#and suddenly you think you know better than everyone

[melanchoire]

Reader has an oral fixation and is usually sucking on lollipops to soothe the fixation but when there’s none for her to fixate on her girlfriend (Karina)offers to help her out by letting her suck on her boobs/breasts/tits(idk which to use lol)

BETTER THAN SWEETS ──── yu jimin

── ( 🍨 ) you’ve always found comfort in the sweet, hard shell of a lollipop, the constant motion a balm for your restless mind; however, your chronic oral fixation, fueled by an endless supply of lollipops and the incessant schmack of your chewing, has finally pushed karina, your girlfriend, to the edge; one night, instead of nagging or leaving, she takes matters (and your mouth) into her own hands, devising an intensely sensual and shockingly effective intervention that will challenge everything you think you know about your desires… and maybe even her own.

pairing. soft dom!girlfriend!karina x sub!girlfriend!fem reader

warning(s). nipple play, titsucking, oral fixation, suggestive at the end.

word count. 2,5k

the flicker of the television screen dances on the walls, a pale blue glow that does little to illuminate the comfortable clutter of your apartment. karina is lost in the endless scroll of her phone, the soft tap–tap–tapping a counterpoint to the quiet hum of the refrigerator. you barely register the movie playing on the screen, your world narrowed to the sweet, artificial cherry flavor coating your tongue. this is your haven, this small, sugary escape. you’ve always found comfort in the act of sucking, chewing, the sensation of something in your mouth, and a lollipop is a perfect, portable solution.

the sweetness coats your tongue, a familiar comfort, a sensory anchor in the mundane. you run the hard candy over your teeth, licking the sugary surface, the rhythmic sound of your enjoyment filling the space. it’s always been like this. when you were a child, you were a magnet for well–meaning adults, hands filled with sugary treats, happy to indulge your insatiable sweet tooth. it was a simple, innocent pleasure then; grandparents would slip you hard candies, aunts would press chocolates into your palms, and the world felt like a giant, edible playground.

but then you grew up, and your habits, like everything else, evolved. the candies became gum, then lollipops, then the nervous gnawing of pen caps during class. you knew it was a quirk, an oddity, but it was a part of you, and you’d learned to live with it, mostly.

you steal a glance at karina, lost in the glow of her phone screen. you’re grateful for her understanding, her acceptance when you first hesitantly confessed your “problem” as you sometimes called it. to her, it was just another habit, like the way she always rearranged the throw pillows on the couch or how she had to have the radio on while she was showering. “everyone had their things” she had said.

but tonight, the silence of the apartment is suddenly broken by the thunk of her phone hitting the coffee table. you’re pulled from your sugary reverie as her eyes, a deep, startling brown, land on you. her face is devoid of expression, an unsettling blankness that makes your stomach clench.

karina throws her phone onto the coffee table, the sudden clatter startling you. she turns to you, her eyes fixed on you, her expression unreadable, blank. “do you have to chew it like that?” her voice is flat, devoid of the usual warmth. “like you’re a horse eating grass or something?”

the question catches you off guard. you pull the lollipop from your mouth, the sweet, cherry scent still lingering in the air. “was i… making a lot of noise?” you hadn’t noticed, lost in the comfort of the familiar flavor and the rhythmic motions. you’d been so focused on the simple act, you hadn't even considered that it might grate on someone else.

she folds her arms, her gaze intense. “It’s like… i can hear you slurping it from across the room.”

you set the lollipop on the table, the plastic stick clicking softly against the glass. “sorry, i didn’t realize.”

a moment of silence hangs between you, thick and uncomfortable. then, she asks, “how long have you had that thing? you opened it this morning, right?”

your heart sinks a little. you know she means well; she’s always been concerned about your well–being. but this feels different, like a criticism. “uhm, actually.” you admit. “i had more than one.”

her eyebrows shoot up, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. “more than one? how many more?” she asks, incredulous. “you didn’t even eat lunch. how are you not sick?”

you nod, avoiding her eyes, suddenly feeling like a misbehaving child caught with your hand in the cookie jar. “i… i don’t know...” you can’t bring yourself to look at her. “i think— three? maybe four?”

a sharp intake of breath. “four lollipops? today? that’s… a lot of sugar, isn’t it?”

you feel a prickle of defensiveness. “it’s not like i’m eating them all at once!” you quickly add: “mostly.”

she looks at you, a mixture of exasperation and worry swirling in her eyes. “okay...” she says, her voice calmer. “okay... you know, i used to buy you those boxes of lollipops, because i thought it was… helpful, to allow it. i never thought you did it so much.”

you’re immediately sheepish. it wasn’t to hurt. you never thought you did it that much.

you shrug, a little sheepish. you know it’s a lot of sugar, but it’s not about the sugar, not really. It’s the sensation, the movement, the comfort. you carefully remove the lollipop, leaving it on the coffee table, discarded like a toy that has outlived its use. you were about to reach for it but she called you over.

“come here.” she gestures for you to come closer. you obey, your heart pounding a strange mix of nervousness and anticipation. you settle onto her lap, the soft fabric of her pajamas a welcome contrast to the sudden tension — along with the gentle pressure of her thighs against yours sends a shiver down your spine.

her hands find your hips, her fingers tracing gentle circles on your sides. she smiles, that slow, mesmerizing smile that always sends shivers down your spine.

her voice, usually laced with warmth and amusement, is now a husky whisper that makes your skin prickle. “maybe…maybe we could try something different.” she purrs, her fingers lightly tracing the curve of your hip, but moving away from your curves and towards her own pajama shirt.

the buttons of her pajama shirt yield to her nimble fingers, one by one, until the silk falls away, revealing the soft, pale expanse of her chest. the sight of her breasts, full and inviting, sends a jolt of heat through your veins. they look… edible. the thought, unbidden, makes you blush.

her fingers dance over your skin, sending sparks of desire through your veins. “think you can help me out with that?” she asks, her fingers trailing up your sides in a light caress. “try something new?”

your gaze is fixated on her chest, your mouth suddenly dry. the craving you usually satisfied with sweets takes on a new, almost overwhelming intensity. it’s not just about the taste or texture anymore, it’s about something deeper, a connection. you nod, your own hands reaching up to touch her, to feel the warmth of her skin.

karina leans closer, her gaze locking onto yours. “I’ve always wondered if you…” she hesitates, a shy smile playing on her lips. “if you’d like to try this.” her hands, now gripping your hips with more purpose, guide you forward. your face is level with her chest now, the faint scent of her skin and vanilla lotion filling your senses.

a soft gasp escapes you as she gently pushes your head forward, her fingers threading through your hair, guiding you toward her right breast. it feels incredibly soft against your cheek, warm and pliant. you hesitate for a moment, still processing the sudden turn this night has taken. but then, she strokes your hair again, her low hum vibrating through her chest, and the last vestiges of hesitation melt away.

you open your mouth, and with a nervous, almost reverent gentleness, you take her nipple into your mouth. it’s softer and warmer than anything you’ve ever tasted.

she leans her head back against the sofa, a soft moan escaping her lips as your mouth finally reaches her. the skin is soft and warm, and as you gently suck, the taste is intoxicating, a combination of her soft skin, warm body temperature, and the subtle, almost salty flavor of her sweat. a tiny gasp as you explore her. the feeling is overwhelming, the warmth and softness nothing like the artificial sweetness you usually crave, and you find yourself drawn in, completely captivated.

her hands tangle in your hair, her fingers gripping and massaging your scalp as you continue. you suck on her nipple, your lips moving in a gentle way that she deeply appreciates. her skin is supple and soft, the perfect texture just for you. you suckle gently, your tongue dancing over her nipple, reveling in the sounds escaping her lips: moans of pleasure mixed with soft sighs.

your tongue circles the areola, exploring the texture of her skin, before you begin to suckle more. it’s not a frantic, desperate need, but a slow, deliberate exploration, as if your mouth is mapping every inch of her. with each delicate tug, a wave of pleasure washes over you, and the gentle hums escaping karina’s throat become more pronounced, a clear indication that you are doing something right.

“oh, baby.” she murmurs, her voice thick with a mixture of pleasure and wonder. “that feels… incredible.”

you continue, drawing her nipple further into your mouth, your lips caressing the sensitive skin. you suckle harder, the gentle tugging a source of immense satisfaction. the taste of her skin is subtle, slightly salty and warm, and it mixes with the faint scent of her vanilla lotion, creating an intoxicating combination. you move back and forth, letting your tongue flick over her nipple, the soft rasp driving her wild.

“you’re so good.” she whispers, her hands moving from your hair to your back, pulling you closer, her nails lightly scratching at your skin. “you have such a gentle mouth, baby. i love the way you’re doing this." her words, a gentle wave of praise, makes you want to continue, to explore every inch of her, to taste her entire body.

you try to deepen your hold, your hands cupping her breast, trying to draw her closer, as if to meld yourselves. the sensations are overwhelming, and so you concentrate your efforts on pleasing her. you suck a little harder and she moans again.

“you’re so good.” she says, her voice breathless. “so, so good. i love how you do that.”

you shift to her other breast, teasing and tantalizing her nipple, drawing out soft groans and shivers from her. the low hum of her pleasure is a melody you find yourself wanting to replay forever. you lick, you suck, you nibble, exploring every inch with your mouth, finding satisfaction in her pleasure.

“yes...” she breathes out. “that’s it. you’re making me crazy.”

as you continue to suckle, the tension in your shoulders starts to melt away. it’s like you’ve found the perfect substitute for the lollipops, a new and infinitely more satisfying way to soothe your oral fixation. you’re not just filling a need, you’re connecting with karina on a deeply intimate level, sharing a moment of vulnerability and pleasure. her skin is soft against your lips, her heartbeat a comforting rhythm against your cheek, and each delicate suck brings her closer to you, and you to her.

you pause for a moment, looking up at her. Her eyes are half–closed, her lips parted, and your skin tingles with the power that your mouth has over her. she looks beautiful, vulnerable, and utterly in your thrall.

