#Verbal Showdown

[fullofsunsetwhispers]

Omi: WUYA!?

Wuya: You didn't think I'd stay in that box forever, did you?

Omi: Well, another 1500 years would've been nice!

[instatera]

* banedictus ! ❛ i can’t change who i am. ❜

" bullshit. " form spins to face him, nostrils flaring. the curse is .. out of place on her tongue, but the scoff that follows is all too familiar. " anyone can break their chains to fate. i used to think the same as you, but i've realized that destiny is a tale fabricated by those who wish to control us. you can be whoever you want to be, if you have the will to do so. " gaze raises to catch enver's, arms crossing over her chest. " i've been a servant to expectations placed upon me for hundreds of years. that is my burden to carry, my sorrow to sew. " form softens as she wills herself to untense and sigh softly. " but you will not break your chains, this i know all too well. you're set in your decisions. " eyes flicker with sympathy, for she feels the ache even for him. it is her way. " and for that i am sorry. i've seen your past, and i'm sure if searched for it i could find your future. it is not my place to interfere in this instance but.. i can offer some advice. " hands drop to her waist, where they remain as she picks at her fingernails. " this road you continue to take, it will not end anywhere good. " a pause as she mulls the thought over. " but maybe you know that. you don't seem a fool to me. you've gotten yourself this far, and that's no easy journey. you've burned many bridges, i've heard. " a brow raises. " i doubt you want my compassion, but i offer it nonetheless. do as you wish, but don't lie to yourself. you're here because you want to be, not because you can't change the outcome. "

[illyrianbitch]

Winner

Pairing: Reader x Azriel

Summary: You and Azriel are both sore losers. But when you cheat in a game of cards, winning takes on a whole new meaning.

Warnings: alcohol mention, two competitive losers, a card game, a makeout, some wandering hands & fluff!!

Word Count: 4.6k

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

Cassian threw his hands up in defeat, letting out a deep groan as he fell back further into the couch— wings sprawled out, spine slumped. He turned his head to Mor.

“Looks like Az and Y/N beat us again.”

She only groaned in response, rubbing her face with her hands before running them through her hair— taking a moment to smooth it down and tuck a few loose locks behind her pointed ears.��

 “You guys are relentless,” she said in disbelief, “I’m out. You two can have the winner's title.”

You and Azriel exchanged a look— a quick, almost instinctual, response. 

“No way.” You shook your head with a frown. “We can’t both be winners.”

From beside you, Azriel nodded. The movement was eager in agreement, but the alcohol in his body caused his motions to be slower than usual, sluggish, and Mor raised her eyebrow in response. 

“One more game,” he said, eyes tracking between both Mor and Cassian. “Just to settle this properly.”

But Mor only raised her hands in surrender. “Dear gods, no,” she responded, “I’m way too drunk for this.” 

You let out a small sound of disapproval but Morrigan ignored it, turning to give Cassian one last look of retreat before she stood up— unsteadily and disoriented. “Good luck with your showdown. I’m going to bed.”

Azriel gave her a scowl, a look that she matched with another brow raise. With no verbal response given, she turned to offer Cassian an outstretched hand. “You smell like a bar. It’s bedtime for you too, I would say.”

Cassian stilled, staring at her extended hand in a moment of contemplation. His eyes darted towards where you sat next to Azriel—meeting your gaze momentarily before jumping back to Azriel. His lips pursed, eyes narrowing for a second before he seemed to draw a conclusion and his face relaxed. 

“Yup,” he said with a decisive clap of his hands on his thighs. He pushed himself up and grabbed Mor's hand. "I'm outta here. I still have a fun buzz and Az's seriousness is going to kill it."

You let out a small sigh, lips falling into a frown as Cassian met your gaze once more. "Come on, Cass, just going to give up like that?"

He gave you an apologetic shrug. "Sorry, Y/N. You two can fight amongst yourselves.”

“She can't,” Azriel began as he turned to look at you. Something sparkled in his hazel eyes and the corners of his lips twitched into the ghost of a smirk. “The only reason she plays so great is because you two make her look better with how awful you are at this game.”

Your mouth fell open and an offended scoff left your mouth. You smacked his bicep. "That is not true."

Mor chimed in, "Yeah—we aren't that bad."

It was Cassian who responded with a raised eyebrow at her. She scowled at the gesture. 

“Whatever,” she muttered, waving him off with a casual hand as she began walking away. “It’s bedtime."

“Night.” Cassian gave you and Azriel a lazy salute as he stumbled towards the exit. “May the best competitor win.”

You both watched as they left the room, emitting subtle groans as the weight of their drinks began to manifest in their bodies. When their figures disappeared from view, you and Azriel brought your gazes to one another at the same moment, eyes narrowing in on the other. The room quieted around you. 

“I know I can win,” you said, straightening yourself, “I’ll show you.”

Azriel stared at you for a moment, eyes darting around your face before holding your gaze again. A smile grew on his face— confident and slightly lopsided, and his shadows swirled slightly around him in response. “Alright. Let’s keep going.”

You hummed as you cleared the table from the previous game, grabbing a deck of cards and setting the scene for Speed— the perfect game for a winners victory. It required quick reflexes and sharp focus. 

You threw a glance at Azriel, whose eyes were already on you. This felt like a routine. 

Azriel was extremely competitive. He made everything a competition, whether it needed to be or not. Who could get somewhere the fastest, who could get Cassian to say a specific phrase first. And out of everyone, you were the one able to match that energy the most. 

You knew you were competitive. It wasn't something you tried to hide—not that you could. And when you were around Az, it tended to come out the most. But on nights like these, drinking and playing card games, it seemed to come out even more, like a monster at night feeling the strength of the full moon. Except the monster was your inability to accept defeat and the moon, in this case, was the glass of wine you had downed alongside Mor.

Your eyes shot to the empty glass of whisky Azriel had nursed before smirking at him.

“Ready?” 

Azriel's expression turned serious and he nodded slightly, the movement tousling a loose strand of hair on his forehead. You found yourself momentarily distracted by it before quickly snapping your attention back to his intense gaze.

"You sure you’re up for this?" he teased, a hint of a challenge in his voice. "Last time, I seem to recall you complaining about my unfair advantage."

You rolled your eyes. "Unfair advantage, my ass. Just because you have shadows whispering in your ear doesn’t mean you’re unbeatable."

Azriel chuckled and his eyes gleamed with the sound, something bright and warm, golden like honey. "We'll see about that."

With a final shuffle, you placed the deck between you. "I’ll start.”

You began the game, cards flying between you as you tried to outpace each other. Your fingers moved swiftly, eyes darting between the cards and Azriel’s focused face. 

"Is that all you've got?" you teased, slapping down a card.

Azriel gave a low, deep chuckle. "Just getting started."

You matched each of his moves with your own, feeling your competitive fire burning bright within you, a simmering, insatiable adrenaline that made your heart beat faster. The sound of cards slapping against the table echoed through the room, mingling with your rapid breaths and the occasional muttered curse. You bit your lip, tightening the hold on your card.

"You’re slowing down," Azriel taunted in a melodic, light tone. You could hear the grin in his voice and you resisted the urge to look over at him. 

"Wrong," you shot back, eyes darting to the next card. “I’m just giving you a chance to catch up.” 

He snorted beside you, a sound so casual and childish that you bit back a laugh at it. He scooted closer to the table, moving forward to place another card, his arm brushing against yours in the process. 

It only took that one movement for you to become acutely aware of the closeness between you, of the heat of his body radiating into yours. Each time he grabbed or placed a card, the sensation built, sending a nervous flutter through you— a flutter too strong to be attributed to the alcohol alone. His shadows brushed against your skin and you bit back a shiver. 

You tried to ignore it, focusing on the game, but his scent—dark and intoxicating—kept pulling you back in, his body continuing to brush against yours—his knee, his arm—each touch subtle yet electrifying as he drew his hand back.

You briefly considered moving away to regain your composure, but the thought of disrupting your flow and losing concentration on the game held you in place. Then Azriel moved again, placing another card down, and you found yourself fixating on his fingers more than the card itself. The card faded into a white blur against the dark wood table as you stared at the ridges of his scarred hands, his slender fingers, his tan skin— they were attractive. Real attractive.

Azriel was attractive. This was a fact. And if you were being honest to yourself, you always harbored a crush on him—- though, you'd never acted on it, even if there were times where you could've sworn he felt something for you, too. You were good friends, great friends. You never dared to think about it too much. There was no use in entertaining unrealistic ideas. 

But Azriel looked even more attractive now—laid back, hair tousled, cheeks tinged with an alcohol flush, shadows stilled, and determination set in his grin.

You blinked.

"What the hell am I doing?" you muttered under your breath.

Az turned to you. "What?" 

"Huh?" you responded, feigning innocence, but Azriel narrowed his eyes, scanning your face intently.

"What did you say?" 

"Nothing," you replied quickly, trying to regain your composure. Azriel’s gaze steadied on yours, probing and assuming.

"You seem distracted."

“Me? No. I don't get distracted," you asserted, straightening yourself and sizing him up. Azriel raised a brow, a small smirk playing on his lips.

"No?"

"No.”

He leaned back slightly, his smirk widening.

"Then why are you losing?" he asked casually.

Your eyes widened as you snapped your head to the table, a movement so swift and abrupt that a dull ache pulled at the base of your neck. Sure enough, you were losing. Az was one card— two if you were lucky— away from a clean victory. You ran your tongue along your teeth, forcing a smile as you tossed a glance back at him. 

"It's part of the plan.”

"Right,” Azriel quipped, the amusement seeping through his dimpled grin. “The plan to lose?”

That competitive fire flared within you. Damned him and that smile— that arrogant, smug smile. You couldn't let him win so easily, couldn't let him win at all. You rolled your eyes. 

"Are we gabbing like old ladies or are we playing?" 

He raised a brow but pulled himself even further to you. “Neither,” he murmured, “I’m winning.”

