#I'm not tagging them bc I don’t want hate

[inchidentally]

okay this is fucking weird and... fully factually wrong asfgasjlfgal

I'm obv removing the source and blog name etc so pls do not go try to find who it is and I dnw to be a part of any in-fighting etc

but also I rarely see anti shit since I'm fine w ppl being competitive over drivers and teams since ~sports~ and I stick to my dash so it's wild to me when someone puts it where they know I'll see it and I realize how insane the hate can get like it's fully leaving reality and creating a new one lahfljsafhafhl and ofc I love making a good stupid parasocial essay

also if someone else is actually interested in learning more about Oscar other than the caricature villain the anti tags have cultivated about him/seeing info from a balanced Lando and Oscar fan then why not

I know I’m a rare fully equal Lando and Oscar enjoyer till I d!e and I don’t mind hateuration when it’s not super serious and it’s part of sport culture etc etc. I follow blogs for half the grid and my dash is fully civil war every race weekend. it doesn’t bother me! even when ppl go super biased and delu like this bc of their hatred I don't mind either if it's just done in a non-deep way or if it's done where I don't have to see it. and I would NEVER rb someone's own post and get shitty with them in the tags.

so it’s not that someone has chosen to hate a driver that’s an issue it’s when someone takes it way too far and too personal and wrong - but even then I wouldn’t take notice if it weren’t yknow left for me to see on my own post.

- basic simple legacy tumblr rule: do NOT directly rb someone else’s content with anti additions on the post or in tags. make your own post so they don’t have to see it and do NOT tag it in ways that would show up for fans of that person or thing. if you wouldn't want to have to see that shit on your own posts then don't do it to someone else ok. esp since you'll probably spread it to even more anti people who will just add more onto it.

- to think Oscar of all people is laughing AT Lando cruelly and meanly is... insane. objectively insane. for one thing their relationship has grown naturally and without the veneer of PR bromance so we actually did see back when Lando wasn’t sure about Oscar and was more reserved with him, so he will NOT hide if he’s ever unhappy with him. in fact Lando can't hide his feelings on his face pretty much ever, but esp when he's upset or angry. in 2021 we got a full on-camera media pen moment where Lando looked daggers at Carlosof all people and stalked away from him. obv everything between them after this was immediately fine the next day but it's a perfect example of Lando not hiding his displeasure or annoyance even with his closest friends on the grid! and with Daniel, Lando rly did mean it when he said Daniel's win overshadowed his podium and despite being very good friends from the very starts - but they very much had tensions when they were teammates alongside being extremely good friends and having so many laughs at the same time. and ofc Max is practically family to Lando and they've said they spend the most downtime together out of their other grid friends and P sees Lando as an uncle, yet once again if Lando's not happy with him then it shows! so no, he’s not going to hide his feelings if he’s mad or upset ahsvshdbjd he certainly won't be belly laughing and pink and staring at Oscar happily if he's in fact hurt and upset by him ??? in fact I can’t actually imagine a Lando who’s capable of hiding his feelings that well bc the poor guy often wishes he could !!

- LANDO BEING SILLY ABOUT HIS NON ACADEMIC BRAIN HAS BEEN GOING ON AS A BIT STARTED BY HIM SINCE FOREVER. like I'm sorry but if you're blogging at all about Lando did you miss every single stream where his closest friends laugh and joke with him about his spelling or not knowing certain facts. I can’t grasp knowing who Lando Norris is and thinking he doesn’t fully embrace and laugh about this like it’s probably top 3 thing in funny Lando moments compilations on social media ??? in this exact clip I screenshotted from Lando makes MULTIPLE jokes about not going to school while cackling and says "see I wouldn't ask me that" when Oscar checks with him that the Pacific is indeed bigger than the Atlantic LIKE I'm so confused at anyone seeing that as Oscar being evil and mean and callous ??????

- actually Oscar is one of the ONLY people who doesn’t always and immediately laugh AT Lando for his academic blocks AND as in this very video he gives Lando full opportunity to try AND “why not explain instead of laughing!” oh yea because he frequently does ??? there’s literally a whole Thing between them that even normal fans have picked up on where Lando’s brain struggles and Oscar has learned to gently help ! he spells words for him, provides race locations, stands off to the side unseen and helps !! again. utterly insane to think Oscar of all ppl as being “superior” and mean when he’s one of the few people who doesn’t just openly laugh every time Lando gets something wrong and notices when Lando is actually insecure and helps him out !! EVERYONE ELSE just laughs at Lando including his closest friends but ironically it’s Oscar who pauses, studies Lando’s reaction and sometimes chooses to not laugh and help him out !! Oscar watching and learning Lando literally over the years - even before knowing him personally - is a whole thing!

- considering Lando’s biggest personal cause is mental health and anti bullying, people like this need to drop the whole “Piastri is evil because he doesn’t express emotions the correct way” therefore he “likes being superior” ???and “Piastri is an evil manipulator because he’s racing Lando and wants to win just like Lando says about his teammates” totally ignoring the fact that the Carlos and Daniel bromances had the benefit of not having a competitive car AND with Carlos there was a huuuuge difference in ability and speed that Lando actually said would make him depressed because he wanted to “beat him for once” (that’s why he said he wanted Carlos there for his win, because he “wanted to look down on him”) oops turns out Lando’s competitive too and he’s not evil! Oscar is very obviously loved and Lando clearly likes him and ironically the fact that they hangs out outside of work but choose not to post photos or video and only mention it means that they want to keep their time together private, which is sweet and not “fake” as ppl randomly decide to call it. the fact that they chose not to do a bromance and hate doing PR work is actually sweet as well bc Lando’s said sometimes he likes doing that kind of work but sometimes he also likes to be quiet and not looked at. it's also very worth knowing that Lando specifically said Oscar is the complete opposite to Daniel (but that they're both lovely guys and he likes them both) but that he sees Oscar as being very similar to himself. so it kind of pulls the rug out from thinking Oscar is cold, evil, etc etc etc because he isn't gregarious or doesn't express himself the way everyone's come to expect from other drivers.

- and everyone REALLY needs to go away w interpreting someone self-admittedly low energy/quiet/private and who has literally said he dislikes that people think he’s cold and calculating and who even recently said to look at his onboards and that he expresses his excitement plenty just not through words AND his longtime gf and all four women in his family adore him AND Abbi Pulling said he seems “too nice to be a racing driver” AND he inspires the same long term loyalty Lando does in people INCLUDING LANDO'S BEST FRIEND. Max literally stands up for Oscar against fans and says his relationship with him is great and was literally there for both Oscar's birthdays the past two years and tweeting at him, eating his cake aslfgsaljfgsa. so just because Oscar isn’t great at PR like so many drivers doesn’t mean he’s evil and cruel or cold. Lando often admits he’s frequently not great at PR and lands himself in hot water sjsvshdbdj

- Oscar’s had to “overcome fewer obstacles” ????? than Lando ???? listen I fully am so here for Lando’s insane work ethic so this is in no way trying to reverse the insult onto him bc I will never do the whole putting these guys against each other. it’s to educate that: Oscar literally couldn’t afford to get beyond F2 which is why Mark Webber stepped in to get him sponsorships. and in order for Oscar to progress in karting at all he had to leave his family behind in Australia and live in the UK. he’s far from working class ofc but despite winning feeder series each year he would’ve had to stop before F1 purely down to money if it weren’t for Mark. whereas Lando’s dad is an actual billionaire. and again FULL kudos to Lando bc he specifically said he didn’t want to rely on his dad's money to buy a seat and he didn’t!! but he’s said himself he’s been extremely lucky that his dad could devote himself completely to Lando’s career and that they’ve never wanted for money at all. AND THE REASON OSCAR FINISHED SCHOOL WAS BC HE NEEDED A BACKUP CAREER. he's never actually said he himself is particularly brainy just that he didn’t know if he could afford to progress so engineering would keep him in the sport. so there's not only no comparing the two of them, it's also hysterical to say Oscar had more opportunities than Lando like Lando would literally laugh at that

like I’m sorry this comes off as intense it’s mostly me just ????? bc these tags are the direct OPPOSITE of reality where Oscar was a very huge fan of Lando’s for years before being his teammate, he then closely watched and learned Lando when they became teammates and he’s now such a trusted and kind friend (yes, ppl are weird enough that we've had to point out it's official lsfgajlfgla) that Lando literally looks over at Oscar for help when his brain is struggling !! like this is not a fandom interpretation or anything it physically actually happens and random F1 fans even notice and comment on it !!

anyway it’s fine to be a hater and it's expected in sports spaced etc but do not do it under someone else’s content or where non hater fans can see ok ???

[khruschevshoe]

OFMD Critique: Bad Faith, Fandom, and Respect

All right. You know what? Screw it. I saw one post I just cannot ignore anymore that encapsulated all of my problems with the fandom right now. Personal rant incoming.

I understand that there's a nuance to the discussion of season 2 of Our Flag Means Death, and that there are people going a little too far with both their critiques and their support of the show. But oh my God, I'm tired of being straw-manned and made fun of for legitimate critiques of the show.

I just used the block button on someone in this fandom for the first time. Some of you might think I'm overreacting for this, but I saw a post that I could not on any level stand. This person, who I will not name names of, because I'd rather just block them and never deal with their level of bad faith again, took their one legitimate criticism of those of us who critique the show, the back and forth on whether or not Izzy's death was homophobic or not, and used it as the first in a literal list of straw man critiques that no one I've read in the OFMD Critical tag has made (and I check it like once a day bc I like reading meta, sorry), proceeding to absolutely make fun of the legitimate critiques that people have of the show, parodying them in the worst possible ways. They took our legitimate critiques about everything from the sexist handling Zheng Yi Sao's character, the absolute ableism of the finale, the questionable optics of the handling of trauma, etc. and stretched them into things that they very much were not (two examples were that we were crying ableism bc of something to do with seagulls and that we thought the problem in the Stede&Zheng dynamic was the "emotional labor" involved).

Now I'm pretty sure this post was a joke. I *think* it was a joke. But how in the world am I supposed to feel comfortable in the main section of a fandom like this when the comments and replies to this post were full of people agreeing sincerely that this is what the critical section of the fandom is like? How am I supposed to feel when I just see people making fun of me for my analysis of the show? I love this show. I adore season 1 and I'm clearly still making fan related content (moodboards) for season 2 along with my critiques.

Sure, I vibe way more with fanfiction than the actual canon at this point, but I still genuinely engage with the show. And to have the critiques that I made in good faith, regarding issues that I sincerely care about such as ableism, sexism, homophobia, and the handling of trauma, made fun of and taken out of context and straw-manned to their extreme, makes me feel so absolutely unwelcome in this fandom.

Other than keeping up with the couple of fan series that I'm currently still reading, I don't know if I can stay in this fandom any longer. I can't say that I'm excited for the new season if this is the kind of response that any good faith critique of the show is going to get. I can't say that I feel safe or comfortable when there are this many people ready to dog pile on me for a critique I made with ACTUAL TEXTUAL EVIDENCE to back it up.

I would like to thank all the people who have been making excellent critiques of the show. Their meta-analysis is what got me into making my own critiques, which I was nervous about making in any other fandom. I don't think I've in any way tagged them all, but just a few I can remember off the top of my head. Go read their critiques/meta- it's really good!

@sky-fire-forever @carrymelikeimcute @blue-b-bro @bougiebutchbinch @treesofgreen @sixstepsaway @alex51324

And from the bottom of my heart, thank you to everyone who has engaged with my mood boards or my critiques or anything else that I've made, as well as the amazing writers and artists in this fandom (such as @ruecrown, @aletterinthenameofsanity, @fool-for-luv, and @possumsmushroom). You guys have kept me going with my love for the show and engaging with it for a while now. Despite the stuff that is making me take a step back now, I really did love this while it lasted! I'm still planning on making a few more mood boards, but other than that, I'm going to take a step back from engaging.

Hope this post can spread enough support/joy your way to counteract the ache I'm currently feeling!

Sincerely,

Ashley (aka @khruschevshoe)

[always-just-red]

hihihi! sylus girlie here. as a college student i often never take breaks whenever im working and often stay up late finishing up assignments. then i stress out but never tell anyone and suffer in silence:’) i was wondering if you could do something similar with sylus x mc where mc often forgets to take breaks at the hunters association and is always the first the volunteer for missions so she could improve.

but then it’s starting to take a toll on her and is so so stressed, but feels bad about venting to someone or saying no to new missions.

maybe one day she’s doing a simple task like cooking herself dinner (or something) but accidentally burns herself and she just ends up breaking down and decides to call sylus and he immediately goes to her. :’)

feel free to decline or change anything! i just like the thought of someone comforting u when ur overworked and stressed bc i wish someone would do that to me lol.

Fast-tracked this one for you, anon! I'm really sorry you're having a tough time right now, and I hope this brings you a bit of comfort- remember, Sylus would want you to take care of yourself! Good luck with all your studies, and feel free to send in another request if ever you need it! 🥰

Technical Difficulties

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You're not very good at asking for help when you're struggling. Thankfully? You don't always need to.

Genre: fluff + comfort ft. a very domestic Sylus!

Warnings/Additional tags: stressed reader (has a lil bit of a breakdown!), some swearing, uses of 'kitten' and 'sweetie', Sylus is so soft here he should come with a health warning tbh

| Word count: 2.4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

In the event of a wanderer incursion where evacuation of citizens is obstructed or otherwise not viable, association protocol 32.3-A dictates that you should first… That you should first… What?

Your pen is poised above the blank space where your answer should be. 32.3-A is a general procedure: something to do moving people to the nearest shelter. Or, wait— are you supposed to try to contact support, first?

You drop your pen with a huff and flop face-down onto the mock exam. It’s too much. Too much information, too much responsibility. Open textbooks are spread over your desk and around your head like an unholy halo— stacks of them, filled with codes and procedures. They’re supposed to be helpful, but they’re not; they’re drowning you.

Your phone pings and you glance up. Text from Tara:

Hi! Hate to be a bother, but did you finish glancing over that practice question for me? xx

Shit. You’d completely forgotten. You straighten, reaching for your laptop so you can load up your latest emails. You’ve got time to look over it; the exam isn’t for another two days. Breathe, okay? You have time.

Seven unread emails. What? You scan over them frantically. Two from the Captain: accepting additional mission requests you’d applied for. Were those both this week? One from Nero: you hadn’t sent in that finished report. Three from your colleagues, all scrambling for help with the exam. One from Tara:

Thanks for saying you’d look over this for me! You’re the best at this stuff!

Okay, so: Tara’s practice question. Nero’s report. Your own practice questions. Then… dinner? Maybe that should come first. You’d skipped lunch— had one slice of toast for breakfast. But you don’t wanna cook; cooking takes time, and you’ve got none. None.

Your phone is ringing, snapping you back to reality, and you peek over at it. Sylus?

“Hi,” you greet as you put him on speaker. On your laptop, you’re opening up Tara’s attachment.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Always straight to the point. “Uh… yeah?” you frown as you read through your friend’s work. “Why? What d’you need?”

Sylus sighs through the phone. “That was a test, sweetie. You failed.”

“Yeah, well…” you murmur, highlighting a sentence with your cursor. “Add it to the list.”

The man doesn’t find that funny. The phone is quiet— too quiet. “Are you alright?” he asks, just as your gaze wanders to check if the call has disconnected.

“Mmhmm.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Sylus.”

You stare down at your phone. He’s waiting for more, but you won’t give it to him. You’re one word away from slipping, and you can’t let the dam crumble, especially in front of him. He’s smiling from the phone call background: a photo he insisted would ‘ruin’ his image when you took it last week.  

“I need to go, okay?” Your eyes are shining.

“Okay,” he says softly.

There’s a bleep as the call cuts out, and the photo is gone. Waiting beneath it is another text from Tara, and one from Xavier: Nero told me to txt U bout a report??

You swallow the ache in your throat and slump down on your desk again.

…

You wake up with a start, your head ringing. The tangerine sky outside your window’s turned dark— your laptop, too— and light spills from your desk lamp, yellow on white pages. There’s more, and you turn, tracing it back to where it leaks through the crack of your almost closed bedroom door.

You hadn’t left any lights on in your flat. You hadn’t switched on your lamp, either.

Tiredness is dulling your thoughts and your senses, but you know you feel uneasy. There’s something in the air: smoky, but not unpleasant. You can hear something as well. No— two things. A faint, almost imperceptible hiss, and a more obvious humming.

Hunter instincts kick in. You roll open a drawer of your desk, snatching up one of your standard-issue pistols and removing its safety with a click. You stalk up to the door, your trained footsteps near silent. You take a deep breath, clearing your head. One. Two.

Three! You shoulder the door open, leaping through with your gun trained forwards.

At the other end of your sights, Sylus turns, an eyebrow raised. Your kitchen stove seethes behind him, and he gives you a once over as he sluggishly raises both hands. “You flatter me, kitten,” he smirks in surrender, looking between your weapon and his: a spatula.

You lower your gun, your heart still racing. “I could have killed you, Sylus!”

“That’s the spirit.” His hands drop, too.

“How did you even get in here?”

He’s turned back to the stove, and he’s using the spatula to push something around a frying pan. “Hmm…” he muses, then blink— he’s gone. He’s at your fridge a second later, materialising from thin air. “I wonder,” he finishes as he reaches around for something.

Show off. “You know how I feel about you telepor…” No. “Phas…” No. “Magic…king…?” By now he’s watching you over his shoulder. “You know— that thing you do.” You’re twinkling your fingers. “What do you even call that?”

“Magicking, yeah.”

You huff in response and he laughs, walking back over to where he’s cooking two steaks and preparing a salad. You’re still coming to terms with the fact he’s even here, looking... quite frankly ridiculous, because he’s wearing your apron. It’s too small for him. Baby pink. Frilly, too.

“You know how I feel about you magicking into my home,” you mutter distractedly, because actually? He’s kinda pulling it off. His sleeves are rolled up past his elbows, tight on his arms. “Use the door like a regular person, you psychopath.”  

“Where’s the fun in that?” He sounds smug. Ugh, he must feel your eyes on him; he must know. You think he’s toying with the idea of calling you out, but he doesn’t, and when he does speak, the smugness is gone. “Mephisto saw you were sleeping. I didn’t wish to disturb you. You sounded… tired. On the phone.”

Guilt twinges in your chest as you draw up beside him. “Is that why you’re here? Playing housewife?” You pick at a frill on the apron.