“you’re my little baby.” she murmurs, her fingers tracing the line of your cheek, and she pulls you back to her chest. the sweetness of her skin fills your mouth as you continue to suck, your desire finding not just release, but connection and genuine, deep intimacy. this is so much better than any lollipop could offer, and you know, in this moment, that this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

oh, and that’s what makes you completely lose the little sanity that was still present in your system.

your hand, almost instinctively, seeks the other breast. you cup it gently, the weight a grounding sensation. you press your face further into the first, inhaling the scent of her skin, a warm mix of vanilla and something uniquely karina. it’s a comfort, a balm for a restless soul. you find yourself tracing the areola with your tongue, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine, not of sexual arousal, but of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

karina doesn’t react at first, content to let you have your moment of quiet bliss. but then, you start to get silly. it’s not intentional, not exactly. it’s like a switch flips, and the playful, somewhat childish side of you takes over. you don’t realize it, but you accidentally start drooling on her skin, your attention on her mounds becoming more messy, your hand now moving to grasp the second breast. it’s a clumsy hold, a little too tight, but somehow right. you pull the other one closer to your mouth.

this is where things take a turn. you try to hold each of her breasts cupped in your hands while trying to keep the other one in your mouth. you’re like a newborn, trying to coordinate your limbs, and she can’t help but burst into laughter. it’s a bubbly, infectious sound, the kind that warms your chest from the inside out. it’s not mockery, but genuine amusement, and something that makes her whole face shine.

you lift your head, a little confused by the sudden sound. you see her face, lit up with laughter, her eyes sparkling with mirth. it’s both disarming and strangely endearing. your usual self might be mortified, but in this moment, you find yourself beaming back at her. you look like a little kid who's just found the best toy in history. you even try to nuzzle back into her chest, trying to recapture the feeling, but she gently pushes you back slightly, still chuckling.

“alright, you little baby.” she says, her voice laced with a playful tenderness. “i think that’s enough now.” you try to move back into position, reaching for them again, but she holds you back. this time, there's a sparkle of something more in her eyes.

she gently but firmly pushes you away from her chest, her hands now resting on your shoulders. your lower lip pouts out, and you make a grab for her breast, your face now a mask of mock desperation.

“no, no, no.” she says, shaking her head, “that’s enough. it’s time to move on.”

you whine, a low sound of protest that somehow manages to sound both comical and needy. you try to nuzzle back, your hands searching for a familiar grip. but she’s firm, her hands a gentle but impassable barrier.

“oh, don’t give me that face.” she says, her eyes dancing with mischief. “i have something planned, and it’s time to go to the bedroom.”

a slow smile spreads across your face, a sudden rush of excitement replacing your earlier silliness. you can’t help but notice the way her eyes are sparkling, the promise that lingers in her voice, and your heart skips a beat.

"the bedroom?" you ask, your voice a husky whisper, no longer childish.

karina smiles, a slow, knowing smile that sends shivers down your spine. she takes your hand, pulls you to your feet, and tugs you towards the bedroom. “yes, the bedroom,” she repeats, her eyes never leaving yours, “now, come on.”

and as she leads you away, the lingering scent of her perfume still clinging to your skin, you feel a thrill of anticipation wash over you.

based on her smile, you can’t tell if that means she’ll let you fuck her with the strap–on in missionary to have her tits bouncing in front of your face and do whatever you want with them or she’ll fuck you with the strap and put two fingers in your mouth when she feels you’re being too loud.

[sloaneispunk]

“a real man”

dbf!in-ho x you

when a family party takes place, you finally met the one and only hwang in-ho, your father’s best friend. when unsettled disputes take place, you find shelter with the man who was thrice your age.

“y/n, get the door will you?” your dad asked, taking the plates from your hands as you made your way to the front door.

you yanked the door open, mumbling under your breath. why did he have to throw this party anyway? it’s not like it was the first time you were home, why was he making such a big deal out of it?

“hey, sweetheart. is your dad home?” a man said.

you took a good look of the man that stood before you in the doorway. holy shit.

“in-ho! there you are! was starting to think you were ditching your old pal!” your father’s voice boomed from behind you, pushing you away from the door as he took your place, inviting the unfamiliar man in.

“it’s good to see you too, man.” he chuckled.

“i’m assuming you’ve met y/n?” your father introduced, stepping aside, revealing your confused face.

“i did…” in-ho nodded, “quite a pretty one.”

a blush crept onto your cheeks. “thank you.”

“polite too? you raised her well.”

“of course i did. don’t know what her mum’s been teaching her though, been a little angsty lately.” your dad revealed, making your eyes grow wide.

“can we not do this now?” you gritted, glaring at him.

after that, you never saw much of in-ho, being cooped up in the house while everyone was having the time of their lives outside with your dad in the party that he had organised for you.

eventually, you grew bored, grabbing a drink and hopping onto the kitchen counter as you watched the party unfold in the backyard with your father.

“hey, what are you doing here?” in-ho’s gentle voice rang in your ears, snapping you out from zoning out.

“these aren’t even my friends, they’re my dad’s.” you said defeated, peeking at the ongoing party outside.

“guessed it. didn’t think you’d be friends with all us older men.” he joked, making you chuckle, shaking your head. “you know, if it’s not pushing your boundaries, can i ask-why did your dad throw this get-together again?”

“i’ve been living with my mom for a few months, today’s the first time i’m back in awhile.” you told him. “oh, i’m sorry, do you want a beer or something?”

“don’t be silly, kid. this is your party, i’ll get it myself.” he smiled.

the two of you sat in comfortable silence as he leaned against the counter beside you, giving you the silent company you needed.

“you know for what it’s worth, i think you look beautiful.” in-ho broke the silence, turning his head slightly to face you.

“you’re not so bad yourself.” suddenly, he felt a sense of pride overwhelm him. he couldn’t possibly grasp the thought of you finding him attractive as he found you. afterall, he was almost thrice your age.

when it was finally time for a sit-around at the dining table, you were way out of your comfort zone. eyes burned holes into you from every angle, giving you no space for privacy whatsoever.

“so, y/n… youe dad tells me that you’ve been living with your mom?” a friend of your father’s questioned.

there we go. “uh, yeah.”

“how’s it like there? she any better than your dad?” he teased, making your father let out a low laugh as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

“c-can we don’t talk about this-”

“of course it is!” youe father interrupted. “couldn’t even get her to come over for a good few months, must have been really great.”

only in-ho noticed you were in distress, your breathing getting faster as your leg shook under the table. testing waters, he placed a hand on your thigh under the table, hoping to give you some stability to get through the dinner.

when you felt his warm hand on your thigh, you jerked away initially, thinking that it was one of thise old creeps who had touched you. but upon realising that it was only in-ho you shifted closer to him. as if you were silently begging for his help.

“we can all be gentleman at this table, let’s not give the lady any trouble, huh?” in-ho had intervened, anger slowly building up inside of him as they continued to press you with uncomfortable questions.

“hey speaking of your mom, she ever bring anyone home recently? like a colleague? maybe a friend?” you father asked.

“no.” you stated bluntly, you could already feel your eyes being welled up with tears.

but it didn’t stop there, you father as well as his friends made no effort to stop their interrogation.

eventually, you broke, letting the tears spill onto your lap as you tried your best to play it off without drawing anymore attention to yourself, but it was in vain.

“kid, are you cryin’?” one of them laughed, catching the attention of the rest.

“she is!”

“why are you crying, little girl?”

“do you want your mommy?”

in-his fist grew tighter around the handle of the fork he was holding, he couldn’t sit there and watch as you were being tormented by these sick bastards.

“boys, that’s enough!” he suddenly yelled, causing the room to go dead silent.

without another word said, he stood up, his chair scraping ear piercingly on the wooden floor as he grabbed your hand, pulling you away from the table and out the front door.

luckily for you, in-ho was only staying a couple blocks down, no more than a good three minute walk. the whole time, he said nothing, only changing his grip on you from the hand to your waist, leading you to his porch.

when you got to the doorstep, you stopped on your tracks, making him turn around, quickly taking a quick scan of your face to see if he had hurt you on accident.

“hey, talk to me, what’s wrong, love?” he asked in a soft tone, as if he were talking to a little girl.

“i can’t be here.” you said, looking up at him teary-eyed. “my dad will kill me.”

“nonsense… i won’t let him lay a hand on you, i promise. it’s better to stay here than with all the rascals there anyway.”

you winced at his harsh words, reminding you once again of the conversation at the dinner table.

“let’s not think about any of that anymore, alright? come in, you must be exhausted too, pretty girl.” he said as he ushered you inside.

in-ho’s house was warm. it smelt like him, the dim yellow lights bluncing off the perfectly decorated walls of his home. it was so quiet, just perfect.

“here, you can change into this. make yourself comfortable.” he said as he offered you a shirt and sweatpants which looked like it was his.

you thanked him and headed to the bathroom to change out of your clothes. when you were returned bacm to the living room, he was already on the sofa, legs spreaded out cozily as a tv programme played.

“there you are, do you have anything you wanna do in mind?”

‘no’ you shooke your head.

“then why don’t we just stay here and watch some movies. how does that sound?”

a smile broke on your face, making him feel a sense of relief. but to his surprise, you didn’t take just any emoty end of the sofa. you shuffled up close to him, merely centremeters away as he could smell your perfume that hadn’t worn off. it was driving him crazy.

as the two of you sat in silence, watching the show, in-ho noticed how your head was starting to fall closer and closer to his chest. he took a peak, seeing that you were now barely awake, struggling to keep your eyes open. he chuckled, pulling away, making your slowly open your eyes and lifting your head.

“no, no, stay there.” he cooed, moving closer in a more snug position for the both of you. and wirh his signal, you laid your head on his chest, your body and legs curled into a ball as he draped his arm over you while the other found its way to your hair. he combed through the soft, lush strands, lulling you to sleep as he did so.

“goodnight, y/n.” he whispered before leaning down carefully, placing a kiss on your forehead, watching as you tried to snuggle up closer to him.

in-ho knew he was doomed. it was a dangerous game he was playing with his best friend’s daughter. but at that moment, he realised just how bad he had had it for you. and there was no turning back.

[baepsays]

Love Hangover⸻ Gojo Satoru x reader

synopsis: "Call me back. Call me back. Call me back." — love hangover by Jennie & Dominic Fike

Cw: toxic relationship, emotional cheating, manipulation, just sex and NSFW stuff, choking (took something from the mv and applied it where I think they implied it :3 ), lot of back and forth, use of the word 'bitch' to refer to the reader (not by Gojo), hate sex, oral sex, fem anatomy, no particular use of pronouns for reader, lowkey angst sorryyy, they are just both pretty shitty lol. Mention of alcohol consumption and cigarettes

'Call me back' received. 2.13AM 

You and Gojo Satoru might be great people, your respective friends will agree. But when you're together it's as if all hell breaks loose. They do not understand. Neither do you two. He makes you so unlike yourself, so unrecognizable, it's often difficult for you to fathom the person you become around him. 

