#Oh yeah its always meme time

[queenangella]

.

[scrawnytreedemon]

GAME COMPLETED!

I need a hot minute before I gush... But oh my god, wow, this game was incredible. Not just a stellar handheld title, but a prime Zelda title as a whole. 9.9/10, for sure <3

[pucksandpower]

Shameless

Charles Leclerc x Reader x Max Verstappen

Summary: you + Lestappen + a sex tape leak + one very unamused head of communications … need I say more?

Based on this request

The Red Bull Racing communications office smells like stale coffee and impending doom. Portia, the team’s head of communications, sits stiffly in the center of the storm, knuckles white around her phone. She stares at the video playing on her laptop, horrified but unable to look away.

The footage is intimate, explicit — grainy but undeniably clear. Three people, tangled up in sheets, moaning names, gasping into each other’s mouths. Max Verstappen. You. And, unmistakably, Charles Leclerc.

Her inbox is a dumpster fire of urgent PR memos, emails with subject lines in all caps, and press releases that have already been revised half a dozen times. She hasn’t even responded to half of them yet. No point.

This is beyond damage control.

The door swings open violently, smacking into the wall. Max strolls in first, looking every bit as casual as if he just finished a training session. You follow behind him, your hair in a messy bun, holding a half-eaten croissant. Charles is the last to enter, chewing gum like this is the most ordinary thing in the world.

Portia blinks at the three of you. “… What the hell?”

Max plops into the chair across from her, sprawling out like he’s just arrived at a friend’s house. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” Portia repeats, incredulous. “You-” She gestures frantically toward her screen. “The video. The world just saw everything, Max! You, her, him-” She throws a desperate look at Charles, who only shrugs.

“Yeah. We saw,” Charles says casually, pulling out a chair and sitting down next to Max. “Kind of funny, no?”

Portia makes a strangled noise in her throat. “No! It is not funny, Charles. None of this is funny!” She can already feel the migraine creeping in, sharp and mean behind her left eye.

Max leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Listen, it’s not like we were hiding it. We’ve been-”

“Friends,” you interject, your voice calm as ever. “Very close friends.”

Charles grins. “Really close.”

Max winks. “Super close.”

Portia pinches the bridge of her nose. “Stop saying that.”

“You’re the one freaking out,” Max says, as if that makes any of this better. “It’s not a big deal.”

Portia throws up her hands. “Max, it’s not just a sex tape. It’s a scandal. Sponsors, shareholders, media outlets — everyone is calling. Red Bull is losing its mind, Ferrari is fuming, and the internet-” She gestures vaguely toward the air, as if the internet is some wild animal loose in the building. “-is losing its collective shit.”

Charles leans back, folding his arms behind his head. “The internet always loses its shit.”

“True,” Max agrees, glancing at you. “Remember when they thought we broke up because I didn’t post anything for two weeks?”

You hum thoughtfully, finishing the last bite of your croissant. “They were so mad.”

Portia stares at the three of you like she’s trapped in some bizarre fever dream. “Are none of you remotely concerned about this?”

Max shrugs. “Not really.”

“It’s out now,” you say, wiping your hands on a napkin. “What’s the point of stressing?”

Charles nods like you just delivered the most profound truth of the century. “Exactly. It’s not like we can put it back in the box.”

“Oh my god,” Portia mutters, pressing her palms to her temples. “You’re all insane.”

Max flashes her a charming smile — the kind that usually gets him out of trouble. “Come on, Portia. You handle worse than this all the time.”

“Not this, I don’t!” She groans. “I mean, sure, we’ve dealt with crashes, team infighting, broken engines, drunk interviews-” She shoots a pointed look at Max, who grins unapologetically. “But this? This is next level.”

Charles checks his phone, seemingly unbothered by her panic. “The fans seem to love it, though. Look-” He flips the screen toward Portia. It’s a Twitter thread full of memes and heart-eye emojis, captioned with things like Lestappen and Y/N living their best lives and Honestly, goals.

Portia glares at the phone like it just insulted her family. “This is not helping.”

Max raises an eyebrow. “Actually, it kind of is.” He points at the screen. “If the fans are cool with it, the sponsors will calm down eventually.”

“Sponsors are not fans.” Portia slams her laptop shut, as if doing so will somehow make the problem disappear. “Sponsors are very rich, very conservative people who do not want their logos anywhere near a video of you having a threesome!”

Charles clicks his tongue thoughtfully. “Technically, it’s not just a threesome.”

Portia shoots him a death glare. “I swear to God, Charles-”

You stifle a laugh, covering your mouth with your hand. Max notices, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he nudges you with his elbow. “See? Even Y/N thinks it’s funny.”

“It’s a little funny,” you admit, which only makes Charles beam with satisfaction.

Portia looks like she’s on the verge of a breakdown. “This is not funny. None of this is funny.”

“I think you need to relax,” Max says, as if that’s the simplest solution in the world. “It’s not like we committed a crime.”

“It might as well be,” Portia snaps. “Do you know what Ferrari is going to do with this? They’re probably drafting some moral code violation complaint as we speak.”

Charles waves a hand dismissively. “They can’t fire me. I bring too much to the table.”

Portia gives him a flat look. “Charles, you are the table.”

“Exactly.”

Max turns to you, his hand casually resting on the back of your chair. “Do you think we should put out a statement?”

You consider it for a moment, then shake your head. “Nah. Statements are boring.”

“Agreed,” Charles says, pulling his phone back out to scroll through more tweets. “No one likes statements.”

Portia exhales slowly, as if trying to summon every ounce of patience she has left. “Okay, so let me get this straight. Your solution to this PR nightmare is ... to do absolutely nothing?”

“Exactly,” Max says with a satisfied nod. “We just let it blow over.”

“Like Austria,” you add.

Portia stares at you, aghast. “Austria? You cannot compare this to a racing incident in Austria!”

Max looks thoughtful. “I don’t know. I think it’s kind of similar. People get mad for a while, then they forget.”

Charles grins mischievously. “By next week, someone else will do something stupid, and no one will care about this.”

Portia groans, dragging her hands down her face. “You are all ... impossible.”

Max reaches across the table to pat her shoulder. “You’ll see. Everything will be fine.”

“Max,” Portia says, her voice low and dangerous. “If this mess costs us a single sponsor — just one — I swear I will make your life a living hell.”

Max’s grin widens. “You already do.”

You burst out laughing at that, and even Portia can’t suppress a reluctant smile, though it’s clear she’s fighting it with every fiber of her being.

“This isn’t over,” she warns, but there’s no real bite in her voice.

“It never is,” Charles says breezily. “But that’s half the fun, no?”

You lean into Max’s side, content and completely unbothered, and he drapes an arm around your shoulders. Charles glances over at the two of you, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “See? We’re all good. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Portia shoots him a murderous glare. “Do not say that.”

Max laughs, the sound low and easy, and for a moment, it feels like the world outside the room doesn’t exist — no scandals, no cameras, no angry emails. Just the three of you, stuck in the strangest mess, but somehow, perfectly fine with it.

And, really, isn’t that all that matters?

***

A few weeks later, Portia is sitting at her desk, sipping her second coffee of the morning, when her inbox pings with a new email. She glances at the subject line, hoping it’s something routine — maybe a press update, or an invitation to a sponsor event.

Instead, her heart drops.

URGENT: New Video — Verstappen, Leclerc, and Y/L/N on Beach Vacation

She groans audibly, slamming her head down on the desk with a dramatic thud. They didn’t listen to her at all.

Opening the email, her stomach churns as she scrolls down to the attached link. The video loads instantly — there’s Max, Charles, and you, sun-kissed and carefree, lounging on beach chairs somewhere tropical. The sound of waves crashing in the background is almost soothing.

Almost.

And then, without warning, it escalates — hands everywhere, tangled limbs, kisses that start off playful but quickly turn into something else entirely. A bottle of rosé tips over in the sand as Max pulls you onto his lap, and Charles leans over, dragging his mouth along your shoulder with a grin.

Portia shakes her head in disbelief, muttering under her breath, “I’m going to kill them.”

Another ping. This time, a text from Max.

Saw the email. You’re gonna love the next one.

She screams into her coffee mug.

[solxamber]

Coughing up Love - Idia Shroud x reader

You don't think much of it when Idia starts acting weird because let's be real, that seems to be his default around you. Wait are those flowers he's coughing up?

There’s something odd about Idia lately. He’s acting weird—well, weirder than usual, and that’s saying a lot for someone who’s mastered the art of avoiding people for weeks at a time. It’s subtle at first. His normally snarky, rapid-fire commentary seems more hesitant, his usual screen-lit complexion a bit paler, and he’s excusing himself mid-game way more often than usual.

And, most bizarre of all, every time you hang out, he always seems to keep something in his mouth. Gum, candy, or, more suspiciously, a fist pressed against his lips like he’s hiding something. You know Idia— he's socially awkward, sure, but when it’s just the two of you gaming or chatting, he’s rarely this strange.

Today, the two of you are halfway through an intense raid when he suddenly stands up, his chair creaking violently as he jerks upward.

“Pause! Time out, emergency bathroom break,” he blurts out, yanking his headset off with lightning speed and scrambling for the door.

You frown, watching his character get obliterated on screen. “Dude, you could’ve at least—”

“BRB!” he shouts, voice trailing off as he disappears into the hall. He’s gone in a flash, leaving you blinking at the door, wondering what just happened.

But that’s not the first time, nor will it be the last. Over the next few days, Idia pulls more disappearing acts than a badly programmed NPC. Mid-conversation? Poof, gone. Halfway through a snack? Vanished.

It takes a while, but eventually, the pieces staet to click together. You catch him out of the corner of your eye, face flushed pink, a hand pressed firmly to his mouth as he stifles a coughing fit during one of your game nights. At first, you’re concerned—it’s not like him to get sick, not seriously anyway. You suggest getting him medicine or a trip to the infirmary, but Idia adamantly waves it off.

“I-it’s nothing!” he stammers, trying to hold it together while choking down the coughs. “Just, uh, allergies! Y’know, dust and stuff. Old consoles… gotta, uh, clean them more…”

Suspicious. Old consoles? In Ignihyde? Yeah, right. You narrow your eyes, but drop the subject—at least for now. It’s not until later, when you see something float from his mouth—something blue and oddly petal-like—that you realize what’s happening.

