#but anyway its just them pining and denying like always

[profoundmakerdreamerss-blog]

Tomarry AU with fake dating but not because of a rebound, no. It's because of the money. Yes, an au with Tom and Harry having a YouTube channel together. A couple YouTube channel. Yep. It's not like they like each other — oh no. It's strictly business. After all, it is a lucrative business deal — and that is true because they do take the dating world of YouTube by storm. (That was the plan anyway; pesky feelings are below me anyways. — Tom Riddle, in the mirror, at 3 am.)

An AU where both of them are roommates and due to shortage of funds decide to open a YouTube channel together. Especially after seeing how Abraxas' beauty blog was so successful, and so was Ron's gaming channel. An AU where they start a prank channel that end up becoming a dating channel because everyone thinks they are dating. And because Tom and Harry don't do anything in half's; they decide to milk it as much as they can. To them it was their best idea to date. Or a decision they would both come to regret. (Like Tom? No way, he is my business partner and Tom would kill him before he ever dated him. — Harry Potter, to himself, monologuing the same thing, for the hundredth time that day.)

Basically an AU where they both end up falling for each other and being in denial while doing YouTube videos as a COUPLE, and freaking out everytime they have to do couple-y stuff.

[nyctoaerah]

⋆♱⋆REGRETS

Content warnings: Angst, Death, Foul Language, Toxic behaviors, Unhealthy Relationships.

Pairings: Sanemi Shinazugawa x Fem! Reader

“Are you still thinking about her?”

Obanai questioned, leaning  into the oak tree with his hands behind his head as his heterochromic eyes dissected every flicker of emotion on the wind hashira’s face, searching for clues hidden beneath the mask of indifference that sanemi had.

Sanemi didn’t answer at first, opting to shred a blade of grass between his calloused fingers. The muscles in his jaw tensed as he chewed the inside of his cheek.

“No i’m not.”

He avoided Obanai's searching gaze, staring up into the leaves instead as they rustled gently in the breeze. 

Obanai gave him a look.

The serpent hashira knew how sanemi’s mind works. He was probably thinking about you again, and fuck was he right, Sanemi was thinking about you.

He was thinking of you like some lovesick idiot, he was thinking of your smile, the way you’d bark insults back at him whenever he’s in the mood to be grumpy.

The way you feel, and the sweet sighs you’d breathe into his skin.

He missed how well you knew him, able to read his moods with just a glance.

And damn, did he wonder what would happen if he didn’t acted on impulse back then?

What if instead of breaking up with you, and telling you to just leave the corps, he supported your decision?

Would things be different? Would the two of you still be together?

Would he be able to marry you like he had always wanted to?

“I know you’re thinking about her, Shinazugawa.” Obanai interrupted his wishful thinkings bluntly. Sanemi shot him an irritated glance but didn’t deny it.

There was no point in arguing — Obanai could see right through him anyways.

“Thinking of what could have been if you didn’t split up, yeah? Putting a ring on her finger?”

“Tch. Mind your own business,” he grunted.

“So what if i am thinking about her? It doesn’t matter.” sanemi answered bluntly, making obanai sigh.

“You should move on. it’s been a year and a half.” Obanai replied.

“It’s pathetic to still yearn for a girl. When you wwre the one who broke up with her in the first place.”

“I know it’s pathetic. You don’t have to remind me.”

Sanemi scowled.

He hated it—the reminder that he was the one who had broken your heart, the one who had walked away.

The mere mention of you was like a blade, pristine yet serrated; It was a very sensitive topic for sanemi.

Whenever you were the topic, Sanemi grew sensitive—He disliked discussing about you, because it hurts and left him feeling ashamed.

He loathed this conversation, this topic that dug into the wounds he thought had scabbed over, and he was ashamed that he was the one who broke your heart, when now he was the one pining and in pain. 

Why the fuck did the both of you have to be so stubborn?

All he wanted was to protect you—to shield you from the bloodshed and gore he faced daily as a demon slayer—yet your determination to join and spill demon guts for vengeance for your family was as immovable as a mountain.

Time and again he pleaded with you, begged you to reconsider, to choose another path, any path but that one. But you wouldn’t bend. 

It hurts him whenever he remembers that you and two had something special back then.

Every time he returned home injured from a mission, you would gently clean and dress his wounds with a tender touch, wanting nothing more than to ease his pain.

Your days were spent caring for the handful of stray dogs he had rescued from the streets, nursing them back to health alongside your own beloved pets and your relationship with him was basically all sunshines and rainbows.

But that was until a demon attacked and slaughtered your family.

Your gentleness turned hard as stone. Gone was the refuge you once shared; in its place grew thorns of bitterness, vengefulness, and distrust. All the love you had poured into caring for sanemi and your home seemed wasted and all you cared about was getting revenge. 

And your relationship became toxic, always arguing and all.

Though, one argument made him snap — when you said something hurtful about him.  He knew that he shouldn’t have risen to the bait, shouldn’t have let his temper get the best of him, but damn you just know how to push his buttons.

And before he knew what he was doing, the words were spewing from his mouth like vomit—words he could never take back, words meant to wound as deeply as you’d wounded him, and in the heat of the moment, he ended up storming out and dumping you on the spot, so that you’d quit the corps because he knew you wouldn’t want to see his face anymore or some shit like that.

Sanemi ran both hands roughly through his white hair in stress, tugging slightly in frustration as the events replayed in his mind. The hurtful words you had said were burned into his memory.

He let out a groan and leaned back against the tree, eyes closed as he tried to forget the look on your face when he left.

But no matter what he did, he just couldn’t escape the guilt.

And the fact that obanai just kept mentioning you was just adding salt into the wound.

 “If you miss her so bad, why don’t you just send her a letter and apologize?” Obanai asked casually, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Lower your pride a little. It wouldn’t kill you.” He added.

 “Trust me, I’ve always wanted to apologize.” Sanemi huffed out gruffly. 

“Damn it... I look like such a dramatic fool.” He grumbled to himself, cringing as he recalled his rash actions.

“Then why don’t you send her a letter? You know where to find her...” Obanai said with an arched brow, as if the solution was obvious.  

“I don’t wanna bother her.” Sanemi muttered, already dreading your possible reaction if he tried to reach out, he feared that you’d just tell him to fuck off.

But maybe Obanai was right... He really needed to apologize.

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬, 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝.♡

©𝐍𝐲𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐡 || 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐀/𝐍: i was listening to xxxx by loonie when i was writing this dawg, it fits the theme & atmosphere of this fic... Same ground by kitchie nadal fits this aswell.

(this is totally not inspired by my previous rs)

[pfhwrittes]

ripped straight from the dms with @femalefemur (thank u cyn my beloved)

best friend!johnny mactavish x gender neutral!reader thoughts below...

tw: alcohol mention, pining like whoa, little bit of jealousy, johnny being a possessive little shit, allusions to off-screen sex, fluff, "bonnie" used as a pet name.

unedited and written straight into the drafts for a rush of adrenaline. intended to be gender neutral reader but i may have slipped up somewhere!

word count: 777 words

just thinking about how you and johnny are practically attached at the hip.

he's constantly over your place for takeaways and bad telly or he's dragging you out to clamber up some hill or through a national trust park "for the fresh air, bonnie!"

johnny sends you endless voice notes talking about his day, about the mischief he's gotten up to with kyle or how simon had run him ragged at the gym. in return you send him silly memes or links to tiktok trends and your own rambling voice notes complaining about how your favourite contestant had been eliminated from the silly reality show you'd been watching.

your camera roll is filled with shirtless sweaty gym pics from where they'd saved automatically from your messages. his camera roll is full of answering photos of you half awake and mugging for the camera from the comfort of your bed, your hair a mess and pillow creases on your face.

just thinking about how both of you are super tactile with each other. you mindlessly play with his hair when you're sat next to him at the pub, squished up on one side of the booth opposite simon and kyle. johnny slings his arm around your shoulders and watches the way you gesticulate as you bicker with simon. (neither of you notice kyle's glances between the two of you or catch the sneaky fist bump with simon as a wager is placed when you and johhny come back from the bar with a fresh round for everyone)

just thinking about how your stomach sinks a little bit and how your smile feels brittle every time johnny tells you he's met someone. it's a little bit harder than normal to enjoy johnny's presence when you have to share it with the woman he's seeing but you try anyway. you try not to be "that friend", you try to keep the anecdotes about past nights out or silly stories that only you and johnny know to a minimum. you pull away a little bit from all the usual casual touches you'd normally lean into, aware that her eyes are on you. and you don't want to ruin your friend's happiness with someone else, you really don't, even when you feel your lips twitch with a tiny involuntary frown when he kisses her in front of you.

i'm just thinking about how the people johnny date don't seem to stick around for long after they've met you. you ask him about it once when you're slumped together on your sofa, something lighthearted and daft playing on tv in the background. johnny just shrugs and says something about how they wanted different things (because there's no way he's telling you that his latest ex screamed in his face about how it was so fucking obvious that he was in love with you, even as he denied it and said that you were just good friends).

i'm thinking about what would happen if you started to see someone casually and johnny asks to meet them. how unlike you when you meet his dates, he seems to dial up the friendly touches. he dominates the conversation with stories that always end with "remember that, bonnie?" and a wicked grin. he even pulls up a video of him hitting a new personal record for his hip thrusts at the gym and mean mugs the shit out of your date as you watch the video and praise him for his hard work.

i'm thinking about how you'd pop to the bathroom at some point and by the time you come back your date is gone and johnny's shrugging it off like its no big deal. and yeah, you're a little bit disappointed but johnny comes back to your place with you and settles onto the sofa like he belongs there, leaning up against your side all solid and dependable and quintessentially johnny.

(and in the morning when you check your messages you're not surprised that your date has called it off with you, but you can't bring yourself to care as a thick forearm snakes around your waist and pulls you back against a warm naked body. the gravelly voice of your best friend johnny rumbling in your ear and peppering kisses down your neck...)

(the next time you and johnny meet up with simon and kyle for drinks at the pub, you walk in together hand in hand. simon silently holds out an open palm to kyle as kyle rifles through his wallet and complains that if you had just waited one more week he would've won the bet. bloody selfish of the pair of you.)

[tinfoil-jones]

Tidbits/Facts from the "Tate Pines AU"

Total AU: Here

TLDR: Tate McGucket, originally "Tatum S. Pines" is an oops baby Fiddlestan kid concieved during Stan's drifter years, before Fiddleford was married to Emma-May. Years later Stan joins Ford and Fiddleford in the last few months of building the portal, and after Ford gets yeeted out of the dimension Fiddleford erases Stan and Tates memories of each other, and steals takes Tate because he's afraid Stan will become just like Ford.

Anyways, here's some facts or extra information that didn't make it to the main post:

Stan never ate a green M&M ever again, and he didn't know why. He didn't let anyone else have the green M&Ms either, so they always ended up tossed. (Eventually he let Soos have them)

Tate may have forgotten the entire first five years of his life - but the things he was taught in the streets never left him, it was just buried in his deep subconscious and muscle memory. Crime is his first instinct, and it became Fiddlefords problem. Some of the things Fiddleford and Emma-May have been called to the school for in regards to Tate include but are not limited to;

-Stealing teachers wallets (this was the hardest habit to break) -Hot wiring a car -Saying "oink oink" to the security officer because he mistook him for an actual cop -Black market stencil racketeering -Pyramid scheme involving hall way passes -Food aggression -Slamming his fists on the podium and saying "What are you, a cop?" When it was his turn on the Debate Team

Tate's a mama's boy, even after everything he loves Emma-May the most.

Stan holds no hard feeings for Emma-May, if anything he appreciates that she never treated Tate as anything other than her own.

While Stan was never able to get baby pictures of Tate due their vagabond lifestyle, there does exist one real photo of Tate as a baby; a mugshot from the Brewster County Police Department in Texas that depicts both Stan and a 1-year-old Tate. While it does show Tates name alongside Stan's, he was never charged for anything on account of literally being an infant. Besides his birth certificate, this is the only legal evidence that "Tatum S. Pines" ever existed.

Ford and Fiddlefords relationship eventually mends, but it takes time; Ford isn't exactly the most forgiving person.