He becomes an unbearable prick; controlling and smothering you, simply too much for you to handle. In return you become a shady bitch; criticizing his every gesture. “Roses instead of lilies? Did you confuse me for someone else?” One day you would be joking over the dinner you made him, next day you would be wishing he was dead. Going through his phone, shouting at him and asking if he is speaking to his exes, was a regular occurrence. Then you won’t talk altogether, but just fight constantly—while lying under your covers together, while eating, on the phone, in public— just making things harder for everyone and yourselves. Until one of you goes;

‘I’m over, I'm so over.’

But you two would always end up where you started. One coincidental meeting with Gojo Satoru somewhere, anywhere, could be that you're across the street from each other; sitting in different restaurants, with different people— and that would be enough for both of you. Doesn't matter he has some girl hanging off his arms. Or the fact you are on a second date with some guy, thinking this might be something serious; a single, double, triple back from him, and suddenly the fact that he was still entertaining his date while you could practically feel his gaze burning your skin, won’t matter—not that it did not bother you. In fact, to put it simply, you do not really mind when he plays you. Because you two will always end up back in each other’s arms. 

‘One minute, we're growin' apart, and next, I'm in her apartment.’

And here you go again. Doesn't matter how many times either of you tell yourselves and your friends that ‘I swear I'll never do it again!’ But you always do it again, and again, and again. He always ends up ringing your doorbell, unannounced. Does not matter you did not pick up his calls, does not matter you did not answer his texts— One “Call me back” at 2 AM, then suddenly he is at your door. And you know he will be there. No matter what, you two always end up in front of each other’s doors. You may not answer his texts or calls; but when you open the door for him and beckon him inside, he will always be welcomed with two glasses of wine. For the sake of the pretense of wanting to have a civil conversation over wine like two grown adults, finally resolving this push and pull and drawing a firm boundary— is all a faux excuse. you still have the keys to his place, and he still has the keys to yours. And they are not being returned any time soon.  

In a flash you're on your couch, back arching off from its surface and fingernails digging in and ruining the fabric. Again. The other hand would be a tangled mess in his hair. The bigger mess would be pooled under you and around his mouth. Again. Eating you out like he has never before, or he might never again. But he knows better than that. 

So, you would start all over again. Things would be blissful for a while. Sweet talking, going on dates, reminiscing about everything which was good. Thinking this time you would take it slow. Take your time with just hanging out and getting to know each other all over again, promising to not repeat the past. All over again. Though when you two would go out for dinner, all that talk would bore you to death. It is not that you feel like staying with Satoru because of who he is, in fact the more you think about that the more it makes you want to leave him, but you want nothing more than to keep him around, forever. And Satoru knows that, hates that really. Always thinking “what's up with that?” — but just as the waiter would bring out the check, you would gaze at him all sultry and go, 

"Let's head to mine."

And all Satoru would be able to utter is , "Okay, awesome."

Subsequently, there would be just lots, lots of sex. Spending days in bed; skipping work, calling in sick, flaking on friends and practically going missing. And everyone would already know what to expect, nothing new, just the cycle repeating itself. 

Spending days in each other’s company giggling about, high on sex and the thrill of having each other back. Then the nights would pass with him being  buried, as deep as he possibly can be, inside of you. Just spending nights watching you get naked instead of watching the movie he chose himself— roaming his hands all over every ridge and curve on your body, encoding new details, leaving kisses and marks all over you. Places where everyone will be able to see, but also places only he would be able to access; tucked away safe even from your own eyes.  Letting the muscles inside your pussy hug him snug, fitting like she has never known anyone but him, because even she knows no matter who comes and goes— his shape will stay. 

As soon as he would get his hopes back up again. Just as soon the momentary bliss would be unexpectedly cut short. One day you are holding each other to sleep after indulging in each other’s bodies, the next moment you are shaking his hands off you and he is waking up with cold sweat all over him. Then you would stop reciprocating his kisses, leaving his lips cracking. Giving short and curt replies to questions, getting irritated over small things. Not that this is unprovoked. Unknowingly to Satoru, before he could delete the texts from the girls flooding his phone and block their numbers; you saw it all.

Back to square one. Fights and nights spent away from each other doing reckless stuff to provoke each other. Because why are you kissing his eyelids and calling him your one and only one moment, and then accusing him of ruining your life another day.

Soon enough you’re going to a club and letting people openly hit on you. Ignoring his calls and texts, to a point he has no choice but to pull up your location (do not ask how he got that). Then letting him drag you back to his place, shout out profanities at you, rip off every piece of clothing from your body. Doing nothing about him pushing you face down on the bed, pulling on the necklace— which he gave you—on your throat from behind and practically choking you, as the necklace leaves behind marks on top of the marks he previously left behind with his lips and teeth. As he thrusts himself inside you, mercilessly, not even letting you turn back around, putting all his body weight on yours— very literally smothering as always. One hand keeping a firm grasp on your throat while the other comes down to place slaps on your thighs and ass, from time to time. You would barely phrase something between loud moans and whines, “F- fuck you.” 

“You are. As always” all he would reply with with a singular impactful thrust. 

Next morning he would wake up to  empty, cold, and wet sheets. A singular half burnt cigarette would be lying on his bedside table, from the stash of cigarettes in his dresser, despite the fact he does not smoke. And a bottle of whisky would be gone from his collection, even though he does not enjoy whisky. All that would be left of your immediate presence, are the shredded to nothing flimsy pair of painties, which you wore last night. Not like you ever went out of his apartment with the same panties you entered through his doors with. 

Concurrently you would be drowning in alcohol, shooting glasses of shots after another to cure the hangover from the day before. You were not one to drink, but you were also not one to be irrational. Yet here you are, hungover and functioning on autopilot. If anyone asked what is wrong, you would not have an answer. Though you do know what this is, the need to never get over this hangover, instead perpetuating and fostering it. Because you know better than anyone that no alcohol will relieve the itch in your throat the way the whisky in Satoru’s cabinet burns down your chest, and alleviates you. You can buy similar whisky, the same brand even, or maybe even a wine or rum— but it won’t taste the same, it won’t get you drunk the same. 

‘I swore l'd never do it again.’

And after a month, Satoru would wake up to a singular missed call from you. 

‘you know I'm gonna do it again.’

a/n: dividers by @/dollywons & @/aquazero, header from the mv for the said song. essentially saw @jumpinglillies talking about wanting to read a Satoru fic based on this song, thanks to them for bringing the song to my attention i hope this lives up to your expectations <3

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[rhiannonsknife]

hii!! i know you are busy with the but im a cheerleader nat fic, but do you think you might maybe write more for Lottie?

also thoughts on meangirl Lottie.. i feel like when she first meets someone she can be a little guarded, wanting to keep her image so when you call her out on her bs she feels attacked and then starts a rivalry between the two.. anyways to summarise meanlottie tension with the new girl on the team when Lottie takes it too far and says something really mean at a party and new girl storms off but Lottie finds her and shows her how much she DOESNT hate her because shes actually a softie but she kind of treats new girl as a punching bag bc shes new and called her out

Im genuinely so sorry if this doesnt make sense i am so bad at explaining but i have a vision i swear😔

🫎 anon :)

i love this idea so much 🫎 anon!! hopefully i got your vision here!!

lottie matthews, you should’ve realized sooner, is untouchable.

at least, that’s how she wants people to perceive her.

everyone on the team knows better than to test lottie; even jackie, the whs’ golden girl in her own right, lets her have her moments.

you, on the other hand? you’re new. maybe that’s why you didn’t seem to get the memo right from the beginning.

it starts small enough: a subtle jab at practice, a teasing remark about your form, the kind of thing that could be dismissed as playful banter if not for the smug tone in lottie’s voice. and then there are the looks: the way her dark eyes flick over you during drills, sizing you up for reasons you can’t seem to wrap your head around.

it doesn’t take long for you to call her out.

“got something to say, matthews?” you ask one day, sharp enough to draw a few surprised glances from your teammates.

for a second, lottie looks genuinely caught off guard. and then her mask slips back into place, her lips curving into that insufferably confident smile. “i’m just looking out for the team,” she says. “can’t have the new girl slowing us down.”

from that moment on, it’s war between you.

lottie calls you out for each fumbled pass in practice. in the locker room, she’s leaning against the row of lockers closest to yours, waiting for you to pass to call out a snarky comment. and even during team meetings, when you make a suggestion about changing up a play, lottie scoffs. “sure,” she says, leaning back in her chair. “let’s just toss out what’s been working because you think you know better!”

things only reach a breaking point weeks later, at one of the parties.

you don’t even remember what starts it: some offhand comment about your outfit, maybe, or the way you’ve been talking to nat a little too long for lottie’s liking. either way, her words hit harder this time, meaner than usual.

“god, you’re so desperate to fit in,” she says suddenly “it’s pathetic!”

the words land like a slap, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.

for a second, all you can do is stare at her, your chest tight and your pulse pounding in your ears. lottie doesn’t look away. she stands her ground, her arms still crossed over her chest.

nat shifts beside you, clearly uncomfortable, but she doesn’t intervene. no one does.

you don’t trust yourself to speak, not when your voice feels like it might crack and give her the satisfaction she’s so clearly looking for. instead, you turn on your heel and push through the crowd, ignoring the whispers as you walk out.

lottie finds you a little while later, sitting on the back steps of the house with your head in your hands. you don’t hear her approach until she’s right beside you and says: “i shouldn’t have said that,”

you flinch, whipping around to face her. “what do you want, lottie?” you snap. “haven’t you done enough for one night?”

her usually upright posture falters as she stuffs her hands into the pockets of her jacket, her gaze flicking between you and the ground. “i didn’t mean it,” lottie says, quieter this time. “i just…i don’t know.” she sighs, running a hand through her hair. “you get under my skin!”

you let out a bitter laugh. “glad i could be of service then”

“that’s not-” lottie cuts herself off. “i’m not good at this, okay? you called me out, and i didn’t know how to deal with it, so i pushed back. too hard. i know that.”

when you look up, you’re surprised to see something raw in her expression. regret.

“i don’t hate you,” she says finally, her voice soft but insistent. “i don’t even think i dislike you, if i’m being honest. i just…i don’t know how to handle you!”

before you can respond, lottie crouches in front of you, close enough that you can see the faint flush on her cheeks. “you’re not pathetic,” she murmurs. “far from it. and i’m sorry if i made you feel like you were!”

you’re unsure how to process the vulnerability she’s laying bare. this isn’t the untouchable, put-together lottie you’ve come to know. this is someone softer, someone who’s trying, even if she doesn’t quite know how.

lottie seems to take your lack of an answer as a bad sign, her lips pressing into a thin line. “let me make it up to you,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “please.”

