst into flames if you keep him in suspense any longer.

“Oh, that’s very sweet of you,” you say. 

Eddie’s heart seizes in his chest. He leans his shoulder against the wall, hoping it will help keep him propped up. 

“But…” you continue, and Eddie’s heart starts beating again, even if it’s at an erratic rhythm. 

“I actually have a boyfriend though,” you finish. 

Eddie feels sick. He half thinks he’ll have to barge in on the boys in the bathroom and empty his stomach into the toilet.

The man gives you a sad smile and nods his head.

“He’s a lucky guy.”

You offer him a small smile just as the bathroom door bangs open and the boys step out—Luke clad in his glue-free jeans.

“How we doing?” you ask them.

“Good!” Luke grins and gives you two thumbs up. His previous pair of jeans are slung over his shoulder. Eddie slips them off and rolls them up into a ball. 

“We ready to go?” Eddie asks.

Luke nods his head enthusiastically and slips his smaller hand into yours. He begins to pull you in the direction of the school’s exit. You turn your head as you’re pulled away and give the man a small smile.

“Have a nice day,” you wish him.

“You as well,” he replies. 

Once your gang makes it into the parking lot, the boys start bickering about whose car they want to ride in. They come up with Rock, Paper, Scissors as a way to decide.

While they play that, Eddie turns to you. 

“Boyfriend, huh?” he asks. It takes a Herculean amount of effort to keep bitterness from coating those words. 

Eddie knows he has no right to ask you about this and it’s completely inappropriate. Yet, he can’t stop himself from asking. 

“Hmm?” you question. As soon as his question registers in your brain, adrenaline pumps through your body, eager to let Eddie know that you’re very available—even if it doesn’t make a difference one way or the other. “Oh! No, no, I don’t have a boyfriend. My best friend taught me to use that excuse when I don’t want to accept. It’s a no, but the guy won’t get all bent out of shape or start harassing me because it doesn’t really hurt his pride.”

“Wow,” Eddie says, blowing out a breath. He’s immensely relieved that you’re single, but also annoyed that you’ve had to employ this trick for your safety. ‘I am so sorry that you have to do that. A ‘no’ should be enough.”

“Should be.” You agree with a shrug. “But it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“Scissors!” Luke exclaims before he turns in your direction. “We’re riding with you!”

“Want to meet at the diner on Essex?” Eddie asks.

“Sure!”

Eddie ushers the boys into the back of your car and makes sure they’re buckled in before walking across the parking lot to his own truck. As he slips into the driver’s seat and turns the key in the ignition, Eddie replays the last fifteen minutes in his head. 

“She said no to that guy,” Eddie muses out loud to himself as he navigates through the traffic that’s collected in front of the school. “She said no to that guy because she has a boyfriend. But she doesn’t have a boyfriend.”

A large sigh of relief spills from his lips. The mere thought of you having a boyfriend created a multitude of knots in Eddie’s stomach. He can’t even bear to think about how much of a hypocrite it all makes him. 

“But…” Eddie continues to himself, a new sickening thought taking root. “Oh, fuck. What if she didn’t want to date that douche because he’s older than her. My fucking age.”

The thought disheartens him even more than the idea of you having a boyfriend does. He reaches up and rubs his calloused hands over his face as he rolls up to a red light. 

“Jesus Christ, Munson,” he groans. “You’re sitting here, talking to yourself about whether or not she has a boyfriend, or if there’s a possibility she could be into someone older. You’re fucking married, douchebag. It shouldn’t matter one way or the other if she's with someone or not. Or who she might want to date or not.”

The light turns green, and Eddie lets his foot rest heavy against the gas.

Maybe none of this should matter to Eddie. But it sure as hell does.

[zot3-flopped]

Sylvia Plath did not stick her head in an oven for this! When Taylor Swift took the Grammys stage last month to claim her award for Best Pop Vocal Album for Midnights, she saw that spotlight as an opportunity to announce her 11th studio album: The Tortured Poets Department. The follow-up cut to audience members—Swift’s music industry peers, mind you—told us all that we would ever need to know, and the collective disinterest across the crowd echoed through our TVs.

Folks from all walks of life took to social media to express a multitude of reactions. Swifties clamored to their beloved monarch’s forthcoming era, while others lambasted the terminally cringe title and artwork and ridiculed Swift for making a night recognizing musical achievements across an entire industry about herself—knowing perfectly well that it would send her fanbase into a surge that would, no doubt, overpower the excitement around the ceremony itself.

Quite a few people questioned whether or not that moment suggested that a critical—definitely not commercial—tide would turn against the world’s most-famous pop star. And, perhaps it has—but, to most, it will look like nothing more than a single ripple in Swift’s ocean of successes.

Swift remained relatively hush-hush about The Tortured Poets Department up until its release, leaving her fans, admirers and haters alike with nothing but an album title to ponder about. And it’s a bad title.

If you have never been in Swift’s corner, her taking the route of labeling her next “era” as “tortured” was likely catnip for your disinterest. If you are a fan—not necessarily a Swiftie, but even just a casual lover of her best and brightest work—you might be beside yourself about the first Swift album title longer than one word in 14 years.

In terms of popularity—certainly not always in terms of quality—no musician has been bigger this century than Swift, which makes it impossible to really buy into the “torture” of it all.

This is not to say that Swift being the most famous person in the world makes her immune to having multi-dimensional feelings of heartbreak, mental illness or what-have-you.

But, she has made the choice—as a 34-year-old adult—to take those complex, universal familiars and monetize them into a wardrobe she can wear for whatever portion of her Eras Tour setlist she opts to dedicate to the material.

Torture is fashion to Taylor Swift, and she wears her milieu dully. This album will surely get comparisons to Rupi Kaur’s poetry, either for its simplicity, empty language, commodification or all of the above.

And, sure, there are parallels there, especially in how The Tortured Poets Department, too, is going to set the art of poetry back another decade—as Swift’s naive call-to-arms of her own milky-white sorrow rings in like some quintessential “I am going to take pictures of a typewriter on my desk and have a Pinterest mood-board of Courier New font” iPhone fodder. 2013 called and it wants it capricious, suburban girl-who-is-taking-a-gap-year wig back!

Soaking our book reports in coffee or having our moms burn the edges with a kitchen lighter cannot come back into fashion; the cyclical notions of culture cannot make the space for such retreads.

There is nothing poetic about a billionaire—who, mind you, threatens legal action against a Twitter account for tracking her destructive private jet paths—telling stadiums of thousands of people every night that she sees and adores them.

Tavi Gevinson says it well in her Fan Fiction zine: “When 80,000 people are also crying, you become less special, too.” If Swift can return to one of her dozen beach houses across the world, kick up her feet and say “I’m a poet of struggle,” then who is to say that millions—maybe billions—of people with access to a notes app and a social media account won’t dream that dream, too?

Maybe that looks like a net-positive, but it’s inherently damning and destructive to take an art form that has long stood on the shoulders of resistance, of love and of opposition to power, systematic injustice and climate warfare and boil it down to the new defining era of your own 10-digit revenue empire. “My culture is not your costume,” yada, etc.

The Tortured Poets Department does begin with a shred of hope that, just maybe, Swift knows what she’s talking about—as she sneaks in a cheeky “all of this to say,” textbook transitional phrasing for poets, on opening track “Fortnight.”

But “Fortnight” unmasks itself quickly as a heady vat of pop nothingness, though it isn’t all Swift’s fault. “I was a functioning alcoholic, ‘til nobody noticed my new aesthetic,” she muses, attempting to bridge the gap between a behind-the-scenes life and on-stage performance—only for it to occur while propped up against the most dog-water, uninspired synth arrangement you could possibly imagine.

Between producer Jack Antonoff’s atrocious backing instrumental and the Y2K-era, teen dramedy echo chamber of a vocal harmony provided by out-of-place guest performer Post Malone, “Fortnight” chokes on the vomit of its own opaqueness.

“I took the miracle move-on drug, the effects were temporary,” Swift muses, and it sounds like satire. This is your songwriter of the century? Open the schools.

The Tortured Poets Department title-track features some of Swift’s worst lyricism to-date, including the irredeemable, relentlessly cringe “You smoked then ate seven bars of chocolate, we declared Charlie Puth should be a bigger artist / I scratch your head, you fall asleep like a tattooed golden retriever” lines glazed atop some synthesizers and drums that just ring in as hollow, unfascinating costuming.

Aside from the Puth nod, which I can only discern as a joke (given the fact that he is one of the 150-most streamed artists in the world and is one of the blandest pop practitioners alive—I don’t care if he can figure out the pitch of any sound you throw at him), I think Antonoff should stick to guitar-playing. Get that man away from a keyboard, I’m begging you.

Synths can be, if you use them correctly, one of the most emotional and provocative instruments in any musician’s tool-box. There’s a reason why keyboards defined the 1980s; they rebelled against the very oppressive nature existing outside of the cultural company they kept. There’s resistance in electronic music that, while they brandish an aesthetic that, to a layman’s ears, seems like technicolor hues for any infectious pop track, it’s a genre that aches to tell its own story. That is simply not the case here, and that electronica hangs Swift out to dry when she drags us through the lukewarm “I laughed in your face and said, ‘You’re not Dylan Thomas, I’m not Patti Smith’ / This ain’t the Chelsea Hotel, we’re modern idiots” lines, only to hit us with a softly sung F-bomb that sounds like a billionaire’s rendition of that one Miranda Cosgrove podcast clip.

I used to rag pretty heavily on Reputation—mostly because I thought (and still do, mostly) that it sounded like Swift had given up on making interesting, progressive pop music; that, in the wake of her (arguably) best album, 1989, it seemed like she’d lost the plot on where to go next. But as she’s put out Midnights and The Tortured Poets Department back-to-back, I find myself clamoring for the Reputation-era more than ever—at least seven years ago, Swift wrote songs like she had something to prove and even more to lose.

That was the always-obvious charm of Reputation, even despite the downsides—that she took a big swing from the echelons of her own musical immortality, that the comforts of winning every award and selling out the biggest venues in the world were no longer pillowing her aspirations. Even though that swing didn’t land, she still made it in the first place—and Swift is at her best either when she is clawing upwards (Reputation) or faced with nowhere to go but into the studio and noodle with the bare-bones of her own sensibilities (folklore).

You get something like The Tortured Poets Department when the artist making it no longer feels challenged, where she strikes out looking.

The mid-ness of The Tortured Poets Department will not be a net-loss for Swift. She will sell out arenas and get her streams until she elects to quit this business (a phrase decidedly not in her vocabulary, surely).

She will sell more merch bundles than vinyl plants have the capacity to make, and rows of variant LP copies will haunt the record aisles of Target stores just as long as Midnights has—if not longer.

Perhaps, in five or six years’ time, we will speak of this record just as we now do of Reputation. But right now, it is obvious that Swift no longer feels challenged to be good. The Tortured Poets Department is the mark of an artist now interested in seeing how much their empire can atone for the sins of mediocrity.

Can Swift win another Album of the Year Grammy simply because she released a record during the eligibility period? The Tortured Poets Department reeks of “because I can,” not “because I should.”

On “I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can),” Swift tries stepping into the shoes of the country renegades who came before her—the Tammy Wynettes and Loretta Lynns of the world. But her self-aggrandizing inflation of importance, glinting through via a seismically-bland bridge, is backed by a minimal set dressing of guitar, drum machine and keys.

“Good boy, that’s right, come close,” she sings. “I’ll show you Heaven if you’ll be an angel—all mine. Trust me, I can handle me a dangerous man. No, really, I can.” On “Florida!!!,” Swift calls upon Florence + the Machine to help her sing the worst chorus of 2024: “Florida is one hell of a drug / Florida, can I use you up?”

Even Welch, who is a fantastic pop singer-songwriter in her own right, delivers a grossly watery verse: “The hurricane with my name, when it came I got drunk and I dared it to wash me away.”

Not even the typos on the Spotify promotional materials for this album could have foretold such offenses. I won’t even get into the sonics, because Antonoff just rewrites the same soulless patterns every time.

What separates The Tortured Poets Department from something like Reputation is that, on the latter, Swift made it known what was at stake and who she was making that album for—herself, in the aftermath of her greatest long-standing criticisms (“Look What You Made Me Do” triumphs exactly because of this).

On The Tortured Poets Department, there is a striking level of moral nothingness. The stakes are practically non-existent, and the album sounds like it was made by someone who believes that they had no other choice but to finish it, as if Swift fundamentally believes that her creative measures are firmly embedded in the massive monopoly her name and brand currently hold on popular music. That’s how you get meandering pop songs about hookups, wine moms, Stevie Nicks comparisons, Jehovah’s Witness suit mentions, hollowed-out, tone-deaf nods to white-collar crime in lieu of empowerment and, topically, Barbie dolls.

(Don’t even get me started on the Anthology lyrics, which feature these absolute barn-burners: “Touch me while your bros play Grand Theft Auto” and “My friends used to play a game where / We would pick a decade / We wished we could live in instead of this / I’d say the 1830s, but without all the racists / And getting married off for the highest bid.”) This album and its hackneyed grasps at relevance exist as “Did I just hear that?” personified, but in the most derogatory sense of the notion.

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys” features another low-point in Swift’s lyrical oeuvre, as she sings “I felt more when we played pretend than with all the Kens, ‘cause he took me out of my box”—perhaps a measure of her capitalizing on the Barbenheimer mania that none of us could escape, not even the musician who spent most of 2023 flying across the world from one country to another.

But you, us, the listener—we want to believe that Swift makes these records because she has the artistic will, drive and interest to continue giving us parts of her story in such ways that they exist as an archival of her life.

