#and so does like everything else your wrote

[riorgail]

since this is getting so much attention, i want to make my point clear.

my point is—why are we making grown fucking women so childlike and weak? why are we not giving them a personality or a backbone?

and also, what’s happening to diversity? why is there a lack of diversity and representation on these fanfics? or even inspo/aesthetics pics

anyways, i wrote some stuff down from what people replied to make my point as clear as day, so here goes nothing

(you might notice how i mostly talk about an mmc x fem!reader and that’s because those are most of the tags i read. but i’ve been told that it also happens in wlw fics)

a lot of people told me about tagging. they told me that i didn’t have to choose those tags or that i could just ignore the fics people post with the tags i don’t like. you see, the problem is that a lot of the authors who write the stuff im talking about in my post don’t usually use the correct tags. when i say that i have tried to ignore the fics with things that i didn’t like but it got so repetitive that i had to speak about it, trust me. im anything but interested in the “bimbo!reader” or “trophywife!reader” tags i talked about in my original post.

someone mentioned in my comments that tumblr is supposed to be a “safe space” and that they don’t like negativity, but it’s hard to stay positive when “x reader” fanfics are starting to become anything but “x reader.” and also, let’s be real, fandoms/tumblr are never going to be a 100% safe space.

this same person said, and i quote, “I hope everyone is doing okay and learns that things that aren't actually hurting people can coexist with the fact that some people just don't like it.” sorry to break it to you, but this problem does hurt people. for example, women of color, including me. i wrote this post because i started to feel like i wasn’t being represented in fics that SHOULD make me feel represented. and im sure that a lot of women of color or women that don’t want to be seen as dumb or stupid can agree.

can someone please tell me when we started normalizing objectification? a user replied on my original post complaining about the “bimbo!reader” tag and they basically said that the reader gets reduced to this pink and stupid girl that just gets fucked and that’s the whole point of the fic. honestly, i couldn’t agree more. why are we making the reader dumb and stupid? why is the whole point of most fanfics with that bimbo!reader tag to get fucked by whatever character you’re reading about? it pisses me off that most “mmc x reader” fanfics make the reader (that is a woman, like, 93% of the time) submit and allow to be treated like an object. another user also said that fandom is a tool of patriarchy and i couldn’t agree more at this point.

also, i’m sorry, but i don’t give a FUCK if “objectification” or kinks where a woman gets constantly put down—by, specifically, a man—is your kink. it’s not empowering. you’re reading about a woman being narrowed down into a fuck toy and completely disregarding everything else. and trust me when i say that i used to be into this stuff until i realized how smut/porn addicted i was and how this type of kink just shames women and narrows them down to pocket pussies. i don’t know what radicalized me but yeah.

i know people can write and post whatever they want, but it gets to a point. and that point is when you completely disregard the years of work it took for women to be treated as anything but objects. and some may say “it’s not that deep,” but trust me, it is. with the state of the world and the very clear recession there’s going on, it IS that fucking deep. and if you can’t see how media/pop culture and the current state of the world influence each other, then research. for the love of god, please research it.

i’m pretty sure that’s the end of this post, but i just wanted to make shit clear because i didn’t in my original post (my bad sorry). all love to anyone that reads this.

if anyone wants to talk about this with me, just send me a message through my anon request thingy.

why do i keep seeing “young!ditzy!reader” or “trophywife!reader” or stupid shit like that where authors make the ‘reader’ the most fragile person in the world??

at the end of the day, this recession theory shit is real. and it is seen clearly as day on this app.

why are the inspo pics for the oneshot just blonde and skinny white girls?? why are we making the reader sweet and innocent and fragile??

and look, there’s nothing wrong about being a blonde and skinny white girl, but after seeing the same pictures as inspo for a series or a oneshot, it gets annoying and repetitive how there’s no diversity.

also, i’m not saying every post in the “x reader” tag is like this, but they just keep popping up on my feed and i had to speak my mind about it.

please, if anyone reads this, tell me if you found the same problem or i’m just going crazy.

[harbours-lighthouse]

BLOOD TRACKS IN THE SNOW - PART ONE

— PAIRING: Joel Miller x F!Reader

— SUMMARY: Dying in the snow seems like a pretty poetic way to go, but it seems that's not your fate when a stranger finds you. Amidst the wariness of meeting someone for the first time, you're offered something warm and new: hope.

— AN: Lol, I wrote this on my phone before proof-reading and editing it on my computer. Unconventional but it works!

cw: post-outbreak setting, description of blood, mentioning of betrayal. wc: 2.3k

THE BLOOD on your face keeps you warm. You're trembling, curled into yourself like a bunny burrowing into the ground—you want to burrow. Bury yourself deep into the snow, dig at the frozen ground underneath until your nails are ripping. But all you can do is shake with sticky blood freckled along your cheeks, dripping from your temple and down your nose until it hits the snow. It doesn’t splash or splatter. It's simply soaked into the snow where it leaves a stain, blurred around the edges.

If you weren't so numb, maybe you'd scream—call out for help. It's a risky thing to do, but people are driven to do things that could get them killed when they're faced with death, which is ironic so to say. Maybe when the survival instinct locked away in your mind is given free reign, it knows what decision—what split second choice—will be more probable of welcoming your death with a metaphorical tip of your hat.

As you lay bent inward, spine pushing against the tattered remains of your jacket, your eyes begin to droop. Snowflakes fall on your lashes, but they don't melt along the swell of your cheeks like they should. You're too cold. The chill has settled into you, permeating your pores and coating your lips with frost.

But the cold doesn't affect your hearing as much as it does everything else. Falling deeper into the snow, hands flinching with tremors that run deeply through your whole body, the crunch of snow beneath heavy boots joins the wail of the wind. Shuffling. Hot breaths puffing into the air. You can hear it all, but you can't move. Can't think.

Can't fight back.

The thought brings along miniscule movement: a jerk of your bent legs, the sharp jolt of your heart against your aching ribs. Your lashes are frozen, and it feels like stones are weighing down your eyelids as you peer upward.

Through the grey haze of snow and wind, a broad-shouldered shadow stands in front of you. A whine in the back of your throat joins the howling wind. The rush of snow.

Is it a bear? A moose? An infected? A person?

You'd be happy with either option, as long as it meant that you're not alone right now. Isn't that what this world is good at now? Turning people into unmarked graves devoid of wooden crosses or tombstones? You don’t want that for yourself, and you've been fighting against that normality for the last ten years.

Crazy how one ill-timed blizzard could knock you off your a-game.

The shadow shifts. Snow crunches. Your vision is hazy at best, crowded with tears and black dots. There's something warm in front of you, that much you know, so even with the threat of being mauled to death or killed brutally, your fingers twitch for the heat—desperate to gather it up into your hands and smear it back into your skin. You'd paint yourself with sunlight if it meant that you never felt the cold again.

Through chattering teeth, you beg.

"H-Help me. Pl-Please."

The last thing you remember is something warm and heavy settling on your shoulder, and it felt like the shape of a hand.

—

Sound begins to filter in slowly, like water dripping from a tap—except that's exactly what you're hearing. The drip-drip-drip echoes inside your ears as it breaks through the milky film cast over your thoughts.

Then you feel the heat. It burns.

With the grace of a spooked deer flailing on the ground, your neck jerks upward to look down at your body, and pain spikes through your skull. A thick and fraying wool blanket covers you, draped over your body like a veil. After staring at the stiff fibres for a second too long, you flick your gaze upward to see what’s around you.

The first thing you notice is wood. Lots of it. Wooden rafters. Wooden walls. None of it smooth and sanded, instead rough and splintering along the edges. The drip-drip-drip is coming from a singular sink that's nearly completely detached from the wall, save for the yellow-stained pipe that keeps it there. There's a plastic table, the metal legs bent so it wobbles with each shake of the house. 

Through the headache pounding inside your head, your thoughts start crashing into one another with the speed that they come to you.

Where am I? Where did this come from? How did I get here? The blizzard is gone? Why am I in pain? Where am I? What is this place? How did I get here—

The creak of wood sends them lurching to a halt, kick-starting your heart to thump against your sternum like a rabbit.

"Was startin' to think you wouldn't wake up."

The gruff, masculine voice has you flinching upright, hands pressing against the wooden floor beneath you. Pain skewers itself through your ribs and down your spine, and the headache pulses between your temples like a hammer slamming against your skull repeatedly.

A groan vibrates in your throat, which you now realise is painfully dry. Your lips aren't frozen anymore, but the parched flesh splits.

"Easy. Ain't gonna hurt you. Not yet, at least."

Your eyes snap to where the voice comes from, and hidden in a shadowed corner of the room, sits a man in a rickety chair with a rifle balanced between his legs like a cane, hands folded and resting on the stock.

Dark brown eyes meet yours. They remind you of the dark soil you'd find during the rainy season, when the rich scent of the earth hangs in the air. It would be comforting if it weren't for your vulnerable state and the fact that you don’t know this man.

You shrivel inwardly as those dark eyes bore into you, and you feel like an item being cataloged, stored away in some sort of file. What exactly is he noting? Your mangled hair? Flighty eyes? Blood stained face and fingers? Tattered clothes? The list goes on.

The man clears his throat. You watch his Adam's Apple bob.

"Couldn't find any wounds on you," he says. Silver and brown facial hair moves as he speaks, sticking to his jaw and along his upper lip like fine snow. His hair is fluffy, you notice. More like a cloud that's heavy with rain, streaked with muted brown light as a sun sets.

He lifts a finger, pointing at you. You only stare with half of your body ready to bolt to the door—which you noticed in a very quick, terrified glance to your right. The rest of your body feels numb. Shocked into stillness by the cold.

"So I wanna know why you've got blood all over you."

There's an edge to his tone, something that tells you that he's a man who will get answers regardless of what steps he has to take to get them.

You swallow, but the minimal saliva in your mouth barely does anything to soothe the aching dryness of your throat. Opening your mouth, you flounder for a moment, before making a bold move.

"D-Do you have any water?"

You don't think that's what he expected from you, because the man regards you for a moment with creased brows. Then he sighs heavily through his nose, and you watch with bated breath as he leans to the side, rifling with one hand through a backpack that's slumped on the ground beside the rickety chair. You didn't even notice it before.

"Here," he mutters as he tosses a plastic bottle your way. You catch it with a sloshy thud, fingers quivering along the ridged material. You unscrew the cap and gulp down generous sips, feeling the cool liquid soothe your throat like a cold balm.

The man's brows furrow even deeper (they must be like that permanently).

"Easy, you'll make yourself puke."

His words register—sounding more concerned than you think they should be—and you slow down before pulling the now half-empty water bottle away from your bleeding mouth. Inhaling sharply, you speak quietly.

"Thank you."

He doesn't say anything else, simply looks at you like he's gauging your character. Are you a threat? Is there something you're hiding?

"Listen," he shifts, broad shoulders hunching forward as his elbows lean against his knees. "I found you out there in the snow—nearly frozen to death. You're gonna tell me why."

Your chest shudders with a broken breath, feeling fear prick behind your eyes. Those dark eyes are piercing through you, but you wonder what they might look like if you prove that you're innocent. Harmless—to an extent.

"I..." you breathe out, fingers picking at the wool blanket. Around you, the house holds its breath. "My group turned on me."

The man straightens a touch.

"They, um—" you glance around, feeling exposed, "they thought I was sabotaging the camp. So they...tried to kill me."

"Were you?"

The question throws you off. Your eyes snap up to the stranger, and he's already watching you.

"Were you sabotaging the camp?" he elaborates, brows raising. The gravel in his voice should make you afraid, but indignation burns in your belly, and you frown at him. The same anger and betrayal you felt barely ten hours ago rears its head.

"No," you grit out, "I wasn’t. The camp was failing because no one else was doing what they were supposed to—I was the only one putting in the effort—"

The man lifts a placating hand, nodding his head.

"Okay, okay," he assures, "relax."

He pauses, eyes flitting along the blood that's caked along your face. He juts his chin up, gesturing to the dried crimson stains.

"So that's not your blood."

