#do I have to tag everyone every single time

[richarlotte]

Hi Charlotte, do you have any activity recommendations for single, professional women in NYC? I’m 22 and can’t be dealing with Hinge or Bumble and I’d prefer to meet men organically.

Most major cities have affinity groups and “friends of ——“ groups. When I was living in NYC and had the time, I’d meet up with my friends and tag along to Junior League, NYC Ballet’s Young Patron’s Circle, the Met Opera’s Young Associates Circle, the Met Museum’s Apollo Circle, and so many other groups.

 

I came to realize that this is how my friends were meeting men, getting asked on dates without having to deal with Hinge or the League, and getting married. It’s also how they were meeting and making friends with women who lived the way they wanted to live, widening their social and professional networks, and mingling with people their age and just a bit older.

 

You pay membership dues for one season or split the cost with friends, go to every event, befriend people who will take you to more events or who love spending their lives outside, and you’re flying before you know it. It also wasn’t uncommon for there to be mixers, fun nights out, private parties, happy hours, and events.

 

I also like that all of the events were set up for after work hours or on the weekends. The idea is that you get off work and meet with people, and there was an understanding that almost everyone had a job but that work wouldn’t be the focus. There were also constantly things happening, so if you didn’t have friends or you wanted to meet people, you had the chance to.

 

There are also groups within the groups. I know that the Wharton Run Club was created by a few of the younger guys from the Penn Club. The Apollo Circle (Met Museum) has a group for artists and admirers; there are restaurant groups; the NYCB has its own set of groups; the Ivy League Clubs pair up with the Junior League; there are political groups; the Junior League has its sorority groups; and there are a lot of different groups that are easy to find and join once you get yourself in the know and start meeting new people

 

That’s what I would recommend doing, especially if you want to meet HENRYs, established men who already know the city, women to befriend, or people to do things with. It’s really important to involve yourself in young professionals groups and make an effort to get your name out there; it makes meeting interesting people much easier, and it’s always fun to be involved.

[seulszn]

#NewBeginnings

Warning: cussing.

Tags: @grosspube, @vienwood, @valalice. Let me know if you wanna be tagged in the next part (or if you don’t wanna be tagged). Series Masterlist

Caitlyn and Vi, the two most powerful couple at Pitover Academy, everyone knows about them, everyone hates them, or wants to be with one of them, Caitlyn being the wealthy smart girl who just so happens to know the dean of the school was called the Queen of Pitover.

She exposed and got anybody expelled. She's a 6”1 mean girl and Vi she was just hot headed and would beat up anybody she felt needed a good pounding. Everyone wondered how Vi never got expelled for her actions but it was probably because of Caitlyn’s relationship with the Dean.

You knew of them but didn't care to much only focused on your studies and graduating, they left you alone and you avoided them at all cost which was easy cause you don't share any classes with them and your locker was on the other side of the school so as far as you know they don't know you exist.

Bobbing your head to the music playing on your phone you don't notice your friend calling out to you ugh you hate stalling in the hallway just wanting to get to your locker, collect the things you need and get to your next class before the bell rings and everyone in your friend group knows that but they choose to bother you anyways.

“You got the answers for the math assignment?” Julie asks, wrapping her arm around your shoulders and removing your headphones and placing it on her head to listen to the music you're listening too.

You sigh, reaching out to grab at the headphones but the girl moves away “I’ll give them back when you answer my question.” rolling your eyes you hand her a paper you have in a stack placed under your arm, “can I get my headphones back now?” you question holding your hand out the girl places her finger on her chin before looking up in a thinking motion before humming out.

“Julie, I don't have the time for this. I gotta get to my next class” you groan out placing your free hand on your hip.

“Ugh fine here are your stupid headphones”

The girl hands it back to you thanking her, placing the headphones around your neck “what are you doing after school?” she asked, walking with you to your locker.

Homework it's the same thing you do every single day after school wanting to finish all your assignments so you can at least be in bed before nine o'clock and have a weekend where you're not stressing out about an assignment being due that week. Julie hates your answer banging her head softly on the locker besides yours.

Putting in your combination and opening your locker is when Julie decides to speak “you're always cramped up in your room doing some dumb ass assignment” you snicker at what the green haired girl said. “Well at least I care about my grades” you bite back as the girl scoffs at your response.

“I care about my grades!” Julie yells out in offense and you nod your head.

“Then why did you need the answers to the math assignment?” You question as the green haired girl blushes and looks down at her feet probably to think of what to say “b-because trigonometry is h-hard” she states a stuttering mess you laugh before placing the stuff you need for your next class into your backpack.

“Maybe if you paid attention in class and not on what’s on your phone it wouldn’t be so hard” Julie rolled her eyes before slamming your locker shut. “Your so mean Y/N” you nod your head, use to her calling you that anytime you say something as remotely as truthful.

“You say this all the time” you say, interlocking your hands with Julie and skipping down the hallway to your next class. Biochemistry, that was a small short class that you recently signed up for this quarter and it was your first and only class you don't share with Julie, stopping at the door the girl leans on you before fake crying “why must we depart!” the girl yells as you rub her back trying to console her but to no avail “I’ll see you in thirty minutes calm down” you console as the girl lets up wiping the fake tears.

“I should have applied for this stupid class” she mumbles before walking away you giggle at the silliness of your best friend before walking into the classroom.

Gasping in awe at how cool the room was you took everything in from the scent of Maple, to the posters that have many science quotes and the periodic table, you find a seat by a window close to the front but not so close.

Setting your stuff down and getting situated you don't even notice someone placing their stuff down at the same table you were currently sitting at without looking up you just smile, placing your notebook down and opening it up and writing your name.

“Good afternoon students” A caramel skinned man says walking into the classroom with papers and textbooks placed under his arm.

The classroom starts to die down as the teacher stops at his desk, placing his stuff down and turning to the chalkboard behind him to write his name.

“My name is Professor Jayce Talis and I am your Biochemistry teacher” he introduces before observing the class, he looks nervous. You notice how much he is sweating; he seems intimidated by all the students scrutinizing him.

Looking out the window at the cold windy day and taking in what the professor is saying you start to think about what assignment you're gonna do first once you get home “you're pretty” a feminine voice declares you thank them not turning your head away from the window the voice sighs before speaking again.

“Are you new here? I've never seen you before” you roll your eyes before turning to the stranger wanting them to stop talking to you.

Dammit

Sitting by you is the very girl you try your absolute hardest to avoid and she's smiling down at you leaning on her hand “um no I'm not new” you whisper quietly but loud enough for Caitlyn to hear she nods her head still staring at you.

“Really? How come I've never seen you before?” she questions looking over a Jayce who is writing stuff on the chalkboard and then back at you.

You just shrug your shoulders not knowing what to say “I'm usually to myself and my locker is on the far side of the school” you whisper before cussing out yourself for saying that the last thing you needed was for her to find our locker and everything about you with the reputation she has you don't want her lifestyle to corrupt you.

Caitlyn's gaze lingers, her piercing blue eyes studying you like you're some kind of puzzle she’s determined to solve. Her smile doesn’t falter, but there’s a flicker of curiosity behind it, as though your quiet demeanor has intrigued her in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

Her gaze feels like it’s burning into your skin, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat, trying to ignore her persistent attention.

You glance back out the window, hoping she’ll take the hint and stop, but Caitlyn is nothing if not relentless.

“Far side of the school, huh?” Caitlyn muses, her voice low but teasing. She leans a little closer, her perfume a mix of something floral and expensive invading your senses. “So, what? You’re hiding from everyone?”

“I’m not hiding,” you mutter, still refusing to meet her gaze.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Caitlyn quips, tilting her head with an amused smirk. “You seem like the type who’d rather fade into the background. Quiet, mysterious…” She trails off for a moment before her smile turns sly. “You’re kind of cute, you know that?”

Your heart stumbles in your chest, and you finally look at her, caught off guard by the compliment. Her grin only widens when she sees the surprise written all over your face.

“I- uh…” you stammer, struggling to form a coherent response.

Before you can finish, the bell rings, and the sound jolts you back to reality. Students begin shuffling out of their seats, gathering their things, but Caitlyn doesn’t budge. She stays seated, her chin still resting on her hand as she watches you fumble to pack up your books.

“See you around… locker girl on the far side,” Caitlyn says with a wink, her tone light but carrying a teasing edge.

You pause mid-motion, feeling her gaze lingering on you as you sling your bag over your shoulder. “Yeah… sure,” you mumble, avoiding her eyes as you hurry toward the door.

As you step into the hallway, your mind races, replaying every second of the conversation. Caitlyn Kiramman, of all people, had just singled you out. And not just to tease, but with an intensity that made you feel completely out of your depth.

Outside the classroom, Julie leans against the wall, her green hair partially covering her face as she’s absorbed in her phone. She doesn’t notice you approach until you tap her shoulder. She glances up, a small smile spreading across her face as she slips her phone into her pocket.

“How was class?” she asks, linking her arm through yours.

You shrug, hesitating. How were you supposed to explain that Caitlyn Kiramman, of all people, was now sitting beside you? “It was… fine,” you mumble, keeping your gaze ahead.

Julie narrows her eyes at you, sensing there’s more to the story. “Just fine?”

You nod quickly, trying to brush it off. “Yeah, nothing special.”

But your mind is still reeling from Caitlyn’s lingering smile and teasing tone.

Julie stops abruptly, planting her feet and gripping your shoulders. Her emerald eyes narrow as she studies your face. “What’s going on? I know something is up!” she demands, her voice firm but laced with curiosity. You try to shrug her off, but her grip tightens, refusing to let you dodge her question. “Nothing’s going on,” you insist, though your voice wavers slightly.

“Liar,” Julie retorts, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. Her green eyes narrow as she leans closer. “Spill it, Y/N. You’ve got that ‘I’m hiding something’ look written all over you.”

You sigh, realizing she won’t drop it. “Okay, fine,” you admit, lowering your voice and glancing around the hallway to make sure no one’s listening. “Caitlyn Kiramman sat next to me in biochem.”

Julie freezes for a moment, her expression stuck between shock and horror, before her voice explodes out of her. “You’re sitting by who?!” she practically shouts, her voice bouncing off the hallway walls.

Heads turn, students pausing mid-conversation to stare. Flushing with embarrassment, you wave your hands frantically, trying to calm her down. “Julie! Keep it down!” you hiss, glancing nervously at the gawking onlookers.

Julie slaps a hand over her mouth, her green hair bouncing as she leans closer to you. “Caitlyn Kiramman? The Caitlyn Kiramman? Miss Queen of Piltover Academy? And you’re just telling me this now?” she whispers, her voice still dangerously loud for your liking.

“Shh” you grab her arm, tugging her closer to keep her from shouting again “yes ok? She sat next to me in biochem and wouldn’t stop talking to me.It’s not that big of a deal!

Julie grips your arms tightly, her face a mix of disbelief and frustration. “Oh my God, this is insane. What did she say? Did she insult you? Ask you out? Did Vi show up and punch someone?”

“Julie!” you exclaim, cutting her off. “No, it wasn’t anything like that” She narrows her eyes, studying you like you’re hiding a secret. Then, with a dramatic eye roll, she releases your arms.

“You’re acting like I want her to sit by me,” you defend, crossing your arms as Julie stares at you like you’ve just grown a second head.

“You can always move!” she exclaims, her voice rising again.

“Julie!” you shush her, glancing around nervously. “Can you not yell everything? People are staring.”

Julie rolls her eyes dramatically. “You could move,” she repeats in a quieter tone, “but you’re not, are you? Don’t tell me you’re actually falling for this whole ‘she’s nice’ act?”

You hesitate, fidgeting with the strap of your backpack. “I mean… she does seem nice,” you admit, your voice soft. “She hasn’t done anything mean to me. She just… talks a lot and, I don’t know, she seems curious.”

Julie’s jaw drops, and she throws her hands up in disbelief. “Curious? About you? Babe, she’s Caitlyn fucking Kiramman. She doesn’t get curious, she gets what she wants.”

You flinch at her tone, but Julie’s face remains hard as she scoffs, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. “I can’t believe you’re just sitting there, letting her of all people talk to you. Caitlyn Kiramman isn’t nice, Y/N. She’s a snake.”

You try to explain, but Julie cuts you off before you can get a word out. “I don’t care what kind of ‘nice’ act she’s putting on, you’re not gonna fall for it. She’s got a reputation, you know? People like her don’t just sit next to people like you for no reason. There’s always an angle.”

You open your mouth to protest, but the words catch in your throat. Julie's got a point there's something about Caitlyn's curiosity, her careful observation of you, that doesn't sit quite right. But still...

“She didn’t do anything bad,” you murmur, your voice wavering.

Julie’s expression hardens, her voice sharp. “That’s the thing, Y/N. She’s not gonna show her true colors right away. It’ll be subtle, maybe even sweet, but trust me eventually, you’re gonna see the real Caitlyn. And when you do, I don’t want you coming to me with your ‘I should’ve listened to you’ speech.”

You stare at your friend, the concern in her voice ringing louder than her usual playful teasing. Julie may hate Caitlyn, but she’s always had your back. You can’t help but feel a growing unease, a knot tightening in your stomach.

“But what if she’s really just... trying to be nice?” you ask, more to yourself than to Julie.

Julie scoffs again, clearly frustrated. “You really think a girl like Caitlyn wants to be ‘nice’? Please. She’ll throw anyone under the bus the second it benefits her.” She pauses for a moment, her voice dropping slightly.

"Well, have you met Vi yet?" Julie asks, her voice taking on a more serious edge as she narrows her eyes at you.You shake your head, feeling a wave of confusion wash over you. "No, I haven’t," you reply cautiously, sensing the shift in her mood.

Julie bites her lip, her gaze flickering with uncertainty, as if she's weighing whether to share what’s on her mind. After a long pause, she sighs, her expression hardening slightly. "Good. Let's keep it that way." She takes a step closer to you, her voice quieter but still tinged with a warning. "Vi is... different. She’s not like Caitlyn."

You stop walking for a moment, eyeing her with curiosity. "What do you mean? How are they different?"

Julie looks around before leaning in slightly, her tone dropping to a hushed whisper. "Caitlyn might be a manipulator, but Vi? She’s straight-up dangerous. She's unpredictable, and honestly, she doesn't care who she hurts."

You furrow your brows, unsure of what to make of her words. "But... aren't they together? Caitlyn and Vi?" you ask, your mind still reeling from the tension in Julie's voice.

Julie gives a tight nod as she pulls open your locker. "Yeah, they’re together. But just because they’re a couple doesn’t mean they're on the same team." She pauses, her expression grim. "Caitlyn uses people, sure, but Vi... she breaks them. If Vi’s interested in you, or if she sees something she wants, she’ll go after it no questions asked. It’s not a game to her."

You digest her words slowly, the gravity of what Julie’s saying sinking in. You can’t help but feel a little uneasy, the warning hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

"So, what do I do?" you ask, not sure how to handle the situation.

Julie takes a deep breath, glancing over her shoulder before looking back at you with a hint of concern in her eyes. "Stay away from both of them. Trust me, you don’t want to get caught in the middle. Caitlyn may seem all nice and polite, but she’s got her agenda, and Vi... well, Vi doesn’t care about anyone but herself. They’re trouble, Y/N. Big trouble."

You nod slowly, the weight of her words sitting heavy in your chest. As much as you want to trust Caitlyn’s kind words and playful demeanor, Julie’s warnings are hard to ignore. The last thing you want is to get tangled in their web.

Julie gives you a quick, reassuring pat on the back before slamming your locker shut. "Just be careful. And if you see Vi, turn the other way. Got it?" You give a small nod, even though a part of you wonders if it’s really that simple.

——

Lunch rolled around, and you and Julie decided to sit outside on the bleachers, away from the chaos of the cafeteria. The crisp breeze carried faint laughter and chatter from other students scattered around the schoolyard, but out here, it felt quieter more your speed.

You carefully unwrap your sandwich, savoring the peaceful hum of your surroundings. The soft rustling of leaves and distant conversations made the moment feel calm, a small escape from the usual school day noise.

Julie sits beside you on the bleachers, her bag balanced haphazardly on her lap as she rummages through it with an exaggerated sense of purpose. She mutters something under her breath, pulling out a few stray items before shoving them back in. Finally, she stops, her eyes lighting up as she grabs something with a triumphant grin.

