#emotionally I feel like a raw nerve

[bywandandsword]

Huh. I think I'm having a prolonged anxiety attack. It's been going since last night

[loumauve]

-

[xxbirkindoll]

ok for a drew fic maybe you and drew are new parents and he’s all snappy cause it’s frustrating and he apologizes later that night or something idk it’s been on my mind a lot

Together

A/N: i wrote this last night and i was tired so i hope it’s not that bad. i tried my best

warnings: none just angst and fluff at the end

words: 1.9k

——

The atmosphere inside inside the house feels anything but bright. The soft, rhythmic sound of your baby girl’s breathing is the only thing that calms you as you sit on the edge of the bed in the guest room. It’s quiet here, tucked away from the rest of the house, away from Drew.

You’ve been in here for hours, ever since his harsh words had cut through you like a knife, leaving you stunned and hurt. You hadn’t expected it, hadn’t seen it coming. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it, the sharpness in his tone, the frustration that seemed to boil over into anger, directed at you when all you were trying to do was hold everything together.

“She won’t stop crying, Y/N! Can’t you just do something?” he’d snapped, his voice loud enough to startle the baby in your arms. Her cries had only gotten louder, and your heart had broken a little more with every word that came out of his mouth.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. You were both exhausted, both overwhelmed, but you were supposed to be in this together. You were supposed to be a team. And yet, when things got tough, instead of leaning on each other, it felt like he was pushing you away, like you were failing him somehow.

You’d had enough. You’d left the living room without a word, carrying your daughter with you as you retreated to the guest room. You didn’t even look back to see if Drew was following. You couldn’t bear to see the frustration on his face, couldn’t handle the way his anger made you feel like you were completely alone in this.

The day passes slowly, each hour dragging on as you do your best to take care of your baby while keeping your distance from Drew. You hear him moving around the house, but he doesn’t come near the guest room. You’re not sure if he’s giving you space because he knows he crossed a line, or if he’s just too wrapped up in his own frustration to care. Either way, it hurts.

You spend most of the day in a haze, your emotions raw and close to the surface. You’re exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and it’s all you can do to keep going. You feed the baby, change her, rock her to sleep when she gets fussy, but your mind keeps drifting back to Drew, to the way he snapped at you, the way he made you feel like you weren’t doing enough.

By the time evening rolls around, you’re completely drained. You’ve barely eaten, barely slept, and your nerves are frayed to the point of breaking. The baby is finally asleep in the bassinet beside the bed, and you’re sitting there, staring at the wall, trying to hold back the tears that have been threatening to spill over all day.

And then there’s a soft knock on the door.

You don’t respond at first, hoping that whoever it is will just go away. But the knock comes again, a little louder this time, and you know it’s Drew. You can feel his presence even before he speaks, can sense the tension in the air as he waits for you to answer.

“Y/N?” His voice is soft, hesitant, and it only makes the ache in your chest worse. “Can I come in?”

You stay silent, not sure if you even want to see him right now. Part of you wants to open the door, let him in, let him apologize, but another part of you is still too hurt, too angry to even look at him.

“Please,” he says after a moment, his voice breaking slightly. “I need to talk to you.”

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath as you try to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside you. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you get up and walk to the door, opening it just enough to see him standing there, looking more tired than you’ve ever seen him.

His eyes are red-rimmed, his face pale, and there’s a desperation in his expression that tugs at your heart even though you’re still angry. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, like the weight of everything is finally crashing down on him.

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, his voice thick with emotion. “Y/N, I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I was frustrated and tired, but that’s no excuse. You’re doing everything you can, and I shouldn’t have taken my anger out on you.”

You stay silent, watching him as he steps closer, his hands trembling slightly as he reaches out to you. He doesn’t touch you, just holds his hands out, like he’s waiting for you to decide whether or not to let him in.

“I’m an idiot,” he continues when you don’t say anything, his voice trembling. “I know I am. I’ve been walking around all day thinking about what I said, about how I made you feel, and I hate myself for it. You’ve been amazing, Y/N, and I’ve been a jerk. I should have been supporting you, not tearing you down. I don’t deserve you.”

You can see the sincerity in his eyes, the regret that’s written all over his face, and it makes your heart ache. But you’re still so hurt, so angry that he would snap at you like that, especially when you’re both going through the same thing.

“I didn’t know what to do,” you finally whisper, your voice shaking as you struggle to keep your emotions in check. “I’m trying so hard, Drew. I’m doing everything I can, and it’s still not enough. And then you yelled at me like I was the one failing. Do you know how that made me feel?”

He closes his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. “I know,” he says quietly, his voice filled with regret. “I know, and I hate myself for it. You didn’t deserve that. You’re an amazing mother, Y/N. You’re doing everything right. I was just…” He pauses, taking a shaky breath. “I was just scared. I felt so helpless, and instead of dealing with that, I took it out on you. And I’m so sorry.”

You stare at him for a long moment, your heart torn between the pain he caused and the love you still feel for him. He looks so broken, so desperate for your forgiveness, and you can see that he means every word. He knows he messed up, and he’s trying to make it right.

Finally, you let out a sigh, your shoulders slumping as the last of your anger starts to fade. “You really hurt me, Drew,” you say softly, your voice trembling. “I needed you, and instead of being there for me, you pushed me away.”

“I know,” he whispers, his voice thick with guilt. “I know, and I’m so sorry, Y/N. I��ll do anything to make it up to you. Just… please don’t shut me out.”

For a long moment, you don’t say anything, just looking at him, trying to decide if you’re ready to forgive him, if you’re ready to let go of the hurt and let him back in. And then, finally, you take a step forward, reaching out to him.

He’s on you in an instant, pulling you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he’s afraid you might slip away. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s trembling slightly as he holds you, and it makes you realize just how scared he’s been, just how much he’s been hurting too.

“I love you,” he whispers into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you so much, baby. I’m so sorry for what I said. You’re everything to me. Please forgive me.”

You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into his embrace, letting his warmth and his love surround you. “I love you too,” you whisper back, your voice barely audible. “But you can’t talk to me like that again, Drew. We’re supposed to be in this together.”

“We are,” he promises, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. “We are, and I’ll do better. I promise, Y/N. I’ll be better.”

You nod, feeling a tear slip down your cheek as the last of your anger fades away, leaving only the love you have for him. He wipes the tear away with his thumb, his touch gentle, and then leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips, a kiss filled with all the love and regret he’s been holding inside.

When he pulls back, there’s a small, hopeful smile on his face, and it makes your heart swell with affection. “Come back to our room,” he says softly, his voice almost pleading. “I don’t want to sleep without you. I don’t want to be apart anymore.”

You hesitate for a moment, looking back at the bassinet where your daughter is sleeping peacefully, but then you nod, taking his hand. “Okay,” you whisper, letting him lead you back to your room.

The house is quiet as you walk through the halls, the weight of the day’s emotions starting to lift as you return to the familiarity of your shared space. Drew doesn’t let go of your hand the entire time, holding onto you like you’re his lifeline, like he’s afraid to let you go.

When you reach your bedroom, he pulls you into his arms again, kissing you deeply, as if trying to convey all the things he couldn’t say earlier. And you kiss him back, letting yourself get lost in the warmth of his embrace, the comfort of knowing that despite everything, you’re still in this together.

Finally, he pulls back, resting his forehead against yours as he takes a deep breath. “I’m going to do better, Y/N,” he whispers, his voice filled with determination. “I’m going to be the partner you deserve. I’m going to be here for you, no matter what.”

You smile, a soft, tired smile, but one filled with hope. “We’ll figure it out,” you say softly, cupping his cheek with your hand. “Together.”

“Together,” he echoes, pressing a kiss to your forehead before leading you to the bed.

You both climb in, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to you as you snuggle under the covers. Drew pulls you close, his arms wrapping around you as he holds you tightly, like he never wants to let you go.

And as you lay there, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his body against yours, you feel a sense of peace that you haven’t felt in days. The road ahead might still be difficult, but you know that you’re not alone, that you have each other, and that’s all that matters.

“I love you,” Drew whispers again, his voice barely audible as he starts to drift off to sleep.

“I love you too,” you whisper back, closing your eyes and letting yourself finally relax, finally let go of the day’s tension.

As you fall asleep in his arms, you can’t help but feel a sense of hope, a sense that no matter what challenges come your way, you’ll be able to face them together.

——

ps: i have another drew fic coming soon get ready

[fanficlolsblog]

THE CO-STAR PART 2

back to my main masterlist

pairing: actress!reader x jenna ortega

summary: the day after a tense kiss scene, Y/N and jenna ortega face awkwardness on set. jenna's avoidance creates discomfort, but a heartfelt conversation helps clarify the situation. jenna reveals she's dealing with personal issues, easing the tension and allowing them to start rebuilding their professional rapport.

warnings: personal and professional tension, emotion discomfort and awkwardness, strained relationships and personal issues which are not implied.

a/n: i posted this on wattpad to, i would appreciate it if you would go check it out :) loversxoxoxo.

part 1

The second day of filming after that infamous kiss scene was a tightrope walk between professionalism and personal tension. I arrived at the set, my stomach a knot of nerves, hoping the awkwardness from yesterday would fade into a distant memory. Instead, the atmosphere was thicker with discomfort than I'd anticipated.

Jenna had been distant since that intense scene. While we managed to exchange polite nods and forced smiles, every interaction felt strained, like an unspoken barrier had been erected between us. I caught her glancing my way occasionally, but whenever our eyes met, she quickly looked away, as if afraid to reveal whatever thoughts were tumbling through her head.

The day began with a quick wardrobe check. I tried to ignore the prickle of tension as Jenna walked in, her movements precise and focused. I offered a friendly “Good morning,” but she responded with a curt nod, her eyes already focused on the script in her hands. I followed suit, trying to bury my anxiety in the lines and stage directions.

Our first scene of the day was an emotionally charged dialogue. As Jenna and I took our positions, I couldn’t help but notice how she maintained a physical distance, avoiding any inadvertent touches or brushes of our shoulders. It was odd, given that we had shared such an intimate scene yesterday, and now even the smallest gesture seemed to be scrutinized.

The scene played out with an almost mechanical efficiency, the rawness of yesterday replaced by a clinical detachment. After the director called “cut,” I tried to make small talk, hoping to bridge the gap that had formed. “That was good, right?” I asked, offering a half-hearted smile.

Jenna’s response was a brief, “Yeah. It was fine.” She didn’t elaborate, and the silence that followed felt heavier than the lines we had just delivered. I wanted to ask her if everything was okay, but the look she gave me—half guarded, half apprehensive—made me hesitate.