Tatum being Fiddlefords son was something that Ford hadn't anticipated all of those years ago; when he was sequencing DNA and saw the similarities between Tate and Fiddleford, it did surprise him.

Stan made the right choice (best choice, given their circumstances) when he decided to treat Tate for pneumonia instead of himself. Tate wouldn't have survived, he didn't inherit the strong cockroach-like constitution of the Pines family.

If Dipper and Mabel come back to Gravity Falls, Tate would be want to get to know them better; but only if the twins want to.

Fiddleford and Emma-May's divorce was amicable this time around - they drifted apart and wanted different things in the latter half of their lives.

Tate's middle name did come from his uncle Stanford, but Stan denies it.

Tates love of fishing comes from Stan

Even with their half-romantic-half-antagonistic relationship, Stan rarely ever calls Fiddleford anything other than "McGucket". Partially, its out of habit, but mostly its him trying to mentally seperate his partner Old Man McGucket from the Fiddleford who betrayed him.

It took a full year for Tate to call Fiddleford anything other than "Fiddlesticks", but he took to calling Emma-May "Mama" right away. This is because, subconsciously, he knew he already had a dad.

Soos and Tate became close friends

[rosemallowss]

some thoughts

Obviously, people have probably analyzed the hell out of this poem already, or it's incredibly obvious, but I just cannot get over the parallels between Bill Cipher and Stanley here so here are my ramblings for myself when I originally read the poem.

As we learn more of Bill's backstory, the hatred he has for Stan goes deeper, not just because Bill is upset that a "lower life form" has defeated him, but because he's deeply envious that the both of them "always dragged his family down", "couldn't outrun life's regrets", and yet only one of them got a happy ending: reunited with a family who loves him despite his mistakes, able to reverse one of his own deepest regrets, ie. pushing Ford through the portal after just getting him back. Bill likely always dragged his family down with his ability to see the third dimension, as the book and website implies that no one in Euclydia were exactly fond of his abilities, nor did they take him seriously, and they tried to quell his power. (He's basically like Viktor from The Umbrella Academy, but I digress I have not seen the new season). "One mistake, disowned, denied", their paths differ here, but Stan's mistake- ruining Ford's school project accidentally, and Bill's- massacring an entire dimension in the process of attempting to get them all to see what he sees.

We know Stanley's whole life of hiding and changing his identity. Bill goes to "reinvent, retry, reload" throughout dimensions.

"A girdle, eyepatch, fathers fez, / 'I'm a new man!' so he says,": With new info from the website, we can also guess that Bill's top hat, where he keeps the molecules of Euclydia in, once belonged to his father. They both "couldn't outrun life's regrets," and both are con mans in their own right of course, Bill is sketchy and makes deals to manipulate people. He’s a new man once he takes his dad’s top hat!

"When you've lost track of your lies / When the poison starts to rise / When the walls are closing in / When its clear you cannot win / When your actions make it worse / When they see you as a curse," sheesh, Bill is really projecting here. Even his lies are lies. It's funny how Bill really sees himself in both of the Stan twins. With Stanley he seems to project what he hates most about himself onto him in terms of mistakes, failures, and permanently altering his and his loved ones' lives forever, again showing why he despises Stan the most. Despite all of that, Stan got the life that Bill couldn't get back. With Ford, they both have a genetic abnormality, and level of genius and personality that no one else could relate to, making them both outcasts.

"You think you left the past behind / But trust me / I'm still on your mind." By the way, if Bill was still in his mind while his memories were getting erased, and Stan is getting those memories back, that implies that Bill can reform whole again, right? But anyway, these last few lines don't seem to apply to Stan as much as it does to Bill. His dead universe is always on his mind no matter what. Bill's story is so fascinating to me. He's been my favorite villain since I was eleven, so to expand upon him feels awesome. Book of Bill coming out has made me feel like a giddy little kid again who was screaming when she found out that there was a secret flashing of an image once the GF intro ended.

Stanley Pines, the conman clown,

Always dragged his family down.

One mistake, disowned, denied,

Only thing to do was hide.

One way out: the open road.

Reinvent, retry, reload.

A girdle, eyepatch, fathers fez,

"I'm a new man!" so he says

Couldn't outrun life's regrets,

Just kept placing bigger bets.

Changed his haircut, switched hotels-

Truth is just whatever sells.

When you've lost track of your lies,

When the poison starts to rise,

When the walls are closing in,

When its clear you cannot win,

When your actions make it worse,

When they see you as a curse,

Give the wheel one last spin,

Take your chips and go all in,

And Lucky Stan- the roll's on black,

He got his life and family back.

His big break, it finally came,

Redemption from a life of shame.

You really think you won the day.

You packed your bags and sailed away.

You think you left the past behind.

But trust me

I'm still on your mind.

[azullumi]

wanderer — unspoken confessions ☆彡

summary — you're drunk and drinking and he's looking for you; unspoken confessions and you two wished the other knew the feelings being held.

pairing — wanderer/gender-neutral reader

tags — fluff, secret pining or yearning, friends but wishes to be more than that, drunk reader and wanderer is there to take them home so they're safe; oneshot

word count — 1500+

a/n — i ended up being busy for today so i had to rush this one. i was going for a drunken confessions route but here i am, i just thought this one was better. anyways, happiest birthday to the most prettiest, beautiful, wonderful, amazing, magnificent, alluring, fair, fascinating babiest baby girl of them all baby girls!! <33

he wanders throughout the dead of the night, navigating through the darkness with only the streetlamps there to accompany and guide him to his destination. the evening comes as a lull welcome to serenity and the city was silent in its embrace except for the sound of leaves rustling, his light footsteps, and the indistinguishable chatter of the few people around.

he could feel the cold night wind gently blow against him, caressing his skin, and soothing his warmth, and he pulls his hat down, holding it to avoid it from being blown away accidentally.

it was still early in the evening so a few people, aside from mercenaries, were seen outside, taking a stroll, or talking to others—most of the citizens that weren't outside were either inside their home or in the tavern, drinking and eating, and you were also doing the latter and he was out looking for you. apparently, after consulting nahida on your whereabouts as he couldn't find you in your own home nor anywhere the whole afternoon until now, he learned that you were out drinking with a group of people you met recently.

wanderer passed by a few closed stalls before eventually arriving at the doors of the tavern with the host greeting him as he entered. there, the warm lights of the place greeted him as he stepped in and the sound of laughter was heard, unfamiliar and loud, and there he saw you. not situated far away from him, you were seated—seemingly passed out as you had your head laid on top of the table— with a bunch of people whose faces he doesn't know of.

the thought of you willingly going out and drinking with strangers pissed him off. are you really that careless and lacking in self-awareness that you'll get yourself drunk around people who you're not even familiar nor close with? and the fact that you didn't even tell him where you're going to be and what you're going to do? his expression crumpled to an irritated one.

honestly even if the two of you are just friends—deep in him, he wishes you two weren't just that no matter the amount of times he had denied the thought—, it would have been if you would tell him. no, honestly, you should because he doesn't want to go through hell and back just to look for you and even seek for the sumeru archon's help— whose assistance will always be accompanied with her own words that would send him into a spiral of realization of what he truly feels towards you along with some teasing.

he walks towards your table, stopping right in front of it and grabbing the attention of the people in it. there was the strong smell of alcohol and aroma of food that wafted to his nose, it was harsh and he doesn't like it in a bit.

"oh hello, is there anything we can help you with?" one of them asks, he looks the most sober one out of all them due to the fact that he could speak without slurring their words.

"i'll be taking this one home with me," he says, an emotionless expression plastered on his face, while pointing at you. it seems like the sound of his voice woke you up from your slumber as you slowly sat up and brought your gaze to him, meeting his stare. your face was flustered pink, your eyes drowsy, and your hair was untidy, you looked like a total mess.

"wait, we don't know—" words of protest were about to be heard coming out of the man sitting in front of you but your voice interrupted them.

"hiii, kuniii," you break out into a grin, realizing that it was him, reaching your arms out, wanting to initiate a hug or anything. your words were dragged out and he could only sigh upon witnessing the state that you are in before he leaned down, letting you wrap your arms around his neck, then picking you up in his hold. he doesn't even care about the people watching him, in fact, he even finds himself liking it.

"you're hereee, why are you here?"

"i'm here to pick your dumbass up."

"we're going home?"

"yes, so be quiet."

"okay…" you followed what he said, shutting your mouth and resting your head against his shoulders.

wanderer gazed at the group, looking at them with a cold expression, "i appreciate that you kept (name) safe, however, next time, please avoid inviting them out and having them stay up until this time."

he turns around, walking away and leaving the tavern while he was holding you and you were hugging him tightly. it seems like you have fallen asleep once again and so he intends to bring you home as soon as possible so that you'll be able to get some rest properly.

the way back to your home was silent just like when he was walking towards the tavern to fetch your drunk state. he just wouldn't be able to rest peacefully knowing that someone else, a complete stranger, took you home, especially at this defenseless state of yours. what if something bad happened to you? what if the people you were drinking with were actually horrible and you weren't able to protect yourself? what if they were kidnappers, murderers, or anything and their next victim was you?

honestly, he has no right speaking over that matter and judging them when the blood that stains his hands makes him no different from them—if they were really bad people. but still, he just couldn't handle the thought of you slipping out of his grasp even when you have never been close to him to hold his hand. it was fine admiring you from afar as long as you don't fade from his sight.

a groan snapped him out of his trance and he looked at his side, to his shoulder where your head rests in which you rise up from your very quick nap. at the same time, you two have already arrived at the foot of your home.

"where are we…?"

"at the door of your house, where's your keys?" you hum before replying to him, tapping his shoulder as you spoke, "it's okay, you can put me down now. i can handle myself."

your voice sounded so soft and based on the tone of your voice—compared to when you were slurring your words when he was greeted by you— he could tell that you were already sobering up. maybe that quick sleep and cold breeze helped you?

he did what you had asked him to do, placing you down the ground and making sure that you were already on both of your feet before releasing his hold on you, watching you take your keys and unlocking the door soon after. he plans on leaving as soon as he sees you get inside your room.

there was only silence not until you spoke, "thanks for taking me home, by the way."

"you ought to be more careful next time."

"i will, thank you once again," you turned to him as you spoke, a small smile on your face and you don't know if it's the way the moonlight shines on him that his complexion looks so soft and gentle while looking at you.

*oh, right! it's not yet midnight, right? i hope i'm not late…" there was panic in your tone as you fumbled and looked for something in the pockets of your clothes. he was about to speak, planning on asking you, but was then interrupted when you took out what you were looking for, dangling it in front of his face.

it was an amulet with a gem in the shape of a heart and there was an unknown feeling at his stomach, one that he always feels when he's around you, adoring you, or talking to you.

"it was only this morning when i learned that it was your birthday so i looked for a gift and was even thinking of just making a handmade one but i don't think i'll have enough time and then i encountered those people— the ones i was drinking with— who helped me in exchange for some drinks. i swear, i wasn't planning on staying out late and i was going to look for you right—"

you were interrupted with the sound of something short and sweet, so genuine, so low and soft that if your surroundings weren't silent right now, you wouldn't have heard it.

"…okay, that's enough. you don't have to explain everything, just be more careful next time." did he laugh? did he just let out a chuckle? a laugh? are you still drunk? maybe that's it, maybe you're still drunk and daydreaming!

you scratched the back of your neck before handing him the gift on your hand and he accepted it. in the quick moment he had his guard down, you cupped his face gently and pressed your lips against his cheek, giving him a peck.

"happy birthday, kuni. thank you for being born, thank you for being here," you whisper before parting, letting go of your hold on his cheek and you weren't looking at him, your gaze averted and away. you wanted to see his face but you were afraid of the emotion that would stain his expression so you could only look away and the reality of the situation had only dawned on you when silence only reigned.

"so uhm, yes, that's all. okay, goodnight!"

you then went inside immediately and closed the door and you wish you stayed for a little bit, you wished you could have seen the way his face flusters and his ears grow red, you wished you witnessed him fall and try to cover the blush on his cheeks as he tries to calm the butterflies that were going wild in his stomach. archons, what is he going to do with you?

his gaze remains at the amulet in his hand and his mind remains at the time when your lips had touched his skin, stuck in a single yet eternal dreamlike moment, not wanting to leave.

even with the amount of thoughts running inside his head, he could only think of you—his mind never felt like his own because it's only you that fills it, his thoughts felt like small puzzle pieces that once combined all together, it will form an image of you. he likes you so much, just like the way icarus yearns for the sun, too close, too warm, too much.