You shake your head slowly, swallowing.

"No. It's not."

"So you killed someone."

"...I had to."

He nods, brushing his hand against his arched nose. A question lingers on your tongue, fighting against your sealed lips before you finally give in. 

“Why’d you bring me here?” 

There’s a long pause as the man flicks his dark gaze your way, combing along your face. For a moment, you think he might brush off the question.

He shrugs his shoulders. “It would’ve been like leaving behind a dying animal.”

“I’m sure you’ve done that before.” 

“Yeah, I have.” 

Silence stretches. The drip-drip-drip seems even louder than before, and your chest feels stiff with air that you've trapped in your lungs. Trepidation settles beneath your skin alongside the pain that continues to pulse through you.

The man breaks it with a gruff sigh. You watch with your heart throbbing against your ribs as he rubs his hand along his scratchy jaw. When he looks at you again, you see wariness etched into the fine lines along his eyes and forehead.

"Alright," he sighs, and you stiffen like a deer caught in headlights as he stands. He slings the rifle over one shoulder, before bending to pick up the backpack and haul it over the other.

He studies you, leaning more on his left leg than his right.

"I ain't gonna kill you. You seem like you're tellin' the truth, so I'm taking you back to Jackson."

"Jackson?"

"Yeah, it's a town up north. Protected, warm. Probably give you something better to do than die out in the cold."

Hope begins to brew inside your chest, but your hand moves to press against your sternum as if to smother it. Hope is a dangerous thing now. Often it leads to nothing.

“How can I trust you?” you ask, and you know that it's a dangerous question because his answer might not be what you want. 

“I saved your ass.” 

Yeah, okay. That works. 

"C'mon. Get up. But listen," he points a finger at you, and the ruff edge of his voice has your skin prickling. "If you try anything, I won't hesitate to kill you myself. Understand?"

Fear trickles into your stomach, but so does determination. You know you're not going to do anything—you're not that kind of person. But there's a darkness in his eyes that only comes when you follow through on your word, and when you've put a bullet between someone's eyes before. You know that look. You've seen it in your own reflection.

Nodding your head, you shift onto your feet, holding back a whine at the ache that blooms along your ribs and behind your eyes. The room sways, but your vision doesn't go black and your stomach doesn't heave. 

The man watches you steadily, before turning his back to swing open the door. Cold wind bursts into the house, so you make sure that the wool blanket remains cloaked around your shoulders. Your jacket barely does anything against the cold as it is.

You notice that the blizzard has calmed, though, but the snow rushes all the same. You follow behind the man, the first few steps slow and strained.

"What's your name?" you ask, feeling desperate to latch onto something that seems a little more normal—not that anything has been ‘normal’ in the last ten years. 

The man turns, eyes squinting against the snow and the wind that digs into his cheeks like needles.

"Joel," he answers after a moment. “Joel Miller.”

It seems fitting, you think. A name meant for a man that seems rough around the edges, just like the wooden boards that make up the house—the one you’re leaving behind. It sends dread spinning inside your stomach. 

Joel pulls up the collar of his jacket and glances at you. "Yours?"

You blink, pulled away from your racing thoughts that are only making your headache worse. You tug the wool blanket closer around your frame, and your name falls from your split lips. Joel nods and you don’t catch the way he says it quietly to himself, as if tasting it on his tongue.

"C'mon," he grumbles, before walking ahead into the snow. The blizzard tugs and pulls at his hair, painting it white with snow. The rifle along his back stares back at you and you swallow harshly. The wind pushes against you as you follow behind Joel, shoulders hunched against the chill. His footsteps leave behind deep holes in the snow, and you let your feet fall into them.

There's relief knowing that they're not stained with blood.

Thank you for reading, God bless <3

top divider credit: @/saradika-graphics © harbours-lighthouse 2025 / i do not give permission for my work to be reposted, translated, or fed into ai. all works belong to me unless stated otherwise.

[the-original-skipps]

|| When You Reject Their Confession. || Blue Lock Reactions ||

i really do like my angst so might as well im super open if anyone has any suggestions on what you wanna see them react to next also really sorry about chigiri's part im not 100 percent happy with how i wrote it

cw: angst. heartbreak. resentment/hate. self deprecation in nagi's part. overall sad vibes.

Isagi Yoichi. Bachira Meguru. Chigiri Hyoma. Nagi Seishiro. Itoshi Rin. Itoshi Sae.

"I'm sorry but I can't return your feelings."

❥ Isagi could feel his heart shattering on the spot. Feeling as if something is pulling him down underwater. His chest feels tight, it feels hard to breathe. You probably saw how his face fell at your words. How embarrassing. Isagi does his best to rise to the surface as he pushes this undeniable pain aside to reassure you. Even when you dealt a heavy blow to him, seeing you look so guilty and worried for him still brings him pain too.

Very fiber of his being is resisting his command to smile. To put on a reassuring smile that could wipe off that sad look off your face. Oh, what you said earlier? It's fine, don't worry about it. It can't be helped if you don't return his feelings. It doesn't bother him! It does. He wants nothing more to sink into the depths again but for now he has to bring back your smile.

"I-It's okay, I'm fine! I'm fine..."

❥ Bachira's immediate reaction is to burst into laughter. Good one, you got him good! He tells you as he calms down from his fit of laughter. Only when you don't laugh along does the truth slowly settle within him. He feels his stomach drop. Oh, you meant it.

Bachira feels as if a tidal wave had swallowed him whole, he sees your mouth moving but he can't hear the words you're saying. Everything just feels so numb. He puts on a smile, brushing off your apologies - telling you that it's alright. Even when you turn around and leave he finds himself rooted to the spot. His hand that was previously waving you goodbye suspended in the air. Only when he's sure you're no longer within earshot do the tears start to flow.

"I guess we're better off alone, huh?"

❥ Chigiri is quick to put on a small smile. He can sense that you feel incredibly guilty for rejecting him. You should, you should feel guilty a voice in his mind nags him. The red head does his best to push those thoughts away. He feels the urge to twirl a stand of his hair, a nervous habit of his but he resists. He doesn't want to show any kind of weakness in front of you.

He teases you that you'd get wrinkles with how hard you're frowning. That is what he tells himself to keep himself from frowning too. Chigiri does his best to act like his usual self. Biting his tongue back from the sarcasm that threatens to leave his lips. Bitter. It all just tastes so bitter. He'll put up with it just until you leave.

"Smile, that look on your face doesn't suit you."

❥ Nagi just stands still for a moment staring at you blankly. He just remains silent to he point it's making you nervous until you see him nodding slowly. As if he's just now comprehending your words. Nagi doesn't say much afterwards, only replying with a few words as he normally does. It's as if the earlier situation didn't happen at all.

Everything just feels numb, there's a ringing in his ear but he chooses to ignore it. He casually waves goodbye and only when you're out of sight does his arm lifelessly drop. Of course, you'd reject him. He's nothing more than lazy scum who barely manages to take care of himself. You probably see him as nothing more than a nuisance. It's nothing new. He should be used to it by now. Nagi finds himself letting out a sigh.

"What a hassle."

❥ Rin looks unbothered by your words. However, if you look closer you would have noticed the twitch of his eye. His lips curling into a deeper frown. His hands itching to be clenched into fists but he holds himself back. Rin could burn a hole through you with how hard he's staring at you. He doesn't say anything else, wanting you to hurry up and disappear from his sight.

Only when he knows you're gone, does he run a hand through his hair in exasperation. Wanting nothing more right now than to kick a soccer ball far far away. Hoping that these awful feelings would disappear along with it. It was stupid idea to begin with. One that reminds him of the naivety of his past self he never wants to be again. Dammit. Curse you, for making him feel this way.

It's all your fault.

"Damn this...!"

❥ Sae doesn't even bat an eyelash. A blank expression on his face even when you apologize to him. He retains the picture of calm and collected as if you've just told him that the weather today is nice. Sae doesn't say anything, only responding with a single "okay". Following it up by announcing that he's leaving. He's done what he's come here to do - there's no reason to stay any longer than necessary.

With each step he takes walking away from you, he feels his heart getting heavier and heavier. He looks unbothered but in his mind, all that he could think about are your words - repeating over and over again. Briefly wondering if the outcome could have been different, if he had done something else. He's quick to dismiss the thought. It's weak and unpleasant. Sae doesn't want to admit that it bothers him way more than it should.

"What a waste of time."

[artficlly]

read between the lines [one-shot]

college marvel au frat!jock!bucky x cheerleader!reader tutoring bucky barnes was already distracting enough, but leaving your diary in his room? that is a whole new problem.

Warnings: fluff, so much fluff, tutoring, first kiss, college au, vague panic from reader, idk it's just kinda fun and cute :), no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: hi this was for a request! so so cute, i wrote this so fast i didn't even think i would have it ready to post so quickly. idk anything about cheerleading or how college works in america, so forgive me. inspired by that willow song! sorry for any typos - not proof read.

main masterlist

I’ve been tutoring Bucky.

Well, James, technically. But he goes by Bucky. Says it’s a childhood nickname and it just stuck, and honestly? That’s kind of adorable. Like, who clings to a nickname that hard? Even the professors call him that, which should be cringe, but somehow it’s not? It just suits him. I literally don’t think I could call him James even if I tried. ‘Bucky’ feels right. It sounds warm. Familiar. Stupidly charming.

Ugh. Anyway.

He’s in one of those frats I usually stay far away from. The kind that smells like cheap beer and Axe body spray. Always yelling, always playing music way too loud, always shirtless for no reason. I swore I’d never waste my time on a guy like that. I really thought he was gonna be a cocky, arrogant douche when I first got assigned to tutor him.

But he’s not. Like… at all?

He’s actually really nice. Like, unfairly nice. That casual kind of nice that makes you forget you’re supposed to be annoyed. He remembers stuff I say. Not the big stuff, the tiny stuff. Like how I chew my pen when I’m stressed, or how I like lemon Gatorade for cheerleading practice. And yesterday he brought me those sour gummy worms I mentioned ONE time. Just handed them over all casual like, ‘Thought you might want a little sugar after practice.’ Who does that?? Like… stop. That’s not fair.

But of course, he’s like that with everyone. That’s the worst part. He’s charming in this totally effortless way. Looks at you like you’re the most interesting person alive and then turns around and does the exact same thing to someone else. How am I supposed to know what’s real?

And GOD. He’s hot. Like, it’s actually rude. He laughs and it does something to me. Like full-on makes my brain stop working. And his ARMS?? Every time he pushes his sleeves up to his elbows I lose one year off my life. For real. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose. (I mean, he’s not, but like… what if he is???) Sometimes I forget what I’m even explaining because he’s just sitting there smiling at me with those eyes and that stupid little smirk and suddenly I’m thinking about kissing him instead of confidence intervals. It’s not okay.

He’s on the football team. Scholarship guy. Big deal. Girls are obsessed with him. I’ve literally heard people talk about him in the locker room like he’s a celebrity. And me? I’m just… I don’t know. I’m me. I cheer and I study and I try not to let my GPA fall apart and I pretend I’m not crushing on someone completely out of my league.

So no. I’m not gonna say anything.

Because maybe I did catch him looking at me the other day when I tied my hair up. Maybe he does stay a little longer when we’re done. Maybe he leans in a little closer than necessary. But maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I want it too bad and I’m just reading into everything. I don’t want to be that girl. I don’t want to get hurt.

So I’m gonna do what I’m supposed to do. Help him pass stats. Smile when he brings me candy. Laugh at his dumb jokes. Pretend like my heart doesn’t skip a beat every time he says my name.

I’m just going to help him pass stats. That’s all this is. Right? God, I’m so dumb.

—

You were fucked. Well and truly screwed.

You couldn’t even focus during practice. Missed counts, off-beat claps, a completely botched dismount that nearly took you and the poor girl spotting you both out in one go. Natasha pulled you aside with that look—the one that said she was two seconds away from losing it—and muttered something about getting your shit together because the big game was in a week and this wasn’t the time to be spacing out.

But how were you supposed to focus? Your diary was missing.