You’ve heard of Hanahaki before. It’s practically a meme among some circles—an outdated trope, really. People coughing up flowers because of unrequited love? What is this, a 2000s anime fanfic? But now, watching a crumpled blue petal fall to the floor in slow motion, you realize that your very own shut-in gamer might be the rare exception to the rule.

The worst part? He’s really, really bad at hiding it.

A few days later, you invite him to hang out at Ramshackle, hoping the quiet environment will calm whatever’s been causing his weird behavior. Things seem fine at first—until you notice him coughing into his sleeve again.

This time, he has a backup plan.

“Are you okay?” you ask, brow raised as he muffles yet another cough.

“Yeah, totally! Just, um…” He rifles through his bag and pulls out a—oh dear sevens, is that a mask?

You can’t help it—you burst out laughing. “You’re… you’re seriously wearing a mask now?”

“It’s for—” He coughs violently again, eyes darting around as if looking for an escape. “For, uh, germs! You know, flu season! Gotta… gotta be prepared…”

You squint at him. “We’re indoors. And it’s summer.”

“Exactly!” he says, as if that makes sense. “The germs are, like, in the air! Sneaky buggers!”

The mask stays on for the rest of the evening, and every time you glance at him, you see his eyes flick away like he’s hiding something worse than a little cough.

His next attempt is, frankly, genius in its stupidity. You’re in his dorm, playing a co-op game, when the inevitable happens: he starts hacking up petals. At first, he plays it off with a hurried gulp of water, but soon the coughing becomes too much. With a gasp, he fumbles for something on his desk—a box of tissues? No, it’s a full-on dust mask this time.

“Idia, what the fu—”

“Pro-gamer tip,” he interrupts, voice muffled behind the mask. “Always be prepared for, uh… dust allergies! It’s, uh, a top-tier strat. Totally not s-suspicious.”

Dust? When he has Ortho making sure that he doesn’t perish? You stare, absolutely dumbfounded. “I’m starting to think you’re more allergic to honesty than dust.”

He laughs—well, tries to. It comes out as a garbled mix of coughing and awkward chuckles. “W-what are you talking about? I’m fine! Really!”

“Fine?” You raise an eyebrow, watching as more petals spill out of his sleeve. “You’re literally falling apart, dude.”

At this, his face burns bright pink, and his hair flares up, turning from it's usual blue to a mortified rosy hue. “N-no I’m not!” he protests weakly. “J-just a little springtime cold, that’s all.”

“Yeah, sure,” you say, crossing your arms. “Because spring colds definitely involve coughing up whole bouquets.”

There’s a brief pause as you both stare at the mess of petals on the floor. Idia winces, clearly defeated, and slumps back into his chair.

“...Crap.”

The look of his face tells you to let it go and you do, believing that it'll probably resolve itself. You weren't from this world, maybe it was common here and you were the one that's overreacting?

After another week of weird excuses, mask-related antics, and watching him suffer through increasingly ridiculous attempts to hide his Hanahaki, you’ve had enough. You’re going to get to the bottom of this once and for all.

You catch him mid-cough during one of his solo raids, bursting into his room without warning. Idia practically jumps out of his seat, slamming the pause button and whirling around with wide eyes.

“W-what are you doing here!?” he yelps, trying (and failing) to hide the petals littering his desk. “I—uh—this isn’t what it looks like!”

“Really? Because it looks like you’ve been coughing up whole flowers,” you say, deadpan, as you point to the pile of blue petals strewn across his keyboard. “Seriously, Idia. What’s going on?”

He freezes. For a moment, the room is deadly silent—except for the faint sound of digital gunfire in the background. His face, already pale, turns ghostly white, and his flames flicker pink in embarrassment.

“I…” He stammers, looking everywhere but at you. “I didn’t… It’s not…”

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Spit it out. Or should I say, ‘cough it out?’”

It’s the worst joke you’ve ever made, and yet, somehow, it breaks the tension. Idia lets out a wheezing, awkward laugh, though it quickly dissolves into another coughing fit. This time, he doesn’t even try to hide it—just pulls his knees up to his chest and buries his face in his arms, defeated.

“I’m such a loser,” he mumbles, voice muffled. “I thought maybe… maybe if I ignored it, it’d just go away. Y’know, like a glitch or something.”

Your heart clenches at the sight of him, all curled up and vulnerable. It’s so unlike the cocky, trash-talking gamer you’ve come to know. You crouch down beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Idia,” you say softly, “you’re not a loser.”

He peeks out from behind his arms, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Y-yeah, right. I’m just the guy who gets Hanahaki because I can’t even confess like a normal person.”

You blink. “Wait—Hanahaki? Like actually?”

You did not expect that. You expected it to be some weird disease that was native to twisted wonderland and not actually Hanahaki of all things.

Idia winces, his hair turning a bright shade of pink as he realizes what he’s just admitted. He looks away, fiddling nervously with the edge of his sleeve. “...Yeah. It’s stupid, I know.”

For a moment, you’re speechless. All those strange behaviors, the coughing, the flowers—it all makes sense now. He’s got Hanahaki, and he’s been trying to hide it because…

“Idia…” you whisper, heart pounding. “You love me?”

He squeezes his eyes shut, his whole body trembling. “I-I mean, i-it’s not like I expect you to feel the same! I know I’m not, like, Vil-level handsome or anything. I just… didn’t want to ruin things.”

You feel a warmth spreading through your chest, and before you can stop yourself, you lean in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek.

Idia goes completely still. His hair flares up, a brilliant pink, as he slowly opens his eyes in disbelief.

“Y-you…” he stammers, voice barely a whisper.

You smile softly. “I love you too, you dork.”

For a second, he just stares at you, as if he can’t quite process what you’ve said. Then, with a choked sob, he flings himself into your arms, burying his face in your shoulder as the last of the petals fall away.

“I’m such an idiot,” he mutters, but there’s a hint of relief in his voice. His arms tighten around you, and you can feel the rapid thumping of his heart against your chest.

"You’re not an idiot," you murmur, gently running your fingers through his hair. The flames have cooled down to a soft, warm pink, flickering faintly in the dim light of the room. "And you don’t need to be Vil-level handsome. You’re just you, and that’s more than enough."

Idia snorts, though it’s more out of disbelief than amusement. "Yeah, right. I’m just the weirdo who plays video games all day and coughs up flowers. Super attractive."

You pull back slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes. "Hey, I don’t care about that. Do you think I’d be hanging out with you all the time if I didn’t like you? I’m here because I care about you, Idia."

For a moment, Idia just stares at you, his mouth slightly open like he’s trying to come up with some kind of retort, but nothing comes out. He looks… overwhelmed, his usual sarcastic defense mechanisms short-circuiting under the weight of your words. His eyes dart away, then back to you, and finally, with a shaky breath, he mutters, "I don’t get it… Why me?"

You smile, brushing a stray petal from his hair. "Because you’re kind, even if you don’t realize it. You’re funny, you make me laugh all the time—even when you’re not trying. And you’re smart, way smarter than you give yourself credit for. I like being with you, Idia. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t."

His face flushes a deeper pink, his flames flickering erratically as he shifts nervously in your arms. "I-I… I don’t know what to say…" he stammers, his voice cracking slightly. "I thought for sure you’d think I was a weirdo or something."

You chuckle softly, resting your forehead against his. "Well, you’re my weirdo, then."

That earns a shaky laugh from him, though it quickly turns into another coughing fit. You gently rub his back as he coughs, but this time, instead of petals, there’s just the sound of his breath gradually evening out. He looks at you, wide-eyed, as if expecting to see more flowers—more proof of his self-doubt.

But the petals are gone. The weight that’s been crushing his chest, suffocating him with every breath, has finally lifted.

Idia stares at you for a long moment, his expression softening as the reality of the situation settles in. His arms loosen around you, but he doesn’t pull away—he stays close, resting his head on your shoulder with a sigh that’s both relieved and exhausted.

"Does this mean…" He hesitates, his voice barely above a whisper. "Does this mean we’re… together now?"

You grin, tilting his chin up so he has no choice but to meet your gaze. "If you want us to be."

Idia’s face erupts into a brilliant shade of pink, and for a moment, you think his face might actually catch fire. He quickly looks away, fiddling nervously with the hem of his shirt, but there’s a small, shy smile playing on his lips.

"I-I guess that’d be… kinda nice," he mumbles, almost inaudible.

You laugh softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. "It’s more than nice, Idia. It’s perfect."

For the first time since you’ve known him, Idia doesn’t argue. He doesn’t self-deprecate or brush off your words with sarcasm. Instead, he lets out a soft, content sigh, resting his head against you again, his flames warm and steady.

"Yeah," he whispers, his voice filled with quiet relief. "I think it is."

And for once, Idia Shroud—the boy who always felt like he didn’t deserve happiness—finally lets himself believe it.

You stay like that for a while, curled up together in the quiet of his room, the low hum of his gaming console filling the background. It’s peaceful in a way you never expected with Idia, who’s usually so frantic and anxious. But now, with the weight of unspoken feelings finally lifted, he’s calm. Happy, even.

After a long moment, he pulls back slightly, glancing at the screen. "Uh… w-we left the raid halfway through," he mumbles, as if the thought had just occurred to him. "My bad. We probably wiped the whole party by now."

You laugh, ruffling his hair. "I think they’ll survive without us for a bit. But we can jump back in if you’re up for it."

Idia hesitates for a second, then shakes his head. "Nah… I’d rather just… stay here. With you."

The admission is so soft, so vulnerable, that it makes your heart ache in the best possible way. You smile, pulling him close again, and this time, he doesn’t flinch or make any excuses. He just rests his head on your shoulder, his pink flames flickering contentedly.

Maybe it’s not the typical "fairy tale" kind of love. It’s awkward and a little messy, filled with gaming mishaps and coughing up flowers. But it’s real. And for Idia, that’s more than enough.

he's reminds me of a pathetic wet cat left in the rain but god do I love him

Masterlist

[star-girl69]

i think aphrodite kid reader x clarisse is simply just better??? like the trope is just superior??? like, we have clarisse who is tough, and mean and one of the strongest people at camp, then we have reader who is kind and compassionate and really doesn’t care all that much about fighting. so naturally, clarisse is super protective and treats reader like a princess?? how could people dislike it 😔😔

no exactly and i actually must write about this - basically this is just all about the little things clarisse does for her perfect princess angel daughter of aphrodite gf (me!!!!!!)

okay as payment for my absence please accept some shitty headcanons I LOVE YOU ALL BYEEEE

she’s just always DOING THINGS FOR YOU

she’s so perceptive and she always knows exactly what you want and need even if you don’t know it yourself

like if you like wearing high heels one) clarisse genuinely wonders what is wrong w you

she sees no practicality in them bc there isn’t lol

but also she’s like omg???? MY GF feels safe enough around me to wear shoes she can’t run in???? WHAT JOY!!!!!!!!!

and you’ll come back to your cabin being all ugh omg my feet hurt so bad laying on the bed and putting your feet UP

and clarisse is like “well i could have told you that”

excuse me????

