#feeling absolutely normal about them actually

[cherienymphe]

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Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Your brother comes up with a way to make fast money when you've found yourself deep in debt.

warnings: stepcest, loss of virginity, breeding kink, kook!reader, non canon ages

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

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You took deep breaths through your nose as Rafe instructed, lashes fluttering at the foreign and indescribable feel of his cock sliding between your wet folds. Your knees touched your chest, the soles of your feet pressed against Rafe’s own chest, and when you looked up at him, you found his gaze focused on where he disappeared into you.

When your brother came up from Kildare County to visit you for the first time this semester…

This was not what you had in mind.

Blood related or not, Rafe had never been anything but the older brother you were blessed with when your mom married his dad all those years ago. He was a little rough around the edges—always had been—and you knew that his behavior with you was the exception, not the norm, but it never occurred to you that his reasoning behind that went beyond familial affection. Why would it?

He treated you like any normal brother would.

He scared off boys who were a little too bold with their interest in you, he sometimes let you sleep in his bed when the thunder outside got to be too much, and he didn���t think twice about picking you up from some party you weren’t supposed to be at. You knew he’d do the same for Wheezie if she asked. Sarah was the only exception for less than enviable reasons.

…maybe Ward’s favoritism of Sarah contributed to your own soft spot for Rafe.

Anyone with eyes could see it no matter how much Sarah liked to pretend otherwise, and there’d been so many times you felt sorry for the oldest Cameron. No, he wasn’t perfect by any means, and yes, sometimes he absolutely deserved the verbal lashing from Ward, but you’d be a fool to deny the absolute disregard Ward gave Rafe even when he did try.

Rafe just wasn’t anyone’s favorite.

…so he became yours.

“You’re doing good,” he murmured, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You blinked up at him, and his gaze lifted from your breasts to meet your gaze.

“Like this?” you breathlessly wondered, a hand on your chest, massaging a hardened bud between your fingers.

“Don’t ask me,” Rafe purred, his free hand joining yours. “Does it feel good?”

The nod you gave him was shaky, and you watched Rafe’s tongue dart between his lips. He dipped his hips a tad when he thrust into you, making you gasp at the feel of his cock hitting something inside of you that you didn’t know was there. When he shined the camera light in your face briefly, you turned your head.

“Sorry,” he choked out, but he didn’t sound all that sorry. “I’ll blur that out.”

His thrusts had your toes curling, and you pushed your feet against his chest.

“I don’t…I don’t want Ward or someone else to find this and know it was me,” you struggled to say, breath hitching when Rafe slammed into you.

Rafe replied after some time.

“Don’t worry, angel,” he whispered. “They won’t.”

Angel.

It was funny how a normal nickname that you were used to hearing all the time sounded so different, now. Of course, all the other times, Rafe had never been inside of you. He’d been dropping you off somewhere or convincing you to do the dishes instead or looking for you the minute he woke up at twelve in the afternoon. Now, with Rafe plunging his cock into you, the sound of it made you shudder.

“It’s kind of crazy how fitting that nickname is,” Sarah said one day. “…because I swear you’re the only one that can actually get Rafe to behave.”

You both chuckled at the comment, but now you were doing anything but laughing.

Your free hand trailed down to touch yourself, and Rafe made a noise of approval at the action.

His hand left your breast to cover yours between your legs, guiding your fingers and rubbing them over your bundle of nerves. The feeling—when combined with his thrusts—made you flutter around him, and Rafe let out a deep moan. It went straight to your stomach, loving the sound, and you looked up at him.

His gaze wasn’t on you anymore, and as you stared at him, you were surprised how weird you didn’t feel about this.

Going off to UNC had sparked varying reactions in your household. Rose was only happy for you, Wheezie too, but both Sarah and Ward held some concerns you never even knew they had. Something about your sheltered upbringing and wondering if you were ready. You’d been offended, of course. After all, going off to college had always been the plan and Ward knew that, so being treated like some child baffled you.

However, you were even more baffled when Rafe didn’t back you up.

“What do you mean?” you’d asked him the day you got your acceptance letter. “You don’t want me to go…?”

Even though Rafe was silent for a long time, you could see it on his face.

He didn’t want you to go.

“It’s so far-.”

“It’s four hours,” you’d interrupted, in disbelief that Rafe of all people was not on your side.

“It’s far enough.”

You remembered thinking how much he resembled a child—pouting—and you’d huffed. You hadn’t been able to stop the tears from kissing your eyes, and you’d folded your arms over your chest.

“Why aren’t you happy for me?” you’d asked in a small voice.

That had Rafe looking up, and you didn’t miss the way his face fell with one look at your own.

“I am,” he’d assured you. “I’m so happy for you, but… What if something goes wrong? What if some asshole gets too aggressive with you? I’m not going to be there to pick you up from parties and hold your hand when a hurricane comes through.”

You’d looked down, shifting on your feet.

“I know that, Rafe…but I’m an adult, now. I have to figure things out for myself.”

You could tell he hadn’t liked that answer, but despite how much Rafe made it clear that he didn’t want you to go, he did help you pack before the semester started. He’d also helped you move in with Ward and Rose’s help, surprising them both.

“Don’t think I won’t be dropping in unannounced.”

Rose had scolded him that day, but you’d only rolled your eyes. You were used to Rafe’s protectiveness, and as much as you desired independence, you couldn’t deny how much you enjoyed the thought of Rafe visiting you on campus.

…and visit you, he did.

It was almost admirable, really, the way he managed to swoop in at some of the most inconvenient times. The night you were considering going to some party or the night you’d gotten locked out of your house or the time your roommate had guys over. The memory of that evening still weighed on your chest, recalling the way Rafe hovered and the way the guy you were supposed to be set up with was forced to keep his distance.

“You were scaring him,” you’d whined later that night.

“…and you want a guy that jumpy?” he’d snorted, taking off his shirt and relaxing on your bed.

Rafe had overstayed his welcome and had no choice but to stay the night. Granted, a hotel was always an option, but you would’ve felt shitty making him book a hotel when you had a perfectly fine queen-sized bed.

“If some chump is that intimidated by your big brother, then he isn’t the one for you,” he’d whispered in the dark as you faced him. “You’re the kind of girl who needs looking after.”

The words had soured in your mind, and you hadn’t responded.

You hated that Rafe saw you that way—that almost everyone did—but it was only some months later when you were forced to admit that maybe Rafe was right. Being so far away from home for an extended period of time for the first time in your life clearly got to your head. You found yourself confronted with so much temptation and opportunities.

Before you knew it, you’d maxed out two credit cards and was struggling to make ends meet with the extra money Ward and Rose were sending you. The day your payment was declined while in some fancy store was burned into your brain, and you hadn’t even realized how much debt you’d collected until you were on the phone with a representative from the company.

The whole situation sucked, but more than anything, it sucked that you proved everyone right.

Especially Rafe.

So, when he unexpectedly showed up on your doorstep this morning, you wanted to be sick.

“Rafe,” you’d breathed. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

The blond had silently stood at your door, expression unreadable, and it had taken him a minute to finally reply.

“You never know I’m coming,” he’d drawled, brushing by you. “What makes this time so different?”

“No reason,” you’d hurried to say.

You suspected then that he caught onto something being wrong, but you’d forced yourself to write it off. Despite engaging in conversation with you, you hadn’t missed the way Rafe strode about your place, those blue eyes of his taking everything in with an attention to detail you weren’t used to.

“So, why are you here?” you’d wondered.

Your question gave him pause, and you hadn’t missed the glint in his eyes then.

“What…?” he’d asked, nearing you. “I can’t drop in on my baby sister and see how she’s doing?”

He’d held your gaze with an intensity you weren’t used to, and you’d looked away.

“No, of course, you can. I was just…curious.”

You should’ve known that Rafe knew more than he let on when he opened your fridge and merely hummed at the lack of food in it. For obvious reasons, you didn’t protest when he suggested ordering food, and it was when you found yourself leaning against the counter with a handful of pizza did he finally drop the bomb.

“You’re lucky I pay more attention to the mail than they do.”

His biting words were accompanied with the slam of a few envelopes on the counter, and your heart dropped when you realized what they were—credit card statements. His hands on the counter caged you in, but you could hardly move anyway with how much shock you were in, flipping through them all with parted lips.

It didn’t take him long to start tearing into you.

“I knew this was a bad idea. I knew that at the very least, I should’ve moved up here with you,” he’d sneered.

“Are you going to tell Ward?” you’d tearfully asked him. “If he knew how much I messed up he’d cut me off so fast.”

“He probably should,” Rafe had told you with a frown, making your tears spill over.

He’d softened some at the sight of them, and you’d collapsed on the couch.

“I didn’t even realize I’d been spending so much,” you cried to him. “…and I keep trying to get a job to fix this but I just can’t get hired anywhere.”

At your rambling, Rafe had knelt before you, his hands on your knees as he shushed you. You’d struggled to hold his gaze as he wiped your face, trying to calm you down. When your breathing settled some, Rafe took your hand.

“I can’t imagine you behind somebody’s counter, anyway,” he’d softly said, thumb grazing your skin. “Breaking your back and coming home exhausted. You need to be focused on school.”

“…but Rafe-.”

His hand gently landing on your mouth had you swallowing your words, and you’d blinked at him as he traced patterns into your skin.

“Look, I know how to get you money—plenty of it and fast.”

His words had given you pause, making you perk up some.

“…but you’ll have to trust me,” he’d murmured.

You did trust Rafe, with your whole heart, but his next words still made your heart drop.

“Rafe…I don’t think I can do this,” you found yourself whispering an hour or so later, swallowing at his gentle grip on your throat. “

…besides, we… I mean…”

You didn’t have to finish voicing your thoughts, troubled gaze meeting his.