“Okay,” she announces, holding up a Tupperware container like it’s a prized artifact. The lid is slightly warped, and the contents inside are a questionable mix of colors and textures. She stares at it for a moment before looking at you with a sheepish smile. So… I know I packed this,” she begins, waving the container slightly for emphasis, “but I was high out of my mind and just started throwing random shit together.”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning slightly away from the mystery container. “That’s… not exactly reassuring.”

Julie snorts, popping the lid off with a dramatic flourish. The smell hits immediately, not bad, but not exactly good, either. Inside is a chaotic mix of pasta, what looks like canned beans, and a handful of unidentifiable chunks that might be chicken or tofu. “See? It’s fine,” she says, grabbing a fork from her bag and poking at the concoction. A piece of something grayish jiggles ominously. “Totally edible.”

“Define edible,’” you say, narrowing your eyes at the container. Julie rolls her eyes, scooping up a forkful and holding it out to you. “Come on, don’t be dramatic. Try it.” You lean back, crossing your arms. “Yeah, I’ll pass. I don’t have a death wish today.”

“Your loss,” she says with a shrug, stuffing the bite into her own mouth. Her face twists for half a second before she forces a too-bright smile. “Mmm. Delicious.”

You smile at your silly friend, biting into your sandwich as you watch her grimace slightly while forcing down another bite of her so-called “food.” Despite her insistence that it’s edible, the look on her face tells a different story.

Julie stabs at her pasta concoction with exaggerated determination, muttering something about it being "an acquired taste." You laugh under your breath, shaking your head. The two of you are so absorbed in your banter that you don’t notice someone approaching until they’re practically on top of you.

“I knew I’d find you little rats out here,” a familiar voice chimes.You look up to see Lena standing a few steps below, one hand on her hip and the other holding a bag that you assume is filled with food. Her sharp smirk is unmistakable, paired with an air of confidence that makes her presence impossible to ignore.

Julie lights up instantly, setting her fork down and leaning back on her hands. “Took you long enough, babe. Where’d you even go to get your food?”

Lena places the bag down in front of you two with a small smirk, three neatly wrapped burgers are in the bag. Julie’s eyes widened in delight. “No way. You went to that burger place?” Lena nods her head, taking a slow sip of her iced coffee.

“You know I don’t eat this prison food,” she says with a casual shrug. She then reaches into the bag and pulls out two burgers, handing them to you and Julie. “I got it just how you like it.” Julie’s face lights up, and she immediately unwraps hers, her smile widening as she sees the extra mushrooms piled high on her burger. “Ugh, yes! Extra mushrooms!” she exclaims, holding the burger up like a prize. “You’re a lifesaver, Lena.”

You can’t help but grin at the sight of Julie so happy over something as simple as a burger. You take yours from Lena and unwrap it too, feeling the warmth of the freshly made burger in your hands. It’s perfect just the way you like it. You glance up at Lena, giving her a nod of approval.

“Thanks, Lena,” you say, taking a bite and savoring the delicious flavor. Lena leans back, her smirk tugging at her lips. “Anytime,” she says, her voice casual but with a hint of pride in the way she nailed it.

The three of you settle into a comfortable silence, savoring the food and the rare moment of peace away from the usual chaos of school. The soft chatter of other students drifts over from the field, where groups are laughing and tossing around a football. Your gaze wanders across the campus, taking in the laid-back atmosphere.

It’s then that your mind drifts back to earlier that day in biochem. You remember Caitlyn sitting down beside you like it was nothing, her usual confident smile plastered on her face as she casually struck up a conversation.

The memory of her soft but deliberate voice lingers in the back of your mind, and you find yourself frowning slightly, still uncertain about where this unexpected attention from her is headed. She had been too casual about it, almost like she was testing the waters. You’re not sure whether to be flattered or suspicious.

Julie’s voice cuts through your thoughts, pulling you back to the present. “You alright?” she asks, glancing over at you with a raised eyebrow, clearly noticing you’ve been zoning out.

You blink, realizing you’ve been lost in thought for longer than you intended. “Yeah, just... thinking.”

Julie eyes you for a moment, then shrugs and stuffs a bite of her burger into her mouth, clearly too hungry to press further. Lena, nestled comfortably against Julie, has her attention on her phone, scrolling through Instagram. After a few seconds, she taps her screen and turns it off, glancing at you with a knowing look. “Thinking about what?” she asks, her voice light but curious.

Julie, not missing a beat, grins mischievously and turns to her girlfriend. “Probably that Caitlyn thing.” You roll your eyes, frustrated that Julie picked up on your distracted mood so quickly. Of course, she’d jump to Caitlyn.

Lena sits up slightly, her eyes widening as she glances between the two of you, clearly intrigued. “Bitch, what Caitlyn thing? Why am I not filled in on what’s going on?” Julie smirks, clearly enjoying the drama unfolding. “Well, little Miss Y/N has gotten the attention of the infamous Caitlyn Kiramman.”

Lena’s eyes go wide, and you can see the shock in her face. “No way, shut up.” She looks at you, her disbelief clear. You groan in frustration, not wanting to talk about it anymore, but it seems like it’s inevitable now. Julie continues, oblivious to your discomfort. “She’s in Y/N’s biochem class and is probably putting on some fake-ass facade just to mess with her.”

Lena’s tone shifts, clearly irritated. “Ugh, that bitch. Don’t tell me you’re falling for this?”

You look down in defeat, silently agreeing with her words, but you don’t have the energy to argue it. Julie, always quick to stir the pot, responds before you can. “She totally is.”

Lena stares at you incredulously, her voice low with disbelief. “Are you stupid?” she asks, her eyes narrowing. Julie gives you a playful hit on the arm. “I don’t have stupid friends,” she says, delivering another playful hit for emphasis.

“Ow, thanks, Julie,” you mutter sarcastically, rubbing your arm. “I thought I was telling the story, but you pretty much said everything. While you’re at it, tell Lena that you failed your trigonometry test.” Lena immediately turns her attention to Julie, her mouth dropping open in shock. Julie tries to keep a straight face but can’t help but give a sheepish grin.

Lena explodes, her voice loud enough to attract the attention of nearby students. “You failed your trigonometry test?! Are you serious right now?” she yells, giving Julie an exaggerated smack on the arm, which causes Julie to flinch in mock pain.

You smile at your friends' silliness, but the moment is quickly cut short by the shrill sound of the bell ringing. Lena and Julie pull away from each other, and the three of you get up to clean up your mess and head inside. As you gather your things, Lena looks at you, her expression suddenly serious.

"Y/N, please don’t fall for whatever act Caitlyn is putting on," she warns, her voice a little firmer than usual. Julie, ever the playful one, snickers behind her. "I already told her that," she says, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

You roll your eyes at their attempts to discipline you. "Yeah, thanks for the advice," you mutter, not entirely convinced. But before you can say anything more, Lena presses on, her tone shifting again. "Have you met Vi yet?"

You shake your head, and Lena visibly relaxes, letting out a small sigh of relief. "Good. Whatever you do, try to avoid Vi," she says, her voice laced with concern. Julie, not missing a beat, snickers once more. "I told her that,as well…" she trails off, glancing between the two of you with a mischievous grin.

"Okay, well I gotta help the leadership club," Lena says, her tone slightly amused. "They’re having some discourse and need me to help figure it out." She grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder.

"Y/N, text me when you're out of your next class, we need to finish this discussion. And you," she points at Julie with a mock-serious expression, "we need to talk about some things."

Julie raises an eyebrow and smirks, clearly amused. "What kind of talk?" she asks, leaning back casually. Lena gives her a knowing look, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Don’t act innocent, Greenhead. You know exactly what I mean.

Julie just shrugs, her grin widening as she leans in and presses a quick kiss to Lena’s cheek. "Sure, sure, whatever you say, babe," she says, her voice light and teasing.

Lena rolls her eyes, but the smile on her face betrays her amusement as she pulls away, ready to tackle whatever the leadership club has thrown her way.

"Are you ready for gym class?" Julie asks, her voice upbeat as she pulls you towards the locker room.

—

Gym class was a nightmare. You hated it with every fiber of your being. You almost wished it was like elementary and middle school again, where you could pull out the "I have asthma, and I can't do some of this because of my lungs" excuse. Unfortunately, that doesn’t fly here.

So what did you do?" you ask, glancing over as you help Julie with her sit-ups. She looks at you, clearly confused, before groaning in frustration.

"I don’t know, why do I always gotta do something" she mutters, exasperated. "We got into it a while ago over something dumb. One minute everything’s fine, and the next, we’re arguing about who left the damn door open." She lets out a heavy sigh, clearly over it. "Honestly, I’m just tired of the drama."

You nod, understanding more than you want to admit. Relationships, especially the complicated ones, were a lot of work. You’ve been lucky enough never to be in one. You’ve had crushes before, but it’s never gone further than that. As Julie pushes herself up for another sit-up, you try to lighten the mood.

"Well, at least you get to work it out, right?" you say with a small smile, trying to keep things light. Julie smirks, though her eyes still hold a trace of frustration.

"Yeah, I love her... like, a lot," she says, pausing for a moment. "But damn, she can be so annoying at times."

You nod, looking at your love-stricken friend with a mix of amusement and sympathy. "You look in love, though. I’m happy for you," you say, giving her a genuine smile.

Julie stops her push-ups and looks up at you, her expression softening. A smile tugs at her lips. "Thanks," she says quietly, her eyes bright with affection.

“You guys better invite me to the wedding," you say with a playful grin, raising an eyebrow.

Julie laughs, shaking her head. "Don’t get ahead of yourself," she teases, but her eyes twinkle with a hint of affection. "We’ve still got a lot of drama to sort out before we even think about that."

You chuckle, tossing her a teasing look. "I mean, I’m just saying, I’ll be the one to give the best speech." You pause, leaning back against the gym wall. "And maybe I’ll get a plus one, so I don’t have to go solo."

Julie smirks, rolling her eyes. "I’ll make sure to keep the guest list in mind," she says with a wink. "But for now, let’s just focus on surviving gym class without passing out, huh?"

You both burst out laughing, the tension finally breaking as you both share a moment of relief. The sound of your laughter fills the space, easing the weight that’s been hanging over the conversation.

Minutes slip by, the two of you helping each other with sit-ups, until Julie suddenly groans, pushing herself up for the last time. "I’m tired of sit-ups," she announces, stretching and standing up with a dramatic sigh. "I’m going to grab my water bottle and find something else for us to do." She flashes you a grin before strolling off, clearly energized by the idea of mixing things up.

You’re left alone in the gym, your mind still buzzing from the conversation with Julie. You watch her walk away to grab her water bottle, the gymnasium stretching out before you in a mix of activity. The sounds of sneakers squeaking on the floor, the thud of basketballs, and the occasional shout fill the air as other students go about their routines.

You glance around, a little aimless now that Julie’s gone. Some kids are running laps, others are working on their stretches, while a few are in small clusters talking or fooling around.

A sense of detachment washes over you, as if you're just a bystander in the midst of all the activity around you. You feel like you're on the outskirts, an unnoticed face in a sea of movement. You pull out your phone, checking the time, silently counting down the minutes until gym class finally ends and you can escape to your last class of the day.

"You know you're not allowed on your phone, right?" A voice in front of you says, breaking the quiet. You roll your eyes, already expecting it, before glancing up at the person in front of you.

You gasp when you see who it is. Vi. Without missing a beat, you quickly put your phone down on the bench, a mix of annoyance and awkwardness flooding through you.

Her smirk widens as she steps closer, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Didn't think you'd be the type to get caught," she says, her tone playful yet carrying a sharp edge. "Guess I was wrong."

Before you can respond, she begins circling you, her gaze bold and shameless as it sweeps over you. You can feel the weight of her stare, every step around you making your body tense just a little more under her scrutiny.

"Are you always this tense?" she teases, her voice dipping into something low and suggestive as she leans in, her breath brushing against the shell of your ear. "Or is it just me?"

You swallow hard, heat rushing to your face at the blatant invasion of your personal space. "I… uh… wasn’t expecting company," you stammer, your voice wobbling as you attempt to maintain composure. It's clear, though, that she's reveling in how off-balance you are.

Her smirk deepens as her eyes flicker down, catching the way your hands instinctively tug at the hem of your gym shorts, a feeble attempt to shield yourself from her penetrating gaze. "Relax," she says, her tone somewhere between amused and mocking. "I’m not gonna bite… unless you want me to."

That comment has your heart skipping a beat, and you glance away, hoping the face you're making isn’t as obvious. But Vi doesn’t back off if anything, she seems even more entertained by your reaction.

You try to shake off the unease, but before you can say anything, Vi’s smirk deepens as she notices your reaction. “What’s with the look? Did I hit a nerve?” she teases, her tone equal parts playful and predatory.

You avert your gaze, focusing on a random spot on the gym floor. "No," you mutter softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Vi chuckles, clearly amused by your quiet demeanor. “You’re shy, huh? That’s cute too,” she says, taking another step closer. Her presence feels heavy, like it’s taking up all the space around you, and you instinctively shrink back, gripping the edge of the bench for some kind of stability.

Your pulse quickens as she leans in just a little more, and without fully thinking, you raise your hand to gently push her back. “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested,” you say, your voice steady despite the nerves bubbling under the surface.

Vi freezes for a moment, her smirk faltering. She straightens up, her gaze sharpening as she studies your expression. For a brief second, you think you might’ve offended her, and the fear grips your chest like a vice. The rumors about her temper flash through your mind, and your eyes dart toward the locker room, silently begging for Julie to come back.

Then, unexpectedly, Vi starts to laugh a low, throaty sound that sends a chill down your spine. “Wow,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief. “You really are different, huh?” You’re not sure how to respond, so you just sit there, frozen under her intense gaze. Vi tilts her head, as if sizing you up all over again. “Most people don’t have the guts to tell me no. Guess that makes you kind of interesting.”

Her tone is calm, almost teasing, but it does little to ease the tension in your chest. She takes a step back, finally giving you some space, and crosses her arms, the smirk returning to her lips.

“Alright, Y/N. I’ll back off…for now,” she says, her voice dripping with mischief. “But don’t think I’m giving up that easily.”

Before you can respond, the sound of footsteps approaching makes your heart leap. Julie appears, her expression instantly hardening when she spots Vi standing there.

“What the hell are you doing?” Julie snaps, glaring at Vi as she strides over.

Vi shrugs, looking completely unfazed. “Just having a chat with your little friend here. Nothing serious.”

Julie places herself between the two of you, her protective instincts kicking in. “Well, the chat’s over. Get lost,” she says, her tone firm and unyielding.

Vi raises her hands in mock surrender, that ever-present smirk still on her face. “Relax, Greenhead. I’m not here to start a fight.” She glances at you one last time, her eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place. “See you around, Y/N.”

With that, she saunters off, leaving you and Julie alone. Julie turns to you, her face a mix of concern and frustration. “What did she say to you? Did she do anything?”

You shake your head quickly. “No, she didn’t do anything. Just... talking.”

"Oh, great. This just got ten times worse. You really know how to attract trouble, don’t you?"Julie scoffs, running a hand through her green hair. “Talking, my ass. You’ve gotta be careful around her, Y/N. She’s trouble. Both her and Caitlyn.”

You nod, though the encounter still lingers in your mind. “I’ll be fine,” you say softly, but the look on Julie’s face tells you she’s not convinced.

“Let’s just get through the rest of this class,” she mutters, grabbing her water bottle. “And stay close to me, alright?”

You nod again, following her as she leads the way back into the gym. But even as you try to focus on the rest of the period, you can’t shake the feeling that this won’t be the last time Vi seeks you out.

What have you gotten yourself into?

Ⓒ︎ seulszn

[butterfluffy]

I loved your ushijima hcs! Could I request one for bokuto pls 😊

·ू♡°.· {  - as your bf !  }

content ! ౨ৎ — (HQ!!) | what would it be like having bokuto koutarou as your boyfriend? | hcs

pairing/s ! ౨ৎ — bokuto koutarou x gn!reader

tags/warnings ! ౨ৎ — none. pure fluff! well, slight angst if u squint? grammatical errors and typos might be present. lowercase intended!

a/n ! ౨ৎ — oooowwhhhhh, bokutooooo.... 🤤🤤🤤 | requests are open!