— navigation | masterlist

[arcticmarcy]

heyyyyy, what are you mcsm headcannons. You’re art is very cool and I’m intrigued 😋

Your*

Teehee anyway

I have a LOT i'm not getting into rn but. These are my blorbos I have a whole LIST

Mostly will be surrounded around Jesse (green suspenders ftw), Lukas and Petra since they're my favorites

To start, which is something i think should be more popular:

JESSE IS A THEATRE KID!!! You cannot convince me otherwise. That guy is dancing and singing around to the waitress soundtrack and I'm not taking no for an answer

Lukas' favorite animal is NOT an ocelot it's a serval but his idiot friends didn't care enough to put any thought into it (and servals don't exist in minecraft 😔) serval Lukas supremacy

Petra's prolly got a whole lotta scars under all those freaking layers she wears. Adventuring in the Nether, especially alone is not easy and you probably wouldn't come out of there unscathed

I'm a firm believer in Lukas was pining over Jesse for a while so he tried to not be mean to his friends but his own friends suck so bad. Aiden literally made me want to punch a hole in the wall and I left him to die in sky city <3. Lukas fell first for a while and it was bad. It was real bad. My guy was oblivious to his own feelings but Jesse was even more oblivious </3 he's a little slow in that department but they get there eventually

I'm also hopping on the gay Lukas and bi Jesse bandwagon. Petra is a lesbian, Olivia is pan and Axel is prolly straight. Idk I don't find him to be very interesting past his main arc in s1 but I haven't seen s2 yet so. NO SPOILERS!!

It's been foreshadowed before that Lukas is somewhat interested in history (Jesse makes a comment on how much he loved seeing the statues in Soren's cave and the giant library, he's so silly) when he isn't going on adventures or being a fag he's reading some kind of history book or looking at ancient artifacts he collects (like rocks <3) (can you tell im projecting) (im not trust)

Jesse can't sing for shit and neither can any of his friends. When they harmonize it's so bad it sounds astonishing - compared to Lukas who's va can sing his ass off. Angelic voice x the sound of god dying solidarity <3 (also the gorgeous brown eyes + the blue eyes that stare into your soul)

The amount of TENSION when Jesse and Lukas had that last talk before Lukas went to find his friends was so thick. I could feel it through the screen. "I'll always find my way back to you" HELLO? (ik that isnt the direct quote but its close) they shouldve kissed. Fuck you

There's just tension in general. Everyone can sense it except for them. Even Axel. Who's prolly straight or smth idk i'm working on that

Olivia is both their wingman. She confronts Lukas first and he can't deny it without looking stupid, and then Jesse starts questioning his life choices and she gets to work. It is a very long. Slow. Process. But it's worth it!!

That's all I can think of for now, tune in next time for more on the next episode of dragonball z

[coltermorning]

Where Stubbornness Leads Pt. 1 (RDR2 Fanfic, Arthur Morgan x F!Reader, 18+)

Summary: Arthur has found himself offering his help to you time and again, even if you’re too proud to accept it. When Hosea sends the two of you on a score pretending to be a married couple, the reason for Arthur’s helping hand is revealed.

Author’s Notes: Part one of two. This one’s straight pining and fluff and can be read as a stand-alone piece if you prefer that over its more devious part two ;) Told from Arthur’s pov and takes place during chapter two in game.

Tags: Arthur Morgan x reader, high honor Arthur Morgan, mutual pining, fluff, eventual smut

AO3 Link

~

Where Stubbornness Leads

Word count: 5226

Part One

“Let me help.”

You glared at Arthur. He realized too late he was doing it again, offering a hand where it wasn’t wanted. He couldn’t help it—you were only a few weeks into joining the gang, and unlike all the other women who had joined, you had a tendency to take to chores that were better left to the men. Or so he thought.

��No,” you told him firmly, struggling to carry a hay bale to the horses. “I told you, I don’t need help.”

You were always claiming that. But there you were, carrying the thing by the strings because you couldn’t lift it from underneath. He knew how sharp those strings cut in from the weight of the bales and was willing to bet your hands were killing you. You ignored your pain anyway, choosing to spite him in favor of admitting defeat.

You reached the nearby trees and threw the bale down, lurching forward from the sudden loss of weight, catching yourself on the hay. Arthur felt a smile turn the corner of his mouth at your grit—the hulking thing had to be half your size.

You turned and eyed him, like you hoped he hadn’t seen that. “What are you looking at?”

He kept himself from smiling wider, only just. “Someone too stubborn for her own good.”

“I’m not stubborn,” you shot back, standing tall. Well, as tall as you could be considered. The effect was like a bunny standing its ground.

“You realize just saying that is stubborn, right?” He was unable to keep the smile at bay now.

“Why are you needling me? I’m only trying to help, and there you are at every turn, acting like I’m fragile as a bird, telling me I’m stubborn-”

“Because you are,” he added.

“Yeah, well so are you,” you shot back. That, he couldn’t well deny. He knew better, especially to try and deny it in front of you. So he let you be, resisting the urge to go get the second bale before you could reach it just to see what you would do about it.

“Fair enough,” he mumbled, keeping his laugh held in, heading back into camp.

This had all started when you tried carrying two heavy saddles over to their respective mounts at once on only your second day in camp. Arthur had stepped in to help, and your quick refusal had his amusement gluing him to the spot, watching you fumble them onto the horses all on your own. From then on, he felt it was his duty to offer his help on the off chance you felt overworked. He didn’t want all the chores to scare you off. But it had turned into a bit of a game with the pair of you, you doing things you and he both knew were too much for you, him nearly forcing whatever it was from your grip. You had stood your ground relentlessly, and he soon came to realize you would never take his help. Whether for pride or spite he wasn’t sure, but he found himself trying anyway. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it had to do with the challenge in your eyes, the gleam in them every time he approached you. Whatever the cause, he found himself trailing you around camp more often than not. And it was this that got Hosea’s attention.

“Arthur!” he called out, waving him over. “I’ve found a lead, Arthur. And I need you and Y/N to work it together.”

“Y/N?” he responded, not liking bringing you into the line of fire so soon. “Why her?”

“You seem to have gotten to know her better than the rest of us, and I need an unfamiliar face for this job. A woman at that. You said you already took the other women into town a few days ago.”

“Not Molly,” Arthur offered. “Or Abigail.” Or Sadie. But Sadie was still in mourning, and he didn’t like the idea of bringing her on a score anymore than he did you.

“Yes, but Abigail needs to be here with Jack, and you remember what happened the last time you and Molly worked something together.” Arthur scowled, recalling when Molly had nearly blown their cover, too busy going on about Dutch.

“Yes,” Arthur muttered.

“Then Y/N it is. About time to test her grit, I say.”

“What is it? Ain’t too dangerous?”

Hosea’s face curved into a knowing smile. “Not unless you’re as terrible at cards as everyone seems to think you are.”

“Cards?”

“A poker tournament in Valentine. Stakes are high. I say we take a little of the winnings for ourselves.”

“Hosea, I just beat a man half to death in that town. Don’t think they’ll take too kindly to me forcing my way into a game.”

“That’s exactly why it has to be you. They won’t refuse you after winning a fight like the one I heard about. We need you, and someone holding you accountable.”

“I can handle a game of poker,” he said flatly.

“Sure,” Hosea said. “But, for sake of appearances, I think it best if you had a woman on your hip. Less chance for things to get heated.”

On his hip?

“And who knows? Maybe she’ll prove better at cards than you. That would certainly help our chances.” He laughed that wheezing laugh of his.

Arthur scoffed. “You really want my help or just felt like annoying me?”

“Why not both?” he said, and for the life of him, Arthur couldn’t help but snicker right back.

Hosea suggested Arthur let you in on the plan, but he quickly shot that down, not wanting to have to tell you what role you would be playing alongside him. He had a feeling you would refuse. So, Hosea let you in on it instead, and Arthur watched from afar as you eagerly agreed. You soon ambled up to him, looking smug.

“Seems I’m to be taken out on my first score,” you told him, crossing your arms in a taunt.

“I wouldn’t call it a score,” Arthur said. “Just a clean game of cards. That’s what you’re there to make sure of anyway.”

“Is it?” Your smile widened, a wicked-looking thing. “And here I thought I was to play wife so you keep your head.”

“Wife? Is that what Hosea told you?”

You snorted a laugh. “At least act like you know how to relation a woman.”

He felt his face heat, his embarrassment turning to anger. “I ain’t concerned with that,” he spat. “I’m concerned you’ll give us away.”

That wiped your smile away. “I can act the part just fine. It’s you that seems to have a problem with it.”

“Only because I know how you are. You can’t stand me being around you, so how the hell are we supposed to play married?”

“What did you think I was going to do, stand there and look pretty? Why would I be needed if that was the case?” That was a good point. He didn’t quite know what he had expected you to be doing. And before he could think of what to say to this, you interrupted with another snide smile. “Look sharp. I’ll be ready at seven, dear husband.”

He went red again, annoyed at himself over it. He was going to have to make a better show of this if it was going to be remotely believable.

Night eventually fell, and seven came sooner than Arthur was prepared for. How to act married to someone who only ever fought him at every turn? He was starting to think Hosea had done this on purpose just to distract him from poker, for he could act as sweet on you as was needed, but he had a feeling all it would do was annoy you. Dressed and heading for the horses, he wondered if the pair of you could even last an hour doing this. Ten minutes, even. It looked hopeless as it stood.

“Well, don’t you clean up nice,” said a voice at his back. He turned to see you wearing a dress that made him double take. You usually wore pants, the occasional dress here or there. This was neither. His gaze hung on the curves of it, how it hugged your body. Nothing like he had ever seen you in. “What do you think?” you said, turning so the deep red skirts spun back and forth.

“It uh…suits you.”

You stopping spinning. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, give it a rest, will you?” he said, grinning. Your face gave way to the same.

Arthur made sure all was in order with the horses and wagon, and the pair of you were soon atop it, riding out of Horseshoe Overlook. You discussed a bit of strategy on the way, namely your backstory to be sure you were on the same page. The town of Valentine soon came into view, more crowded than usual, most people walking toward the saloon on the main road. Finding a good spot to park the wagon, Arthur brought it to a stop. He was a little nervous if he was being honest with himself. A good score he could handle, a long night of poker too, but he never was very good at acting a part. And yet, he found himself doing it time and again, Hosea always finding a way to swindle him into it. The only thing that kept him from thinking the night would be a total disaster was the town knowing his face after his fight with that big brute in the saloon. That tended to keep most people from asking too many questions.

After helping you down, letting you take his arm as you walked, Arthur noticed nearly everyone he passed turning their heads. He wasn’t sure if it was due to his bare-knuckle reputation or you on his arm. What a sight the pair of you likely made, him a trussed-up fool stuffed into somewhat decent clothing for once, you looking like something out of a storybook. In fact, the more he walked, the more he was sure it was both things turning heads—folk wondering how a man rough as him had ever won something with such refined grace. The irony of it wasn’t lost on him.

Stepping into the saloon, Arthur knew Hosea had planned this perfectly. For those who immediately took notice of him cleared out of the way, some whispering behind hands, a few muttering outright what state he had left Tommy in. It grated on his nerves a little, but it had the effect he was hoping for. When he stepped up to one of the tables now converted to a poker table in the back of the room, a seat was immediately offered to him.

“Here, sir,” a scrawny-looking man said, having trouble meeting his eye. The others already seated at the table glared at the man, like they wished he had offered the chair to anyone else. But Arthur sat, remembering his manners, letting you step behind him as another woman with her husband did across the table.

They all eyed him, the man to his left finding the courage to confront him. “You the man left Tommy in a right state?”

“Hey, he started it. And it ain’t no cause for worry besides. I can play nice.” He leaned in close to the man and said lowly, “Or my wife’ll have my head.”

This seemed to calm him some, but Arthur knew it would take convincing for these men to trust he wouldn’t beat them half to death over a bad hand.