But the problem is that, on The Tortured Poets Department, Swift is packaging her life into a form that is easily consumable for the 17 or 18 years olds who pour over her music. Just because her Eras Tour film is on Disney+ doesn’t mean she has to strip her songwriting (which we know can be, and has been, phenomenal) down for the sake of it being digestible by a wide spectrum of ages.

And, sure, maybe that makes the work accessible. But on The Tortured Poets Department, Swift makes Zoomer jargon her bag—titling a song after one of the most popular video games in the world and conjuring flickers of “down bad” and “I can fix him”—and it feels like she’s cosplaying because the Fountain of Youth was out of order.

Now that Swift is in her 30s, it sounds like she is infantilizing her own audience more than ever before—that singing to them at a level that could force them to reckon with something more akin with adulthood would be some kind of kink in the coil or her consumeristic threshold, that writing lyrics that sound like they were penned by a 30-year-old would, somehow, deter the interests of the billions of people who adore her.

If making one, continuous coming-of-age album is what Swift has been doing for 15 years, folklore and evermore were hiccups in the timeline—existing as the most fully-formed renderings of Swift’s own insecurities and concerns. They mirrored our platitudes towards an uncertain future with sweet, stirring remarks about isolation and heartbreak and the unavoidable, hard-worn truth about getting older. On those records, her larger-than-life living seemed, for once, to truly feel as close to the ground as ours.

Now, though, Taylor Swift is at the top of the mountain. Far better artists have made far worse records than The Tortured Poets Department, but you can’t read between the lines of this project. There is nothing to decipher from a place of quality.

Sure, Swift’s fan base will pour over these lyrics for the rest of their lives—insisting they know, for certain, which song is about who. But you cannot place a bad album on the shoulders of lore and expect it to be rectified.

We are now left at a crossroads. Women can’t critique Swift because they’ll run the risk of being labeled a “gender traitor” for doing so. Men can’t critique her because they’ll be touted as “sexist.”

And, sure, Swift is probably too easy a punching bag in this case—and most of the time, I would argue she is undeserving of being a victim of such barbs. But, you cannot write about someone being a “tattooed golden retriever” and get away with it and still retain your title as the best songwriter of your generation. You just cannot.

Sisyphus should be glad he never got the boulder to the top of the mountain—because Taylor Swift is showing us that such immortality and success ain’t all it’s cracked up to be. And, when you’re standing on the peak alone, who else is there left to hit?

In a recent interview with The Standard, Courtney Love said that Swift is “not interesting as an artist,” and I think The Tortured Poets Department proves as much. She has nothing to fight for, no doubters left to drown.

So where does she turn? Well, to boredoms of celebrity thinly veiled as sorrow everyone and their mother can latch onto—because we’ve all had to “ditch the clowns, get the crown” at some point in our lives, right?

The billionaire is having an identity crisis, but there are no social media apps for her to buy up. So she sings like Lana Del Rey and writes meta-self-referential songs about looking like Stevie Nicks.

What’s hollow about The Tortured Poets Department is that the real torture is just how unlivable these songs really are. No one can resonate with “So I leap from the gallows and I levitate down your street, crash the party like a record, scratch as I scream ‘Who’s afraid of little old me?’ You should be.” And normally, that wouldn’t be an end-all-be-all for a pop record—but when your brand is built on copious levels of “I’m just like you!” as the demigod saying it to their fans does so from a multi-million-dollar production set, it’s hard to not feel nauseated by the overlording, overbearing sense of heavy-handed detritus we’re tasked with sifting through on The Tortured Poets Department.

Love’s words to Lana, her advice to “take seven years off,” should be applied to Swift. Now, that doesn’t mean that, to make a good album, you must sit on material for years and labor extensively through the sketching, shaping and recording in order for it to be transcendentally landmark. But it’s obvious now that not even Taylor Swift wants to be the head of an empire—that she, too, can’t outrun the damning fate of being plum out of ideas by hopping in her jet and skirting off to God knows where.

See you at the Grammys.

****

[kjdkive]

it's a date — mark lee.

"i know! but i think frank ocean is gonna have an amazing musical comeback." mark tells you very excited as you are scooping ice cream for this charity event you volunteered to work at.

mark is not someone you would call a friend, he's a friend of your friend and you also like him a lot but in secret. you're not trying to date johnny's friend or maybe you are. you can swear there's this tension between you but not one of you dares to make a move.

"honestly, don't you think people are hyping it too much that it may disappoint turning everyone into a hater?" you ask him.

"they could never make me hate my father frank. dude, it's like sza, how many years did she leave us to dry and when she came back it was an amazing album?"

"yeah, i guess you're ri-" you don't finish the sentence "shit."

"what?"

"the guy that has been bothering me for a while is here and i think he's coming our way." you turn your back to the counter and face mark awkwardly.

it's a funny story of how this guy started to bother you, asking you out every single time, one would dare to call him a fan but you don't want anything to do with him. not so funny anymore.

"hey, y/n! care to give me a vanilla ice cream?"

you quickly scoop the ice cream without greeting him back and hand it to him.

"aren't you gonna introduce me to your friend, y/n?" the weird guy asks.

"sup' man, i'm her boyfriend." he fully stares at him, the other guy with the ice cream getting uncomfortable.

you look at mark and then look at the guy whose name you don't remember, you try your best to not laugh and to also try to not feel a zoo in your stomach.

"oh, i-" the guy starts.

"what? you got a problem?" mark asks him, holding you by your waist and turning you to him, making you turn your back on the weird guy.

you place your palms on mark's chest and just turn around a little to see your basically stalker finally giving up on you.

"not a problem, man, just wondering. guess i'll go."

"yeah, that's better." mark says back.

you start giggling as soon as the other leaves, making mark look down at you and smile.

"i'm your girlfriend now?" you ask him.

"yeah, you're my dream come true." he's still caressing your waist and back.

"don't you think you have to ask me out for a drink first?"

"you don't like drinking, y/n." he smiles "i was thinking about taking you to that pizza place you're always recommending to everyone but me."

"are you finally asking me out on a date?" you smile too.

"i am." and he can't stop smiling and giggling "will you go out on a date with me?"

"i'd love to, mark."

[slxtarchive]

𝐨𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 ✦ 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐡

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬. all you’ve known was that you had one hater in the world and that was sam golbach. what happens when your enemy tried to protect you against something you didn’t need help with? what argument will be held and what will be said?

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭. requested here <-

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. SLIGHT ANGST ! SMUT ! enemies to lovers trope, slight violence, love confessions.

𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬. gosh again, i am so sorry this took forever!! college is kicking my ass but omg this trope… i will never get sick of it. thank you 🧚‍♀��

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭. 2.3k +

as usual, after your last class period before lunch you went to your locker to drop off the books you didn’t need anymore. you heard the familiar laugh of your best friend tara. she was walking with your other friends. “yn! hurry!” she called out skipping toward you.

you shut your locker. “why hurry?” i questioned putting my back over my shoulder.

she placed her hands on your shoulders steadying herself. “colby asked if we wanted to go out for lunch. he got an outside pass and he said ms rogers could get us all one too!”

you had a tilted frown. “uhh maybe next time. i don’t really feel like going out today. plus i was planning to leave halfway through fifth.” you shrugged. the real truth was that you didn’t feel like dealing with sam’s bullshit today.

“nooo you have to come!!” she pleaded. tara was always the one trying to involve you in plans that she and the boys made. you weren’t much of a party person but they sure were.

you shook your head. “no tara, i promise maybe next time. maybe… tomorrow after the football game?” you questioned. tara thought about it and realized she should take what she can get.

she nodded reluctantly. “okay fine. no backing out now! we’re all going! i’ll see you tomorrow?” she asked. you nodded watching as her and the girls left to go to lunch.

the day passed you by as usual. you went home, did what you needed to get done, watched some tv, and then went to bed preparing for tomorrows plans.

the next morning you woke up to more texts than you usually did.

it was a group chat that was made with you, tara, colby, jake, the sturniolo triplets, carrington, larray, quen, and of course they had to add sam golbach.

you groggily groaned at what you saw.

plans !!

colby: what is this

tara: it’s for the plans for today!!

tara: yn you’re going. no backing out

sam: let her back out please

tara: don’t start

sam: start what?

tara: you know what

quen: WHAT THE FUCK IS UP BITCHES

larray: it’s too early for this

tara: okay so plans to go to the football game then out to eat after??

quen: always down for food

larray: me too

chris: nick matt and i too

sam: i guess

yn: wtf is going on

sam: oh great.

you rolled your eyes as he responded to your message.

yn: please stfu thanks

sam: someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed

yn: aw, unfortunately, someone WOKE UP.

colby: LMAO

sam: shut up

you put your phone down and started to get ready for the day. you then got to school and saw the whole group waiting around beside your first period.

you approached them immediately making eye contact with sam. he grinned smugly causing you to roll your eyes. tara noticed and turned around. “hey yn!!” she greeted giving you a hug. “still on for plans today rightttt..” she smiled.

her contagious smile elicited one from you. “of course.”

she cheered as the bell rang. “okay well gotta get to class. see you laterrr!” she sang walking away. you then made quick eye contact with sam before glaring at him and walking inside your class.

sam grinned watching you walk inside before walking away. of course he hated you but something about you has always intrigued him. he didn’t know what. he couldn’t put a finger on it.

by the time school ended you were exhausted and really didn’t feel like staying for the game but tara texted you knowing all too well how you worked.

you groaned as she texted the words. ‘no backing out!!’ you headed toward the front of the school ready to meet up with the group. they insisted on going over to colby’s house and then riding back to school for the football game.

you finally reached them smiling tightly. “okay guys yn is here! let’s goo.” tara said. “yn you can ride with us!”

jake interrupted. “there’s not enough space. she can go with sam?” your blood boiled. “i’m pretty sure you guys can last at least ten minutes without killing each other.”

you sighed. “i just won’t talk to him.” you then headed toward where sam was waiting for him to walk to his car. to distract yourself you took our your phone mindlessly trying to look like you were doing something.

“not like i want you in my car either,” he muttered taking out his keys.

you humorlessly laughed. “like i chose this either way. you probably suck at driving so I'm putting my life at risk.” you sassily remarked.

he sucked in a short breath feeling his patience already thinning. he swung his keys around before walking to his car. he unlocked only the driver's side and got in.

you tried opening the door but he looked at you smiling refusing to unlock it. “can you open the fucking door?” you cursed, pulling the handle.

he frowned. “it’s wise to use manners when speaking to someone doing you a favor.” his fingers hovered over the unlocked symbol.

you gritted your teeth. “open the fucking door sam.”

reluctantly, he unlocked it after you said that, already enjoying the way you got heated up. you climbed in slamming the door crossing your arms.

he looked over. “seatbelt.” he said shortly. you let a breath out of your nose and pulled the belt across your body connecting it to be red receiver.

he loved teasing you. the way you despised every little thing he’d say to you. “drive.” you demanded, starting straight ahead not bothering to look anywhere else. he nodded, trying hard not to laugh.

you guys went to colby’s house and all you did was sit and listen to the conversations held around you. you didn’t feel like hopping in at any time. all you were doing honestly was replaying the moment in the car earlier in the day.

you didn’t know why sam pissed you off so bad but something just irritated you and yet you couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him.

you don’t have time to think further about your feelings because tara screeched. “okay guys let’s go!! game starts in 10.” she spoke chewing on a brownie.

you nodded standing up. you huffed as the whole group exited out colby’s house before heading back to the cars. “you’re with me again.” sam shoved past you.

you glared at him before following him without complaint. you didn’t have the time or the energy to argue with him.

you both were silent on the way to the game. you parked, you walked, and you entered not saying a word. the game went by okay. you didn’t have an amazing time but the game was eventful. you could tell your school and the opposing team had tension in between them.

at the end of the game your school ended up winning by a few points. it was close and the whole school cheered as the whistle blew. your friends cheered as well as sam while you also smiled at the victory.

you guys were not exiting but came across a huddle. tara noticed a friend in the huddle and asked what was going on. that was until one of the girls from the other school spoke up. “oh now you wanna bring other bitches into this? scared as fuck.” the girl cursed.

it was looking like this huddle was a fight waiting to happen.

tara was caught off guard but still defended herself. “first of all, i just came to ask what the fuck was going on. second, don’t call me a bitch.” she sternly said, hands on her hips.

the girl snorted before speaking up. “what the fuck you gonna do about it? this shit has nothing to do with your ass anyway.” the girls' friends who were quite a lot agreed and some had kept their arguments with some other kids from your school going.

tara’s fists balled up. you didn’t want the situation to escalate so you stepped forward putting a hand on tara’s shoulder earning another laugh from the girl. “oh you brought your whole crew because of us?”

you made eye contact with her seeing the smug look on her face. “she didn’t.” you told her. you usually weren’t one to argue or to fight so tara made sure to shake her head letting you know it’s okay.

