#and ive had conversations with my someones that are like

[bkghq]

ᝰ INCLUDES ⋮ ex situationship!bakugo katsuki x fem! reader

— BONUS ARYA ⋮ i love this so much, this feels so personal to me because ive literally survived an almost 2 year situationship myself (who im lwk still in love with) but i hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing this!

✩ Ex Situationship!Bakugo & it all comes crashing down.

You never really dated, but there was something between the two of you—something unspoken—in the lingering touches that lasted too long, the slight softness in his tone when he spoke to you, the hushed whispers of I love you, the late nights in his dorm room with both of your bodies intertwined, the stolen kisses you only dared to share in the privacy of his room.

It was good—too good, maybe. The bond you shared felt inevitable. But there was never a label, nothing solid signifying what the actual heck was even going on between the hero course student and you—a general studies student.

But just like all good things come to an end, so did your little fiasco with Bakugo. One second, you were lying on his bed, your head on his chest as he rubbed circles on your back, talking about his day and what stupid thing Dunce Face did to piss him off—

—and the next, you were both sitting upright on opposite ends of his bed, a heated argument breaking between the two of you. You’d had this conversation before, always skirted around the edge of it. But tonight, it was different.

“‘S not like I don��t want it! But I just don’t have time for what you want from me!” Bakugo groaned, tired of reliving the same conversation for what felt like the hundredth time.

“We don’t have to do anything new! It’ll just be like this—why don’t you understand, Katsuki?!” you yelled back, frustration running through your veins.

You wouldn’t have to change anything. It would be the same, just with a label to make things more… real. Your friends knew of him. His friends knew of you. And you already did most of that couple-y shit, so you just didn’t understand what the fuss was about.

“You don’t get it. You never will,” he sneered, his words hitting like a slap to the face.

You don’t get it. You never will.

Meaning, you’re just a general studies extra who doesn’t understand anything about the hero course.

“So that’s what it is now? You never had a problem before with me being a general studies student—someone who doesn’t want to become a pro!” you snapped, hurt lacing your words.

Bakugo just huffed, rubbing his face—confirming your suspicion. He didn’t want to have this conversation right now.

“Look, we’ll talk about this in the morning. How ‘bout that?” he offered, trying to end it. But this was your final straw. He couldn’t just imply something so mean and hurtful and expect you to go back to cuddling him like nothing happened. Was he out of his goddamn mind?

“Do you even like me at this point, Katsuki?” you asked, voice low and dejected, holding your tears at bay. No way in hell were you giving him the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

“What kinda stupid question is that?! ‘Course I fuckin’ like you!” he roared, genuinely offended that you would even dare question his feelings.

“Then act like it, goddammit! Don’t you see what you’re doing to me? Katsuki, we’ve been in this no-label relationship for almost a year and a half! And I still don’t know what you are to me—my friend? My boyfriend? A fucking stranger? I have no clue!” you snapped, finally done with the cycle.

“I—” Bakugo started, but nothing came out. What was he supposed to say? Of course, what you said made fucking sense, but the last thread of his ego couldn’t let him admit it.

“It’s fine. It doesn’t matter anymore, I suppose,” you muttered, getting off his bed and making a beeline toward the door.

As much as you loved him, you knew you couldn’t do this anymore. You wanted him—all of him—and he wouldn’t give that to you. And you were done taking this half-assed version of him that he was offering.

“Oi! Where are you going, dumbass?” Bakugo stood up hastily, following you to the door.

“Leave it Bakugo. I’m done. I’ve gotten all the answers I needed,” you snapped, slamming the door behind you, leaving him with a whirlwind of unresolved feelings.

Bakugo?

You’d never called him that before.

He knew he should run after you, bring you back, stop you from walking away like that. You couldn’t just leave him. But his fucking pride wouldn’t let him.

He just stood there, fists clenched at his sides, cursing under his breath. Staring at the door like it might open again.

You’d come around.

You always did.

Right?

THNX 4 READING <3 RBS + COMMENTS APPRECIATED ིྀ

[sincerelystarry]

( ☆ ) . * we’ll float away, but if we fall . . . i only pray, don’t fall away from me !!

f!dist. 13 medic!reader x finnick odair — finnick odair masterlist

ask : “hi! could you write a Finick Odair and f!reader and make it with angst but also sweet and love and it is around the time they got to district 13? thank you!” — anon

summary : when finnick odair is extracted from squad 451’s mission and brought back to district 13 grievously injured, he’s put under your care, just like how he was when he first arrived after the 75th hunger games

warnings : this is kinda sad but also kinda sweet, jumps back and forth between when finnick & reader first meet vs present time, sorry if the layout/timeline is confusing but also i WANT you to be disoriented so im not that sorry actually, description of injuries, suicidal ideation, mentions/vague descriptions of forced prostitution

word count : 3.6k

You’ve been in District 13 for as long as you’ve known. You were put in soldier training when you turned 14, but it never really took, and you instead gravitated towards learning medicine. Learning of different herbs and drugs and their effects on the human body. Taking a particular interest in what little information District 13 had of Capitol muttations and figuring out how they were designed to specifically harm people.