Your actual, physical, spiral-bound diary filled with every unfiltered thought you’d been too scared to say out loud. The same one where you’d spent the last four pages gushing about Bucky freaking Barnes like some sad, delusional teenage cliché. You didn’t even want to think about what you wrote last night, something about his arms and the way he smiles and how you swore he looked at you differently when you tied your hair up. It was humiliating.

You never should’ve taken it out of your room. You knew it was a bad idea. But Yelena had been on one of her ‘I’m bored and nosy’ benders, and the last time you left anything out, she’d read your old poetry journal and quoted it back to you at breakfast. You weren’t about to risk that again. So, like a total idiot, you shoved your diary in your bag before heading to class, thinking you’d keep it safe with you.

The entire day had been chaos. You barely managed to scarf down lunch between lectures, and by the time your 3 p.m. class let out, you were already sprinting across campus to make it to Bucky’s place for tutoring. Not that you actually got much tutoring done. You never did, not when he looked at you with that stupid, easy grin, or leaned back in his chair like he owned the air around him. One second you were going over statistical formulas, and the next you were talking about childhood pets and favourite movies, laughing like you hadn’t just been drowning in assignments ten minutes earlier. Time always slipped away around him. You ended up bolting to cheer practice.

It wasn’t until hours later, back in your dorm with your bag dumped upside down on the floor, that you realised your diary was missing. Your diary. 

You’d spent a solid hour panicking, then a full thirty minutes rummaging through the lost and found at the campus security office, practically elbow-deep in a box of mismatched gloves and cracked phone cases. The guy behind the desk eventually looked up from his screen, where he was rather obviously playing solitaire, and told you with the energy of someone who very much did not care that maybe it hadn’t been handed in.

You wanted to scream.

Now your most personal, most mortifying thoughts were just out there. Floating around. God only knew where or with who. And sure, maybe whoever found it wouldn’t read it. Maybe they’d be a decent human being and just turn it in without flipping through. But let’s be honest, if you found a diary with someone’s deepest secrets in it, you’d probably peek too.

You were going to be sick. Actually sick. And not because Natasha had you running suicides again like she was training you for the NFL, but because your life might genuinely be over. Because if he found it? What if you left it in his room? What if Bucky read even one word of what you wrote?

You didn’t even want to finish that thought.

No, you literally couldn’t even finish that thought because, as Natasha finally called for the end of the session and the team began their warm-down stretches, swapping tired smiles and gulping down water, you saw him.

Bucky.

Standing at the edge of the field in that stupid grey hoodie, sleeves pushed up, all smug and handsome like he hadn’t just shown up to ruin your entire existence. He had that lazy, charming smile on his face, the one that made people trust him too fast, the one that made you trust him too fast, and in his hand?

Glittery blue cover. Spiral binding. Your diary.

You were going to throw up. No, genuinely, you could feel your stomach lurch. This was it. This was how you died. Not in a blaze of glory or during a botched basket toss, but here, sweaty, humiliated, and on the verge of a nervous breakdown in the middle of the goddamn football field.

You didn’t even think. You just stormed over before anyone else could notice, grabbing his arm and dragging him behind the bleachers like it was a crime scene. Which it kind of was. A crime against your dignity.

Bucky didn’t protest. He followed easily, letting you pull him along like it was some sort of game. Of course he did. And of course, he was smiling the whole time, like you hadn’t just gone into cardiac arrest ten feet away.

Your heart was pounding so hard you could barely speak. It rattled in your chest like a warning, like it knew this moment was about to go down in your personal hall of shame.

“Where…how…why do you have that?” you hissed, snatching at the diary, but he held it just out of reach, still annoyingly calm.

He raised a brow, like you’d just asked him what two plus two was. “You left it at my place. After tutoring. You were in a rush, remember?”

No. No, no, no, no, no. Of course, it had been his place. Of course.

“I—I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t thinking, I just—” You were spiralling, words tumbling out too fast, too breathless, and your fingers were twitching like you might just snatch the book and sprint across campus. “Did you…Did you read it?”

A beat. He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you.

And then, God, he smiled. Not the cocky one, not the football-star grin. This one was softer. Slower. Dangerous.

Your stomach dropped.

“I read enough,” he said.

You froze.

Your ears rang. Your mouth went dry. Your body just stopped.

“Enough?” you echoed, voice cracking halfway through. “Enough of what? Enough to—oh my God.”

You turned away instinctively, hand over your mouth like that could somehow keep your soul from escaping your body. Because what did that mean? What was ‘enough?’ Enough to ruin your life? Enough to laugh about it with his frat brothers? Enough to tell every girl on campus that the cheerleader who couldn’t even stick a full-out had a crush on him?

You didn’t even realise you were pacing until Bucky gently caught your wrist.

“Hey. Relax,” he said, and his voice was way too steady for someone holding the social equivalent of a loaded weapon.

You yanked your arm back like his touch burned. “Relax? Bucky, that was private. It’s literally a diary! It’s not for reading, it's for… spiralling in silence!”

He tilted his head a little, watching you carefully, and if he was offended by your panic, he didn’t show it. “You left it on my bed. Open.”

You groaned and covered your face with both hands. “Please. Just kill me. Right here. Hide the body under the bleachers. I’m serious.”

Bucky chuckled—chuckled, like this was some kind of joke—and stepped closer. You could feel his presence even before you lowered your hands again. 

“Why didn’t you just say something?” he asked, quiet now. “If you felt that way.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “Because I didn’t know if it meant anything! You’re nice to everyone. You flirt like it’s a reflex. You remember everyone’s drink orders, compliment their outfits, hold doors and say all the right things. I thought I was just another person you were… nice to.”

He didn’t answer your panicked rambling right away. Just looked at you for a long moment.

“Yeah, I’m nice to people. Doesn’t mean I feel the same way I feel about you.”

Your heart dropped straight into your stomach.

“What?” you whispered, hating how small your voice sounded.

He held your gaze, completely serious now.

“Like I wanna kiss you every time you chew that damn pen cap. Like, I think about you even when I’m supposed to be studying. Like I can’t focus when you’re talking ‘cause all I do is stare at your damn lips.” He paused, and something almost like a laugh broke out of him, soft and self-conscious. “Like I’ve been trying to find a not-creepy way to tell you I like you since the second tutoring started, but you were always so focused and cool and out of my league.”

That last part made your head spin.

“Out of your league?” you repeated, eyes wide.

He smirked, stepping just a bit closer, lowering his voice. “Have you seen yourself? You’re smart, you’re so pretty it’s ridiculous, and you’ve got this whole thing where you act like you don’t know you’re the coolest girl on campus. Of course, I was nervous.”

You blinked at him. “Bucky… are you flirting with me behind the bleachers while holding my diary hostage?”

He grinned. “Maybe. Depends. Is it working?”

You tried to snatch the diary out of his hand, but he was faster, effortlessly holding it just out of reach like it weighed nothing.

“God, I hate you,” you muttered through gritted teeth, bouncing up on your toes in a desperate attempt to grab it. All it earned you was the embarrassing realisation that you were now fully pressed against his chest, warm, broad, and stupidly solid.

“You really don’t, at least not according to this—” he said, low and smug.

“Bucky!” you warned, trying to reach again, but he shifted it higher.

“Give. It. Back,” you hissed, practically climbing him at this point.

“I will,” he said, eyes flicking down to your mouth in a way that made your stomach twist and your breath catch. “But only if you let me kiss you first.”

Your brain short-circuited. Completely and entirely. The words took a second to process. His voice had dropped, softer now, more serious, like he wasn’t just messing with you anymore.

You looked up at him, heart thudding so loudly against your ribs you swore he could hear it. His eyes searched yours, and for once, he didn’t look like the effortlessly confident guy everyone knew. He looked… nervous like he was the one waiting to be rejected.

“…Fine,” you whispered, the word barely making it past your lips, but your smile gave you away. It was impossible to hide, giddy and crooked and ridiculous.

And then he kissed you.

He bent his head and closed the gap like he’d been waiting weeks for it—maybe he had. His mouth was warm and sure against yours, one arm still holding the diary hostage, the other dropping to your waist, pulling you in like he couldn’t help himself. You kissed him back without thinking, without doubting, like maybe this was the answer you’d been afraid to ask for all along.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and blinking at each other like idiots, he handed over the diary with a grin.

“Okay,” you whispered, still a little breathless. “That was… good.”

“Just good?” He smirked.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks burning. “Don’t push it.”

He laughed softly, thumb still brushing your cheek. “So… does this mean I get to keep seeing you after stats is over? Or do I have to fail on purpose to keep you around?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“You’re right. You’d probably kill me.”

“More like definitely.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that didn’t feel awkward. He looked at you like he already knew what you were thinking. And for once, you didn’t feel like running from it.

You were so, so screwed.

But maybe… in the best way possible.

[echo-exco]

GRAAAAAH⁉️ HELP‼️ You wrote such a masterpiece, I'm already so HYPED for the next chapter ONG.

With the batfamily's personal agenda and inability to reach out, their past forever haunting them.

I imagine that the realization that their present, where they actively ( idk if intentionally ) ignore the reader, now "past", will haunt them forever.

Especially Bruce's reaction, his internal struggle with the fact that if he was just a little bit warmer, the chaos caused by the future villain who used to be under his roof, could've been prevented.

Question tho, how would they all eventually turn yandere? They seem to have all never interacted before, so I can't see them suddenly feeling the need to be there for the reader. Either it would be self-righteous beliefs or they'd just think she overreacted. ( bring in the angst LMAO )

— "BEEDALEAF." 🥬

Aww! Thank you so much! I’m really glad that what I wrote was good for you, the readers 😌 I also hope to bring the next chapter soon!

The batfam has their own problems and responsibilities to deal with. Even healer!reader is aware of that, which is why she tries to avoid bothering them with her needs, whether emotional, intellectual, educational, social, or even sometimes financial.

Healer!reader has always been able to take care of herself, with or without a family. What truly affects her is the fact that she can’t use her powers while in Gotham, out of fear that someone from the batfam might find out.

Now, no one in the batfam ever intended to ignore healer!reader on purpose. Some of them might even think they never ignored her. It’s just that everyone assumed she probably had something else to do—or they simply forgot about the requests and questions she had made.

Because, for better or worse, the batfam sees healer!reader as too… ordinary for the family.

Since no one knows (yet 😼) that healer!reader has extraordinary healing abilities, they genuinely believe she’s just the most normal and average daughter of Bruce Wayne.

As for Bruce, he’s definitely going to regret everything. Healer!reader’s future doesn’t look very warm or pleasant for anyone involved.

If only she had had a father, someone to remember, someone she could trust and feel safe with… would that have changed anything? Would she have stayed?

Does Bruce even know his own daughter?

I can’t say healer!reader will be a villain in the future, but she definitely won’t be a hero either. Just think of her as, quite literally, a “human machine made to save thousands of lives.” Of course, depending on your point of view, you could see healer!reader as either a villain or a hero…

As for how they’ll all eventually become yanderes… Well, I like to think the yandere instincts were already there, buried deep inside. They just needed a (massive) little push to finally activate.

Like I said before, they all believed healer!reader was just a very “normal” child for the family. No one ever bothered to look past that.

That’s partially why they kept their distance from her… as if they genuinely thought she’d be better off not getting involved in family matters. Because, to them, healer!reader is someone who hasn’t seen the worst of the world yet, someone who hasn’t been through anything truly traumatic.

They think she’s better off where she is. They believe that way she’ll be safe from everything bad.

And to be fair, healer!reader herself wouldn’t have let anyone dig too deep into who she really is.

She doesn’t want the batfam to know her. She just wants to leave Gotham and go back to the medical field with Masashi. Healer!reader wants to use her powers. Being in the mansion makes her feel restrained and useless. She doesn’t like being there.

She can endure the neglect— it’s something she’s always survived through. What she can’t handle is the thought of not knowing when she’ll be able to use her powers again.

So you can imagine what’ll happen in the future when the Batfam finally learns about healer!reader’s powers. That revelation is going to hit them hard—with guilt, with regret.