“don’t get me wrong baby you look gorgeous and i love you wearing heels but it’s your funeral”

“DIE”

she just laughs and takes your shoes off

she’ll continue to bully you as she’s literally massaging your feet like ok girl yeah we see you

clarisse is also a MENACE about making sure you eat

“did you eat today?”

“babe you SAW me at lunch”

“just making sure….”

you’re just so kind and amazing and clarisse loves you so much but you are not the best at fighting!

she is constantly stressed when you’re not by her side

bc no one loves you like her who will protect you 💔💔💔💔

when someone takes advantage of you she gets so PISSED OFF

bc it’s not like someone is beating you up it’ll be like someone is using you as their personal therapist or smth and you’re just like “pls go speak to an actual professional wtf 😭😭😭”

and she’s so pissed off bc WHY IS THIS BITCH PSYCHOLOGICALLY AND EMOTIONALLY TORTURING HER GIRL??????

she’s not afraid to beat people up for you and actually enjoys it!

anyways, clarisse is also a koala bear

and an emotionally stunted caveman

she’s not good with her words so these actions are all she has to show you that she loves you

idk if y’all have noticed but clar rarely saying ily to y/n bc it’s my personal headcanon that she has such a hard time saying those words. she shows you she loves you but for some reason it’s just so hard to get the words out. (…BC SHE IS AN EMOTIONALLY STUNTED CAVEMAN)

so she quickly adapts to do all these little things

if you’re walking down a flight of stairs trust she is holding your hand

QUEEN of opening jars for you

if you’re not feeling well or you’re tired or just feeling lazy she’ll bully someone into doing your chores for you

also this bitch is NOT afraid to stand up for you and make sure you get what you deserve.

like that one meme

“UM… she said NO PICKLES… you fucking dumbasses…”

“CLARISSE 😭😭😭”

also like in “better than revenge” she loves to watch you do your makeup

finds it so fascinating that you can only get PRETTIER

like she’s okay at makeup but you can do that shit perfectly like standing on your head

you make it seem so effortless

she’s not a HUGE makeup girly but sometimes she’ll let you just go crazy

so you can sit on top of her….. that one sapphic meme yes…..

also she’s constantly bragging about you

“yeah… i have the prettiest gf in camp… y’all are just losers what can i say”

ofc if anyone were to agree w her she would go insane

“yeah y/n is so pretty”

“um ok yeah you don’t have to say it i say it enough….”

even if one of your siblings gives you a compliment she’s like HOLD THE FUCK ON- then she remembers THATS YOUR SIBLING ITS OK and she’s like oh this is so embarrassing.

will she stop? no ofc not

she’s constantly telling you how pretty you are. beautiful. gorgeous. exquisite. all the words

loves kissing you all over

KISSES YOUR HAND 🤭🤭

anyways going back to the clarisse koala bear agenda that got away from me

she’s just always touching you

hand on the small of your hand guiding you somewhere

hand around your waist

SITTING IN HER LAP AT CAMPFIRES

no matter what type of hair you have she’s obsessed w it. if you have pin straight hair she’s so obsessed w the fact that you don’t need a huge curl routine like her, finds it fascinating

if you do have curls she loves doing a curl routine together

whatever whatever type of hair you have she’s obsessed with it and will wash it for you if you want

so soft and lovingly like a more of a scalp massage than a hair washing

will brush your hair for you, braid it for you, anything you like just OBSESSED

she loves when you like sit on top of a picnic table and then she gets to sit in between your legs on the bench thinks it’s so so fun and so so silly

she LOVESSSSS sleeping w you OBVI.

on top of you, you on top of her, she’s a koala bear. like entirely wrapped around you

partially bc she is as aforementioned a koala bear and partly bc she is overprotective even in her sleep

if you move in the middle of the night even just a little bit

she’s a super light sleeper i feel like

always on the guard fr ✊

a little bit better when you’re there tho

so if you move in the middle of the night she’ll just like caress your hair and kiss your cheek and try to shush you back to sleep

like bitch you’re still asleep have you never heard of ADJUSTING? MOVING? SHIFTING?

hope you’re not one of those people who has to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night bc with clarisse that will stop

you can’t abandon her even for 2 minutes even for basic bodily functions like you just can’t it’s so inconsiderate to her… 💔

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish @rebecca37 @saltair-and-palemoonlight @ace-spades-1

[dadsbongos]

do u think u could write some of ur own personal headcanons for laios? i love the way u write him, it seems almost canon!

anon you dont know what fire youre messing with

also thank yew hehe :>

general headcanons:

Laios likes babysitting but does NOT want to be a real papa, he adores the idea of being the Cool And Strange Uncle but just imagining having to raise a whole person from scratch terrifies him

Usually conks out as soon as his head hits the pillow and he’s a damn heavy sleeper, he strikes me as someone that gets the dad snore when he’s a bit older

Likes doing physical activity in the moment, maintaining his stamina/strength n whatnot. But HAAATES the aftermath, he will not stop bitching about how gross he feels when sweaty

People scare him but I think men specifically scare him more than women because he mainly associates “men” with his old boarding school and military peers and his dad. Meanwhile the most callous woman he’s personally dealt with is like. his mom… who wasn’t particularly menacing and he doesn’t seem to resent her as much as he does his father

Most definitely called Chilchuck “chil” in their early days together and got his nuts sacked for the unintentional disrespect

Doesn’t drink often because the taste bugs him but when he does decide to, he drinks to get drunk. So it has to be a special occasion

The type of older brother to tell Falin food fills up your body from your feet to your head and when you’re full to your head you die

modern headcanons:

Definitely the type to unironically use little emoticons like :) or :] but his favorites are the cute ones like :3 , ^.^ , and :0

Would’ve played barbies with Falin as a kid and enjoyed it more than Falin did lol

If he were out with the group (marcille would have to threaten his life though, he would HATE “going out”) and Marcille or Falin deferred to him to deal with creepy men he’d feel like a superhero about it

Borderline mandated to have a high impact phone case by Falin because he’s GOT to be dropping that shit all the time. I just know it (projecting)

Would probably dislike resident evil as a series but thinks the premises are cool

Bouncing off that: he’s a big Undertale and Deltarune fan (definitely had a thing for Toriel at some point and probably thought sans was kind of overrated). Has ambivalent feelings towards fear & hunger, likes the atmosphere and item preservation and monsters but the assault scenes and overt brutalism ick him out from recommending it

Would go his whole life without an autism diagnosis until eventually held at metaphorical gunpoint by his friends, just for his parents to go “oh yeah we had you tested as a kid but didn’t want you using it as a crutch”

If monsters weren’t real he’d be cryptid autistic just so everyone’s on the same page

Cryptids major and ocean creatures minor type autism

I don’t think he’s straight by any measure but before he has the Realization, he’s the epitome of the girls gays and coleman meme

Segue omg: he has no desire to think more about his sexuality or gender than “i feel x” or “i choose y”. I think he identifies as Man(TM) but in a “its harder to explain i want to be a bog” way. If you referred to him with feminine pronouns or called him “girl” he seriously wouldn’t give a shit 

nsfw(?) headcanons:

Could never do casual, you would have to be committed or only know each other VERY distantly and only do it once. His ass wouldn’t know how to read your relationship if you were trying to do friends with benefits (he’s also very concerned with hurting people’s feelings so just the notion of accidentally doing that to someone he’s intimate with would kill him)

May seem strange coming from a bitch always talkin about fucking him, but I think Laios would actually have kind of a lower sex drive. Like he maybe doesn’t get needy very often but also isn’t NOT in the mood, so if you proposition him and he’s into you he’ll be like “okie :3”

That being said, when he does feel needy he’s NEEDY. It’s debilitating, he genuinely can’t do or think of anything else until his poor wee is taken care of :( poor guy aww

I can see him being a virgin until his early-mid 20s and having no shame about it (good for him go king, virginity is nothing to be ashamed of it literally doesn’t matter)

Also by virgin i mean rice purity test score of like 97

Swears he doesn’t like having his cock worshipped (says its weird and embarrassing) but he’s so flustered n drooly and babbles the whole time

Biter 

[3liza]

what tumblr is *actually* really particularly good at as a group rather than as individual famous posters (such as dril on twitter), and this is something we share with 4chan, is originating and then popularizing particular jokes and meme phrases. we are good at coining things. "coining a phrase" means to say something with a particular flourish or carefully-chosen compositional attention in an effort to make the phrase "stick" in some way. for example, "stop trying to make 'fetch' happen" (which became a meme in of itself) is a response to a person attempting to coin a phrase--in this case, referring to things as "fetch" (adjective)--in a way that is not working. i think that tumblr, as a group, is very good at making fetch happen.

"blorbo" is a perfect example of a word that was made up on tumblr and has now become widespread over multiple social networks and is in (limited) use in irl verbal conversation. whatever our personal individual feelings on it (and a lot of us are fed up with it/find the term annoying because it got REALLY saturated here) it's so good that it will likely (i think! this is my prediction) become a permanent resident in american slang as long as it is useful, and this is because there was an empty space where that term was needed: a term for a person from a work of fiction that the speaker (the person who says "blorbo from my shows" in the hypothetical scenario invoked by the post) is particularly interested in, but whom the listener (the hypothetical "you") has no familiarity with.

fandom as an activity is extremely old at this point (no not dante's inferno fuck off) so it's likely we have had terms like this before that either weren't successfully coined, deprecated out of common usage, or which i personally am not familiar with. but when the blorbo post was made, there was an empty space where that term WAS needed in many conversations that were being had. oh yeah, blorbo from your shows. all my friends have blorbos from their shows. i do not have a pre-existing term for this, i would have just referred to that concept as "characters from shows i havent watched, which my friends talk about all the time". it is convenient to have the term "blorbo" for this, and it was particularly canny as a choice of phonemes because it references how fucking stupid all the Star Wars Expanded Universe names are (and always have been, speaking as an old school SWEU fan [NOT ANYMORE]). ponda baba? sebulba? max rebo. the intergalactic jizz wailers. sy snootles. fuck off

coining a phrase successfully actually uses marketing principles, or vice versa really, to launch a word that "sticks". we can use "fetch" as the counter-example: there was no demand for "fetch" in that market (the setting of the film).

this is a sort of cousin to the now-deprecated phrase "it's all greek to me", which meant "i don't understand this, it is as unfamiliar to me as someone speaking greek, a language i dont understand [and which is considered by my culture to be difficult to understand and/or archaic]". but instead of invoking an actual language to exemplify

EDIT 6:19AM PST: i apparently just hit "Post" before finishing the post. i think i had more thoughts about "its all greek to me" but i dont know what they were and its not important

[nanamineedstherapy]

We had a taste & now we can't leave you

Gojo Satoru x GN!Reader x Nanami Kento

Summary: A night of reckless attraction leads to obsession as two dangerous men, Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento, refuse to let you go. What begins as a fleeting connection spirals into a dark, inescapable reality where freedom no longer exists. Warnings: Yandere, Kidnapping, Character Deaths, Stockholm Syndrome, Curse Men. => No graphic smut or violence, but have tissues ready in case. => No gender-related descriptions have been used for the reader.

