#could just be people being dramatic though

[mimisempai]

It's just a risk to take 1/2

Summary

For the fifth year in a row, Crowley's mother insists on inviting him to her charity gala. Although he has refused each time, this time he has no choice. And if he doesn't want his mother to force a date on him, he'll have to bring someone. So he takes the risk of inviting his old friend Aziraphale, for whom he feels much more than friendship. 

Notes

A little Human AU of them getting together

On Ao3

Rating G - 1783 words

"Anthony!"

Though startled by his mother's voice, Anthony did not react and continued to read the newspaper, sitting on his sofa with his feet up on the coffee table.

He heard the door close, then the click of heels coming closer, and only looked up when his mother tossed a sheet of paper into his lap.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that it was the negative response he'd sent to her invitation to the fall charity ball she hosted every year.

Continuing to leaf through the paper as if nothing had happened, he asked, "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, my dear mother?"

With her hands on her hips, his mother replied in a voice whose irritation she couldn't quite shake, “This is the fifth year you've refused my invitation and said you'd come next year. Five times!"

Anthony slowly lifted his eyes to his mother and looked at her with an assurance he was far from feeling.

"After four rejections, didn't you think there was no point in sending me a fifth invitation?"

"You know very well that I don't take no for an answer."

"And yet you'll have to do it again this time. I haven't changed my mind."

Crowley closed the newspaper and stood up before throwing it on the sofa and going to the kitchen to have some coffee. Of course, his mother followed him, and he felt that this time he'd really have a hard time staying firm. After all, he took after her as much for her flaming hair as for her stubborn nature.

He filled two cups of coffee and handed her one, which she eagerly grabbed.

He sat down on one of the high stools behind the counter as his mother leaned across from him.

She sighed.

"Anthony, I don't understand, you're smart, you're good at what you do, you're a handsome man..."

"Thanks, Mom." 

"Don't interrupt me! I was saying that you're a fine person, that you're good company when you're not hiding behind your sarcasm, that you have a job that you thrive at, and yet you're hiding in your apartment like an old bachelor."

Anthony replied with all the calm he could muster, "I am hiding, as you say, because in case you didn't know, with my job as a teacher, I see enough people during the day, my social circle is kept to a minimum because I prefer quality over quantity, and most importantly, I'm a big boy and I live my life as I see fit."

His mother took a sip of coffee, set the cup down on the counter with a clatter, and replied, "I never thought my son, so full of quality, would become a homebody. So boring. What a disappointment." 

Anthony knew his mother was being dramatic and didn't mean a word she said, she was just trying to provoke him until he gave in, so he took absolutely no offense.

He raised his eyebrows.

"If you find me boring, that's your problem, not mine."

"And when I'm gone, who's going to take care of your social life, right? You'll be all alone."

Oh, here we were. The feelings card.

He couldn't help but smile slightly and replied, "Mom, this may be hard for you to believe, but I like my solitude. And like I said, I have a few friends. You can count them on the fingers of one hand. But I have a few."

"At least give me one good reason, one real reason why you shouldn't come to this ball." His mother said as she went to refill her cup.

Anthony sighed, "If you must know, it's because I'm sure you want to set me up with some great party you found on Single.com or one of your dating apps."

His mother rolled her eyes.

"If that's all it is, just come with a date. It's as simple as that."

Anthony chuckled.

"Very funny, really."

His mother said in a softer tone, "I'm serious, you know. There must be someone whose company you can stand to spend an evening with."

Anthony immediately thought of someone, but did his best not to react.

Aziraphale.

No, don't think about it. He's just a friend. There's a big gap between being a friend and being someone's plus one for an event like this.

Forget about it.

"Ooooh, I see, so there is someone."

Damn, she really was too sharp.

His mother put down her cup, then came over and planted a kiss on his cheek before turning away.

"It's perfect. I'll wait for you and Aziraphale at the party."

"I never said it was Azi"

"Don't forget to remind your bookseller that formal wear is required."

"He's not my bookseller."

"You didn't deny it was about him, did you?"

"Mom..."

"I know, I know, honey."

Clack.

As quickly as she'd arrived, the hurricane that was his mother was gone.

She was probably already calling her friends to brag about having had the last word with her stubborn son. 

Anthony buried his head in his hands. He would have to contact Aziraphale and risk jeopardizing one of the longest and best friendships of his life.

The longest and most beautiful, in fact.

To do so, he would have to try to ignore the feelings he had for his friend. Feelings that went far beyond simple friendship.

Easier said than done.

Anthony sighed once more before he picked up his phone and started typing.

*********

Aziraphale was sitting at a table at the Dirty Donkey with Nina, Maggie and Muriel when his cell phone began to vibrate. 

He pulled it out of his pocket and, seeing who the message was from, quickly slid his thumb across the screen. He was so excited that he almost dropped the phone.

Nina noticed his fussiness and tried to look over his shoulder.

"I've never seen you in such a hurry to read a message. Who is it?"

"Oh, someone important, no doubt," Maggie replied before pulling Nina away to let Aziraphale read his message in peace. 

Muriel, for their part, made no comment, just looked at him with a knowing smile, they knew him too well. They knew who could make Aziraphale react like that. 

Aziraphale was astonished because, unlike Crowley's usual short, concise text messages, this one was so long that he had to scroll to get to the end.

His amazement grew as he read on.

His heart was beating faster as well.

But he chose to ignore it.

Aziraphale, you'll probably be surprised at what 

I'm about to ask you, but I don't have the courage to ask you in person. 

I don't know how else to say it, but I need your help. 

Would you be willing to accompany me to my mother's fall charity gala? 

It seems I can't avoid it this year, and while I'm at it, I'd rather go with a friend. 

You, in this case. 

Let me know your answer, and if it's positive, I'll send you the details.

Aziraphale swallowed. Several times.

He kept looking at the phone in his hand as he took a big gulp of sherry. 

Then he read the message again. His heart was racing now.

He had forgotten that he wasn't alone and was startled when Nina said, "You're all red, Aziraphale."

Maggie giggled and nodded.

A hand came to rest on his arm and a soft voice said, "You look... happy."

He looked up to meet the eyes of his best friend, Muriel.

"Yes. I think... maybe..."

Unable to find the words, he handed them the phone.

Muriel read it, looking very focused, before exclaiming, "That's great, Aziraphale! It's a great opportunity."

Of course his friend and business partner would say that.

They were, after all, the one who had pushed him to approach Crowley the day he had first walked into the bookstore.

Six years ago. He'd just started working as an astrophysics teacher and was looking for old books. Then he'd come back several times just to see Aziraphale, and a deep friendship had developed. Crowley had become part of his little circle of friends, and not a week went by without them seeing each other. Sometimes just the two of them, sometimes with their friends.

It was only during exam periods like now that their meetings were far apart.

And no, Aziraphale didn't count the days. Or hours, for that matter.

"Come on, Aziraphale, don't keep it a secret." 

Nina insisted, and he could see in Maggie's sparkling eyes that she was just as curious as her wife.

When Muriel handed the phone back, he hesitated for a moment, then finally passed it to Nina, who read the message as Maggie moved closer to read it at the same time.

"Aha... and are you going to say yes?"

Aziraphale didn't hide his astonishment at Nina and Maggie's lack of surprise.

"What? You think it's a secret that you have a crush on him?"

"Huh?"

Maggie continued, "There are even bets on which one of you will make the first move?"

"What?"

Dumbfounded, he glanced at Muriel, who shrugged.

"Neither of you are subtle."

"What do you mean?"

Maggie nodded, "Well, sometimes he looks at you like he hasn't eaten in days and you're the first meal he's seen."

"You've got to be kidding me!"

"I swear it's true!"

Nina nudged his shoulders and repeated, "So you'll answer yes?"

She added, insisting, "Do you realize this could be your chance?"

Maggie continued, "This could be a date!"

Aziraphale downed the rest of his sherry in one gulp and replied a little dizzily, "I certainly hope so."

He was far less certain as he prepared to answer a few moments later in the privacy of his apartment.

No matter how much he told himself not to get his hopes up, it was too late, and the only thing he could do was at least try to remain fairly neutral in his message.

Crowley, we're friends, you know you can ask me anything.

And knowing your mother, I'm guessing you fought bravely. 😛

I'm delighted to accept your invitation.

It will be an opportunity to spend an evening together, 

we haven't seen each other for a month, 

we'll have a lot to talk about.

Send me the details of the evening.

Good night!

Aziraphale hit 'send' immediately, before he had time to change his mind, placed his phone on the nightstand without waiting for a reply, and turned off the light. 

Probably due to Sherry's overindulgence, he quickly fell asleep in a peaceful slumber whose dreams had the face of a teacher with red flaming hair and honey-colored eyes.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable fan fictions Masterpost : here

[lurkingshan]

Every You Every Me

The Final Story (Part 2)

Time to finish this! [Edit from the future: I did not like this finale, so there's your warning!]

Ngl once the reveal was done and we were just in a bl about two annoying actors with a bad relationship this got less interesting. Still love the narrative device of this being about an actor pair across shows, though, that was clever. I just wish this actual story about Pun and Inn was better.

Part of my issue with this final plot is I still don't even know why Inn broke up with Pun in the first place. I don't really know what Inn's supposed to be apologizing for, other than this vague idea that he was self-absorbed. Meanwhile we actually did see Pun shut Inn out of his career decisions which directly affect him, so this one-sided apology feels weird.

I also don't love the connection they drew here between their personal and professional relationships, like they couldn't do their jobs if they weren't getting along. We know actors can act through a ton of BTS strife and still turn in good performances (EarthMix MLC divorce era, anyone?).

Like, why is Pun sobbing this hard after dumping Inn? Why dump him if he's still this attached?? Why ditch him for a new partner without ever discussing it? I don't really get Pun's deal here.

"Years later" well that's nice and vague, thanks chyron.

Why are the bad actor side pair here in this film? We saw them together and they were terrible, it was part of the plot!

Suddenly, a flashback? Inn is drunk so it's def time for a bl white towel sponge bath.

I am... so confused. When did this drunken heart to heart take place? Before or after the dramatic breakup? And why would they have to wait years to be together? But Pun assumed Inn didn't even remember??

Okay so if I have pieced this together right, they had this drunken convo the same night we saw them out with their friends, then wrapped the show, then had a dramatic breakup despite having already had this conversation and Pun knowing that, but Inn didn't remember/thought it was a dream, and they just didn't speak for years until Inn showed up with the flowers. This is so convoluted and I am just baffled over here.