“Poke fun all you want,” he sneers. “This shirt costs more than your entire wardrobe.”

“Snob.”

“Ha.” You have to retract your hand as he threatens it with the spatula. “Watch yourself, sweetie. I’ll remember that the next time you ask to ‘borrow’ my card.”

You laugh gently. Now that’s a threat. You’re about to tell him so when you hear a ping from the other room, and your heart sinks. Just a single sound, and you’re back to where you were an hour ago, at your desk with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Sylus hums in acknowledgment as you excuse yourself and hurry back to your workspace, snatching up your phone. You missed three calls while you sleeping: all from Xavier. He’s been texting you, too.

Nero’s yelling at me

Wants to talk to U

Can U pick up? Pls?

It’s one report, for gods’ sake. You feel your chest tightening again. You just needed to proofread it, but it’s probably fine, right? You wake your laptop out of standby; you’ll just send it as it is. “I’ll just be a minute, Sy,” you call out. “Need to finish one thing.”

He mumbles something in response, and you imagine it’s for the best you can’t hear it. Your keyboard clacks as you tap out a quick email to Nero, then you surf your files for the report he so desperately wanted. It should be… here. You attach it. Hit send.

Nothing happens.

Huh. You hit send again. Then again— still nothing. You groan, trying to back out of the email. None of your keys are working. Your cursor is stuck. “Oh, come on,” you release on an impatient breath. Switch it off, switch it on again? You hit the off button. The screen goes black.

With a sigh of relief, you wait a moment before switching it on again. The screen stays black.

“No, no, no, no,” you plead quietly, but it doesn’t cooperate. Your phone rings and you snap, hitting more buttons: Answer. Speaker. “What?” you hiss.

“Whoa. Hi…?” Xavier’s voice is cautious. “I don’t know if you saw my texts, but Nero—”

“The report, Xavier! I know! I know!” You try holding down your laptop’s power button. “I’m trying to send it, but my shitty computer won’t—”

“No way!” Tara’s voice comes in on the other line; did they both get the night shift? “Hey you! Did you get a chance to—”

“No, okay?!” you practically cry out. “No! Can you two just back off? Please!”

“Oh, sorry, I…” Tara sounds upset, then distracted. “Wait, Xavier wants to speak to you.”

“Are you okay?” he asks after a second.

Okay? You just want everything to stop. “I’m fine. Shit, tell Tara I’m sorry. I am sorry, Xavier, I just… I just need my laptop to…”

Work. Work! Nothing’s working. Half of your files are on there. How much of it is backed-up? Panic is setting in, gripping your body like ice. Your throat hurts and your mouth is dry, the dam is breaking and you can’t stop it. Tears prick at your eyes as you blink at the blank, hopeless screen. Your reflection stares back at you.

You let out a sob, expelling days of frustration and exhaustion. Everywhere you look there’s something you need to do, something you need to learn, something you need to finish. You can’t. You clasp a hand over your mouth, muffling your own cries.

Xavier is speaking— saying something over the phone— but you can’t hear him.

The light changes, and there’s a figure above you, lifting the phone from the desk. “They’ll call you back,” the shadow says. Sylus.

“Wait, who is this?” Xavier.

“That’s Skye!” Tara.

Your friends’ distant voices cut out as Sylus ends the call. He sets the phone down again, nudging your laptop out of view, then lowers himself until all you can see is him: his red eyes, softer than you’ve ever seen them. “Come on, sweetie,” he coaxes, guiding your hands over his shoulders.

You understand what he’s asking of you. His arms wrap around you and you hold him tighter, letting him lift you out of your chair. He feels warm, his skin ever so slightly flushed from where he’s been standing over the stove, and he pulls your legs around his waist, letting him carry you with ease.

With your face buried in his shoulder, you can’t tell where he’s taking you, and you don’t care. His shirt is going damp against your cheeks. You want to stop crying, but you can’t with the taste of your tears on your lips. You feel weak. You feel pathetic.

Something solid is behind you, and Sylus is setting you slowly down on the kitchen counter. He’s away from you for a moment— moving the frying pan off of the heat and turning a dial on the stove— but then he’s back, standing between your legs, standing close. You’re looking down until his hand is under your chin, lifting it with the delicate touch one employs when inspecting a flower that might break.

He shushes you without a hint of impatience. “Look at me,” he directs quietly, and when you do, he unrolls his shirtsleeves— drawing the cuffs over his hands so he can use them to wipe your eyes. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

You do— you tell him everything. The hunter’s exam. The textbooks. The extra patrols you’ve been signing up for. The work you’ve been doing for your friends. The stupid report. The even more stupid computer.

Sylus listens collectedly, nodding his head and issuing the odd hum of understanding. He listens to all of it, and when you’re done, he pushes your hair back from your face with a sympathetic sigh. “Oh, sweetie.” A tendril is tucked behind your ear. “You should have said something.”

“I know.” Your gaze is still shy of his. “But how can I? I need to do this— be this— for everyone.”

His hands are on your cheeks again, drawing back your focus. “You’re just one person,” he says. “You— just you— and that’s all you need to be. You’re stubborn, and strong, but you’re not invincible. Even Linkon’s shiniest hunter is allowed to have limits. Everyone does.”

“Even you?” you snivel, setting him up for a quip.  

Nothing. He smiles. Shrugs. “Even me.”

It’s hard to believe when he’s staring back at you, oh so solid, oh so perfect. Always a picture of strength: of fiery determination or calculated coolness. Everything in extremes; nothing by halves. Except… his hair is slightly dishevelled from where he’s been working away in the heat. There’s a damp patch on his shirt. He’s wearing your pink apron, and there’s mascara on his sleeves.

Then there’s the way he’s looking at you.

It shifts when you finally look back. He drops his hands from your face and pulls back a little. “You do a lot for your friends,” he continues with confidence, but he’s rubbing his neck, “and they care about you. You should afford them the chance to return the favour. It’s only fair.”

“You’re right.”

“…Good.”

Perhaps it’s the fact you’ve vaguely composed yourself— or the way you’re watching him like you’re seeing something new— but he straightens self-consciously, rolling his shirtsleeves back up as his eyes go sharp: assuming their usual severity.

“You’re too soft, kitten,” he scolds, reaching out to tousle your hair until you’re glaring daggers from behind a curtain of it. “How many times do I have to tell you? You put yourself first. Always. No-one else matters.”

There’s quiet for all of a second. He can’t help correcting: “Well, except me, of course.” The apron’s crooked, and he flattens it with a brush of his hands. “Any time spent with me qualifies as self-care. You really should know that by now, sweetie.”

Your mouth curls, but you haven’t quite got it in you to laugh— not yet. Stretching his neck with two sideways tips of his head, Sylus returns to his post at the oven, where the meal he’s cooking has almost certainly gone cold. You watch as the stove flickers back to life. The man is humming again, and though the food might yet be salvaged, whatever melody he’s attempting is long-past recognition, let alone saving.

You chuckle to yourself.

And you can’t see it, but Sylus is smiling, too.

[madamechrissy]

f Took you Like a Shot (fratboy gojo x sorority reader) Here's one final preview!

Its Here

MDNI- teasing, nipple sucking, Gojo being an ass but sweet aha

He’s exhaling, breath hot against your lips, lips you’ve bitten to death in attempts to hold back, what’s glimmering to the surface.

“We hate each other, I don’t want that, not for this baby.”

You blink rapidly, your own hand slipping up his chest, feeling his heart race as it does. “I don’t want it either. I want them to have loving parents, even if we’re not together.”

Together.

Satoru’s never dated, he’s had women in and out of his bed since he turned eighteen, sometimes multiple girls in one night, chasing some feeling that he has never gotten, except with you. But even after that night, he never contemplated it, dating someone, being with them, was he worthy of that, especially with you? He couldn’t even give you his jacket.

Suddenly he takes it off, making you giggle when he wraps you with it. “It’s not cold inside the car, silly.”

“I suck, I’m an idiot and… I am not a gentleman, at all.”

“Satoru…” He shakes his head as you cut him off.

“No, it’s true. I was fucked up before an important day for us, and I couldn’t even give you my jacket tonight when I saw you freezing.” You pull it closer, when he’s brushing a hand under it, right on your waist, sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re doing fine all things considered, I wasn’t kidding. I am proud that you stepped up, it means a lot to me, okay?”

“Don’t be so nice.” You glare, making him moan softly at how sexy you always are when you do.

“You’re being nice, too.”

“I know. Everything I’m thinking, though baby?” He’s got his other hand entangled in your hair, and you can’t stop the soft cry from escaping your lips. “It's filthy.”

“Filthy, huh?” Your voice is just a breathy whisper, he can't stop thinking just how cute you are.

“You can’t begin to imagine what I’m thinking. Seeing these rock hard all fucking day, so full already.” He’s gripping your tits then, squishing one in his palm, and a thumb brushing over it, making your hips roll, pressing your eager cunt against the seat, dying for the friction, while he’s so close you can taste him. “They want to get sucked on, don’t they sweetheart?”

You nod wordlessly, earning Satoru’s moan as he presses you down on the seat then, his own jacket falling under you, hand pushing down your dress, revealing your pretty breasts to his view. You gasp when he brushes his thumb on them, bare, lowering his snowy head, and you’re frozen there, trying to remember all the years you hated him, he hated you.

Why can’t you think of anything but how bad you want him?

“Shouldn’t I take care of you, too? Don’t you ache baby?” He’s murmuring, mouth hovering, as he just barely brushes his lips on them.

“S-sensitive…” He presses another kiss, and your hands entangle in his silky locks, cunt so wet it’s making your panties sticky.

“Sensitive, then do you want me to make them feel good?”

“Should we… ah!” He’s lapping at your nipple with his talented tongue, swirling your nipple, and your moan fills the car, to the point you’re sure poor Kiyotaka could hear you, making you slam a hand on your mouth. Satoru chuckles, little shit that he is, lapping at the other one.

“You want it so bad, don’t you? Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

Sorry this one is taking a lil bit- I have 6 ongoing projects bc I'm chaotic asf but it's comingg <3

perm tags- @alt--er--love @indiewritesxoxo @nanasukii28 @labelt-san @cuntphoric @loafteaw @n1vi @miizuzu @beachaddict48 @honeybunnnnie @re-tired-succubus @gojosukuna2268 @waterfal-ling @1brii @wise-fangirl @moncher-ire @orikixx @uhnosav @baepsays @designerpvssy @orixxxana @airandyeah @nina-from-317 @evelynxxo @naammiii @soyokosuguru @espresso1patronum @tomboy-disaster @iam-souless @lanii-i @cristy-101 @doeeyestoji  @cvixmei @mutsu422 @ivyvenus333 @g00seg1rl @suki91 @naomi-main @fairygardenprincesss @estrellaexists @theonlyjuggernaut @huntyhuntycunty @lovelockdownff @jinjen

[fairyhaos]

⌑ damned chivalrous captain // lee chan

knight!dino x knight!gn!reader, 1.5k words

tags: medieval fantasy au, both yn and chan are knights teehee, kinda rivals to lovers, only one bed trope,,, gone wrong

notes: ib the idea chan is wayyy too nice for the only one bed trope to work bc he is wont impede on ur personal space if you made it clear that you'd be uncomfortable with that. get urself a man who respects ur boundaries like knight!lee chan

“I’m sorry,” the innkeeper says, her face apologetic, “But we only have a one-bedroom room left.”

You kind of want to fall to your knees in exasperation right then and there.

It’s been a long, tiring day of riding with the rest of the King’s knights and having a long, tiring, magical fight with a gaggle of evil wizards (which would have been a lot easier if they’d listened to you and brought the Court Sorcerer along too) and you really, really want to just go to sleep. In a bed. By yourself.

But of course, the Three Fates hate you, so you’re going to have to share a room with the man next to you as you both anxiously talk to the owner of this inn.

You’re just contemplating whether you have enough energy to grab the woman by her collar and threaten her into getting you separate rooms when the man next to you places a hand on your shoulder, placating.

“We’ll take the room,” he says, and now you’re contemplating whether you should grab him by the collar instead. “Thank you for allowing us to stay.”

Lee Chan smiles, as gracious as ever, and his fingers dig into your arm slightly, warning you to be civil. You roll your eyes, grit out a ‘thank you’ to the innkeeper as Chan pays, and he directs a small smile towards you, as if pleased with your show of manners.

Lee Chan.

Captain of the King’s Order of Knights, the Crown Prince’s most trusted friend, two-time dragon slayer and an all-round incredible, kind, chivalrous guy.

God, you hate him.

“If you could have just let me threaten her a little bit,” you complain some minutes later, the two of you seated around the small table in the room you’ll be sleeping in. “I could have gotten us a deal. Two separate rooms. Or at least, a room with two beds.”

Chan just smiles thinly, and he looks more exhausted than you’ve ever seen him. “Maybe,” he says. “But what about the people who were originally in those rooms that you’d be kicking them out of?”

“Yes, well—”

You huff, crossing your arms. It’s one of his many irritating traits. Always being so good.

“This room is so small,” you say instead, looking around the room. There’s a small window on the farthest wall, overlooking the starry landscape of rolling hills. The curtains aren’t drawn, and the light from the fireplace is dim enough that you can see both your reflection and the darkness of the world outside.

You’re an awful long way away from court. It’s the reason that you’ve all lodged at an inn for the night, the fight with the wizards having drawn the knights further into the rural areas than originally intended, and everyone far too exhausted to bear making the three-day ride back home whilst setting up small camps in the middle of nowhere. 

Because of this, you were initially overjoyed when Chan suggested that the knights take refuge in an inn that was on the way back. Now, however, you’re reconsidering that joy, given the fact that you have to sleep in the same room as him.

A room which is awfully small, with an awfully small bed.

“You don’t have to share a room with me if you don’t want to, Lieutenant,” Chan says, raising an eyebrow as he stands up to take off his heavy cloak. “If you’d like, I could send you back down to the stables with the rest of the nights. I just thought that, as Lieutenant, you’d prefer to be treated with a little more respect.”

You wince, and uncross your arms. “No, sir,” you say dutifully. “And I'm very grateful for your esteemed kindness.” 

He smiles, lips twitching upwards at your exaggeratedly formal tone, eyes dancing with mirth in the flickering warmth of the fireplace light. It makes you smile too, despite yourself, before you turn to look back at the bed and frown. 

“However, I'll obviously be the one sleeping on the floor,” you say matter-of-factly, and look over at him again. “You can take the bed.”

That makes Chan raise an eyebrow, and he begins to unbuckle the metal arm braces of his armour. 

“No, you’re not. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“What? No. I will.” 

The wooden floor is covered by coarse fur rugs, but they’re all a little too threadbare for comfort, and sleeping on them would give Chan backache for days. You are, if anything, an excellent Lieutenant, so there’s no way you’re subjecting your Captain to something that painful, even if him and his perfectly kind gentlemanliness always get on your nerves.

Chan waves away your words. “I paid for the room, so I get to choose. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scoff. “Like I’ll let you do that.”

He tilts his head. “It wasn’t something to be debated. You’re taking the bed.” He sets the pieces of armour into the table, and jabs a finger in your direction. “And that’s certainly not a way to talk to your superior.”

“Captain,” you emphasise, annoyedly. “I’m not letting you do that.”

“Lieutenant,” he says back, mocking your tone with a smile. “I’m not letting you do that.”

You frown. “Fine. Let’s both sleep on the floor.”

There’s a short pause, as you both survey the floor. The bed is pushed up against the wall, and with the tiny size of the room, if you both sleep on the floor, you’ll probably end up lying as close together as if you’d both taken the bed.

“Nevermind, I don’t want to be that close to y—”

“No, it’ll hurt your back—”

You blink at his statement, but Chan doesn’t even bat an eye.

“I can't have my best knight getting back pain from sleeping on the floor when there's a perfectly good bed,” he argues, and then gestures to the offending piece of furniture that you've been bickering over. “I, on the other hand, will be fine on the floor. Come on, Lieutenant. Have the bed.”

There's a part of you that still wants to protest, weirdly annoyed that the Captain is making such sacrifices for you. “But you're the superior officer. Surely you should take it.”

Chan just smiles, seemingly at ease even though you're fighting him so insistently over such a small little thing. Any shorter tempered captain would have blown up at you right now.

“Just take the bed, Lieutenant. And that's an order. I know how tired you get during long quests like this,” he adds, gentler, and the tone makes you blink. 

Sure, you know that Lee Chan is kind, but it's surprising to hear him be so… soft. Caring. Especially towards you, seeing how your relationship has, up until this point, been one mostly consisting of constant bickering and eye rolls and snarky smirks in an attempt to rile each other up.

A Captain and his Lieutenant were fierce allies, of course, and you would stay loyally by his side during any battle at all, but that didn’t mean you were exactly friends.

Right now, though, as he smiles at you, hair gently tousled and jawline turned soft in the firelight, you can’t help but admit that he’s, well. He’s something. He’s something enough to make your heart squeeze weirdly in your chest as you concede with a sigh.

“Since it’s an official order, I suppose I have to take the bed,” you say, in the most long-suffering voice you can muster, and Chan laughs.

It takes you a while to register his next words, your pulse thrumming far too loud in your own ears at hearing his laugh.

(Why is your heart acting up like this?)

“Glad to see that you’re able to follow orders as well as ever,” he says drily, but there’s a warmth in his voice as he takes off his cloak, and places it down on the fur rugs on the floor. “Now get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

You watch as he settles down on the floor, and you can immediately tell from his face that it is not comfortable in the slightest. Before you can even think of protesting, however, he shoots a pointed look at the bed, and the message Get into that bed before I make you is clear in his eyes, so you grudgingly comply.

Damned chivalrous captain, you grumble to yourself, settling under the covers. He can’t even let you feel irritated at having to follow his words. You pull the covers up over your cheeks, as if that will help you hide their warm flush from yourself.

“Um… Capt—I mean, Chan?”

It feels weird, to address Chan by his first name, but you’re making your next statement as his… well, his kind-of friend, not as his Lieutenant. And thankfully, despite your awkwardness, Chan’s voice is still as kind as ever as he replies.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“Thank you,” you say, the words carrying softly through the small room. “You know. For just being nice, all the time.”

Above the peaceful crackling of the fire, his responding laugh is quiet but, oddly, fond. 

“For you? Always.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @sakufilms @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @melodicrabbit @kikohao

[quintessenceofdust88]

Wip Wednesday

I was tagged by @bidisasterevankinard and @typicalopposite for this one (thank you my loves!). I have gotten quite a few things that I'm writing, and y'all had me motivated for new things with your asks, so thank you sooo much for that! ♥ But for this one I'm going with my priest!Tommy AU, so here's the first scene complete. If some stuff looks familiar it's bc I posted snippets a few days ago!