“oh really, then why the fuck are these unknown people here.” she gestured to your friends.

you slowly began to get more irritated. “maybe because we watched the fucking game together?” the comment pissed the girl off. you could tell. “now you can go get your dogs and leave. the games over and you lost get over it.”

the insult offended her and her friends even more causing her to walk forward. “who the fuck are you calling dogs, bitch?”

you clenched your jaw preparing yourself for what could happen. you clenched your own fists before you heard a male voice. “you guys need to chill. we were just meeting up with a friend.” colby stepped forward causing one of their guys to step forward.

colby glared at the guy but your eyes were dead set on the girl in front of you. “all i’m hearing is these bitches wanted to be nosy.”

tara stepped forward. “what the fuck is your problem?”

you stepped forward with her trying to diffuse the situation but one of her friends took that as you both trying to gang up on her so she stepped forward shoving just you back. you stumbled being caught off guard but then you quickly recovered. “don’t fucking touch me.” you cursed, moving closer.

she raised her brows. “what are you gonna do about it?” she crossed her arms.

you raised one of brows. “oh what am i gonna do about it? do you wanna find out?” your patience was wearing thin. that’s when the girl once again shoved you and tried to swing but missed as you moved back.

while that happened, tara shoved the girl who swung back causing the girl she was arguing with to grab tara by her shirt and pulling her to the side causing her to stumble and fall.

tara then got up and lunged at the girl but before you could do the same to the girl who swung at you, you felt someone’s hands in your shoulder.

the hands grabbed you and pulled you back from lunging at the girl. you didn’t register what was happening, all you wanted to do was punch the girl.

as you were being pulled away you caught a glimpse of the scene. colby trying to diffuse the fight, larry grabs quen from jumping in, jake pulls tara back, sam — no where to be seen.

you wondered where he had gone until you heard the mysterious person speak up. “calm down calm down.” sam.

he held you sternly in his arms pulling you away but not far enough because you could still shout to the girls who were also being pulled away. “that’s why you fucking missed bitch! keep trying it.” you yelled trying to fight your way out of his grasp. that was when you realized who it was holding you. you groaned. “let me go.”

he held you tighter. “no. you’re gonna get fucking expelled yn.” he said sternly his arms fully wrapped around you. “stop fighting me yn. fuck.” he complained before successfully pulling you from the situation and walking you out toward the parking lot.

you looked back seeing that the fight was separated but you didn’t see any of your friends.

you then took a deep breath, adrenaline coursing through your veins. because you were far from the fight sam loosened his grip letting you free yourself from his grasp. “the fuck is your deal?” you immediately went off, the heat of the situation still lurking.

sam immediately became irritated. “my problem? i just fucking saved your ass.”

“saved me?! i can handle myself. i didn’t need you to do shit!” you argued. “i don’t need you to fucking worry about me!”

his jaw clenched. “it’s not my fault i don’t want you to get in fucking trouble yn.” he breathed through his nose.

“since when do you give a fuck about what i do?” you crossed your arms.

“i don’t know! i didn’t fucking expect myself to care about you or want to be protective of you either, alright? i fucking despise you.” he paced around, looking unsure of the words he was spewing out.

“yeah you say that and yet you act like you’re in love with me or some shit.” you replied but as soon as you did, his irritated facial expression dropped and got replaced with one you couldn’t read.

he gulped, refusing to make more eye contact with you. he pressed his lips together, looking stuck in thought. that’s when his next words were spoken up quieter than before: " and what if I was?”

it was like a slap in the face. his words caught you extremely off guard. you didn’t know how to feel, but all you knew was that his words didn’t make you disgusted, irritated, or angry. no, his words made you feel giddy. you felt weird butterflies in your stomach as he said that.

you didn’t know what to say as he moved closer to you. getting inches and inches closer. “you fucking piss me off but somehow… i cannot stop thinking about you.” his face was centimeters away from yours. your lips fell open in awe.

you stood there allowing him to get closer with no complaint. he then whispered, “say something.” he expression made it look as if he was pleading for you to acknowledge him. his eyes desperately searching yours.

you chose your next words carefully, feeling as if you had just come to your true feelings that you buried deep within yourself forever. “i can’t stop thinking about you either.”

© slxtarchive

[india422]

Babygirl, nothing and no one in the world can make me hate you.

With dealing with this misogynistic-ass, biased-ass, lowkey racist-ass fandom, this (unfortunately) will not be my last time saying this: leave Vaggie the fuck alone. The hatred and vitriol towards her is unwarranted, disgusting, and forced. You don't have to like her - hell, you can hate her if your heart so desires - but don't make up things/reasons to hate her. Don't character bash her because of petty hatred. Don't be hypocrites and hate her for doing one thing, then turn around and praise/hype up another character for doing the same thing. Shit, just say you hate/dislike her one (1) time and then move on, because anything after that is just showing that you're an undercover fan.

And as for her relationship with Charlie...these two women are in no way toxic to each other. Yes, they are flawed; yes, there are things they can fix within themselves individually; yes, they're not all over each other like a lot of you want, but so what? Listen, I know that a lot of your feelings are still hurt because Charlie isn't with Alastor, but get. Over. It. That is in no way, shape, or form a reason to constantly hate on Vaggie...unless you're just THAT immature. And honestly, I'm glad Vaggie's presence makes a lot of you (shippers and haters alike) bitter to the core - all it means is that Vaggie really is THAT GIRL™️. Her existence really has you all that angry? I'm impressed.

All this to say, Vaggie isn't a perfect character, but no one in this show is - and that's the point. Also, we only have the first season, so stop being so impatient with Vaggie's arc/development. It's coming. We have three more (and maybe more) seasons to get through. Just trust Viv and the writers to do right by Vaggie; besides, Chaggie's getting a sexy number and a peek into their bedroom life, so...chill out.

And let me say this before I post: I firmly believe in ship and let ship, so I apologize if it seems like I don’t. As long as no one is being abused, it’s not incest, p#do stuff, or anything like that, then ship what- and whomever you want. It is entirely possible to like a character/ship without bashing and assassinating another character or ship to do so (and don’t be hypocritical either). You don’t have to like what I like, I don’t have to like what you like. I am so tired of ship wars in this fandom - I am. Being rude and trying to tell people what they can and can’t like solves nothing at all. Just block/scroll and move on.

[spidybaby]

Okok but hear me out, it's okay if you don't wanna do it, I just keep thinking of this scenario😭 Reader helping Pedri shave even if she loves his beard and now that he's injured, he's growing it and one day she notices and it's like "Ok, let's do some shaving" and he's like "No, you like it and I'm not playing, the beard is staying"

"I hopped off the plane at LAX with a dream and my cardigan." You sing using the hair brush as a microphone. "Welcome to the land of fame excess"

"Woah" Pedri shouts as he walks into the bathroom. "Am I gonna fit in?"

He was helping you with your routine

You both laugh but continue with the singing, changing to a Quevedo song.

"Dale caele uh uh uhhhh," you point at him, he blush at the thought of the World Cup and the video of him singing this song. "Dance with me."

You play a bachata song, grabbing his hands and pulling him to be closer. One hand on your waist and the other intertwine with yours.

"Te diría que volvieras pero eso no se pide." He sings while moving his hips at the rhythm of the song.

You dance in the middle of the bathroom. Laughing and enjoying each others company, something you loved about him. Every moment was like the first time.

"Okay, let's finish here so we can see that movie you like." He kisses your cheek, breathing your smell.

"Can I help with your skin care?"

"Only if we match headbands."

You laugh, nodding your head. You open the drawer where you have some hair bands, clippers, bobbypins.

You grab two blue headbands, the same ones you got with the purpose of him using it while leaning how to do his skincare.

"Okay, come here." You place the headband on his head, making sure to place it right so his now dry hair doesn't get wet again. "Pepi, not to be a hater, you know I love your beard, but I think you need to shave."

You squish his cheeks, kissing his now ducky lips.

"Oh please, mom says it looks good." He pouts, bringing his hands to his face. "Plus, I'm not playing, so it's not like I have to forcefully shave it."

"And it does look good, you look amazing."

He notices how you want to say something else but you stopped.

"But?"

"But you're letting it grow a little too much."

He turns to the mirror, hands patting his cheeks, trying to make it less crazy.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, mi amor." You massage his shoulders, kissing the nape of his neck. "You know you look amazing with every look you pull."

But he's not convinced. Now that you mention he did, in fact, let it grow a little more than usual.

"Pedro?" You ask after he stared at himself for a good five minutes. "Sorry if I made you feel bad, I didn't mean that."

But it wasn't about that. It was about him maybe being to attach to this look. It makes him look older, and to him, that's good.

Being in a job where most of your workmates are older or with stronger looks makes him feel some type of way. Being young is good, but not when the ultras decide to comment on how of a kid he resemble.

"Do me a favor."

"Yes, whatever you need."

"Come here." He opened his arms to you, embracing you and making you turn to the counter of the double sink.

He kisses your head, getting out of the hug but not letting you go. His hands on your hips, lifting you carefully, making you take a seat on the counter.

"You, preciosa." He taps your nose. "Are going to be my barber today."

He prepares everything, taking a new razor, some shaving cream, and his after shave lotion.

You watch him move around the bathroom. Still feeling a little bad about the comment, not thinking it will make him feel some type of negative way.

"You didn't do anything wrong, stop with those puppy eyes, amor." He says, placing the things next to you.

"You really don't have to. I love your beard so much."

"A new look never fails, plus this baby will grow back in a few days, so don't worry." He leans over to kiss you. "Now, grab some shaving cream and apply it to my face."

You let him guide you through it, carefully smearing the cream on him. Laughing at him, looking weird.

"Pedro." You laugh, he kissed you and left some cream on you face. "Stop it, let's be serious."

"Okay, now pay attention." He says, tapping the back of the razor on your head. "Don't press it too hard, like when you shave. And don't worry about timing, we have all night."

You nod, nervous about the job. He wet the blades and handed you the razor. You think where to start and decide that you're using the same logic that you use when saving.

So you begin with his left cheek. Hand shaking a little, and tongue out in concentration.

"Ouch." He screams, backing off and turning his back to you.

"Joder. Pedro, I'm so sorry." You were panicking, thinking you were being gentle.

He turns back to you, laughing. You grab the hand towel you have on your lap and throw it at him.

"Not funny." You pout.

"You should have seen your face." He laughs, forehead sticked to yours. "Such an easy target."

"Quit it." You warn him with a smile. You push him by the shoulders. Opening the water and wetting the blade again.

After some time and some light jokes, you finished the job. You turned on your seat to the mirror, where he was retouching some areas you were scared of doing.

You helped him with taking every extra of cream. Adding some after shave lotion, carefully patting his skin to finish with the job.

"God, you look so fresh and handsome."

"I'll give you two days before you start asking me to let it grow."

You laugh, splashing some water from your wet hands onto his face. "I love every look."

"Thanks for the help, missis Barber." He jokes, arms around you, chin on top of your head.

"Same time next week?"

"Yeah, fuck no." He says, making you both laugh.

♡♡♡

🏷: Miss @gadriezmannsgirl 💕🤭

[deathmetalunicorn1]

apollo, hades and hermes reacting to his fem s/o gets transformed into her younger self (around 12 lets say) and now grown so is just epitome of sweetheart and loving person but when she was younger, she was such a hater! like even maybe hate man because of unsaid stuff and just judging everyone around and them, with that “stink” face (i hope you know what face i am talking about lol), she gets back to normal after 2 weeks so how would they react to younger version of his s/o?

-(Love’s) eyelid could only twitch, staring down at his lover, you… well you from several years ago. You had somehow reverted to twelve years old, and you had no memory of him.

-He had called around, hearing that this had happened all over Valhalla, but the good news was that you would return to normal, like the others, after a few hours.

-(Love) smiled, coming back to where he had left you on the couch, scrolling through your phone, “You’ll be back to normal in just a few hours Y/N!”

-You rolled your eyes, your lip curling up for being interrupted as you scoffed, “Whatever.”

-Comical tears appeared in his eyes, he had no idea that you had been so…salty when you were younger. It didn’t fit as you were always just a sweet and gentle person; you would sometimes cry if someone would raise their voice at you, so to see you like this was… unusual.

-He just smiled, trying to be friendly and make the best of the situation, sitting beside you but giving you your space, as you made that very clear when he first found you like this, “Won’t you be happy to be back to your normal self?”

-You looked at him over the top of your phone, a slight glare on your face, “I’ll be happy to get away from you and your stupid haircut.”

-Apollo- The back of his hand lifted to his mouth, appalled by your words as he turned pure white in horror before he fell from the couch in slow motion, landing face down on the ground where he quickly was in tears. You weren’t bothered, putting your headphones on as you played your game. Apollo could only pray that you would change back soon- he wants his sweet Y/N back! When you returned to normal you weren’t allowed to leave his lap as he covered you in kisses, wanting you to be sweet like you always were.

-Hades- Ouch- okay that hurt, and he felt his eyelid twitching at your snark. He raised three brothers; this was going to be nothing!! Two hours later Hades was at the kitchen table, his head in his hands, two empty coffee cups before him. He didn’t know how your parents were able to deal with you as you broke him. He snuggled you extra hard when you returned to normal, taking out his aggression on you in the form of cuddles.

-Hermes- Had turned to stone, completely shocked that you were so salty and mean. He just thought you were scared, that’s why you were so distant from him, but to hear you insult him, being mean- his brain short circuited. Hermes was very pouty that evening, hugging you from behind while you cooked dinner, now back to normal and you smiled warmly, “You’re awfully affectionate tonight.” He didn’t respond, hugging you tighter, glad to have you back to normal.

[spidermans-l-o-v-e-r]

Orange Blossoms

Pairing: Buck x Reader

Word count: 5.2

Notes: WOW I can’t believe I have like nothing to say for notes like usually I can’t shut up here okay. Anyway I’m working on that other secret series that I’m really not sure I’m even gonna publish but I kinda want to move to marvel again who KNOWS

Chapter 2: Backpack, Backpack

Buck changes his screensaver immediately.

 Back to just a photo of all of them, because if Bobby sees that he’d probably skin him alive. He’d already all but threatened him to stay away from you. In a sweet, loving, dad-type way. 

“You go anywhere near her and I kill you” 

Okay, maybe he did threaten him. 

But it was probably just a joke, Buck would be the perfect son-in-law!

