#and then spend all my time agonizing over not being productive enough?

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Bluesky and enshittification

NEXT WEEKEND (November 8-10), I'll be in TUCSON, AZ: I'm the GUEST OF HONOR at the TUSCON SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION.

I would like to use Bluesky. They've done a bunch of seriously interesting technical work on moderation and ranking that I truly admire, and I've got lots of friends there who really enjoy it.

But I'm not on Bluesky and I don't have any plans to join it anytime soon. I wrote about this in 2023: I will never again devote my energies to building up an audience on a platform whose management can sever my relationship to that audience at will:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/06/fool-me-twice-we-dont-get-fooled-again/

When a platform can hold the people you care about or rely upon hostage – when it can credibly threaten you with disconnection and exile – that platform can abuse you in lots of ways without losing your business. In other words, they can enshittify their service:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/17/hack-the-planet/#how-about-a-nice-game-of-chess

I appreciate that the CEO of Bluesky, Jay Graber, has evinced her sincere intention never to enshittify Bluesky and I believe she is totally sincere:

https://www.wired.com/story/bluesky-ceo-jay-graber-wont-enshittify-ads/

But here's the thing: all those other platforms, the ones where I unwisely allowed myself to get locked in, where today I find myself trapped by the professional, personal and political costs of leaving them, they were all started by people who swore they'd never sell out. I know those people, the old blogger mafia who started the CMSes, social media services, and publishing platforms where I find myself trapped. I considered they friends (I still consider most of them friends), and I knew them well enough to believe that they really cared about their users.

They did care about their users. They just cared about other stuff, too, and, when push came to shove, they chose the worsening of their services as the lesser of two evils.

Like: when your service is on the brink of being shut down by its investors, who demand that you compromise on privacy, or integrity, or quality, in some relatively small way, are you really going to stand on principle? What about all the users who won't be harmed by the compromise, but will have their communities and online lives shattered if you shut down the company? What about all the workers who trusted you, whose family finances will be critically imperilled if you don't compromise, just a little. What about the "ecosystem" partners who've bet on your service, building plug-ins, add-ons and services that make your product better? What about their employees and their employees' families?

Maybe you tell yourself, "If I do this, I'll live to fight another day. I can only make the service better for its users if the service still exists." Of course you tell yourself that.

I have watched virtually every service I relied on, gave my time and attention to, and trusted, go through this process. It happened with services run by people I knew well and thought highly of.

Enshittification can be thought of as the result of a lack of consequences. Whether you are tempted by greed or pressured by people who have lower ethics than you, the more it costs to compromise, the fewer compromises you'll make.

In other words, to resist enshittification, you have to impose switching costs on yourself.

That's where federation comes in. On Mastodon (and other services based on Activitypub), you can easily leave one server and go to another, and everyone you follow and everyone who follows you will move over to the new server. If the person who runs your server turns out to be imperfect in a way that you can't endure, you can find another server, spend five minutes moving your account over, and you're back up and running on the new server:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/03/04/pick-all-three/#agonism

Any system where users can leave without pain is a system whose owners have high switching costs and whose users have none. An owner who makes a bad call – like removing the block function say, or opting every user into AI training – will lose a lot of users. Not just those users who price these downgrades highly enough that they outweigh the costs of leaving the service. If leaving the service is free, then tormenting your users in this way will visit in swift and devastating pain upon you.

That not only helps you steer clear of rationalizing your way into a bad compromise: it also stops your investors and other people with leverage over you from pressuring you into taking actions that harm your users. These devils only sit on your shoulder, whispering temptations and threats, because they think that you can make things worse without spoiling their investment. They're not cruel, they're greedy. They will only insist on enshittification that they believe they can profit from. If they understand that forcing you to enshittify the service will send all your users packing and leave them with nothing, they will very likely not force you to wreck your service.

And of course, if they are so greedy that they force your hand anyway, then your users will be able to escape. Your service will be wrecked and you'll be broke, which sucks for you, but you're just one person and your pain is vastly outweighed by the relief for the millions of people who escape your service when it goes sour.

There's a name for this dynamic, from the world of behavioral economics. It's called a "Ulysses Pact." It's named for the ancient hacker Ulysses, who ignored the normal protocol for sailing through the sirens' sea. While normie sailors resisted the sirens' song by filling their ears with wax, Ulysses instead had himself lashed to the mast, so that he could hear the sirens' song, but could not be tempted into leaping into the sea, to be drowned by the sirens.

Whenever you take a measure during a moment of strength that guards against your own future self's weakness, you enter into a Ulysses Pact – think throwing away the Oreos when you start your diet.

There is no such thing as a person who is immune to rationalization or pressure. I'm certainly not. Anyone who believes that they will never be tempted is a danger to themselves and the people who rely on them. A belief you can never be tempted or coerced is like a belief that you can never be conned – it makes you more of a mark, not less.

Bluesky has many federated features that I find technically admirable. I only know the CEO there slightly, but I have nothing but good opinions of her. At least one of the board members there, Mike Masnick, is one of my oldest friends and comrades in the fights for user rights. We don't agree on everything, but I trust him implicitly and would happily give him the keys to my house if he needed a place to stay or even the password for my computer before I had major surgery.

But even the best boards can make bad calls. It was just a couple years ago that we had to picket to stop the board of ISOC – where I had several dear old friends and comrades – from selling control of every .ORG domain to a shadowy hedge-fund run by mustache-twirling evil billionaires:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/12/how-we-saved-org-2020-review

Bluesky lacks the one federated feature that is absolutely necessary for me to trust it: the ability to leave Bluesky and go to another host and continue to talk to the people I've entered into community with there. While there are many independently maintained servers that provide services to Bluesky and its users, there is only one Bluesky server. A federation of multiple servers, each a peer to the other, has been on Bluesky's roadmap for as long as I've been following it, but they haven't (yet) delivered it.

That was worrying when Bluesky was a scrappy, bootstrapped startup with a few million users. Now it has grown to over 13 million users, and it has taken on a large tranche of outside capital:

https://fediversereport.com/on-bluesky-and-enshittification/

Plenty of people have commented that now that a VC is holding Bluesky's purse-strings, enshittification will surely follow (doubly so because the VC is called "Blockchain Capital," which, at this point, might as well be "Grifty Scam Caveat Emptor Capital"). But I don't agree with this at all. It's not outside capital that leads to enshittification, it's leverage that enshittifies a service.

A VC that understands that they can force you to wreck your users' lives is always in danger of doing so. A VC who understands that doing this will make your service into an empty – and thus worthless – server is far less likely to do so (and if they do, at least your users can escape).

My publishing process is a lot of work and adding another service to it represents a huge amount of future labor:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/13/two-decades/#hfbd

But I would leap into Bluesky and gladly taken on all that extra work, every day – if I knew that I couldn't get trapped there.

I don't know why Bluesky hasn't added the federation systems that would enable freedom of exit to its service. Perhaps there are excellent technical reasons to prioritize rolling out the other systems they've created so far. Frankly, it doesn't matter. So long as Bluesky can be a trap, I won't let myself be tempted. My rule – I don't join a service that I can't leave without switching costs – is my Ulysses Pact, and it's keeping me safe from danger I've sailed into too many times before.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/02/ulysses-pacts/#tie-yourself-to-a-federated-mast

[anthrotographer]

Challengers (2024) | A review w/ spoilers*

Tumblr is not going to like my review, I already know. I acknowledge this movie wasn't made for me, but I feel I give credit where it's due.

Last night I had a staggering movie going experience. I felt like I was being sold a lie a minute sitting through the agonizing commercials, the movie previews, and till the end of Challengers. Back to back promos for military branches, painting them as organizations of peace and innovation (a rally during war time). I understand there’s nothing new about that experience. Consumerism and propaganda tactics have a long tradition at the cinema. We’ve been advertised a false reality for so long it’s hard to think about our world without using the images fed to us to line that canvas. Take how modern horror treats rural living. It’s very common to see (in fact I saw) a movie trailer where a young couple vacations in a secluded part of the country to get away from it all. The idea of ruralism as a peaceful alternative to stressful urban living is benign and actually has some merit to think about in a country as urbanized and unhappy as ours. Yet the common movie trope is that there are evil forces lurking in the dark outskirts, that living ‘out there’ turns people into kooks or murderous cultists. One movie by itself with this premise can be harmless, but within a whole genre that trends this way it feels insidious. Almost like we are supposed to all fear each other. Challengers is another example of a genre movie that warps human reality into a lifeless opportunity to sell things. 

When a movie feels more like a commercial or a music video then why even bother with the movie going experience. The distinguishers between television and film are fading away over time. In one particularly unabashed scene we cut between three different product placements for Coke, Adidas, and the U.S. Open. It was shameless, the way Josh O’Connor was most likely told to hold that CocaCola label perfectly centered in the frame. Those three brands are far from the only ones displayed. Tennis, and sports events in general, flash a ton of advertising so I understand that the film’s stuck in that universe. Still there are ways to artfully sidestep brazen product placement. 

I don’t want to spend much time trying to analyze the relationship between Tashi, Art and Patrick. The film doesn’t give you enough about why these three are fatefully attached to each other besides vapid attractions. Yes all three are enamored by one another but what’s the motivation to stay in this toxic ménage à trois dynamic for so long? Zendaya plays Tashi, a master manipulator trying to mold her husband Art Donaldson into the star tennis player she was supposed to be before her injury. And her “little white boys” Art and Patrick feel like pawns that are content to be pawns. Men who don’t have any freewill and are solely motivated by their lust for this supermodel of a woman. In a way I don’t blame them. My disconnect comes because there’s a lack of depth with the characters and their relationships. Each of them seems to have a singular focus; Tashi wants vicarious glory through Art, Art wants to be loved, and Patrick wants Art’s life. But there is no depth to the desires. Time is never spent on why Tashi loves tennis more than people or why Art and Pat let their, supposedly strong bond, get broken so easily by a “home wrecker” that forecasted her own home wrecking. And look, as a seductive art piece it succeeds, for the most part, but as a story about real people it reduces its characters to their base desires while pretending they are complex. Maybe I don’t understand Romance—as I’ve been told. I am content to treat it as just a romantic fantasy and give it credit for being hot, but it was also a long drawn out tease. 

There was no reason for this experience to be more than two hours long! Half of it was in never ending slow-mo where I felt like the same tennis ball was being served for half an hour. The dreaded slow motion, which can be good for a sporty movie to capture athletic movements and build suspense, but here it was overused to a point where it left us thinking “get on with it already”.  Thank goodness some of my theater neighbors were also moaning about this because I felt alone, trapped in a drugged fugue state. So much of the film was disorienting. For a period you are meant to feel like a tennis ball being battered around through the camera. Editing wise this movie had the same problem that so many modern movies have; death from a thousand cuts. And the slowly unraveling chopped timeline executed so many arbitrary flashbacks and flash forwards. Eight weeks before, two days forward, then a five year flashback, all when you could tell this story sequentially with similar suspense building and less confusion. 

Seeing this movie was a spur of the moment, going in blind experience. I know now that I was not the target audience. Today I mentioned it to a friend and he ended up watching the trailer. The text I got back: “looked like a bit of a teenager movie”. I don’t mean to spoil the enjoyment for anyone with this review. From a certain angle I did have fun with Challengers. Sometimes simply devouring some eye candy is what the mood demands. 

If you found my writing at all interesting please visit and follow it on Substack!

[dangerouscommiesubversive]

I see smut prompts 👀 I will 100% understand if you don't want to do this one but honestly I think Luka should be like Marvelous but with the gorls so Luka and anyone else you wish

Hon, I need you to understand that you have the biggest brain on Earth. You'll have to accept my apology, because this is not smut in the least, but in my defense I thought of something very funny. It took all of my self-control to keep from titling this story "is ntr feminist?"

"Mm. So do you like being a treasure hunter?"

"I wouldn't call myself a treasure hunter, that implies I do it for profit. I'm a Precious recovery specialist."

Luka raises an eyebrow, leaning on the bar with her chin in her hand. "Ok, sure, recovery specialist, is it fun?"

Sakura looks thoughtful for a moment and then says, "I enjoy my work, yes. Why?"

--

Something is happening over at the bar. Marvelous can't quite tell what yet, but whatever it is, it's definitely entertaining. Luka goes on a charm offensive once in a comet's orbit, and seeing her pull out all the stops for Bouken Pink of all people is fascinating.

At the bar, Luka leans forward and rests her fingertips on Sakura's wrist, just above the band of her changer, and at Marvelous' elbow, Akashi makes a faint distressed noise before gritting out, "I'm glad they're getting along."

Eiji pats him on the arm. "So she hasn't forgiven you yet."

"I'm not entirely clear on what she's angry about, so no."

Marvelous eyes Akashi. "You and Pink are actually together?"

"I thought we were."

--

Luka's eyes light up. "Oh, so you're a rich girl."

"Despite myself, yes." Sakura tilts her head to the side thoughtfully, sips her drink. "Does that bother you?"

"Nah, I like rich girls. I thought you were a special ops type before you went into...recovery work, though."

"I like to have useful ways to spend my time. Staying at the family home and sitting on my hands never struck me as especially productive."

"Fair enough." A slow sip of golden brandy, and then Luka grins again, eyes flicking to one side briefly to take in their audience. "So what about special ops? You like that? Get any interesting scars out of it?"

Sakura's eyebrows shoot up. "So you're the kind of girl who's interested in scars."

"If they're cool, yeah."

--

Eiji's hand, Marvelous is fascinated to note, is still resting on Akashi's forearm, with the casual possessiveness that Marvelous has seen other people direct at their wallets, jewelry, and expensive firearms. He doesn't seemed bothered by the flirtation happening over at the bar--or at least, he hasn't been. Now he's sort of choking a little, and Marvelous turns to see that Sakura has grabbed Luka's chin and is inspecting her face closely.

"Luka must really like your Pink," Joe says, as Souta is reaching out to clap Eiji's shoulder comfortingly, "I saw her cut a guy's hand off once for touching her face like that."

"She's very likeable, really, once you get past the intimidation factor." Souta flashes Joe a grin. "We've been working together for years, and I don't think I've ever met anyone else who's so."

Joe waits a long moment for an answer before prompting, "So?"

"So. So. Uh. So."

Joe follows his wide-eyed line of sight to--Luka, having freed herself, leaning in close to whisper in Sakura's ear.

--

"Sooo, do I actually get to kiss you, or did you just want to get Bouken Red's attention?"

"You know, at first I was just irritated with Akashi, but I'll admit that after such an interesting conversation I'm reconsidering my plans for the evening."

--

Masumi reaches over and pinches Souta on the ear, hard. "Snap out of it."

Souta does not snap out of it. He's too distracted.

Marvelous looks from the daisy chain of agonized Boukengers at their table over to Masumi. "You don't seem distracted by the ladies at all."

"I'm gay." Masumi shrugs and drains half of his soda in one long sip. "Like, Sakura's a hell of a woman, if she asked I wouldn't say no, but mostly that's curiosity."

Nearby, Natsuki looks up from where she and Ahim are roundly beating Doc and Gai in pool and beams. "They do look nice together, don't they?"

Muted sounds of agony from Akashi, Eiji, and Souta. Gai just nods. "Yeah, it's nice seeing Luka really click with someone."

--

"Hm. What kind of plans did you have for the rest of the evening?"

Luka smiles a tiny, pleased smile. "I think that's for us to know and them to wonder about, don't you?"

--

"She is a bit abrasive usually, isn't she?" Ahim lines up her cue, shoots, and sinks two balls at once. "I wonder where they're going--oh, dear, are the gentlemen all right?"

"They'll be fine." Marvelous slings one arm around Akashi's back and the other around Eiji's, resting his chin comfortably on Akashi's shoulder. "I figure it's a learning experience."

[hersterical]

I worked a retail job at a certain American superstore that was so agonizingly boring I swear it felt like I was experiencing physical pain at times. I thought I was going to literally die of boredom. I wasn’t diagnosed with ADHD yet and didn’t know that this wasn’t necessarily a normal experience that everyone goes through (which explains a lot).

There was one day where I spent nearly the entirety of my 6 hour shift untangling this big ball of necklaces. I was hardcore hyper-focused on this task and it was the best day of work I ever had at that store because I was not bored at all. I also hyper focused on fixing this customer’s watch for about an hour while they were shopping (this job did not train us at all so I learned a lot by trial and error which was usually frustrating but sometimes fun). As a result of all this I neglected the rest of my area so it was a little more messy than usual (not by much though, and with the reputation this store has literally none of the customers would care). So at the end of my shift one of the managers came over and saw that my station wasn’t as tidy as usual. She flipped out and tore into me for five minutes after my shift was ended and refused to believe me when I told her what I spent my shift doing. She even threatened to go watch the security footage, which I encouraged her to do if she really cared about it that much because I was being honest. I truly hate being bored so much that untangling necklaces is enough to entertain me for nearly 6 hours and I literally could not bring myself to stop. When she was done yelling at me, she took all the necklaces that I was nearly done untangling, threw them into a cardboard box, which she then tossed into a trash can. I went home and had what was in retrospect probably a panic attack.

It didn’t seem to occur to her that my brain just might work differently than hers and even if it did occur to her, I doubt she would’ve understood what exactly that meant. I was confused because I didn’t understand how it could possibly be THAT unbelievable and feeling distress over the fact that I once again was unable to control myself because I was simply just the worst. Not long after this happened I began to suspect that I might have ADHD.

There was another retail place I worked at before this that was way better. It was a smaller chain store at the mall. I got to play whatever music I wanted (within reason) and I had a specific task that they wanted me to complete each shift that took up most of the time spent not helping customers. Even if that task wasn’t completed or if the store was maybe a little messy, the management was cool as long as I was doing something else productive with my time. On days where I got my assigned task done quickly I would usually just re-organize the Funko Pops again so that it actually made sense. It was so much better because they communicated their expectations clearly, trusted me when I told them what I had done, and gave me more freedom to accomplish those tasks. There were stretches of agonizing boredom, but they happened less often, lasted for shorter amounts of time, and I was able to listen to music that I actually enjoy. And it was encouraged that the customers saw me being happy and having a good time even if it was at the cost of a small degree of professionalism (it was a toys/game store and it was also encouraged that I was familiar with the products so I would also occasionally spend time playing with some of the small fidget toys and stuff in front of the customers or that they see me carrying around a stuffed animal or whatever). It was far from a perfect job but compared to the other place it was basically paradise to my stimulus seeking undiagnosed ADHD brain.

adhd is so embarrassing ur basically like “I have to have fun right the fuck now or I’m throwing myself off the roof” 90% of the time and you also have very little control over this

[lavendertowerarchives]

I seem to only be interacting with things under the guise of addictions. I mus clarify, I don't believe I am addicted to anything, but the only pleasures I gain are from engaging with the source in a depraved, desperate, and destructive manner.

I indulge in my interest to an unfortunate excess. I can't have just a little of something. It's not really a decision I make, whether to "have a lot" of a thing or only have a little. I decide to have some, and the decision to stop never crosses my mind, no matter the external reasons. Everything else becomes neglected. Day after day.

The variety of my various sources of happiness is wide enough and discrete enough that I feel comfortable saying I am not addicted to anything. If I crave something like I can't live without it, then it's the only thing I crave. Several hours later, that thing will be dead to me, whether I get it or not.

I love my partner. I spend day after day with them, only after not seeing them for even longer. There is not a single second where we are more than 10 meters apart.

I love video games. I will play them for hours on end, postponing literally everything. I don't eat, piss, respond, sleep, etc. I will accidentally or purposefully ignore dire needs of my body to the point of debilitating pain, simply because I don't see it as "important" or sometimes just not noticing how bad it is.

The same happens with writing, be it code or prose or poetry. I have a puzzle to solve, and I have the fuel for my brain to keep it occupied into the late hours of the next morning. I normally have a semi-rigid discipline for when I go to sleep. Not when I write. I know my inspiration will not return for entire agonizing days at a time if I'm interrupted for even thirty seconds.

If I talk to my friends at all (not likely), it's for hours. I will be laughing my ass off or be the most in-depth problem solver for miles around. My devotion will not wane. After the fact, I can see how problematic it might seem, to have someone so into the conversation, but it's rather difficult to contain my enthusiasm for a single person's giant donation of attention.

I've found that I have become confused about how pleasure works. This happens every so often, but I have never found a way out of it. Why do I chase these things, what is this intangible value I call "happiness?" Why does stupid shit happen when it runs out, and why does that stupid shit make so much sense to me only half the time? I must risk sounding purposefully edgy and dark, but I assure you, this is not just to grab attention or justify being bleak for the sake of being bleak:

It sounds futile. This stuff keeps going away. It leaves me at unsustainable rates. I'm spending this currency faster than I can earn it. I'm eating this food faster than I can cook it. My day isn't over yet I need it to end now. Whatever metaphor you want to use. I dunno.

Me, finding this conclusion, looks like convergent evolution. No one convinced me of this or told me this or led me to believe this. I came to it on my own. It happens to match what many other people think, but I keep other people's conclusions out of my own theories since whatever circumstances drew them to their own lines of thought are not my own.