BOKUTO KOUTAROU as your boyfriend!

ohmygod. bokuto...... he's such a lovable dork who is, undeniably, in love with you so, so much..

he himself, along with his teammates and practically almost everyone around him, had no idea how he managed to have you as his very own lover.

^ if i may add, i hc him as inexperienced with dating and stuff. sure, he does have a lotta fans, but... volleyball...... so. he's really got no clue how. 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️

HE KNOWS HOW TO ROMANCE, THOUGH!! well, kinda?? he learned from the shows he watched, so, he might be a liiiittleeee cheesyyy...

had once tried to impress you by doing the kabedon thing, but he flushed red all the way down to his neck once he realized the very small distance between you two and how you’re staring right at his eyes. he swooned more than you did.

^ swoons at every single thing you do, and even more so when you shower him with affection. pls.

as a boyfriend, i feel like bokuto is an openly clingy lover who absolutely cannot last a single day, minute, even, without you by his side. 😮‍💨😮‍💨

also very attentive of your needs. would give you the world if you asked. also has no problem with spending his time, money, and energy with you. in fact, he loves it.

and of course, bokuto is a very loud and lively yapper. he would not shut his mouth for once, yapping to you about volleyball and anything and everything. also yaps to others about you. very proud boyfie. his friends wish to rip their ears off to not hear any more of his yadayadayada. 🥲

please,,, he's just so happy that you're his. way happy that you're all his, and no one else's. 💗💗💗

“y/n? baby, where are you? don't leave me alone! w-we just watched a horror movie, c'mon! cuddle with me in bed, please?”

VERY possessive. like a jealous not-very-little puppy who is seen staring down anyone who dares try to steal you from him.

“back off. get yourself your own sweetheart. don't try to steal mine.”

makes sure that EVERYONE knows that by openly showing you off in matches by making you wear his jersey, going straight to your arms after a match and kissing you in front of the camera, etc.

in the middle of an interview. “that was a fantastic play, mr. bokuto. so, for who did you win this match?” “for who? of course, for my lovely darling! baby, c'mere, lemme show you off to the world!”

yep. he shows you off every single given chance. hell, all his socials are also filled with you. this annoys most sports journalist and some of his fans as he should be posting about his volleyball career and not you, lmao.

regarding PDA, bokuto is not shy. not even a little. oh, you want to hold hands? okay! don't be so embarrassed, he's already holding your hand! the stares? what about it? now they know you're his, that's what he's thinking!

“darling, i want a kiss. on my lips.” “kou, w-we're outside..” “what 'bout it? gimme a kiss, please... or i'll kiss you, right here, right now.” he kisses you before you could even protest. very smug about it too.

HOWEVER, BOKUTO IS VERY INCONSISTENT WITH ENDEARMENTS. why? not because of a bad reason or anything. it's just because he thinks that-

“oh my gosh, all of them suits my honey-baby-sweetheart-love! i dunno what to call them anymore! wait, how about all of them? yeah, i'll do that!”

in arguments, on the other hand... bokuto 10/10 would cry if he ever makes you upset or if you upset him. he's always the first one bursting into tears in every fight. such an emotional mess… 😭

sulks for some time, before acting like a kicked puppy following you around, silent as ever as he's begging for attention and apologizing every single second (if he's at fault. and if it's you... well, expect him to not talk until you apologize.)

says his “i love you”s all the time, especially after a fight and gets all clingy.

“i love you, baby. i love you so much i'm willing to give you the whoooleee world. i love you... 'm sorry. kiss?”

© butterfluffy 2025

⠀⠀꒰🌷꒱₊ likes, comments, and/or reblogs are highly appreciated! i love reading comments and reblog tags/notes, hehe. (⁠ʃ⁠ƪ⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠）

[gh0stly-mp3]

no love, no game ♡

karasu x bllk gn!reader

synopsis: a match between you and karasu is a mind battle full of feelings, and you both secretly know that, but who will win?

tags: neo egoist league arc, enemies to possible lovers?, implied crush, soccer match description, provocations

warnings: (very) suggestive, might have grammatical errors, unspoken attraction

You stretched as you walked to your position on the field, the match between Ubers and Paris X Gen was about to begin. The raven's eyes were fixed on you, and you stared back like a hawk, ready to hunt. You knew what was about to happen.

Matches between you and Karasu were more than just a game; they were mental battles, where every move, every pass, every dribble became a calculated tactical move. But there was something else in the air, something beyond tactics and perfectly placed passes: the chemistry between you and Karasu. He knew it. You knew it too.

First Half

The game began and Karasu led his team's attack with confidence, his eyes following the ball while his mind worked ahead of everyone else. His body, agile and flexible, moved across the field in an almost hypnotic manner, trying to completely dominate the game.

But there was one look - a single glance out of the corner of his eye - almost provocative. Karasu was paying attention not only to the game, but also to you. Something in the way he was playing said that he was having more fun than usual, eager for you.

You knew what he wanted. He wanted to destabilize your mind, to make you doubt your own reflexes. But you were ready for it. It was as if the field was an extension of your minds, and each step you took was a response to the other, a dance of sharp minds.

The ball was with Karasu, and he moved quickly. When he tried to get past you, with that classic tactic of pushing you away with his arms, you didn't hesitate. You anticipated his move with precision and launched yourself to intercept it. But what you didn't expect was that he had already anticipated your reaction. The speed with which Karasu turned the other way was so fast that you were lost for a moment.

The tension between you two grew. He looked at you with a mischievous smile, as if he knew what you were thinking, and made a precise pass to one of his teammates.

"Do you really think you're going to get me that easily? Don't tell me you're still mediocre." - The provocation in Karasu's tone was clear, after all, he knew how to annoy you. He wanted you to play even more aggressively, he wanted you to come closer to him, to take risks.

You didn't respond with words. Instead, you repositioned yourself, intercepted the ball, controlled it with an almost arrogant calm. The game was changing, but in an unexpected way: your mind and his were in sync. You were playing for more than winning, you wanted to test Karasu's limits.

You kept going with confidence, and before he could react, you made an incredible pass to Isagi, who scored the goal. The crowd went wild, but your eyes were on Karasu, who didn't look angry. He just smiled, a mischievous one.

"You're not going to mess with me again, asshole." - He said, approaching you during the break. His gaze was no longer that of an opponent, but of something that was becoming impossible to ignore. His tone was low, as if he was talking about something personal.

"You underestimated me, birdie", you replied. - "Now it's time to stop your little charms and tell me what the fuck you have to do with me."

The field seemed to disappear around you. All that existed at that moment was the two of you - your bodies close together, your eyes locked, your breathing heavy.

"Deep down, you know what I want, don't you?" - Karasu murmured close to your ear, sending a shiver down your neck; and for the first time in this game, he wasn't talking about soccer.

Second Half

The whistle blew for the second time and the game resumed, but now there was a different energy. The fluidity of Karasu's moves made you wonder if he was deliberately playing on purpose to challenge you, not just in the game, but mentally and physically.

You and Karasu faced each other again. There was no more room for disguise. The desire, the competitiveness, the sexual tension - everything was at stake now. Karasu made a bold move, trying to feint you in a way that seemed like a provocation. Of course, you responded with equal intensity, disarming him, but the touch of his body against yours was inevitable. The warmth of your skin, the weight of your presence... the sensation of closeness was intoxicating.

In that moment, you both knew: whoever won, wasn't just the winner of the match; and you had to focus on the game, on destroying this hot asshole's ego.

After a lot of sweat, the game ended with your team winning, but the real victory lay elsewhere - in the unplayed game, in the unresolved tension. As the final whistle blew, Karasu approached, his smile now more genuine now. He knew the battle wasn't over. Not yet.

"I see I'll to have to ask you for a rematch". - He said, his voice carrying a silent promise.

You got closer to him, your heart racing and your eyes locked with his. "If you want, I'll give you that rematch later today, birdie".

[celtigxr]

THE PINK DREAD - CH. 33 (Masterlist)

Chapter Summary: As the Valyrian houses gather for the anticipated dinner party, King Viserys has an unexpected announcement to share. Word Count: 6070 CHAPTER WARNINGS: We're still talking about menstrual blood. I also only proof read this once, cause ya girl is getting lazy. So apologies for types/grammatical errors, and odd sentencing/wording.

Series tags: Aemond x Plus size!OfC, Aegon x Plus size!OfC, Celtigar!ofc, Plot with Smut, mdni 18+, Aemond End Game, Angst, Comedy, The Dragons Don't Dance, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, enemies to friends to lovers.

Credits: Lace Banner by Aquazero, pearl divider by Pommecita

Notes: This is another one of those chapters I'm not particularly happy about. I think my problem is that I absolutely LOATH writing scenes where there are more than four people. Because there are just too many moving parts and I feel like I need to acknowledge everyone's existence. It's tiring. Anyway, I hope this reads better than I feel like it does.

The Small Council Chamber was at its fullest for the first time in years. Though there was a single marble left unclaimed in the centre of the table, a white and grey granite sphere that would belong to the Master of Ships. Alas, with Lord Corlys occupied near a decade in the Step Stones, and now incapacitated to near death, the subject of anointing a new master of ships was broached several times in the past, and that day was no different. 

“Word has it that the Cannibal has moved all the way north west, settling in the mountains around Iroman’s Bay. Dalton Greyjoy told me himself that the Ironmen have begun preparing ships with scorpions, and arming themselves with harpoons, ready to take down the beast,” Larys leaned back in his chair, eyes casting over the nearly full table before landing on the King. “He said that he is willing to take down the nuisance at your pleasure, your Grace, and all he asks is for a seat on this Council and a bride with a generous dowry.”

“Of course he did,” Lord Bartimos rolled his eyes.

“Your Grace, we do need a Master of Ships,” the Lord Hand reminded, and everyone’s eyes strayed to the lone marble in the hexagon. “Lord Dalton is an exceptional sailor and captain, and has one of the largest fleets in the Seven Kingdoms, next to the Redwyne’s.”

“Yes, but might I remind you of his reputation,” Daemon shot Otto a look. “He’s done far worse than I, and yet you kept me farther away from this Council.” 

“Daemon, please,” Viserys lifted his hand, already tired. “We are not going to bring up the past today…” He turned to look at Barty, who appeared to agree with Daemon, predictably. With a sigh, Viserys lifted his arms, “Tell Lord Dalton I will think on it. Until then, there are many others that we must consider.” 

“Like who, your Grace?” Lord Wylde raised an eyebrow. 

“Lord Manderly, for example, or Ser Cedric Redwyne, Lord Corwyn’s most accomplished son,” The King answered swiftly. “Not to mention, Lord Clement and Arthor Celtigar, Bartimos’ sons. Clement has possessed the seas since his youth, and knows Lord Corlys personally.”

At the mention of his sons, Barty’s chest swelled, “It would be a great honour, my King. My boys would make you proud, should you have them.”

Rhaenyra glanced at the Hand of the King; he appeared as if he was holding on by a thread. His mouth opened to say something, but instead he clamped it shut after sharing a look with his daughter beside him.

Having a Celtigar on the Small Council again would impede Otto’s ambitions. With Bartimos back, Rhaenyra could tell that the Hand was becoming more irate and impatient, making his motives clearer with every desperate attempt at salvaging Hightower power. His plan was thwarted when Viserys’ health improved; he was no longer addled with Milk of the Poppy and strained with pain, making it easier for Otto to manipulate by the power of suggestion and urgency. Ever since Lyonel Strong had stepped down as Hand and was tragically killed in the Harrenhall fire, Otto’s re-admittance into the position was merely due to the lack of better prospects. At that point, Viserys’ relationship with Bartimos was strained, otherwise the Claw Isle lord would have taken Lyonel’s place. 

However, now they are friends again, it was only a matter of time before Viserys realized he could replace Otto with him. The man’s presence in the Small Council while not having a title to belong there was enough of an implication. It would only take a few pushes until Otto finally snaps, forcing the King to do so. Ultimately, that would be a win for Rhaenyra, ensuring that there is no more Green influence whispering in her father’s ear.

Rhaenyra swiveled her eyes to Alicent for a moment, before moving her gaze onto her hands folded on her lap. She and the Queen have been cordial since Visenya’s funeral, though they have yet to share any true moment of reconciliation. At most there were glances of pity, sadness, longing, mutually understanding that they both wished to bury the axe. It was just a matter of who was going to lower their weapon and make the first wave of the white flag. After her conversation with Jacaerys the night prior, it would appear that she would be one to do that. 

Otto was wrapping up the final details of the Tourney, after making suggestions for possible low-born men to be knighted and even chosen to be a Kingsguard. Then he asked if there was anything else that needed to be brought up before they departed, and Rhaenyra felt a sense of deja vu. 

“Yes, there is, as a matter of fact,” she stood up slowly as everyone remained seated. “Several years ago, I stood in this Council Chamber with what I believed was a wise and honourable offer… I said it then, that we are one house, but we have since been divided all these years.” Her eyes roamed the table, noting everyone's expressions one by one. Daemon looked expectant, Otto looked too controlled, Alicent appeared conflicted, and her father’s pleasant smile of encouragement filled her with hope. The first and last time this was mentioned in this room, Alicent barred more mental strength than he. 

“His Grace wishes this to be a season of peacemaking, which I heartily agree… As does my son, Jacaerys, who was the one to bring this up to me.” Bartimos tilted his head towards Daemon, his brow furrowed.

 Rhaenyra turned to address him first, “Lord Bartimos, your daughter is simply lovely. You know well that I adored her when we both resided in the Red Keep, as I did her mother… A union between our families would have been ideal, yes, but I made a promise to my son that I would give him the liberty to choose, as my father gave me when I was his age.” 

The Lord of Claw Isle seemed to deflate in his seat, his eyes seemed to age as he blinked defeatedly, “My Princess, I would like to apologize for any insult my daughter has—”

Rhaenyra smiled and lifted her hand up to stop him, “Apologies are not necessary. There was no insult to be had… On the contrary, Jacaerys and Valeana got along well enough, but nothing beyond cordial companionship. Instead, your daughter has inspired my son…” Rhaenyra trailed off and looked back to Alicent. “He has approached me to inquire about the possibility of taking Princess Helaena’s hand in marriage. As it happens… He has already discussed it with her privately.” 

Alicent straightened in her seat, her mouth hung open with the incapability of articulating a response. Her eyes casting over to her father did not go amiss, and neither did Daemon’s look towards Bartimos. 

“Helaena has not mentioned this,” Alicent stated, her tone betraying her need to disbelieve her ears. 

“It appears to be a new development,” Rhaenyra folded her arms in front of herself diplomatically. “Though Jace has said he wished to court her quietly and without stress to ease Helaena’s mind.” 

“Well now,” The King finally spoke, his smile widening. “I did not wish to say it… But this was something I always wished had happened all those years ago.”

“But your Grace, we have already discussed betrothing Aegon with–” Otto was promptly cut off by Viserys.

“It was discussed and I made the decision of it not being discussed further,” Viserys looked at Otto, his purple eyes wide with the unquestionable authority of a King. “Helaena is too soft for Aegon. You of all people understand his appetites, as you spend most of your day containing the deplorable truths he hides in Flea Bottom. I know he loves his sister, but it does not go beyond that… And I believe everyone in this very room could all agree… He does not wish to marry Helaena, as much as she does not wish to be married to him.” 

The Lord Hand visibly sunk into his chair, his hands lifting in a feeble attempt to convey surrender. “Aegon is your first born son, your Grace. If there were anyone to marry first, it would be him. He is well past the age.” 

“I’m aware, Lord Otto,” The King smiled ironically. “Though as you are all aware by now, Aegon is in a very unique situation. And if the whispers have any merit,” His eyes flickered over to Larys, “It’s the same situation as my other son.” 

The King fell quiet, looking down at his four fingers as they drummed the marble sitting in its nest in front of him. Then he moved his eyes onto his friend, Barty, who sat at his right. Bartimos stared back, his jaw taught as they silently communicated the obvious. 