Hosea was right again thinking having a woman with him would help. And you did well, not drawing too much attention to yourself but keeping a pleasant air about the table. When the game started and a few rounds came and went, he was surprised to feel your hands sliding over his shoulders, to hear your whispering voice in his ear. “He’s bluffing.”

Arthur kept his surprise at bay, daring a look at the only other man who hadn’t folded. He wanted to ask how you knew but couldn’t give himself away, so he took a chance and made a bigger bet. Cards were laid out, and it paid off. He won.

He turned to where you still hovered by his ear and muttered, “Thanks, darlin’.” You gave his shoulders a small squeeze, and Arthur felt his heart give a happy kick in return. He ignored it, knowing this was all for show and reminding his heartbeat of the same.

You didn’t pitch in often, but what little advice you had was always spot on, and Arthur’s pile of chips was soon building high. Lucky Hosea had thought to bring you in, really. He was only ever average at best playing poker, bets too big and bluffs too noticeable. He soon realized that was the flaw in his strategy—he played for himself when he should have been watching the other men at the table like you were. When two men busted out, leaving three others and Arthur, he started leaning into you for advice every hand, losing very few when he did.

“Hey, you play your own game or sit her at the table,” one of the men said bitterly, his pile of chips running pitifully low. Arthur only had to shoot him a sharp look to shut him right up.

The night wore on, and Arthur was soon left with only one opponent, the money he had won substantial. The only problem was that he was beginning to lose it, the other man either very good or very lucky. Even your advice wasn’t helping to win, only to keep from losing too much. Finally, when you whispered, “Call it,” Arthur knew you weren’t talking about matching a bet. He wouldn’t have ever thought of leaving the table if you hadn’t been there, would have just kept on playing until he busted. He knew then Hosea had been right in thinking you would help him keep his head.

He hesitated, wanting to win one more hand.

“Arthur,” you warned. But he did it anyway, matching a particularly high bet. You brought your hands away, obviously annoyed, and he hoped like hell the cards would land in his favor for it. The turn proved unhelpful and the river even worse—he didn’t have a thing. “Fold,” you hissed, as his opponent had raised the bet even higher. Arthur debated it. You could obviously read the man well, but how was he to win and get a seat in the next game, the game where all the money was, if he folded now?

He raised the bet and placed his cards face-up. He thought he heard you curse under your breath behind him. The other man smiled and matched the bet, showing his cards—he had a straight.

“Damn it,” Arthur said, slamming his fist on the table enough to make the chips shake. He had just lost twenty dollars. Watching the other man rake in his winnings, avoiding his eye after his small bout of violence, Arthur finally heeded your advice. He stood. “I’m taking my money and my pride while I still got some.”

“Probably for the best, dear,” he heard, your hand finding his arm and giving him a reassuring squeeze. He looked to you and again felt his gaze catch—he was standing close enough now to notice the red on your lips, the slight color high on your cheekbones. You had really leaned into your role, looking the part so well that he found himself unable to tear his eyes away.

“Here’s your money, sir,” said a voice from behind him. He hesitated a moment too long, you raising an eyebrow at the way he stared.

“Uh, thanks,” he said, rounding quickly to cover his blunder. He had still won a fair amount, knowing Hosea would be happy with him and even happier with you for not allowing him to lose it all.

With that, he offered his arm to you again. “Back home then?”

You shot him a smirk and took his arm, pulling him to the bar. “May as well enjoy ourselves a little. Home can wait.”

You were soon making him buy you whiskey with his winnings, eating through a few bucks with ease when he joined you in it. When you asked for yet another shot, it was him raising his eyebrow this time. “You trying to drown out the thought of being married to me?” he asked with a grin.

“The thought of your stubbornness, more like, losing that last hand.” The next glass was set down in front of you and you threw it back without hesitation.

“Yes, I’m a proper fool. But take it easy or you’ll blow our cover.”

You set the glass down, staring at it a moment. “Ain’t so proper for a married woman to be doing this, is it?”

Arthur shrugged. “Maybe. I ain’t quite the right man to ask.”

You laughed lowly. “I guess not.” Then, “Let’s go home, take the long way around. I need some time away.”

His gaze had fallen to your mouth again. Luckily, you didn’t notice, too busy straightening the lapels of his coat. It was an intimate gesture, domestic enough to make his chest hitch at the feeling that ran through him—longing for that life. For someone to care enough to straighten his clothes. The thought of settling down often plagued him, what with all that business with Mary and what he could have given Eliza and Isaac. But it hadn’t worked before and it wouldn’t work now, and your hands were soon falling away, and the moment was gone before it even began. Nothing but a facade, like looking in on someone else’s life through the outside window, never his to grasp.

Realizing he was still staring at your mouth through his moment of longing, he met your eyes and turned away just as fast, knowing he had shown you a part of himself he hadn’t meant to by the way you stared just as frankly.

“Come on then,” he mumbled, letting you loop your arm through his and leading you out.

Thankfully, you were silent for the walk back to the wagon. He helped you up, his hands on your hips making him feel something he didn’t know how to feel. Not now. It was only when he was back on the wagon pulling the horses into the street that you spoke, bringing him out of his reverie.

“I think I did okay, don’t you? Gonna put in a good word for me with Hosea?”

There it was—the truth that it had all been a ruse to you. That what he had felt when he was so near you didn’t hold weight, didn’t matter.

“Sure,” he said, trying hard to keep his feelings out of his voice. Then, to get back to something resembling normal with you, “And where’s all this compliance been the whole time? Here I thought you couldn’t go two minutes without an argument.”

“Oh, hush. Just be glad I chose not to. Some wives argue just as much with their husbands as I do with you, you know.”

He felt one side of his mouth tug upward at the comparison. “I guess so. Just seems you’re going against your nature, not running your mouth at me.”

“Trust me, there were plenty of times I wanted to,” you shot back. “Who knew you were such shit at cards?”

He turned to argue, but you were smiling so devilishly at him that he knew better than to reply. He instead settled in his seat, keeping the horses pointed toward the path out of town, dead silent.

“Oh, real mature,” you teased, giving him a small shove. “Admit it, Arthur. You love arguing just as much as I do.”

“I wouldn’t have to if you weren’t wrong so often.” You hit him this time. “It’s true,” he said on a laugh. “You’re too stubborn to accept that I’m right more often than not.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.” He was grinning now, especially when he saw how worked up you were getting.

You turned away, making a point to cross your arms and turn your nose up.

“Now who’s mature?” he asked, poking you in the side. You jerked away and swatted at him, smiling despite yourself.

“You- big- annoying- bastard,” you said between swats.

“You know you love me.” He said the words before he could think to stop himself.

Hoping this hadn’t come on as too strong, he peeked at you to gauge your reaction. You were turned around again, arms crossed once more. Thank the lord. That is, until you mumbled, “I do, and it makes me hate you even more.”

Arthur’s heart started racing. Surely he hadn’t heard that right. “What was that?” he asked, playful but careful.

“You heard me,” you snapped, still turned away.

“Sorry, I didn’t.”

You spun on the wagon seat with enough force to send the thing rocking. “I said I do like you, but it makes me so mad that I do because of that stupid, smug look on your face.”

“That’s not what you said.”

“Excuse me?”

Arthur’s grin was wide, his heart still kicking a wild pace as he taunted, “You said you love me.”

To his shock, you blushed so deep he could see it in the moonlight. Then, sputtering, “I don’t- I didn’t-”

“Oh yes you did.”

You threw your hands up in defeat. “You’re impossible!” And he couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped him, nor the feeling that bloomed in his chest when you turned silent again, never denying it.

The pair of you remained in silence as he took the long way like you suggested, down by the river. You were still fuming, refusing to look at him as he took in the nighttime scenery. It was pleasant and peaceful, but he couldn’t stop stealing glances at you. He suddenly wanted to know your innermost thoughts with a desperation that ate at him. He was consumed by the thought of you feeling anything remotely friendly toward him, much less anything that made you blush like that. He had never seen that out of you. And he started going over every interaction between you in his head, wondering if there was something he had missed. Maybe you had been seeking out his company on purpose, doing chores you knew would draw his attention. Maybe that constant challenge in your eye wasn’t what drew him but something much, much deeper, and he had been too much of a fool to see it.

“Fine night,” he said, breaking the silence. A pointless thing to say, really, but his thoughts were driving him insane. He needed something to cling onto besides the thought of you.

You gave a high, “Hm,” with nose still upturned.

He snickered. “You still mad then? Over me winning an argument?”

“You didn’t win-” You turned to him and saw the smile lighting his face. “Oh, for god’s sake.”

“What?” he pushed.

“You!”

“What about me?”

You huffed out a breath in annoyance. “You’re just trying to get a rise out of me. I won’t fall for it.”

“I ain’t trying to get a rise out of you.”

“Yes you are! It’s all you ever do, following me around camp all day, treating me like a wisp of a thing.”

“That’s not why I-”

“Really?” you interrupted. “Tell me then, why do you do it? Why treat me like I can’t do anything myself?”

The answer to that had just occurred to him, and it most certainly wasn’t something he was willing to speak aloud just yet. He hesitated.

“See?” you said. “Even you know deep down, that’s what you’re doing.”

“No it ain’t.”

“Then what?” You rounded on him, your usual temper taking hold. Only, he didn’t know what to say now that wouldn’t give him away.

He cleared his throat. “I just want to help. You’re new is all.”

“See, that’s what you’re always claiming. I don’t believe it for a second.”

“Why?” he said, trying desperately to cover up what he really felt.

“Because of the way you look at me when you walk up all smug, like you think it’s so damn funny I’m trying to do whatever it is I’m doing.”

“That’s not what-” He stopped himself. This was getting dangerously close to what he didn’t want to admit.

His sudden silence drew your attention. And, your voice changing to that of amused curiosity, “What is it, Arthur?”

“Ain’t nothing,” he mumbled, giving the reins a switch. He needed to be back in camp, out from under this conversation. The sooner the better.

“Tell me,” you insisted.

He shook his head. “What part of ‘ain’t nothing’ don’t you understand?”

He dared a glance at you. Your smile was feline. “Why’s your face all red then?”

Shit. He didn’t realize—didn’t have his hat to hide behind.

“Don’t know what you’re talking ‘bout,” he muttered.

“Big, tough Arthur, all flustered.”

“Shut up,” he said, and with a laugh, you nudged against his shoulder with your own. But to his amazement, you dropped it, not saying another word.

Quickly taking you up on the respite, he changed the subject. “How’d you like your first outing then? As a Van der Linde?”

“It was fun,” you admitted. “Glad to get to play cards and get under your skin all at once.” He felt his face heat this time, remembering how you had caught him staring back in the saloon. Twice.

“Of course you are,” he muttered.

Going on about some of the hands he’d gotten in poker, you carried the conversation. He was glad for it. He couldn’t very well focus when his thoughts were on your mouth again.

Finally, thankfully, the path back to camp gave way to the familiar woods hiding the overlook. Arthur was moments away from escaping you, being able to breathe again and get his mind right, when you placed a hand on his chest.

“Stop here.”

Confused, he hesitated a moment then pulled up short, the horses stopping obediently. He looked down at you, wondering why you’d asked such a thing. You seemed…nervous. It made Arthur’s heart race, and he was wholly glad you had just taken your hand away from his chest lest you feel it pounding beneath your fingers.

“I…” you started, not meeting his eye. “I wanted to ask…”

You hesitated so long he spoke. “What is it?”

You shook your head and let out a small laugh. “I may be completely mistaken but…” Each word was slow, pulled apart like you were forcing yourself to utter them. You looked at him then, open and honest for the first time, entirely too close to him. “Back in the saloon. You’re either damn good at playing husband or…”

Arthur knew where this was going. He felt his heart pick up its pace more still.

“Or that look you gave me meant what I think it did,” you finished, staring at him. Your breathing had quickened. So had his. He debated whether to admit what he felt or not. He wanted to. Christ, did he want to. But he didn’t know how it would be received.

He took the look you were giving him now to mean the same as his in the saloon had and responded lowly, “And if it did?”

