#Them always staying in the same dynamic despite everything else is so precious

[stucky-headcanon-bot]

after the serum Steve was thrilled to finally match Bucky's height since he was secretly self-conscious standing next to Buck before

but then he worried if he overdid it

turns out Barnes not only still can but has to piggyback reckless Rogers back behind cover when he gets injured

Steve was in a dilemma because now he has the 'taller one' title to hold over Buckys head but he misses being the little one. It doesn't feel right not looking up at Bucky.

He especially missed Bucky dragging him around like a sack of potatoes until oneday he broke his leg and had to outrun enemies at the same time.

It turns out Bucky can - with more effort of course - carry Steve piggyback to safety like he always did.

Since zolas serum worked slower because of not using vita-ray over the next year Bucky changed slowly reducing their height difference and getting stronger. Bucky never let's Steve blame himself about not noticing those changes because past should remain in the past and they have the present as well as the future.

(On the plus side now Bucky can lift Steve with just one arm which he could never do before😉and Steve isn't complaining )

I mean look how they keep catching up with each other

[anniebrainrots]

Family

In which you reflect upon yours and Technoblade’s shared past. 

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warnings: mentions of violence (nothing too graphic), slight gore, angst, SBI family dynamic, no y/n 

wc: 3.2k 

notes: i’m sorry if there are any grammatical errors, i really tried my best :,) 

===========

You can’t remember a time when you and Technoblade actually fought. You had always been attached at the hip, you had watched him grow up from a young boy full of ambition and fire to an accomplished man with strong ideals and a fierce personality. That’s one of the things that you had prided yourself in, well, that and your impeccable ability to calm the pink-haired piglin. 

You remember the first time the voices had appeared; he had come to you after he had gone hunting with Phil for the first time. He had mentioned his first kill, how it had awoken something in him, how it almost felt like he had been running on autopilot when he shot the arrow. You hadn’t known how to talk to him through his episodes then, though with years you had learned what to say to not set him off. 

The first time he had killed a man hadn’t been that long after his first hunt. A bandit had come to your small camp in the forest in the middle of the night. You couldn’t have been older than twelve at the time, Techno being thirteen. You had been held at knifepoint, held in front of Phil and Wilbur while the hybrid had gone out to get more firewood when your campfire dwindled. You remember seeing horror cross the two faces in front of you before the grip on your neck had loosened and a man had dropped right to the floor. You had tried your best to erase traces of that night from your memory, but the thin scar on your neck always made a point to remind you of it. 

He had changed since then, an insatiable thirst for bloodlust had festered deep within him, unable to be satisfied. He hadn’t been too good at controlling the voices at that time, and the first time he had lost control in your presence he couldn’t bear to look at you for a week out of shame. It had taken the help of Phil, Wilbur, and even Tommy to talk him out of separating himself from you. After that, your bond with him had only grown stronger. When you had left the family to pursue your own adventure with Techno, you had learned how to talk to him, to ease the voices that always screamed at him. 

The second time he had lost control around you it hadn’t been directed at you. The both of you had entered a tournament for money, and the result had been devastating for you. Techno had gotten his long hair cut short while your wings had ended up getting chopped off. It had been a foul play, ambushed from the back while you had fought another in front of you. Techno had seen nothing but red, finishing off both people before consoling you the best he could. You had mourned the loss of your flight and your precious wings for weeks, not eating and barely alive, according to Techno. He had half the mind to send you back to Phil, doubting his abilities to protect you but you had insisted to stay with him, that you would simply be too ashamed to look your father in the eyes and tell him why your wings had no longer been on your back. 

Years later, even though you still held the loss of your wings close to your heart, you had learned to move on with the help of your companion, finding solace in causing chaos and taking down unjust governments. Naturally, when Wilbur and Tommy had called upon you both to help them with their revolution against a tyrant who had taken charge of their old country, you had been more than happy to come. 

The first few weeks had been spent catching up with your brothers, and you had exchanges of your adventures and their experiences running their country. You couldn’t help but notice darkness festering deep within Wilbur’s eyes, and one night he broke, asking Tommy if they had been the bad guys all along. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell them you had followed them that night, eavesdropping on their conversation. You had confided in Technoblade, the piglin merely dismissing your concerns for your brother as he urged you to start preparing for the war. You had tried to ignore it, the way Wilbur’s tongue dripped with acid every time he had spoken of L’manburg, the way Tommy had flinched when Wilbur would walk into the same room, the way Wilbur constantly disappeared in the dead of the night when he had thought no one was watching. But you had been, you had always been watching him. 

The day he hid behind Dream, the man that had nearly killed Tommy twice in their war against the Dream SMP, you had nearly taken it upon yourself to incapacitate Wilbur. Technoblade, as war-hungry as he always had been, paid no attention to this, which had angered you greatly. Once you had learned of Wilbur’s planting of hundreds of TNT underneath L’manburg, you had tried to talk him out of it. 

“L’manburg is a fallen nation, birdie. It’s done nothing but cause pain for everyone, so why does it have to exist? You wouldn’t understand, you weren’t there when we built it, so stay out of our fucking business or leave.” The nickname that Wilbur had given you in your youth sounded like nothing but pure venom and ice, and his words had stung you far more than anything else. 

That night, you had approached Technoblade; you couldn’t help but notice how you had been falling apart due to how busy he had become with his preparations.  It had been obvious to you how stressed he was, spacing out more frequently while you had conversed. When you brought up your concern over Wilbur’s plans, he lashed out. 

“God, you’re so annoyin’, always havin’ concern over what Wilbur wants to do or not. The man ran the country way before we even got here so why do you care so much?” 

“I’m worried because everyone’s life is on the line here, Techno. You’re telling me you’d let your brothers fight in a war that will end up in explosions? What about Tommy, you’re gonna let him go through with this? Why can’t you see that Wilbur’s gone crazy, and he needs to be stopped?” 

“I can’t let you do that. No matter what you want, I promised to help Wilbur and if you don’t agree with his ideals, then just leave. We don’t want you here.” For the second time that night alone, you had been told to leave by some of the most important people in your lives. You choked back the rising sob in your throat, letting your sadness dissipate and anger take over. You had marched right out of his base, not a single call of your name from the man you had just spoken with, and you had concluded that that would be the last time you would talk to him. 

You had gone deep into the forest into your small cottage, taking all of your valuables and putting them in your ender chest, stuffing food and all of your weapons into your bags where they had fit. You had taken a few pieces of TNT, no one needed the rest of these items anyways. You had been deep enough in the forest that the explosion would not be heard from anywhere near PogTopia, so you had quickly ignited the TNT and watched as your house exploded onto tiny remnants. A small crater had been left in its place, small enough to pass off as a creeper explosion in the night. 

Your second stop had been to Tommy’s quarters, where you had found him sitting by his bed. 

He had looked up at you in slight confusion, noting your packed bags and outdoor attire. He had wondered if you were going to go scouting in L’manburg and almost wanted to ask if he could come, but you had cut him off before he could. 

You handed him a sword, the first one you had ever made with your own hands when you were barely his age. 

“What’s this for? And why are you dressed like that?” 

You gave him a watery smile, “this sword helped me survive all this time, so I hope it serves you well in the war. And I can’t fight alongside you anymore, Tommy. Technoblade and Wilbur had made that very clear tonight.” 

“What? Wilbur? I’ll go speak to him right now if he’s makin’ you leave. You can’t leave, you just can’t!” Tommy stood to his full height, arms wrapping themselves around your smaller form. You patted his back, offering words of comfort. 

That night, you had left with a heavy heart, and despite your rather unpleasant last experiences with Will and Techno, you couldn’t help but to think of them fondly from time to time. 

That led to where you are now, in the Tundra, in a humble cottage in the middle of a clearing. There’s a village nearby, with wonderful farmers offering you discounted golden carrots for all the help you provided for them in the past 6 months. 

You never did find out the outcome of that war, and something tells you that it didn’t end in celebrations. You traveled far enough that even news from L’manburg would be unlikely to reach all the way here. Still, though, you can’t help but wonder where Technoblade is, if he’s been taking care of himself, if he’s even still alive. You snort at that, of course he’s still alive; Technoblade never dies. 

One day, you wake up with a slightly more cheery attitude than most other mornings. You prance around your house, humming songs to yourself while you clean and cook. It’s quiet, like it always is, and sometimes you find yourself wishing you’re back to the old days, when everything was loud, chaotic, and bloody. The silence, however, is a luxury you never knew you needed. 

Your black cape and golden crown (one that Techno gave you in order to match with him), hangs in your closet, unused. 

You make sure to polish the crown once a week, it being a gift from a man you harbored feelings for since your youth, you couldn’t bear to leave it to collect dust. You sigh wistfully, placing the newly polished crown on your head while looking at your reflection in the mirror. 

You can’t help but notice the way your features have softened, given your lifestyle with Techno over the years, you were almost never given a break from all of the bloodshed. Your eyes are brighter, and your face gleamed with a newfound glow, one that had always been stained by dirt and grime from the battlefield. You note faint scars running down your arms, a brief moment of insecurity passing through you as you remember the perfectly clean complexion the village women had. 

You’re cut off by your thoughts by a rapid and harsh knock on your front door, and you rush to take off the crown and place it back in your closet and head back downstairs. It’s odd, almost no one visits the Tundra, so the very idea that someone is knocking on your door is already incredibly bizarre. You figure it’s probably a wandering trader, a very impatient one sounding from the hurried knocks. 

You open the door roughly and step back slightly in shock. Phil stares back at you with equal emotion in his eyes, he obviously wasn’t expecting you to answer the door. Your gaze shifts to the man by his shoulders, hanging limply with his head down. 

“Help,” is all Phil’s able to say before you quickly wrap your arms around Techno’s midsection and lead him to lay down on your couch. Blood pools around his waist staining your cushions, but you can’t even acknowledge that. He’s passed out and pale, so you make quick work to tend to his injuries, finding him improperly wrapped in loose bandages. 

After cleaning his injuries, the worst of which being a stab wound on his midsection and a large gash on the arm, you wrap him with bandages and give him healing potions to speed up the recovery. With the help of your adopted father, you move Techno to your bed, closing the door before joining Phil on the floor near the fireplace. 

Phil watches you sit down next to him, eyeing your bloody hands before blinking away to stare at the flickering flame. He also notices your wings, or lack thereof, but chooses to stay silent. 

“What happened? Why is Techno like that?” 

He’s silent for a moment before answering, “after the big battle, they reclaimed L’manburg but reinstituted Tubbo as the new president. Techno didn’t like that, so he fought back. It was him against everyone else. After that he fled to escape but someone was able to shoot him down with an arrow and stab him. I knocked the guy out and tried to fix Techno, but I couldn’t do that with everyone chasing us down. So, I took him on a boat and ended up here. Gave him enough healing potions to not die, but I barely had enough. Thank god we found you.” 

You go quiet at that, a question annoying you at the back of your mind. 

“Did he do it?” From your tone, the man realizes you’re referring to Wilbur, and his heart clenches at the fresh memory. 

“He did. I barely got there in time, mate. I tried to talk him out of it but…” he trails off, shoving his face into his hands to hide his tears, “I killed him.” 

Your shoulders slump in sympathy, about to comfort him, “Phil, it’s not your faul—” 

“No. I literally killed him. When he pressed the button, he gave me his sword and…” this time he lets out a weak laugh, “did I do the right thing, birdie? Was I right to kill my own son?” 

You can’t wrap your head around that. “Wilbur’s dead?” 

Phil cries quietly to himself, nodding his head to affirm your thoughts, making you let out a small ‘oh’. 

You’re at a loss for words. Sure, Wilbur had been nothing but toxic to you the last time you had seen him, but that didn’t overshadow the years of love and affection he had given you in your childhood. Deep down, you knew the Wilbur you had seen last had been nothing but the shell of the person that gave you piggy back rides when you were learning to fly so you can experience being off your feet, of the person that bandaged your knee when you had tripped and had been too scared to tell Phil you had gotten hurt, of the person that sang you songs on his guitar whenever you felt restless at night because he knew they helped you sleep. Wilbur is—was—your brother. 

“He went crazy, Phil. Too clouded by his emotions to think straight. He endangered the lives of everyone around him. He wasn’t Wilbur anymore at that time, Phil. He was just a man that had lost everything, too scared to rebuild from scratch that he just destroyed his work so no one else could have it. It was like watching a child who lost their favorite toy. Jesus, Phil, if you’d seen him then…” You watch the crackling fire, words caught in your throat, unable to finish the sentence, silence lying heavily in the air. “He needed to be stopped.” 

The man you saw as your father goes quiet, and from the corner of your eyes you see just how this man aged. Despite being immortal, Phil always had what you called ‘sleepy eyes’ referring to the way he seems to constantly have bags underneath his eyes that made him look sleep deprived despite being well-rested; a trait that Wilbur inherited, and Techno had purely because of his lack of a proper sleep schedule. Tommy used to tease them about it, despite having developed it slightly after his staying up with you, Wilbur, and Techno in the dead of the night to sneak out when Philza was asleep. 

“Guess we’re both flightless now, huh?” You ask after a moment, studying his burned feathers that would surely never heal properly enough for him to take flight. He let out a humorless chuckle, dull eyes closing for a moment. 

“I tried to shield him from the explosion but it resulted in quite some irreversible damage.” He stretches his wings out, barely even a quarter of its original length, black feathers singed and unrecognizable. He gives you a glance from the side, “you never told me about yours.” 

You hum, and your back burns with phantom pain. “I lost them in an arena. A couple years after we left, Techno and I participated in this free-for-all arena and some guy ambushed me from behind and cut them off.” Your left hand grips your sleeve, images of red and withering feathers flashing before your eyes. You feel a gentle hand on your back, and all of it stops. 

You and Phil sit together in well-appreciated silence, basking in each other’s presence after so many years of no contact. A shuffle from the other room catches your attention, you turn and see Techno stepping out of the room, one hand supporting himself on the wall and the other wrapped around his midsection, tight against his fresh wound. You and him make eye contact for a split second before you turn away and he redirects his gaze to Phil. 

From the corner of your eyes you see them staring at each other, having what seems to be a silent conversation before the older man sighs and gets up. He pats you on the head once and gives Techno a nod before stepping outside. Uh oh. You know what’s coming next and you don’t know if you’re ready for it. You say nothing when you hear approaching footsteps from behind you, staring at the dwindling flame in the fireplace. You say nothing when he sits behind you on the couch, unable to sit on the floor because of his injuries. You say nothing when you turn around from your sitting position on the floor to look up at him. 

Despite only being apart for 6 months, Techno sure looks older. Maybe it had been the effects of war, but both you and him have gone through countless battles before and you had never seen his face like this. Grim, serious, unapproachable. Something in his eyes flicker when he stares at you; pity, remorse. 

“I’m sorry.” Techno says after a moment, looking guilty as his facade slowly breaks. 

You don’t know what to say. The Blood God, infamous for his unyielding wrath and immeasurable power, for his countless victories in war, for his presence made to induce fear upon people, bowing his head to you in remorse. Was this the same Blood God that you hear countless stories of? No, this is Techno. Your best friend, your partner in crime, your person. 

“I know.” 

[hobidreams]

november 1868.

but you’ve always been his, haven’t you?

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: smut, angst words: 2.8k contains: historical au, mentions of death, unhealthy relationship dynamics (but era-appropriate; you know how it goes), explicit sexual content, longing.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble eight. start from the beginning?

If there is one inevitability in life, it is that time goes on.

You, like everyone else under King Yoongi’s reign, simply do your best to survive with your head intact. With the ground now mostly frozen over with ice, you have no reason to visit the gardens, and honestly, it becomes less of a loss by the day. You have your hands full with work; the worsening winter always means a higher possibility of catching an illness for the court ladies, and so you are left with little time to think of the king. Willful ignorance is a powerful defense mechanism when even the mere mention of him brings a frown to your lips and a lingering pressure in your chest.

But it is impossible not to think of him today, on the 11th of November. What would have been Queen Jeonghui’s birthday, but is instead a day of mourning.

All official business has more or less halted for the day. The entire palace is somber, the occupants moving through familiar routines feeling numb from more than just the cold. You are among their number, having finished all the work that could distract you while the sun set. Now, you wander in the pitch dark, through the open corridor towards your quarters with heaviness in every step.

You miss her laugh. The queen had always treated you like one of her own, asking after your interests, new discoveries, and health even while her own dwindled. You miss hearing the stories of her surprisingly rambunctious life before she came to court. You miss the brightness in her voice when she spoke of the hopes she had for the future of the kingdom, and for her precious Yoongi. You blink away a tear as your journey comes to its end.

In your small but private room, you begin to undo the straps of your hanbok with the relieving sense that this day is almost over. Stripped to your undergarments, you’re eager to crawl beneath the warm blankets and let blissful sleep take you into tomorrow as soon as your eyes shut.

Except sleep is not easily persuaded to come tonight, as you soon learn.

Even when you force your body to stay still as long as possible, even when you try to block out all thought and simply imagine blankness before you, you remain no closer to dreams, forcibly stuck in this bleak reality. That’s when your exhausted mind begins to wander to places most dangerous, even though you already vowed to stay far, far away.

You wonder whether the king is alone in his grief tonight. Has he eaten properly, or has he completely shut himself away? Does he even have enough heart left to mourn from all you’ve witnessed these past months?

(This last thought is what makes you ache the most, despite yourself.)

Then a quiet voice mutters your name from outside.

You blink and look up, uncertain whether it was just the wind. Who would it be at this late hour anyway? Who would be so bold as to call your name and not your title? But then the sound comes again, louder this time with some impatience in the syllables, and you realize exactly whose voice it must be.

Scrambling to your feet with the chill of losing the blanket sweeping over you, you have a split second to decide between keeping him waiting and having a proper appearance. You land somewhere in the middle, pulling on a loose, long jeogori that was once your mother’s before throwing the door wide open before you can think it through.

Damn all the odds.

It really is him.

In the moonlight, his hair seems almost ethereal with the way most of it cascades loosely around his shoulders. It’s fine, pale gold, spilling across the crimson dye of the royal robes that have been left slacker than is normally allowed in public company. There’s still a hardness in those midnight eyes, a set obstinacy in lips twisted down for a scowl that seems all too inherent to him now.

“Jeonha,” you exhale, more breath than sound.

How are you meant to receive him after all that has happened?

Wordlessly, he moves forward. You flatten yourself against the wall to allow him entry into your tiny home, your world without question, just like you always have. His sleeves brush past you as he walks and the incredibly subtle scent of plum blossoms begins to swirl around the air, so familiar it brings a hot sting to your eyes in an instant.

“Is that—”

“Shut the door.” His voice is biting, forcing you to drop the question.

You have little choice in the matter. When you turn back to face him, this room feels about three times smaller with the imposing aura that emanates from him. He has never felt more like a king to you than now, staring at you down his nose like he holds your life in his palm. At this distance, you fear he can hear the palpitations of your treacherous heart.