You gave him a mocking smile as he placed his next card, falling into another quick-paced round. You were bound to lose— a reality that had begun to manifest right before your eyes, solidifying with every card Azriel placed down. 

You needed to see his cards to strategize, to figure out your next move. But Azriel was laser-focused, his determination etched into his features like details in a finely crafted statue. Each time he brushed against you, a subtle heat ran through your skin. You stilled, shifting your gaze to his face. 

"Oh, Az, wait," you murmured softly. He glanced at you, brows furrowing in slight confusion as you leaned closer to him. Bringing your lip between your teeth, you bit down on it lightly to contain your growing smirk, voice softening as you continued, "You have something."

Azriel frowned and you seized your opportunity, bringing your hands to his face and lightly brushing the corner of his mouth with your thumb. It was a feigned gesture, as if you were wiping away a crumb or a smear of chocolate from the pastries you all had enjoyed earlier that evening. 

There was nothing there, of course, but it served your purpose well.

You made sure to let your thumb linger there for a moment, to brush the pad of your finger against his lips as you pulled back. You held his gaze— a burning, deep hazel. His eyes danced across your face and you watched as he swallowed hard. A satisfied grin tugged at the corners of your lips but you fought it away, letting your hand fall down. 

You stole a quick glance at his cards before you leaned back, casually examining your own cards as you pretended to ponder your next move. He remained still beside you and you ignored the flutter in your ribcage, the strange, trickling sense of excitement that filled your gut. 

You placed your final card down on the table, the sharp snap of it breaking the momentary silence. Azriel snapped out of his reverie and looked down at the cards, then up at you. You leaned into him once more, a playful grin now tugging at your lips— smug and confident. "Speed," you declared confidently.

He blinked and shook his head slightly as he leaned in further to the table, examining the cards laid out before him. 

"Looks like I win.”

He dropped his cards onto the table and his gaze shot up to meet yours.

"You cheated.” 

You leaned back slightly, a mock hurt expression crossing your features. "I did not.”

Pointing an accusatory finger in your face, Azriel's voice grew firmer. "You're a cheater." 

You swatted his finger away, feeling the brush of his shadows swirling around it. "Get your finger out of my face.”

Azriel looked down, seemingly addressing his shadows in a murmured aside, before his gaze returned to yours. 

"It's not my fault you were so distracted," you teased, goading him with a sly glance.

"You distracted me!" 

Casting a nonchalant glance to the side, you shrugged casually. "I don't know what you're talking about," you replied, leaning back into the couch with a playful grin. "You're just mad I won."

"No, you didn't win," Azriel insisted, his jaw tightening in determination. “Because you're a cheater.”

Waving him off dismissively, you rolled your eyes. "There's that word again. Blaming me because you were distracted is such a sore loser move, dude." 

“Dude.” Azriel scoffed.  "You'd be pissed if I did the same thing.”

You innocently shrugged again. "I don't know what you're talking about. I would never get so distracted.”

He raised a brow and a sense of challenge flickered across his face. “No?”

You shook your head. “Nope.”

It was a flat, bolstering lie. You knew it well. A simple brush against you had you so distracted that you nearly lost. And gods, does he look good like this, flustered, focused entirely on you. His furrowed brow, the intensity in his eyes—it was all so alluring. Some being, some butterfly must be trapped in your chest because the fluttering deep within your ribs intensified. 

Azriel didn’t move, his eyes scanning you in a manner that made you itch— made you feel naked and completely bare before him. 

"Don’t move," Azriel said, his voice low and teasing. You felt it against your skin like it was something tangible. "I think you... you have something here."

He leaned in closer, bringing his hand to your face, fingers poised to wipe the corner of your mouth just as you had done to him earlier. The movement was slow, sensual almost, and your heart nearly stopped when his eyes moved from your lips to your eyes. 

You held your breath and the corners of Azriel’s lips twitched. 

"Oh, nevermind," he murmured, withdrawing his hand. "Guess I'm seeing things."

You traced the path of that lip twitch, watching as it grew into a subtle, sly grin. The game had shifted now and Azriel seemed to think he was in the lead— seemed content in his victory. 

Absolutely not.

You let out a small hum. 

“Aw, Az,” you said, softening your face at him. You brought a hand to his bicep— he was dressed casually tonight, a simple black, short-sleeved shirt adorning his frame. His eyes widened slightly at your boldness but he didn't pull away. You placed your palm on his exposed skin, tracing a light, delicate path up his arm. “Always so thoughtful.”

He tensed underneath your touch, and his shadows curled over his shoulders, still and curious, peering down at the motion. Goosebumps ran along his skin and you felt him shudder underneath you, an almost imperceptible reaction. 

When you met his gaze again, Azriel’s eyes were molten. A muscle feathered in his cheek.

You gave into your urge, delicately brushing a small strand of hair away from his forehead and tucking it back into place. In truth, it felt like an excuse to touch him, to feel the softness of his hair beneath your fingertips. You heard a quiet, sharp intake of breath as his shadows moved slowly around his shoulders, watching your every move just as precisely as he did. 

“Well,” he said, and the sound came out as a croak. He cleared his throat as he brought his hand up to yours, wrapping it around your wrist as he lowered your hand with his own. “I’m thoughtful when it comes to you.”

His words didn’t feel like they were said only to get under your skin, nor did they seem like words chosen merely to rile you up—they felt like a confession. You fought to balance your reaction as you felt yourself being pulled in three different directions.

His words made you melt in a strange, almost pathetic way. They felt tender, caring, and you thought about how true they actually were, how much Azriel cared for you, and how often he made that care known. It was one of the reasons you liked him as much as you did, why it was so easy and comfortable being around him, why you felt so emboldened to distract him, to play with him, in such a manner that you did.

But then there was another emotion, a spitfire of competition that felt as if he had exposed a very vulnerable, very delicate nerve. That he was winning this game, that you were so openly affected by simple words and his hand around your wrist.

And finally, there was something else, something as strong as those flutters, something warm and hot that filled you with an urge to run your fingers through his hair, to pull him against you and feel those hands somewhere else. 

You scanned his face, watching as his expression seemed to soften a bit, as a crease formed between his brows. He was thinking too—deeply, intently, thoroughly thinking. It was almost the same look he wore in every game when he was strategizing, but this felt more intimate, more charged. You tried to reel yourself in, tried to throw every thought away and pull your mind together, fix your scent, your posture.

But then his eyes dropped to your lips.

Your heartbeat quickened and something fluttered in your chest, deep within your ribs— that damned caught, trapped butterfly moving in a frenzy. Your eyes dropped down to Azriel’s lips, and when you met his eyes again, he mirrored your actions. You took in the dark, thick lashes that adorned his eyes—lashes that you were able to see so clearly as he looked down towards you, towards your mouth.

The next moment was a blur. You weren't sure who moved first, but suddenly his lips were on yours. They were warm and soft and swallowed you completely— mind and body. 

His taste was intoxicating, a blend of the whiskey he had been drinking and something uniquely him. There had been small fantasies of Azriel that had creeped past your restraint over the years— images and thoughts about his lips and how he mustve felt pressed against you, how he fucked the countless women you’d seen him with.

Even this simple, heated and frenzied kiss was better than your most detailed dreams. 

You felt his hand slide up to cradle your face, his thumb gently tracing the curve of your cheek as he deepened the kiss. Your own hands found their way to his shoulders, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you leaned into him. 

This felt better than any win you’d ever experienced.

You needed to cheat more often.

You pulled away for a brief second, gasping for breath, but the separation was short-lived. His eyes, dark and filled with a desire that mirrored your own, locked onto yours before he captured your lips once more. This time, the kiss was hungrier, more urgent. Azriel's hand slipped to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair as he tilted your head slightly to deepen the kiss. His hands— those large, rough, and beautiful hands— roamed, one staying at your neck while the other slid down your back, drawing you even closer.

The world narrowed to just this moment—  to the way his lips moved against yours, the way his breath mingled with yours, the way his hands felt on your skin. His hands guided you, and before you realized it, you were laying down on the couch, Azriel hovering over you, his lips never leaving yours. His body pressed against yours and his shadows threaded through the strands of your hair, the silky, air-light touch of their movement contrasting with the warmth of his skin— a heady mix that sent shivers down your spine.

He broke the kiss, lips trailing down your jawline, planting soft kisses along the way. You felt a deep, thrilling ache as he kissed the sensitive skin there and you tilted your head back, giving him better access as your hands roamed over his back, feeling the muscles tense and relax under your touch. You circled the base of his wings, admiring how they stretched out above you, and he shivered under the touch, leaving a small playful bite on your neck in response.

“Finally!" 

A heat of panic ran down your skin and you pushed yourself upright— a movement so quick that it sent Azriel falling back onto his side of the loveseat. You caught a brief glimpse of him—disheveled, lips swollen, breathing heavy—before your gaze snapped to the intruder.

Cassian stood in the doorway, grinning from ear to ear.

"What?" you managed to gasp, your own breath coming in shallow pants.

“This.” Cassian pointed a finger between you and Azriel. "Fucking finally."

You casted a glance at Azriel who stared at his brother with a single raised brow. 

“How long have you been standing out there, Cass?" He asked.

Cassian shrugged, still grinning. "Long enough.”

“A bit too long, actually,” Mor’s voice rang out as she rounded the corner, now adorned in a comfortable sleep set. She settled into a stand next to Cassian, offering a small, sheepish smile. “I was starting to feel like a pervert.”

You cringed, a heat flushing your cheeks as you glanced over at Azriel, who met your gaze immediately. But he only sighed, running a hand through his hair as a lone shadow moved down the couch to wrap around your ankle. You ignored the skip of your heart.

"That's real weird, guys," you said.

Just a semblance of dignity is all you asked for.

Cassian waved it off. "Trust me, I've seen more than a handsy makeout with Az."