Later, during a break, I watched as Jenna mingled with the rest of the cast and crew. She seemed engaged and animated with them, but when it came to me, she was avoidant. I understood, of course, that the kiss scene had been charged, but I didn’t expect the fallout to be so personal.

As the day wore on, I found myself increasingly disheartened. Jenna’s avoidance left me feeling exposed and uncertain, wondering if I had somehow crossed a line or made a mistake. The directors and crew members went about their work with the usual efficiency, but I was preoccupied with Jenna’s discomfort and my own lingering embarrassment.

During one particularly long stretch of waiting, I sat alone in the green room, trying to focus on my lines. Jenna walked in, and for a moment, our eyes met. I saw a flicker of something—regret, perhaps—before she turned her gaze away and took a seat on the opposite side of the room.

I took a deep breath and decided to approach her. It was a risk, but I needed to clear the air. “Jenna, can we talk for a minute?” I asked softly.

She looked up, her expression a mixture of surprise and wariness. “Sure,” she replied quietly.

I sat down across from her, the distance between us palpable. “I know things have been a bit tense since yesterday, and I just wanted to make sure everything’s okay. I mean, if I did something—”

“No, it’s not you,” Jenna interrupted, her voice steady but tinged with fatigue. “It’s just... I’ve been dealing with some stuff on my own. It’s been hard to separate personal feelings from work lately.”

I nodded, trying to process her words. “I get that. I just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable. Our scenes are really important to me, and I want them to be as authentic as possible.”

Jenna looked relieved, though still uncertain. “I appreciate that. I do. It’s just been... a lot. I’ll try to do better. It’s not about you.”

We shared a tentative smile, the unspoken understanding bringing a measure of relief. It wasn’t a complete resolution, but it was a start. As we returned to our respective places on set, the atmosphere felt a little lighter. We still had a long way to go, but acknowledging the tension was the first step towards mending our strained relationship.

As the day progressed, Jenna and I managed to find a new rhythm. It wasn’t perfect, but it was progress. The scenes felt less mechanical and more genuine, and I clung to that as a sign that we might, with time, navigate this awkward period and find our way back to a more comfortable place. Even be somewhat friends…

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

Bad Idea, Right?

Summary: You know this is a bad idea, but fuck it, it's fine.

Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut - this is just all smut. Unprotected P in V sex. Vaginal fingering. Dirty talk. Dean being a cocky little shit. Dean being fundamentally irresistible.

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader (You)

Word Count: 1,317

A/N: So, Bad Idea, Right? by Olivia Rodrigo (fabulous song, give it a listen!) came on earlier, and this little scenario just popped into my head.

P.S. I wrote this quickly - so sorry for any mistakes!

Dean Winchester Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists

The phone rang six times before you finally dragged your eyes open to groan and grope for the buzzing, trilling device on your bedside table.

You looked at the caller ID and were instantly awake and pissed. You sent the call to voicemail and dropped your phone on the bed beside you. 

But seconds later it was making noise again, so you angrily swiped your phone open just long enough to bark out a few words.

“Go to hell, Winchester. Stop calling me. I told you last time, we’re done.”

You hung up without hearing a word from him. You knew why he was calling, and you weren't interested.

Liar.

Your internal voice was always brutally honest with you, so you conceded that okay, yes, you were always going to be interested in a booty call from Dean Winchester, aka Walking Sex.

But you swore the last time that it was, well, the last time.

The two of you had already tried dating years ago, but it ended badly. You were both too much alike, stubborn and incapable of explaining your feelings to one another. You were pretty sure you loved him, but when you imagined telling him that, it felt like you were exposing a raw nerve. 

And it wasn’t as if Dean was the most emotionally available person, so between the two of you there had been an abundance of heat and acrobatic sex followed by fighting and more make up sex, but since that didn’t really translate to a healthy relationship, you’d both agreed to end it.

But even though you broke up over a year ago, you’d never quite managed to quit each other. Every month or so one of you called up the other, and no matter what you told yourself, that you were just gonna hang out, just gonna talk about the hunts you'd been on, inevitably, the night always ended with the two of you falling into bed for a night of extraordinary sex. 

You knew it was unhealthy, though, so you’d told him the last time that you were through, that this couldn’t keep happening. The conversation had devolved quickly and exploded into a massive fight that ended with him slamming out of your hotel room with just his unbuttoned jeans tugged up over his hips, dragging his shirt, shoes and jacket with him.

But now here he was at three in the morning calling again and again. 

And again! You thought angrily as your phone started buzzing once more.

You picked it up and swiped it open, drawing in a big breath to yell at him, but he spoke before you had the chance and his deep voice already had your stomach swooping and your resolve wavering.

“Sweetheart, just hear me out. I know what you said last time, and I know it’s a bad idea, but fuck baby, I just need you. Need to feel you moving against me, clenching so tight around me. It’s been too fucking long and I miss the taste of you.”

You tried desperately to hang on to your anger, but it was melting fast beneath the onslaught of need coursing through you.

Likely knowing he already had the upper hand, Dean continued. “Let me come over and make you feel good. You know you miss me too.”

Even as your head screamed at you to hang up, you heard yourself caving. “Get here in fifteen minutes or the chance is gone.” You said, knowing that even that was a lie.

But Dean hung up without another word and ten minutes later you heard the Impala squeal into your driveway. That sound alone left you dripping in anticipation. 

He didn’t even have the chance to knock, because you wrenched open the door as he bounded up your porch steps.

“This is a bad idea, right?” You asked pointlessly. 

But Dean nodded. “Yeah probably.”

You stood staring at each other for a heartbeat before you shook your head and leapt at him. “Fuck it, it’s fine.”

Dean was already pulling off your clothes as he pushed you back into your house and slammed the door behind him. You pushed his flannel off his shoulders, and yanked at his t-shirt as he got your pajama shorts off and then ripped off your tank top.

He growled as he lifted you so you could wrap your legs around his waist. He dipped his head down to suck your pebbled nipple into his mouth, drawing deeply and making you throw your head back with a shout of pleasure.

He set you on your kitchen table so he could kick off his boots and push down his jeans. He wasn’t wearing underwear and for some reason that realization made you feral. 

He swept two of his thick fingers through your slit, groaning at the dripping mess he found. He brought his sticky fingers to his lips and sucked your juices from the tips. 

“So fucking delicious baby. I’m gonna need to feast on you later, but right now all I can think about is getting my cock buried so fucking deep into that sweet pussy that you feel me for days, maybe even weeks.” 

His filthy words always drove you crazy. Listening to his deep, gruff voice as he described everything he was going to do to you, had made you come untouched more than once.

He slipped his fingers back into your slick, burying them inside you this time and scissoring you open, before sliding in and out of you a few times with a wet squelching sound. Then he curled his fingers forward like he was beckoning you to him, hitting your sweet spot perfectly, pressing and rubbing until you were writhing on the table and begging for him.

“Dean, please, just give it to me.”

“Yeah baby? You want it?” Dean asked with a smirk that made you wanna smack him a little. 

“Yeah, jackass! Why do you think you’re here?” You shouted at him breathlessly.

“Knew you were needing this big cock, knew you couldn’t go without me any more than I could go without you.”

He suddenly drove himself all the way into your heat with one thrust, ripping a pleasured scream from your throat. You clung to his shoulders, digging your nails into his hard, straining muscles as you both looked down to watch his thick cock slide in and out of your cunt, opening you up again and again.

You dropped back onto your elbows, head thrown back, as Dean lifted your hips off the table so he could drive in deeper.

“Jesus fuck!” Dean ground out. “You take me so fucking good, baby. Never had anybody take my cock like you do, so perfectly, clenching around me so goddamn tight.” 

As you squeezed him hard again, he sucked in his breath on a hiss and continued to pound into you, shaking the table and drawing endless, keening moans from deep inside your chest. Finally, he slammed into you hard and deep, hitting your sweet spot again and pushing you over the edge. With a high-pitched cry, you clamped down on his cock, making him shout out your name as he fucked you through your orgasm and into his own. 

He let your hips drop back onto the table and his softening dick slipped out of you. But he pushed it back inside and began nibbling on your breasts as he breathed out his words against your skin.

“I wanna feel you around me for a little longer, feel the way those little shuddering aftershocks of yours send electricity shooting straight through me.” He slid his hand to your clit and began rubbing you. “Gonna make you come over and over while I’m inside you, get me hard all over again.”

All you could do was moan and scratch your nails across his shoulders as the pleasure built deep inside you once more. A weak voice echoed in the back of your head reminding you this was a bad idea. But you just ignored it.

Fuck it, it’s fine.

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33

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[tarjapearce]

soccer family Miguel meeting wife’s family for the first time and vice versa?

Oh dear. What a bumpy ride. 🙃

Bit of angst in the end. (Will do her meeting his family later, don't worry ~)

Pt 2 here

Teeth pulled at the inner soft skin on your lips, chewing and biting away the waves of raw anxiety that washed over you.

"Stop that. You'll hurt yourself."

Miguel mumbled as he drove to your family's home. It was an unsettling surprise for you to know that your family wanted to meet him. But what truly surprised you was the fact that they knew.

Ever since you moved out from your family's home at 18, many things stopped happening. Fights, verbal and emotional abuse that went both ways, the constant comparison to your other same age family members and you, and of course, you being pushed around and invalidated.

College was a different kind of freedom for you. And the start of a new life without them. You barely visited them, even skipped the most important holidays to be away from them. In a way, it was thanks to that that you met Jessica. She had been a wonderful support on your life.

"I know... just-"

His large hand covered yours to then give a kiss on the back of your palm

"You'll be fine. And if you don't feel comfortable enough, we can go."

"I'm uncomfortable already and we haven't even arrived yet."

"They can't be that bad"

You deadpanned and sighed.

"Corazón, look. I know family's difficult. I really do, but a couple of hours won't kill you. It's a good chance to prove them wrong."

"I've got nothing to prove them, Miguel."

"Right. Still, won't be a bad idea for them to see you doing fine. Talvez asi se callan el hocico y te dejan en paz" (Maybe that way they'll shut the fuck up and leave you alone)

You giggled at his words.

In truth was that you told him everything, it was sort of sad yet amusing that you bonded over trauma sharing. It was a mutual catharsis that somehow ended up strengthening your relationship. He didn't know them, but for the things you had shared with him, he knew he'd be curt and polite.

You'd warn him about their modus operandi. They'd present themselves as kind and welcoming, but bit by bit the snide and passive aggressive remarks and comments would show up. You had hope that after years of barely visiting they'd change.