“I am inclined to allow the chips to fall where they may,” Viserys finally says, lacing his eight fingers in front of himself. “For my daughter, Helaena, however, I wish the world for her… And what better world can I give her than one where she is to be a future queen of the Realm, to be married to a honourable, compassionate, and strapping man like my grandson? Alicent, my dear, do you not agree?”

The question was a challenge, to gouge a reaction out of his wife. If Alicent did not agree, she would voice it. But something kept her lips buttoned, and she looked wide eyed between her husband, her father, and her former friend. If only Rhaenyra could read her mind, to know what she knew, to feel what she felt. Instead, the Princess waited with baited breath. 

Alicent slowly stood up from the table, her fingers anchoring her body on the table as she did. Her eyes found Rhaenyra above everyone else’s, effectively avoiding the imploring eye of her father. With a swift movement, she grabbed her goblet, and raised it to the Princess. 

“I agree,” her answer fills the room, stirring emotions. “It is time we repair the rift between our families, and make our house whole again.” 

When Valeana woke up that morning, it was earlier than she typically would find herself in. Shyla was missing from her bed, which only reminded her of her dream. A wave of nausea hit her; it felt like guilt, it felt like loss. It was so much simpler then, to choose both and have them willing. But it was not reality, as much as she curled back into her pillows, hoping to fall back into that dream that ended so unsatisfyingly. 

There was a distinctive squish between her thighs when she moved, and she internally groaned and threw her head back. She must have bled through her rag during the night. Carefully she moved her body over to inspect the sheets underneath her, finding it clear, thank the gods. Then, Valeana quickly strapped on Lady Footlyn so she could clean herself at the washing basin in the corner. A meticulously humiliating process she had to do every single morning the last few days; every moon for the last 8 years. Only 40 more to go. 

Though when she pulled up the damp cloth, she didn’t find what she expected. Her moon’s blood was over, what remained was slick, translucent, with a pinkish hue (likely remnants of her blood). Cringing at herself, she resumed her cleaning, ensuring that her thighs were thoroughly dry. At least she didn’t need to plug herself with cotton anymore. 

Over breakfast, it was collectively decided that Shyla should no longer suffer another night trying to sleep next to Valeana. Apparently, she had snored so loud and stuttery, Shyla had to check to make sure she was breathing several times.

“You sounded like you were a street cat being mounted by a direwolf, Val,” Shyla rubbed the corners of her eyes. An apt description, considering what she was dreaming that night. Unfortunately, there was a lack of Cregan. Perhaps another night. 

Floris was violently reluctant in giving up her single bedroom, but it was put to rest when Shyla expertly handled it. 

“It’s alright, Floris. The settee is kind of comfortable… I guess I can stay there for, what…two more moons? My neck won’t hurt forever.”

So, it was decided. Floris’ single room would be Valeana’s. The transition between rooms was a series of glares and muttered remarks as trunks of clothing were moved from one room to the other. When it was all settled, Val collapsed on the larger bed with a sigh. Floris’ former bedchamber was smaller, situated just above the one Valeana shared with Shyla. Stairs lead to it, a circular room in the spired tower above their family’s wing of the Holdfast. There was a larger tower on the opposite end, where her parents’ were. Unlike her former accommodations, this one’s balcony was considerably smaller, just enough for a lounging chair and a tea table.

Aemond would have a harder time climbing up there. 

Val lolled her head towards the inconspicuous bookcase, now empty of Floris’ belongings. Almost forgot about that. She lifted herself up on her elbows and looked around the room, now truly taking in how blissfully removed it was from the rest of the apartment.

A smile crept on her face, slow and devious, just as her hand moved up the hem of her skirt. 

The highly anticipated, but even more dreaded gathering of the Valyrian houses would take place that evening for supper. Valeana had spent the entire day making Queen Alicent’s dragon dress with Rosy in the private confines of her new bedquarters to kill the day. While her maid could not talk, she was actively listening as Valeana imparted ideas for her own gown for the Creature Ball. In the end, she decided to be a white lioness, a homage to her mother.

By the time it was time for her to get dressed for supper, the Queen’s dress was practically finished. All that was left was a final fitting to ensure everything was in place, which they had plenty of time for. The Creature Ball would not happen for another moon, at least, some weeks after the Tourney and the Victor’s celebration in the pavilions was over.

There was, however, a formal dress code for the evening. Everyone must wear the colours of their house, which meant that the Celtigars will be garbed in whites and reds, including Floris. 

“Why was she even invited,” Valeana ranted to Rosy as the girl helped her pull the solid vermillion dress over her head. “She’s not a Celtigar, she’s not Valyrian.”

And yet Floris wore Celtigar colours, a red bodice with matching tiered layer, an ivory skirt underneath and trumpet sleeves. A ridiculously extravagant dress that expressed something that she clearly is not. All that was missing were crabs embellishments, like Shyla’s. 

Her younger sister’s dress was mostly white, save for the inside of the corset in the front, and the stripe of red on the hemline of her skirt, sleeves, and square neckline. Her mother wore a solid red dress, much like Valeana’s, but hers had far more bedazzlement with pearls and polished quartz, which matched her statement necklace. 

Valeana had a fair amount of vermillion and ivory coloured dresses, enough to fill two trunks over had she brought her entire wardrobe with her to King’s Landing. Though there was one in particular that was her favourite, one that she had only worn once at her coming out ball on her 18th name day two years ago. It was a bit romantic, perhaps a little much the evening, but the King did request his guests to wear formal attire. And Valeana was feeling particularly romantic that evening. 

The skirt was slimmer than her usual gowns, but still held a petticoat underneath to keep shape. Though unadorned with embroidery, it was flowy and delicate. What made the dress her favourite work was the sleeves and the neckline. The sleeves were trumpet shaped, though entirely made out of vermillion dyed veil-type lace that exposed her arms from shoulder to wrist. The dress itself was designed around this fabric, so the lace was the focal point. The bodice had a lace corset in the front, and the neckline was sweetheart shaped, bordered by more lace that framed the tops of her bosom, clavicle, and over her shoulders with a patterned fringe. 

Rosy plaited her hair intricately, though its loose appearance made it appear effortless to anyone who didn’t look too close. Four smaller braids beginning from her scalp met in a knot at the back of her head, and the rest of her hair was pulled into two thick messy braids. 

Valeana stood after strapping on Ser An-toe-knee Woodsby, then shook her hips around, making the dress swish around her legs. Looking up at Rosy, she asked, “How do I look?”

The mute girl communicated with her hands, a language that Val slowly learned over time. Her fingers made a crown on her hand, and then she covered her left eye before pointing at her heart. 

Prince Aemond will love it. 

Valeana smirked bashfully, “And what about Prince Aegon?”

Rosy stared at her with a tilt of her head as she considered the question. Then she motioned with her fingers around her chest, and made a squeezing motion. 

He will enjoy that part.

Valeana threw her head back in a laugh, then turned around to go find her shoe for her right foot. Her eyes glanced at the bookcase, the one that hid the hidden passageway, and she couldn’t help but involuntarily swallow at the mere possibilities this room offered. 

The dinner was being hosted in the Holdfast’s private ballroom, designed for family-only events and intimate parties. The Celtigars are the first to arrive, Bartimos leading the charge in his ivory doublet, trimmed in red, marching red grabs on his shoulders. Ursula behind, then Clement in a dark red doublet, and Arthor wearing similar. The girls filtered in right after, Floris, Valeana, Shyla. 

There were two tables positioned in a T shape, but separated by a platform. The smallest table sat horizontally on the platform with larger chairs. Two in the middle that faced the hall itself were the tallest, and the most ornate, a visual indication that it belonged to the King and Queen. The longest table was placed vertically below the platform some distance away; it had a total of fourteen chairs.

“I suppose that is where us kids sit,” Arthor comments as he moves around his family to take a gander around the ball. 

There was a band in the corner, playing lightly to create a background ambiance. Drapes were pinned to the ceiling, red, black, white, aquamarine; the colours of the Valyrian houses. Valeana noted green was distinctively vacant in the decor, as were the Hightower banners. On poles that flanked the fringes of the ball room, the sigils of House Targaryen, House Velaryon and House Celtigar stood proudly one after the other. At the very end of the ballroom, beyond the modest dance floor, was a statue of a dragon with three hands, candles were placed on its pedestal, illuminating it from below. 

Valeana stared at it for a moment, examining each head closely, particularly the one in the center that faced the room, eyes trained forward. 

The dragon must have three heads, a voice echoed in the back of her mind.

Not long after their arrival, Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon strode in with their litany of children, save for the younger ones, Viserys and Aegon, who likely were put to bed by then. After the obligatory formal greeting, the growing crowd began to mingle. Clement went to crowd Daemon, and Jacaerys slowly made his way towards Valeana, who lingered around the statue. 

“The milkweed plant worked,” Jace said cheekily, his hands behind his back. 

Val grinned at him, “I told you. Did you talk to your mother about it?”

He nodded, “I did. She told me she had wished for it years ago, but was thwarted by Alicent. I’m guessing the Queen wished Aegon and Helaena to be wedded, but that was not going to come to pass…”

She hummed in understanding, “And what does Helaena think of it?”

“She has told me she cares for me, but she does have reservations about being Queen. I assured her that if she wishes it, she will be Queen in title only, and that she does not need to be obligated in affairs of the court. I only wish for her to be contented, and not forced into a loveless marriage where she is not appreciated.” 

Valeana smiled softly and placed a hand on his bicep, “You’re a sweet man, Jace. She is very lucky to have you.”

He looked down, suddenly overcome with bashfulness. Jace nodded his thanks, and then lifted his gaze up at her, “You look very pretty, by the way. That colour suits you.” 

She pursed her lips sheepishly, “Thank you, my Prince.” 

“Are you sure I can’t change your mind about us? Aegon the Conqueror had two wives—”

“Don’t push it.” 

Upon entering the ballroom, Aemond’s eye immediately found her, like a moth to the moon. The vibrant red of her dress contrasted greatly against the canvas of grey stone and wooden floors, like an orange-red rose growing on a vine along the face of the castle. He barely registered the formal greetings towards the King, he was too busy examining the narrow space between his Valeana and Jacaerys. He locked eyes with his nephew, and the insufferable bastard smirked at him before turning to her and saying something. 

Aegon appeared at his side, just in time for Jace to walk away from her, “Does he believe he still has a chance with her?”

Aemond could only grumble in response as Jace strode by them. “Uncles,” he greeted with a short nod of his head, and a faint smirk at the end of his lips. Aemond’s body prickled; he was so worried about Aegon, he had forgotten about Jace. He did not seem to appear a threat anymore, with Valeana very obviously showing disinterest in the forced courtship, but that was contradicted by their show of friendliness. 

Did she grow close to him during that day in the Godswood? He didn’t ask how the ride had gone when he was on her balcony, he was too consumed with the need to be with her, he had pushed it out of his mind completely. 

His father and mother moved to their centered seats at the table on the platform, which signaled everyone to do the same. Without being instructed, it appeared that everyone knew where they were to be seated. The elder generation took their place at the King’s table; Bartimos on Viserys’ right, and Otto on Alicent’s left. Rhaenys sat across from him, Daemon across Alicent, Rhaenyra across her father, and finally, Ursula sat across from her husband. 

At the longer table, it was a bit more chaotic as people scrambled to claim seats next to people they wished to be rooted next to, and actively avoided those they didn’t. Aegon and Aemond shared a look before they practically scrambled towards the approaching Valeana, who was about to take a seat next to her brother. Aegon, though, rested his hand on the small of her back, and guided her to the other end of the table. 

“Where do you think you’re going, Lady Valeana?” He smiled against her ear as he pulled out a chair near the end of the table. After he tucked her in, Aegon settled into the seat on her right, next to Helaena. Aemond took the seat on Valeana’s left, the very end of the table. 

Even though everyone in the room presently was aware on some capacity of his affection for Valeana, Aemond still had to keep the appearance that he wasn’t. He hadn’t the opportunity to end things with Maris, and the servants and guards that milled the room were just as responsible for the whispers as the ladies of court were. The last thing he needed was for Borros Baratheon to learn about his dishonourable snubbing of his daughter through a maidservant. 

Aemond was about to place his hand discreetly on Valeana’s knee underneath the table, but he looked up to realize he was sitting directly across from Lucerys, who watched him with oppressive entertained scrutiny. Valeana must have sensed the tension, because she turned to him with concern etched in her features. No words were said, but her hand reached under the table and squeezed his thigh comfortingly. The corner of his lip twitched at the contact. 

The long table was quiet as everyone settled, only the sound of music and the shuffling of servants were heard. Even the King’s table was subdued with its chatter, reduced to murmured compliments. The tension hung in the air like the wrought iron candelabras that were suspended from the ceiling with thick chains. The weight of Vaemond’s sudden and brutal execution was still a fresh memory, but there was also something else amongst the adults that appeared to keep their shoulders squared. Particularly the Lord Hand, who’s eyes were darker than usual. Aegon caught his eye before their grandsire moved it onto Aemond. A silent reprimand, though neither prince knew what they were being scolded for. 

The first course was gradually spread along the tables; smaller fare such as mutton stew, fresh bread and soft butter, cured sausages and spiced olives. Grilled vegetables and various sliced cheeses, accompanied by jams from different fruits; fig, grape, strawberries. Salt water oysters were piled high on a bed of salt, next to it were steamed mussels in a red sauce. 

“Let us pray before we begin,” Queen Alicent said loudly enough for all in the room to hear. Her piousness is not shared with most in the room, but none seemed to protest, save for the slight exasperation found on Daemon’s features. Everyone collectively bowed their heads and wove their fingers on their laps, everyone except for the Blacks, who only folded their hands. 

Aemond respected tradition, even if it was from his mother’s side. He and his siblings may have been raised to worship the faith of the Seven, but They held very little value in their life. Aemond, too philosophical, too agnostic, would say that Their existence is both plausible and impossible. If the Father was just, the man sitting in front of him would have paid for the sin of slicing Aemond’s eye clear from his head. If the Mother was merciful, the woman sitting next to him would have both of her legs. Life was not fair, the gods less so, but out of respect for deities that he may one day face, he bowed his head and prayed when he was supposed to.

Aegon, on the other hand, was different. He believed in the Seven, sure, but also believed they didn’t love him; that they turned their backs on him the day he was born, and decided that he was their mistake that they were trying to forget. It should have been Baelon that survived, not him. Baelon would’ve been the heir his father always wanted. 

“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love,” Alicent led the prayer. “May the Smith mend bonds that have been broken for far too long. May the Maiden shower us with love and light during this Royal Conclave. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest.”

There was a notable shift to the atmosphere that could be tasted on the tip of everyone’s tongue at the mention of Vaemond. Lucerys’s mouth pinched and his eyes roamed the table before resting them on his lap; his step-sister beside him blinked rapidly, as if she was trying to keep a stoic face; Rhaenyra stared vacantly at a spot on the table, her nostrils flaring; Daemon rolled his eyes to the back of his head; Valeana gave a barely audible sigh through her nose, the creases between her brows deepening. 

Before people could tuck into their meals, the King pushed himself up, his weight held up by his cane; ivory and ironwood, a dragon nesting on the top. Everyone looked up at him expectedly and he looked at all their faces with a smile so contented, so peaceful, it was enough to forget that all other individuals in that room hated the other for one reason or another. 

“This is an occasion of multiple celebrations, it seems,” his mouth widened as his teeth peaked from behind his lips. “Tonight is the first night in generations that the three great Valyrian houses are united under one room. The Targaryens, the Velaryons, and the Celtigars all survived the Doom of Old Valyria.”

Aemond’s eye drifted over all the faces here present. There wasn’t a single true Velaryon by name present; the only two that held blood of a Velaryon were Targaryens by name. No, the Velaryons were nearly a dead line. Vaemond’s sons were the last true Velaryons, but they were not here. They were no older than Aemond’s nephews, Viserys and Aegon the younger, and by now they would be learning that their father was dead. That half his head rolled around like a flipped coin on the flagstone floors of the Throne Room, less than a minute after he shouted ‘bastards’ at the top of his lungs.

“And we sit here today, as one house: The House of Valyria. Proud, ancient, and forged in fire and blood, in salt and sea,” Everyone raises their goblets in murmured agreement. “It truly gladdens me to be part of this historical moment. Our families will now no longer be divided, but blended. My grandsons, Jace and Luke are set to be married.” 