You grimaced, scrunching your face in distaste. Mor gave Cassian a pointed look. "Cassian—"

He shrugged, unperturbed. "I gotta admit, though, I didn't think we could get you to go that far. I thought maybe a realization—but holy shit!"

Mor’s eyes widened and she smacked his arm with the back of her hand. "Cassian!"

You threw a glance at Azriel but he didn't meet your gaze this time. Instead, he sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing at his brother. It was both unnerving and incredibly attractive—oh gods, focus.

You sat up straighter. "What do you mean you could get us that far?"

Cassian gave an unsure smile before responding, "Oh, you know, just a friendly little push." He looked at Mor, who looked equally guilty but offered you a sheepish, dimpled smile. 

"We were just trying to help you two along.”

Cassian pointed a thumb at her. "Her reasons are selfless, mine are selfish. I just couldn't deal anymore. It's like shoving two dolls together and making them kiss." 

He brought his hands up, mimicking the motion of holding two dolls and repeatedly mashed them together while making loud, exaggerated kissing sounds. Mor watched him with an unamused, scrunched face. 

You furrowed your brows and opened your mouth to talk, but Cassian cut you off, falling into a tipsy ramble.

 "I didn't anticipate how much we needed to drink, though. I thought I was going to get alcohol poisoning before you even touched."

Mor rolled her eyes. "Alright, that's a bit dramatic—"

"It is not," Cassian interrupted, turning to her.

"We barely—"

“You call that barely?”

"—We had one bottle—"

"-— A family-sized—"

You exchanged a glance with Azriel, eyebrows slightly raised, lips twitching with barely suppressed smiles. His eyes flickered with a mix of disbelief and mirth as Cassian and Mor continued their bickering. Leaning back, you extended your hand toward the shadow near your feet. 

Azriel groaned. "Guys—" 

They kept talking.

"Guys!" 

They finally stopped and turned to face him, the room plunging into an awkward silence. Azriel sighed deeply, then said, "Get out. Please."

Mor's eyes widened. "Right! Sorry," she said, giving you a sheepish smile. Cassian, however, turned to you with a grin. 

"You're welcome," he said, and then turned to Azriel, winking. "You're extra welcome."

Mor scoffed, pushing Cassian out of the room. She turned around as she left, flashing you another smile and giving you two thumbs up. You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, and your fingers tightened around the shadow on your hand.

When they disappeared from view, you exhaled deeply and turned towards Azriel. His gaze softened as he looked at you and the corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile. The room felt quieter now, more intimate, and your heartbeat began to slow—  the fluttering in your chest giving way to a warm, steady pulse.

He let out a breath. “Well, that was..." 

"Something," you finished for him.

You locked eyes for a moment before bursting into laughter, the sound echoing throughout the room. 

"I love your laugh," Azriel murmured, his voice low and intimate.

You went breathless, the last note of your laughter leaving your tightened chest in a whisper. 

"Yeah?" 

A flutter filled your chest. 

He nodded and your smile widened as he edged closer, his hand gently cupping your face once more, drawing you to him. 

“They interrupted us," he whispered, his lips brushing against yours.

You swallowed and your cheeks flushed subtly with a blush as you leaned further towards him.

"What a shame," you murmured back, your words a soft invitation.

"A shame indeed." 

Without any further hesitation, his lips found yours again. The kiss was filled with an undeniable urgency—a promise and longing that had simmered beneath the surface for far too long. You melted into the sensation, every nerve ending electrified by the closeness, by the brush of his shadows against your skin.

He pulled away for a second, his breath warm against your lips.

"You were really good at that game, by the way."

You frowned.  "I was losing. Badly."

A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he shook his head. "Not originally. I was."

His thumb circled gently along your cheek. "But who knew all it took was a couple of brushes against your arm to get ahead again."

Your eyes widened in shock and you let out a small gasp, pulling back further to observe his face in full.  He met your gaze with a smug smirk, and despite yourself, a grin of impressed disbelief spread across your face.  

"You dirty little cheat!" you exclaimed, half in playful protest, half in genuine admiration.

He shrugged nonchalantly, his touch still caressing your cheek. "I'd say it worked out."

“Does this mean I win—" 

He cut you off softly, "Just let me kiss you."

Your protest melted away into a sigh of surrender as he closed the gap between you eagerly. You welcomed the warmth of his lips against yours, falling lax in his touch as he moved to hover you again. The world around you faded into insignificance. 

You definitely won tonight. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹ 

idk why but this is one of my favorite lil moments ive written, it gave me butterflies writing it (i am touchstarved and a sore loser)

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: 

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon 

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters 

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia  @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli

azriel tag list 🫶🏻

@thisiskaylin @serrendiipty @acourtofsteelandthunder 

[queenofwands89]

Do you do fanfic requests? If so I was hoping for maybe an angsty enemies to lovers with Tyler Owens, like they are rivals and just got off on a bad start that spiraled into them hating each other but slowly seeing there's more there but being in denial until maybe like Reader gets injured in a chase or helping someone and Tyler realized how he truly feels? Idk lol. Just need some good angst and hurt comfort.

Stormfront Showdown (Part 1)

Tyler Owens x fem!Stormchaser!reader

Summary: Y/N and Tyler have been longstanding rivals, their past filled with unresolved conflicts and clashing opinions on storm chasing. With vastly different approaches to tracking and studying storms, their heated debates have become legendary. Now, with the upcoming storm chasing convention on the horizon, tensions are set to skyrocket. You know Tyler will be there, and the question is: will this be another explosive encounter, or will the storm finally bring them together in unexpected ways?

Word count: 2262

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, rivals to lovers, verbal sparring, competition, dumb blonde joke, teasing, a little angsty idk.

Notes: Thank you so much for your request! I apologize for the delay; I recently started school and things have been hectic. I took a bit of creative liberty with your request and turned it into a short series. I hope you don't mind! If anyone wants me to make a taglist, just let me know. I hope you enjoy it—bye! 💜

The storm chaser convention is your annual pilgrimage as a weather enthusiast or professional. The ballroom of the Kansas City Grand Hotel buzzes with anticipation. As you stand at the entrance, your eyes sweep the room with a mixture of curiosity and wariness. You don't particularly enjoy these crowded events, preferring the solitude and precision of your solo chases, but your presence here is a necessary evil—an opportunity to share your findings and emphasize the importance of safety and scientific rigor.

You smooth the front of your blazer, double-checking your notes for the panel discussion. It’s then that you spot him: Tyler Owens. The Tornado Wrangler himself stands surrounded by a throng of fans and admirers, his laughter loud and infectious. His rugged appearance, complete with cowboy boots and a well-worn hat, seems to dominate the room. Boone is there too, camera in hand, capturing every moment for Tyler's YouTube channel. Lily, Dexter, and Dani mingle nearby, each in their element.

You inhale deeply, trying to steady your nerves. The name Tyler Owens epitomizes everything you abhor in storm chasing—recklessness, unchecked bravado, and an insatiable thirst for sensationalism. To you, he is the living antithesis of diligent scientific inquiry and responsible journalism.

Your last encounter with Tyler was nothing short of disastrous. What began as a simple disagreement escalated into a full-blown public feud, broadcasted for the world to see via social media and various news outlets. You had penned a scathing article, meticulously criticizing his methods as dangerous and irresponsible. Your words were sharp, intended to signal a wake-up call not just to him but to the entire community of storm chasers.

Tyler, never one to retreat from controversy, responded with an incendiary video. Filled with passionate retorts and dismissive gestures, his rebuttal ignited a firestorm of reactions, polarizing the storm-chasing community and capturing the attention of a captivated audience.

The bitter memory of this exchange still lingers in your mind, a festering wound that has yet to heal. Now, as you anticipate another face-to-face meeting with him, you feel the weight of that unresolved animosity. You brace yourself for the confrontation that seems as inevitable as the approaching storm you both intend to chase.

The panel is called to order, and the moderator introduces the speakers with a flourish. You take your seat, your heart pounding in your chest. Tyler settles into the chair next to you, flashing a charming smile that belies the tension crackling between you.

"Welcome, everyone," the moderator begins. "Today, we have a diverse panel of storm chasers who will share their unique perspectives on this thrilling and dangerous field. Let's start with you, Y/N. Can you tell us about your approach to storm chasing?"

You take a moment to collect your thoughts before speaking. "I believe storm chasing is an essential tool for advancing our understanding of severe weather phenomena. My approach focuses on meticulous planning, data collection, and public safety. The goal is to minimize risk while maximizing scientific value."

Tyler leans forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he addresses the room. "You know, while I truly appreciate Y/N's unwavering commitment to safety," he begins, his voice smooth and confident, "we sometimes overlook the bigger picture. Storm chasing isn't just about data and caution—it's about raising awareness and capturing the awe-inspiring power of nature."

He pauses for effect, letting his words sink in before flashing a charismatic smile at the crowd. "My team and I, we're not just scientists; we're storytellers. We bring these magnificent storms to the world, showing people a side of nature they rarely see."

His smile widens, eyes sparkling with excitement. "We have a saying in our crew: 'If you feel it, chase it.' Because in those moments of raw, untamed nature, we find our stories, our inspiration."

The room erupts in appreciative murmurs and nods of agreement, some even breaking into applause. Tyler's infectious enthusiasm and charm work their magic, swaying the audience to his perspective, if only for the moment.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. "Raising awareness is important, Tyler, but not at the expense of safety. Your methods put not just you and your team at risk but also the communities you travel through."

"And your methods," Tyler shoots back, "might yield scientifically valuable data, but they often lack the human element. People need to see the raw, unfiltered power of these storms to understand what we're dealing with."

The panel has been raging on for twenty minutes, each of you firing verbal volleys that keep the audience captivated. The tension is palpable, and it’s clear that you and Tyler aren’t on good terms.