[bibookdemon]

Chat. Gay chicken(?) with Shang Qinghua and Shen Yuan.

Warning for some nsfw aspects further down ;3

-Started out as SQH writing LBH as bi in PIDW, he was catering to the fans so suddenly LBH discovers he's also into men lmfao, so he writes a smut scene between LBH and another man and it is so much worse than any of the other smut. Bro did not do any of his fucking research. He has no fucking clue.

-Some of the fans eat it up but SY is like NUH UH THIS IS SHIT. And of course he writes that it's shit.

-For once, SQH writes back: 'Like YOU would know, you rich fucking asshole!' (He's gathered that SY has enough money he can sit around all day and leave bad reviews on his story.)

-SY is all 'Of course I know, idiot! Literally everyone knows how to write gay smut!!'

-And SQH is too deep in his rage to think about what he's saying so: 'Prove it then.'

-SY is also too deep. 'Come to XX on XX day.'

-They meet at a bustling coffeeshop that's super cute and geared towards couples. SY's first impression of SQH is 'wow he's short' and SQH's first impression of SY is 'yeah he looks fucking gay.' And he's pretty sure he's gonna eat his words.

-They go on a fucking coffee date. SY buys him coffee, they get a cute table in a semi-private corner, they actually get to talking and everything is kinda chill.

-SQH eventually remembers that hey, this guy is the jerk who leaves shitty comments on his story. So he tells him to man tf up and prove he knows about gay smut.

-SY is now scrambling to figure it out. He does not, in fact, know how to write gay smut. He does not, in fact, know how to prove it. So, now that he's panicking, he does the unexpected to divert SQH's attention: He slides a hand over SQH's, leans it, and kisses him right on the lips. 'How's this for gay?'

-SQH is absolutely surprised and flustered and also holy fuck that was like a really good kiss and low-key he wants to be kissed like that again but- 'still doesn't prove anything - unless you're unable to prove it'

-SY is in this too deep and has too much pride to give in. So he decides to go for another shock factor. He gets out his phone and he calls his favorite hotel. And he books a room. And SQH is just thinking to himself 'what the fuck have I gotten myself into' but of course he's not gonna back out! He has too much pride as well, and hey, a hotel room is better than his dingy little place, and maybe he also wants some more of those kisses.

-They go to the hotel in SY's car (SQH took the bus to get to the coffee shop) and then they're at the hotel and then SY is initiating a quick, sloppy kiss in the parking lot and SQH is feeling a little turned on and then- they have to go inside

-He figured SY was rich, but he didn't realize just HOW rich the bastard was. Bro got a fucking suite. It's huge, the bed is nice, the moment they're inside the room, SY's tongue is down his throat.

-After that, they both sorta stumble through the steps, SQH is too busy being turned on and wanting more kissing to recognize that SY is fumbling with everything and is sweating buckets and trembling cause he's so nervous. When it was time to put the condom on SY was so worried he was gonna rip it lmfao

-And they fuck, and it's awkward but also good, and SQH afterwards is just like 'you should prove you know how to write gay smut more often. To me.'

-SY is just like 'yeah, yeah,' he's tired and he wants to sleep and he just grabs SQH and snuggles him cause it feels right.

-Morning rolls around and they both realize what they just did + what they said they'd do in the future. And they're both looking at each other wide-eyed. And finally, SQH is all, 'Look Cucumber-bro, I don't know about you, but I had a fun time, and fuck all the stupid shit about writing gay smut, I want to BE the gay smut.'

-And SY is just like 'Ok,' because he has nothing better to say but he doesn't mind SQH's reasoning and he liked the sex.

-They'd be fucking hilarious. Poor SY doesn't know what he signed up for, SQH ends up having this endless stamina + an endless torrent of new ideas for them to try. 'I have to know how it works for the story!!! The fans are eating up my writing lately!!!!' - And SY has come to find SQH absolutely adorable and he can't say no to that cute face.

-They're just fuck-buddies at first, but they eventually develop a crush on each other, have a whole dramatic situation over that, and then start dating. (SY starts showering SQH in rich gifts lmao - some of them are useful some art, SQH loves all of them cause omg his boyfriend loves him and gift-giving is part of his love language.)

[chleem]

request idea? thinking about how Drew would drop everything for his girl ❤️‍🔥 like if she showed up at his house crying because she needs him (something with her parents or something? maybe they forgot something important to her)

and Drew is with his roommates or friends (who love the reader) but as soon as he sees his girl sad, he has a soft spot for her and for taking care of her 🫶🏼

⋆.˚ Warnings: none, pure fluff (still, read at own caution

ִ ࣪𖤐 a/n: enjoy! sry i haven't replied for so long, i was spending cny w/my family.

word count: 2.2k

──── 𝜗𝜚 ─────

The sound of the basketball game is practically vibrating through the walls—close to the end, with the score tied and everyone on edge. 

Drew’s lounging on the couch, leaning back, eyes glued to the screen. 

The room is full of his friends, all hyped up, throwing out their commentary and joking around. It’s guys’ night, and it’s a vibe they’re all soaking in.

Then the doorbell rings for the second time tonight, and Drew’s eyes flicker to the door.

"Did we order pizza? Again?" Drew asks. 

“Dunno, man, check,” his friend says, not looking up from the game, clearly too invested. 

Drew sighs, a little annoyed at the interruption, but his feet move automatically toward the door.

When Drew opens the door, he doesn’t see pizza. 

He sees you.

His expression shifts instantly—his confusion giving way to something deeper. 

Drew notices the smudge of mascara under your eyes first—the dark lines trailing down your cheeks. The rest of your makeup isn’t much better: foundation starting to fade where the tears have blurred it, the eyeliner long gone from where it used to frame your eyes.

His heart skips a beat. The noise from the game and his friends’ laughter suddenly feel miles away, as if the room has gone quiet in an instant.

Then, through your teary eyes and blushed cheeks, you give him a smile. It’s weak, almost forced, but you try. You shrug your shoulders, like you're attempting to downplay whatever’s hurting you.

“Hey, Joseph,” you say, your voice cracking just enough that Drew hears it. Your smile fades, and the act you’re trying to put on crumbles just a little.

Drew’s heart sinks. He knows you too well. The moment you said his name like that—broken and vulnerable—he realizes just how much you’re holding back.

Without a word, Drew steps closer.

The easy-going grin he had on earlier is gone. His brows furrowed with concern as he reaches for you, hands cupping your cheeks. 

He holds you gently, but firmly—like he's grounding you, keeping you steady.

His gaze softens, and he watches, helpless for a second, as the first tear escapes and trails down your cheek. His heart aches seeing you like this.

His eyes never leave yours, and there’s an unspoken promise in them—I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

When you speak again, the apology slips out almost before you can stop it. “I’m sorry…” you start, feeling bad for interrupting his night with his friends.

“Don’t. Don’t apologize.” He says, as if he’s trying to erase that sense of guilt before it can settle in. 

He gives you a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head, “don’t ever apologize for needing me.”

He takes a moment, watching your eyes carefully, making sure you understand that he means it. There’s no disappointment in his gaze—only warmth, care, and an overwhelming need to protect you from whatever’s hurting.

Your eyes flicker away, sparkling with unshed tears as you struggle to catch your breath, trying to muffle the cries threatening to break free.

“It’s just- it’s just my parents-“

Your words falter as his friends cheer loudly in the background, their excitement rising with each point scored in the game. 

Drew notices immediately—your discomfort, the way you're struggling to open up in this moment—and it hits him: you’re still standing out in the hallway, exposed to everything.

“Let’s, let’s get inside,” he murmurs. He doesn’t need to say more than that—his hands move to your shoulders, guiding you toward his room, tell you everything.

His friends, too absorbed in the game, don’t notice the subtle shift in the air. They’re still yelling at the screen, completely oblivious to the fact that his girlfriend has showed up crying. 

As he leads you down the hall, you finally feel the air change—calmer, quieter. 

The second the door of Drew’s room closes behind you, the outside world fades.

Unknowingly, you’ve sat down at the edge of his bed, the soft mattress dipping under your weight. 

Drew quietly moves around his room, as he finds a box of tissues on his dresser. He doesn’t take his eyes off you, though—watching the way you sit, the way your shoulders shake with each breath, how your chest rises and falls, unevenly.

Once he hands it to you, Drew settles beside you. His arm slides around your shoulders, pulling you closer but not forcing you.

He listens carefully to the soft hiccups that escape from you, tiny gasps caught in the air. 

He just continues to rub gentle circles on your back, his touch light and comforting. 

Finally, Drew speaks, but it is barely above a whisper, “what’s wrong?”

You grab a tissue, dabbing your cheeks where the mascara has ran down. 

When you see the dark spots on the tissue, your chest tightens. The tears come faster now, and you let out a shaky breath between sobs, “now my makeup’s ruined!” 

Drew can’t help but chuckle lightly at your reaction, the sound soft and gentle. His hand, still resting around your shoulders, takes the tissue from your trembling fingers.

With a small, reassuring smile, he dabs at your cheeks, wiping away the smudged makeup with care. 

“Don’t, don’t worry about that,” he says quietly. 

The tenderness in his words feels like a balm to your frayed nerves, and for a moment, it’s the only thing grounding you.

As you look up at him, your breath catching in your throat, you notice how close he is. 

His face is inches from yours, and his eyes hold nothing but softness, nothing but a promise of comfort. His hand lingers at your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I…i had dinner with my parents,” you start. 

“I know,” he murmurs softly, his gaze never leaving yours. He'd seen the date marked on his calendar weeks ago, the reminder of your private dinner with your parents, and he had known it might be a tough night for you.

It was a dinner just for you and them—an attempt to reconnect, to have a moment where things might feel normal again. But Drew knew, from the way you’d talked about it in passing, that it wasn’t going to be easy.

“They still think, I made a huge mistake,” your voice cracks once again, and you swallow hard, as if trying to force the pain down, but it’s no use. It bubbles up too quickly.

Drew knows exactly what you mean. He remembers you telling him about dropping out in the middle of your final year. How it had been a decision made for yourself, even if your parents couldn’t understand it.

Drew watches you quietly for a moment, then speaks softly, “You did what was right for you. If they don’t get it, that’s on them, not you. Who cares what they think?”

He gives you a small, reassuring smile, before adding on, “you should see yourself through my eyes. You’re beautiful, smart, and more than enough as you are. You don't need a...certificate to prove that.”