Buck loves LA, but he hates days like this one, where it feels like the whole city is a greenhouse. The heat is sticky and humid, clinging to his skin and making him sweat in his uniform. All he wants is a cold shower and a minute to breathe. And, okay, maybe a cold beer wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Instead, he’s crammed in the back of the 118 fire engine, heading to San Pedro for one more call. And Buck loves his job, he does, but they’ve been on back-to-back calls for the last three hours. 

“Christ, I feel like I’m gonna melt” He whines, and Eddie smirks at him from the front seat (he had won rock paper scissors fair and square, the bastard), pushing his sunglasses up his nose. His Texas-raised ass does just fine with this horrible weather, and Buck hates him for it. 

“Yeah? Better start working hard to go to heaven then, cause you would not survive the eternal flames” He quips. Buck crosses his arms, too stubborn to let himself be influenced by the collective chuckle.

“I already work hard to go to heaven, don’t I? Saving lives and stuff” He says with a shrug, absolutely not pouting, thank you very much.. 

“I don’t know, Buckaroo.” Chim says, a playful smirk on his face. “When was the last time you set foot in a church? That’s supposed to be a big deal for the guy upstairs”

“Well, if that’s the dealbreaker, we’re all screwed” Hen says dryly, even though she doesn’t look particularly concerned. “Except for Cap, of course.”

Bobby chuckles from the driver’s seat, taking a turn to the right and stopping the truck. 

“Well, here’s your chance to make up for it” He says, and Buck comes down from the engine to find out they pulled up to a small stone-walled church. 

The doors are open, and most people are outside or at the very back of the church, chatting agitatedly, their eyes widened as most people when they find themselves witnesses to a 911-level emergency. It’s a sizable crowd, he thinks, considering it’s a Wednesday afternoon (which, as far as his Episcopalian-raised knowledge goes, is not a church day). 

As they rush up the church’s steps, he notices half of the crowd are the usual elderly ladies, but half of it are people around their 20s and 30s, and a few teens, which surprises Buck. They’re all whispering fiercely to each other and keep stealing glances inside the church. One of the ladies approaches them, relief clear in her eyes. 

“Oh, thank God you got here so fast!” She says, wringing her hands together. “It’s Mrs. Bellini, you see, she has low blood pressure, and this weather…”

“Ma’am” Bobby cuts her off as gently as possible. “Were you the one who called 911?”

“No, it was father Kinard.” She clarifies, leading them inside. “He’s already tended to her forehead, but he didn’t want to risk moving her until you arrived to check her situation.”

The church is relatively small, but the ceiling is high, and their footsteps echo against the walls. It’s a lot cooler inside, and Buck lets out an involuntary sigh of relief as they get out of the intense sunlight.

The woman leads them to one of the front pews, where they find another lady who’s sitting down, looking pale and sheepish. There's a white gaze pressed against her forehead, and a small red stain seems to have formed against it. Sitting by her side is a man dressed in white robes, a green-colored long scarf-looking thingy around his neck. 

He stands up when they approach, and Buck’s taken aback, because he’s ridiculously tall; a little taller than Buck, even, and that’s no easy feat. His features are sharp, a jawbone that could probably cut through glass, and he has a cleft on his chin (why did Buck notice that, he wonders? Is it weird to notice a priest has a cleft?). He’s looking at them with widened blue eyes that are filled with concern. 

“Father Kinard? I’m Captain Nash.” Bobby says, and the man nods sharply, his stance almost militarily. "Can you tell us what happened?" 

"He is exaggerating is what happened" The woman quips, her voice a little trembling, but her glare towards the priest is very firm. Father Kinard, however, doesn't seem intimidated. 

"Calling 911 after you passed out and hit your head is not exaggerating, Gloria, and you know that" He says gently, then puts a massive hand on her bony shoulder. "I'm your shepherd, I have to make sure my sheep are doing alright, don't I?" 

Buck smiles a little at that; it shouldn’t sound that endearing, but it does, and even the lady seems convinced, because she shakes her head resignedly, and doesn’t protest when Chim takes her arm and wraps the pressure cuff around it. 

“She fell unconscious during service and hit her head on the pew.” Father Kinard elaborates, still looking at Mrs. Bellini worriedly. “I figured the heat brought her blood pressure down, so I asked everyone to step outside and called 911 immediately. I applied pressure to the wound and it seems to have stopped the bleeding. I made sure to keep her awake and she’s not showing any signs of confusion or dizziness.”

He knows it’s not polite to stare, but Buck can’t help himself. It’s not common for someone to give them this level of information with so much calmness when they arrive on a call. Usually they try to gather what little snippets they can through tears, yelling and fainting over the sight of blood. But father Kinard is collected and eloquent in what he says, and Buck's astounded. 

“And you're right, her blood pressure is a little low. The wound looks fine, though.” Chimney says, gently removing the gauze to inspect the cut. “Wow, looks like your priest cleaned this up real well, didn't he, Gloria? My job is already done for me.”

“Father Kinard is great whenever anyone gets hurt.” Gloria gushes, and the priest blushes under the attention, shrugging sheepishly.

“I had first aid training in the army.” He says, and when they all turn to him with widened eyes, he gives them a wry smirk. “Which was obviously before I joined the seminary.”

“Well, you were trained well, father.” Hen says approvingly, inspecting the wound herself and dabbing at it with a cotton swab covered in anti-septic. Gloria flinches a little, but sits still as Hen gets it cleaned and then places a band-aid over it. “This won't need stitches, it's very superficial. How are you feeling, Mrs. Bellini?”

“Oh, I'm perfectly alright now.” She says distractedly, her eyes turning back to her priest. “But I am so ashamed you had to stop service because of me, father! I'm very sorry! And for such a small thing too.”

“We’re lucky it was small, but it could have been bad. I wouldn’t risk it.” Father Kinard says patiently. “And don't worry about the service, Gloria, it was after Communion; we'd already done the greatest bits anyway.” He winks at her, a blinding smile on his face. 

Buck doesn’t get the joke, but apparently it’s funny, because both Eddie and Bobby chuckle at it. Chim is removing the cuff from Gloria’s arm and patting it jovially. 

“Well, looks like you’re all set, Mrs. Bellini.” He tells her. “If you experience any dizziness or headache, you should look for a hospital, but otherwise, you’re fine.” 

“And thank God for that!” Father Kinard adds with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle, squeezing Gloria’s shoulder with genuine affection. “And thank you, first responders, as well. Come, I’ll walk you out before giving Gloria a lift home.” He says, and then strides along them to the back of the church, the smile still lingering on his face.

Buck has a hard time reconciling this laughing priest to the buttoned-up, serious-faced ministers he knew in childhood, from the few times his parents made him attend church. This man is full of joy and confidence, Buck can tell right away, and he just thinks he’s so cool. 

“You quite literally have nothing to thank us for, Father.” Bobby adds warmly, smiling at Kinard. Buck knows his captain has a close relationship with church, and he seems completely comfortable striking up a conversation with the priest. “You had done half our job for us before we were here.”

He shrugs modestly once more, walking alongside Bobby, and Buck is irrationally envious of his boss for a second or two. They stop by the church’s entrance, and the man extends a hand to Bobby. 

“Thank you, captain…” He says, trailing off, and Bobby firmly shakes his hand, smiling warmly. 

“Nash. Captain Bobby Nash. Your blessing, father.” Bobby asks respectfully, and the priest makes a cross sign over his head. 

“God Bless you and your team, Captain Nash. May He keep you safe in your very necessary jobs.” He says warmly, and then turns to Hen. “And thank you, firefighter…”

Buck watches in increasing despair as her, Chim and Eddie introduce themselves to the priest, shaking his hand, and realizes that soon it’ll be his turn.

He thought the church was cooler than the outside, but all of a sudden he's feeling hot all over again. Should he ask for the man’s blessing? He didn’t offer it to the others, and they didn’t ask, but should he? Is he even allowed if he’s not a Catholic? Does he even want the man to touch his sweaty forehead? 

And then the priest looks at him with that crunchy smile, an inexplicable blush creeps up to his cheeks. Buck thanks God - yes, he’s fully aware of the irony, and he does not find it funny - that he can blame it on the heat and his heavy uniform (never mind that father Kinard's clothes also look heavy and he's still perfectly composed, but Buck definitely won't think about how he'd look all sweaty).

“Thank you, firefighter…” He says, trailing off and extending a hand, and it takes Buck a second to realize he's supposed to shake it and offer his name (not his phone number. Definitely not his phone number).

“Evan. Buckley. Buck!” He blurts out like a complete idiot, and wonders if it's wrong to wish for a five scale fire so they can rush out of there.

Father Kinard raises an eyebrow at him, a smirk on his curved lips. That's when Buck notices he's still shaking hands with the man, and he lets go clumsily. 

“My, that's a mouthful” Kinard says, and Buck almost blurts out that he has something else that's a mouthful before his eyes clock the white collar around the man's neck. 

As it is, he just snickers awkwardly and mutters a goodbye, his voice high-pitched and strained.

Buck's at the truck before anyone else, mentally preparing himself for being teased all through the shift they just started. 

His only saving grace is that, as much as he made a complete fool of himself in front of father Kinard, it's not a problem. Buck'll never have to see the man again, will he? So it's not like it matters.

Naturally, the priest shows up at the station the next day.

Np tagging @agentpeggycartering @unhingedangstaddict @fairytalegonewronga03 @laundryandtaxesworld @mmso-notlikethat and whoever else would like to do it!

[bamboozledbird]

𝕚𝕗 𝕚 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 𝕝𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕚 𝕨𝕠𝕦𝕝𝕕 pt.2 // stiles stilinski imagine

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, fem!reader, Theo Raeken, Lydia Martin Pairing(s): Stiles x you, Theo x you (no use of y/n) Word Count: 5.3k Tags: a fix-it for y'all bc i'm a pushover Warnings: Underage drinking (at least in america rip, they're all 19+), creepy guys in bars, emetophobia, new jersey slander (please forgive me jerseyans)

Request: for all you people i made cry with part 1. this is my love letter to you. A/N: you don't necessarily need to read part 1 to understand, but this is a follow-up to if i could lose you i would.

The night starts well enough. Theo’s hand is a warm, steadying weight against your lower back, and his cologne cuts through the vague funky smell clouding the bar. Lydia chose it; somehow, no matter the city, she always knows about the coolest, underground spots that seem to only circulate within an elite circle of twentysomethings. It really isn’t all that shocking when you think about it as you nurse your bitter cocktail; every single person who catches a glimpse of Lydia immediately craves her attention. Unfortunately for them, Lydia always takes you as her date, though lately she’s been ending your nights out at a stranger's apartment more often than not. She’s never said it, but you know it’s because, ever since the disastrous end to her start-of-summer bash, Theo's made himself a permanent third-wheel on girls’ night. He’s never said it, but you know he started tagging along because you’ve been distant since Stiles poured into your bedroom and pressed on all the bruises his fingertips left behind when he left you. You really thought you’d washed them all away with 3,000 miles, 3 months, and 3 weeks of the scrape of Theo’s teeth. 

You sip on your fourth drink of the evening, sitting on a barstool because your legs are too wobbly to stand on, and Theo watches you watch Lydia spin a girl with a radiant smile and glitter tinsel in her hair. 

“You wanna dance?” he hums in your ear. You can barely hear him over the bass and the buzz of too much tequila. 

You nibble on your straw and hiccup around it, “Don’t think I can.”

Theo makes a move to grab the drink in your hand, and you bend backwards to keep it out of his reach. “Come on,” he frowns, “you can’t even stand.”

“So?” you purse your lips petulantly and punctuate your point with a loud suck, draining the last few drops of your lime margarita through a few chunks of leftover ice.

Theo looks tired as he studies your face. “What the hell is going on with you? I see you every day, and I still don’t have a fucking clue.” 

You’re too drunk to pretend you don’t know what he’s talking about. Hiccupping again, your nose scrunches, “I’m just…I wanna go home.” Theo pats his jacket pockets for his keys, and you shake your head a few too many times. “No, not there.” Your stomach turns when you finally realize what you actually mean. You want to hitch a ride on the melting ice in your glass and dissolve into knotted hair on Sunday mornings, freckled skin washed with the shifting sun, and pouted pink lips, cursing the snooze button and your cold toes. You don’t say that. You’re drunk, not cruel. “I wanna go back to Stanford. I hate it here.”

Theo’s eyes are shadowed in the dim light of the club, but they’re calculating. “You really think that’s far enough?” 

Blinking slowly, your mind spins with the drinks in your stomach as you try and fail to think of something clever. “Feels far,” you mumble, and Theo doesn’t look reassured. It’s hard for you to differentiate pain from anger through watery eyes and the brume of tequila, but whatever emotion is darkening Theo’s expression, you think it’s justified. He’s smart enough to know what you mean. 

 His face goes blank as he searches for his keys again, “I think that’s enough fun for tonight.”

You shake your head and wriggle down further into the cradle of your hips, “I wanna stay.”

Theo exhales through his nose and runs a hand over his face, “I thought you wanted to go home.”

Your tongue is thick as you struggle for words, sniffling as they tease you from the fraying edges of consciousness. “Not there.” You know you sound like a baby, recycling the handful of words you can remember, and you know that tears will only make it worse, but they still bubble along your lash line.

“Stay at Lydia’s then,” Theo spits out through gritted teeth, but he shoves a napkin towards you to mop up your running mascara, so you forgive him. It’s your fault, after all. At least, you think so as you watch him leave. 

“Boyfriend troubles?” Your head lulls to the side as you blink dumbly, all big-eyed and glassy, at the stranger leaning against the bar beside you. He’s tall, well-built too, but you’re mostly focused on his pungent cologne. It’s hard not to; you’re suffocating in it. 

The man laughs and grabs your chin, shaking your head a little, “You’re adorable. How could anyone stay mad at you?” 

You recoil, wrenching your face from his sweaty grasp, and run your tongue over your teeth. “He’s not…” your protest gets lost in your throat when he steps into your space and slides his hand along your spine, just shy of your ass. Your dress is backless, completely exposed to his wandering gaze, and your skin crawls with the sensation of his fingertips grazing your back.

His breath is hot and wet on the shell of your ear, “You want to forget about it for a while, angel?” 

“No,” your head jerks from side to side, eyes screwed shut, “I don’t—I think I’m gonna puke.”

A wave of relief rolls over you when a red-taloned hand slithers between your bodies. Lydia shoves the stranger’s chest sharply, sending him stumbling into the stool behind him, and his hand falls from your hip. 

“Does it look like she wants to contract something from a limp-dicked lowlife in tacky shoes?” The top of Lydia’s head barely reaches his shoulder, but her eyes are sharp and her sneer is venomous. The creep has the good sense to look a little afraid. “You have exactly two seconds to get the hell out of here before I personally ensure you’re on every public sex offender registry from here to Quebec.”

She grabs your hand before he has the chance to disagree and pulls you into the bathroom. In comparison to the loud, muggy dancefloor, it’s a wonderful reprieve: an oasis of cold air and muffled bass. 

Lydia fusses over you for a minute; you wave off her concerns and push yourself onto the sink even though your arms feel distinctly gelatinous. You can tell she doesn’t believe you, but men preying on drunk women is a tragically large and present underbelly of girl world, so after a moment she turns her intense focus to the lighted mirror. She looks perfect—she always looks perfect—but she won’t believe anyone except her own reflection.

The aching strain in your arches slowly dissipates to a faint tingle the longer your feet dangle from the counter, your heels discarded below. They’re black strappy things from the back of Lydia’s closet, and so is the scrap of black silk that Prada has the audacity to call a dress. You are grateful, however, for the short hem and open back now that your skin finally has the chance to breathe. 

You watch Lydia apply her lipstick with a precision brain surgeons could only dream of, smiling lazily. She’s graceful with the slender brush, like Botticelli stroking a swathe of red silk over a canvas of smooth skin. You envy her, with your eyeshadow already melting below your waterline, but mostly you love her. So proud to have such a goddess for a best friend. 

Her head tilts as she smiles at you, and she must be at least a little godly because she doesn’t smear her lipstick when her mouth curves. “What?” she hums around her puckered lips. 

“Nothing,” your words slur together, “you’re just perfect.”

She tucks her lipstick into her clutch and shakes her head, “And you’re so drunk. Lethal, babe.”

“I love it,” you sigh as she starts fixing your hair, clicking her tongue when you start to fidget. You slump into her careful touch and watch her fingers smooth through a few knots near your ends. “Being drunk is my favorite.”

She twirls her finger, indicating you should turn around, and begins twisting your flattened curls into an elegant bun. “I’ve noticed,” she mutters through the bobby pin clutched between her teeth, “you’ve been drinking more than you’ve sober lately.”

“It’s summer!” You blow a curl off of your nose and close your teary eyes so that your mascara doesn’t flake onto your cheeks, “You’re supposed to be drunk.”

Lydia hums and pulls a few strands of hair loose to artfully frame your face. “I didn’t realize alcoholism was seasonal.”

“You,” you bop her nose and giggle when it scrunches under your finger, “are being a major buzzkill. Don’t kill my buzz; that’s murder in the first.”

“Someone has to be.” Lydia leans her hip against the sink, and her brows curve, “Where’s Theo? I thought he was your DD tonight?”

You let the intoxication sweep over your senses because it’s easy and knock your ankles together like a child on the swings. “He left,” you chirp.

“He what?”

Your bottom lip juts out a little, “I think I hurt his feelings.”

Lydia is incensed. She tosses her hair over her shoulder and mutters a few choice words under her breath, “I’m going to hurt a lot more than that when I find him.” You curl in on yourself a little, and she sighs, unwinding her fingers from tight fists as her eyes soften. “He really left you here?” she asks quietly.

You shrug, refusing to feel sorry for yourself, and make grabby hands at her sleeves, “It’s okay. You’re here, and you’re my best friend, and I love you.”

She laces your fingers together and squeezes your hand, “It is not okay. That creep had you halfway to his car.”

You shudder at memory, and feel the ghost of the stranger’s clammy hand against your lower back, “But you rescued me. So it’s okay.” 

You frown at Lydia’s frown and push her cheeks together, squishing her mouth into a crinkled half-smile. She rolls her eyes a little and takes your wrists in her hands gently, “He shouldn’t have left you. It was a shitty thing to do, babe.”