“Um.” You involuntarily wrap your hands around your stomach, trying to calm the jitters. “…How may I help you, jeonha?”

His lips curl in a smirk, but there is no real humor in it. “You must know the only thing a man and woman can do alone at night?”

Surprise is so blatant on your face that it amuses him; the smirk grows wider but remains empty still.

“You— You wish to do that?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Did you or did you not say to come if I had anything I required?”

He remembered. He knew it was you. A part of you thaws, just an inch.

“Still— Must… Must it be tonight?” Of all nights.

“It has to be.”

You swallow, dry. All you know of the act are the medical descriptions and consequences of such copulation as written out in your studied texts. To think of such a thing occurring in real life— to even consider it with the king! It was beyond your wildest thoughts, even when you used to let your childhood fantasies soar. But even more ludicrous than that, for him to consider being with you, a mere uinyeo when all the ministers routinely brought their high-born daughters to court in hopes of tempting him… “W-What of the court ladies, the ones waiting to be made concubine…?”

At your last word, he scowls like a bolt of lightning, gone before you can confirm that it was there at all. “I see.” He shifts, as if already prepared to leave. “I should have gone to them first.”

Your stomach drops.

The prospect of a random woman wrapping herself around him in seduction, holding him closer than he’s ever been to you… You wince. The mere thought of how he might fit against her, leave a part of himself inside her body, strikes envy deep into your mind. Especially when you consider all that could follow such an intimate act.

You know it’s not your place to be so concerned; it never has been, but damn it. Here he is in front of you, and not them. That has to mean something.

“No!” You blurt out, and watch his face darken with satisfaction. That in itself makes you fiercely aware of how much he has changed but still, you say, “no. Don’t… don’t go.”

In a stroke of boldness, you slip the jacket from your shoulders and let it fall to the floor.

“Good girl.”

It all happens so quickly.

Grasping your arm, he brings you to him with one strong tug. Invades your space with his heat. You’ve never been this physically close before but you are given no time to savor it. Your eyes search his for a hapless second before he forces his gaze away with a light whip of his hair. For a second, you think like he might kiss you, but that particular touch never comes.

“Bed.” The air around the word makes it sound like he’s rushing as he pulls you both towards the mussed bedspread, but of course it’s not that. It’s almost laughable, the thought that he would want so badly to claim you as his. It’s more likely that he wants any warm body beneath him, and you happened to be the most convenient.

As he pushes you to the floor, as he begins to strip you of your undergarments, your mind struggles to set aside your worries and the rest of the world with it to focus on the feeling of his unobstructed fingers on the skin he reveals with each passing second. For a moment, it works. For a moment, all you know is the heat of his desire as he throws aside most of your coverings, then discards his own as if they were nothing more than cleaning rags. Staring at his bare body for the first time, you take in all the lean muscle that make up his chest, the paleness of his skin that brings to mind the word delicate. It’s at complete odds with the ugliness that’s surrounded him for so long and really, you don’t know what to believe anymore as he rakes his eyes over you too.

You’re shivering. Keenly aware of your nakedness, made even more stark when your king practically fixes you to the floor with his presence alone. He must know this is all new to you, that he’s the only one able to put you in this position even after everything he’s done. But will that afford you the tenderness you so crave? Your pulse thunders in your ears as you await the answer.

“Turn over. On your hands and knees.”

Your breath hitches.

He doesn’t even want to look at your face.

You choke back the emotion that yearns to spill over, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing exactly how he affects you when he doesn’t allow you the same luxury. You’re stronger than this, even though your fears have just been confirmed. That this, his broad hand harshly squeezing your ass, is the only reason he broke through the thick wall of silence between you. That he treats you just like any other woman, not one he’s known all his life.

What does it say about you that you’re still willing to give him everything?

His other hand trails down your back as if lightly scratching an invisible character there. Then, when he reaches for your sokgot, the last bit of cloth left to you, it truly hits you that there will be no going back from this. Not after he physically carves himself into your memory. It makes you unthinkingly tense up; in turn, the hands against you stutter to a pause.

The silence feels thick, smothering. Then—

“Are you afraid of me?”

“No.”

You say it before you can decide whether it’s the truth or merely what you wish would be the truth.

“Hm.”

He leaves you wondering if that was the answer he wanted and resumes, undoing the ties, pulling away the layer that wants to cling to the slight wetness between your thighs. Evidently not one for wasting time, and why would he linger when he just wants an easy release anyway, he runs the tip of his thumb down your slit before pushing eagerly into your heat. The lewd moan that you emit is a noise you’ve never made before, and it makes your face burn with shyness.

You’ve touched yourself like this perhaps three times ever, more out of medical curiosity than anything. You didn’t quite see a point in it when it just left you feeling lonely once the high faded. But under your king’s control, it feels maddeningly new. Maybe it’s because you don’t know what he’s going to do next, like when he suddenly pushes in a second finger and you feel the spike of pain work its way through your limbs before giving way to the next wave of pressure. It’s just almost too much to take, his insistent kneading against your dripping walls.

“Your cunt is so fucking tight. Just for me? Only take my fingers like this?” He feeds you another finger when you nod, huffing a smirk at your whine. The unfamiliar words are as harsh as his hands. You’ve never heard him like this, so rough and cocksure, practically an utter stranger. But a stranger could never bring out such overwhelming emotions in your chest, your poor, confined heart.

Your legs are soon shaking with the strain of holding up your weight when pleasure and pain war so intensely in your body; but you don’t dare collapse in surrender, even though this has always been a losing battle. Not even when he rears back, replacing his cream-slick hand with what you think is the blunt head of his cock. He whets it along your folds and it feels so much thicker, intimidating like the rest of him. But you want it. You realize then just how much you want it, even if this is all you’ll have of him when it’s over.

He leans over you, hot breath whisking across your back, a palm on your hip. “I’m your first.” It sounds like a boast. “No one else.”

“No.” You shake your head. “No one else.”

And he takes his first stroke.

Hisses when he feels you squeeze around him, and you wonder if this is his first time too. Then you have to force yourself to stop thinking about that altogether, afraid that the real answer might hurt more than this: the ache of being spread apart with every brutal, solid inch, filled too quickly by a man who doesn’t seem like he could take things slow even if he wanted to. He keeps shoving forward, biting down every surfacing grunt as his nails dig into your waist and it hurts. It hurts so much but you grit your teeth, refusing to back down because you need him to know that you can take this. Even when your mouth feels drier with every yelp, every moan, you tell yourself it’ll be easier the next time he wants to have his way with you. Right now, that seems better than not feeling him at all.

“This cunt,” he finally growls when he bottoms out, for once sounding so unbridled that goosebumps speed down your weakening arms. But you find yourself liking the sound, craving it even as he pauses to catch his breath.

The first few thrusts are slightly awkward. Just his hips bumping against your ass as he tries to find his footing. It doesn’t take long until he picks up a rhythm. Starts to slam into you, jolting you forward. Soreness starts to grow exponentially with a foreign feeling you think might just be pleasure spreading throughout all of you. You concentrate on that in lieu of your knees forced repeatedly against the hardness of the wooden floor, the bedding too thin to provide any real comfort.

“Jeonha,” you gasp on a particularly deep thrust, and he seems to like that. Strokes faster in response (or perhaps reward). You don’t even register that you’re half-smiling when he does, having learned something about him that is privy to only the two of you.

On top of that, he can’t seem to stop touching you. It goes beyond the way he fucks into you, more into how he can’t stop exploring the expanse of your back with his nails or with his mouth, sucking stinging marks into your body. It’s as if he needs to have as much skin contact with you as he will allow himself, needs to feel your warmth just as much as you crave his. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking, but you try again with a hoarse, “jeonha.” He gives it to you harder, rousing, stoking that dangerous tension.

You don’t even notice his mouth beside your ear until— “Mine.”

He claims you, and something inside you melts. Not a particularly powerful feeling but a sea change nonetheless, a weak peak that ripples out, thrums through you both. He allows you to submit to the sensation for a few scarce seconds before he tears himself away, leaving you to pulse around nothing, whimpering from the emptiness. You barely recognize the sound of skin on skin friction but suddenly, heat splatters across your back, white painting itself over your skin as he gives one, elongated exhale and it’s over.

The king backs up, shifts away. Lets any lingering warmth between you dissipate into the ice air of winter, but this time he holds your gaze with a certain firmness, as if trying to pluck out the slivers of truth in your expression. In his eyes, the thin scar ever carved down the right, you find only more depths. Fathomless, endless depths – dark and painful still.

[tuiyla]

Sentimental Affection: Hambo, the Shirt, and Objects of Psychic Resonance

Adventure Time and the mundane, aka Daddy, why did you eat my fries?

Ever a show to be full of hidden symbolism and so much more under the surface than its 11-minute runtime would allow, Adventure Time uses seemingly mundane objects like a teddy bear or a T-shirt to convey the monumental importance of character dynamics. This doesn’t only apply to objects but actual parts of one’s self, like Finn’s arm and the interwoven significance of his many swords. And then, there’s Marceline.

Like with many of the show’s more complex aspects, this is especially prevalent in Marceline’s story. How do you stress the sheer volume of having lived for a thousand years? How do you signify the lack of letting go of the past, lack of maturity? You give a girl a teddy bear and have her hold on to it for as long as she can. And it’s not just Hambo that adds unexpected depth to Marceline’s character and her relationship with others. There’s the infamous rock shirt, which we’ll get to, and then there’s the French fries eaten by Hunson Abadeer.

As iconic as the Fry Song has become and as synonymous with the complex Abadeer father-daughter relationship as it is, it seems silly, at first glance, that Marceline would be so upset over that simple transgression. But Adventure Time has a special talent for making the mundane whimsical and significant, so through the context of the full song, through little glimpses here and there, we understand the symbolism of the fries. It’s Hunson’s disregard for Marceline’s feelings, his carelessness, his lack of understanding, that really matters.

Just a teddy in the wreckage of the world

So what about Hambo? Hambo is, for a while, everything to Marceline. Hambo is the one representation of her relationship with Simon that she has left. It’s a remnant from the wreckage of the world, a plushie given to a scared little girl by an equally scared old man. It’s the one thing Simon leaves behind when he abandons Marcy, for her own good, and summons Hunson to take care of her instead. But Hunson eats those fries and so Marceline takes the family axe instead and keeps it as safe as she keeps Hambo.

Hambo stays with Marceline long after she turns into a vampire, ever a symbol of the tragic childhood she lost and yet is stuck in. It’s not a coincidence that she’s implied to tolerate much of Ash’s jerkish behaviour but draws the line when he sells Hambo for a new wand. That’s the only thing of Simon, the real Simon that she has left and it matters more than a boyfriend who doesn’t care about that. Disregard for Hambo is disregard for her. So Marceline keeps moving all across Ooo, both to escape from this new, twisted version of Simon and to find the one thing that proves he wasn’t always like this.

You kept the shirt I gave you?

Let’s take a break from Hambo for a moment. Let’s picture a time long before Finn washed up on the shores of Ooo, before the Candy Kingdom grew into what it is today. Marceline and Bonnibel are friends, maybe more - details depend on whatever nuggets “Obsidian” gives us. For a while, it works, and Marceline gives Bonnie a rock T-shirt. That shirt is so quintessentially Marcy that it becomes a symbol of their relationship when it’s with PB. The two drift apart, though, as Bonnie becomes known as Princess Bubblegum to everyone else and Marceline leaves before she can be left behind. The shirt becomes a sort of inverse of Hambo: a token of love that’s - as Marceline initially thinks - never cared for. Bitter as she might be over this, Marcy leaves it all behind as she left Hunson with the fries. She never really got to grow beyond being that young girl who was left Hambo in the snow.

Except, Finn does come along, eventually, and he brings Bonnie and Marcy together again. It’s intense and Marceline lashes out because, well, sorry she’s such an inconvenience. But in truth, it’s Marceline who tags along to defeat the Door Lord despite having no stakes in the mater, and it’s PB who wants to get her precious possession back. Her treasure is, of course, Marceline’s shirt. The one she always has worn, just in the comfort of her own room or under something else. Not out in the open, one might say, but constantly nonetheless, even long after Marceline was gone from her life. A reminder of what they had as much as Hambo is a reminder of who Simon was to Marcy.

That’s the wonder of “What Was Missing”. It lampshades the potential cheesiness of the message, that being “the real treasure is friendship”, but it is genuine in how it portrays that message beyond what would be expected of a kids’ cartoon. Finn keeps a piece of Bubblegum’s hair, but PB is right there to hang out with whenever they want to. Bonnie keeps Marcy’s shirt because she thinks it’s as close as she’ll get to be around her again, but Marceline tagged along just for the joy of being around them. What these two examples have in common is that both Finn and PB want something more from the relationship with the actual person, something they think is unattainable, so they hold on to the objects instead of reaching out.

I’ll get your kid back, toy

So what about Hambo and Marceline reaching out to Simon? When the Ice King inevitably finds her, again, Marceline is rightfully frustrated and just about ready to pack up and move again. But she’s grown these past few years since Finn entered her life and helped her face her past demons. It breaks her heart but she starts accepting Simon back into her life. They hang out and she insists on calling him Simon, because she never stopped viewing him that way. She knows who he used to be, even if he doesn’t, and she clings onto the representation of that hope, Hambo.

Marceline is already in a much better place by the time “Sky Witch” rolls around than she was at the start of the series. She kind of has Hunson, Simon and Bonnie in her life again. It’s all a bit complicated and unresolved - ”Stakes” isn’t for another two seasons - but she’s on her way. That doesn’t mean she’s gonna let the opportunity to get Hambo back pass by, so she asks for Bonnie’s help. It’s a bit awkward but she spent all this time being angry and feeling like she wasn’t good enough when PB cared enough to at least keep the shirt, so maybe that’s as much hope as Hambo is for Simon. And that’s exactly what “Sky Witch” proves, as Bonnie’s level-headedness helps Marcy navigate Maja’s treacherous turf and gets her Hambo back.

There's only one Hambo

There’s a misconception, a common and understandable one, but a misconception nonetheless when it comes to the shirt and Hambo. When Maja says that Hambo’s psychic resonance is nothing compared to the shirt’s, it’s easy to see the implication being that the shirt is that much more important. Therefore, Marceline is that much more important to PB than Simon is to Marcy. This isn’t entirely inaccurate but I also think that what’s important here is not to put these two objects and therefore the two relationships on the same scale. It implies that we’re comparing the familial type of love between Simon and Marcy to the romantic love between Bonnie and Marcy and that’s just a false and pointless comparison. Instead, the significance once again comes through trademark Adventure Time subtlety.

“What Was Missing” was mainly the Bubbline dynamic from Marcy’s perspective: her hurt, her anger over not knowing why it all ended. The twist with the shirt at the end only hints at PB’s side of things and “Sky Witch” takes it home. From the little moments at the beginning of the episode to the revelation that PB gave up the shirt for Hambo, it’s a full package. It’s in everything, including the scene where Peebs dismisses Hambo’s importance. It’s just a doll, totally replaceable, an insinuation which insults Marcy deeply. Bonnie doesn’t necessarily get why Hambo is so important but, in a way, PB does understand. She understands, because Hambo is to Marceline what the shirt is for her: hope.

When PB gives up the shirt, she gives up the only piece of Marceline she’s had for all these centuries. It wasn’t replaceable, just like Hambo wasn’t, but by giving it up she gives Marceline her most treasured possession, her hope. And you know what else? By giving up this remnant of the past, Bonnie gets Marceline back. “Sky Witch”, then, is the beginning of their new dynamic, as the lesson from the Door Lord finally sinks in. And by equating, in a way, Hambo and the shirt, after we’ve already seen in “I Remember You” and “Simon & Marcy” how monumental that relationship is, this makes Bonnie’s devotion to Marcy clear as day.

Magic, madness, sadness, and all the rest

Hambo becomes something even bigger in “Betty”. The reason why Maja wanted Hambo and then the shirt in the first place is because Adventure Time acknowledges within the logic of its own universe how important the love poured into these objects is. She uses the magic of the shirt and Simon uses the magic of Hambo. Marceline, reluctantly, lets go of Hambo because she just got Simon back, just as PB let go of the shirt and got Marcy back. Nothing is ever that straightforward in the land of Ooo, though, so Hambo brings Betty back but it can’t save Simon. Now Marceline got a taste of the old Simon, had hope, and it lives on in the person they sacrificed Hambo for: Betty.

Betty’s hope is misguided, though. With her time jump to modern day Ooo, a journey of denial and desperation begins that leads her and the whole land down a road of magic and madness. Betty’s shenanigans is its own separate post, really, and all the themes of acceptance, denial and change they represent. What I find fascinating in this context is how, again, in true AT style, the butterfly effect did its magic and the mundane lead into the whimsical and grandiose.

Right there where you left it, lying upside down

Simon gave a little Marcy her teddy doll and Ash carelessly passed it on. Marceline gave Bubblegum a rock shirt, something so quintessentially her that it was the one thing Peebs held onto even after all those years. The shirt was a symbol of their lingering connection and its sacrifice meant the start of a new chapter. The significance of the shirt was enough to get Hambo back, which in turn was powerful enough for Simon to get Betty back. And, eventually, by moving almost literal heaven and hell, Betty brings Simon back. Everything stays, but it still changes.

The shirt is not Marceline. Hambo is not Simon. Objects are not people, nor can we only be with people if we let go of those objects. That isn’t the message the show is going for. And these objects are only catalysts for character arc and dynamics in most cases, anyway. Marceline doesn’t grow up by letting Hambo go, she succeeds in leaving the past behind in “Stakes”. And, if the “Obsidian” trailer is any indication, even that doesn’t mean she’s done with all her demons.

What the intertwined stories of Hambo and the shirt tell us is that complex, emotional stories can be told through simple objects. A teddy doll can signify a thousand years of pain and yet provide hope, while a rock T-shirt can pack some good old-fashioned queer yearning into it. Hambo and the shirt aren’t even monumental parts of Marceline’s, Simon’s and Bubblegum’s stories, even if Adventure Time finds clever ways to use them in the plot. They are just two simple things that represent so much in terms of character development and some of the show’s central dynamics, and that’s damn good storytelling.

[rocorambles]

Ugh Oikawa would definitely baby his s/o as a punishment when they’re acting out. He only speaks in a simple condescending way and like buys them stuffed animals and children’s books to humiliate them.

I was originally going to write this as darker content, but the recent ask about Oikawa brat taming inspired me to change this up into just some spicy harsh brat-taming with some fluff to top it off. 

Warnings: NSFW, Brat Taming, Infantilism, Age Play 

Oikawa and you can both be brats. There’s no question about that, but as strange as it is, it just works. There’s always been balance between the two of you and the dynamic never gets out of hand. It’s usually a fun game of push and pull between the two of you, but recently you’ve been a menace. 