Your knowledge came in extreme use when the Mockingjay destroyed the arena forcefield during the 75th Hunger Games, when there was a new influx of refugees from District 12 that all needed medical attention. You were assigned to the surviving tributes of the Quarter Quell, the ones that managed to get rescued back to 13. Namely, you were tasked with taking care of Finnick Odair. 

“Hello? Mr. Odair?” you prompt, entering his hospital room. He seems around your age, maybe older, but you’re not sure how much of it is the passage of time and how much is just the stress you imagine he’s gained from being apart of the Hunger Games, not just once, but twice.

“Yes?” His voice is monotone as he answers, flat, as he twists a length of hempen rope in his hands.

You introduce yourself, approaching his bedside. “I’m to be your primary caretaker as you recover from your injuries,” you explain. “If there’s anything you need, any questions at all, know that I’m a friendly face!” You offer him a smile, of which turns into a slight grimace as he just stares blankly at you in response. “Now— ah— are there any injuries that I should be made aware of? We can give you some sort of salve for any scratches or burns, or if your injuries are extreme, morphling can be acquired and prescribed.”

He wordlessly extends his arms, revealing a litter of scratches and scars he’s earned from the arena, along with various burns he likely obtained from the destruction of the forcefield. 

You busy yourself with preparing a salve for his burns, carefully holding onto his arm as you apply it. “Where else?” you ask. If he doesn’t want conversation then you won’t give it to him.

“My back,” he answers simply. 

You nod, wrapping his wounds before instructing him to remove his shirt so you can tend to his other burns. When you finish, you set the salve and bandages aside, telling him, “I’ll be back in a few hours with food and to change your bandages. But please, feel free to ask for me if you need anything else. I’m only really supposed to be your nurse but I can also be your friend.”

He nods, your eyes briefly meeting, which you gather as some sort of progress for that day.

You’re not sure why, and no one will answer your questions, but you’re rushed down to one of the rooms in the District 13 hospital, taken from your task of restocking various herbs and medicines. You’re confused as you didn’t remember hearing of any rescue missions to bring in new refugees, nor did you think someone getting injured during training would require this much panic.

Your questions are answered when you’re rushed into the room and see an unconscious Finnick Odair, an IV in his arm. Bite marks and bruises are littered across what visible skin can be seen through the thin white hospital garb.

“We thought you should know,” one of the other medics who led you here says. “We know you were the one that mostly took care of him, when he first came here.”

You take a moment, eyes pressed shut, nodding slowly. “Thank you,” you say, voice strained. “What happened?”

“Some sort of muttation encounter with Squad 451,” she explains. “We didn’t get all the details; he was brought in just a few hours ago.”

“Is he okay?” you ask.

“No one’s sure. His injuries are treatable but we have no idea when he’s going to wake up. If he’s going to wake up.”

You only nod again, moving to Finnick’s bedside. Your movements are slow, hesitant, almost as if you’re moving through a pool of honey. You don’t want to believe that this is real, that there’s a possibility of him staying like this for months, for years, forever.

You’re sat with Finnick in the same hospital room you met in as you help him with some fresh cuts and bruising he had acquired during training. He’s been in a better state recently, being involved in the Mockingjay’s and President Coin’s plans, filming propos from what you’ve heard. He’s still quiet around you—nervous, almost—and it irks you. 

It doesn’t make you angry at him, just upset. He seems like a genuinely interesting person, and you want to know more about him. You’ve tried to learn more about him. But he doesn’t seem to let you.

It doesn’t stop you from trying.

“What is it like at home?” you ask.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean in District 4,” you explain. “That’s where you’re from isn’t it?” You only get a nod in response, so you press on. “I hardly ever get to go outside. Even less now, with the rebellion and everything. It’s not safe. What’s it like? The sun there? The wind? You guys have beaches too, don’t you? What’s that like? The sand and the sea and everything? Do you miss it?”

“Of course I miss it,” he answers simply. “Are we done here?”