A/N: This started as me watching that one edit of Gojo and thinking I'd write a fluffy crack story, but the parasites in me as usual made it angsty. https://pin.it/3rgFvY6aa

The bar was dimly lit, buzzing with low conversations and the occasional burst of laughter. A faint scent of whiskey clung to the air, mixing with cheap cologne and the sweat of bodies packed too close together. It was a slow night, and you had no intention of entertaining anyone. Just you, your drink, and the mindless scroll of funny TikToks.

Then the two men entered.

The door swung shut behind them, cutting the hum of voices. The blonde man was already scowling, tugging at the loosened tie around his neck, while the platinum blonde one—grinning, despite his equally irritated expression—dragged him towards the bar.

“I’m just saying,” White-haired one drawled, voice loud enough to carry over the music. “If that asshole tells me one more time that I need to ‘act professional,’ I might just kick his cane.”

Bonde exhaled, running a hand through his already slightly tousled hair, falling on his forehead. “But you’re not professional, Satoru.”

“I am!” The “Satoru” guy protested, leaning against the bar. “You just don’t appreciate my methods.”

“You told Gakuganji his clothes looked like a knockoff thrift store find.”

“Which was true!”

Blonde groaned, ordering them both drinks before sinking onto a bar stool.

You barely glanced up, too engrossed in your phone. The smooth, almost hypnotic voice of a robotic TikTok narrator filled your ears: ‘POV: You’re watching your pet’s reaction after ignoring them for five minutes.’ You stifled a snort at the meme, lazily swirling your drink.

But Satoru noticed.

“You laughing at me?” he asked, voice warm, teasing.

You looked up, meeting a pair of crystalline blue eyes. Too bright. Too sharp. Too close. But the grin that accompanied them was lopsided and easy—like he was already familiar, like he knew you.

You arched a brow. “Not everything’s about dude-bros, you know.”

The blonde huffed a quiet chuckle at that.

Satoru grinned wider, unfazed. “Ouch. That one actually hurt.”

The blonde took a sip of his drink before speaking but didn’t look at you yet. “Trust me, if you let him, he will make everything about himself.”

You smirked as you set your phone down. “And here I was, thinking you two were just going to suffer through overpriced cocktails in peace.”

The blonde finally glanced your way. “We weren’t. My colleague insisted on dragging me here instead of letting me go home.”

Satoru shrugged. “He’s boring. I couldn’t let him waste his night like that.”

“And you?” the blonde asked, tilting his head slightly. “Drinking alone?”

You raised your glass. “Celebrating.”

Satoru’s grin widened. “Oh? What’s the occasion?”

You shrugged. “Got through another week of life. That’s worth drinking to.”

He laughed, and it was the kind of sound that wormed its way under your skin, rich and full of something dangerously addictive. “I like the way you think.”

The blonde swirled the whiskey in his glass, eyes flicking over you, assessing. “Do you always spend your fridays like this?”

“Lately? Yeah.”

Satoru leaned in slightly, chin resting on his hand. “That’s a shame. You seem fun.”

“And you seem like trouble,” you quipped.

His grin turned wolfish. “Guilty as charged.”

The blonde sighed, exasperated but amused. “Don’t encourage him.”

“I am fun, though,” Satoru continued, ignoring him. “For example—” He gestured vaguely to himself. “I happen to be a very accomplished man of mystery.”

The blonde scoffed. “He’s Gojo Satoru.”

Satoru gasped. “Kento! You ruined the illusion!”

You snorted.

The blonde continued, “And I’m Nanami Kento.”

You smiled and told them your name.

The conversation flowed from there. Drinks kept coming, the low burn of whiskey on your tongue. Satoru exuded a reckless, infectious energy that made you feel like the most captivating person in the room, as if nothing else mattered but this fleeting moment. In contrast, Kento was the slow burn, a quiet force beside him—steady yet equally enthralling.

Then it all began with stolen touches—those accidental brushes that felt anything but accidental, lingering just a moment too long.

Satoru’s laughter danced against your ear, warm and carefree, while Kento’s hands, steady and sure, grazed yours when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

Together, they were perfect.

Too perfect.

By the time Satoru leaned in, breath warm against your cheek, voice thick with the edge of intoxication—“You should come with us.”—you didn’t hesitate.

And that was your first mistake.

Their hotel room was a blur. Fingers tugging at fabric, laughter swallowed into kisses, your back pressing against soft sheets, hands gripping, pulling, needing. Satoru, all heat and hunger, his mouth dragging over your skin, murmuring something against your throat that you barely processed. Kento, slower, deliberate, watching, touching, like he was memorizing the moment.

Somewhere between the tangle of sheets and the press of bodies, it stopped being just a night.

But only for them.

Morning came too fast. The light creeping through the curtains painted everything gold—the crumpled sheets, the slow rise and fall of Satoru’s breathing, the way Kento’s arm draped over the edge of the bed. You didn’t wait for them to wake.

No note. No number. No goodbye.

Just a night—nothing more.

You moved on.

Your world was cars, speed, control. The hum of an engine, the precision of a well-designed machine—things that made sense. Things that lasted. A drunken one-night stand with two men who, though good in bed, meant nothing to you.

You didn’t expect them to care.

Except they didn’t see it that way.

For them, it was everything.

The unease started small.

A bouquet on your desk—perfectly arranged, not a petal out of place. No note, but the scent was familiar. A message from an unknown number: Missing you.

You ignored it.

The song you had casually mentioned to a coworker once played as you entered the nearby grocery store. And every time you needed a ride, a cab would pull up to the curb before you could even reach for your phone; the drivers seemed to know your destination instinctively.

You told yourself it was nothing.

Coincidence.

But coincidences didn’t feel like someone breathing down your neck.

You forgot where you put your keys. Normal. Then, you started finding them in places you never left them—inside the fridge, under your pillow, in your shoes.

It moved to the weird things

Your phone screen dimmed and brightened at random, like someone else was controlling it. Once, you watched in frozen horror as the brightness slider moved on its own. A glitch. It had to be.

Then came the dreams—or at least, you thought they were dreams.

The feeling of someone sitting at the edge of your bed, just out of sight. The mattress sinking ever so slightly under phantom weight. The sound of breathing—soft, steady, too close. But when you bolted upright, gasping, there was nothing. Just the dark.

Your apartment door... you knew you locked it. You always checked. Twice. Maybe three times. But some mornings, you’d wake up and find it slightly ajar. Not wide open, not enough to set off alarm bells—just enough to make you doubt yourself.

Your coffee shop always had your order waiting. You never called ahead. You never used an app. Yet the moment you stepped in, the barista would smile, handing over your drink before you even reached the counter. “Regular time, regular drink,” they’d say. But you didn’t have a regular time.

Then, the lights.

Your bedroom lamp flickered. The kitchen light buzzed, casting shadows that didn’t match the angles of the room. Your reflection in the mirror lagged—just half a second, just enough to make your stomach turn.

Maybe it was stress. Maybe early-onset dementia.

You started medical tests. Bloodwork. Brain scans. Sleep studies. The doctors reassured you—no signs of anything serious. Maybe anxiety. Maybe exhaustion. Maybe—

Maybe you were losing your mind.

Until you saw them.

Satoru, standing outside your office building, sunglasses pushed up, head tilted back, staring at your window. Not looking at his phone, not passing by—just standing there.

Kento, seated in the café across the street, a book open in front of him. His gaze never strayed from you.

You told yourself it was a coincidence. A trick of the mind. But coincidences didn’t leave messages in the condensation of your bathroom mirror.

You can’t run.

You locked your doors. You triple checked. You changed the locks; even got a security system.

And yet.

Your spare key was missing.

The scent of their cologne—expensive, unmistakable—lingered in your apartment, despite you being alone.

Your closet door, which you never left open, was slightly ajar one morning. Your bed felt warm on one side, as if someone had just been lying there.

A whisper in the dark, right against your ear.

A flicker of movement in the mirror—something that didn’t match you.

They were everywhere.

One night, they stopped lurking.

And let themselves in.

Satoru leaned against your kitchen counter, swirling a glass of wine like he’d been there for hours. Relaxed. At home. His mouth curled in amusement, but his eyes—glowing, warping the very air—held something... something wrong.

Kento stood by the doorway, arms crossed, gaze steady. He didn’t need to speak. His presence alone filled the space, pressing against your lungs.

Your stomach twisted.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house?”

Satoru exhaled, long and slow, like you were being difficult. “You left.” His voice was soft, almost hurt. Almost. “After everything we gave you, you thought you could just... leave?”

Kento’s head tilted slightly. "Do you have any idea how many things in our lives aren’t ours to keep?" His voice was calm, measured. But there was something underneath it. Something fractured.

Satoru set his glass down. The sound it made was quiet. Intentional.

"You never even asked what we did," he mused, stepping closer. "You never thought about it, did you? What it means to be us? What it feels like to give and give and give until there's nothing left?"

Kento sighed. "We don’t get to have things, darling. We don’t get to keep what’s beautiful. Not when we spend every waking moment cleaning up messes that aren’t ours."

Your pulse pounded.

"I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about," you snapped, reaching for the knife on the counter.

The air shifted.

Your fingers brushed metal—then suddenly, the knife was in Satoru’s hand. His grin widened as he turned it over, inspecting it like an afterthought.