“It wasn’t a joke” 

How does Eddie always know what he’s thinking? 

“Does this mean I really have to stay away from her… because I can’t do that Eddie? I’m in love” 

They’re standing together holding a hose, it’s a pretty routine fire thank god it hasn’t gotten too big. Eddie moves over to the side and Buck follows him 

“First of all, you’re not in love, you’re infatuated. You’re not a Disney princess Buck, as much as you’d like to believe you are. It takes time to fall in love.” 

“It takes time to fall in love” Buck mocks him in a high-pitched voice, Eddie snickers knowing he’s absolutely right 

“What’s your second point, jerk.”

“Second of all, she’s Bobby’s niece. And he said to stay away from her” 

“Okay, but she's Athena’s niece!!”

“They’re married? And she calls him Uncle Bobby. Are you really getting all technical on my ass!” 

“I am giving the future Mrs. Y/N Buckley all the respect she deserves!” 

Eddie stops fully, turning to look at his delusional best friend. He doesn’t usually give em his last name. He must really be down bad for you 

“We really… need to talk about how you plan your entire life with someone after knowing them for all of six seconds” 

Buck gives him an incredulous look, like Eddie had never done that before. He kicks at him to turn back around. 

“I can hear the bells” Buck sings “well, do n'tcha hear em chime? Can't you feel my heartbeat keeping perfect time?” 

Eddie’s head falls back as he bursts out laughing, he nearly drops the hose as Buck sings the entire damn song in a silly voice, dramatically acting it out. 

He’s humming it all the way back to the station, he gets weird looks from everyone but he’s in too good of a mood to care. They tease him and try to get a rise out of him but he just shakes his head 

“Nothing you say will ever dampen my spirits, you're all just haters!” He sticks his tongue out at them 

“You’re usually this happy when you’ve got a date… so who is she?”Chim asks from the front seat and Buck stalls a little 

“Uh- no! No, it’s not a date it’s just… uh”

“Buck is talking to my cousin Alicia!” Eddie shrugs, as nonchalantly as possible “Yeah Alicia, he was Insta-stalking her so I just you know told him to…go for it”

“Long distance? That doesn’t sound like you” Bobby narrows his eyes and Buck looks at Eddie frantically 

“She’s coming here! Soon! To visit!” 

“Oh, that’ll be nice!” Bobby seems happy about that and Eddie immediately gets on his phone…he needs to send a text. 

Buck hears the rumble of your engine before he sees you and he’s already sneaking out to come greet you. Eddie notices him being shady and not finishing restocking the engine, so he follows him. 

Buck looks like he’s in dreamland, he watches you park your bike and take off your helmet, shaking out your long pink hair. The sun is shining just for you today he’s sure, the rays illuminating your glowing skin. And boy are you showing quite a bit of it. Your shorts are so tiny Buck isn’t even sure you’re wearing any underneath the sweatshirt you use for riding. You pull that off too and lay it across your seat. His eyes are glued to the orange cropped tank top and how cute it looks with your light blue shorts. He wonders if it’s difficult to drive with all your shoes, the white platform sneakers give you a little extra height but he still towers over you and that’s the way he likes it. 

“Hey, wifey,” Buck says sweetly, his voice soft and breathy. Eddie’s mouth drops open as he walks up to you both and Buck snaps out of it, his eyes wide as saucers as he puts his hands up

“No, god, no I mean… uh… hey wiffle ball??” 

“What” Eddie says under his breath, looking at Buck like he’s crazy. You bite your lip and shake your head trying to control your giggles as the boys lead you inside the station 

“Hey, volleyball?” 

“That’s… that’s not even the same category,” Eddie says, his face scrunched up as he puts his hands in his pockets 

“And you can do better?” You sass him, your hands on your hips. 

“Uh yeah. Pickle ball? Cricket? Dare I say, baseball?” 

“Wait, why cricket?” Buck asks 

“Because there’s a ball and a bat are you guys actually criticizing my thinking skills” 

“I’m just saying it’s kinda out there” You poke at him 

“Yeah, what are we? British?” Buck scoffs and you giggle when Eddie kicks your shoe and flicks Bucks's arm in pure annoyance 

“Why are you even here?” He says through gritted teeth playfully and you laugh, side-bumping him.

“Athena asked me to deliver some paperwork Bobby forgot to fill out” 

“Oh doesn’t she usually do that?” Buck tilts his head and wow he looks cute when he does that. You blush a little and look at your shoes for a second 

“Yeah, but she said I might have more fun” 

“Uh I walked in on them last time” Eddie gags “I don’t think you’ll have more fun”

“I mean she could, I know a great closet” 

Buck just says it, it’s a good joke, a great joke. Your mouth falls open and Eddie slaps his hand over his mouth gleefully 

“Oh my god” 

Buck looks confused for a second “Wha…” His eyes widen and he puts his hands out “Wait no! No, I was kidding! Well, I mean if you-“ He smirks, running his hand through his hair 

“Buck!” Eddie shouts 

You’re all out laughing now as Buck turns a wonderful shade of red 

“I just- I mean it’s not off limits you know it- guys shut up!!! It was a joke!” 

“What was a joke?” Bobby comes over, confused as to why you’re here and why Buck is trying to find the nearest ax 

“Pickleball” Eddie blurts out and you nearly keel over, wheezing. His excuses were not his best today. 

“We uh we gotta go” Eddie grabs Buck, who is holding his head in his hands whining loudly, and drags him away 

“Bye Y/N! See you later!”

Bobby watches them run away, his eyebrow raised 

“You’re not talking to either of them are you?” He asks and you roll your eyes and wipe at the little tears 

“No… we’re just friends Bobby. And they’re nice! I like hanging out with them”

“You’ve gone out with them?” He crosses his arms over his chest and you blush lightly 

“Uh… yeah? J- just to hang out and get to know them. I don’t have any friends in L.A Bobby you know that”

“You have May! She’s a great girl! She can introduce you to all of her friends”

“Bobby, we barely know each other anymore. We haven’t done anything together since we were literal children. And you know, whilst she has offered to take me out next weekend and introduce me to her friends, she and I have already decided that I’m not sticking around that friend group unless it’s an occasional hangout. Those are her friends and her life. So until she and I get closer…neither of us are letting you and Athena force us together.”

Bobby looks at you, struggling for words. He puts his hands on his hips sassily

“You know. You two don’t have to make that much sense. Just- I love Buck and Eddie don’t get me wrong. They’re my kids! But promise me you’ll be careful. Because if someone asked me who I would let my kid date from the team I would absolutely say none of these people” 

You giggle and hand him the papers from Athena, standing on your toes you kiss his cheek and wave goodbye 

“I promise I’ll be careful! We’re all just friends!” 

You walk back outside, a little skip in your step as you walk up to your bike. Buck and Eddie are standing next to it 

“You wanna sit on it?” You call you and Buck fist pumps, eagerly climbing on 

“I was hoping you’d say that!” 

You strut over and stand in front of them as Buck leans forward, pretending to be driving. He makes little car noises and you laugh, your hands behind your back 

“Having fun?” You muse and he sits up 

“Uh- yes. What kind of question is that” he scoffs and you roll your eyes 

“You wanna take her for a spin?” You ask coyly and Buck’s mouth drops open 

“Wait seriously? You’d let me?” 

“Of course, I would! I trust you” 

He starts it up, groaning as it purrs for him. He pats the handlebars and you hand him your helmet 

“Hey,, Buck?” Eddie pokes at his shoulder and he looks up

“Yes, bestie”

“We’re literally in the middle of a shift” 

“I’m sorry I can’t understand your accent. It’s too Texasy” 

“I literally don’t-“

“Buck! Get off that thing! You’re at work” Bobby yells at him from the bay doors and he groans loudly, getting off and handing you back your helmet. You take it from him, giggling and shaking your head 

“Maybe some other time… like this weekend or something! Afterwards, we go bowling with Eddie!” 

Eddie looks between the two of you “We’re going bowling?” 

Bucks behind you, signaling him frantically to say no.

“Yeah! Didn’t Buck ask you?” 

Buck clasps his hands together silently begging Eddie

“Ohhh… uh.. yeah! Yeah, I just totally forgot. Um yeah, I can go bowling this weekend!” 

Buck's mouth drops open and he mimes choking Eddie, you spin around and his hands drop to his sides as he smiles at you sweetly 

“Okay cool!! Well, I’ll see you guys this weekend!” You hop on your bike and Buck helps you put your helmet on. He shyly leans in and kisses the top of it 

“Uh- drive safe! Text me when you know you get wherever you’re going. If you want to that is I mean you don’t have to… you’ll probably text like Athena or Bobby or something yeah yeah you don’t have to text me it’s cool”

He steps back from the bike and you shake your head and he knows you’re laughing at him again. You make a little heart with your hands and wave goodbye to them before driving off.

Buck watches you drive off, your sweatshirt fluttering in the wind. He watches until he can’t see you anymore with his hands in his pockets he turns to Eddie 

“I’ll give you a five-second head start”

“Buck. That’s childish can you just-“

“Five”

“Buck, let me explain! When have I never not had a plan come on!”

“Four”

“Buck you can’t be alone with her yet you-“

“Three-two-one!” He shouts and dives for Eddie. Eddie screams and runs towards the station with Buck hot on his heels. He runs around the truck and dodges Hen with a spin 

“That’s cheating and you know it!!”

“Cheating my ass!”

“What on god's green earth are the two of you doing?!” Bobby calls down from the balcony 

“Nothing!” They yell in unison as they run around the station. 

“That doesn’t look like nothing”

“It’s a new training exercise! Just working on stamina!” Eddie yells back, yelping when he feels Buck’s hand brush his belt 

“That the lamest excuse you’ve ever come up with” Hen mumbles as they run past her again 

“Don’t be a snitch” Buck pants and she puts her hands in the air, staying out of their mess

Eventually, Buck corners him, and they’re in the sleeping quarters 

“I’m-“ Buck's hands are on his knees “I’m gonna kick your ass-“ He wheezes “when I can breathe again”

Eddie slumps down in the corner, letting his head fall against the cool wall

“Not if we die first” He pants heavily, running his hands through his hair 

Okay, maybe Buck didn’t think this thing through how is he supposed to kill Eddie if he passes out from lack of oxygen? They take a good six or so minutes to breathe normally again 

“I said yes so that way she could say she was going with both of us not just one of us and then I’d cancel or show up and just say my arm or like back or whatever was hurting so I could just sit back and keep score.”

Buck is laid out on the floor, he looks over at Eddie, his nose scrunched up 

“Wait, why didn’t you just say that?”

Buck has been staring at the picture you sent him for the last 20 minutes. You’re standing in the full-length mirror at Athena’s house, a little peace sign. You texted him as soon as you got home and after that picture boy does he wish he was better friends with May, he knows she’d “invite” him over. 

He knows it’s just… a little pervy, the way he stares at your thighs in the full-length mirror. He thinks that’s his favorite physical thing about you. Your full, plush thighs, especially in those mini skirts you just love to wear. And these shorts you’re wearing are absolutely no exception. They hug your body like they were tailored to fit you. Actually, he’s pretty sure they are tailored. 

He sighs dreamily hitting the favorites button

“Is that Y/N” 

He jumps so far out of his seat that he fumbles with his phone before slamming it awkwardly into the table 

“Did you just break your phone?!” Hen stares at him 

“I sure as hell hope not! What uh what can I do for you? Need somethin? A smoothie? You want a smoothie I’m gonna make you a smoothie” he runs over to the fridge and starts pulling things out. Hen picks up his phone, looking it over, and thank god it’s not cracked. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” She says, taking his seat and holding out his phone to him. 

“Uh, what question?” He turns on the blender, miming that he can’t hear and Hen crosses her arms over her chest, giving him a look. He smiles sheepishly once it shuts off and pours her smoothie 

“Y-yeah that was her.” He unlocks his phone and hands it over with the smoothie 

“Damn”

“I know!!” Buck squeals he’d joked about proudly showing you off to his coworkers and now he’s actually doing it. 

“She’s a nice girl… Cap knows you’re texting her?” 

“No and neither do you” Buck goes over to his “secret cabinet” pulls out one of his good mini chocolate bars and hands it to Hen. She takes it from him, opens it up, and takes a bite out. She groans softly and her eyes roll back. He always keeps those fully locked up 

“Right?”

“Right.” Hen gives him a double thumbs up and grabs her smoothie

After making sure Hen is gonna stay quiet Buck goes downstairs, there’s literally nothing to do, he’s checked off his entire list and even did the end of Eddie’s. If he’s this bored… Hopefully, someone else is.

“Hello?” You answer on the third ring and he gulps and then clears his throat 

“Uh hey! Hey Y/N it’s me, Buck” 

“I know” you giggle “What’s up?” 

“Oh…nothin just wanted to see if you were busy or anything…kinda boring around here”

“Did you call me just to talk?” You ask and his cheeks flush. Because yeah but like that sounds lame he could have just texted you. 

“…Maybe?” His voice is hesitant and cracks a little. Oh my god why was that happening so freaking much 

“That’s really cute” You laugh and he hears you rustling around for a minute. “Athena is sending me back out on an errand run with May… but we can text! If you wanted” 

“Yeah no! No texting is fine! I should have probably asked if you were busy first… I’m yeah no I’m sorry we can text”

“No it’s okay, I…like hearing your voice” You mutter shyly and he can hear May snickering in the background. His cheeks flush and he bites his lip 

“You do?” 