Anyway, I guess they're gonna get married now even though they have a really bad and non communicative relationship. Sure!

Quite a choice to skip any physical intimacy scenes for the "real" couple after all that. I don't think I like it.

What a mess of a final episode. It's so strange that they went to the trouble of coming up with this interesting and creative narrative and executed it pretty well only to falter on coming up with a basic romance arc to finish the story well. I'm disappointed this didn't end stronger so I could recommend it to people. Ah well, at least Mick and Top are a good pair; their chemistry did a lot of the heavy lifting. And it was fun watching the shows within the show and puzzling out what was going on. I'm glad they tried something different even if they didn't land it in the end.

[strawberrygirll13]

I care about you

Dazai x Reader

Pt 1

Warnings: Depression, self harm, mentions of suicide attempts, mental illness.

The restaurant was quiet, save for the occasional clinking of plates and murmurs of other diners. Candlelight flickered softly, casting a warm glow over the table. Across from you, Dazai sat back in his chair, his arm lazily draped over the backrest, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“You know,” he started, swirling the wine in his glass, “if this steak were my last meal, I think I’d die happy.”

You set your fork down, a sense of unease already creeping in. “Dazai…”

He didn’t seem to notice the warning in your voice, his eyes gleaming with something darker. “But,” he continued, his voice calm, “if I were to go, I’d want it to be something more dramatic. Something… poetic. Maybe a leap into a river. Or from a high-rise at sunset. You know, something that would leave an impression.”

You couldn’t keep the tension from building in your chest. “Dazai, I really don’t like it when you talk like that.”

He paused for a moment, the grin still playing on his lips. “Oh? Why not?” he said, tilting his head, seemingly unfazed. “It’s the truth. I’ve tried a few things, you know.”

Your fingers tightened around your napkin, and you felt a cold chill run through you. “What do you mean ‘tried a few things’?”

Dazai leaned forward, his gaze sharp as he looked directly at you. “Well, let me think... I’ve tried hanging myself, drowning myself—Yokohama Harbor, to be exact. It was freezing, but strangely peaceful. I really thought it would work that time. But no, a fisherman pulled me out before I could go under for good.” He chuckled softly, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Pathetic, huh?”

You felt your heart drop, but he kept going, unperturbed. “I also tried jumping in front of a train once. The timing was all wrong, though. I only got clipped, nothing serious. And then there was the time I tried poisoning myself, but the drink was too weak. Didn’t do the job. But you know, the one that came closest? Cutting my wrists. I really thought that one would do it. I got pretty close, but again, I ended up surviving.”

Each attempt, each method, he listed it so casually, as if they were simple anecdotes, nothing more than stories to amuse himself. The weight of his words pressed down on you, suffocating, until you couldn’t breathe. You felt a mix of disgust and helplessness, your stomach twisting in knots. This wasn’t just dark humor; this was the product of something deeper, something broken. And it was eating at him.

“Dazai,” you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please, stop. I don’t want to hear this. This isn’t funny.”

He raised an eyebrow, as if surprised by your reaction. “Why not?” he asked, genuinely curious. “It’s just a little dark humor. Surely you, of all people, aren’t disturbed by some harmless stories?”

“Harmless?” You stood up abruptly, unable to sit through it any longer. “It’s cruel. It’s wrong. I don’t know why you think this is okay, but it’s not. I care about you, Dazai, and hearing you talk like this…” You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “It makes me feel awful. Can you not see that?”

He looked at you for a long moment, his smile never wavering, though his eyes were colder than usual. “Cruel?” he repeated, amusement still in his tone. “You’re being dramatic. It’s not as though anyone would care if I actually died, anyway. Hell, the world would probably be better off without me. It’s not like I have anyone who would mourn me.”

You shook your head, a knot forming in your throat. This wasn’t just about his words anymore; it was about the way he saw himself. The way he thought of his life as something so expendable.

"And you know," he added, almost as an afterthought, "I’ve been thinking about finding a beautiful woman to share my final moments with. Someone who wouldn’t mind a little poetic death. I’ve been looking for someone who’d be willing to… you know, commit double suicide with me. My dear friend, you’d do perfectly." His grin was wider now, predatory, and it made your skin crawl.

You stared at him, unable to process how casually he could say something so horrifying. “Why would you say that to me? Why would you ask me something like that?”

He laughed, but it was an empty, hollow sound. “Why? Because you’re one of the few people I actually respect. I thought you’d find the idea appealing. You’re beautiful, aren’t you? You would make a perfect match for me in the end.”

Your hands shook at your sides, but you didn’t back down. “No, Dazai. No. I don’t find any of this funny. You’ve made me so uncomfortable tonight, and you did it on purpose, didn’t you? You wanted to make me feel bad. Well, congratulations, you’ve succeeded.”

He blinked at you, for the first time showing a crack in his indifference, his smirk faltering for a split second as he processed your words. But before he could respond, you turned and grabbed your coat, slipping it over your shoulders.

“I’m leaving,” you said, your voice firm but quiet.

Dazai didn’t say anything. He just watched as you moved toward the door, his gaze unreadable. The air between you had shifted, and you couldn’t quite understand it, but you knew one thing for certain: You couldn’t sit there and let him pull you into his darkness.

With one last glance at him, you stepped out into the cold night air, the weight of the conversation lingering with you, but you didn’t turn back.

The days following that tense dinner were markedly different. You kept your interactions with Dazai strictly professional, your usual casual conversations replaced with curt, pointed words. Whenever a task required communication, you went through others—Kunikida, Atsushi, anyone else who could serve as a buffer between you and him. Dazai, however, wasn’t one to let things go unnoticed, especially when they disrupted his carefully cultivated routines.

You knew he’d noticed the shift—he wasn’t an idiot. But instead of apologizing or addressing it directly, he chose his usual route: mischief.

It started small. A sly remark here, an exaggerated sigh there. When you ignored those, he ramped it up. During one meeting, he’d kept dropping pens onto your side of the table, leaning over to retrieve them with the kind of smug grin that made you want to throttle him. When you didn’t react, his antics escalated.

The breaking point came one quiet afternoon when you returned to your desk only to find his desk… wasn’t where it was supposed to be.

He’d moved it.

Right in front of yours, so close the two desks were now touching, effectively making it one long, cluttered mess of books, papers, and his personal junk. Your side was spotless, as always, but his was overflowing—documents spilling over onto your workspace, a half-eaten bag of snacks perched precariously on the edge, and his coat draped lazily over your chair.

You stood there for a moment, staring at the absurdity before you, willing yourself to stay calm.

“Do you mind?” you finally asked, your voice cold as you folded your arms.

Dazai, leaning back in his chair with a lopsided grin, didn’t miss a beat. “Not at all. Cozy, isn’t it?”

“It’s not cozy,” you snapped, narrowing your eyes. “It’s invasive. Move your desk back.”

“But I like it here,” he replied, spinning his pen between his fingers. “Better lighting. Better company. Well... not bettercompany, but you’re here, so it’ll do.”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to rise to the bait. Instead, you sat down, pushed his papers to the far edge of your desk, and went back to your work.

This didn’t deter him in the slightest. Over the next hour, he kept finding ways to encroach on your space—tossing paperclips onto your side, humming loudly, even nudging your coffee mug with his own until it was teetering dangerously close to the edge.

Finally, when it seemed like he might actually topple it over, you shot him a glare. “If you spill that, I swear—”

“You’ll what?” he interrupted, leaning in closer. “Yell at me? Ignore me some more? I think you’ve got the ignoring part down pretty well already.”

You didn’t respond, turning back to your work with tight-lipped determination.

His frustration, though, was becoming harder for him to hide. You could see it in the way he kept drumming his fingers on the desk, in the exaggerated way he sighed every five minutes, in the way his usual lazy demeanor seemed a little too deliberate, like he was trying too hard to act like this wasn’t bothering him.

And then, he started writing notes.

At first, he didn’t even try to be subtle about it. He scribbled something down on a piece of paper, folded it neatly, and slid it onto your side of the desk.

You ignored it.

A second note followed, then a third. You didn’t open any of them, and the more you ignored them, the more frustrated he seemed to become.

By the fourth note, he didn’t even bother folding it anymore. Instead, he scrawled the words in large, dramatic letters across a sheet of paper and held it up directly in your line of sight.

“ARE YOU STILL MAD?”

You didn’t look at him, but he kept the note there until you finally sighed and muttered, “Yes.”

He blinked, clearly not expecting an actual answer. Then, with a grin, he grabbed another sheet of paper and scribbled again. This time, he slid it across the desk to you.

“WHY?”

You stared at the note for a moment before crumpling it up and tossing it back at him. “You know why,” you said, your voice quiet but firm.

For once, he didn’t have a quick retort. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his grin faltering ever so slightly as he watched you go back to your work.

But, true to form, he didn’t stay quiet for long. Moments later, another note landed on your desk.

“CAN I MAKE IT UP TO YOU?”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t trust yourself to, not yet. And so, the silence between you stretched on, heavy and unresolved, while Dazai sat across from you, bored, frustrated, and—if the look in his eyes was any indication—just a little bit lost.

The silence between you two stretched unbearably as Dazai fidgeted with his pen, occasionally glancing at you, though you didn’t spare him a single look. Despite his antics, you were determined to hold your ground. He deserved to stew in this. To feel the weight of your anger and hurt.

Yet, as the minutes ticked by and the tension grew thicker, you found yourself caving. Not entirely, but enough for curiosity to override your stubbornness. With a sigh, you picked up your pen and scribbled something on a piece of paper, sliding it over to him without looking up.

“Did you mean it?”

Dazai, for once, didn’t respond immediately. You heard the faint rustle of the note as he picked it up, followed by a pause. Then, slowly, he scrawled something down and pushed it back toward you.

“Mean what?”

You stared at the words for a moment before writing again.

“That you want me to die with you?”

When you slid the note back, you refused to meet his gaze, your fingers gripping your pen tightly as you waited for his response. The air between you felt suffocating, heavy with the unspoken weight of the question.

It took him longer this time. You heard the soft scratching of his pen as he wrote, then paused, then wrote again. Finally, the note landed back in front of you.

“Yes.”

Your breath hitched as you stared at the single word, simple and honest in a way Dazai rarely allowed himself to be. When you finally looked up at him, his expression was unreadable, his usual playful grin replaced by something quieter, something that almost looked like vulnerability.