You stared, your eyes flicking back and forth between his. He was holding his breath now, his heart thundering. He thought of kissing you but didn’t, wanting to know how you felt. So he sat there silently until, finally, in a voice so quiet he could barely hear the words, “Then I’d say we’re both stubborn fools.”

Your gaze landed on his mouth. And, doing what he had wanted to do for longer than he cared to admit, Arthur leaned over and kissed you.

All thought of you not wanting him like this melted away the second your lips met—you were gentle yet sure against him. Perfect. Everything he had dreamed. His mind went blank a moment before he remembered himself and his manners. Though it took everything in him to do it, he pulled away.

He watched a small smile light your face before you looked down at your hands, nervous once more. It was a strange-looking thing on you—he only ever knew smugness or stubbornness aimed at him. Not this. He certainly hadn’t expected this.

“That…what you want?” he asked quietly, like any louder would shatter the moment.

You nodded. “Wanted it for a while. I thought it was pity keeping you around though, not this. Then I saw how you looked at me tonight and figured I had to try.”

His chest felt like it would cave in at the thought of you believing he only sought you out for pity. And the timid look on your face now, the nerves he could see plain as day…he couldn’t have that. He placed his hand under you chin and lifted your face to look at him.

“Sweetheart, it weren’t pity. It weren’t ever pity.” You gave him a smile so genuine it made the side of his own mouth tug upward in return. “Just took me too long to admit it to myself.”

He leaned in and kissed you again, unable to resist. Slower this time, reveling in the fact that you felt this way toward him.

You pulled away after a moment, that usual spark back in your eye. “So it was your stubbornness keeping this from happening?”

He smirked. “You said it yourself, we were both stubborn fools. Blind idiots.”

“You calling me an idiot?”

His kissed the grin right off your mouth before pulling away, taking the reins back in both hands, urging the horses forward again.

“Now I know how to shut you up.”

You swatted him and laughed, the sound a pretty thing in the night. “Maybe I’ll argue more often then, see what it gets me.”

Arthur felt the heat cross his face but chuckled anyway, happy like he hadn’t been in a long time.

The pair of you got back and parted ways with knowing looks and matching grins. When Arthur was almost back to his tent, Hosea called over to him.

“How’d it go?”

After what had just happened, Arthur had clean forgotten about the poker game.

“It uh, went well. Got enough money to make it all worth it.”

“And Y/N?”

Arthur looked over at you where you had sat with the other girls, talking animatedly, no doubt describing his poor poker skills. He tried his best to keep the smile off his face. To no avail.

“She’ll fit in just fine. Kept me in line, at least.”

“That’s saying something,” Hosea said. And when Arthur met his eye, the gleam in them, he wondered for the first time whether Hosea had recognized something that made him send the pair of you off together in the first place, playing married. Arthur shook his head in amused disbelief, making for his wagon. The damn conniving sneak.

_________

Part two is here.

[gl00mur41]

hello twst tumblr... particularly those who enjoy idiavil... i don't know who to share these ideas with so i have decided to post them here.

the idiavil brainrot is constant. persistent. so is the twst brainrot in general but not a day will go by where i don't think about idiavil at least once. this has caused a whopping 21 different fics ideas to form in my brain. some i like a lot more than others and so i wanted to ramble about my favorites. these may eventually show up on my ao3 (EdgarAllanFruitbowl), possibly posted on here as well, but i'm kind of drowning in school work and just life in general so idk.

ANYWAYS!!! i have a few general fics i wld like to write (arcade date, mutual pining, ghost au) but i honestly have more oddly specific ideas.

first of all, a pokémon fic. i like the idea of them being in the pokémon canon universe, but the idea of a fic where idia just infodumps about pokémon and vil builds a team and they battle eachother... it tickles my brain right. i personally feel like vil would enjoy pokemon but idia would be more into it... i think vil enjoy stuff more like animal crossing and stardew valley. idk i just can't exactly picture him playing pokémon or the legend of zelda and enjoying it like idia would.

NEXT FIC IDEA. this is one of two mutual pining fics i have written down. it's less mutual pining, more idia being idia and vil just isn't sure how to feel about liking idia romantically. very specifically, i got the idea from won't say i'm in love from hercules. i ADORE that song, and it just feels super vil-coded to me. i mostly imagine the "muses" in this situation (basically just the people trying to get vil to stop denying his feelings) would be ortho and epel. epel because he's also in pomefiore (and i also LOVE HIM), and ortho because of the film studies club (but also because he'll have relevance since it's idiavil). ortho wld know about how both parties are interested but he wld keep it a secret. i also think that ortho and epel wld be like their matchmakers... i love ortho and epel as a duo, i think they'd wreak a lot of havoc together. other than that it's kind of basic compared to my other fic ideas but i still love it a lot.

THIRD FIC IDEA. i only recently came up w this one and jotted it down frantically on the bus so i don't rlly have much of a concept yet but an actor au, either stage or like tv actors. i know acting is out of character for idia but he could always be in the tech crew... also its an au i can write him a little ooc if i want.

FINAL FIC IDEA I WILL SHARE FOR THIS POST. I SAVED MY FAVORITE FOR LAST. BAND AU. ok so it's more like a singer/stand alone artist au. i think abt this au so much it's not even funny. i have a ton written down but this post is already long enough so i'll sum it up, if for some reason this idea gains traction i'll post more abt it again. this takes place like one or two years in the future? idkfs yet. idia and vil are both individual artists but enjoy each other's music a lot despite the contrast in style. after a few interviews and messages they end up making a song together, which then turns into a few songs, and oh no now they're in love. i eat breathe sleep this au i don't even know why i haven't started writing for it yet (because i have adhd and school is kicking my ass) . ANYWAYS THATS IT. i thoroughly enjoy rambling abt these fics but also idiavil in general so comments/responses are encouraged if u feel like it. i will probably respond at lightspeed unless i am sleeping. farewell idiavil nation 🫡

[hisui-dreamer]

promises of the future

Pairing: Ace Trappola x gn!reader

Synopsis: studying with ace isn't the best idea, but you can't deny the fact that you like spending time with him

Tags: fluff, study buddies, slow burn, pining, banter, bot proofread

Word count: 1.2k+

Notes: this was written in exchange for @ashipiko's nui art trade hehe. i hope i did ashi and ace's characterisation justice, and you'll enjoy the fluff!

also HAPPY BIRTHDAY ASHII, SO GLAD WE'RE MOOTS (⁠ノ*☆ｰ☆*⁠)ノ💕✨💖

Masterlist

In the midst of an emptied school during spring break, the last break before your final exams, you found yourself ensnared in a solitary routine of ceaseless studying and revision. Everyone's departure for the holiday break had left the school desolate, amplifying the silence that hung heavy in the air.

Knowing Grim's lack of patience with any theoretical magic, you had to put in extra effort to pull his weight as half of a student.

Days blurred into nights as you diligently pored over textbooks and scribbled notes, determined to grasp every morsel of knowledge that would be tested. It didn't help that so many of the topics alluded you completely. How could you understand magical energy and this world's history when you'd barely lived there for a year?

Just when the solitude threatened to suffocate your spirit, your phone buzzed with a message from Ace. The screen illuminated with his name, and a flicker of warmth ignited within you at the familiarity of his request.

"Can we call? I can't focus."

The familiarity of this request brought a smile to your face, reminiscent of the times you had spent together, studying late into the night during your many sleepovers ever since the sea anemone situation.

"Sure, give me a sec and I'll be in the call,"

The anticipation of hearing his voice, the joyful banter that always accompanied your study sessions, ignited a sense of exhilaration within you. Though Ace could be distracting and prone to bouts of foolishness, there was an undeniable connection that drew you towards him. And you couldn't deny that studying with him was always more enjoyable than studying alone.

With a renewed spirit, you prepared for the call, arranging your study materials and finding a comfortable spot amidst the sea of textbooks and scattered papers. Your fingers danced across the keyboard of the laptop gifted to you by Ortho and Idia, and the call connected, the familiar voice of Ace filling the void with warmth and familiarity.

"Heh, took you long enough. Are you still not used to the new computer?" His words carried a light-hearted tone, filled with gentle mockery.

Rolling your eyes in response, you retorted, "No dummy, I was just tidying my desk." Your voice held a touch of playful annoyance, the familiar banter between you and Ace flowing effortlessly. "So? Whatcha working on right now?"

A tired groan escaped from Ace's end of the line. "History... I hate it, it's so boring and it feels like I haven't learnt anything," he complained.

You chuckled at his groan. "Course it feels like that, you keep falling asleep in Trein's classes!" The image of Ace, Deuce, and Grim succumbing to the temptation of slumber and nodding off danced in your mind.

In a feeble attempt to defend himself, Ace retorted, "Hey, it's not my fault his voice is a lullaby! And it's not just me either, Deucey and Grim also doze off!"

An exasperated sigh escaped your lips as you couldn't help but reply, "Comparing yourselves to them just reinforces you three dumbasses are on the same level."

"Wha- Hey! You know for a fact I'm not as stupid as Juice is!"

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, "You sure don't act like it sometimes." Swiftly cutting off any potential protest, you pressed on, "Anyways, let's start with History. I mean, considering you come from the Queendom of Roses, I assumed you'd know more about its history."

"Nah, every time I heard about the infamous Queen of Hearts and all that blah blah blah, it all seemed so boring to me."

You let out yet another sigh. "And knowing you, anything boring just isn't worth your time huh?"

"Bingo!" His laughter danced through the call.

"That's not something to be proud of, you idiot," you chided gently, a hint of exasperation lingering in your voice. "Well, true or false, the Queen of Hearts had rules where contradictions were the norm?"

"Huh? Uhhhh, false? I dunno," he replied, his uncertainty seeping through.

"Wha- no! She had to change rules occasionally to manage the madness of the kingdom," you explained. "Oh my god, why did I think studying with you would be a good idea?" you grumbled, frustration lacing your voice.

Ace, never one to lack confidence, responded with a playful tone, "Because I'm a genius, and you love me, duh."

Rolling your eyes at his audacity, you retorted, "Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. Sure..." and maybe there was more truth to that sentence than you liked to admit.

The two of you started quizzing each other on different facts, reviewing questions from your homework and comparing each other's answers. The room was filled with an atmosphere of focused determination, punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter from ridiculous answers.

A comfortable silence fell over you two as you waited for him to finish answering the current question. Your eyes wandered to the window, starting at the dark front yard of Ramshackle dorm. The darkness outside seemed to wash a wave of uncertainty over you, and you pondered aloud, "I wonder what will happen to me if I can't go home."

The subtle scratching sound of pen and paper ceased from the call. Confused, Ace inquired, "What do you mean, what'll happen?"

You sighed, the weight of uncertainty settling upon you. "Well, let's say Crowley can't find a way back, yeah? I can't stay in NRC forever, right? I'll need to get a job and find somewhere to stay."

A brief pause hung in the air before Ace's voice pierced through, offering an unexpected solution, "Well, if it comes to that, why not just stay with me?"

Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief, searching for words to respond to such a proposition. "Huh??" escaped your lips, a sound of surprise and confusion, while a delicate blush tinged your cheeks at the implications his words carried.

"You can just live with me! I wouldn't mind having someone to do the chores," Ace continued, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You couldn't help but scoff at the idea, a teasing remark escaping your lips, "Wow, what an incredibly generous offer. Though I'm not sure I can stand living with you."

Ace's voice carried a hint of mock offence as he playfully countered, "Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" You could almost imagine him pouting at his end.

Attempting to defuse his offence, you replied innocently, "Nothing, nothing. Just kidding," you giggled. After a brief pause, your voice softened, barely above a murmur, "Thank you, I appreciate it."

Ace, ever the caring friend, responded with a hint of reassurance, "Heh, don't worry about it. I got your back, okay?"

A tender smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you replied sincerely, your voice infused with gratitude, "Thanks, Ace."

Realizing that the conversation had veered off course from its intended purpose, you swiftly refocused, "Okay, we've gotten too distracted. We need to get back to studying!"

Ace let out a playful scoff, "Pshh, party pooper. Alright, alright."

Despite your words, the prospect of a future with him continued to linger in your mind—a life of living together, splitting chores, and supporting each other. It seemed like an enticing idea, a sleepover that would never end, a path you could envision yourself contentedly walking.