I'm sad that I sound so stock, so... Boring. On retrospection, being boring and saying what's already been said isn't bad. I just make it seem bad since I despise using other people's work. This time, we all did different work to get the same product. I'm just doing accidental peer review. Life is fucking useless but I'll keep using it until it breaks. It seems pretty damned best up and bent right now.

Life's pretty fuckin shit right now. Even with no responsibilities, I have no energy. It turns out that the stressors weren't exactly the problem, I was just like this from the start.

[soleilnomoon]

My friend, I heard it's the cool thing to leave things in your inbox and I want to be like the cool kids so here I am. How about a scenario with Kurosaki Ichigo trying to convince S/O to ask HIM out instead of him just doing the asking out himself? It can be whatever you want it to be: comedy, romance, fluff, smut. The choice is yours *finger guns*

sora... love of my life, light in my eyes, wind beneath my wings, etc. etc. etc. u have been so patient, and i'd apologize but u already know what kind of drama this fic put me thru!!! anyway!!! this was a labor of love (as always) yk i only ever want the best for u bbgorl 🥰️🥰️🥰️

5.9k words (DONT LOOK AT ME OMG), fem reader, nsfw, 18+, mdni; there's fluff i promise (who am i), angst bc why not, mutual pining, and smut; ichigo... is a dumbass, and i like seeing him suffer; i also like seeing reader suffer; a wild orihime appears! and some other miscreants. feat. cute things like: hair pulling, slight exhibitionism (shhh), oral (m receiving), dry humping, kIsSiNg, idk alcohol but a tiny bit; ichigo is down bad ok, idk what to tell u; reader is also down bad but she thinks she's being stealthy abt it. (if u see any typos/grammatical errors shhh no u didn't)

“imprison me in your name, let love kill me.” — mahmoud darwish

&

i love you, with a touch of tragedy and quite madly.” — simone de beauvoir

SUNDAY — 12:01 a.m.

in such a vast, mostly unexplored universe — where curses and wishes exist ubiquitously, teetering on opposite ends of a complicated spectrum of morality — there is one universal truth: love is a fucking battlefield. such is the woe of one kurosaki ichigo as he navigates through the various intricacies involved with such a strong emotion. if it was up to him, he wouldn’t suffer through it — but it’s not. his heart is incredibly foolish, his mind even more so; and despite what others might think, he’s not exactly as confident in his capabilities in romance. which is why he’s resorted to mapping out different ways to get you to do the work for him.

mostly because he can’t bear the agonizing feelings that come with vulnerability. so, rather than him ask you out, he’s attempting to get you to do it instead. inspiration strikes when he’s sitting at his desk after midnight, textbooks and notebooks strewn about, his studying long forgotten. ichigo spends an hour or so mulling over the hows and whys of everything, when a brilliant idea — or, series of brilliant ideas, rather — suddenly pops into his head. tearing out a piece of paper from his notebook, he scribbles down his thoughts, as if he’s afraid they’ll leave him forever if he doesn’t find a way to hold onto them. by the time he finishes, his hand is covered in splotches of ink, but he’s satisfied with his work.

he’s not completely sure if it’ll all pan out the way he wants, but he’s willing to give it a shot.

MONDAY — 10:56 a.m

it’s out of pure coincidence that he runs into you at the convenience store. you’re in an aisle with items that are on sale — a mega sale, at that — perusing through the little tubes of lotion and hand sanitizer, admiring the cute designs on each bottle, contemplating how many to buy. he’s tall enough that he spots you before you see him — which takes a long damn time, if he’s honest — but as you busy yourself looking at different items on the shelves, he takes to watching you from afar.

there’s something frighteningly beautiful about the way you make simple things look graceful and magical. from the way you carefully drag your fingertip along the labels, admiring the designs, giggling at some cute artwork; to the way you tilt your head, confusion clouding your vision as you debate internally over which product to buy; to the way you decide to shove as many items into your basket as possible, face flushed at the impropriety of purchasing so many — but they’re on sale, so you justify your shopping before you head to the cashier.

the entire time you move around, you feel his eyes on you; while he might think he’s being stealthy, you’re very aware of his presence. and how could you not be? ichigo isn’t someone you can ignore — nor would you ever try to, he’s such a dynamic person, kind without realizing, stubborn and silly, and, more importantly, incredibly handsome. you think it’s cute how he slinks through each aisle to follow you carefully — dressed as inconspicuously as possible — ducking whenever you turn your face to try and catch him, except he’s so damn tall that he can’t really hide too well.

still, you let him continue playing his little game, and head to the register to check out. maybe he’ll eventually let you in on whatever it is he’s planning if you play along. but he never approaches you, doesn’t call after you when you leave the store, which only leaves disappointment and confusion to fester around your stomach. he curses under his breath as he watches you walk further and further away from him; he’d meant to say something, to call out to you earlier, but nerves got the best of him, and he couldn’t bring himself to do it.                                                                                             

TUESDAY — 3:39 p.m.

the library is packed, students crammed into each seat and table along the first few floors. after the fiasco from yesterday, ichigo is that much more determined to make sure that things go according to plan today. again, it’s out of pure coincidence, that he’s also at the library around the same time you are. it’s almost instinctual, the way he spots you right away; he admires the shape of your calves, the way your skirt sits snugly around your wide hips, barely reaching the middle of your thick thighs.

it’s impossible for him not to watch you, not when you pause to look around the floor for an empty seat — teeth sinking into your bottom lip, lashes fluttering every time you blink. he knows how much you hate being in crowds of people, how your focus wanes if there’s too much noise around, and how you like to be away from any sort of distraction — you’re quite the dedicated student, he supposes.

so, it’s no surprise that you bypass the floor he’s on and scurry up the stairs, hand gliding up the wooden railing; an innocuous move that has him clench the pencil in his hand tight enough to crack it. he’s suddenly hit with the desire to be a damn railing — an odd, maddening feeling as absurd as it is debilitating. he almost doesn’t hear his name being called, but he does eventually look away and he’s intercepted by orihime and tatsuki. they implore him to sit with their group to study, much to his annoyance because you’ve left his sight and now he wants to go find you.

but he’ll deal need to deal with them, first.

ichigo reluctantly agrees — only after orihime gives him a sweet, yet pleading look, and tatsuki smirks and mouthing what now, almost as if she’s challenging him to defy their request — and plops down on an empty chair. his long legs knock into the neighboring chair and his complaints are ignored by his friends.

you struggle as you lug your heavy bag upstairs to the fourth floor; it’s eerie there, much too quiet, and for some reason people stay away from it. superstitions run rampant around campus about how everyone who studies on the fourth floor happens to fail every exam and assignment. you’re not one to believe in stupid shit like that, but you do say a quick prayer before settling down on one of the lone tables in the middle of the floor. despite being relatively empty, it’s well-kept and very tidy.

sunlight filters through the thick glass of the windows, illuminating the dated furniture and archaic books that litter the bookshelves nearby. it takes a few minutes, but you set up your textbooks and notes so you can review for your upcoming exam. ten minutes pass before you groan for the fifth time and place your face in your hands. you thought that studying by yourself would give you some distance from ichigo, but unfortunately, he’s been on your mind since yesterday. you chew on your thumbnail and consider your options; for whatever reason, he’s too dense to realize that you like him, but maybe you’ll need to be more forthcoming and upfront — maybe even dangle some bait to encourage him.

WEDNESDAY — 8:12 p.m.

after your first round of exams, you invite ichigo over to your apartment for a movie — a small, celebratory break in between midterms. your argument is sound — although, he would’ve agreed regardless — and he volunteers to come with plenty of snacks. all you can do is nod, you’re much too captivated by the shape of his jaw and with how his lips stretch into a smile. absolutely infuriating. all it does is make him radiate like some damn sun god, and you’re offended by it.

and for some reason, a small flutter in your chest causes you to inhale a sharply — thankfully you’re already on your way out of the lecture hall, walking swiftly in the hopes of permanently ridding yourself of whatever this is. you spend the next few hours obsessively scrubbing and organizing your apartment; by the time ichigo arrives, you’re physically exhausted. you miscalculated quite a bit, naively thinking that a bit of manual labor would cure you of your burdensome desire. but it doesn’t. if anything, you think about him even more. how will you survive with him alone with you during the night?

he's in a similar predicament, having spent the duration of his afternoon obsessively thinking about how best to deal with you — the situation was rather stressful, and while he could just sit down and talk with you honestly, it seemed more appropriate to approach things this way instead. he’s been to your place a handful of times, and he commits just a bit more to memory whenever he can. you’re a colorful person with plants hanging and stacked around cutely; you have an affinity for cooking and have artsy pieces scattered throughout your apartment. it fits you perfectly, and he likes how much more relaxed you are whenever you’re away from campus.

“you weren’t kidding when you said bring a lot of snacks,” you say, disrupting his thoughts, voice light and melodic. you eye the bags in his hands and offer to grab a few; ichigo frowns and lifts the bags away and over your head.

“they’re not heavy,” he says gruffly. he rolls his eyes while walking around you, legs carrying him quickly to the living room. if he didn’t give himself some space, your perfume would hold him hostage again; the last time he was this close, the scent of warm apples and sweet strawberries clung to his lungs with every inhale for at least a week. if he’s not careful, he’ll willingly fall into your trap all over again.

he places the bags on the coffee table before sitting on the couch, legs spread wide as he leans back. he appreciates how comfortable it is — with cushions soft enough to easily lull him to sleep. he fights it, of course, especially when you sit down next to him, thigh casually pressed against his. you don’t seem as bothered about this as he is, and when you cross one shapely leg over the other, he covertly adjusts himself while you’re preoccupied with the tv, leisurely scrolling through the options with the remote.

if he has to pinpoint what to blame, specifically, he’ll say it’s your exposed shoulders and flimsy shorts, your round breasts that stretch out your shirt, and your continued insistence on not wearing a bra whenever you’re alone with him.

he swallows hard and reaches down for one of the water bottles he brought along with the snacks; in the middle of him chugging half of the bottle, you place a hand on his thigh and give it a squeeze. he chokes and coughs a bit, hand clutching the bottle harder than he means to, making the remaining liquid shoot out and splash onto your arm and shirt. a deep flush crawls onto his face and ears as he mumbles an apology; you press your lips together, but barely contain your laughter.

“ichigo, what the hell was that?” you’re grinning so hard that your cheeks hurt. he turns his face and wipes some water from his chin with the back of his hand. “it’s not a big deal, really.” and it isn’t. honestly. you finally pick a movie — something gory and full of suspense — and settle back next to him, body pressed closely to his. the water didn’t help, and your hand is back on his thigh, stroking up and down. you’re not sure what possesses you to do it, but the compulsion hit you hard the moment you saw him sitting on your couch. it’s a pet peeve of yours whenever people take up that much space — the habit is obnoxious and selfish — but since he looks so damn good doing it, you give him an eternal pass.

even through the denim of his jeans, he can feel the heat radiating off of your hand, especially when you brush against his bulge, making his erection that much more painful. his cock is thick and heavy, precum drips through his underwear as he clenches his jaw and inhales through his nostrils. you watch him through your lashes and rub your hand up and down his stiff length. his eyes track your movements, the way your tongue darts out and briefly runs along your lips; he’s sure he could cum just by watching you do that over and over again.

maybe he needs help, or maybe he needs to investigate your lips and tongue properly.

as if commanded by an invisible puppeteer, you lean closer and place a hand on his chest; if there was ever a moment for ichigo to act impulsively, it’s now. he tangles his fingers in your dark curls, firmly gripping, tugging you towards him. he slants his lips against yours, tongue licking inside your mouth, caressing your tongue, bringing a heat through your body, an inferno that won’t ever be satisfied. you climb onto his lap, chest heaving, mumbling nonsense like “what took you so long,” and “stop teasing me, please”, kisses growing sloppy and urgent.

whatever sliver of restraint he has vanishes completely once you grind your hips against his, that familiar ache swirling around your abdomen casts a haze over your mind, making your logic nonexistent. his hands settle on your hips, gripping them hard enough to make you gasp and whine, arousal slipping between your folds and dampening your panties. you roll your hips, slowly at first but picking up the pace when ichigo brings a hand to your ass and slaps it. the sting has you jutting your hips forward, pussy bucking against his clothed cock, moaning pathetically against his lips.

if this is a dream, please don’t wake him; there’s a low pounding in his ears, and he takes a moment to admire the curve of your round ass, cupping it playfully. your nails sink into his shoulders, and he hisses while littering kisses along your jaw and down your throat. you bite down on your lip, stifling another moan. the movie long forgotten, you let out a small squeal when he sucks on your skin — teeth and tongue marking you, goosebumps pricking your arms and legs. you know there’ll be a bruise tomorrow, but you don’t care; he can leave as many marks as he likes.

you almost tell him as much, mouth opening, words stumbling over one another. “ichigo, i—”

several loud knocks on your door — accompanied by the terribly obnoxious ringing from your doorbell — has you scrambling off of his lap, face flushed and warm. you practically sprint towards the door, although you pause to catch your breath and fix your clothes a bit. ichigo lets out a frustrated groan, arousal pummeling into him, making it hard to think straight. he hadn’t planned on moving from his spot on the couch, but when he hears multiple voices coming from the front door, cowardice wins out and he hides in your bathroom. it takes five minutes for his cock to settle down, but when he goes to join you in the living room again, several of your friends are eating and lounging around on the floor and couch.

ever the gracious host, you’re pouring drinks for everyone, only pausing when you catch ichigo watching you. already your voice is an octave too high, your panties are clinging to your pussy, damp from your slick arousal. you do your best to not make large movements, preferring to keep your thighs as close together as possible.

annoyance pricks along the back of his neck as keigo clinks shot glasses with mizuiro; he didn’t think that telling them about his plans with you would lead to everyone else showing up too. now there are plans of ordering pizza and wings, of playing drinking games. and naturally tatsuki volunteers ichigo to go pick the food up. he shoots you an apologetic look, one that you wave away noncommittally. you know it’s not really his fault, his friends are just like that. still, you make sure to keep your hair down to obscure the various marks on your skin. you frown a bit when ichigo leaves but fix your features when orihime bounces over to you.

with a tilt of her head, eyes wide and bright, clear and strangely critical, she asks, “what’s wrong?” you know she means well, but you’d rather not discuss the fact that you were seconds away from pulling ichigo’s cock out and riding him until your pussy gave out when they all decided to come over.

“hm?” you try to clear your mind and adopt a friendly smile, “nothing’s wrong, just a little tired.” it’s true, though; you really are tired. all that studying, all that obsessing, it’s bound to make a girl exhausted. you can tell that she wants to press the issue, but in typical orihime fashion, she smiles and leaves it at that. the noisiness only serves to sober you up, but you doubt you’ll be able to sate the desire that steadily keeps building inside of you.

THURSDAY — 1:43 p.m.

tatsuki drags you and orihime to the gym, claiming that running is good for the soul — or something to that effect. you vaguely remember promising her last night, after downing one too many shots of whiskey, that you’d gladly accompany her to work out. your head throbs, your hangover a reoccurring nightmare, one that seems to follow you around all day. you try weaseling out, try to flake, but tatsuki is determined and stubborn as hell. you both admire and despise her for it right now.

you take it easy and stretch with the girls, before heading towards the treadmills. what some might consider benevolence on the universe’s part, ichigo considers cruelty; case in point, the fact that you’re here in the gym, when he knows for a fact that you’re not the exercising type — you’ve blurted this out more times than he can count, which is why he remembers. he drops from the pull up bar and grabs his towel to wipe his face, chest constricting, breathing ragged at the sight of you.

in the back of his mind, he understands that your attire is practical, he’s also quickly aroused by it; your leggings cling to your legs, highlighting your curves, stretching tight around your ass. your tank top flowing, your breasts almost spilling out of your sports bra, it was too much for him to handle at once. incidentally, you feel that ichigo working out shirtless should be illegal; your throat dries as your eyes travel along his broad chest, a ravenous hunger taking hold of your senses, that bothersome ache returning as you press your thighs together. you didn’t realize you’d stopped walking to watch him, muscles firm and thick, sweat clinging to his skin.

tatsuki calls your name repeatedly, and you have to remind yourself that you’re here to exercise and not gawk. it’s then that it dawns on you, your brain will never function properly around him — now that you’ve felt him, you lack focus. his sweatpants sit low on his hips, causing you to actually lose your damn balance; it’s partially comical, but mostly pathetic when you trip over your feet and helplessly fall onto the floor. your hands ball into fists, fingers curled inward, nails leaving tiny indents into your palms. you barely feel it, though, you’re too busy trying to regulate your breathing.

“y/n are you okay?” orihime rushes to help you stand back up; your face burns and you know that if you don’t put some distance between you and ichigo quickly, you’ll end up embarrassing yourself even more.

“yep, just peachy!” the lie is flimsy and you know that she doesn’t buy it, but you’re sticking with it. the truth is just too pitiful. ichigo frowns, fingers twitching as he grips the bar harder. you’re normally not that clumsy, and he’s half tempted to go and see if you’re okay. but the girls crowd you and he knows he’ll only make things worse if he interferes. you finally find a treadmill and even though you should probably stay off of it, you decide to use it anyway. you set a decent speed and fix the incline, opting to jog until your legs give out. if you suffer one more transgression, you’ll never be able to face ichigo again. already you feel that familiar burning sensation in your thighs, but you don’t stop; you’re not sure how long you keep at it, but ichigo is long gone when your body has finally had enough.

you drink some water and try to catch your breath. your mind is buzzing; you wish it was ichigo who helped you up instead. it’s a strange thing to be disappointed about, but you can’t stop imagining his strong arms wrapped around your soft waist. a lightheaded feeling takes over, you’re not sure how much more you can take; you’re barely surviving as is with minimal interactions with him.

he heads straight for the locker room as soon as he’s done with his last rep; no amount of cold water from the shower can snap him out of the daze you put him in. everything about you is dizzying, and just remembering how your lips and hands were on him, how soft your ass was, how he was so close to sinking his cock into your pussy the night before, makes his cock hard all over again. he has enough sense to ignore it, but he saw you jogging and nearly fell off the pull up bar. you’re dangerous, that much is certain; he’s never been this captivated by a person, so it’s almost as if he’s navigating through new territory.

“fucking ridiculous,” he says bitterly and turns off the shower so he can get dressed. he knows what he needs to do, he just needs everyone in his life to stop interfering so he can properly talk with you alone.

FRIDAY — 6:15 p.m.

for whatever reason, his friends conspire together and decide to do dinner at orihime’s house. rukia and tatsuki both shoo orihime out of the kitchen, not wanting to deal with whatever strange concoction her impulses come up with. it’s meant to be a casual affair, which he reminds you again when he stops by your apartment to pick you up. ichigo raids your fridge for something to munch on while he waits, and after fifteen minutes, he makes his way down the narrow hallway to your room. the door is open, so he assumes you must be all done, walking in without announcing himself properly.

there are several outfits strewn about on your bed; after the fourth one, you huff and stomp around your room, the carpet soft underneath your feet as you try to reason with yourself. it’s really because you’re nervous that ichigo asked you to go with him — as his date. or, at least, you’re sure that’s what he meant by inviting you to the dinner. you told ichigo you wouldn’t take long, but that was clearly a lie — not an intentional one, but a lie nonetheless.

“are you still not done?” he pauses, eyes landing on your half naked body; he gets hard instantly at the sight of your soft stomach and thick thighs. you’re too focused on your current crisis that you barely register that he’s in your room as you head back into the closet to look for another dress. if he had better morals and sense, he’d leave you to get dressed at your own pace; but, unfortunately for him, his body is the worst kind of traitor. this has been the longest week of his entire life, but he’s thankful that he has you to himself again.

you put on a new dress and flip your hair over your shoulder. “help me, please.” because your arms are still sore from working out and you figure there’s no harm in asking for his assistance. his heart lodges itself in the base of his throat, hands shaking a bit — nerves or excitement, he’s not sure — but he manages to tug the small zipper up without much issue. his hands linger on your hips, cock stiff as it angrily presses against the front of his pants.

suddenly, you’re very, very aware of how close he’s standing.

he knows that if he doesn’t let go of you, he’ll feel inclined to skip the dinner altogether. but he doesn’t want to deal with the repercussions of flaking, so he decides against it. he does, however, brush his lips along the side of your neck, leaving behind a trail of slow kisses. you’re teetering over the edge, falling further under his spell as his hands roam along your body, roughly kneading your breasts over the fabric of your dress.

you test the proverbial waters and rub your ass against his bulge, which prompts him to bite your neck in warning. you let out a small yelp and softly moan his name; you end up losing more of your composure when he turns you around and kisses you. his appetite is insatiable, his kisses feverish and demanding, a frenzied whirlwind that has you unbuckling his pants and tugging his zipper down to pull out his cock.

his imagination will never compare — your hands are still soft as ever, even as they grip him eagerly, twisting while pumping up and down his length. he hisses when you rub your thumb against the tip and kisses you ardently, tongue brazen as it swirls around yours before sucking on it. you rub your thighs together, breathing unevenly, his kisses scalding and potent. you pry yourself away from him and sink to your knees, tongue running flat against his length, circling around his thick head of his cock and licking the precum that seeps out of his slit.

ichigo’s moans echo in your room, bouncing off the walls, prompting you to open your mouth so you can take in as much of him as you can. he presses a fist to his mouth when you start bobbing your head, cheeks hollowed, mouth hot and tight; you caress his balls with your free hand, enjoying the way his cheeks are flushed and the way he licks his lips while looking down at you. he doesn’t think when he grabs your head and starts fucking your mouth and doesn’t think when you hold onto his thighs and relax your jaw to accommodate for his girth.

 you can’t lie, you’ve been dreaming about this for longer than you care to admit — it’s almost embarrassing how badly you’ve wanted to have his cock in your mouth, but you never imagined that ichigo would be like this; rough, clumsy, but every bit as tantalizing as ever. you let him have his way, using your mouth and throat as he thrusts his cock deeper. you gag but maintain eye contact, tears streaming down your cheeks at the ferocity of his thrusts.

you know something must be wrong with you because your panties are soaked, the ache building from deep inside, bubbling and pushing you closer to the edge. you like this side of him, the one that’s a little unhinged and feral, a man possessed with a certain goal on his mind. he knows he should be a bit gentler, but the way you’re looking at him, like you’re more than pleased with how he’s handling you, convinces him otherwise.