“I wasn’t joking,” he said softly, breaking the silence. “Not entirely, at least.”

Your throat felt dry, and you weren’t sure what to say. For all the times Dazai hid behind humor, behind his endless games and tricks, hearing him admit something so dark, so raw, left you momentarily at a loss.

“Why?” you finally asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugged, though the motion felt forced, his usual air of nonchalance cracking at the edges. “Because if I had to go, at least with you… it wouldn’t feel so empty. It’d be poetic, don’t you think? Two kindred spirits, disappearing together.”

“That’s not poetic, Dazai,” you said firmly, anger creeping into your voice. “It’s selfish. It’s—” You stopped yourself, exhaling sharply. “It’s cruel that you would suggest that.”

His lips quirked up in a half-smile, but there was no humor behind it. “I told you, I’m a selfish man. You should know that by now.”

Your eyes narrowed, but you didn’t reply. Instead, you leaned back in your chair, the note still clutched tightly in your hand, as the weight of his words settled over you.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Dazai,” you began, folding the note neatly and placing it in front of him, “but unfortunately, I do not want to die. And I’d prefer it if you could refrain from doing so either.”

You stood up, your chair scraping against the floor as you grabbed your bag. “I need to use the restroom. I’ll be back in a minute.”

But before you could take a step, his hand shot out, quick and instinctive, his bandaged wrist wrapping firmly around yours. It wasn’t harsh or forceful, but it was enough to stop you in your tracks.

“What the hell?” you blurted, glancing down at his hand, then back at him.

For the first time since the conversation began, he looked genuinely caught off guard. His grip on your wrist wasn’t calculated; it was almost desperate, as though the very thought of you leaving—even temporarily—was unbearable.

“I… You’re not going anywhere,” he said, his tone lighter than his expression betrayed. But the crack in his voice, subtle as it was, didn’t escape you.

Your brow furrowed. “Dazai, I work here. I’m just going to the bathroom. I’m not running off into the sunset. Good god, you have issues.”

His lips curved into a faint smirk, but it lacked his usual humor. “Issues? That’s putting it lightly, don’t you think?” He released your wrist, his hand lingering in the air for a moment before he let it drop back to his side. “I guess I just don’t like the idea of you walking away from me… even if it’s just to the restroom.”

“Dazai,” you sighed, softening your tone despite yourself, “I’m not leaving you. I’ll be back in two minutes.”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, a flicker of something vulnerable passing through them before his usual mask slipped back into place. “Promise?” he asked, leaning back in his chair with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You gave him a flat look. “I’m not promising anything. It’s a bathroom break, not a grand betrayal.”

But as you walked away, you couldn’t shake the weight of his touch—or the way his voice had faltered, even for just a second. Something about it lingered, clawing at the edges of your mind like an unanswered question you weren’t sure you were ready to ask.

A few hours later ~

The office was quiet now, save for the faint ticking of the clock on the wall and the rustling of papers as you gathered your things. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the room bathed in the soft glow of a single desk lamp. You glanced over at him. His desk—still obnoxiously pressed against yours—was cluttered with papers he hadn’t touched all day. He’d sat there for hours, throwing the occasional quip your way, but you hadn’t said much in return.

It wasn’t just the silence that made the air feel heavy; it was the weight of his words from earlier. He wanted you to die with him. The thought lingered, intrusive and stubborn, no matter how much you tried to shove it aside. You couldn’t understand how he’d asked you something so selfishly, so casually, as if it were just another joke in his endless repertoire.

Shaking your head, you slid your bag over your shoulder and moved toward the door. You didn’t bother to say goodbye.

“Wait,” his voice called out, stopping you mid-step. You turned to find him standing now, hands stuffed into his pockets as he leaned against the edge of the desk.

“What is it, Dazai?” you asked, your voice tinged with exhaustion.

“Let me walk you home,” he said, straightening up and taking a step closer.

You blinked at him, the question catching you off guard. “Are you going to say some weird shit?”

His mouth quirked into a half-smile, though it lacked the usual cockiness. “You know, probably. I mean, it’s me.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck as if he were suddenly unsure of himself. “But… I won’t ask you to, you know, do that with me again. Scout’s honor.” He held up two fingers in mock sincerity.

You narrowed your eyes, considering him for a moment. “Fine,” you said finally, letting out a small sigh. “But only if you promise.”

“Promise,” he repeated, a flicker of amusement returning to his voice.

As you pushed open the door and stepped into the cool night air, he fell into step beside you. Something about the way he kept just a half step behind, letting you set the pace, felt quieter than usual—almost careful. It wasn’t like him. Then again, nothing about today had been.

The street was quiet as you and Dazai walked down the path, the only sounds being the soft crunch of your footsteps against the pavement and the occasional rustling of leaves in the trees. The streetlamps above flickered on, casting a dim, golden light that illuminated the sidewalk in a soft, almost melancholic glow. The night air was cool, a refreshing change from the stuffy office, and you relished the brief quiet that came with the walk.

You didn't mind walking. You’d never been one to rely on a car, especially when the journey gave you a little peace of mind. Besides, the apartment was only about a 20-minute walk away, and you had plenty of time to clear your head. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

As you walked in silence, your thoughts wandered. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between you and Dazai today. His words from earlier still echoed in your mind, but it wasn’t just that. Something about his behavior had felt off—a bit too distant, a bit too… real.

It was strange, but despite everything, you couldn't deny you had feelings for him. Not that you really had a choice, considering how often you saw each other. But you were realistic about it. The idea of him ever feeling the same was almost laughable. He was too much of a mess, too much of a broken puzzle for you to figure out. And even if he did have feelings for you, you weren’t sure it was something you could trust.

The walk continued in silence, and you pulled your coat tighter around you, keeping your thoughts to yourself. But then, without warning, Dazai held out his arm for you.

At first, you were confused. You didn't know what he meant by the gesture. But when he huffed, his voice edged with a hint of impatience, “Come on, I’m not going to bite you,” you could feel a wave of hesitation wash over you.

Before you could respond, he looped his arm through yours, locking it there with a firm but gentle grip. It surprised you, but it wasn’t unwelcome. For a moment, you just walked, trying to process what had just happened.

As you did, your gaze slipped over to him. The soft glow of the streetlights caught his brown hair, highlighting the faint tousled mess of it. You’d always admired the way it looked, even when he didn’t seem to care much about it. You wondered, though, how much of his body was covered in bandages. His neck and wrist were always covered, but what about the rest of him? Did he hide it under those clothes, or was there more to it?

The thought made a knot form in your stomach, and you quickly shoved it away. You hated the idea of him harming himself. The thought made your chest tighten, and you didn’t want to think about it—not now, not here, not with him.

“What are you thinking about, Y/N?” Dazai’s voice broke the silence, his tone casual, though there was an edge to it.

You looked up at him, startled, but there was a strange softness in his expression that made you pause.

“Nothing,” you muttered, not wanting to admit to the tangled thoughts swirling in your head. “Just... you know, thinking about work.”

He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Really?" he teased, but there was something more guarded in his eyes now. "Because you seem distracted."

You went quiet, your eyes shifting away from his, not wanting to meet his gaze anymore. The cool night air suddenly felt too heavy as the silence between you both stretched on.

Dazai noticed immediately, his pace slowing as he watched the subtle tension build. He didn’t push it at first, but after a few moments, he muttered, almost absentmindedly, “I hate how you don’t let me into your head.” His voice had a quiet frustration in it, like a gnawing irritation that wouldn't let go.

You stiffened, the words from earlier still replaying in your mind. You knew he wasn’t going to drop it, not without pushing the issue. You didn’t want to discuss it, but you couldn’t stay silent either. "Well, it’s kinda difficult to let someone in who has basically said in their own way they want me dead." You kept your voice steady, trying not to let the vulnerability slip through.

The words hung in the air, and Dazai didn’t immediately respond. His arm, still locked with yours, shifted slightly as if he were considering his words carefully.

Then, he spoke. "Y/N, my darling, you and I have two very different perspectives on death." He paused, allowing the weight of his words to settle between you. "To explain it in the simplest terms, despite how morbid it may seem to you... it is a compliment."

His tone was strange, detached, but also oddly earnest. It was as if he truly believed that what he was saying made sense. And for a moment, you wondered if he even understood how much his words stung.

You didn’t know what to say, so you stayed quiet, your steps slowing to match his. The city seemed farther away now, the night air colder.

"It doesn’t matter how you intended it, Dazai," you said, your voice firm but not unkind. "You are not well. The way you think… it’s all twisted."

Dazai let out a laugh, sharp and self-deprecating. "Oh, I’m very aware," he said with a smirk, though his eyes betrayed something softer, something less cavalier.

The rest of the walk passed in silence. He didn’t let go of your arm, keeping it interlocked with his, as though he feared letting go would shatter whatever fragile thing existed between you both. The city lights grew sparse as you reached your apartment building, and he walked you right up to your doorstep. Even then, his arm stayed linked with yours, his grip firm but not forceful, as if he wasn’t ready to let you go.

Dazai finally stopped, taking a deep breath. His hesitation was unusual, almost unsettling. "Can I ask you something?" he said, his voice softer than usual.

You sighed, fishing your keys out of your pocket. "I’m not going to say no, am I?"

He smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "When you say you care about me… do you mean it?"

You froze, caught off guard by the question. He wasn’t playing this time. There was no sly grin, no teasing inflection. His eyes, brown and deep as they were, searched yours with an almost childlike vulnerability.

"For someone as smart as you are, you’re being quite moronic right now," you said, your voice gentler than your words. His expression shifted slightly—confused, maybe even a little hurt. You softened, letting out a breath. "Of course I care about you, Dazai. I care about you a lot."

He blinked, processing your words, before making a quiet "Oh-ohh" sound, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the information. It was such a Dazai thing to do that it made you smile despite yourself.

Sliding your key into the lock, you turned it and pushed the door open. But before stepping inside, you hesitated. Something tugged at you, a feeling you couldn’t quite ignore.

"Oh, hell, screw it," you muttered under your breath before turning back around. Gently, you reached up and cupped his face, your fingers brushing against the bandages on his cheek. His eyes widened slightly as you leaned in, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his irises, and placed a soft, lingering kiss on his lips.

When you pulled back, his expression was one of pure shock. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. You gave him a small smile, your hands still resting against his cheeks.

"Why don’t you think on that, Osamu Dazai," you said, your tone light but meaningful. Then, pulling away, you stepped inside and closed the door behind you with a quiet click.