His words settle over you, and for a moment, you feel your heart soften at the quiet sincerity in his voice. But you quickly look away, feeling a bit shy under his gaze. 

“Yeah, well…” you mutter, “we got into this huge fight, and I just stormed out- and look where I am. Ruining your - your guys’ night.”

“No, no,” Drew immediately interrupts, “you’re not ruining anything.”

Then, unexpectedly, without missing a beat, Drew throws the tissue in his hand toward the trash can in the far corner, and you watch, distracted by the sudden movement. 

You can’t help but let out a small chuckle when he makes a perfect shot, the tissue landing neatly inside with a satisfying swish.

Drew turns toward you, his smile both confused and amused, clearly unsure of what exactly made you laugh but happy to see you smile. “What?” he asks, his voice still holding that easy charm.

You stare at him for a moment, your eyes catching on his lips, the way they curve just slightly in that grin, and for a fleeting second, the urge to kiss him overwhelms you. 

It’s like everything else in the room fades away, and it’s just the two of you in this small, quiet moment.

Your breath catches in your chest, and before you can even think, the space between you seems to vanish.

Without a word, you lean in, your eyes fluttering shut, letting instinct take over. His hand gently cups your cheek, warm against your skin, as he tilts your head just slightly.

And then, you feel it—his lips against yours, and everything feels…right.

The kiss is calming, full of quiet affection—comforting in a way that eases all the tension, like a safe place where nothing else matters.

You could taste your own tears, salty on your lips, but somehow they only make the moment feel more real—more human. There’s something about the way Drew holds you, his lips soft and patient, as if he's absorbing all your hurt without needing to speak.

You pull away just briefly, catching your breath, but before you can even fully regain yourself, Drew leans in again, this time with urgency, as if he needs this kiss more than you.

His lips press against yours, deeper this time, gentle but insistent. His hand moves to your back, pulling you closer as if he’s anchoring himself to you, or to this moment.

You smile against his lips, hands wrapping around his neck. 

You want to push him against his bed, take him right there, show him how appreciative you are of him, but seems like, the rest of the world wants him too.  

The sound of his friends cheering from outside breaks through the moment, reminding you that Drew has guests over, and this isn't just your time with him.

You pull away, resting your forehead against his, closing your eyes for just a moment to catch your breath. 

When you reopen your eyes, you find Drew’s gaze already on you—soft, steady, and full of something unspoken. There’s a quiet intensity in the way he looks at you, like he’s taking in every detail, as if he’s memorizing this moment, just as you are.

“You have- you have people, in the other room,” to your own surprise, you’re stuttering. You pull your head away slightly, finding the fun in tracing the line of his jaw. 

“I wanna stay here,” he murmurs, his voice thick with something you can’t quite place, but you feel it in your chest, a quiet certainty. 

He doesn’t break his stare, and in that moment, it’s like he’s asking you to stay with him too—not just in this room, but in everything he’s feeling, everything you’re both sharing.

“Ask them to leave,” you whisper back, a small smile tugging at your lips, though the words are more playful than serious.

You both know it’s not that simple. 

“Join me,” he says, referring to his guys' night, to his friends in the living room. 

“Well, at least let me... change, and redo my makeup.”

“I don’t know…” he lets his words trail off, his eyes scanning your features with mischief lurking in them, “they might like- like having a panda around.”

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch, unable to hide the small smile. You hear Drew’s throaty laugh escape his lips, a sound that makes your heart skip.

“Alright, just… take your time,” he says, his playful tone softening as he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering just a moment longer than expected, like he wants to make sure you feel it.

You watch him, your chest warming at the gesture, as he moves across the room to his dresser. 

He pulls it open, rummaging through his clothes, and then, almost casually, he grabs the hoodie you recognize to be 'yours'. It’s his, but with how often you wear it, it’s practically yours now. 

Then, in one smooth motion, he opens the top drawer and takes out your shorts, underwear, and bra. He places them beside you, not even needing to say anything—just a small, thoughtful gesture that tells you he knows exactly what you need, even before you ask for it.

You look up at him, surprised by the simplicity of it, but somehow it feels even more intimate than words could say. It’s the way he just gets you, without needing to make a big deal of it.

And because it felt right, you whisper, “I love you.”

Drew’s gaze softens, the teasing smile melting away into something more sincere. His eyes hold yours as he says, “I love you more,” his voice quiet but filled with warmth. 

There’s no playfulness now—just honesty, raw and real.

“…now get out of here,” you tease, the corners of your lips lifting into a smirk.

He leans forward, his finger lightly tapping your forehead in a playful push, “so eager to get rid of me?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, and he smiles, shaking his head. 

With one last glance, he turns and walks to the door.

And once the door closes behind him, you’re left with a warm feeling in your chest—safe, loved, and entirely at peace.

-------------------------------

happy cny! angpao for everyone <3

i apologize in advance if this isn't good and has mistakes- i wrote it in a rush! (also, i realized there was a sudden pov switch- tf

other

[steveseddie]

‘cause it’s you and me

rating: g | cw: none | wc: 1,9 k | tags: eddie lives, hospitals and injury recovery, steve has a crush, he also knows how to play guitar, fluff

written for @steddielovemonth day one | You and Me by Lifehouse & the quote “every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love everyone becomes a poet.”

read on ao3

Steve doesn’t know how much time he’s spent on the chair that is next to Eddie’s hospital bed.

Too long probably, if the recurrent pain on his back means anything. But not even that is enough to prevent Steve from staying glued to that chair, neither are the doctor’s mean looks or Robin’s insistence about him getting proper sleep or meals for that matter. Steve only leaves the chair when he has a shift or when he wants Wayne to have time alone with his nephew or when the nurses wheel Eddie away for surgery or tests or physical therapy. That’s it.

It makes the months that Eddie spends recovering blur together. Sometimes, Steve even forgets what day it is, only managing to keep track of it by the nurse’s schedule or depending on who shows up to visit Eddie. The kids and Wayne and Robin all come on different days, effectively balancing keeping their friend company with their everyday lives.

All of them except Steve.

Ever since Spring Break, it’s been Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Find Eddie. Get Eddie’s heart beating again. Drag Eddie out of the Upside Down. Pray that Eddie makes it out of surgery. Wait for Eddie to wake up. Comfort Eddie when he’s in pain. Take Eddie’s mind off of the murder charges that haven’t been dropped yet or the loss of their trailer or the long hours of physical therapy ahead of him. Listen to Eddie ramble on the days that he feels better about books and music and Dungeons and Dragons. Watch Eddie sleep and only then try to get a little sleep himself.

The last one might sound a little creepy but Steve thinks it’s justified considering he still can’t forget how Eddie looked when they found him– pale, bloody, dead. Watching him sleep, his chest rising and falling slowly but steadily is the only thing that calms Steve enough for him to doze off in that damn uncomfortable chair.

Only at some point it stops being entirely about making sure that Eddie is alive– the staring. Suddenly, Steve can’t keep his eyes off of Eddie at all times.

Steve stares at his face while Eddie reads a book to him out loud and forgets to pay attention to what he’s saying. He stares at Eddie’s hands while he explains something to the kids and completely miss a question from Henderson. He stares at his mouth while Eddie slurps the extra jello cup that Robin sneaked in past the nurses and blush when she catches him and smirks knowingly at him.

It takes Steve some time to figure out why he looks at Eddie so much, obvious as it is, and when he finally does he actually leaves his chair and heads to the bathroom for a proper floor freak out.

He just doesn’t know what to do with these feelings for Eddie or where to go from there so he just– doesn’t do anything.

And things stay the same.

Except for the way Eddie keeps getting better.

The doctors are so optimistic that they announce that Eddie might get to go home soon. They have him doing laps around the hospital and start slowly tapering off his pain meds and encouraging him to pick back up things he used to do like writing and playing guitar to work on his dexterity, they said.

It’s why Eddie starts writing down plans and ideas for future dork campaigns again and why Wayne brings his sweetheart to the hospital.

(Eddie almost cried when he saw it, making grabby hands and hugging it against his chest with a happy sigh.

“I swear you’re happier to see that thing more than you’ve ever been to see me,” Steve muttered through pursed lips.

“Steve, don’t call her a thing! She can hear you!” Eddie protested, appalled. Which wasn’t a no but at least later he tells Steve that there’s enough room in his heart for two sweethearts.)

It’s not like Eddie goes back to being a rock god on the guitar right away and his writing is intelligible more often than not, but none of that stops him. He keeps trying, keeps practicing, and Steve loves him more and more for it.

Yes. Love. The first time the word pops up in Steve’s head it leads to yet another bathroom floor freak out but once he realizes it, he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from blurting it out several times a day.

He’s doing it right now while watching Eddie excitedly write down a D&D character sheet for him with his tongue poking out adorably between his lips, tempting Steve to lean in and kiss them. So when a nurse interrupts them to take Eddie away for some test, he appreciates the short break.

When he’s alone, Steve reaches for the notebook that Eddie left on the bed. It’s off limits for any of the kids, but Eddie has let Steve peek at it before. He doesn’t think he’ll mind.

He reads his character sheet, recognizing some of the nerdy words while others fly completely over his head. Then he leafs lazily through pages of notes and doodles until he pauses at what looks like an unfinished song, fragments of lyrics and melodies written messily over the page.

Steve sends a sidelong glance to Eddie’s guitar where it’s leaning against the wall.

He’s never told anyone but he took some guitar lessons back when he started high school, hoping that playing an instrument would help get him girls. He knows how to read music and can fumble his way through a few simple songs, but he never made it past that. It seemed useless when he already had Nancy, and then when he didn’t have her anymore, he had the kids and the Upside Down and playing guitar didn’t seem like a useful skill to have when fighting monsters.

He chuckles. “Guess I was wrong,” he mutters to himself, thinking about Eddie saving the world with a Metallica song of all things.

Without giving it much thought, Steve stands up and carefully grabs the guitar, bringing it back with him to the chair and resting it on his leg, Eddie’s notebook open on the bed in front of him.

He clumsily places his fingers on the fretboard and tries to play the melody that Eddie wrote down. He messes up a few notes, but for someone who hasn’t touched a guitar in years he thinks he plays it decently enough. Eddie would surely do a better job, but it still doesn’t sound half bad. Maybe he can ask Eddie for help to improve and–

“What are you doing?” Eddie’s voice breaks through the melody. His fingers slip and the guitar makes a loud, screechy sound that makes Steve wince.