“It’s just a little way to make you fast money. It’s not like anyone will know it’s us…” he’d murmured, lips brushing yours. “…and it’s not like we’ll be running the risk of accidentally having questionable children or something.”

You knew what he meant, understood what he was getting at, but it still felt…wrong to you. Or at least, like it should be. Rafe had never been anything other than the brother you met years ago, and here he was, kissing you and convincing you to let your first time be with him…and on camera, no less.

“People love that amateur porn shit,” were his oh so eloquent words.

Despite how you initially felt about it, you still found yourself on your back and bent at the edge of your bed while Rafe stood before you, phone in hand. His words of encouragement filled your ears as he circled your clit with his thumb, the head of his cock slowly pushing into you. He’d had his face between your thighs for some time before that, telling you he needed to get you nice and ready for him.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he’d hissed as he continued to push his way into you.

When he was flush with you, both of your chests heaving, he finally acknowledged the elephant in the room.

“You okay, angel?”

It wasn’t as painful as you always expected it to be—you surmised that had more to do with Rafe than anything—but there was still a dull painful ache accompanied by the burn of being stretched out. At your shaky nod, Rafe merely gave you a half smile, leaning over to kiss you before straightening and starting a torturously slow pace.

“Do you hear how wet you are? Hmm?”

You could, and you might’ve been embarrassed if it weren’t for the look on Rafe’s face.

“So wet…and tight…and all mine,” he breathed, the phone light bright as it shone on where you greedily sucked him in with every thrust. “She’s dripping for me.”

You felt like you were in a blissful daze, lying there and taking his thrusts. Rafe had a way with words and making you squirm from more than just the feel of him stuffing you full.

“They’d pay big money to see me fill you up, angel.”

You slowly blinked at him, frowning slightly and not understanding him at first. However, when his free hand left your clit alone and instead reached for himself, realization hit you.

“Rafe…”

Your tone held warning, but Rafe pulled out anyway, a hand on his cock as he leaned in to press his lips to yours again. What a strange way for you to realize that not only did you like kissing, but you liked kissing Rafe.

“It’s going to look so good on camera,” he purred. “Just thinking about my cock twitching as I come inside of you…pulling out and watching it all drip out of that virgin pussy…”

The thought did have you clenching down on air.

“It’s your first time… You should know what that feels like—to get fucked raw.”

Your lack of protest boldened Rafe, and you felt out of control when the tip of him touched you again, only without latex between you this time. He was slow to slide into you, a groan escaping him the same time you moaned as you both basked in the feel of his bare cock fitting snugly inside of you. You threw your head back, and Rafe told you to keep touching your breasts.

You couldn’t deny the difference as he slowly rutted into you. The camera shined light on your stomach and chest and back down again as he moved the phone. His now powerful thrusts turned you into a wanton mess, absentmindedly massaging your nipples in time with his hips. Rafe’s free hand was on you again, rubbing your mound and folds and clit, occasionally spreading you further to really get a good look at the way his cock pushed into you.

The squelch of your core was loud, and you could feel the way you were dripping around him.

Your bed squeaked under the weight of his thrusts, and the feel of skin against skin was sending you both spiraling.

“I’m gonna come,” Rafe gasped, his thrusts sloppy and rough as he fucked himself into you.

You felt the same, but you couldn’t really voice it, too focused on trying to breathe despite the fast pace of your heart. When Rafe pressed a hand into your stomach, it sent you over the edge, and the feel of you tightening around him and clenching down on him had him coming too, spilling into you with a loud moan.

Rafe’s thrusts were lazy now as he fucked you both through your orgasms, hips slow as he pushed into you. He only stopped when he softened completely, slow to pull his cock out and drop to his knees. His free hand reached for you, a thumb and index finger on your lips as he spread them.

“Look at that,” you heard him murmur while you fought to catch your breath. “You took me so well, angel.”

One of your feet relaxed on the floor, now while the other rested on his shoulder.

“Push it out for me. Show them how well you milked my cock…”

You didn’t quite understand him, but you did what you thought he wanted you to do. To your surprise, you could feel him leaking out of you, and the noise Rafe made told you he was satisfied.

“Good girl,” he purred, pushing two fingers into you. “You take me so well, you know that?”

He leaned in and kissed your sore lips then, a hum escaping him as he straightened. The camera was now off, and the phone was tossed to the side, but Rafe’s lips still found yours with a moan. Your confusion must have been evident when he pulled away, because he reached up to drag his thumb over your mouth.

“We’ll need to make time to practice if we want the next one to be even better.”

[girl-lostconnection]

Acceleration AU (part 4) 7.1k

Warnings: smut, insecurities, unhealthy attachment, Johnny is middle child and hates it, possessive behavior, Ghoap x fem!plus size!Reader, Simon is a loser😔, mentions of religious elements (prayer beads) as allegory, suggestive themes, abandonment issues

Soap isn’t sure about anything. Soap looks at you and feels a surge of protectiveness, your tears cracking open the soft tender part of him.

The protector. At his core Johnny is a protector, and you look like you could use one. He knows you are capable of doing it all yourself, God, he can see the way you actually snarl at Simon when he tries to make decisions for you.

But he can’t help but move a little closer to you, passing you a pillow for your lower back while you drink your tea. It earns him a small smile and an additional biscuit on his plate.

(He will come off his leave few pounds heavier thanks to your efforts, but God, it’s not fair how delicious everything is)

For some reason you keep feeding him like your life depends on it, sneaking him crackers and nuts and sandwiches.

Passing him juicy cuts of steak Simon fries for dinner. Making him tea and sharing your cookies. Cutting fruit and peeling oranges and tangerines.

Soap feels like you would hand feed him like he’s a sparrow if you could. If he’d let you.

Caring for him comes to you so naturally like you don’t even have to think about it. And watching you notice Simon’s mood swings and the fact that you pinned comfort foods list for his lieutenant on the fridge…it speaks volumes.

Soap isn’t sure what’s going on and what it means but Simon seems incredibly pleased, and you seem to act like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

So, he just…accepts it? He likes to eat and things you pass him are always delicious so there are no actual grounds for complaining.

You aren’t pushy like Simon is with his advances, you don’t hover, you don’t stare him down. Where Simon is a mountain, an enormous heavy presence and heavy hands and heavy eyes — you are the wall.

You are the cover and safety and absolutely unyielding nature. You are wide shoulders and warm fingers passing him food. You feel like shelter.

Still, he can’t help but sneak glances at you and Simon, trying to gauge how you two even happened. How does it work?

Why did you two stuck together for so long?

Two stones won’t make a paper and while he thought that he and L.T. balance each other out, he didn’t know about you in the past. And now when he does the dynamic leaves him puzzled.

It’s entirely new side to Ghost. A side he never knew before, a side no one but you see, probably.

But you mention running low on groceries and Simon gets up without a second word, getting dressed.

Soap isn’t sure he’s morally ready to stay with you in an empty apartment while he wears your…boyfriend’s? partner’s? just yours? Simon’s sweater.

So, he gets up as well and then you hum to yourself and also get up, quickly drafting up a list in your phone’s notes app, murmuring to yourself what you need to get and occasionally asking Simon (who’s already one leg out the door) if he knows whether or not you have flour.

Simon huffs, getting his boots off and pads back to pantry to check before reporting that no, no flour.

Finally, after two more walks to the pantry (you seem to enjoy making Simon walk back and forth simply because why not and Soap hides his grin behind a cup) and uncomfortably warm fifteen minutes in a puff jacket (that’s what he gets for getting ready too quick) you all are dressed and ready to go.

The afternoon is cold but crisp, not a cloud in the sky, sun shining brightly enough for you to pull out sunglasses and push them on Simon’s nose.

Simon presses a short kiss to the crown of your head and extends palm to Soap, making a flexing gesture with his fingers.

Johnny feels something inside of him warm up when he takes Ghost’s hand and gets pulled up close, grinning when sunglasses almost slide off Simon’s crocked nose.

It’s good. He feels like a boyfriend. Like Simon’s boyfriend.

Where he stands with you, he’s not sure yet, because as much as primal part of him surges up to protect you from slick mud and Simon’s glares and stranger almost checking you off the sidewalk into oncoming traffic, he doesn’t know how you feel about him.

Why bother imagining something that may not even come to life? Powering through obstacles is purely Simon’s virtue, Johnny is more used to rebuilding things. To squeezing through the cracks and making his home in people’s heads before they catch the wind of it.

But you prance forward, click your tongue in annoyance when Simon pulls you back. There is a silent moment where you two just stare at each other and Johnny swears he can see the conversation happening.

He’s just not a part of it.

Johnny has never seen before the way you and Simon operate outside of your home bubble and now, he thinks he gets it a little.

There is this years-old familiarity with which you cover Simon’s side in the crowded mall, pressing him to the opposite side of people walking by you — minimizing amount of accidental physical contact with strangers for him.

And Simon lets you do this without as much as a sound, free palm under your puff jacket, on the small of your back as you lead the way.

It’s as if you know Simon like you know the back of your own hand, perfectly attuned to the level of his comfort, hypervigilant as soon as you step outside.

It’s the same deal inside of the supermarket when Simon tugs your puff jacket off, draping it over the crook of his elbow and pushes the trolley forward, following you as you go.

It’s a routine that you two have, it’s a habit born of years and years of knowing and learning each other’s clicks and hurts and little sore spots.

To the point when now Simon just hums and puts headphones on you when there are screaming kids in the store, and you haul in the shopping cart twice the amount of his favorite snacks.

You two just click and go, moving as a well-oiled machine, the intimate understanding of a perfectly combined puzzle — polished to perfect silence and flickering back and forth glances.