“Y-yeah I do” 

“Well good… I like hearing yours too, like, a lot” He admits, his heart is pounding in his chest 

“I have to go but, call me back tonight okay? Like…around midnight? When um-“

“When Bobby is asleep?” He says mischievously and it’s your turn to blush 

“Yeah… will you?” He can hear the hesitancy in your voice and it makes him weak, he just wants to kiss you breathless so badly. 

“It’s a date. I’ll talk to you later doll” 

“You better text me too, Bye Evan”

He hears May teasing you as you curse at her and hang up, he holds his phone to his chest, wilting into his seat and sighing sweetly. Midnight can’t come fast enough. 

The rest of the day drags and not just because he’s waiting to get off but because there’s literally nothing to do, which is the most surprising part. Really he supposes he should be glad nothing is happening, that means people are safe… besides 

It just gives him more time to talk to you. 

And boy does he, he starts slow with his memes, you have to kinda ease people into your insanity. But the second you send an Optimus Prime thirst trap on TikTok all decency and manners fly out the window and you’re both trying to send each other the worst things you’ve ever seen 

He’s falling faster and faster for you. Just call him Princess Buck. 

“What are you laughing at?” Eddie comes over, lifting Bucks legs up and plopping on the couch with him

“Um…nothin” he mumbles, distracted as he laughs into his fist at the Nick Fox thirst trap he’s sending you “don’t worry I’ve been sending them to you too”

“I already regret being your friend. Who else did you send them to?” He toys with Buck’s pant leg 

“Um… Y/N we’re just…talking” 

Eddie hears the click of a camera and he frowns, looking at Buck who shrugs and doesn’t look away from his phone 

“We’re also snapping” 

“Snapping? You sound like a teenager” He chuckles but puts his feet up on the coffee table and scrolls through his phone too 

“Teens use Instagram nowadays, old ass man. I asked for her snap just to see pictures of her, I just- god hold on” 

He pulls up the picture from earlier and hands his phone over. Eddie lets out a low whistle and Buck wriggles on the couch 

“God I know right! I don’t care if she suffocates me, I’d die happily” He says and Eddie laughs at him, his head falling back on the couch 

“Yeah. You know a closet” 

Buck groans and slaps his hands over his face 

“I can’t believe I said that to her” 

“She thought it was funny” 

“Okay but low-key? I wish she would have like said bet or something”

“I’m pretty sure you would have passed out” 

“Oh I know I would have and she could have given me mouth to mouth”

Eddie rolls his eyes, laughing at Buck again 

“You’ve got it bad my man” 

“Oh you have no damn idea” 

It’s around 10pm when a call comes in, and Buck is always too distracted by the voice message you sent him to get his stuff on. Eddie swipes the phone from his hands and glares at him, He blushes and gets his stuff on almost faster than he ever has and snatches it back, patting Eddie on the cheek before they load into the truck 

“Apparently a bonfire in a kids backyard got a bit out of hand, everyone be ready to possibly have to cut line but there should already be another team there doing it. Be advised the house is on fire but it’s small for now”

Athena is already there, with a few drunk people in her backseat. She’s talking to someone quite animatedly, her voice is low. 

“Everything oka- May??” Bobby stops, looking between them. Athena stands back, her hands on her hips

“Where’s Y/N?” He asks immediately and May sighs loudly 

“I don’t know. I’ve tried to say it a million times I don’t know! The fire broke out and we got separated!” 

“I’ve tried contacting her but she isn’t answering” Athena looks like she’s ready to rip her hair out. Bobby puts his hands on her shoulders, his voice is full of worry as he kisses her forehead 

“Hey, we’re gonna find her okay? I promise” 

“She’s here for a couple days and I’ve already lost her.”

“You didn’t lose her mom, I did. I should have kept a better eye on her! But she said she’d be okay! And Crystal wanted to show me something and-“ She starts up and Athena sighs, hugging her

“It’s not your fault baby, Y/N is an adult. You were both right, she can take care of herself”

Bobby walks over to Eddie and Buck who are hosing down a section of the yard 

“You two have Y/N’s number right? Can you call her real quick?”

“Uh, yeah sure.” Buck shrugs and pulls out his phone, it takes a second with all his stuff on. 

Bobby takes the hose from him and stands behind Eddie

“Everything okay?” Eddie asks, looking back at him and he shrugs 

“Yeah… just uh. Just call, Buck” 

It rings six times which is the longest its ever taken you to answer 

“Hello?” Your voice is so small it takes him aback. 

“Uh hey, hey Y/N”

Bobby perks up, motioning to keep her talking 

“Where- where are you? You sound funny” He walks away a little, so he can hear you better 

“I’m-” you hesitate and Bucks anxiety skyrockets

“I’m a firefighter Y/N, you can tell me anything” He says soothingly, his voice dropping an octave 

“I’m in the house”

“Where in the house” He turns to it and starts running, the fire is slowing down but not nearly enough. He mutes his phone for a second and alerts everyone on the radios 

“It’s- it’s so stupid”

He stops, smashing the unmute button

“Y/N, please. Fuck, the house is on fire. You do realize that right?!” 

“It’s what?! I-I’m locked in a closet in the basement. N-nothings happening down here!”

“Alright, I’m coming to get you okay? I’m coming, baby” 

He doesn’t even have time to cringe at himself as he runs into the house, Hen and another couple of guys are already shutting doors and putting some of the smaller fires out but it’s definitely staying consistent 

“Where’s the basement?!” He asks you, panting slightly as he frantically looks around

“The kitchen, there’s a doorway” 

He hangs up the phone and shoves it in his pocket

“Y/N??” He yells for you, panic seeping through his veins 

“Have you found her?” Bobby radios him “do you need help?”

“Buck??? Buck, I’m in here!!” You’re pounding on the door as hard as you can to get his attention 

“I’ve got her! I found her!” He calls into the radio as he runs over to the door 

“Y/N? Is there anywhere you can stand to the left or right, away from the door?” 

“I think so?!” You back up into the corner as far as you can, pressing yourself against the wall

“Alright! What now?”

Buck readies his ax, holding it in his hands

“Now I channel my inner Jack Torrance!” 

You shriek as the ax breaks through the door and he begins to create an opening for you. He breaks into the door easily…if he’s being honest he probably could have kicked it in… but this was more fun. 

“Don’t you dare” you say as soon as there’s a clear small hole

“When am I ever going to be able to say it with someone who would actually laugh about it in a completely unprofessional way!!” 

You groan and duck down more as a few wood chips fly

“…Fine!” 

Buck goes just a teeny bit crazy with the axe, most of the fire has been contained so he takes a little more time than necessary. He gleefully smashes the door down, laughing maniacally while screaming “Here’s Johnny!” 

You do laugh, because it’s stupid and it’s so Buck, and watching him enjoying himself is cute. As soon as the hole is big enough for you, you step through and he yanks you into his chest immediately, you let out a little squeak and hold onto him 

“What the hell were you doing in there? You could have died!” 

“I didn’t know! I tried calling May but she didn’t answer the phone and… and I didn’t want to call you and-“

“Wait, why didn’t you wanna call me??” Buck pushes you back a little just by your shoulders and you look down at your feet. He tilts your head up and that’s when he realizes your makeup is a bit ruined. He chalked it up to the heat…but you said there wasn’t any 

“Why didn’t you want to call me? Did something happen?” He asks a little calmer this time

“We should get out of here. The building could collapse” you quickly change the subject and try to pull away from him but he stops you. He bends down to your eye level and forces you to look him in the eyes 

“It’s structurally sound. Trust me. Y/N what happened.”  

You look down at your shoes, wringing your hands together and sighing 

“It’s… childish” 

“No it isn’t. Just tell me.” His voice is firm and he looks upset, you groan and let your head fall back before looking at him again 

“These girls asked me to go downstairs and get some extra buckets from the closet and then they pushed me in and locked the door. Apparently, I was chatting up one of their boyfriends, I didn’t know! I just- I saw his shoes and they were cool and then he told me they were custom from Etsy and I asked for the shop!! And he was so nice Buck, genuinely he was! He asked for my number just to send the link!” 

You unlock your phone and show it to him, the number isn’t even saved, just a link with a little smiley face and a “Demon Slayer shoes” and that’s it. 

“I…I tried calling May and she didn’t answer.. and I was locked in this stupid closet like I was a teenager again or something so I just…put my phone on silent and cried. And I didn’t want to call you because I would seem like such a baby. Like who still locks people in closets!” 

Buck listens to your story and he looks pissed. First of all, no one hurts his baby. Second of all… you could have died if you hadn’t picked up the phone when he called, and you almost didn’t. 

Buck does what any sensible man would do in this situation, he stands up tall, looks around for a moment 

And he kisses you. 

It’s sweet and lingering, he tilts your head up and presses his lips to yours gently. He watches the way your eyes close slowly and you kiss him back and he wishes he could just stay there forever but eventually you have to breathe and he makes you pull away, not him. 

“You want me to go find them?” He spins the ax in his hand and you snicker, shoving at his chest 

“Absolutely, let’s commit murder together!” 

“Sounds good to me sweetness” He winks and you roll your eyes, pulling away from him. He frowns a little at the loss of contact but shakes it off 

“We should probably get out of here, your family is going insane… May is really upset” 

He takes his helmet off and puts it on your head and you giggle while holding it down to tilt your head up 

“Yeah okay” 

He holds out his hand and you take it, he starts to lead you upstairs but you stop for a second, planting your feet 

“Whats wr-“

You let go of his hand and rush past him, going up a few steps and turning around to kiss him. It’s quicker this time, just a peck and he’s spiraling immediately, giggling deliriously as you jog up the stairs pulling him with you now 

The second you step out of the house, Athena is on you, frantically checking you over before crushing you in a hug, May is crying and promising she’ll never leave you alone again and you’re hugging her, trying to console her. Buck takes this time to step away and go find Eddie, you give him a little wave over May’s shoulder and he blushes, waving back. 

He nearly crashes into Eddie when he finally spots him, going running over. He’s standing in front of the truck securing the hoses 

“Eddie Eddie Eddie Eddie” His voice is high pitched and his hands are shaking. He grabs Eddie’s shoulders and starts shaking him

“Buck calm down!” He’s laughing as he pushes him back a bit, he hands him a bottle of water and Buck takes it , chugging it before tossing it into the trash 

“I can’t, oh my god I can’t, guess what?!” He squeals and Eddie snorts, shaking his head 

“What?”

“We kissed. We kissed, we kissed, we kissed!!!” He practically screams the last one and Eddie yanks him over to the other side of the truck shushing him 

“Okay- first of all, calm down. Because everyone is going to know who you kissed. What happened???”

Buck can hardly contain himself, he holds tightly onto Eddie’s arms just to keep himself from floating off into the clouds 

“Okay well she told me about these girls that bullied her and locked her in a closet. How freaking 90s teen movies is that!! And she didn’t want to call me because she thought that would make her seem like a baby but she’s not a baby Eddie she’s really not and she was starting to tear up and I couldn’t stand to see her cry so I just kissed her!!”

Buck is speaking at a million miles an hour and Eddie is nodding his head along just trying to follow his story 

“No she’s not a baby, but oh my god she could have died”

“That’s what I told her!!! And then guess what oh my god Eddie guess what”

“What?” Eddie chuckles a little at his enthusiasm, it’s endearing 

“I put my helmet on her to make her smile and it worked and I held her hand-“ His voice is becoming squeaky again “and then she let go of my hand and I was like-“ he gasps “what if I went too far??” 

“Because randomly kissing her wasn’t far but holding her hand was” Eddie says sarcastically 

“Exactly!!!” Buck points at him and he squints but goes along with it 

“She went up the stairs because you know she’s short as hell, and she kissed me again” 

Eddie’s mouth drops open and Buck literally starts jumping up and down, he does a little spin, dancing around before shaking Eddie 

“Yeah!!!!”

[short-black-diamond]

hey could you do some headcanons plus a little drabble about being bonten!haitani brothers little sister who's in her 3rd year of high-school??

mayhe she drops by to bonten headquarters sometimes when no one is at home and itd be so funny if she was also a raging feminist and talking back to her brothers (and maybe even the other members) if they make any sketchy comments (probably abt the prostitutes in bonten)

Aw Heck yeah I'll do this!

BUT!!! Please keep in mind that I never really watched tokyo revengers, so please bear with me. Anyways I'll try my best!!!

The feminine Haitani Feminist

---

Scenario: You are Rika Haitani, the youngest sister of the Haitani, already in your third and hopeflully last year of high-school. Since you know of your two elder brothers daily activities, you visit them at their meeting with Bonten to scold them for not eating with you.

To say that you were angry was an understatement.

You were fuming at the sight of the dusty and dirty apartment you asked your brothers to clean up before leaving for school, but they never listened. Now, as you were heating up the soup you cooked the day prior to eat with your brothers, you called Ran.

"Hello, my sweet sister-" "Do you have any idea how fucking angry I am right now?! I told you guys to clean our home and you and Rindou just up and left!"

"Okay Rika, let's talk about that a little later-" "No, I'm coming over. I know that you two didn't eat shit the moment I left the house."

And after hanging up on him saying something mid-sentence, you turned off the stove and put the soup in metall containers and locking them securely.

It took you a while to get there but you could already make out the many familiar faces of the girls and women working there, and you greeted them all with a smile, but in your head you frowned.

They were doing a dirty job for even dirtier men.

As you knocked on one of the doors you frequented where your brothers were often in meetings, you opened the door after a silent "come in".

And as you were holding the two containers, you saw your two brothers, your frown deepening and Ran giving you uneasy smiles. Rindou frowned right back at you before looking back and forth between you and his older brother. "Rika, what brings you here?", the middle sibling asked dumbfounded, making you look at him.