"That was rude," he pouted.

You stumbled back. But the space around you bent. The hallway stretched, the walls melted, the door—gone.

Kento tsked. "You really think you can fight us? When we’ve spent our entire lives fighting wars you don’t even know exist?"

Satoru chuckled, twirling the knife between his fingers. "See, that’s the thing. It’s always been about everyone else. Protecting the weak, stopping the threats, and making sure the world stays just safe enough for people like you to go about your day without ever realizing how close you are to dying."

His eyes gleamed. "And for what?"

Kento’s voice was steady. "For nothing. No thanks. No peace. No rest. Just more battles, more corpses, more being chewed up and spit out by a world that will never care about us."

Your breath hitched.

"So," Satoru continued, stepping closer, "we decided—just this once—we’re keeping something for ourselves."

You ran.

The space around you twisted. The walls breathed, the floors split, the lights flickered—off, on, off, on—until there was only darkness.

Then—

You were somewhere else.

A basement.

The air thick with damp and decay. The walls pulsed, the ceiling felt too low, pressing in like the weight of a grave.

No doors.

No way out.

You spun, your breath sharp, and—

Kento was beside you. He caught your chin, tilting your face toward his. His fingers felt wrong, cold but alive, pressing against your skin like they were deciding whether to crush or caress.

"You need to learn obedience," he murmured.

Something sharp pressed to your throat.

Not a blade.

His fingers.

Too hard, too precise. Inhuman.

Satoru's voice came from everywhere and nowhere. "You should have never left."

The room moved.

Hands clawed from the walls—decayed, desperate, their nails scraping against stone. The shadows slithered along the floor, writhing like living things, whispering.

The air turned thick. The pressure pressed against your ribs, squeezing, drowning—

"Shh," Satoru soothed, suddenly holding you from behind. "Breathe, sweetheart."

You couldn’t.

The whispers swelled, filling your skull, echoing.

Stay. Stay. Stay.

Kento brushed his fingers over your pulse. "You’ll understand soon enough," he murmured.

Satoru whispered against your ear. "You think we’re the monsters?" His laugh was soft, almost affectionate. "You have no idea what we have to do every day to protect you."

The room shrunk.

The walls closed in.

You screamed.

And they just watched.

And then—

The locks on your doors changed. Your world shrank to the space they allowed you to exist in. Freedom became a distant memory.

Because once Gojo Satoru and Nanami Kento decided you were theirs—

There was no escape.

---

Months after, the world had shrunk to the space they allowed you to exist in.

There were no locked doors. No chains. No visible walls. But you learned quickly that freedom wasn’t about doors or chains—it was about choices. And you had none.

Some days were easier. Some days, Satoru curled up beside you, his fingers playing absently with your hair, murmuring things that almost sounded like love. Some days, Kento held you in his arms and read to you, his presence lulling you into the illusion of normalcy.

Some days, you forgot you were a prisoner.

Other days, you didn’t.

Like today.

It started with the phone.

Satoru had left it on the table, an oversight, because you weren’t allowed to have one. It vibrated once, the screen lighting up. You barely had time to register the name before it disappeared—Ieiri Shoko.

Another buzz. Another message.

Shibuya. Now.

Your stomach twisted.

You barely had time to think before Satoru appeared in the doorway. His smile was there, easy, playful—but his eyes weren’t. They were sharp, gleaming with something you couldn’t place.

"You saw that, huh?"

Your throat tightened.

Kento entered behind him, already pulling on his suit jacket, his movements too practiced, too quick.

Something was wrong.

"I—" You started, but Satoru was in front of you in an instant, tilting his head.

His hand brushed your cheek, fingers lingering just long enough to remind you who you belonged to.

"You’re going to be good while we’re gone, aren’t you?"

Your heart pounded.

"Where are you going?" you asked.

Kento sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Shibuya."

Satoru’s smiles never reached his eyes when he spoke of the higher-ups.

And because you weren’t stupid, you realised—

Something bad was happening in Shibuya.

"You can’t just leave me here."

Satoru hummed, quickly kissing you. "Of course we can," he said simply.

"You’ll be fine," Kento added, but his voice lacked the usual certainty.

Your chest tightened. The air in the room felt thin.

"You’re lying," you whispered.

Neither of them denied it.

Then, Satoru sighed, long and heavy, and for the first time in months, you saw it—a crack in the façade.

Kento kissed you and turned toward the door. "We’ll be back," he said, but there was something final in his voice.

And then Satoru looked at you, really looked at you. His fingers brushed your jaw, tilting your chin up.

His smile was still there.

But you saw it in his eyes.

A silent goodbye.

And before you could say anything, they were gone.

---

Silence.

That was the first thing you noticed. The silence stretched and stretched until it became a living thing, pressing against the walls, seeping into your skin, curling around your ribs like something hungry.

They were gone.

For the first few days, you assumed they’d be back. Of course, they’d be back. They always came back.

But the food ran low.

The fridge, once always stocked with your favorites, emptied. The last slice of bread curled at the edges. The fruit turned to mush. You rationed water like a soldier, sipping only when your throat burned.

The first few days, you screamed.

You clawed at the windows, pounded on the doors—but there was nothing. The ward around the apartment didn’t just keep people out. It kept you in.

The realization hit on day five.

You weren’t locked in. You were buried alive.

By day ten, the hunger gnawed. The mirror reflected someone else—someone hollow-cheeked, dry-lipped, eyes sunken.

By day fourteen, your body stopped feeling like yours.

The loneliness sank in next. The kind that felt like drowning. The kind that made you remember.

Satoru’s laugh.

Kento’s presence.

You hated them.

You loved them.

They’d trapped you. But at least you weren’t alone.

At least they loved you in their own, twisted way.

Maybe you should have been grateful. Maybe you should have just submitted.

Because now, it was quiet.

And the quiet was worse than them.

By day nineteen, you could barely stand. Dehydration blurred the edges of the world, made everything tilt. Your lips cracked, your limbs shook.

You laid on the floor, staring at the ceiling.

This was it. This was how you died.

Not in a struggle.

Not in a fight.

Not screaming.

Just fading.

Your eyelids drooped. The blackness tugged.

And then—

The door opened.

At first, you thought it was a hallucination. But then, footsteps came. Fast and uneven.

You barely had the strength to lift your head.

And there he was.

Satoru.

But not the Satoru you knew.

He looked different. His uniform torn, the fabric dark with blood—his? Someone else’s? His face was paler than usual, hollow, the bright blue of his eyes somehow dulled. He held you and gave you water. His breath came ragged and shallow.

He stared at you.

You stared back.

Neither of you spoke.

Then—“…Kento’s dead.”

Your breath hitched.

The room tilted.

The words didn’t make sense. They couldn’t.

Nanami couldn’t be dead.

Because if he was—

If he was gone—

Then who was left?

You grasped at his arms, fingers digging into fabric and skin, just to make sure he was real.

"You're lying," you rasped.

He didn't argue.

He just stayed on the floor, holding you close against him, his fingers burying in your hair, his shaky breath warm against your temple.

Your body shook. You clung to him, pressing into the heat of his chest, feeling his heartbeat—proof that he was still here.

Because if he died too—

If he left you too—

You’d have nothing.

Satoru wanted you out.

---

The moment he had the strength, the moment the wards lifted, he took you by the wrist and dragged you outside. Fresh air hit your skin, but it didn’t feel freeing. It felt wrong. Too open. Too empty.

You dug your heels in. "No."

"You need sunlight, baby," he murmured, squeezing your wrist. His voice was lighter than it should be, like he was distracting you, like he knew what would happen if he stopped talking.

"I need you."

His fingers tensed.

"I came back, didn't I?" he said. "I always come back."

You didn’t let go. He didn't either.

You should have run.

You should have screamed.

You should have hated him.

But you had nothing left to run to.

No one left to save you.

Only him.

And now, he was trying to leave you behind.

"Shinjuku’s different." His voice was calm. Steady. Lying.

"I don’t care," you whispered. "Please—"

Satoru sighed and leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. His breath was warm. His fingers traced soothing, familiar circles against your back.

"You’re safe now," he murmured. "You can go anywhere, do anything. Live a real life."

You shook your head, fingers clawing into his shirt.

"I don’t want a real life," you choked out.

Satoru’s breath hitched.

His mask cracked. Just a little. Just enough.

A single tear rolled down his face.

His hands slid up to your cheeks, his thumbs pressing against your skin, tilting your face up. His lips brushed against your temple, your nose, lingering at the corner of your mouth.

"You’re breaking my heart, sweetheart," he murmured, voice cracking.

Then he stepped back and disappeared.

And for the first time since they took you, you were alone.

—

You found out the same way the rest of the world did.

On a screen.

In a storefront window.

The broadcast was jerky—news anchors trying to piece together the impossible. The buildings of Shinjuku were a massive rubble. Smoke curled into the sky. And there, in the middle of it all—

Him.

The Six Eyes. The strongest sorcerer. The man who could bend space itself.

Sliced.

Half his body on the ground.

Looking at the snow.

You stared at the screen, breath frozen in your throat.

The world kept moving. People walked past you, laughing, talking, living. Unaware. Unaffected.

Like it was nothing. Like he was nothing.

Come to think of it, he wasn’t the same after Kento died.

The glass reflected your own face back at you—pale, gaunt, hollow-eyed.

You had spent so long waiting for him to come back.

Now, he never would.

---

A year passed.

You still weren’t living.

Existing, maybe. If you could call it that.

The therapist said it was trauma. Said you needed to find purpose again. A job, a hobby, something. Anything to pull you forward.

You nodded. Said you’d try.

You never did.

Your days blurred together—waking up late, skipping meals, staring blankly at walls until your body forced you to move. Even the weight of blankets felt suffocating.

You hadn’t worked in months. Hadn’t touched an engine. Hadn’t felt anything but the emptiness stretching inside your ribs, gnawing at your lungs.

The world had moved on.

But you were still here. Alone.

---

Then it started as a whisper.

The first time, you thought it was the wind. Just a flicker of sound curling around your ears. But then—

‘Sweetheart.’

The word slithered into your skull, thick and saccharine, like a voice pressing against your skin.

You snapped your head around.

Nothing.

Just the empty street, dim under flickering streetlights. The chill of autumn creeping into your coat.

Your pulse hammered.

You hadn’t heard that name in a year.

The wind rustled again. And then—

A hand touched your back.

You flinched, spinning, but no one was there.