Soap feels the way his right shoulder nervously twitches and speeds up, so he doesn’t get left behind. There is a cool spiky ache in his chest at the comfortable silence you two share.

He’d honestly prefer to chat up one of you, but you are already wearing headphones, engrossed in shopping and Simon looks like he’s perfectly content with staying silent.

You two share a routine and Soap doesn’t know how to slot himself into it.

He doesn’t know if he should.

(How do you know when you are in? How do you know that you can make yourself at home? How do you know you are wanted there? How?)

Johnny waits for a sign.

Trying to see whether he needs to pack up his bag or stay by the door.

He doesn’t wait to see if he’s invited in the bed, he doesn’t wait to see whether or not Simon would change his mind, he doesn’t wait to see if you would kick him out like a stray dog.

A mutt that wandered a little close to the warmth of the hearth and wasn’t immediately shooed away.

Now lying under the table, nervous to breathe too often, nervous to ask for things, nervous to lick petting hands.

But Johnny is not a mutt. He doesn’t want to be one.

Johnny is smarter than empty despair, Johnny is stronger than taking it lying down, Johnny is too stubborn to give up easily.

So, he chats Simon up, so he makes his way into Simon’s arms and Simon’s bed and Simon’s life.

And he meets you.

You watch him — wary and tense, eyes growing heavy when he tries to push through you, when he tries to sneak under your table and wait you out.

It doesn’t happen.

John is annoyed that it doesn’t.

Part of him relieved at that. He tries not to think about that part.

Johnny is from a big family with brothers and sisters, born somewhere in between.

Born and forgotten — mom’s kiss on the cheek and sibling’s shove coming a little too late to go unnoticed. Just a moment later than for everyone else, like they have to make a conscious effort to remember that he is there too.

Just one of the children. Just one of the brothers.

Nothing special really.

He fucking hates it.

He doesn’t want to be one of someone’s, he doesn’t want to be blank face in the crowd, he doesn’t want to be second fiddle and second choice and second best.

Johnny wants to be the first. Johnny wants to be the best.

Johnny wants to be wanted.

He’s just not sure yet how to get himself in your hands. If you even want him, if you even would take him as he is or would he need to adapt to you. Would he need to create a separate Johnny specifically for you?

So, he can stay with Simon and you. So, he doesn’t get tossed out as soon as you are done with him staining your pretty hardwood floors and laying in your bed and fucking with your Simon.

Johnny hates that in his head he can’t name Simon his. Johnny hates that he doesn’t even share Simon with you — you already have him. You had him way before Soap.

And you won’t need to do anything to keep him. Simon is not leaving. Simon isn’t going anywhere from you. Simon is not leaving you behind.

Johnny doesn’t know whether or not he will get left behind. Johnny wants to find out.

He murmurs “give it to me, lass” getting your bags of groceries and watches you wrestle the door. Plastic of bags cuts in his palms, and he thinks they bought entirely too much, because do they really eat all of that?

But then he takes another look at Simon, picking coins off the floor and sighs. Yeah, probably they do. He didn’t think how much three grown people eat. Or two grown people and a bottomless pit of a man.

Simon huffs out air and rolls his shoulders when everything spills out of your bloody pockets.

It’s nothing special really, just that you fumble with your keys and send flying spare change and keychain and old museum ticket and some scraps of paper all over the floor.

Simon crouches with a grunt to pick them all up because Johnny is holding the bags in both hands, pressing one more to the wall with his hip and you are trying to unlock the door (God, he will change the fucking locks as soon as he can. That’s ridiculous, thing jams since you moved into the flat and it’s been years).

So, it’s nothing out of ordinary when you finally wrestle the doors open and shake off your coat, cupping your palms in a boat so he can place everything he picked up in your hands.

It’s not unusual, honestly, it happens a little too often to his liking, but it is what it is and then his eyes catch on a receipt stained with liquor.

A receipt with a phone number and cheeky “gonna wait for your call, doll!” in the corner written in the most shit cursive he has ever seen.

Which bloke with a handwriting like that tried to hit on you? A bloody chicken?

But you just hum, throwing everything back in your pockets, not paying much attention to his inner turmoil.

Though when your eyes catch on the corner of receipt, you pull it back out, inspect the cheerful note and hum again in a way that Simon isn’t sure he likes.

Because you don’t crumble the piece of paper and don’t throw it away — you put it back in the pocket of your coat.

You help Johnny with bags, giving him a chance to shake off his own winter jacket.

There is a dark hot coil of anxiety in Simon’s gut when he stares down your puff jacket, fingers itching to get the bloody receipt and throw it away while you are not looking.

It’s childish and he has no right to do that, but the urge is so strong he actually tries to come up with an excuse in case you catch him.

Soap’s voice is the only thing that snaps him out of it, forcing to start undressing, heavy boots thumping down as he gets them off. He’s a little lightheaded with razor-sharp panic and clouding agitation, tension pain in his neck spiking up again.

Will you call the number? Will you go out with the bloke again? Did you like him? Would you date him?

The timing really couldn’t be worse for this kind of thing. Not when he finally realized what he wants and how he wants it.

Not when he got you and Johnny in one place, not when he already admitted to Johnny that he wants you both.

And while he understands that he mostly dug his own grave on his own, Simon also strongly dislikes the idea of you with someone else.

It’s selfish and he has no right to your time and personal space. He has no legitimate grounds to even be jealous.

But he is.

Drives him fucking mad it does.

Simon watches you pour Johnny some tea, Soap’s eyes warm and thoughtful on you.

Like he is not sure he gets you. Like he doesn’t know where to put himself.

And maybe it should soothe him, but he can’t not think about the number that’s still lying in your coat. The number you didn’t get rid of.

There’s heavy dangerous kind of rage beneath Simon’s skull — pulsating and filling his head with migraine intensity, pushing on his eyeballs harder and harder. Until something breaks.

Until he can’t hold it in anymore.

But Simon could’ve gotten Olympic gold in bottling up his feelings if it ever became a sport. He’d be undisputed world champion with how naturally it comes to him.

Would be great if he also could bottle thoughts in his stupid fucking head so he can think clearly, so it doesn’t make him fidgety and snappy, so he doesn’t hole up in the bathroom for forty minutes just standing under the water.

He gets out only when Soap gets in, fingers massaging his nape, fingers rubbing his shoulders and pressing him in cool tiles. Somehow Johnny knows exactly how to pull the plug and drain him.

Somehow Johnny is always there, making it better, biting into Simon’s arm to force him out of delirium.

Johnny’s palms slide down Simon’s waist, forcing him to brace his forearms on the shower wall, forcing his back to arch.

There’s a familiar tap on his thigh, command to open up because frankly the floors are slick and there’s a huge fucking chance for Simon to fall and break his skull open if Johnny plays rough and kicks his legs open.

But Soap presses himself from behind, teeth scraping against Simon’s shoulder blades, fingers sliding down until there is this familiar pressure on Simon’s hole. The one that leaves him empty headed and greedy, the one that makes his legs slide open and his jaw go slack because bloody hell, Johnny and his long fucking fingers.

(Sometimes he thinks that he and bombs are the only things that get Soap’s fingers with his full concentration in addition. Simon often feels like Soap does work him like a tricky bomb)

Johnny and his attention to smallest detail because he knows exactly what he’s doing when he presses Simon into the wall and fucks him stupid.

Coaxes out moans and greedy greedy creature sitting in Simon’s chest, aching for more, always begging for scraps off the table, still not used to sit like a person and ask like a person.

Johnny cracks him open and bleeds him out just to kiss it better afterwards. Johnny is there, pressing his whole body into Simon, holding him together.

Just holding him.

The water in the shower is cold by the time they get out and Simon is blissfully empty headed and relaxed, shifting his weight from one leg to another when he feels familiar pull inside.

Probably should have stretched better but bathroom is cramped, and he needed to get out of his head then and there.

Johnny watches him before swiping his thumb at the corner of Simon’s mouth and popping it in his mouth, blue of his eyes so scalding Simon’s throat bobs.

Soap wipes off the drool and silently promises to make him go slack jawed again later. When he gets his hands on the lube that got left in bedroom.

Simon pads back into the kitchen and you silently place a mug with his tea made exactly the way he likes it, and Johnny plops himself down, leaning in close and snuggling.

All sated aching and pleased rumbles.

Simon isn’t sure how he’s supposed to feel after everything, but he feels warm. His body melting into Soap’s, his eyes melting into yours when you swat away a tiny eyelash from his cheek and hold it up so he can make a wish before you throw the thing away.

How did you even notice it there? He has blond eyelashes; the tiny hair would be practically invisible on his skin.

Simon doesn’t ask, staying content with the knowledge that you just did. Like always.

You and Johnny both — keeping him together, noticing smallest thing, making him sane and full.

Making him Simon again and not just Ghost.

Simon watches you standing over the pot with water for future pasta you three are apparently having for dinner. Means he’s in charge of cooking meat a little later than. Okay, that he can do.

But for now, he doesn’t get up anywhere. Doesn’t really want to.

Kitchen is quiet, warm with more than just condensation from cooking, soft from more than just small light of your lamp.

Simon likes evening like this one, when it all slows down and feels home. Like a proper life. And a proper family for him.

The two of you is frankly all he needs. All he wants. He knows that it may be incredibly greedy of him, but he’s been more than humble in anything other than you and Johnny. He’s been content with scraps and leftovers for a long time.

Is it really selfish if he wants to have it all for once?

Maybe it is.

Simon watches you salt water, sleeves of his sweater pulled up to your elbows, your shoulders spread and relaxed as you hum something under your breath. It’s a pleasure to watch you like that. Calm and relaxed in the safety of your home, in the warmth of your kitchen.