Tyler leans forward, a cocky grin spreading across his face. He’s baiting you, and he knows exactly which buttons to push. "You know, ever since that article you wrote, questioning my methods, I've been wondering. Maybe you're just not a fan of a little excitement? Gotta admit, though, it did spark quite the public feud."

The hint of satisfaction in his voice is unmistakable—he’s reveling in the attention, the controversy, and most of all, the fact that he’s gotten under your skin.

You snap back, your tone fiery and unapologetic. "And with good reason. Your methods are reckless, Tyler. Capturing nature is one thing, but ensuring the safety of our team and the community is paramount. Data collection can be done without playing Russian roulette with our lives."

Tyler smirks, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Ah, but without taking risks, we miss out on the most stunning phenomena. The beauty of a storm isn't just in its data points—it's in the visceral experience."

Your eyes narrow, voice sharp and unyielding. "Visceral experiences are meaningless if they end in tragedy. We need to strike a balance—pushing limits, yes, but with calculated caution. Not reckless abandonment just to feed your adrenaline addiction."

Leaning in slightly, his voice drops to a teasing whisper, "Careful. If you play it too safe, you might end up in a cozy weather office instead of out there chasing the real action."

You raise an eyebrow, your smile icy. "Better a cozy office than a hospital bed, Tyler. Besides, in the office, I can keep an eye on your antics, making sure you don’t turn yourself into a cautionary tale."

Tyler chuckles, clearly unfazed. "Touché. But admit it, you'd miss our epic sparring sessions out in the field."

You smirk back, your tone dripping with sarcasm, "Maybe. But I'd miss watching you lose a battle of wits with a breeze. It's like a real-life dumb blonde joke, but without the punchline."

Boone, with his characteristic enthusiasm, interjects, "You both have valid points! The thrill and the data—can't we find a middle ground here that marries both perspectives?"

Tyler grins at Boone's comment, "Maybe, Boone. But finding that middle ground is easier said than done."

The moderator, sensing the escalating tension and the need to maintain decorum, finally calls for a break. Their calm yet authoritative voice cuts through the cacophony of arguments, bringing a temporary ceasefire.

"Let's take a ten-minute break to gather our thoughts," the moderator says, brokering no argument. "This will give everyone a chance to cool off and reflect."

The announcement is met with a collective exhale from the audience. You can feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you step away from the podium, your mind racing with the flurry of ideas and rebuttals. Tyler shoots you a confident smirk, clearly reveling in the public sparring.

As the room buzzes with low conversations and people stretch their legs, you glance towards Boone, Lily, Dexter, and Dani. Boone gives you a thumbs-up, his eyes sparkling with excitement for the next round. Lily offers a supportive nod, while Dexter's contemplative gaze meets yours, as if silently urging you to remain steadfast. Dani approaches you quietly, her concern evident.

"Take a moment to breathe," she advises softly. "You’re doing great, but don’t let him get under your skin."

You nod, appreciating the support as you resolve to keep your composure for the next part of the debate. Tyler may have won the crowd for now, but the debate is far from over.

You step away from the panel, finding solace in a quiet corner of the room. You sip your water, your mind racing with a mix of frustration and determination. A voice interrupts your thoughts.

"Y/N," Tyler says, his tone unusually soft. "Can we talk?"

You turn to face him, your eyes narrowing. "There's not much to say, Tyler. We clearly have different philosophies that will never align."

He sighs, running a hand through his blonde hair. "Look, I know we've had our differences, but we're both here for a reason. We're passionate about what we do. Maybe... just maybe, there's a middle ground we haven't considered."

Before you can respond, a group of Tyler's ardent fans—mostly attractive young women whose adoration for him is barely concealed—swarm in, interrupting your conversation. Their laughter and excited voices fill the air as they clamor for his attention, each holding out their phones for selfies.

"Tyler, can we get a picture with you?"

"You're amazing, Tyler, can you sign this?"

Their voices form a cacophony of admiration and eagerness. Tyler gives you a fleeting look, a glimmer of regret in his eyes. As he turns to handle the eager fans, you seize the moment. You walk away quickly, your strides purposeful and filled with resolve.

By the time Tyler manages to take a few pictures and sign a couple of autographs, he looks up to continue the conversation, but you're already gone. He scans the room, his expression shifting from hope to dejection as he realizes you're nowhere to be seen.

His shoulders slump slightly, and a look of displeasure shadows his face. The admiring fans around him continue their cheerful chatter, but his thoughts are elsewhere. He looks in the direction you went, frustration evident as he contemplates the vanished opportunity to bridge the chasm between you.

.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ . ⋆ * .♡ *:･ﾟ.   ݁ ˖ ࣪ .

The second day of the storm chaser convention dawns with a swirl of excitement and anticipation. Yesterday had been a whirlwind, with Tyler and you continuing your intense, verbal sparring match during your panel. As soon as it ended, you purposely avoided Tyler for the rest of the day, determined to keep your distance and focus on the upcoming events.

Today, however, is different. You feel a surge of excitement as you head towards the sign-up area for the competition on advanced research—a competition you have won every year. You stride confidently through the bustling convention hall, ready to claim your victory once more.

Approaching the registration table, you're taken aback to see Tyler there, pen in hand, scribbling his name onto the sign-up sheet. Your eyebrows knit together in a mixture of surprise and annoyance as you walk up to him.

"What are you doing here, Tyler?" you ask, folding your arms across your chest. "This competition has strict rules that you couldn't follow even if they were spelled out in neon lights."

Tyler smirks and meets your gaze. "Decided to sign up this year. Thought I'd give you some real competition."

You lock eyes, each ready for a verbal duel. The air between you crackles with tension.

"If you think you can handle it, by all means, try," you retort, your voice tinged with sarcasm. "Just know that this isn't your usual chaotic escapade. This requires precision and knowledge—qualities that, frankly, I don't think you possess."

Tyler chuckles softly. "We'll see about that. Underestimating me might be your biggest mistake."

Before you can continue your exchange, the host of the panel steps up to a microphone, capturing the attention of everyone in the room. The host, a renowned meteorologist named Dr. Sandra Jacobs, greets the crowd with a warm smile and a practiced ease.

"Good morning, everyone! I'm Dr. Sandra Jacobs, and it's my pleasure to welcome you to this year's storm chaser convention!" Dr. Jacobs begins, her voice carrying effortlessly through the room. "As many of you know, this convention is a celebration of the fascinating and often dangerous world of storm chasing. It's a place for experts and enthusiasts alike to share their passion and knowledge."

A murmur of agreement ripples through the crowd as Dr. Jacobs continues.

"One of the highlights of our convention is the competition on advanced research. It's a chance for storm chasers to showcase their findings, methodologies, and innovations in storm tracking and prediction."

Your eyes shift back to Tyler momentarily, a competitive fire igniting within you.

"This year, however, we’ve decided to change things up," Dr. Jacobs announces, her eyes twinkling with excitement. "There will be no rules and no limits! The stakes are higher than ever, with $100,000 in research funding and a special feature on Discovery Plus for the winner!"

A collective gasp and murmurs of surprise and excitement ripple through the crowd. Your eyes widen slightly, processing the unexpected twist. Tyler glances at you, a satisfied grin spreading across his face.

"No rules, huh?" he teases, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "Looks like your little rule-book speech just got thrown out the window."

With that, he turns and walks away, leaving you standing there, both frustrated and fueled by the sudden turn of events. You watch him go, your mind already strategizing how to adapt to the new, unpredictable landscape of the competition. The game had just changed, and you are more determined than ever to come out on top.

[jxwl4k]

Sparks Ignite

Plot: Katsuki Bakugo and Y/N L/N are known for their intense rivalry, their constant bickering and competitive spirit are a source of both amusement and frustration for their classmates and teachers until, their rivalry evolves into a simple relationship.

pt.2

In the prestigious halls of UA High, where aspiring heroes honed their skills, there existed an electrifying rivalry between Katsuki Bakugo and Y/N L/N. Their dynamic was a constant clash of wills and ideologies, reminiscent of two raging storms converging. Y/N, possessing a demeanor akin to Todoroki's calm exterior but paired with a sharp tongue, never hesitated to voice their thoughts, especially when Bakugo's explosive temperament was concerned.

One crisp autumn morning found them in the bustling cafeteria, surrounded by their classmates enjoying breakfast. Bakugo, as always, was sitting at a table in a corner, glaring at the world as if daring anyone to challenge him. Y/N, not one to back down, sauntered over with a tray in hand and dropped into the seat across from him.

"You're glaring again, Bakugo," Y/N remarked casually, stirring their coffee. "Did you forget to blow something up this morning?"

Bakugo snorted, his expression darkening. "You're one to talk, Ice Cube. Don't you have some glacier to melt?"

Their classmates exchanged knowing looks, accustomed to the duo's banter that could rival any action-packed showdown. As Y/N and Bakugo continued their verbal sparring, the atmosphere around them seemed to hum with anticipation, half expecting an explosion that would rock the cafeteria.

Later that day, during a break between classes, Y/N found themselves in the same empty classroom as Bakugo, both reviewing notes from the morning's lecture. The tension between them crackled like static electricity, waiting for the slightest spark to ignite.

"You know," Y/N began, breaking the silence, "you might actually be tolerable if you weren't so obsessed with proving you're the best."

Bakugo scoffed, his hands clenched into fists. "And you might be less annoying if you weren't always criticizing every move I make."

Y/N leaned back in their chair, a small smirk playing on their lips. "But where's the fun in that? Someone has to keep you in check, Bakugo."

He glared at them, his crimson eyes narrowing. "I don't need anyone to keep me in check. Least of all you."

Their argument was interrupted by the arrival of their classmates, who entered the classroom and immediately sensed the charged atmosphere. Mina Ashido, ever the cheerful soul, chirped, "Whoa, guys, are we interrupting something?"

"Nope," Y/N replied smoothly, shooting Bakugo a pointed look. "Just discussing the finer points of hero strategy."