Your breath hitched, a strangled sound sticking in your throat.

Your therapist said you might experience hallucinations. That grief could warp the brain and twist reality into things it wanted to see.

This wasn’t that.

This was real.

You ran.

The apartment was empty and silent. Still, your hands shook as you locked the door behind you, triple-checking the deadbolt.

You turned—

And nearly screamed.

Because they were there.

Satoru and Kento.

Or—what was left of them.

Satoru leaned against your kitchen counter, just like before. His grin was sharp, jagged. His eyes—wrong. The irises burned blue, too bright, too empty.

Kento stood near the doorway, arms crossed, the rotting holes in his skull gaping. His skin was burnt, stretched too tight over his bones, veins twisting beneath the surface.

“You—” Your voice broke. “You’re dead.”

Satoru tilted his head. “Yeah. And?”

His body flickered, his form shifting like static, like he wasn’t really there.

Except he was.

He moved before you could blink, appearing inches away, fingers ghosting over your cheek.

But his legs lagged behind.

“We missed you,” he whispered.

Kento exhaled slowly, stepping forward, the scent of grave soil and old blood thick in the air. “I’m sorry for leaving you alone, darling.”

Your body locked.

This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real.

"We loved you," Satoru murmured. His fingers trailed down your throat. Cold. Too cold. "And now you’re all alone."

Kento was behind you before you could turn. His hand pressed against your waist. Solid. Unrelenting.

"Say it," he said, voice low.

"Say what?" Your voice shook.

Satoru grinned wider. "That you missed us."

Your breath hitched.

They were dead. They were dead.

And yet—

And yet—

Your hands curled into Satoru’s t-shirt. His body felt wrong. His chest didn’t rise, didn’t fall. No heartbeat. No warmth.

Still, your fingers tightened.

Because for the first time in a year, the emptiness in your ribs wasn’t so hollow.

"I missed you," you whispered.

Satoru’s grin softened. Just a little.

Kento sighed, pressing his forehead against your shoulder, his grip firm like he was anchoring himself. "We knew you’d understand."

Your breath shuddered. Your eyes burned.

This was wrong. This was so, so wrong.

But at least now—

You weren’t alone.

A/N: This was a one-shot, and I’m so grateful you followed it to the end. Which moment stood out most for you – the slow burn, the twists, or the tragic conclusion? Or, if you were in the protagonist’s shoes, what would you have done differently? I’d love to hear your thoughts, no right or wrong answers – just curious minds. Drop a comment below and let me know how this all landed for you.

All Works Masterlist

[flippinpancakes64]

The Cullens with a reader who loves plants

All of these are a pre-established relationship but other than that it's completely open to interpretation

Edward:

An enabler

The first time he visited your room (that you knew of or not) he immediately saw all of your plants

The perfect easy gift

Most men give flowers, this man gives succulents

If he hears in your thoughts that one of your plants isn't doing so well or if there's one that you really want but can't afford it/ don't have space, suddenly you have a new plant

His room becomes your personal greenhouse

Not like he uses it for much else anyway

When you move in, he asks Carlisle if he can build you a greenhouse

Spares no expense

If he had his way your greenhouse would be bigger than the actual house

He will read so many books on proper care for plants and follow your instructions to a T

Man said its ficUS

Alice:

She loves seeing you happy

And if little cacti and bright flowers make you happy then she is all over them

She accidentally got a couple visions of you going to the same store and buying more plants before she really knew you

She saw it enough that she already knew that you loved them before really getting to know you

I feel like she used to have some plants but doesn't really anymore

Will buy a whole Home Depot's worth tho

Enabler yet again

When you move in she obviously helps you bring all your plants too

As a welcome present she buys really pretty matching pots for all of them

When she buys you new ones she also buys another one of those pots

Side note but I feel like her favorite plant is probably the lily of the valley

Jasper:

Is a little shocked when he finds out

He's never met someone with so much of one type of thing

Like yeah Edward has a lot of CDs

And Alice has a lot of clothes

But this is excessive

He can't even see the walls of your room

Wonders briefly if you're some type of creature that needs all of the extra oxygen that plants can cycle in order to live

He doesn't say anything though

He likes you, you like plants, so he will like the plants too

Is a bit skeptical when you move in and want to take all your plants with you

He already has to share the space with Alice and her huge closet and now there will be literally over a hundred plants?

There simply is not room

He'll try very gently to suggest that maybe you get rid of a few

That goes about as well as expected

So he just lives like this now

He isn't actually upset though

He's happy that you're happy

Rosalie:

Sorry not sorry she's an enabler

She doesn't need to go to the grocery store

Yet somehow once a week there is always a new plant in your collection

When you ask her she says she saw it while she was grocery shopping and thought you would like it

I have a feeling she cannot take care of plants though

You gave her a succulent once and it died

Literally a week later it was dead

She doesn't know what happened

You don't know what happened

All you know is that she is not allowed to touch your plants

She thinks they are gorgeous though

Will help you build a garden or a greenhouse once you move in

She likes to go out there and chill when you're not around

She loves the big leafy ones

And any with hanging vines

Emmett:

He's like the dad with the dog meme

Except with plants

He literally has never given them a second thought

Until you of course

Now he's over here like "yes I do like the pink pot better than the blue one for your money tree"

In all seriousness I feel like he'd have a HUGE green thumb

When you move in he's instantly offering to make a garden for you

Well, he says it's for you anyway

He's the one out there 90% of the time digging holes and planting bushes

He has a damn forest out there now

And I guess a couple of your plants too

Jk jk

He really took to it though

If you thought you were obsessed

He's even worse

Carlisle:

He thinks it's nice :)

Sort of in the "oh that's nice that they have an interest" sort of way

He's a firm believer that hobbies keep people sane and rounded individuals

And what's more grounding than the literal Earth and things that grow out of it

He'll never admit it is a lot though

Esme is the one who likes to decorate a lot

His office is filled with more utilitarian things, not so much decoration

Doesn't mean he doesn't like it, just that it's not what he does

He will say though, when you move in and he starts to notice some plants sitting on some of his shelves, he likes the color it brings to the room

Is another one who will happily buy you whatever plants you want

He won't take care of them though

Not because he doesn't want to or doesn't care, but he knows this is your thing

Esme:

She is a total plant girly

She does most of the interior design wherever the Cullens go, of course she takes care of the plants too

There are a couple plants in the house in the movies

I think those are hers <3

Obviously tho she does not have as many as you

But she will make it work

Y'all instantly bonded over your shared love

Another one who will buy you whatever plants you want

She can't help it when she's the one who wants them too

She would LOVE a garden

I think she would find growing vegetables and herbs to be really fulfilling

Even though she has no need for them

Maybe she'd sell them or give them away or smthn idk

But I also think she would love the quality time that working on a garden together would be

so romantic

Vampire! Bella:

Sort of indifferent idk

She thinks it's a bit odd but she has definitely seen weirder things

She does come from a family of pretty eccentric people

Overall though I don't think she would mind

She might use them as a way to get closer to you or as just another means of hanging out

If she notices it's gotten too quiet and she wants to hear you talk more, she might ask about a random plant just to get you talking again

Or she would suggest going to a plant store to hangout

I think she would be helpful though

Water, sunlight, make sure they don't die

She can do that much at least

She doesn't understand the appeal but she doesn't make fun of you or belittle you for it at all

Everybody has their interests

She doesn't mind

[vaguely-concerned]

it probably says something either sad or deeply unfortunate about me as a person, but I'm darkly amused to see some people react to the reveal of the ultimate permeability of souls in tlt as a triumphant thing -- the "you can't take 'loved' away!!!" side of it all -- when my first reaction was such an immediate wave of 'oh, oh so this is why this series is horror, I truly understand now' distress haha. ngl the final confirmation of the self not being inviolable in the deepest way freaks me the fuck out far more than any moment of body horror in the series has managed. (these two elements are of course the two sides of one thematic coin; it's about the horror of our bodies and minds and selves not being inviolable things, and about the effect of violence on them on so many different levels. violence psychological and interpersonal, physical, subtextually sexual, emotional, medical, political, a whole unlovely smörgåsbord of indignity and violation a person can be exposed to, and on a broader scale the spectrum of violence colonialism wields). The world and other people being capable of leaving indelible marks on us for good or ill through their presence in our lives is of course a pretty self-evident demonstrable truth in the real world, but somehow having it be proven metaphysically just uh. Fucks me up! 

It also drives home to me just how perfectly Muir has captured the dilemma at the heart of human connection and intimacy: the fact that the thing that gives us life and meaning is also capable of harming us so deeply. the same thing that can be so beautiful — even in a bittersweet, violently transformative form like with the creation of Paul — when done mutually and consensually and compassionately, is the same process that means someone like John can touch someone else's soul and 'after he's put his fingers on something, you'll never find anyone else's fingerprints on it; too much noise'. I think the text itself — the whole series, because to me this is what it is ultimately about, this tension between individuation/self vs. love/connection/enmeshment — is far more ambivalent in its treatment of it than saying it’s inherently a good thing or inherently a bad thing. The only thing it says for sure is that it is always a thing, that thinking you’re ever getting away from it is the height of futility, and that through being alive (or even through being dead lol) it is something you have to engage with in some way no matter what. Contact with other people is deeply necessary — without it we sicken and die. it can be the most beautiful and meaningful thing in a human life, and the most unspeakably horrific. All of these people are searching for some way to be whole, whether in total self-contained sufficiency on their own or in melding with someone else as their ‘other half’, and stumbling around in the dark they reach for each other and score deep wounds into the thing they’re trying to touch even when they don’t mean to. Taken to horrific extremes with the form of lyctorhood John guided his disciples to when they were ‘children — playing in the reflections of stars in a pool of water, thinking it was space’, because while people hurt each other all the time with differing levels of intentionality behind it, what John did was deliberate. It weaponizes the misapprehension of what closeness must be and destroys everyone involved in the process… and all because it leaves John the one sun their ruined lives have left to orbit around, because that’s the closest thing his soul will allow to connection. He doesn’t understand that to truly touch something you have to truly let it touch you back, and then wonders why he’s never satisfied.   

‘The horrors of love’ has been memed to death, I know, but… yeah. That is what it is, isn’t it.

[dorylinae-supremacy]

Thinking about an AU where Techno, Wilbur and Tommy are all the harbingers of the actual entire apocalypse and Phil (just some insane guy) decides that those are in fact his kids and starts gaslighting the absolute shit out of them about it.