Johnny leans on his shoulder yawning and Simon wraps an arm around him, letting him lean in, letting him nap as they sit there.

Feels good. Feels exactly the way he wanted it to.

Better than he imagined.

Simon rubs circles on the back of Johnny’s shoulder, skin under his fingers is warm and soft, littered with smallest freckles he has ever seen. Like his boy was just dusted with cinnamon at birth.

Prettiest fucking thing.

Simon looks back at you coincidentally in the same moment you look at him and you smile silently, mouthing “you okay?” just so he can nod, feeling his chest slowly melt.

Yeah, he’s okay. He’s more than okay. He’s perfect.

Simon smiles as you quietly pour the pasta in the boiling pot, doing your best not to disturb half napping Johnny. You may not be in love with his boy (yet), but he’s rubbing off on you.

You already care after all.

Simon’s eyes slide to your neck again and something in him clenches, scrubbing from inside out with annoyance. Demanding out.

He can’t help but think back to the phone number in the corner of receipt and the way you came back home — neck blooming with hickeys, some bloke’s cologne clinging to your hair.

It disappeared after prolonged cuddling session, of course. He took care of that.

And when the evening of that day came — you were warm, sleepy and smelling like you again. Soft skin and laundry detergent with the hint of something uniquely yours.

The soft scent he could usually feel only by nuzzling into your neck or when he managed to dip his nose in your cleavage.

Same soft scent he could feel on the tip of his tongue, when he’d leave kisses on your cheeks and jaw, soaking you with his affection.

The thing is, he could take care of scent.

But could he take care of some bloke that took interest in you?

Soft, gorgeous, warm you. His moon in the sky, his home, his family. His lovely bird.

Simon doesn’t know how to just tell you what he wants. It’s not conventional and he already fucked in a bit and then some.

But if he was at some point to inevitably lash out when his desperate childish “don’t leave me, not you, don’t leave me, i don’t want to do this without you” pours out into something thick enough to choke the words out of him and possessive enough to try and keep you back…he’d better have some really good reason.

Because if he was to ask of your attention, your time, your effort, you — both for him and Johnny — it wouldn’t be fair if he wasn’t honest about his reasons.

You are grown people. He’s a grown man for god’s sake; he should be able to hold a proper conversation with you about something this big.

Simon knows you hate change and don’t like surprises and have hard time adjusting to changes in routines and patterns.

Honestly, so does he.

That’s one of the perks of being in military — you get the same fucking routine over and over again, you have a clear set of rules and even clearer one of instructions.

(If drill sergeant tells you to sweep the sunlight out of the garage, you sweep the sunlight out of the garage)

But it’s not military this time. It’s home.

And home has always been a safe harbor.

Place for both of you — space designed with your specific quirks and preferences in mind.

Big bed with orthopedic mattress for Simon to help his back aches and sleep apnea, bought bloody thing off the first cheque he got. You bought proper pillows and weighted blankets (filled with glass balls or something, he wonders where you even found it. Probably costed a fortune).

Good ACs both in living room and bedroom for you, which costed a bloody rack at the time, but it’s been more than worth it. Keeps you nice and cool in summer (God knows you can’t sleep if you are sweaty and if you aren’t sleeping — neither does Simon).

There is his favorite beaten up armchair you saw on Facebook Marketplace and somehow hauled back to the apartment. There is your couch with dozens of blankets and pillows, thing that’s sinfully comfortable but a tad short for someone of his size. Though many things are.

There is Simon’s butcher knives in the kitchen and your neat rows of spices. Your herbal tea and his straight black Earl Gray.

Simon’s right side of the bed and yours’s left one.

For so long this home was only for the two of you — the only constant in your lives, the place of comfort and security.

He still remembers how he had to change locks on windows and screw in additional bolt lock for you to the front door. Can’t have any accidents happen while he’s away on deployments and not here.

Simon knows that asking you to even consider making space for an entirely new person is a lot.

Almost too much.

So, a proper conversation about the matter is the least he can do to smoothen over possible transition.

He needs to do this.

Because as much as he loves you, he doesn’t love Soap any less. He can’t ask of Johnny to just wait, standing in the doorway with his bags still packed and ready if he’d need to leave at moment’s notice.

He can’t leave Johnny hanging in the air.

It’s not fair to Soap.

So, after dinner when Johnny is already halfway napping Simon wraps him in a blanket and tucks him comfortably on the couch. Lights on the Christmas tree are still twinkling, there is unfinished plates with pasta on the coffee table and some movie you and Simon watches a million times is playing.

It’s soft and quiet, it’s warm and peaceful.

Simon pads back to the kitchen, nudging your hip with his so he can wash dishes instead. It’s only fair — you cooked, he’s gonna clean.

You hum, moving aside and picking up towel in area to dry off things he passes to you after thorough wash. God knows both of you can’t stand dishes being wet and cold.

“Something on your mind”, you muse quietly and Simon glances at you, moving his lower jaw until there is click before he actually nods.

“Yeah. Think we can have a proper conversation?”, the words feel like he has to physically drag them out of himself, fingers twitching again because there is sharp ping of anxiety in his head, and he hates that he can’t just bottle up some of his thoughts.

You hum, eyes sliding up to him. There is something in your face that makes him pause turning off the water, heart thumping in his chest.

He needs to sit down and preferably right now. This is fucking scary, why is that so fucking scary.

Simon doesn’t know how to properly say everything in a way that would be coherent and make perfect fucking sense to you.

God knows out the two of you, he’s the one who’s worse with words.

A small stubbornly childish part of him still really wants you to read his bloody thoughts so he can be off the hook. But the same part sometimes makes him eat ice cream in the middle of the night and then sugar doesn’t let him sleep so evidently, that’s not the wisest his part.

There’s thumping anxiety behind his thorax, phantom vibrations sending nervous twitch to his fingers, his eyes landing on the useless awkward stump of his absent finger.

Had to re-learn how to fucking shoot after Roba’s torture and even then, he managed to crawl back to you.

Legally dead and everything, he came back, and you didn’t ask any questions. You just accepted him — a finger less and a whole lotta scars more.

You deserve to have a proper conversation about his behaviour and about Johnny’s presence. You deserve so much, and Simon is here fighting himself to choke out something. Fuck, anything at all.

But there’s knot in his throat and lead weights in his belly and it should be funny that he’s that scared.

Only he doesn’t feel like laughing at all.

“Do you want me to move out?”, your question snaps him out of panic induced stupor and every thought train in him stops with screeching of pulled stop lever.

“What?”, his voice croaks with broken shards, thumping in his chest just getting louder and louder, his eyes flicking to you like you might disappear if he lets you out of his sight. “Luv, no, I— wha’— sweet’eart, no.”, there is an edge to his voice.

An edge that scrapes the inside of his gut, carving your initials in tender bleeding flesh. So, he gets to keep something. So, he lives with a reminder of you.

“Why—”, he licks his lips, feeling every crack and that’s the wrong time but maybe he should have used the chapstick you gave him and maybe he should have talked with you before and maybe he should have done more. “Do you want to move out?”, the question tastes like bile in his mouth and God, he hates the way even the thought of you leaving makes him blind with panic.

Because no. Nononono, you— he doesn’t want you to leave, please, don’t leave, please, don’t.

“Thought that’s what you wanted to talk about. So…you know, Johnny can move in”, you explain with tone so casual he’d snap if he didn’t know better.

If he didn’t know you.

There’s tension coiling in your shoulders, that pulls occasional shrug-like motion out of you — half-discreet attempt to loosen some of the muscle pain by rolling your shoulders.

You don’t look at him, staring down in the sink at the remaining cup like you can obliterate it with the power of your mind. And honestly, Simon wouldn’t be too surprised if the bloody thing fell apart.

He for ones certainly feels like falling apart.

“I don’t want you to move out.”, Simon’s hand wraps around you, pulling you away from the sink. “I want you to never move out”, he mumbles in your hair, breathing in the smell of your shampoo and it’s so lame of him and he hates the numb-headed state he gets in as soon as he starts panicking.

Maybe he should actually try therapy like you’ve been suggesting. Or at least start taking medication? He’ll think about it later.

“Luv”, there’s a soft press and a tickling exhale to the back of your head and Simon is very close to wrapping himself around you like a weighted blanket and just pin you to the floor.

Which would be a lame fucking decision but thankfully, you aren’t leaving yet. So, he can do that. He has to do that. “Luv, I want you to stay. You and Johnny both. I want you two to stay with me”

Simon breathes it out, wrestling every word out of himself and it feels like bloody confession he saw in movies and with his palms on the soft roll of your tummy he feels impossibly close to the divine, knuckles gently rubbing idle patterns on you.

Why would he need any prayer beads when he lives with a bloody saint? Your flesh so soft under his fingers he wants to press his face into it and never come up for air.

“I don’t think John would appreciate your friend forever third-wheeling you two”, there’s a small vulnerable crack in your voice and Simon can’t help but dip his fingers in it, opening you up.

Cracking open your ribs and scooping up your heart.

More and more and more and more.

So he can finally see what you are feeling, so he knows he isn’t the only one scared/

So he knows you want him. Them.

“Luv, I don’t want to be friends anymore”, Simon exhales and his lips are trailing down the nape of your neck, drinking in the rapid beat of your heart and soft scent of your skin, his body pressed flush to your back. “Not just friends”

“What do you want then?”, hitch in your voice makes his blood flow south, raw feral need bubbling in him, nose rubbing at the hickeys someone else left on you.

Thick and dark hunger of his threatens to spill over and cling to your skin. Never to be washed away. Never wiped off. Never-never-never.

You can always be his, he’ll take care of everything, he’ll take care of you, of Johnny, of home. He’ll be so good, you won’t need for anything, you just gotta stay.