For a long moment, Dazai stood there on your doorstep, the night air brushing against his face, his lips still tingling from the kiss. Then, slowly, a small, genuine smile curved across his face—one that no one else would have recognized.

[prettymfwrites]

𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐇𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧

Mom Ellie x mom Dina x pregnant reader

The family life of You, Dina, and Ellie plus the rest of our beloved people<3

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

The cozy little house in Jackson was full of warmth and life. Sunlight poured through the windows, casting soft golden hues on the wooden floors. JJ was sitting cross-legged on the living room rug, babbling as he tried to stack a tower of blocks. Ellie crouched beside him, helping stabilize his wobbly creation, while Dina leaned against the kitchen counter, watching the scene with a soft smile.

You sat on the couch with a hand resting over your growing belly, a rare moment of rest in the busy household. At five months pregnant, you were starting to feel the fatigue more acutely, and everyone around you seemed to notice.

“Hey,” Dina called from the kitchen, glancing at you over her shoulder. “You good? Need water or something?”

You shook your head with a small smile. “I’m fine, just enjoying the show.”

Ellie looked up from her spot on the floor, her green eyes flicking to you with concern. “You sure? You’ve been sitting a while. Maybe we should prop your feet up or something.”

You laughed softly. “I’m okay, Ellie. Really.”

But before you could convince her further, the front door creaked open, and Joel stepped inside, followed by Jesse.

“Hope you’re hungry,” Joel said, lifting a basket filled with freshly baked bread and other treats Maria had sent over. “Maria thought y’all could use some extra hands today.”

“Extra hands are always welcome,” Dina said, stepping forward to grab the basket. “Especially with these two being overprotective mother hens.”

Joel chuckled as Jesse leaned down to ruffle JJ’s hair. “Overprotective’s not a bad thing,” Jesse said, throwing a wink in your direction. “Especially with this one baking up another troublemaker.”

“Hey!” you protested, laughing. “You’re all acting like I can’t even move anymore.”

“You’re pregnant,” Ellie said firmly, standing and brushing her hands on her jeans. “You’re not supposed to be moving. Or lifting. Or doing anything remotely exhausting.”

“She’s not wrong,” Joel added, his tone teasing but warm. “Why do you think Maria’s been sending me over so much? Keepin’ you all in line.”

Maria’s timing was impeccable because not long after, she arrived with even more food and supplies. She gave you a pointed look as she set down a casserole dish. “And how are you feeling today?”

You sighed dramatically, throwing your hands up. “I’m fine. But apparently, I’m under house arrest.”

Maria laughed, patting your shoulder. “Good. That means they’re doing their job.”

---

Living with Ellie, Dina, and JJ felt like being part of a chaotic yet loving symphony. Ellie was the early riser, always the first to make coffee and check the perimeter. Dina, on the other hand, was the night owl, staying up late to tidy up or prep for the next day.

JJ was the glue that held everything together. His giggles filled the house, and he had both Ellie and Dina wrapped around his little fingers. Ellie was the patient teacher, showing him how to draw simple shapes or hold a small wooden guitar. Dina was the playful one, chasing him around the house and encouraging his endless curiosity.

You found your rhythm in their chaos, though everyone made sure you were never left to do too much.

“Hey, hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Ellie said one afternoon when she caught you trying to carry a basket of laundry upstairs.

“Laundry?” you replied innocently.

“Not happening.” Ellie took the basket from you with a shake of her head. “You’re supposed to be resting. Dina, tell her!”

“Don’t drag me into this,” Dina called from the kitchen, though her amused tone betrayed her stance.

Maria often stopped by with little gifts or advice, her maternal instincts kicking in whenever she saw you. She and Joel worked well together, often taking JJ for walks so you could have a moment of peace.

---

One day, a minor scare threw everyone into overdrive. You’d been outside tending to the small garden when you tripped over an uneven patch of ground. It wasn’t serious—you caught yourself before falling—but the commotion had Dina rushing outside, followed closely by Ellie, Joel, and Jesse, who happened to be passing by.

“What happened?” Dina asked, her hands on your arms as she inspected you for injuries.

“Nothing! I just lost my footing,” you said, trying to downplay the situation.

“Lost your footing?” Ellie repeated, her brows furrowed. “You could’ve—”

“I didn’t, though,” you interrupted, giving her a reassuring smile.

Joel placed a steadying hand on Ellie’s shoulder. “She’s fine, kid. No need to hover.”

Ellie grumbled something under her breath but didn’t argue. Dina helped you back inside, muttering about how they were going to bubble-wrap you until the baby arrived.

---

Evenings were the best part of the day. The five of you (and Maria or Joel on occasion) would gather in the living room for quiet time. JJ would sit in your lap, occasionally patting your belly and asking questions about the “baby in there.”

Ellie would strum her guitar softly while Dina leaned against you, her head on your shoulder. Joel and Maria would exchange stories from their patrols, and Jesse would crack jokes that had everyone laughing.

Despite the dangers of the world outside, the little house felt like a sanctuary—a place where love and family came first.

Ellie would often whisper to you at night, her hand resting protectively on your stomach. “I’m gonna keep you safe,” she’d say softly, as if making a promise to you and the little one on the way.

Dina, half-asleep, would usually murmur her agreement, pulling you closer. “We all will.”

And as you lay between them, with JJ sleeping soundly in the next room and your growing family wrapped in warmth, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect life.

---

JJ IS LITERALLY THE CUTEST THING

I take requests!

[va1kyr14]

Right, I have time to sit down and really digest what happened yesterday so here goes. This is mainly going to be about Caitvi but will contain others.

Be warned if you haven't watched it!

So firstly what a fucking ride.

The animation, the story and what they have done is absolutely incredible and have set the bench mark for future studios because my tiny brain is blown.

But diving into the things that I thought could have been better, like a lot of people have said, the pacing seemed off when they nailed it in S1. And yes I did wait until everything was released to share my thoughts. We probably got even more Caitvi content than S1, but with everything going on everywhere and it being a faster paced in regards to action, It did seem like the relationship from S1 to the end was just a bit off. Not saying it wasn't incredible, it was, but I think there were things that didn't add to the story much which could have been replaced with other character progression.

Having said that, I watched all of S1 all in one go when it came out, and I think that if we did the same with S2 and one straight after the other, I don't think we would be necessarily seeing it as much. Just my thoughts.

We didn't get an Caitlyn apology only an acknowledgement apart from when she was speaking to Jinx and an angry Vi separately. We could argue that the way she spoke to Vi before the spice was her was of apologising but I don't know I really would have liked a better explanation.

I did love the two sides of one coin but not the fact that you can't have a universe where both sisters live. That broke my heart but understand it. I also do think Jinx survived, and got out the vents and went off in the blimp at the end. I think Cait knew too, being her smart self but knew that Vi would go after her if she knew. That was a sweet scene at the end - even though not a fan of pirate Cait as I said in a previous post. I hope if they do something in the future she has like a fake eye or something I would prefer that over a patch.

Now moving onto the SEX SCENE....

Holy fucking shit. I don't know what I expected but it wasn't that. The animation, the fucking intimacy the likes I have never seen, it was perfect. I do think the setting was a bit weird but when you have all the pent up frustrations and lets be honest they are dramatic lesbians, Its going to happen. I would have liked to have seen it maybe in Cait's bed if anywhere but the urgency mixed with gentleness and all the little micro actions.

The PULL IN AFTER THE UNDOING OF THE BUCKLE.

I can't. Like I am speechless.

It was everything I hoped from a first time, from the giggles to everything else and just every tiny action jesus these animators are something else. I am not ashamed for Netflix to watch the algorithm and see I have watched that same 2 minutes for about 9 hours straight.

It has broken boundaries, not just for queer representation, the fact that neither of them died and got a happy ending in something like Arcane is remarkable, but in regards to animation of a sex scene a lesbian one at that, I think the benchmark has now been set and it will be known as this generations' Korrasami. This is will go down in history and I am not even being dramatic.

Anyway that was more of a ramble than an in depth post, and I have no idea what to do with myself now. We have AO3 and fanart and I guess we will have a bit more content until the end of the month with promotion but I guess when you have a hyperfixation you aren't ready to say goodbye. So I raised a glass to all the content creators who are now going to carry on the mantle. I will be reading and liking everything I can, I salute you.

To summarise, the series could have been better IMO but thats what happens when expectations are so high, there was none of that in series 1 and it was perfect in my eyes. You can't please everyone, but I think Arcane as an overall package is wonderful and Caitvi will live on in my heart and others which have created a benchmark for queer content and I am so proud of everyone involved.

And to all the fellow queers out there...

We did it, we won.

[dayabelle]

Close Enough to Stay

Pairings: Shota Aizawa x Fem!Reader

Lmk if I made any mistakes I didn't proofread at all

---

Y/n had never been one for grand entrances or dramatic encounters. She preferred the quiet moments—the kind where you could sit in the corner of a bustling coffee shop, headphones on, and let the world blur around you. But life had a way of throwing her into unexpected situations, and that’s how she met Shota.

Shota had the kind of presence that could fill a room without saying a word. He was stoic and reserved, the type of man who rarely showed what he was feeling but somehow made you feel it anyway. To most people, he seemed distant, almost indifferent. But beneath his quiet exterior was a man who noticed everything and cared more deeply than he’d ever admit.

They met in the most unremarkable way: in a library. Y/n had been browsing the shelves for something—anything—to take her mind off the noise in her head. She’d been struggling to choose between two books when a deep, even voice spoke behind her.

“That one’s better.”

She turned, startled, to find Shota standing there. His dark eyes scanned the book in her left hand.

“The author has a way with words,” he added, his tone as neutral as if he were commenting on the weather.

Y/n raised an eyebrow. “And what if I prefer this one?” she countered, lifting the book in her right hand.

“Then you’d be wrong.”

She blinked, unsure whether to laugh or take offense. But there was a subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth—the barest hint of amusement—that made her set the book back on the shelf and take his recommendation instead.

That was the beginning.

Their encounters in the library became routine. Y/n would always arrive with her bag slung over her shoulder, her eyes lighting up when she spotted him. Shota, ever punctual, was already there—usually seated at the same table near the back, where the sunlight filtered through the high windows. They’d share the space in comfortable silence, Y/n engrossed in her books, and Shota pretended to focus on his paperwork he always had, though he often found himself glancing at her instead.