Something you were about to find out as he parked outside the colonial looking home.

"No matter what, stay away from the Horchata. My auntie thinks she is good at it but... it's yuck."

He chuckled and soon, you'd get out the car. Miguel rubbed your shoulders soothingly in an attempt to ease your restless nerves.

----

"Buenas gente" (Hey, People)

One of your elder aunts, the only one you truly liked and always supported you back in college came to greet you with a loving hug, "Mija!"

"Hola tía" (Hey auntie)

You hugged her back and mumbled a quick 'I missed you' before letting Miguel come into view.

"Tía, This is Miguel. My boyfriend."

Auntie gasped at the sheer size of him but gave him a gentle smile.

"Nice to meet you, mijo."

"El gusto es mío, madrecita" (The pleasure is mine)

"Oh! He speaks Spanish!"

The two shared a brief laugh as auntie invited you further. With a hand Miguel held a small present, a bottle of your dad's favorite rum and bunch of roses for your mother. and the other one he held your hand.

It seemed like a regular carneada for him, except that this time there wasn't meats to roast, but soup. Your mom's special seafood soup that was only done in special occasions. You could tell it would be difficult to leave emotionally unscathed when your mom and dad, three aunties, two cousins, and your brother were there.

Upon you making an appearance before all of them, the world stopped for a second, your breath was caught in your throat as you mentally prepared for the game of pretense.

"Mi niña! Come here!"

Your dad followed by your brother made the first ones in making an approach. The size difference sure was shocking for them all. Your father and brother had to crane his head up to see Miguel.

"¿Qué tal? Un gusto conocerte." (How's it going? Nice to meet you)

Miguel shook his hand with him firmly, something your dad approved. And then Miguel handed the packaged rum to him.

He had explained how you'd told him about his favorite drink. Your dad invited you and introduced Miguel to the whole family.

Some of your cousins oggled him shamelessly. Earning a frown from you.

However the biggest challenge laid ahead. Your mother had been watching both from afar, tending to the food with some of your aunties.

And when it was her time to be greeted, you held tighter on his hand. His thumb rubbing on your skin, reassuring.

You'll be fine.

"Mamá" You mumbled and her so ever deep stare settled on Miguel. Not even in you first, but Miguel.

"Fo you, Ma'am" Miguel gave her the roses which she took with a strained smile.

"Thank you very much. Miguel was it, right?"

"Así es." (Correct)

"Are you hungry? Made your favorite soup."

Her stalking gaze shifted between Miguel and you.

"Thanks. A bit would be nice."

"Hm. Go sit, Miguel. We'll tend to this."

Her gaze returned to the food and you nodded at him. He wasn't comfortable with the idea to just sit and watch. But by the things you had told him, it was better to not create unnecessary drama for you.

-----

Everyone seemed at the expectance of something happening between you and your mother. Your brother was trying to make casual conversation with Miguel, but his curt and simple answers made him desist. Plus, it didn't help his mahogany eyes seemed lighter.

If they were nervous about him looking so big with deep red eyes, they'd surely freak out by his fangs. It instantly made your stomach churn, you knew Miguel didn't appreciate people pointing at his insecurities so brazenly, even worse without knowing him.

Everyone sat down, a little blessing before anything and soon the feast begun.

Of course, eyes were settled on both of you and your interactions. Miguel followed your instructions to then help you break the crab.

One of your aunties smiled at it.

"So, Miguel, where do you work?"

Here we go

"Lab Manager at Alchemax."

Your brother whistled and nodded approvingly, just like your father.

Your relationships with him sure was strained, but at least he seemed to have a bit more self criterion than the rest when it came to pick sides. You'd rather him neutral. Just like your dad.

"Wow, you surely outdid yourself this time, cariño."

That cariño sat sickly fake in your stomach. She was the one that always instigated the fights further when you thought everything would calm down. You didn't smile, just ate.

Miguel was given a beer, a round of collective gasps as he tried to open the beer with his fangs. Your other auntie made a cross sign on herself and your mother's eyes widened.

A custom you still couldn't get out of him.

"Do they hurt?"

"How does one get those? They look so cool!"

"Are they comfortable?"

Your eyes caught the glimpse of him tightening his grip on the spoon.

"Ya pues!" (Knock it off!)

"There is no need to yell"

Silence immediately came to the table as your gaze and your mother's clashed.

"Disculpa eso, Miguel." (Im sorry for that, Miguel)

your dad shook his head at your cousins.

"Do you plan on having kids?"

You couldn't help but hide your face in your palm.

"Mamá, stop."

"What? I just wanna know! You're getting old enough to have kids. And Emanuel is always asking about you."

"We haven't discussed it yet." Miguel cleaned his hands with lemon, rinsing away the fishy smell out of his fingers. The coldness in his voice only matched your mom's icy stare.

"Oh."

"But do you want to have kids, Miguel?"

"Dios mío, ma! Ya basta." (My god, Mom! Enough.)

"Why are you so mad over a question?"

Miguel's jaw clenched. It made sense for him why you didn't visit. The way you rolled your eyes, made the ones that had finished already to stand up and leave. Their cue to leave things unfold.

Your elder auntie seized your mom with a glare. Your dad only recoiled to himself and your brother sighed.

"Ma, eso no se pregunta." The only attempt of him to calm the boiling tension between the two. (Mom, you don't ask such things)

Miguel gave you a 'do you wanna go now' stare. And you shook your head. Leaving would only make things worse. But you found the perfect excuse to leave the table.

"Need help, mi amor?"

"Sure."

He was perceptive to pick up your cues, the both cleared up the table and took the dishes to the sink.

---

"I'm so sorry you had to put up with it." You mumbled as you washed and he dried. The kitchen felt tiny for him.

"S'fine."

"Are you mad?"

"A bit uncomfortable. But no, not mad."

"We're leaving after we're done here." a deep sigh escaped your lips, "This is exactly why I don't come here."

"Whose Emanuel?" You groaned and shook your head.

"A man mom thought it was fun to pair me with a long time ago. I never indulged him but he never got the memo ever since I left this place"

"Sounds like he never got over you."

"Yeah, cause mom kept feeding his hopes of me getting with him together."

"Is that why you moved out?"

"One of the reasons, yeah."

You finished the dishes and Miguel excused himself to the bathroom.

He could hear the voices from the other side. One of your aunts surely and your mom.

"I give them a year."

"Did you see his... fangs? I've never seen something like that! And his eyes too!"

"Esta niña... Me va a sacar canas verdes. From all The guys she could pick, she gets one that is twice her size. Why she can't pick up normal guys?" (This girl, will get me green hairs)

Miguel's eyes turned apprehensive as his mouth settled in a straight line.

He had to hunch over the sink to take a look of himself in the mirror. He looked pretty normal, by any standards, until of course, he smiled. Pointy canines bigger than the average people stood out the most. His eyes were a different shade of brown. That was all.

He was fine.

He was normal.

He knew things like this would happen, he expected a bit of trouble. Not this.

His head felt heavy. Sudden spiral thoughts plagued his mind, corrupting the good things he held dear in his mind.

"As long as he's rich, don't care."

"Emanuel's surely richer than him"

That was the final straw. He knew you weren't that type of woman. Hell, you had invited him multiple times, knowing that you'd get broke for a couple of weeks. And still did it anyways. You loved to pamper him.

Why?

His steps guided him back to you. You were stressed and surely would cry at night. But so far you were keeping it together.

Your heart sunk a bit when looking at him. Neither of the both could stand being a second longer in the house. He followed you as you said your goodbyes. You didn't hug none but your elder aunt, and your dad, though the latter got an awkward hug.

You went back home. Neither of you said much during the trip back.

[court-jobi]

Learn by Doing

((Banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's work or Hirune's gorgeous art))

Pairing: Aizawa x reader (American!Pro Hero (fem)reader)

Words: 4.4k

Rating: T+

Warnings: ANGST/COMFORT, canon-typical fights mentioned, light injuries, minimal pronouns used, big feelings turned big confessions, reader is not very demure/mindful in this one and that's refreshing to me, Hizashi Yamada is a good friend, emotionally constipated Aizawa needs a hug

Summary:

You’re in trouble with just about everyone, in some way. Mixed reviews at best… but no doubt in trouble with your agency, the damage control unit, and most notably– Shouta Aizawa. You can look the President of the Hero Public Safety Commission in the face should you ever royally mess up; but not a disappointed ‘Zawa. 

In the moment, you expect to have to avert your sights from his trademark flat look of disapproval. But instead, you are honed in– finding him more raw than ever before. Turns out, Aizawa wasn’t just angry: he’s scared. He’s an angry crier, and that scares you straight. 

A/N: Omg I've been sitting proofing this one for so long, trying to get it right, until... i just needed to release it to the hounds of the internet. Just some friendly neighborhood AngstZawa for your viewing pleasure.

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Back in your beloved UA building, you expect Shouta Aizawa to start up the lecture you’re due for, but still- nothing from him. 

No word when you rejoined the team outside the raided building. No word when you received mixed praises of success from your superiors: who might have given all glowing remarks if it wasn’t for your unorthodox way of earning them that had them worried there for a moment. There’d be more investigation and potentially some penalties for tonight’s actions, even if the result was overwhelmingly positive. Though through each step of your mission debrief, Aizawa was dead quiet.

Not a single word from him -even out of comfort- when you got checked over by the medics on site, and nothing still on your drive back to UA courtesy of an equally tense Hizashi Yamada, who could no doubt feel ‘the energy of the studio’ tonight.

Hizashi looked at you sympathetically between the surface level chatter you two share in the car. Behind his aloofness behind the wheel, you gathered there wasn’t much he could say to appease the storm that he knew might be looming behind Aizawa’s nearly shut eyes. Per usual, said hero remained like a mouse in the backseat, his silence blaring loud. The twinkle in Hizashi’s eyes offered only the unspoken wish that you’d be patient and keep your pretty chin up. You relied on this energy, because it stems from a lifetime of knowing Shouta Aizawa and carries confidence, and have to trust in that history- even if you held a healthy amount of nerves from his silence that you’re certain is burning a hole into the back of your head in the car.

‘Zashi would ordinarily have said a quick ‘good luck’ once you parked… if ‘Zawa wasn’t waiting right outside your door, for you. This time, you merely gave a muted word of thanks and got on your way from the passenger’s seat.

The uncomfortable quiet remains when Yamada heads to the teacher’s lounge while you and your co-teacher head back to the dorms to check on the students and head to bed yourselves. However, when Aizawa veered to the South A tower -toward his classroom- he paused and checked for you in his peripheral– the unspoken command to follow rings loud and clear.