“I made him sad, I think.” You hiccup a little, “I think I always do.”

“He can’t leave you blackout drunk in a skeezy bar just because you’re in love with someone else,” she huffs.

You tease the tip of your tongue through your front teeth, swinging your legs back and forth below the sink, “It wasn’t skeezy when you picked it.”

Lydia huffs again and folds her arms over her chest, “That was before I saw tall, dark, and creepy try to take you home.”

Your playful grin crumbles as your drunk-numb mind finally catches up with the burning behind your ribs. “I’m in love with someone else,” you say, voice sticky and thick in your throat. 

She lets out a sigh so soft you wonder if you just imagined it and takes both of your hands, “I know.”

Whimpering quietly, you turn your nose into your shoulder, slightly embarrassed by the sound. “I’m sad about it.”

“I know,” Lydia combs a few strands of your hair off of your tear-tacky face and smiles a little, “let’s get you home, okay?”

Another round of nausea hits you as you finally realize that you’re truly, really, horrifically drunk, and you still can’t forget him. 

“I don’t think I know where that is anymore.” 

Lydia was able to corral you into an Uber after you puked a few times. She held your hair back and helped you brush your teeth. You cried a little when she wiped the sweat off of your face with a makeup wipe, watching her take care of you with big wet eyes, as she tucked you into bed like the baby tequila and heartbreak had turned you into. She made you promise to call her in the morning, and then she left you to sleep off the ache in your throat and the six margaritas in your bloodstream—or was it seven, you can’t remember. 

You can’t remember much, it seems. You scroll through your feed for a while and squint at the blurry splotches of color, trying to recall if you were good enough friends with the girl from software systems to leave a comment on her post about how hot she looks in red. Your fingers drift, swiping away from Instagram to the only thing you remember. The thing you’ll always remember.

The phone rings exactly two times.

“Hi.” It’s the only thing you can think of besides, ‘I love you. I love you. I love you. Please make it stop.’

“Hey.” You listen to Stiles breathe on the other side of the line and snuggle further into your pillow. “You there?” 

His voice is soft in your ear, and your eyes go lidded, “Uh huh.”

He clears his throat, “What are you doing up this late?”

You twist around your sheets, and the tip of your tongue pokes out at your phone. Apparently, you’ve also forgotten that he can’t see you. “What are you doing up this late?”

“It’s uh,” Stiles pauses and there’s a rustling sound on his side of the line, “almost 8 here.”

You blink and frown at the time on your screen, “Nuh uh.” 

There’s a pause; you hate it. You want him to keep talking until you fall asleep. He finally sighs, “Are you drunk?”

Your tongue pokes out again, “I’m not the one who can’t tell time.”

“Baby,” your heart skips and your breath hitches, and he must be tired because he doesn’t seem to notice the slip, “we’re in different time zones.”

Your heart stumbles over the skip this time, and it feels a lot like flatlining. “You went back already?”

“I, uh,” he shifts, must be in his desk chair because you can hear something rolling, “my lease started. Figured if I’m paying to live in Philly, I should actually, y’know, live in Philly.” 

“Oh.” One little syllable, and it’s heavy with so many things you can’t bring yourself to dwell on it. 

“Yeah.” 

“So, uh,” you hear him scratch at something, most likely the back of his neck because he sounds anxious, “why’d you call?” He’s quick to correct himself, words overlapping like ripples in a creek, “Not that I’m not glad you called; I’m stoked you called—or maybe something a little less embarrassing—but I, uh,” there’s that scratching sound again and a quiet thudding of drumming fingers, “I really didn’t think you would.”

“Dunno,” there’s a smile in your voice, but you aren’t sure if he can hear it through the wobble, “just started dialin’, n’ I ended up here.”

He stands, and the phone shifts against his cheek as he starts to pace, “Where are you?” He sounds worried. You frown—you don’t want him to worry. You want him to hold you.

“Home,” you pause, nose wrinkling because that’s not quite right, and then add, “my house.”

“Did you drink anything?”

“Clearly.”

You can hear the eye roll from the other side of the country when he huffs into the phone, “I meant water. Did you drink any water?”

“Uh,” you nibble on your lip, “yes?”

He huffs again, but this time you can tell he’s smiling, “Get up and get some water—Advil too. Put it on top of whatever book you’re reading so it doesn’t get lost in your pile of shitty chapsticks and hair thingies.” 

Your eyes cross, affronted, “They are not shitty.”

“They’re an endless cycle of chapped hell.”

“But they taste good,” you grumble, cuddling your pillow to your chest.

He’s smirking; you know it. “Oh, I know.” 

You both just breathe through the line for a long moment, remembering the same slick slide of lips and tongues. 

“I miss you,” you whisper. 

Stiles inhales sharply, “I miss you too.”

“No,” you shake your head, smearing mascara on your pillowcase, “I miss you.” Your mouth is dry, and you can’t find the right words to explain it, how he’s apart from you even when he’s standing right there. There just aren’t enough words in the English language to explain the ache in the marrow of your ribs, how he still lingers inside your skin like some kind of fucked-up, agonizing osmosis, how you love him so tortuously, so effortlessly. Indefinitely. 

You can’t explain, but when he whispers, “Yeah, me too,” you know he knows. 

You sniffle and hiccup a few times, and a sigh crackles through your speaker. “Drink some water for me, okay?”

“Okay,” you whisper. You roll onto your stomach and sit up a little on your elbows, “Will you stay?”

“Yeah, baby,” his chair squeaks as he sits back down, “‘till you fall asleep.”

“Promise?” Your voice is thick, like you’ve been crying for hours, and Stiles’s voice is tight when he finally replies. 

“Promise.”

You wake up with dry eyes and a rank taste in your mouth. There’s a glass of water and a handful of Advil on your nightstand, and you just know. You’ve known for a while actually, maybe forever, but you can’t pretend you don’t anymore. 

Theo seems to know why you invited him over so early on a Sunday morning. He doesn’t even look sad when you officially end it, and you wonder if it’s because he knew it was over a long time ago. You wish, selfishly, that he would’ve let you in on the secret so that you could’ve avoided all this. You hug him before he leaves, and it’s stiff and awkward, and you feel a little shitty about the whole thing—but it doesn’t feel wrong. 

You feel like yourself for the first time in a long time, and that feels good.

Summer is almost over, and you don’t have the time to obsess over all your wanting. All the air leaves your body sometimes, no room for anything but honey, veins, and new stubble, but you have so much to do. There’s no time for drowning in it when you’ve only got a few weeks before the semester starts. 

You don’t even have the time to acknowledge the nerves wriggling up your esophagus until you’re standing in front of a black door. Your screen is lit with the address Scott texted you, along with roughly 100 exclamation points and a dozen or so brain explosion, party popper, and happy face emojis. They steady you as you knock on the splintering door. The unit is cute and quaint, and you distract yourself by getting a better look at the sage green columns. 

Stiles opens the door, looking disarmingly soft in his worn sweatpants and stretched-out t-shirt—like cuddling on the weekend, like playing video games until sunrise, like home. He blinks at you slowly, pretty pink mouth slightly ajar.

You shift on the soles of your sneakers, jamming your hands into your hoodie pockets. “Hey.”

He blinks some more and seems to be only capable of repeating what he hears, “Hey.”

“So,” you dig the toe of your shoe into the porch, staring at a warped patch, curved from seasons of melting snow, and shrug, “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop by.”

He recovers from his stupor and leans against the doorframe, hands tucked under his armpits. “You were in the neighborhood,” his head tilts with his arched brow, “in Philadelphia.”

“Well,” you try not not to smile, “it was on my way.”

Nodding, Stiles rubs his chin and purses his lips. You want to kiss the smirk off of his stupid face. “Right, the classic eastbound Stanford route.”

“Not quite.” You adjust the strap of your duffle bag on your shoulder, easing some of the ache pinching at the base of your skull, “New transfer orientation is on Monday. Turns out Princeton’s comp sci department is decent.”

His face becomes guarded, but there’s a little something like hope behind the uncertainty, “4th in the country.”

Something warm inside your stomach flutters. He knows. Of course, he knows. He probably researched it all the way back in high school. You brush your hair out of your eyes and hum, “Mhm.”

Stiles slides his socked foot back and forth, slipping on the polished floor of his cozy entryway. He barely catches himself on the doorknob. You laugh until he says, “Stanford’s 2nd.”

Your shoulder lifts, “That's correct.”

His chin dips as he searches your face for something. You smile at him, and he swallows; it looks painful. “You turned down MIT because it was too far from home.”

“That's also correct,” you say quietly with a jerky nod. 

His eyes go wide as he shakes his head, almost violently. He almost slips again with the dramatic effort, “MIT’s 1st in comp-sci.” 

You steady him with a palm against his chest, swiping your thumb over his ribs. His heart thrashes under your touch, and your face lifts with a timid, tender smile. “Sure, but Princeton’s ranked #1 nationally. Overall champs, baby. Suck it.”

Stiles finally smiles, but it’s hesitant. “You don’t say.”

You let a breathy exhale and drop your hands to your sides, curling and uncurling your fingers into tight fists. He’s still looking at you, a cute little wrinkle in-between his brows, waiting for something more. Fair enough. He kind of laid it all out on the line the last time you spoke in-person—he kind of deserves to stew a little after everything he put you through, but you’ve forgiven him, decided you want to be happy more than you want to punish him.

You roll your shoulders back and tilt your chin to meet his gaze. “I don’t believe in soulmates.”

Stiles’s face goes sour, and he crosses his arms firmly over his chest, mouth twitching between a pout and a frown. “You stopped in Philly just to tell me tha—”

You rock onto your tiptoes to press a finger to his lips, biting back a smile when they pucker like a fish, and say, “Will you kindly shut it for a minute? I need to get through this. I practiced a lot on the plane.” His eyes narrow, sullen and irritated, but he keeps his lips pressed together, waiting impatiently for you to finish.

You slip your finger from his mouth to cup his jaw, thumbing just below his cheekbone, and his body goes lax, irritation slowly seeping from his lanky limbs to the floor. Grinning, you poke the tip of your tongue at him, and he swallows hard as he tracks the movement.

“As I was saying,” you smile through the snark and slide your hands to his chest, resting against the vibration of his thudding heart, “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately, and I don’t think there’s just one person out there for everyone—but that’s a good thing, right? I mean, the entire concept of a soulmate is basically just a blackhole. You’re falling, and falling, and falling—and there’s no end; you’re just trapped. There's no choice. I don’t want to love like that—I don’t want to love you like that.” 

It’s cute, the way his face screws up around a theory. It’s a familiar expression, and you can’t help but melt at the knees while you watch his eyes flick back and forth, adding up all your expressions and trying to calculate the meaning. The corner of your mouth pulls into a slip of a smile, “If I turned around right now and never saw you again, I’d be okay. I mean, I wouldn’t drop dead or anything.” 

He sucks in sharply, head jerking back, “What the fu—”

“Hush, I’m almost done.” You keep going before he can interrupt you again, rushing through the rest of your speech, running out of air and restraint, “I think that I could get over you, eventually, years and years from now—but the point is—what I realized is: I don’t want to. I don’t want to get over you. I don’t want to find someone else. Stiles, I love you—I’m in love with you, and I really think tha—”

His lips are wet and warm against yours, and you whine softly into his mouth at the familiarity. He hooks his thumbs in the belt loops on your jeans and yanks you closer, until your chests are pressed together and you can feel him breathe. You were right—the beard burn is delectable.

The kiss slows into something less desperate, something more like forever, and Stiles brushes his lips over yours in a few chaste pecks. When your lashes finally flutter open, you see that he’s grinning at you. It’s so wide, so happy, and his eyes crinkle at the corners as he says, “Sorry, you just would not shut up, so I figured it was either kiss you or shove something in your big mouth—and I’m not super confident in my CPR skills. Scott and I really spent most of the time figuring out how many pencils we could fit into the dummy’s mouth.”

“I take it back.” You push his face away from you, but a laugh bubbles past your swollen lips when Stiles pinches your waist. “I hate you.”

“Nope. No refunds.” Stiles shakes his head solemnly and wraps his hand around your hip, squeezing possessively, “You kiss it, you buy it. That’s what Coach said about the dummy.” 

“Well,” your arms find their way around his neck, and your fingers wind into the soft hair curling behind his ears, “you are a dummy.”

“The dumbest,” he agrees. He’s smiling, but his eyes are sincere, cloudy with guilt. “Baby, I never should’ve—”

You take great satisfaction in your turn shutting him up with a kiss, tugging on his hair until you’re on your tiptoes and he’s groaning into your mouth. “I think we’ve been miserable for a long time,” you whisper, breath ghosting across his shiny lips. He shivers, and you press your temple against his forehead, “I think I’ve had enough of it. How ‘bout you?” 

Stiles nods quickly and dips in to kiss you again. “Can I say sorry one more time?” he mumbles, kissing the ridge of your ear.

“I suppose,” you sigh and fall back onto your heels. 

He takes your bag from your shoulder and guides you into his apartment, kicking the door shut so that he doesn’t have to let go of your hand. There’s a thud as he drops the duffle bag onto the floor, and you barely have the time to take-in the ratty little sofa and coffee table piled with empty pizza boxes before he’s on you again. “I’m,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, and it twitches with the contact, “so,” his lips trail to your cheek, “very,” he presses a kiss to your temple, “truly,” to your hairline, “forever-ly,” to the tip of your nose, “sorry,” to your mouth. 

You sigh as he settles in for a real kiss and fall back onto the couch with him on top of you, disrupting his rhythm with a breathy giggle. He braces his weight onto his arms, and you wriggle down until your face is directly below his. “Hi,” you trace his bottom lip with your finger, smiling when he purses his lips to kiss it. 

“Hey.” He looks drunk: cheeks flushed, eyes hazy with pleasure, body loose and free from critical thinking—and you think to yourself that you’d do just about anything to make sure he’s this happy for the rest of his life. 

Stiles rolls, bringing you into his side with an arm around your waist, and presses against your lower back until you're crushed against him. Still, you squirm closer. Neither of you say anything for a long time, content with the sound of each other’s breathing, and then Stiles hums in his throat a little and plays with the ends of your hair, “So. You’re gonna live in New Jersey.”

“Yup,” your mouth pops with the ‘p.’

He grins, “Wow. You must, like, really love me or something.”

“Or something,” you tease, and he bites your shoulder in retaliation. 

“Jersey isn’t so bad,” his voice is muffled against his teeth, still embedded in your sweatshirt. Well, his technically.

You laugh, “It’s not?”

“Nah,” Stiles pulls back to look at you and scratches at the back of his neck, lifting a shoulder, “wouldn’t mind living there for the…beaches.”

“The Shore, you mean?” you grin, trying to imagine Stiles with a bad spray tan and slicked back hair. 

He grins right back and strokes your cheek, “Yeah, I’d move there for the Shore. I’ve actually been searching for just the right opportunity to show off my scrawny arms and pasty complexion. It’s like, what, a 40 minute drive from there to Penn?”

“Trenton would be around that, but I was thinking Pennypack would only be 30 from Princeton.” Stiles looks at you through lidded eyes, suspicious. You grin, “For the cheesesteaks, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he quips, but you can tell his heart isn’t in it. His face turns serious as he whispers, “You don’t have to do this,” into the quiet air humming between you. “I would’ve transferred to a school in California if I knew you still wanted me.” A flash of something ignites behind his eyes, warming the amber to whiskey, and he sits up a little, reaching over your head for his phone, “I’ll do it right now.”

You clutch his wrist and shake your head, pulling on his arm until he’s close enough to feel your lashes brush against his skin, “That’s why I didn’t ask. You’ve been dreaming about this program your entire life.”

Stiles is unusually still as he stares you down. His incisor digs into his bottom lip with a cruel bite, “What about your dreams?”

You huff, “What part of #1 don’t you get? I literally just told you to suck it. In case you forgot, I cordially invite you to suck it again, #6.” He smiles, but his eyes remain unconvinced. Your face softens, all the muscles and cartilage going gooey with affection, “It was never about Stanford, Stiles. It was about home. Guess it took you going away to figure out home sucks without you. S'not really home at all, actually.”

His lashes flutter slowly as he blinks, shaking his head, tongue running over his teeth as he struggles for air and words in equal measure. You kiss him until he finds them. “I know you don’t believe in it,” Stiles breathes out, “but I don’t think I could survive you being gone. Not again.”

You stroke over the planes of his face and hum thoughtfully, “I believe you wouldn’t want to.” Your shoulder twitches with a quick shrug as you add, “I know I don’t.”

His mouth chases your fingertips, pressing kisses to them every so often, and he closes his eyes heavily—like he hasn’t slept in months, maybe since the night he broke up with you. “These last few months have been just the fuckin’ worst,” he finally manages a smirk after you kiss his nose in agreement, “like a fuckzillion times worse than the summer I broke my leg, and you and Scott signed up for rec soccer without me.”

“You’ve got to let that go,” your voice is high and whiny, and Stiles’s smirk widens, “we didn’t even win any games.” You tickle him, heart leaping into your throat when he laughs and squirms away from your relentless fingers, “Didn’t have our good luck charm with us, obviously.”

“Obviously,” his grin is smug with satisfaction. Stiles tangles your legs together, legs clunking clumsily but that’s just part of the delicious charm, and hooks his chin over your shoulder, “So, Pennypack, huh.”

You nod, “I really don’t want to live in Jersey.”

You can’t see him, but Stiles peers at you, a little dubious, a lot fond. “And it’s not just for me?”

You grin, caught, and shake your head firmly, “Absolutely not.”

“It’s for the cheesesteaks,” his brow arches, and he seems to finally understand when the room becomes a swathe your smile, of your bubbling laughter: He makes you as happy as you make him. 

“Obviously.” You mean, I love you, I love you, I love you, and I never ever want to stop.  Stiles hears it, of course he does, and he says it back, sealing it with a kiss, “Obviously.”