Their conversations began gradually. At first, it was book recommendations or brief observations about the weather. But over time, their words grew longer, deeper. Y/n would tell him about her day as a nurse, the patients she cared for, and the challenges of being quirkless in a world that often underestimated her. Shota listened intently, his gaze steady and unwavering, offering the occasional thoughtful comment. He rarely spoke about himself, but Y/n learned to read between the lines, piecing together the puzzle of his life as a pro hero.

There were small touches, almost accidental at first—a brush of fingers when they reached for the same book, the fleeting warmth of his hand on her back as he guided her through a crowded aisle. Each touch sent a quiet thrill through her, though she tried not to let it show. Shota, for his part, seemed unaffected, but there were moments when his gaze lingered just a little too long, or his voice softened in a way that betrayed his carefully guarded demeanor. The curve of her lower back, her hair and the way she kept it, her eyes and how she looked at certain things, how warm his hand felt against her skin.

One rainy afternoon, their library routine changed. Y/n had been late, rushing in with windblown hair and an apology tumbling from her lips. She’d forgotten an umbrella, and the rain had left her soaked. Without a word, Shota shrugged off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders, the faint smell of his cologne mingling with the dampness. Y/n looked up, startled by the gesture.

“You’ll catch a cold,” he said simply, his tone as even as ever. But there was a softness in his eyes that made her heart stutter.

From that day, their connection began to extend beyond the library. Shota learned more about her world—how she worked tirelessly as a nurse, caring for others despite the challenges of being quirkless. He admired her resilience, though he struggled to express it. Y/n, in turn, discovered the weight Shota carried as a pro hero. She noticed the faint scars on his hands, the shadows under his eyes after long nights, and the quiet way he carried the burden of protecting others.

One evening, after a particularly grueling shift, Y/n found herself sitting on the steps outside the hospital. She was exhausted, her scrubs wrinkled and her hair a mess. Shota appeared out of nowhere, his presence as grounding as ever. He didn’t say much—just handed her a cup of coffee and sat beside her. They didn’t need words; the quiet companionship was enough.

Over time, their bond deepened. Shota started showing up at her apartment unannounced, usually with takeout in hand. Y/n began leaving him notes in the books she returned to him, little snippets of encouragement or observations she thought he’d appreciate. Despite his initial attempts to deny it, Shota found himself looking forward to their moments together. She became the exception to his self-imposed rules, the person who slipped past his defenses without even trying.

For Y/n, Shota was a quiet strength, a steady presence in her unpredictable life. And for Shota, Y/n was a light he hadn’t realized he needed, someone who reminded him that even the most guarded hearts could find solace in another. Together, they built a connection that was quiet but unshakable, a bond that transcended words and grew stronger with each passing day.

---

The Christmas tree twinkled softly in the corner of Y/n’s apartment, casting a warm glow that danced across the room. Snow gently fell outside the window, muffling the sounds of the city and wrapping the world in a quiet blanket of white. The faint scent of pine mingled with the sweet aroma of freshly baked cookies cooling on the counter.

Shota sat on the couch, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, wearing a pair of navy pajamas Y/n had bought but misjudged the size of. They were just a little snug on him, and she’d teased him about it earlier, laughing at the rare sight of him in anything remotely silly. She, meanwhile, wore her favorite penguin pajamas—bright and cheerful, with little birds in scarves and hats printed all over.

“I don’t know how you can take yourself seriously in those,” Shota said, his voice laced with dry humor, though his expression softened as he watched her.

She grinned, holding up a cookie she’d decorated earlier. “Says the man in too-tight pajamas. And besides, they’re festive.”

He smirked but didn’t argue. It was rare for him to relax like this, but somehow, in her presence, it felt natural. Easy.

The night had been filled with a string of small, intimate moments. They’d debated over which book was better—one of her favorites versus one of his. That had led to a spirited conversation about the merits of storytelling, Shota’s quiet baritone weaving effortlessly with her animated retorts. Then, a detour into movie discussions while a Christmas classic played in the background, neither of them paying much attention to the screen.

There had been laughter, soft and unguarded, over their attempts at decorating cookies—his looked like a chaotic mess compared to her meticulously crafted designs. “I don’t think frosting symmetry is a transferable skill for a hero,” he’d deadpanned, and she’d nearly choked on her laughter.

The snow fell softly outside Y/n's apartment window, muffling the world beyond and wrapping the night in a serene quiet. Inside, the glow of string lights reflected off the silver and red ornaments they’d just hung on the small but charming Christmas tree. The room smelled of fresh-baked cookies, mingling with the subtle scent of pine from the tree.

Y/n laughed, holding up a penguin-shaped ornament. "This one’s my favorite."

Shota tilted his head slightly. "Why penguins?"

"Because they’re clumsy on land but elegant in the water," she said, hanging it carefully on a branch. "They remind me that everyone has their own kind of grace, even if it’s not obvious."

He glanced at her, a faint warmth flickering in his usually unreadable eyes. "That’s... surprisingly insightful."

She smirked. "Surprisingly? Thanks a lot."

Shota’s lips twitched into the ghost of a smile, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he stepped closer, his hand brushing against hers as he adjusted a crooked ornament. The casual touch made her heart skip, though she tried not to show it.

After a while, they settled on the couch, the soft glow of the tree illuminating the almost pitch black room. Y/n curled up with a steaming mug of cocoa, the silly penguin pajamas she wore making her look both cozy and endearing. Shota sat beside her, his long legs stretched out in front of him, the borrowed pajama pants making him look slightly out of place but entirely comfortable.

"This is nice," she said softly, glancing at him. "I’m glad you’re here."

Shota turned his head, his dark eyes meeting hers. There was something unspoken in his gaze, a depth of emotion he rarely let anyone see. "I’m glad, too," he admitted, his voice quieter than usual.

For a moment, the world outside seemed to vanish. Y/n felt the heat rise to her cheeks, and she quickly turned her attention back to her cocoa. "You’re surprisingly good at this Christmas thing," she teased, hoping to lighten the mood. "I thought you’d be more of a Grinch."

"I don’t usually do this," he replied, his voice steady. "Decorating, baking, any of it."

"Then why now?" she asked, her tone gentle.

He hesitated, his gaze dropping to the mug in his hands. "Because it’s you."

Her breath caught, the simplicity of his words hitting her harder than any grand declaration could. She set her mug down on the coffee table, her fingers nervously playing with the hem of her pajama top. "You know... I don’t really know how to say this without sounding cheesy, but—"

Before she could finish, Shota reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His hand lingered for a moment, the calloused warmth of his fingers brushing against her skin. "You don’t have to say anything," he murmured. "I already know."

Her heart thudded loudly in her chest, and for once, she didn’t try to fill the silence with words. Instead, she leaned into his touch, her eyes searching his face for any sign that this moment wasn’t real. Shota’s expression remained calm, but there was a softness in his eyes that spoke volumes.

He leaned back slightly, giving her space, but the closeness between them remained. "You’re special to me, Y/n," he said quietly. "I can’t always show it the way I want to, but... you are."

Her lips parted, but the words she wanted to say caught in her throat. Instead, she reached out and took his hand, her fingers lacing with his. "You’re special to me too," she finally managed, her voice barely above a whisper.

They sat like that for what felt like hours, the quiet crackle of the heater filling the room. Outside, the snow continued to fall, but inside, everything felt warm and safe—as if the world had shrunk down to just the two of them.

"Do you think," Y/n began hesitantly, breaking the silence, "we’ll ever get tired of this?"

Shota’s thumb brushed over the back of her hand in a slow, deliberate motion. "No," he said simply. "Not with you."

Her chest tightened at his words, and she couldn’t help the small, tearful laugh that escaped her. "You’re really bad at being a Grinch, you know that?"

He raised an eyebrow. "If you tell anyone, I’ll deny it."

She laughed again, leaning her head against his shoulder. "Your secret’s safe with me."

And as they sat together, the world outside blanketed in snow, Y/n realized that this—the warmth, the laughter, the quiet moments shared with him—was everything she’d ever wanted. And for Shota, who had spent so much of his life keeping people at arm’s length, it was a reminder that sometimes, letting someone in was worth the risk. Now he finally realized what Yamada was trying to tell him.

Now, as they sat on the couch, a comfortable silence fell between them. Y/n tucked her legs beneath her, sitting cross-legged as she absentmindedly toyed with the hem of her pajama pants. Her gaze flickered to Shota, her heart beating just a little faster as she studied him. The light from the tree played across his face, casting shadows that softened his usually sharp features. He looked so at peace—so different from the weary hero she’d come to know.

But something weighed on her. The warmth of the evening, the intimacy of their moments together—it felt like a fragile bubble, one she was terrified of bursting. She didn’t want to let this night end with regret for something she was too scared to do.

Shota turned his head, his dark eyes meeting hers. “What is it?” he asked, his voice low and steady, as if he could sense the conflict brewing within her.

Y/n hesitated, her hands tightening around her ankles. She bit her lip, unsure how to voice what she was feeling. Finally, she shifted slightly closer, her movements tentative, her breath catching as the distance between them lessened. Her gaze flickered to his lips for the briefest moment before darting back to his eyes.

She didn’t move further, frozen by her own nerves. But Shota did.

Slowly, he reached out, his hand brushing against her cheek. His touch was warm, calloused yet gentle, and it sent a shiver down her spine. He studied her for a moment, as if searching for any sign of hesitation. When he found none, he leaned in, closing the gap between them.

His lips met hers softly, tentatively, as if testing the waters. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them bathed in the soft glow of the Christmas tree. Y/n’s eyes fluttered closed, her hands instinctively reaching for him, one settling lightly on his chest while the other rested on his arm. His hand remained on her cheek, steady and grounding, his thumb brushing against her skin.

The kiss was unhurried but then deepened as the seconds stretched, each heartbeat louder than the snowfall outside. Shota's hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, anchoring her in the moment, while Y/n's fingers curled into the fabric of his borrowed pajamas. The warmth between them was in stark contrast to the cold world outside, and the glow of the Christmas tree made the whole scene feel surreal.

When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested against each other, both catching their breath. Shota’s dark eyes searched hers, a mix of vulnerability and something stronger lingering in his gaze.

“Y/n…” His voice was quieter than she had ever heard it, a near-whisper, but it carried weight.

Her lips curved into a small smile as she ran her fingers over the edge of his sleeve. “I didn’t want to end tonight with regrets,” she admitted softly, her cheeks flushed, both from the kiss and the courage it took to say it.