“fuck,” he pants, breath coming out in shallow puffs. his phone rings, startling both of you; he wants to ignore it but has a feeling that it’s one of his friends asking for his whereabouts. he pulls out of your mouth, drool spilling down your chin. he has so many things that he wants to say to you, but none of them come to mind. you’re not ready for any of this to end, so you motion for him to pick up the phone and stroke his cock again.

he hesitates only for a moment, but you have a mischievous look on your face, and he knows better than to test your patience right now. “w-what is it?” he asks when he answers the phone, voice low and husky, a shiver sliding down your spine when you suck on the head of his cock. he clamps his mouth shut in the hopes of keeping as quiet as possible, but mizuiro sounds so concerned and keeps asking why he’s giving him one- or two-word responses. however, ichigo’s desire to fuck you is greater than his guilt; besides, he realizes, belatedly, that you want someone to catch him like this.

it's hot, he won’t lie. and he’d indulge you more, but with the way you’re stroking and sucking his cock, he doubts he’ll be able to tolerate a full conversation with mizuiro — especially as he drones on about how imperative it is for ichigo to keep his promises.

blah, blah, blah.

he cuts the conversation short, tossing the phone onto the floor behind him. he grabs onto your arm, hauls you to your feet, and his mouth is on yours again. orihime’s dinner party is the last thing on both of your minds, not when he leaves you breathless, kissing you until your lips are swollen, lipstick smeared. his hands are on the move again as he tugs your dress off of you, mouth placing messy kisses down your chest, teeth tugging on your hardened nipples before sucking on them. it’s impossible to keep steady when each ichigo’s mouth is ruining your life in the best way possible.

your arousal clings to the inner parts of your thighs, you’re practically begging him to fuck you, words barely coherent as you fuss at him, but he understands you just fine. after pulling the rest of his clothes off, he picks you up, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he holds you against the wall. if he were a better man, he’d have the courtesy to fuck you on your bed; but he isn’t thinking properly, and he’s tired of playing around. he snakes a hand lower, fingers rubbing your pussy, dragging needy whimpers out of you.

“ichigo, damn it,” your frustration is cute and he can’t help but continue to tease you. he slides his fingers into your tight, needy hole, fingers sinking deeply without much resistance.

“you’re so wet, i don’t think i need to prep you at all.” he’s impressed, actually and likes how your pussy keeps sucking his fingers back in every time he pulls them back. you buck your hips against his hand, and if it wasn’t for his arm holding you securely, you’d fall over with ease.

you can barely look at him, cheeks permanently flushed as you moan loudly for him. “that’s it,” he coaches, thumb circling around your clit, fingers scissoring roughly, “you want me to fuck you that badly?”

your eyes grow wide but you nod and breathe out a, “yes. i’ve been waiting for so damn long.” the confession surprises him, as he was under the impression that he was the only one who suffered the entire time. and, because his cock is running the show, he plucks his fingers out of you, lines his tip with your entrance and slams his cock inside. you claw at the back of his neck and all along his chest, legs trembling as his hips knock against yours roughly. nothing could prepare him for the way your plush, gummy walls suffocate him — wet and warm, a snug fit that he’ll never tire of.

you move your hips in tandem with his, matching the timing of his thrusts, as you press sloppy kisses along his jaw, nails raking down his broad back. ichigo’s hips rock forward, cock burrowing deeper with each stroke. both of you are at your limits, he knows he won’t last much longer, but he’ll try his best anyway. his pace quickens, your pussy making lewd, squelching noises, your wetness coating his cock prettily. your breasts bounce as he fucks you harder, your voice growing hoarse from how loud you are, enticing him to pound into you wildly.

he licks the base of your throat, groaning against your skin when you roll your hips, cunt full as his cock is buried to the hilt; his tip hits a spot that makes you hold onto him tighter, breathing shallow as you call out his name. he commits the moment to memory — something to look back on late at night — thoroughly enjoying how you’re writhing underneath him. he angles his hips, keeps them closer to yours, bucking against you recklessly — his cock bringing about an incurable madness that takes over your entire being.

maybe it’s because you’ve been denying yourself for so long — or maybe it’s because you’ve been teasing one another all week — but you feel as if a bit of weight has been lifted off of your shoulders. his balls are heavy, each slap against your ass makes you clench around him more. he rubs your clit, firm small circles that send tiny jolts throughout your body. your back arches as your walls spasm, fluttering around his cock, hips stuttering under his powerful thrusts. the orgasm leaves you dazed, eyes rolling back, your cunt puffy but greedy as it milks him shamelessly.

he never pegged you for a squirter, yet you keep defying his expectations. you want to bury your head underground for eternity, hating the way your orgasm has you incapacitated, slumping over him while your wetness spills onto your carpet.

ichigo keeps fucking you until his hips jerk, rhythm disrupted, cum thick and hot as it spills inside of you. he humps you lazily and you pepper his face with wet kisses, his heart leaping out of his chest as your fingers sift through his hair. both of you are sweaty and out of breath, but when you look up at him, something close to adoration flits across his face. you’re not sure if that’s a post-orgasm sort of thing, but you’ll take it for what it is.

you brush your lips against his, gently kissing him, and ask if he still wants to go to dinner. ichigo shoots you an incredulous look and you laugh in response. “okay, okay,” you pat his chest gently, “boyfriends shouldn’t look at their girlfriends like that.” you say it casually enough that it feels like a joke, but you’re too damn nervous to look at him to see his reaction.

his ears grow hot and he presses his lips together for a moment before mumbling a, “sorry, won’t happen again.” you pinch his cheek and playfully lick at his lips. a warmth travels to your chest, nestles into the crevices that line the inside of your heart, and makes you want to kiss him all over again. he takes that as a sign of forgiveness — although he isn’t actually sure if you meant it or not — and carries you over to your bed. while he initially set out to get you to confess first, somewhere along the way, his mission fell apart. still, he can’t say he’s unhappy about the outcome. and, sure, his friends might give him an earful for missing out on dinner, but he’s much more content and comfortable being with you right now to care.

[exchangestudentmicha]

Demon Headcannons for the Brothers

AKA I can’t name shit and I am a monster fucker

Also to the person who commented that my last headcannons post was for monster fuckers, this entire blog is for monster fuckers lol

Lucifer

When he’s in his demon form you may notice him puff up and shake his wings a bit, he says its to stretch his wings, but if you pay attention he doesn’t seem to do it around anyone else

He has some big ass talons that he can bring out at will, and holy shit are they SHARP. Like, you know how when a knife is sharp enough it can cut through things like cardboard with little to no effort? Yeah, they’re that sharp

His wings are exceptionally soft and have a beautiful sheen to them, he takes good care of them after all. (That is when his wings aren’t molting)

Yes, he molts. And he hates it. His wings look scruffy and they get pretty itchy, not to mention his feathers get EVERYWHERE. Like they will pop up all around the House of Lamentation for about 3 months after he’s done molting

Mammon

He doesn’t just steal actual valuables, he steals any shiny things that he likes. You’ve actually found a box full of random shiny objects in his room before. Some of them are from his crow familiars, some are just from him finding/stealing them

You’ve seen him on multiple occasions, hopping in the hallways like a crow. It usually only happens when he’s excited though

His wings are very soft, not as soft as Lucifer’s or Asmo’s, but still very soft. And he loves to wrap you in them, even if he doesn’t admit it. He will take any chance that he can find to do it.

Think I’m joking? Spend the night in his room once. If you wake up before him you’ll find that his wing is draped over you like a blanket. And if he isn’t in one of his tsundere moods, you may find him wrapping you up in his wings when he hugs you. (This boi loves you so damn much just hug him)

Levi

He does the snake tongue thing when in his demon form, and yes, he adamantly denies that he does, but you’ve seen him do it multiple times

Speaking of snake stuff though, yes, he can unhinge his jaw. He did it once to eat a taco in the middle of a raid that he was playing through with some of his friends. You still can’t decide if it was horrifying or awesome (or for my monster fuckers like me out there, arousing)

He has venom that he can control whether to inject it or not, its a mix between a neurotoxin and a hemotoxin. So when you’re injected with it your blood starts clotting as you suffocate to death from your muscles not working

Levi does shed his skin every now and then, and he HATES it since he’s usually confined to his tank for a couple days to help him shed and his skin gets all tight and itchy before it happens

Satan

Has hissed at Lucifer at least once in front of you

He doesn’t really show off many horse traits (or more unicorn traits) for his symbolic animal being a unicorn, instead he just acts like a cat

Like, fully a cat.

The only person that he constantly likes affection from is you, with his brothers, depends on the hour, just like a cat. Also, you could’ve sword you’ve seen him cleaning himself with his tongue before, he denies it whenever you ask however

Also, he can breathe green fire. He doesn’t do it much however. It only really happens when he’s exceptionally angry. Like Lucifer did something to piss him off, Mammon stole a magic tome of his that’s from like 1000 year ago and is now irreplaceable, and Levi is playing his video games so he can’t download Ebooks all in the same day angry. Its pretty hard to get him that angry, but when he does you’ll see green fire come from his nose (and see him destroy the House of Lamentation) Its one of the few times that not even Lucifer will confront him

Asmo

He glows under UV light in his demon form, just like scorpions. Y’all found out when you found a video of a person finding scorpions with a blacklight and tried it on Asmo. He now shows it off at any party he goes to

He does actually have a scorpion tail, he just doesn’t bring it out much though.

He does have venom he can use with his scorpion tail, its a mix between a neurotoxin that paralyzes you and an extremely powerful aphrodisiac

In fact, his venom is used in a popular aphrodisiac sold on Akuzon, just with the neurotoxin removed

His charm is ridiculously strong, like, he can probably get nearly anyone to do whatever he wanted, but funnily enough he doesn’t usually use it that much for nefarious means. In fact, usually the worst that he does with it is help his brothers with pranks. He doesn’t see a point in using it to get the people he wants, his looks and natural charisma usually work just as well for that stuff.

Beel

Dude has tried eating at least one of everything in the Devildom, and I don’t just mean food. Remember the pillar incident? Or the Little Ds in Levi’s game? Yeah those are nowhere near the oddest things he’s shoved into his mouth. There’s a reason why Asmo doesn’t buy fruit scented products after all

He does actually have a tail with a stinger on it, its just usually retracted so you don’t see it since its hidden under his jacket

Just like his buggy and snek brothers he has venom as well. It’s technically not as bad as his brother’s venom since it won’t directly kill you, but since it causes pure, agonizing pain, its still not fun at all. But thankfully, just like Levi, he can decide whether to inject it or not. Which is good since his stinger also doubles as an ovipositor

His tongue is really long, like it can extend up to a foot long and is actually a bit rough, do what you please with this information, I know I will ;)

Belphie

His eyes glow in the dark. And you didn’t know until you woke up in the middle of the night and saw a pair of glowing magenta eyes staring at you

He can actually float through using his magic, in fact, he sometimes does it in his sleep, and yes that means you’ve walked into his room and seen him sleeping on the ceiling. He just usually doesn’t float because he’s too lazy

Beel’s and Belphie’s link is honestly kinda crazy. Usually its pretty tame, but sometimes it can border on freaky. They can usually have a rough guess on what the other is feeling, they can feel if something is wrong with the other, and you swear, they always seem to sneeze at the same time.

Just like his brother (and just like a cow tbh) his tongue is also kinda rough, but nowhere near as long as Beel’s

[4joonkookie]

27 Candles

💜 Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

💜 Words: 3.5K

💜 Summary:

A 12 hour diary of Namjoon’s 27th birthday.

💜 Tags/Warnings:

Smut, angst, breakup, DaddyJoon, Dom/sub, Daddykink, collars, Daddy/Babygirl, birthday sex, breakup sex, makeup sex, blindfolded sex, butt play, rough sex, spanking, riding, grinding, dirty talk, back scratching, fluff, Happy Birthday to the only man I’d call Daddy, not beta read, wish I had more time.

2:30 PM

After spending hours agonizing over your approach, you call Namjoon to wish him a happy birthday. It’s been a while since you’ve heard his voice. The low rumble sends vibrations through your body.

“We should celebrate,” you insist, exposing your ulterior motive.

“What do you want to do?” he muses.

You're quiet for a while, then take a deep breath.

“It's your birthday. I want you to tell me.”

The request is bold, but subtle enough. He lets out a low laugh, a knowing one, and clears his throat.

“Yeah?” his voice lowers, probably in an area with others. “You wanna be my good girl? Be good to me?”

“Yes,” you reply, just as low though, no one is around you. “I want you to have what you want for your birthday.”

Arousal pools in your belly while you fidget with your nervous hands.

“I like that idea,” he hums. “So I'll come by the apartment when I'm done?”

“No,” you assert, disrupting your compliance. “Can I see your new place?”.

He’s had his own place for over a month now but the place you shared is still “the apartment”.

“Sure, there’s not much there. It’s basically empty,” he replies.

You assure him that's just fine. Adjusting to living in “the” apartment without him has been hard enough. A new, less familiar place might make it easier. A place not-so-lived-in.

A place he can’t leave you again.

He’s quiet for a long time again before speaking.

“Is this a good idea?” he asks, in the exhale of a heavy sigh. His tone has changed, reality settling in.

“No,” you confirm, shaking your head although you’re alone.

The line is hushed, again. The silence is heavy with all of the unspoken “I miss you”, “I need you”, “something is missing without you”.

You both know where this goes, neither having the strength to step away.

3:37 PM

When the elevators open to his apartment corridor, there is a young woman kneeling at the door. Heart pounding, you walk slowly, keeping your head down and avoid eye contact altogether when she stands and begins to walk toward you. You quickly turn your head and breathe a sigh of relief to see her disappear behind the elevator doors.

A decorative basket sits at the front doorstep. You snatch it up, enter the lock code quickly and shut the door behind you.

The basket holds a bottle of champagne on dry ice. Also, a pair of lace panties. Two fixture items, surrounded by decorative flowers, candies and a notecard.

The note is a handwritten message about missing Namjoon on his birthday and a promise of wearing the panties “next time”; a drawn heart and scribbled name.

You open the champagne, chug from the bottle and toss the rest to the trash, attempting to discard the jealousy panging in your gut.

The breakup was two months ago. You hadn’t exactly agreed to “be friends”, it just happened. Though, you haven’t seen each other in person since he moved his things out.

You take in the view of the place. It’s enormously empty. The refrigerator and cabinets are empty, a layer of dust covering the bottom of the inside. A laptop and recording equipment are the only things set up in the living room alongside a couch. The Bedroom has no walls and sits on a raised platform in the living room, a total bachelor pad. Condom wrappers lay on the bedside table near the unmade bed. The bathroom counter, cluttered with his products and potions. You pick up the bottles one by one, searching for what’s new about him. Finally, the closet. You choose a shirt and to put on and discard everything else.

Your phone buzzes, Namjoon saying he’ll be there in about an hour. It’s sooner than you thought but you order groceries anyway. It always takes longer for him to get home than he says.

“Home.” You think. This isn’t home.

4:58 PM

Surprisingly on time, he arrives carrying handfuls of delivered bags.

“You bought groceries?” He uses his foot to close the door behind him.

“Yes,” you reply, removing bags from his hands. “Why don’t you have groceries? Just hire someone to do it.”

“Why hire someone when you’re willing to do it for me?”

“I didn’t,” you banter. “I hired someone to do it.” You shrug.

You close the refrigerator behind you. His phone starts to ring, he silences it.

“Where did you get champagne?” He questions.

When you casually mention the name of the woman who signed the card, he stiffens. Checks his phone, frantic.

“You talked to her?” He remains calm, but you can tell he’s uneasy.

“Yeah, I ran into her dropping this off on my way in. She’s sweet,” you string him along, feeling a little bratty “She said she wishes she could’ve seen you on your birthday.”

He gives you a long look and you hold his gaze.

“Liar!” he laughs, approaching you. His demeanor is calming, his smile relieves something in that “something is missing” category.

“How do you know her name?” He asks curiously.

You stall, not wanting to admit your resentful gesture.

“Oh there was a note, I must’ve misplaced it,” you say, appearing (hopefully-to-be) absent-minded.

He reaches a hand to peek in the trash can. Before he can, his phone rings again. He silences it immediately.

“Is that her?” You ask, casual, distracting.

He shifts uncomfortably but is honest. “We were going to meet up today. I cancelled.”

You tilt your head. “You said you didn’t have plans.”

“I didn’t,” he says plainly.

You hide a shy smile, briefly ducking your head. “And if I hadn’t invited myself over?” you tease.

“I’d be wishing you had.” He gets closer and a familiar electricity buzzes through you. He rests his hands too comfortably on your back, pulling you in, hugging you too tight, smelling your hair.

“I missed you,” He nuzzles his cheek to yours, brushing against you. The moves are slow, requainting.

His lips press against yours and you feel yourself slipping back into him. You try to shake off the feeling, remembering what you discussed on the phone.

“So, what do you want?”

He follows along, seemingly eager to take the edge off of these heavy feelings for a while too. He guides you back to the wall.

You can feel the undertones changing. His gaze darkens, your body being enclosed in his arms.

A hand moves to your bare neck, strokes the soft skin. Your heartbeat quickens. After some back and forth, you ultimately decided not to wear the collar. Not his to claim anymore, anyway. He silently acknowledges the absence of it and moves to your waist.

“It was very rude of you to throw away my things just because you’re jealous.”

“Not jealous,” you pout, and his lips drag against your neck. He bites down at your words causing you to gasp. He pins your hands above your head, against the wall while continuing work on your neck.

“Say it,” he chides. “Tell me how jealous you are that someone else can be good for me.”

Your blood boils, thinking of the woman at the door, condoms on the nightstand.

“And how many good girls do you have?” You query, calmly.

He squeezes your wrists above you. “Say it. And I'll tell you.”

You sigh heavily and give in. “Ok, I’m jealous, you admit.

He giggles between kisses on your skin. “I know.”

“So? How many?” Not giving in to his touch yet, still wanting to know.

He shrinks the grip on your wrists to one hand and uses the other to brush a finger against your lip.

“There are many girls who are good to me but I have only one good girl.”

He releases your wrists and your lips crash together, tongues passing sloppily. You drink each other in after months apart.

“Don’t move,” he instructs, and pulls away. You stand still, watching him disappear into the bedroom. He quickly reemerges with hands behind his back.

“Turn around,” he says, before he can make it all the way back to you.

Without hesitation, you turn and place both hands on the wall, bracing yourself. You feel his presence behind you and it all goes black. A silky fabric drapes over your eyes, a knot being tied just behind your head.

You reach behind yourself to grab at him. “What are you doing?!” The sudden darkness is startling, shocking.

He wraps arms tight around your body to still you.

“Shhh….,” he soothes. This is what I want.” A hand slides beneath the hem of your panties, circling fingers at your wet center, free arm holding you tight to his chest.

He raises his fingers to your lips, offering a taste of yourself.

When you release his fingers, he loosens his grasp on your body and grips a hand at the back of your neck. You straighten up on two feet.

“Walk,” he demands.

After walking a ways, your back hits the mattress.

You can’t see him but his hands are hot on your skin, traveling in unseen paths. You can hear your breath, loud. The quiet in the room is loud.

It’s dark, but the fear begins to fade. All other senses are heightened.

There is a sense of right with his hands on your skin again, lips on yours again, his scent filling your nostrils again, feeling his weight above you again.

He drags his tongue slowly down the center of your body, between your breasts, over your navel and fastens his mouth to your center making you squirm as he sucks below, arms hooked around your thighs.

He licks lovingly, skillfully, and pulls away too soon. He pulls you up by your arms and guides you to sit up.