“No,” you lie quickly. “Why do you miss it?” you continue. “What do you miss?”

Finnick is quiet for a moment before he answers, “I miss the sun. It’s warm. It’s always too cold down here. The air is too stagnant.”

“It is,” you agree. “I mean, I’ve never really known what non-stagnant air is like, but I feel like fresh air would be a lot easier to breathe. Does that make sense?”

Finnick gives you a strained smile. “It does.”

“Why else do you miss the sun?” you ask.

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Maybe because of the light? The lights down here are fluorescent. Blinding. Sunlight is more yellow-ish, not a pure white. It’s more comforting. I think the sun also just makes you happier. A science thing?”

You nod. “I’ve heard of that.”

The two of you are quiet for a moment, but the silence isn’t the same uncomfortable one you’ve had to endure before.

“I miss swimming,” he says after a while. “In the ocean, not in a pool. Accidentally going under when a large wave comes and coming back up with a mouthful of saltwater.”

“That sounds horrible,” you say honestly. 

Finnick laughs. A genuine sound, one you’re determined to hear again. “It is. But it’s one of those things that’s just a part of life. It’s one of those things you don’t think you’ll miss until it’s gone.”

“Do you get seashells on your beach?” you ask.

“We do. Hermit crabs, too. There’s a lot of them, but I don’t think I ever really paid any attention to them,” he admits.

“I would like to collect shells if I could,” you say.

“Maybe you can come to District 4 for a visit one day, when this is all over. Bring home as many shells as you want.”

You smile. “Maybe.”

Your nights are sleepless and your days are spent at Finnick’s bedside, monitoring his status, getting occasional updates on the known information on the rebellion and the Capitol. You tell Finnick everything you learn, you tend to his injuries, and you only pray that maybe he can hear you, even in this unconscious state. 

There are times when he’s unstable. When there’s an irregularity in his heart rate or his blood pressure and you and the other medics have to scramble to get him stable again. You go into miniature episodes after these moments, the fear of losing him overcoming you.

When what remains of Squad 451 returns, you force the details of what happened to Finnick from one of the officers, who tell you about the mutts they encountered in the sewers. The way Finnick ushered them all up the ladder first, the way he almost slipped, almost died. 

But he didn’t. He got injured, grievously so, but he lived. He lived and he made it back to District 13. He made it back to you.

You spend your nights thinking about the mutts, the way they were described. All mouths and hands and a toxic perfume of roses. You think of the stories Finnick told you about his time as a Victor, all the nightmares of hands he confided in you. The cruel mouths and hands of Capitol citizens who wanted bits of him for themselves. The artificial and suffocating perfumes of these people, the way the scents would stick onto him for days no matter how many showers he took, no matter how hard he scrubbed. 

You take up a habit he had. Twisting and knotting a length of rope in your hands whenever you can’t think straight, whenever you can’t sleep, which is most nights now. Your knots are messier than the ones he would make. Your fingers are deft when it comes to bandages and gauze but clumsy when it comes to hemp. You don’t like how the rough material of the rope scratches at your hands and seems to rub them raw, you don’t like the way you have to dig your nails into the knots you make to undo them and make a new one. You hate this new way of fidgeting. And yet you do it anyway.

You do it because it’s something he would do. You copy the knots he showed you, try to remember which each one was used for. A bowline, a clove hitch, a reef knot, an anchor bend. You perfect these knots, but never remember what the purpose of each one is for. You make a note to ask him when he wakes up.

When. Not if. Because he will wake up. He has to wake up. He survived the mutts. He made it back to 13. He’s gone unstable but you’ve always managed to bring him back. He needs to wake up. 

You look down at the length of rope in your hand. It’s tied into a loop. The first knot he showed you in some sort of twisted joke when you first asked him about the rope. A small voice in your head says that it won’t be a joke for you if he doesn’t wake up.

“What’s with the rope?” you ask Finnick one day as the two of you sit together on a small break hour.

“I used to go sailing and fishing with my dad,” he explains. “He taught me a bunch of these. They bring me comfort now. They remind me of home.”

“Will you show me?” you ask.

Finnick gives you a surprised look, as if no one’s ever asked him to show them how to tie a knot, or, at least no one that wasn’t a tribute he’s had to mentor. “Yeah,” he says after a moment. “Hold on. I’ll show you my favourite.” 

You watch as he loops the length of rope around itself. He creates a noose. Finnick loops it around his neck, tightens it a bit, but keeps the knot holding the noose together away from his throat. He holds out the end to you, a grin on his face. 