Bakugo muttered something unintelligible under his breath, his usual bravado momentarily subdued. The class exchanged amused glances, accustomed to the volatile but strangely magnetic relationship between Y/N and Bakugo.

As weeks turned into months, their bickering continued, becoming a familiar soundtrack to life at UA. Yet, beneath the constant clash of egos, a grudging respect began to emerge. They found themselves gravitating towards each other during training sessions, their strategies complementing rather than conflicting.

One rainy afternoon, while sparring in the training grounds, Bakugo threw a punch that Y/N deftly dodged. "Too slow, Bakugo," they taunted, a playful grin on their face.

He gritted his teeth, his palms sparking with frustration. "Shut up and fight, Ice Cube."

Their classmates watched from the sidelines, half expecting the training grounds to erupt into chaos. Instead, they witnessed a synchronized dance of skill and determination, a silent acknowledgment passing between Y/N and Bakugo as they fought side by side.

Afterward, as they walked back to the dormitories together, Y/N glanced at Bakugo out of the corner of their eye. "You know, for someone who claims to hate my guts, you don't mind teaming up with me."

Bakugo grunted, his expression unreadable. "Don't get used to it. I just tolerate your presence because you're marginally less useless than the rest of these extras."

Y/N chuckled, bumping shoulders with him lightly. "High praise, coming from you."

Their classmates, trailing behind them, exchanged bewildered glances. Kirishima, unable to contain his curiosity any longer, ventured, "Hey, Y/N, Bakugo, are you two... friends now?"

Bakugo and Y/N exchanged a look, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them before Bakugo gruffly replied, "We're not friends, shitty hair. Just... rivals who tolerate each other."

Y/N smirked, shaking their head. "Sure, Bakugo. Whatever helps you sleep at night."

And so, amidst the chaos and camaraderie of UA High, Katsuki Bakugo and Y/N found themselves navigating a path from bitter rivals to reluctant allies—perhaps even something more, though neither would admit it aloud.

[akirathedramaqueen]

Stolas: A Gradual Descent to the Bottom of the Bottle

This post analyzes Stolas's situation with alcohol and discusses whether the show effectively represents this systemic issue, and what it implies about real life.

The take is certainly not unique, but I decided to post it anyway to spread awareness about how subtle, seemingly harmless, occasional drinking can seamlessly turn into a full-blown addiction over time.

TW: substance abuse, addiction, alcoholism

Is Stolas an alcoholic?

The answer seems obvious at first. You look at him—all posh, intelligent, and articulate—and you might think, "He doesn’t look like one." You won’t find him, Satan forbid, somewhere under a porch, or truly dependent on the bottle, like drinking during the day—or not absinthe, anyway.

Sure, he drinks sometimes, but it’s fine . . . right? Everyone drinks sometimes. Everyone deserves to feel a bit happier after something bad happens once.

Or twice.

Or thrice . . .

. . . Oh.

Not so obvious anymore, eh?

The real issue here is that the answer is kind of between 'yes' and 'no.' My TL;DR is that the show makes it pretty clear his drinking is becoming problematic, but it’s not quite there yet. And it will become alcoholism soon enough if nothing changes.

I think what we see happening to Stolas right now is an excellent, textbook example of how people end up there. So let’s get into his head, explore where he stands, and what it means for us and for him.

It starts easy

It doesn’t happen in one day. It's not like you get up early one especially glum morning and decide, "Hey, that's a good day to ruin my life!"

It's a vulnerability that makes you susceptible to drinking. Constant pressure. Anxiety. Depression. Trauma.

And you might find yourself wanting to do everything, anything, to get it out of your brain. Not think about it for one evening. Forget.

What a pathetic fucking man!

Her attacking you, whether physically, verbally, in public or private. You, having no one to turn to, having no way to mend it, having to keep up appearances for your kid.

We all have bad days. Bad situations. It’s not to say that one wild night is inevitably going to turn you into an alcoholic. But when you allow the bottle to be your crutch for life, when it becomes a habit to avoid uncomfortable, traumatic events, then . . .

Then it turns into a coping mechanism

You know, it’s . . . it’s simpler. It’s comfortable. Soothing.

You can’t kick her out of the house. You can’t make the man you love love you back. You can’t get a support network because she ostracized you from royal social circles and made a laughing stock out of you.

But you can forget. Forget that one excruciatingly humiliating night. Where not only was all your dirty laundry thrown out on the dance floor for everyone to see, but also, that said romantic interest made it clear it’s only about sex.

You used to have a smoking wife, a kid, you had it all! I hope you didn't give it up so you and him could get it up

Stolas, don't act like what we have is anything but you wanting me to fuck you, okay? You make that really clear all the time.

Forget well enough to fall asleep drunk on the floor among the only living beings who didn't run from you yet. Maybe only just because they are in pots and don't have legs.

And it spirals out of control

Things get gradually worse. Your only lifeline—your . . . uh, romantic interest and daughter—fall out of reach. He finds every reason to avoid you. She hasn't visited you since that LA incident.

Your only power move with a divorce request turns into a lengthy, exhausting proceeding and leads to an assassination attempt. Your—what are you even anymore?—romantic interest pretty much ignores your distress call, or so you think.

You go with a showdown. You can't stand the ambiguity anymore. You want to know whether there's something behind your transactional thing. It's either 'yes' or 'no,' and . . .

It doesn't end too well.

Lastly, you go to a party to try to unwind (or at least be polite, because it's rude to ignore invitations). But your ex's (???) ex acts cruelly, and you don't feel comfortable there. And the wound is still fresh, bleeding . . .

Fuck it, the absinthe won't cut it. Beelzejuice it is then.

And here we are, back to our starting question

Stolas wears a functional alcoholism guise. Or dangerously close to it. Because that's what I believe is going on.

He is still a functional member of society, but he is shown not being capable of processing his trauma without the bottle in hand. And, as things get worse for him, we see the bottle or the glass or any other alcohol container more often on the screen.

For now, he's hanging on, but it's just a matter of a flip switch—the moment when every second of his life will start to feel unbearable without alcohol, simply because there are no other ways to cope.

It's worth noting, though, that Stolas isn't the only character depicted struggling with the urge to drink away his problems.

The most obvious example is Verosika, who is a severe case of alcoholism. We won't delve deep into her character since I want to focus on gradual decline rather than the end result, but we rarely see her without a bottle. There are a couple of scenes where she doesn't hold one, but these moments are situational. She's also been to rehab at least once and only got out because of her reputation.

But there is another character I'd like to dissect, because this will answer the lingering question, "Is there a way out?"

Blitzø, and why he didn't fall victim to this

We saw Blitzø drinking too, at the Bee’s party. To a rather disturbing degree, actually.

But why does no one say he has an alcohol problem, even though he did use alcohol as a coping mechanism? 

Because Blitzø is an example of how the addiction might be prevented and what ultimately makes a difference, a turning point.

To start off, we first see him not in the bar. We see him at home with a pint of melting ice-cream. Dude sugar-bombed himself to sleep . . . after the already mentioned disastrous date with Stolas at Ozzie's, that is.

And then he gets a call from Loona, who asks to pick her up from the party. He has no plans to stay there whatsoever.

But what changed his mind? Pressure did. 

He was pressured by both Loona and an old acquaintance to stop by. (I stress that no one is wrong for this, by the way—he still had the agency to turn the invitation down.) He reluctantly agreed to one drink . . . which we know how ended.

It's much harder to keep it to just one drink when you're sad and alcohol makes you feel better. Nobody wants to be sad.

But with all that said, Blitzø is extremely resilient. In contrast to Stolas—who is strong in his own way but slipping despite all the privilege, magic, and immortality that Blitzø thinks make him invincible—Blitzø never let that one drinking occasion become a habit.

Because he has a support network. However closed off he is, he has his business to take care of, Loona, and M&M. He has things he likes to do and he has people he cares about.

Stolas has all the money in the world, but no friends or activities he could look forward to. He doesn't seem happy with his royal life at all, referring to himself as an owl in a gilded cage.

So the difference is, essentially, this: Blitzø has alternatives and doesn't see alcohol as an outlet. There is a wonderful post from @warblogs17282 which has similar points I make, but also, it shows another angle of Blitzø's relationship with alcohol—his, unfortunately, long history with addiction in family. So that contributes, too.

Is Stolas a lost cause?

Gods, no. But it’s definitely a problem by this point. 

Is he an active alcoholic? Maybe not yet. He isn't Verosika yet. But he is getting there, which I think is the point the show makes.

Alcohol might be a one-time patch on especially rough days, and you might wake up the next day strong and aware enough not to make a habit of it. But the problem is, Stolas already has a habit, and he doesn't have anything to replace it. 

To solve it, he needs just that—a replacement for the bottle. Someone who cares. My hope is that one particular red lizard will share his pint of ice cream and his love. And maybe then, grim days won't be as grim anymore, even when the absinthe stays in the store, or wherever these royals get their alcohol.

Closing note. Why it’s important to talk about this in real life context

Warning: Extreme TMI

I had an alcoholic in the family, and this topic triggers me because, for him, it also started as "no biggie."

He was still functional for years, coming to work regularly. But he was slipping. He drank more, skipped work, and eventually became unbearable for his family—my family, even if not immediate. His wife requested a divorce. He got isolated. He drank even more. Eventually, he got fired because it's not appropriate for a director to skip work and reek of ethanol. The smell was so strong that people couldn't be in the same room with him. He tried other jobs. He aced interviews thanks to 30 years of experience and a solid background. But he got fired again because he couldn't live up to his legacy anymore. At the end, he descended into what you would call full-blown alcoholism.

So, you followed his story, and my question is: Did it start here, when he couldn't help it anymore? Or did it start a couple of years before that, when alcohol became too comfortable as an outlet for struggles?

I've had rough months too—with the war in Ukraine and everything happening with my family—when I realized it became comfortable for me to drink my problems away. Because it works. Because it’s pleasant not to deal with anything, to force your brain to shut up and be happy for one evening.