“Show me what a good girl you are?” he whispers above you. The whisper is crystal clear, echoing in your ears.

You nod into the darkness and hear him removing clothes. Cock free, he pushes the tip to your lips and pushes in slow, to the back of your throat, holding himself there.

“No hands,” he warns. He slides out just as slowly and you do your best to control your gags.

He pushes in again, too quickly and deep. You pull away, coughing and trapping his shaft with your hand.

“No.” he pushes your hand away. He grabs your chin, prying your jaw open and pushes in again. Drool spills and tears moisten the fabric over your eyes. He grabs the back of your head and pushes it flush against his pelvis, no room for grabby hands.

You choke and back off of it, using both hands this time to remove it. You cough when he pulls out, a string of saliva still connecting you.

It’s been a while since you've done this but somehow, it’s more difficult because you can’t see.

“Bend Over,” he growls.

You turn over and feel the familiar caress over your cheek before he moves, muscle memory. He lays a hard smack and you moan, spine lighting up. You smile gleefully to yourself. A familiar warmth overtakes you.

“You’re out of practice,” he taunts, “Need to remember how to behave.”

Another hit, and you cry out again. Spanks, all the more exciting and titillating behind a blindfold.

“You want to give Daddy what he wants, you said?” you hear his voice from behind you.

You nod, zoned in on your lack of vision.

You don’t sense the next hit coming, it’s so much more intense. You’ve been punished for not using words. Without hesitation, they come spilling out.

“Yes, Daddy.”

This.

This was definitely missing. Not so much that you need to be punished but that you want to be tamed.

And no one does it like him.

He slides two fingers into you from behind. You moan and buck back, bouncing on his fingers.

He leans down to lap you, licking up from your pussy and his fingers up to your ass, prodding his tongue inside the tight muscle.

He moves away and you hear the click of a bottle. Cold lube spills over your exposed skin.

Two fingers still in your pussy, He gruffly pushes a third to your bum, pouring more lube with a free hand. He pushes to the webbing of his hand and holds it, giving you time to adjust.

“Good girl loves being filled up, huh?”

You nod before catching yourself. “Yes, Daddy.”

He adds a second finger inside, two in each opening now, scissoring and stretching you open.

You sob, everything feeling that much more intense and full in the dark.

He pulls his fingers out of your body with a lewd pop.

“Are you ready to try again?.”

“Yes.” Something clicks in your mind and has your body assuming the previous position.

The shock of the sensory change and overwhelming emotion before had you too frantic, unable to focus.

Now, bridled in just the right way, he pushes into your throat with no objections from your body, only eager acceptance.

He begins thrusting at the back of your throat. You relax your jaw and control your gags. The darkness isn’t so startling anymore. It helps you focus on controlling your muscles, a meditation almost. You grip the sheets to keep your hands away.

He pulls out and you try to even your desperate breath, swallowing pooled saliva.

He tests your compliance, pushing to the back again, using two hands to hold your head down, letting your face slide off silently.

“There she is,” he strokes your hair as you wipe your mouth. “There’s my good girl.”

The praise fuels you, feeling pleased and settled.

He turns you over again and slides inside right away, slapping hips against you. You whimper and move your body with his.

You nearly ascend when he pushes his index finger into your stretched ass while still thrusting inside.

His cock thrusts against your g spot and presses against his finger behind your walls.The repeated pressure on both sides makes your knees shake. The sound you make is almost primal, body falling limp, spiraling through an orgasm.

He frees his hands and pushes your shoulders flat to the bed to slam inside. You lay, boneless as he grunts and growls through his own orgasm.

Falling beside you, he removes the blindfold and gestures for you to lay on his chest.

He pets and strokes the places he’s left marks. He slides his thumb along your worked jaw.

You didn’t realize how badly you’ve missed this feeling of safe, being claimed again.

8:09 PM

Limbs draped together laying on the bed, Namjoon carries on about his most recent lyric-writing.

Words, spilling out a mile a minute, eyes focused outward, trying to find a lyrical solution by talking aloud.

You study him, just as you always had. The same ,familiar motions and conversation but a different background.

It’s unmistakable.

It’s not any particular location that’s “lived-in”. This place echoes with empty and still smells of fresh paint.

It’s the relationship, the vibes. You and Namjoon are lived-in.

His voice, his touch. You know it’s everything you need but know it won’t last. You broke up for a reason, a dark cloud lingering over your temporary reconnection.

You try not to think of it, letting this temporary elation carry you both to the point where you must eventually take stock of what’s happening and acknowledge that you’re worse together, no matter how good it feels right now.

Despite your silent spiral, he continues talking, unbothered. You watch him, endeared, absorbing every morsel of himself he has to offer before you part again.

Eventually, he catches himself. “Sorry, should I stop?”

You climb on top of him and snag the nearby blindfold. You playfully spread it over his mouth and a giggle erupts from underneath. You slide it up to his eyes, mimicking your position from earlier. He inhales sharply and smiles.

You take his earlobe into your mouth and suck marks to his collarbone, not caring of the consequences. He doesn’t stop you, hissing and grabbing at your hair.

You relish In taking him like this, the breakup, giving you freedom to reciprocate this notion and him, the freedom to surrender to it.

You lean down and graze your teeth over his nipples, a secret sensitive spot.

He gasps and lets out a whimper. It was beautiful. You chase it again, sucking and blowing cold air over them.

Still naked, you grasp the shaft and wrap your pussy over him, eyes rolling back at the pleasing friction.

You slide up and down, chasing the high.

He’s moaning in a way you’ve never heard, the intensity of not having vision.

Still above him, you plant a foot on the ground and slide his length inside of yourself.

Your hips move above him, slowly at first. You watch him, every pant and bead of sweat dripping. You get to see him in a way you couldn’t if he could see you back.

Soon, it feels too good, dick rocking right on your spot, fast and deep. He moves his hips faster below you, a signal to speed up.

You rock back and forth, squirming and squelching on his cock, feeling a little freer that he can’t see you, but only feel you so intensely.

He sinks and drags fingernails down your back with a hiss and a moan. He keeps his nails buried in your skin and holds your hips down.

“Fuck,” he pants as you pull the blindfold loose to see him come.

His hands grab yours and you use your laced hands to brace yourself, squeezing fingers tight when you both come.

It feels like an official reuniting, coming together again. Having more even ground this time, just experiencing this together.

Now, all is right again. Doubt, drowned just a bit longer.

11:51 PM

You’re in a marathon of a conversation, catching up on the last few months.

You laugh and talk and joke, just like old times. He grabs you by the waist.

He kisses you. Long and full of expectation.

“Just remind me why.” He exhales and pushes his forehead to yours.

“No, Joonie, we can’t do this_” You feel thorns grow on your skin and try to push away.

He doesn’t remember yet. This is a beaten path. As much as you missed the four walls you shared, by the end of it all, it was suffocating. Walls, closing in.

“Please,” he pleads. “Because i’m looking at you and we’re here talking and kissing and fucking, perfect as it always was and I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why we’re not together.”

You shake your head as tears burn at your eyelids.

“No, Namjoon, we cannot have this fight again…” you try to free yourself again. There’s so much more to it all than sex and conversation.

“Who’s fighting?”

“You know why we’re not together,” you argue. It was bad for a long time. We fought and fought_…”

“Maybe we didn’t try hard enough,” he interrupts.

You look at him, shake your head.

“I did.” Tears falling freely now. “We can’t see each other anymore. It’s not fair. Not to either one of us.

You laugh to yourself. “We both knew it was a bad idea. We knew we’d end up right back here.”

“And where is that?” he asks, soft tears spilling from his sharp eyes.

You don’t answer. Just offer a weak smile as you quickly dress.

“Happy Birthday.”

And just like that, it’s all over, 2 strokes to midnight.

12:13 AM

You turn on the lights to “the” empty apartment and intentionally don’t look around. Any progress you had made at making the place feel like just yours are back at square one.

Your body is heavy with regret, can’t believe you let yourself drown in him again.

You crawl under the covers and wait for it to be just not so hard, back turned away from the side of the bed that feels so devastatingly empty.

2:30 AM

You stir awake from a noise at the door. The knock sounds again, waking you completely.

You sleepily drag yourself to the door.

There he stands, eyes swollen, looking lost and vulnerable.

You stare at each other in the doorway, unable to tell if there are a million unsaid things being spoken or just emotions spilling sloppily around with no rhyme or reason.

The same electricity fires inside. Even though you can’t remember what you said when you left.

The only thing you can remember right now is how right it is that he’s here. And how wrong it was when he was gone, and how empty his side of the bed is.

You extend your hand out, inviting him in. He looks for a long time and finally accepts. You shut the door behind him, locking you both back into those four walls.

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twelve

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: this took so long bc ive been reading chain of iron and in general agonizing over things i cant control instead of being productive 🥴 that being said, absolutely none of the events in this chapter were planned in my outline, but here we are with something new!

***

December brings more snow and bone chilling weather, to the point where Cassian has to drag Nesta out of bed, either physically or by phone call, to get her to therapy appointments on time. 

She’s in the waiting room one freezing morning when, in her utter boredom, she musters up the nerve to turn to the girl sitting next to her. “What are you in here for?”

The girl blinks her large blue eyes, taking notice of Nesta for the first time. Nesta uses the opportunity to take in her freckle-painted face, a little wan but beautiful. Reddish brown hair hangs around her face and shoulders, creating a thick curtain from the rest of the world, and Nesta’s curiosity piques like she’s just found a shiny new toy.

It probably isn’t right to compare people to toys, but then the girl says, “This isn’t prison, you know.” Her voice is deep, almost sultry— completely at odds from her huddled-in posture and sickened expression. “I didn’t commit a crime to have to be here.”

Is she insulted by Nesta’s question, or is she poking a joke? Nesta decides to play it safe by murmuring, “Sorry, never mind.”

She starts to turn away when the girl says, “We’re trying a new type of trauma therapy today. I had to get here half an hour early because I couldn’t swallow my nerves.”

Nesta might lack many social skills, but she isn’t stupid enough to ask what kind of trauma the girl is being treated for. Instead, she nods casually as if she understands the struggle. “I’ve been coming here for weeks now and I’ve barely discussed shit. That’s mostly on me, but you know…” She actually doesn’t know where she’s going with her train of thought. “It sounds brave to do whatever you're doing,” she states finally. “I don’t think I’ll be able to open up that much about myself, ever.” 

The girl gives Nesta a weird look that she immediately recognizes. Nesta uses it every time she doesn’t know how to respond to someone who takes her by surprise.

The door to Lana’s office clicks open, and the woman herself pokes her head out with a plain smile. “Ready, Nesta?”

Nesta bites down on her frown. She has a feeling today won’t be as easy as her past sessions.

She’s about to leave without another glance at the girl beside her when that low voice speaks up. “I’m Gwyn.”

Nesta looks back at her as she gets up from her chair, and says the first reply that comes to mind: “Good to know.”

***

Nesta is contemplative hours after she gets back from her therapy session, bundled up in her bed with a coloring book. The repetitive motion of filling in the mandala drawing lets her mind wander, picking up and dropping different thoughts like she’s inspecting stones. 

She keeps her wrist light as she colors in with red. She finally said Tomas’s name in therapy today, though the action left a slimy feeling in Nesta’s stomach that lingers even now. She also spoke about her sisters, which somehow ended up leading to a discussion of her uterus. 

“How have you been dealing with the endometriosis news?”

Nesta shrugged. “I’m getting treated, and my last period was more bearable than usual—”

“I mean mentally, how are you doing? With how your condition could affect your future?”

Nesta narrowed her eyes. “Affect me how?”

“Have you never considered the impact it could have on your ability to bear children?”

“Not everything in life is about bearing children, you know.”

“We’re humans. It’s definitely something to consider.”

“Not for me. I’ve never wanted kids.” A mistruth at best. “I don’t care what endo does or doesn’t do to me on those grounds.”

In a way, Nesta told herself, the health risks were actually for the best. If she ever did, by some stupid loss of sanity, try to have children, then her body would act as a safety net from her decisions.

Lana only said, “You’ll never know how much you care or don’t care until you talk out your feelings.”

“Then I guess we’ll never know.”

Nesta lets the memory of that conversation drop like a stone on a shore. That’s not something she has to face for a good long while. No, right now she has to face her past. 

Her sisters, and her ex, and even her father— 

I wonder if I came off too strong with Gwyn today. 

Her hand stops drawing, and she switches out her red marker for an orange one. This thought she doesn’t mind inspecting for a little longer: she and Gwyn ended up leaving their sessions at the same time, which meant they were forced into stilted conversation on the way down to the parking lot. 

Not forced, Nesta self-corrects. She willingly initiated a conversation, and it didn’t go terribly. She wonders if making friends in therapy waiting rooms is a real thing.

Her phone vibrates beside her, breaking her hours-long mental bubble. Blinking dazedly, she answers the phone call.

“How are you?” is the first thing Cassian says to her. He makes sure to ask her that at least twice a day, like a gauging of her temperature. It makes Nesta wonder what she’s ever done in her life to call for such… attention to her well-being. 

“I’m good,” she answers honestly. “My head’s a little loud right now, but I don’t mind it.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“No, I’d rather hear you talk.” She slumps back against her pillows, coloring book forgotten. “What’s up?”

“Ah...” Cassian sounds hesitant for the first time since their relationship started. “It’s just that I haven’t gotten my Christmas decorations up yet, and I was going to ask if you wanted to help.”

Nesta takes a moment to absorb his words. “It’s December fifth,” she says.

“Yeah?”

“You just seem like somebody who does their decorations the day after Thanksgiving.”

“Well, this year is a little different, with you moving out and being busy with school…” He pauses. “I was waiting to do it with you.”

When she doesn’t reply, Cassian adds, “I don’t even know if you care about Christmas. I know you and your family sort of ignored holidays. It’s fine if you don’t want to—”

“I’ll be over right now,” Nesta blurts. 

Half an hour later, Cassian swings open his door with a smug grin on his face; a vast difference from the stammering hesitance he displayed over the phone earlier. Nesta’s own lips want to pull up into a smile just at the sight of him, but she holds back and narrows her eyes instead. “What’s got you so worked up?” she questions as she steps into the warmth of the cabin and out of the freezing cold.

“The way you ran over here as soon as I asked.” He looks her up and down, still amused. “You didn’t even bother to change, did you?”

It’s true: she’s in the same sweatpants and long sleeved tee she wore around home, and her socked feet are shoved into slippers. 

“Get that smirk off your face.” Nesta flicks his nose before tossing her coat off. “If this is a competition about who’s got a bigger puppy-crush for whom, you already won when you delayed putting up your Christmas decorations for me.”

“Fair enough,” he grins. The words send an unexpected pang through Nesta, because it’s partly true, isn’t it? He cares more openly for her than she does for him. 

She looks away in guilt, not knowing how to fix the imbalance. Her eyes land on the living room coffee table, where their half-finished jigsaw puzzle sits. It’s been stored under the couch for the past few weeks, forgotten by Nesta and Cassian alike as they moved on with their lives, but now it’s sitting out again.

“Have you been working on the puzzle without me?” She raises an inquisitive brow, about to feel— hurt.

“Never,” Cassian promises, saving her from that irrational hurt. “I just brought it out because I figured we should get to finishing it one day.”

She pads over to the table, picking up a puzzle piece and turning it over in her hand. “I don’t know if you remember, but we had a terrible time working on this,” she scoffs lightly.

“Oh, I remember,” he says, coming up behind her and stealing the piece from her grasp. “I think it’s safe to say those evenings were the worst fights we’ll ever have together.”

Nesta leans back against Cassian’s chest and hums. “It made us a stronger couple, don’t you think?” She turns her head up and back to meet Cassian’s eyes, finding that he’s already looking down at her.

Hypnotized, she leans into his warmth. She only manages to land the smallest kiss against his lips when his hand squeezes her ass cheek. “You’re here for a job, remember?” He taps her butt before pulling away, gesturing to the Christmas tree in the corner of the living area with his chin. It stands bare. “You do tinsel, I’ll do lights.”

Tinsel is harder to work with than Nesta remembers. She only manages to get half the tree done before plopping onto the Persian rug, exhausted and covered in silvery material. She doesn’t mind laying there while Cassian continues working; it’s her revenge for when he napped on her bed while she moved in.

“You know the stair railings still need to be wreathed, Archeron.”

Nesta declines to respond, tilting her head on the carpet for a better view of her boyfriend’s ass instead. “All this decorating,” she starts. “Is it just for you?”

Cassian turns to her, surprised. “Well…”

She pushes up onto her elbows, catching her mistake. “Are we doing Christmas together? Or are your friends coming over?” She hasn’t bothered to celebrate Christmas in years now, and she doesn’t care much what Cassian’s plans are either way.

“I was hoping for both?” He sounds hesitant. “Christmas Eve is all the way over in Velaris, but I was thinking we could go together, open some presents, and come back and spend Christmas here.”

Nesta purses her lips. She doesn’t actually hate that plan. Both Feyre and Elain have been pestering her with the annual texts asking her to visit for Christmas, and for once, she feels like responding to them. The invitation is more of a formality than an actual request at this point; she doubts her sisters want her there after years of rejections, but… what’s the harm?

“Is that a yes?” Cassian asks at her unreadable face.

“Yes,” she states unflinchingly. She refuses to overthink the possible consequences of this choice and chooses to focus on the broad grin overtaking Cassian’s face. “Really?” he says.

“But there has to be rules.” Nesta sits up fully now. “No one can know we’re together, no matter how much you trust or love them.”

“We already agreed to that, baby.”

Yes, but Nesta knows the secret weighs on him heavier than he shows— even if he agrees with her that it's for the best. “It’ll be different when we’re together in the same room as everyone else,” she says. Cassian wears his beating heart on his sleeve, and she doesn’t think he’s ever had to hide it before.

“You’ll also be different,” she adds. “It’s a huge change of pace.”

Cassian drops the remaining strand of lights and smiles confusedly down at her. “What do you mean, I’ll be different?” He sits across from her, before the blazing fire. 

“You know how you get around your friends.” Nesta shrugs without a thought. “Like your personality readjusts to mirror the people around you. I used to find it a mix of sad and adorable, like a neglected puppy desperate for love, but now I— okay, I still feel the same way.” She waves a hand in a dismissive gesture.

By the look on Cassian’s face, he does not find her words so easily dismissed. 

Coldness curdles in the pit of Nesta’s stomach, the realization that she’s said something wrong. She can’t fix it until she knows where she fucked up, though.

“Is that what you think of me?” Cassian finally says lowly. His usually expressive mouth is drawn tight and narrow. 

“Um… What would you rather I think of you?”

His eyes widen in disbelief. “Seriously, Nesta?”

Nesta’s back stiffens, refusing to cower. “I only described what I’ve observed in the past.”

“And what you observed was a desperate puppy?” His voice is cold in a way she’s never heard before.

Okay, she’s starting to see how that might be offensive. She forges onward, “Tell me what you think about yourself in the presence of your family, then.” It’s a private victory that she says family instead of clown circus. But she’s not trying to turn this into a fight.

Cassian is silent, but his stare continues to rage at her.

“Tell me,” Nesta repeats.

His hands curl into fists on the rug. “I think I’m empathetic, easy to talk to, and easier to be around. Is it a problem if I’m likable?” Unlike you are the unsaid words.

Nesta inspects the space between them like it’s a chessboard. “And what part of yourself are you giving up to be so likable, Cassian?” she says quietly.

“Nothing.”

Nesta disagrees, if only because she’s been watching him out of the corner of her eye for years. “I think you base your personality off of those you love, and you lose a little bit of your true self every time you put others’ needs before your own.” 

She shuts her mouth, not having expected such honesty to come out of it. Cassian is taken aback, too, she can tell.

“And I guess it’s natural that you’d see all of that as a bad thing, considering your history of being closed off and self-serving to a fault,” he fires back with the flatness Nesta utilizes so often.

One for one. Fair enough. “We’re both right then,” Nesta says. “You work for your best friend because you have no ambition beyond serving your family, and I have no such family because I can’t bring myself to care about those things. Are we even now?”

Cassian furrows his brows, those defensive walls melting away as he realizes she’s completely serious. “What? No, Nes—” He shakes his head. “Okay, so maybe you’re right about me. Maybe I agree with you a little bit, but… If we see flaws in each other, then we should be working to overcome them instead of weaponizing them.”

Now Nesta’s the one shaking her head, quickly lifting a hand to stop him. “Relax there, sweetheart. I have no expectations from you or myself to go on some self-improvement journey now that we’re together. Talking about my feelings with a professional every week is hard enough.” Yes, agreeing to go to Feyre’s Christmas party is improvement. Slow, barely there improvement, but enough to wear her out for the rest of the month. For Nesta to fully let people into her life, to treat them as lovingly as she treats Cassian— that’s a long way away. She can’t envision it, doesn’t even know if she wants it.

Cassian must understand some of what she’s thinking, because he nods and backs off. He gets back up and returns to stringing lights, tossing a handful of tinsel at Nesta as if to say Get back to work. 