Rambles under cut!

I wanna try something where they're just more insidious and passive killers than anything else, theyre mostly just biding their time and watching as wherever they're lingering around gets sicker and just starts withering away.

They're a slow moving threat that just can't be stopped and for some reason (because Kristin thinks its funny) Phil just isnt affected by them.

Phil: Oh Techno's always been like that ever since he was a baby Techno: I have literally never met you a day in my life Tommy: Idk man... you have always been like that Wilbur: Oh my death he's actually getting to us

Its a mix of that combined with that "how did he know I was a gemini" meme

Phil: Wil! I brought you some salmon, I know how much you love it! Wilbur: How the fuck did you know I like salmon Phil: I'm your dad silly, of course I'd know :-)

I just think itd be super fun since Phil in this au is literally just some insane dude. He literally lies about their entire childhood but does it so consistently and so realistically that it throws them off guard.

I also have a few ideas where they start referring to Phil as their dad in the beginning as a sarcastic / mocking thing but accidentally just getting themselves even more adopted as they do it.

Phil: Wilbur put on a coat Wilbur: I don't need one! Techno: Go on, Wil. Listen to dad Wilbur: Ugh fine. Only because dad wants it, though

Stranger: Whos this? Tommy: Oh thats our dad. He kinda just tags along Stranger: Aww thats so sweet! You got his nose and everything Tommy: I- wh- no he's not actually our da- Phil: I know he did! Isn't he the cutest, spitting image isnt he? Tommy: You're not my dad! Stranger: Oh someones embarrassed! Phil: Yeah he's going through a rebellious phase right now

Just a mixture of things like that where it starts as calling him it but then accidentally actually giving him parental authority along with that.

I also wanna explore how Kristin and Phils relationship would be like. Maybe her as death being very bemused by this silly human that just decided she was his wife one day.

She literally visits him in dreams and stuff and he just acts as if they're married and have been for years. He complains about their 'rambunctious kids' and how he has to threaten them with her so that they behave sometimes. She finds it so silly and just cant help but play pretend.

Kristin: Hello, human Phil: My love! Its been so long since I've seen you Kristin: We've never met Phil: Oh don't say that! It hasnt been that long. I've just been far too occupied with our boys to visit too much Kristin: Our boys? I made them Phil: And they came out beautiful! I'm so glad Wil and Tech got your eyes. I was hoping they would.

I think that'd be a core part of this AU as well. Everyone is playing pretend but then it just fuzzies and it all becomes real for them. At first its a joke that Phil is her husband and their father but then they get lost in the fantasy and fun of it all and actually accept him as such.

Phil has no ulterior motives either, he's literally just a strange insane man that heard stories about neotrio and started thinking they were his kids one day. He genuinely believes his delusion and they end up accidentally making it a reality.

He just makes lucky guesses and plausible lies often enough that he's still shiny and new, he's still fun to play with and thats what ends up 'tricking' them all.

[kimetsu-no-yaiba-writings]

Genya with a s/o who basically the enemy of Sanemi but loves Genya a lot headcanons?

Ngl, this request made me chuckle as it just made me picture genya trying to hold back his s/o from punching sanemi XD

Oh my god! Or the meme with the lady holding the dude while pointing at another dude XD

Thank you so much for requesting! Especially since I've not had many genya requests and its an honest to god crime....

Anyway!

I hope that you enjoy and that i've done your request justice, come back to request whenever you like as your more than welcome to return (^w^. )

Genya Shinazugawa with an S/O who's enemies with Sanemi - [Headcannons]

If Genya got paid every single time you and his brother fought, he'd be rich enough to buy you something fancy and a house - but he didn't so bargaining you away with promises of affection and snack would have to do...

You were so sweet with him - so kind and understanding and patient with him that the first time you'd held his hands he'd almost started sobbing

You just hated Sanemi.....

Like, really hated him - "He's an arsehole Gen!" You'd proclaimed hands vigorously scrubbing away at the dirt on the table after dinner "I hate him and his face!"

It was safe to say that Sanemi didn't really like you either but then again he didn't really like anyone to begin with... - "I hate your partners face Genya, (He/She/They) annoy me and I'd punch 'em at any given opportunity"

Your soft words of love (to Genya) turn to hard acid whenever Sanemi makes an appearance - thinly veiled threats and insults exchanged quickly - and Genya always has to take a step back from the poison you spit, thankful (and slightly amused) that it's never directed towards him

Beautiful Smile shifting into a battle-worn snarl (a flash of canine and a vein prominent in your forehead) as you enter a stance that's very reminiscent of a street brawler

9/10 you two end up brawling

It didn't matter where you two went - to the market, training grounds, a mission or on the way home - you somehow managed to lock on and find Sanemi

"I can just feel his annoying, smug energy and it makes me want to punch him"

Genya quickly finds himself developing a sanemi radar too - especially a radar that works whenever the two of you go out - that out ranks yours, specifically so he can whisk you both away before you spot him and a verbal altercation occurs

On the days where your both acting "nice" to each other (which is very rare) you and sanemi still make poorly concealed jabs at each other

In an effort to get the both of you to get along (even if its only slighty) Genya sometimes made you both wear a "getting along" kimono (much like the getting along t-shirt) so that you both weren't fighting

"If neither of you can be nice to each other for an hour, I'm not gonna speak to either of you for the rest of the day" which is quickly followed by you complaining before trying to get along with the enemy (aka. Sanemi)

Also you know the meme where there's a guy in a armchair and he asks the other dude to look at him before calling dude.2 bitch? yeah, thats you and sanemi when genya's not looking

[sydsaint]

My fav shithead old man <3

Summary: Fed up with listening to Drew talking shit about her man, reader confronts Mcintyre about his big mouth. Against Punk's wishes, of course.

Raw is hosting it's final show before what is set to be a record-breaking WrestleMania weekend. You are hanging out backstage with a few girlfriends after your match with Indi Hartwell near the start of the show.

You are listening to Liv Morgan vent about Becky and Rhea when you spot Drew Mcintyre enter the room from catering. Your jaw clenches involuntary and Liv notices the fire in your eyes.

"YN? You alright?" Liv tilts her head at you.

"Hmm?" You turn your attention back on Liv. "Yeah, its nothing." You nod absently, attention back on the other side of the room.

Liv turns around and sees Drew talking with someone on the other side of the room. "Oh, Drew." She nods to herself before turning back to you.

"Yeah, Drew." You confirm, venom dripping in your tone as you continue to mean-mug the Scot afar. "Sorry, Liv." You turn back to her after a minute.

"Its alright." Liv shrugs. "I get it. Drew's been running his mouth about your man. I'd be pissed too."

Your sour expresion softens and you nod. "Phil's arm is almost healed up." You smile to yourself. "And when he's back to his usual self, Drew will get what he deserves." You glance back over at Drew one last time. "Though I do have half a mind to go over there and knock him down a peg myself." You mumble to yourself.

"Oh! That'd be fun to see!" Liv giggles, being her usual chaotic self.

"Don't encourage me." You huff, eyes back on Drew.

Eventually your intense gaze manages to catch Drew's attention. Mcintyre meets your gaze and a smug smile warps onto his face. You roll your eyes at him, which prompts Drew to come sauntering over to you and Liv.

"Oh god." You clench your teeth. "Liv, please tell me not to hit him if he comes over here." You ask her.

"Mmm, no promises." Liv giggles and winks at you.

Drew comes sauntering over to the two of you, making a point to come to a stop in front of you.

"Afternoon, Liv." Drew greets Morgan first. "Always a pleasure seeing you around." He smiles at her.

"Hi, Drew." Liv waves at Mcintyre with a mischievous grin. "YN and I were just talking about you." She looks over at you and giggles.

You shoot Liv a glare as Drew turns toward you. "Is that so?" He quirks a brow at you. "So, CM Punk's lady likes to run her mouth just like her man then?" He taunts you.

"Yeah, sure." You roll your eyes. "I run my mouth about shit that doesn't concern me." You fire back, your gaze fixed on Drew's stupid meme shirt regarding your husbands squashed WrestleMania plans.

Drew huffs a breath from his nose, his nostrils flaring up in your face. "I'd watch my mouth if I were you, little lass." He warns you. "Your loser hypocrite of a husband ain't here to protect you." He reminds you.

"I don't need any man to protect me." You snap back at Drew, chest puffed out. "Especially from some whiny little bitch that had to get his kicks dogging on my man just so he could stay relevant."

"Ooo!" Liv coos behind you.

Drew chuckles and stares down at you. "And tell me, little lass? Who's got a title match this weekend?" He taunts you.

"Fuck you." You growl at Mcintyre.

Drew chuckles again and walks off. You watch him saunter off and your anger and disdain for the man only grows. Liv puts a hand on you after Drew is gone so you turn back to her.

"Well, that was super fun!" Liv giggles.

"Yeah, loads." You huff. "Im headed back to the locker room. Catch you later, Liv." You give her a quick hug before heading off.

Later in the night you return to your hotel room where your husband is waiting for you.

"Phil? Sweetie? Im back." You announce yourself as you come through the door.

"Hey! There's my breadwinner wife!" Punk calls back to you from where he's lounging on the bed. "How was Raw? I saw you beat Indi." He adds.

You shut the door and lug your bag over to the foot of the bed. You drop your bag with a heavy sigh and plop down onto the bed.

"Work was fine." You explain. "I mostly just hung out with Liv after my match. Nothing special." You close your eyes and allow yourself to relax a bit.

"Nothing special, huh?" Punk replies and scoots down to you. He runs a hand through your hair, smiling down at you. "So you don't consider getting into it backstage with Drew Mcintyre nothing special then?"

You open your eyes and find Phil looking down at you. "How'd you find out about that?" You ask him.

"I have my people." Phil shrugs. "I do vaguely recall asking you to leave Drew to me though." He reminds you.

"I know." You sigh. "And I was trying, I swear." You insist with a sigh. "But I see him walking around backstage like some self-assured dickhead wearing that idiotic shirt." You huff. "And I hear all the stuff he says about you. And I just can't keep quiet. Okay?"

Phil smiles to himself and nods. He runs his hands through your hair again and shakes his head at you. "And that is one of the many reasons that I love you." He leans down and kisses your forehead. "But come on, YN. There was a reason I asked you to leave it alone."

"I'm sorry, babe." You frown. "Mcintyre just irks me so much." You huff. "God I can't wait to watch you kick his ass." You look back up at Punk.