And it's terrifying to realize I had (thankfully, I don't have anymore for a long time by now) those patterns of thinking: "Jeez, I just want to drink and forget this happened."

Because I saw where it leads. And the farther you go, the harder it becomes to say 'no.'

So please, pay attention to the ones you care about. Pay attention to yourself.

[zykamiliah]

ehem. so. since sometimes certain people won't believe sqq's recap of thing because he's an "unreliable narrator", here's bingge's own pov from the showdown extra on the abuse he suffered in qing jing peak:

Since he’d come of age, no one had ever managed to push him this far. Being at such a disadvantage reminded him of the days when he’d been persecuted and humiliated, trampled over in all kinds of ways. The hot tea spilled upon his head, the cold and drafty woodshed, the relentless beating fists, the verbal abuse, the kneeling that lasted from the blazing afternoon into the dead of the night, the paucity of his meals. And connected to those days via a thousand inseparable threads was the face before him.

he's referring to sqq's face ofc

so mxtx confirms it all happened through bingge's pov, and later from sj's pov too.

┐(︶▽︶)┌

[alcrox]

Did Yu Ziyuan intend to cut off Wei Wuxian's arm?

I have seen this brought up a few times.

There are generally two arguments: yes, she totally intended to do that and only changed her mind when she was told that Lotus Pier would be converted into a "Wen Supervisory Office" AND no, she was just buying time by beating up Wei Wuxian and appeasing Wang Lingjiao.

I think it's a bit of both?

She didn't (and wouldn't) hesitate to beat up Wei Wuxian. This is the first scene we see her physically abuse Wei Wuxian (before this we only hear her verbally abuse... well, everyone) but it is made very clear that Wei Wuxian is quite used to this sort of treatment. Cutting off an arm, however, is very different. It would maim WWX for life. It isn't something that, even WWX with his strong golden core, would be able to just heal from easily. He would have to find a whole new way to get around his disability.

It's not as if YZY would hesitate to cut off WWX's arm from a place of concern or affection. Hell no. She is extremely sharp and intelligent, though. She has seen WWX grow up, she has seen his talents first-hand. She knows just how much of an asset WWX is to the Yunmeng Jiang. And she knew that this day was coming. The day when the Qishan Wen came to her doorstep and tried to take over Lotus Pier. She might blame WWX for it (because she too, like Wen Chao, just needs an excuse to blame WWX, though hers comes from a place of being blinded by hatred rather than planning a seize) but she is well aware that one way or another, this was happening. That much was clear in episode 11 when she is spitting mad that Jiang Cheng has to go to the Wen Indoctrination Camp. She knows what the Wens are doing and she is not surprised when the final showdown finally happens.

So, it's a bit of both. She was buying time, but she was also, maybe, hoping that punishing WWX in front of WLJ would be enough. When WLJ mentions cutting off WWX'S right arm, however, she visibly hesitates. (Or rather, considers.) She knows what cutting off WWX's arm means; it means to rid her Clan of a powerful asset. WWX may still be able to fight with his left arm (as he has clearly made up his mind to do so) but right after his arm is cut off, he would be of no use in a fight. And YZY already knows from that point onwards, there are only two options. One, she and JC and WWX and the Jiang army fight off the Wens and risk losing their lives, including the heir Jiang Cheng. Two, the option which she ends up choosing, she fights to death, defending her home from the Wens while JC escapes with WWX. In both options, WWX's survival and skills are crucial. She knows JC's best chance of making it through all of this is keeping WWX alive and indebted. She cannot cut off his arm yet. Not when WWX, in her eyes, hasn't paid off his debt yet. Not when she knows, despite her hatred, that WWX can be counted on for his courage and loyalty and incredible skills to keep JC safe.

She orders the doors to be shut, which is absolutely meant to be interpreted as acquiescence to cut off WWX's arm. She is clever. She buys them as much time as possible, possibly also gives WWX a while to recover from being whipped so brutally by Zidian. And it also serves the purpose of keeping the Wens inside so that they can't go and alert Wen Chao and bring an even bigger army back to Lotus Pier. She knows shit's about to hit the fan so she doesn't reveal what she plans to do until the last possible moment when does.

And then WLJ utters "Wen Supervisory Office" and YZY knows it's time. That the gig is up.

If the order was to whip WWX with Zidian for a while longer, YZY may have complied. She knows exactly how strong WWX is and how much he can withstand without, like, dying or something. But the price WLJ asked for was too high (and probably calculated on WLJ's part as well; she too must know what a skilled fighter WWX is and how to sever the Yunmeng Jiang from one of its most powerful weapons. She saw WWX in action, after all, in the Xuanwu cave). So YZY stopped complying and began strategizing. How to save her home. How to keep the Clan alive. How to preserve her assets.

She didn't keep WWX alive and safe (well, safe is questionable, she did beat the shit out of him) out of goodwill. She kept him alive and safe out of necessity.

Side note, this shot:

This shot helped reinforce my theory. YZY despises WWX, that much is not a secret. Everyone knows it. Everyone in this very scene knows it. Yet when the Wens, headed by WLJ, first arrive at Lotus Pier, this shot makes a pretty firm statement of they are united against a common enemy. YZY is many things, but she is not stupid. She knows what the real problem here is. And she is standing with her entire Jiang army, including WWX, against said problem.

I despise YZY as a mother but damn if she isn't an interesting character.

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

What if the reader had Mitsuri's demon slayer strength and Tanjiro Kamado's personality?

AND Have you had water yet? Have a great week 😃👋

Here you go. Thanks for your concern. Yes I have water today.

Thank you, I also hope you have a great week 🥰

Reader have Mitsuri's strength and Tanjiro Kamado's personality

Slight! Self-Aware! Fukuzawa Yukichi x GN! Reader x Self-Aware! Fukuchi Ouchi

Warning: OOC. English is my second language

🐾 Before coming to your world, BSD Cast already knew, that you are kind.

🐾 But, in reality, you were even kinder.

🐾 Your eyes are so soft and gentle.

🐾 You are not afraid of asking for help.

🐾 The Gang already were planning to protect you. Now they are ready to double their efforts.

🐾 Some rascals may take an advantage of you and your kindness, so it's their duty to protect you.

🐾 One time, when you asked them to take a rest and don't worry so much, Junchirou proclaimed that they can't rest. "The strong must protect the sweet" he said.

🐾 How did he? Was it intentional or accidental?

🐾 You did hold yourself together and start laughing only when you were alone in your room.

🐾 At the end, you decide to let them do their thing. It seems, it wasn't really hard for your new friends to help you.

🐾 They saw you as an adorable little bunny.

🐾 Until one day.

________________

This morning, you woke up because of sounds of arguing.

You yawn and get out of bed. You quickly wash your face, brush your teeth and change into your everyday clothes.

After the that, you finally went to the living room, where the sounds of the argument come from.

Fukuzawa Yukichi and Fukuchi Ouchi were arguing. Sigma was also there, looking for a way to break the argument. You came closer to Sigma, who was nervously looking from one male to another.

"Morning, Sigma. What's going on?" greeted you. Sigma smile at you.

"Good morning, [Y/N]. Fukuzawa-san and Fukuchi are arguing about... some events in the manga." Sigma looked uncomfortable. You rolled your eyes.

One of the first things you did, after BSD Cast got into your world, forbid characters from trying to start a showdown about events that occurred after they gained self-awareness and in which they were not directly involved.

But, you do know, that In case of Fukuchi it might be tricky.

So, just in case, you've confiscated Shintou Amenogozen from Fukuchi and hide it. You also made Fukuchi to take Holy Sword from the Bram. Stoker, after getting his body back, was exploring your world. (Was browsing The Internet and Watching TV with Aya).

But, even without his sword, Fukuchi still can start a fight. A verbal fight.

It doesn't seem, that Fukuzawa and Fukuchi will stop anytime soon.

You tried to break the fight. You stepped between two men.

"Okay, that's enough, you two. Let's not start the morning with fighting."

Both Fukuchi and Fukuzawa step back, but they still looked mad at each other.

"While I don't want this, [Y/N], but I can't just sit there and not try to settle our conflicts," Fukuzawa looked calmer, than before, but still, looked determined to start a fight.

"Yukichi, please..." you tried to reason with the silver-haired man, when you were interrupted.

"[Y/N], step aside, we will settle this," growls Fukuchi, trying to gently move you out of the way.

"Ouchi, stop, or I will go mad," you threatened, frowning at Fukuchi.

"Little Guiding Light, it's not like you can do anything to... Woah!" Fukuchi didn't expect to be picked up by you. You picked him up with one had and then picked up Fukuzawa with the other.

"I don't have a "Get Along Shirt", so you will have a "Get Along Human". To the dining room!" cheered you, and walked headed to the dining room. Sigma silently walked after you.

___________

🐾 Let's just say, your entrance was epic. Their Kind, Adorable Little Bunny were holding Fukuzawa and Fukuchi above their head.

🐾 Everyone was shocked.

🐾 You were talking about your strength during breakfast. Yes, you have it from the day you were born. No, It's not an ability. Yes, that's why you eat so much. No, you don't want to start boxing for money.

🐾 Now BSD characters knew, that you can take care of yourself. But still, they want to protect you. They don't want something sweet to be corrupted by someone evil.

🐾 On the side note, now you are training with Fukuzawa and Fukuchi from time to time.

🐾 Some characters may start arguing on purpose, so you will carry them.

[ohmaerieme]

wanted to draw more of my ‘luigi having some moments of awareness and fighting back against dimentio’ concept, but i couldnt think of any dialogue so just pretend theyre having an epic poetic verbal showdown for control

[ashenlavellan]

A Realistic Kaidan Appreciation Post in Regards to the Migraines -

I know that this has all been said and done, but stick around if you enjoy the Mass Effect series and have an appreciation and/or like Kaidan Alenko ^.^

Now, let's briefly talk about his backstory/pre-ME trilogy.