Aemond felt his blood drain from his body instantly. His brow furrowed, his heart ached in a pang of betrayal. His brother felt no different; they both turned to the woman seated between them. Valeana hadn’t seemed to notice this, as she was looking at Jace with a slight smirk upon her lips, and that made it all the worse.

The implication of their father’s speech was thick in the air, and hard to ignore. Both Princes exchanged glances of disbelief, and yet the way Valeana and Jaceaerys were speaking with each other when they first entered… What the hell was going on? Was… did Valeana…? No, no, surely not…

Aemond’s fingers were visibly trembling under the table, his eye prickling, and his ribs felt like they were going to crack under the pressure of his rapidly beating heart. Aegon was less conserved than he; his mouth twisted as if he was trying to swallow down bile. He lifted his hands and placed them on the edge of the table, ready to push his chair away and leave the room. 

But then the King continued. 

“Luke will marry his cousin, Rhaena, and together they will one day become Lord and Lady of the Tides. And as for my eldest grandson, Jacaerys, my daughter’s heir… Well, he has asked for the hand of the purest soul in this room. It fills my old heart with immense joy to announce the betrothal between Prince Jacaerys and my little butterfly, my daughter, Princess Helaena, the future King and Queen of Westeros. I wish them a lifetime of happiness, peace, and prosperity.” 

“Here, here,” someone had said through the sounds of clapping. 

Aegon had made a brief screeching noise with his chair in his failed attempt to leave. He instead spun to Helaena sitting next to him, who held a sheepish, shy smile, lavender eyes avoiding everyone in the room, other than Jacaerys who was watching her with fondness. 

“Helaena and–” He began, but cut himself off, turning back to Valeana. “Were you aware of this?”

Val leaned back into her chair, her fingers laced innocently in front of her, “I kind of had a hand in it.” 

Aegon practically sunk in his chair, his hands raking into his scalp. The adrenaline seeped out of his pores and landed on the floor. He lulled his head to look at his sister, and then back at Valeana, “I do not know if I feel better.”

Valeana raised her eyebrows, “Did you think he was referring to me?” 

He leaned into her, his voice a whisper, only loud enough for her ears, “Darling, I was very nearly going to kidnap you right here and now.” 

Aemond physically felt like he nearly avoided a landslide; visually, he remained impassive, if not a bit bothered around his one expressive eye and flared nostrils. Still his shoulders relaxed once the relief washed over him like a cool breeze on a humid day, which softened the blow of the knowledge that Jacaerys was marrying his fucking sister. A development that he realized was his second least favourable probability, right next to Jace marrying Valeana. 

No, he thought as he glanced at Aegon, leaning into her space like she was the only source of heat in the middle of winter. The third least.

Facade be damned, he could not sit silently by while his brother was allowed to publicly stake his claim on his woman, like she was some newly discovered, unoccupied patch of land. Aemond leaned back in his seat haughtily, and without a word spoken, he reached under the table and scooped up Valeana’s left hand that sat idly on her thigh. Ignorant to his intentions, she instinctively wove her small fingers in between his large ones, likely believing for a split second that he simply wanted to convey relief in the shadows. However, he had no intention of keeping it in the dark any longer, not now when the stakes were growing too high. 

It was a simple gesture, but one that conveyed a very large statement. Aemond pulled their conjoint hands above the table and laid it between them, his thumb moving rhythmically over the back of her palm. Those closest to them had their attention ripped away from their plates and conversations to stare. He could feel her hand tense in his, and he watched her in his peripheral as she turned to him, mouth ajar, eyes wide. 

Aemond tilted his head in her direction, eye lifting to meet her marbleized peridots, blinking up at him in shock. His smile coiled at her reaction.

“Ao jurnegon gevie isse bona grēza, ñuha jorrāelagon (You look beautiful in that dress, my love),” his voice was velvet on bare skin, soft, sensual, erotic. “Absolutely stunning.”  

On her otherside, Aegon leans forward into the table to openly glare at his brother. His jaw rotates as he grinds the back of his teeth; the only visual proof of him trying to contain himself. In the end, he huffed an ironic laugh, and then smirked at his brother’s brazenous. 

Aegon moved his chair closer to Valeana, the legs roughly screeching against the floor hollowly. With his side now flushed against hers, he draped his arm around her shoulders and leaned in to give her a peck on the corner of her mouth. 

“How lucky am I to have the most gorgeous creature on earth at my side,” his tone was saccharine and sanguine, his eyes were predatory and possessive. 

Valeana could do nothing but remain trapped between them, not knowing where to rest her eyes. When she found the most neutral point, it was Lucerys and Rhaena who sat across from them. The latter looked partially mortified, partially intrigued, and the former seemed like he was about to combust from amusement. 

On the other end of the ballroom, on the platform, seated at the end of the shorter table, Otto Hightower watched the whole thing from his perch. His chest swelled with a sigh of exhaustion and growing impatience. He was getting too old for this shit. 

“Seven bleeding Hells,” he muttered, loud enough to garner the attention of his daughter beside him. 

“What is it?” Alicent asked in a low tone, her brow creased in concern. 

Otto turned to her slowly, “Your fucking sons.” 

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR SNEAK PEEK Slowly he turned around, his one eye peeking over at Luke over the bridge of his nose. His nephew was laughing; eyes squinting in a mischievous glint as he stared at Aemond, and then back at the roasted pig…  And then onto Valeana, who was unaware of it all.  Suddenly the table jostled, the bang of Aemond’s fist on the table immediately halted everyone’s chatter and movement, bringing their collective attention to his side of  the table.  Fisting his cup, Aemond ascended from his seat and extended his arm, his eye trained on his nephew in front of him. “Final tribute...”

Notes: F I N A L T R I B U TE Get ready for a whole chapter dedicated to fucking speeches XD Because by god... I'm never...I'm never gonna watch that episode again, I've seen it too many times to write this chapter and the FemAegon oneshot.

Tag: @queen-of-elves, @keylin1730, @anakilusmos, @weepingfashionwritingplaid, @sugutoad, @desireangel, @t0biasparabatai

( if you wish to be tagged for this story, just give me a reply! )

Please do not re post, redistribute or plagiarize my work. The only other place this story is posted on is ao3 under the same username.

[theomencometh]

Anthony's Realization

Fandom: Smosh Pairing: Ian Hecox/Anthony Padilla, Anthony Padilla & Dan Howell, implied phan Rating: T Key Tags: Feelings Realization, Getting Together, Friends to Lovers Word Count: 5,275 Read on AO3

Summary:

When Anthony’s realization finally hits him, the first thing that he does is take three slow, deep breaths. The second thing that he does is figure out when his next therapy appointment is, decide it’s too far away, and pull out his phone to text an expert.

When Anthony’s realization finally hits him, the first thing that he does is take three slow, deep breaths.  He closes his eyes, inhales, and tells himself that it isn’t a big deal.  And it truly isn’t, not really.  The thing about this realization is that it's not a surprise.  He may not have been aware enough to name what was happening, but by the time he becomes conscious of his feelings, he’s been living with them for long enough that it’s a natural part of him, nothing to be done.  He doesn’t want to fight it, it’s silly to deny it, and there are definitely worse fates in the world.  Still, it’s a huge fucking realization to have, and he takes a second to re-center himself in the middle of the office so he doesn’t do something stupid, like have a panic attack or grab Ian by the lapels of his jacket or start laughing hysterically.

The second thing that he does when he finally has his realization is figure out when his next therapy appointment is, decide it’s too far away, and pull out his phone to text an expert.

There’s no way that he can talk about this with anyone he works with.  Not only are there sometimes complicated boundaries with him being one of the owners, but if this got leaked it would spread around Smosh like wildfire, and he’s absolutely not ready for that.  In that instance, might as well stay away from everyone in the general LA area, just in case it manages to get back to anyone on staff.  Actually, there are too many people who know Smosh members in the entire country, so it’s best to discard everyone in the United States–no, everyone in all of North America entirely.

The answer is obvious.  There’s one other person who is uniquely positioned to understand what he’s going through and who would be willing to talk him through it, and that person doesn’t live in the country and talks more to him than anyone else at Smosh.

Anthony: hey, any chance you’re free to chat soon? could use your advice. nothing bad

He only has to wait a few seconds, which is impressive, because he didn’t consider calculating the time difference before he texted.

Dan Howell (youtube): oh hell

you’re not dying right

30 minutes sound good?

Anthony: no death, 30 min is good. Ttyl

Anthony grabs his jacket and heads out the door, calling a very general goodbye to the office at large so no one thinks he has just been burdened with self-knowledge that he will be obsessing over for the foreseeable future.

Anthony makes it home with no memory of the drive.  He barely has time to kick off his shoes and settle on the couch before Dan’s call comes through.  It’s a video call, but Anthony is still met by a dark screen, only half of Dan’s face illuminated with white light.  He’s probably in his room in the dark even though he’s wide awake, which feels so quintessentially Dan that it eases Anthony a little.

“Hey, thanks for calling,” Anthony says.  Dan squints at him suspiciously from the tiny phone screen.

“Of course,” he replies.  “Not every day I get to talk to my good friend Anthony Padilla.”

Anthony rolls his eyes, because Dan has been busier than him lately and they do send each other memes and funny messages sometimes.  It’s not like they’ve had no contact in the past few months.

“What’s up?” Dan asks, steamrolling past any reply Anthony might come up with.  Anthony likes that about him.  It may be hard to lock Dan into a genuine conversation when he doesn’t want one, but once he’s there he has single-minded focus and doesn’t let Anthony beat around the bush or procrastinate.  Anthony would be almost offended that it seems like Dan wants to get it over with if it wasn’t for the fact that small talk right now would be excruciating.

“I’ve, uh, had a bit of a realization recently, and I don’t really want to talk to anyone in the office about it.”

Dan levels him with a flat look.

“Are you fucking in love with Ian?”

Anthony groans, leaning back against his couch and giving himself a moment to cover his face.

He didn’t expect Dan to clock him so easily.  Can everyone tell?  Was Anthony himself the last person to know?  Does he have a flashing neon sign saying IN LOVE WITH IAN HECOX hanging above his head?

“How the fuck did you know?” he asks incredulously.  Dan laughs at him, loud and bright.

“Because if it wasn’t about Ian, you’d be talking through whatever it is with him as part of your “healthy communication” pact, and my largest skill set is navigating how to be a gay youtuber in love with your best friend and business partner. Also, I’m probably the closest gay person you know who isn’t associated with your company.”

Anthony laughs.

“Is it really that obvious?” he asks.  Dan shrugs.

“I know what I’m about,” he replies.  “Now, is it the gayness that’s a crisis or the Ian-ness that’s a crisis?”

“Ian-ness,” he responds immediately.  “Wait, actually…”

Dan waits while Anthony takes a moment, because that’s not right, not really.

He isn’t worried about his sexuality.  He came to the conclusion a few years ago that he would keep himself open to other possibilities, and he’s always been able to appreciate other guys.  The fact that Ian has a dick isn’t a problem.  Sure, he hasn’t felt particularly motivated to give someone a blowjob before, but he’s not bothered by the idea at all.  He’d like to have the chance, frankly, even if he’s bad at it and needs to practice a bit, especially if Ian is the one he’s practicing with.  But the Ian of it all isn’t a crisis, either.

“It’s not–” he starts, then stops.  Dan hums encouragingly.  “It’s not a crisis, really?  It’s Ian, you know?  This is probably the best case scenario for my first time falling in love with a man.”

“Fair,” Dan says.  “So what do you need me for, then?”

Anthony snorts.

“If I didn’t talk this through with someone, I’d probably end up blurting it out in a meeting tomorrow in front of everyone.”

Dan hums.

“Yeah, wouldn’t be the most professional moment, even for you,” he says.  “I take it this means you’re down bad.”

“Oh yeah,” Anthony confirms.  “Hit me like a truck.  Nothing even prompted it!  I was wrapping up for the day and wondering if I should ask Ian to grab dinner like usual and the idea made me so happy I thought something was wrong.”

“That’s fucking gay, Anthony,” Dan says.

“I know!” he groans.  “That was the problem, because that’s how I feel about him all the time.  This is how I’ve felt for months, and I’m just now realizing.  What the fuck?  How does that happen?”

“You were too caught up in the euphoria of being around him again to tell it was a proper crush.  Like a frog in boiling water,” Dan says, nodding sagely.  Anthony mirrors him, grateful that he doesn’t need to elaborate further.  Reuniting with Ian felt like finding a part of himself that had been missing since before he left Smosh.  He had no way of knowing that the rush he felt every time they hung out or the elation when he managed to say something that made Ian laugh was a symptom of something bigger.  It felt like it used to, except better because they’d both grown as people and weren’t emotionally stunted children anymore.  He didn’t realize that love had anything to do with it, at least not romantic love.  Then, once they’d stabilized properly, they bought Smosh and he had more things to distract himself with.  He loved being around Ian, he loved being at Smosh, he loved the fact that he could have both when he had missed them for years.  He didn’t feel the need to examine things closer than that.

“What am I supposed to do?” Anthony asks.  Dan snorts.

“Don’t do what I did, which was stalk the other person to the point where we were friends and then make him do all the romantic heavy lifting,” he says.  “The way I see it, you can either repress it so hard it disappears and you’re miserable, or you tell him in a private moment that you both can escape if it goes badly.”

Anthony frowns.

“Will it go badly?”

Dan shrugs.

“You know Ian better than I do.  What do you think?”

Anthony makes himself stop and genuinely consider the question, rather than respond with knee-jerk fears or defensiveness.  There’s decades of history including their friendship completely unraveling to consider, and Anthony doesn’t think he’ll survive losing Ian a second time.  But Ian has never run away because Anthony wanted too much from him.  He might not respond the way that Anthony wants, and he might not give Anthony the same openness and vulnerability that Anthony would be giving him during a confession, but he can’t see this being the thing that pushes Ian away for good.  It might be awkward for a bit, but they’re both adults.  Anthony can figure out how to manage his feelings, and Ian historically has been great at ignoring elephants in rooms and pretending like things are fine.

“I think it’ll be okay,” he says slowly.  “If he doesn’t feel the same or is weirded out, I think we’ll be able to move past it.  He’ll probably make some bad jokes to deflect, but I don’t think he’ll hate me, or ask me to leave the company or anything.”

“You think he doesn’t feel the same?” Dan asks.  Anthony shrugs.

“Who knows, with Ian.  I know he loves me, but that’s different than being in love with me, and he was repressing the shit out of his emotions for a while there.  I don’t know.  It’s been–things have been really good with us, recently.  And I think he’s in the same place as me, with the sexuality thing.  But that doesn’t mean that he’s in the same place as me with his feelings, too.”

Dan hums.

Anthony tries to imagine Ian smiling at him in that new, soft way he sometimes does, saying something like “don’t be stupid, Anthony, of course I love you, too”.  His heart speeds up at just the thought, feeling like it’s about to skip out of his chest, and he slams that door shut immediately.  No use in getting his hopes up or catastrophizing, not before he knows the actual outcome.  Better not borrow the joy or anxiety of the future, right?

“When are you going to tell him?” Dan asks.

“What happened to maybe repressing it and being miserable?”  Anthony replies.

Even though he can barely see anything from Dan’s side of the screen, he can see the look that Dan gives him.  At least it makes him snort.

“As your friend, I can’t in good conscience actually recommend that route to you,” Dan says.  “Especially because you’d be shit at it and would tell him anyway, but it’d probably be at the worst possible moment.”

Anthony can’t argue with that.  He’s not great at keeping things inside.  If he tries to repress this, it’ll bubble up before exploding, like a soda that’s been shaken then cracked open, spilling his feelings all over the place.

“I should probably tell him soon, then,” Anthony says.  Dan nods.

“Better to get it over with.  Rip off the bandaid.”

“Opposite of what you did.”

“Fuck off,” Dan says, voice high with indignation.  “I’ve been in a happy relationship for over a decade.  You asked me for help.”

“I did,” Anthony concedes.  “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Dan says, smarmy and pompous in a way that makes Anthony laugh.