It seemed like you didn't even aknowledge the other members' existence, because Mikey was looking at the scene unfolding him with a poker face and even though he might have gotten more depressed over the years, he didn't loose his love for drama, even if it was sibling bickering. It was something he couldn't have anymore. So he always watched with slight fondness and longing instead of interfering.

Haruchiyo Sanzu, Mikey's right hand man as he always dreamt, was looking at you with bewilderment, you interrupted his "king", after all. But seeing the man next to him look at you with something like...fondness? on his face, so Sanzu didn't dare to say anything, fearing that he'd get an angry Mikey like the time he beat up and shaved some Mikey-haters' hairs for Mikey's birthday.

"First off, I told you guys to clean up the apartment before I left for school, and second, you BOTH promised me that you'd eat lunch with me, so why didn't you guys hold your promise?!"

Kakucho was also looking at you, but with slight annoyance. 'Why was this little girl here again? And she just has to be the younger sister of the Haitani brothers, of all people'... Still, he was watching his mouth around Mikey.

"We're sorry Rika, we really didn't want to make you feel forgotten, it's just that-" "You guys were so busy talking about 'Bonten stuff' that you even forget to eat? Tell me, when was the last time you two ate something today?", you unterrupted, looking at your two elder brothers expectingly.

While the two brothers were looking in front of them in shame and you sighing in dissapointment while opening the still hot containers, Takeomi Akashi opened his mouth and letting his inferiority complex speak. "Jeez, letting yourself get belittled by your little sister sure is humiliating, huh? Why don't you tell her to shut her trap so that we can keep going with the meeting, Mikey?", his voice asked, smirking at you smugly while he stroked his ugly beard.

But, you were smiling. "Shutting my trap you say? And who are you to tell me that? Huh?", you asked, your voice bittersweet and your smile too forced. Mikey had a ghost of a smile on his lips, making Sanzu flinch and look at you in amazement.

The pink haired man didn't understand what you did to bring a smile to Mikey's lips, but he sure as hell wouldn't omplain about your sudden visits anymore.

Rindou and Ran were fuming in the meantime. "What did you just say?!", Ran asked, already standing up and Rindou was about to put on some gloves when you snickered and took one container.

"I'm just sayin', she just nags you guys around and brings you food, she might as well become a prostitute like the other women here."

Annndddd, that was the last straw.

As you walked over to him with the containers while staring at him menacingly, takeomi felt slight unease. Why was he feeling so nervous? Were you about to give him something to eat? But there is no spoon-

"AARHRGHRGRH SHIT, Fuck, You FUCKING BITCH!", he screamed as you flung the soup at him, giving him second degree burns, but your glare was ice cold.

There was a long moment off silence, when ignoring the tall man's cry of pain. Sanzu and Kakucho were glad they didn't open their mouths, and Kokonoi was looking at you with wonder in his eyes. Takeomi was at least a whole foot taller and at least ten times stronger than you, and still you had the guts to pour soup on him. You were a brave woman.

Mikey giggled and Sanzu wanted to call the ambulance upon hearing his leader laugh like a child. sanzu also might have gotten scared by your actions, unconsciously touching the scars on the corners of his mouth. Ran laughed his ass off and gasped for air while Rindou stared with an open mouth.

Meanwhile, you were putting the now empty container on the table the men were seated around at, and stepped closer to the guy who was now holding his face. "You know, I don't really like it when people talk about women like that. And do you wanna hear the fucking truth? There wouldn't be no prositutes if no man asked for it. And looking at you, talking about how I could become a prostitute -like the other women here- really makes my blood boil, y'know? Also, aren't you embarrassed for telling that a high-schooler? Let alone the younger sister of your collegues?"

Takeomi had trouble identifying you through the thick liquid threatening to also burn his eyes but when he opened on eye, he was met with a scary grimace of yours with your fist right next to it and in the next moment, he was out cold.

You sighed out before looking at Mikey and bowing in apology. "I'm sorry, Sano Manjiro, for my rude behaviour. I will take my leave now." "Stay. I hadn't had that much fun since I could last remember, Haitani. Please, make yourself comfortable."

And at that, you sat yourself down on Takeomi's stool and he got dragged away by some nameless underlings. Your brothers were giving you and their boss uneasy glances, not sure whether they should do or say something too. The other three conscious men, Kakucho, Kokonoi and Sanzu, were holding respective space from you, also swearing to not step too close to the women working in this facility.

"I'm craving Taiyaki...can someone order food?", Mikey chirped, making you giggle while you took out your phone. "Sure thing! And you two will eat too!", making your elder brothers nod eagerly.

Ran and Rindou didn't know that you could knock somebody like Takeomi out with a single punch, let alone fight.

They'd have to convince whoever was responsible for hiring women for their sinful needs should have a talk with them.

---

HEY HEY HEY!!! I hope that was what you were looking for... I tried to make the characters fit their personalities as well but also not too long, because then it'd would have to be a longer story, and yeah. I also wanted Mikey to have a laugh in a while, poor baby. It was actually fun looking up the Bonten characters to be honest!

I hope I'll get more requests like these!

Read you in the next post!!!

[loneliestluvr]

𝑻𝒐 𝑴𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝑰 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝑮𝒐, 𝒊𝒊𝒊.

i. ii. iii.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron OC

Synopsis: Caught up in a world of hollow grief for her people, her life, and her father, Blair Archeron is forced into a life under the light she wants no part of after ghosting through immortality since being Made. But what she finds, is not what she expects.

Warnings: beron😒, abuse in general(like triggering af please be warned), me being a rhysand hater, brief suicidal thoughts

Word Count: 4.1k— this took me all day to write(from 7-9 am and then 3-now please be thankful😞🙏🏼)

taryn thinks: YES I DID CHANGE THE NAME. IT FITS BETTER. I HAD NO IDEA WHERE I WAS GOING WITH THIS WHEN I STARTED. HUSH. i would like to choose this very moment to tell you there will be a happy ending and to say they WILL end up with babies. still unsure how many parts this will be though 💃🏼 im just a gorl. @readychilledwine this is my payment for that tamlin baby and domestic fluff(smut if you’d like) bonus chapter for lost bonds 🤗

There was glass shattered on the floor by the windows.

Eris’s head was down as he stood before his father, pieces of deep auburn hair hanging by his eyes as he tried not to move and tried not to let any emotion pass over his face. Just as Beron expected when he took his lashings— whether that be from a whip, his tongue, or his powers.

However indignant, the fact his father had chosen his tongue today was a mercy.

“You are insignificant,” Beron seethed, spit spraying from his mouth as he yelled. The deep, cruel, voice booming off the walls of his fathers study. “—a bastard, truly. A bastard because you surely can not be this stupid and be born of me. A worthless excuse for a first son.”

Eris kept his stature wane, making himself small for his father despite the fact he was a few good inches taller than the male.

Sometimes, he thought the High Lord’s need to belittle and denigrate everyone around him, raise his voice and grow violent, was driven by some sort of lust. For power, respect, whatever it may be. Something he lacked.

That maybe the fact he put energy into minimizing his court, his family, his wife even, was because he didn’t even respect himself. That he needed to create room for his anger and hatred by pushing others down.

What had happened to him that made him so cruel? Is this how his father had been to him? Was this love to him?

“How is it that we’ve only just learned there’s a fourth sister, Eris? Tell me,” Beron’s voice grew lethally quiet as he spoke and Eris forced himself to breathe, bracing mentally. “—tell me so I know who better to put on the throne instead of your pathetic fucking excuse of life.”

His words grated against his ears, voice tight and angry and again growing louder as he spoke.

Another glass was thrown, and shattered. Hitting the wall so close to Eris’s head that a piece flew at him, slicing across his cheek lightly. He barely moved.

The crystal thin enough, knife-like enough, that he felt the warmth of his blood start to slowly seep from his skin.

Like moisture collecting on the petal of a white poppy in the early morning dew when he sat in the meadows by the Forest House, Saydee’s head in his lap as he talked to the earth. A small reprieve from the chaos of the palace.

Eris was there, in his mind.

Petting his hounds grey coat as he whispered, just as he always did when the sun came over the horizon and woke for the day. Like he had since he was just a faeling sitting in his mothers lap as she did the same.

His mother had explained it so gently one morning, sat in the grass, about when the sun comes over the skyline to say good morning. Not to speak too loudly or too brash so that he didn’t startle the earth, because she too deserved kindness. The Mother.

So almost everyday for as long as he could remember, he sat in that meadow, lazing in the tall grasses as those vibrant hues of blue and orange and pink and yellow streaked across the sky— and he whispered to Her.

About his hopes and dreams that would never be fulfilled or sought after, talked of the life he wished to have. That he wished his own mother had. Asked for her days to be gentler, kinder, prayed on every wild dandelion he found, for someone to share his days with, to talk to— however boring.

And he had. He had his dogs, and he had the fields surrounded with the creeks that ran through their property, and he had the sky.

He wished he was there most of the time. So he created a place in his head, to escape in moments like this.

Acres of meadows, full of flowers and taller grass than he could dream of. Up to his hips, his bloodhounds disappearing beneath the blades as he strolled leisurely. Hands wading through the soft thicket. Sometimes he dreamed of others with him, his mother, Lucien, someone else.

Locked away that piece of himself to disappear into whenever being in his body became too much.

It’s where he had spent nearly fifty torturous years Under the Mountain, spending every waking moment protecting the female who had raised him for his father didn’t care to. Spending fifty years away from those grasslands and that beautiful savoy grandeur. His meadows.

Throwing stick after stick out into those pastures as he walked further and further, his best girl running every time he threw— chasing bunnies and jumping into the streams. Getting lost in his mind. When he knew it was morning, which was so very rare down in that dark and decrepit nightmare, he prayed. He prayed for some divine force to step in, for Her to save him and his family. To be kinder. The first time he cried and spoke his despair aloud, Feyre Archeron had come three days later.

Eris was deep in fern grasses as the blood dripped down his face, but he still did not move.

He hadn’t even taken his coat and finery off from Hewn City yet, having told his father he was coming from the lookout on the northern border. He didn’t bring attention to it.

He heard his fathers deep breath and the creaking of the chair behind his desk as he sat, maybe seeing reason now that the heady scent of his sons blood filled his study.

“You will go to Rhysand as soon as possible,” Beron started, pinching the bridge of his nose. Eris still didn’t look up, just blinked at the floor. “—do what you must. Find a way in, figure out what else those wretched girls took from us. I do not care if you kill or maim or whatever else takes your interest these days.”

His voice trailed off as if remembering something significant and Eris heard the wood groan again and then footsteps, his heart remaining steady despite the screaming that filled his head. Then he saw the polished toes of Beron’s shoes.

“You always were the smartest of my sons. So much like me, so brutal.”

Male pride laced those words. Eris wanted to throw up, he wanted to scream, and he did want to kill. He wanted to kill the man before him, wanted to kill the ruination that circled this court. That ripped its beauty from her chest, chewed it up, and spat it out.

But he did not move.

A hand gripped his chin, turning his face to the side and up. Eris let his eyes flick to his fathers face and saw the warning there.

“Where did you get this.” It wasn’t a question, Eris knew.

“I was playing with Saydee and tripped too close to a jagged rock, it cut me. It didn’t hurt.”

Beron released his chin if only to land a sharp slap on his other cheek and then immediately grabbed his face again. His grip burned, like molten ire, making the flesh of his cheeks dig into his teeth.

“Where did you get it.”

“I was practicing my swordsmanship with Brenton and he sliced me with his rapier, it was an accident. He got the proper punishment for hurting me.”

Beron released his son’s face and stepped back.

“Get out, don’t let your mother see you.”

Doubtless that the reason he wanted him gone was because he didn’t want his sons blood to drip onto those precious carpets.

Eris didn’t need to be told twice, so he walked. As calmly as he could until he got to his rooms, making sure to take the long way around and avoid where his mother was no doubt waiting by her own door to hear Eris’s footsteps walk by.

To know he was safe, or to know what his father did. Either way, he didn’t want her to see him like this.

Closing the door behind him, he finally loosed a breath, opening his eyes as he shucked off his jacket and draped it over the chaise by the hearth. Walking to his tray of decanters, lightly touching the blood on his face with one hand as he picked a bottle up in the other.

His scarred fingers came back crimson.

A slow boiling rage, like simmering sugar, filled his body. His muscles, gritting his teeth silently. Grip growing tight as he looked at that blood.

And then that was all he saw as the glass bottle shattered into the brick fireplace, sending the flames roaring and him stumbling back a few steps into the post of his bed.

He hadn’t noticed it was lit, vision glazed over.

He was breathing heavily, eyes wide as he watched the flames fulminate, casting an orange glow on his room and his face. So bright and wild he felt the heat from feet away as he watched the fire roar and gutter back down.

Eris thought that maybe he really wasn’t any better than the man that sired him at all.

Spring in Velaris was beautiful.

The mid-day sun warmed the air around the River House, a gentle breeze kissing Blair’s skin and ruffling through her curled hair.

She’d let her little sister braid it back this morning, a thin coronet that made a beautiful pleated flower on the back of her head. Though her loose bangs tickled her eyes, Blair thought she had looked rather pretty.

She wasn’t so outside of her body when she sat in the open air. And she felt… alright.

Though she would have preferred a fir to scale, as they allowed for easier climbing, but the willow she had found herself in made for a good view of Elain working in Feyre’s garden.

It was a welcome change from her window. Like there was no need to run away and hide in the forests of her mind, digging her own hands into the soul of the earth just to make sure her mind didn’t numb away.