Oikawa likes to think he has a good amount of patience when it comes to you and he understands more than anyone that you being a brat towards him is just your strange way of showing your love for him and seeking his attention. He’s the exact same way after all. But your bratty attitude and actions are usually interspersed with enough dollops of genuine and sincere words and acts of affection for him to let you get away with just a cheeky pinch or light smack of your ass. Not recently however. 

He and you both know his inferiority complex is his most vulnerable trait and you never play around with that, no matter how much of a brat you are. You’d never give him a second, even at your worst, to believe you’d leave him for someone else. So imagine the hurt and shock he felt when you purposefully sneer at him, making direct eye contact with chocolate brown eyes before approaching another man at the bar, exaggeratedly flirting right in front of Oikawa. And when the stranger slings an arm around your hip, far too low and close to your ass, Oikawa is already up and out of his seat, angrily storming towards the two of you.  

The next few minutes are a blur of tense words and a bruising grip on your arm as you’re forcefully dragged out of the bar and shoved into a sleek sports car and despite the way you wince and gingerly rub your arm after Oikawa finally relinquishes his grip, a part of you preens at finally getting a rise out of your lover, already excitedly anticipating what “punishment” he has in store for you when you get home. 

But it’s your turn to be surprised when you’re dragged into your shared home and Oikawa stalks past the bedroom and you whimper when he pulls you towards the extra bedroom the two of you had left empty for whenever the two of you were ready to have a family of your own. You try to dig your heels into the floor, asking him what he’s planning, but your attempts are futile against his strength and you’re promptly shoved into the baby blue room and tucked into bed. You panic when he immediately turns to leave, not even bothering to spare you a single unnecessary touch, and you grip onto his sleeve before he can get far. You fumble over your words, unsure how to phrase what you want to ask, but Oikawa knows you all too well and before you can embarrass yourself further, he cuts in.   

“What? Does my little baby want me to touch her? Do you think you deserve anything from me after the little stunt you pulled? If you want to act like a brat, I’m going to treat you like one. You’re staying in this nursery until I feel like you’re finally acting like a big girl.” 

You heart sinks when he firmly shuts the door behind him and the light of the glow in the dark star stickers above your head only taunt you as you lay in bed alone. But you’ve always been stubborn and the next few days become a game of will power as you fight the humiliation you feel when he comes in to dress you in childish, girly clothing, slapping your hand away and scolding you whenever you try to touch your clothes yourself, cooing at you for looking so adorable. You glare at him as he insists on hand feeding you tiny bite-sized cuts of food and only lets you drink from a sippy cup. But the worst moments are when he lies in bed besides you and makes you cuddle a stuffed animal instead of him as he reads you a children’s bedtime story. Your thighs clench at how close he is, how you can feel the warmth of his body next to you, how you can smell his scent. But frustration wells inside of you at being unable to touch him how you want to, at being denied his more intimate touches. And after a week of being babied and coddled and touch starved, you break. 

Oikawa’s come to get his baby girl all ready for the day, but he smirks at the sight of you on your knees before him, clutching at his legs and babbling all sorts of depraved promises and apologies. 

“Tooru, I’m sorry! I promise I’ll be a good girl. Please touch me. Please let me sleep with you. I can be a big girl! I won’t talk to any more strangers or let bad men touch me ever again. I only want you. I only love you!” 

The handsome brunette coos down at you as he lowers himself until he’s face level with you and you eagerly let yourself be pulled into his lap as you throw you arms around his neck and nuzzle your face into his chest, tucking your head underneath his chin. 

“Was that so hard, cutie? All you needed to do was apologize. You could have had all of me sooner if you just behaved. Go ahead. Take everything you want from me as a reward for being such a good girl.” 

And it’s like a feral beast unleashes itself inside of you as you desperately claw at his pants, barely pulling them down just enough for his cock to spring out before you’re sinking onto him and bouncing on top of him, moaning and panting like a whore as Oikawa just sits back and watches, murmuring words of encouragements and praise as he casually tweaks your nipples and circles your clit. But it’s not enough and Oikawa smirks as you plead for him to help you. 

“Are you sure you’re a big girl? Big girls can take care of themselves. Maybe I should still keep on punishing you. Maybe you’re not ready to be a big girl. Awww look at you. Tearing up like a little baby just because I won’t touch you. Well, I suppose I can help you out a bit. Can’t have my precious little girl crying now can we?” 

The humiliation from his words only fuels the twisting arousal inside of you and you wail as he begins to thrust his hips in time with your bounces, sinking deeper, faster, and harder into you, filling your aching deprived pussy as his hands clutch onto your waist, aiding with your rise and fall until you’re bottoming out on his cock with every movement. And it only takes a few more sharp thrusts before you’re falling apart on top of him, cunt clenching so tight around him that he struggles to continue sliding in and out of you as he chases his own end. But at the sight of your pretty little fucked out face with eyes rolled back and tongue lolling out of your drooling mouth, he empties himself inside of you and the two of you sit there in each other’s arms as you come back down from your peaks. 

Exhausted, you doze off in his arms as soothing hands wash you and pamper you, and by the time you come back around, you’re laying in your king sized bed, long sinewy arms wrapped around you and you sleepily smile as Oikawa and you lock eyes. But reality hits and you guiltily look down and curl into your lover. 

“Tooru, I really am sorry. I never should have blatantly flirted with some other man, especially just as a way to get back at you. I just- I came across one of your fan blogs and they were saying they were saying you deserved someone so much better than me and I-”

You can’t even choke out the rest of your words as tears stream down your face and you sob into your lover’s toned chest, but a calloused hand gently nudges your face up until you’re staring into chocolate brown eyes once again. 

“I wish you had just talked to me and told me how you felt, but you know none of that is true, right? I love you. There’s no one else for me.” Your heart flutters at the look in his eyes and the two of you tenderly lock lips. But you roll your eyes when the two of you separate at the teasing and sweet tone of the next sentence that comes rolling out from his lips. 

“Plus no one else is as bratty as you, so we’re a match made in heaven! OW Mean! You’re spending too much time with Iwa-chan.” 

Oikawa pretends to sniffle and cry over your playful smack, insisting that you kiss him better and the two of you fall into giggles as you huff with frustration but oblige him, peppering wet sloppy kisses all over his face as he disgustedly shrieks at you. But when all is said and done, the two of you fall asleep that night, minds at peace and faces graced with smiles as your chests rise and fall in time with each other. 

[randomidiocyncrazies]

i know you like them both so yunichika and oda/aoki for the ship ask

thank you for giving me a chance to gush about these kids!!! they’re precious.... this got pretty long so imma put it under a cut

YuniChika, the main boys of 2.43:

• when or if I started shipping it:

tbh i didn’t really ship them when i read the first book... they’re the kind of pairing that i can see people shipping and i think it’s cute, but i’m not super invested in them as a romantic pairing. I think i was more sold about them as a ship in the second book, but i can’t quite remember if there was a specific moment that made me change my mind, or if it was a gradual process

• my thoughts:

i think the anime definitely played up the tension between them (allll the blushes lol), but i’m glad people are enjoying the YuniChika content XD they’re pretty cute!

also, i think they balance each other well and spur each other to become better—Yuni and Chika are both self-centered(?) in very different ways: Yuni lacks drive because he mostly wanted to please people so they’ll like him, while Chika has the opposite problem in that he acts like he doesn’t care what people think of him. 

but now Yuni is able to take a stand for his interest in volleyball and for Chika, and while Chika doesn’t really soften and still has a problem with not realizing how harsh he could be, he’s more willing to communicate his thoughts.

• what makes me happy about them:

boys reuniting! relearning how to have a relationship with one another! learning from past mistakes and trying to be better people together! HELL YEAH

• what makes me sad about them:

boys, please use your words to communicate with each other...

also, from Yuni’s perspective, it’s kinda sad when someone you used to know really well comes back into your life, but they’ve changed so much that they are essentially a different person... but of course they have a new opportunity to become closer now 😉 so i’m not that sad about it

• things done in art/fic that annoys me:

... there are fanworks for them????????? 

(on a more serious note, erasing their flaws to make them more likable... please don’t make Chika ‘secretly nice’ or whatever, the kid is blunt as hell, and not realizing how his words affect others is his biggest flaw. on the other hand, Yuni can still be a little spineless at times, and sometimes his priorities are. questionable.)

• things I look for in art/fic:

hm, i’d like a future fic about them as professional players! i think their inclination is to stick together (they’re a package deal!) but it’d be super interesting to read something where they’re on rival teams years down the line

EDIT: haha Chika actually transferred to Keisei High School after their first Spring Tournament, so he and Yuni have faced each other as rivals since then (2.43 next 4years). they’re go to the same university and are on the same team now though!

• who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other:

uh i don’t really have specific people for this, but Chika would probably have to be with someone who understands his love of volleyball (like Oda, but if Oda wasn’t their team captain and thus too much of a dad friend to qualify as a romantic interest), and someone who can inspire Yuni would be good for him

also, i know who i’d NOT be comfy about: the first book (and anime i guess) had this weird tension between Itoko and Yuni, COUSINS who BASICALLY GREW UP TOGETHER. i think(?) their weird whatever was mostly dropped in the 2nd book and wasn’t really made explicit, but like. what the hell. (i have no idea what happens beyond the 2nd book.)

• my happily ever after for them:

the YuniChika in college arc is being serialized rn, so in a way that’s already fulfilled? (i have NO idea what’s going on tho) 

in general i just hope they can play volleyball together until one or both decide not to, for whatever reason, and that they stay in each other’s lives and support each other even after they’ve retired from competitive volleyball. i think with Yuni’s personality he could be a good coach after getting more experience, and Chika... he’s really valuable as a strategist, but I think he’d always be a little brusque, so he’s respected but hard to bond with if he does take on coaching?

• what is their favorite non-sexual activity?

bold of you to assume Chika even cares about sex

anyway, they don’t go to movies for a romantic date night, they go watch volleyball matches. sometimes this backfires when Chika gets too frustrated at bad plays tho

and of course i will never pass up an opportunity to talk about Oda/Aoki, the main guys of my heart (my OTP for this series tbh):

• when or if I started shipping it:

they pinged on my radar when they were bickering in Ibara’s chapter, but i wasn’t super duper invested... and then I got to The Dog’s Perspective and the Giraffe’s Perspective (specifically The Kick™) and oh god i’ve never fallen so fast

• my thoughts: 

GOD WOW Aoki really loves Oda... even though objectively Oda’s height prevents him from being a super ace, he is the coolest, strongest super ace to Aoki. i think it’s beautiful that someone can see you as your best self even when you’re feeling shitty about yourself. Aoki knows that objectively Oda faces a lot of obstacles, and wants to support him as best as he can—not out of pity (pity would’ve burned out long ago), but because he really respects Oda’s passion and drive.

also, these two have unaddressed issues that they should talk about! Oda, i know you feel inferior but you are so much better than you think you are. please accept that Aoki really does respect you, and that you are worthy of it (or like, you don’t have to be ‘’’worthy’’’’ or ‘’’’’’deserving’’’’’’’’’’ of it, because it is Aoki’s choice to support you and play volleyball with you!!! it’s not something you gotta earn, it’s something freely and happily given to you)

(ahhhhhh i die when i think of them)

• what makes me happy about them: 

gosh i love their dynamic SO MUCH! Oda is exactly my type of character (passionate, determined, knowing that he can never be the best at what he’s passionate about due to factors he cannot control, trying to be kind and gracious but struggling with feelings of inferiority and jealousy, thinks of himself as a selfish person, a supporting character...) and Aoki’s devotion is really touching. 

again: even when you feel like crap about yourself, there’s someone out there who thinks you’re the best thing that happened to them.

there’s also the fact that Oda thinks the world of Aoki as well (to the point of feeling inferior, which is like... c’mon Oda :/ you are better than you think you are!) he trusts Aoki a lot, despite knowing his willingness to engage in, uh, underhanded methods

• what makes me sad about them: 

it’s their last year together, and they’d be approaching a new phase of their lives in different places... although Aoki offered to lower his rankings so they’d go to the same university, realistically they’ll go to different colleges, and most likely end up in different prefectures. (like, not only do i think it’s a Terrible Idea to give up your dream school so that you could stay with someone else, there is no way Oda would accept the offer without being crushed by guilt. something like that would actually ruin their relationship, which i think Aoki knows as well.)

there’s also a lot left unsaid between them at this point and i just want them to lay everything out between them and move forward together

• things done in art/fic that annoys me: 

the fact that there’s NONE >:[ what does a gal have to do to get some content for them???????

• things I look for in art/fic: 

at this point anything is fine.... it’s a desert out there and i’m dying

more specifically i’m Extremely Down for a get together fic; i personally only see them getting together after high school, at least several months (or even longer) studying in different prefectures and no longer able to see each other every day. (i mean... absence makes the heart grow fonder right?)

i’d also love to see Oda using Aoki’s first name, considering Aoki calls him “Shin” and all. Oda managing to surprise/fluster Aoki would be nice too.

EDIT: they’re both in the Kansai region (2.43 next 4years prologue). Oda’s revealed to be studying in Osaka, and assuming Aoki got into KyoDai, they should be around 2 hours away from each other by train? so visiting each other over short breaks would be cute! also, apparently Oda took a gap year before going to Osaka (2.43 next 4years Ch 1.2), so something set during that time would also be awesome :V

• who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: 

hm... if i had to imagine people well-suited to them, i’d say Aoki’s type is people who are straightforwardly passionate about their interests (Oda hooked him with his unbridled love of volleyball way back in their first year of high school after all), and I think Oda probably needs someone who is willing to indulge him a little (like Chika he can be pretty dang determined about what he wants, though without the single-minded intensity at the expense of everything else)

... this is just a roundabout way of saying i think they’re ideal for each other, especially if they resolve the problem of hiding things from the other

• my happily ever after for them: 

they get careers/hobbies they enjoy, and get a place together as boyfriends/husbands. no i will not hear any criticism of this idea

i can see Aoki working in the private sector (this guy is fine with ‘joking’ about blackmail after all!) after getting his law degree. this is super self-indulgent, but given his penchant of rooting for passionate but objectively disadvantaged entities, i think it’d be pretty awesome if he works for a smaller company that truly believes in their work, instead of working at a big firm pulling in big bucks.

while I’m not sure what Oda is canonically studying, I can see him going into sports education or sports therapy—i think he’d be really good at nurturing the talents of other athletes, and he’s good at rallying the team (Aoki pretty much says he’s the heart of the team in the epilogue of the first book, though Aoki’s kiiinda biased lol). i think it’d be really cute if Oda coaches a grade school team!

neither plays volleyball competitively after high school, but sometimes they watch matches for fun (esp if their ex-teammates are playing). Oda also makes Aoki come to his students’ matches if he doesn’t have work

EDIT: apparently Oda continues competing as a wing spiker in college, playing in Kaisai’s 2nd Collegiate Division (2.43 next 4years Ch 1.2)—Aoki probably watches his matches, even when he’s busy (and Oda probably chides him for neglecting his work, but they both know Aoki can manage his workload).

• what is their favorite non-sexual activity?

hm... idk, i think they’re the kind of couple who are cool with just chilling with each other doing their own work. like, Oda planning strategies for the kids he’s coaching while Aoki reads next to him, occasionally glancing over to make comments, stuff like that

also since Oda says they mostly talked about volleyball during high school, I can kinda see them finding something new they both enjoy after they get together? Maybe shounen manga, for something fun

[faerielleart]

GIRL GGFJFJVGDJD OK UMMM let me see... what do you like about levihan? or do you have any unpopular opinions? or headcanons!

oh boi i hope i won’t rant too much, i don’t want this answer to be a thousand miles long i don’t want to seem boring-

OKAY let’s start

What i like about levihan: i have to start with a lil background a say that levihan is my longest ship i’ve ever had, it’s the only one who survived time and the only ship i have never stopped shipping/lost interest into, which is kinda rare for me since i switch interests a lot and go through hyper-fixations, so i tend to lose interest quickly in something once i’ve found something else to pay attention to

this, however has never happened with levihan: started shipping them when i was 12, still trash 7 years later skdjdjfjf i didnt start shipping them for special reasons tho, at the time aot was my first ever still on air anime and i was completel new to the community, plus i didnt really speak english well and the first episodes i watched confused me A LOT. However, amidst all that confusion and trying to remember names and plot points, episode 9 came, i got introduced to this character who apparently is named levi, the first information the scene gives the watcher is “this guy is a grump” based on his reaction to the crowd, the second information the scene gives to the watcher is “this person next to him, despite him being a grump, isn’t afraid to tease the shit out of him and we still don’t even know their name” which i found ??? Cool??? I immediately paid attention to this lil dynamic, then the next scene was the hairgrab scene and,,,,,, yeah my 12 year old braincells went into overdrive and i was completely sold

i just needed them to interact once and BOOM

but OBJECTIVELY i still find extremely telling, years later, how these were the first informations of these characters. In a narrative, character’s introduction is absolutely crucial to the story, you can understand millions of things just by the way a character is presented and says their first lines and honestly choosing to introduce levi and hanji together was imho very, very telling of what role they’d play in the story/what role they play in each other’s lives.

isn’t it strange that the very first infirmation we get of these two is that the grumpy one is okay with this person teasing him? that means there’s gotta be a level of familiarity among them, right? and the hairgrab? requested by isayama himself? in the official book of season one it also says that the scene was added to “show their relationship”??? i mean 2+2 is 4 where i’m from 👁👄👁✨

so yeah my dumb 12 year old brain had FORESIGHT apparently-

as i picked up the manga and read through the uprising (and got older and my english got better) i noticed more and more things about them and i just really freaking fell in love with their relationship okay it wasn’t “oh cool grumpy and sunshine who teases him”, more like “holy fuck grumpy has a sad backstory, seems unapproachable but is the kindest person ever, just wants to be a hero and save everyone, has the most tender heart, sunshine is a multi dimensional character who has fears and doubts and they work so well together despite being polar opposites but at the same time their oppositeness results in somehow them being completely in sync with each other and almost thinking with the same brain as if they were one person split in half”.

since they’re grown adults and they’re so close, their relationship has something that i always seek and almost never find in other ships, which is emotional maturity. You never see them purposely tearing each other down just to hurt the other, they work out their problems and C O M M U N I C A T E ✨ they don’t act childishly around each other, they tease and bicker but it’s completely different than full blown arguments where both parts disrespect the other just to prove their point. They are willing to listen to what the other has to say and their judgment is precious and welcomed, since the basis of their relationship is complete trust. levi is rough with words, but he means something else entirely despite what he conveys, as seen during the aftermath of eren’s first hardening experiments, and hanji totally understands what he wants to say, which is why they never reprimand him or take offense to what he says.

what i’m trying to say, i believe in a way that nothing is half-assed about how they were written in the story as a pair, despite how i disagree with certain narrative choices *ahem*; as much as i would have wanted them to have more screentime and more interactions, i believe it wouldn’t have been “in character”, lemme explain because i realize it sounds weird and my wording probably doesn’t help: their relationship is subtle and as such it should remain subtle and in the subtext, simply because it is none of our business as readers. Show, not tell, but show in a way that it is evident only if you pay attention. levi is blunt when he speaks, but at the same time his words have another meaning than what he conveys and his actions are subtle.

isn’t it obvious with how often it was remarked that the only person who is able to understand levi completely is hanji? and this is where chapter 132 comes into play with this amazing analysis post that i’m sure we all read a thousand times and screamed over it

all this “ambiguity”, all this subtlety, all this subtext, all this wordplay, words that have more than one meaning, i believe are all indicators of one thing: us readers are not able to understand comple what levi wants to say and his words result ambiguous to us and not 100% clear, simply because the readers are not hanji. but fortunately, i believe that hanji understood that levi too wants to “stay in the forest”. this is not the reaction of someone who is confused by a sentence, this is the face of someone who finally had a realization:

what kind of realization? it’s not up to us to know (tho we know *wink wink*), because we’re not hanji and we can’t understand what levi says.

plus, 心臓を捧げよ, “dedicate your heart”, can hold a million different meanings. 心臓 is heart, を is a particle that denotes the object, 捧げよ is the verb “to offer, dedicate, devote, sacrifice”, there are no adjectives that indicate possession as you can see; levi using his own left (not right) fist and placing it on hanji’s chest instead of just taking hanji’s hand and placing it on their chest is ambiguous too. i interpet it in different ways but the conclusion is one, and i can’t honestly see it in any other way. one of the interpretations i like the most is that levi is implying that they both share the same heart, which is why he used his own left hand, meaning that both of them are dedicating their hearts in that moment to humanity, because they are actively choosing to put their desires aside to live a peaceful life away from everything (as jean too has wished in chapter 127, as hanji has expressed in 126 but in 127 too and jean seems taken aback by their confession) since they’re soldiers and duty comes first.

so yeah if i have to choose something i love the most about levihan, it’s gotta be the subtlety and the ambiguity that at the end of the day, is absolutely not ambiguous at all. everything is expressed for a reason, if an author actively chooses ambiguity, in this specific case of a relationship, he intends the result not to be ambiguous. it sounds like a brain fart but i blame it on my inability to articulate my thoughts well, i hope what i want to say can be understood 😭 and in a way, this can be considered as an unpopular opinion i think?

meaning that i get that commonly someone might want an explicit declaration that leaves no room to doubt and I honestly wish for it too, but I don’t think it would be in character, and the ambiguity (if we can call it that, i’m calling it that just to avoid backlash and controversy jshfsjdjmd) in this case speaks enough volumes to me considering both of the characters we’re dealing with, the story as a whole, the interactions with other characters.