“Want you. Want Johnny. Want us three together.”, the quiet exhale sends a shiver through you and Simon drinks in it, lightheaded and slightly mad with need, pressing a kiss to the soft place between your neck and shoulder.

“What does Soap think about that?”, you try to deflect, slide into different railroad, branch conversation away from his obvious need to hear your answer.

“What do you think of that?”, Simon huffs out, teeth nipping your soft skin, stubble scratching you. Bastard knows exactly what he’s doing.

Simon smiles in your neck, his open-mouthed kiss hot and sinfully wet, his embrace tightening around you.

You are warmth and safety. You are home.

You are moon in his sky — he’d be blind without you, he’d be lost without you, he wouldn’t be Simon without you.

“I asked first.”, you dig your heels in and smack his palm away from sliding under the hem of his your sweater, effectively stopping Simon from getting handfuls of you to squeeze.

This man is not going to drop a bomb on you and then turn around and use your tummy as anti-stress toy.

He annoys you even more because Simon is not even trying to look guilty — his smile so wide you can feel it with every inch of your skin he’s pressing his big head to.

“I told him that.”, Simon finally admits, nuzzling himself in your neck. “You are mine. And he’s mine. It’s not gonna change.”

The silence stretches between you two as you turn your head to him, giving him the slowest blink in the world.

Simon pauses for a moment before huffing out air in your neck, palms finally getting a hold of your love handles.

“I can hear you rolling your eyes, sweet’eart. I’s not very nice”

“You are not very nice, Simon. You can’t just drop something like that on a person. It requires proper conversation. A mutual discussion of everyone’s borders and comfort levels”, you hiss trying to wiggle yourself other way in his hands so you can face him.

Simon eases his hold on you so you can reprimand him properly, but he doesn’t let you out of his hands completely. Not yet.

“I’m trying to have one”, which is honest to god’s truth, because he knows he’s not good at that and he knows you are right, fuck, you are right more often than not.

The sigh that he gets in response is so heavy he almost feels bashful. Almost.

“We can have one. All three of us in the morning”, he offers, and he can practically hear the sound of gears in your head turning faster.

Planning and outlining everything, already building a system in case of bad ending or good ending or no ending at all.

“Okay.”, you finally nod, your fingers hooking under his chin to tilt his head so he’s looking you in the eye. “Tomorrow in the morning, yes?”

Simon nods, leaning into your touch, eyes half-lidded and entirely too soft for someone who doesn’t have a definitive answer.

But he knows you.

And if it’s worth anything, the mere fact that he hasn’t heard “no” or “fuck off, Simon” is a good bloody sign. So things are going much better than expected in all honesty. Job well done. Almost.

There’s warmth in his chest as he cuddles sleepy Soap back to the land of awake, fingers rubbing the nape of Johnny’s neck, pulling him out of the slumber.

It’s slow and soft and for a few long blissful moments Soap is warm and heavy, honey is coating his limbs and eyelids.

He is safe and he is home, Simon’s side pressing into his, your quiet voice asking if he’d like a cup of tea.

And then, like a bucket of ice-cold water is “We will need to talk”, sending his heart in a rapid beat, his eyes flying open.

“Talk?”, he sounds hoarse even to himself and you just hum, collected as always, eyes calm when they settle on him.

“About the three of us”, you explain, and he swallows, eyes watching you.

Is that the time for him to pack bags? Is that the time you realised that you don’t want a stray in your bed and a strange man in your home?

Johnny wraps his fingers around your wrist, not even realising until he’s face to face to you, your eyes watching him expectantly.

“What’s wrong?”, there is a gentle care in your face he didn’t expect to see, there is lack of fight in you he didn’t expect to encounter.

Because in his first day here you looked at him like he was a mutt your partner dragged from a cold street and told you that it’s staying.

In his first day here, you hissed and bristled and snapped at him, your silence weighted, your eyes heavy.

Soap knows all too well that nothing comes to the likes of him without a fair price. Soap knows better than to hope without fighting his way up and proving himself over and over and over.

He’s not going to be pitied. He’s not going to be a charity that you do for the sake of Simon’s happiness; he doesn’t want it to be like that.

Johnny is anything if not persistent. Johnny refuses to go out without a fight, without trying to wiggle his way in, without clawing at everything he wants.

If he won’t get place for himself, at least he will leave his mark.

As a reminder that he was here. As a reminder that he was almost loved.

Johnny nuzzles in your palms, eyes a little mad and a little gone, hollowed out pit in his belly, hunger in his chest that he cannot sate, need that you know all too well.

A hysterical chant in his head.

Love me-love me-love me-love me.

Don’t leave me, don’t forget me. Notice me.

Johnny shudders when you hug him, when your hand reaches out for him even if you don’t need him. Just because you want to.

Just because you want him.

Johnny presses his body into you, whines when Simon presses his own from behind, his mind blanking out at the feel of being surrounded by you two.

It’s warm, plush of your tits cushioning on his chest, bulk of Simon’s body pressing him into you tighter.

More. He wants more. He needs more.

Johnny spreads his legs open and hides his face in your shoulder.

Johnny hiccups when Simon’s fingers rub his prostate, torturously slowly stretch him open, kisses littering his back, sharp overbite of Simon’s jaws sinking in the fat of Soap’s ass.

Leaving mark, staking claim, showing love.

Johnny whines when you pepper kisses all over his face, fingers going through his sweat-wet hair, pushing it off his face, your lips the sweetest fucking thing. He never wants to go without your kisses ever again.

He is sloppy and wet, mixed drool dripping down yours and his chins, his stubble scratching your soft face and oh, he’s sorry, bonnie, he’s sorry-he’s sorry-he’s sorry.

Johnny doesn’t realise he’s crying until you wipe his tears off, until Simon doesn’t wrap his hand around his waist tightly, pulling him in, the delicious stretch of thick cock spreading Soap open.

Fucking hell.

Johnny whimpers something incoherent, Scottish Gaelic mixing up with English, eyes glazed over and desperate, hands gripping you and legs spreading for Simon.

Anything. He’ll do anything.

Just don’t leave him behind.

“Love me-love me-love me-love me”, chants in his head, dances on his tongue, tears out of his throat when he sinks into your welcoming heat. Drunk on pleasure and dazed with need.

He wants it all. He wants you both.

Forever and always. Until death do you part.

Until you no longer want him

You make the prettiest fucking sounds when he bites your neck, canines sinking in soft skin, his cock so deep inside of you it should be impossible.

But he pushes himself into you again — dives in and gulps as much water as he can so he stays at the bottom of you.

So he can stay as a small coin in your fountain, a memento you’d never forget, a man you might never love but who’d never be just another face in the crowd for you.

He will always be someone.

Simon presses himself hard to Soap’s back, rumbles out “kiss ‘er more” and Johnny obliges because if this is his last night he’s going out with fireworks and your taste on his tongue and Simon’s bites all over his body.

And the imprint of your combined hands on him — gripping and tugging and holding and squeezing.

It’s so much and so overwhelmingly perfect he doesn’t know how he’s still lucid, pleasure dripping down-down-down, his spine melting, his mouth hungry wet thing full of teeth and promises to be the best.

To be everything. Anything. Whatever you need. Whatever you want.

Your lips find his and Simon bites down on his shoulder, fucking into him with the slow force of a heavy hammer coming down on anvil with all its weight.

You squeeze around him, inner walls of your cunt wet silken heaven that drives Johnny mad, that makes Johnny blabber filthy things, voice cracking with something wet and gurgly and he's kissing you again.

You won't forget him. He won't let you. He won't let Simon.

Pleasure coils in him until there's nowhere else to go, until he's overflowing and pathetic - face buried in your neck and god, Simon was right, you do smell divine - back arched so hard he feels like his spine will fucking crack but he wants more. He wants everything.

Until he's sick from how full he is. Until he can't take it.

Pleasure drips down-down-down and he never wants this moment to end, he never wants to come back to what was before and how fucking ironic it is that orgasm snaps him out of it?

He's coming and coming and coming, his body honeyed and heavy, his head empty and he's wet like a fucking dog - sweat and drool and saliva and combined fluids drying up on the insides of his thighs.

Soap blinks himself back to reality, but he can't move - he doesn't want to really. His face is nuzzled in your tits, your fingers combing through his wet hair as Simon wipes you both off.

The towel is warm and a little scratchy, cleaning you up, taking care of a mess Johnny is right now.

It's good. It's soft.

It almost feels like he belongs here. Like he deserves it. Like he isn't a stray accidentally let in and who purposefully overstayed his welcome.

But you are soft, and Simon is warm, and Johnny is sandwiched between the two of you in the best way possible.

He makes sure to remember every little thing about this moment. After all it may be the first one and very much the last one.

So, if things go south tomorrow - he was here. He felt good. He felt wanted.

For one beautiful hot night he belonged.

That's what matters, isn't it?

Taglist: @thestoriesiread @skeletonsucker @sirbonesly @blackhawkfanatic @rpgsandstuff @danielle143 @parasite--girl @un-aesthetic @vmaxis @kittygonap @love-kha1 @hidden-reblogs @sgt-barnesveins

[writeriguess]

Hiiiiiiiiiii I was wondering if you write for Dabi (bnha) and if so could you have a super oblivious reader? He has strong feelings for her and she feels the same way, but she doesn't have a lot of self confidence and is so convinced he couldn't love her that she doesn't notice the signs that he *does* at all. Shigaraki or Dabi himself have to spell it out for her. I hope you're doing well c:

author's note: Yes of course I write for Dabi <3

Burning

The first time Dabi realized he had it bad for you, he almost laughed at himself. Him? Catching feelings? What a joke.