She stands and obeys, thinking their not-argument is officially over when Cassian says, “You’re wrong about one thing.”

She looks up from where she threads tinsel through fir leaves. He doesn’t take his eyes off his work as he says, “You do have a family. And deep, deep down, you care about them as much as I care about mine.”

***

Nesta catches Emerie’s eye as the dark-haired beauty walks into the pub. Raising a hand and waving, she gestures Emerie over to the booth she’s sitting in. 

“Look what I found,” Nesta says with a hint of pride, pointing to the redhead sitting beside her. “A third girl for girl’s night!”

“I was kidnapped,” Gwyn speaks up. “Jumped on the way to my car.” She’s out of her usual hoodie and in a tight-fitting blouse, looking stunning even while seeming out of place in the dim bar.

“She came here consensually,” Nesta retorts. “Emerie, this is Gwyn. We met at therapy.”

Gwyn offers Emerie an awkward smile.

Emerie slides into the booth across from them with raised brows. She looks between Nesta and the new girl and back again. “You invited her here? All by yourself?” she asks.

Nesta nods firmly.

Emerie breaks into a wide grin and reaches over the table to grab Nesta’s hand. “I’m so proud of you!” If Emerie were anyone else, she’d be squealing in excitement, but Emerie does not squeal.

Nesta waves off her friend’s praise, though a part of her wants to beam at it, too.

Gwyn glances between the two of them with slight amusement. “I mean, it’s not that impressive,” she says. “She came on a bit too strong, probably a five out of ten on the asking-someone-out scale.”

“‘A bit too strong’ is all you’re gonna get with Nesta,” Emerie says, lifting her hand to order drinks. “She’s all-or-nothing, and most people would pray she doesn’t give them her nothing.”

Nesta doesn’t know if that’s a compliment, but she supposes there are worse things that could be said about her.

“So, Gwyn, what do you do?” Emerie leans forward. “All our friends are law students and it’s starting to get boring.”

Gwyn goes off about her librarian job as Nesta orders their drinks, and Emerie rests her chin in her hand and listens eagerly. Christmas music plays softly in the background and snow flurries gently outside. Nesta thinks she can’t be doing that bad in life, if she’s managed to carve out this little slice of happiness for herself.

***

a/n: i promise shit actually happens next chapter! we're getting christmas with nessian and the ic in the same room for the first time

taglist: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @valkyriewarriors @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @cassianscool @swankii-art-teacher @awesomelena555 @julemmaes @wickedqueenoffantasy @poisonous-bloom @observationanxioustheorist @gisellefigue08 @courtofjurdan @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @wolfiixxx @cass-nes @seashade @royaltykxx @illyrianundercover @queenestarcheron @monstrousloves-explodinggalaxies @humanexile @that-golden-lyre @agentsofsheilds @mercy-is-alive @cassiansbigwingspan @laylaameer01 @verypaleninja @maastrash @bow-dawn @perseusannabeth @dead-on-the-inside666 @jlinez @hungryreadingaddict @anidealiveson

[hawksky]

You wake up on your ex's fire escape; wc 2.5k

A/N: I don't really know how to categorize this ? starts as funny, gets into angst with a happy/hopeful ending. I might write this again for another character and make it 0 angst but using Megumi just let this get away from me. Thank you @sixeyesgojo for reading through my first draft, it helped me edit a lot since 😘. Although I have not looked over the ending since I wrote it, I'm done working on this fic so sorry if it falls flat.

CW: Mentions of excessive alcohol consumption.

Suggested listening: song 1 and song 2 you can pick just one to cater your experience (they are VERY different vibes) or switch over around the shampoo situation.

Objectively, there were good ways to wake up. In the arms of a beautiful person, with cold sheets and a warm body, or with the scent of your favourite breakfast wafting through the air. No disrespect to mornings at all, there were good ways to wake up, you were mature enough to recognize this.

A perplexingly rough, wet, and warm sensation gliding across your cheek, while last night’s jeans dug into your waist, and there was a pounding in your head? It was fairly safe to say this was not a good way to wake up.

It spoke volumes for how out of it you were that it was only just beginning to register in your brain that you weren’t at home, you were not even on a bed, and that the continued licks across your face were the work of animal far too large to be one of your friends cats.

“Fucking hell you’re supposed to be intimidating” you hear a voice grumble without much heat behind it.

As you forced your eyes open you are met with an excited dog tapping its paws in excitement of your presence, and the man behind the half hearted grumble. His gaze was unmistakably familiar, but his expression could not be more foreign to you.

“uhm, Hi” you croaked out while plastering a wide grin in hopes he wouldn’t murder you.

His eyebrow raised on instinct in response. You knew he was waiting for you to explain what you were doing, but the reality was you didn’t have an answer.

“I wish I could explain, but honestly I’m not sure what happened – last thing I remember was being bought another shot… Wait, where am I exactly?” You were desperately hoping you came off as charming instead of pathetic given the circumstances.

“How out of it are you?” he scrunched his face in confusion as he muttered to himself. “You’re on my fire escape, it’s in Ikebukuro? Tokyo… Japan, in case you needed the reminder”

It felt infantilizing to have him scold you like this, which only made this next part all the more difficult. You were not supposed to be Ikebukuro. You were not supposed to be in Tokyo. You were supposed to be in Yokohama. What was even more concerning is that you were definitely not supposed to be on your old fire escape, the one connected to the apartment your ex still lived in.

As you painstakingly pushed yourself upright, a warm weight laid on your upper thigh, a furry face nuzzling into your stomach – you wondered if she was aware of tension between you and her owner. You scratched behind her ears, letting Jade know she was in fact a good girl despite the earlier reprimand from her owner.

As much as you’d love to spend the day sitting on a fire escape petting your ex’s dog, you had to go home, you just need to call –

Your phone. Where was your phone? You felt around frantically for your phone, only to come up with nothing. A light sense of panic bubbles in the pit of your stomach, only to be swiftly interrupted.

“it’s already charging, I plugged it in last night, you dropped in inches away from falling down”

So, he was still watching you despite having returned inside long ago. It was difficult for you to parse this sort of gesture, how caring could it be to plug someone’s phone in when you still left them to sleep outside? Maybe he was just doing everything he could to get rid of you. It was too much to try and analyze for someone who blacked out and woke up in a different city.

“Why did you come here?” you hear him bite out from inside. It sounds harsh, but it feels like his stange way of inviting you inside.

“I don’t know what you’ve picked up from these circumstances, but not knowing is kind of a part of the problem. Believe me, there’s no amount of conscious desperation that would leaf me to sleeping on a fire escape, even yours”

You glanced around the apartment to avoid his void expression; it was spotless. But it was even harder noticing, the turned over picture frames, your favourite quilt still on the back of the couch – remnants of the past living in the present.

This tension only increased as a mug of freshly brewed green tea was placed in front of you. How thoughtful to remember you hated coffee, to realize your throat was probably killing you – you would have tasted a creeping bitterness from all these emotions, if it wasn’t overpowered by what was the distinct taste of your favourite brand that had to be special ordered.

He had always complained, there were plenty of good options for tea at the grocery store, why wasn’t that enough for you? It was so much extra effort to special order from a tea shop across town, the only place that you were able to charm the owner into ordering for you.

“How are you still so fucking awful at taking care of yourself?” he spat the words out like an insult, it was jarring honestly. Despite the time away from each other, it was no less strange to feel his detachment.

He moved towards the door beckoning Jade to follow. “There’s a towel and change of clothes in the bathroom, you should probably take a shower. If I’m not back by the time you leave, just lock up before you go, I haven’t moved the spare key.” Without looking back or waiting for a response he left.

You were starting to recognize your growing frustration – you had known him how long? Dated and lived together for a not-insignificant amount of time? Yet here you were, no idea how to interpret this strange morning, much less his last comment. Did he want you to be here when he returned? Were you supposed to leave and act like you had never been there? Could he genuinely be as indifferent as he wanted you to believe? It pissed you that your feelings were probably plain on your face.

You searched for your phone, finding it on what used to be your side of the couch. It felt ridiculous to think you ever had a side of the couch, but you were both creatures of habit and slowly without even thinking you both made your own little sanctuary mere metres away from each other.

You awoke your phone, expecting a flood of texts and phone calls from your friends, only to find nothing. Not a single check in from anyone. You open the group chat and furiously tap out a message.

<Hey assholes who let me go home on my own last night? Anyways good job I blacked out and I’m on Fushiguro’s fire escape! You are all absolutely useless to me I swear to god.>

Your phone vibrates rapidly as you place it down but you’re not in the mood to field their questions.

You’re tempted to leave now, just to get it over with, go home and crawl into bed and forget any of this ever happened. But, you felt gross, it was late enough in the morning that you could run into someone you knew, and you missed the water pressure here.

As you got ready for your shower you surveyed your options. You refused to smell like him, but the only other bottle in the shower was doggy shampoo. Surely dog’s fur and human hair weren’t so different right? Jade did have a beautiful coat, very soft and shiny… You reprimanded yourself for the ridiculous idea, but the point remained, there had to be something else for you to use.

Your brain, far more alert than it was 30 minutes ago, thought of all the things he hadn’t changed, all the fixtures still in place. You had always kept an extra set of all your supplies under the sink. By the grace of all that is good on this cruel cruel earth, they were there, in all their dusty glory, your prized hygiene products sat unmoved under the sink. It would have been sick and twisted to have to leave your ex-boyfriend’s apartment smelling exactly like him, left to spend the rest of the day agonizing over whether you should take another shower.

As you entered the shower you wondered more. He had to have noticed the softness in your eyes, the faint smile you wore just having an ounce of his attention again, the way ti widened at every caring gesture, and falling with every biting remark.

Yes, it hurt every day missing him. Yes, it would hurt if he hated you. But none of that compared to the feeling of not knowing. What were you supposed to do with all these residual feelings that have yet to go away? Were they worth the suffocation or should you strip them away?

You were proud of yourself, all these reminders of what you once had, in a place you once loved, and you had yet to break down, not even shedding a tear. If you weren’t wrapping yourself in a towel, you would’ve given yourself a pat on the back. This victory was short lived, everyone’s strength has its limits and you had taken yours too far past it already. But then you saw it, something you were completely unprepared for.

Laid neatly on top the closed laundry basket was THE outfit. It was nothing special to anyone else, just a grey sweater and loose joggers, but how many days had you spent alone breathing in his scent for comfort while he was gone? How many hard days at work had you reaching for these exact pieces as if they were the cure to all your problems?

Unable to support your own weight anymore, you fell to the tiled floor, tears spilling out, as your already sore throat grew even more hoarse – you felt like everything was collapsing around you. You weren’t expecting to see him, and you certainly weren’t expecting to need him in so many little ways. It was easy to forget how easily he weaves himself into your life, encroaching on everything you do.

The world disappeared behind each shallow breath, and an endless stream of tears you couldn’t control. Your fingers scratch against your forearms repeatedly, trying to ground yourself in some reality you could no longer grasp. It is so exhausting trying to be over him, going through these cycles of strong emotions, over and over and over again.

Suddenly, for the second time in as few hours, you felt an overwhelming weight encompass your body.

Of course, his stupid fucking perfect dog would still know how to bring you out of a panic attack like he had spent so much time training when you started dating. You clutched to Jade as your breathing slowed, but it did nothing to stop your sobs, if anything it was just another painful reminder of everything you let go.

“Uhhh….” Megumi was frozen at the door, for the first time today he didn’t know what to do. His indifferent façade dropped as he observed the scene on his bathroom floor.

There’s nothing left to lose, not for a moment that he has seen this morning have you possessed more than an ounce of dignity, “So that’s it? You don’t know what to do either? You know it’s been a whole fucking year and I still haven’t figured out how to live without you. A whole year and I’m still a mess. I can’t survive being reminded of us, look at me. And yet every attempt to get over you was a knife twisting because they’ll never be you. Now I’m here and I get to witness the wonderful Megumi Fushiguro, unaffected, and you… you have it all together.” You trail off, giving to him everything left in you.

You weren’t expecting the confused and indignant expression on his face, “You think this is having it together?” His voice lightly raising with each word “This place might as well be a sealed shrine to you and our relationship. I haven’t thrown a single thing out, moved any furniture, bought anything new – the only thing that’s ‘new’ is your stupid tea I keep buying even though I hate it, and for fucks sake y/n I should’ve moved out. Every part of me that looks like I have it together is just my version of a mess.” He brushes a stray strand out of your face, his own face moving far too close for this to be purely platonic anymore “y/n I’m no better off than you are, I’ve just kept everyone from looking”.

“So what are we supposed to do with all this?” Your eyes shining, naïve hope seeping through your defenses at the confirmation that he couldn’t live without you either.

“We could try again” Somehow, it wasn’t quite what you needed to hear. “I, am going to get dressed, and then we’ll talk, I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” He nodded lightly, pulling himself up and exiting with Jade on his heels.

Dressed in the clothes you thought would burn your skin to even touch let alone wear, you let out a long sigh as you sit on at the breakfast nook. “Look, Megumi, I need to know if you’ve worked through it, any of it? I can’t, I can’t wait another three years for you to tell me you can’t say the words I love you, that you can’t commit to more than a yearly rental, I can’t just have you here I need more security than that”

He pursed his lips, unsure of what he could say to that, how he could make sure you didn’t leave again.

“Megumi, I don’t need you to say it to me today, I don’t need you to commit to anything today, but I have to know you’ve tried that I can’t keep waiting for you”

“I… Just give me a minute, please” his voice weak pleading with you. You waited, knowing better than to rush him, laying a hand on top of his assuring him you weren’t going to run out the door.

“y/n, I’m supposed to be honest and vulnerable, I’m supposed to tell myself that people won’t abandon me just because I give them access to who I really am. I want to tell you I love you, because there’s no other explanation for feeling this way. For feeling like your eyes outshine the stars, that your mind is more brilliant than the sun. I’ve tortured myself for a year with the idea of you meeting someone who could give you everything I couldn’t, and selfishly I prayed they were awful, I wished you were miserable so I pretend the truth wasn’t real that I was not enough for you, that I couldn’t give you what you needed. I’ve never seen a loving relationship, certainly not for long enough to form memories, but I look at you and I can’t imagine anything else”

Your thumb reaches to brush away the stray tear sliding down his face as he spoke to you. Manoeuvring yourself around to be on the same side of the nook as him, you pull him into you, letting him bury his head into the crook of your neck. You placed a gentle kiss into his hair before whispered into his ear “You were always enough, I just needed you to know it too.”

not not a tag list: @satosuguslut @sandyscastle

[h2bakugou]

Idk if you do these kind of requests or not, but Amajiki, Tomura, Chisaki and Kacchan and their gf who’s on her period and she’s feeling low and just not herself???

a/n: i do hun! i did a similar period hc but this is different and i haven’t done these characters so here ya go love!

headcanon: them with a s/o who’s not feeling good on their period

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: swearing, fluff

»»————-　★　————-««

tamaki amajiki

»»————-　★　————-««

Tamaki is a sweetheart. He is there for you and will hold you until you feel better.

He’s a little shy but he really cares about you, and when it comes to the people he cares and loves, this boy will go to the ends of the Earth for you.

Soft kisses on your cheek or forehead.

Holds you in his arms while you play with his hair or snuggle into his neck.

When you’re not feeling your best, Tamaki is there to reassure you. Granted he struggles too, he hates seeing you like this.

“Bunny, you’re amazing, please don’t say such awful things about yourself.”

His indigo eyes are full of love and meaning, and you can clearly tell that he wants to say more, but will leave it at that for now.

Knowing that Tamaki has his own struggles with things like that, it really means a lot to hear him say that to you. 

Tamaki knows how to take care of you and will probably not leave your side unless you need him too, or want some space. 

Sleeping with Tamaki is one of the purest forms of love honestly. He’s holding you close while still allowing you to move if you ever get uncomfortable. His fingers delicately trace shapes and words out on your skin as your snoring softly beside him.

It’s nothing weird or funny, he’s not trying to pull any stunts, it’s just the two of you, sleeping, or worn-out and resting.

It’s him loving you and making sure that you’re feeling okay. 

It’s him reassuring you that you are precious and that bad days happen and there’s not much you can do but let them pass.

love this soft boy !!

»»————-　★　————-««

tomura shigaraki

»»————-　★　————-««

As much as I am a Shigaraki stan, I feel like this man’s first reaction would be disgust.

“What is coming from where?”

“It’s called menstruation-”

But on a real note, he probably never had a proper sex education class, and everything he learned about anatomy and stuff was either picked up from someone else, or learnt about from a game or movie.

Onto the headcanon stuff, overall I feel like once he comes to terms with what’s happening, he’s protective and caring.

Doesn’t like when the members of his league, let alone the people closet to him in both platonic and romantic ways, get hurt.

So seeing you in almost constant discomfort and pain is agonizing to watch.

By your side most of the time unless you want him to leave you alone, which is a struggle because he is persistent and bratty in the best ways.

‘I’m not leaving you-”

“Tomura, I just want some space.”

“Shut up and let me hold you.”

He takes your huff as a sign of agreement, but eventually it’s those same arms that you wanted gone, the arms you’d fallen asleep in.

Tomura probably acts like he’s the one on the period.

He’s ordering Dabi, Kurogiri, or anyone else who steps into view to get things for you so he can watch you 24/7.

Okay but as annoying loving as Tomura is, I could also see him getting frustrated with you.

“You clearly don’t feel good so just lay down and get some rest!”

“But I don’t want to!” You’re pacing around the room you share with Tomura while he stands by the door.

“Lay down.” Tomura orders.

“Make me.”

It’s a simple phrase that comes with varying consequences, this time, it’s being slung over his shoulder and tossed onto the bed, force down by him just laying on top of you like a human blanket.

“T-Tomura! That hurts!” You breathe out.

Eventually rolls off of you and just holds you close, getting some much needed rest.

Hates seeing you look down on yourself during this time because he truly loves you. He’s learned to love because of you.

“You’re the only idiot I tolerate in this shit hole. You’re fine the way you are.”

“Was that supposed to be a compliment?”

Maybe he isn’t the best with words, but his actions, aka the hoards of hugs and kisses, are what show you he cares.

In the nicest way possible, he is the epitome of “alright babe i’m in the pad isle, what size pussy do u wear?” but he’S LEARNING

»»————-　★　————-««

katsuki bakugou

»»————-　★　————-««

Katsuki Bakugou is probably one of the most sensible guys to help you when you’re on your period.

He’s going to be there for you, bring you snacks if you need them, provide warmth and cuddles when it’s time to sleep or if you have cramps, but he also isn’t going to put up with you if you get grumpy.

He knows that that kind of stuff tends to happen, and he doesn’t want to make it worse by angering you more. He’s struggled with restraint, but when it comes to you, it’s both easy and challenging.

He wants to be there for you, but he knows you might need your space.

When he sees you talking down about yourself or feeling low, this man is going to beat the shit out of you verbally. He’s showing you love and affection by yelling at you. All kind words of course.

“You’re fucking beautiful! And you’re not worthless!”

“Suki, it’s one am-”

“But you’re mumbling about how you aren’t good enough and that’s bullshit.”

“Alright alright, I get it, I’ll stop.” You say softly, closing your eyes while trying to fall back asleep beside your loud boyfriend.

“Yeah you better or I’ll have to kiss you, dumbass.”

“Kissing me is a punishment?”

“You know what I meant!”

He’s flustered

Holds you close when you can’t get comfy.

Kisses you a fuckton oh my god.

Kisses you when you say bad things about yourself, kisses you to show he loves you, kisses you when you’re kinda grumpy, kisses you when you’re not mad, you get the idea.

He just wants to see you smile, and kissing you is one of those ways that makes you flustered and makes you smile that goofy smile that Bakugou fell in love with.

I mentioned this in another headcanon, but this man’s hands are period cramp relievers- place those bad boys over the pain and relax.

They’re warm, and big, and it’s also cozy and securing laying in his arms.

The best way to lay on Bakugou is to get up under his sweater and tuck yourself onto his chest, placing his hands over your sides and dozing off.

He’ll steal a few kisses, and probably take a cheesy selfie to set as his lockscreen later, but he’s not far behind you in the sleeping department.

Genuinely doesn’t see how you don’t see yourself like a goddess. But nonetheless, he will never stop complimenting you and reassuring you.

He loves you so much, and he’ll be damned if you see yourself as anything less than what you are, and that’s truly amazing.

»»————-　★　————-««

kai chisaki

»»————-　★　————-««

This man is smart, arrogant, and driven, but sometimes he can be a bit of an asshole.

Will obviously be at your side if you need anything, after all, you are his top priority.

This could go a few ways. If he’s comfortable with you, and overcoming his mysophobia, he’ll do everything he can and is comfortable with to make sure you’re okay.

If he’s still struggling with germs, he may not be physically affectionate, but he’ll do his best. 

I feel like Chisaki probably shows his love through gifts, or at least to an extent he’ll try to show his love with presents.

But when he comes to terms with his feelings, he’s a man of words. He’ll say how he feels before he shows it. And it’s hard because actions do speak louder than words. And sometimes not being able to kiss or hug Chisaki is hard.