He directs the conversation away from his realization and toward normal topics, taking his time to catch up with Dan properly.  It’s good to talk to him, just like it always is.  As allergic as they are to phone calls, it’s nice to be able to chat in real time, rather than allowing text messages to get lost in a flurry of notifications.  More time has passed than Anthony realized when another notification pops up at the top of his screen.  He trails off mid-sentence when he sees who it’s from.

Ian: you ok? you left the office pret…

While he’s reading, another banner appears.

Ian: dinner?

“What’s up, what just happened?  Why are you ignoring me?” Dan asks.

“Sorry,” Anthony says, shaking his head to bring himself back to the moment.  “Ian just texted.  He wants to have dinner.”

“The thing that started it all,” Dan says ominously.  “Sounds like the perfect opportunity.”

Anthony feels a dash of panic surge through him before it fades, leaving the hint of a bitter aftertaste.

“Already?” he winces.

“Why, do you need to let things settle?” Dan asks.  “You seemed pretty secure with everything earlier.  Do you think your feelings are going to change?”

Anthony shakes his head immediately.

“I have never been more sure of my feelings,” he affirms.  “I’m in this for the long haul.”

Dan holds his hand up in a there you go gesture.

“Right,” Anthony says.  “Pulling off a bandaid.”

“Guess I’ll let you go get your man,” Dan sighs dramatically.  “Text me what happens.  Whether it’s a celebration or you want someone to listen to emo music and cry with you.”

“Thank you,” Anthony says earnestly.  Dan rolls his eyes.

“Whatever.  Welcome to the gay disaster club.  Have fun.”

“Thanks for having me,” Anthony laughs.  “Talk to you later.”

Dan says a quick goodbye and signs off with a wave, and Anthony navigates over to Ian’s messages before he can second-guess himself.

Ian Hecox: you ok? you left the office pretty quick today

dinner?

Anthony’s thumbs hover over the buttons, not wanting to lie to Ian, but also not wanting to confess his feelings over text.  If he says he wants to talk to Ian about something, Ian might think it’s worse than it is, and Anthony doesn’t want to turn this into a big deal for him if it doesn’t have to be, but if he ignores Ian’s initial question and just asks him to come over with takeout, he’ll still think something is wrong, and he’ll think that Anthony doesn’t want to talk about it with him and therefore it’s something terrible.

His phone buzzes with another notification.

Dan Howell (youtube): you better be replying to him and not PROCRASTINATING like a LOSER

Anthony sends him the middle finger emoji, but it’s the encouragement that he needs.

Anthony: had something on my mind i wanted to think through, nothing bad

wanna come over? bring thai pls

Ian’s reply comes in immediately.

Ian: be there in 20

Anthony locks his phone and sets it down, letting out a long breath.  He scrubs his hands over his face, then through his hair, blinking at the blank tv across from him while he tries to organize his thoughts.

He can’t sit here for 20 minutes spiraling until Ian gets here.  He wants to smoke to offset the nerves thrumming through him, but he doesn’t want to overdo it and lose his sense of urgency, then decide to put the confession off because of it.  He needs to tell Ian tonight.

“Like ripping off a bandaid,” he says aloud, slapping his thighs and standing.  He spots a candle and lights that, at least, then busies himself tidying up.  His home isn’t messy by any means, but rearranging things and breaking out the duster to run along his bookshelves gives him something to keep his hands busy while he repeats a mantra of affirmations in his mind, not allowing any room for the negative and anxious thoughts to permeate.

A sharp knock on his door breaks him out of his thoughts while he’s unloading the dishwasher, immediately followed by his door opening and Ian’s voice calling “Honey, I’m home!”

Anthony’s heart flutters.  If this continues, he’s going to need to see a cardiologist.

“In the kitchen!” he calls back.  “Want a drink?”

“Water for now,” Ian calls back, no doubt setting their take-out up on the coffee table in the living room.  “We’ll see about later.”

Anthony grabs two glasses for them and fills them from the filter in the fridge, adding ice for himself but none for Ian because he says it gets too cold for his teeth these days.  They’re getting older.  Anthony is grateful that he’s present to see it.

“I got you your usual,” Ian says, gesturing to the container while Anthony carefully sets the glass in front of him.  He changed since the office, dressing down in sweatpants and an older Smosh hoodie that they discontinued before Anthony left.  He looks tired and comfortable, like he belongs on Anthony’s couch shoveling rice into his mouth, and Anthony swallows around the lump in his throat.

Yeah, he needs to tell Ian tonight.  He can’t keep living like this.  Self-awareness is a gift, because you can’t change things if you don’t know there’s a problem, but Anthony wishes the problem wasn’t being in love with his best friend in a way that’s overwhelmingly impossible to ignore.

They don’t talk about anything important while they eat, just chatting casually about whatever crosses their minds, from a weird squirrel that Ian saw yesterday to an artist that Anthony found on Instagram and really likes.  It’s easy and comfortable, and Anthony finds himself relaxing with every little joke Ian says that makes him laugh.  Ian doesn’t try to be funny outside of work, but he naturally has Anthony in stitches more than anyone else he’s ever met.  Anthony has laughed more in the two years they’ve been reunited than he did in the entire six years they were apart.

Eventually, the laughter fades away, Ian setting his plastic fork down and leaning back against the cushions, wiggling a bit to get in the most comfortable position possible with a content sigh.  He’s such an old man that way, but Anthony is right there with him, knees cracking when he stretches out.

“So,” Ian says, lolling his head to the side so he can see Anthony fully. “What were you thinking so hard about earlier?”

Anthony sighs.  He crosses his arms, but he doesn’t like how that makes him feel like a kid waiting outside the principal’s office, so he rubs his hands against his jeans instead.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Ian offers.  “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s fine,” Anthony says before Ian can get the wrong idea.  “It’s not–I wanted to tell you, anyway.”

“Okay,” Ian says slowly.  Anthony takes a deep breath, then another one.

“I’m bi,” he blurts.

Not quite what he wanted to say, but baby steps.

“Officially,” he adds.  “I know we’ve kind of talked about it before, but I wasn’t really sure, and now I am.  I’m bisexual.  I like dudes, too.”

“Nice,” Ian says with a grin, leaning forward to give him a high five.  Anthony obediently slaps their palms together, and Ian’s fingers curl around Anthony’s hand, shaking him.  “Let’s go!  Solidarity!”

Anthony laughs, letting Ian break the tension like he usually does.  Their hands fall back against the couch, still clasped together, and part of the laughter dies in Anthony’s throat.

“Thanks for telling me, dude,” Ian says.  “I am, too, since we’re sharing sexualities.”

Ian’s thumb swipes over the back of Anthony’s hand and goosebumps erupt across his arms, thankfully hidden by his sweater.

“Cool,” he manages to say.  Ian smiles at him, open and joyful, and Anthony doesn’t know what emotion is playing across his face, but it makes Ian soften.

“Are you going to get emo on me?” he asks, light and teasing.  Anthony chuckles, but it comes out a little wet.

“I didn’t think I would,” he says honestly, blinking up at the ceiling and letting out a shaky breath.  Ian squeezes his hand, just a quick pressure and release, and Anthony returns it.  When he’s centered himself enough to look back at Ian, his best friend is still smiling at him.  It’s a smile that has no pretenses or expectations, just gentle acceptance.  He’s so much more open than Anthony ever expected him to be, even since they reconciled.  They both had to relearn how to read each other in these heavy moments, and Anthony now knows when Ian puts his walls up and why, and when he can give Anthony more of the vulnerability that he always craves.  Now, though, he doesn’t feel like Ian is hiding, despite the jokes and teasing.  He’s just here with Anthony, ready to take whatever confession he gives.

“That’s not all of it,” Anthony says.  Ian shifts, tucking a foot under him so he can face Anthony fully.  He still hasn’t let go of his hand, but Anthony doesn’t want to watch him do so later, so he does it himself, twisting one of his rings around to distract his hands from the sudden emptiness.

“I, uh,” he starts.  Ian’s steady focus on him is distracting, and it’s making his throat close up again.  He clears it, an incongruous sound in the otherwise quiet space.

“I realized I have feelings for someone,” he finally brings himself to say. Ian’s expression doesn’t change, maintaining a careful neutrality that Anthony is all too familiar with.

“Is that a bad thing?” he asks eventually, when too much time has passed for Anthony to fill in the blanks.

“No,” Anthony says quickly.  “No, it’s not– I’m not upset about it.  It’s just… scary.  But I can handle it.”

Ian’s eyebrows twitch with an aborted frown.

Damn, he’s botching this.

“It’s– if I had to fall in love with anyone, it’s best that it’s him,” he tries to explain.  “He’s– this is the best case scenario.”

Ian does frown this time.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re gonna let me down easy.”

Ian stares at him.  Anthony replays those words in his head and heat floods his face, everything burning.  He blinks a few times, but time doesn’t rewind and let him take those words back to tell Ian in a better way.  He’s always been shit at improv; he should’ve scripted this in those 20 minutes while Ian was grabbing them dinner and instead he’s making a mess of things.

“What,” Ian asks, no inflection.  Anthony opens his mouth, can’t get any actual words out, and closes it again.

“Deep breath, Anthony,” Ian commands.  Even though the inflection is still strangely empty, Anthony forces in a breath, then another one.

“Sorry,” he says.  Ian shakes his head.

“It’s fine.  But you need to use words, because I don’t know what the fuck is happening right now.”

Anthony gestures helplessly.

“I love you?” he says.  “In a gay way?”

Ian nods slowly.  Anthony wants the ground to open up and swallow him.  Maybe he can go stay with Dan and Phil for a few weeks or forever, since Dan’s advice got him in this situation in the first place, except he knows that he’s being irrational and everything should be fine once it stops sucking so bad.

He should’ve done this at Ian’s house so he could run away, rather than having Ian come to him and having to kick him out.

“You think I’m going to let you down easy?” Ian asks.  Anthony laughs, a high pitched, hysteric noise that he immediately hates and never wants to make again.

“Are you really going to be mean to me about it?” he asks.  His pulse is racing.  He’s going to die.  He’s actually going to die from confessing his gay love for his best friend.  This is pathetic.  This is terrible.  He’s almost 40 years old and it feels like he’s 15 and getting rejected for the first time, except worse.  Dan owes him so many drinks.

“Anthony,” Ian says, reaching towards him.  Anthony isn’t fast enough to lean away, and Ian’s hands cup his jaw, curling around his neck and threading through his hair to keep him in place.

“Stop freaking out,” he says, thumb swiping across Anthony’s jaw.  “Don’t be stupid.”

Anthony can’t even begin to formulate a response, because Ian leans forward and kisses him.  His brain completely short circuits at the gentle contact, even though it only lasts for a second before Ian is leaning back, carefully eyeing him.

“Huh?” he says.  Ian cracks a smile.

“I love you, too, you idiot.”

All of the tension leaves Anthony in a rush that makes him dizzy.  It’s a good thing that Ian is still holding him, hands anchoring him in the present while Ian gives him that new smile, the one that makes Anthony feel like Ian doesn’t want to be anywhere else if Anthony isn’t with him.

“Huh?” he asks again.  Ian chuckles, but it isn’t malicious, and Anthony smiles with him.

“Dude, did you really not know?” Ian asks.  “Courtney staged an intervention for me weeks ago.  Apparently she and Shayne have been making little bets since you came back.”

“Since I came back?” Anthony asks.  “No way.”

“They were delusional,” Ian agrees.  “I was not in touch with my feelings enough at that point.  I was just happy to have my best friend back.”

“And now?” Anthony asks.  Ian grins.

“I’ve been waiting for you to catch up.  What happened to you being in tune with your mind and spirit, bro?  Why’d it take you so long to get here?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Anthony laughs, hands coming up to circle Ian’s wrists.  “I’ve never fallen in love with my best friend before.  I thought it was just you.”

Ian snorts, ducking his head and finally letting his hands fall from Anthony’s face, tangling their fingers together instead.

“That’s so fucking cheesy,” he says, but he sounds pleased.  Anthony flushes.

“We’re basically a friends to lovers fanfiction, Ian.  This was always going to be cheesy.”

Ian rolls his eyes.  When he looks at Anthony again, it’s through his lashes with a fond smile, like he’s taking pages out of Seduction 101.  Anthony is actually embarrassed at how well it works on him, face heating and breath catching.  His eyes wander down to Ian’s lips, and he forces them back to his eyes in a panic before he remembers that he’s allowed to do that.  Ian made that clear.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.  “I wasn’t ready when you did it.”

“I don’t know, can you?” Ian replies automatically, then grimaces.  Anthony gives him a look, even if Ian’s immediate regret is clear.  At least they’re on the same page there.

“Yes,” Ian corrects.  “Actually, if you don’t I’m going to be upset.”

That’s all the encouragement that Anthony needs to lean in.  He takes his time, letting their noses brush and settling his hands on Ian’s waist before Ian gets impatient and closes the gap.  It feels entirely different than their first kiss.  Anthony goes into it with intention, pressing as close as he can without Ian's glasses getting in the way, and Ian responds in kind, hands snaking over Anthony's shoulders.  The scratch of Ian's stubble against his mouth sends shivers down his spine, much more addictive than Anthony would've guessed, and he fists Ian's hoodie tighter in response, shifting to try to get even closer.  Ian breaks the kiss before Anthony is ready, but all he does is take off his glasses and dive right back in, matching Anthony step for step.

Being this close is causing Anthony's head to spin, each change in angle and point of contact simultaneously making every nerve in him stand at attention and glaze over.  He can smell Ian's aftershave under the leftover Thai food and burned down remnants of the candle permeating through the living room, and Ian's hands feel incredibly warm through his sweater, even more so when one of them slides up his neck to dig into his hair.  The gentle scratch of nails against his scalp pulls the start of a whine out of his throat unbidden, and Ian immediately deepens the kiss, coaxing Anthony to open his mouth with a brush of his tongue.

Anthony wants to keep kissing him all night.  He could stay kissing him for the rest of his life and be perfectly happy, whether he keels over in a few minutes or a few decades.  This is their first time kissing with intent, the first time where it actually means something, but there's something so familiar about it anyway, the easy way that they move together and around each other, the compatible pressure and comfortable motions.  He pulls at Ian again, wanting to get even closer, and Ian shifts without breaking contact, pushing Anthony back against the arm of the couch and following him down.  It puts their bodies flush together, and Anthony wraps his arms around Ian's back, pinning him there, a warm line along his front.

A vibration in his pocket startles him enough that he breaks the kiss, blinking up at Ian in surprise.  He's haloed by the overhead light, mouth red and cheeks flushed, and he has never looked more beautiful.

"What's wrong?" he asks.  Anthony blinks at him, processing.

The phone in his back pocket vibrates again, loud enough that Anthony can hear it now that he's not distracted.  He forces one of his hands to release Ian's sweatshirt, lifting his hips to access the pocket and inhaling sharply when the motion makes him brush against Ian.

"Anthony..." Ian says, voice thick.  Anthony's phone vibrates again in his hand, drawing Ian's attention to it.  He sits back on his heels, finally giving Anthony room to catch a full breath.

Dan Howell (youtube): how are things?  have you told him yet?

celebration or crying

maybe silence is a good sign??

“Who is it?” Ian asks, tugging on the bottom of his hoodie.

“Dan,” Anthony says.  Then, for clarification, “Howell.  I called him earlier.  He wants to know how the love confession went.”

Ian plucks the phone from his hand in the middle of typing his reply.

“Hey,” Anthony protests halfheartedly while Ian swipes to the camera app.  Any additional bitching dies in his throat when Ian presses his lips to the corner of Anthony’s mouth, taking a selfie at the exact moment.

It isn’t the best picture.  They’re off-center and Anthony’s face equal parts enamored and very clearly caught off-guard, but Anthony doesn’t protest while Ian attaches the picture to Anthony’s message thread with Dan and sends it.  He locks the phone and discards it off to the side, something that Anthony is very okay with once Ian turns his full attention back to him.

“I know we need to talk about this soon, but I kinda want to save that conversation for later tonight and go back to making out right now,” Ian states.

“I’m fine with that,” Anthony says, already reaching for him.  He kisses Ian’s grin off his face.