But the joke was on him, because now he was stuck with it—with you, this annoyingly sweet, absolutely clueless little thing who had no idea how deep he was in. He'd tried to make it obvious. He stuck around when he normally wouldn’t, let you ramble about whatever nonsense filled your head, stole you food when you forgot to eat. He even softened his usual sharp tone when he spoke to you, which, coming from him, was practically a love confession in itself.

And yet, you remained completely, infuriatingly oblivious.

"You gonna keep starin’ at her, or are you actually gonna grow a pair and say something?" Shigaraki drawled from across the room, idly scratching at his neck.

Dabi clicked his tongue, tearing his gaze away from where you were sitting on the worn-out couch, nose buried in a book. "Mind your own business."

Shigaraki just smirked. "It is my business when I have to watch you pine like a damn schoolboy every day. It’s embarrassing."

Dabi scowled, but before he could snap back, you looked up. "What’s embarrassing?"

He didn’t miss the way your gaze flickered to him, then away just as fast, like you couldn’t possibly believe he was the topic of conversation. He clenched his jaw.

"Nothing," he muttered. "Shigaraki’s just talking out of his ass again."

You smiled, and something about how soft it was made his stomach twist. "You two are always bickering. It’s kinda cute."

Shigaraki barked out a laugh. "Yeah? You think that’s cute? What about Dabi stealing food for you every damn day? Or how he only ever watches your stupid movies when you put them on? Or—"

"Shut up," Dabi growled, but the damage was done. You were blinking at Shigaraki like he’d just spoken in a foreign language.

"Wait… what?"

Shigaraki rolled his eyes. "Holy shit. You seriously didn’t notice?" He gestured vaguely at Dabi. "This idiot’s practically in love with you."

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Dabi felt his face heat—though whether it was from anger or something else, he wasn’t sure.

You stared at him like you were trying to process some impossible equation. "But that’s… no. That doesn’t make sense."

He scoffed, forcing himself to lean back against the couch, arms crossed like he wasn’t seconds away from combusting. "And why’s that?"

"Because you’re you. And I’m just… me."

Dabi’s jaw ticked. "You say that like it means something."

You looked away, fingers twisting in your lap. "It does. I mean, you could have anyone. Why would you…"

He let out a slow breath through his nose. "You really are a dumbass."

Your head snapped up, eyes wide. "What—"

"I don’t do this kind of thing, alright? I don’t stick around. I don’t care about people. But you—" His voice dropped, rough with something raw. "You got under my damn skin, and now I’m stuck with it. So yeah, I like you. I thought I was making it obvious, but clearly, that was giving you too much credit."

You opened your mouth, then shut it again. Then, after a moment, you let out a shaky laugh. "You are making it obvious. I’m just an idiot."

Dabi smirked. "Yeah, but you’re my idiot."

The warmth in your gaze made something in him settle, just a little. Finally, finally, you got it.

Shigaraki groaned. "Thank God. Now can you two get out of my sight? I’m gonna throw up."

Dabi didn’t look away from you as he flipped Shigaraki off. Because for once, he didn’t care about anything else.

Not when you were looking at him like that.

But of course, nothing was that simple. Because while you finally realized how he felt, you still couldn’t seem to believe it.

The next day, Dabi caught you staring at him, eyes narrowed, as if trying to puzzle something out. When he raised a brow, you quickly looked away, face heating.

It happened again at dinner. And again when you were sitting together, watching some dumb show you liked. Every time, you’d glance at him like you were trying to see what Shigaraki had pointed out, and each time, your expression would shift into uncertainty, like you still couldn’t quite accept it.

Dabi sighed. "Are you gonna say something, or just keep staring at me like a creep?"

You flinched. "I’m not staring."

"Yeah, you are."

You fidgeted. "I just… I’m trying to understand."

Dabi frowned. "Understand what?"

You bit your lip, hesitating. "You really like me?"

He groaned. "Are we seriously still on this? Yes. I like you. I want you. Do I need to spell it out more? Want me to tattoo it on my forehead? Because at this point, I might as well."

Your face turned red, but you still looked doubtful. "I just… I don’t get why."

Dabi dragged a hand down his face. "You ever think maybe it’s not something you have to ‘get’? Maybe you should just accept it and stop making this harder than it needs to be?"

You still looked unconvinced, but after a moment, you exhaled. "Okay."

Dabi narrowed his eyes. "Okay?"

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Okay."

For the first time in weeks, Dabi felt like he could breathe. "About damn time."

You laughed softly. And when you leaned just a little closer, Dabi figured maybe this whole feelings thing wasn’t so bad after all.

Feel free to request <3

[trustmypoison]

Ateez confessing to their best friend

Requested? Yes!

Request: ‘‘Can you please do a headcannon of ateez confessing to their bestfriend that they have a crush on them?‘

Hongjoong

I think there would be an unspoken tension between you two that you’re afraid to address. When you think about it, there always has been. It’s something you dance around for a while until you just can’t. But you’re visiting him late in the studio one night and you both are looking at something together, sitting close, and then suddenly you’re kissing. When it’s time to come up for air, he feels quite a bit of confidence in saying, “I guess we should talk about that.” 

Seonghwa

He’s stunning and you’re not blind. Neither are a lot of other people. The thing is, he turns down people left and right. You don’t think anything about it at first, but when an idol that everyone chases after asks him out and he says, “Oh thank you, but I’m not interested,” you just have to ask. When you bring it up, he initially shrugs it off. When you ask if he’s already interested in someone, he flushes and says “It’s not important.” It’s only after a little arm-twisting that he finally admits he’s interested in you. He’d feel a lot of fear about this moment but would be so, so relieved if you returned his feelings. 

Yunho

You both already act like you’re dating so why are both of you surprised?? (I’m sorry, all I can see is the friends to lovers fic I wrote for him.) This sort of creeps up on him in a way that once he realizes how he’s always looking for and reaching for you, he can’t unsee it. I do think there would have to be an external force that would compel him to confess. Like if you were asked on a date by someone else and you asked his opinion, he would find himself saying, “I’d really rather you not.”

Yeosang

So fucking casual!! So casual in fact that it feels like it came out of left field. He just straight up asks you out and you have this horrible moment of confusion before the panic sets in, because you can’t ask something like that so casually after years of friendship!! But he does and he accepts that it’s a shock for you, but he really just wants to get it off of his chest. He’d totally go back to normal if you didn’t like him like that, but if you did? Not so casual anymore because the relief is obvious!! The casualness was totally fake!!

San

He’s so touchy that this is another one that to strangers you look like you’re dating. But the thing is, he’s touchy even when no one else is around. So imagine cuddling up to him on the couch and he goes in to kiss your cheek like he’s done a million times. Naturally (and stereotypically) you turn your head at just the right time that he ends up kissing the corner of your lips. He likes to see you flustered and acts like he doesn’t understand why. “That was a little close, don’t you think?” You’ll laugh nervously. He’ll shrug in a strong attempt to be casual and ask if that’s a bad thing. If you question if he actually would want to kiss you, he says, “Yes of course,” in an instant. 

Mingi

This is totally an overnight realization. One day, he wakes up and sees you that day and thinks, “Uh when did I become attracted to them??” His attitude will do a 180. He’s totally avoidant, and when he can’t avoid you he’s totally awkward. You actually think you might have done something wrong and one of the group members has to step in. The problem is that he’ll have let this go so long that you’re mad by the time he’s ready to talk. He has to confess and grovel. 

Wooyoung

He confesses so many times in so many ways and you really think he’s joking. It’s funny to him at first because he thinks you’re just a little dense. But over time, the confessions get increasingly more serious and you still aren’t getting it. This will be to the absolute delight of his members to watch him struggle with this. Eventually, he’ll reach a breaking point and just pull you into a kiss because it seems words just aren’t working. His head might explode when you ask, “Wait, are you into me???” and he’s just like, “Yes!!! I kept trying to tell you!!!”

Jongho

Another stereotypical moment, but bear with me. You have a bad partner that just isn’t treating you right and you’re upset for the millionth time. He’s almost scolding you when he says you shouldn’t put up with that sort of treatment and you can do worlds better. But you might be a little jaded that all relationships are like this. If you express this, he’ll just snap and say, “I wouldn’t be like that.” That’s most certainly something that he can’t back out of now. Not that he wants to because bitterness about watching you suffer in your current relationship has been building for a while and he has a lot to say. 

[transformers-spike]

autobots turn >:)

i did the decepticons i really like and how they would feel, time for the autobots i really like; wheeljack, arcee, and ratchet.

out of everyone, wheeljack would be the one to most likely find human porn, if it wasn't, ratchet trying to look into human anatomy to keep up with what affects a fleshy body. he would not be ashamed to say that he has indeed masturbated to it, too. it is once he is with his human that he is told how porn is mostly faked and a lot of things are used for money and not genuine sake.

especially discovering how his human partner feels about themself. emotions are hard, but he can understand. he lets them be vulnerable and holds them when they feel like they will be judged when they won't be. he adores them, no matter what they look like. outside or inside. this doooooes mean he is asking questions how sensitive everything else is. which leads to the best mind blowing orgasm the human has from his glossa alone.

with arcee, she learns through her partner rather than porn. i do not think she would be all interested as she has a human in front of her that she always was sporting for. (before, it was june until they came along but shh.) interfacing isn't on top of her priority list, but when her human wants to learn more about her equipment, she gives them time with each other. it means she also gets to learn about her partner's and adores how large their anterior node is. always in sight and their valve so cute, however a lot smaller than what she heard from the human "fetishists" (cough cough magnus and wheeljack cough cough).

it is a tight fit, but she can mass displace if it is hard. if her spike can't fit, they can always resort to scissoring, her digits, or glossa. either way, she gets to watch all the faces they make. and there is a lot of cuddles afterwards.

then with ratchet... oh, he has knowledge on the different kinds of intersex there is. once his own human partner tells him about themself biologically before a checkup is done, he just tells them straight up that it doesn't change his view on them. it actually helps better with an exam/checkup to see what he is looking for. a normal checkup... that is what would have happened if his large digits just didn't rub against them so deliciously.

they try to keep still, be as silent as possible, but when you have a doctor staring at your valve while it is leaking lubricants is.....a bit hard. the doctor in him tries to keep everything in line, but when he hears a whimper, his glossa is slipping into that wet heat and just enjoying his human's whines and moans. they will forever be beautiful to him, no matter what.