But his reassuring really hits different. Because Chisaki isn’t one for affection. He runs a gang, or a section of a larger gang. He didn’t have time for relationships before he met you, and he probably could’ve gone years before he ‘settled down’ if he hadn’t met you.

So hearing Chisaki tell you that he loves you and that you are not disgusting or pathetic, you know it means something.

You’re fully tended to when it comes to things like snacks, drinks, hygiene products, it’s all taken care for and Chisaki wouldn’t have it any other way.

He is here to take care of you unless he’s told otherwise. If it’s space you want, he’ll give it to you, but not before he knows you’re completely okay and that you won’t need anything while you want space.

If he’s comfortable with getting physical, his hugs are sweet. Just being held by him is a blessing. His kisses are even better. It’s always a private thing, he’s not just going to whip his mask off and kiss you in the middle of the hallway, despite how much he’d want too.

Chisaki works and he works hard. So it wouldn’t be rare if he only ever cared for you at night/during the morning. Of course he’ll spend time with you during lunch or if he’s got a break, but he can’t spend every minute of the day with you.

But I think not seeing him constantly is what makes spending time with him that much better.

You’ve got something to look forward too, as does he. He enjoys coming back from a long day, to take a nice shower and climb into bed with his favorite person and hold you until you both fall asleep.

Kisses you on your shoulder, neck and cheek the most. Hugs you from behind and cuddles you by wrapping his arm over your side, having your back pressed to him.

He genuinely hates seeing you talk down about yourself, but he’s not going to constantly remind you that you’re gorgeous and nothing is wrong with you.

It’s hard to love yourself, but he knows deep down that you’re special and you’ll realize it sooner or later.

Overall, Chisaki is a pretty sweet guy, but he’s resilient and reserved. He knows what he wants, and he’ll do anything in his power to make you feel better.

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

[voiceless-terror]

Hey!! For your prompts, would you mind doing one from a while ago (the questions one) where it says "do you ever stop talking?" with Jon?? Thanks!!!

Hello there anon! Here is your fic- I let this one sit for a bit, but I’m certainly liking the finished product. Hope you enjoy!

“Do you ever stop talking?”

Jon has been asked this multiple times, though the phrasing and methods always differ. His grandmother used to tell him to keep his thoughts to himself, which wasn’t necessarily meant to be rude but was privately devastating coming from his sole caregiver. He stopped talking at dinner shortly after that. They got on better.

The second was from his teachers, at basically any age. If he knew the answer to a question he had to share it, especially when someone else was getting it wrong. This earned him the title of “know it all” from his classmates, and his teachers often wrote the same sentiment in his progress reports, though in kinder words. He began to write all of his answers on paper instead. This brought on another host of issues- he wasn’t paying enough attention in class, his papers were overly-long and wordy. 

So Jon often hovered between silence and overwhelming chatter. It swung more towards silence as the years went on.

But then he met Georgie, and his second year they got an apartment off campus. He’d been in therapy, finally gotten on medication that helped him. Though taking it was another matter. His mind was often scattered, as was his schoolwork, and he knew how grating he was when he didn’t have his shit together.

One night he was surrounded by notes and books, deep in his latest research project for history. He was petting the Admiral and chattering excitedly to Georgie- finally something he was interested in, even had a professor who wanted to hear his opinions. This paper had to be excellent, top-notch, and then maybe he could ask him for a letter of recommendation for graduate work and have someone in his corner-

“Christ, Jon! Can you please shut up?”

Georgie apologized of course, though it wasn’t necessary. Jon’s prattling could get intense and rather annoying, he knew that. It’s just that Georgie never seemed to mind. Or maybe she did, and never said anything. 

Jon never did get that paper done. Couldn’t summon up the motivation after all. Just another failed attempt at excellence to add to the pile. 

He’d been in an odd place when he accepted the job at the Magnus Institute. Fresh off a break up, recently moved, completely and utterly broke, not going to any sort of therapy. And yet his application was pushed through speedily, quick enough that he found himself at an interview with Elias Bouchard just a week after applying. The man was intimidating, that’s for sure. But he looked at Jon like he was something, like he was excited to hire him. He nodded in all the right places, listened when he went off on a tangent and shook his hand at the end. He was to start the following Monday.

Sasha James trained him. He’d felt comfortable with her from the start- she had organized binders of easily-laid out instructions that were simple to follow. Jon liked having a to-do list. She made a special copy for him when he asked and didn’t mind his inane questions. She smiled at him in the morning. Traded theories with him well into the night. And helped him with the more difficult researchers, ones that admired his thoroughness and dedication but did not like the rest of the package. That had earned her the nickname of ‘Jon-Whisperer’ which both embarrassed and pleased him. Embarrassing that he needed the help in the first place, but pleasing that someone cared enough to help him succeed. There aren’t a lot of Sashas in the world. 

Tim arrived two years after him, fresh from the publishing industry with an easy smile and a boundless charm, but Jon could sense an intensity and purpose thrumming under his skin. Jon has that same drive as well. Tim recognized him as a kindred spirit, and the two struck up an unlikely friendship. They work well together, despite their friction over Tim’s more...creative methods. They work even better with Sasha, and the three of them are soon the busiest researchers in the institute. Jon felt more at ease than ever and he let his guard down, contributing more to conversations and getting lost in the easy camaraderie.

One day he makes a breakthrough on a particularly difficult case. He doesn’t realize he’s flapping his hands until he accidentally flicks a pen off his desk. Shit. He hopes no one is around to witness his behavior, but no such luck. Tim ducks down to fetch it and Jon grabs it out of his hand with a mumbled thanks. But Tim doesn’t tease or laugh. He just smiles.

“I’m more of a tapper myself,” he drums his fingers on the table in a quick example. “Just tell me if it bothers you.”

It does irritate Jon on more than one occasion.

He never says anything though.

When he gets promoted he is instantly overwhelmed. He’s that child in the classroom again, writing down his thoughts and filtering them as best he can. He agonizes over what should go on the tapes and what shouldn’t. He finds himself re-recording the bits he doesn’t like, where he stutters or his voice goes too high or he pauses for too long. The parts where he needs to catch his breath after talking too quickly. It can’t get back to Elias how panicked he is.

It’s Martin's birthday. Jon is reluctantly dragged out for ice cream he neither has the patience nor the appetite for. He picks some random flavor and instantly regrets it, choosing instead to nervously inform the rest of the table about emulsifiers. It takes him five minutes to realize he’s been speaking for far too long and his speech begins to trail off, his gaze turning down at the melted ice cream in his cup. Yes, this is exactly how Martin wants to spend his birthday. Listening to your inane drivel. Stupid, he chides himself.

“And?”

Jon looks up to see Martin gazing at him quizzically. “Sorry?”

“Why did you stop?” he asks. Jon blinks. “It’s just- well, you weren’t done. I’m not a big fan of cliffhangers, to be honest.” He inexplicably blushes and looks down at his lap, fingers fidgeting.

Jon scoffs but feels a warmth bloom in his chest. “Ah- okay, alright-” and off he goes, Martin nodding and smiling in encouragement. It turns out to be a nice outing after all, Tim and Sasha exiting the shop a bit sooner, giving some excuse about a deadline. Jon doesn’t recall giving them any pressing deadlines, but that probably speaks more to his forgetfulness. 

Martin is up at the counter again, looking down at the ice cream. He gestures for Jon to come over.

“Do you want some more?” Jon asks. He’s not going to fault the man for another round. It is his birthday after all.

“No,” Martin shakes his head. “But I think you should. You didn’t really want rum raisin, did you?”

“H-How could you tell?” Jon stammers, embarrassed at being caught. He’d choked down at least a few bites.

“Nobody likes rum raisin, Jon,” he says with a chuckle. It takes a few more nudges, but Jon ends up picking a scoop of cotton candy. It is childish and overly sweet and delicious. He gets a cone and Martin uses that excuse for a walk in the park.

They arrive at work over a half-hour later than planned. Tim and Sasha begin to tease and Jon immediately barricades himself in his office. He’s got so much work to do, after all. But he thinks he’ll leave on time tonight.

He deserves one good day, right?

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26584141

Next in Series:

What Makes a Home

My Dearest

The Weight of Love

[lizardrosen]

National Theater Live King Lear

Hello, here is a ridiculously long review of this production! I just had a lot of feelings and thoughts!

Setting/Staging/Mood

I really loved the sound design for this one. It’s hard to describe, but the chords gave it a real presence and sense of motion. It was vaguely reminiscent of horror movie music in the way the chords lingered and didn’t blend in seamlessly, but I wouldn’t call it horror music exactly. The BELL tolling while Lear zips up his folder was such a good first image and bit of sound. And there were drinking songs, which I always love to see in a play. Put that Epic Theater technique straight in my mouth!

The circle in the middle that’s red in the first half and white in the second was a really creative detail, and the actors used that space effectively, especially with overlapping exits and entrances to make it feel that scenes happened in different locations while still being thematically connected.

The opulence and ceremony of the  first scene gradually gives way to the more sparse and modern staging of act five — formal military dress to fatigues

I love how Lear raises his hand in prayer and command, compelling everyone else to follow suit to show their devotion and allegiance (and is there a difference between their king and their gods in this world?) even when they’re unsure about whether he’s right to be so cruel to Cordelia.

The recurring imagery of money changing hands really fits in well with the theme of love as currency that’s already in the text!

The single tree in the background of act five gave me Waiting For Godot vibes, which works SO WELL with the absurdism and nihilism of Lear.

Thoughts about specific characters under the cut!

Edgar! My SON!!

Luke Thompson is the reason I’ve wanted so badly to watch this production; ever since I saw his standout performance as Laertes in the 2017 Almeida Theater production, and found out he’s also played Orestes and Edgar, I’ve just been rabid about it!

It’s neat to see him actually at the ceremony of the first scene, with Edmund already Literally in his shadow.

He’s a little less hapless and distracted than most of the Edgars I’ve seen, a little more watchful. In 1.2 he’s actually pushing back against Edmund’s insistence that he’s in danger, and then in 2.1 there’s a long moment of just Looking at Edmund’s knife before he flees.

Similarly, his decision to become Poor Tom felt a bit more calculated. It’s not that he isn’t scared and lost and desperate, because he definitely is, but the plan itself doesn’t seem to grow out of that feeling as much as he (sort of) calmly looked at his options.

Of course, he doesn’t stay calm; that agonized scream when he actually cuts himself, and later on when he sees his father blinded and screams “World, world, o world!” really feels like he’s letting something out, and more than usual he seems to have been holding this part of himself back for a long time.

The counterpart to that is the self that does the watching — it’s a part of all Edgars that makes him a really compelling character, with his self-aware asides, but it’s particularly pronounced here — there’s a moment where he says “Bless thy five wits!” in his normal voice, and then catches himself and has to reassert the role he’s playing for his own safety.

At times he’s very impatient and frustrated while leading Gloucester, but he also cares about him a lot and is so terrified that he’s actually died when he “fell” from the cliff, this poor boy’s entire body is trembling!

He instinctively moves to protect Gloucester from Lear when he gets more violent and unpredictable with “find these son-in-laws and KILL KILL KILL” and it was a good moment

Gives into his own viciousness in the fight with Oswald, and then, Hamlet-like, lugs the guts into the neighbor room.

Edgar doesn’t seem to know if he wants his dad to recognize him or not — he puts Gloucester’s hand on his face, but then as soon as he seems about to realize who he is he very quickly takes it away again and gets them moving

He’s even more desperate and reckless than Edmund in their duel, but then once Edmund is fatally injured, he’s right by his side, holding his hand, helping him through it!

He needs Lear to recognize Kent, he needs Lear to not be dying, he’s so sincere, but then he decides if he can’t save anyone here he can at least help Albany to help the country heal and pledges himself to the future.

Lear

Awful but also very pitiable, more like a human losing his grip and knowing it, than just a Vessel for themes that are echoed in other characters.

Lashes out at himself more than at other people, but he definitely still does both.

“But they shall be the terrors of the earth” is just a man who’s terrified to be losing his words.

He has bad knees and everyone knows it but he keeps trying to kneel, and sometimes it feels like he’s mocking his daughters — look how much I’m suffering for you even though you’re ungrateful — and sometimes it feels like he’s forgotten his own body’s limitations.

Spends a lot of time offering physical comfort to other characters, since he can’t be a dad for his real daughters.

His flower crown scene was Just ophelia, and I think that’s beautiful.

aaaaa, his helpless grief for Cordelia! He moves the noose from her neck to his!! and then he takes out a handgun and threatens everyone away from him, but he’s just so helpless and sad!

Edmund! my other son!

I was a little surprised to see that this actor is James Corrigan, because I recognized him as Roderigo in the RSC Othello, and he’s sort of the anti-Edmund, so I was excited to see the contrast, but honestly there wasn’t as much of a contrast as I expected. He had many of the same cringing appeasing mannerisms, but in a way that makes it clear that he’s aware of his unfair situation in a way his Roderigo really isn’t. Despite being a bastard he has a lot more social power and mobility than Roderigo so he doesn’t seem nearly as pathetic.

Other Edmunds are composed and precise in their soliloquies because this is the one place no one will see them planning things out, and this Edmund is babbling and overwhelmed because this is the one place no one will see him feeling things, because feeling things is dangerous.

He’s so! scared! of his dad! It’s painful to watch, and it’s almost as painful to watch how he’s still looking for approval and respect from Gloucester. Someone save this boy!

He gets in WAY over his head, and it feels like he’s scrambling at every turn, but then at some point he just levels up and strides with confidence, and it’s really good to see.

oh my god, oh my god, he saw everything that happened with Gloucester! After everyone else leaves he comes out from his hiding place looking just devastated. He hated his dad, but he never hated him that much, and by the time he couldn’t stomach it any longer there was no way for him to escape, and then he’s still processing it when he sees that the Fool was also there, and he has to kill him because no one can know he was there. I SCREAMED when this moment happened, it was so good!

WOW, he’s so smooth, it’s no wonder both the sisters want a piece of that! It’s more of a power play with Regan, and a little more courtly with Goneril, and he just knows what each of them want and need from him.

When Lear and Cordelia are captured, Lear says “As if we were God’s spies” and he’s still kingly enough that the soldiers drop to their knees and lift their hands in allegiance, and Edmund has to rush in to make one of them stand up while saying “Take them away” sort of impatiently, and then he immediately checks the order he’s written for their deaths, because he’s just seen how dangerous it is for these two to be kept alive. aaaaa, and then when the captain hesitates, he holds a gun to his temple on “Either say thou’lt do’t, or thrive by other means” !! I love that line and I love the sheer range of deliveries I’ve seen for it!

The wonder in his voice at “Yet Edmund was beloved.” is really good! He’s so desperate to do some good by the end, and I love! Edmund of Gloucester!

Kent

Having Kent played by a woman does some really neat things to the character, not least of which is crossdressing Caius! She sort of feels like she overperforms toxic masculinity to fit into the culture of Lear’s retinue. Other Kents seem to be allowing their latent desires and bluntness to emerge with this role, but this Kent isn’t suited to it, and sometimes she gets a little carried away or makes missteps like beating up Oswald, but she has to see it through, for Lear’s sake.

Kent also doesn’t feel Big In Love with Lear, but she’s definitely devoted to him — and even more than that, she’s devoted to the image of loyalty itself.

Her genuine affection for Cordelia, and pride to see how she’s doing as a queen, is really sweet and good!

After she’s been banished, she rushes out of the throne room as Burgundy and France enter, covering her face like she’s desperately trying to hold back her tears.

She’s with the French soldiers looking for Lear, and is the one who tells him “You shall have anything!”

At the end she’s not exactly surprised that Lear doesn’t connect her with Caius, and she’s not upset (about that part of it anyway, plenty of things in this scene are upsetting), but she’s definitely feeling something.

ahhhh, she picks up Lear’s handgun and sort of cradles it to her side when she prepares for her final journey! sweetheart!

Gloucester

he’s just! a terrible father!! simply the worst!

A lot of the time Gloucester isn’t a very good dad just because he’s friendly and careless and just not paying attention to how he’s treating his sons; this one is actively awful and I actively hate him!!

From the very first scene he’s so scornful and dismissive of Edmund and hitting him for no reason, and then turns around to show off photos of Edgar, and that doesn’t even really benefit Edgar either, because he’s held to an unfair standard he can never live up to.

It really shows in how both of them are touch starved but also extremely cautious about being touched. Someone save them!!

(In fact, in the serial killer Claudius AU, a certain Earl does get himself murdered when Edmund is sixteen)

Not a Bad Dad thing, but not really showing Gloucester in a good light: he does think Lear’s age and reverence should be respected, but his motivation seems to be a lot more based in his indignation that Regan and Cornwall have taken over his home and order him around. For this Gloucester it seemed to be less about feeling sorry for Lear, and more about reasserting his sovereignty.

But because this is Lear I don’t just hate him, and he’s not just a bad father, you also feel for him a lot after he’s been blinded and his legs are just trembling and he’s so scared and lost.

Even after he’s blinded he keeps turning to his photos of Edgar in his wallet, and it’s sad and regretful instead of showing off.

He had a really good cliff fall! He goes up to what he thinks is the edge, and then turns around and braces himself to fall backwards, and then Edgar has to rush to catch him, and lay him gently on the ground, and panic that maybe he’s actually died.

Lear Sisters

No one was prepared for Lear’s announcement and the way each of them responds informs so much of how they act through the rest of the play!

Goneril is startled and unsure and fumbling, and I really felt for her and her “hateful life”, and the way she’s stunned in the wake of Lear’s abuse, but then needs to pull herself together again when he returns. For so much of this play she feels small and adrift, but then she’s so happy for once whenever she’s with Edmund. Albany really does seem to care about her and he’s trying to be good for her, so he takes it when she yells at him, and then stays behind to pray for a bit. He’s a little less nice later on but to be fair she is cheating on him and not bothering to hide it very well.

Regan! With her fake tears and her constant flirtiness, and the way she’s always twirling and showing off! She is a hot mess, and she only gets hotter and messier as the play goes on, but she and Cornwall love each other a lot, and she wants to be suited to torture the way her husband is, but she gets into it by the end of that scene. And then!! her hand on Edmund’s throat! W o w

Cordelia is calm and sure and knows exactly what her sisters are, and in that first scene she comes so close to reaching her father and getting him to change his mind about disowning her. And that carries through to the rest of her performance — she’s competent and precise and loving, and France is smitten with her and listens to her and respects her. When she’s reunited with Lear she wants him to wake up, but also isn’t prepared for it to actually happen, and then she’s so surprised when they say she should be the one to address him first.

Cornwall

I first saw Daniel Rabin as Reynaldo in the Almeida Theater Hamlet (ask me about how Reynaldo and Laertes are half-dating whenever he follows Laertes to France, because I have Opinions), and his Cornwall is SO different

He’s not just manipulative, but violent and enjoying his violence, but he’s also sexy and possessive and commanding, and it’s no wonder Edmund falls for him as hard as he does!

TYING HIS SCARF around Edmund’s hand after he wounds himself for love and validation!? The soft tender look of surprise that Edmund gives him in response!? wow! wow, what a MOMENT!

And then he shoves Edmund into the room after he’s been shown Gloucester’s letter, he has to punish the messenger and assert his position. And after “Thou shalt find a dearer father in my love” Edmund HUGS him, and he’s startled at first but half-returns it (and probably thinking about how he can Use this) (and then cornwall/edmund/regan happens, shhh)

Like Daniel Rabin’s Reynaldo, his Cornwall is very Watchful, just stepping back to observe what’s going on, and then quietly making his judgment before he says anything — and when he does speak he absolutely has the other person’s number.

Good commanding headtilts!

Oh, the laugh right before he uses the hook from the slaughterhouse on Gloucester is just terrifying and compelling, and he’s so turned on by this. Good for him because then he gets to die, and he’s so disgusted and vicious when saying the first servant should be thrown onto the dunghill.

Miscellaneous Moments

Lear puts his jacket on Edgar, and Kent puts her jacket on Lear, and then he immediately takes it off and puts it around Edgar’s shoulders and ties the arms together, but while he’s trying to take off his shirt too, Edgar’s already getting on the ground and letting the jackets fall off of him. Just! Jackets and touch as a form of affection!!

When Gloucester comes out to find Lear, he and Edgar see each other, and there’s just a moment where they’re frozen, Edgar terrified that his father will recognize him, and Gloucester perhaps feeling there’s something familiar about this madman but having no idea what.

While Gloucester is telling Kent about how he had a son he loved who betrayed him, Lear and Edgar are in the background sharing a long hug that almost feels like a beautiful dance! It was such a striking moment, I loved it sooo much.

the HUG with Edmund and Cornwall!! Not over it, never over it.

when Cornwall tells Edmund to leave with Goneril, he gives Goneril his jacket and she’s just quietly surprised and pleased, and it’s cute, and I want her to be happy!!