Needless to say, even long after the conversation had shifted back to academics, your smile lingered at your future prospects, a budding affection for the ginger that never failed to make you feel appreciated.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

[funsized-panda]

BECAUSE THEY'RE MY BABIES AND I NEED TO SPREAD THE AGENDA ABOUT THEM

LightningStorm hcs? 🥺🙏

HEHEHE YES

SOME NSFW TOPICS MENTIONED!!

they absolutely HATED each other before anything

those mfs wanted to see each other burn

then they realized they were gay

they both denied it for the longest time

Jackson actually was training with Cruz when she brought up Lightning

the look on Jackson's face was so lovesick

Cruz immediately just "omfg you're gay for Mcqueen!"

"No! >:T" (lies)

the third time they raced next to each other, it was intense

even the crowd could feel the tension

after the race they talked (like all racers do, dw)

all anyone saw was them both blushing like mad trying to be cool

eventually they stopped being idiots and went to friends to lovers

they really on that enemies to friends to lovers train and I love thay trope sm

Lightning asked out Storm

Jackson was SO NERVOUS

he almost said no out of pure anxiety

when he told Lightning that later on in their relationship he CACKLED

Also used it to tease Jackson

their first date was super cute tho

they were all dressed up and went out on the town

once they were official everyone was eating it up

Lightning ALWAYS had a hand on Jackson

that man's secret love language is touch and you can't tell me otherwise

during off season the two with go back and forth between their towns

eventually Jackson just moves to RS and just becomes apart of the family dynamic they all have there

they cuddle and watch movies on the nights they're both struggling to sleep

they smoke 🍃 and do the deed

Lightning will sit there taking drags as Jackson sucks him off

the bedroom life is insane for them

Jackson is a WHORE when it comes to things in his mouth

when they're not in the bedroom, he has to have gum, candy, mints, anything to keep him settled

in the bedroom? if Lightning's cock/fingers aren't in his mouth immediately that man will be a full fucking brat

Jackson isn't the only dirty one tho

Lightning loves being called sir/master

he won't be nice if Storm doesn't call him something like that

except daddy is off the table

neither of them like that

Lightning is a whore for Jackson and vice versa

if Jackson wears slightly revealing clothing or his shirt rides up?

it's done. Lightning is pining that mf to a wall and Jackson isn't walking for a good few hours

they love marking each other

Lightning loves when he can leave hickies/bruises all over Jackson. especially bc of the vice grip he has on Jackson's hips during it

Jackson loves it too

Lightning loves when Jackson leaves hickies in return

they both enjoy the idea of people knowing they own each other

if there's ever a race Lightning isn't in, he's in the pit as Jackson's crew chief

that mf has been racing for years. You think he's not gonna let his rookie in on the secrets?

everyone is jealous/angry with Jackson bc he learns all the tricks (old and new) from Lightning and wins basically every race

Cruz is even jealous but not like "wtf i should be winning this!?" its more of a "how did i not know these tricks????"

but she's just happy one of the guys she helped train is getting those wins

anytime one of them wins, they both know it'll be a long night

as soon as they step in the trailer, they're handsy and all over one another

one time in an interview, they got asked if they would adopt kids and they both paled

neither of them want kids

not because they hate them exactly, but it's just not for them

they in turn said they were happy with their golden retriever and black cat back home

they're both basically children anyway

when they first announced the relationship, there was some backlash bc of the age gap

since Jackson is in his twenties and Lightning his forties, people thought it was very... yeah

it eventually calmed down tho and everyone just enjoys the two tho

they bounce off one another like crazy

Lightning is very laid back in public, which gives Jackson the opportunity to be chaotic af

Lightning swears sometimes he'll get gray hairs from Jackson

even jokes about it in interviews

at home it's complete opposite

Jackson is calm and relaxed and Lightning is the one bouncing off the walls

same person, opposite reactions basically

THEYRE END GAME

When Lightning proposes to Jackson, they do it in a private setting

somewhere really nice. like a little forest hideout they found one day that became their favorite spot

they were gonna announce it in style but Lightning slips up

Jackson won a race after almost losing and everyone just heard Lightning basically scream

"THATS MY HUSBAND"

everyone lost their shit

there you go 🥰

if you don't like this then oh well. scroll on pookie

[storiesiwrite]

Set-up ☾ Chwe Hansol

Genre: fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pining

Word count: 3864

Summary: In which Hansol gets set up by his friends (Jeonghan, mainly) on a movie-night date with you.

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

Hansol sets foot in your apartment, two pints of Ben and Jerry’s in his hands, with the genuine expectation that today is going to be a group hangout. 

After all, the plan has been to have a movie night at your place along with Wonwoo, Joshua, Jeonghan, and Minghao. But when an hour has passed and there are no signs of the others—only text messages from them, saying that they all suddenly have other pressing matters to attend to—Hansol begins feeling anxious. 

And when Hansol feels anxious, he can’t stay still.

You’re in the kitchen, fetching plates and putting them on the counter alongside the takeout you ordered earlier, oblivious to the way he’s walking back and forth in the living room. Realization dawns on him, slow and dreadful.

Have the others... have they set him up on a date with you?

Panic seizes him. He tries to remain calm, tries to convince himself that his thoughts can’t be any more wrong. But still, he remains unswayed. And so he proceeds to the restroom, locks the door, and dials the person he suspects orchestrated the whole thing.

It takes only one ring for Jeonghan to pick up the phone, as if he’s been waiting for the call.

“Hello?”

“What’s this?” Hansol hisses. “Has this been the plan all along?”

A chuckle from the other end. “Hello to you, too. Are you in the bathroom right now? You sound so... echoey.”

“What exactly did you mean you can’t come?” He asks, pacing back and forth yet again. “I was at your place literally this morning. You told me to go to her place first and that you’d catch up.”

“I just remembered I have to pick up some letters and deliveries I got over the weekend.”

Hansol stops moving. “It’s Sunday. Post offices are closed.”

A long silence. “Anyway... how is she?”

“Dude, don’t switch the subject.” Closing his eyes, Hansol rubs the bridge of his nose. He somehow has the feeling that Jeonghan’s also dissuaded everyone else from coming, because what are the odds that four people bail on a hangout that has been long planned? 

“Alright, alright,” Jeonghan concedes. “I simply told the others of my plan and they all agreed to it immediately. But shouldn’t you be thanking me, instead? Isn’t this the scenario that you’ve always imagined and wanted realized?” 

Yes, Hansol has to admit. This is the scenario, in which he gets to spend time with you after having maintained a crush on you so great that he feels embarrassed simply thinking about it. He can hear the smugness in his friend’s voice, can visualize the smirk that settles upon his features. 

At times like this, he feels like hurling a pillow at Jeonghan’s face.

He remains silent instead, leaning his head on the wall as Jeonghan continues, nonchalant. “You’ve once hinted that you want to ask her out, but you never know how. So consider this skipping a step.” 

Damn. He hates the way Jeonghan reads him and his feelings like an open book—feelings he tries so hard to hide behind that veneer of calm he always wears. But more than that, he hates the fact that Jeonghan is right.

Hansol isn’t one to be overly expressive of how he feels, but there’s no denying that he really, really likes you. 

He supposes he should feel grateful for ‘skipping a step,’ as Jeonghan put it. Skipping the mustering-the-courage-to-ask-you-out part and plunging straight into the going-on-a-date part. Though perhaps, a little warning would be nice.

Because if this were an actual date—that is to say, one you’d both actually planned beforehand—he would’ve brought along flowers. He remembers accompanying you as you swung by the local florist weeks ago and pointed out facts about the plants that were on display all over the small shop. Jasmine, he remembers, is your favorite kind, for its sweet scent and its white petals that are soft to the touch.

And if this were an actual date, he would’ve dressed up more appropriately. Before going to your place, he spent a long time deciding on what to wear, trying on one sweater just to change to another with a different color; the mess that is his apparels currently still lying strewn across his apartment floor is proof enough. He spent a long time staring at his own reflection in the mirror, worrying about the little flecks on his face that he doesn’t like. 

He wonders now what you think of them. He wonders what you think of him. 

“Is she aware of this?” is all Hansol can say.

“Nope,” Jeonghan replies. And, as if he can sense Hansol’s doubts, he adds, “don’t worry, Sol. You’ll be alright.”

“Yeah, you’ll be fine. Say hi to her for me, would you?” Another voice he recognizes—Minghao’s. Hansol curses. I knew it. 

Jeonghan lets out a laugh. “Now, get out there before she thinks you’re bailing on her, too.”

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

“Hey,” you call out when Hansol saunters into the living room, your eyes glued to the tv, remote in one hand as you sift through some movies. “The food is ready. I’m thinking that maybe we can eat while watching.”

He doesn’t answer. When you turn back to look at him, your smile falls. “Is everything... is everything okay? You look slightly pale.”

An expression flickers across his face, so briefly you can’t gauge it. Then he gestures to his phone. “It’s just something from work that I need to get done. Nothing to worry about, really.” 

You can’t help the worry that makes its way to your voice. “You sure about that? I’d totally understand. I mean, I know this isn’t exactly what we planned in the group chat, what with the others not showing up.” A nervous laugh as you stand up from the couch where you’ve been sitting. “It’s completely okay if you wanna take a rain check.”

He shakes his head as he moves closer to you, sliding his phone in his back pocket. “No, no. No worries. I actually don’t mind. Do you?”

“Not at all,” you reply, though you can’t seem to drown out your nerves. The fact that you’re alone with Hansol...

If it were anyone else, you wouldn’t put too much thought into it. But this is Hansol, and it feels too much like a date. 

It’s stupid, really, the fact that you’ve been into him since the day you met him for the first time. He’s a neighbor who lives only a few streets away from you, but you hadn’t been properly introduced to each other all those months ago; you never had the chance.

That is, until the day you saw him in a supermarket just around your block and mustered the courage to strike up a conversation with him. He immediately recognized you, said you were the girl who always had her purple headphones on, and you’d laughed. 

You’d never been one to fall for someone so quickly, but you felt your heart flutter the way it never had before. Perhaps it was the way he seemed to care about the things you said, how he respectful he was. Or the way he seemed to notice and remember such a trivial thing about you even without knowing who you were.

That marked the beginning of everything. Through him, you met Jeonghan and Joshua, and you introduced him to your closest friends, Wonwoo and Minghao, too. An odd bunch, all of you, but everyone got along really well, and it wasn’t long before you all began keeping your Saturdays free for group get-togethers.

It certainly wasn’t long before this silly, little crush of yours developed into something more. 

You decided Hansol never had to find out. And he never would, if the others always tag along during the meet-ups. But then this happens, and you have the sinking feeling that Jeonghan is behind it. (After all, he was the person who figured out how you feel and asked you outright just to confirm his suspicions. He’s the kind of person who revels in the fact that he’s right, and as much as you hate to admit it, he always is.)

“Cool,” Hansol now says with a shrug, oblivious to what is running through your mind. A smile settles on his face, one so small and private that you can’t help the warmth that spreads across your cheeks as you look away.

Damn.

When you say nothing in return—because how can you, especially when he’s looking at you like that?—he takes it as a sign to continue. “I don’t know what to watch, though. I feel like I’ve seen too many things already. You have any ideas?”

“Um... what about Ghibli films?” You suggest, fiddling with the remote in your hands. “They’re your favorites, aren’t they?”

“Yeah, but I was thinking of watching your favorites instead. Or something you’ve always wanted to watch but never got around to.”

You turn to him to answer, only to find that he’s standing mere paces away from you. Your breath catches a little, and as your eyes meet his, you hope Hansol doesn’t see through you. 

He’s so close. So close that for the briefest moment, you let yourself wonder how it would feel like to reach out and run your fingers through his dark brown hair. You wonder what his hands would feel like tied to your own, or against your cheeks—

Nope. It’s precisely thoughts like these that drive a friendship to ruin.

“So what do you have in mind?” Hansol prompts again in a quieter voice, that beautiful, timid smile of his never leaving his features.

“I’m... Well, I like rom-coms, which I know aren’t exactly your thing—”

“Hey, I do watch and enjoy rom-coms from time to time,” Hansol says, feigning offense, and you laugh. 