He whirls around and finds Eddie staring at him from the door, his face unreadable.

Steve gulps, his cheeks pinking up at being caught. “Playing guitar?”

Eddie’s eyebrows knit together. “Since when do you know how?”

“I– uh, I took lessons years ago but I stopped,” he says, tripping on his words. “I– I found your– your song and I was trying to play it–”

Eddie’s eyes dart to the notebook on the bed. Steve winces again, worrying that Eddie will get mad because he went through his things or because he touched his sweetheart.

“That sounds nothing like what I wrote.”

Or because he butchered his song.

Steve blushes brighter, reaching for the notebook and fumbling to close it. “Sorry, I– it’s been a while and I was never that good to begin with.”

With three long strides –and a lot less limping than a month ago, Steve proudly notices– Eddie reaches his side and snatches the notebook from Steve’s hands.

“Give me that!” He says, flopping down on the bed and flicking furiously through the pages, his face pinched.

“Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry, I– I didn’t think you’d be mad–”

“You bet I’m mad!” Eddie says with a huff, patting the bed sheets, trying to find something.

Steve shrinks down on the chair. “I– I think I’m gonna go–” he says, pushing himself to his feet. Better to leave now before Eddie finds whatever he’s looking for and throws it at his head.

“Aha!” Eddie gasps, holding up his pen. Then he notices Steve standing awkwardly and frowns at him. “Wait, what? No, stay. Play it again.”

Steve blinks down at him. “What?”

“The song!” Eddie urges him but his voice is soft, gentle. “Play it again, Stevie, please.”

Stevie. Please. He’s not mad.

“What?”

Eddie heaves out a sigh, but it comes across as fond. “Dude, I’ve been trying to figure out the right melody for that song for like, half a year!” He says, shaking his notebook aggressively. A few pages fall off, but he pays them no mind. “But I just couldn’t get it fucking right, there was always something missing! And it was whatever you were doing when I walked in!”

“So you’re not mad at me?”

“Not at you, Stevie, no,” Eddie chuckles. “Just mad that it was you who figured it out with your secret magic guitar skills and not me.”

“Oh,” Steve says, and he can’t help but let out a chuckle himself. “So you want me to do it again?”

Eddie nods enthusiastically and that’s enough to make Steve flop back down on the chair, propping the guitar on his legs and doing his best to play the song like he did before.

He must get it right because Eddie lets out an adorable squeal before using his pen to cross out something and write down whatever Steve accidentally came up with.

“Goddamn, sweetheart, I’m gonna have to dedicate this song to you now as a thank you,” Eddie says, grinning so wide at his notebook that it shows off his dimples.

Steve hangs a hand from his neck. It feels hot to the touch, probably from the pet name. “Too bad it’s a love song,” he jokes weakly, even if he wants nothing more than for Eddie’s words to be about him.

Eddie glances up, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth. “I know,” he says softly, his eyes flickering nervously over Steve’s face.

Oh. Oh.

Stomach fluttering with butterflies, Steve stands up, grabbing the guitar by its neck to prop it up against the wall.

“Uh, you– are you leaving?” Eddie asks, chewing anxiously on his pen as he watches Steve move around silently. Little does he know that his heart is currently screaming at him to gently tackle Eddie into the bed.

But first–

“Just making sure your guitar is safe before I go over there and kiss you, Eds,” he says, the corners of his mouth ticking up when Eddie squeaks again, his eyes widening.

“Oh, o–okay. That’s smart. Yup,” he stammers out, his voice an octave higher, his cheeks pinking up. “Does that mean you also–”

“Feel that way about you?” Steve asks, sitting on the bed next to Eddie, who nods expectantly. Steve reaches out and tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. “Yeah, Eddie, I do.”

When Steve leans in and finally, finally kisses him, Eddie lets his notebook fall to the floor so he can grab Steve’s shoulders. The urgency to write down that perfect melody now replaced by an urgency for Steve.

But it doesn’t matter, Steve thinks that melody is now seared into both of their memories forever, as is their first kiss. The first of many.

[ladykissingfish]

Deidara: So you may be wondering why I called this meeting …

Hidan: “Called a meeting” my ass, blondie. You got us out here by screaming that the house was on fire!

Deidara: Anyways, I think it’s more than time we address the question that’s on everyone’s minds: which one of you gets to date me?

Itachi: … Pardon?

Deidara: It’s obvious that you’re all in love with me a little, hm. But I can’t just pick one of you, so I thought we should decide it as a group.

Sasori: Brat, I have to say, as far as delusions go, this may be your biggest one yet.

Deidara: I know you’re angry about this, Danna, because we’re partners and you think your claim should be stronger than anyone else’s. But we gotta be fair to the others, hm.

Hidan: Fuck that, you can keep him, puppet-dick. I’m definitely not interested in his dumb ass! I mean if he wants to bang a few times, sure, but —

Itachi: Deidara, why am I here? You don’t even like me!

Kakuzu: I cannot see how “dating” you would do anything other than cost me time and money. Pass.

Kisame: I would eat you alive. And I don’t mean that figuratively.

Konan: No offense, but I’m pretty sure I don’t have, er, the right “parts” to interest you.

Tobi: I’d love to date Senpai … *switches to Obito voice* You and I would make beautiful music together ~

Deidara, blushing: Well, I —

Sasori: Wait a second … Deidara, are your standards so low that you would actually date this masked idiot?

Tobi, still in Obito voice: I could take care of him better than you ever could, you wooden asshole. You, or anyone else in this room.

Itachi, sarcastically: Indeed. Because if Deidara just suddenly decided to stop hating Uchiha’s, he’d pick the least talented one of the group to date.

Konan: … Who’s an Uchiha, now?

Hidan: Holy Jashin, blondie … maybe we should be dating after all. I’d feel fucking guilty leaving you with this pool of losers. 

Kakuzu: Oi, if this is going to distract you all from your missions and hinder your bringing in money, then I will date the brat after all. I’m the only one with the self-control necessary to not let personal ties interfere with business.

Kisame: Pardon me, but you’re not the only one with exceptional self control, Kakuzu-san. I believe I’m talented in that area as well.

*everyone in the group begins loudly arguing with each other*

Konan, to Deidara: So was there anyone in particular you had your mind on?

Deidara: No, hm. I was just bored.

Konan:

Konan: Why are you like this?

[chock-and-bates]

it is ridiculously late (early) for me, but i promised everyone a reveal.

here's who leaked max and charles sex tape in (i love you) it's ruining my life.

Most of you knew this was coming- but which Carlos is responsible? You can read the little (unedited) ficlet or scroll down for the tl;dr summary.

enjoy :)

-----------

Carlos first noticed something was off with Max and Charles in 2022. 

There had been a mounting tension between them all year, so when that tension disappeared, replaced with a light, dreamy energy as they mooned over each other- he was going to notice.

He tries very hard not to think about what’s going on between them. It’s none of his business.

*

In 2023, it only gets worse.

He sees the private smiles they shoot at each other in the paddock, the way they naturally drift together whenever possible, how they whisper together after a shared podium with something salacious in their smiles.

Carlos wonders if anyone else suspects. Try as he might, it begins to weigh on him.

He finally decides to satisfy his curiosity one night in the mid-season, and it turns out to be almost disappointingly easy to catch Verstappen sneaking into his teammate’s hotel room. 

As he watches Max pull a keycard out his pocket and use it to slip in through Charles’ suite, Carlos can’t help but think to himself that the Dutch driver truly gets everything. 

*

In 2024, he starts the season already out of a seat.

The rumors swirl, Mercedes, Red Bull, Aston, Alpine, and he drives for his life every week.

In the end, it’s Williams.

“I’m sorry,” his cousin tells him one day, after they’ve been drinking. Carlos knows he feels guilty, as his manager and as his family, like he could have found him something better. His father watches them both silently. 

Carlos tells him it’s fine.

*

This season has not been the best for him and Charles. Things are tenser than normal, and Carlos often finds himself frustrated with him.

It’s one of these nights, after another moment on track, that he and Caco are drinking again.  They’d spent the better part of an hour venting about his teammate, and even though the subject has moved on to the rest of the grid, Carlos is still feeling agitated and more than a little drunk, his mind lingering on Charles.

“Do you think Verstappen’s feeling worried about that McLaren yet,” Caco asks, continuing on their conversation.

Carlos scoffs into his drink, his agitation making him bitter, “He’ll be fine, I’m sure Charles is still rewarding him for P5 tonight.”

“What do you mean,” Caco asks, raising a brow curiously.

Carlos pauses, realizing what he’s done. There’s a stab of guilt in his gut, he’s gone two years without telling anyone about this.

But he’s also gone two years without telling anyone about this.

Pushing away his guilt, Carlos tells his cousin everything.

*

A few weeks later, Max and Charles’ sex tape is emailed to nearly the entire paddock. When he gets the email, Carlos feels sick.

Later, as the entire team goes into crisis mode around him, Carlos watches Caco engage in an intense conversation with a Ferrari executive, both of them speaking low but sternly.

Moving closer to listen, he catches a few phrases, things like “unacceptable behavior” and “horrible association for the team”.

He watches his cousin getting more and more heated as the exec keeps shaking his head, and Carlos suddenly realizes what has happened.

*

“I did it for you, Chile,” Caco insists, “We needed to try something.” 

Carlos, his father, and his cousin are tucked away in his driver’s room, suddenly in a crisis of their own.

When Carlos confronted him, Caco had confessed startling easily- yes, he had been behind the stolen phone, yes, he leaked the sex tape, no, he was not sorry.

“You sound insane,” his father is hissing, “This is a fucking disaster.”

“No! Don’t you see?” Caco says, vehemently, “Someone in the paddock will leak it online or to the media, and Leclerc will be in ruins. This video is filthy, Ferrari won’t be able to stay associated with him once it gets out. He’ll have his contract voided, and then Carlos can take his place.”

Carlos and his father stare at him, Carlos in horror, his father consideringly.

“You deserve this seat,” Caco stands firm, “I know I let you down with the Williams contract… Please, let me try this one last thing.”

Carlos is still speechless, but his father slowly nods.

“You better hope this works,” his father says, deadly serious.

*

“It’s been hours,” Carlos Sr. notes impatiently, “Why has the video not gotten beyond the paddock?”

Caco shrugs, unable to hide how frazzled he was, “People are showing more restraint than expected. It will still leak.”

Carlos says nothing, staring down at the driver’s group chat on his phone. People keep asking him for news, but Ferrari has ordered him to stay quiet. He hasn’t been able to see Charles all day… he doesn’t really know if he could face him anyway.