“You won’t,” he replied, his tone firm, as if making a promise.

The tension in the air softened, and Y/n let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Shota’s hand lingered on her neck a moment longer before falling away, but he didn’t retreat. Instead, he shifted closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his chest. She nestled against him, her head resting just below his chin as the two sat quietly, letting the peace of the moment envelop them.

She was layed on top of him, his kegs stretched across the long couch fully. He squeezed her close to him, afraid to let go and lose her. Somebody that became so special in his dull life.

Outside, the snow continued to fall, blanketing the city in quiet. Inside, Y/n and Shota stayed wrapped in their own little world, a sanctuary they had built together without even realizing it.

But she wanted more. The kiss had only stirred a longing within her that had been growing for months, ever since the first time he’d let his guard slip around her. The soft glow of the Christmas tree, the faint scent of pine, the gentle hum of the heater—it all felt too perfect, too fleeting. Y/n wasn’t ready for this moment to end.

She lifted her head from his chest, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. Shota's dark eyes, half-lidded from the quiet peace that had settled between them, opened fully to her. For a moment, she simply stared, memorizing every line and shadow of his features. The faint stubble along his jaw, the sharp angles softened by the warm light, the way his messy hair fell over his forehead—it was all uniquely him. She thought he’d never looked more handsome than he did right now, relaxed and unguarded in her presence.

Her heart raced as he caught her staring, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she smiled nervously, her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words.

Shota’s brows furrowed slightly, his expression curious yet unreadable. “What?” he asked softly, his deep voice a quiet rumble that sent a shiver down her spine.

Y/n shook her head, her cheeks flushing. “Nothing… it’s just… you look different like this. Comfortable.”

He smirked faintly, though his eyes softened. “I don’t know whether to take that as a compliment or not.”

“It is,” she said quickly, her voice barely above a whisper. Her gaze dropped to his lips for a fleeting moment before darting back to his eyes. “It is,” she repeated, more firmly this time.

Shota’s hand moved again, brushing against her arm in a subtle yet deliberate gesture. He was quiet for a moment, studying her as if trying to read the unspoken words in her expression. He traced his fingers lightly up and down her arm, and he pulled the blanket over them when he felt her shiver. Though she was only shivering because of him, at his touch.

“You’re different too,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “Not many people make me feel… like this.”

Y/n’s breath caught. The tension between them thickened, the air heavy with unspoken feelings. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt as she leaned closer, her nerves trembling with the weight of her actions. She wasn’t sure if she was being too bold, but her patience was wearing thin.

Still, she stopped just short of closing the distance between them, her lips hovering a breath away from his. Her eyes searched his face, silently asking him to meet her halfway.

And he did.

Shota’s hand came up to cradle her cheek once more, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. His movements were deliberate yet tender, as if reassuring her that this was exactly what he wanted, too. Slowly, he leaned in, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was deeper, more certain than the first.

The world around them faded—the twinkling lights of the tree, the faint crackle of the heater, even the soft snow falling outside the window. All that mattered was this moment, this connection that felt as natural as breathing.

Y/n melted into him, her hands sliding up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Shota’s free hand moved to the small of her back, pulling her closer as the kiss lingered, filled with everything they hadn’t said aloud but had always felt.

When they finally broke apart, their breaths mingled in the stillness. Y/n opened her eyes to find Shota watching her intently, his expression softer than she’d ever seen it.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” she admitted, her voice trembling slightly.

His lips curved into the faintest of smiles, and he brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “So have I.”

The honesty in his words made her heart swell, and she couldn’t help but smile back, her earlier nervousness dissolving into a quiet, shared joy.

The night stretched on, filled with soft laughter, whispered conversations, and quiet touches that spoke louder than words. For the first time in years, Shota allowed himself to feel something he’d always been afraid of. Love.

Y/n felt herself drifting off, her body sinking into Shota’s warmth as the exhaustion of the evening began to take over. Her head went limp against his chest, and her breathing grew steady and soft. Shota glanced down at her, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips.

For someone who kept his walls so high, Y/n had slipped past them with ease. He didn’t know how or when it had happened, but now that she was here, he couldn’t imagine letting her go.

Carefully, he shifted her weight and stood, cradling her in his arms as though she were fragile. She clung to him loosely, her fingers brushing against his shoulder in her half-asleep state, resembling a baby sloth clinging to a branch. Shota couldn’t help but chuckle softly, the rare sound barely audible.

He carried her to her bedroom, the soft glow of the Christmas lights following them as he navigated her cozy apartment. He knew some people might consider this an intrusion, but he didn’t care. He wasn’t leaving her tonight—not when she’d become so much more than just a companion to him. Not when the thought of leaving her alone made something in his chest tighten.

Gently, he laid her down on the bed, his hands careful as he adjusted the blankets around her. But as he pulled back, Y/n stirred, her eyes fluttering open.

“Shota?” she murmured, her voice groggy but soft.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, his voice uncharacteristically tender. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I just didn’t want you sleeping on the couch.”

Y/n blinked at him, her lips curving into a faint smile. “Don’t apologize,” she said, her hand reaching out to grab his wrist before he could pull away.

Before he could say anything else, she tugged him down, her movements quick and decisive despite her sleepiness. She kissed him again, her lips pressing firmly against his in a way that left no room for doubt about what she wanted.

This time, she didn’t pull away.

Instead, the kiss deepened, her fingers tangling in his hair as she shifted, pulling him down onto the bed with her. Shota’s surprise was fleeting, his body responding before his mind could catch up. He leaned into her, one arm sliding around her waist to steady her as she moved to lie on top of him again, mirroring their earlier position on the couch.

Her weight against him felt comforting, grounding, as if she were meant to be there. Their lips moved together with an urgency that hadn’t been there before, the kiss growing more heated, more intense. Shota’s hands moved instinctively, one settling on the curve of her back while the other cupped her cheek, anchoring her to him.

Y/n pressed closer, her body molding to his as her kisses became bolder. The soft sound of her breath against his lips sent shivers down his spine, and he couldn’t help but respond in kind, his usual stoicism melting away in the warmth of her embrace.

The world outside disappeared, leaving only the two of them tangled together in the quiet intimacy of her bedroom. The twinkle of the Christmas lights spilled faintly through the doorway, casting their figures in a dim, golden and red glow.

For Shota, the moment felt surreal—like something he’d only allowed himself to imagine in his loneliest moments. But now, with Y/n in his arms, her lips against his, it felt real in a way that nothing else ever had.

And for Y/n, every touch, every kiss, was a culmination of all the moments she’d spent longing for him. The quiet tension that had always simmered between them had finally reached its breaking point, and now there was no holding back.

Neither of them spoke after they parted, breathing heavily, they didn’t need to. Every movement, every touch, said what words couldn’t—that they’d found something rare, something worth holding onto, even in a world as chaotic and unpredictable as theirs.

After her lips left his, she began trailing a slow, deliberate path down his jawline, her breath warm against his skin. Shota’s chest rose and fell beneath her as she shifted slightly, pressing herself closer as her kisses wandered lower. She paused at his neck, her lips brushing the sensitive skin there.

Shota froze.

It wasn’t a visible flinch—anyone else might have missed the tension that suddenly gripped his body—but Y/n could feel it. His hands, which had been resting on her waist and back, stilled, his fingers curling slightly as if unsure of what to do.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her brows knitting together in concern. “Shota?” she murmured softly, her voice laced with uncertainty.

His dark eyes met hers, and for a moment, he seemed caught between wanting to pull her closer and needing to put distance between them. His usual stoic expression faltered, vulnerability flickering across his features.

“I—” He hesitated, his voice low and rough. “I’ve never…”

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. Shota Aizawa, the reserved and unflappable pro hero, had never been in this position before. He wasn’t used to letting people get this close, wasn’t used to giving in to the kind of intimacy that left him exposed.

Y/n’s eyes softened as understanding dawned. She cupped his face gently, her thumb brushing over the faint stubble on his jaw. “It’s okay,” she said, her voice steady and soothing. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Her reassurance was met with silence, but she could see the conflict in his eyes. He wanted this—wanted her—but the unfamiliarity of it all left him uncertain.

“I’m not…” He sighed, his gaze shifting as he searched for the right words. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t,” she assured him, leaning down to rest her forehead against his. “We’re figuring this out together, Shota. There’s no right or wrong here.”

His arms tightened around her slightly, grounding himself in the feel of her against him. The tension in his body slowly began to ease, though there was still a cautious edge to his movements.

“Just tell me if I’m going too fast,” Y/n said, her lips curving into a small, reassuring smile.

He nodded, his grip on her waist steadying as he let out a slow breath. “You’re not,” he said quietly, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly in what could almost be called a smile.

Encouraged, Y/n leaned in again, her lips brushing against his neck once more. This time, his reaction was different—his hands relaxed, and his head tilted slightly to give her better access. She continued her gentle kisses, her movements slow and careful, giving him time to adjust.

As her lips lingered on his skin, Shota closed his eyes, letting himself feel the moment fully. It was new, unfamiliar, but it wasn’t unwelcome. Y/n’s warmth, her tenderness, made it easier for him to let go of the doubts and fears that had always kept him at a distance.

He wasn’t used to being cared for like this, wasn’t used to being vulnerable. But with her, it felt… safe.

For the first time in a long time, Shota allowed himself to trust—to be fully present with someone who saw all of him and didn’t shy away.

Y/n could feel Shota start to melt beneath her, his initial hesitation giving way to quiet acceptance. She continued leaving gentle kisses along the column of his neck, pausing every so often to let her lips linger, savoring the way his pulse quickened under her touch. Each kiss seemed to pull him further from the walls he’d so carefully built around himself.

His hands moved from her waist, one sliding up her back to rest between her shoulder blades, the other threading cautiously into her hair. It wasn’t rushed or forceful—just a quiet acknowledgment of the connection they were forging in this moment.

"Y/n," he murmured, his voice a quiet rasp that sent a shiver down her spine. There was something raw and unguarded in the way he said her name, like she’d broken through to a part of him that no one else had ever reached.

She lifted her head, her lips brushing against his jawline one last time before meeting his gaze. The soft glow of the Christmas tree illuminated the vulnerability in his eyes, a rare glimpse of the man behind the stoic exterior.

“Is this okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t want to push too far, too fast—not with him.