“Wait, wait. I change my mind. I’ve been wanting to watch this new Rian Johnson movie.” You plop down on the couch and, using the remote, click on the search button. “The sequel to ‘Knives Out’. I forgot what it’s called though...”

“Isn’t it called ‘Glass Onion’?” Hansol asks as he sits down right next to you. You try not to think about how close his body is to yours; even just the slightest shift and you’d graze him. You focus on the gleam in his eyes instead, the excitement that takes over him when he talks about movies.

“Yeah! Exactly.” 

“I watched the trailer yesterday,” he says. “It looked good. Let’s go with that one, then.”

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

It’s only been five minutes into the movie, and Hansol has finished devouring his Chinese takeout already.

“Whoa, slow down there,” you say, smiling. “Someone’s hungry.”

Hansol nods, setting down his takeout box on the table in front of him. “So hungry.”

“Did you not eat lunch?”

“Well... actually, I did.” He dabs his mouth with a napkin. “Swung by McDonalds to grab two double-cheeseburgers and fries. Was that all? Oh yeah, and a vanilla milkshake, too. But my point still stands.”

And there it is, that infectious, broad grin he loves to see. “Hansol!”

“What? I can’t help it.” He leans back against the sofa and adds, in a murmur, “I eat quite a lot.”

“I know. That’s why I ordered extras for you.”

At that, Hansol smiles to himself. It does something to him, the fact that you care and pick up on trivial details like that. Such a small thing, really, but it makes him happy. You make him happy. 

The rest of the movie feels like a blur. At some point, Hansol loses track of its plot and no longer bothers trying to keep up. It’s hard, he realizes, to keep his eyes on the screen when you’re right there, beside him, so much more interesting than any film—or anything in general—can ever be. 

He watches as you make fun of the ridiculous accent that detective, Benoit Blanc, has, smiling as you try (and fail) to imitate it in between fits of laughter. How someone can be so lovely is beyond him.

It’s always been crystal clear to him, the fact that he’s fallen for you, but this—always finding new things about someone that make him fall for them over and over—is new. Foreign. 

And he’s in deep. 

So buried in his thoughts, it takes him a moment to realize you’ve turned to your side, looking at him like you just said something and you’re expecting him to reply. 

“Hm?” He asks.

“Are you okay? You’ve been awfully quiet.”

He’s quiet, trying to form a response. “I’ve been enjoying the movie.”

“But you always make some sort of commentary whenever you watch movies. I can tell something’s on your mind.” 

True, he wishes he could say. You’re constantly running through my mind, do you know that? 

Before he has the chance to deny it, you continue. “We can watch something else, or even stop watching altogether, if that’s what you prefer. I really don’t mind, Sol.” 

Putting the takeout box on the table, you grab the remote to change the channel. And Hansol, acting on impulse, quickly leans forward and lightly grabs your hand to stop you.

You turn your head, your gaze meeting his. Something inscrutable flickers across your face. He’s never seen it up close; he’s never been this close to you, in fact, and it takes everything in him to remain steady despite his heart beating like a frenzy. You’re so close he can see the beautiful, dark specks in your eyes, so, so close he can easily lean in to kiss you—

Chwe Hansol, you’re an idiot, he thinks, stopping himself in his track of mind. He can feel warmth creeping up his neck, unwelcome. This is highly inappropriate and too intimate for someone who only sees you as a friend. You’ve gone and made her uncomfortable, and now she’s going to think you’re being too forward. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

And yet, you stay put, not letting go. He’d like to think that’s an invitation to stay where he is, but he knows better. So he retracts his hand from yours and retreats. 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what I was thinking,” he apologizes profusely, panic throwing his thoughts into disarray. “I probably wasn’t even thinking, and I just grabbed your hand like that and I’m just so sorry—”

But then you reach out and grab his hand, in a move that silences and unravels him bit by bit. “It’s really okay.” 

“It is?”

Your smile is timid. You intertwine your fingers with his, slowly and hesitantly, like you’re not sure if this is what you should be doing. Adorable, how shy you’re being right now; he’s never imagined he would have that sort of effect on you. 

“Is this okay?” It’s your turn to ask. 

The grin on his face is the widest he’s ever had. “It’s more than okay.”

☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎ ☁︎

If you’re being honest, none of this turns out the way you expected it would. 

Earlier this evening, when you got texts from everyone else saying they were bailing, you thought the night would fizzle out quickly. You imagined Hansol would grow bored without the other boys and scour for a reason to immediately head home. 

And yet, here you are, watching a movie beside him while holding his hand. Holding his hand. 

It feels surreal, the sensation of his skin against yours. A part of you wishes to believe that this is real, that perhaps your feelings for him aren’t as unrequited as they seem. But another, greater part of you fears that this is just a friendly gesture. Friends hold hands, don’t they?

But not Hansol. You know for a fact that he never gets touchy when he’s with his female friends. He keeps his distance out of respect, allowing only the occasional hug and not much more. 

Perhaps this is a sign that he likes you, too. Or perhaps, this is just his way of saying that he sees you as a friend around whom he can be comfortable. Unfortunately for you, the latter seems more plausible.

Before you let yourself fall into an overanalyzing spiral, you stand up, rather abruptly, from the couch and turn to face him. You miss his touch the moment you let go. “I think it’s time we eat the ice cream. Don’t you?”

He blinks. His eyes flicker to the spot on his hand where yours was. “Uh, um. Yeah, sure.”

“Alright, I’ll be back real quick.” You dart away without waiting for his response.

The kitchen provides some sort of refuge, albeit temporary. Refuge against... whatever it was that led you both to holding hands. The situation feels like traversing across an unfamiliar territory, the lines between the old and the new blurring, and you’re not sure what to make of it.

Do you like the feeling of his touch on your hand? Of course. Does said feeling render you so nervous you feel like combusting at any moment? Absolutely.

Hence, the kitchen. Away from Hansol.

Your hands have gone all clammy. You wipe them on the rough surface of your jeans, trying to focus. What are you supposed to be doing in the kitchen, again? Ah, right. To take the Ben and Jerry’s out of the fridge. Right.

“I’ll grab the spoons.” Hansol’s voice. Soft, and yet you almost jump at the sound of it, the tension increasing tenfold at his presence. 

Perhaps he realizes what’s going on, because he’s looking at you and asks, “Did I startle you?”

He did startle you. Though not as much as this very moment, when he walks towards you and lightly grabs your hand.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to,” he continues with an apologetic look. Your mind seems to register nothing else but his touch. His thumb, now tracing patterns across the back of your hand. “You alright?” 

All you can do is nod. Hansol stays silent, patiently waiting. He doesn’t seem all that convinced.

“I’m nervous, actually. I’ve never had a boy hold my hand before,” you finally confess with embarrassment.

He looks surprised. “Never?”

“Never. I’ve had crushes before, yes, but I’ve never acted upon them. I just… admire them from afar and wait until the feelings fade.”

“Really? I find that rather hard to believe, coming from someone as amazing as you.”

God. He really has no right saying things like that and expecting you not to blush. “What about you?”

“I think the first and only time I held someone’s hand was when I was in second grade,” Hansol says. “There was this girl who asked me to be her boyfriend. I didn’t know what it all meant, how a relationship worked. I was so clueless I just went with it when she grabbed my hand.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, imagining Hansol at the age of seven. You briefly wonder how he was back then, if much has changed. “Is that really the only time?”

“Yeah, it is.” He shakes his head and smiles at the memory. This is the first time he opens up about his dating life; you’ve only gleaned very few things from the others, but never directly from him. “I never dated anyone. It’s always been clear to me that I wanted time to myself before I start dating someone.”

A pause. “And now?”

He contemplates for a moment before saying, “That’s no longer what I want.”

“No?” 

"No,” he replies, not meeting your eyes. Both of you stay that way, wrapped in comfortable silence that stretches for a moment or two before it breaks.

“Thank you,” Hansol begins, moving closer. He never once lets go of your hand.

Your brow furrows in confusion. “For what?”

“For, um, for tonight.” He sounds so terribly shy, unlike his usual carefree self. “And for letting me hold your hand.”

Your heart warms at that. “Why wouldn’t I let you?”

He offers you a sheepish smile. “I guess… I guess I never thought you liked me like that.” “Like what?” You ask, though you damn well know the answer. And he damn well knows he doesn’t have to explain to you what he means. 

It’s written plainly all over you, in the way your gaze keeps searching for him in a room. In the way you become a nervous mess whenever he’s near, as much as you try to hide it under the semblance of calm and all those foolish, lighthearted jokes. In the way your heart is currently beating so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. 

And when he leans forward, his face a mere breath away from yours, your heart threatens to stop altogether.

“Like this,” Hansol murmurs, tipping your chin up with his fingers. And slowly, his lips meet yours in a kiss.

You’d be outright lying if you said you hadn’t envisioned this scenario many times before; this moment feels like visiting a recurring dream. But you never imagined he would kiss this way, tenderly and softly, his soft yet strong hand caressing your jaw. You’ve barely processed what’s happening when he draws away from you.

“I’ve always wanted to try that,” he admits in a low voice, looking at your lips like he longs for them. 

You don’t know how or why; perhaps it’s his confession that drives you onward, gives you the courage to take a plunge and utter these next words. “What took you so long?”

He takes that as a sign to pull you in and kiss you once more, deeper this time. Closing your eyes, you kiss him back, cautiously at first, and then with an eagerness and yearning—the kind that leaves you and your emotions naked, exposed. It’s frightening, really, willingly giving your whole heart to someone who’s stolen fragments of it since the moment you met them.

Yet you’ll learn to realize, in the months to come, that it is in the best way possible, because it’s under Hansol’s touch that you feel safe and grounded. He has a way of making you laugh with his awkwardness and wits, lifting you up during the stormiest of days and the darkest of nights. And, above all else, he appreciates you, makes you feel heard and seen for who you truly are. Loved for who you truly are.

But for now, you try to bask in the feeling of his lips on yours. 

Your back hits the kitchen counter as you gently tug Hansol closer to you, and he snakes his hands behind you to rest them on the tabletop, framing you. Unlike the first time, he now kisses you like he can’t get enough of you, and you kiss him over and over until you’re both breathless.

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours. And then softly laughs. 

“What?” You ask him.

His voice is hoarse as he says, “I guess we have to thank Jeonghan for this.”

You can’t help grinning at that, your eyes closed. “I guess we do.”

[violetsareblue-selfships]

#18. Pining / Violent

Selfshiptober 2024 | [WC: 539] / the pining is implied but shh - this is just me about Kafka 24/7 btw i love her :3 anyways i hope you enjoy it! <3

"Wait here, pretty girl. Can you do that?" Kafka asks, her voice as sweet as honey despite the tense situation.

Still, a little thrill goes through April's heart that has nothing to do with the danger they're in. She nods obediently and Kafka chuckles.

"Good girl," She murmurs, her lips curling up at the faint blush appearing as a result of her words. Cute. Teasing April always results in the cutest reactions.

She walks by and the scent of her perfume engulfs April for a moment, distracting her enough that she doesn't realize that she's been left alone.

Gunshots echo from the other room and she has half a mind to peek in and watch Kafka in her element. She doesn't have to wait long.

From her vantage point, she watches Kafka corner someone against the wall, gun pressed firmly to their chest. She seems to be talking to them for a moment before she turns on her heel and heads April's way, snapping her fingers as she does.

The magenta threads of her spirit whisper streak behind her, quickly taking care of what April can assume is the last remaining person in that room.

Something about how unfazed Kafka is causes her heart to skip a little. She knows it's not the first time Kafka's done something like this and it won't be the last, but it's still attractive for her to be so poised still.

And somehow April wants her to pin her to a wall like that, and-- Well. Obviously, without the threat of the gun - she'd never want Kafka upset with her (though during sparring would be another matter entirely).

Kafka's eyes glitter as she takes in the fact that April hasn't moved an inch, an amused smirk appearing on her face. She breezes on past her, barely sparing her a glance. "Come on, pretty." She got the information she needed and now they have one last thing to do here before they leave.

April follows automatically, scurrying to catch up with Kafka. Her hands clutch her borrowed gun shakily, her usual weapon in its usual place.