[wlntrsldler]

poisoned mercury | smau: launching the relationships!

smau masterlist | series masterlist

yn_yln: alexa play brooklyn baby by lana del rey

clarisselarue: 👀👀👀

clarisselarue: soft launch! soft launch! soft launch!

silenabeauregard: 👀👀👀

charliebeck: 👀👀👀👀

charliebeck: silenabeauregard made me comment this

travisstoll: i wonder who this is!

connorstoll: me too! i’m stumped!

chrisr0driguez: this could be anyone!

yn_yln: travisstoll connorstoll chrisr0driguez haha 😐

liked by lukecastell4n.

creator limited comments on this post.

tagged chrisr0driguez.

clarisselarue: my man my man my man (and his friends are cool too ig)

chrisr0driguez: my girl my girl my girl

travisstoll: bro looks MAJESTIC in the second picture

clarisselarue: stay back 🤺

yn_yln: HARD LAUNCH AHHHHH

connorstoll: im jealous bc chris and luke are gonna get fire pictures of them taken now that y’all are at our shows 😕 I JUST WANT MORE PICTURES FOR INSTAGRAM

clarisselarue: maybe stop being a loser and you'll get a gf! hope that helps!

yn_yln: clarisselarue LMFAOOO CLAR

lukecastell4n: u and travis should hire a photographer bc i'm not sharing mine

clarisselarue: lukecastell4n travis getting a photographer is more plausible than him getting a gf

travisstoll: WHY AM I CATCHING STRAYS

creator limited comments on this post.

yn_yln posted a story!

moments before the stolls set off the fire alarm

tagged travisstoll and connorstoll.

travisstoll replied to this story!

travisstoll: damn i look good here

travisstoll: can i repost this or is that gonna give away your soft launch

yn_yln: and i thought luke had a big ego…

yn_yln: don’t repost it but i’ll send u the pic to post on ur story

travisstoll: copy that 🫡

lukecastell4n replied to this story!

lukecastell4n: why do u not take pics of me like this

lukecastell4n: i always look goofy in the pics u take :(

yn_yln: i think you look cute in the pictures i take

lukecastell4n: :D

lukecastell4n: can u take some hot ones of me tho

yn_yln: diva

lukecastell4n: is that a yes

liked by yn_yln.

lukecastell4n: you’re the best baby

lukecastell4n: 🎸😵‍💫

poisonedmercuryfan: I JUST FELL TO MY KNEES

pm4everrrr: THEY JUST HIT A SECOND TOWER FIRST CHRIS NOW LUKE NOOOO

p0isonedmercuryy_: WHOSE HAND IS THAT OHBMGOD

travisstoll: guys chill that’s my hand

iluvlukecastell4n: LMAOOO TRAVIS

travisstolllover: HAHAHAHAHA

chrisr0driguez: you 🤝 me cuffing szn

lukecastell4n: 🤝🤝

clarisselarue: good job on picking her nail color. i approve.

liked by lukecastell4n.

connorstoll: we get it you’re in love

lukecastell4n: HOW YOU HATING FROM OUTSIDE THE CLUB? YOU CANT EVEN GET IN?!

liked by yn_yln.

[bloomeng]

I'm a little nervous to talk about this because the internet is truly the place where nuance goes to die but fuck it I'm going to do it anyway.

So misogyny in fan spaces. There's so much that can be said here, but I want to focus on a trend I've seen in fanfiction for years. This isn't a call out to anyone in particular or a fic that I read recently, it's just something I want to talk about.

There's a range in which I see misogyny displayed in fanfiction. The most subtle version is when a fic has a large cast, but despite this, the female characters just float in the background as accessories. Writing big casts is difficult and I understand that (it's part of the reason I tend not to like big casts) but despite this all the female characters will remain less developed than their male counterparts. The other version is they will exist only to advise or prop up a male character, which isn't to say that a female character can't play that role in a story. On an individual level, it's not an issue, but when it's the only role over and over it becomes an issue. My solution to handling big casts is to break them off at times into pairs/smaller groups and allow everyone to have their moment. It doesn't need to be perfectly balanced but even small moments could go a long way.

The next step up is literally ignoring them altogether. I understand not every character is going to feature in every story. Time and place and all that jazz. But it's telling when they're so clearly written out of a story for the sake of not addressing them. If we can cram in all these male character cameos we can do the same for the women. Personally I feel writing is stronger if you only include characters for a purpose beyond them just being there (and it would be two birds with one stone bc that would automatically allows for more depth), but this is fanfic that I'm discussing, where fan service rules everything.

The third trend and arguably the most egregious I refer to as the “Sakura Effect.” The Sakura Effect is when an author will include either a pre-existing female character or an original female character for the sole person of villainizing her to extreme proportions. It’s scary to me because as much as media can be misogynistic this is so much worse in my opinion. As fans I would hope we would be better but then I see characters flattened or created simply to be awful. And yet “no one” sees the issue in that.

I’ve seen authors go far as to say apologize in the notes about mischaracterizing female characters for the sake of the conflict. Like we’re so close to recognizing the issue yet so far. Also for some reason it’s socially acceptable to add character bashing tags to fics?? I see this the most with Naruto fics, but to this day I will never understand why people feel the need to establish how much they hate a female character in a fic that doesn’t even touch on them. Or they warn people that they made her evil bc they hate her??? Like ok so we’re recognizing the problem and doubling down. Cool.

I once saw someone create a female character for a fic who was described as ugly and with a ton of acne and a bunch of people called the author out for the description and its subsequent streotypes. The author responded by basically being like I hear you but I don’t care. But I was also concerned that no one else in the comments was concerned that the character was female as well.

I see this trend with people to make these super creepy stalker female characters as conflict for their mlm ships and it’s just like…. do we not see the inherent issue in this. We complain about the treatment of women in the source material and then we (fan culture) turn around and make arguably more offensive characters.

This is a fairly ranty non-nuance, doesn’t even touch on intersectionality, look at misogyny in fanfiction but that’s all I have the capacity to discuss today.

[irisintheafterglow]

hi iris i hope u have been well!!

wanted to request a little fluff/mutual pining moment between Satoru and reader who's also an instructor but they only ever get to see eachother during exchange events/higher up meetings/a mission every now and then (it's not for a lack of wanting to pursue eachother but neither of them have put in the effort bc they're both have commitment issues and deem themselves unworthy of trying) i think it would be soooo cute and i'm just dying to see Satoru and reader's students tease them about their VERY obvious chemistry... and hopefully something finally coming out of it in the end :-)

hehe thank u so much and as always you're the best!!

i hate accidents, except when we went from friends to this!

wc: 2.6k

cw/tags: coworkers to lovers, idiots in love, reader and gojo have no idea what they're doing, swearing, mentions of drinking, fluffy fluffy fluff

note: hi anon! thank you so much for the ask, hope you like it!! i definitely got a little carried away writing it just because it's such a cute premise lol

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated !!

A piece of paper slides inconspicuously into your peripheral vision and it takes all of your willpower not to smirk. With equal nonchalance, you carefully peek under the ripped corner of the meeting agenda and can’t help smiling at the message scrawled on it. 

We’re drinking after this (not optional). 

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye and see him leaning back in his office chair, arms crossed and looking like he’d rather be dipping his limbs in molten lava. Even with his blindfold, you can see the boredom in his expression and you bite your tongue to keep from laughing. His inability to appear professional was going to be the death of you both. 

“Gojo, are you listening?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” he says with blatant dishonesty that makes you bite your bottom lip and carefully observe the dusty ceiling tiles. “I was just in…deep thought.” He tastes the last two words like philosophies to be pondered and it suddenly becomes much harder to continue to have a blank expression. Their first mistake was picking a verbal fight with him. 

“Deep thought about what?” Their second mistake was letting him keep talking.  

“Ah, you know, the usual things.” You can feel his attention flick to you for a moment and it gives him a wave of confidence to continue to be a little pest at a meeting neither of you wanted to be attending. It was his favorite pastime, after all, to get you to smile at his shenanigans despite the bullshit you were hearing. “The meaning of life, the wonders of love,” he begins before his volume drops so that only you could hear it, “Why this couldn’t have been a fucking email–”

“What was that?” You suppress a snort into your fist and take a sip of water, hoping the other meeting attendees couldn’t see that you were tearing up from trying not to laugh. The angry-faced higher up scowls at him, catching the biting tone but not his words. Satoru merely smiles innocently, like every utterance was of the purest and most amicable intentions. 

“Nothing,” he sings and you cough into your sleeve to hide a laugh. The other higher ups with their ugly suits and balding heads look at you curiously, but all you can see is Satoru’s shit-eating grin from beside you. “I’m just worried for you, is all.” The higher-up at the front of the room scoffs, still believing the show. 

“Worried? For me?”

“Mhmm,” he nods, his brows drawn in fake concern. “I just know you don’t have a lot of time left on this plane and, well, wonder why you’re choosing to spend it here,” he states with a vague gesture around the musty room. An embarrassing noise of amusement escapes from your throat and you try in vain to regain your composure, only to fall into a fit of uncontrollable coughing. Satisfied with his achievement, he abruptly stands from his chair and pulls yours away from the desk. “My work here is finished. We’re leaving.” His finger gently taps your shoulder twice and you obey, standing and heading for the door while he pushes in your chair behind you. The official at the front of the room has turned beet-red.

“The arrogance of you two–”

“We’re done here. If you say anything important, Ijichi will tell me. I doubt the possibility, though,” Satoru states with finality, opening the door for you and shooting the room of stunned officials one last smirk. Too lazy to walk through the winding halls or take the snail-paced elevator, a flick of your wrist opens a portal into an alley on the side of the building. Your colleague lets out a whistle of approval as your shoes cross from dirty carpet to asphalt, finally taking in fresh air after hours of sitting in the stale conference room. The moon shines in all of its winter glory and you shiver against the welcome chill, comforted by the chatter of the city’s nightlife. “Still up for that drink?”

“As long as you’re buying it,” you reply. “I’m gonna call the kids first and let them know I’m out.”

“Tell them I say hi,” he says without missing a beat, leaning against a nearby wall to wait for you to finish. Utahime picks up after two rings. 

“Hello? Ah, you’re finally done. That’s great!” Your coworker’s voice temporarily becomes muffled while she answers questions of who she’s talking to, followed by a chorus of your name imploring you to come back. “Everyone, say hi!” Your beloved students greet you enthusiastically and you smile at their enthusiasm. “Will you be on your way soon?”

“In a little,” you say, slightly sheepish as your eyes flick over to the man behind you. “I’m gonna get a drink.”

“You’re going by yourself?” 

“Not exactly,” you answer slowly and the realization hits Utahime as she breaks out into a lecture on how Satoru isn’t good enough for you. “Easy, easy. It’s just a drink, nothing else.” Your whispered attempts to placate your friend’s indignance prove futile and you settle for letting her get all of her complaints out. 

“He’s a no-good playboy with a rock for a brain and a chatterbox of a mouth, you idiot,” she concludes after her lengthy rant. “I don’t want you getting hurt because he’s too scared to make any commitments.”

“I’m not making any commitments either, Utahime,” you remind her and you can imagine her rolling her eyes from the other side of the line. “It’s just a drink,” you reiterate, but you still hear her grunt of disapproval. “I’ll see you in a bit, yeah?”

“Mhmm,” she responds skeptically. “Don’t do anything dumb.” 

“Love you too, Utahime,” you laugh, hanging up the phone and sticking it back in your pocket. “Alright, let’s go,” you call to Satoru, who eagerly pushes off the wall and drags you out of the alley. “We haven’t eaten, so we’re getting dinner too.” 

“Whatever you want,” he grins. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t harbor some sort of romantic affections toward Satoru, but you were also resigned to the fact that you’d never act on it. He was the most powerful human being on the planet; how could you be worthy of loving such a man? Still, in times like this, where it was just the two of you walking hand-in-hand to who knows where, your mind tended to drift into thoughts of what could be if you weren’t in this line of work. It would be nice to love him, that’s all. Yeah, it’d be really nice to love him. 

You couldn’t explain any of this to your students the next morning, though, when they interrogated you on who you were with the entire night. When you let his name slip, the shock in the room was palpable. 

“See, I knew you guys had a thing for each other!” Miwa points her sword at you accusingly, far more fired up than you’d ever seen her before. “I thought I was the only one who noticed how he looked at you!”

“There is nothing of the sort, so I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you counter, pushing the sheathed blade to the side. Your other students fight back with full force. 

“It’s so obvious that he likes you,” Mai says, like it’s an insult. “Teasing you all the time? Making excuses to crash your meetings?”

“Bringing you lunch if he’s within a fifty mile radius of our campus,” Nishimiya adds and her classmates nod in agreement. “Do you know how many times I’ve caught him trying to surprise you by air?”

“That could be just part of a working relationship,” you argue, but they’re relentless. “How would you know anything about his intentions? Maybe he’s just being nice!”

“I believe his intentions with you are, indeed, romantic,” Kamo reiterates and you groan, hiding your burning face in your hands. “I can’t say I don’t see the vision. You’re a powerful duo.”

“Your marriage would make the brass shit themselves,” Mai muses with a cynical glint in her eye. “Can you imagine having a baby that can send Hollow Purple through a portal?”  

“Oh, their children would be so beautiful,” Miwa squeals and it’s like waterfalls of sweat come rushing from your forehead.

“Alright, alright. Let’s not talk about marriage or babies, please,” you cut in, quick to nip that conversation in the bud. You can’t tell if it’s the weather making your palms clammy or the unending tirade of comments about your dating life. “We can change the topic of conversation now,” you say in an attempt to get the heat off of you for a little bit. “Todo, how’s that idol you like so much doing?” It’s a good idea, initially, but the thought of you and Satoru together seemed to be brainwashed over your students.

“She’s wonderful, just as the two of you in love is a wonderful sight.” Todo can’t seem to help himself as he announces his enthusiasm for your romantic endeavors, teleporting across the room and swapping positions with his classmates from claps of pure excitement. Mechamaru provides a single thumbs-up when you look to him for support, and you pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers.

“I think it’s cute how you act like you hate him and then can’t seem to stay away during events like this. Love is so complex,” Miwa sighs, resting her chin on her hand and staring off dreamily. You scoff, hoping they can’t tell how fast your heart rate has picked up. “I wish I were in love.”

“It’s not love. If anything, it’s just admiration. Yeah, it’s just admiration,” you conclude and you’re met with skeptical stares. 

“Yeah, admiration of his hot bod,” Miwa mutters and you open a portal without thinking, allowing some fat drops of rain from who knows where to fall on her head. It was a common form of discipline, summoning portals to unruly weather conditions, and your students sit up a little straighter in understanding. “Fine, okay, okay. I’m done.”

“You sure? If you’re not done, I’m gonna send you to the Amazon again.”

“Yes, fine. I’m done, I promise.”

“Done with what?” You stiffen, mentally kicking yourself for not registering his presence sooner. Had he not taken up your entire attention, you would have sent Miwa to South America for the gasp of excitement she let out when Satoru appeared. It seemed that none of you knew he was listening until he leaned against the doorframe, all six feet of height taking up the entire space. He was wearing his signature shit-eating grin that made you want to choke him with his own blindfold. “You gossiping in here?”

“Nope, just going over strategy,” you lie straight to his face and he hums, not believing you for a second. “Shouldn’t you be doing that, too? With your own students?” You stand and attempt to push him out of the room, only to find him completely immovable. His hand covers yours, lacing your fingers together in a way that makes you a little dizzy. 

“All in good time,” he says carefreely, as if the action with your hands was second-nature. “For now, can I steal you away for a moment? It won’t take long.” You can practically hear the waggling eyebrows from your students and nod, unable to form a biting response because of the crashing trains of thought in your mind. His hand remains holding yours as he all but pulls you outside, finally dropping it when the excited chatter of your students has subsided. “You okay? You seem a little frazzled,” he asks once you’re far enough from any eavesdropping attempts.

“Yeah, my kids are just being a little…funny, today,” you exhale, trying to hide your unease with a nervous giggle. “You know them; they love to make up their own little stories.” He raises his eyebrows in amusement, matching your pace as you walk down a random outdoor corridor of the Tokyo campus. 

“Mine have actually been doing the same thing,” he confesses after a brief moment of awkward silence. “Making speculations, drawing connections. Seems to be a good exercise in pattern-recognition.” You know he means it as a joke, but all you can think about is Miwa’s comment on admiring Satoru’s ‘hot bod.’ Had his students picked up on your behavior, too?

“What are some of these connections they’re drawing?”

“Connections about my behavior around…hmm,” his voice trails off and the corner of his mouth turns down into a frown, like he was unhappy with his students’ observations. “They’ve noticed things about the way I, well,” he stammers and for the first time, you witness Gojo Satoru get tongue-tied. “Somethings that they’ve seen and heard and–”

“Satoru.” You halt both of your strides and cross your arms defensively over your chest, slightly uncomfortable from Satoru’s inability to express himself when he would otherwise be talking your ear off. “What is this about?”

“My students know I like you,” he states bluntly and your heartbeat momentarily stops pounding in your ears. His students know that he what? “And they also theorize,” he stops to clear his throat, adjusting his collar and avoiding your eyes, “that you may reciprocate the same feelings.” Any words that you can form get caught in your throat, an odd mixture of happiness, shock, and pure dread stirring around in your brain. All you could do is blink at him, dumbly, while he shifts between the balls of his feet. “Please, say something.”

“You like me,” you repeat, tasting the words like a fancy wine you’ve never tried before breaking out into the widest smile you’ve ever felt. “Holy shit, you like me?”

“You’re smiling,” he states, still trying to process what was happening. “That’s a good thing, right?”

“Holy shit, you like me!” Your voice raises on its own and you take a step back in surprise, covering your face with your hands to try and contain your emotions. “What the fuck, Satoru?”

“Yeah, that’s,” he mumbles as he watches you celebrate, “that’s how I’m feeling too.” 

“Wait, so what do we do now?” 

“I have no idea. I didn’t expect to get this far,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck and combing his fingers through his hair. “I was waiting for you to slap me and tell me to go to hell.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I didn’t think you liked me back,” he sputters and the joy in both you and Satoru’s chests finally breaks loose in a fit of unending laughter. “Holy shit, I was so worried for nothing.”

“They’re gonna be so excited when we get back, they won’t be able to focus on the Exchange Event.”

“I don’t think I can focus on the Exchange Event.”

“Then we can postpone it!” You both flinch as a voice that was definitely not one of yours calls from behind a nearby wall, followed by a terrified oh, shit! as Satoru goes barreling around the corner and drags out the culprits by the collars of their shirts. Yuuji, the pink-haired student from Tokyo, and Miwa both try to explain themselves as they dangle weightlessly from Satoru’s hands. “Gojo, sir, we swear we weren’t trying to–”

“Hold on,” you pause Yuuji’s explanation, sensing some extra energy signatures that weren’t succeeding at hiding themselves. “Come out now, or I’m opening the portal to the Arctic,” you command in the open air and watch the leaves rustle as the rest of the Tokyo and Kyoto students fall from a nearby tree. “It’s rude to eavesdrop,” you chuckle as Nishimiya picks a few branches from Mai’s hair. “Go clean yourselves up and then we can begin the games.”