I can absolutely picture them noticing healer!reader’s disappearance and brushing it off as a typical tantrum from a child (even if they don’t understand why she’d act that way). But as time goes on and she gives no sign of life… well… that’s when the first alarms start to go off.

And of course, we still have to see Duke and how his presence will affect healer!reader.

Sorry if the response was a bit long. I just hope it cleared up all your doubts.

[bisnes-socks]

welcome to käärijä university advanced joker out studies, today we are talking about what a potential collab between käärijä and joker out could perhaps sound like. blame @frikatilhi, who told me about an ask she got and i immediately ignored everything i was supposed to be doing and wrote this instead.

because i’ve thought about this a lot. too much for my own sanity, perhaps.

now, of course it could just be a käärijä x bojan collab, with bojan singing the chorus of a käärijä song, a la ruoska. easy. easiest, maybe.

but despite what they might have said themselves before, i don’t think käärijä’s sound and joker out’s sound are that incompatible. i think a full on collab that would work for both of their styles is actually possible.

on paper, yes, they don’t match. but you have to scratch the surface a little bit, have your ears and your heart open, and the possibilities reveal themselves to you. and i think souvenir pop proved that joker out are very willing to try different styles, different spices to their sound, and it’s not like every käärijä song out there is the party techno metal vibe that made him famous.

but let’s break this down a little bit, shall we.

now, i will have some examples to demonstrate my points, but you are going to have to keep an open mind and exercise your own imagination, because obviously none of these examples are going to be like bullseye exactly what they would sound like together. these are just like… ways to start broadening our musical thinking here.

so, there are several joker out songs that already demonstrate their willingness to lean towards different genres. like if you strip the songs down to their individual aspects, on paper, demoni and muzika za decu don’t sound like the same genre. lips and umazane misli don’t sound like the same genre. mesto duhov and sunny side of london don’t sound like the same genre. you know what i mean? they have their sound, but their sound is incredibly flexible. they take influence from old school rock ‘n’ roll, they take it from 80’s pop, they take it from early 2000’s indie, they take it from from all aspects of modern pop, they take it from balkan music, from british music, from american music, the list goes on. hell, the bassline on carpe diem is bordering on 70’s disco.

their style is also pretty evenly split between more upbeat and happy vibes and more minor scales heavy sad/emotional vibes. they can sound like them with all sorts of oh ooh backgrounds like carpe diem, and they can sound like them with bojan screaming like he does in mesto duhov.

really my point here is, joker out really can make almost anything sound like them.

and combining band instruments and pop melodies with rap or more electronic music is not something that has never been done before. it has.

but before we dive into the examples i have, let’s look at käärijä’s sound a bit first.

the first thing that probably comes to mind is crunchy electric guitars, techno synth vibes and his many vocal styles. he does not do that much clean, technical singing, so rap is most likely what his contribution to a collab would be.

but again, if you look at his songs from the entire span of his career, he has done all sorts of styles. there’s drum and bass, there’s breakbeat, there’s pop, there’s metal, there’s even some finnish iskelmä influence in his music for sure. he has done songs with a chorus that is sung by him, sung by someone else, nor not sung at all but rapped by him.

urheilujätkä and it’s crazy it’s party do not sound like the same genre. punainen marli and cha cha cha don’t sound like the same genre. ajoa and paidaton riehuja don’t sound like the same genre. yhtä vailla and autiomaa don’t sound like the same genre. again, he has his style, but it is at the end of the day quite flexible.

especially considering his willingness to be a bit silly too.

so now, what would be the key aspects each team would bring into the collab? well, joker out would bring band instruments (guitars, bass, drums, keyboards) and possibly bojan’s beloved trumpet but i’m afraid i don’t have examples to pull out that would involve that so we’re going to ignore the trumpet for now (though i’m sure they would make it work). and of course, bojan’s voice and singing ability. soundwise, team käärijä would bring jere’s vocals and rapping, allu’s beats and production and possibly jukka’s guitar style, but a third guitarist is not a must i guess. sonny i think is actually pretty vital in bringing it all together, being the kind of all round music expert he is.

so let’s dive into my examples. 

again, do not expect to hear a song and immediately go omg yes that’s exactly what they would sound like together. but there are elements in each of these examples i want to highlight as ways to combine sounds that are seemingly incompatible.

my first example is your pretty standard rap with a sung chorus: huominen by juno, palecafe, laineen kasperi, mik and marzi nyman. but there are elements here i want you to listen to. you can listen to it on youtube here.

ignore the drum beat, it’s your basic rap beat. instead, listen to everything else going on in the instrumentation. the guitar picking, the atmospheric synths, the bass drones laying down like a floor for the whole thing. now think of the way a song like lips by joker out is built. what are the elements that make up the musical background of that song? the tools are similar.

keep listening to everything that goes on in the background. the song doesn’t change much during the whole duration of it, but there are tiny things that change. listen out for them.

the guitar solo at the end. marzi nyman is a very well known and respected guitarist and musician in finland. rap songs usually don’t have guitar solos. this one does.

my second example is a rock duo featuring a rapper and another clean singer: luo/vuta by ursus factory featuring asa and jere valkonen. ursus factory typically combine different styles of rock in their sound, and it’s generally quite a garage-like sound the way it’s not super duper polished, but has some edge. listen to the song on youtube here.

in this one, you can ignore the main vocals. the singing style in this one is quite far from bojan, and focusing on the monotone delivery can distract from listening to the band elements. there’s more melodic singing towards the end of the second verse, if you want to listen to that

again, listen to the instrumentation: to the guitars, to the bass, to the keyboards, to the drums

after the second chorus, at around 1:45, we get quite metal-like riffs going on, demonstrating switching between stylistic choices in a way that makes a clear difference without being a really stark jump from one style to another

after two minutes we get the rap section. now, asa’s style is quite different from käärijä (though there’s definitely some playing around with vocal styles here too), but the point here is to listen out to how the musical elements stay the same but lay out a perfectly suitable base for a rap section. a rap section doesn’t have to change the entire structure of the song. unless of course you want it to

the most obvious change in the music comes at around 3:30 when we introduce a whole new vocal, and entirely new melodies. in this section they go from a calm, mellow style to quite a garage punk-y chugging while still keeping the melody. pretty cool

final example that combines many of the elements of both joker out and käärijä but in a way that is not in any genre either one has done before, because this is noise pop: can i scream by sleigh bells. listen to the song on youtube here.

eight things i want you to pay attention to:

the keyboard sounds that start the whole song. listen to just literally the first five seconds of the song at first and tell me that that keyboard melody/riff could not be in a joker out song, something like stephanie or everybody’s waiting

at around 11 seconds we get the first clearly computer produced elements, that immediately break the synth poppy vibe of the first five seconds. notice that at this point there isn’t anything aggressive in the sound yet, but it still sounds far less soft than it did at first.

the drums come in, with very consistent and quite quick snare hits. it’s giving rock, it’s giving punk, it’s even giving metal.

we jump into the verse and can you hear that? there’s an acoustic guitar in there now, and that’s what’s bringing some depth into the sound. and the keyboards? again, actually pretty simple and not at all something joker out could not incorporate in their sound, right? in fact, the verse is made up of your basic band instruments. the way it is mixed and produced is what makes it sleigh bells, but the actual individual elements are very basic band instruments.

pre-chorus! we get chuggy metal-like electric guitars! it’s choppy! it creates it’s own beat - this is a very käärijä element. just imagine jukka playing those chords. you can see it, right?

clap, clap, clap, clap. what a great element. also very sleigh bells, but this is käärijä university so i’ll try to stay on track.

chorus! we are combining everything! the chuggy guitar stays, the melodies are poppy, the keyboards are doing things in the background. all elements united.

the post-chorus bit is something very different, has very little melody and demonstrates how to jump from one stylistic choice to another.

SO.

what did we learn from me finding excuses to yap about ursus factory and sleigh bells? that seemingly incompatible styles and musical elements might not be so incompatible after all. and when you think about joker out and käärijä, it’s pretty clear neither are afraid of experimenting and trying different kinds of stuff.

so when i said yesterday that i am manifesting an entire JO x käärijä album and a joint tour, i meant it. because there are so many different ways they could smash their styles together, or intertwine them gently, or make them kiss and make out and have sex and produce musical children and i might be losing the point here a little bit.

now, dear students of käärijä university, what are some songs YOU know, that remind you of ways joker out and käärijä could collab? because i would love to hear them. and imagine a world in which they do make an album and a joint tour.

[dipper-m-pines]

Did you ever apologize properly to Stan for not trusting him? Not "I'm sorry but you lied to us", a proper apology for almost ruining the thing he worked on for 30 years. Did you ever stop to think about what would have happened if he'd failed then because YOU stopped him. Did you ever fully understand what motivated Stan or did you get distracted by Ford being the "cooler" or "better" uncle? Have you ever stopped to think about just how much Stan was willing to sacrifice for you, Mabel, Ford, and everyone else. Do you ever think about just how much he DID sacrifice or are you ignoring your guilt by telling yourself that it doesnt matter because it all worked out in the end. May I point out that only MABEL tried to get Stan's memory back and that you just resigned youself without even considering another option, blindly trusting Ford once more, when that has clearly proven on multiple occasions to be a bad decision. Sure you joined in trying once it worked but you never initiated the attempt. You often disregarded Stan because he couldn't understand you the way Ford does but what does that say about you, writing people off if they can't always be on the same wave-length as you? Had Ford dismissed you in the same way, as he somewhat did at first, you would have been upset and hurt, thinking it was unfair and before you say "that's different because me and Ford are similar", you really do not want to be like that man because COME ON the man is petty beyond relief and doesn't deserve a fraction of the love and trust Stan gives him. Do better Pine Tree.

???

Hold on, I need to break this down. uh

I want to say that I did apologize to Grunkle Stan. I feel like I was allowed to be suspicious of him before he explained everything- Like we thought we'd just discovered the guy we'd been living with all summer was actually some guy impersonating a dead guy- I don't know, it was really complicated and really scary.

I never "wrote Stan off" for anything, it was sometimes just nice to spend time with someone who didn't constantly make fun of me. I know Stan means well, but it's still... not funny sometimes.

Lastly, my relationship with my family shouldn't be any of your business, and how I feel about things I did or didn't do should be even less of your concern. So please just stop trying to play therapist or whatever you're doing

[sirxaibs]

Can I ask for Sale Fisher x fem!reader that's popular? And could you PLS PLS PLS don't make her mean? Like, I want her to be popular becouse she's one of those poeple that just sthraight up go talk to anyone.

And maybe Sal's friend group thought that shes propably a bitch, but like.

'She sat at our table?.....and didn't make fun of us?.....in fact she gives compliments that don't feel backhandead?......wtf?'

⬆️just an example, you can do whatever with this.

Sorry for possibile grammer errors or speeling mistakes, english isn't my first lenguage. Thank you and I hope you'll have a nice day ♥️

Hey! I THOUGHT THIS COULD BE SO CUTE!! so Ive seen many fics on this and i wanted to take a different approach. I hope you enjoy it. I love Sal and I hope this isn’t too crazy. I wrote a version yesterday and made everyone a little too mean and I don’t believe any of them would be assholes. So! Hopefully this satiates y’all.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ Your legs ache from practice, the soles of your sneakers sticking a little to the hallway tile with each step. You smell faintly of sweat and cherry body spray, the cheer uniform still clinging to your skin like it’s part of you now tight pleats, school colors, and all. You could’ve changed, sure, but exhaustion said no. So here you are, hair in a high ponytail, shoes untied, carrying a stack of junk mail and a single envelope that doesn’t belong to you.

You look at it again under the flickering hallway light, flipping it over in your fingers like it’ll magically reroute to the correct mailbox on its own.

SAL FISHER

UNIT 402

You know the name. Everyone at school does. The kid with the face cover. You’ve never spoken to him he doesn’t really hang around the same kind of people you do but he’s always there. At lunch, in the halls, sometimes sitting out near the tree line when no one else is around. You didn’t peg him as the chatty type.