"I should reward you for being so obedient…" Kafka croons, not even bothering to look at her. She doesn't need to in order to know how pink April's face has gone.

"That's not necessary…" April says. She's just doing what she's supposed to do to make this mission easier.

"Isn't it?" Kafka looks at her then, a twinkle of something fond in her eyes. "Of course, it'd have to wait until this mission's over, but then…" She trails off, lazily shrugging.

April's mind races at the idea of what this reward could be. They're not together beyond flirting that's become more and more common, so it can't be anything too crazy.

"If you insist…" She mutters, unable to deny that her heart's racing at the idea. With excitement or nerves… she can't tell.

"Atta girl. I'll figure something out, but first… showtime."

April nods, taking a breath to steady her mind and heart, ready to aid Kafka in any way that she needs.

Whether that's because it's her duty as her mission partner or something else, again, she's not sure.

It's likely some mix of the two.

[thesoulspulse]

Danny Phantom Randomness (Vlad Vs Dracula)

(Note: This is concept art from an cancelled Don Bluth animated film about Dracula we were robbed of which makes me sad. Just wanted to put that out there even though it’s slightly unrelated to the topic at hand.)

Ok, so I’m sure that collectively as a fandom we all know that Vlad was loosely based off Dracula, aka Vlad The Impaler. And according to the wiki page, “Plasmius is more vampiric than Masters, as this was the producer's original intention, although it was rebuked by Nickelodeon, who considered it too "occult." But again, no matter how much they tried to deny it Danny Phantom IS a show about ghosts, supernatural creatures, and various different popular characters from well-known urban myths and legends. Honestly, I wish there had been more of them besides Pandora and Wulf the werewolf...

Anyways, there’s plenty of fanfics out there that do go the extra mile to make Vlad a vampire who drinks ectoplasm and stuff like that but what if he was actually RELATED to the original vampire by the same name as him and that’s why his ghost form looks the way it does? What if vampires were real too just like ghosts since they technically fit into a similar category as half-ghosts because they’re the undead...?

I just think it would be funny to see Vlad meet Dracula, aka the source of his name-sake, only to be treated like a child by an immortal being that can’t be overshadowed and can pretty much do everything he can but better. Dracula has superhuman strength, teleportation, the power of flight, can possess people (even hypnotize which Vlad can’t do in the show at least since that would make it way too easy to take over Maddie and Danny’s minds), and regeneration to name a few that’s the same as a lot of ghosts. That said, Dracula has the usual weaknesses of any vampire like his powers are weaker during the day, holy water and silver burns him (think of these as Blood Blossom equivalents), and his “obsession” is an unquenchable thirst for blood.

I’d love for this Dracula to specifically be like the Dracula Untold version who was ruthless to ultimately save his family and his people. He loved his wife and son more than anything which would be nice to see as a tie in to Vlad’s feelings for Maddie and Danny. Of course, Dracula would have none of his poor-pitiful-me act and call Vlad a disgrace to their bloodline.

Dracula would encourage Vlad to find his one true love who will only have eyes for him from the bottom of her heart, not pine over someone who has chosen another since he has known a love that transcends death because every century or so Dracula searches for the reincarnation of his beloved. And if she has married another he’ll protect her from afar knowing that she does not always remember him when they meet  again and he basically has to prove his devotion all over again like a 50-First Dates sort of deal otherwise whenever she’s single.

As for Danny, it’d be a similar scolding. Dracula would point out how fighting a child is unbecoming of him, especially if he views this boy as a son. Therefore, Vlad should be helping him, not making his life harder because Danny has already faced more horrific battles than any 14 year old boy should.

"It's not a child's place to defend his country." ~ Dracula Untold

Hopefully something Dracula said will resonate with Vlad because if not, its hard to say if they share the power of immortality too and the old vampire has better things to do with his free time. I dunno, I’m probably rambling but it was a fun idea in my head so I had to share it. Especially since I have drawn Vlad in a costume inspired by the classic vampire along with the Phantom of the Opera which I couldn’t stop thinking about when I discovered that little piece of Don Bluth history above about Dracula getting a redemption arc. And I’m a big fan of redemption arcs for our favorite fruitloop too!

[im-not-thinking-confetti-cannons]

Day 23: Familiar Scents

Warnings: none

Rating: T

Pairing: Tim x Jimmy

Tim’s never been easy about affection.

He knows that it’s a product of his childhood and his early career – more or less, everything about him is a product of those two things. It’s unavoidable. But he never noticed, not really, not until he found himself living with three other men who were easy about affection. Who, the vast majority of the time, touch and allow touch without flinching or pulling away with a muttered excuse. 

Raylan’s the worst (or, Tim thinks, perhaps the best, depending on perspective). He has no concept of personal space, and that was something Tim noticed when they were merely coworkers. It’s more obvious, now, the way he gravitates towards whoever is in the room, the way he’ll prop himself up in doorways, so people have to squeeze past him. He thrives on human contact, and Tim would be annoyed except for the way it makes Raylan soft, the way it pleases him so damn easily to be able to put his arm around Tim’s shoulders, or drag Jimmy into his lap.

Boyd’s a little less overt about it. He’ll draw them into hugs that linger, sit close enough on the couch that he’s almost in the same space, but not quite. And Tim can’t be annoyed about that either, because Boyd never pushes. He’ll kiss Tim’s hairline or sneak his arm around Raylan’s waist, but he’s good at reading them. Raylan’s brand of anger doesn’t involve him getting pissy about being touched, but Tim’s does, and when Tim’s on edge Boyd will give him space.

And then there’s Jimmy.

Jimmy, Tim’s sure, likes the affection the most out of all of them – maybe more than all of them combined. He’s never the first to pull away. Tim’s fairly certain that he would be content to sit in Raylan’s lap for hours, if that was a practical possibility. He’s the one who tends to cling when they’re all in bed together, tangling his legs with whoever is closest to him, acting like a damn limpet even in his sleep. And given the opportunity, he’ll do the same thing during the day, wrapping himself around whoever offers to let him, soaking up the affection that Tim suspects he’s never really gotten before.

And Tim doesn’t mind so much, when it’s Jimmy. There are a half-dozen reasons he could provide, each of them as valid as the last: Jimmy’s dangerous, but not in the same way Boyd and Raylan and Tim are. He doesn’t start shit. He’ll finish it, if they need him to, but he’s never going to be the one to throw the first punch. 

He’s the youngest of them, too. This is, perhaps, the least valid of all the reasons, but Tim keeps it anyway. Jimmy’s not innocent, not by any means, but he looks it sometimes – and Tim doesn’t make a habit of judging a book by its cover but he can’t deny that the blue eyes and the blond curls are more than a little disarming. 

And then there’s the reason why Tim is sometimes the one to pull Jimmy in close, just to bury his face in the crook of Jimmy’s neck. Just to breathe him in. Jimmy smells good, like pine and oranges and spice, and it’s familiar and comforting and a whole lot of other words that Tim doesn’t use very often in his day-to-day life.

Jimmy asks him, one day, what he smells like. Tim thought he was being careful, thought he was being discreet enough that his habit of dragging his nose along Jimmy’s pulse wouldn’t be noticed, and he can’t help but flush a little at the question, ducking his head to avoid Jimmy’s gaze. He’s got a knee-jerk apology halfway to his lips when Jimmy says, “I’m not complaining. I don’t mind. It just always makes you relax, so I was curious.”

Tim thinks about it for a moment. The pine is from Raylan’s body wash, the one Jimmy always ‘borrows’ because Raylan splurges on the good stuff. The oranges are Tim’s. Jimmy likes to burn the peels on the stove and make the whole kitchen smell like citrus, and the scent has all but permanently seeped into his jacket. And the spice – that’s from Boyd’s cologne. The two of them spend enough time together that Jimmy always smells like it, at least a little bit. 

To Tim, it smells like Christmas.

(It takes him far longer to put it all together, to realize that it’s not just Jimmy, but all of them together. And if he were a different sort of man, he might take that as some sort of sign, might wonder what it means that these parts of them mesh together so well. But a handful of the lessons he’s learned have really stuck, including the one that tells him not to question a damn good thing.)

“Like home,” he answers. And he doesn’t say that Jimmy smells like a home he used to know, because he doesn’t. He smells like the one Tim knows now. The one he keeps safe, because everything he loves is inside.

Judging by Jimmy’s soft little smile, he knows.

find this fic on AO3 here:

[dailyhonakana]

admin 🎼 here - happy first week of daily honakana except not really because we missed yesterday, whoops! i’ll be trying my hardest to make an extra post (once i work up the motivation to)!!

anyway today im here to announce i figured out im bi and honakana was part of the reason why 👍 here’s, somehow, a five-paragraph ramble about that! this doesn’t really fit the blog’s usual posts but i figured i’d talk about it because i didn’t want us to miss posting two days in a row, and i wanted to discuss how special these two random ass girls are to me <3 this is pretty personal but i thought id get it out somewhere and this blog seems fitting enough. if its too long then just know the moral of the story is that honakana changed my life

okay so i do like guys, which is something i cannot deny. i hardly even considered the possibility of me liking girls as well, though, until i downloaded project sekai on my phone. Yes, until I downloaded project sekai. i was already a huge vocaloid fan (not to the ridiculous extent i currently am, but it was still one of my most important interests!), so of course i became a huge prsk fan, too. i immediately grew attached to nightcord, and kanade in particular! why her? i couldn’t tell you, but boy did i really like her. and i still do!

i was an active shipper of some characters from some different fandoms at this point, combing through google for ship art and reading tons of ao3 works and basically searching everywhere for scraps of content of them. all my favorite couples were straight, though - i was fine with gay pairings, but didn’t care all that much about them. now, i was thinking a lot about kanamafu (who i still love too!). and then i wondered if anyone was shipping kanade with her housekeeper. i proceeded to go to ao3 and read all of skwakr’s works, and then all the few other works tagged with honakana, and then i followed the tag and looked everywhere for honakana fanart to save and honakana AUs and canon honakana moments and whatever other content i could find of them. somehow despite the fact they had hardly anything together in canon or fanon (at the time, anyway) they were my new obsession.

why? again, i couldn’t exactly tell you. i think it had something to do with how sweet and uncomplicated their relationship was, though - it was easy to believe honami would always care for kanade, and kanade would always leave time for her, and both would unconditionally love the other with nothing stopping them. i also think it must have been because of how well skwakr portrayed that unconditional love (go read their works if you haven’t, they express such great love in so few words and they’re incredible!!!). it seemed so real to me, real enough i somehow managed to fall in love with honakana as much as each was in love with the other. oh yeah and this was while my first (male!) crush was raging on - i turned to a pair of fictional girls dating for comfort while constantly pining over him. that was incredible of me. i mean i still do that tbf

i eventually lost my interest in prsk itself and got rid of the game, but my interest in honakana didn’t waver much. i didn’t actively interact with the fandom or read every single honakana fic that was released - i didn’t even find out about their wedding event until a few months ago - but i continued thinking about the two of them frequently. recently, i started the game again, for a reason i don’t remember. i don’t think i was planning on playing it much; then, i learned about the event and that it was coming to the EN server in a few months, and after not playing for so long, i suddenly had a goal waiting to be completed in those few months. i needed to rank high on the leaderboard, and i needed to do it for those two fictional lesbians i loved so much, for some reason.

a new, more agonizing crush is currently raging on for me. i’m pretty sure the object of that crush now thinks i’m a lesbian after having explained my need to tier in the event to him (and also having an icon of marcille donato on discord). it’s now a day since the event’s ended and i’ve been thinking a lot about my orientation - yes, mainly because of him, but also because it’s something i haven’t really figured out about myself. i’ve never liked a girl as much as those two boys, but i consider way more girls from fictional media hot than guys, and there’s also … all of this to consider. i don’t know how else to say it: i do not think there is a heterosexual explanation for my two-year-strong obsession with the not-even-that-fleshed-out relationship of two girls who are not real and are not dating. somehow, they’ve been as much of a constant presence in my life as that first crush was! and so thinking about it today i have decided i do not give a shit if i’ve only ever liked real guys and fake girls, i am bi and nobody gets to decide that except for me. who cares? no one should, except for me! thank you for reading my pouring my heart out about two random anime girls and good night. i need to go to sleep save me honakana