Instead of answering with words, Shota pulled her closer, his lips finding hers again in a kiss that was deeper, more assured than before. It wasn’t hurried or frantic—it was steady and deliberate, a reflection of the quiet strength that defined him. Y/n responded in kind, her hands sliding from his shoulders to frame his face, her thumbs brushing against the rough stubble of his jaw.

The world outside the apartment seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them cocooned in the warmth of each other’s presence. The twinkling lights of the Christmas tree cast shifting patterns on the walls, the only witnesses to the intimacy they were sharing.

When they finally broke apart, both of them slightly breathless, Shota rested his forehead against hers, his dark hair falling into his eyes.

“You’re different,” he murmured, his voice low and almost reverent.

Y/n tilted her head, a small smile playing at her lips. “Different how?”

Shota’s fingers trailed lightly through her hair, his touch both tender and grounding. “You make me feel… less like a hero. And more like a man.”

Her smile softened, her heart swelling at the quiet confession. “You are a man, Shota. A good one. And you don’t have to carry the world on your shoulders when you’re with me.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if letting her words sink in, before pulling her into a tight embrace. She rested her head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

"Do you want to continue.. or no. I'm not saying we have to I just, if you want to-'" he groaned, unable to find the words and afraid of messing anything up. She just laughed and played with his hair.

"Shota, do you want to go any further? You don't have to be afraid to ask. I just don't want you to feel pressured" she spoke quietly, looking at him with the purest intentions. She thought fir a moment. He knew this moment would come eventually, and with someone as special as her. He wanted to, he's wanted her so badly.

"Yes" He said, unsure of how to proceed. She sat up from on top of him and giggled at his nervousness that he tried to hide.

As Y/N sat up slightly, the soft glow of the Christmas lights cast a warm ambiance around them, illuminating the desire in her eyes. She took a moment to meet his gaze, a mix of excitement and nervousness swirling between them. With a gentle motion, she lifted her shirt over her head, letting it fall to the side, revealing her bare skin beneath.

He couldn’t help but admire her bravery, his heart racing as he reached out, his fingertips grazing her waist, feeling the warmth radiating from her. The connection between them intensified, their breathing deepening as he navigated this new territory together with her. Y/n leaned in closer, her hands finding their way to his shoulders, while he pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her.

The atmosphere was charged with anticipation, each heartbeat echoing in the silence as they explored the depths of their emotions, savoring this newfound intimacy amidst the twinkling lights.

As Y/N settled atop him, the closeness ignited a rush of feelings that they had both been holding back. She leaned forward, capturing his lips in a deeper kiss, her heart racing with each passing second. He responded eagerly, his hands finding their way to her back, gently tracing the curve of her spine as she felt the weight of his gaze on her.

The world around them seemed to fade away, the only sounds being the soft rustle of fabric and their synchronized breaths. With each kiss, they explored not just each other’s lips, but the connection that had blossomed between them over time. Y/N’s hands wandered to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips—a rhythm that matched her own growing excitement.

Feeling bold, she shifted her weight, moving her hips against him, seeking that electric connection. He gasped softly, placing his hands on her hips, guiding her movements as they found a rhythm that felt both exhilarating and new. The combination of cool air and their rising heat made the moment feel surreal.

She caught his eye, her expression a sweet mix of eagerness and a bit of trepidation. “How about this far for tonight, sound okay?” she whispered, searching for affirmation. He hummed.

Encouraged, she leaned back in for another kiss, one that spoke of unspoken promises and the thrilling unknowns that lay ahead. As they continued exploring, kisses turning softer and more passionate, they both knew they were crossing into a beautifully shared moment that would deepen their bond in ways they had yet to fully grasp.

After the quiet intimacy of the moment, Shota and Y/n lay side by side, the weight of everything between them settling into a comfortable silence. The Christmas tree lights flickered softly in the corner, casting a gentle glow over them both, but it was the warmth of their closeness that truly filled the room.

Shota, still processing the emotions rushing through him, turned to face her. His heart was steady, but there was something tender in the way he looked at Y/n—something that spoke volumes of the vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. He reached over, pulling her close, his arm wrapping gently around her. She nestled against him, her head resting on his chest, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. It was as if the very act of being in each other's presence was enough to say everything.

Y/n, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her ear, closed her eyes, breathing in the familiar scent of him—the faint trace of cologne, the comforting warmth of his skin. She felt safe, more than she ever had before. In his arms, everything felt right, as if the pieces of her world had finally fallen into place.

She could feel the weight of the day—the events, the shared laughter, the quiet connection that had deepened into something neither of them had fully expected. But now, in this moment, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the connection between them. She could sense the steadiness in Shota, his emotions not easily given away but there in the subtle tension of his muscles, the quiet way he held her close.

Shota, for his part, was just as quiet, content in the calm that had settled over them both. He knew this moment would stay with him forever. He had never allowed himself to get this close to someone—had never let someone in this far—but with Y/n, it felt natural. She wasn’t like anyone else. She didn’t ask for anything more than his presence, and in return, she gave him a peace he hadn’t known he was missing.

He had always been cautious, protective of his heart, of the life he led as a pro hero. But here, with Y/n, he felt like he could finally exhale. He could finally be himself, not the hero or the stoic man everyone saw, but simply Shota. And that meant more to him than he could express.

As they lay there, the room growing quiet as the night deepened, both of them felt the pull of sleep. The day’s emotions had worn them out, but neither of them wanted to break this moment. So they stayed where they were, comfortable and close, the silence between them a peaceful one.

Y/n shifted slightly, her hand resting gently on his chest, the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat lulling her into a sense of calm. She felt the tension in her own body ease, her thoughts drifting. This was a moment she would carry with her, and she knew that in the days, months, and years to come, it would be a memory etched in her mind.

Shota, too, felt the pull of sleep, his eyelids growing heavier. He knew it would come to this eventually—the closeness, the bond that was formed between them. He was glad it was with someone like Y/n. Someone who was patient, understanding, and who made him feel something he had been afraid to feel for a long time: at peace.

As they both drifted off to sleep, the world outside faded away. The snow continued to fall softly, blanketing the world in quiet, and in the warmth of each other’s arms, Shota and Y/n knew they were exactly where they were meant to be.

[jujuscrolled]

Satoru Gojo has a lot of love in his heart and he refuses to keep it all inside. His preferred method of showing exactly how much love he has to offer? Physical touch.

Even before he knew he loved you, your personal space had quickly become his personal space.

“Say, Gojo, you ever heard of personal space?” You asked one day as satoru pressed his leg up against yours while sitting on the bleachers. The two of you were watching Shoko and Suguru “spar”, though really it was just them doing the least amount of work possible - enough to keep Yaga satisfied but no where near enough for it to actually have any effect on their improvement (“you can only get better with real life experience!” Suguru would say leaning back on his chair slightly. “And i’ve got better things to do than fight this loser anyway.” Shoko nodded to herself , ignoring Suguru and Satoru’s eye rolls.)

“It’s Toru to you, and i’ve heard of it. Why do you ask?” He asked leaning closer to your face making you roll your eyes, “oh, you know, it’s just that usually people like to stay within their own personal space. Not in mine.” You thwacked his forehead causing him to whine dramatically before he threw an arm around your shoulders. “But I like your personal space better than mine, Sweets! Not my fault you have your own gravitational pull and stuff.” He grinned as he watched your cheeks bloom a lovely shade of red.

That being said if he sees anyone invading your personal space he will not hold back. “Hey, you mind backing out of our personal space?” he’d tell anyone who he deemed to be far too close to you before wrapping an arm around you and practically absorbing you into his side.

You’d only roll your eyes, heat filling your cheeks as you pinched his side. “Yeowch!” he’d exclaim dramatically but still never backing away from you.

Satoru Gojo also needs a lot of reassurance. He’s not picky on how he receives it as long as he receives it. He needs it. And if he felt he wasn’t getting enough back you’d definitely be hearing about it.

“I can’t believe we went from being madly in love to being just roommates.” he sighed one day, shaking head before placing the back of his hand over his forehead; imitating a damsel in distress. He was leaning against the bathroom door watching from his peripheral as you rolled your eyes, not moving away from in front of the bathroom mirror and into his arms like he had hoped.

“Neither can I… Because that hasn’t happened.” you sighed finishing your skin care before flicking the bathroom light off and squeezing past him, right under the arm that he had placed specifically to block you from leaving.

His pout deepened as he followed behind you like a lost puppy.

“Hasn’t?! As in it could?!” He whined reaching his arm towards you but narrowly missing the back of your shirt (you had sped up at the last second, already having had anticipated his behavior).

“Gojo.”

“That doesn’t work anymore, I’m not sure if you’re talking about me or you now, so you’ll have to be more specific about who you’re talking about!” he scoffed, finally grabbing onto your body before you were able to flop down onto your bed. You let out a whine, giving up and simply allowing him to maneuver your body however he pleased.

Taking your flimsy body as permission, he turned you around to face him, he wrapped his arms tightly around your torso before biting your cheek softly, coaxing a soft hiss from you.

“That’s exactly my point, Toru. We’re married not roommates… Does that not show how madly in love with you I am?” You couldn’t help but coo at him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He smiled widely at you, pursing his lips before tightening his already brutal grip on your body.

“Dunno… You’ve only kissed me like two times today. Tax getting high on them or what up? I can pay my fees, ya know?” You rolled your eyes again but a small smile pulled at the corners of your lips. You had definitely kissed him way over two times but you knew that when he got this way there was no other way to soothe him than by giving him what he wants.

“They’ll run you about 450… Each. Sure you got it like that?”

“What about the husband discount?”

“Make it 650.”

“Ugh! You’re an evil little gremlin, aren’t you?”

To nobody’s surprise he got his kisses. Several of them and in quick succession resulting in your face being covered in an abhorrent amount of his spit (his full face smooches are always so unnecessarily messy!) Family discount be damned, he’d pay whatever tariff necessary for your love (not that he ever had to!)