She was almost laying down against the bark, the large trunk and spindling branches wide enough two people could have sat up here side by side. As uncomfortable as it may have been, the rough corking crust digging into wherever it touched through her pale yellow gown, it felt like home.

It’d been a week since Starfall at the House of Wind, almost a month since that all too brief introduction she had made to the world in Hewn City on Winter Solstice. Of Prythian’s world, at least.

Blair hadn’t expected anything for it, she had been there for a short half hour and had been… occupied the whole time.

Sometimes her skin still burned when she was alone. In the bath, when she stirred honey into her tea, late at night in the too cool sheets of her bed.

She’d felt her own since Hewn City, able to think and manage conversations, elating to Feyre and Elain and she quite enjoyed conversing with her little sisters now. But she still laid by the fire, night after night just to feel that warmth fill her.

But after that, after the surplus of gifts from their small gathering that followed, presents hadn’t stopped when the Solstice holiday ended— but they weren’t coming from her family.

Baskets and boards and chests and boxes were sent to Rhysand’s palace and then were brought to the House. Welcoming’s and courtiers from every place in Prythian it seemed, branching out to welcome her.

Well wishes, mostly. Some off-notes and letters, claiming that Blair Archeron’s beauty could be used to fix the rifts in this continent and between courts. That had been the most absurd one, a letter for Rhysand asking for her hand in marriage. He laughed as he read it to her, sitting by the window— knees tucked into her chest.

It angered her more than anything. That she was already a prize to be had, or that it was Rhys they were asking.

Slowly, as days passed and she spent more time outside breathing clear air, the anger grew. The realizations came in waves, of things she had missed, times where she should have spoke up and didn’t.

Resentment, frustration, shame, guilt.

She didn’t let it show, bottling it up and shoving it down. Killing the urges inside her to scream at everyone, to bellow and seeth and grow violent. Something so awake in her, gnashing and bloody teethed. The need to give into that voice in her head that told her to let it go.

That she needed to in order to go on, in order to have a sense of normalcy. That exploding was the only was to settle her bones. She felt particularly nasty towards Rhysand.

The betterment he had to achieve and grovel over, should grovel over, was stacked against the High Lord.

The anger was what took her the most, forcing her fingers to loosen the grip she had on her fork at dinner nightly as she listened to him ramble and laugh. Watched Feyre go on like she would not die having his child, closer and closer to being due.

She wanted to watch him bleed as her sister was going to.

Wanted to scream for all he had made Nesta do.

The entitlement.

But Blair buried it.

So she would glare to herself when he wasn’t looking, lip pulled back slightly and passed off as a twitch, before she took in what was sent as an attempt to woo her.

Blair had thought they were for Feyre in all honesty, before Cassian explained that it was bad luck. A few days ago when he walked with her along the Sidra— Elain had dragged her out and in return she made the Illyrian come with her— he had said it was a grim omen and wish of terrible luck to send an expecting mother gifts for a babe that hadn’t yet been born. To the fae at least.

She listened mindlessly. Noting the scent of her older sister that came from him in waves. She needed to talk to Nesta, and soon. A conversation was owed on both ends.

The thin parchment of the book she was reading scraped against the soft pads of Blair’s fingers as she leaned back against the large trunk of the willow.

Vines of cream wisteria flowing in the soft wind that sent the caps of her bell sleeves fluttering, watching Elain out of the corner of her eye as she dug her bare hands into the soil. Choosing not to use the enchanted gloves Lucien had gifted to her as she tended to the flower beds at the back of the house.

Despite the cool air surrounding Blair from the river flowing a few paces away, a warmth bloomed past her skin, not from the sun, but from something else, and her chest melted or sparked or roared as she saw a flash of deep auburn hair— walking towards where she was in the tree.

The second oldest Archeron’s brow furrowed so slightly. That scent— that heated mahogany and citrus, burning embers, floated to her on a soft wind and brushed through her hair in a soothing caress.

Eris’s hand skimmed along the brush of a white rose hedge as he strolled, his gait loose but strong. Blair kept her focus on the pages she was reading, but a sudden pounding in her heart had her unable to focus on any of the words.

She heard him approach, feet light and careless, she wouldn’t have heard it if she were still human. But with her new ears, the new senses she was still getting used to, she could.

The feet stopped, just under her, and Blair flipped the page. The thin and gauzy skirt of her dress draped and hung down the branch she lounged on, leg crossed over the other.

Eris cleared his throat then, and Blair could see his tall stature blurred in the peripheral of her vision. Hands tucked appropriately behind his back.

“I’m shocked Rhys let you come here, especially with my baby sister in her condition.” Blair said without lifting her head to look at him. Eris hid his smile by lowering his head. “Or should I be worried you’ve come to steal Nesta away? She’s not here, by the way.”

The words poured out of her mouth so quickly that Elain lifted her head in wonder, the same furrow as her older sister’s she’d seen play out in her face so many times. Rhys was standing with his arms crossed on the stone walkway when Elain looked to the back doors. Not pleased, but something willing.

“Now, smart, beautiful thing.” He tsked his tongue, amusement lacing every word. “I wanted to see you, and I told you that Nesta was not what I wanted anymore.”

Blair lifted her head at that, looking down at his wretchedly beautiful face and he smiled that wicked smile at her that spoke of pure sin. The level of her belief was in her eyes.

Whatever he offered that was big enough for Rhys to allow him to come to Velaris, she didn’t believe it would be just for her. Eris had given something to gain something— that’s what they all said of him.

“I told him I’d spoil our fun and tell my father of our plans or he could let me see you and I’d send a legion tomorrow for him to direct.” Eris added, as if reading her mind or face or body. She forced herself to keep looking at him.

“I could have met with you somewhere else.”

“Would you have? Left this place?” A raise of his brows.

Blair didn’t know, she didn’t know why she said it. Why her tongue just moved before she could think with him. Her eyes said as much and then a sudden, unknown, panic filled her and the life guttered so quickly from her eyes.

“It is safer here anyway.” Eris said lightly a few seconds later, followed by a quiet sigh.

There was a thin white gash along his cheek, almost healed, but it wasn’t there the last time she’d seen him. Blair remembered every inch of his face whether she wanted to or not. A face that followed her.

“No gift to try and sweep me into a marriage with you?” She said as gently as she could, face a bit flat.

“I thought I gave you one.” Eris smiled and at Blair’s squinted eyes, he continued. She closed her book and tossed it to the ground, narrowly missing him as it thudded to the ground. “Our dances, I did give you three I believe. Is that not the correct number in the mortal realm when a male is courting a female?”

The female blinked down at him, pausing as she swung her legs over the side of the branch, face drawing ever tighter and then she couldn’t control it.

It was the wording that sent her laughing she supposed. The sound rich and full of life, not empty and deserted or even strained, a song that skittered over Eris’s skin. Soft and silky as a fawn’s coat, gentle and easy as a gliding dove.

“I suppose,” Blair started, grunting slightly as she slid on her stomach— using the little strength she had in her arms to hold tight to the trunk she was dangling from. “—if we were in the mortal realm.” Blair panted slightly and Eris’s mouth formed a tight line as he watched the female struggling to climb back to the ground.

Her palms quickly formed indents from the grooves and bumps and ridges she clung to, nails digging into the wood.

“But,” Slipping slowly, trying to find a place for her dangling bare feet to land or stick to so she didn’t drop seven or eight feet right to the grass. The thin sleeves of her dress catching and snagging on sharp ribs in the bark. “—I so graciously have the rest of my immortal life ahead of me,”

“Would you…” Eris’s hands trail off as he watched, hands behind his back and head tilted.

“I have choices, to make—” Blair interrupted, toes splaying as she reached and reached for the next thing down but there was just nothing. “So I think it fair I take,” She huffed, hands slipping and sweating as she tried to grapple. “My,”

Eris raised an amused brow to her backside, arms crossing over his chest as he just watched. Her full body dangling there and then Blair yelped, right hand slipping and then she was falling with a gasp.

Eris was there a second later, large hands firmly gripping her waist as her knees bent over something. Scratching up her hands as she went, skin ripping on the rough bark and she grappled for anything. Body twisting.

It was Eris who caught her, who she tangled herself onto so she wouldn’t slam against the ground. Panting, heart beating, arms around his neck before she looked at him.

Blue, rust-flecked eyes met amber ones.

“Time.” She whispered, staring at his face. He’d caught her. She couldn’t tell if it was her pulse she could feel inside her hand, or his, as it held to the junction between his neck and shoulder. His eyes flicked down.

“Yellow was a choice, my dear Blair.” She scrambled from his arms, dropping another foot before touching the ground as she stood on her own again.

“I like yellow.” She spoke quietly, brushing her hands along her dress and halting when it streaked the fabric with a dirty red. Looking up at him with a breath, she crossed her arms instead.

“Beautiful as a rare star, then.”

Blair rolled her eyes.

“What is it you want, Eris?”

The male nearly fell to his knees at the look in her eyes, the sound of his name on her tongue for the first time.

Out loud, that is. He’d rewatched her beautiful lips play with it in his head for the past month, over and over. Kept it for himself, for when he was alone or bored or…

Eris feigned a pout.

“No polite courtier? I just saved you, my fair damsel.” He said, face serious until he smiled again and Blair started walking back towards the house. Rhys mouth twisted into a satisfied smirk as he watched.

“I do not need saving, the worst that would have happened was a few scratches or a bruise. I would have lived.” Even if she didn’t particularly care to. She didn’t say that out loud, though. But the despair seeped into something, she didn’t care enough to stop and think about the feeling.

“Mm,” He hummed, following behind her. “I suppose so.” He wanted to grab her, to touch and feel her beneath the flesh of his hands just because. Something inside his chest dragging him along behind her, he was not himself.

Blair just kept walking, right up the stones and the marble stairs off the back of the house, feet padding to the doors. Eris stopped at the steps where Rhys made him halt.

“Don’t let them hold you.” Eris called and she looked over her shoulder just briefly before flinging the doors open and disappearing inside the house that was warded off. Eris couldn’t follow after her if he wanted to.

“You saw her. For whatever reason you needed, she clearly did not have an interest in the same.” Rhys sighed, stepping in front of Elain subconsciously as Eris stood there— still looking into the House. “Now leave my city before I kill you, you know not to speak of this place to anyone.”

Eris was still staring after her when he disappeared in a rush of wind and warm light.

Elain looked back at the tree where her sister and the male had come through moments ago, only to find a particular trail of higher grass where Blair had walked and suddenly grown dandelions were blooming.

From the slam of the back door seconds later and the vacant yard that Elain was now left alone in, nobody else had noticed.

🏷️: @prythianpages @readychilledwine @impossibelle @anuttellaa @aelincaddel @umgatochamadopercyval @mirandasidefics

[blanketorghost]

Okay hi hello I have seen a sudden new influx in EAH fans (hiiiii welcome <3) and while I am very happy to see this little fandom still be more than three pieces of lint and a paperclip, I am here to give y'all a list of already DEBUNKED EAH myths that somehow always show up whenever this happens every 1/2 years:

"Apple White and Raven Queen are related."

They are not. In Chapter 2 Episode 11 "Blondie Branches Out" there's a throaway line explaining how the 'Prince Charming' role is distributed between multiple unrelated Charming families. There is also no mention in any of EAH media of Apple and Raven being related. The only related characters are:

Poppy and Holly O'Hair (Twins)

Giles & Milton Grimm (Siblings, Milton is the oldest)

Cerise Hood and Ramona Badwolf (Siblings, order not specified)

Daring, Dexter and Darling charming (Siblings, Daring is the oldest and Dexter and Darling are fraternal twins)

Briar Beauty and Rosabella Beauty (1st Cousins)

Gus and Helga Crumb (1st Cousins)

The Hood/Badwolf sisters, Sparrow Hood (Distant cousins)

In Apple White's 'Royally Ever After' diary, the retelling of the Snow White fairytale has Apple be Raven's personal assistant that later overthrows her rule, meaning familial relation and them sharing a royal bloodline is not a necessary part of the narrative.

"XYZ Background character is the descendant of ABC fairytale character."

Unless directly confirmed by a GURU media employee or mentioned in the show, none of the background characters have a direct counterpart.

Most of the most famous background characters are actually cameos/based off of animators (pictured below):

The fandom wiki is not a reliable source given the fact it has no edit protection and the moderators are no longer active.

Be carefulnot to confuse popular hedacanons or fan designs (more often than not fanart by red_red_heels, boots.caitlin and/or theprincessswan on instagram)

"XYZ's fairytale parent is dead."

Unless specifically stated, this is also not true. Certain stories have a loophole or workaround that prevent major character death. So far we have been given confirmation of:

Cinderella (Unknown loophole): shown to still be alive in 'Ashlynn Ella's Story'

The Swan Queen (Turned into a swan forever): It is not known wether or not Duchess' mom gave birth to her while she was still a human or if she was born from an egg. Raised by her grandmother. It is implied her curse is generational.

The Little Mermaid (Happy Ending): The first time this loophole is mentioned explicitly (Meeshell's diary). She was given a happy ending and lives under the sea, unlike the original HCA story. Story variation further explained in 'Fairy Tail Ending'.

The Big Bad Wolf (Unknown loophole): Self explanatory.

Baba Yaga (Possible Immortality?): Self explanatory.

The Candy Witch (Version recorded in the Storybook of Legends confirmed to be inaccurate): Explained in 'Kiss and Spell'.

"Descendants killed EAH."

Look, I am as much of a Descendants hater as the next guy, but the unfortunate truth is that EAH was never as successful as Mattel expected it to be. Their style was too 'childish and girly' for kids who were already into Monster High, and their themes were far too complex for younger kids to fully grasp. So their target audience was unfortunately not very interested. This is coming from someone who was around 11-12 when EAH came out. As an existing MH fan, I was turned off by it as at that time kids were entering their more 'edgy' phase and wasn't willing to give it a chance.