Somewhere on Anthony’s coffee table, nestled among empty takeout containers and a stack of napkins, Anthony’s phone buzzes again.  Neither of them hear it.  When Anthony finally checks his phone the next morning, he’ll have a litany of text messages, equal parts sincerely happy and playfully disgusted.  For now, he’s more than satisfied to kiss Ian silly, everything else fading away until the world consists of just the two of them.

[theorphicangel]

angel’s 3k 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

we hit 3k!!!! ahhhhh thank you so so so much for reading and supporting my works, whether you've only read one of my works or you've read multiple it really means a lot to me and I hope to write more and more in the future. I really love writing and this blog is my utmost passion!! I really love everyone who's made it a better place for me and most importantly every single writer I have read who has inspired me in each and every way!! thank you for your support <3

sappy time over but here's ten whole fics that i have planned in celebration for the next month or two.

(spoiler: fics are named after song lyrics and the song titles are in each synopsis, I hope you can spot them! <3)

if you would like to added to the taglist for one or multiple works let me know and I can tag you!!

" you can be careless with me "

sukuna x fem!reader | nsfw & angst synopsis: you know sukuna doesn't do relationships, let alone fall in love , but you convince him that he doesn't have to be perfect. you allow him the precious chance to be careless with you. word count: tba

" you don't love him if you're thinking of me "

toji x fem!reader | nsfw synopsis: you're still hung up on your ex. in an attempt to move on you jump into a new relationship...sooner or later it doesn't work out and you find yourself back in toji's arms. after confessing your relationships woes he tells you to repeat after him the words you've known all along... word count: tba

" but when I'm older, i'll be moving onward "

childhood best friend! suguru x gn!reader | fluff & angst synopsis: it's been a while since you've seen suguru. a whole year in fact. whilst being away at university you hope he's still the suguru you still remember. only one way to find out when he texts you...'meet me at our spot'. word count: tba

" hold me, console me and then i'll leave without a trace "

suguru x gn!reader | angst synopsis: suguru seems different. heavy under eye bags, a little more quiet than usual, his clothes a little looser, distracted and lost in his thoughts; disconnected from the world as a whole. seems no one noticed...but you. word count: tba

"a bird in a cage, thought you were made for me....(don't hate you) but I can't save you"

gojo x gn!reader | angst synopsis: the talk. you both know what needs to happen but neither of you want to make the final decision. if it does happen you can't help but notice how blue the world seems without him. word count: tba

"my boy, come take my hand"

toji x gn!reader | fluff synopsis: toji hasn't always been perfect, it's his imperfection that's made him flawed since birth; you let him know it's okay for him to be imperfect for you. word count: tba

"instead I'm gonna love you like you were new"

suguru x gn!reader - fluff synopsis: suguru doesn't know what good deed he's committed in his previous life to deserve you but that's okay, because if there's one thing you know... it's that he would give the world to you anyways. word count: tba

"think twice 'cause you got a long way to go"

gojo x gn!reader | fluff synopsis: you meet a cocky man at the club, he thinks he has you wrapped around his finger but you remind him... he's got a long way to go before ending up with you. word count: tba

"what are you willing to do?"

suguru x fem!reader | fluff, suggestive synopsis: you're hurt and the only remedy is for suguru to kiss it better. (doctor's orders.) word count: tba

"all mine"

gojo x gn!reader | fluff synopsis: perhaps you need the reminder that in satoru's eyes, there's no one else but you. word count: tba

[alelathedragon]

Well ga damn. I hit the big one zero zero.... OVER A MR PUZZLES AU TUMBLR SEXYMAN COMPETITION

I LOVE THIS COMMUNITY

FUCKING WHEEEEEEEEEZE god i dont even know what to say that i havent already said at this point, the small community of Mr.Puzzles lovers is so fucking wholesome and funny, ive made lots of friends. Made new mutuals. Being involved in so many things whether it be simple Answers to my asks, character interactions, drawing war.

Im going to give a quick shout out to my best friends :3

@kizzorelli my wife/playtonic one of the best things to happen to me period. Silly rodent whos art speed is concerning but amazing

@thecourtofinfestation EEEEEEVIL BEST FRIEND literally so awesome, ANOTHER best thing to happen to me in my life period. We're in sync on another level

@mothfoxwastaken bug woman. Zeroist funny person on the planet

@mpc07-foundtheinternet ramble more MORE. I love your ideas and playing with ya!

@infundi360 wife again/playtonic another best thing to happen to me in my life period. Literally how are we friends ur so pog

@your4thwallbreaker i just met you like a month ago but if anything happened to you i would kill everyone on this app and then myself. Youre super cool and i went on a rattle about that but fuck you get rattled again bc my heart is too large

@thestuffiesheadquarters you have wormed yourself into my life and i am attached to you by the hip/playtonic. Silly goober i enjoy holding in my palm

@liliththequeenofdemon you also speedran yourself into my life broda, youre really funny. Silly, and i enjoy your company :3

@alex-dolmatescu2-0 GET OVER HERE MY FELLOW SOCIALLY AWKWARD PLUSHIE!!! I wuv ya and your funnies. Youve been sweet to talk with and also just a large help with the sexyman poll i cant thank u enough like goddamn

My new mutuals!!! HIHIHI!!!

@the-masked-astro

How the FUCK do you keep track of all your characters and give them all the screen time they deserve you absolute MADMAN/pos. I always admired your artwork - but i have the funny ADHD so everytime i liked one of your posts or reblogged them... And MEANT to follow you.... I got sidetracked immediately 😅 BUT I FIXED THAT NOW!!! literally youre a god of some assortment for being able to give all your fellas screentime and awesome writing. SMG4 wishes he could do that

@michealscorneroftheinternet

Youre TEHCNICALLY my mutual now!! Following my holiday smg4 account that ive been working on slowly. And like i think you deserve to be shouted out anyways. Me when i look at your posts for literally 20 minutes picking out the smallest details and thinking about them. Me when im constantly looking forward to the next drop and all the nitpicks i get to do, it's like a gift basket to my eyes i love biting onto your content with my jagged teeth and ripping it to shreds. Even though ive never commented on your Change In Script. Know that im looking at it a normal amount and thinking about it on the regular. Same for The Fallen one you and Dorro are making. Im happy to see them here for Change in Script!!

@theclosetcreature

I CANNOT EXPRESS HOW MUCH YOUR ART TICKLES MY BONES. the way you DRAW GAW DAMN. It's so crunchy and delightfully pleasing to my soul. I have to restrain myself my reblogging every single damn post you've ever made period. Going through your entire blog and reblogging every single one type of deal lol. Ur chill. Happy to have you :3

@fenicearts420

DRAGONNNNNNS DRAGON DRAGON DRAGON DRAGON DRAAAAAAGOOOON

Ive expressed how much i love your HTTYD content BUT FUCK YOU WERE DOING IT AGAIN

THE AMOUNT OF EFFORT AND SKILL IN YOUR HTTYD ARTS BLOW MY MIND, MAKE ME KICK MY FEET, GIGGLE, RUN AROUND THE ROOM, CRY AND GIGGLE AGAIN

YOU SHOULD BE A HTTYD CONCEPT ARTIST SAVE THE SERIES. S A V E IT FROM LIVE ACTION HELL PLEAAAAAASE *cough* ahem

Your self ship dynamic is very silly and wholesome at the same time. Critter and sophisticated man dynamic my beloved. You're charming and i like seeing the tags you put in your reblogs.

I feel like im missing someone so i might come back and edit this later

Oh yeah and btw im going to be a stinky fucky little cheater and just say the tumblrsexyman competition is my 100 follower special 👊✌️👉👉👉 suck it /silly

[jamroses]

anderperry and their daughter pt 2! the uncles... (1/??)

since u fags loved part one, heres a part 2 🍓🍓

charlie dalton: would love teaching their daughter swear words, and to todd and neils horror she loves repeating them:

charlie: 'hey little girl, say fuck. c'mon, you can do it'

todd: *covering their daughters ears* 'STOP IT CHARLIE SHES ONLY 18 MONTHS OLD!'

daughter: "uck! uck!"

he also sneaks her chocolates past her bedtime:

charlie: "dont tell your daddies i gave you this okay?"

but then the next morning todd finds her with chocolate around the corners of his mouth and knows EXACTLY what happened

gerard pitts: loves picking her up and throwing her around, the daughter has the time of her life, though her parents are extremely worried about what could happen to her..

pitts: *swinging their daughter around in the air*

daughter: "WHEEEEEEEE HIGHER HIGHER!"

neil: "Lower! Lower! how about you put her down on the ground!!!!!!!!!!"

she also loves sitting on pittsies shoulders bc 'he's so high and i can see the whole world from up here' (her words not mine)

richard cameron: everyone thought he wouldnt be good with kids but anderperry trust cameron with their daughter most. she really loves him too! they have a lot of movie nights and cameron remembers EVERY. SINGLE. THING. she ever told him.

what she named the bug she found last month? duhh its ellie green

her favourite character from beauty and the beast? cogsworth ofc (idc if timelines dont match atp)

even though her favourite song changes every week, cameron still remembers what it is. he just adores this little girl and loves listening to her little stories (all the poets do btw)

a/n AAA HOPE U GUYS LIKED THIS <3

tags: @fromhusk , @scrunchybugzzz (lmk if u wanna be added)

PT 3 COMING SOON I HOPE <3

[monochromeruby]

Disventure Camp Rewrite

Here’s the link! https://archiveofourown.org/works/58967014/chapters/150317302

I posted only episode 2 as of now (as a transcript like I said) I know, boring, but once things actually start changing, I’ll let everyone know. This will be my last update on Tumblr about the re-write until I get to a more exciting period in writing. Any other updates will be on the Twitter account. Keep this in your tabs until then! Enjoy *^^*

[flowersforthemachines]

Some facts about Taash (and also the Lords of Fortune, the Qunari, Dragons and other related things) gathered from the banters

Featuring Shathaan's stories about the Crows!

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Davrin, Harding, Lucanis, Emmrich, Neve. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later

About Taash

General: 

Taash gets grumpy if they stay inside for too long

Taash may polish their treasure hoard or clean the dishes (even somebody else's) to get out of their head

When Taash is feeling sad, they ask somebody else about how they are doing, so they can focus on somebody else instead of themselves

Taash doesn’t like talking about their feelings because it makes them sad (Lucanis can relate)

Taash doesn't read books before bed because they have a tendency to stay up past their bedtime to finish the exciting parts

Taash seems to care quite a lot about fibre and digestive health (they are so real for that). For example, they enjoy the smell of coffee but don’t drink it because it’s bad for their guts

Taash drinks alcohol 

Taash once requested Bellara/Lucanis to cook them a demon (the suggestion was disregarded) 

Taash liked Lucanis’s deep-fried peppers 

Taash liked Bellara’s stir-fry 

(If Rook is in romance with Taash) A spirit of devotion appears next to Taash after they enter a relationship

Taash doesn’t want to look for more dragonfire tablets because “they are just more orders”, and they already have enough  

Taash doesn’t kill in cold blood and needs to get angry in order to kill someone

Taash has good taste in gemstones, knowing which colours match which (based on the banters where they recommend gemstones for Emmrich’s lich helmet). They say it’s a Lord of Fortune thing, they have to know how to make gems look good 

Taash isn’t afraid of the Fade, because the spirits there mind their own business and don’t try to possess anyone (or anything) 

Taash thinks that even if the Nevarrans almost brought their dragons to extinction, they will still come back eventually

Taash is extremely excited to hear that Morrigan can (potentially) turn into a dragon and wants to ask her about it next time they meet 

Taash doesn’t mind finding no loot when hunting dragons because as long as you survived an encounter with a dragon, you have a new story to tell 

Taash doesn't think of dragons as monsters since they are a natural part of the world and have been around longer than anyone else

On fire-breathing: 

Taash started breathing fire when they were a toddler

Taash needs to eat greens after breathing fire, or they get headaches 

According to healers, fire breathing hurts Taash’s lungs

Taash accidentally set their first female partner’s hair on fire during their first sex

Taash once tried to cook with their dragon breath and accidentally melted a pot and set the kitchen on fire 

On Taash’s sense of smell:  

Taash got their heightened sense of smell after they got sick and couldn't breathe through the nose for a couple of months. After they recovered they could suddenly smell everything

Tassh can smell when someone is ovulating. They can also smell who had been in the room before them, and who is hungover 

Taash could also tell Neve got together with Rook or Lucanis from the smell even before anybody told them

To Taash, Minrathous smells rainy and ‘like rich people hurting poor people’

Early life and the relationship with Shathann: 

Taash learnt to swim before they learnt to walk

Shathann sometimes wouldn't let Taash play/go swimming until they finished their studies (like being able to tell the difference between some pottery shards)

Shathann gifted Taash axes during one of the gift-giving holidays when they were younger. They were simple kindling choppers, but Shathann helped decorate them to make them look like Qunari weapons. During a conversation with Bellara, Taash realises that may be the reason they are still using axes to this day

Axes are also good at lodging between dragon scales and allows them to climb up

Taash grew up poor, though they didn’t realise it because Shathann always made sure they had enough food, even at her expense (like pretending she didn’t want to eat because “Rivaini food is too rich for her”)

Taash spent the money they made from their first job as Lord of Fortune on buying Shathaan a dress. Shathann didn’t appreciate it, instead urging Taash to buy themselves boots or some other useful things 

Shathann hated apples because their skin would get stuck in her teeth (“Evataash, that fruit is stupid!”)

If Taash chooses to pursue Rivaini culture and wear Shathann’s horn as jewellery, they have a blacksmith do runes in the old Qunari language along the edges and get a Seer to bless it

Shathann stopped telling stories about the Crows after Taash once climbed on the roof to play as a Crow

The things Shathann taught Taash about the Crows:

Antivan Crows make themselves invisible to dragons by imitating the dragon's shadow

Antivan Crows coat the beaks of actual crows with poison so that the crows can kill people by pecking

Antivan Crows can slow down their breathing until they become invisible

Antivan Crows come through houses at night and kill children who aren’t in bed

Antivan Crows can do a special move that stops their enemy's heart

Antivan Crows can strangle a Qunari with their own dar-saam (but only if it’s tied incorrectly)

Relationships with companions: 

Bellara gives Taash advice on cooking dinner for their mother

Davrin teaches Taash to use buckets filled with water and sand for lifting

Taash has never flown a kite before and asks Harding to teach them

Harding's mother sends Taash a letter with homemade candies after Shathann’s death, calling it “a hug from afar” (Taash appreciated the gesture and liked the candy) 

(If Rook is in romance with Taash) Taash asks Lucanis about what Rook likes to eat, and Lucanis offers to teach them how to make coffee/tea/chiocolata calda 

Taash isn’t scared of Spite, and even convinces (or more like intimidates) him not to talk about how other people smell without their permission

Lucanis agrees to teach Taash how to kill targets with flair (with varying degrees of success when it comes to cool one-liners) and then plans to ask Teia to make a Crow cape just for them (Taash is very excited about it, as they love crow capes)

Taash insists Neve should get some trophy from Aelia (a ring, or an amulet with her name) to show everyone she beat her, and doesn’t understand why Neve isn’t interested in something like that 

Taash offers their blood to Neve for blood magic purposes (Neve doesn’t take up the offer)

Taash thinks Neve’s ‘dresses’ are pretty

Taash thinks nobody can go toe-to-toe in magic with Neve

Taash offers to hook Neve up with their jeweller to get her a discount (in case she wants a new leg) because “Neve deserves nice things”

Lords of Fortune:

Lords of Fortune have a drunk game where they throw a goblet made from fool’s gold into the water for others to find. Whoever finds it gets free drinks for the rest of the night. The game has only one rule: no punching in the junk

There is also another drunk game where drunk Lords jump off a giant cliff. The only rule is not to hit the water face-first

Even if those are “drunk games”, you can participate in them sober, as long as you are willing to be as stupid as the drunk people

The Lords of Fortune pick new jobs by Isabela throwing daggers at a map or racing nugs (the winner picks the job - could be its owner, or the nug itself)

The lords used to blindfold Mateo (the faction merchant) and spin him around in circles until he tripped on something like a map. They stopped doing that because a Seer told them to quit (the whole thing gave Mateo headaches) 

After Shathann is gone, Taash is in charge of appraising Qunari artifacts for the Lords until they find a better expert

The Lords of Fortune work with a Dalish clan keeper Shivanas (Taash calls them ‘Shiv’) who appraises artefacts for them (tells them what’s okay to sell and not to sell etc.) 