“You could take me for a walk,” he offers. You stare at him blankly, causing him to laugh, pulling the noose from over his head and undoing it so it’s a straight length of rope again.

“You’re insane,” you say.

“Clinically,” he agrees. “But didn’t you think that was funny?”

“A little,” you cede, earning a beaming smile from him. “Why did you start knotting rope for comfort?” you ask.

“Like I said, it reminds me of home.”

“But this doesn’t seem like a new development. You’ve been doing this since we’ve first met.”

“Longer,” he corrects. “Since I was fourteen.”

“When you won your Games?” you ask, getting a nod in confirmation.

“Being a victor meant going to the Capitol a lot. Being far away from home for a few days or weeks at a time. I didn’t know anyone there, not unless you count my escort and styling team, but they weren’t really friendly. I needed something to remind me of home.”

“What would happen at the Capitol?” you ask. “After you became a victor?”

“At first, when I was still a kid, nothing horrible. People pinching my cheeks a lot, saying how cute I was. How they could just ‘eat me up’. But it got worse when I turned 18,” he says. 

“Worse how?” you ask hesitantly.

“I was sold,” he says simply. “Like a toy. I had to pretend I was some sort of casanova. That I would go to the Capitol and take a bunch of lovers and that I could never be nailed down to any one person. But the reality of it is that the people in the Capitol found me desirable. They liked my body and my face so they bought me and used me and sold me to each other.”

“Used you?” you ask, slightly confused.

“For sex,” he elaborates, hands moving quickly on the rope now, not looking at you.

“You don’t have to explain further, if you don’t want,” you quickly say to prevent him from having to go too far into his painful memories.

“Thank you,” he says, hands freezing when yours suddenly reach out to grab onto his.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“Why are you apologizing? It’s not your fault. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“For asking,” you say. “I didn’t mean to make you relive any of that.”

“It’s alright,” he assures you. “I relive it most nights anyway.”

“I could get you some sort of sedative,” you offer. “Something that will prevent dreams?”

He gives you a smile at that, his palm flipping over so he can properly hold onto your hand. “I don’t think that will be necessary,” he says. “Thank you, though.”

“Of course,” is all you say.

The two of you sit there for a moment in a comfortable silence, hand in hand. After a little moment, you break it.

“Is it true?” you ask.

“Is what true?”

“That you can’t be nailed down to any one person,” you say, using his words from earlier.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “I never got the chance to get to know someone for long enough to figure that out.”

“You have the chance now,” you say. “And later on, after this is all over.”

Finnick looks at you and smiles, squeezing your hand gently. “I think you’re right,” he says.

“I wouldn’t ever want to hurt you like that,” you say, almost as if you’re trying to assure yourself that you’re not a bad person for asking about his past. “I know sometimes I might say too much. Say the wrong things. I’m sure that’s why you didn’t want to talk to me when we first met.”

“That’s not true,” he argues. “You do talk a lot. And I admit, I was less than kind to you when we first met. But that’s not because I didn’t want to talk to you.”

“Then what was it?”

“I don’t know,” he says. “I guess I was scared. That you only cared because you had to as a medic. Or that if you wanted to get to know me, it’s because you wanted to know what my Games were like or what life as a victor was like.”

“And your verdict?”

“You actually want to know who I am,” he says. “Which still surprises me. You want to know about my fidgety habits and what I miss about home and what I look forward to doing after this is all over. You actually care. I don’t think I ever expected anyone to care about me that much before.”

“I like learning about you, Finnick,” you say. “I’m not sure why or what is is about you, but I like hearing about your happier memories. I like learning about you. I guess being stuck in 13 my whole life doesn’t leave much space for getting to know other people. I got lucky that I found someone so interesting.”

“You think I’m interesting?”

“Yeah. Not because you’re a victor or because you’ve been in two Hunger Games but just— because of your life, I guess. It’s so boring and normal up until your Games and I sometimes wish that my life could be boring and normal like yours was.”

“I wish my life could be boring and normal again,” he says.

“How’s this,” you start, “when this is all over, when the rebellion is done and we’re all let out again and Panem gets rebuilt and everything, we’ll just… be boring and normal together. You can show me the beach and I can collect those shells I’ve always wanted. I can start a garden. I’ve always wanted to start a garden, and I can show you what my favourite plants and flowers are and you can help me with my garden. And we can go to the market every Saturday and make home cooked meals and everything. And get a cat or a dog or something. Some sort of animal.”

Finnick watches as you ramble on about the life you want after the rebellion is over and he laughs, but there’s no malice behind it. “Is that what you think normal is?” he asks.