ALSO going back to their bond, i want to copypaste something i posted on twitter regarding chapter 126 and the blush: it doesn't make sense, character-wise, for Hanji to feel in any way embarassed around Levi. They have no filters whatsoever around each other. They are close, closer than anyone in the series, the author hasn't shown any embarassment between them. Back in Uprising, when Hanji was hesitant and wanted out, Levi was the one who encouraged them. So, this thing has in a way already happened, since back then they admitted to wanting to abandon responsibilities to Levi's face and didn't blush. So, in 126's context, it doesn't really make sense for Hanji to blush "only because they were embarassed at being caught wanting to run away". It happened once already and there was no blush. So yeah, the blush means something else. And that something else is definitely much, much, MUCH deeper than "embarassment". 🙌

since smartpass stories can absolutely be taken as part of the canon universe as they’re supervised and approved by isayama and published with the manga, i am adding the rain story as further proof of what kind of relationship they have. also levi being a 30 year old tsundere is adorable but movING ON

SO YEAH MY FINAL TWO CENTS ARE : i love everything about levihan and there isn’t a single thing i would change, because wanting aot to be a huge slice of life of them doing the most random things just to watch them interact doesnt count sjdjfjdjdjfjsmdm, my unpopular opinion is that i find the subtlety and the ambiguity KEY to doing justice to what they have because it’s none of us readers’ business because only they are able to understand each other and i fucking LOVE that, my headcanon is that they totally kissed once during the timeskip, maybe on the first anniversary of the battle of shiganshina, i see them not being able to sleep alone and finding comfort in each other and in a moment of weakness and vulnerability they kiss, but pretend it never happened because things are messy and they can’t afford to get involved because again, duty first, but the YEARNING™️ and the PINING™️ only intensifies after that, but they manage not to make things awkward and they are close as ever.

my GOD i rewrote the odyssey, sorry 😭

[onyour-right]

A Dickkory fic - Role Reversal

*Strides in several months late after I said I was gonna have this out by the time season 2 finished airing* I don’t even have any excuses for myself other than my motivation to write them was at such a low, but I hope this kinda makes up for things. 

This fic is Kory kinda struggling to deal with a few of the events that have happened, of what her sister’s presence on earth means, and then of course our ole boy Dick comforting our girl.  

Please feel free to comment on what you liked/disliked (but keep it respectful). Positive feedback is always necessary. 

Word count: 2,600+

Kory lies wide awake in her unbelievingly spacious double bed, her green eyes fixed unseeingly on the pasty white ceiling as numerous thoughts race through her mind and leave her unable to fall asleep.

It’s not the first night she has had trouble falling asleep, nor is it the second the third or even the fourth. Ever since she’d had to kill Faddei, a friend to her despite everything else, and then somehow lost her powers, there was a restlessness that clung deep to her spirit and left her feeling oddly vulnerable in a way that she wasn’t at all used to.

She knows she’s been acting differently around the others, and knows that they’ve picked up on it too. She’s seen the worried looks that Gar shoots her way when he thinks she isn’t aware; she feels the frustration that bleeds through her every interaction with Dick, of him wanting to push but not knowing how far to go. Even Rachel, who is generally a lot harder to read and a lot less obvious with her affections, seems to be hovering close to her as if she’s worried she might take off at any moment. 

Kory loves them all; some days it overwhelms her just how much she does, and on her bad days she finds herself wishing she didn’t love them as much as she did. It’s why it makes the presence of her sister on earth that much worse. Blackfire has already shown her ruthlessness, her lack of remorse in doing what she needs to do to get what she wants. It would be absolutely nothing for her sister to take any one of their lives, to take away what few people Kory now has left.

Her mind drifts over to Gar, sweet, precious Gar, who is unbelievingly loyal and deserving of so much goodness he has yet to receive. Then Rachel, who nestled her way into Kory’s heart fiercely and unapologetically, who challenges her in so many ways. And finally Dick, the man who already arouses feelings so deep within her that she knows that if both of them could just figure it out...

She can’t be the reason they die. She can’t watch any of them die. It would be too much. It would devastate her. She can handle a lot of things, but she can’t with this, she can’t -

… She can’t breathe.

Kory presses her hand firmly against her chest, against the hammering of her heart, in futile hope that it will help abate the pressure mounting. It does not. She feels as if she’s boiling under the covers, her skin disgustingly clammy to touch, and she doesn’t know where she’s going, but she knows she needs to leave.

She barely registers throwing back the covers and slipping out of her room, or moving through the dimly lit hallways of Titan Tower on the night cycle.  

When she stumbles towards the security door leading to the rooftop she wastes no time in yanking it open and rushing out into the cold, night air, where finally she’s able to take in a deep breath when the fresh breeze washes over and settles deep into her skin.

Kory stays like that for a long while, her eyes shut and her face tilting upwards towards the moonlit sky. There’s something about basking in the silence, she thinks, something almost beautiful and peaceful that she so desperately needs.  

She is unaware of how much time passes until her quietness is interrupted by a familiar baritone voice that comes from behind her.

“Kory.”

Her eyes open almost instantly at the sound of Dick’s voice, and even though she needs this bit of peace she’s found and is reluctant to break it, she still spins round to face him.

“Dick,” she says with surprising softness, surprising given the weariness that she feels, that sinks right through to her bones and makes her ache.  

He looks adorable in his half asleep state; wearing his blue pyjama bottoms and white tee, with his ruffled brown hair that has Kory longing to run her fingers through it. She can imagine his reaction if she were to tell him just how cute she finds him in this moment, he would most likely let out a disgusted scoff and grumble something unintelligible under his breath that would only make her laugh.  

Kory watches him quietly, watches the worry and concern playing out so plainly on his face as he looks at her, and it startles her, because he never used to be so open with his emotions. She wonders when he’d changed so much.

When it becomes clear that she’s not going to say anything else, that she’s allowing him to take the lead in this conversation, he steps towards her and speaks.

“I got an alert when the door to the rooftop was opened, I wanted to see if you were okay.”

She nods slowly, letting out a thoughtful hum as she does. A small part of Kory wonders if he knew that it was her all along, and it makes the corner of her lips pull up into a gentle smile even while the lie trickles easily from her mouth.

“I’m fine, Dick, I just needed some fresh air.”

He furrows his brows and a disbelieving frown settles on his face, his gaze dropping down to her bare feet and then lifting back up to meet her eyes. “So fine you couldn’t spare the time to put on a pair of shoes?”

Kory feels herself tensing up at his words and folds her arms defensively across her chest. She keeps her gaze firmly on him. She won’t look down and give him the satisfaction of being right, of catching her out in a blatant lie; and she definitely won’t respond to him, with his tone of voice that she doesn’t much care for.  

He seems to realise his own misstep seconds after because his gaze softens suddenly, and a heavy breath loosens from his mouth as he takes another step closer to her. “You’ve been different lately. Not just with me, but with the whole team.. I’m just worried about you, Kory.”

Not for the first time does she find herself taken aback by his emotional maturity, although she doesn’t necessarily know why. It’s not as if he hasn’t shown his concern over her well-being before, or hasn’t gone out of his way to check on her when he knows that she’s not okay; but there’s something remarkably different about this moment that they’re sharing right now. His honesty makes it harder for her to maintain her façade towards him, but she finds that for the first time in her life she’s at a loss as to how to express herself.

“I’m-” Kory starts, trailing off into a hesitant silence when the words seem to fail her, she continues a moment later. “I appreciate your concern, Dick, I really do, but I don’t need it, I’ll be fine. I think you should be more worried about the kids though, especially Gar, y’know? He’s had a rough time and I-”

“Kory- ”

“ - think he needs some sort of help,” she continues, as if he hasn’t said a word. “Maybe someone professional to talk to. I know that it’s quite common to seek mental help after facing a traumatic event. And I mean he’s -”

“Kory- ” Dick tries again, but either she doesn’t hear him or can’t seem to stop the words falling from her mouth.

“ - just a kid, he’s so young and I -”

“Koriand’r!” He shouts finally, his voice sounding even louder in the stillness of nightfall that surrounds them.

The rest of the words die out on her lips and her eyes widen almost comically as she can do nothing else but stare at him in shock. She doesn’t think Dick has ever raised his voice to her, even when they argue it’s never with raised voices. She wants to say it bothers her, but she really can’t. An emotion that seems wholly inappropriate given the serious nature of their conversation courses through her body, and for the life of her she can’t figure out whether it’s because she likes the way her proper name falls from his mouth, or if it’s something else entirely.

Dick releases a heavy breath, his chest rising and falling as if she drives him breathless. She can see the frustration laced in his eyes again, and it makes her guilty that she’s the cause of it.  

“We’ll sort Gar out I promise you, but I can’t do that without you. He needs both of us.”

Kory feels her body deflate at his words, and a stretch of time passes where they seem content to just watch each other; Dick’s gaze searching and Kory’s gaze filled with an array of conflicting emotions. This time it’s her that takes a step forward to him, her hand reaching up to rest against the side of his face with her thumb lightly stroking his cheek.

Some of the worry clears from Dick’s expression when she steps close, and is replaced with the same emotion that Kory recognises flows through her body. His stare drops down to her full lips and his mouth parts invitingly, and the faint  hesitation Kory felt floats away because now she knows that he wants her too.  

Kory ducks her head down and closes the space between them, capturing his lips in a searing kiss that he returns with just as much intensity.

It’s been a while since they’ve last been as intimate as this. After defeating Deathstroke and then the  death of Donna, it’s taken some time for all of them to settle into their new norm and relearn old dynamics, and yet the way their bodies still move so in sync with each other is like no time has been lost at all. It’s overwhelming in the best of ways.  

They stumble backwards until Dick’s back hits the metal door and he lets out a soft grunt against her mouth, both his arms snaking around Kory’s waist to pull her flush against him. She’s forgotten how good it is to be allowed to touch any part of him that she wants – his chest, his hair, his face, and in turn to feel his hands on her. It fills her with such a staggering amount of pleasure.

Eventually they part for some air, panting heavily as they try to catch their breaths. It’s only a mere few seconds later that Kory leans forward again with the intent to claim his lips again, but when Dick inches his head back a stab of rejection so strong buckles through her.  Has she read him wrong?

Kory tries to step away from him then, but his arms turn tight around her and prevent her from walking away.  “Kory,” is all he says, low and soothing, like he already knows the assumption she’s jumped to and is trying to reassure her.  

He’s studying her face with that deeply intense manner of his, and in that moment she realises. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, because of course he does, it’s that he’s not letting her forget their conversation, he’s not going to let her brush this off as nothing.

She huffs lightly and averts her eyes, fixing them on a random spot on the wall. Her resolve starts to slip the longer she feels the heat of his gaze on her; stubborn man, she can’t help but think, even though the irony of her comment is not lost on her.

Kory’s voice is quiet when she finally admits to him, to herself. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore, Dick.”

His lower lip juts out slightly while he listens, the gentle expression on his face akin to understanding. “Because of your sister?”

She nods, biting down on the inside of her mouth and turning back to him. “And my powers. One of the last conversations Faddei and I had was about my purpose, my responsibility, and now I – she’s stolen them both from me and I don’t even know what to do about any of it. I feel,” she pauses, letting out a bitter sigh, “I just feel powerless.”

Dick’s brows knit together and a frown creases his face. “The last thing I would ever call you is powerless, Kory. I can’t say I know how any of it feels, but I know that if anyone can figure out what to do it’ll be you,” and at the incredulous look that crosses over Kory’s face he adds, “maybe not right now, but you will. And you don’t have to do it on your own.”

Kory’s vision suddenly starts to blur from her tears, and a warmth spreads through her chest. It’s the type of warmth that is welcome, that heats her whole body down to her toes despite the bitter chill. She stretches a hand up and combs her fingers through Dick’s hair, the faint beginnings of a genuine smile on her liips.

“When did you get so wise?”

He snorts at her question, his lips twitching in amusement. “I have my moments.”

It almost makes her smile fully, but her expression only turns downcast as her thoughts linger once again on her sister. It was never Dick choosing to be  alongside her that she doubted, but it was exactly what worried her. “She could kill you, Dick.”

“I’m not so easy to kill,” he retorts jokingly, trying to lighten the mood, but Kory only seems utterly unamused and mere seconds from ranting at him and so he turns serious.

“I know this life I’ve chosen, Kory. And if the worst-” he breaks himself off before he can finish that sentence, sighing. “I’m not going to regret wanting to help you.”

Kory stares at him, her eyes scanning his face for any subtle traces of insincerity. She finds none. She wants to argue that Dick doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into, but he’s a grown man, and who is she to dictate to him what he can and can’t be willing to do. Her royal privilege doesn’t transcend to earth, and even it did she would never.

Dick leans forward, brushing a kiss against her lips. It’s fleeting and leaves her wanting more.

“I was once told that the best way to figure something out is together with someone that you trust.”  

Amusement colours her face as she vaguely remembers having the conversation he’s mentioned. It feels like such a long time ago now, and even though they went through a faire share of problems back then, she still suddenly finds herself missing those early days.  

Kory arches a brow teasingly. “And yet it took you so long to listen?”

Dick shrugs a shoulder, dropping another kiss on her lips that lasts just a little bit longer, and holds a little bit more promise. “I’m listening now, Kory.”

She nods, her head tilting to one side as a broad smile can’t help but bloom across her face this time. “Together does sounds good.”

He hums, offering her an outstretched hand. “Let’s go back to bed.”

Kory doesn’t even hesitate, she places her palm in his and lets him lead her back to his room.  

                                                              ***

Later on, when Kory’s skin is slick with sweat for a different reason this time, and Dick’s arms are locked protectively around her with his lips pressing against the back of her head, she’ll think that maybe, just maybe, they’ll be okay.  