Even though you obeyed with a step behind him, your spirit was hardly calm like the night air around you. Aggravated by your still present headache, your pulse keeps thumping in your ears as you step through the still, minimally-lit hall. 

Aizawa opened the door to his room, holding it for you, while turning his head back down the hallway- away from your face as if he couldn’t spare the glance. 

God, this silent treatment. It’s juvenile, you’d think, if he didn’t radiate so much stern control that unnerved even the most upright student.

But the minute the door closes with his lock to seal you both in, Aizawa’s trademark drone returns– lethal as ever.

“You've sure got a lot of nerve, Miss America.”

Finally. 

You can take the dig at what reputation precedes you. At the end of the day, Aizawa tends to hear you out, no matter the tone, so you’re simply glad to be on talking terms again.

…but that doesn’t mean you’re entirely passive. You’re known for your sugar and spice. Unable to curb your attitude, you make no attempt to hide how much his pouting annoyed you, 

“Had enough of my chatty time-out, huh?”

“I find berating anyone when they’re already down to be cruel and ineffective,” Aizawa merely shrugs his coat off, then nods to the desks facing him at the front of the classroom. “But to say you don't need to get a firm talking-to would be delusional.”

The knocking around you received is a wound enough, so you’re thankful he doesn't mean to pour lemon juice right on it with a snappy reflex of ‘you should have been more careful’, with regards to your scrapes. But quite the long debrief awaits you now, nonetheless.

No, you know the events that got you to the point of overextension and liability must have been the bigger concern: 

"Look I get it,” you finally settle on the lip of the desk, Young Ojiro’s. “To you, that was a hothead move. But I've been around the block with ops like this, it’s far from my first...” 

You stress that your ‘nerve’ was not misplaced while Aizawa rounds his desk to loosen and stow his capture weapon.

“-but you saw on those cameras, they were teetering Iseri and Koshito too close to the edge- I couldn't just--"

"Both of whom are plenty prepared for these situations."

“But they’re kids-”

“They graduated four years ago, and have been in the pro circuit for the last three. They're not UA students anymore, and certainly not our direct reports. Those were the roles assigned in the mission terms, and you signed them.”

The shortness in Aizawa’s voice ignites so many things in you. Namely, outrage. Being shut down and interrupted has been -and continues to be- a big temper trigger for you.

But you remember, above everything else you know of the teacher: facts over feelings is the tactic that’s going to land with him. You had to lean into the rational side of things in order to explain yourself. 

The truth was, you were afraid he wouldn't trust you again. 

Over the last two years, you've trained with these students together. This year’s class is particularly promising -and challenging- due to the ridiculous amount of villain interferences you've faced as a staff… that you've faced together. More than any other sidekick, any other partner, Aizawa has been your anchor in all the ways that matter- even those unspoken.

Thankfully he’s in a listening mood now, and you hope it’s enough of an opening to talk this out. Since reapplying some eyedrops, Aizawa is solely set on figuring out what was wrong with his goggles. He’d gotten smacked around a good bit, too, though not as harsley as you. He’s scraped along his good cheek just a touch from a square hit to the face, though the poor lackey who chose to come at him with cheap moves didn't fare as gently. 

You train your volume down a pitch, seeking out a more tender part of the man before you. A still, small hope holds true that he could follow your line of reason enough to not dismiss you entirely. You couldn't bear that thought. 

"You trusted my judgment and I clearly see that I broke that... but I did nothing to put anyone at risk outside of myself, and when I see another way that can spare others, I take it. Without the visual outside, without any signal, I couldn't see any other ways to follow the plan, or else I would have done it,”

You press on, joining him in front of his desk now. Things are improved, him speaking to you, but not perfect. He’s not looked you in the eye in hours. So, you’d make yourself impossible to ignore. 

“I went off-book, and I acknowledge that. But please know that I don’t go rogue for nothing. Not because I feel like it, certainly!”

Still, no response. 

You flick at the still itchy residue from the butterfly bandages stretched taught at your temple and cheekbone. 

“You see this and think that's bad.. Imagine watching me pulling moves like that five years ago when I thought I was hot shit, n’where that would have gotten me…”

Aizawa’s jaw worked as he clasped and unclasped the hinge on his specs.

Unnecessary; they’re not broken badly. Anxious? Surely not.

“Aizawa, please say som-"

The goggles resound with plastic clatter on the table; its owner rounded the corner with blazing irises, and not one lit by any quirk. 

Aizawa in all his intimidating glory came close fast while leaving a desk’s distance between you, his eyes turning from anger- to fear- to utter heartbreak.

"There were other plans. There will always be alternatives. Solutions that don’t involve anyone, if you’d just slow down for a second to think.” 

“What solutions?!”

“They called Oversight in- who brought drones. He was on call the whole time,” Aizawa fired anger in short, perfect jabs, “Or did you ‘forget’ reading that, too?”

You’re put on notice quick.

“Wh– he was?”

“He took point on leveling tactics for the building. The city came with artificial reinforcements, too- diversions he created and leased to them for reconnaissance, tech designed to work on command without room for any human error,” Aizawa finally grits out his impeccable perspective, 

“We knew your radio went down, and we knew we had to get you help or else you'd be blind, so we called in  failsafes– but your blasting through going a mile a minute the moment we lost contact was far from rational. You didn’t even give us a chance to try and help.”

Shame bubbles where indignancy once filled you. 

You speed-read through the mission brief- overly confident, perhaps, and missed- -honestly, a key detail that might have changed everything. You’re clearly not used to serving on a team this large, this wide of a support net, and it shows.  Hyper-independence was costly now.

“...I.. didn't hear that.”

“No you didn't,” Aizawa answered cooly and aired his grievances further,

“You look at what's right in front of you, but you've got these blinders on, and that's one of the most dangerous things you can do in battle. You’re part of a team now, but you’re still acting like a vigilante. That’s reckless, no matter how seasoned you are. Think about Kaminari: you think he doesn’t look around before he sets off thousands upon thousands of volts in every direction before he acts? Or that Todoroki doesn’t consider if his ice is going to freeze out any bystanders or harm himself in the process? Each one of their actions can be costly: to those around them, and themselves.”

You swallow your idealistic pride beating beneath your chest, because you know he’s right. 

On that exposed open platform of the building, you’d been so worried about who had been close to the edge, that you tried to divert all attention to yourself in order to get them away from that precipice.

Your actions, your ‘diversion’ resulted in a tousle that: yes, gave the younger rookies a better chance at a safe exit, but landed you square in the trap yourself, and in limited range to the still-fighting thug who was not just caught, but pissed.  You’d also created more work for the Net Hero below to cast a gridlock wide enough to grab the villain effectively. 

As a long-distance fighter, those were poor odds you subjected yourself to. You’re lucky to have gotten out as smoothly as you have.

“I know that. And I am sorry–” you gestured to your own new set of blooming bruises for good measure, “-- and I’d like to think I’ve learned my lesson… That’s how you say your students learn best, right? ‘Learn by doing, learn what stings’?”

–Aizawa’s upper lip jolts in a scowl. Wrong thing to say.

“That’s not a win,” Aizawa threatens lowly. “No one in their right mind would be celebrating something like this. Injuries happen, but they shouldn't be needless.”

You wince, torn between guilt and annoyance again. 

“Yeah, well, I get it’s needless now, but I didn’t know what I didn’t know. At some point, we have to call mistakes what they are, and leave it, right?” 

“This is too important to drop,” Aizawa growls, “and I won’t, until I know you understand. This isn’t a test, this isn’t for a grade. This is serious. You’re getting hurt over it.”

Your defense was wearing thin, but you stood your ground. A more sassier remark would have been along the lines of dooming yourself to the ‘stupid Americans’ club till you’re inevitably deported- but that would be too emotional of a response, and not helpful. A fool’s hope was all you could carry now. 

You studied Aizawa for anything that would level out his respect for you- praying he held any. –you square yourself before him after as deep a breath as your winded lungs can give you– 

“I was wrong,” you pressed the point once again, “I overlooked key information that would have impacted my actions. I can -and will- learn from this and do better, and even do my part in meeting with more of our allies so I can work with them, not around them. Get all the information, and actually use it... And I don’t have to stick my dumb ass out on the line like a rookie, with shit like that.”

Aizawa agrees, but doesn’t look altogether happy about your apology.

“Any of those steps would have sufficed- if you truly couldn’t stick to the plan…”

You’re waiting for a final lesson learned, but receive a strange pang of emotion from Aizawa’s firmly set stare–

“But plans may still fail. You’re going to have to go off-book, it’s inevitable. I’m not slighting you for that. But if there’s one thing you have to keep at the front of your mind, it's that there’s only one you.”

You’ve been guarded this year. On edge, day after day, by threat of attack at all hours. You accepted this role as a teacher to help bolster the faculty’s support staff of heroes with the rising crime rates, but have come to enjoy the job on a much deeper level- in a way you wouldn’t have experienced without Aizawa specifically at your side…

This feeling -safety, even in the most uncertain circumstances- radiates from him whenever you’re together. Doesn’t matter what you’re doing; you don’t have to be in pressing danger or fight-or-flight to feel it. It’s a constant hum of assurance from Aizawa that settles your spirit and draws you to him. 

By action, he never pronounces his entrance or use flamboyant body language; rather it’s his subtle and meaningful motions that aim to soothe.  With his words, he says what he means, and doesn’t sugar coat things– and by that very token, you know even the kindest of affirmations that come out of him must also be true- few and far between as they are.

Those signs are all subtleties that point to a very private person. Ultimately, if you did not know him so well by daily interactions, you may never have picked up how a man like him truly feels. 

Only right now, you can’t help but see it. Every emotion he’d hold inside is palpable. He does feel very strongly, and you’re gifted by its raw power: even as you are the sole audience for such a show.

There’s something in his eyes that’s not so much angry, but pained. It’s rearing up like wings to make itself appear bigger than it is, but also to shield away from unwanted eyes. It forces you to stare back, and not look away. Demands you attention, because this matters.

It’s scared.

“I know you don't give a damn what you think of yourself,” he says cautiously, “but the rest of us do care what happens to you-”

The words your nursing friend had said at the hospital tending to your most recent injuries. That this is beyond a dauntless streak of selflessness, but that your life has value and meaning. Aizawa must not have been ignoring you fully earlier. Hearing him say this proves that he had overheard you both after all– and to an extent agrees. 

Damn, your pride doesn’t like hearing that. And damn your self-deprecating sense of humor: the one that’s not-so-funny to the Japanese populace, apparently. 