“You free this weekend after the games to go someplace?” Satoru whispers in your ear once all of the students are gone. “I need a break from the prying eyes of teenagers.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[brucewaynehater101]

I miss the feeling I had when I first joined this fandom, I knew virtually nothing so everything was correct and I loved everything, even if that stuff just isn’t true, i was like

Bruce is a bit emotionally constipated but loves his kids? Hell yeah sounds legit

dick is a silly happy flippy man who is a bit promiscuous? Love that for him

Jason is a mega feminist literature nerd who is also buff and takes care of the street kids? Perfect man honest

Tim is a nerd who never sleeps and is queer and has never known the touch of a man nor woman? Sweet

Steph is waffle obsessed goofball? Well I prefer pancakes but right on

Cass is a mute badass who loves her fam? I love her

Duke is a normal dude? Well someone has to be and he seems neat

Alfred can do no wrong? Aight, I love old perfect tea men

Damian is a little prick? So are all middle schoolers give him time

But then I had to go learn about the characters and now I have complex opinions about them, and can see the inherent racism and sexism in how they are portrayed

You know before I joined the bat fandom I did not use the exclude tag in ao3? Like tmnt and dp have some bad stuff but usually I could just scroll past.

but now I am having to avoid fics where whole ass adults are bullying and/or oversexulizing a child

Im constantly on the look out for untagged batcwst

I struggle to find fics that don’t describe dicks ass

I have been in this fandom for probably about two years now and y’all I swear

sorry for ranting, and don’t worry I love all your stuff and I know the just back click don’t leave mean comments rule

I’m just tried bc most of the stuff I thought was true turned out to be false

Mm. I do find it a little exhausting trying to navigate the lines of what's canon, what shouldn't be canon (but is due to racism/sexism/homophobia/etc.), and just having fun.

I'm also trying to cultivate the mindset of what I've seen on Tumblr about not policing other people's ships/ideas. I am highly uncomfortable with some (particularly underaged people and adults dating), but I'm also not leaving hate comments. Like you said, the backspace exists for a reason.

Idk. There's a toooon of takes/ideas about the batfam that are inherently false, but as long as they aren't racist/sexist/etc takes, I don't see the harm in them. So what if someone wants a coffee obsessed Tim? So what if Jason's kill code is very strict? As long as they don't claim it's canon, let them be

But yeah. I have a mile long exclude list for fics on AO3. I used to use it only for triggers (I can not do stockhold syndrome, my lords), but now it's got other weird ass shit I've stumbled upon (I saw a fic where the batkids were spanked as punishment??? Like I said, not gonna leave hate comments or single anyone out. Just not my cup of tea).

I also am usually not a fan of romance/sex. It's why the batfam intrigued me so much (found families usually don't have that in it). I like exploring dynamics outside of romance and thus love the batfam. They've got so much going on that romance/sex is not needed. They are such a mess without that dynamic being added (talking about the Bats getting with a third party, but, again, trying not to yuck anyone's yum).

However, I agree. There's a ton of misinformation within fandom. I like how complex canon gets with the characters, but there's also widely different takes with them (mostly talking about Bruce here. He can either be trying or just a straight up horrible dad).

[feeelslikespace]

I'm curious as to why you don't like sonadow? This is not to try and "prove you wrong" and tell you you SHOULD like sonadow, I just like knowing different opinions, and especially WHY those different opinions exist.

Is it just not your cup of tea? Don't like how in-your-face most of it is? (Bc lbr, it's hard to look thru any sonic-related tag w/o finding them). Think they don't have chemistry in canon and its just fandom being fandom, seeing two ppl who hate each other and making them kiss? Ppl get too ooc with it just for the sake of the ship? (Which happens everywhere, but still a valid reason lol). Just have personal headcanons that conflict with sonadow existing? Something else?

GREAT QUESTIONNNN omg i love this

YEAAA so it’s kinda all those things at once lol-

First and foremost I really am not a massive fan of many Sonic ships in general it takes a lot for me to ship anything in the Sonic universe, and most of the time I like the ships one sided

Sonadow in particular thoooo I feel is soooooo ooc,,

Sonic to me is aroace thru and thru which is not everyone’s hc and that’s totally fine I don’t mind people wanting to ship him with other characters or whatev but to meee he just wants to do his own thing like relationships(in that sense) are prob the last thing on his mind.

Shadow?? SHADOW GUYS PLEASEEE.

Also wants to do his own thing??? Like he is so independent already.

Also the grumpy x sunshine that it gets reduced down to is bleh

Also some people use it to put sonamy shippers down?? Or just amy down in general.. like leave the girl alone ok.

It’s too in my face, too ooc, they don’t have any crazy like insane interactions in canon that make me go “OOOO YEP FLIRTINGGG FLIRTINGGG” like I genuinely believe that Sonic is too much for shadow and his reactions to him aren’t because he is secreting crushing on him or whatever.

Also growing up I thought shadow was his evil sibling or something? 😀 so yeah will never be shipping them.

I don’t ever see shadow being the kinda thing eagerly pursuing a relationship like that lol he barely has friend relationships outside of rogue and omega sooo..

If people like the ship like each to their own. Just like.. don’t expect me to ship it?? Or be offended when I don’t (not saying u are anon) butttt yeah like it’s gotten to a point where like it’s 1 in 15 shadow posts aren’t sonadow.. he’s his own dude too man..

I’m sure there’s more reasons I just am rambling atp but yaaa thank u for the questionnn🤘🤘

[roonilwazlibimagines]

control freak pt.2 - t.n x female!reader

Blurb: theo has control issues but his girlfriend doesn't mind

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: warning - toxic!theo!! i also really don't like this but so many people wanted me to post it and i don't see myself making it better anytime soon so i thought i'd post it even though i hate it, sorry :/// i mainly hate it because it is just pure self indulgence, because my ex best friends actually did ruin my 21st and this brought up old wounds so if anyone wants to hear some gossip about people they don't know please hit me up because i'm ready to rant

also i'm so sorry of this is overstepping, but i tagged whoever asked for part 2 bc you all made me so happy commenting on my post <3333 @gilmore12 @avalentina @pretties-t

Masterlist | Part 1

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

If she had her way, people would stop calling Theodore Nott controlling. Okay, maybe there had been times where he had lied to her and deceived to get his way, and sure, he was quick to rise to temper which often made her just agree with him, but it was just because he always knew what was best. 

And that was what she kept repeating in her trembling mind the night that Theo had made the phone call. 

She liked this side of him. She had said it to him explicitly that she liked it when he took control and she didn’t have to actively use her brain. 

After a year of dating, she thought Theo would be used to her indecisiveness, and yet, she was sat on the edge of his bed, all dressed up, whilst he he towered over her, waiting for her to make up her mind. 

“It cannot be this difficult of a decision.” 

“I just don’t know what I feel like.” Her legs were swaying, the backs of her thighs hitting the blanket draped over the edge of her bed. She hummed in thought, noticing the way Theo’s jaw began to tick. 

“What about that Mexican place?” This was the third place he had offered and even he noted the desperation in his voice.

“Do you want to go there?”

Theo had had enough. He knew the pretty girl sitting in front of him was hopeless at making decisions, but this was too far. 

“We’re going to the pizza place you like, okay?” Before she could open her mouth he continued, “C’mon, get up, we’re going.” And his arm was shooting out towards her so she grabbed hold of it and kept her mouth shut. 

And it was only after they left Hogwarts that she admitted to her pretty boyfriend that she liked when he ordered for her, because that was what he always did. And once he had this admission, Theo made sure his pretty girlfriend never had to make an order for whatever it was her heart desired. 

“I don’t know what a feel like, maybe I’ll just get cheese.” She put the pizza menu down and looked at Theo who was already looking back at her. 

“Sounds good.” He wasn’t too interested in the topic of the conversation, but he always made sure the pretty girl in front of him had his full attention. 

“What are you getting?” 

Theo knew what would happen the second he answered, and like clockwork, she immediately replied, “Ooh, maybe I’ll get that too.” 

“You can have some of mine,” he offered.

“But yours sounds better.” 

“We can have half of each.” 

But she wasn’t listening, her attention was drawn back to the paper menu in front of her. 

“I think I’m going to get vegetarian, instead,” she hummed.

“Whatever you want, princess.”

He watched her bit her bottom lip, and the skin above her nose crinkle. 

“Nah, I’ll get cheese.” Before Theo could respond she continued, “No, vegetarian.” Theo didn’t respond. “No, definitely cheese.” 

“You sure?” 

“No.” 

And Theo thought he really couldn’t be to blame for his control issues when his girlfriend was like this. 

When the waiter came over and looked at her first, she gave them a polite smile, but then returned her attention to the pretty boy in front of her, undeterred by the waiters lack of attention and relaying their order in full confidence. 

“-and a vegetarian pizza please,” he finished, making the decision for her. 

She liked not having to worry about trivial things like this, and Theo liked making sure he could rid a worry as small as this. Because that was all he wanted. For her to receive the best. 

Which was why, the night after her friends had called him controlling, he decided that he didn’t like the sound of these ‘work friends’.

And, no, it wasn’t just because they had caled him controlling. Merlin, most of his friends told him to his face that he was controlling. He already knew that. 

It was because even though they had invited her to go out countless times since that night, he didn’t properly meet them until her birthday. 

He had offered to bring them in when he brought her in, but she brushed him off. 

“I offered, but they declined,” she shrugged her shoulders, looking at the mirror in the sun shade for the passenger seat, missing the way Theo kept glancing over to her. 

When he picked her up he asked again if anyone needed a ride home, just like the good boyfriend he was. 

“I offered, but they said they were fine.” Yet when the drover around the corner a small sound of surprise left her pretty lips. 

“What’s wrong, princess?” Theo’s eyes kept flicking away from the road, trying to read her pretty face that was staring out of her window. 

“Nothing,” she shrugged her shoulders and turned back to face him, giving him a faux reassuring look. 

“Tell me,” he said in a tone that left no room for argument. 

“They’re just in line for another club,” she gave another shrug as if this had no importance, but it did to Theo because he could tell, even though she tried to hide it, that it had importance to the pretty girl sitting next to him. 

“I thought you were all going home,” he squinted his eyes slightly as he turned to look at her, but she wasn’t looking at him. When they drove past a light, he could see that she was chewing the edge of her lip. 

“I thought so,” she shrugged, finally turning to him, “oh well, I was ready to go home anyway.” She gave him a smile and if Theo hadn’t spent three years of his life with her, he would be convinced she was fine. 

It didn’t take long for Theo to decide that he didn’t like these so called friends. He didn’t explicitly tell his girlfriend this, but he didn’t hide his disdain either. 

When they cancelled plans and she went over to his house instead he’d angrily ask, “Well did they tell you why?”

“One of them had other dinner plans.” 

“But you had planned this a week ago.” 

She shrugged, “something came up.” 

The look he gave her was enough for her to know that he wasn’t happy so she changed the subject. “I really want to watch this new movie tonight, I don’t think you’ll love it, but I think you’ll tolerate it.” 

When he got a phone call from her barely an hour after they had gone out, reassuring him that she was okay, but she wanted to go home, he’d demand, “It was them wasn’t it, what did they do?” 

And even though he hadn’t said who ‘them’ were she’d still say, “no I’m just not feeling up to partying tonight.” 

Even though she sheepishly admitted that they were more interested in hooking up with some random guys then staying out together for their girls night which she originally thought was the plan. 

“That’s horrible.” 

She shrugged. “It’s fine. Do you think we can stop for some ice cream on the way home though?” 

The reality was, it was easy for her to say that Theo was just being his usual controlling herself. This was how normal friendships worked. And she didn’t have a lot of friends. She had her Hogwarts friends, but they were older now and weren’t in contact as much. And it was a much easier thought that this was what friendship was like rather than facing the fact that she didn’t really have any friends. Besides Theo of course. 

But she wouldn’t tell him these thoughts because she knew he would go on a rampage unti she was happy, so she never expanded on it and made sure that Theo never got a chance to tell her he hated her friends, even if she was certain he despised them. 

A few months later, just after they had been together for four years, Theo knew that it was time to make his lovely girlfriend his lovely wife, and he wasn’t going to let her friends come in the way of that, not when they had gotten this far. 

They had a small engagement party with their friends from Hogwarts and a couple of their work friends. She had, of course, invited those two girl from work, even if Theo had rolled his eyes behind her back when she informed him. 

It started when the two girls started fawning over her ring. 

“I need to know how much this cost.” 

Sure, Theo was the first to admit he had traditional values. She had teased him before about being old-fashioned. But he didn’t think discussing the price of his fiance’s engagement ring was an appropriate topic, especially in front of two girls he had maybe met twice, and didn’t exactly like. 

“He refuses to tell me,” the pretty girl grabbing his hand had answered instead. “He’s too old fashioned.” 

Her eyes flickered to him to let him know that she was joking and he gave her hand a itte squeeze to let her know that he knew. 

“Oh come on,” one of them said, “I’m dying to know.” 

The conversation lasted another couple of minutes with his pretty girl trying to swerve around the question while he remained silent. Which was unusual for Theodore Nott. 

Sure, he was a man of little words. And he much preferred to sit and observe rather than get invovled in the action. But that was always the opposite when it came to the pretty girl next to him. But he thought that if he opened his mouth, none of the three girls around him would like what would come out. 

But then it continued when one of them tried to flirt with Blaise albeit his polite refusal, not wanting to make a scene at one of his best mate’s engagements. 

Theo didn’t think anything of it until she had the audacity to come over to him and ask him about it. 

“You know your friend Blaise?” 

“Obviously.”

“What’s his story?” 

Theo refused to answer. They were in a private room and he was standing next to the bar, a drink in hand and he sipped it to avoid responding. 

Unsprusingly, she continued anyway. 

“Like, is he in a relationship? I didn’t think he was but then he refused me, but he is quite fit, I think, and he said this wasn’t the place for it, but I think he was just playing hard to get, what do you think?”

He was going to be drunk quite soon if she kept talking to him. 

“I think I’ll try again. Merliln, I love being friends with someone who has hot friends.” 

Theo downed the rest of his drink and promised himself that he was going to push the conversation out of his mind. 

And he probably would have if his pretty girl didn’t come up to him with a nervous look in her eyes, less than thirty minutes later. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you think we coud do cake now?”

Everyone had just finished eating and the volume of the music had increased to encourage people to start dancing. She was on her tippy toes, bringing her lips close to his ear so he could hear. Theo had his next drink in hand, but he was sipping it sowly after drinking the last so fast. 

“We just finished eating darling, give it a minute.” 

“I know but-” she gave herself away when she turned to look at the two girls Theo was trying to ignore the whole night. “They need to leave.” 

“They need to?”

The way she biting her lip and swaying on the spot was all Theo needed to see to tell him that that his pretty girl was lying to him. 

“Well, they got a call from one of their friends and-”

“I don’t want to hear it.” 

“Theo,” she whined. She knew the exact tone she needed to use to make Theo do whatever she wanted. But this apparently only worked for frivolous things. Not something like this. 

“No, we are doing cake later. If they need to leave, let them. But we are not doing it now just for them.”

“But-”

“I said no.” 

He hated the way she practically deflated in front of him. 

He hated that her bottom lip was trembling. 

He hated that they were doing this on their engagement. 

But she had to stop making excuses for these horrible people. 

“Will you tell them no?” Her voice was so soft he wasn’t sure he would have understood her if he wasn’t watching her intently. 

“I’ll tell them more than just no.” 

“Theo,” she whined, but he had already put his drink down and was storming over to them. 

“So you’re leaving?” Theo asked the two girls sitting down at one of the tabes. He had risen to his full height and she was immediately taken back to her Hogwarts days when rising to his full height meant nothing good and definitely something physical. 

“Yeah, but we’ll wait until you do cake.” One of them responded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

She was squeezing his hand so hard Theo was convinced she’d leave bruises. Not that he minded. But her nervous energy was rubbing off on him and he wanted to send her away, just like he’d do back in Hogwarts when he’d rise to his full height. 

“Well we just ate, so we probably won’t do cake until later.” 

“Oh,” one of the girls said, “but we’re leaving now.” 

“Well, thank you for coming.”

“Ok,” the other said, standing up. “But I tought you said you’d do cake now?” She asked, turning to the small girl hiding behind her fiance. 

“I-” 

“I said it was too early.” Theo cut her off. 

And that was the end of that conversation. After a very awkward goodbye hug, the two girls had left. 

She didn’t know what to say to Theo. In once instance, she was glad that he had dealt with it. She didn’t really want to do the cake now, it was too early. But she also didn’t want to confront the two girls, she had to see them at work every day!

So even though Theo wanted to let out some sarcastic remark about how nice her friends were. He refrained when he saw the confused look on his pretty girls face. 

Upon reflection, this was the night everything turned messy. 

The next Monday the two girls had confided in their friend. 

“Don’t you think he’s a bit controlling?” One of them asked, trying to make their voice unaccusing but failing horribly. 

She shrugged as she said, “he means well. And, yeah, he is, but I don’t mind.” 

She didn’t dare tell Theo this, who, the night after the engagement, had decided he could bring up how much he hated her friends. 

“I don’t like them.” He had brought up after they had finished opening all of their well wishes. 

She already knew who he was talking about. 

“They mean well.”

“Do they?” He was sitting on the lounge and she had gotten up from her place on the floor to sit next to him. 

“Most of the time,” she laughed, even though he didn’t think it was funny. “They’re just different to us.” 

“Well I don’t like them.” 

She bit her lip. 

“I’m sorry.” Theodore gave her a look. Of course it wasn’t her fault. She couldn’t control who she worked with. 

“I just wish they treated you better.” She thought that if they continued with this conversation she’d start crying so she changed the conversation. 

“We have to thank Draco for his very generous gift.” 

Theo wanted to tell her that if he had his way, she would never see them again. He’d help her find a new job, or better yet, she wouldn’t have to work. His family were part of the Sacred 28, she didn’t need to work. 

But even with his controlling streak, he knew that might be a bit too far. 

That was until a couple of months later when it was her birthday. Theo had surprised her with a little trip that required her to take a couple of weeks off work. Which he had already organised. 

The two girls were bummed when she said this would mean she wouldn’t be having a birthday party. 