[bandomslayed]

I’m not saying you should focus more on racism, I’m just saying that that’s something that the community as a whole needs to focus on and try to repair, I’m sure they all already know that people don’t like their ships. If that’s an issue, then groups can have a strict age limit. Easy solve. The other things are things that can be taught and learned but with hostility all that’s going to happen is a deeper divide. You said you wanted to argue with people about the things you don’t like that they do in this community. I’m paraphrasing, but why not instead want to educate them. No one will ever react well to feeling like they’re being ridiculed or patronized. People worth spending your time on are the ones you can talk to without it being a shitshow. We’re having a dialogue. I’ve felt this entire time like everything I say, someone is going to search for one thing to deliberately misinterpret or magnify unnecessarily when, if there’s something that they have an issue with, it could be a perfect opportunity to educate me instead of people being hostile. I’m college educated and can think critically, I’m moderately well spoken, I’m open to instructive criticisms and discussing things that aren’t agreed upon so I’m just sort of confused by the fact that what I’m saying is being picked apart by other anons and to a degree, you. You all want to change my mind about age gaps, despite me being with someone older irl and feeling safe and genuinely valued for the first time in a relationship in my life so why do you think that calling my dead grandpa names, redirecting the conversation and then kinda mocking me when I attempt to understand wholly and agree with some of the things you’re saying? That’s not going to convince me or anyone else. It just makes people feel defensive. Reiterating here that I’m not saying YOU specifically need to talk about racism more, and I’m not trying to diminish your experience or anything like that In just saying that those topics (discrimination of any kind, abuse of any kind) in the community are things we should be discussing instead of ships we think aren’t comfortable. I feel uncomfortable with relationships in real life and in rp all the time but that isn’t up to me to say it’s wrong or bad. It’s no ones right to tell any two consenting adults that what they’re doing is wrong. But it is a human right to tell someone when they’re being insensitive, and that’s a flaw in the community that people can be educated on and learn to handle with more sensitivity and knowledge but we’re never going to reach that point if we’re all just hostile and cruel to one another. Also reiterating that I’m not using personal examples to get cred, I just like examples because I think using them shows where I’m coming from so that any person who wants to have a dialogue can have a frame of reference for why my opinions are what they are on any topic. If I’m wrong, or insensitive, or just kinda dumb I want to know that but simply telling me I’m wrong or insensitive or dumb doesn’t teach me how not to me. And this doesn’t just mean me, I mean the whole community. It will never improve if we all just talk about the things we don’t like and give no feasible solutions.

alright i see what you want so let me switch to my white pleaser voice and deliver since you're so keen on being patronizing and in the same breath, acting like me taking what you say "the wrong way" is the problem. in bullet points so next time u come back to keep going at it u can pinpoint exactly what it is i misconstrued because u will do it anyway.

you're asking the community as a whole to care more about racism but you're talking to me who's leading the conversation in the first place. i understand you didn't imply i specifically should care more about it, but you're still using racism to discredit my point of view on age gap relationships being an important topic to discuss as well, and watering it down to just me not liking people's plots when that is not the message.

nobody is telling anyone how to live their lives. im bringing awareness to the fact that this culture is not okay. it's dangerous to our young. it NEEDS to be uncomfortable to you (you, plural) to invite to this so called critical thinking.

im not saying your partner doesn't have a right to be loving or grandpa and grandma had abuse masked as a good relationship. im saying, since it needs to be spelled out with no room for misinterpretation; the culture behind someone 10+ years older finding it completely okay to pursue someone that much younger — especially when we're talking 18 - 30 age range — needs to be looked at more closely. it's not safe in general. do exceptions exist? absolutely, but the whole two consenting adults point is a terrible one to make when at 18, you're considered that when you're still essentially just a child.

a strict age limit, which most groups adopt now, does little to actually prevent age gap relationships within roleplays. moreso, uneven power dynamics within plots being glamorized. my boss is not over 5 years older than me, but he is my boss. kpop boybands don't have age gaps of 10+ years in groups, usually, but there is a leader most times acting like a father figure, not to mention korean culture is heavy on emphasizing age-related hierarchical order, so a literal still wet behind the ears child establishing a romantic connection with someone who is not their equal? dangerous.

now let's halt. i already told you, i don't give a shit about respectability politics. it is not my job to be nice and educate anyone. and i don't mean just on this blog... most of you whites have come to assume and expect, even, that poc will be subservient, docile, and always willing to switch and nicely explain to you why the very core of the way you think about the world because you grew up sheltered w/e is not the whole picture for everyone. the worst part? most of them do. most of them do put their thinking caps on and write these novel worthy, intelligent, respectful, calculated think pieces only for the white in question to turn around and still deem it aggressive, etc. i don't do that. that is labor that most of you do not deserve.

the implication that there are feasible solutions for these problems that don't require for people to literally rework their entire mindset is naive at best. what am i supposed to do? be like nooo don't be racist, racism is bad BECAUSE it hurts people. i think all of you are old enough to know that by now. you definitely have enough internet exposure to know that, even if you grew up in all white sundown town america.

i explain my points. i actually explain my points more than the average person, yet here we are still saying im not doing enough to educate those around me as if it was my responsibility to change the way people think with sugar spice and everything nice so they feel their hand is held and it's safe to make a mistake that will consequently hurt other people as many times as they need to make it to finally grasp the reality of it and be able to just... not do that in the future. when no. no. when you hurt me, im allowed to react emotionally, not intellectually. when im angry and upset and still explaining why, its YOUR job to swallow it down and listen to what im saying, because YOU hurt me. i don't owe you civility (again; you, plural). i especially don't owe you civility when ive given you nothing but in the past and the end result is still me being an aggro freak who doesn't care for your precious feelings.

you're also assuming things. for example, assuming that im mocking you specifically when i really have not done that. if im going to mock you, im going to reply to your anon and say "okay stupid", then yeah, im mocking you. otherwise? don't assume im directing anything at you.

we're having a dialogue and this whole time all you've done is tell me to stop talking. your messages have all, in essence, said, if people want to date other people who have a shitton of years on them, that is not a problem and you look prettier talking about something else. yes, that's also paraphrased. you didn't say that, of course, but why are we still here if not because you feel personally scrutinized over the reaction to the life examples that you willingly provided?

nobody is trying to change YOUR mind, you're just not willing to consider that your age gap relationships that have been beautiful and loving and safe coexist within a culture that is wicked. a person who's 10+ older than me, 24, has no business seeing me as a potential partner. it's not appropriate. yet if they do, and i also see them as a potential partner, there's nothing inherently evil about that specific instance. it is the circumstances (past), that lead to this kind of thinking in the first place what im asking everyone to analize and understand. and it does matter. it matters as much as racism, abuse, ooc mistreatment of rp partners. again, issues do not queue and wait for something to end so they can begin anew. every conversation i choose to have i consider worth having. you're free to stay out if you don't deem it important.

you're exhausting me thinking by turning my inbox into ap debate we're achieving grand things sooo hope this helps 🖤

[simsadventures]

Not What You Think

Summary: After a difficult week hunting, you’re hoping for a relaxed night with the brothers, but then Dean does something unheard of. At least you think so.

Warnings: a/b/o dynamics, scenting, mated couple, angst, mild heartbreak (if such thing exists), jealousy, tears, fluff, fluffy Dean

Pairing: Alpha Dean x Omega Reader

Word Count: 3060

A/N: This oneshot was written as a song-based fic on Cry Pretty by Carrie Underwood, for my 500 Followers Appreciation. Hope you won’t mind that I added the a/b/o there, and hope all of you will enjoy this shorter piece. As always, let me know what you guys thought, feedback is everything! xx

Masterlist

You were tired more than you probably ever have. The last hunt gave you hell, and you were pretty much glad you were up on your feet, as were the boys. You were hunting a pair of shifters, pretty rare occurrence and it was that much harder because you didn’t have that much research on their behaviour in anything else than singles.

You had to go through pretty much all drainage system throughout Dallas, and then try and guess what would be their next target, and how they split the roles, being two, and all. You haven’t slept much throughout the time, taking turns to nod it off for at least a few hours, but it was pretty much useless. Your body felt as if you haven’t slept in weeks.

Despite all of this, the boys insisted that you all should go out and have some fun tonight, few drinks, maybe few dances and then head back to the motel to get the well-deserved sleep.

Your frustration was also not only connected to your lack of sleep. It had a lot to do that your Alpha, Dean, couldn’t pay as much attention as you needed him during a case, and even though you were quite used to it by now, you still needed the reassurance that the two of you were good. Alive and kicking.

But Dean didn’t even scent you ever since you killed the two stinky monsters. You kinda hoped for at least a minute before you had to head out, but when Dean got out of the shower, he just smiled at you and went out, leaving you by yourself. You sighed deeply, not really understanding what was going on, but you were willing to leave it like that, at least for the time being.

When you finally made a human being out of the mess you were before the shower, you headed towards Sam’s room and knocked lightly. Dean opened the door and beamed down at you, however, he didn’t hold out a hand for you to hold as he passed you, and you almost let out a pathetic whine escape your lips.

Get it together, Y/N, you chastised yourself, and followed him towards the car. The drive to the bar was silent, all of you in your heads, revelling in the feeling of not having to rush to save the world. At least not for the moment, and you were determined to enjoy the moment while it lasted.

For the first time in a while, you didn’t go to a hunter’s bar but chose a small normal one on the outskirts of the city. It wasn’t crowded, but you could smell a few Alphas and Omegas amongst the majority of Betas. You didn’t care, however, because there was only one Alpha for you, even if he was all but ignoring you for the past few days.

Sam and Dean sat in one of the most hidden booths in the bar, and you went to order you three beers. You looked around yourself, seeing that majority of the people were in their mid-thirties to forties but two clearly Omegas in their twenties. You wouldn’t give them two looks if their mouths weren’t salivating at a glance at the two Alphas sitting there alone. You shrugged it off and shook your head, not letting yourself being jealous of some youngsters liking what they saw. You couldn’t blame them, after all. The boys were a sight for sore eye.

The bartender was slower than usual, giving you apologetic smiles whenever an Alpha hollered at him. He was obviously new and kinda scared of the tall Alphas around him, as you judged him as Beta, maybe even Omega. You just shrugged at him and gave him one of your smiles, not letting a slow service ruin your evening. You turned around to see if Dean was already pissed, but to your surprise, you found him rather occupied.

The two girls you saw earlier were now smashed one against one of the boys, giggling, blushing and throwing their hair. Sam looked confused, and you could see the smile on his face was at best polite, trying to create a space between them. But Dean, on the other hand, seemed all too pleased with the attention. Your heart clenched in your chest.

She leaned into him and whispered something in his ear, to which he roared laughter. The girl seemed happy with herself, her hands all over your Alpha, and he let her, easily. What hurt you the most, was when Dean leaned in and touched the necklace on her neck, admiring it between his fingers, saying something softly to her.

You could feel your heart breaking, and you suddenly didn’t have the nerve to stand there and wait on a beer, while the love of your life was flirting shamelessly with a girl not 20 feet from you. Your eyes filled up with hot tears, your face suddenly flushed, and your whole body trembling.

You’ve had enough over the last few days, Dean not giving you any attention at all and now this, so you quickly turned on your heel and pretty much sprinted outside. He wouldn’t notice anyway, you thought, he was occupied enough.

You haven’t cried for so long that you knew that when the dam broke, there wasn’t a way to stop it from flowing. You were sobbing loudly, feeling your heart-shattering. You tried to go back to the last few days to see, if you made a mistake in your relationship, or if Dean was just bored with you, which he promised he never would. But he obviously lied.

The walk towards the motel was chilly, and you could feel the cold biting into your skin and settling in your bones. You shivered, wanting to give up, but, at the same time, you didn’t want to give him that satisfaction. You were determined to make it to the motel, at least for the night, and then you could weigh your options. Your brain was too foggy now to do some proper thinking.

When you got to the place, you stood in front of a mirror, watching the tears stream down your face. You didn’t have it in you to fake a smile when you felt like all ground was swopped from under your feet. You were independent alright, but you were also a claimed Omega needing her Alpha, if for nothing more, then at least for keeping you warm at night.

You imagine the bright green orbs staring at you, and more tears escaped your red and puffy eyes. You were suddenly curious if anyone could cry pretty because you sure as hell couldn’t. You could dump a container of glitter on top of yourself, and your red puffed out face would still look like a wet tomato. Just with colourful glitter on top.

You were usually not the type to cry your heart out, you were actually brilliant at keeping it together. But this was too much even for you. You didn’t doubt that the exhaustion didn’t help your state of mind, but you were also sure that you’d cry and run anyway. Or you’d grab the bitch by her hair and pull her away from your Alpha. Yup, that sounded much more like you. But you didn’t have the energy to do that, and you felt like Dean wanted to have her there anyway.

You collapsed on top of the bed, curled into a little ball of sorrow and heartbreak, and continued to cry your eyes out.

Back at the bar, Dean was getting tired of the girl next to him. He just wanted to know where she get the necklace from, and now she wouldn’t leave. He glanced back to the bar, thinking that it was taking you a bit too much time to get three beers, but he couldn’t find you anywhere. He frowned and searched the bar with his eyes. When his sight was of no help, he used his other senses. He knew your scent as if it was his own, and he raised his nose and sniffed. There was still a light ting of it around, but too light for you to still be in the bar. His heart started hammering against his ribs, and he frantically looked around, standing up in the process.

Sam could sense his distress and knew that it could only mean one thing. He also stood up and looked for you, leaving the two girls under them and confused as hell.

The one who had her eyes on Dean tugged on the sleeve of his flannel. “I’m right here, Alpha,” she mewled, which made Dean growl at her. Nobody had the right to call him by his title but you. He swapped her hand from his shirt and looked around once again, even though he knew it was useless.

“Move!” He hissed at the girl, and before she could open her mouth to protest, Dean gave her a look that told her that if she wanted to stay alive, she’d move. The look in Dean’s eyes was almost feral. He didn’t know where his precious Omega was, and he would kill anyone standing in the way of him finding her.

He ran towards the bar and yelled at the bartender. He almost jumped out of his skin, but sprinted towards Dean, shaking all over his body. Dean didn’t mean to scare the poor kid, but the safety of his Omega was now the only thing on his mind.

“The girl who was standing right here, like 20 minutes ago or something, where is she? She was wearing a black-and-white flannel shirt that was a little too big for her and tight black jeans. Did you see her leave?”

The boy nodded profoundly. “Yeah, she was here waiting for me, and then I saw her turning around to some of the booths, and when she turned back her face looked like she was in a lot of pain, and then she turned around and bolted out of here, I think crying?” The boy said meekly and waited if Dean wanted something else or if he could go back to his job.

Dean thought for a second, and when he turned just like the boy had said, he realised that from the place you were waiting at, he could clearly see the booth he and Sam were sitting at. His own heart clenched in his chest. You probably saw him sitting with another Omega, and you thought he was flirting. But just because the girl thought so, it didn’t make it the truth. Dean would never cheat on you. You were like his sun, and he frantically looked for Sam, to gesture to him that they were leaving.

Sam nodded and marched towards the door, Dean in front of him. The girls who thought they had their entertainment of the night just stared at them, pissed as hell they lost twenty minutes trying to woo them, and it obviously not working.

After Dean explained everything to his brother, Sam just nodded his head curtly and thought for a second. “Where do you think she went?”

Dean sighed. “I hope she is at the motel, I tried calling her, but she isn’t picking up. I don’t know how I’m gonna find her in a strange city otherwise.”

Sam smelled the air, and the only thing he could make out was a worry. Dean was worried for his mate, which was understandable, but when the girls came to their booth, Sam gave Dean a warning look, telling him didn’t think it was the best idea. But he wouldn’t rub it in Dean’s face, the I-told-you-so talk could wait till they found you.

The drive to the motel was short, not even 5 minutes. Dean slammed the breaks in the parking lot, and bolted out of the car, running towards your shared room. Sam followed him, just wanting to see if you were there and if you were, he’d give the two of you some privacy to talk everything out.

When Dean barged into the room, you almost shot him. The revolver you always kept under your pillow was tightly sitting in your hand, even if your hands were trembling like crazy. But when the smell washed over you, you drop the gun, laid back on the bed. Sam could see your broken figure on the bed and smiled sadly, being glad you were at least safe if nothing else. He quietly closed the door, letting Dean deal with this.

Dean was standing there, unmoving. He wanted to tell you so many things, he prepared it all during the drive to the motel, but now seeing you in front of him, his strong and sassy Omega laying on the bed, shaking and silent sobs leaving your body, his mind went blank.

He took a few slow, measured steps, and squatted beside the bed, on the level of your head. You could smell him, all worried and sad, but you were too heartbroken to try and comfort him. You could feel him trying to comfort you by his smell, giving off pheromones of safety and comfort.

“Don’t,” you gently whispered and started to turn around to face away from him.

“Please, baby girl, listen to me. It’s not what you think, I swear.” Dean said, matching your hushed tone.

You prompted yourself on your elbows and looked at him, tears still staining your face. “What’s not like I think? That you ignored me for this whole trip? That you didn’t even scent me? That you didn’t let me scent you? That I don’t remember the last time, you touched me more than by patting my shoulder? Or that you were shamelessly flirting with an Omega while I was standing right there, watching you? Which of this, huh, Dean?”

Your sorrow now transformed into anger, and you had to control yourself a lot, not to start yelling at him.

He looked at you quizzically, and then the smallest smile appeared on his lips. Which made you only angrier.

“What are you smiling about? That your chosen Omega’s got her heart broken by you? You find it funny, somehow?”

He shook his head and despite your protest, sit beside you on the bed.

“No, Y/N, not at all. I hate seeing you like this and-“

“Oh, I apologise that you don’t like what you see!” You yelled, but tears welled up in your eyes and your lower lip quivered.

“Stop it, Y/N. You’re beautiful no matter what, I just hate to see you heartbroken, especially because of something I did. Because I want to protect you from all the pain in the world, and I’d kill anyone who hurt you. So it’s a little difficult for me when I’m the asshole who’s the reason behind your tears.”

He took your hand in his, and you let him. He might be an asshole, he was right about that, but you loved him nevertheless.

“So, I’ll explain it all one at a time. I wasn’t flirting with anyone. I just liked the necklace on her neck, and I thought it’d look so much better on you, and I was trying to find out where she got it. It wouldn’t go over my mark, so I wouldn’t mind that, and I believed you’d look even prettier than you already do, baby.”

“To the second one, I thought you wanted it. I overheard you talking to Sammy, telling him you need more space on your own, and I just thought-“

“Wait a second. You didn’t touch me for the whole week because you heard a snippet of my conversation with Sam and assumed that I was talking about you?”

Dean hummed but wasn’t looking at you. He was watching your hand in his, revelling in the feeling of the skin to skin contact. He missed you, and he wasn’t afraid to admit it.

“I wasn’t talking about us, Dean. Jesus Christ, I was talking about my working space at the bunker. It’s difficult sometimes to study the lores when you two are bickering about something, and I just thought that I would transform one of the spare rooms into my own office kind of thing. I could have my yoga matt there, among other things, and just have this little space of mine, when I need to concentrate. I would never want more space from you, in the sense that you thought.”

The realisation hit Dean, and he suddenly leaned into you and nuzzled your cheek.

“I’m an idiot, baby girl. I just, I was scared I was being too clingy, or something, because I truly hate it when we’re not together. But I tried to tame myself for you so that you wouldn’t leave me. And for the scenting,” Dean mumbled and blushed. “I scented you every night after I was sure you were asleep. I wouldn’t be able to survive a week without properly scenting you and snuggling into you. You’re a heavy sleeper, babe, and I was sure I wouldn’t wake you up.”

By the time he finished speaking, your face dried of the salty tears. Your eyes were heavy with the weight of so many tears falling from them, but you were quite sure no more would come.

“I’m so sorry for assuming something without making sure it really was the way I thought it was. From now on, I won’t assume stuff, and I’ll come and ask you first.” Dean whispered to your hair. He pulled you in his lap, his arms snaking around your waist.

“I’m sorry as well. I too assumed something… But if you ever let another Omega touch you, I’ll rip her throat out and cut your dick off, are we clear?” You mumbled into his chest, and Dean laughed heartily.

“Yes, ma’am! Won’t ever happen again, I promise.”

You hummed and let Dean lay both of you down on to the bed, spooning you from behind, and you fell asleep like that. In Dean’s arms, his nose buried in your neck, comforting himself that you were still his and that he would make sure not to ever hurt you like that again. Even if nothing was what the two of you thought.

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[for-ests]

Late Night: Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader

Word count: 2, 371

Warnings: NSFW / Angst

Summary: Kuroo finally coming to terms with the crush he has on you, his best friend.

"Can I ask you something?" Kuroo's deep and intimidating voice emitted from the kitchen entrance. It was getting late in the night, and your senses were growing hazy. Any person who watched three movies in a row would feel groggy.

"Yeah, sure." You raised an eyebrow. Despite how tired you were, you wondered why he would ask such an idiotic question. He was the kind of person to speak before he could think about the repercussions, which is what surprised you even more about his sudden reserved manner.

You turned as he reached over your shoulder, grabbing something to eat from the top shelf where he kept his most precious snacks, far out of your reach.

"Can't you just wait your turn?" You glanced up at him with an annoyed expression to mask what you were really feeling inside.

He was hardly an inch away from you.

The proximity caused the hairs on the back of your neck to stand straight up, followed by an euphoric wave of nerves.

You had the biggest crush on your best friend, but you would never admit it. You couldn't, your pride wouldn't have it, and you assumed he felt the same.