You stare at the letter like it might bite you. Then sigh. “Why not be a good neighbor,” you mutter, dragging your legs toward the elevator.

The ride to the fourth floor feels longer than it should. It shudders a little on the way up. You keep your eyes on the numbers. Three… four. The doors open with a ding that sounds half hearted.

You’ve never actually been up here.

The fourth floor feels… worse. Everything smells faintly of dust and something like mothballs and metal. You don’t know why, but the lights here feel dimmer. You walk slower, steps echoing.

You find the unit: 402. You raise your hand to knock. There was a pause for a few seconds.

A man stands in front of you, tall, a little disheveled, and definitely not Sal. His presence is immediate, like he fills the space just by being in it. You blink.

“Oh hi! Sorry,” you start, holding the envelope out, “I was just dropping this off”

“He’s in his room,” the man says before you finish.

You freeze. “Oh, no, I wasn’t trying to bother him, I just thought I’d–”

“Just go on in. Down the hall, last door on the left.”

You blink again. You’re not even sure he’s looking at you. Just staring somewhere past your head, like he’s already decided this conversation is over.

“I mean, I could just leave it here”

“Last door on the left.”

He steps aside, just enough for you to enter. You do, but not on purpose. Your legs just move. You step into the apartment, and it’s… weird. Not gonna lie, being in any strangers apartment never really felt cool. You walk toward the hallway, clutching the letter, mind screaming at you to stop being so polite.

“Damn old people,” you think, jaw tightening. “I just wanted to drop something off, not go all this way”

The hallway feels longer than it is. The floor creaks behind you, or maybe above you. You don’t look back. You keep walking. Last door on the left.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ You knock lightly once, twice then pull your hand back like the door might burn you. A pause. Then the knob turns. The door creaks open slowly, revealing a familiar figure just behind it. Blue pigtails. The mask.

Sal Fisher.

He stares at you. You stare back. Neither of you says a word. And because silence is somehow gnawing at your neck, you blurt, “Hi! Um, I think our mail got mixed up I swear I didn’t just barge in.”

You thrust the letter forward like it’s a peace offering. “This was in my mailbox. For you. I thought I’d, y’know, be neighborly and return it. I didn’t open it or toss it or anything. Your dad sent me over this way”

He takes the envelope slowly, his fingers brushing yours for the briefest moment. His gaze flicks down to it.

“Thanks,” he says. His voice is quieter than you expected. Almost gentle.

You nod. Then freeze. Then nod again. You’re still standing there, very much in his doorway, very much uninvited. His room is in full view behind him. Posters of metal bands you’ve only heard mentioned in passing. Skulls, red and black ink themes. A guitar in the corner. Tiny, vaguely creepy figurines lined up on a shelf.

“Your room’s so cool,” you say before your brain can stop you. You lean forward just a little, peering past him. “Seriously. This is like… Sid and Nancy level. How do you even find posters like that anymore? Oh my god is that an actual cassette player? That’s so sick.”

You wince as the words leave your mouth. “God, sorry, I’m not trying to be weird. I mean that in a good way. Promise.”

Your voice is speeding up. You’re spiraling. And you know it.

Sal just keeps watching you like he’s trying to figure out if this is real or a very strange dream. A cheerleader. In his doorway. Talking about cassette players. You finally cringe so hard your whole body folds in on itself.

“I’m gonna go,” you say, backing toward the hallway. “Sorry for the whole… I don’t know what that was. I was just trying to be a good neighbor and it turned into, like, a monologue of whatever the fuck.”

You turn halfway around to leave when you hear

“You wanna take a look around?”

You glance over your shoulder.

Sal is still standing there, holding the envelope like it might vanish. His posture is stiff, like he’s surprised the words came out of his mouth, too.

You blink. “I mean… sure?”

He nods. “If you’re into the posters, Do you dig that kind of music?.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Well I wouldn’t say it’s exactly my style but I’m a all things can be redeemable if you give it a try”

He jerks his head toward the room. “why not give it a try then”

You’re already stepping inside before he finishes, smiling wide. “You had me at ‘cool’ and sealed the deal with ‘band.’ Show me.”

The second you cross the threshold, it’s like entering another world. The bland apartment hallway behind you disappears into a mess of amps, guitars, wires, dark posters, and the faint scent of incense and old vinyl.

Sal gestures toward a small desk setup with beat up speakers and a laptop. He grabs a pair of headphones well worn, slightly cracked along the band and offers them to you.

“You don’t have to pretend it’s good,” he mutters. “Honest opinion’s fine.”

You shoot him a thumbs up and take the headphones like they might unlock the secrets of the universe.

He clicks play.

The drums hit first loud, fast. Then comes the guitar: raw, rich, angry. A distorted voice cuts through the noise melodic under the layers of whatever was happening, but clawing to be heard. Your eyes go wide. You start bobbing your head slowly. Then more. A grin creeps up your face, shoulders bouncing slightly as the music crashes through your ears. You grip the headphones tighter, fully in it like you’ve been dropped into a private punk rock concert in a dream.

When the song fades, you pull the headphones off with a breathless laugh. “That was… so good,” you say, eyes lit up. “Like, very loud but in the best way. I felt like I could punch God in the face. I loved it.”

Sal’s ears what little you can see of them turn just slightly pink. He shifts, crossing his arms. “Yeah?”

You grin. “What, because I’m in a cheer uniform, you think cheerleaders don’t have rage?”

He laughs softly. It’s warm. Unexpected.

You glance at the clock and groan. “Ugh. I should probably head back and pretend I’m responsible or whatever. Homework calls.”

You hand the headphones back, your fingers lingering a second before letting go.

“Thanks for showing me that,” you say. “Seriously. its super sick.”

Sal shrugs, casual, but he still won’t quite meet your eyes. In his head, he’s screaming. Because what the hell. A cheerleader just walked into his room, complimented his taste in music, vibed to Sanity Falls, and then thanked him like he did her a favor.

Respectfully and he does mean that. you’re hot. this whole thing feels like a glitch in the matrix. Like someone else’s life. He clears his throat. “Yeah. Uh. Anytime.”

You flash one last smile before turning to leave. Sal Fisher stands frozen in his room, A pretty girl was in his room.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ the clatter of trays, bursts of laughter, the shriek of a chair scraping too hard against the linoleum. Sal sat across from Larry, Ash, and Todd, picking at the edges of his sandwich more than actually eating it. His thoughts weren’t really on food. Not when they kept drifting back to the night before.

Cheerleader. In his room. Pretty girl. She liked his music.

“Hey,” he said finally, pushing his tray forward and folding his arms on the table. “Do you guys know that new girl who lives on the third floor now?”

Larry paused mid bite, sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Third floor?”

Ash glanced between them, already suspicious. “Wait. Are we talking about that new girl? Y/N something?”

“Yeah,” Sal said, tone casual like he wasn’t rehearsing the question all morning. “she dropped something off last night. Just wondering if you knew her.”

Larry barked a laugh. “The cheerleader? Yeah, she’s definitely one of those girls.”

Sal blinked. “Those?”

“You know,” Ash chimed in, leaning her chin on her hand. “Perfect hair. Always smells like a mall. Probably part of one of those fake bestie cliques that post about how much they loveee each other but secretly hate one another’s guts.”

Larry nodded, already back into his food. “Plastic. The kind that calls everyone ‘babe’ but doesn’t know your actual name.”

Todd, sipping from a thermos, finally looked up. “You guys don’t even know her.”

Ash raised an eyebrow. “And you do?”

“I’ve had class with her. She’s… quiet,” Todd said thoughtfully. “Pays attention. Says thank you when someone passes her a worksheet. She helped a freshman with their locker on the second day.”

“That’s your bar for decency?” Larry said, skeptical.

“I’m just saying, you’re judging her and like Sal was new too once,” Todd said. “You don’t know anything real about her.”

Ash groaned. “You don’t need to know someone to know someone, Todd. Some people just radiate mean girl energy. Trust me.”

Todd narrowed his eyes. “That’s a shallow assumption and you know it.”

Ash muttered something about “cheerleaders being a plague” under her breath, and Larry snorted.

Sal, who had gone unusually quiet, finally spoke again. “She’s not like that.”

All three of them turned to look at him.

Larry’s mouth slowly curved into a smirk. “Wait. Hold up. Why are you asking about her, dude?”

Sal looked down, then up, tone clipped. “I told you. She dropped off mail. That’s it.”

Ash crossed her arms. “why did she just come all the way up to your place to give you a letter?”

Sal shrugged. “Her mailbox got mine by accident. then stayed for a bit”

Larry leaned forward, grinning. “What, did she get lost on the way out?”

Sal blinked. “She liked my music.”

Ash scoffed. “What, like out loud?”

Sal nodded. “Yeah. She tried my headphones. Even headbanged a little.”

Todd smiled slightly. “That’s kind of cool.”

Larry shook his head like he was witnessing a miracle. “Okay, wait a minute. A cheerleader, listened to screamo music, and didn’t run screaming for the suburbs?”

Sal shrugged again. “She said it made her want to punch God.”

Ash froze, lips parting in a mix of confusion and, for the first time, mild interest. “Okay… that’s actually kind of hardcore.”

“She said my room was cool,” Sal mumbled, mostly to his tray.

Larry threw his hands up. “Okay, what the hell, Sal. Are you telling me you Sal ‘I sit by myself and listen to death metal’ Fisher just casually had a cheerleader in your bedroom?”

Sal didn’t reply, but his fingers drummed on the table a little too fast to be casual. Larry leaned in. “Dude. You got a cheerleader in your room. Are you sure this wasn’t a dream? Like a fever dream after one too many gas station burritos?”

Todd tilted his head. “Or maybe… maybe she’s just a person. Like the rest of us. Who happens to like punk and be good at flips.”

Ash scowled. “God, Todd, you sound like a teacher.”

He shrugged. “Just saying.”

Larry still wasn’t over it. “Next thing you know she’s gonna show up in all black with eyeliner and join a band.”

Sal didn’t say it out loud, but a flicker of a smile played under the edge of his mask at the idea. He kinda liked that you were so different. the juxtaposition of your looks and what you seemed interested was very cool to look at.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ You strolled through the crowd with your cheer squad flanking both sides laughing, gossiping, spinning their hair around fingers like it was a competitive sport. You listened absently as one of them launched into a dramatic retelling of how her ex “accidentally” liked her finsta post at 2 a.m.

You weren’t really paying attention. Not because you didn’t care, though the first time she talked about it had you engaged. but because your eyes had already locked onto something else across the cafeteria. A short blue haired guy sitting at a table near the back with a group of kids you’d only ever heard about through whispered rumors and cruel nicknames.

There he was. Sal Fisher. without really thinking without asking yourself anything at all you broke away from your group mid laugh. Just veered straight toward him like your legs had made the decision before your brain did.

“Wait, where are you going?” one of your friends asked behind you.

“BRB,” you called over your shoulder. “I want to bother someone.”

Across the cafeteria, at a table meant for the misfits, Sal was in the middle of pushing peas around his tray when a sudden blur of cheer uniform and bounce came into view. He looked up.

You stopped right beside him and sat down immediately grabbing his arm, breathless and grinning. “Okay, so, I’ve been thinking about that song you showed me all night. Like, literally, I couldn’t sleep. I need more. You got a playlist? A mixtape? A USB drive from hell? Gimme.”

For one perfect, cinematic second, the entire table was silent. Larry dropped his fork. Ash’s eyes nearly bugged out of her skull. Todd blinked like you had just walked through a wall.

Sal just stared. “You… what?”

You nodded eagerly, lowering your voice like it was sacred. “You ruined all my playlists. I need more of that noise in my life.”

He blinked again. “You sure?”

“You say that like you thought I wouldn’t.”

“I–” Sal started, then stopped, looking absolutely stunned.

You turned to the rest of the table, realizing they were still staring at you like you’d just sprouted devil horns and declared yourself prom queen of hell. You raised a hand sheepishly. “Hi. Sorry for interrupting. I’m Y/N. just moved this year.”

Ash looked like she was physically holding herself back from combusting. Larry was still open mouthed, and Todd was watching with the kind of intrigue usually reserved for alien encounters.