“Is it not?”

“No— it is. You’ve pretty much got it. I just don’t understand how someone can make normal and boring sound so interesting and fun.”

“Is that a yes, then?” you ask.

“To what?”

“To being boring and normal together.”

Finnick smiles, squeezes your hand again. “Yes.”

You’re sat in a chair by Finnick’s bedside, monitoring his status, dark circles beneath your eyes, when, for the first time in two and a half weeks, he stirs. You don’t notice it at first, too busy staring at the limp length of hempen rope in your hands, but you snap up immediately when you hear his raspy voice call out your name.

“What happened?” he asks. “Where am I? When am I?”

You stand and rush over to him immediately, pressing the rope into his hands, checking his vitals, telling someone to get him food. “What is your name?” you ask him, watching as his hands automatically move to tie a bowline.

“Finnick Odair,” he answers. 

“How old are you?” you ask.

“Twenty-four,” he answers again.

“Do you know where you are?”

“District 13, right?” he asks, as if searching for confirmation from you. “I’m not sure how I got here, though. Last thing I remember was the sewers, with the mutts.”

“You’re in 13,” you nod, confirming it for him. “Everything will be explained. Do you know what the date is?”

“Sometime in November?”

You pause for a bit, shaking your head. “It’s December. It’s been a few weeks since everything with Squad 451.” You slowly explain everything that’s happened while he was comatose, from him being brought back to 13 to Snow’s capture and imprisonment. “They’re going to execute him,” you say. “In a few days. And it’ll all be over.”

Finnick reaches out, grasping for your hand, but neither of you say anything for a few moments.

“I thought you wouldn’t wake up,” you say, breaking the silence, voice cracking slightly. “I thought—” you let out a shaky exhale. “There were moments where your vitals would go haywire. Your heart rate would drop or your blood pressure would skyrocket and everyone would just be scrambling to get you stable again. You were out for weeks— I kept getting scared.”

“The rope is more frayed than I remember,” is all he says.

“I started doing the knots you taught me. It made me feel okay,” you explain. “It made me believe that you’d wake up. That you’d be okay.”

“I am okay,” he says. “Some gaps in my memory, and everything kinda hurts still, but I’m okay.”

You nod, squeezing and holding onto his hand like a lifeline. “You’re okay,” you say. “You came back.”

He nods, squeezing your hand in return. “We get to be normal and boring now,” he says softly.

You smile at his words, tears slipping and rolling down your cheeks. “Normal and boring,” you agree.

“You’ll come back to District 4 with me?” he asks, getting a nod from you as confirmation. “We can get a house by the beach. I’ll take you sailing and we can use those knots I taught you.”

“Not the noose,” you say quickly, earning a laugh from Finnick, causing your smile to widen.

“Not the noose,” he agrees, nodding. “We’ll have a huge backyard, where you can plant all your herbs and vegetables and fruits and flowers and whatever you want. We can get a dog and a cat and whatever else. We’ll go to the market on Saturdays and have home cooked meals and do everything normal, boring people do.”

You know you should be more careful of his still-healing injuries, that he’s still probably a bit disoriented from everything, but you can’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around him tightly, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

“You still want to be normal and boring together, right?” he asks, holding you in return.

You nod, mumbling against his skin. “I do. It’s all I’ve ever wanted. To be normal and boring with someone I love.”

Finnick pulls back from the hug, a look of surprise on his face. “You love me?”

“Of course I love you,” you say softly, one hand moving to cup his jaw.

His head turns, pressing a kiss against your palm. “I love you too.”

a/n: i stayed up until like 6am to write this don't fucking @ me if it's cheeks i think i got possessed though longest fic yet thanks to eza for proofreading mwah

taglist 🏷️ : @allisluv @loveution @noodleisodd @joluvsfinnick @echoesintheravyne @daisyjonesgf

[cachestarhouse]

pulling these out of the tags:

lilies--lament bookofmormonmemes May 27

#actually im thinking about this harder becausei had a conversation with someone (non mormon) the other day#who was like “i like the book of mormon history. like the nephites those are the good guys right”#and i didnt go into it because i dont want to sound like a freak#but ive been reading/listening 2 a lot of hugh nibley recently so especially on my mind was him being like#THE NEPHITES ARE BAD AS MUCH AS OR MORE THAN THEY'RE GOOD!!!#EVEN THE WAR IN ALMA WAR CHAPTERS WASNT A GOOD VS BAD WAR! *ESPECIALLY* THAT ONE#the entire BoM history from nephi to the fall of the civ is a situation of complex religious political and ethnic factors#so like no not only is it a general simplification to call the nephites the good guys#it's actually like... they basically got DESTROYED *because* they didnt keep their covenants as a people lol#all of what i said could be wrongim not very smart. anyway banger post op 10/10. those guys were good or bad#they were righteous or wicked depending fr.

shoutbout to the nephites those guys were righteous or wicked depending

[jeans-marrow]

I'm like. So lucky to have the friends I have. Y'all just. Don't get it. My friends are. So. So. So. Fucking awesome.