You cross your arms, a flit of sarcasm dripping as a defense mechanism:

“Ok, Doc– I get it–”

“I’m not Doctor Mori.” Aizawa snapped, void of patience. “Or your darling Suzuki for that matter.”

Your two best friends, the latter whom you share a group chat with who will also not be happy hearing what's happened to you today. Neither would negate anything Aizawa has told you so far. In fact they'd agree, wholeheartedly.

Furthermore, they know what he means to you, too. Beyond your hero work, beyond your classroom partnership… 

They know Aizawa makes your world go ‘round. You practically set your clock to his time, so that you might be in sync and have something reliable in your life. You learn from him, you thrive by him, you're thankful for how you've grown and how you continue to feel when he looks your way. It's all genuine, and you appreciate that in a level that's perhaps become more than that of friends. 

Guilt twinges the strength left in your words, 

“I know you're not… your say matters, too.”

“Well your actions sure as hell aren't matching. You say my words have weight? Then you listen to me now.”

Aizawa flares his sights at you, rounding the last tabletop between you as he does so.

“I don’t expect half measures from you and I would never ask that of you. I do believe you are a great hero, and I believe you’re going to give your all, don’t misinterpret that. Never doubt that. But for whatever it's worth- if it even means to you what it means to me- you don’t just have a circle of people who want you and need you… who doesn’t just see you as another name on a mission roster, or just an asset to a team… But there are people who hate watching you dance with danger like it’s something only you can do, not when you have someone who will be at your side.. As we fight it together.”

Before irritated disbelief could settle across your face– Aizawa’s fight-worn hands that had laid fisted by his side flew up and cupped the base of your skull.

Aizawa’s eyes sting red with tears; wet emotion bared in your presence for the first time. 

“You are my breath,” Aizawa manages your name desperately, “My anchor, and my light, and you’re holding what little heart I have left, and I can’t lose you.. to this.”

–his words had you shocked speechless. Your heart could break itself looking back in those eyes. 

You sense the hurt bursting from the seams right in front of you– hurt that had rendered him silent for much of your journey back here. You can't imagine having been the one who scared him this much, someone you truly believed was immovable. 

Aizawa’s given you something far more important than a down-to-earth talk. It’s a beautiful confession you never saw coming.

Your hand cups his wrist back gently, its tendons tremble underneath you. He asked you to call him by name, so you would.

"Z-. Shouta..."

His eyes shut, and he falls forward, his forehead to yours. Containing tears within, Aizawa steeled his deep voice again:

"I have these nights… nights with dreams so bad, I can't wake when I want to. And then others, where I never want the good dream to stop. You're in both, and that scares me to no end."

His fingers bear down on the hastily thrown-on menthol patch you'd not get spent the minimal seconds it takes to affix straight. He feels the raising bump under the pads of those fingers, feeling evidence of your recklessness yet again. 

“I lived a life without you. It feels so long ago now...after we met, after you stood by me at city hall–I don't want anything less. Never again. I just want you to be more careful about these things."

Tears pricked yours, too. Never would you have imagined a close call would have affected him like this. Out of the hundreds of nights you’ve rounded up villains together, you’d broken the final straw of his resolve.

He cares. He cares for you. You dare to think he may love you– and found this as his way to say it. 

"I was- I really didn't-- I'm sorry, Shouta. Please..."

His eyes opened at your voice calling.

"Then promise me."

"Promise?"

"Promise me you won’t take these risks again. Not alone. Not when you have someone in your corner... Someone who can help you see past the hurt, the vengeance– whatever is going through your head that you’re thinking you need to prove. We can make something better from it. Smarter. I’ve walked that path; I know it well.”

You nod in his hold; your oath back to him, as he lays it all out. Were this a written love letter, you’d memorize every line. 

“-but promise me you'll never scare me like this. Not when it’s avoidable. Don’t ever do this again."

Aizawa’s voice fell to a choked whisper by the end. The last window of his strength crumbled like settling dust while his thumbs scroll your temples reverently.

You swallow tensely, nodding all the quicker, 

"Yes, I promise, yes.” You’ll fuck things up differently, sure, but not like tonight’s show of heroics.

Aizawa shuddered; it sank in. "Thank you."

Still, you made it your job to make him believe, so you lifted up off the desk to stand before him. Fighting the burn in your arms was a worthy cause when rising to hug him– and rewarded you instantly as he reciprocated. You relished in the feeling, the warmth from his breath on your neck, how securely his arms held you tight, the caring hand that fisted the back of your hair in an intimate gesture. 

There was nowhere else you'd rather be. Taking a deep breath, you let your eyes close in his hold. You’d tell him someday, but you’ve dreamt of him to, though not so heartbreaking in memory, as he shared with you. Many of your dreams settled on moments just like this; tame, warming fantasies that you wished you could share with him as a break from the chaos. Because he deserved softness, too.

And here he was: hugging you. You smile. Shouta Aizawa -man of a thousand sleepless nights- is fucking hugging you. Hizashi will never believe this.

You felt the change the minute your name crossed the line of Aizawa’s lips. His shoulders sagged and he pressed into you, his hands loosening and patting your hair, the fierce nature in which he'd captured you melting into a protective caress.

The man’s face still sunk inwards, weary as he met your eyes. Where was that look coming from? He seemed so worried, like he wanted to say something but was trying hard not to. His gaze darted to your lips to your cheeks- basking in every bit of this moment, like he'd never get the chance to be this close again.

Hearing his inhale at the touch, your hand smoothed over his heart, purposefully, lovingly. Eyes locked, you tipped your head to the side and lifted your chin to be clear to him- an invitation. The corners of his mouth lift. 

I feel the same, you want to cry to him. But with his emotions still sitting under the surface, you will yourself to be the strong one.. just for a moment longer. You’ll share your vulnerability once the pain meds wear off.

Aizawa met you halfway in one fell swoop. Still tender from your fight, you brought his lips to yours to seal in the promise made. 

This kiss was more than you imagined. Impossibly gentle lips, dizzying warmth, the lowest of hums leading into it. Had he been angry, it might have been a growl, but you’re sure you would've jumped on it anyway. The energy he gave into this first kiss caught even you by surprise.

After another drawn out press, you bowed your foreheads together and took in shaky breaths.

"Wow,” you sighed out a smile.

He whispered the awestruck wonder back, and drew you right back in.

Parting after several rolling kisses later, you saw him clearer, sporting that Totoro smile at your blissful face. 

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do this," Aizawa spoke into your ear, still holding you close, but mindful of the tender parts you winced at.

Careful of the taxed weakness in his elbow, you carefully massaged up his arm gently, “Sorry I had to piss you off to get it~”

He chuckled breathlessly, feeling soft enough to nuzzle your cheek. You laughed at the roughness of his scruff on yours. It’s so comfortable with him like this. felt up his chest slowly while you had the chance. He took a deep breath at the sensation. 

"Guess this means you’re putting in your name as ‘that someone’? Do this together then?" You gestured with your shoulder between you, working out the words, “I mean, I should hope so– you just kissed the daylights out of me."

Aizawa brushed some hair away you'd nervously let forward. He seemed cool as ever, but spoke gently with you. 

"I wasn't so sure someone like me could feel this way about someone like you. So yes. I'd like to see where this could go,” Aizawa centered back to meet you with level calm. “I think.. what we have to start with, works. Don't you?"

You smiled sweetly and nodded with confidence. How things will look for you from this point on will simply build on the foundation you have. That all can be learned. Finessed. You braved a smile and assured him, despite the nagging fear you felt you caused;

"I won’t let you down, ‘Zawa."

His eyes almost rolled shut into a breathy chuckle.

"You know, I adore you. So damn much." He captured your lips again in a couple long kisses. You hummed in between them, drowned out by his own possessive trills back as they echoed into your shared mouths.

You gave a breathy little giggle in happiness and trailed your fingers over the edge of his jaw, caressing the stubble of beard. 

“Guess I have added incentive to stick around then.”

“Oh, you are. And you’re going to have to face the music with the city task force come Monday.”

–Ah yes, this felt more normal. The king of rational thought swooping in to burst your bubble. But… you suppose you rely on this too. All part of the Eraserhead package deal.

You’ll take it; along with your consequences.

“Ugh shit.”

“Told you so.”

Planning out your next steps in Aizawa’s homeroom, as a team, went well for the remainder of your time propped up at his desk… until you got distracted again. This new dynamic between you will be sure to prove tempting, you fear, as inevitably your reputation for being a horrific flirt started getting the best of you when Aizawa stuck his hair up to get back to work.

Unfair, how good he looks when he’s angry. Even worse when he looks back at you, in love.

[pommetarte]

Closed doors, Pt. 1

Rin Itoshi x GN! reader

Angst to Comfort/Fluff. SFW.

₊⊹˚♡Summary ₊⊹˚♡

Rin and you have been dating for a while. Everything so far has been smooth sailing up until now, where his insecurities of not being the best for you had surfaced. In his head, you deserve the best anyways. Long story short, a fight broke out between you two, and he’s even more nerve-wracking now that he’s scared of losing the very person he’s been living for.

‘You don’t know what I feel; you don’t understand at all!’ A male’s voice loudly rang in the apartment.

"How would I know if you never told me anything?” You retorted, following behind him as he moved around, “You know I’ll listen to you anytime!”

He stops, considering spilling out everything that he’s been keeping inside him, considering laying his heart bare for you to see—he stops, squinting because he’s never felt so vulnerable, so brutally honest about his emotions. It’s scary stepping out of your comfort zone.

You look into his eyes and notice something new; this isn’t like the usual Rin Itoshi you knew. The Rin Itoshi that ruled the field like a star player—no,  this was raw emotion you saw in his eyes. His calculated gaze softened, a glint of fear present. You tend to notice these things the more time you spend with someone.

"Hey, are you okay?” you asked, stepping closer to gently hold his chin in your palms, aiming to ease nerves. For a split second, you could feel every inch of his being lean into the touch, him softening for just that moment—until he snapped back into reality. 

“NO!” he blurts out rather loudly, and you see his eyes almost well up with tears from how much this is taking a toll on him, emotionally and physically. He regrets it; he never meant to say it so harshly; he knew he wasn’t acting his usual self. He would have never been this rough to you��the one he holds dearly in his heart. “I-I’m sorry… I didn’t mean—” He stammers out weakly before cutting himself short. “I… I’ll be back; just give me some time to collect myself,” he says softly before exiting the room, walking towards the balcony, and closing the door. He’s a mess of emotions swirling in his chest.