“If you’re anything like Sal,” you added, offering them a genuine smile, “then I’m sure you’re all cool as hell.”

Larry looked to Sal, eyes wide. “Yeah, he’s crazy cool. Though he did learn from the best” Larry awkwardly replied while pointing himself

Ash leaned toward Todd. “I think i’m on drugs, what’s happening” Todd just smiled quietly.

You turned back to Sal, who was very much glitching out in real time. “I’ll give you my number later,” you said with a wink. “Text me a playlist. Or this time I’m breaking into your room.”

Sal opened his mouth. Closed it. Nodded once like he was in shock. “Okay.” And then you were gone, skipping back to your friends, who were whispering furiously and shooting glances like you’d just fraternized with the enemy.

“what was that?” one of them hissed.

You smiled, tugging your ponytail higher.“you’re the one who told me to make friends here, thats all i’m doing.”

Back at the table, Sal stared down at his tray like it might give him answers.

Larry leaned in, whispering, “Bro. Are you a witch? Did you hex a cheerleader?”

Sal just shook his head.

“I think,” he said slowly, still stunned, “i think its jover for me.”

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ You weren’t quite sure how it happened. One second you were joking in the hallway with Sal about your shared hatred for lukewarm cafeteria pizza, and the next you were in his room, cross legged, spinning slowly on his desk chair while he nervously adjusted the volume on his old stereo system.

The room was quiet, save for the soft murmur of some obscure post punk band playing from the corner. You didn’t recognize the lyrics, but it felt like something you wanted to memorize.

“You know,” you said, glancing around, “I kinda expected more skulls. Or like… weird taxidermy?”

Sal laughed soft and surprised. “Yeah, you’re not the first to say that. I think Larry was disappointed when he first came over and didn’t find a Ouija board or something.”

You gave him a playful squint. “Wait, you don’t have one?”

Sal grinned slightly behind the mask. “Okay, I do. But it’s under my bed and mostly for decoration. Larry gets carried away.”

You hopped off the chair and crouched, peeking under the bed like you were on a mission. “You’re telling me there’s a haunted board game down here and you’re not showing me?”

“It’s not haunted,” he replied, clearly amused. “It’s just from a yard sale. Probably cursed with suburban angst at most.”

You laughed, brushing your fingers over a dusty shoebox. “Still cool. You’ve got good taste. I mean, look at this stuff.”

Posters of bands you’d never heard of were plastered across the walls, scribbled notebook pages taped in between like patchwork wallpaper. An old lava lamp flickered halfheartedly in the corner. There were stacks of CDs, cassette tapes, and one particularly weird clay sculpture that looked like it might’ve been made in a sleep deprived art class.

You plopped onto his bed and tilted your head. “This one’s my favorite,” you said, pointing at a crooked drawing of a girl with hollow eyes and messy hair. “She beautiful.”

Sal stepped closer, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket. “That was… something I did when I was like, thirteen. Supposed to be a ghost from this dream I had. I kept seeing her for weeks after.”

You looked at him, expression soft. “You see ghosts a lot?”

He hesitated for a second, then nodded. “Sometimes. Not all the time. But yeah.”

“Damn. That’s metal.”

Sal let out another laugh, more comfortable now. “That’s what I told my therapist.”

You leaned back on your elbows, smiling at him from his own bed like you’d done it a hundred times. “So, what else are you hiding in here? Secret dungeon? Portal to hell?”

“Uh,” Sal said, eyes glinting with something playful. “Larry stole all the portals to hell. I’m more of a secret music archive guy.”

You shot up. “Prove it.”

He smirked and crossed the room to a cabinet by his desk, pulling open a drawer to reveal a mess of burned CDs, USBs, old MP3 players, and one tiny cassette player with a sticker that said “Play if you hate the world.”

You gasped like he’d opened the Holy Grail. “Sal. This is the coolest shit I’ve ever seen. You better send me everything.”

He knelt beside you, pulling out a CD with careful fingers. “This one’s the first mix I ever made. It’s super rough.”

You took it from him reverently. “I love rough.”

Sal’s ears went pink. “I, uh, that came out weird.”

“Yeah,” you teased. “but cant a girl say how she feels.”

You glanced at him, and he was already watching you, like he couldn’t believe you actually said that. Like you’d disappear if he blinked too long.

“Hey,” you said, quieter now. “You’re kinda talkative tonight.”

He shrugged, brushing some hair from his face. “You’re easy to talk to.”

That made something flicker warm in your chest.

“Same,” you murmured. Then you nudged him with your shoulder. “Do you like me here?”

Sal tilted his head, mock serious. “People probably that I’ve summoned a demon cheerleader to possess me.”

You grinned. “Yeah? Hope they’re right.”

And he laughed again. You liked that sound. You wanted to hear it more.

You and Sal stayed like that for a while, just talking. The kind of conversation that meandered and curved around strange facts and half finished thoughts. He told you about a ghost that used to knock on his closet door when he was little. You told him about the time you accidentally summoned a raccoon with a ritual you found on Tumblr. Somewhere between laughter and another CD recommendation, you spotted a small, beat up notebook tucked between the mattress and wall. It looked old, like something with secrets.

“Ooooh, what’s that?” you asked, already reclining across the bed to reach it.

Sal looked up, immediately alert. “Wait no, that’s!”

Too late. You stretched out, reaching over him as he sat back against the headboard. Your fingers brushed the edge of the notebook only for your balance to shift, the mattress dipping under your weight.

Thump.

You landed right on top of him. For a moment, neither of you moved. You were nose to nose, your chest pressed against his, hands awkwardly splayed on either side of his shoulders. His mask had tilted slightly, and you could see just a glimpse of the scar beneath it before he quickly adjusted it. His breath hitched so did yours.

Your eyes met.

Sal’s eyes were wide, pupils flicking between yours like he was scanning for some kind of signal. You suddenly became very aware of the warmth radiating off him. Of the way your knee was pressing slightly between his legs. The room, the music, the whole world had gone still.

“Uh,” he said softly, like he was trying not to spook you.

You blinked. “Sorry. Um. .”

“it’s okay,” he said, voice an octave higher than usual. “Totally. You’re all good trust. Yeah.”

You were about to say something maybe a joke, maybe not when the door slammed open with the force of someone who had never knocked in his entire life.

“Yo, Sal HOLY SHIT”

You scrambled off like you’d been hit with a taser, rolling off to the side and nearly falling off the bed. Sal sat bolt upright, stiff as a corpse.

Larry stood in the doorway, a soda can in one hand and a box of cookies in the other, blinking like he was trying to make sure what he was seeing wasn’t a hallucination.

“Dude,” he said, utterly stunned. “Did I interrupt something?”

Sal buried his face in both hands with a groan. “Larry.”

“No, because this is like… well im not going to say. You’re on the bed, she’s on top of you, the music’s playing do you guys want me to turn the lights down? Light a candle or something?”

You threw a pillow at him.

Larry dodged it “I can come back later. Like, waaay later.”

“You weren’t even supposed to come now,” Sal hissed, his voice muffled behind his hands.

Larry grinned. “I felt a disturbance in the force.”

You sat up and crossed your legs, trying to fix your hair and your dignity. “Hey Larry, how’s it going?.”

Larry raised his brows and backed toward the hallway with exaggerated steps. “I meet you once and you’re already over my man right here”

And then he was gone, disappearing down the hall with the sound of crinkling cookie packaging trailing behind him. Sal finally peeked up at you, his face still a little flushed. “…Im sorry about that.”

You smiled, brushing your hair back. “Im not too worried, He seems like a nice guy.”

Sal blinked, then laughed “I think I like having you around,” he murmured, almost too quiet to catch.

You grinned, nudging his knee with yours. “Then send me that damn playlist before I tackle you again.”

“…Not the worst threat I’ve heard,” he replied.

And the music played on.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆You sat criss cross on the grass with your cheerleader friends, your lunch mostly forgotten as you braided strands of your best friend’s hair while another girl animatedly recounted some drama from first period.

“…and then he said, ‘It’s not cheating if we were on a break!’” she shrieked, clutching her phone like it was sacred.

Everyone groaned, gasped, or fake fainted in synchronized horror.

You laughed, tossing a piece of grass in her direction. “He used the Friends defense? God, we need to start handing out red flags on flashcards.”

You were comfortable here. It was loud, messy, dramatic but it was yours. And they loved you because you weren’t just part of the cheer squad, or the new girl, but because you talked to the theater kids, the band nerds, the weird guy in the dinosaur hoodie. You didn’t care about cliques. You liked people. People were weird and interesting.

Eventually the bell rang and everyone stood, gathering their things in a flurry of hair and perfume.

“I’ll see you after school!” someone called. You waved, backing away toward the building with your backpack swinging behind you.

And that’s when you heard it. “Pick it up, you little freak. Or do you need your mommy to do it for you?”

You rounded the corner and froze. A smaller kid, maybe a freshman, was scrambling to pick up their books, hands shaking as a taller guy stood over him. Shaggy hair,, fists clenched like he wanted someone to look. A few papers blew past your feet. You didn’t step in. You knew better. You weren’t built like that couldn’t throw a punch or bark louder than a threat. And you knew the look of someone who’d use that.

But still… once the kid grabbed his stuff and scurried off like a spooked rabbit, you found your voice.

“Hey.”

The guy turned to you, annoyance etched into every line of his face. “What?”

You took a slow breath and tilted your head. “What’s your problem?”

He blinked, like you’d just asked him the square root of an existential crisis. “You wanna go?” he said, stepping toward you with all the bravado of someone who’d been fighting shadows his whole life.

You didn’t flinch. Just crossed your arms and stared. “You seriously pick fights with kids who can’t fight back? What, did your cereal bully you this morning?”

That got him. Just a flicker but it was there. A crack in the tough guy mask. He scoffed. “Don’t act like you know me.”

“I don’t,” you said honestly. “But I know whatever that was back there? Thats fucked, stop being a dick and maybe your mommy would do something about it.” His jaw flexed like he was holding back a hundred things he didn’t know how to say. “I’m not scared of you,” you added softly. “But you being a dick is pointless.”

He stared at you for a long time. Long enough that it should’ve felt uncomfortable. But instead, it felt… tense. Not dangerous. Just tight. Like something holding its breath.

Then, just before turning, he muttered, “Tch. Whatever.”

You watched him go, the anger in his steps still there but dulled, somehow. Like your words had wedged into the gears of whatever rage machine he operated on. You found out later from someone in gym class that his name was Travis. Just Travis. No one knew his last name, just that he was trouble, had a rep, and probably didn’t have many people who called him anything else.

Ash had seen it.

She’d been leaning against the side of the vending machines, chewing on the straw of her empty smoothie cup, eyes darting around the quad like they always did. She wasn’t looking for drama, not really, but if it stumbled into her path, she sure as hell wasn’t going to ignore it.

She watched the whole thing Travis towering, spitting venom, and you standing there, not brave enough to throw hands, but bold enough to ask why. Not backing down. Not even flinching.

When he walked off, still pissed but quieter somehow, she tossed her smoothie into the bin and strolled over like she wasn’t deliberately inserting herself.

“What was that?” she asked, casually, like she’d just seen you pet a lion.

You turned, slinging your backpack higher on your shoulder. “What was what?”

Ash raised a brow. “With Travis. You said something. He didn’t hit you. That’s basically a miracle.”

You shrugged, still feeling the adrenaline buzz in your ribs. “I don’t know. Just… couldn’t walk past it.”

Ash snorted. “People walk past him all the time. He’s an ass. A racist, sexist, homophobic caveman with fists for brains. Trust me, most people are glad to stay out of his way.”

You chewed your lip. “Yeah. I guess. I just. I don’t know. People who are assholes need someone to speak up.”

She tilted her head, considering that for a beat. “You ever get into fights?”

“God, no,” you said quickly. “I’d die.”

Ash smirked. “That checks out. Still, you didn’t run. Didn’t go fake sweet or start crying to a teacher. You just… confronted him. That was kind of bold of you new girl.”