It wasn't like Kuroo was out of your league, he was far from it. You were respected and admired in your own right, you just had emotional baggage and trauma that you didn't want him involved in. Though he was a dear friend, he had only brushed the surface of the fear and anguish you held within your layers.

And frankly, you would sometimes take it out on him. You were about to throw another insult about his height, or maybe his ridiculous hair, but something about his expression caused you to lose your breath.

"W-what are you staring at?" Your cheeks flared up and your heart began to beat incredibly fast. You hated when he looked at you like this, as if he knew what you were thinking about. Thinking about him and everything you could be together.

"You." Kuroo said softly, the whole atmosphere changing with one word.

You blinked, turning to face him completely.

It was at that moment, staring into his dark and mysterious eyes that you knew held depths you wanted so desperately to unearth, that you finally acknowledged the feelings you'd been hiding for so long.

Kuroo was the most alluring boy you had the pleasure of befriending. He was so kind, so thoughtful. There was a mutual respect between the two of you that you had not found through any other man. Though he had never asked, if he did, you wouldn't be able to deny your attraction towards him, an unspoken pull that had always been present. Lurking, threatening, which is why you had been so cautious. Until now, to him, your discomfort must be obvious.

You had brushed your feelings off and buried them deep inside, thinking he was just your friend and that was all he would ever be. Now, your feelings were becoming too hard to ignore.

The dynamics had changed. You were older, far more mature and developed. All the other guys had noticed you, that was never a problem. The problem was your heart had always been reserved for Kuroo. Whether he was choosing to ignore it, or completely oblivious, was something you were too afraid to ask. The thought of losing him completely outweighed the truth.

You glanced back to him with furrowed eyebrows. Things had never been this awkward around Kuroo, so tense and unsure. You had invited him over in hopes to settle whatever had pulsed unspoken between the two of you. Yet being alone with him like this, was far too tempting. Far too easy to slip up.

Until a few months ago, all the two of you would do was play video games and eat junk food after practices with Kenma. But now, Instead of you and the boys, it was just you and Kuroo. The two of you had started to become much more closer, and he became more intimate with you. Kuroo started to become more protective when other guys were around, and instead of playing video games he would invite you over to cuddle.

Unbeknownst to anyone else, you would lay in bed with him for hours. Talking, finishing homework, drawing, whatever. Whatever helped to keep your hands off him, you would immerse yourself in. Now that you were staring into his glistening eyes, you could figure out that he had been playing your game the entire time.

You would stay after school and watch his volleyball games, while he would do the same and watch you play (Y/F/S). Many people suspected that you and him were dating, but nothing questionable ever happened. Even with his flirtatious nature, Kuroo had never tried anything with you. Much to your dismay.

You had always assumed it was because he didn't find you attractive-but boy, you'd never been more wrong in your entire life.

"Kiss me, Y/N." The dark haired boy held your gaze, fiercely. Emotions you couldn't pinpoint rushed through your body, yet you refused to break the intensity. "I know you want to."

Maybe it was finally time to face this.

Your mouth opened in hopes to retort his ridiculous statement, to prove to him that he was wrong.

But nothing sufficed. You were silent, breathing heavily from the tension that pulled at your heartstrings. You so desperately wanted to pull him down to you and fulfill your hidden fantasizes.

Yet, your legs refused to move. You could not risk this friendship. Kuroo had joked about kissing before, he had tried to trick you multiple times. What if now was one of those times?

Before you could really make sense of what you were contemplating, Kuroo's touch snapped you back to reality. His warmth flooded your senses, you were unable to think clearly.

"T-tetsurou.." Your voice faltered at the feeling of his hands on your waist, pushing you closer and closer to the kitchen counter.

Shocked, you dropped the bag of chips you were holding as your bum brushed against the counter. Your hand automatically reached back to steady your near-shaking, much smaller frame.

Kuroo's gaze, again, flickered down to your lips as they parted. Nervously, you glossed them over through embarrassment.

"A-are you okay?" You partially squeaked, still frozen with insecurity from the position he had moved you into.

"I've never been more okay in my life." Kuroo chuckled, that famous, charming smile, that all the girls swooned over spread across his face. "And that's because I can't resist you any longer."

You blushed, finally flashing your gaze away from his hypnotizing face. Your stomach flipped with butterflies under the touch of you best friend—a touch that felt familiar, yet so foreign in its unexplored way. He had never touched you like this before, so tender; yet laced with hunger.

You didn't know how to react. Truthfully, you had been thinking about it all night. With each movie that ended, he had snuggled closer to you.

"Look at me." Kuroo purred, his voice soothing your nerves instantly. You swallowed down the lump in your throat as he lifted your chin up with his calloused, rough, fingers.

"You need to explain yourself." You mustered, almost melting completely into his arms, almost giving in to the temptation. "You can't toy with me like this."

He chuckled, his voice still deep and serious, yet amused. "There's the girl I know."

"There's a lot you don't know about me." You met his gaze once again, challenging his motives.

"Oh, I know." His hand left your waist and rested gently under your jawline, large hands engulfing your delicate features. Ones that he had always adored.

Your breath grew short, raspy. You waited, pleading with him through watery eyes that he could follow through with the action he had been alluding to. You just couldn't say it yourself. Afraid of the consequences, you couldn't make the first move.

"Should I confess before or after?" Kuroo whispered, head turning slightly to the side, hands sliding up to your cheeks in a yearning, impatient motion.

"What?—" You were cut off by his lips connecting with yours, engulfing your thoughts in complete and utter bliss.

For a brief moment, your eyes stayed wide open in shock, and through it, all your resistance disappeared.

You melted against his towering frame, succumbing to your desires. His lips mended perfectly with yours in motions that were so passionate, that you could hardly focus on breathing.

You clutched onto Kuroo's arm to steady your weakening knees. His kisses become rougher, hungrier, and more intense with each passing moment. You became drunk on the lips that you had waited so long for.

Seconds later, Kuroo hoisted you up on the counter and broke away from the kiss, saliva connecting your lips to his. You gained a moment to breathe, cheeks tainted with evidence of your current, sinful state. You wanted more.

Kuroo didn't know that you had rejected every other guy that came your way. Because to you, none of them could compare to the way he made you feel.

"God you're so beautiful." He whispered, prying your toned legs apart to snake between them. His forceful grip sent blissful ricochets to your core, along with the anticipated collision of his lips back to yours.

You moaned into the kiss, wrapping your legs around his torso to bring him even closer, desperate to feel every inch of him.

One hand gripped a fistful of his jet black hair, your back arching as one of his hands began to rub you sensually through your pants.

Kuroo pulled away from the kiss and instead, moved to your jawline where he began to leave soft and tender kisses. He was good, far too good to keep you from resisting. You had completely submitted to his sensual actions. From this moment onward, you wouldn't be able to stop.

His scent, his warmth, everything about him you craved. You loved him.

"M-more.." You whimpered, subconsciously throwing your head back and allowing him access to your neck.

He smirked, catlike, knowing he had finally broken down your walls. God only knew how long he had waited for this moment.

Even if you could have stayed there forever, things escalated quickly. Kuroo picked you up and rushed hastily to his bedroom, causing you to laugh into the crook of his neck. As you gripped into him, you could feel his muscles shifting under the thin fabric he was wearing. You had always felt them when you cuddled next to him, but never like this.

You blushed furiously as he laid you on his bed. With no hesitation, he crawled on top of you.

"Tetsurou.." You mustered sweetly, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and helping him slip it off. He grinded up against you abruptly, his own nature taking over.

"We should probably slow down." He grunted.

You laid underneath him helplessly, feeling yourself coming undone each time he moved his bulge against your core. You needed more, you craved for it. Yet, what Kuroo had whispered was out of respect, reminding you of what you had relayed to him so many times before. You wanted to wait, or at least be sure that he was committed to you.

Kuroo himself was trying so hard to stop. His eyes were filled with lust, open and honest with what he craved.  You.

Not wanting to stop just yet, you let his fingers creep along your torso and under your shirt.

He tugged the material off and tossed it on the floor, connecting his lips lower than before, leaving hickey after hickey on your collarbone and between your breasts.

The sensations caused you to whimper in pleasure, completely new to this feeling, letting him be the first boy to kiss you there.

You knew that Kuroo wanted to mark you the most, being the jealous type he was. And you let him, happily.

"I have waited so long for this." He finally spoke over your moans of delight. You were frozen with bliss as he unclasped your bra and tore it off your body. He then proceeded to pull your shorts off, leaving you just in your panties.

Kuroo's eyes sparkled with affection, an affection that was surprising. He brought you up to his chest and let you sit in his lap, still stroking you as best he could.

Though you were in such a compromising position, all you could think about was to pleasure him. You ran your hands up and over his shoulder blades, down his chest, and up to his face where you held it affectionately. His sculpted body only made you want him more. Why didn't you do this sooner?

"Y/N..." Kuroo confessed softly, running his fingers over your breasts, leaving a promising wet kiss between them. You gasped at the connection, your skin prickling with delight.  "I love you, I think I've loved you all these years."

"M-me too." You breathed deeply, trembling with so many emotions, wishing that the two of you had realized your feelings sooner.

He was right. Despite how long you had waited, you knew deep inside that this was the right time to finally be with him. You knew everything about him, you were his best friend that has cherished him more than anyone else. The need you now acknowledged was stronger than ever because of the years you had held back. Without your previous friendship, the bond would've never been as strong as it was now. You had grown together, and realized that everything you had been wishing for was always right in front of you. That only came with experience and patience.

"We have time. I can wait for when you're ready." Kuroo's voice sounded like sweet music, and for a moment, you were unsure if you could pull back.

The part of Kuroo that you had yet to explore was intoxicating, but he was right.

Thinking now, how hard you tried to resist him was comical. And because of that, your playful nature overtook you, even though you were laying naked underneath him.

The intensity of the moment had passed, and you were able to think clearly.

"I mean if we move forward as boyfriend and girlfriend, and stop trying to pretend we aren't in love, even though everyone else can see it."

He turned away to laugh loudly, the forcefulness of it shaking the both of you.

"I agree, Y/N. You're my girlfriend whether you like it or not."

"It's a good thing I happen to like it."

[primedirection]

Hopelessly Devoted

Y/n reaches a breaking point

Another several days pass without really speaking to him and it becomes somewhat routine.

Although, thanks to his insane schedule it was definitely difficult to notice. There was no time to talk or argue for that matter when Harry was in Italy, Harry was in Tokyo, Harry was in Paris, Harry was in Los Angeles—Harry was basically everywhere and with everyone but you.

On one or two occasions you did observe that he'd been in places where she was also present. But he never mentioned it of course, he never had to. The tabloid's and social media sunk their teeth into it like a juicy steak. In which he whimsically dismissed as work coincidence's.

So once again you let it slide. As they say: Pick your battles wisely!

But today you were kind of happy you did. Today was his first day back for a week long break and Anne and Gemma were in town visiting. They promised to come along for a scheduled cake testing for the wedding some time ago. And since neither of you had made arrangments to reschedule it, you would be forced to play nice, even if only for a few hours.

Picking them all up from the airport was fairly cordial but awkward nonetheless given your current limbo status. You didn't skip a beat in putting your engagement ring back on and Harry didn't either, greeting you enthusiastically with a hug and kiss. Though whether or not it was all for show you'd never know. Not to mention the enormous elephant between you two just for the simple fact you weren't sure if the wedding was still actually on. You assumed that the opportunity to discuss that would eventually come along when you were properly alone.

As the day went on and you were on your fourth cake, you realized that this was the perfect activity for bonding and not just with his family.

Despite being wedding reception centric you talked more than you had in weeks, laughed ridiculously hard at each other in what felt like ages, and shared simple trivial affection that you hadn't realized that you'd been craving. You almost cried when he thoughtlessly reached for your hand while waiting on a highly recommended red velvet cake.

It made you take notice of just how much you actually missed him. So you swallowed your pride and relayed it aloud. Genuinely professing, "I missed you."

At that Harry seems to smile with his eyes more than his lips. Interlacing your fingers and kissing the back of your hand. "Missed yeh more pet." There's a nervous flutter in your gut from the gesture and anticipation to be alone. Part of you can't help wondering if this was just an act too good to be true.

"So is anyone allowed to make a speech or toast? Or like are you keeping it limited..?" Gemma curiously asks.

Harry nervous looks to you for the answer. In which you shrug, "Everyone can say and do as they please so long as I don't have to,"

"Oh, lovie you have got to stop being so hard on yourself. Your speech was beautiful! It even made Gem cry,"

"No one was supposed to know that, but she's right. I'm still upset I missed it, if I didn't have that ridiculous conference I swear I would've been there,"

"I know," You smile sadly removing your hand from Harry's underneath the table. "It's okay,"

In the corner of your eye you spot his discomfort on the topic at hand, and it only gets worse when Anne asks, "What did you think? Didn't you love it?"

At the sudden attention Harry flushes a deep crimson from the neck up and nervously proceeds to scratch the area, "Haven't.. Em.. Heard it yet. I honestly didn't know she had one,"

Both women proceed to eye him incredulously, "Are you fucking joking?"

"Gemma!" Anne scolds at her foul and loud choice of words in the small posh cake shop.

"Sorry mum, but come on! You are joking right?" She deadpans, "I mean she poured her heart out for you just for her world to see and now the entire world has seen it!"

Embarrassed he clears his throat and shamefully admits, "I um... No,"

Gemma eyes widen twice their size completely taken aback, "Dickhead, it's a five minute video— hell less than that! All over my feed and it's still all over my feed because people wont stop tagging the three of us in it. How in the holy hell did you not see it?!"

In a matter of seconds tension has shifted, all of it negative and all of it aimed specifically at Harry. Words couldn't begin to explain the utter relief and justification you felt watching on as Harry is forced to listen to everything you felt and couldn't say, and everything you tried to say but couldn't get across clearly. Not only empathetically come from someone else, but the only two people on the planet that meant the most to him.

As much as the vengeful part in you enjoyed watching him squirm. It didn't feel right to have him bludgeoned over the head with it in order for him to get it. Most likely he still wouldn't understand the problem.

So you miraculously find yourself taking up for him with a forced smile. "It's not his fault. He's been busy, especially with this new album," Causing everyone to stare at you perplexed, including Harry.

Also making the dynamic of frustration shift towards you as well. Gemma is flabbergasted, "Please tell me you're joking now? There's no excuse on earth that is ok-"

Instantly this bothers Harry and he makes no secret of it. Irritably interrupting, "We're working on it Gem, alright? Chill out."

There aren't words to define the weird and borderline chaotic atmosphere going on and just when you think things can't get worse. For some God forsaken reason, when the red velvet cake finally arrives to your table, Harry's phone simultaneously starts to ring from his back pocket. Everyone at the table pretty much stops what they're doing just to watch him retrieve it and check the screen. Your stomach uncomfortably drops at the sight of the name 'Kenny'.

He answers it chirpier than ever, even allowing her to akwardly greet his mom and sister. All the while you remain dead silent, willing for him to just end it as soon as possible and yet things just so happen to continue on a downward spiral. As Harry mentions your location at first it spirals into him inviting her to come which is bad enough. But then it spirals further out of control when he volunteers to just meet up with her today instead.

It takes everything in you not to let the raw emotions show on your face. Though not just because both Anne and Gemma were skeptically watching you. In that moment you swear you could've kicked him between the legs.

Eventually he stands from your table before even hanging up the phone. Having already decided, "Today's her only day in town, figured we could hang out for a bit. I don't think we'll pick in one day anyway. Might have a better time picking out a dress," he not so subtly suggests.

"Well you actually have to try the cakes in order to pick one..." You happily hear Gemma retort.

It goes completely over his head anyway, "Dinner later tonight?" He asks at least being polite enough to kiss Anne goodbye. Yet he doesn't exactly wait for a reply either coming around to place a rushed kiss on your cheek. At which you stoically accept.

"You lot have fun. Well.... Not too much fun." In no time he's out the door and on the move. Forcing you into taking on his suggestion because it felt really pointless to stay.

About an hour later and a rib crushing corset deep with six more dresses lined up just like it to try on, reality starts to set in.

First off it takes awhile to even get started because you and Harry haven't even agreed to what theme or color scheme you wanted. So you had to get ahold of him to ask for some ideas and of course as luck would have it. Since he's out and about with his precious Kenny there's no way to get ahold of him. Ultimately leaving you to make something up all on your own.

Aside from the discomfort, the sight of yourself in the beautiful gown didn't feel right in the least. You're supposed to be overjoyed and excited with your bestie trying to get you somewhat drunk and your mom should've been there too. Speaking of moms, you don't register Anne announcing herself before coming inside the dressing room.

One of her hands clamps over her mouth in awe while the other holds an off white dress shirt you presume is for Harry, "Y/n lovie you are down right gorgeous!"

You have to force yourself to smile back at her and utter a strained, "Thank you," not because of how depressed you feel but for some reason you literally felt like you couldn't breathe.

"I don't know what we're going to do with that boy.. Do you know what color shirt is going under his suit? I reckon this colo-" The curiosity on her sweet face easily morphs into concern at the sight of you panicking, "S'wrong lovie?"

Instantly your hand shoots up to stop her from approaching any further because the the room felt small enough as it is. Hoping that with a little time that the feeling would blow over. Though the more time that passed the more over heated you felt. The tip of your ears on fire and the rest of your skin flushing just the same with it. At some point the nude colored stall even begins to shift around you to the extent that you stumble around to grab onto it in order to steady yourself.

Anne's voice floats in and out of distortion and so do the other's in the distance. Somehow you catch her soothing, "Y/N lovie just stay calm. Let's go to the main room for a bit yeah?"

You shake your head, unable to move, suddenly overwhelmed with intense grief. But you force yourself to answer her initial question anyway because it bothered you the most, "I don't- I don't know... anything these days. It's like- it's like... I could have a gun to my head... and he still wouldn't care." You gasp and cry.

"Don't cry hun, it's alright shh," Anne finally eases close enough to hold your trembling hand steady and attempts to comfort you but you only feel worse.

"It's really... not, I- I-... I put him off somehow and it's not how it should be. He's always running off.... with k-" You stop yourself realizing that she didn't need to know that, "It's like... he can't be far enough."

While you talk Anne uses that as a distraction to usher you out of the fitting rooms and into the main area, "That's not true, lovie. It's okay, you're okay breathe!" She reassures slowly but surely getting you to a chair just in time, just before you feel the need to collapse. Gemma and the sales woman are hovering around worried too but you physically can't even begin to focus on them. 'Is she okay' and 'panic attack' seems to be the topic of conversation.

"God I don't know what else I can do to keep up. I- I can't- I can't go through with this." You shamelessly cry out to Anne.

Who's retrieved something from the sales woman that you come to find out is a hand held fan. Anne wastes no time waving it back and forth quickly to blow bigger and stronger wafts of air. Cooling and calming you down all at once. You start to assume that she keeps you talking to keep you distracted, "With what? The wedding? Lovie I'd be worried if you didn't have cold feet."