I am so giddy reading this ueifieiofeoefi It's a joy to have other folks talk about these experiences with bots, especially since I don't have enough knowledge to tackle this. Anyone can send me their headcanons on x thing, especially if they have insight I lack. Always an absolute delight to read. Also - why is Magnus also a human fetishist? You can't just drop this and run - I'm begging to hear more about it

[pixiexdusts-world]

Min Ho’s crush problem

Min Ho Moon x reader

Summary: Min Ho’s feelings for a friend become hard to ignore, leading to a moment neither of them expected.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

I know something’s up with Min Ho.

At first, I thought I was imagining it. He’s always been confident, teasing, and a little dramatic, but lately… he’s different around me. His usual cocky remarks turn into stuttered sentences. He looks away quickly when I I catch him staring. And the biggest red flag? He’s nice to me. Like, genuinely nice, without the usual snark.

Min Ho never acts like this.

“Hey.” Kitty slides into the seat next to me at lunch, setting her tray down with a thud. “You have noticed, right?”

I blink. “Noticed what?”

She gestures—not subtly at all—toward Min Ho, who’s grabbing his food. It would be completely normal, except every time I move, his eyes flicker to me. Like he’s hyperaware of my presence.

Kitty smirks. “That.”

Q, sitting on her other side, leans in. “Oh yeah, it’s obvious.”

Yuri, who’s been scrolling through her phone, finally looks up. “Wait, are we talking about how Min Ho is secretly obsessed with her?”

I nearly choke on my drink. “He is not—”

“Oh, he absolutely is.” Juliana grins. “It’s kinda cute.”

I frown, trying to act unaffected, but my face feels like it’s on fire. “You guys are being ridiculous.”

Dae sighs, exasperated. “I don’t know why we’re even debating this. Min Ho is in love with her, end of story.”

“In love?” I repeat, voice an octave higher. “Can we all calm down?”

“Fine.” Kitty taps her chin. “Maybe not love yet, but the boy is smitten.”

Before I can protest, Min Ho’s voice cuts through the conversation.

“Uh… what’s going on?”

I freeze. The whole table goes silent. I don’t even have to turn around to know he’s looking directly at me.

Kitty, being Kitty, answers without hesitation. “Oh, just talking about how you’re secretly in love with her.”

I slap my forehead. I’m going to kill her.

Min Ho chokes on his drink. “W-what?!”

The entire table bursts into laughter, except for me and Min Ho—who looks terrified.

Q grins. “Relax, man. We all see it.”

Min Ho scoffs, but he’s turning pink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Yuri raises an eyebrow. “You sure? Because you’ve been staring at her like she hung the moon for, like, weeks.”

Min Ho’s jaw tightens. He’s scrambling—trying to come up with some cocky remark, some way to brush it off. But for the first time ever, Min Ho is speechless.

And that’s when it hits me.

They’re right.

Every stolen glance, every flustered response, every unnecessary favor—Min Ho likes me.

Min Ho, who flirts with everyone but never actually means it.

Min Ho, who is annoyingly perfect and way too attractive for his own good.

Min Ho, who I might—might—be crushing on a little, too.

Crap.

Before anyone can say anything else, Min Ho abruptly stands up, his chair scraping against the floor. “I just remembered—I have to, uh, go. Somewhere. Important.”

Then he rushes off without another word.

Kitty cackles. “Oh my God, he ran.”

Dae shakes his head. “I’ve never seen him this bad.”

I exhale, staring at the empty spot where Min Ho was just sitting. My heart is still racing.

Juliana nudges me. “So… you’re gonna do something about it, right?”

I bite my lip. “Maybe.”

Yuri smirks. “Good. Because if you don’t, we will.”

I groan, but there’s a tiny smile on my face. Min Ho has a crush on me. And judging by the way my stomach flips at the thought…

I think I kind of love that.

I find him outside, pacing in front of the school’s entrance like a caged lion. He’s so absorbed in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice me approach.

“Min Ho,” I call out, my voice hesitant but curious.

He jumps, startled, before he turns to face me. His expression flickers between relief and something else—something softer.

“Uh, hey,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think you’d follow me out here.”

I cross my arms, trying to act casual, but it’s hard when my heart’s hammering in my chest. “You ran off pretty quickly back there.”

Min Ho laughs nervously. “Yeah, well… I wasn’t exactly prepared for that conversation.”

“You mean the part where Kitty outed your little crush?”

His face turns crimson, and he looks away. “I wouldn’t exactly call it a crush.”

“Oh?” I take a step closer, smirking. “What would you call it then?”

Min Ho doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifts uncomfortably, his fingers drumming against his leg. Finally, he sighs, his usual cocky demeanor slipping just a little.

“Okay, fine. Maybe it’s a crush. I don’t know… I’m not good at this stuff.”

“This stuff?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “You mean, liking someone?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “I’m not really… experienced when it comes to serious feelings.”

I laugh softly, a little in disbelief. “Seriously? Min Ho, you’re always so confident. I figured this would be easy for you.”

He looks at me, his eyes soft but uncertain. “Yeah, well, not everything comes easy. Especially when it’s you.”

My breath catches. I’ve known Min Ho for a while, but the way he’s looking at me now—like I’m the only thing in the world—makes my stomach do flips.

“So… what now?” I ask, trying to play it cool even though my heart’s racing.

Min Ho steps closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “Now, I don’t know. Maybe… maybe I can try this whole thing out. If you want.”

I bite my lip, then smile. “I think I could go for that.”

Min Ho grins, his confidence returning in full force. “Good. Because I’m not backing down now.”

I laugh, a little nervous but mostly excited. The space between us closes just a little more as Min Ho reaches up, his hand gently cupping my cheek. His thumb strokes my skin softly as his gaze flickers down to my lips, then back to my eyes, searching for permission.

I don’t say anything. I just lean in, closing the distance myself, feeling his breath mix with mine. And when our lips finally meet, it’s soft at first—tentative, like neither of us is quite sure what comes next. But then Min Ho pulls me closer, his other hand resting on my back, deepening the kiss, and it feels like everything around us fades away.

And then–whistle

From behind us, a loud cheer erupts.

“Yesss! Finally!”

I pull back, both of us startled, but when I turn around, I see the entire group–Dae, Q, Kitty, Yuri and Juliana–all standing at the window, cheering and clapping.

“Oh my god, you guys are so in love” Kitty calls out, grinning from ear to ear.

I bury my face in my hands, mortified, but Min Ho just laughs. “Guess we’re really trying this then, huh?”

I laugh too, feeling a rush of warmth flood my chest. “Guess so”.

He looks at me, his smile a little shy now, but there’s something else in his eyes–something that tells me this is just the beginning. “So… does this mean we’re a thing now?”

I grin “I think so”.

And with that, I let myself sink into the moment. With him, with all of them. The teasing, the awkwardness, the uncertainty–it’s all worth it for this feeling right now

[mc-cookies]

LONG MOSTLY UNEDITED POST AHEAD! tl;dr Eureka’s devs made the unconventional choice to create an imbalanced, volatile, and deadly tabletop combat system, and it helps make the game really good at telling detective stories. If you’re ever making a game that’s inspired by genre fiction, you shouldn’t be afraid to copy tropes that other games don’t normally use. Also, check out Eureka! It’s incredibly fun to read and play, and a master class in thoughtful game design. Full write up below.

One underrated aspect of @anim-ttrpgs’s Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy that I think tabletop designers should look to for inspiration is the fact that it doesn’t shy away from the conventions of its genre, even if they conflict with the conventional wisdom of how TTRPGs usually work. Eureka wants to be a toolkit for mystery stories in the vein of Agatha Christie-style mystery novels, film noir, or detective TV shows like Columbo and Kolchak, and it’s willing to bend tabletop gaming tradition to do that in a way that seems limiting, but actually increases the potential for compelling and appropriate stories.

The example that made this observation come up for me is the choice to create a crunchy, tactical combat system where guns and explosives absolutely break the power curve. Usually, in games that are heavily opinionated about combat and dangerous situations, the goal is for the player characters to fight with finesse and skill, often growing in power over time, and to that end there are many viable strategies that all scale massively as the players upgrade them. This is a great way to allow for fights that feel balanced, larger than life, and satisfyingly heroic. It’s also not remotely what Eureka does.

Eureka’s combat isn’t meant to emulate a modern action film, a high fantasy adventure, or a shonen anime. It aims to emulate the deadly, fast paced, environmentally driven heightened realism of action scenes in classic film noir, and to do that, it’s brave enough to ask its players to change their expectations about what a crunchy combat system looks like. Combat moves quickly, it’s physically and mentally taxing on the people involved, it’s character driven, and it is supremely dangerous. That’s abstract, but it’s pretty clear from the rules about weaponry: any bullet can incapacitate an average person in one shot, and explosives instantly kill people within their blast radius.

That’s of course not the only thing driving the danger of Eureka’s combat — another fun figure is that it only takes ten good punches or kicks to incapacitate or kill someone — but I think it’s a good way to get at the core of what Eureka tries to do: it forces you to consider what options actually make sense and create opportunities for interesting stories.