You could only watch and stay there, taking in the initial shock from the whole interaction. Slowly you stalk towards the balcony, sitting by the door as you wait for him. You know being open about emotions is new to Rin, even during the beginning of your relationship. That never stopped the connection between you both from blossoming. You wait patiently as he takes time to himself, trying to make sense of the mess of nerves he’s become.

Outside, Rin sits on the chair reflecting what had just transpired. He hates himself even more for what he just did to you. But he also knows that he would do just about anything to treat you well, even if it means breaking down his walls to let you in. He just needs some time-and closed doors for now.

[bearw-me]

Hellooooo! You write Lute so well (the best in my humble opinion), sooo I figured you'd be the best person to bring this request to🖤

Could i request a lute x girlfriend!reader where they used to be long-term best friends, but during the friendship reader was convinced she was straight bc she'd never been attracted to a woman before Lute.

Now they're in a new relationship and Lute is helping her girlfriend come to terms with her sexual orientation/identity as a bisexual. Or a lute-sexual considering Lute's still the only woman she's ever had an attraction to 💀

*Bonus points if reader expresses that she's afraid she won't be a good girlfriend considering she'd only been with 1 man before her and doesn't know how to "properly treat" a woman (She treats Lute great as a gf and a friend, poor thing's just new to this)*

Lmbo imagine reader just having bi-panic anytime she interacted with Lute during their friendship Or getting flustered anytime Lute did anything remotely attractive during their relationship

Thank youuuuu! Also random question: who's your fav character in Hazbin?

ty for such kind words! :')

+ fav hazbin character isss- lets say husk (i feel a kinship with him lol, plus i LOVE keith davis's voice) i also adore angel and adam <3

𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬? — 𝐋𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐇𝐜𝐬

𐐒 ft : lute x girlfriend!reader 𐐒 cw : fluff, slight angst, lute makes you blush as per usual 𐐒 summary : lute assures you she's happy-more than happy- to be with you, despite being the first woman you've ever dated + drabble at the end :) 𐐒 note : lute-sexual is SO relatable

Lute just holding both sides of your face, squishing you while she reassures you that: "You are an amazing girlfriend"

She sighs, "Don't be stupid."

she's always trying to physically smoosh the sentiment into you, either with her kisses or by holding you down and affirming you.

Lute is very gentle, emotionally speaking. She understands the new-raw emotions you must be feeling, being in a relationship with a woman for the first time.

If you're having a hard time coming to terms with your sexuality, Lute can wait as long as it takes.

You're both in the same boat: She's never been in a relationship, and you've never been with a woman.

As her best-friend, you try to be there for her through laughs and sorrows.

Eyeing her curves and respecting her brilliance in battle. . . her ability to not be talked down to no matter the foe.

For all those years you lusted for her. . . you mistook the feelings for friendly support, ignoring the way you'd blush when you watched her come back from training: A sports bra, and long martial arts shorts adorning her heavenly body. The muscles around her back built to shoulder the burden of wings, and a strong core to match.

A literal form build by god. . . the sight making you tremble with nerves.

And. . . now you were with her.

Lute adores all the thoughtful gifts you give her throughout the day. It makes her smile, silently treasuring the things you buy or find for her.

In a relationship, I think Lute can already tell whenever you become flustered by her or overwhelmed.

For example: she takes her shirt off and turns to you, watching you tremble and bury your burning face into your hands, attempting to hide it from her but peeking through your fingers.

She thinks its the cutest fucking thing in the world.

"Lute? How can I even be a good girlfriend for you? I don't... I don't know how to..." You manage to spit out as she walks over to the bed your sitting on.

She smiles softly, crawling over to sit on your lap, cupping your face in her hands to stop you from hiding.

"Babe, you're a fucking great girlfriend," she assures you.

And Lute revels in your beauty, holding your face and running her thumbs over your cheeks, and committing every bump and blemish to memory.

"Kiss me?" You ask her happily, almost like a puppy.

And its Lute's turn to blush, her face bursting into a fiery red bliss, tackling you backward onto the bed in an attempt to distract.

[scoobydoodean]

5.07 is so touching from a Dean and Bobby perspective but also so funny and one doesn’t happen without the other. It opens with Dean updating Bobby on the case Bobby had directed them toward. Dean asks how Bobby’s doing and Bobby snaps at him. The next time they talk on the phone, purely talking about the case, Bobby again kind of takes his bad mood out on Dean, telling him to get off the phone and work. Dean brushes it off, knowing Bobby is in pain. But then Bobby shows up in Dean’s eye-line just in time for Dean to find out Bobby played Patrick at poker and lost, and Dean explodes. He calls Bobby an idiot and asks him what the hell he was thinking.

The rest of the episode, Bobby and Dean snark at each other and call each other idiots, mocking each other for complaining, and I think becoming old gives Dean the confidence to continue to engage with Bobby this way and facilitates an important one episode dynamic.

Instead of asking Bobby how he is and letting him snipe at him, old Dean refuses to take Bobby’s sniping and mocks him back… and I think this is exactly what Bobby wanted. He indicates several times in the episode that he isn’t open to a heart to heart, and it’s because it needs to be earned. Bobby’s in a dark place where he feels pathetic and useless (even though he’s been indispensable!) and even being asked how he is just reminds him of the pain he’s in and how much things have changed and how he isn’t the same. He’s a raw nerve and he IS emotionally delicate but he doesn’t WANT to feel that way and can’t stand being reminded that he does. So having Dean refuse to treat him that way—instead telling Bobby stuff like “You’re right. I’ve never been paralyzed. But I’ve been to hell and there’s an archangel there that wants me to drop the soap. My junk’s rustier than yours. You hear me bellyaching?” / “What were you thinking? He’s a witch! He’s been playing poker since guys wore tights!” / “Bobby’s an idiot, that’s what!” / “At least your legs are numb” / “Pound it up your ass, ironsides!” all treats Bobby as someone capable of handling that kind of banter (even banter that references his paralysis) instead of as someone fragile who needs to be handled in a fragile way.

And Bobby IS capable of handling that kind of banter! He gives as good as he gets and also gets to vent about his condition the entire episode simply through minimizing old Dean’s state and all his aches and pains. Yelling at old Dean to stop being a grandma and etc allows him to release so much internal resentment about how angry his own condition makes him without him feeling delicate and vulnerable in the process, because Dean is complaining too so it’s all in the context of a fight instead of a sharing and caring session. Dean is attacking back so they’re on equal footing and Bobby doesn’t feel babied! He feels strong, especially when Dean complains openly more than him and Bobby gets to snipe at him for it.

So then by the end of the episode, Dean is able to have a sincere conversation with Bobby about how much he matters to him without Bobby getting angry and shutting down because he receives it as pity. Dean is the guy who fucking told him “At least your legs are numb,” after Bobby told him to stop complaining about having to dig a grave by himself at the age of 80, and Dean’s going to keep calling him ironsides, so even though Bobby doesn’t stop hurting (we see his last look of sorrow at the end of the episode), by the end of the episode, he feels less raw due to Dean refusing to treat him that way.

[audi0med1c]

Lucky✨

In honor of Halsey’s beautifully soul-bearing new single (especially the emotionally raw stripped version), I couldn’t resist making a quick visual for my AU fic…the first half of this song perfectly pairs with my latest chapter of my Clexa celebrity AU, “High Infidelity”- where we follow Lexa through the rest of awards season following her botched gesture for Clarke🥺

🚨(Abbreviated thread of SOME of the images from these chapter and the ending scene, click link to read in full👇🏻) 🚨 -big shoutout to my creative assistant and esp my personal Lexa tattoo artist @darkomen-carey for doing all my photoshops🫶🏼

In the soft light of Costia's bedroom, the giddy blonde lays back on her bed in a grey t-shirt and silky cheetah sleep shorts, tossing her hands up over her head, watching as her guest climbs onto the bed after her in just black panties and a white tank top. 

Looking down, Lexa can still chart the constellations in her eyes, as Costia's looking up at Lexa with complete adoration from underneath, not a thought in her head that doesn't revolve around how natural this feels and how obsessed she is with the way Lexa examines her with hungry eyes before settling atop her hips to straddle her.  

"Hi Babylove" She coos, settling her hands on Lexa's hips. 

Lexa smiles, and her sigh relaxes her weight completely over the girl beneath her as she leans forward, gripping Costia’s wrists to put them back overhead on the pillow as she kisses her, breathing into it, drawing long inhales in through her nose as her lips press and suck at those she's anxiously waited to taste all day. 

The physical touch is grounding, because her nerves have only grown worse all week, approaching tomorrow.  It's taken all of her self-control to not respond to Clarke over the weeks, no matter how much she wanted to.

Because no matter what she does, she can't shake the images of Clarke so visibly enamored with every small touch, every glance, every moment of care and comfortability between her and Luna in that gallery.

The gallery she bought for Clarke. 

What would Clarke even have done if she HAD seen her?

No matter, it would have been infinitely worse, to have suffered the embarrassment of Clarke seeing her there, of Luna seeing her there.  God for RAVEN to have seen her there. 

No. She's glad she left. She knew it was a stupid idea in the first place.

Maybe this is really both of our chances to start over.

"Babylove" the girl hums, breaking their lips apart with a turn of her head.

Costia had felt the slow shift, the excessive pressure behind the kiss that tells her Lexa's thoughts are far away, that the brunette is using the physical outlet to escape whatever emotions are building within.  In a moment that had started so soft and unalloyed mere seconds ago now weighed down on top of them like a boulder because Lexa knows that Costia had grown too good at reading her, and wanted to avoid this conversation, or any for that matter.

Lexa, though, tries to resume their makeout, seeking back the lips that had just pulled away.  When Costia flips her face back and forth to deny Lexa her mouth, the brunette shamelessly whimpers, equally frustrated as she is desperate for release, burying her face into the girl's neck.

"Hey....what is it?" She strokes the sides of Lexa's head, and immediately the girl on to of her drops her head.

They both know the answer.

"It's just dinner..." The blonde says gently as Lexa sits back up, still straddling her hips, "Since when can't you work a crowd?"

The silence says the obvious, but Costia voices it regardless.

"You're nervous to see her."

Lexa fidgets atop the blonde, but before she can slide off, Costia braces her hips to keep her in place.

"Don't." She urges, "Don't shut down on me."

But Lexa's fighting hard to do just that. She didn't come over to talk. Not tonight. The past month had been the perfect mix of work and interviews and events and parties and lots of NOT talking with Costia.

Not talking seemed better because the last time they did really talk, Lexa informed her about the texting that had started back up with her ex - despite its innocence.