Your head shakes in denial, unable to find humor in what honestly has been stressing you out the most. "No... be with him..." You gasp out, hating to admit it aloud. Nonetheless in front of his mother, and at the sight of her very own shock. Immediately you wished that you'd never said anything at all.

After awhile something about that confession finally made the deep inhalation part of you your lungs start working again, and slow to follow was everything else. The room stopped spinning and you were able to take in the terrified expressions of Gemma and the sales woman. Going back and forth on whether or not to call an ambulance and eventually they decided not to.

But even worse than the tabloid articles that were bound to come out about this, was none other than Harry Styles making a reappearance. Apparently Gemma had called him and unlike you, actually got through.

He dropped to his knees right between yours, "Came as fast as I could, thank God we were only down the street,"

"It's fine— I'm fine," You immediately lie, loathing the spectacle that this was becoming. You just wanted to go home, "I think I just... overheated."

Wait... We?!?! You pause to look over his shoulder and low and behold there she is. Kendall fucking Jenner standing next to Gemma and she has the audacity to look concerned.

Harry grabs your cheeks to redirect your focus on him obviously worried, "Alright? S'wrong? What happened?"

He's a little breathless as he probably ran inside. But you manage catch the smell of his breath through the gusts of air as he speaks and the close proximity. It reeks of beer and once you realize that the more glossy his gaze is.

"Are you- are you really drunk right now?" You feel like you're gonna cry yet you somehow manage to ask it angrily.

"What?" He's unsurprisingly confused. Possibly a symptom of his haze.

But you're too angry to care, roughly tearing his hands away from your face and standing on numb legs, "You left... You fucking left me to go drinking?!"

Harry frowns still thrown by your reaction, "Will you calm do-"

"No! What the fuck are we doing Harry?!" You cry overwhelmed and over emotional. "Today was supposed to be about our wedding! Does that not mean anything to you?"

"Y/N, lower your voice," he pleads grabbing onto your wrist and uncomfortably glancing at the audience around you.

"No no, don't!" You yank away and stumble a bit from the force. Completely forgetting the restrictive gown you're in, "I am so sick of this shit... I'm done— I am so fucking done!" Frustrated, you gather up the skirt of the gown and rush towards the dressing room to get out of it.

Even then Harry follows close behind until Anne and Gemma protectively intervene, "Just give her a minute to cool down H."

"Jesus Christ," he groans irritated, dragging his hands over his face. Unable to properly formulate what the hell he just walked in to.

He needed to talk to you before you did something irrational. Because right now he got the feeling that the clock was ticking.

(An: I hope y'all like this one let me know)

Final Part

[c-is-for-circinate]

On Good Omens, queerbaiting, and heteronormative bullshit

Theory: Good Omens the miniseries and the way it treats relationships feels maybe a little weird and hits some of the same mental buttons as queerbaiting not because Aziraphale and Crowley are insufficiently gay, but because the entire rest of the show is.  In this essay I will actually write this essay, because no, really, I think it’s A Thing and I might even be able to prove it.

There’s a lot of nuance to both sides of the whole queerbaiting/not-queerbaiting argument, and I don’t want to neglect any of it, but I think my big takeaways have been as follows:

On the ‘this is uncomfortable and queerbaity’ side:

Good Omens the miniseries ramps up the emotional relationship between Crowley and Aziraphale to be the heart of the entire show.  Both demon and angel are coded as gay in a number of different ways, both individually and in terms of how their relationship is portrayed as a romance.  And yet despite being the core of the show, they never make any of it explicitly romantic.  There’s not a kiss, there’s not an ‘I love you’.  The entire relationship is built from implications rather than explicit statements.

Years and decades and centuries of storytelling have given us gay relationships that we have to look for.  That we have to find in implications rather than explicit statements.  Sometimes stories were written that way for plausible deniability, so that content creators could keep mainstream/straight fans happy while also luring queer fans with crumbs and promises.  Sometimes stories were written that way for plausible deniability, so content creators could slip hidden gay messages past censors.  Sometimes stories were written that way for plausible deniability, so content creators could stay literally, physically safe.  But either way, it’s exhausting.  It’s been so long.  We want to see ourselves on screen.  We want somebody to admit out loud to what we’re seeing.  We’re tired.

Also, when things get heated: the opposing side are apologists and boot-lickers, ready to bend over backwards to defend their Precious Author Faves in hopes of receiving whatever crumbs they can get.  (Please note: this is an ad hominem argument with like ten different logical fallacies in it, and also it’s just mean.  We will be assuming that all parties in this discussion are attempting to act in good faith with a healthy dose of frustration, and largely ignoring this point.)

On the ‘no, this is Good Representation, really’ side:

Aziraphale and Crowley are in a queer relationship--it’s just not a gay one.  They are two genderfluid beings who mostly present as male out of preference or convenience, surrounded by additional similar genderfluid beings who may present as male, or female, or both, or neither.  Their relationship is both romantic and asexual.

The fact that those ‘explicit milestones’ of kissing, sex, etc are absent from the show is in fact part of the point.  Not only does it make sense for the characters themselves, but it means so much to see a relationship that is obviously romantic, that is the center of an entire story, where the key turning point is about something other than sex or marriage.  A relationship can be super important, can be important enough to build an entire life around, without sex, without kissing, without wedding rings.  It’s so good to see one that is.

Also, when things get heated: the opposing side are aphobes and probably transphobes, whiny babies who don’t really care about representation, they just want their kind of representation.  (Please see above note about ad hominem attacks and logical fallacies.

There are a few points that everyone can agree on.  Crowley and Aziraphale follow the plotline of a romance, and their relationship is the core of this show.  They do not kiss, or have sex, or explicitly fall into any behavior that conventionally says, ‘yes, this human couple is dating’.  Other characters in the show mistake-them-for-dating, but those characters are always uninformed about the real complex nature of this relationship.

One side says: it all comes so close to being a thing we so rarely get to see, to reflecting ourselves on screen.  Why promise and not deliver?  Why come so close and then shy away?  Aziraphale and Crowley, with all they are to each other (with Aziraphale’s shop in Soho and his time in a discrete gentleman’s club, with their so-religious families that will disown them or worse for this relationship, with everything they are an have been) are a metaphor for gayness that refuses to commit past the point of metaphor and just admit it already, and it hurts.

The other side says: it has exactly hit the nail on the head of being a different thing we so rarely get to see, to reflecting a different portion of ourselves onscreen.  It just so happens that the thing it’s reflecting is by nature a little confusing and undefined, is close to the kind of queerness you’re expecting without getting there.  Crowley and Aziraphale (who’ve been alive for six thousand years, who have seen so many different ways humans love each other and swear to each other, who are not bound by our conventions or definitions and maybe show us that we don’t have to be either) are a metaphor for nothing.  They parallel a lot of familiar narratives of a lot of kinds of queerness, without trying to be anything but what they are.

Two sides, everybody so starved for representation that they’ll grab for it and name-call and scrabble desperately when they almost get it.  One relationship.  One divided fandom.

.

Look, it is obvious by this point that this is a case of everybody fighting over our one specific instance of representation because there isn’t enough to go around, right?  If gay relationships were more common throughout fiction, it wouldn’t be so important that Aziraphale and Crowley were among them.  If ace relationships and alternative relationship dynamics were portrayed as frequently or given as much weight as sexual ones, it wouldn’t be so important.

And it’s not just about what’s important, it’s about what’s noticed.  If there were gay relationships--or if there were ace relationships, or other kinds of queer relationships!--all over fiction, then being explicit would matter so much less.  It is important, in this world, that queer relationships in fiction announce what they are out loud, because in this world they are so often brushed over or ignored.  They have to clear a much higher bar than conventional straight, sexual relationships.  If there were more representation in the world, everybody would be primed to notice Aziraphale and Crowley as a romance.  We wouldn’t need it spelled out--one, because we’d already know, and two, because it wouldn’t be such a big deal if somebody else didn’t.

Of course, there’s more representation these days than there used to be--little dribs and drabs of it all over.  There’s just enough out there that somebody can say, ‘look, we’ve seen basic gay romances, let us have this thing here, let us have this nuance’.  And meanwhile half the audience (who may be gay, or bi, or ace, or transgender or genderqueer themselves in all sorts of ways) is gaping, because...okay, maybe gay romance exists in some places, in corners, but there’s still so little of it.

We’re all living on crumbs.  It’s hard to appreciate nuance when you’re just a few steps past starving.  It’s hard to appreciate the grace of ambiguous and open endings when you’ve seen them twisted against you again and again, and you just want something that’s yours.

.

Here’s another thing, an important thing.  Humans are used to seeing patterns and we’re used to seeing stories.  It can be very hard to tell whether a storyteller is trying to give us something new and strange told well, or something more familiar told badly--especially if we’re used to seeing the familiar thing told badly.

And: if the audience cannot tell whether an author is portraying Thing A well or Thing B badly, at a certain point it doesn’t really matter which it is.

And: sometimes the only way to tell if a story is trying to show you Thing A and succeeding or Thing B and failing, is to look around the story to see if you can spot Thing B done right, anywhere else.

In other words: How do you make a difference between an audience that is collectively sure that Crowley and Aziraphale are some specific, slightly-hard-to-define but very definitely queer thing (and sometimes being hard to define is an intrinsic part of queerness), versus an audience divided amongst themselves over whether or not they’re just a bad, cowardly approximation of ‘gay’?

You put actual, explicit gay somewhere else in the story.

And that’s where we run into problems.

.

The problem with Good Omens the miniseries and how it does queer representation, how it does Crowley and Aziraphale and their romance, is the same problem that Good Omens the miniseries has across the board.  The problem is that half the writing team is gone, and so is half the story.

In the miniseries, Aziraphale and Crowley are, hands down, the main characters.  This is their story, and everyone else around them--Anathema and Newt, the Four Horsemen, Heaven and Hell, the Them, and even Adam himself--are just bit players.  I don’t fault Neil Gaiman for that, exactly.  I’m sure he did his best, and his best meant he poured the heart and soul of the story into these two characters and the relationship they share.  He gave them as much richness and depth as he possibly could.  (That’s part of why we all love them enough to fight over them.)  But the fact is, the rest of the story around them suffered.

Adam and the Them, Anathema and Newt, even Madame Tracy and Sergeant Shadwell--humans, all of them, and very much the people who actually stop the apocalypse.  Considering the way Anathema kick-started Adam along his path towards Armageddon, they’re even the people who started the apocalypse.  Very, very fundamentally, Good Omens is a story about how humans don’t need heaven or hell--not to be evil, not to be good, and not to keep being human.  Except that the miniseries wrote the humans off to the side, and that cracked things a little.  In some places, it cracked things a lot.

Don’t get me wrong: I love the miniseries.  I love Crowley and Aziraphale at the heart of it, and the richness and depth of their relationship.  I love the story about how an angel and a demon are so very very human, even though they think they aren’t.

But it’s a story that only works with enough of a contrast.  We can only appreciate Aziraphale and Crowley as an angel and a demon who’ve become very-nearly human if we know what the differences are in the first place.  We can only appreciate their similarities if we see enough humans acting the same way: with want, with fear, with desire, with pettiness, with love.

The difficulty with the miniseries is that we see a great deal of Crowley and Aziraphale being full of very, very human emotions and reactions.  We see their worry and desperation and how much they care about each other.  Nothing we see from any other character in the whole show comes close.

Anathema lives a life in service to (a prophecy, not a Host, but is it so different?) a thing she doesn’t quite understand and nobody can explain to her, that she just has to trust--but we see Aziraphale deal with Gabriel and Heaven again and again, and we see so little of Anathema’s fear and doubt.  Newt is fired from (a nothing job, not God’s endless love) a world he vaguely understands but isn’t good enough for, and finds himself in a strange, confusing place where he’s probably smarter than his boss and everything smells a bit weird and it might technically be his job to hurt people except maybe he doesn’t want to--and we get none of it, compared to what we see of Crowley, six thousand years post-Fall.

Adam is human and not-human, full of powers that can bend the world around him to his whim, that can make things how he thinks they should be.  He decides not to, because of love and selfishness, because he’d rather be human.  He makes the exact same decision Aziraphale and Crowley make.  We just get so much less of the weight of it.

The thing about telling the story this way is that it turns Crowley and Aziraphale into the only real people in the whole show, with everyone around them in silhouette and abstract.  It stops being a story about how this angel and this demon are, effectively, exactly the same as everyone else--oh sure they’ve got some differences, powers and abilities and age and shape-shifting (and mutable gender, and vague non-existent sexualities), but hell, people in general are full of differences in all of those things anyway.  

All of a sudden, the differences between baseline human and celestial being start to feel weird and cheap.  If Aziraphale and Crowley are the only real people in the story, and they’re not reacting in the way most people would react--it’s not just because they’re individuals, with specific individual wants and needs and reactions.  It’s either a statement or a weird error.  If the only real people in the story aren’t people, everything starts to fall just a little bit apart.

.

And so we come back around to sexuality once again.

A deeply, deeply unfortunate side effect of the Good Omens miniseries fleshing out Heaven and Hell and neglecting the humans is that all of the queer content--all of the nonbinary characters, our one shining non-heterosexual relationship, all of it--went to characters who were not human.  It makes so much sense, on one hand.  That’s where all the new depth came from, so of course that’s where all the new queerness went.  And why should non-human characters subscribe to human definitions of gender and sexuality?  Of course they wouldn’t.

Because, right: the idea that sexuality is in and of itself a primarily human thing, which most non-humans lack but some experiment with for fun (and that is Word of God and that is explicit in the text of the show and the book)--that idea’s not actually inherently bad.  The idea that sexuality is a requirement of humanity, that it comes part and parcel with love and ‘becoming more human’ (which is, after all, the best thing you can do according to show or book)--that idea is in fact bad.  But if all of your desire for sex goes to your humans AND all your queerness goes to your non-humans...that gets real unfortunate, real real fast.

The problem is, just like the show neglected to give the full depth of human characterization and emotion to its actually human characters, it failed to give them the full depth of human sexuality and gender, too.

The humans in Good Omens are painfully heterosexual.  It’s not simply that the Newt/Anathema and Tracy/Shadwell relationships are straight--it’s that they fall into place as though straight is the only choice.  Both relationships are so very much a picture of no other options.  Anathema and Newt are facing the end of the world, about to probably die, and also have been prophecied to get together under these circumstances for centuries.  Shadwell and Madame Tracy are both very deeply alone, and getting older, and if they want to be anything but alone their only choice appears to be each other.  These four people appear to default their way into traditional m/f relationships, whether it’s falling into (under) bed or moving to the country to retire together.  They hit all of those ‘explicit markers’ we were talking about before, and they don’t do it with emotional build-up.  They don’t do it with any real exploration of the individuals involved or why they’re making these choices.  There’s barely any acknowledgement that these are choices.

The thing is, gay humans do exist in the world of Good Omens!  We spend time is Soho, and we hear about a very specific extremely gay gentleman’s club, and we know it’s there, somewhere, hidden.  We just never get to see it.  Crowley and Aziraphale (who are our only touchstone to those queer areas, which the other human characters never seem to encounter) are the Only Queers In The World.  And it sucks, and I think it happened completely by accident.

I suspect that the lack of human queerness was literally just a side-effect of the lack of human anything--Crowley and Aziraphale are in fact the only queers in the world specifically because they’re the only people in the world.  None of the already-existing human characters were given enough additional development to add much of anything, including any new gay.  The human world of Tadfield and the Witchfinder Army wasn’t given enough development to make it worth creating any new characters, let alone queer ones.

It just means that, all of the sudden, straightness gets accidentally equated with every single non-child human we spend more than two lines with, and queerness becomes exclusively the province of demons and angels.  That’s really bad.  It’s one of those unfortunate accidents that happens sometimes, because the world ain’t perfect, but it’s pretty not great.  And that’s where our problems come from.

In particular that’s where this current debate comes from, because if sexuality = human and human = straight, and nonhuman = asexuality and queerness = nonhuman, then we’ve accidentally said some pretty damning things about humanity and equated all queerness with lack of sexual desire all at the same time.  And it’s subtle, and it’s easy to miss, because it’s all about a lack of queer humans that’s all mixed in with the lack of humans at all, but it feels off.  So we go looking for reasons and we go looking for scapegoats.  It’s so easy to fixate on and blame the only queer relationship (the only developed, real relationship) we get at all, writ huge and impossible-to-miss all over our screen, rather than all the invisible ones we don’t.

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Here’s what I take away from all of this: Crowley and Aziraphale are, in every real sense, the most important characters in the Good Omens miniseries, and their relationship is without doubt the most important relationship.  It’s a well-developed, believable relationship.  It’s neither a straight relationship, nor an explicitly sexual gay relationship.  It is a different thing all its own, a thing that does not easily fit conventional human labels, that may or may not include sex at some point but certainly does not require it to be devastatingly important.

And I like that.  I, me, personally, who would rather find a reason to feel heartened than a reason to feel angry, am really glad to see something so extremely not-straight at the emotional center of a story I care about.  That’s me.

In the absence of anything that is an explicitly sexual gay relationship, this nebulous complicated thing at the core of this story looks an awful lot as though it’s trying to be gay and not getting there all the way.  And that sucks.  And for a lot of people, that hits some very specific buttons that have been made tender over many years of stories that try to be gay and refuse to go there all the way.  The flaw, though, is in the contrast and the context around the relationship--not in the relationship itself.

Stories are hard.  Telling stories, and making sure that they get heard on the other end the way we want them to, is hard.  Figuring out why certain things resonate the way they do, why some people feel connected while others feel alienated when we’re just trying to make our point, is sometimes the hardest thing of all.

I don’t blame Neil Gaiman for not magically figuring out that this would happen with the story he was trying to tell, partially because I haven’t seen anybody else in this great big argument of ours notice it either.  He tried to tell a story that was similar to but distinct from a story a lot of people wanted, and he didn’t make it clear enough.  I still really like the story we got.  I like all the slightly-different fanfic versions, too.  I like liking things.  That’s me.

If you’re still mad, if you’re still hurt: legit.  That’s valid.  But I don’t think arguing over this one specific relationship, what it Should Be and Shouldn’t Be, is helpful.  

Basically: I don’t want to sit around getting angry at each other over why Crowley and Aziraphale didn’t get the same traditional markers of Happily Ever After as Newt and Anathema, as Tracy and Shadwell.  I want to know why those couples didn’t have to (didn’t get to) EARN their happily-ever-afters with all the feeling and wanting and fearing and deciding that Aziraphale and Crowley did.

[swanface]

Who are you two favourite cats in each clan you're in? And why?

ohhh man i answered an ask similar to this a little while ago but slimming it down to just two per clan is hard...most of my answers have remained the same but there are some alterations from last time!