“If it doesn’t leak in the next hour, then I expect you to help things along,” his father tells his cousin, no room for argument, “Ferrari won’t entertain getting rid of him unless it leaks.”

*

There is a palatable explosion of panic once the TMZ article is published. Ferrari hospitality descends into chaos, and Carlos is swept up in the mayhem as his father and cousin rush to take advantage.

Carlos listens to them speaking furiously to executives and feels sick once again.

It’s a feeling that only worsens when he catches the eyes of Max Verstappen as he’s led by, and it’s the sight of his former teammate’s dazed, shell-shocked expression that finally makes Carlos retreat to his driver’s room, hiding away from it all.

He puts his head in his hands, thinking of Charles and Max, his family’s words, of how many people are seeing the video, how Charles is being so thoroughly violated today. 

This is all his fault.

*

His father curses up a storm and his cousin looks crestfallen when Ferrari and Red Bull post the announcement about the relationship, promising full support.

Carlos immediately likes the post.

He also does nothing to hide the relieved smile on his face when he sees Charles and Max walking through the building, hand in hand.

*

The rest of the season passes in a flurry of media scrutiny, constructor fights, and goodbyes.

Carlos is asked about his teammate's newly revealed relationship more times than he could count, and he offers firm words of support with each interview, no matter what others tell him to say.

Still, Charles will barely look at him, either too caught up in a lovesick daze whenever Max is around him (a new, constant occurrence) or because he seems to be acting purposely icy and suspicious towards Carlos’ side of the garage.

Carlos doesn’t blame him, he deserves it. 

Caco is nervous now, constantly looking over his shoulder, and jumping whenever someone new comes up to speak to him. His father refuses to speak about it, already looking stubbornly forward and ignoring the sins of the past.

Despite Charles seeming to come out surprisingly unscathed (so happy he’s literally glowing with it) the guilt of everything continues to sit heavily in Carlos’ conscience.

*

When the final race comes around, and his departure is suddenly all too real, Charles pauses his hostility to give Carlos a genuinely kind and thoughtful send off. 

Carlos hugs him tight, and thinks about how sorry he is.

He is sad, so sad to say goodbye to this chapter of his career. And he is so regretful there is such a dark cloud of guilt hanging over these final days.

When Charles kindly shows up at the end of season testing for a final goodbye, Carlos finally decides he can’t stand to end it like this. Not without at least trying to make things right-

Before he leaves Ferrari for the final time, he asks Charles if they can talk.

---------

tl;dr summary: Carlos realized something was up very early, but kept Max and Charles secret for two years.

One frustrated, drunken night, he reveals that secret to Carlos Oñoro (Caco) his cousin and manager, who has been feeling guilty over not landing Carlos a better contract for 2025. His cousin steals Charles' phone and leaks the video in the hopes the scandal will get Ferrari to drop Charles and Carlos can get his Ferrari seat.

Neither Carlos or Carlos Sr. knew about the plan, but while Carlos is horrified, Carlos Sr. decides to see the plan through, hoping it will work in his son's favor. He orders Oñoro to make sure the video leaks further, implying Caco is the one who went to TMZ.

Carlos is relieved when the plan doesn't work, and happy for Max and Charles, but the guilt eats away at him. On the last day of his time at Ferrari, he decides to confess to Charles.

-------

hope this offers some of you the clarity you were looking for ❤️ thanks so much for reading.

[the--highlanders]

what do you think jamie does after he's sent back to scotland without his memories?

i think he's always been torn between loving his home, the house he grew up in and the river he played in as a child and the hills he knows like the back of his hand, and yet still deeply longing to leave his little world behind, because he never quite fit right. (and he did! he got out!) but then suddenly he's right back there. he goes back to his childhood home but it's not home anymore and he doesn't know why.

so would he stay and try to fit again, even though he's grown out of his place there? or would he leave, and go looking for whatever had changed him?

YESSS I am so 100% on board with everything you said here. jamie really feels to me like he's someone who's so deeply rooted in his place and his culture, and yet someone who's been battling off this sense of isolation his whole life, and it's all tangled up and complicated inside him. in part he knows his home like the back of his hand /because/ he was somewhat isolated and spent a bunch of time wandering around on his own, and connects to his culture so much because he was chasing a sense of belonging. and on the other hand he had friends and was probably well-liked! but the isolation is still there. maybe even worse for the fact that he wasn't entirely alone.

I do think the crucial point to what jamie does when he's back in scotland is. why exactly he stepped on board the tardis in the first place. which is something I still don't feel like I've fully been able to express even after literal years of trying, maybe because it works best as an impulse borne of him having a deeply traumatic turned deeply strange day. I hc that while jamie's father, brother, and best friend have now died, his mother is still alive and at home, along with other relatives and much of the rest of his community. he /has somewhere to go back to/. he chooses not to go to france and to try his luck with making it home instead, and then all of a sudden he's stepping onto the tardis. sure, he's somewhat confused, and certainly doesn't know what's happening or that he won't be able to get back - but he does still go with them. in that moment, some part of him wanted /out/. going with people he knew to france didn't tempt him, but running off with basically total strangers did. he wanted an entirely fresh start, a blank slate.

on the flip side, the jamie who gets sent back after the war games is /different/, even subconsciously. somewhere buried in there is a person who's more mature, has had three more years of experience, has dealt with so much more and stepped up in ways he probably couldn't have dreamt of when he first left scotland. he's dropped back on drumossie moor, apparently in daylight, presumably with something implanted in his head telling him that the doctor and ben and polly left, he waved them off and turned towards home. so I think that's what he'd do - he'd go home, and try to pick up the pieces as best he could.

at this point, and as he realises more and more that something's /not right/ and he's missing something, I think his sense of isolation is worse than ever. he's so, so close to snapping. but his whole world is holding on by a thread, now - his own family has been decimated, many others are in the same position, they're close enough to culloden and inverness to be subject to a few reprisals and raids from the government - and oddly enough I think that holds him together. he steps up, because somewhere deep inside he knows how to do that now. he's grown up. maybe everyone else just puts it down to the war. it's not like they know any better. and if we know anything about jamie, it's that he can hold himself together if someone else needs him. is it good for him? certainly not. but he's hanging in there.

in my timeline for things he does settle down somewhat once he starts to regain his memories and understand what's happened to him. it /is/ just another thing that sets him apart, and that always hurts, but he's also more confident and understands more about himself than he did growing up, so it rattles him less. he's probably easy to talk to and go to with problems, and friendly enough that you never really realise he doesn't open up about himself. he grows into a bit of a leadership position in his village, and it's good for him, in a way. he's also his own person, not his father's son, and I think that's a sick sort of relief for him. marrying kirsty also helps, because she's a fellow misfit and a great friend, and someone who he can share the truth with. their 'more children than there are days of the week' are lost and orphaned kids they collect, because he's not going to let anyone else grow up alone. it's a weird sort of limbo where he's waiting for the doctor but also has no certainty that he'll ever see him again, where he's made a life he's proud of with people he loves and yet there's always parts of him that are desperately unhappy - but he's getting by. he's good. he's got good things that get him through.

if he /didn't/ get his memories back, though, if he was just caught in that confusion forever... that's where I could really see him leaving. at some point he /does/ snap, and he just. heads off on his own, looking for something he can't remember. it feels good, to always be on the road, maybe to help people where he can as he passes through. he's not tied to anyone, doesn't have to be who anyone else wants him to be, and there's freedom in that. but he always feels like he /shouldn't/ be alone in this, that he should be wandering with someone.

[universalzones]

"Whisper, you can dump whatever ya want on me, and not just because we're dating. You could've always done that and I'd have been more than happy to listen." Tangle always tried her best to make it clear Whisper could talk to her about anything, though knew she was just a really guarded person. The lemur has gotten better about boundaries and trying to push the wolf out of her comfort zone. Still, she wouldn't every try to make the other talk about something they don't want to.

"I have no idea, though Blaze's world is all mystical and stuff, right? Who knows what crazy stuff they can do. I mean, even without that crazy super awesome form Blaze has I've seen her do a lot of crazy stuff." Tangle wasn't sure, though it sounded like Blaze's world might have more options. "It couldn't hurt to ask, and I think she's staying with everyone to help get The Restoration back on it's feet." It'd make it easy to get ahold of her at least.

"Oh, we can make it apart of the vacation!" Tangle would suddenly shout. "Sorry, though maybe before when we feel ready to head back we'll spend one week in Sol to check out the sights and see if they have some fancy magic stuff to help you with your voice." It'd be a great chance for them to see another world and find out if they can help Whisper.

"Oh, I wonder what foods they have in Blaze's world. Maybe I can find something spicy to try." Tangle was a bit of a chili head and was always looking for something spicy to try and withstand. The lemur couldn't say there were many just the things that are stupidly spicy. Anything with a decent or even a bit heavy amount of spicy she can handle.

She felt herself leaning into Tangle's arms feeling awful for dumping that on her. It just kind of came out and, now she was hiding her face in her hands feeling ashamed and a little bashful about it. For someone who could break your neck in 17 different ways she could be rather easily embarrassed. But she did feel a little ashamed for feeling that way. When tangle said it didn't make her a coward she shook her head no---but still had her face covered so it just came off as more cute then it did anything else. She hated herself for being this way, but was glad Tangle was there to hold and console her.

Yet Tangle had such a tender way of talking to her, and she made more sense then most. She felt her lean back and finally let her hands drop to her lap. Fidgeting in place she still felt weak and cowardly for not getting it done sooner. But maybe Tangle was right, maybe there were options she hadn't explored before. In truth she hadn't know to much about Blaze and the princess had mostly never spoken to her beyond a hello, or a respectful nod.

✋ Sorry, didn't mean to dump all that on you... ✋

She signed wanting to apologize to Tangle, who was always putting up with her crazy life. First with Mimic and the Cutters, then her life with Gun and more then any of that... her being mute was hard on everyone and she knew that. Hell she couldn't even hold a conversation with Rowan without a pad to write on.

✋Do you really think Blaze can help? ... my throat was so damaged as child, not even the GUN doctors could fix it. ✋

She smiled at Tangle's goofiness, and the way she promised to be with her. It wasn't saving the world, it wasn't fighting this was all very personal to her. Yet Tangle always managed to make her smile, and she reached up and touched her heart making the sign for ' i love you' to tangle. Her soft blue eyes visible as Tangle continued to help pull her out of her own little dark place.