[kim-seungmine]

give my heart a chance

title: give my heart a chance

characters: (fem) reader x han jisung of stray kids. 

genres: romance, fluffy as hell (i just want them to kiss so bad!), college au, friends to lovers au, composer/music scorer!jisung, assistant director!reader

word count: 6.9k words

warnings: cursing, a little suggestive i guess? there’s a lot of sexual references but nothing too wild, lots of (attempted) flirting, jisung is whipped as hell, it gets very wordy sometimes IM SORRY.

synopsis: you and jisung have these theories about love, and there’s only one way to prove yourselves right: testing them on each other.

a/n: writing this gave me so much joy, and writing from jisung’s perspective is super fun. lastly, sorry for the lame ass title, but i hope you’ll enjoy! please tell me there aren’t many grammatical/spelling errors i’ve read this over and over again.

Verse 1: “Date me, so I can write love songs about you.”

Han Jisung has a lot of ambitions. Being the world's best composer, buying a whole island for himself, and flexing his Rolex watches are on his list, but for now finishing his demo for the upcoming production meeting will be enough.

Maybe he's not so ambitious after all.

The door clicks open and reveals his roommate Lee Minho, his hair disheveled but eyes twinkling. Jisung raises his eyebrow. "Did you pass out on the street or something? What time is it?"

It's now Minho's turn to raise his eyebrow. "I had this amazing date but to put it simply, your man got laid."

Jisung sighs and knocks his head on the desk. "Lucky you."

"Your time will come, my friend," Minho assures him flatly, lying on the couch with a contented sigh. "What time is the meeting?"

"9 A.M." Jisung yawns, lifting his head to glance at his watch. "Fuck, I'm late."

Jisung doesn't know why he struggles to finish this project. His senior Bang Chan asked him to join his graduation project and help with the scoring. Jisung is willing to do anything that boosts his resume, but so far the project is only causing him headache. He's Han Jisung, the best student in his batch who almost always forgets to finish his assignments but always manages to ace them. He also sings and raps—even freestyling. He's the musical genius. Why is this happening to him?

Minho mumbles a sleepy good luck before passing out. Jisung is about pack his laptop when his phone vibrates. Your name appears on his screen, making him groan.

"Han Jisung you're late," you deadpan before he gets to say hello.

"I'm on my way."

“Get your ass here in 10 minutes or..."

"Or what?"

He can hear you tapping your pen on the table. "...I have nothing to threaten you with."

Jisung chuckles. Do you know how cute you are even over the phone? "I'll be there in 10."

Chan and the rest of the crew are already inside the room when Jisung arrives. He slowly pulls up a chair beside you, trying his best to ignore your glare.

"About the wooden table we wanted last week, have we got it?" Chan asks.

Kim Seungmin, the head of production design team, nods his head. "The color is a bit different from your moodboard because the one you wanted was slightly more expensive than expected, is this still okay?" He pauses to show Chan a picture on his phone. The director examines it before passing Seungmin's phone to you. "What do you think, Y/N?"

"It's a bit different but still fits the overall mood in my opinion. A little bit warmer, but I don't think it will disturb the ambience."

Chan smiles. "Hmm, I agree. Good job, Seungmin. And that's it, everyone! Thank you for coming! We only have 3 more scenes to film so hang in there, okay?"

The whole room lets out sighs of relief, leaving the room one by one.

"Jisung, can I talk to you?"

"Just curse at me. You don't have to be so nice."

Chan laughs. "You know why I asked you to help me, right? I know what you're capable of, so tell me, what's bothering you?"

Jisung pulls out the film script from his backpack, showing Chan the parts he's circled with red marker. "I finished the scoring for other scenes, but I can never seem to think of anything that fits this one scene."

He has played the scene in his head over and over. The man confesses his feelings to the woman he loves dearly, but also says goodbye to her. The woman only nods, lips curling into a small smile, and waves him goodbye.

It doesn’t make sense. Why would they do that? People who love each other stay together unless their parents disagree or someone dies. Or at least, they try to be together until the feelings fade. Why would they say goodbye before even starting anything?

Chan stands up, patting Jisung on his back as he’s making his way to the door. “I don’t want to limit your creativity or make you create music only based on my vision, but here’s something to think about: sometimes it’s not about fate or timing. It’s about choice. See you next week, kids!”

Both of you slump into your chairs the moment he’s out of sight. “I hate it when he’s being cryptic like that. Why can’t he just tell you what he wants? He’s the director anyways, everything has to be according to his vision.” You turn to Jisung who’s scratching his head. “Please tell me you understood what he said.”

“I understand,” Jisung answers. “Well, theoretically. Do you?”

“No one will truly understand it the way Chan does, but I understand the message he wants to tell.”

“Will you just help me then?” Jisung begs. “We don’t have much time left and I’m sure you’ll kill me if I submit the demo a minute late so let’s make our lives easier and help each other out, shall we?”

Jisung does need help—especially since you’ll be extremely critical—but he also wants to spend more time with you. He doesn’t know if Minho going on dates motivates him to do the same, and that’s what he wants to figure out.

“Okay,” you say. “But the moment you annoy me too much I’ll leave you to rot alone”

Jisung smiles so brightly his cheeks hurt. “When do you finish class today?”

It wasn’t love at first sight. The first few weeks working with you was hard that he wanted to take a revenge on you by asking Minho to break your heart. His roommate specializes in breaking people’s hearts, but he figured you would break Minho’s heart instead.

After a while, Jisung would rather you break his heart than anybody else’s.

“I hope you like Americano,” Jisung says. You avert your gaze to two cups of Americano on the table, nodding as you sit in front of him. “Thanks. Is the cheesecake mine too?”

He chuckles, sliding the plate to you. “It’s mine, but you can have it. I wanted to buy you one but I don’t know what you like.”

“You dared to assume that I like Americano but couldn’t decide what cake I would like?”

Jisung wonders whether he should be honest with you.

“I almost did,” he confesses. “But buying you cake feels too personal, isn’t it? This will feel like a date.”

You unexpectedly pout, and Jisung almost has a heart attack. “Stop flirting, you’re so bad at it.”

“Once I start flirting for real, you’ll be madly in love with me in 10 minutes.”

You slide the plate back to him. “I don’t know why we’re having this conversation,” you sigh. “Let’s start. You’re the one who wants me to help you get your shit done.”

Jisung opens his laptop to show you his drafts. “I honestly don’t know if this scene is supposed to be sad,” he explains, playing one of them. You listen carefully, glancing at him every few seconds. When the music stops, you close his laptop.

“Do you believe in love, Han Jisung?”

Jisung stops slicing his cheesecake, puts his fork down, and looks into your eyes. “Why are you asking me that?”

“Just answer me.”

“Yes? I’ve been in love before, that’s for sure.”

“Do you think the man loves the woman?”

“He does.”

You look satisfied with his answer. For a few minutes, you don’t ask him any other question, just sipping your coffee while examining your surroundings. “That’s it? You asked me all those big questions then just stopped?”

“Your theories are interesting,” you point out. “You believe in love and thinks that the couple needs to be together, but you’re not thinking from their perspective yet.”

“What’s your theory then?” he asks.

“My theories… about love?”

“Yeah. If you don’t mind sharing.”

You shake your head. “It’s okay, I think it will be fun. Well, this is what I’ve always believed in: boys like you will never be heartbroken.”

“Boys like me?”

“Boys like you, who date just for the sake of dating itself or getting laid.”

Jisung panics, waving his hands in front of your face. “Y/N I’m not some fuckboy I swear to God.”

“I know you’re not,” you clarify. “Boys like you just don’t think too much about anything, don’t really use your feelings. You date you when you want to date, break up when you want to break up, stay single for a while then starting to feel empty and thinking that dating someone is the only solution.”

“Aren’t we all like that?! Tell me you’ve never thought of going on Tinder when you’re lonely!” he protests. “For a film major, you have a lot of time.”

“I have to observe people in order to survive,” you laugh. “Where do you think I get ideas? It’s from other people.”

Jisung is still forming a smart comment in his head when you tilt your head, flashing him a smile so sweet like you didn’t just indirectly diss him. “Your turn. What’s your theory?”

It’s kind of hard to believe, but Jisung has quite a lot of theories about love. He’s not what you’ll call experienced, but he knows enough to come up with his own theories. “Which one hurts more, dumping someone or getting dumped?”

“Getting dumped, of course. That’s not even a theory anymore.”

Jisung wiggles his index finger. “It’s the other way around. Before you break up with someone, you think of hundreds of reasons—whether blaming yourself or the other person. You’ll keep thinking about things you hate about them and shitty experiences with them before coming up with a perfect breakup scenario. And the whole process, Princess, is agonizing.”

“Wow,” you breathe out, amazed. “You’re something else.”

“Jisung-ah!”

Minho jogs to your table, stopping when he realizes that Jisung isn’t alone. “Thank God I found you,” he whispers urgently. “Listen, I know you’re in the middle of a date but this is emergency.”

“What is it?”

“Are you coming home tonight?” Minho asks.

Jisung frowns. “Of course I am. I need to sleep so bad.”

“Are you sure? If so, then…” Minho proceeds to type something on his phone before passing it to Jisung. The latter coughs at the content, pulling out his wallet from his back pocket and handing it to Minho. “If you lose it I’m going to kill you,” he threatens.

“Are you sure you’re coming—”

“Don’t worry, he’s definitely coming home. I’m not sleeping with him if that’s what you’re implying.”

Minho laughs, bowing playfully at you as he backs away. “Good choice!” he yells. “Have fun, you two!”

You giggle while Jisung curses under his breath. “He asked you for a condom, didn’t he?” Once again, you casually smile at him, eyes twinkling. Jisung slowly nods, and you burst into a hearty laugh. “I caught you carrying condoms in your wallet after you insisted that you’re not a fuckboy. Nice move, Han Jisung.”

Jisung groans.

“Are you done?” Jisung asks over the phone. After your “date,” it’s become a routine for him to visit you at the bookstore you work at to discuss the project (while subtly flirting with you because he wants to see you getting all sassy).

“Not yet,” you answer lowly. “My manager is here. You can come inside and wait.”

He forces his legs to walk faster and enters the bookstore. You wave at him from the cashier, gesturing at him to sit on one of the benches. You continue to serve the remaining customers, smiling at Jisung once in a while. He finds himself returning your smile with a bigger one, and he wonders how to convince you that he’s not as bad and shallow as you think.

A crazy idea pops into his mind, causing his palms to sweat. But he wants to do it, to at least try and see how you react. Jisung’s heart races when you say goodbye to your manager and approach him. You nudge his shoulder. “Let’s go.”

You shiver as soon as you open the door. “Where do you want to work?”

Jisung gestures at you to keep walking, giving you his phone and airpods. “You can just listen and give me feedback. I’ll edit once I get home, you must be tired.”

You keep repeating the song throughout the way to the bus station. You turn to Jisung when you’re done, punching his arm lightly. “Well done, this is much better. You can actually show it to Chan.”

“No way. Really?”

You press play once again, bopping your head to the soft beats. “The man tells the woman he loves her after a long time. It’s a happy moment, an achievement. Then he bids her farewell because he knows—both of them know—that the relationship will end badly. It’s sad, but relieving because at least they know what they feel about each other. The music is not sad, but it’s not happy either. It’s hopeful because the characters are going to start another journey, although without each other.”

“But you end it with that little piano sounds, so there’s a tinge of sadness left,” you continue. “And that’s wonderful. I think Chan will like it a lot.”

Jisung lets out the breath he doesn’t know he was holding. “You interpret it better than I ever will,” he mutters. “Thank you. I hope Chan won’t fire me now.”

“He won’t. He loves you and knows you’re talented,” you tell him. “Will you help me for my future projects? We have to create a short film for finals. I haven’t told you this, but I really love your style. I wish I could hear your songs more often.”

“I-I could just, y-you know, write you songs,” Jisung stutters. This is it.  He has to tell you now or he will regret it for the rest of his life.

“Huh?”

“I can write you all the songs you want. I can even write songs about you.”

“What songs? Like diss tracks?”

“I take requests, so I can write you a diss track if you want me to. And I can definitely write love songs about you.”

“How is that possible? You’re unbelievable.”

Jisung stops, clearing his throat before focusing his eyes on you. “Date me,” he enunciates. “Date me, so I can write love songs about you. Maybe later you’ll realize that boys like me aren’t always fuckboys. At least, I’m not. And I’ll give you the privilege to break my heart. I know you can do it.”

You gape at him. “You’re asking me out just to test our theories?”

Great, you think that it’s a stupid idea. Of course it is, why would you want to date him just to—

“Okay,” you add. “I’ll go out with you.”

“Holy shit,” Jisung yelps. “I thought you would beat me up.”

Leaning on the lamppost, you wink at him. “It’ll be fun. But I’ll break all of your bones the moment you start disrespecting me.”

Jisung stands straighter at your tone. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“So, what now? You’re taking me home?” you suggest.

“If you’ll let me.”

You extend your hand, and Jisung quickly takes it before you change your mind. The two of you walk in comfortable silence until you reach your neighborhood. “Will you have lunch with me tomorrow?” Jisung shyly asks, tightening his grip on your hand.

“Sure!” you chirp, squeezing his hand before letting go. “Good night, Jisung.”

“Good night Y/N.”

You give him a small wave, a cheerful smile plastered on your face.

Jisung waves back, unable to erase the stupid grin on his face. Oh, you’re so going to break his heart, and he won’t even try to stop you.

Verse 2: “I just want to be yours, completely yours.”

“You did not just tell me you like horror movies.”

The two of you are currently standing in front of the self-ticket machine, bickering over what movie you should watch. In turns out, your movie taste clash; Jisung lives for horror movies while you despise them. People behind him start snickering, so Jisung pulls you away from the queue.

“While we’re at it, tell me what kind of movies you watch,” he begins, trying to hide his amusement at your frustration. “I love everything, except for horror. But the ones I often watch may put you to sleep.”

“And now, if you don’t want to watch It 2, what do you want to watch?”

“Nothing really interests me,” you express. “It’s fine, let’s just watch this. I’ll pick the movie next time.”

Jisung beams. “My princess is so understanding,” he coos.

You roll your eyes at him, but not pushing him away when he wraps his arm around your shoulder. “How do you not cringe everytime you call me that.”

He pokes your cheek. “Because I know you secretly like it, and I’ll do anything that makes you happy.”

“Wow, you sound like you’re really in love with me,” you blurt out, completely unaware of the effect your words have on him. Who knows? Maybe I will, soon.

Three hours later, Jisung figures that you’re already playing with his feelings. During the entire movie, you didn’t flinch nor close your eyes. You didn’t even hold his hand for support (to be very honest, Jisung was quite disappointed at this).

“Y/N.”

You get startled at his voice, automatically stopping on your track. “Now everything startles me.” You clutch your chest in shock. “I’m sure I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

“For someone who doesn’t like horror, you endured everything well inside the theater.”

“Curiosity always gets the best of me.”

“You could’ve chosen another movie, and I would be okay with that. Next time don’t force yourself, okay?”

“It’s something you love,” you explain. “I know you won’t force me to do things I don’t like, and I won’t force you either, but if it’s something that I can still tolerate then I don’t mind. It’s not like we can’t compromise, right?”

There you go, saying thoughtful things that warms Jisung’s heart so nonchalantly. He only hums in response, picking up his pace since you’ve started running. “I’m running late!” you half-yell before sprinting towards the bookstore.

After a few blocks, both of you arrive at the bookstore, almost running out of breath. Jisung fixes your hair in a haste. “I’ll pick you up later? Watch another movie, maybe? A funny one so you’ll be able to sleep?”

You scrunch up your nose. “Nah, it’s okay. I’ll just call you if Pennywise appears in my room.”

“Oh I’m sure you’re scarier than him, Princess, don’t worry.”

Jisung is prepared for a punch on his shoulder or strings of cussing words from you.

But you reward him with a peck on his cheek instead.

It’s been two hours since your shift was supposed to end, but Jisung hasn’t heard anything from you. His messages are unread and you won’t pick up his call. Minho watches his friend paces back and forth in the living room.

“Dude just pick her up or go to her place, you’re stressing me out!”

“I don’t know if she will like it. She did say I didn’t need to pick her up.”

“Are you really dating her? You’ve never been like this before.”

Jisung plops onto the sofa, massaging his temples. Minho won’t understand, especially since he’s the one who totally fits your “boys like you” criteria. “I am, but the whole thing is different.”

“Like, how?” Minho deadpans.

“We’re dating to test our theories about each other. About love.”

“So you two are just fooling around?”

“No!” Jisung insists. “It’s not like that. We’re dating, but I have to admit that things are getting more serious than I expected.”

Minho rubs his chin. “Isn’t that what you want? You seem to really like her. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this.”

The doorbell suddenly rings. Minho opens the door, surprised to see you there. “Y/N?” he gasps. “Are you okay? Are you crying?”

Jisung’s ears perk up at the word crying and he immediately rushes to you. He cradles your face, examining you from head to toe. “I was so worried Y/N. What the hell happened?” he questions. Minho grabs his phone and wallet from the buffet, mouthing that he’ll give the two of you some time alone.

You circle your arms around Jisung’s waist after Minho closes the door, wetting his sweatshirt with your tears. Jisung automatically takes you into his embrace, stroking your hair in the hopes of calming you down. “Some old man tried to make a pass at me,” you sob. “I almost slapped him but my friends stopped me. The owner has banned him from coming.”

Jisung tightens his hold on you, guilt starting to overtake him. He should have come to you, he should have just come to you. Why did he hesitate? “Motherfucker,” he splutters. “God—I’m so sorry Y/N.”

You shake your head. “Why are you saying sorry?” you try to laugh. “I’m fine, Jisung. I’m just… mad. And a little bit scared, but I’m okay. Seriously though, men have no manners.”

“I know,” he replies. “I’m sorry. I hope it won’t ever happen again. I won’t let it happen, okay? I’ll keep you safe.”

You snort, pulling away to pinch his cheeks. “Then who’s gonna protect you? I know you watch horror movies well but everything else scares you.”

Jisung’s lips stretch into a loving smile, wiping your tears with his hands. “I’ll try my best. You can trust me,” he says. “Should I take you home now?”

You seem to consider his offer before burying your face in chest again. Jisung hopes you can’t hear his heart beating violently due to the close proximity. “Jisung, you okay?” you hum. “Your heart is beating so fast.”

Of course, he won’t be able to fool you.

“Yeah. I’m just glad you’re not hurt.”

“Can I sleep over?”

Jisung separates you from his body before you can hear his heart jumping out of its ribcage. “All I can think about is Pennywise now,” you sigh, searching for approval in his eyes. Jisung feels his legs weaken, so he squeezes your shoulders. “You sure? Do you feel comfortable sleeping in my room with Minho sleeping next door? Oh fuck it, why am I encouraging you to change your mind? Of course you can sleep over. You can trust me, and you can trust Minho too. And it’s not that I’ll even let him touch a strand of your hair!” he blabbers.

Your eyes light up at the mention of Minho’s name. “Lee Minho is hot, I don’t mind having him around.”

“You go around declaring that men have no manners and boys like me are fuckboys yet you don’t mind having Lee fucking Minho around?!”

Once again, you wrap your arms around his waist, and Jisung wastes no time in returning your hug although his eyes are angry now. “I have you, right? You’re not an asshole, you won’t let anything happen to me.”

Jisung sighs in defeat, resting his chin on top of your head. “You’re impossible.”

After putting you to bed (with much difficulty because you kept commenting at how messy his room is), Jisung finds himself lying on the couch, staring at his room. Minho is already back and is now asleep (but not before he gave his roommate a whole warning to not say anything that can damage Jisung’s reputation).

Are you sleeping well? Are you still sad? Do you really think that Minho is hot or were you just playing with him?

His questions seem to reach your mind because seconds later, you slide the door open. You walk towards him, kneeling down to see him better. “JIsung-ah,” you call out softly. “Are you asleep?”

Jisung blinks, heat rising to his cheeks because you’re staring at him so intensely. “Not yet. What is it? You can’t sleep?”

“You can sleep inside, it’s cold out here,” you whisper. “It’s fine, I can sleep anywhere like a log.” He rubs your hand. “Go back to sleep.”

Jisung sits up when you don’t budge. “What if I also want you to be next to me?” you murmur, but he hears everything loud and clear. He carries you back inside his room with saying a word, hoping that this isn’t just a test he will fail.

He lays you down gently, which surprises himself since he tends to do everything in a rush. Jisung settles himself beside you, ready to finally sleep when you scoot closer and put your arms around his torso. “Thank you for today,” you say.

Jisung turns around to face you, slowly pulling you into his arms. “What did I do?” he asks, genuinely curious.

“Being there for me,” you reply. “You didn’t doubt me, you didn’t blame me.”

Jisung lifts your chin so he can look into your eyes. “Why would I blame you? You really should’ve kicked that man’s ass.”

You break into a smile, and Jisung can’t hold himself anymore. The feeling of you in his embrace, your smile, the way you look at him, and the warmth of your words are driving him crazy. Jisung realizes it’s always been like that since the very first time he met you: you’ve always driven him crazy.