[sengenism]

wdym if the petrification didn't happen, modern world gen wouldn't know how to flirt with girls while senku would be ur average dude with 18+ thoughts on his mind all the time....... this is just too funny

[itadooori]

yea i rewatched the s1 finale. did a lil doodle about it

[ilikeflowey]

Okay. I'm going to be. Such a hater for a sec bcus like

I keep seeing this post around.

And like. As an autistic person I can see. How it's very easy to fall into this way of thinking. Because YES there is things we will never quite understand. And YES there is things that like. Neurotypical people won't understand. And whatever BUT. I THINK this is much more of like. A bad friend experience ?? More than ?? And autistic one? Like this is clearly just. Lack of communication especially since. This is about children. But also like. To me. It kind of feels like fear mongering yourself a little? And I just feel like it's really not the kind of thinking we should encourage within the autistic community as well bcus. There's so many nuances in friendships too? And like. How can you REALLY know. People from your childhood hated you? Did you ask? Did they really hate you? Truly? And like. Let's just. Not scare ourselves into "trusting our instincts" and then pushing people away/ not allowing ourselves to make new friends just because of one bad experience that. Honestly. Everyone has. This isn't an autistic experience, I fear. A lot of people get scared their friends don't like them. And a lot of people have had shitty friends. I'm not saying stuff like this doesn't happen. I just really don't think this is a good/healthy way to frame it. And. I know it can suck being disliked but let's not also act like people just. Aren't allowed to not click with each other. I just think we should be polite and open and able to communicate about it too. Yknow?

[britneyshakespeare]

you know something i don't like about modern culture (and i wonder to what extent the prevalence of dating apps has to do with it) is that you're, seemingly, not supposed to ask people you just meet in real life on a date anymore? you're supposed to ask them to see you individually to hang out, and you're not supposed to call it anything...? people act like declaring intent is impolite or something.

this absolutely sucks if you're a woman on the receiving end of this kind of thing all the time, from men you don't wanna see privately that way. i've felt so much guilt about it in my life. whether i say no or yes. i know i'm giving that man hope that it's a date, that i wanna go on a date with him if i agree to see him for coffee or whatever. but if i don't wanna go on this undeclared date, i have to reject the very concept of spending time with him at all, which feels SOOO much meaner and more personal, doesn't it? it feels like that to me. and if i do go, and i don't wanna go on another one (because i never enjoyed the it-pretty-much-being-a-date element of the time), it feels like i'm crushing his hopes after puffing them up just a little bit.

and it's like. "date" is not a dirty word. we have so many expectations nowadays around things. women used to sit around and wait for a man to propose to them, and it would be basically the only decision they could make in their life. not even really the choice to marry, but to whom they get married. and obviously marriage was very serious.

as courtship continued to develop into modern dating and boyfriend/girlfriend culture, it sort of decentralized the importance or marriage and valued getting to know someone you like romantically, with the implicit assumption that you're doing it with the attempt to better choose the 'right one' by spending quality time with them. decent enough. although even the words boyfriend and girlfriend are much more serious than they used to be. they did not always imply a serious commitment like they do today, especially if you're... basically, just not a kid anymore.

people have a certain amount of expectation of what anyone over 18 should do or want to do with a "partner"—like, if this were the 1940s, i would've had several "boyfriends" in my adult life, but i never called them that, and the modern sense of that word would not be accurate. if i went on a date or two and flirted with them, that'd be enough to say "yeah i went out with a boyfriend." i'm mostly indifferent to this change of vocabulary, but the point is i have no word to describe any of those guys that i just gave a chance, never felt much for, and didn't wanna keep seeing. not bad things; it's just experience.

and if we aren't bold enough to call things dates for the sake of the atmosphere not losing the low-stakes nature... it's like, no, it doesn't do that. it's just two people spending time with the elephant in the room. perhaps that makes it feel more relaxed if both people really are doing it with the same intent, let's-just-see-if-we-get-along, figuring out if you like someone you don't really know very well yet. testing it. but like. that can be a date. that's what a lot of dates are. when you meet the person on a dating app and just grab coffee without setting higher expectations, you wouldn't hesitate to call it a date. if it's that person from your college class, that's ruder or more presumptuous, somehow?

a date doesn't have to be a candlelit dinner with the violinist standing by. a date doesn't have to be high romance. a date doesn't have to end with a kiss or lead to a commitment, if things go decently. a date certainly doesn't have to result in two people having sex. a date can be nonchalant and friendly and just trying to discover if you have any chemistry with this person who piqued your interest. why is that NOT the initial expectation anymore? why is "date" a dirty word? why?