Maybe... just maybe, one day soon--- she could finally tell her how much she meant to her.

[karokawwo]

ik insulting religion is a huge no no but I really find it so scary how christianity can poison people so easily. how people can become so unsympathetic, so hateful, and so stubborn in this awful mentality. but it's alright because all this animosity is in the name of our almighty God, who loves us but despises them, apparently

[mieczyhale]

Let Jews Define Jewish Terms 2kAlwaysWhyIsThisADebate

[arom-antix]

Hey, just wanted to reach out to say that I found you pointing out and calling this person was really great and you shouldn't have apologized. It was incredibly true what you said, and to be honest it seems out of touch with the reality of a great deal of the japanese fandom, the nuances and their culture. Also, it was as you pointed out, extreme and may I say rude. I want to mention too that the way it was written, as if entitled of the knowledge and the 'explanation' made it all worse in context of the 'fucked up'. The original poster always gets away by using the 'well-written academic'' statement of their 'metas' as an excuse to do or say and make everyone else agree and if not, uses victim narrative and discourses exactly selecting wording for people to agree on it or feel bad.

I don't know if they tagging you in the way they did made you reblog and apologizing/backing up, but no one thought bad about you pointing it out. On the contrary, a lot of people had been bullied and discriminated by this person when they called them out/disagreed going onto lenghts of sending their friends to harass people, and the other persons can't even defend themselves because they are effectively blocked. To quite a few people in the fandom has been done, even accusing them as 'acephobes' (when they're not) or even Nazis by spreading lies. So yeah, I just wanted to say that. I think you were right to call them out publicly.

Thank you very much for this ask. To be completely honest I agree with everything you said here and don't actually feel bad about pointing anything out. I mainly apologised because I didn't want any potentially poor phrasing from my side to cause unnecessary hostility and because I myself have gripes with this person's behaviour but didn't want to cause a scene.

My honest opinion is that they have a serious issue with taking accountability for their own mistakes and highly overestimate their own intellect. If you're reading this, @thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai, sorry if I seem harsh, but it's true. I saw your post lamenting how you're the only academic meta writer / fan in the fandom and I didn't interact then because I honestly do not care enough to start that drama but with the information Blonndiec has just given me, I think it's necessary that someone calls you out.

You're not an academic. You're not beyond the mental capabilities of other fans. You're actually incredibly childish in your metas and analyses and I am not kidding when I say that I was halfheartedly writing essays more academic than every analysis I've seen from you when I was barely a teenager. I don't know how old you are and I frankly don't care. You're not as clever as you think you are.

Also, don't think I didn't notice that you didn't reblog my correction (link here to my correction and here to their "response" for those who didn't see that exchange) of your post so that you could control what your followers saw of the exchange. You're the opposite of an academic. You control information to tailor the narrative, you don't cite your sources properly if at all, you don't format your posts in anything close to how an academic analysis would be, you make unbased claims, you reference posts and canon material without in any way indicating where that information is from, you reference your own (equally unacademic) metas and your conclusions from them without indicating what post it's from or that it's your own theory this new one is based on and instead present it as a common fact, and I could go on and on and on. Your posts are also riddled with logical fallacies and you talk in absolutes and opinions when there's no canon basis to claim such things. I'm sorry, but that's not academic in the slightest.

To be clear, you don't have to be an academic to post on the Internet. You don't have to be anything at all. You could up front be a genuine idiot with no remorse and that's fine. But when you claim to be an academic and also put down the rest of the fandom for not being on your level, you have to be able to back that up. It'd still make you sound like a prick but at least your arrogance would have a basis. It currently does not.

I haven't personally seen the discussions that Blonndiec is referencing and I'm not going to claim anything definitive (because that would be unacademic of me, take notes) but if what they're saying is true and did happen as described, which I have empirical, if anecdotal, evidence to believe could very well be (a friend of mine has personally been blocked by you after they criticised you without actually mentioning your name which I of course can't prove is the reason for the block but the timing is awfully convenient), you should know that you should be ashamed of yourself.

If there's context missing, feel free to enlighten me and call out any incorrect accusations. You have every right to defend yourself. However, I encourage you to cite your sources since you're such an academic. If you don't, then it's just your word against Blonndiec and anyone else who might comment's word and that doesn't prove anything. Don't misunderstand, acephobia and nazi rhetoric should absolutely be called out but only if it's actually happening. False accusations can ruin lives. I hope you know that.

I'm not a fan of calling people out publicly and, again, thank you for this ask, Blonndiec. But considering many of the issues I've personally seen and those I've been informed of by second hand sources were posted publically, I don't really feel bad about calling this out. I could do a full breakdown of just the insulting "academic" comments alone and how there's no academia to be found in said academic metas and, Samurai, if you give me reason to, I will show exactly what I mean point by point (and academically just to give you an example of even low level academia).

If you respond to this, do it in a reblog. That's what a real academic would do. If I'm wrong and you can prove it, you'd have no reason to not show my post in your rebuttal. If I'm right, you'd have every reason to be upfront about your mistakes and how you intend to rectify them. There's nothing wrong with being wrong but there's a lot wrong with refusing to admit to it in a way that lets others peer review you (academic thing, look it up) and come to their own conclusions about the situation. That's what you did when you just @'ed me instead of reblogging my response. A true academic wouldn't hide a peer review. You'd know that if you were one.

I swing in many academic spaces and yet that doesn't make me any kind of expert and I don't claim to be one because I'm not. But since you want to be one so badly, reblog this with a response and show us all how smart you are. I'm dying to know what your academic take on this is.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

Howdy, Syn! Hope you’re doing well. I’ve got a fun little ask for you:

If you’ve got some spare time on your hands, I was wondering if there was a little (non-spoilery) detail in—well, any of your stories, I’m obsessed with all of them—that you really enjoy but don’t think anyone’s picked up on yet. If there is, I’d love to hear any ramblings on it 👀

Have a good one!

This ask is ages old but I’m working on chipping away at my backlog little by little. Since I’m in a pez dispenser debris kick right now, let’s look at that.

I honest to God can’t remember if I’ve discussed this before, so sorry if it’s redundant, but one of the main points of pez dispenser debris is that the conflict is Man v. Self to the exclusion of all else.

Like, to an extent, there’s a secondary conflict of Man v. Society, but that 1) primarily (but not entirely) exists in Izuku’s past and 2) feeds into the Man v. Self conflict by being the primary driver behind both Izukus’ actions.

I decided to eschew any kind of genuine conflict between Izuku and the people in his life because I didn’t for a second want the narrative to get confused by considerations about whether it was safe to have told his loved ones about his past.

I very easily could have chosen to explore a plot line where the people around him feel betrayed or question him. At the very least, Mirio could have had a moment of “what the fuck, man, I’ve spent my whole career being looked down on as the world’s Quirkless hero and you didn’t think to fucking mention you grew up Quirkless?”

Close to the entire class has been vulnerable with him. Todoroki told him about being abused his entire childhood. He knows about Uraraka’s financial traumas. Iida nearly killed that guy the one time. Kirishima made him look at that suspicious bump in the unfortunate place.

These are kids who have spent the past three years in the trenches together. They’ve been in actual, life or death scenarios since the age of 14-15, and the only thing that they could count on was each other. And then here they are, at the very end of it all, and they find out that the guy they’ve been trusting with their back the whole time seemingly didn’t trust them enough to tell them a single detail of his life before they met him.

They could have been a little more conflicted about the revelation. At the very least, they could have questioned deeper how their friend went from 0 Quirks to a suspicious amount of Quirks when they spent their entire time at school with Guy Whose Entire Thing Is Transferring Quirks And Like. Trying to Murder Kids Who Are Specifically Them took personal issue with every single field trip they’ve ever had.

But every single outside POV is like “obviously we can trust him. It’s Midoriya. Anywho I will now be questioning my own character because he can’t be the problem so it must be me.”

If I explored plot points like that, it would have divided the conflict’s attention between Man v. Self and Man v. Man. The plot would have to devote time and focus to resolving Izuku’s issues with his loved ones and regaining their trust, and that would have detracted from a major theme of this fic, which is that this wasn’t about not trusting the people around him. He didn’t tell them because of an internalized issue.

Midoriya trusted his friends with his life. This wasn’t about fear of them rejecting him because he grew up Quirkless. The conflict is with himself.

I also eliminated sources of external conflict by having it all come out to the entire class all at once. I didn’t want to waste plot resources on what Izuku would naturally do in this situation, which is try to hide the little shit by all means necessary and quarantine his very existence. There would be too much time and energy wasted on slowly revealing the truth to select members of the class one by one.

And don’t get me wrong, that could have been an interesting plot—it just wasn’t the one I wanted to write.

This fic is about having to grapple with the part of yourself that is still hurt and angry about it. The part that cannot process the past to the point where you fear it endangers your future. You want your trauma to just go away and not exist anymore, because things are better so it means you shouldn’t have to be them anymore.

The older Izuku wants the younger one to be gone. He wants him to, at the very least, stop talking about what happened in the past and accept the future for how it is, because he doesn’t want to lose what he’s gained. But in doing so he mirrors the denial of self his younger counterpart is being far more explicit about.

Because both versions of Izuku are refusing to believe the other is them.

Young Izuku is doing it in a very literal way. That guy ain’t me. He killed and replaced me. There is absolutely no way I am him. He refuses to accept that there is any version of him who could become like his older self.

But the older Izuku is doing the same thing, just in a less literal sense. Hes almost acting like his old self is somehow legitimately a distinct entity. He slips and says it to Aizawa—stop looking at me like I’m him. The older Izuku wants to just bulldoze over his past and pretend like it doesn’t belong to him, but it just doesn’t work that way.

That’s the conflict I wanted to capture for this fic. Just this absolute refusal to reconcile your past and your future because to do so would require processing the trauma you’ve been through. And so I cauterized off all other sources of conflict, because they’d just detract from what needed to be center stage.

[cosmicredcadet]

Y'all listen just because you learned something in school doesn't mean everyone else did. idk how y'all got this idea in ur heads that we all learned the same shit when literal book bans are happening in schools across the united states and certain subjects are being banned from ever being talked about. (do not even get me started on the fact different countries have different curriculum too) Like you cannot say "You guys obviously just didn't pay attention in school and are stupid because we all learned this" like you are ignoring like 50 other options as to why people may not have learned this ranging from poorly funded school to disabled kid getting shoved into special ed classes which are often notorious for mistreating their disabled students. I'm begging you all to understand the nuance of why certain skills and abilities aren't as widely spread as you assume they should be.