NETTLECLAN

berryclaw

everyone knows how much i adore berryclaw. she’s been an absolute favorite character of mine for years now, and the more time that passes, the more fond of her i am. she’s so hardworking, striving to build the best life she can have, and i always want her to succeed. she has a level head and good judgement but still obviously struggles when it comes to feeling in control / like she’s making the right choices and that makes her particularly relatable, i feel.

rabbitpaw

rabbitpaw’s a new addition since the last round, and she’s been stealing my heart from her earliest days. she’s just so completely sweet that i can’t help but adore her. the generosity and understanding she extends to everyone she knows is so charming and also a brilliant contrast with her much more self centered sisters, and okay, sue me, i’m biased because of just how precious her dynamic with flintheart is. her love for her uncle and her total faith in a cat who really has a hard time believing in himself is just so heartwarming and really does highlight just how big of a heart rabbitpaw has.

CREEKCLAN

currentstar

i will be a currentstar stan until i die. he’s so well written as a breath of fresh air against a backdrop of cats who tend toward the more chaotic side of things. currentstar’s not devoid of his problems, but i adore how unique he is in his viewpoints and behaviors. it’s easy enough to be a rebel, but currentstar is incredibly special because of how devoted and dedicated he is. snow did an amazing job of picking him up after a streak of dropped adopters and has made him so interesting and so sympathetic. he has to be this upstanding figure for everyone else’s sake and does so much to support his clan that everyone kind of just seems to take him for granted...more people need to appreciate my lovely lovely boy. 

applepaw

i was drawn to applepaw almost instantly, and for good reason! she’s such a complex character due to being placed in the role of a “hero” or figurehead for the whole eden cause. the contrast between her and her brothers is incredible because she is, in theory, a much more realized and... secure sort of cat, except just kidding, this girl is full of insecurities. i love the fact that she manages to maintain an air of being more closed off and reserved without showing outright hostility, and i’m always eager to read roleplays that she’s involved in.

JAGGEDCLAN

stonefang

what is there to say about stonefang that i haven’t already? she’s had such a brilliant arc of development, going through trials and all sorts of suffering to become the cat she is, and it’s all been written so stunningly. stonefang is absolutely the hero of the story that you adore, root for, and desperately want to see crawl her way out of the hell she’s been put through. her sharp wit and judgement paired with her selfless acts to protect her loved ones makes her so enjoyable, and i also adore getting to see her slip away from being the more warm and kindhearted sort of cat she usually is when her security / loved ones are threatened. stonefang going crazy on fogclan always brightens my day, you get ‘em, girl. 

eveningstorm

miss sunshine herself, despite her name. eveningstorm’s a cat i had to come around to really adoring after just liking her casually for a while, and i am so glad i saw the light. she’s got a tender heart and a level of sensitivity that makes her capable of helping others without ever giving in herself. she’s not weakened by her kindness but is instead fueled by it, and that makes her stand out against more typical shy and soft personalities that you might see elsewhere. her relationships are compelling and interesting, especially when it comes to her tendency to just...break down the barriers of cats who have spent so long building them up. she’s really just a little fluffy treasure and i adore her wholeheartedly.

FOGCLAN

lilystar

lilystar is easily one of the most complex, morally gray characters in the group. so many of her decisions and her choices have been flawed, but that’s what makes her feel real and drives me to love her. i feel like more often than not people are wary of having their characters make mistakes or take a path less traveled by, but lilystar always seems to go where no one else will. she’s driven, fiery, and certainly not the easiest cat to get to know, but her actions all click into place and make logical sense considering what she’s been through. her storyline is undeniably tragic, and the echoes of palestar’s influence that still run through her life give her such an intriguing thought process. 

bramblefang

who doesn’t have a soft spot for bramblefang? he’s a special brand of gruff but not outwardly hostile that i feel is difficult to keep a balance of, but it just works so well for him. he has super clear motivations and the way he’s now developing ties in fogclan that allow him to let go of past hurt with his sister and the manipulation palestar put him through is so sweet. he definitely hasn’t flipped completely over to being soft, but i like seeing touches of it in him now. he knows when he needs to have a hard head and when it’s better to step back and be understanding, which is such a good development for him considering the way he used to view the world in a more black and white sense. 

TRIBE OF TWISTED TUNNELS

spark feather

sometimes you just have to cheer for a character whose life seems to go wrong at every possible turn. spark feather has never had it easy, and as time goes on, he’s started to play a more active role in screwing himself over, which is a super interesting thing to see develop. he went from basically being a victim of circumstances that built him up to a cat who was capable of making all the foolish, rash mistakes he’s made now. everything about his arc feels natural and he’s still incredibly easy to sympathize with even when he’s doing the opposite of what he should be. he doesn’t get to show it often anymore, but i love his tender side that is displayed to his kits. he’s gone through so much growth already, and i’m eager to see where else he ends up now that his life is sort of starting to get stable again.

butterfly

sort of similar to spark feather, butterfly started a victim of circumstance...and she’s stayed that way all along. her life is absolutely devastating to watch because it never seems to want to treat her right despite her best efforts to be so good, so honest, so true to herself. i’m obsessed with her fixation on truth telling, and it’s such a brilliant trait for her to develop considering that basically no one in her life has ever been entirely honest with her. she’s been forced to navigate so many complex feelings from the moment she was born, and i have so much love in my heart for this poor little darling...it’s insane to think she’s really growing up and getting older now, but seeing her mature and come into herself is comforting after all the struggles she’s been forced through.

[frozenprocedural]

Elsarik re-posting part 3

Another HUGE thank-you to @patricia-von-arundel for giving me permission to repost these Elsarik stories! 

This is not my work. This story was written by and belongs to @patricia-von-arundel and is a part of her Shardsverse. I am re-posting it with her permission.

And this is one of my personal favorites.

First Kiss

Elsa, Alarik knew, could be a surprisingly timid little creature. In public, she was every inch the queen - her expressions calm, her gestures measured, her demeanor quietly self-assured, the whole offering a sense of serene power and poised grace. It was amazing to watch her like that; something he thought he could never grow tired of being privileged enough to see.

But in private, as Elsa, she struggled with herself, and with those around her, like they were all pieces in a puzzle whose edges never seemed to find seamless fit. She was comfortable with her family - Anna, Kristoff, Neta - and with some of her staff. A few choice others got genuine smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. But with most, she was stiff, uncertain of herself.

And Alarik knew he still fell largely into the last category. There were sometimes flashes of something more. But Elsa’s discomfort was clear, and perhaps only exacerbated by the fact that he was here by her invitation - and without mention of an end date. What that ultimately meant, he certainly did not know, but he was content to give her the time she needed to figure out the dynamics of it in whatever way was best for her. She knew how he felt - now it was time for her to work through her own feelings. He could be patient a little while longer.

And certainly, there was plenty to keep him well occupied: trying to piece together everything that had happened, apply something akin to scientific rigor to the whole. Getting to know Arendelle and surroundings - Anna was happy to show him around, often with Neta tagging along. Wondering if his cowardice wasn’t well on its way to destroying what tentative progress he might have made with Elsa.

A few weeks after his arrival, her skittishness seemed to grow worse. She disappeared at odd hours - not to any official duties, but to things even Anna could not draw out of her. Elsa offered quick dismissals, apologetic smiles, and nothing more.

"Have I done something wrong?"

Anna smiled and shook her head. “You’ll know if Elsa’s angry.”

"I suppose that’s reassuring," he said, and Anna laughed.

But she professed to know nothing about Elsa’s behavior - and well aware of how painfully honest Anna could be, he believed her. Kristoff, keeping as close an eye on things as he always did, mentioned deliveries at port marked for the queen herself - but of course, he was then not privy to contents.

"Just check the logs," Anna suggested.

"I like being the same temperature as everyone else."

She scoffed, waving a dismissive hand at him. “Oh, she won’t. She likes you better than she likes me.”

"Let’s keep it that way."

Anna laughed then, too - and the mystery remained. Alarik was not foolish enough to ask; he stewed on it instead, wondering despite Anna’s reassurances if he might have inadvertently upset Elsa. The more cowardly side of him - so vocal and insistent - suggested it might be best just to go, before he had to be asked.

But he knew he wouldn’t - couldn’t. He was so close to what he had for so long dreamed of having. She knew - and she had asked him to stay. And how could he even contemplate doing it again - losing everything again?

How many times?

So he remained. he gave Elsa the space she seemed to need. And he fretted, and worried, and tried to convince himself there was nothing to fret and worry about.

It was a chilly morning - he could see his breath in the hallways - and he was on his way out of the castle, ready to brave the cool air in pursuit of writing supplies, when movement caught his eye. A door had been left ajar; a room he did not know. He stopped and squinted at the shadowy interior - and saw a familiar flash of white-blonde, hair swept up casually against her long neck.

"Elsa?"

She jerked and whirled, startled, and he felt a moment of deepening cold and a mysterious clatter as she dropped something metallic to the bare wood of the floor. Her breath caught audibly, and her eyes when they met his were as wide as a startled animal’s.

"Sorry," he said quickly, and moved in to help her with whatever had fallen - but she was faster, grabbing the door and blocking his way.

He took a step back, giving her control of the doorway. “Is everything alright?”

She nodded - but her eyes flickered away, and her knuckles were white around the edge of the door. After a moment, she sighed, still not looking at him. “It was… I wanted it to be a surprise.” Even in the dim light, he could see the flush in her cheeks. She stepped aside, pulling the door in with her.

"What are you-" Then he saw - and it was his turn to catch his breath.

Whatever the room had held before, he suspected it had been nothing like this. 

The back wall was almost entirely giving over to shelving - partially obscuring the windows, which explained the lack of light - and a long countertop beneath. Another counter ran down the center of the room, with a large porcelain basin at one end and cabinets beneath. There was a fireplace with warming pans and bellows and an oven; there was a large microscope, a series of brass weights and a scale, flasks and bowls and a mortar and pestle, and a half-unpacked crate of steel plates, one of which appeared to be what Elsa had dropped.

He stared, trying to absorb it all, trying to take in what Elsa had done here, what it meant. He understood, even as his mind screamed the impossibility of believing it: for him. She had done this for him.

He turned to her, finally, though he still had no words, no idea how to tell her. She was looking down, hands clasped and twined before her, eyes wide and uncertain, cheeks still flushed pink.

Always and forever, the most beautiful, precious person in the world. Kind and giving - and still so unsure of her own inherent goodness.

"Elsa." She looked up quickly: eyes huge, brow drawn, a tentative smile tugging at her lips.

He felt his own smile, eyes softening, loving her so much it was a physical ache inside his chest. He held up his hands, an offering.

She just looked at him for a moment - then nodded.

He approached her slowly, carefully, and let his hands find her shoulders. he rubbed his thumbs along them, easy pressure. She glanced to her left, watching the movement, biting her lip.

His hands, after a moment, slid slowly up her neck, settled to cup around her jaw. Her skin was smooth and soft and cool, accepting the gentle strokes of his fingers as he explored her.

"Alright?" he asked softly.

"Yes." Her eyes finally turned up to his, wide and wet and wondering. He smiled. “I want to… to thank you.”

The words seemed inadequate - but she smiled back, tight-lipped, and nodded permission. Now it was his turn to hesitate, fear gripping his lungs, his heart pounding, his throat suddenly, painfully dry.

He let his head tilt so hers would not have to. Under his fingers, he felt her tremble. Her eyes were heavy-lidded. How had he not noticed before the darkness of her lashes; the tiny, translucent webs of blue in her eyelids? There was a powdering of pale freckles across her cheeks, a faint divot of a line between her eyebrows.

Every bit of her was beautiful.

He leaned, and gently, ever so gently, let his lips come to rest against hers. She stiffened, and the room temperature dropped - but only for the space of a heartbeat. Then he felt the subtle pressure of her response.

Her lips were soft and dry, warmer than her skin; he could taste the cinnamon and ginger that had been on the fruit at breakfast, and something else, something lighter and sweeter and harder to define - the taste of Elsa herself. A tiny flake of dry skin rasped against his own lower lip; he felt her inhale deeply, her eyes fluttering shut.

Then he finally allowed himself to do the same, losing himself in the pleasure of taste and touch. Warmth spread through him as the kiss deepened. He slid his hands back down to her shoulders, her upper back, drawing her closer. Finally, then, her arms came up to wrap around his neck, and she let her body press against his. She felt as tiny and delicate as falling snow.

For what felt like a pristine forever, his lips worked against hers, hers against his. She was uncertain and inexpert, and all the better for it, adjusting to his own movements, learning, responding. She made a low, soft noise, shivered - and finally pulled away.

He let her go, though it was difficult. She took a step back, looking up at him with dark eyes, flushed cheeks, swollen lips. She was breathing hard, chest rising and falling rapidly.

"Alright?" he asked again. His voice was raspy.

She nodded - still staring, rarely blinking.

"Sure?"

"Yes." She attempted a smile. "That was… that was nice."

"We could do it again."

Now, after a moment, she did smile - a bit embarrassed, but genuine, crooked and sure. “We could. I’d like that.”

They did.

[naancypants]

@nancydrew-onthecase, this is my argument post 4 you because I have waaaayyy too much to cram into a bunch of asks lol! I also took this way too seriously, so sorry for how Extra this is 😂😶

My previous posts have already summed up some of my favorite things about Joe/Nancy as a pairing, so I’d like to take this opportunity to also compare it to the opposing Nancy ships - please, please don’t view this as me bashing Nedcy and Francy to “prop up my ship” or whatever, I think they’re both totally valid ships in their own ways and I can understand their appeal. But in the 10+ years I’ve spent shipping Jancy (omg), I’ve spent a LOT of time analyzing the other two relationships to identify the things that do and don’t work in my personal opinion, and I felt that going over the latter is helpful in highlighting some of the reasons I love Joe x Nancy as much as I do. I’d like to present this as an open, honest discussion, so hopefully I can share my views & opinions without coming off as rude, haha. I’ve taken steps to make sure I’m remaining as self-aware as possible while still stating my thoughts exactly as they are.

Also know that I’m basing this mainly on the games and similar interpretations of these characters, not so much on the OG book series.

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO… (under the cut bc of length lolol)

- Ned/Nancy, for me, is very sweet because of Ned’s dedication to being there for Nancy no matter what, but it also has that persistent dark cloud of Nancy going off all the time without telling him (which, although I love her to death and I understand why, is pretty crappy on her part). Ned is a precious boy who is “okay with it” and thinks it’s “worth it” to be with someone like Nancy, but… God. He’s SO SOFT and, as someone else who is Very Soft, I would be heartbroken if my s/o was never around, cancelling our plans at the last minute, etc. And we do actually hear this loneliness from Ned many times. He almost always comes around with these supportive, encouraging speeches which is one of the biggest points in Nedcy’s favor, but on a larger scale there’s sooo much he could be getting out of his relationship that he’s just… not. He’s a simple hometown boy who just wants to give all his love to the lucky girl and live a nice life with her - he doesn’t have the same thirst for adventure that Nancy has. He’s totally a romantic who doesn’t.. really.. get to be that way with her? Not often, at least. A good guy like Ned deserves someone he can truly be with, rather than wondering if or when she’s ever going to be home - even for the important stuff (like birthdays and anniversary dinners). I mean if homeboy is really content to put up with her being gone all the time then good for him. I still just feel like, if he did some serious soul searching and prioritized what he truly wants in life, he could be happier. 😭

- Frank/Nancy doesn’t struggle with the lifestyle differences of Nedcy, which is a point in their favor, but I’ve always personally seen Francy as being a bit stagnant due to their similarities & differences. They’re both logical, studious, hard-headed individuals - yet Nancy has this inherent inclination to break the rules, which is a quality Frank doesn’t generally possess (unless it’s absolutely necessary). Nancy is stubborn about the daring methods she often uses to solve cases, and Frank is stubborn about wanting to go by the book first & pursue everything with caution. This leads to an ongoing dialogue that VERY closely mirrors the dynamic that already exists between Frank & Joe, so for me it’s a little less interesting of a pairing (just my opinion, of course). It’s true that Nancy & Frank’s matched intellect is pretty much unrivaled, but I don’t think they have much to offer each other in the way of everyday development and growth. Their mindsets are already so similar, there isn’t much new for them to learn or gain from being together. Lots of intellectual stimulation, certainly (which would be GREAT for them), but otherwise they mostly just reinforce the qualities in each other that they share. Obviously Frank & Joe make a great team and so do Frank & Nancy, there’s NO disputing that, but a romantic relationship takes so much more than just working well together. That’s a big part of it, for sure, but there’s so much more. Take a look at my next paragraph and compare these two dynamics to see what I mean.

- Joe/Nancy is the middle ground between the two. They share similar life goals, so there’s no off-and-on issue of “when are you coming home?😢”, yet mentally they’re very different. They’re both extremely smart, but in completely different ways. They can challenge each other in everyday life, which helps them stay on their toes and become better people. Nancy is the head, Joe is the heart; they can effortlessly achieve that emotional balance with no major obstacles standing in their way. Plus, the qualities they DO have in common are stimulating and beneficial to their relationship; both Nancy & Joe have more of an unbridled, adventurous spirit than Frank does (though perhaps this is more noticeable in Joe). They’re both eager to take risks and do what others are afraid to do. Yet Nancy is logical/grounded enough to keep Joe in check, and Joe is able to feed that inner desire of hers to be bold & fearless - not only that, he can usually be seen in the background emphatically cheering her on because that’s a quality he has IMMENSE respect for. He doesn’t love her in spite of this dangerous habit, it’s part of why he has soooo much admiration for her in the first place. Joe makes no secret of the fact that he absolutely loves this about her, even in canon. He has no doubt that she can handle herself, so Nancy has the freedom to make her own choices without the initial resistance she usually receives from Ned or Frank. Of course Joe cares, and he does remind her to be careful, but he does so in a way that doesn’t feel like he’s wrestling with this lowkey desire to hold her back. Despite how much Joe wants her to stay safe, he doesn’t feel the need to worry himself sick over her because he trusts her entirely, and besides, “that’s who she is. That’s what makes her so freakin’ AWESOME” (- Joe Hardy, probably). Please see this link for the rest of my thoughts on this. And, as I also stated in the linked post, something that’s often overlooked is that Nancy & Joe both actually have the dorkiest sense of humor so they can easily make each other grin over stupid jokes and puns and I am so very here for that. Not to mention Jancy’s shared enthusiasm for mysteries; Frank enjoys it for the intellectual rush, but Joe enjoys it for the adrenaline rush. Nancy is both. I love those phone convos where Nancy tells them she’s still on the case and Frank is like “aw man, I know you can do it Nancy, just keep at it” and Joe’s like “HECK YEAH YOU HAVE MORE MYSTERY TO SOLVE! GO GET EM, NANCE!!!” bc Nancy honestly loooves working a case. I just find it so wholesome.

And… perhaps this is another personal opinion, but stop for a second and think about the subversive nature of a well-written Joe x Nancy narrative. Got it? Yeeeah, I’m all about that. 😉

Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk. I love Joe Hardy and Nancy Drew with my whole heart