"Imagine how excited I am." Phil chuckles and you watch him slide off the bed and come around to your side. "Get those off." He gestures to your clothes. "I know that you've got to be sore after that match with Indi. So i'll run you a bath." He explains before heading to the bathroom.

You close your eyes again and smile to yourself. "I love you!" You call out to Punk. "Best husband ever!" You shout with a laugh.

You hear Punk chuckle from the bathroom. "Pretty sure I'm the lucky one!" He shouts back at you. "And I love you too, sweetie!"

[hxney-lemcn]

Hello :D congratulations on 2k ^^ absolutely deserved with how amazing your writing is.

If its possible could you perhaps have ace with🌹🍂🙄?

Have a great day ^^

a/n: once again I struggled, ending is not the best, didn't know where I was going. Idk why its so hard for me to write for Ace. Hope this isn't too bad 😭

tw: none.

wc: 0.3k

2k follower event | master list

“Here,” Ace hummed, tossing a bag of chips at you and taking a seat beside you. You eyed him in annoyance for a second before opening it. “Not even a thanks? Next time I won’t get you nothin.” 

“Thank you, oh great and wonderful Ace, for bestowing me with a small bag of starch” You mocked while rolling your eyes.

“Oh shut up,” Ace groaned, smacking you gently before grabbing the remote and unpausing the show you both were watching. If anything, it was just put on in the background as you both scrolled your socials and sent each other memes. 

“Yeah yeah,” You grumbled, already absorbed into your phone. As the day carried on, you both snickered to yourselves, teasing each other from time to time. It was moments like this that made you fall for him. The quiet ones, where neither of you put up a front, just two friends enjoying each other's presences. Well, until it eventually turns chaotic as Ace always manages to do something idiotic. 

“Are you kidding?” You asked, so astonished you couldn’t help the breathless chuckle that passed your lips. “How did you even manage to do something so stupid?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Ace exclaimed. “Just help me get out of going on a date with my teacher.”

“Why should I?” You asked, folding your arms. “You could’ve just, I don’t know, not catfish people.”

Ace let out a dramatic groan, leaning back against the couch with his eyes closed, “This is it, I’m a goner. Don’t blame me when I can’t hang out ‘cus I’m busy scrubbing the school for the rest of my life.”

“Sounds deserved,” You shrugged. 

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Gross.”

“You wanna kiss me so bad you look stupid,” You huffed, brain not computing what you said until a second too late. Ace’s face flamed red, eyes wide, mouth agape. Trying to play it off, you merely shrugged, trying not to let the way he eyed your lips get to you. 

“W-why…y-you,” He stuttered, his brain felt like it was melting. “S-sounds like someone’s projecting.”

“You wish.”

[saphronethaleph]

Sekrit Documents

Olek Taks groaned.

“Oh, no,” he said. “Not again.”

“What’s not again?” his superior asked, looking across the office.

“What do you think?” Olek asked. “We’ve gone viral. Again. Space Thunder is the number one trending topic.”

Miles Hark rubbed his temples.

“Of course we have,” he said. “Is it too much to ask that it’s because of our latest update?”

He paused, amending his statement.

“Is it too much to ask that it’s because our latest update is something people actually like?”

“Of course it is,” Olek replied. “Number two is ‘leak’ and we’re seeing all the usual memes again.”

“All right, what is it this time?” Miles asked, going back over to his chair and leaning back with a creak of adaptive servos. “What was it last time, anyway?”

“Last time was the Tie Advanced, wasn’t it?” Rocomora said, not looking up from her screens. “Someone complained that we hadn’t correctly assigned shield strength values and posted the entire technical manual for the thing.”

“No, that was the time before last,” Olek told her. “Last time was the Incom T-65, the X-Wing. That time it was the manufacturer’s documents, someone was arguing that it should be killing off TIEs one on one because of its better all-round stats.”

He shook his head. “I’m pretty sure someone got fired over that one. Or arrested.”

“Am I getting mixed up?” Miles said. “I thought the last big argument was over the AT-TE and that wheel droid.”

“No, that was months ago,” Rocomora told him. “Easily. That guy was saying that the later model AT-TE walkers from RHE had the point defence system, and after eighty posts of flamewar he put up internal GAR documentation showing it. Even though we’d specifically only included the early model AT-TE precisely so we didn’t have to include the PD system for balance reasons.”

“So… one of the clones, right?” Olek asked. “They must have been the leaker!”

“Yeah, but how are you going to tell which one?” Rocomora asked. “They all look alike!”

Miles groaned.

“I hate how often we have to have this discussion,” he said. “So what was it this time?”

Olek was scrolling through the forums, now, and he clicked – then winced.

“Uh,” he said. “It’s about campaign mode.”

“Oh, no, not the persistent campaign mode,” Miles said, putting his head in his hands. “This is going to be about the gungans again, isn’t it?”

“Worse,” Olek replied. “Some poster or other said that there’s no way the Empire should be losing any planets, because if they lost them they’d just blow up the planet.”

Miles laughed.

“What, really?” he asked. “What kind of nonsense-”

He stopped.

“Oh, no,” he said. “Oh, no. You’re not saying…”

“Yep,” Olek agreed. “He posted complete technical specifications on this giant kriffing battlestation that’d take a week to cross on foot, accompanied by a picture of the thing. And now the thread’s growing at three pages a minute.”

“Why is it always us?” Miles demanded of the air. “Why don’t the idiots at Galaxy of Spaceships have to deal with this?”

[peachie-kittie]

I love 'The Post-Traumatic Manifesto'

It's a small project made by the creator Weevildoing, and I've been obsessing. And considering I'm. Experiencing. I'm gonna force my love for this series onto everyone else.

Various headcanons be upon ye all:

There are two girls who could be considered "early risers" - Caliber and Irreverent. Caliber because she works a 9-5 on top of going to the gym, and Irreverent because the religious sermons co attended has influenced her sleep schedule. Co, however, prefers them nowadays to watch the sunrise :)

Also Caliber wakes up that early to either make coffee at home or splurge on fancy coffee - fancy coffee is saved for holidays, rough days, or as a littol treat. She will never admit to that third one though.

Girls with the most FUCKED sleep schedule include Splitter (to no one's surprise), Disposable, Fainant (<- hear me out-), and Caliber.

Splitter is splitter (/affect i adore her). Disposable likes to stay up late playing bideos games, watching anime, scrolling tumblr (ILL GET BACK TO THIS LATER), or researching conspiracy theories. Fainant WOULD have a normal sleep schedule in their ideal life but due to their ME/CFS and many other disabilities and chronic issues they kinda just have accepted her sleep schedule will always be a bit fucky. And Caliber, despite being an early riser is prone to working late. Go to bed at 2 and wake up at 6 kinda lady. This is why she needs coffee.

Chocobo would LOVEEE to work as a barista. Not at fuckbucks but like. If he could get paid properly and be considered a Cool Barista:tm: it'd be THRIVING.

Adding onto that; if it were a barista she'd work at the same coffee shop Caliber visits and Caliber describes him as "the sweetheart who writes nice notes on her cups and can make a killer hazelnut latte."

Splitter and Disposable are friends - semi-long distance, like an hour - and they bond over anime, games, and all the out-there shit they both like/believe (conspiracies and such). They keep each other up watching anime or gaming over discord its amazing. They also both confide in each other about violent or s/h related urges, just kinda listening and going along. They're both SEVERELY mentally ill so they dont really try to give advice; theyll just mutually acknowledge it and be like "yeah that shit sucks. ill hate it/them with you tho."

^^^everytime they meet up they spend at least 3 days together.

Chocobo and Fainant are also friends. Specifically, Chocobo loves to bake sweets for Fainant and Fainant will invite Bo over for frequent movie nights, tea parties, and general hangout sessions lot. Chocobo is one of few people Fainant will willingly go out with because he is willing to leave as soon as they say theyre getting tired.

Chocobo and Irreverent are the UNLIKELY DUO!!! Chocobo is excitable and sociable and anxious and Irreverent is aloof and a lil socially detached but a good logical counterpart who isn't as worried about what others think.

To that end, Chocobo is an age regressor (between ages 10-14 usually) - it won't do it in front of many people, but he trusts Irreverent to caregive. Co makes sure to be extra careful with Bo's boundaries during these times.

Taxidermy and Chocobo don't know eachother BUT Fainant knows Taxidermy and has been intending to introduce the two.

Taxidermy and Fainant never go out. Unlike Chocobo, Taxidermy is the friend Fainant will scroll on their phone with and occassionally send memes for hours then go out for McDonald's at 2 am.

OH ALSO. Splitter and Fainant are work buds. They work at the McDonalds mentioned above. They talk over discord and also send each other memes.

Im not sure how many of you follow Weevil on instagram but. there was a post where Bo very clearly has a crush on Disposable and honestly. Yeah.

For context, there's a skate park near the cafe - and Disposable skateboards there and practices moves on railings and shit. One time Chocobo saw Disposable successfully pull off a kickflip coming off a rail and it's heart went doki-doki.

Splitter has met Chocobo in person a total of two times - the cafe is a rare safe place for Splitter and Disposable to hang out in a dark corner - and both times she could SEE Chocobo staring.

She has tried to get Disposable to talk to him. It is VERY hesitant. Next time Splitter visits she plans to drag Disposable over to Chocobo.

Okay so anyway hard pivot back to Caliber and CHEMICAL!!

Chemical canonically loves rhythm games and fitness - what I'm saying is that she attends the same gym as Caliber and they share a Zumba class.

Whenever Caliber is there Chemical is lovingly on her ass - making sure she drinks water and always inquiring about her home life. Caliber spares details, not wanting to worry a LITERAL TEENAGER, but takes her advice to stretch and drink water.

Caliber admires Chemical's high energy and boldness - and constantly tells her to use those strengths to her advantage. Chemical doesn't seem to fully believe her but appreciates it anyway.

Chemical sees Caliber as an older sister figure for sure.

Chemical is another friend of Fainant! They don't hang out as much as Taxidermy or Chocobo but Chemical helps Fainant stay as active as they can with all their disabilities.

Same for Splitter. She got Splitter into rhythm games. They also geek out about figmas, gundams, and garage kits together.

A decent chunk of the girls deal with feelings of nonhumanity btw - not even just in a trauma way. Fully convinced Disposable is a dog therian and is trying to unlearn its inner cop.

I have more but this feels excessive. Weevil if you see this I hope they vibe. also hi i love this series sm