“Y/N.” He licks his lips. “I want to start over. I want us to date without thinking about the goddamn theories. I don’t care about them anymore. I just want to be yours, completely yours. I’m not saying this only because I want to date, I only want to date you. And I don’t want to think about breaking up with you once we finish proving those theories. I won’t be able to handle it, I like you too much.”

You blink at him, staring at him long and intense Jisung feels like burning. You cup his face, tilting your head to peck him on the lips. It ends way too soon for his liking, but he already wants to faint.

“Aren’t I your Princess already? That means you’re automatically mine.”

Jisung chuckles, a huge burden is lifted off his chest as you snuggle to him, resting your head on his shoulder. “Nice move, Han Jisung. Confessing to me when I’m in your bed and feeling sentimental as hell.”

“Sorry Princess, but you’re too irresistible. I just gotta make you mine right here, right now.”

“Go to sleep.”

“As you wish,” he sighs dreamily, peppering kisses on the top of your head until you fall asleep.

“Where are you? The food is ready.”

Jisung rummages through his pile of clothes on the floor, picking up a random black shirt and a pair of ripped jeans. His phone is on the bed, speaker on so he could actually get ready while you’re hollering at him.

“I’ll be on my way soon, Princess. Please don’t get mad,” he pleads.

“I took a day off from my part-time job for you, Jisung. But you’re acting like my time isn’t precious at all,” you answer, a little softer this time. Jisung chews the inside of his cheek; you’re right. He’s always late although he barely has time to meet you thesedays.

He swears he doesn’t mean to, but whenever he’s about to meet you, misfortunes always happen: his alarm doesn’t go off, he has an appointment he can’t cancel, or he’s too tired to get out of his bed. You get into petty arguments whenever you meet, but you forgive him every single time although Jisung himself knows he’s being stubborn. As he slips on his shirt, Jisung wonders if this is the beginning of the end.

“Okay,” you finally mumble. “Be careful.”

Jisung ends the call, running as fast as he can to your apartment complex. He considers taking the stairs, but remembers that you live on the 20th floor and decides to wait for the elevator. When he finally enters your flat, his eyes brim with tears.

You’re sleeping on the sofa, two portions of jjajjangmyeon along with a bowl of caramel popcorn are on the table. The television is on, ready to play Along with the Gods because Jisung wants to re-watch it tonight.

He’s the luckiest man on Earth yet he keeps disappointing you. It pains him how small mistakes may really destroy both of you.

Jisung crouches down, wiping his tears quickly before planting a kiss on your lips. You stir, opening your eyes.

“Hi,” you yawn. “Sorry, I fell asleep.”

“I missed you,” Jisung rasps. “So much.”

He pulls you into a bone-crushing hug, his tense muscles relaxing when you hum knowingly against his skin. “I missed you too. Wanna talk about it?” you offer, patting his back softly.

“About what?”

“You had a bad day.”

“And you’re sleepy,” he retorts. “Let’s just sleep.”

“Not before you tell me what’s bothering you.”

Jisung gives up, deciding to tell you how swamped he is with projects and how everything doesn’t seem to go his way. You listen to him—although through half-lidded eyes—giving him all suggestions and reassurance he doesn’t even know he needs.

Sometimes Jisung still thinks about the theories both of you wanted to prove months ago. He remembers how sure he was that yours was wrong. He was not an insensitive asshole.

Maybe he is now. And you don’t deserve it.

The thing is, Jisung is selfish. Losing you is something he fears the most, and now, surrounded by your warmth and soft caresses, he makes a silent promise to fix everything. To make himself worthy of you and your love again.

“Y/N.” He lifts himself up just enough to see your face, smiling at your sleepy face. “I love you.”

You freeze, eyes boring into his, trying to look for traces of lies. He stays in his position and waits for you to say something, anything, before his heart explodes and breaks into a million pieces.

“You do, now?” you reply, burying your face in the crook of his neck.

Jisung waits for you to say it back, but you soon fall asleep in his arms.

Jisung had the best dream ever. He dreamed of going on vacation with you, and you always wore your brightest smile that he loved so much.  But that wasn’t even the best part.

In his dream, you told him that you loved him.

In reality, Jisung wakes up to an empty bed. He checks his phone, relieved to see some messages from you.

princess : hv some cereal before you go, but pls wash the dishes

princess: dont forget to make the bed or ur dead

me: im a slave 4 u, ma’am, dont worry

The tone of your messages doesn’t change, and for now it’s enough to soothe his heart. Jisung makes the bed as you requested before examining your room. He’s seen all his photos you pinned on the wall, but now you’ve written comments underneath some of them.

Jisung’s eyes fall on a photo of him munching on his chocolate. The comment reads, “Please eat more, you’re too skinny.”

Another photo sees him sitting in front of his laptop with his headphones on. “You’re the coolest composer, you know that, right?”

Jisung recognizes the last photo as the one taken during one of your beach dates (in which he dragged Minho to be his designated photographer). You had begged him for a piggy back ride, and he eventually caved. Jisung flaunted his gummy smile as you pressed your lips on his right cheek. Underneath the photo, you wrote, “Jisung-ah, I’m so happy with you. Thank you.”

He wonders why you keep all these thoughts to yourself. These are your love letters for him, they beat all the “Han Jisung, I love you too” scenarios Jisung have inside his head. Why wouldn’t you just tell him that? Is it because he hasn’t been the best boyfriend thesedays?

After taking a photo of your “love shrine” (for blackmail purposes), Jisung leaves his notebooks inside one of your drawers, the ones filled with lyrics he wrote for you and about you. You wrote him the sweetest love letters, and he’s going to fulfill the promise he made when he asked you out.

You deserve to know every little detail of his feelings for you.

“Y/N… about last night… are you mad at me? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You stop flicking through channels, dropping the remote to ponder Jisung’s question. “Yeah, I am,” you admit. “But we’ve fought enough. I don’t wanna waste my energy.”

“So you’re going to let me be a jerk?! What if I never snapped out of it? What if I never apologized to you? Or feel guilty?! You have to beat the shit out of me, Y/N. You can’t be this nice!”

You prop your chin on your knees, closing your eyes. “Last night, I planned to break up with you.”

Jisung pales at your confession. “Princess, I’m—”

“Please hear me out first,” you cut him off. “These past few weeks have been tough, I honestly thought you cheated on me. When you were late again last night, I told myself to end things with you. But then I fucking fell asleep, and then as soon as I saw you, I didn’t want to do it anymore. Plus you looked like a mess last night.”

���I kept wondering if we’re trapped in a toxic relationship. And it angered me. I hated myself for keep wanting to forgive you. When you told me that you love me… I didn’t know how to respond. I didn’t know whether you were being sincere or just caught up in the moment.”

Tears start rolling down your cheeks. “That’s why I didn’t answer. This morning, I decided to give you one last chance.”

“Did I… ruin it?” Jisung asks sheepishly, wiping your tears gently.

You shake your head. “I acted like nothing happened, but you still apologized. And complained about me not telling you about this sooner.”

“So that means…?”

“That means,” you begin. “Your theory is right. Dumping someone feels worse than getting dumped. Yesterday, memories of us fighting flooded my mind as I created a whole speech in my head about how much I hated you. It made me wanna explode, and that was the worst feeling I’ve ever experienced. Resentment is tiring, but the moment you stepped into the living room I know I don’t hate you.”

Jisung heaves a sigh of relief, placing his hand on top of yours carefully. “And your theory is wrong. You broke my heart. You truly did. I told you I love you, and when you didn’t say it back… I felt horrible... although I know it’s all my fault. You have me wrapped around your finger, Princess, I hope you know that.”

“Anyways, I saw your lovely comments for me on the photos,” he teases, knowing you meant to keep it a secret.

“Fucking hell!” you yell. “I forgot to hide them!”

“Why don’t you tell me now, then.”

Your lips curl into a teasing smile. “If I tell you I love you now, will you kiss me?”

Before you even properly say it, Jisung is already hovering over you, cupping your face and crashing his lips on yours. It just occurs to him that he’s never kissed you like this; it was always light pecks here and there. Jisung doesn’t know how he survived that, because nothing beats feeling your lips moving against his. Nothing beats the feeling of you tugging his hair, sighing in contentment when he starts exploring your warm mouth. Jisung tries to remember every single sensation; the way you curl your arms around his neck, the way you keep pulling him down to you as if he’s not close enough, the way you squirm as he nibbles your bottom lip gently.

“I love you,” you whisper in between feverish kisses he leaves every now and then. He pauses, finally letting himself breathe. You hold stars in your eyes, and those stars are all for him to see. It’s overwhelming, so all Jisung does is pressing another kiss on your lips. Moments later, when the lack of oxygen forces him to stop, he pulls away.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, trying to stop himself from kissing you again because he needs to tell you this first.

“For…?”

“Loving me.”

Chan’s graduation project has finally been screened, earning a standing ovation from everybody present. He invited all his crew to dinner, which has turned into a congratulatory party for Jisung and you. “You two didn’t disappoint me,” Chan exclaims. “I guess you’re the reason why Jisung finished his demo early, right Y/N?”

You wink cockily at him. “Han Jisung is nothing without me.”

Chan ruffles your hair before raising his hand to get everyone’s attention. “My last few months as a student felt amazing thanks to you guys. I’m sure you all know how thankful I am for each of you, so I won’t bore you with my speech. Now, Seungmin, I believe you have something to say.”

Kim Seungmin stands up, unfolding a piece of paper that sparks mixed reactions from the crowd. “Lee Felix, Hwang Hyunjin, Choi Jisu,” he announces. “Each of you owes ₩20,000 to me, Chan, and Shin Yuna because you guys freaking lost!” He claps, then turning to both of you. “Jisung and Y/N, thank you for making us rich!”

Everyone cheers while you and Jisung look dumbfounded. “All of you bet on us?!” you scream in disbelief. “Whoa I can’t believe you guys! Even you, Chan?”

The senior only chuckles. “Everyone was stressed out at how slow you two were but you guys were so annoyingly cute we couldn’t help ourselves!”

Seungmin collects all the money from the lost participants before distributing it to each of the winners. When he gets to Chan, the latter shakes his head. “Just use the money for round 2, I’ll pay the rest as well.”

The whole room cheers again, quickly getting up from their seats and debating about which place to go. You immediately start interrogating Seungmin, wanting to know what exactly happened during the whole production process.

Jisung taps Chan’s shoulder. “I believe I haven’t thanked you.”

Chan frowns. “For what?”

Jisung slips his hands into his jeans pocket, smiling at you as you turn around to check on him. “For making the whole project happened. For the whole, ‘Sometimes it’s not about fate or timing. It’s about choice.’ It kept me going, even when I thought Y/N and I weren’t meant to be. There are times when we just have to keep trying, aren’t we?”

“Well, thank you for remembering what I said. But it wasn’t me. It happened because you did try, Jisung. All of us have to make choices at some point, but not a lot of people actually have strength and will to do that. You did, so kudos to you. I’m trying to do the same myself, wish me luck, okay?”

Jisung snorts. “This is getting sappy, but thank you. And I will.”

Both boys laugh, exchanging playful slaps on each other’s back until you come up to them.

“Hey Chan, can I borrow Jisung for a sec?”

Chan shoves Jisung towards you. “If I catch you two sneaking out before round 2 is done, I’ll end you!”

You wave at Chan, and Jisung is now glued to your side. “What is it?” he asks, wrapping his arms around your shoulder. “I found your notebooks.”

He grins. “You did? I thought I’d have to tell you about them. They’re nice, right? I’ve recorded some of them, I’ll let you listen later.”

You cross your arms. “The ones in the black notebook are nice. I’m a goddess and I agree. But what are you gonna say about the red notebook?”

Jisung smirks at your question, dropping a quick kiss on your lips. “What about it? You wanna make everything I wrote there come true? I can do that, Princess. Whenever you want,” he whispers seductively.

His original plan was only to leave you the black notebook that contains all the sweetest lyrics he’s ever written. But then he thought it wouldn’t be fair if you only know that side of him. You have every right to know about his sexy thoughts too.

“I just want you to know me. All of me. And everything I feel about you, including the things I really, really want to do to you,” he continues.

You tiptoe to whisper into his ear, “Maybe later.”

“Later?!” Jisung shouts. “Later as in tonight?!”

You shrug, and now Jisung is dragging you to the opposite direction of where his friends are going. “Chan hyung! You can nag us later but we really need to go home right now!”

Everyone whistles, including Chan, so Jisung takes it as a yes and quickens his pace. You, meanwhile, are looking at the snacks stalls along the street.

“I’m still hungry. Let’s stop by to buy hotteok first.”

Groaning in frustration, Jisung knows he has no choice but to follow you. As he watches you enjoying your hotteok, he thinks about the moment when he desperately wanted to prove you wrong.

Jisung has nothing to prove now. You gave his heart a chance. You gave him a chance, and he’ll make sure to cherish you as long as he can.

more a/n: and it’s done! This story seems simple but writing it, I think the theme is a little bit hard to grasp. I hope you guys can understand everything that Jisung feels... 

[e-vasong]

Can I ask about your writing process?

Huge fan of your TUA fics here - the way you just GET the characters is incredible - its almost like reading a novel written by the actual show writers!

How do you go about your characterisation and your drafting process? Any tips on nailing the complexities of the characters (specifically five)?

Thanks!!!

:') This is literally so nice I don't know how to respond, oh my goodness. I wish I had, like, life-altering writing wisdom for you here, but I honestly feel like my entire process is kind of a mess. I'll share it with you anyways, though, just in case you can glean anything helpful from it. I’ll tuck it below a cut, but here it is (ft. some of my specific characterization notes on Five, since you asked :D).

Pre-draft: Concept stage! This can be a variety of things -- sometimes it's a specific scene. For me it's usually a challenge of some sort. I like to take things that I think are unlikely for a character (under what circumstances would [x] character ever become a bad guy? How would [x] character’s secrets get revealed if they never talk willingly about their emotions?) Then I build out from there. I outline sometimes now, but I’ve been winging all my pieces for so long that it’s pretty tough for me. 

Draft one: Throw things at the wall. If I let myself, I will spend way too long agonizing on making every word perfect on the first go around, and I’ll never write anything. So draft one has permission to be as bad as it needs to be: sentence fragments, OOC dialogue/actions, clunky word choice, the whole nine yards. The most important thing is getting the words/scenes on the page.

Draft two: What sticks? Everyone is different -- I find it easier to edit than to write in the first place. So here’s where I look over my work from draft one. Is my sentence structure variable enough? How are their voices? Their actions? Does the narration work with the POV I’m using for the scene? 

Like, okay. I’m working on chapter two of the end of the war right now. Currently, it includes this line:

“How did you even—” Five starts, then shakes himself.  Absolutely not.  He isn’t entertaining this.  “Luther.”

In retrospect, I’m not wild about it. It doesn’t sound in character to me. I’m not pulling out receipts right now or anything, but the more I think about it, the more that I feel certain that Five rarely expresses surprise unless really shocked. Part of this is likely the contrast between him in his siblings (all the stuff about the Apocalypse and time travel is familiar to him and new to them, so the show has a lot of “Five explains [x] to his siblings while they look flabbergasted by him.”)

Anyways, it doesn’t sit right. So maybe, instead:

Five frowns, taken off guard. He could ask, but--quite frankly--he’s starting to think that he doesn’t want to know. He does, however, know what this is a preface to -- Luther is going to meddle. 

“Luther,” Five says it like a warning. Luther either doesn’t hear it or doesn’t care.

Anyways, rinse and repeat step two as much as necessary, and you basically have my entire drafting process.

Characterization, though, I have a more thorough process for!

Fanon and meta is super, super helpful, but I definitely prefer to look at canon first and foremost. I find it easiest to build characterization by asking myself questions about the character! I mean, don’t get me wrong. The first step is just to...get your own read on their personality? And there’s no trick to that. Everyone comes away from watching a show/reading a book with a slightly different interpretation of a character’s personality. But when building off of that to write them, I find questions helpful. They vary from fandom to fandom, but, like, here are some of the questions I’ve asked myself while writing Five.

What motivates them? For Five, this is a super easy one. He literally says it at multiple points throughout the show. He’s motivated by his family. To the point of wanting to save the world because they’re a part of it. Five troops through injury and pain and discomfort, but one reference from Handler about a deal to save his family is enough to coerce Five into 1 - working with her when he doesn’t want to and 2 - taking a job that he doesn’t seem like he wants to take.

How far are they willing to go to get it? For Five, he’s willing to do pretty much anything.

Are there any contradictions in their characterization? This is a weirdly specific question, but! People are inherently contradictory. Sometimes in TV or movies or books, it’s just bad writing. But sometimes it’s because people are complicated. So, in TUA, Five is consistently a big-picture thinker throughout the series. He seems to view his job at the Commission with apathy because he knows that it’s part of maintaining the timeline and necessary for him to get back home and stop the Apocalypse. He plans to kill an innocent person because he believes the butterfly effect of their death could stop the end of the world. He is, in many ways, a utilitarian -- the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. The greater good sometimes requires a lesser evil. Pull the lever in the trolley problem, and kill the one to save the five. Unless that one is one of Five’s siblings. 

For instance, his dialogue with the Handler in season one seems to imply that he is willing to give up fighting the Apocalypse if and only if she can guarantee his siblings’ safety (though this admittedly turns on how honest you think he was being with her -- I think he was honest, but smart enough to know she’d never follow through, but a fair argument can be made either way.) There are a million ways to read this, and the fun of playing with characterization is that you get to experiment with them! I read it as proof that Five is so driven by his desire to save his siblings that he actually places their wellbeing above his own moral compass (whether his moral compass is right or wrong is a whole other debate.)

What are they like at their best vs. at their worst? At his best, Five is strategic, driven, independent, determined, loyal, and protective. At his worst, he’s controlling, suspicious, bloodthirsty, temperamental, and obsessive. Of course, most people don’t just switch between these two extremes, and these traits frequently coexist, interact, and manifest in milder ways.  Five being suspicious usually manifests as him being cautious until he’s confronted with a character (in season two, Lila) that strikes him the wrong way. Him being obsessive is often just a side product of the fact that he is determined, loyal, and protective.  The fact that he can be controlling is connected to how independent he can be -- the same reason that Five tries to keep Diego in the mental hospital, never tells people that he’s injured, and hides things from them is the same reason he’s so quick and effective at getting things done. This is just a handy way of compiling a flaws/virtues list, and I like to look at it in terms of the potential extremes because I think it makes it easier to see how they interact to create the middle ground where the character actually exists.

How do they talk? Arguably the most important question for actually getting their voice, and the easiest way to nail this down is to just...look at the canon dialogue. Does the character use really big words? Do they talk in long gusts or in short, clipped sentences?  Do they use contractions more or do they not shorten things? This is the hardest part of writing Five for me, because my first impulse is to make him talk like an Intellectual (tm) and Very Erudite Adult. Like, I default to that when writing him, and it’s a horrible habit (in my opinion) because...while he does speak that way sometimes (usually when explaining things to his siblings) that’s not actually how he talks most of the time.  (Like, for instance, I tend to default away from Five using contractions in my first drafts of things. He actually uses contractions a lot, and frequently shortens words--”got to” is “gotta” for Five, “because” becomes “‘cause”, etc.) 

Other examples:

Five: Billions of people are about to die tonight. You can change that.

The Handler: Tonight, tomorrow. So little difference in the scheme of things. Don't you remember the Commission's raison d'etre? What's meant to be is meant to be, or, as I like to say, que será, será.

Five: It's bullshit in any language.

I love this exchange so much :D. And it establishes some great things about the way Five talks! He doesn’t dance around the issue or debate her or try and prove her wrong. He just tells her he thinks that that opinion is dumb, obviously.  He’s blunt, straightforward, and honest. (This seems to tie into the thing I was saying about Five and contractions -- he picks the most straightforward way of saying things unless he’s giving a technical explanation.)

Five: Okay, Luther, but be careful. I mean, I've... I've lived a long life, but you're still a young man. You got your whole life ahead of you. Don't waste it.

Five talks like an old man. Not all the time (though there’s a wonderful gif set out there somewhere of Five using old timer slang -- wait, I found it here.) He doesn’t use the old-timey slang all the time -- and I personally like the idea of mixing up Five’s slang habits and including slang from all sorts of eras because he’s a time traveler whose primary source of interaction after four decades alone was other time traveling assassins. But! He also talks in a way where he shows his age. 

Regardless of where you think Five’s psychological age falls (I have my own Opinions on this), he seems to unilaterally view himself as the Big Sibling, and by a very large margin at that. That’s reflected in how he talks. Not always, since not every line of dialogue is relevant to his age. But stuff like this, or related to it, crops up a fair amount. He counsels his siblings on their problems (as when he comforted Diego post-Eudora’s death), and there are little moments like the quote above, where the point is that Five has indeed seen many more years than his siblings and has the perspective to reflect that.

Well, this is way too long now, and it’s really late where I’m at. I feel like the comprehensibility of this post has been steadily declining the whole time, but if other writers have tips that they want to add onto this, please go ahead!