“But we can still party when I get back!” She had exclaimed.

“So I won’t get to see Blaise again? I really thought I had a shot.” She had gotten in response. 

Theo had organised for her to have a week off before they actually left and on the night before he could finally have her all to himself she was sitting with her head against the back of their bed, biting her lip and staring at her phone. 

“What’s wrong princess?” Theo had asked, lying down next to her. 

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” He repeated. 

“I just, it’s stupid.” She said, turning her phone off and letting her head rest on the pillow next to his. 

“If it makes you look that stressed I’m sure it’s not.” 

“It’s just, they haven’t messaged me all week.” 

Theo already knew who they were. 

Theo wasn’t sure why this frivolous thing was his tipping point but for some reason it was. 

She wasn’t sure why she was telling him this, but it felt good to get off her chest. 

“I messaged them on Monday to say I’d miss them and hoped work wasn’t too boring without me, but they haven’t replied.” Her voice broke at the end of the sentence and Theo was convinced that was why he had chosen now to tip. 

“Don’t message them.” 

“What?” She turned her head to face him. 

“Don’t message them, see how long it takes for them to reach out.”

“Theo, you’re being ridiculous.” He gave her a look to let her know he didn’t like the words that left her pretty mouth. “We’re going away, I want to enjoy my time with you, don’t do this.” 

Much to his annoyance, Theo did as she said, trying to put it to the back of his mind so they could enjoy the trip he had been planning for months. 

But a part of her thought back to what Theo had said many years ago in his car when they were going home from Draco’s. 

“I know what’s best.” 

And she had spent so many years with Theo and there was a reason for this. She trusted him. So even though she made no commitment to it, a piece of her thought that she would listen to his advice. 

For the actual day of her birthday, Theo had planned a special dinner for her. He had gone to extreme lengths to make sure her day was perfect, which was why he couldn’t understand why his girl had a sad aura around her as she got ready for dinner. 

“What’s wrong, princess?”

“Nothing, Theo,” she said, trying to look up at him with sincerity. They were both dressed and ready, standing in their hotel room with their hands intertwined. 

“Princess.” 

“I’m just-” she looked at the ground, “they haven’t messaged me.” 

“Since we left?” 

She nodded. 

“Not even today?” 

She shook her head. 

Theo was ready to apparate back home and give them a piece of his mind, but instead he grabbed her chin and made her look up at him. 

“Please don’t worry your pretty little head about this, they don’t deserve you.” 

She was shocked with his response. She was sure he was going to apparate home and give them a piece of his mind. But he didn’t. And he was a calm in a very un-Theo like manner. And she liked it. So she trusted him. 

So he took her out for dinner and he made her feel like the most special girl in the world. And he did the same for the rest of their trip. 

On the last day they were both on their backs, lying in bed. The bedside lamp was on and Theo turned to see her eyes closed, but a pretty smile gracing her lips that told him she was awake. 

“Darling,” she opened her eyes and turned to him, humming in acknowledgement. “I called work today, told them to give you an extra week off.” 

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion for a fraction of a second before she pieced the pieces together and nodded. 

“Thank you.” 

Theo had also taken a week off work to be with herand he became aware that her mood was quick to fluctuate.

After her birthday, Theo distracted her and she was happy. But the day before he could sense the nervous energy radiating from her being which magically disappeared the second he told her he had told work to give her another week. 

Similarly, he noticed she was okay when she was distracted during that extra week off. Until the weekend came. 

It was Saturday night and she was in the shower and Theo had been thinking about this for a while. He knew it was wrong. Knew it was crossing so many lines. But he couldn’t let his fiance suffer like this. 

He grabbed her phone from the bedside table and put in her password. He scrolled through her messages. Many of the last messages being from her, thanking various people for the kind birthday messages. When he found the groupchat he was looking for, he didn’t hesitate. 

The last message had been from her, the week before they left. Theo swore at them in his head. 

This is Theo, I think it’s best you delete her number from your phone. She won’t be coming back to work and she deserves better than the shit you’ve given her. 

Theo almost found it humorous that within seconds he got a reply. 

What the fuck? 

Look who’s talking

He scoffed at both of their replies and waited unti they stopped typing. 

You literally control everything she does

Maybe if she didn’t have such a controlling boyfriend we’d be able to have more fun with her

Theo debated blocking their number, but he just couldn’t resist. 

Right, like the fun you had with her on our engagement? Before you left after barely an hour for some random guy

It was silent for a minute. 

Before you practically kicked us out

Theo let out a quiet laugh

We love her and just want what’s best for her

Theo heard the shower turn off and his heart dropped. 

Yeah, and that’s why you never wished her happy birthday. Fuck off

And with that he blocked both numbers, deleted the group chat from her history, turned her phone off and put it where he found it. 

That was the easy part. Now he just had to convince her not to go to work. 

She came out of the shower, only a towel wrapped around her body, loose strands of hair falling from her bun. 

He could sense an unspoken sadness and he wondered if she could sense his unspoken annoyance. 

“Darling, “ he began, sitting on the edge of the bed as she made her way over to him. If he didn’t have a job to complete, he would’ve taken more time to appreciate the way she instinctively sat on his lap. “I’ve been thinking,” he cleared his throat as she looked up at him. The image of innocence on her pretty face. “Do you really want to work?” 

Apparently it wasn’t too hard to convince her to give it up. He had started explaining, “You know, you’re marrying into the Sacred 28 and I don’t want you to feel like I’m making you give it up-” which he totally was, “but I just want what’s best for you and-”

“Theo,” she interrupted. “I’d like that.” And she gave him a swift kiss before getting up and getting changed into her pyjamas. 

When she came back and joined him in bed he turned to her and said, “I’ll ring them tomorrow,” and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. 

She wasn’t stupid. She had been waiting weeks for a message from them and when she couldn’t even find the groupchat she knew something had happened. Knew that Theo was somehow involved. She debated asking him about it, but did she really want to know? She knew it must have happened while she was in the shower. She could practically hear Theo’s heart beating when she was sitting on his lap, but she was happy to live in denial. Her boyfriend was protective and he liked to look out for her, even if it sometimes crossed the line. But she was happy to put the blame on her two friends, and she fell asleep easy that night knowing that the boy who had his arm around her would always have her back.

[captainthisshipinmyhead]

Secret Desires

Sanemi x Fem!Reader, Giyuu x Fem!Reader (p sure I used she/her pronouns at one point but I don't think I use any descriptors really, so it could be read as GN!Reader, just wanted to tag as fem just in case)

Shinazugawa hates Tomioka, everyone knows this. But nobody knows the real reason behind this animosity-- or that it mostly has to do with you.

Warnings: angst, mentions of sex (no smut), OOC Sanemi tbh, cold/emotionless Giyuu (I put that as a warning bc it pains me. Giyuu is my lil cinnamon bun sweetie I hate making him that way 😔), very little plot outside the romance stuff lol.

WC: 5,182

A/N: I'm not rlly a huge fan of like, music-based fics but I have to admit I thought about the idea for this one when a Panic! At the Disco song came on shuffle the other day. These lines listed below in particular from "She Had the World" inspired this. Enjoy. As always, constructive criticism is much appreciated but please be kind.

“When I look in her eyes, well I just see the sky”

“I don’t love you, I’m just passing the time”

         It was no secret to any of the hashira that Shinazugawa hated Tomioka with a passion. To the few of them that had asked about this animosity outright Shinazugawa had given some lame answers before, like that Tomioka appeared to think of himself as better than the other hashira (true), that Tomioka had defeated him in all their 1v1 training sessions due to some really bullshit happenings that occurred each time and it was annoying (true), and that Tomioka had killed one of Shinazugawa’s pet beetles (not true). Though these were the reasons he gave for having such a hatred for the Water Pillar, they weren’t the real reason why Shinazugawa couldn’t stand the guy. The real reason that he would probably never reveal out loud to anyone else was simple: you.

         You were indeed the reason for the one-sided hatred between the two hashira. You didn’t know this, of course, but Shinazugawa absolutely couldn’t stand the fact that Tomioka had you. Though he never intended on telling you this, Shinazugawa had feelings for you. Deep, deep feelings that he actively had to push down when you talked to him with your bright smile, telling him another one of your stories about the crazy happenings of your day. He was no stranger to envy and not getting things that he wanted in life, so it wasn’t just the fact that Tomioka had you, but that he didn’t care for you as he should.

This was another secret Sanemi held closely-- not because he didn’t want to tell you, but because didn’t know how. He had found out Tomioka’s true feelings because Tomioka had gotten careless after one stressful week with back to back missions and left his personal notebook out in a common dining space. The only person around at the time to find it was Shinazugawa. He normally wouldn’t care about the personal musings of a random person but given whose notebook it was, he couldn’t resist reading a few tidbits. His jaw fell open in rage when he saw the way Tomioka had written about you there—not necessarily as if he didn’t care for you at all, but he was very clear in the fact that he had no romantic feelings toward you whatsoever. He was very clear in his musings that you were his partner simply as a way for Tomioka to relieve stress, seek out affection, and boost his own ego.

When Shinezugawa read this, he was beyond pissed. He was absolutely outraged. How could he? How was it that Tomioka of all people got to have someone as kind as you and he didn’t value you the way that he should? He could’ve killed Tomioka with his bare hands in that moment, but he knew that you were at his estate now, visiting your partner for the evening, and he knew that you hated unnecessary violence and animosity between fellow demon slayers. In the moment, he decided to place the notebook back where he had found it, and go on a walk to calm his anger. He would deal with Tomioka in due time, some way that wouldn’t have you angry at the both of them.

         In the weeks following this discovery, Sanemi could not shake the rage that filled him at the sight of Tomioka. And don’t get him started on how it felt seeing the both of you together. When you approached Sanemi alone, which you often did as you enjoyed talking to the typically prickly Wind Pillar, he forced his emotions down so that he didn’t burst forth with the knowledge he had on your little boyfriend. You absolutely deserved to know, but if he were to be the one to tell you he wanted to do it without anger, only with empathy and understanding. The way that you should be treated. Sanemi valued you deeply, and he never wanted to hurt you. It was his own deep-rooted care for you that made this situation so anguishing. He knew that he could treat you better—so much better. If only he had gotten closer to you first, then maybe....

         He tried not to linger on the maybes. He didn’t want to be your friend with any conditions attached—he never thought of himself as the most emotionally intelligent person, but he at least knew that wasn’t fair. So he let it play out, because although Sanemi didn’t necessarily believe in karma, he did believe that the truth always comes to light.

         As far as your relationship went, you were comfortable in it. While there were things that maybe had you desiring more, you couldn’t say that you weren’t content with Tomioka so that was good enough for you. Really, what more could you ask for? Your boyfriend was strong, handsome, perceptive to your needs, and your intimacy together was consistent. Sure, Tomioka wasn’t the most outspoken about your relationship or on board with PDA—or, when you thought about it, any kind of physical affection-- but you really didn’t have any complaints. I mean, is your relationship really in the trenches if your boyfriend doesn’t show you off? No, that wasn’t necessarily a deal breaker.

         But when you saw other couples together, you felt an ache in your chest. You couldn’t help but compare your relationship to the sugary sweet ones around you. You saw others who held hands on public pathways, fingers intertwined, and imagined what it must feel like to be in love so freely where everyone could see. You saw the way these couples would sneak pecks on each others’ cheeks or foreheads, and the way that they would blush at the acts of affection, and you sighed internally. You heard whispered vows of devotion and love, and couldn’t help but think about how Tomioka never professed his love to you. Not verbally at least. I mean, he had to love you of course, you two had been together for the better part of a year. He just didn’t show it that often. He was just subtle. That’s what you told yourself. You had muttered the three words to him before, but you usually only did it in moments of passion, when you could play it off as being really into the moment if he questioned it. He didn’t, but all you got in response to your proclamations were grunts in your ear or hums that you hoped were agreement. But honestly, not hearing those words from him hurt your feelings. You wanted a deep love; one that your mind never questioned because it was always made so clear to you how much you were valued. You wanted it so badly you dreamed of it, but you weren’t willing to end things with Tomioka just over feeling a little pathetic at not publicly being affectionate with him or hearing three words. Other than those desires of yours, you guys were perfectly fine, really.

         It only took about a month before the guilt and rage began chipping away at Sanemi’s resolve. He had to tell someone, even if it couldn’t be you—and Iguro was the only hashira Sanemi trusted with any tidbits of his personal life, so Iguro it was.

         He had invited the Serpent Hashira over for a training session one afternoon when he was particularly frustrated. Iguro pretty much knew the drill; when Shinazugawa invited him over for one-on-one training it usually meant he needed to rant about something and let off some steam. Since Iguro was more of the quiet type anyway, he didn’t mind keeping quiet and letting Shinazugawa grunt out his frustrations.

Sanemi may have thought that he was keeping his admiration for you a secret, but Iguro was much more perceptive than the Wind Pillar realized. When he finished telling his friend how shitty your relationship really was, he was shocked that his friend called him out instead of getting angry with him.

         “And you didn’t tell her this?” Iguro admonished Sanemi, “You’d keep such a secret from the girl you love?”

         “I...what? Love? I didn’t say anything-“ He cut himself off at the sharp look in Iguro’s eyes as he tried to deny his feelings.

“I can’t tell her, obviously! She would be angry not only at the situation but at me, for knowing now for a month that her relationship is a sham! You can’t just....just drop that on someone! I mean, did I even ask  for your opinion anyway? Geez!”

Iguro’s eyes peered sternly at Shinazugawa over his bandages. “You should have told her as soon as you knew. It wouldn’t have been easy, but it would have been easier than telling her now. Maybe she wouldn’t have been angry then, but she definitely will be now that you’ve known all this time, and you can’t blame her.” Iguro would never admit it, but he had grown fond of you over your time with the Demon Corps, and it was mostly contributed to how highly Shinazugawa, his friend, spoke of you. This whole situation now pissed him off as well.

         Sanemi found that he couldn’t meet his friend’s eyes.

“You think I don’t know that?! Know it all ass....” Sanemi mumbled, deflecting the shame he felt at being called out. “Look, whatever, I’ll tell her soon. I said already I should’ve told her before. God, this sucks.”

Iguro nodded in the affirmative, sheathed his sword and bid goodbye to his friend before heading back to his own estate, trusting that their training session had been helpful. And it turned out that it had been helpful, as it struck Sanemi to be called out so plainly by his typically cold friend, who he had not expected to scold him at their training earlier. I mean, what was that about? Iguro never spoke up when Sanemi ranted—it was like, an unspoken understanding of theirs. But hey, whatever. The longer Shinazugawa got to ponder on the oddity of the earlier conversation, the less he thought about what he was on his way to do.

Sanemi approached the residence of the Flame Pillar, who you were training under as his tsuguko. His steps faltered a bit as he saw that you were already outside and you spotted him quickly, giving him no more time to prepare his words. He forced a smile on his face that he hoped matched yours, and closed the distance between you.

“Y/n! Hey, how are you doing today?” He started out with some niceties, stalling.

“Oh well, I’m pretty good, Sanemi, how about you? I see you’re kind of flushed, if you need to come inside we can. It’s pretty hot out today. Here, let me get you some water as well!” As kind as always, you took him gently by the elbow and began walking him to the engawa nearby. As he was seated, he rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants. Gratefully accepting the water you held out to him, he drank deeply and sighed, knowing that the painful conversation had to begin.

“Y/n, I um... I came here to tell you something. I should’ve told you a long time ago, but I have been a coward, and I’m sorry for that.” He glanced sideways at your face, noticing already how the worry filled your eyes.

“About a month ago, I found some personal writings of Tomioka’s, and, well, they... they mentioned you, and...” He paused to take a deep breath, preparing to rip the metaphorical bandaid off. “He wrote in his notebook that he isn’t in love you”

Sanemi held his breath. It almost seemed in that moment as if the world held its breath too—he could feel a slight breeze but didn’t hear it move through the trees, and even birds that had been chirping had fallen silent. He forced himself to look at you and he immediately wished he hadn’t. Your mouth had fallen open in a delicate “o” shape, and your eyes sparkled with tears that had yet to fall. It appeared that you were trembling, and you couldn’t meet his eyes as they desperately tried to lock onto yours.

After a few moments of prolonged silence, Shinazugawa reached his hand out toward you, not knowing what to say but knowing he could offer you some physical comfort—and you jerked violently away from him.

“Go.” Your voice was low.

“Y- Y/n I’m—”

“I said go Shinazugawa,” you were practically growling at him.

“But wait, I-“

Your head whipped around so quickly he was startled, your expression as fierce as when you faced down a demon. “You knew. You knew for a month and you hid it from me. I thought we were friends, I- I thought that you cared for me!” The anger in your voice is exactly as he had feared.

He was going to lose you because of Tomioka—no, no.... he was going to lose you because of his own stupidity.

Not wanting to anger you further, he slipped down from the engawa and took a couple of steps away before speaking one last sentiment to you: “I am sorry, Y/n. I understand if you don’t wish to talk to me anymore, but my door is open to you if you ever change your mind.” He exited the estate and walked with a heavy heart back to his own mansion.

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

         You were devastated. Your deep fear had been confirmed by your friend, who had known long before you and chosen to deceive you. You had ignored Giyuu’s letters asking to meet for meals, and you had asked Rengoku to turn him away whenever he showed up at the estate’s entrance. You sobbed for a couple of days straight, then you could only lie in silence for the next day or two. Rengoku, the kind hearted man that he is, brought you all your favorite foods at mealtimes to try to entice you to eat, but your appetite was nonexistent despite his efforts. You finally reached a point where your sadness turned again to anger, but this time it was rightfully aimed toward the person who had deceived you longer than anyone—Giyuu. You finally instructed Rengoku to let him in after 5 days straight of the Water Hashira groveling outside. Rengoku, bless him, glared at Tomioka the entire time he marched to your door, though he knew not what was going on between the two of you.

         You had made an effort to clean your appearance up; you didn’t want to be disheveled in front of the man who had ripped your heart to shreds. Tomioka began the conversation, immediately starting to apologize, knowing how you had found out because Shinazugawa and Iguro had already ripped him a new one for it.

“Y/n please, I’m so so sorry. I can’t apologize enough for-“

“How could you?” You cut him off, not wanting to hear his bullshit apologies. If he were really sorry or guilty or whatever he would claim to you, why would he have kept his act up so long? Why pretend to care for you at all? If he wanted sex, it could have just been that. People make arrangements for situations to just enjoy sex all the time, there could have been some sort of understanding between you without the need for this senselessly cruel pain that you were put through.