[isolatednights]

"loves it," she confirms, giggling at a memory that pops into her thoughts, "but he's horrible at it. hides in plain sight - behind curtains with his feet sticking out the bottom." an ache forms in her chest, longing for that again. heavily lidded eyes blink up at the man seated beside her, digits momentarily tightening around his. "reading. he's really smart - always wanted another story. and lions. we packed his stuffed lion. he wanted his namesake to protect us when we got where we're going." and now, they wouldn't get there. and there was a chance she'd never relive any of these memories. it ought to have made her weepy, yet aiyla drunkenly sighed. "'m gonna wake him."

easy as breathing. how perfectly put, she thinks. "i'll communicate." she promises quietly. it's a step-up from the avoidance she'd demonstrated to date, too overwhelmed with her feelings. but hearing what he'd gone through? a repeat seemed unwarranted and the last thing she wanted was to have any resemblance to the woman always making him try to fix something he'd not even broken to begin with. "don't wanna fight. just... wanna be happy. breath easy. can we do that?"

she was beautiful when she laughed this freely, and not for the first time, silas wished he had some sort of artistic talent to try and capture the moment. "ahh and i got her to laugh. i'll consider that my triumph of the day." he'd spend any piece of free time working to ensure all rooms he had access to were open to them all... and perhaps in the future, he could invite eris along to discover what they might find. barking out a laugh, he flashed her a grin. "you have to promise to pause the movie then. otherwise i'll yap your ear off and ask a million questions once i return."

it's a nice thought, forming some sort of routine. whether it was just the two of them or the entire group. he's so wrapped up in thinking up additional suggestions that silas doesn't initially catch her correction. it's only once she's beginning to try to get up that he realizes what's going on - fingers reaching out to curl around her wrist. "no, no - not a stupid idea at all." his grip loosens and releases her - not wanting to seem like he's forcing her into something. "i was just thinking of something way cheesier as an additional option. before bed, at night? stargazing, was done back on earth, right? we could toss some mattresses and blankets on a floor, lay with our heads against the glass of one of the windows. point out and name constellations we pass."

bubbly pink was certainly a little brighter than the monotone gray that currently painted most of the ship. asher has to stop himself from speaking immediately - knowing that if he's too careless with his words, she might only imagine bits and pieces of their conversation once she wakens, leaving a high potential for everything to be interpreted poorly. "then you'll have to find your courage. 's not like we're going to be capable of avoiding one another while we're on the ship."

he wanted to believe her - that it was that easy. having someone else to help shoulder the burden alongside him - but asher had grown familiar with the weight of the world and giving even a portion of it to someone else was sure to set him off balance. "think this is the sort of thing we ought to be discussing when you're back in your right mind. it's not a small commitment." and she knew next to nothing about him. chuckling when she parroted his words about being good, the man leaned back within his seat once the iv was in. at least she's no longer pressing for him to be in the smaller than hell cot. "go to sleep, sweetheart."

"does he? what other thinks does he love? what are his favourite things?" he asked about aslan because he wanted her to drift off with happy thoughts, thoughts and memories of her boy happy with things he enjoyed. he hoped it might work, and a slight part of him simply adored hearing her speak about something precious to her, how soft she sounded when she did.

he let out a breath he wasn't sure why he'd held. "it wasn't love at first sight with her, how it was before was..." again his face scrunched, the answers weren't easy and they didn't sound great either. "it was a lot of fightin' in the end, to make it work.. and it didn't always work, we didn't want the same things all the time, she didn't even want to do this whole thing. think she only chose it 'coz the alternative wasn't givin' anyone much time left and, i don't know.... she was always angry at me for somethin' i'd done and i never knew what that somethin' was, but i always tried to fix it. it don't feel like that with you, at all. feels as easy as breathin' with you."