(Exposure to Element Zero): Now, humanity simply acquired biotics through means of exposure to Element Zero through utero - they don't give us an exact percentage of how likely the fetus can develop biotic capabilities over terminal brain cancer, but let's consider that it's not too high... considering that the "accidents" were somewhat frequent.

There isn't much mention before his L2 implants if he had suffered from negative symptoms, but let's just say that if there were, they were likely minimal/barely noticeable. It wasn't until many individuals with biotic tendencies were fitted with the L2 implants that we began to see severe effects to fatal circumstances.

We consider Kaidan to be quite lucky considering that he seems to only experience severe/intense migraines, especially if he pushes himself too hard with biotic overuse. Yet, there are some fans out there that may hardly ever have migraines - let alone, headaches.

This is coming from me - who deals with chronic AND hormonal migraines on a near daily-basis. They are detrimental.

Migraines can be triggered not just from being chronic or hormonal, but ingesting certain foods/drinks (especially caffeine - yes, I'm talking about you coffee.), over-exercise, and stress.

Um, we've all witnessed what the ME: Trilogy is like as we play as our respective Commander Shepard, but we hardly know what our companions are feeling unless they verbally express so within the game. (Yes, I get it - they're just video game characters, but let me nerd out and relate to a character!)

Chasing after a rogue Spectre, Saren Arterius, and the possibly extinction of all races in the Milky Way?

Possibly losing his SO (if you romanced him), or one of his closest friends only to reunite two years later - thanks to being resurrected by a terrorist organization?

Or, possibly getting killed on Mars after working alongside his SO/Ex-SO/closest friend?

Then a possible showdown with said person after the terrorist organization attacks the Citadel shortly after becoming a Spectre?

I could honestly go on, but that sounds fucking stressful and then some for Kaidan to deal with - on top of dealing with migraine episodes/flare-ups thanks to his biotics/implants. Not just that, but how fast-paced and constantly moving? Especially with their military careers?

I'm sorry, but I know for a fact that if it wasn't for other medical conditions, I would have been turned away from joining the military with my chronic and hormonal migraines and I genuinely can't function and have had to call out of work because of how severe mine are... hell, I've been hospitalized once due to them.

Migraines are no joke and the fact that Kaidan Alenko pushes through with how intense they are and remains active within the military? Becomes a Spectre for the Milky Way galaxy? Possibly becomes the SO/Spouse of our adrenaline-junkie Commander Shepard's?

Fucking kudos to that man.

[demeterdefence]

you know, for a comic that claims to be a "feminist retelling," it is incredible how meaningless and vapid the actual "feminism" tends to be

just using the latest update, where ouranos is verbally trying to tear rhea down and metis just kind of ... does this? and let's be clear, i don't expect metis to break into some kind of longwinded speech, considering the moment, but it doesn't like ... do anything.

is there even any reason to say rhea and metis knew each other? beyond just being fertility goddesses, have they ever actually met? metis reaching for rhea would have a lot more power if we knew of their relationship prior; because we don't know if there was one (and there very likely wasn't, rhea mentions metis to zeus while she's dying in his arms and tells him to use metis like ouranos used her) the casual aspect of this interaction falls flat on its face.

it's great to have girl boss moments and "fuck yeah" scenes, and those can be great as a feminist aspect, but feminism and women solidarity is more than that. it's something rachel has tried to do numerous times but can never actually stick the landing on. the concept of all the fertility goddesses working together could be empowering, but thus far, we haven't seen them connecting - they're just posing in their met gala reject dresses, framed in such a way that we see their breasts over and over. wouldn't this moment have been better if metis and the other fertility goddesses had put their hands on rhea's shoulders, or shown that they were together beyond ouranos? there wouldn't even need to be text; showing the three of them surrounding her, showing her love that she couldn't find with kronos, showing her that she wasn't alone.

if rachel wanted to prove that rhea was too badass to be affected by ouranos, then metis reaching for her just serves as pointless space filler. there's no point to her repeating "no, no, no" because it defeats the whole purpose of rhea being strong. it makes it seem like rhea is as fragile and timid as ouranos is trying to claim. again, we don't even know if metis and rhea know each other, and we have to remember that in previous chapters, rhea is the one who told zeus to consume her, and that metis slept with zeus when he was very much underage. we don't exactly have positive links between the two, so having metis act as some kind of comfort just feels. obligatory. like, throw in some surface level girl comfort.

visuals can be so powerful, and just seeing all the fertility goddesses rallying together facing ouranos, rather than separately posing, could have been so phenomenal. isn't that the whole point of this narrative? isn't the whole point that love goes both ways, that strength comes from connection and love (not just romantic, but maternal, friendship, allyship?)

unrelated, i don't think it's a coincidence that both persephone and rhea have been bashed by their father-in-laws in The Big Showdown, or that the bashing follows the same line of taunting. both have been called useless and weak, and it just seems to drive the point home that rhea and persephone are more or less twins. this is the most persephone-looking rhea has ever appeared, which is gross for a lot of reasons, but i digress.

showing, not telling, goes a long way, and it would be nice if we could see the actions of women supporting each other, rather than being told it's happening.

[humandisastersquad]

"... Because Gary wanted a Fifth Doctor and Nyssa story, I was handed the added bonus of all the unfinished business over Adric. At last a chance for long-suffering Nyssa to really lay into the Doctor -with the utmost Trakenite decorum, of course. And after that verbal bloodbath, I thought she should throw a complete wobbly and go off on a vendetta after the Master. No such luck. In fact, Gary made me tone down her tirade about Adric too, since it had been covered in earlier stories. Probably sensible. I didn't want to eclipse the Doctor. The story and script had been going well, until I realised that by the end of the third episode, I'd said it all. The events for the finale were all in place, but the Doctor needed extra motivation, otherwise his final showdown with the Cyberplanner was just going to be a standard run of the mill ending. It was time for the Cybermen to get personal, so I decided to really turn the knife. If the Doctor was here at this crucial moment in the Cybermen's evolution, he had to have played a vital part in their birth. So I let him inadvertently provide a final solution to the tissue rejection problem that has always defeated Doctorman Allan. From the beginning, every Cyberman that the Doctor has ever met or fought, has had a section of the Doctor's own brain structure copied into its design. So who did kill Adric? No wonder Peter Davison’s performance sounds so spectacularly angry."

-Marc Platt, Spare Parts

[ilanarose7]

Bells Hells Episode 95 Morning After Thoughts

SPOILERS BELOW!!! (This has become a weekly thing for me to help digest the episodes and I'm probably gonna keep doing it. really helps with my episode memory as well)

New favorite Campaign 3 episode unlocked!!!! The title of this episode has been released on Beacon (I won't spoil that), but I will personally be referring to it as "Shopping and Shipping" in my own head. It just had the perfect amount of everything and felt so incredibly cathartic (then stressful in the best way) after everything that's happened in recent episodes.

Let's break it down:

The Essek v Astrid verbal showdown!!! Essek appears to hold all the grudges that Caleb doesn't (or at least didn't really at the end of M9). When Astrid dropped the "Ludinus has an itch in the back of his neck" lore I was thinking back to when they first learned more about the harness and someone (I think it was either Marisha or Laura) wrote in their notes "We cut off Ludinus's head!!!" that was later read aloud. After that convo, that action seems like a decent play. That or maybe the Cadeuces-style Dispell Magic to the back of the neck. (side note: of course Fearne bought the Vasselheim version of the Kama Sutra 😂)

NEW CLOTHES FOR EVERYONE!!! We know there's new Dorian art waiting to be released since he rejoined the party, but everyone is getting an Aeor-ready makeover! It makes perfect sense, but I was still thrown off by the level of outfit upgrades and am so excited for the art!

Pumat is BACK! Well, his Simulacrum are at least. I don't care, just hearing that voice made me so happy. And also Dorian giving all his money to Orym so he can buy the armor? So what if I was squealing?

Downtime at the Cabaret ❤️ The Imodna kiss as Laudna went back upstairs. The Callowmoore flirting leads to Ashton, for the first time in a LONG time, successfully pick-pocketing Fearne. Dorian and Chetney banter back in full swing. Fearne leaving the EXU group hug to give Dorym a moment together. going back slightly but Iva Deshin made Bells Hells clock that YES, YOU ALL DO GIVE OFF POLYAMOROUS VIBES! So many character moments that have been needed in such a plot-heavy story

Ashton shows their head off to Essek! I have been waiting for this for sooooo long!!! Allura had given some answers, but talking more about how Dunamancy and the Assembly's manipulation of Dunamis has played a role in everything going on. While the cast know this info out of character, its good that they finally can do so in character as well

Laudna, Delilah, and the Sword-Shaped Elephant in the Room. Well, damn. First off, the acting in this last hour or so was AMAZING!! Also incredibly demonstrative of the level of trust at the table. Now to talk about the moment itself. The line between Laudna and Delilah has been getting blurrier and last night I don't think Marisha even knew fully where Laudna ended and Delilah began. The cast and many insightful Critters have been comparing Laudna to an addict and last night is an incredible example. The way Laudna handled it was wrong, this could have been a conversation rather than an initial attack. But was Laudna or Delilah the one making those choices? Or being manipulated into them? In the moment, the calm approach the group tried to take was the right one, but honestly, Laudna needs a harsher talking-to like what Chetney did with Ashton post-shard incident. Taliesin on 4SD said that's what saved Ashton from leaving the group. It might be something that, other than Imogen's love, may be enough of a wake-up call to help her break away from her Delilah-induced magic addiction

TLDR: The whole episode was full of amazing moments that were cathartic, informative, tense, and heartwarming. THE PERFECT BELLS HELLS EPISODE! again, that's just my opinion. I'd love to hear what everyone else thought too!

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls-Season 3, Episode 12. "Lorelai Out Of Water" Part 1

Ladies, we have more filler. I can't complain. This episode was so easy that I watched it twice.