[assblastergaster]

the way jayvik fans are ignoring the entire plot of the show to raise up their ship is so…i thought tumblr was being dramatic when they said yaoi shippers will just ignore any women and plot just to prop up their own desires.

like let’s not be deluded a lot of people emphasized caitvi a little too much—to the point they ignored the story—but that was nothing compared to this. like, i get it, they’re two hotties with a beautiful, complex narrative surrounding them and tying them to their world and each other. but if a romantic or sexual relationship was a part of that, there’s no way in helllll fortiche or the writers would’ve maintained their status as “just” best friends and brothers. (which also ignores how deep and beautiful a bond between best friends, siblings, partners can be)

i know some people might not remember it but i remember in 2021 there was a slight whisper from some people, especially on reddit, who were annoyed that the show focused so much on women’s relationships (sisters, girlfriends, daughters) and not men’s; obviously these people missed the point in an entirely different direction but they’re on the same starting track as the jayvik romance phenomenon. jayce and viktor are as much vander and silco as they are themselves. they are vi and jinx. they are brothers by bond, not by blood (though eventually they are by the blood they spill). they are the third telling of this all important story between siblings, the third outcome. vander and silco could not handle what they wrought and eventually killed each other. vi and jinx could not handle what they had done and had to separate themselves completely lest they be stuck in a constant drowning battle. jayce and viktor couldn’t fix what they had done and thus had to work together to destroy it, as they had to cause it. notably: these latter two outcomes reflect the overall trajectory of the show. vander and silco (united by ideals) could not forgive themselves or each other, even for their goal to save the world. jinx and vi (united by blood) and jayce and viktor (united by discovery) learned from themselves, from each other, that they have to forgive in order to do what’s ultimately needed.

also—something i’ve seen NOBODY mention is Skye. Skye is honestly so important to viktor’s arc and nobody seems to remember or care. she has been accused of being one of arcane’s few flaws, being a victim of “fridging.” in some ways, this is absolutely true. she was just a random female character introduced to make viktor feel bad—but that’s kind of the point. viktor’s newfound hatred (end of s1) of the hex core comes because he realizes that his arrogance and desperation have lead him to kill someone he never got to know on a deeper level (indicated by him learning more about her from her diagrams than he has the whole time). he is furious that he let that happen, that it took an innocent life to be lost forever just to spur him to realize the error of his ways. it why he wanted to be left to die naturally. her inclusion in the brief time where viktor was “ascended” but not yet gloriously evolved, was some of the points at which viktor seemed happiest. we didn’t get to see much of them—which is sad—but their constant interactions and her looming presence whenever he was shown in his astral state confirmed how much he regrets losing her. this does NOT mean they are a romantic item, though to some it may, but it does mean that viktor’s care and character growth/change for others is being unfairly sidestepped in favor of a ship. she even goes so far to say that “no, you won’t” when he says he’ll miss their talks—implying either that she was the first to acknowledge that he was not going to be the viktor she knew, or that she knew that the same arrogance in him now was in him when she was alive (and that he cared about nothing but himself).

this is not even to mention that this also completely sidelined Mel, who does eventually move on due to reasons outside either her or jayce’s control, was still his lover and confidant for a long time. her arc informs his as does he, hers. her growth into her powers while he shies away from unknown magic is a reflection of their season 1 selves, where jayce embraces his newfound inventiveness and influence while she fears her what she knows her mother will do. mel being routinely ignored is due in no small part, im sure, by misogyny and racism—but she is just as much a main character as they are (game notwithstanding).

now i’m not saying this to be a jayvik hater. myself? i love caitvi, probably more than i should have above base appreciation of their worth to the story and beautiful writing, so i get it. this doesn’t mean i think jayvik is bad inherently—but lofting it above all else is annoying. the romances of arcane are sooo beautiful and complex but they’re only a part of what the story is trying to tell you, so a manufactured relationship that supersedes all is counterintuitive.

[truthsinwhispers]

People are soooooooooo quick to shit on people who deal with emotional disregulation it makes me fucking sick. When you express your stress through tears you're a crybaby. When you're quick to frustration, you're either overly dramatic or you're violent and scary. When you have the gall to get too happy, you're childish or straight up crazy.

Living with emotional disregulation comes with having to grow thick skin because people will call you every fucking name under the sun because you have the audacity to express emotions that are constantly ramped up to an eleven no matter which one you're feeling. You're loud, you're sensitive, you're overemotional, you're weak, you're soft, you're childish, you're naive, you're too much you're too much you're too much you're too much you're too much you're a burden because people now have to handle you.

Where do people think they have a right to judge others for feeling? I may be quick to express my emotions, but you're quick to judge and condemn and on a societal level that should be worse.

[exopelagic]

I need to go to bed I’m just gonna shout a lil

[poptartmochi]

favorite thing about act I Agustín is that he's just some guy. he's just a rando with a walking staff 😭 who made him the party leader!!!

[coquelicoq]

now that i've moved on to reading les misérables aloud, i'm still having the same problem i had with le comte de monte-cristo (i.e., le procureur du roi continues to dog my every step), but a new issue has arisen, viz., i'm only 60 pages in and i've already gotten so choked up with emotion that i've had to stop reading two different times. and all that's happened so far is hugo has been giving background on the guy who will eventually let jean valjean steal his candlesticks. we have not met even a single major character yet. heh heh. i'm in danger.

[banannabethchase]

There are...a surprising number of people who don't seem to understand that storylines, in any media, are in progress and we won't know how they end until later. And also that sending out hints and Easter eggs does not mean your interpretation is set in stone or even that those hints mean what you think. I'm all about headcanons and theorizing, but when people say, "This person said x which means y is definitely happening," with no evidence but their personal perspective, I get a little confused because I'll look for their reasoning. And there often isn't any inherent proof.

I just gotta stay off Twitter huh.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

oh yeah addendum in also the other day seeing someone autistic talking in that context abt what they want from genuine relationships in that they said they don't want to be Admired Or Desired. that one time someone was like, you're one of the best people i know, like well neat compliment sure i'll take it lmao, but also, that's somewhat confusing and even disheartening when it's like, i have no way of knowing this; we don't really interact? or times i have to ""unilaterally"" assess that i don't feel Friends with someone b/c i don't feel like, for one thing, i can just up & message them even lol; the feeling that to whatever capacity there's a relationship, it's been continual "don't mess this up" masking / efforts to "do things Right" from me....whilest also times it's been like, oh someone's apparently choosing to be around me? enjoying interactions? while still kind of confused about it. and then it's like oh it was Romantic Interest apparently lol :( like even if i wasn't aromantic which i so am....where was the [there is anything to feel is genuine] like again we never even got to any part where i wasn't masking and [do things Right] and on edge and certainly not at whatever point i apparently had whatever appeal. much less "when cishet men are just sprinting straight at you" but that's all the more, like, [you as a Person are certainly irrelevant] but not like it doesn't still feel ultimately mostly irrelevant even if people have more discretion / a more considerate approach in general. also that again there would not be a Right way lmfao. it just sure could be a totally neutral expereince rather, please. how i've had too many situations having to try to fling myself out a window figuratively, even w/those theoretically more considerate approaches

or even when people will be talking about what makes someone Deserving outside of the most conservative(tm) approaches like. this person isn't someone who just waits for things to happen :) like well hell yeah for them lol, meanwhile, i sure kinda am. being aware that in any given way i may not impress anyone / may be negatively assessed; only turns into "there go my power levels increasing again. shrugmoji" when correspondingly it's like, and i don't have to care, or certainly then blame myself about it if like oh boy, society when you have to be "objectively" judged as Worthy by randos, whatever their perspectives lol....or when like, the concept of social support is like, get a romantic partner, primarily, an ounce of backup from friends, the Real backup being family, or friends "as good as" family....or the ongoing journey of realizing like; it was never Just gonna be managing to leave [abusive childhood/family house]. the ways that other experiences outside that were Consistent, really, when being around peers means an immediate sense of doing something wrong / not being as good as them; authority figure adults sometimes acting just like an abusive parent does; no ways to regularly exist flexibly and/or less supervised/monitored, e.g. couldn't walk from [home] to [anywhere]....catching on like, ah, outside of That Situation? i'm still not inherently more valued by randos, still not Not liable to be regarded/treated with disdain / expressions of authoritarianism....Aren't We All; for real. but truly like oh hey, i didn't even realize i was getting all this Political experience in that [when you have a one on one personal abuser and You're Responsible For How They Treat You and Their Own Power Is The Whole Thing and You'll Never "Earn" Better But It'll Always Be Your Fault You Haven't] and all those kinds of logics and realities it's like of course this resonates crystal clear with logics and realities re: [political enemies] lmao. ofc they can be as "hypocritical" as they want b/c [you can just say whatever while you do w/e you want and other people have to deal] is an expression of power. of course "for [xyz]'s own good; individually or as a group" is really about ensuring the power to control their existences as property by shrinking the space in which someone can enact autonomous choices: anything For Children is about (conservative) parents controlling children as things they own and can do whatever they want with; like making sure kids Can't be gay or sm shit, it Is about children, just keeping them from being able to exist outside the sphere of control of an isolated Family life. hell yeah when they do anyways / tragically it always turns out people are actually people despite your wanting to disbelieve this / always have the power to ignore it..........but then yknow, the truth is we out here, and ofc it's like [police protect Property; enforce these property/owner relations] but what's Normal yet obviously harmful is also so borne by regular ordinary """harmless""" interpersonal interactions / people who feel supposedly well-intended but that's more superficial than in essence....even merely the Exhaustion in knowing interactions as Just chitchat w/supposedly amicable parties is like, a scrutinizing test that can only go wrong and lead to antagonism / animosity that can easily accumulate &/or compound. much less existence In Public and shit going wrong out of nowhere, and potential stakes....being like Lol at, again, years back thinking like "a horror short should be like, the premise that you might just be at a grocery or some ordinary asf situation but at any given moment, doing Nothing extraordinary, some rando suddenly goes Deeply Hostile Mode for a second. where even then suddenly disengaging from that mode is not a relief in that the [this could happen at any time] is emphasized" like lmfao that's [being in an abusive situation], that's [being autistic], isn't it so Zany that there's so much overlap / resonance.

Not At All being Lol abt how much actual discrete examples of produced horror is just like "what if there was disabled people." this is its own line b/c of the characters per block limit. but also disdainful emphasis

anyways lol wuh oh in conclusion, antifascism....isn't it always

[hamofjustice]

the contrast of what the "downer ending but at least you have each other" basegame final cutscene looks like in-engine and what it feels like in-context (the art) is so real

nemona doesn't really know how to recognize or help her new friends deal with grief or trauma, as she's picked up on from the past few times she's been yelled at today, but she does know how to cheer somebody up, so that's what she's gonna try instead

and it works, maybe because they just feel like seeing her in good faith this time after what they just went through together

[heyitslapis]

I will say working at a hotel is about as fun as I thought it would be (always thought i'd have a great time) and since i work nights I seldom have to entertain peoples bullshit