“Y/n, I... I messed up. I was selfish, and I began a relationship with you knowing that a serious relationship wasn’t what I wanted, and I just.... I just hoped that somewhere along the line I would change my mind. I need you to understand though that it has nothing to do with you, you’re the best person I know, I just... I’m not someone who’s able to date right now. I don’t know if I’ll be able to ever, it’s just how I am. I should have told you that. I made excuse after excuse not to break things off. I enjoyed your affection and your attention, and I took advantage of it. I’m sorry.”

You listened to his small speech with a quivering lip.  He dated you for almost a year, with you thinking that you two were serious about each other, just because he liked your affection? You were almost more angry now that you’d heard his stupid explanation; it didn’t excuse this sham of a relationship. The silence stretched on as your tear-filled eyes glanced at the ground, at the trees behind him, at the birds in the sky....anywhere but at him, the man you thought you loved. Eventually, he broke the silence.

“You’re right to be angry. I would be too, anyone would be. You deserve better than me wasting your time. I’m so sorry. I know I never told you I loved you, because that felt like a lie, and I know you probably feel used. But y/n, if you ever forgive me, I know I could love you as my friend. I could be a much better friend to you than I ever was a lover. Please, take all the time you need. Even if you don’t forgive me, I’ll be willing to talk more whenever you’re ready.”

         He slowly began to turn around and step toward the estate’s main gate, and you watched him walk with slumped shoulders. At least you knew he truly felt bad about it all—Giyuu was not an actor. He couldn’t lie to save his life—not directly, like how he never said that he loved you. Once you were confident that he was out of earshot, you let out a sob that you hadn’t wanted him to hear, and turned to escape back into your bed for the remainder of the day.

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

         After a week of your grieving your future with Giyuu, in which luckily you had not been called on any missions, you finally felt okay enough to get ready and go to a group training session. Upon your arrival, you were approached by Sanemi, whose expression was more worried than you’d ever seen it.

“I came to check on you,” he said, eyes flicking between your own as if searching for a response there. You knew he had come to ask about you multiple times, maybe more times than Giyuu even, but Rengoku took his role as your protector seriously and turned Shinazugawa away even when he threatened violence.

“I wasn’t taking visitors.”

“Okay, yeah, I um—I get that. You needed time. Did you at least get my letters?”

You hadn’t realized he had been sending you letters also—you had instructed your crow not to deliver any messages to you unless they were from the master instructing you to go on a mission. Everything else could wait.

“Oh, my crow may have them stored away for me somewhere, but I didn’t want to read any letters last week either. Sorry.”

“Oh no, no, no need to be sorry,” He rushed to reassure you, placing his strong hand on your shoulder in a comforting gesture. You hadn’t realized how much you missed his company; how he effortlessly showed you his sweet side that others didn’t see. Your heart, having felt frozen solid for well over a week at this point, began to thaw out at the genuine warmth you felt from your friend. Overwhelmed with appreciation for him, you drew him into a hug, which he returned after a beat of hesitation.

         The training session went without a hitch as you slid right back into your regimen. Sanemi hardly left your side, and other slayers gave the two of you odd looks at the beginning when you had embraced. You couldn’t blame them—Sanemi was feared by many for his quick temper and how he resorted to violence in many situations that weren’t quickly and easily resolved with words. Though you’d never had to be fearful of him, you were able to see why others were.

         As you were gathering your things to head back to Rengoku’s estate, Sanemi asked if he could accompany you, which you accepted. You enjoyed his companionship too much to say no.

“Y/n, I want to apologize to you. I know you were upset with me for not telling you about Tomioka when I found out, and I should have. We’re... we’re friends, and I care about your feelings. I didn’t tell you because I was scared to hurt you, even though it wasn’t technically me who was doing the uh, hurtful thing? Look, I’m not good with words, so uh, I—” His cheeks blushed scarlet as you peered up at him in the evening sun. A tiny smile formed on your face before you cut him off.

“It’s okay, Sanemi. I know. And I know you probably wanted to tell me. I’m not angry with you really, you told me eventually. You’re a good friend to me. Thank you.”

         You looped your arm through his and continued walking, a comfortable silence between you.

Sanemi was the one to break it. “You deserve better, y/n. I always thought you did, but definitely with all this coming out you deserve better. You deserve someone to love you. I see other couples around, like, kissing and holding hands and stuff and... I don’t know, I just never saw him do any of that for you. The next person should do that and more. You should have someone who isn’t afraid to love you proudly. I know you have a lot of love to give, ‘cause that’s just who you are. You are love. So that’s what you deserve.”

You couldn’t say anything in response—you had never had someone tell you something so heartwrenchingly sweet before. You were coming up to your place, so you stepped on the engawa and turned to face Sanemi before dipping down to place a kiss on his cheek. His blush from before, barely having faded, returned with a vengeance.

“Thank you, Sanemi,” you said, voice barely more than a whisper. You hoped you conveyed how much you appreciated him. You smiled, and backed into your home, watching his lips turn up as he also backed toward the path leading to his home.

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

         Over the following months, you got back into your normal routine and felt much more at peace with your heartbreak. You had the support of the rest of the hashira, even if most of them didn’t know details of what happened between you and Tomioka—it wasn’t something that you were inclined to share. Not only would it cause more animosity to be directed toward him (he wasn’t the most popular slayer to begin with...), but it also caused you a bit of embarrassment that you were toyed with for so long. Regardless, you came to understand Tomioka’s reasoning for stringing you along, especially because of his lack of social life outside of you. You felt bad for him, knowing that now he truly had no one to spend time with; but you definitely weren’t ready to be on friendly terms with him anytime soon so you didn’t make efforts to see or speak with him.

         You had grown closer to Sanemi than you were before, which was a feat considering that you were already best friends really, even when you were with Tomioka. You both ate all of your meals together, trained together, often walked each other home, and confided in one another more than ever. Shinazugawa made you very comfortable around him. You were shocked when you realized one afternoon, head thrown back at the sky as you laughed at some clever quip from him, that he had single-handedly returned your smile to you after your heartbreak. You felt a tiny bit of warmth wiggling in your chest.

         Walking once again toward the Flame Hashira’s estate, your arms swayed gently by your sides. With Sanemi to your left, you felt very relaxed after a long day of training and goofing off with him and Iguro. You were looking forward to a nice meal and a hot bath. A sigh slipped from your lips at the pure contentment you felt in this moment.

         Sanemi’s head turned toward you, seeking your eyes.

“Everything alright?”

“Perfect, ‘Snemi,” your tongue was loose in relaxation and a strange version of his nickname slipped out, alongside a giggle at the slip-up.

         His face stretched into a smile, which was rare for anyone besides you to ever see. Walking down the bumpy path leisurely, the backs of your hands kept brushing. The warmth you’d felt in your chest since seeing Sanemi every day turned into a flutter everytime you touched his skin. As his knuckles bumped yours again, you decided to be bold—it was about time you started going for what you wanted, right? You caught his hand in yours and laced your fingers through his calloused ones. Your heart stuttered at the contact, and if you’d asked him how he felt he’d say the same. He squeezed your hand in his and rubbed his thumb in soft circles as you approached your residence.

“Y/n, I was actually wondering if you wanted to hang out tomorrow? With me? Well, duh, but you know...” Sanemi trailed off, his cheeks turning that shade of pink that delighted you so much. He was always so confident in every other situation—in fighting, in conversation with others, in his strengths, and he had been confident in flirting if what you’d seen in past years through your friendship was anything to go off of. His shyness with you was endearing; it told you that he cared what you thought of him. You knew he also had a level of comfort with you that he didn’t possess with anyone else, but you hoped in the near future you could express to him exactly just how much you valued him so that he no longer had reason to be so shy around you anymore.

  “Nemi, we hang out every day. Of course, I would love to see you again tomorrow.”

He kept meeting your eyes but then looking away. “Well yeah, yes, we do, but I kind of want to do something different, if that’s okay. Like if you wanted we could walk to the trees where the cherry blossoms are and I’ll bring a bunch of food and we’ll have, like, a picnic or something.” Your heart had to have swelled to twice its normal size.

         Still holding his hand, you gave him a reassuring squeeze. “I would love to.”

He finally met your gaze for more than half of a second and his still-pink cheeks broke into a grin wider than you think you’d ever seen on him. You didn’t know if you’d ever seen anything cuter. “Okay, then perfect! And, just to be clear, I wanted this to be a date. Like, romantically.”

You laughed again, throwing your arms around his neck and nuzzling into his broad chest. “Yes, Nemi. I want this to be a date too.”

Pulling back, you looked at his face, and you couldn’t help it. You were smitten with your friend. Well, soon to be more-than-friend, right?

“Can I kiss you?”

His face dropped into a look of pure shock, then elation as he breathed out, “Yes, y/n. I would like nothing more.”

So you leaned in, and he did the same, meeting in the middle. Sanemi may look rough around the edges to everyone else—but to you, he was nothing but soft and sweet. His lips were soft, not just in texture but in pressure, as if he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be too rough with you. Your lips moved together as if you’d done this before. Thinking about how you knew now Sanemi’s true feelings for you made you smile into the kiss, and you felt his lips turn upwards too. Both of you were hesitant to part, but you had to pull away when it became difficult to breathe. His lips followed yours, not wanting to break.

Sanemi rested his forehead against yours and your peered up into his eyes. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him look so relaxed or blissful. “I should go,” you said after a moment, pulling a sigh from his mouth. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sanemi. We’ll have more time together then.”

“Alright. If you must go,” he replied, pressing a sweet kiss to your brow before stepping away, off to his own estate. You watched him go. For the first time in several months, you could see yourself being happy again.

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

         A year later, you still walked everywhere with Sanemi, only now you two never went without your hands clasped tightly together. Your relationship with him had been completely different than the one before that had broken your heart. Sanemi held your hand with pride, he planted kisses on the top of your head and pecked your cheeks even when in the presence of others. When you became overwhelmed with how adorable your partner was and stretched up on your toes for a kiss, he still blushed if you two were in public, but he never turned down an opportunity to kiss his beloved. Not to mention, Sanemi never let a day go by without telling you he loved you. He didn’t really need to tell you in order for you to know—his actions spoke volumes about his true feelings—but each time he told you, you reveled in it and made sure to tell him the same back. And yes, you could say it to him anywhere, anytime without embarrassment or needing to play it off somehow.

His affection was shocking to others. The big, bad Wind Pillar who beat other slayers to a pulp at his trainings blushed when his girlfriend kissed him? He held her hand like his lifeline? His eyes weren’t full of hatred, but adoration? How could this be? Though this behavior was shocking to them when your relationship began, many were able to associate this new temperament to Shinazugawa fairly easily. While still rough in training sessions and prone to losing his temper, since he had been with you others could tell that he made a greater effort to hold his tongue or step away when upset rather than throw senseless punches. You made him want to do better for you, so he was better for you. He was a man of his word.

****

Now, when you walked Sanemi to a Hashira meeting, you placed a gentle kiss to his cheek and looked at the other hashira waiting in the Master’s garden. You waved first at Rengoku, who you’d see later on, then at Tomioka, who still hesitated to return your greetings even though you had released any anger you held toward him months ago. How could you hold anger toward your ex when you were so incredibly happy with Sanemi? Tomioka had taught you what you deserved, and Sanemi had been more than happy to put in work to be that for you. Now you could say with truth that you had no complaints.

[saveahorserideaneddie]

In regards to your fic post, no __ bashing bc they don’t deserve the hate” or “we LOVE __ in this house” both these tags sound so weird to me. I mean, you don't have to defend your reasons for writing a character certain way in your story, especially if the character was a plot device and you are using them as such. These are the characters both positive and negative characteristics are easy to project onto, because canonically, they barely have any. Ana or Marisol or Natalia and even Ali are great examples. And even TK 2.0, though he was more fleshed out, in the negative way. I'm personally kinda surprised by how little stories I read where Taylor is presented negatively. Not for being career -driven, but for being ruthless and frankly not very interested in a relationship. There is nothing wring with writing your dislike for a character into a story. Or your like for that matter. But disliking a character is not a moral failing. Even less so when they are a minor side character with single purpose.

There had been some pearl-clutching about "bashing fics" some time ago which I didn't understand at all. 9-1-1 is not the only fandom that has them. Other ones just might use a different word/tag for it. Sometimes you need to get something out of your system. other times a character is just a dick/awful and it's fun playing with it. And it is also fun reading it.

being part of an oppressed group doesn’t just excuse you from bad behavior - and this one, ain't that the truth. One one hand, people yell, don't reduce that character to their *insert minority group* and in the same breath they complain when they are written as not fully wholesome cinnamon rolls too good for this world.

I mean, taking a character trait and running with it is kinda what fandom does. I mean, we got clip-board!Buck and possesive!Eddie and no-nonsense-allowed!Athena and all-knowing!Hen and so on.

Having Ana be ableist, Marisol homophobic, Natalia callous, TK 2.0 a dismissive douche, that is just par for the course. If people don't want to write or read it, then no one is making them. As long as everything is tagged properly, going either way in your story is what fan fic is about. No need for preaching.

Sorry, this got long and incoherent but it was brewing in me for a while and your post was the last straw it seems.

/*rant over

EXACTLY!!!!!!!!!

Like- if i don’t like a character I’m either going to filter out that character or if i’m feeling in a certain mood i’m gonna filter the “bashing” tag. You don’t have to preach to me how much better you are bc you like this character.

like… ok? like away, but you don’t have to signal that liking that character somehow morally sets you apart from everyone else 😭😭😭

and specifically the character i saw today is a character i am so indifferent to that if i read them being bashed? so be it. if i read them being written in a really positive light? so be it. if i read them being written neutrally? SO BE IT.

like these characters are of so little consequence that it just drives me up a wall when people try to act all high and mighty about “oh well I like x character” like okay bruh just WRITE THE FIC AND CALL IT A DAY 😭😭

anyway, please never apologize for ranting in my inbox about something i also ranted about- i love getting to read other people’s frustrations over things i also get annoyed at so this ask made me happy lolll

i hope you’re having a great day, friend <3

[grievedeeply]

Hiiii! Do you take bg3 reqs? Cause I saw some and the tag in your latest post but no mention on the blog info!

If not feel free to ignore!

Could you please do Halsin, Gale and Astarion angsty hcs of them arguing with their s/o (like maybe she feels belitttled or ignored and yk classical “say something they don’t mean etc arguement”)? (With or without the aftermath and eventual yk comfort. However you’d like! Sorry if this is precise!

Thanks in any case! Have a lovely day!

i just added bg3 into my blog info bc of this LOL my bad. but yes i do take requests and i'm very happy to do this one for you! decided to expand on your original idea and make it arguing as a whole but your request is still included in the headcanons! thanks for sending it in and enjoy!

gn!reader/tav | tws: angst....

arguing headcanons with halsin, gale and astarion

halsin

halsin is not the arguing type of man. he hates arguing and he never ever wants to do it

still, he knows arguing happens. relationships always include some type of fight even if he never wants to deal with it

arguments with him almost always happen because of a misunderstanding on someones part. it's never because he wants to try to hurt you or vice versa, but because someone heard something the wrong way and it spiraled

but of course you don't realize that immediately and start arguing over whatever it was that was said

halsin is the type of person to distance himself for a little while to collect his thoughts

he never wants to say something he doesn't mean in an argument, but it has happened before.. and it took at least a week for the two of you to make up because you were obviously hurt by it

but he doesn't want it to happen again, so he'll take a little time for himself and come back to you with a cooler head

he doesn't think of himself as someone who gets mad easily, and he really isn't, but he'd rather be safe than sorry

normal arguments don't last for very long as you find you can't really stay mad at each other.. but he is usually the one to apologize first even if you started it

he hates it when you're mad at him. it's literally the worst feeling in the world to him and it's like a huge pit in his stomach

he will feel so bad if you ever tell him you feel ignored in an argument

he apologizes a lot and has to reassure you that you're the only person in his life that he loves in this way

he promises to be better at showing it. he takes an entirely different angle on everything he does from then on

always wants to make you feel loved and appreciated <3

gale

similarly to halsin, i think gale is someone to avoid arguments at all costs

he'll agree with a lot of things you say just to avoid arguments over stupid things that don't matter. you like this color for new curtains but he doesn't? he won't say a word. doesn't want to fight over something so small

even if you won't argue about it... he hasn't exactly had the best relationship track record, so he prefers to keep quiet on things like that anyways

when you do fight with him, it's usually because he said something he didn't mean and he immediately regrets it

but unlike halsin, he probably wouldn't walk away and take a few hours for himself and will instead apologize profusely without anything else

he hates fighting. he hates it and he wants it over with

he hates how it makes him feel when he knows you're upset with him and he wants that feeling to go away as soon as possible, so expect him to say he's sorry a million times

he hardly ever yells but he will when he gets mad enough. he immediately regrets it though

again... apologizes over and over

his apologies are all very genuine but he won't blame you if you don't forgive him right away

but you will have to tell him to leave you alone for a while

making up is always nice though. he'll make you dinner for a week afterwards (as if he doesn't do it anyways)

if you ever bring up feeling ignored or belittled in an argument he will go completely silent and apologize after you're done talking

he explains it was never his intent, but he realizes that he could've done better for you, and his apologies are all he can offer until he can prove his worth to you

overall very sweet and understanding about the entire thing too

astarion

i can see astarion hating arguing.. but that doesn't stop him from doing it, either

you hardly ever fight over anything serious but unlike gale he will complain if you pick something out that he doesn't like. he wants something he likes too. if he has to look at it, he wants it to suit his tastes

he's probably a sulker and doesn't apologize first unless he actually really feels bad about something

he likes seeing you say you're sorry. it makes him feel good to know you care enough about him to apologize for fighting over something that never really meant that much to anyone else

he wants some control over things. that's really all he wants

sometimes he will say things he doesn't mean, but he won't apologize immediately

the fight will get worse before it gets better

he isn't really the type of person to yell, but he does sometimes and he hates doing it but sometimes it feels like no one hears him unless he does

if you start a fight because you feel ignored or not good enough or something like that, it's a whole different story

he won't even really argue. he'll sit there and listen to everything you have to say even if you scream at him

definitely will hug you and reassure you that he loves you. he says he's sorry for ever making you feel that way, too

he hates fighting. but he will argue if he feels it's necessary... or when he's overwhelmed

sometimes things come out that he doesn't mean