"right okay." she laughed though, shaking her head. "yeah, that was smooth i'll give you that one." eris shuffled, arm moving to rest around her knees. she really did seem more at peace in here. she wasn't half as guarded and part of her questioned herself, with how easy talking to him felt. it didn't feel like a chore or a challenge. "i think i'd like that." in a way it sounded like a space for her to cool down, to be away from all the rest of this ship. "...silas i will not stop you from peeing."

"we should like, make this a thing. hot chocolate and time in here where it feels like.. not space, you know like on an ight, before bed and after like all the shit we have to do on this ship and stuff." it was a passing thought, one she voiced and then it was like she snapped into realisation, that it'd be a terrible thing for her to want that. "that was a really stupid idea, yeah you don't.." she turned her head away, went to get up. heaven forbid eris want people near, but at what point would he realise exactly why she was on this ship? security... people that'd be able to lay down the trouble, that would've been protectors if they had issues, executioners. that's the word they'd used when she had been applying. an executioner. she had no idea what that tablet told him, she simply assumed he'd want nothing to do with her if he knew. "you don't have to do that, that was stupid."

"it'd just seem a little brighter." and she missed it, her apartment had been all pastel colours but regardless, it wasn't monotone.. the gray, endless gray, it just made her feel like she was in a prison. "what if i'm too shy around you sober? the words don't leave my mouth the right way." like they were now? the amount of alcohol was the only thing that'd removed that filter of nerves. "i get so nervous around you i just... i want to be close, i don't know you just... you make me feel safe."

she got a little laugh from him, her own smile warm and giggly. smitten, really. "well what if you don't have to just look after yourself now? i can look after you too, even your little sister even though i... that.." she pulled her brows, her sympathy for it was... she felt it deeply, it upset her and eden carried so much guilt for it. her eyes moved back to him, focus on him... oh she could do that, she was... her eyes just on him, nowhere else. she didn't feel a thing, but she ended up lookking so comfortable, her hand resting on his forearm, her head snuggling down into a pillow. "i am good." she mumbled, uncovered by a blanket but.. comfortable, with him and once that iv was done, her hand slid to hold around his hand. "i'll take care of you too."

[lupismaris]

There is nothing so affirming and life saving as leaving home and being loved at face value by total strangers for who you are

[oceanwithouthermoon]

i think its weird that i have to make this disclaimer but the internet is crazy so wtvr,, anyway,,

if i say i dont like something, that doesnt mean "that thing is bad and nobody should post it.."

i swear literally every time i even mention that i dislike something, people will go "wow does that mean u fucking hate me cuz i post that thing? ur a fucking stupid bitch and all ur opinions r wrong" LIKE ?? er.. no. just because i say i dont like certain characterizations of certain characters (the saiki k fandom is CRAZY about this cuz i can state an opinion on literally any character and a group of people will still go 'well only we're allowed to post our opinions about them because we're always right!1!1!'), or certain ship tropes (mentioned my hatred of toxic yaoi maybe once or twice on here months ago and people STILL get mad at me as if i said toxic yaoi lovers r evil or something), or certain ships, or WHATEVER, does not mean that i HATE the people who are posting them or that i think they shouldnt post them at all, NO, im just posting about my personal tastes on my personal blog and it would be extremely weird and hypocritical if i decided that i was the ONLY person that was allowed to do that,,

i think the only reason people assume that is because there are a lot of other people on here who ARE like that, and a lot of people toe the line between posting that they dont like something and posting that they think everyone who likes that thing is stupid, annoying, and wrong,, so i guess all i can say is, sorry for whatever made you make these assumptions but they arent true about me so plz leave me alone ʘ‿ʘ ur doing the same thing to me that ur accusing me of but i didnt do it in the first place so ur just actively being a dick for no reason

[keepinventory]

pro tip for people that don't text first but do like texting their friends: you gotta think really hard. dig for something in your brain. talk about something weird&mundane that happened to you that day, or a dream you had, or a silly hypothetical question. the smallest thing ever is better than nothing at all. the hardest step is always the first one...!

[megumi-fm]

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[aroaceofthesea]

Welp i just spent literally 8 hours on a videocall with friends its 2am and its storytime in the tags

Noooo i reached the 30 tags limit todomal im not rewriting shit tho so if the story feels abruptly ended thats why lol

[iiota]

Now that i think about it in sure being a kid and having ur parents always answer questions directed at you specifically about like 'oh what have you been up to/what are you doing?' and having the only questions being able to answer myself being via some sort of typing it out is probably a good reason why i fumble every sentence that comes out of my mouth and dont like talking

[ghosts-of-love]

im at a real mental and physical low at the moment and someone asked me on a date?