Lorelai has offered her garage as rehearsal space to Hep Alien. But first! They have to clean out said garage, which they haven't attempted to enter in years. Then they debate whether or not Lorelai ever remembered to call the Garage Cleaner Uppers that one time a few years ago. Thrilling stuff! It's been a while since we've last had a sexually tense Luke vs Taylor showdown.

Meow!

Gilmore Girls is bought to you by our sponsors, Office Depot, Circuit City, and Blockbuster Video. Hold on. I'm getting word that Office Depot still exists. Really?

Nothing to see here folks, just Rory comparing her mother to a woman famous for having sex with rockstars...then insinuating that she should sleep with Zach. I'm sorry Rory, this MILF only has eyes for one teenage boy. One who is a lot less talented than Zach.

This is weird, but hoo boy, it's about to get weirder.

Well well well. Who would have ever thunk that the deeply repressed Christian girl has a submssion kink? Soggy Rygalski is her Daddy ordering her around and reminding her that her drumming is inadequate. Lane personally requested that Dave verbally berate her in front of the other band members in order to...distract them? The plan is that if they see Dave treating Lane like a kicked dog, they won't realize they're crushing on each other? That's kinda messed up? This presumes that Dave and Lane are both confident that Brian and Zach will see Dave treating her like crap and have no thoughts about it except "I guess they're not smooching." Although we've yet to see if this plan, once put in motion, actually works. Anyway. Sure Lane's Dom Daddy is a lispy geek in a patterned sweater, but SaltyGilmores does not judge. It’s always the quiet ones am I right?

Seems like they’ve found a creative way to get off while staying in God's good graces. Have fun you kids.

"Rory, this is all I have" Thanks to Rory I can cross off the "cockblocking" square from my End of Episode Bingo Card.

Rory tries to come to Lane’s defense, but since it was all just part of Lane and Soggy’s sex games it wasn’t actually necessary.

Oh, we know why.

From the messed up mind of AmyShermanPalladino.

"Yes Daddy"

SAME. Oh. She's talking about the place. The place with all the coffee. Alex's kids are named Hilary and Jeff, 6 and 9.

Once again, Lorelai is no Miss Cleo.

Of course she said yes. Alex is totally worth waking up at 5 am for. Back in The Hollow, Lane is chipping away at Mama to obtain permission to go to the prom and hatching another harebrained scheme to bring Soggy Rygalski into Mama's good graces, it involves a Korean wedding and Rory is invited apparently. Whatever.

Well well well. Look who took the place of Stars Hollow Beauty Supply's worst (dead) employee. No respect for the dead, huh. Not even a little shrine or memorial plaque or photocopy of her obituary displayed on the counter. Tragic. #Honk

Where did Lane get 40 bucks? At the Inn, Lorelai is speaking to Sookie regarding her Fishing Date Regrets.

He sounds dreamy. Tell me more.

And the Mid Season Temporary Love Interests just keep on comin! Now we just have to wait for Lindsay. Oh dear God. I just remembered Max comes back in this season too. And maybe even soon. Help. While Lorelai seems to have terrific chemistry with her new temporary Luke substitute (Alex), Luke's Lorelai substitutes (Rachel, Nicole) have always fallen flat and seemed dreadfully boring to me. That's probably on purpose. We're stuck with her for a while. Whatever.

Hey look everyone. There's the baby. Where have you been, young man? I've hit my 30 screenshot maximum. Stay tuned for part 2. (As always, your comments, feedback, reblogs and tags make my day)

[fu66sun]

telepath; 이동혁

001 |

wc: 1,410

on a chilly autumn evening, the library was the spot for a silent but intense standoff between you and haechan as you tried to study for your looming midterm exam. the library's vibe was peaceful, filled with the subtle rustling of pages and the occasional whispered conversations.

discontentment had been building within you, making you irritable. your hair was unruly, your clothes felt uncomfortable, and even the sound of haechan's breathing was enough to make your blood boil.

haechan, could you please keep your music down? i'm trying to focus here—you whispered, irritation evident.

haechan was not in the best of moods either, whether due to your presence or his ongoing struggle with a particularly vexing problem. he shot back — what's your problem, y/n? i can't study in complete silence. and don't tell me you've never heard of headphones.

you continued in a hushed tone

—haechan, i don't mind if you listen to music, but your taste is atrocious, and it's loud enough for the entire library to hear. have some consideration for others.

haechan's patience was wearing thin, and your talent for getting under his skin was apparent. — my taste is atrocious? that's rich coming from someone who probably listens to elevator music and taylor swift.

—you know, haechan, elevator music is more sophisticated than whatever noise you're playing. this is a library, not your personal concert hall. besides, dude, what does taylor has to do with any of this?

a smirk played on haechan's lips as he added with a hint of sarcasm —oh, i'm sorry, i didn't realize you owned the place. maybe you should run for library monitor of the year, y/n.

the tension in the library escalated, and with renjun nowhere in sight to mediate, you raised your voice at him.

—that's not the point, haechan! the point is, you're being disruptive, and it's making it impossible for me to study. you're impossible, haechan! this is why i can't stand you. you're always so inconsiderate and arrogant!

haechan, not one to back down from a challenge, responded with equal fervor— and you're so uptight and bossy! you act like you own the place.

the library's hushed atmosphere had been disturbed by the verbal showdown between you and haechan. your personalities clashed like two storms, temporarily sidelining your study session and adding a touch of drama to an otherwise quiet, book-filled setting.

when renjun finally made his entrance into the library, it was like a scene straight out of a cartoon. you know, the kind where the hero comes in to save the day. and believe me, you needed some saving.

he just strolled in like he owned the place, as if he hadn't noticed the boiling tension that was about to reach its climax between you and haechan.

but here's the thing, renjun might have looked chill on the outside, but you could see it in his eyes - he knew something was up. he took a quick scan of the room, and his gaze landed on you, locked in a fiery verbal duel with haechan. it was like he had walked into the lion's den, and boy, did he always have a front-row seat to the show.

now, you've got to understand, the library was supposed to be this sanctuary of silence and concentration. but with you and haechan going at it, it felt more like a battlefield. your voices clashed with the hushed whispers of the other students, and the tension was so thick you could practically cut it with a knife.

renjun broke the silence. — hey, what's going on, guys? — he asked, his eyes bouncing back and forth between you and haechan. it was like he had a sixth sense for detecting conflict when it came to you and decided to intervene before things got out of hand.

you were the first to spill the beans.— haechan and i were just, you know, having a disagreement about his music. it's just too loud, and he doesn't seem to care.

haechan's face shifted from annoyed to more neutral as he responded — yeah, and y/n here thinks she's the queen of the library, telling everyone what to do.

it was like renjun had waved a magic wand or something because suddenly, the argument cooled down. haechan reluctantly agreed to turn down the music, and you gave a little nod, agreeing to wear headphones. renjun had brought some much-needed zen into the room.

with the music at a more tolerable level, renjun took a seat at your table, and you got back to studying. the library got back to being quiet, just the usual soft sounds of flipping pages and whispers.

in the days following your heated argument in the library, you couldn't help but stew over your frustration with haechan. the clash over something as seemingly trivial as his music had escalated into a bitter argument that had left you seething. it was a constant reminder of your conflicting personalities and how much you disliked haechan's behavior.

as you sat in a quiet corner of the campus courtyard, you couldn't hold back your feelings any longer.

renjun — you began, a note of exasperation in your voice—i've been thinking about our little trio with haechan. to be honest, i don't understand why we even hang out with him. i mean, he's impossible. i don't even consider him a friend, and... i think i might even hate his stupid guts.

renjun looked at you with a mixture of surprise and concern.

—hate is a strong word, y/n. why do you feel this way?

you leaned in, frustration evident.

— it's not just that one library incident. it's everything about him. it's the debates, it's the constant need to comment on everything i do or don't do. he's so inconsiderate and arrogant. he's constantly pushing my buttons, and I can't stand it. I thought college would be a fresh start, a chance to meet people who are different, but I never expected someone like haechan.

—i get it, y/n. haechan can be a handful, and he's definitely not everyone's cup of tea. but, he has his good sides too, you know?

haechan's expression hardened at renjun's sudden interest in the topic—hate, huh? well, i can't say i'm a big fan of her either.

renjun was taken aback by haechan's response.

—what do you mean, you're not a fan of her?

haechan sighed, leaning back in his chair.

—i don't know, renjun. there's just something about her that really pisses me off. she's so uptight and bossy. it's like she thinks she owns the place. i don't doubt that she's a good friend to you. but I can't stand the way she tries to control everything and act like she's better than everyone else. it's like she's always looking for reasons to argue with me.

now that you and haechan knew how much you hated each other, things seemed to cool down a bit. you didn't want anything to do with him an neither did you. at least the rest of your first semester was a little bit calmer. yes, you did hang out with each other, but never exchanged words, or looks, or anything at all.

you were now, simply, classmates.

at the beginning of the second semester, haechan would be assigned a new roommate, chenle. it was safe to say that you were initially skeptical about how this would pan out.

the three of you already knew chenle because he was in some of your previous classes. you'd exchanged several conversations and were no strangers to one another. that's why you couldn't help but wonder if their personalities would clash, much like yours and haechan's had in the past.

but, over time, something surprising happened. you noticed that haechan and chenle began to bond over shared interests. and they even shared their experiences going to the same stupid high school.

surprised by the seemingly quick development of their friendship, you and renjun decided to give it a chance. and slowly but surely, chenle was almost all the time with the both you.

chenle had a naturally partying persona. he would always brag about this bar near campus, insistin that the four of you should go. and most of the time he would end up convincing haechan, but never renjun or you.

however that would change now that the school was closing down for winter vacations and everyone had to go home for the holidays.

taglist yayy: @sunflowerhae @sundamariis @yesohhsehun @hcheach <3<3<3<3 hope this meets your expectations ahhh