Last time they talked she disclosed her intentions to attend Clarke's showcase, and even though the blonde smiled sweetly through obvious pain, assuring her it was okay, it was bending the truth too far. Because she still didn't know what any of it meant anyways, but she couldn't hide the truth from Costia. But what even was the real truth anyways?

"Lexa."

The soft utterance of her name loosens the knot forming in her gut momentarily, that voice that quells her cyclone of spiraling thoughts and the blonde gently pulls her down but she braces herself with her elbows on either side of Costia's head.

With their noses inches away, the younger girl tilts her head up just enough to nuzzle her nose across Lexa's.

"Tell me what's going on in there." She coaxes.

Lexa lets her eyes drop closed and breathes in the scent of vanilla and cinnamon, still clinging to the girl's skin from her shower before Lexa arrived. She focuses on the loose grasp Costia's hands keep on the sides of her torso, the stillness of her hips, resisting any urge to rock against the weight pressing down onto her when they both know what Lexa came over for.

Lexa's exhale is laden with defeat, but she nuzzles her nose right back, then rests her forehead against the blonde's.

"One of these days you'll regret meeting me."

The words hang like an omen.

Costia responds by tilting up to meet Lexa's lips in a kiss so delicate, so tender, that Lexa is once again dragged into a riptide of emotions where she can't figure out which direction to swim in.

"Never." Breathes the blonde, barely separating to utter against her lips, "I could never."

The ensuing kisses escalate in desperation, in such a way that Costia again pulls back, stopping.

"You're doing it again." She says.

Lexa stares back blankly, confused.

"You switched off."

Frustrated, Lexa huffs and rolls off the blonde's body, hanging her legs off the edge of the bed.

"You think I can't tell?" Her fingers trace the tops of Lexa's shoulders, meekly kneeling behind her as the brunette sits up facing away.

"Fine, I won't kiss you then." Lexa shrugs off Costia's touch and stands, fetching her sweatpants to step into.

"So we are right into the defensiveness."

Lexa exhales in a devastatingly sad tone, "I'm here, Cos...." Pulling up her sweatpants, "Whatever there is that's left of me... is here. I'm sorry if that's not enough for you."

"It always is." The girl assures, staying in her position on the bed for now, "But I can tell when you shut the lights off, when you switch to autopilot..." Lexa's face tries to protest but the blonde continues, "I don't just want this..." Her hand motions around Lexa's body, "I want YOU, Lexa. I've told you if you just need sex you've always had my blessing to go get that elsewhere."

Lexa paces around Costia's room, her mind actively fighting against her, not wanting to think about anything right now. The bubble is bursting and she's not ready for it.

"So what...?" Costia insists, noticing the girl's walls going up, "What's the plan here Lexa? Because everyone is scared of being hurt." She wants the brunette to look at her but she won't, and she strains to keep her voice from sharpening, "You act like having feelings is some weakness, some...'thing'... that's gonna destroy you if you let them in."

Because they might.

Lexa's pacing stops when she braces against the dresser on the far wall, just barely able to look at the girl in bed through the reflection of the mirror in front of her.

Costia's tone softens as she cocks her head, "So what'll it be? You gonna just stop caring? About everyone?"

Lexa's jaw stays rigid, her voice scratchy, "Not everyone." She finally turns around to face the girl in bed, "Not you."

Costia's head falls to the other side, and with a playful roll of her eyes, slides off the bed to step towards Lexa, who accepts her into embrace.

"Don't quote your show at me." She can't hold in her giggle, but it gets the desired outcome, as Lexa's lips stretch into a smile, "You care about more than just me...always the dramatics with you babylove..."

"You started it..." Lexa grins.  

She plants a peck on Lexa's lips and tucks strands of hair behind her ear, and runs her hands down over her shoulders.

"I need you to stop beating yourself up for things you are allowed to feel."

Lexa, with hesitation, "So eager to push me back to her are you...?"

Costia frowns, "I didn't say I had to LIKE how you feel about her..."

The actress wraps her hands around the blonde's tiny waist.

"I'm here Cos, with you."

"Not really." She argues back, "You're elsewhere. I see it."

"What do you want? I'm trying Cos..." Lexa mildly snaps, and goes to drop her hands, to step away but Costia holds her firmly in place against the dresser, "We've been out to places a bunch..." Lexa notes, "I haven't been to a bar or club or so much as messaged anyone else in how long?"

"I never asked you to do that..."

"You got to come with me to all those afterparties...was that not a step forward?"

Costia subtly shakes her head, "I didn't know you were keeping count."

"Keeping count of what?"

"Of boxes you think you have to check to prove something to me."

Lexa manages to break free and walk back to the bed, scooting all the way back against the headboard with a sigh, while Costia stays leaning on the dresser.

"Lex...this past month has been amazing. I'm not asking for more. I'm just asking you be honest with me." She takes a deep breath before continuing, "Ever since you told me about the texting, about the showcase...I know those didn't go the way you hoped...no matter how you tried to downplay it."

Lexa winces hearing the words.

"I don't doubt how you feel about me, but you don't need to pretend you DON'T still feel things for her. Even if she doesn't deserve it in my opinion."

Lexa, looking over to her, "Cos it's not like-"

"Let me finish."

Costia walks over to stand at the foot of the bed.

"I don't want her to hurt you, again. I don't want her to even get the CHANCE to ever put you through what she did ever again…."

Lexa sees the sincerity, the protectiveness, the possessiveness. 

"But I..." Her voice hitches, and Costia looks down in an attempt to control her now quivering bottom lip, "I don't want to be the one standing here with you only because you couldn't have what you really wanted..." She clears her throat, and fixes her jaw, looking Lexa directly in the eyes, "So...maybe it's good that she'll be there tomorrow."

Lexa's chest practically caves in at the sight in front of her. At the girl who least deserved to be caught up in her mess, who she did everything to keep from letting her into such mess.

The past month she thought was the best they could have hoped for, in moving them along towards something, anything beyond their late-night batsignal beginnings. She meant what she said to Anya - she wants to do right by her. She WANTS to be the person Costia believes her capable of being.

And Clarke.... Clarke can feel guilty about the showcase, but she can't deny what Lexa saw with her own eyes in that gallery.

She SAW IT.

Whatever feelings Clarke may or may not still harbor for her, her ex showed no intentions of letting it affect Luna's roots spreading into the soil of her life. So why should Lexa let it stop Costia's?

Lexa slides open her legs and pats the space between them, beckoning the girl onto the bed, which she does, crawling across the mattress and turning to sit in front of Lexa, leaning back into her chest as arms wrap tightly around her.

"We are what we are." She says, nuzzling into Costia's hair, "And I like what we are. I don't want it to change. Not yet."

Costia leans into the touch, letting herself be held together while her insides crumble, knowing if there's any true hope for them, she has to weather this storm. She's helpless against the hurricane that is Clarke Griffin that's surely on a path to blow in and do whatever amount of damage to Lexa, to them, to everything she's worked so hard healing in the girl holding her. 

She's been sharing Lexa ever since she met her, maybe this wouldn't be that much different...?

"She's had plenty of chances." Lexa tries to assure her, "She didn't take them."

Costia shakes her head, but Lexa only tightens her hold.

"Hey..." The brunette plants several kisses where the girl's neck meets her shoulder, "You brought me back to life. YOU did that."

Costia twists in her lap, and Lexa cradles her sideways as the blonde pulls her in for a kiss filled with trepidation of what tomorrow might bring.

The pair sits for some time in a comfortable silence, in each other's embrace leaned against the headboard, content letting the night not lead to where it was originally intended.

"Go pick a record to put on."

[septembersghost]

If this is a weird comment you don't have to post it, but listening to E a lot I notice there are a bunch of idk? sounds in his songs that I guess they'd edit out now. you mentioned him laugh in Power of My Love and I hear it EVERY time now, but there's a lot of other stuff too that makes the recordings sound so real.

not a weird comment, i love this actually, and it's true.

i think it's a combination of factors. obviously, no digital editing (and no auto-tuning, which is why his studio vocals and his live vocals are as close to identical as they are. studio recordings are cleaner due to the setting and equipment, but the timbre and tone, the color, the melodic quality, that was truly the man's voice), although engineers could still clean things up in places, and lay in background vocals and further instrumentation etc, it was a bit more involved/arduous as a process and the central recording probably didn't get fiddled with as much. i'm not going to say i'm super well-versed on production of the time, but of course computers and digital mixing, snipping together various takes, etc, today can alter a LOT of what's captured to make it more "flawless." if you listen to any of his rough studio cuts/outtakes, you'll hear him rehearsing, changing up tempos, deciding on different arrangements or following instruction, (messing up lyrics and laughing and being a weirdo lmao i love him), clicking into how to get a song to work.

i also think it has something to do with E's particular technique and delivery, where he breathes is often very deliberate (try singing along and you'll notice how measured and controlled he was at this and the way it emotionally affects his delivery). i mean, as an example that isn't the power of my love laugh™, you can hear him gulp slightly at the beginning of in the ghetto (in the rest after "as the snow flies"), whether that's direct emotion or nerves or just how he was getting the song out. there's a moment in another song where you can hear what i think is the clink of his rings against the microphone. the memphis sessions have a LOT of the raw studio sounds left in. some of this is also that he...did not sit still (affectionate), so some of that fidgeting and rustling and personality is all captured in the recordings. listen to true love travels on a gravel road (my beloved), and there are a bunch of the organic moments right there. especially between the first chorus and the second verse - between "ohhh, true love travels on a gravel road" and "down through the years..." like four different things audibly happen. you can tell when he's playing around and exaggerating some of his vocalizations and quirks and trademarks, leaning into it - which he did in places in the comeback special too, because he knew exactly how to utilize/distill that, and the way it would transfix the audience, he just had command of that to unleash however he chose. (or whatever. he decided. to do. at the end of such a night). it's also why it's really apparent in a song when he smiles, which is one of my favorite things in the world, when you can HEAR a smile in a song. not every artist is easy to detect this with, but he is, and it's so warm.

what i really really love about this with him is it makes the songs so present and lived in and felt, all these unfiltered and natural details still exist in the tracks and so does his personality. then when you listen to the concert recordings, the only significant difference is stuff like banter with the audience or switching up bits of arrangement for the show, but the emotion and the amount of himself he put into everything is as real/accessible/clear in the studio as it is on the stage of the international or anywhere else. it's such a vibrantly alive aspect of his work that i believe it's part of why it's endured the way it has tbh - it still feels like he's right there about to pull that gold curtain back again.