After losing his hand, a Lord named Bernst got a lock-pick hand prosthetic decorated with gems

About Dragons:

Different breeds of dragons can mate and produce offspring. That’s how ice- and lightning-breathing dragons came about

The muscles of dragon wings’ are vulnerable behind. Another weakness is the underbelly

Fighting Dragons is all about making them come to you, either by having them see you as a threat (so they come down to assert dominance) or prey (so they come down to eat you) 

There is a dragon called Wildervale Spitter, which can breathe fire or poison gas. The “fire breath” is actually just poison that burns when the dragon breathes. Most dragons always ignite their breath. The Spitter's special for being able to choose whether to light it up.

Dragons have an extra eyelid that they shut while breathing fire in order to protect their eyes

About Qunari etc.:

Eb-ketarra means something like “growing memories.” When you graft someone’s horn onto yours, you also add their strength to yourself

Qunari food uses a lot of oil for frying

Qunari have a much better sense of smell than humans

Qunari can bury their dead with large jars inlaid with a flame pattern. It’s called ‘issalatar’ and is empty inside, representing that the deceased’s body is also empty now that their spirit is gone

The Rivaini armada can hold its own against the Antaam fleet, but only in good weather. They can’t match the Antaam in firepower, but they can outsail them

Isabela is apparently still a captain of the Siren’s Call 

[adhdandcomics]

perhaps the most important question i’ve ever asked:

does anyone have tips for people trying to stop being chronically late to everything in the world that aren’t weirdly judgmental and aggressive or flat out lies

[randomminty]

Hello. I bring even more octopath

[fala-alfredo-pasta]

A very self indulgent tatted and pierced up Ichimatsu thas it

[hyohaehyuk]

juliana_rychlikova: thanksgiving with vampire fam ❤️ (2023)

source: pixielayer and jandythinker (Note: Juliana Rychlikova have her IG account private so i dont know how the fandom got this photo. maybe she privated the account after the fandom found the photos/videos yesterday)

It seems they celebrated Thanksgiving at Jacob’s house in Prague

Photos via Jacob Anderson IG

Screenshots: funtheysaid, lesbratprince and pixielayer

[demigod-of-the-agni]

Spider-Man India, but... where from India?

A SUPER long post featuring talks of: cultural identity, characterisation, the caste system, and what makes Spider-Man Spider-Man.

I’m prefacing this by saying that I am a second-generation immigrant. I was born in Australia, but my cultural background is from South India. My experiences with what it means to be “Indian” is going to be very different from the experiences of those who are born and brought up in India.

If you, reader, want to add anything, please reblog and add your thoughts. This is meant to be a post open for discussion — the more interaction we get, the better we become aware of these nuances.

So I made this poll asking folks to pick a region of India where I would draw Pavitr Prabhakar in their cultural wear. This idea had been on my mind for a long while now, as I had been inspired by Annie Hazarika’s Northeastern Spidey artwork in the wake of ATSV’s release, but never got the time to actually do it until now. I wanted to get a little interactive and made the poll so I could have people choose which of the different regions — North, Northeast, Central, East, West, South — to do first.

The outcome was not what I expected. As you can see, out of 83 votes:

THE RESULTS

South India takes up almost half of all votes (44.6%), followed by Northeast and Central (both 14.5%) and then East (13.3%). In all my life growing up, support towards or even just the awareness of South India was pretty low. Despite this being a very contained poll, why would nearly half of all voters pick South India in favour of other popular choices like Central or North India?

Then I thought about the layout of the poll: Title, Options, Context.

Title: "Tell us who you want to see…"

Options: North, Northeast, Central, East, West, South

Context: I want to make art of the boy again

At first I thought: ah geez. this is my fault. I didn't make the poll clear enough. do they think I want them to figure out where Pavitr came from? That's not what I wanted, maybe I should have added the context before the options.

Then I thought: ah geez. is it my fault for people not reading the entire damn thing before clicking a button? That's pretty stupid.

But regardless, the thought did prompt a line of thinking I know many of us desi folk have been considering since Spider-Man India was first conceived — or, at least, since the announcement that he was going to appear in ATSV. Hell, even I thought of it:

Where did Spider-Man India come from?

FROM A CULTURALLY DIVERSE INDIA

As we know, India is so culturally diverse, and no doubt ATSV creators had to take that into account. Because the ORIGINAL Spider-Man India came from Mumbai — most likely because Mumbai and Manhattan both started with the same letter.

But going beyond that, it’s also because Mumbai is one of the most recognisable cities in India - it’s also known as Bombay. It’s where Bollywood films are shot. It’s where superstar Hindi actors and actresses show up. Mumbai is synonymous with India in that regard, because the easiest way Western countries can interact with Indian culture is through BOLLYWOOD, through HINDI FILMS, through MUMBAI. Suddenly, India is Mumbai, India is a Hindi-only country, India is just this isolated thing we see through an infinitely narrow lens.

We’ve gotten a little better in recent years, but boy I will tell you how uncomfortable I’ve gotten when people (yes, even desi people) come up to me and tell me, Oh, you’re Indian right? Can you speak Hindi? Why don’t you speak Hindi? You’re not Indian if you don’t speak Hindi, that’s India’s national language!

I have been — still am — so afraid of telling people that I don’t speak Hindi, that I’m Tamil, that I don’t care that Hindi is India’s “national” language (it’s an administrative language, Kavin, get your fucking facts right). It’s weird, it’s isolating, and it has made me feel like I wasn’t “Indian” enough to be accepted into the group of “Indian” people.

So I am thankful that ATSV went out of their way to integrate as much variety of Indian culture into the Mumbattan sequence. Maybe that way, the younger generation of desi folk won’t feel so isolated, and that younger Western people will be more open to learning about all these cultural differences within such a vast country.

BUT WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH SPIDER-MAN INDIA?

Everything, actually. There’s a thing called supremacy. You might have heard of it. We all engaged with it at some point, and if you are Indian, no matter where you live, it is inescapable.

It happens the moment you are born — who your family is, where you are born, the language you speak, the colour of your skin; these will be bound to you for life, and it is nigh impossible to break down the stereotypes associated with them.

Certain ethnic groups will be more favourable than others (Centrals, and thus their cultures, will always be favoured over than Souths, as an example) and the same can be said for social groups (Brahmins are more likely to secure influential roles in politics or other areas like priesthood, while the lowers castes, especially Dalits, aren’t even given the decency of respect). Don’t even get me started on colourism, where obviously those of fairer skin will win the lottery while those of darker skin aren’t given the time of day. It’s even worse when morality ties into it — “lighter skinned Indians, like Brahmins, embody good qualities like justice and wisdom”, “dark skinned Indians are cunning and poor, they are untrustworthy”. It’s fucking nuts.

This means, of course, you have a billion people trying to make themselves heard in a system that tries to crush everyone who is not privileged. It only makes sense that people want to elevate themselves and break free from a society that refuses to acknowledge them. These frustrations manifest outwardly, like in protests, but other times — most times — it goes unheard, quietly shaping your way of life, your way of thinking. It becomes a fundamental part of you, and it can go unacknowledged for generations.

So when you have a character like Pavitr Prabhakar enter the scene, people immediately latch onto him and start asking questions many Western audiences don’t even consider. Who is he? What food does he eat? What does he do on Fridays? What’s his family like, his community? All these questions pop up, because, amidst all this turmoil going on in the background, you want a mainstream popular character to be like you, who knows your way of life so intimately, that he may as well be a part of your community.

BUT THAT'S THE THING — HE'S FICTIONAL

I am guilty of this. In fact, I’ve flaunted in numerous posts how I think he’s the perfect Tamil boy, how he dances bharatanatyam, how he does all these Tamil things that no one will understand except myself. All these niche things that only I, and maybe a few others, will understand.

I’ve seen other people do it, too. I’ve seen people geek out over his dark brown skin, his kalari dhoti, how he fights so effortlessly in the kalaripayattu martial arts style. I’ve seen people write him as Malayali, as Hindi, as every kind of Indian person imaginable.

I’ve also seen him be written where he’s subjected to typical Indian and broader Asian stereotypes. You know the ones I’m so fond of calling out. The thing is, I’ve seen so much of Pavitr being presented in so many different ways, and I worry how the rest of the desi folk will take it. 

You finally have a character who could be you, but now he’s someone else’s plaything. Your entire life is shaped by what you can and can’t do simply because you were born to an Indian family, and here’s the one person who could represent you now at the mercy of someone else’s whims. He’s off living a life that is so distant from yours, you can hardly recognise him.

It shouldn’t hurt as much as it does, yeah? But, again, you’re looking at it from that infinitely narrow lens Westerners use to look at India from Bollywood.

AND PAVITR PRABHAKAR DOESN'T LIVE IN INDIA

He lives in Mumbattan. He lives in a made-up, fictional world that doesn’t follow the way of life of our world. He lives in a city where Mumbai and Manhattan got fucking squashed together. There are so many memes about colonialism right there. Mumbattan isn’t real! Spider-Man India isn’t real!! He’s just a dude!! The logic of our world doesn’t apply to him!!!

“But his surname originates from ______” okay but does that matter?

“But he’s wearing a kalari dhoti so surely he’s ______” okay but does that matter?

“But his skin colour is darker so he must be ______” okay but does that matter?

“But he lives in Mumbai so he must be ______” okay but does that matter?

I sound insensitive and brash and annoying and it looks like I’m yapping just for the sake of riling you up, so direct that little burst of anger you got there at me, and keep reading.

Listen. I’m going to ask you a question that I’ve asked myself a million times over. I want you to answer honestly. I want you to ask this question to yourself and answer honestly:

Are you trying to convince me on who Pavitr Prabhakar should be?

... but why shouldn't i?

I’ll tell you this again — I did the same thing. You’re not at fault for this, but I want you to just...have a little think over. Just a little moment of self-reflection, to think about why you are so intent on boxing this guy.

It took me a while to reorganise my thinking and how to best approach a character like Pavitr, so I will give you all the time you need as well as a little springboard to focus your thoughts on.

SPIDER-MAN (INDIA) IS JUST A MASK

“What I like about the costume is that anybody reading Spider-Man in any part of the world can imagine that they themselves are under the costume. And that’s a good thing.”

Stan Lee said that. Remember how he was so intent on making sure that everybody got the idea that Spider-Man as an entity is fundamentally broken without Peter Parker there to put on the suit and save the day? That ultimately it was the person beneath the mask, no matter who they were, that mattered most?

Spider-Man India is no less different. You can argue with me that Peter Parker!Spidey is supposed to represent working class struggles in the face of leering corporate entities who endanger the regular folk like us, and so Pavitr Prabhakar should also function the same way. Pavitr should also be a working class guy of this specific social standing fighting people of this other social standing.

But that takes away the authenticity of Spider-Man India. Looking at him through the Peter Parker lens forces you to look at him through the Western lens, and it significantly lessens what you can do with the character — suddenly, it’s a fight to be heard, to be seen, to be recognised. It’s yelling over each other that Pavitr Prabhakar is this ethnicity, is that caste, this or that, this or that, this or that.

There’s a reason why he’s called Spider-Man India, infuriatingly vague as it is. And that’s the point — the vagueness of his identity fulfils Lee’s purpose for a character that could theoretically be embodied by anyone. If he had been called “Spider-Man Mumbai”, you cut out a majority of the population (and in capitalist terms, you cut out a good chunk of the market).

And in the case of Spider-Man India? Whew — you’ve got about a billion people imagining a billion different versions of him.

Whoever you are, whatever you see in Pavitr, that is what is personal to you, and there is nothing wrong with that, and I will not fault you for it. I will not fault you for saying Pavitr is from Central due to the origins of his last name. I also will not fault you for saying Pavitr is from South due to him practising kalaripayattu. I also will not fault you for saying he is not Hindu. I also will not fault you for saying he is a particular ethnicity without any proof.

What I will fault you for is trying to convince me and the others around you that Pavitr Prabhakar should be this particular ethnicity/have this cultural background because of some specific reason. I literally don’t care and it is fundamentally going against his character, going against the “anyone can wear the mask” sentiment of Spider-Man. By doing this, you are strengthening the walls that first divided us. You’re feeding the stratification and segmentation of our cultures — something that is actually not present in the fictional world of Mumbattan.

Like I said before: Mumbattan isn’t real, so the divides between ethnicities and cultural backgrounds are practically nonexistent. The best thing is that it is visually there for all to see. My favourite piece of evidence is this:

It’s a marquee for a cinema in the Mumbattan sequence, in the “Quick tour: this is where the traffic is” section. It has four titles; the first two are written in Hindi. The third title is written in Bengali*, and the fourth title is written in Tamil. You go to Mumbai and you won’t see a single shred of Bengali nor Tamil there, much less any other language that's not common in Maharashtra (Western India). Seeing this for the first time, you know what went through my head?

Wow, the numerous cultures of India are so intermingled here in Mumbattan! Everyone and everything is welcome!

I was happy, not just because of Tamil representation, but because of the fact that the plethora of Indian cultures are showcased coexisting in such a short sequence. This is India embracing all the little parts that make up its grander identity. This scene literally opened my eyes seeing such beauty in all the diverse cultures thriving together. In a place where language and cultural backgrounds blend so easily, each one complementing one another.

It is so easy to believe that, from this colourful palette of a setting, Pavitr Prabhakar truly is Spider-Man India, no matter where he comes from.

It’s easy to believe that Pavitr can come from any part of India, and I won’t call you out if the origin you have for him is different from the origin I have. You don’t need to stake out territory and stand your ground — you’re entitled to that opinion, and I respect it. In fact, I encourage it!!!

Because there’s only so much you can show in a ten minute segment of a film about a country that has such a vast history and even greater number of cultures. I want to see all of it — I want him to be a Malayali boy, a Hindi boy, a Bengali boy, a Telugu boy, an Urdu boy, whatever!! I want you to write him or draw him immersed in your culture, so that I can see the beauty of your background, the wonderful little things that make your culture unique and different from mine!

And, as many friends have said, it’s so common for Indian folks to be migrating around within our own country. A person with a Maharashtrian surname might end up living in Punjab, and no one really minds that. I’m actually from Karnataka, my family speaks Kannada, but somewhere down the line my ancestors moved to Tamil Nadu and settled down and lived very fulfilling lives. So I don’t actually have the “pure Tamil” upbringing, contrary to popular belief; I’ve gotten a mix of both Kannada and Tamil lifestyles, and it’s made my life that much richer. 

So it’s common for people to “not” look like their surname, if that’s what you’re really afraid about. In fact, it just adds to that layer of nuance, that even despite these rigid identities between ethnicities we as Indian people still intermingle with one another, bringing slivers of our cultures to share with others. Pavitr could just as well have been born in one state and moved around the country, and he happens to live in Mumbattan now. It’s entirely possible and there’s nothing to disprove that.

We don’t need to clamber over one another declaring that only one ethnicity is the “right” ethnicity, because, again, you will be looking at Pavitr and the rest of India in that narrow Western lens — a country with such rich cultural variety reduced to a homogenous restrictive way of life.

THE POLL: REINTERPRETED

This whole thing started because I was wondering why my little poll was so skewed — I thought people assumed I was asking them where he came from, then paired his physical appearance with the most logical options available. I thought it was my fault, that I had somehow influenced this outcome without knowing.

Truth is, I will never really know. But I will be thankful for it, because it gave me the opportunity to finally broach this topic, something that many of us desi folk are hesitant to talk about. I hope you have learned something from this, whether you are desi or a casual Spider-Man fan or someone who just so happened to stumble upon this. 

So just…be a little more open. Recognise that India, like many many countries and nations, is made up of a plethora of smaller cultures. And remember, if you’re trying to convince Pavitr that he’s a particular ethnicity, he’s going to wave his hand at you and say, “Ha, me? No, I’m one of the people that live here in the best Indian city! I’m Spider-Man India, dost!”

(Regardless, he still considers you a friend, because to him, the people matter more to him than you trying to box him into something he’s not.)

*Note: thank you dear anon for letting me know that the third title was Bengali, twas my mistake for literally completely forgetting