“Thanks?” you offered, unsure.

She walked with you now, matching your steps as you made your way down the hall. It was quiet, the rush between lunch and next period tapering off.

Ash glanced sideways at you. “Y’know, I pegged you as another one of them.”

You didn’t need to ask who them was. You’d seen the way she looked at your cheer friends. Glitter and high ponies didn’t mix with combat boots and smudged eyeliner.

You smiled softly, still looking ahead. “Yeah. I get that a lot.”

She didn’t say anything for a second. Then: “Turns out you’ve got more bite than you let on.”

You turned to her, surprised. “You saying that like it’s a good thing.”

Ash shrugged. “Might be.”

That was it. No over explanation. No emotional dive into friendship territory. Just the Ashley Campbell version of a peace offering. She didn’t invite you to hang out or trade numbers. She didn’t ask personal questions or gush. But the next time she saw you in the hall, she nodded at you instead of looking through you.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ The bell had just rung, and the hallways were alive people yelling across rows of lockers, someone dropping a textbook with a dramatic slam, and the smell of cafeteria pizza already creeping in. You scanned the crowd like a bloodhound on a mission.

Sal Fisher. Quietly standing near the usual corner with Larry, Todd, and Ash. He had his hands in his pockets, head tilted as Todd went off about some new theory, probably ghosts or government tech. Ash was chewing on a straw and nodding vaguely, while Larry interrupted every other word with “Nah, but listen what if?”

You didn’t even think twice.

“Hey!” you called, bounding over like a cartoon character with too much energy and absolutely no sense of personal space. “There you are, Blue.”

Sal looked up right as you reached him. “Blue?”

“You’re wearing blue,” you said, pointing at him. “And your hair’s blue. You’re very committed to the aesthetic.”

He tilted his head. “I wear black more than anything.”

“Technicalities,” you said, grabbing his sleeve. “Come on. We’re doing something.”

Larry raised a brow. “Is this a kidnapping?”

“Definitely,” Ash answered flatly.

“Wait, what are we doing?” Sal asked, laughing under his breath as you pulled him gently away from the group. “Do I get a say in this?”

“You get to walk or be dragged, your call.”

“That doesn’t feel like much of a choice,” he muttered, but he let you lead him anyway.

“Where are you taking him this time?” Todd called out with actual concern.

“To the moon,” you replied without turning around. “Or maybe just the vending machines. We’ll see.”

Ash cupped her hands around her mouth. “Bring him back in one piece!”

Larry shouted after, “AND IF HE COMES BACK MARRIED IM ATTACKING YOU FOR NOT LETTING ME BE BEST MAN!”

You groaned and shot them a look over your shoulder. “Y’all are so dramatic.”

“We’re dramatic?” Ash asked, gesturing wildly. “You swooped in like a caffeinated falcon and stole our boy mid convo!”

Sal laughed beside you, his eyes squinting just slightly with amusement behind the mask. “You kinda did.”

“Okay, but be honest,” you said, bumping your shoulder into his. “You weren’t even really paying attention to Larry’s alien rant.”

“…It was about space cats this time.”

“See? I’m rescuing you.”

He chuckled again, a little softer this time. “Then thanks, I guess. You know, I’ve started looking forward to these.”

You slowed your pace, peeking at him from the side. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, a bit bashful now. “You’re crazy and I am definitely living for it.”

Your smile tugged wider, warmth blooming in your chest. “That might be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“You need better friends,” he teased.

“I have you,” you shot back.

And that quiet moment hung between you both for just a second comfortable, kind of sweet, a little electric.

Back at the hallway corner, the trio watched you both disappear down the hall. Ash crossed her arms, a curious look on her face. “Im glad to have found out she’s not just some glitter clone.”

“Nope,” Larry agreed. “She’s cool. Like, actually so cool.”

Todd smiled faintly. “And Sal likes her. That much is obvious.”

Ash gave a small nod, the corner of her mouth twitching up. “Yeah. He really does.” for once, none of them said anything snarky.

[elainsgirl]

Here's my take with Elriel.

I don’t think they lacked buildup. When they first met, it was cute and simple—why would they fall in love immediately? Az was still hung up on Mor, and Elain was with Graysen. But then, as you see them develop, they eventually become acquaintances, then good friends. Again, why would they fall in love when Elain was grieving a heartbreak and Az was still, again, stuck on Mor? Like during ACOFAS, you can slowly see them getting over Mor and Graysen and starting to gain feelings, and I love that. It’s so different with them. They weren’t rushed. Now look at them in ACOSF, you can tell they’re over their old lovers, and now the feelings and desire are there.

I’m so tired of people saying Elriel doesn’t make sense or that they didn’t have any buildup. Open your eyes and actually look at how they developed. Just because their dynamic isn’t filled with enemies-to-lovers tension or constant banter doesn’t mean it isn’t valid. People are so obsessed with ships like Feysand and Nessian that they constantly compare everything else to them, and it’s exhausting. There is nothing wrong with a love story that’s quiet, soft, and built on emotional connection. Not every romance has to be fiery to matter. The arguments like “they need banter,” “Elain is too soft,” “Azriel is too broken for her,” or “Elain can’t handle Azriel” are just so tired. Are you okay? That’s such a limited way of looking at love. Let soft, healing love exist. Let Elriel exist.

Like look at Lorcan and Elide for example.

I agree with your take on elriel

Elriel are actually one of the most built up couples of the series. They’ve had moments from acomaf where a tentative alliance was formed and even though it wasn’t insta-love, Mass still wrote their connection and showed us during that dinner how suited they where for each other. Then you go onto acowar, where again, they’re not in love with each other but despite that: We get romantic coded scenes, parallels to other couples, foreshadowing for elriel -> all of that is build up. Even in acofas - this is the book where feelings are being developed. Az isn’t over Mor. Elain isn’t over Grayson yet elriel have developed a deep understanding of each other which has now led to a beautiful friendship forming between the two. Acosf was just Azriel being down bad for Elain whilst she’s crushing on him throughout the book, their last scene together being a charged glance - an indication to romance readers that these two have something going on between them that will obviously have to be explored.

if elriel fell in love by acofas, antis would have said its too fast, they’re rebounds etc. Elriel have built up book by book. Alliance to friends friends to crushes and eventually crushes to falling in love - it was a natural progression that started from elriel.

People cant see elriel bcs they’ve gone so used to seeing one type of couple dynamic - narrowing their minds and tastes. I can’t wait for elriel to enter the romantasy genre with their quiet love, deep understanding of each other and acts of service/words of affirmation love language. Im tired of constantly seeing “enemies to lovers!” “Sassy, warrior fmc x badass, introverted mmc!” I want something new to be brought to the table which is what elriel does.

[yarboyandy]

An extremely poignant narrative in TNG is parenthood and the blessing/tragedies that come with it. Troi has a child unwillingly put inside of her and then unwillingly have him taken away. Data fighting to make, humanize, and keep Lal despite starfleets objections and having to shut her down. Worfs failure as a father to Alexander and how his trauma lead him to abandon him, thinking it was for the best. The death of Thaddeus and how that affected Riker and his relationship with Troi after they moved heaven and earth to save him. The never ending tragedy that is the Crusher family, and now it feels like at times she picked her career over Wesley but still caring for him very very much.

Being in starfleet is an ultimate sacrifice, in many cases you are giving up your personhood to a cause that sees countless deaths and sacrifices. And yet its a cycle that inevitably repeats itself. But the act of making and raising a child forces yourself to be removed from that, at least a part of you. It’s giving a piece of your away and yet hoping it’ll stay with you. TNG primarily deals with the losses, but the elements of love are 100% there.

Shes literally holding a part of herself here, something that star fleet discussed taking away. Something that she was willing to change her whole life for, something that she will always have with her after losing it but also something she can never truly have back. A star thats always there, just out of reach. And yet it burns forever. Look how her hands are placed, as to cradle Ian— but there is still distance. She is supporting him as she lets him go.

Data claims to not have feelings, and yet makes Lal out of a desire to have a family. He gives her everything he wanted to have, the option to choose what she looked like, the ability to develop feelings and to navigate the same blessings and challenges life has to offer in a healthier manner than him. The name "Lal" itself is not a codename or anything or named after someone else, He picked the Hindi word for "beloved". Data had paternal instincts within him, we've seen this many times before with children actually. When starfleet tried to take her away, he was immediately ready to walk away from the only thing he ever knew in order to protect her. When he knew there was nothing else he could do for her, no matter how much and how fast he worked, he had to let her go. Lal was countless sacrifices on Datas end, an effort to both humanize himself and her. Lal was the creation and embodiment of love and humanity.

Worf and Alexander are a different story because Worf’s failure to him stems from self projection and trauma. Worf does not understand what Alexander wants or needs, he just assumes despite the obvious signs. This is not to say Worf did not love Alexander, he carries many regrets when it comes to their relationship but struggles to actually make things work. Leaving Alexander on earth again was done "to protect him" but he failed to connect with him. Alexander desperately tries to connect with Worf several times and Worf continued to brush him off, saying he didn’t want Alexander to be burdened with his past and dishonor. Alexander would've done anything to please Worf, which is the reason they grew so distant in the end as he attempts to be "more klingon". Worf did not fail because he tried to, he failed because he confused protecting with ignoring.

If I wrote everything about the crushers I would be here all day. I love you so much and we will always be together despite everything. Sometimes I am going to make big mistakes that will affect you in way you can never fully articulate. I don't want you to end up like your father and I did but I can't stop you from following that path and I am nothing but proud of you. My job will cloud my judgement sometimes. I want to protect you. You are my everything. I will let you fly away, but please know when you've flown too far.

tldr almost every main character within the TNG bridge crew has a tragic tale of parenthood but still takes the time to show the beauty and love that there is in raising a child.

[deadstarsrisingsblog]

Whoever harassed @glimmerglanger to the point that they DELETED THEIR AO3 AND LEFT: count your motherfuckin days.

[elisedonut]

sudden itch to write a rare pair fic thats not Percy related

but like

the last time I did that it ended up becoming my top fic and lead to me deciding that you know... actually I hate that ship just out of spite so i'm not sure how good of an idea it is

maybe if i try like femslash or something super super rare with side characters or something

[kitchensinksurrealism]

spent an hour making a list related to That Fandom, followed by an hour listening to the haunting vibe playlist, followed by an hour reading the fanfic we wrote about my band and crying actual tears bc it's the peak of comedy, followed by an hour thinking about all the things I've ever created that will never be seen by anyone either bc I don't know how to show them to people or bc people just think they're bad but either way I'll never know the true answer, and now it's 10.30pm and I've basically experienced the full spectrum of emotions: autism, existential crisis, silly, and the feeling of being unseen

[markrosewater]

I want to speak out against the whole push towards DEI. I feel that ever since you made the push to make identity the forefront of a character it has hurt the stories you tell. Captain Sisay's race was never the focus of her character and she was a complete badass! And I fear if you did it over again Gerrard would be trans, black and disabled just because. It also cheapens the stories of world devastation when characters worry more about their gender than Bolas destroying everything.

The reason I started this blog is so we can have frank conversations about things, so please let’s talk about this.

Imagine if every time you turned on the TV or watched a movie, no one looked like you. For some of us, that’s never happened. We see ourselves constantly, so it’s hard to truly understand what not seeing yourself represented in media is like.

I do have a personal window to this experience. While I am white and male, there’s an area where I am the minority - my religion. Jews are just under two and a half percent of the US population. I have had many experiences where I’ve been in situations where everything is geared towards a group I do not belong to, and zero consideration is given that not everyone at that event is part of the majority.

You just feel invisible and like an outsider. It’s not a great feeling. And I just experience it a tiny portion of time, only things that are geared specifically towards something religious. Most minorities have this feeling all the time, whenever they’re outside their personal community.

Now imagine, after years of not seeing yourself ever, you finally see someone that looks like you, but nothing about the character rings remotely true. They don’t sound like you, they don’t act like you, the facts about their day-to-day life are just wrong. It’s clear whoever wrote the character didn’t truly understand the lived experience of the character, so the character feels fake.