[astars-things]

Pairing Rutger Mcgroarty x reader

this is for my best friend @woodruff-edwards

I could feel the tears streaming down my face as I collapsed into Rutger's arms. He held me tight, whispering softly into my ear as I sobbed uncontrollably. "Let it out baby, I've got you," he murmured, rubbing circles into my back.

It had been a long and difficult day, one that had left me feeling completely drained and emotionally overwhelmed. I had tried to keep it together for as long as possible, but eventually, the weight of everything had become too much to bear.

As I cried, Rutger held me close, rocking me gently back and forth. Whispering things like "I love you" "you're so strong baby"

For what seemed like hours, we stayed like that, lost in our own little world of tears and comfort. I didn't want to let go of him, to break the spell that had enveloped us both. But eventually, the tears began to slow, and my breathing evened out.

Rutger pulled back slightly, looking at me with concern etched into his features. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice soft and gentle.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak just yet. But even though the tears had stopped, I still felt fragile and vulnerable, like a raw nerve exposed to the world.

Rutger seemed to sense this, and he didn't push me to talk or to be strong. Instead, he simply held me close, running his hands soothingly up and down my back.

As the minutes ticked by, I began to feel more and more like myself again. The tears had done their job, washing away some of the pain and confusion that had been weighing me down.

Rutger pulled back once more, his hands still resting lightly on my shoulders. "Feeling better?" he asked, his smile warm and reassuring.

I managed a small smile in return, feeling a surge of gratitude and love for this man who had seen me at my worst and still loved me all the same.

"Thanks for being here," I whispered, leaning in to kiss him softly.

He pulled me close once more, holding me tight as we sat there together in the quiet stillness of the moment. And I knew, without a doubt, that I was exactly where I was meant to be. With Rutger by my side, I could face anything that life threw my way.

[burningpysche]

my girlfriend and i had a really long talk one night about women, and our generational anger. i know i have it. it runs so deep in me, and i feel it all the time. she mentioned that in school, the workouts that they had the girls doing, consisted of things like aerobics. which, in my opinion, is a workout pretty much just for aesthetics. versus the type of workouts they had for the boys, which consisted of things like running, push ups, weight lifting, etc. all things to build stamina, strength, endurance. i mentioned the way that fish grow, depending on the size of the body of water that they live in. if you put a fish in a pond, it’ll get just as big as it needs to get to occupy that space. if you put a fish in a bowl, it’ll only get so big. and if you start breeding that fish in the bowl, and you keep breeding those fish, they’ll only ever know that tiny bowl you put them in. they’ll never grow any bigger.

men are cowards in the way that they still carry this narrative that we’re genetically inferior to them, as if that hasn’t been their whole game this entire time. after decades and decades of imprisoning us, domesticating us, etc., they have the raw nerve to act as if we were just designed to be weaker than them. as if they didn’t put all these systems up, and band together to uphold those systems, just to keep us on the bottom. i know so many strong women. both physically, and emotionally. women can survive under pressure. women can grow as big as they need to, but rarely do we ever have the space to encourage that type of growth. we have to go out of our way, defy “gender norms” and all this other bullshit, just to find some sort of autonomy. some sort of strength that relies on ourselves alone. i think this is why women are so community driven. we have been conditioned to just huddle in a corner together and comfort one another as we all pretty much sit helpless, because we don’t know what we’re capable of. and we’re quite frankly scared of discovering it. because the price you pay is often deadly.

i feel like i wasn’t taught many lessons about self preservation. i feel like i was unfortunately taught how to be a housewife. i’m great at cooking, cleaning, keeping tidy, being pretty and getting fucked. being told what to do and doing it. i’m great at all of those things. and i can’t break out of those habits. i dedicate so much fucking time to looking beautiful, and keeping clean and tidy, and overall having the qualities of a housewife. because i feel like i’ll lose all of my value if i pursue anything else. even as a lesbian, which in a way, means i’m failing at traditional womanhood, i still have these problems. i have so many aspirations. so many dreams. so many things i want for myself. and i don’t go for them. ever. i watch time go by and think to myself, “well, i probably could’ve never done that anyways.” i was taught that i can’t do things on my own. i can’t survive under pressure. i have completely surrendered to that mindset. i remember a period of time where i didn’t surrender to that type of lifestyle. and it was honestly just fucking exhausting. all the fighting, and all of the disappointment from my family and friends. when you don’t play by the rules, everybody fucking hates you. i’ve just laid here helpless for i can’t even tell you how long now. feeling like there’s no end, no escape. i’m just supposed to submit to someone and stay at home and keep the house tidy and functional. but i’m not really like that. i don’t want that. i just keep using these tools i was given as a little girl, and they’re not doing me any good. i guess my life is safer this way, but it isn’t gratifying. i never feel alive until i do something fucking crazy or stupid. and realize, “damn, i didn’t die. nobody came after me or hurt me for doing this.”

it’s frightening to realize the gravity of life as a woman. to realize that you’re still very much in a cage. and to sit at the bottom of that cage and wonder to yourself, if i somehow got out of here, would what all happened to me on the way out even be worth it?

[strangedarkage]

I truly, madly, deeply think that people who actually view Midsommar as a purely "good for her" movie do not understand it (and especially it's ending) at all.

Just because the ending of the film is cathartic- especially for people who have gone through significant trauma and find healing and liberation through this film's narrative- does not mean that it has a happy ending. I really do think that a lot of people thin that just because something is cathartic automatically makes it good. Most things that have produced these sorts of feelings in me have been really dark and fucked up. It hits a nerve that's a little raw, it fulfills some kind of dark fantasy. In this case, allowing your emotionally immature, borderline emotionally abusive, definitely toxic boyfriend to be selected as a human sacrifice and being burned alive inside the pelt of a bear. I remember rewatching this film for the second time with my mom, who was seeing it for the first time. And she was like... shaking and crying by the end of this movie.

She had just recently left my dad after being married for twenty years because of the horrific abuse that she had suffered, among many other things. She had called me many times that previous year, telling me how scared she was that he was going to do something to hurt her, more likely than not, that he was going to kill her. And she had been able to safely leave him, to move into her own place with my sisters and file for divorce when she felt safe enough to do so. I think that she found Dani's agency (which ironically in reality, is just the illusion of agency, because the whole situation was highly controlled by the cult as she was specifically chosen) in that final moment to be inspiring, a reflection of what she had been forced to live through and survived. It was horrible and she was forever changed (in most ways for the worse obviously) but she was alive. And I think that's a really beautiful thing, honestly. It allowed her the opportunity to really start processing these feelings, something she hadn't really been able to do successfully quite yet. This is one of the things that I love most about horror, that it provides a constructive, creative outlet for difficult, uncomfortable, and often horrifying situations and feelings. At it's core, Midsommar is a story about trauma and how it can be exploited to make anyone vulnerable to abusive, predatory people (and in this case, an entire community of people).

I also do want to acknowledge right now that a lot of people who really relate to this film are those who interpret Dani and Christian's relationshp as abusive, me being one of them. I really understand the "good for you" interpretation because that was also my first interpretation of this film when I saw it for the first tine. But then two seconds later I realized that it's a lot more nuanced than that.

Once you burst your own bubble, once you realize how fucked up your own fantasies could really be, you realize that Christian did not actually deserve any of that. He was drugged, sexually assaulted, and BURNED ALIVE. The punishment does not fit the crime. And that while basically everyone was making really bad choices and therefore also easier to puppet around and influence for most of the film, THEY WERE ALSO TRIPPING BALLS. Drugs, particularly hallucinogenic drugs, are a well documented tool for cults. Because drugs keep people close to you as their supplier, and it also makes them significantly easier to manipulate and control. What I think is so perfect about the ending is that it puts us in Dani's mindset- it's cathartic, it's vengeance for what she thinks Christian did. She feels as if she had a choice and in a small way she does at the end, but again not really. Because everything has been orchestrated to lead up to this moment. It's the illusion of choice being roesented to her over and over and over again.

Basically the entirety fo Midsommar is Dani getting slowly indoctrinated into the cult.

Dani has really lost everything. Her last connection to everyone and everything that she loves. She has successfully been indoctrinated into a white supremacist cult who have assisted her in severing her last ties to the outside world through Christian, and by extension, his friends as well. She is technically a missing person now, even though there's no one left to really miss her. The wording in the screenplay is very explicit in the direction of this last scene. Dani has lost her mind because of everything that she has been through, she is not happy. She is absolutely dead inside. And this cycle is going to continue to be repeated in different ways to keep bringing more people in the community (and also different DNA to keep the gene pool diverse, as inbreeding is something that is just kind of an accepted practice in the cult, but has to be avoided in order to keep producing more new, healthy cult members). She is basically going to be used to produce more "perfect", blonde haired, blue eyed offspring. We know what her future is going to be and it is bleak. Sure, she gets a kind of "family" out of it, but at the cost of everything, including her sanity. None of this is good!!! And it wasn't supposed to be! The most horrifying thing about the ending is that it leaves so much room for very grim headcanons about Dani's fate. The real horror of this film isn't solely found in the gore or body horror, it's Dani's complete loss of agency disguised as something that is good and liberating.

I think the intended (and correct) takeaway of the ending is that a *kind* of catharsis has been reached but it is not the good kind. That you can think "good for her" because she does get her own kind of fucked up revenge on her milk toast boyfriend who did not respect or understand her at all. But also acknowledge that Christian did not deserve to be killed for being a shitty boyfriend. Dani is not really capable of making any good choices at this point because she is exhausted, grieving, and on so many different drugs. She doesn't understand the full scope of what is going on because she can't. And that is by design.

[strivia]

Something I cannot stop thinking about in regards to the ending of the Mario Movie is the mental repercussions of magical healing. From the sound of it, the Super Star heals Mario and Luigi entirely? I've heard a couple different interpretations on what exactly the star did, and as someone who never played the games idk what's most accurate.

But like magical healing is kinda fucked on an emotional level, because it denies you the evidence and non-verbal cues that let others know you need help and recovery time without having to verablize your trauma. The trauma is very much still there, but the evidence of it is just gone.

I think this tangles with my feelings on invisible conditions (like the chronic pain I deal with) in general. But there is a lot that can be played with about trauma not being taken seriously enough because it's not visible.

I feel there's a lot of potential for Luigi to want Mario to understand where he's at and what happened, but it's too raw a nerve to talk about, and the words just, won't come. Like it's too mentally and emotionally taxing to try and verbalize it and process it. Thus leading to Mario not knowing Luigi's side of events for a good while.

Also! Phantom / Psychosomatic pain from the now gone injuries.