What dealt the killing blow was Mattel and Disney severing their contract over the Disney Princess doll line due to decreasing quality, and then after the release of descendants with Hasbro, one of Mattel's biggest competitors.

-

There's probably some other myths I missed, but these are the most common/widely believed ones. I'll maybe reblog/update later with more myths as I come across them.

[m1ckeyb3rry]

CONGRATS ON 500 FOLLOWERS WOOO!! its been a little over a year since ive found your writting, how time flies T-T Could you possibly write a platonic gojo & reader oneshot where its just snippets of Gojo's first year teaching and the reader is a 1st year student not part of jujutsu society? I'd prefer if the mc had a somewhat introverted personality while being grumpy bc of being forced to attend the school. U can change their behaviour to what u feel more comfortable writing if u want tho!!

── THE SCHOLAR

Synopsis: A short snippet of how Satoru Gojo convinces you to be his first student in full.

Event Masterlist

Pairing: Gojo & Reader

Chapter Word Count: 2.6k

Content Warnings: not many tbh…reader is a d1 hater of gojo and ino ig?? also just a hater in general LMAO she does NOT want to be there

A/N: wow anon i can’t believe it’s been a year since you found my account and that you’ve stuck around for so long, that means a lot to me!! i apologize for how long this took me and how short it is 😫 it was a bit difficult for me to write gojo as a teacher without feeling like i was just rehashing his dynamic w a previous y/n i’ve written 😓 but i hope this is somewhat close to what you wanted?? also idk if you’ve read my fic pomegranate ink or not but i did throw in a reference to it at one point so props to anyone who catches that hehe

Additional: part of my 500 follower event! see the event description and rules to make a request of your own.

You weren’t really sure what cause your classmate had to be as pleased as he was, but for some reason, the boy was bouncing in his seat, scribbling down notes with the fervor of a scholar — though you were quite certain that he was nothing of the sort, at least not when his test scores were taken into consideration. 

“Hey,” you whispered, tossing an eraser at his head when your teacher’s back was turned. “Ino. What’s the big deal? We’re not even learning anything yet, so what are you writing down?”

“Are you kidding me? Gojo just told us an entire story of his past. That’s valuable information!” Ino said. You frowned at him.

“It’s not valuable information, because he’s so prone to embellishment that he’s all but an author at this point. Besides, do you think you, or anyone else for that matter, will ever face seven first grades and come out the winner, without even a scratch?” you said.

“He’s the strongest sorcerer in the world, though, so it’s feasible for him,” Ino said.

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Maybe for him, but not for anyone else. This is just bragging under the guise of an educational opportunity. We’re never going to be powerful enough to replicate such a feat, so what’s the use in wasting our time talking about it?”

“You’re such a spoil-sport,” Ino huffed. “We’re the first students to ever get to learn from Satoru Gojo, and somehow, you’re complaining about it? That’s ridiculous no matter what way you put it!”

“Is everything okay?” 

Both you and Ino jumped as Satoru Gojo appeared in front of your desks, peering down at you over the lenses of his dark glasses. He didn’t seem annoyed that you were talking while he was ‘teaching’; in fact, he looked excited, as if he wanted to join in the conversation as well. You could imagine him pulling up a chair and resting his chin in his hands as he gossiped with you, and it made you scoff.

“Everything’s fine. We were just wondering when you were actually going to start the lesson,” you said.

“She was wondering that!” Ino rushed to clarify. You shot him a dirty look out of the corner of your eye, which he ignored — you supposed loyalty didn’t mean much to him, as you two weren’t really friends and therefore couldn’t inspire much loyalty in one another regardless. “I was telling her how fascinated I am by the story you were telling!”

“Suck-up,” you hissed.

“Stupid,” he hissed back. Gojo clapped his hands, returning to the front of the classroom with a distinctly unacademic swagger to his step that made you internally fume.

“No worries, we’re just getting to that part! Today, we’ll go over some basic curse theory,” he said, drawing simplistic shapes on the chalkboard to accompany his explanations. As usual, Ino was absorbed by the standard bullshit Gojo spouted, but you found it to be so boring that you actually began to nod off, catching up on the sleep you had missed last night due to a mission which had run later than expected.

Unlike Ino, who had been automatically enrolled in the school because of his family lineage, you had been scouted as a fresh talent by Satoru Gojo himself. It had been a long conversation, and he had only managed to convince you in the end by telling you all about Kaito Hinode, the well-regarded first year teacher who you would study under. Hinode was a sorcerer you believed you wouldn’t have trouble respecting, and so you begrudgingly agreed to attend the school and give the whole notion of ‘jujutsu sorcery’ a shot.

Then Hinode retired, mere weeks before you were set to begin at the school, and his replacement was revealed to be none other than that irreverent, inept, and decidedly unserious man who you had secretly hoped you would not see much more of: Satoru Gojo.

You didn’t even want to be a sorcerer in active duty, but the theoretical side of it interested you to an almost unhealthy extent. You spent days upon days studying the workings of curses and cursed energy, to the point that you could be considered almost an expert. That was the only thing cheering you about coming to the school, that you’d get to discuss with individuals on your level, and so it had been such a heartbreaking disappointment when Gojo, who cared little about the causes and more about the results, was the only proper sorcerer you came into frequent contact with.

The other teachers didn’t have time to entertain your pestering, far too busy with their own students, which meant that Gojo was really your only option. And of course you had tried — really, you had. You had presented him with your questions and ideas, but he had only made a face and told you that studying curse theory to this extent wouldn’t help anyone, and least of all yourself.

He wanted you to learn how to fight, but you didn’t care for that. You didn’t want to fight. If you could spend the rest of your days shut away in a study, reading your books and taking notes on them, then you’d be quite content. You were reluctant to go on missions, even if you were ten times better than your peers, and you often dragged your feet heading into your practical classes. More than once, Ino had had to hoist you over his shoulders and sprint to the training field so that you were not both late, and you knew that you probably shouldn’t be so harsh on him given that, but because it meant that you had to exert yourself on the battlefield instead of rereading your favorite essays, his good intentions only made you resent him more.

“You know, you could really be a great sorcerer,” Gojo said to you one day. You were sitting on a bench while Ino did exercises, ink smudging your hand as you meticulously annotated a book that the principal had given to you. You blinked up at him, amazed once again at how tall he was. He blocked out the sunlight, his shadow looming over you in a way that would’ve been ominous if he wasn’t so typically harmless.

“Hm?” you said, returning to your book when you realized he wasn’t going to say anything of importance. “Sure, I guess I could be.”

“Becoming a first grade isn’t an impossibility for you. It’s something attainable, which is incredibly rare for someone as young as you,” he continued.

“Right,” you said.

“Do you care about that, though?” he said.

“Nope,” you said. “I have no interest in being a first grade sorcerer. It just means more dangerous missions, doesn’t it? I don’t care about all of that.”

“It also means a higher salary,” he said.

“Probably not high enough to make up for the risks,” you said.

“Well, it’s pretty high, though only you can decide if it makes up for the risks or not,” he said.

“Listen, sir, I’m only even here because you told me I could further my studies with people renowned in their fields. Do you mind telling me what field you’re renowned in? Because for some unfathomable reason, you’ve ended up as my teacher,” you said.

“I’m…the strongest sorcerer? In the world?” he said, though the way he phrased it made it seem like he was asking you instead of telling. You shrugged.

“That’s an intrinsic talent. You didn’t learn to be that way; you were just born with it. Sure, you had to practice, but practicing and studying are different. Anyways, even if you are the strongest soldier, I think we’ve established that that’s not something I’m interested in. I was supposed to be under the tutelage of wise and experienced professors, but instead, I’m being instructed by you, who’s barely even a few years my elder and has never taught before,” you said, closing your book and holding it to your chest, smiling tightly at him. “I’m staying here because my parents already paid the tuition fee, but I’m not happy about it. Just so you know.”

“If you’re a first grade sorcerer, you also get more access to information,” he said after a moment. “Stuff behind a million clearances that only people of a sufficiently high rank get access to.”

You froze, your eyes brightening at the thought of this forbidden knowledge. You already knew that you were missing several key pieces in your preliminary research, but no matter how hard you looked, you had never been able to find the answers to the seemingly obvious questions. Was this why? Was it really because you did not have the seniority to warrant the understanding?

“Is that truly the case?” you said.

“I can’t help you in terms of books and learning and all of that boring stuff,” he said. “But if you put in a bit more effort, I can turn you into someone that the higher ups listen to, instead of the other way around.”

You mulled this over before nodding, standing up and leaving your book on the bench.

“Okay. I’ll do as you tell me to, but like I said earlier, I’m not going to be happy about it,” he said.

“Who cares? You can be the gloomiest girl alive!” he said, reaching out to ruffle your hair. “Let’s work together, Y/N!”

“I’m your student,” you reminded him. “Not your friend.” 

He waved you off. “You’re old enough to be both. Now let’s get to training!”

It was horrible, being Gojo’s favorite student. For one, Ino was jealous — although soon enough he found another mentor to cotton on to, and then your relationship with him mended into something a little more cordial and polite. For another, Gojo had this strange penchant for throwing you into impossible situations and watching in glee as you struggled to get out of them.

His missions also tended to be errands disguised as pressing matters. Once, he made you run around Tokyo, stopping in various stores so that you could improve your conditioning — stores which just so happened to carry the items on his week’s grocery list. Another time, you single-handedly had to exorcise every single curse harassing a nearby bakery — a bakery which just so happened to carry a specialty flavor of cake that was his new favorite. Whenever you complained about the silly chores, he asked if the exercise had made you stronger or not. You would begrudgingly admit that it had, and then he’d tell you that you should just think of it as a win-win scenario and stop whining.

“Y/N!” That was how it always began: he would shout your name as he entered the classroom, usually accompanying it with a wad of paper or some other, similarly harmless object sent flying your way. You’d catch it in one hand and glare at him.

“What?” This would prompt him to explain his ridiculous plan for the day, after which he would turn to Ino and hand him his assignments. He had gotten special permission from the school to train you in this non-orthodox manner, given that you were so far ahead in any material that giving you homework would be redundant and a waste of time for all parties involved. For his part, Ino did not complain, for he had long ago lost interest in training with Gojo, who was admittedly terrible at actually explaining anything of note.

You made a good pair, you and Gojo, or at least as good of a pair as could be made given the circumstances. As the year went on, you grew more and more familiar with the reasoning behind his atypical style, and though you would never cease to complain, it was more lighthearted, a habit instead of a genuine gripe.

“You’ll be promoted any day now,” Gojo told you on the last day of your first year — the last day that he would be your director supervisor. “They’re waiting for you to grow a bit older, but it’s maturity you lack, not talent. If you participate in the Exchange Event next year, you’ll get the recommendations you need without a problem.”

“If?” you said, picking up on what he had left unsaid. “Isn’t it mandatory? Why wouldn’t I participate?”

“It’s mandatory if you’re living on campus, yes,” he said.

“And what cause would I have to not be living on campus?” you said.

“You’re interested in curse theory, aren’t you?” he said. When you nodded, he sighed. “Still? I was hoping you’d have moved on by now…well, I can get an alternate course of study approved for you by the principal, if you want.”

“An alternate course? What would that entail?” you said.

“One of my fellow special grade sorcerers, Yuki Tsukumo, specializes in researching the exact types of things you find so fascinating. If she agrees to it, then you could serve as an assistant of sorts to her. It’ll be like an internship or something. She won’t let you slack off — it’ll be much worse than anything I put you through, that’s for certain — but if that’s the path you want to take, then it’s an option,” he said.

You had never loved him quite as much as you did in that moment. Without even taking a moment to think about it, you nodded enthusiastically, beaming at him.

“Yes! Yes, Gojo, sir, that would be ideal. I’ve read some of the proposals Tsukumo’s submitted to the higher ups, and oh, if I got to work with her, it would be such a dream,” you said.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he said. “She still has to agree to it.”

“Do you think she’ll say no?” you said.

“Maybe at first,” he said. “After she meets you, though? No way. You’re my pupil, after all. You’ll be the most impressive student she’s ever taken under her wing — and I can attest to the fact that you’ll be far and away the most dedicated.”

You supposed you had some things to thank him for, then. The corners of your lips twitched as you bowed your head at him, causing him to grunt in confusion; after all, you had never shown him such deference before.

“You’re not that bad as a teacher,” you said. “You know, for it being your first time, I think you did alright.”

“Yeah?” he said eagerly before composing himself, clearing his throat before speaking again. “Yeah, I guess you turned out just fine.”

“Thank you for everything, Gojo,” you said. “Please know that you’ll always have an ally in me.”

His black sunglasses slid down the bridge of his nose, just a bit, but enough that you could see the way his eyes softened ever so slightly. Then he reached out and socked you in the arm affectionately.

“Considering how often I butt heads with the higher ups, I might call upon you one day,” he said. “Don’t make that kind of promise lightly, is what I’m saying.”

“I’m not making it lightly,” you said. “If you call upon me, I’ll come. That’s what you do for someone who’s changed your life, right?”

Even the shades he had shoved back into position could not hide the breadth of his smile nor the depth of his fondness. He nodded, slowly at first and then quickly, like he wanted you to be very sure of his agreement.

“True,” he said, and then he patted you on the head. “Guess that means you can call on me whenever you want, too. I’ll be there.”

You smiled at him over your shoulder as you left for the summer and thought that you might never be so fortunate — or unfortunate — as to have a teacher quite like him again.