You bring up Sisay. Michael Ryan and I didn’t technically create Sisay (she played a small role in the Mirage story), but we did do a lot to flesh out her character as the creators of the Weatherlight Saga. We turned her from a minor character into a major one.

And while I’m proud, in general, of our work on the Weatherlight Saga, I don’t think we did justice to Sisay as a character. Neither Michael nor I have any knowledge of what it’s like to be a black woman. Nor did we ever talk to someone who did.

And if you’re someone like us that has no knowledge of that experience, you probably didn’t notice. But that doesn’t mean it’s a good thing.

Imagine if we made a movie about your life, and we just made everything up. We invented people you never knew, we gave you a job you never had, and we had you say things you’d never say. The movie might even be a good movie, but your response would be, but that’s not my life - that’s not me.

Now imagine we put the movie out, and people that never met you assumed that was what you were like. When people met you for the first time, they assumed things, because, you know, they’d seen the movie.

That’s what misrepresenting people does. It not only makes them feel not seen, it falsely represents them, spreading lies, often stereotypes, making people believe things about them that aren’t true.

Our move towards diversity is just us trying to better reflect the world and the people in it. We’re trying to do to everyone else what a certain portion of people get every day without ever having to think about it.

But why are we “making it the forefront of their character”? We’re not. We’re making it a part of their character. But in a world where you’re not used to ever seeing it, it feels louder than it is. Things that are a natural part of the world that you’re used to feel like the background of the story because you understand the context to it.

If a man kisses his wife before going off to a battle, that’s not a big deal. It’s just a thing a husband might do to his wife when he leaves. It’s not the forefront of his character. It’s just part of his life. But you’ve seen it hundreds of times, so it feels normal.

When someone does something that isn’t your lived experience it pulls focus. It seems like a big deal, but only because it’s new to you. It’s just as mundane a thing to that character as the man kissing his wife is to him.

Even the turn “pushing” implies that it’s unnaturally here, that we’re forcing something that naturally shouldn’t be. But why? That thing exists naturally in the real world, and it doesn’t make the real world any less. Maybe you’re less aware of it, but is making you aware of how others live their life “pushing” something on you?

How you live your life is represented constantly, everywhere. Why isn’t over-representing your experience at the expense of everyone else’s “pushing” it? Why is media only being the experience of those in power the “proper way”?

Having more depth and variety doesn’t lessen stories. It makes them deeper, more rich, more nuanced. In short, it makes them better stories. In my former life, I was a professional writer. I took a lot of writing classes. One of the truism of writing is “speaking truth leads to better stories”.

There’s another famous quote: “When you’re accustomed to privilege, equality feels like oppression.” You’re used to being over-represented, so being a little less over-represented feels like something has been taken from you. But really it hasn’t. Having a better sense of the rest of the world comes with a lot of benefits.

I’ll use food as an example. Let’s say all you were ever exposed to was the food of your heritage. Yeah, that food is really good, but sometimes isn’t it nice to eat foods of other nationalities? Isn’t your life better that you have a choice? Isn’t your exposure and access to the food of other nationalities a positive in your life?

Exposure to variety is a positive. It allows you to learn about things you didn’t know, experience things things you’ve never experienced, and get a better sense of understanding of your friends and neighbors.

Our actions are not to harm anyone, and if you think that’s what we’re doing, please take a minute to actually absorb what I’m saying. You’ve spent your whole life metaphorically eating one type of food, and we’re just trying to show you how much you’ve missed out on.

And while this might not impact you directly, we’re making a whole bunch of people felt seen. We’re bringing joy. Think of it this way. We make a lot of cards. Not every card is for you. But if it makes someone else happy, if they get to include it in a deck, and it makes Magic better for them, how is it harming you that we include it? You have so many cards that you can play.

To this poster or people that share their viewpoint, the narrative that a gain for someone else is an attack on you is just not true. As I just pointed out above, you play a game all about personal choice, about players getting to choose how they play and enjoy the game. Why should life be any different than Magic?

Thanks for reading.

[hellogoodbyegirl]

I love watching live performances of Hide In Your Shell by Supertramp just to see THE Roger Hodgson sing and play his little keyboard so passionately.

[foolinafable]

family matters

Five Hargreeves x Fem!Reader Synopsis: You and Five return after seven years away in a different timeline- but you don’t return alone Word Count: 1.8k Tags: Fluff, No Lila and Five, Pregnancy, Children, Season 4 fix it (kinda) Note: Got so much love on the last one I wrote this! Try to ignore spelling mistakes it's currently 3am.

Stuck with only your irritable CIA colleague Five Hargreeves was anything but a good time. You both got lost at the godforsaken subway station he mistakenly teleported you both to. Travelling for a year by his side certainly mellowed you out. His personality slowly making you feel comforted as you both explored multiple timelines together trying to find your way home.

Surprisingly, the idea he possessed powers was the easiest thing for you to come to terms with, probably due to your job at the CIA making it seem plausible to you that the government does hide a lot- they’re even hiding the whole science of separate timelines.  After around a year of trying and failing to find your way home, you and Five decided to ease off the vigorous schedule you unwittingly created, finding a timeline safe enough to stay in for a while allowing you both to rest and brainstorm ideas of how you could both find a way home to your families. 

You both made a mistake. Falling to know how long a while would be you find yourselves still in the timeline you chose as your ‘temporary’ home six years later. Finding each other a lot less frustrating than at the start of this. You suppose that’s an understatement as you watched Five play with your child, a girl who possessed brown hair and green eyes not too dissimilar to her father’s. It almost wasn’t fair how much her features favoured his. But, seeing his beauty reflected upon her features could never be something you would complain about. 

“Maybe if we get lucky the next one will resemble you more,” you remember his words from a few days earlier when you started to show a hand placed under your abdomen smiling as if this was the greatest gift he could ever receive. But you don’t think it would matter if this one ended up looking like their older sibling and their father. If anything you would prefer it- not that you would ever admit it.

Picking another fresh strawberry from the greenhouse of the abandoned home you now called your own. You placed it into the basket plans to make jam and jelly already filling your mind when you felt yourself begin to flush from the sweltering heat of the sun beating down upon the glass. Your skin heating up to a point of large discomfort, sweat beginning to gather at your temples. You sighed knowing that you couldn't continue to harvest anything else unless you wanted to face Five’s rath over you overheating again. 

“Mom!” Maxine ran towards you eagerly hands encircling your legs as she got close enough for a welcoming hug. She quickly looked up towards you big green eyes staring at you prettily 

“Hiya munchkin” You stroked the top of her hair as she smiled up at you with glee

“What doing?” the three-year-old questioned head titling as she waited for your response 

“Strawberries” was all you replied grabbing the basket to show her 

“Have one?” she asked pointing at the basket, batting her eyes to try to sway your decision. You simply plucked one out of the basket and gave it to her relishing in the delighted smile she sent your way before biting into the sweet fruit. You smiled at her before looking up to meet the other pair of green eyes that had made their way into the greenhouse. Five watched the interaction of his favourite girls softly only moving closer once you looked at him.

“Everything alright mumma?” he questioned noticing your flustered expression from the moment he and Maxine stepped foot in the conservatory

“A bit hot” you admitted with a shrug of your shoulders as he drew closer, trapping Maxine in between the two of you as the back of his hand touched your forehead he hummed in agreement with your words

“Let’s get you inside the house, don’t need you getting heatstroke” You forced down the urge to roll your eyes at his dramatics and simply nodded in agreement

“Some cold water and a sit down would be nice.”

He grabbed one of your hands and Maxine’s with the other leading you both back towards the house. After placing the basket of strawberries in the kitchen you quickly sat down on the couch feeling a slight ache in your feet while Five grabbed you a glass of water with more icecubes than you could even count, you smiled in thanks as he passed it to you while Maxine sat next to you, a small children book in hands that she was determined to read to you and her younger sibling as she wanted them to be just as smart as her. 

You could hear Five pattering around the house, tidying up before you could even think about it. Maxine had quickly given up on trying to read, getting bored after two pages and was instead sitting playing with some wooden blocks by your feet. You furrowed your eyebrows when you couldn’t hear Five moving around anymore a stark silence surrounding you now.

“Everything alright?” you shouted trying to figure out where he had gotten to, heart fluttering when there was no reply. Setting your glass down on the table in front of you as you rose from your rather comfortable spot on the couch, you walked into the other room where your lover was his body was stick straight, eyes not daring to leave the notebook in his hand. “What?” you questioned softly walking towards him, eyeing the words on the book as you got close enough.

“This” he began astounded “Is our way home, it’s written by me but I didn’t write this. Another me did.” you simply nodded before smiling  

“Looks like we’re going home.”

── ✧

You and Five found yourselves outside of what he assured you was his brother Diego’s house. Maxine who was resting her head on his shoulder, legs wrapped around his middle looked astounded by the snow while nerves filled you- the last time you saw any of his family was when you were put on the case that got you lost in the timelines to begin with and even then you barely saw his brothers and sister-in-law as they were quickly taken to hq for a show round to get them out of the way. You didn’t even want to think how you would explain this to them let alone to your own family but you guess this is the easier of the two as they all had powers and also been to multiple different timelines. Five set Maxine down next to you as he rapped on the door you quickly grabbed her hand before she could run off into the snow when the door opened 

“You back!” the man, Diego you assumed, smiled as he looked at Five 

“I am” he stared at his brother almost in shock that he had seen him for the first time for him in seven years

“Good” the man confirmed “We were all starting to get worried.” his eyes then turned towards you and the brunette-haired little girl who was trying to hide behind you “And you are?” he questioned and you quickly gave him your name his eyes sparking in recognition for some reason as he crouched to the ground to greet your daughter “And who is this little princess?” he asked quietly as Maxine started at him 

“This is Maxine” is all you said feeling Five’s eyes on you knowing he wanted to wait until you got inside to drop the bomb you could see Diego begin to connect the dots as he introduced himself to you but he was clearly confused because he would know if Five had a child in the last three years in this timeline at least.

“I will explain everything once we get inside- can’t let the missus get cold” is all he said to Diego as the man allowed you into his home. 

He quickly led you to the living room where to sat on the sofa, Maxine being picked up by Five and placed on his lap when she tried to climb onto yours, you turned towards him to complain but quickly stopped when you met his glower instead choosing to put a comforting hand on your tummy a habit you kept from your first pregnancy. Diego called for his wife Lila to come to sit with him when the door opened revealing more of Five’s family he whispered their names to you as they walked in all choosing to sit down when Diego told them that Five was going to explain where he’s been and why his colleague, a word you hadn’t been referred to as in a long time, was here. With most of his family here excluding Ben and Viktor, he cleared his throat to get their attention

“As you all know the marigold has made our powers a little different to what we are used to” They all made sounds of agreement “My blinking takes only to a tube station where each stop is a new timeline and we” gesturing to you “got stuck, unable to find our way back until now. We were away for seven years but for you has only been a few hours” he took their silence as a sign to continue “This is my wife” he spoke your name “And our daughter Maxine.” you sat in silence for a moment.

“Wait! This is the colleague he was always telling us about?” Luther asked excitedly you turned to the larger man confused when Klaus and Allison quickly agreed with him

“I thought he was joking when he said there was a cute girl who he worked cases with” Claire, Alison’s daughter, announced making her mother and uncles laugh

“I can’t believe you have a child” Lila spoke eyes wide

“Well he is going to have another one in a couple of months,” you told the already shocked woman who quickly smiled at the revelation while the others called out congratulations to their brother 

“How far along are you?” Allison asked as she came up to you silently questioning if she could touch the small bump you simply nodded “We think around thirteen weeks” looking to Five who simply nodded

“She only started showing a few days ago”

“I can’t believe it” Luther called out while pulling funny faces making Maxine laugh as she got a little less shy around her family.

You smiled as you watched Maxine get up and walk towards Lilas’ children playing with them as Five’s hand found its way to yours stroking your knuckles. You never thought you could ever get home let alone come back home happier than you had left it. You suppose a thanks was due to your rather irritable husband and his wacky powers.