Eureka doesn’t want investigators valiantly charging across a battlefield to push up against their assailants or anything, because the stories it tries to produce are very grounded in depicting how unlikely that is to work. (If a character in a vintage noir film gets shot anywhere in their torso or head, they aren’t likely to survive without intensive medical attention, and Eureka is faithful to that!) Eureka wants people to scope out the location to improve their strategy, make smart use of ambushes and weaponry to get an advantage on people who threaten them, and run away or avoid combat if they come across someone they can’t handle.

This extreme volatility massively limits the reliability of characters’ abilities and ensures that far fewer options are available in combat, which seems like it would be less fun, but it’s quite the opposite. The action sequences that Eureka produces are incredibly engaging and fun to play out, because it makes smart use of tried and true tropes to make fights in mystery stories feel compelling and relevant. Heightened realism, danger, and desperation are important to mystery genre fiction, and Eureka seeks to put the players in that headspace. Fights are swift, violent, and often primarily decided by who had better plans and supplies. That’s by design.

There are a lot of great interactions that are enabled by this design philosophy — if a mafia goon pulls aside his jacket to reveal a handgun in his waistband, Eureka encourages the players and characters to take it seriously, because using a gun is seriously raising the stakes! That’s a trope that’s commonly used in all sorts of media, but if guns were easy to deal with, it would make no sense to worry about it. Creating a system that reflects how threatening guns can be in mystery stories and real life is a great way to avoid ludonarrative dissonance and encourage genuine character interactions, and Eureka is oozing with other design tidbits that accomplish similar things. (Hell, half the trait list is basically just there to allow investigators to embody classic genre tropes, and it’s awesome.)

(Deadly weapons in Eureka are balanced by the fact that they and the training needed to use them effectively are often challenging and expensive to get, especially by legal means — which also allows for some interesting social commentary on how violence is exceedingly easily enacted by the wealthy and powerful, while the self defense of marginalized people is criminalized and villainized — but there’s enough there for a whole other post, and this one is long enough as is.)

All that to say, if Eureka had blindly gone with the prevailing approaches taken by popular RPGs in this area (and many others), it would not be half as good at what it does — it would just feel like a reskin of some other game, but marketed as investigative urban fantasy. Instead, it’s a wholly original toolkit that lets writers, GMs, and players create their own spins on a classic plot structure in a fun and engaging way. Taking risks, thinking about incentive structures, and comparing the stories you want to tell with other media that creates a similar vibe is what takes an RPG from being just good to being great. If you’re designing a game, you can accomplish a lot by knowing what stories you want to create and honing in on why you enjoy them. And don’t be afraid to adapt ideas wholesale, either. Eureka cites multiple full pages of inspirations for the vibes, stories, and mechanics that make up its identities, and it’s a better game for it.

And, I must add, if you’re looking for a game that’s fun, good at telling stories about people investigating mysteries, has a friendly and active community, and doesn’t funnel money to Wizards of the Coast, a subsidiary of Hasbro, then absolutely consider taking Eureka out for a spin! It’s a brilliant take on the mystery genre that gives players and GMs the tools to explore deep, realistic, and sometimes supernatural situations in an easy and character driven package.

[urautismdiagnosis]

Pokes u

Do you have Barnacles Headcanons to share with his wife (aka me)

YES also sorry for the late response lol uhhh this is mostly just stuff from my au lol and its got different world building than the show does

Ok first off some context, in my au the reasons for PEOPLE species to have different traits is more based on environmental factors and conflicts between other groups of people. 👌

There are definitely some wild species that aren't even intelligent enough to have nearly any sapience (in simple terms its self awareness) that would probably end up being food or wtv, but like going based off of irl stuff polar bears mostly need high fat diets and unless there are a TON extra of high fat food fish thatd make the arctic pretty hard to survive

Unless ofc 👀 well they are PEOPLE people so u can convince me they'd have somehow domesticated either musk or (hoofed arctic animal) or bred some other kind of milk producing animal as a source of food

All I'm saying is that he could and would and has eaten an entire wheel of cheese before

And he absolutely has a secret stash of high fat snacks because I think he might be a liiiiittttle bit self conscious about it

Because he realized that arctic animals and non arctic animals have HUGE differences in social norms and apparently most animals don't have at least 3 inches of fat minimum on their entire body???

And its not cuz hes embarrassed of the fat, its normal and healthy, he just doesn't want to go from Trustworthy and Reliable Captain of thr Octonauts to "oh my god i need like an entire cheesecake rn to feel normal" in front of everyone cuz like 😭 he is a bit of a comfort eater. Like ah yes our strong and level headed captain is eating an entire box of oreos at 2 am because he misses his sister again 😭

Ofc the others do find out but there isn't any judgement if anything kwazii would probably join him, bro has a history of having weird food habits (hm wonder why... surely nothing related to being shipwrecked on an island and having to survive) and its nice

He does like, have THE best snacks tho and he might be hoarding them just a tiny bit-

he also can feel a bit worried about coming off as too large or intimidating so thats why he's always got his hands on his hips- and his head lowered down a bit

its not that he seems like physically scary but a larger presence can be intimidating for a lot of people

Teeth and claws aren't usually seen as intimidating in most scenarios in this world because its so common and is just like a feature of the species the same way hearing or smell can be btw

so yeah someone threatening to scratch ya can be scary but so can someone being able to find you because they can hear ur heartbeat 💀🙏

Back to the main point, like all the other octonauts aren't even like medium sized animals (like wolves and whatever), there ALL very small species. So hes like way in the upper range, the highest and tallest possible species while everyone else are all smaller ones specifically

So if barnacles is Actually Mad (💀 the scenario to make him genuinely mad has to be BAD) then he will go to his FULL HEIGHT

Cuz irl polar bears got very tall strong necks and etc so I think him standing at Full Serious Height would be very startling

Also about polar bears sense of smell!

Circling back to the adaptations being related to survival pressures and social ones

Polar bears in this world, use their sense of smell for something very important in the arctic: navigation, above and below water

It prevents things like getting lost in the wintery white world, which is so so easy for others. It can help find others than might be lost, and it can tell u if they r injured or not and I think thats precious

there is one problem tho, while their sense of smell is VERY strong, stronger than bloodhounds and etc, its made for being able to detect things very far away in freezing temperatures... so they're extremely sensitive

Which wouldn't be that much of an issue if barnacles wasn't in all sorts of more tropical environments...

In thr artic all u can smell is other people, animals, and which was is home

But if he's not in the octopod or under the water,but somewhere where there's THOUSANDS of insects,hundreds of pollinating plants, and tons and tons of different creatures all at once-

I think thats be overwhelming and he's probably be allergic to sooooooo many plants poor guy 🥺

Also even tho he like trims and thins out his thick coat, and even has a little cooling pack vest sort of thing under his uniform he can still overheat pretty easily

Cuz yk, the several inches of brown fat or blubber? Someone might say "hey just adjust ur diet and whatever to lose it" but that would be VERY UNHEALTHY for him... mess with the balance of his bodys systems yk? so its really not an option;^;

So yeah he still tends to overheat and thats why having his room canoncially set to actual arctic temperatures every night helps him sleep better and feel better

Usually alot of octonauts missions happen under water or in gups or maybe they'll spend some time on an island and it'll be hot

But with extended time spent in warmer climates he has to take alot more breaks and it can be alot harder for him

Also I think that he had a period in his early 20s college years where he was like kinda lowkey depressed because he was learning more about global warming and capitalism

, it didn't last too long fortunately because yk he met professor inkling who was already developing his idea for the octonauts

and they actuslly became really good friends and it really came together as a realistic thing when tweak got wind of em

On a more depressing note global warming for polar bears in a world where they're actual people with a unique culture and heritage means some totally different stuff

Like its not even the fact they can't even engage in their own cultural traditions (cough traveling in that one arctic global warming special where they were all exhausted cuz all the melted sea ice cough)

Its also the loss of genuine homes (in my au they're kinda like ice hobbit houses 🥰since polar bears irl will dig out shallow resting spots or mama bears will have dens with a toasty 30 degrees farenheit), architectural collapses, traditional jobs that can only be done in the arctic being lost, and being forced into more southern grounds because more and more just can't rely living there anymore

And I think that'd be super depressing to see in real time, its a cultural death

Heck even irl there's so many grizzlies going north and polar going south that they've actually started to mix and start having hybrids (grolar bears). And the thing is they're so genetically compatible that their species can actually develope into their own separate identity that might totally replace most if not all polar bears sense they're just more adapt to the changing climate and have more range,with benefits from both species

And while that sounds great on paper and makes sense and is obviously fine for them to have easier lives, I think in thr context of this world it would leave barnacles with some conflicted feelings

Because the thing is there used to be concerns about polar bears having to leave their homes to live is societies and communities that just... that their jobs wouldn't fit to. That would be physically harder for them to be healthy in. That they'd have to give up so many thousands of years of traditions thatd be impossible to carry over in.

Idk its late and I've got one braincell and idk if this makes sense and im sorry if it got depressing 😭

But yeah, so there's more and more of these younger people grolar bears, that just... will never have that full connection to their heritage. And idk I think its sad and maybe I'm projecting

Also I think that if barnacles was ever sad he'd just cope by playing the accordian lol,like the one meme of the girl playing "its a mental breakdown ✨" on a kazoo 😭

Let's end this on a happier note tho, circling back to barnacles being several feet taller than his entire crew, like-

We all already know this guy emotionally adopts every living being in sight

And well, his ENTIRE CREW literally, and I mean very literally and physically, looks up to him-

Like they all gotta turn their heads up and loon at him with big hopeful eyes ready for whatever he has to say

And im gonna be honest his composure is alot stronger than mine cux I would CRY because of how adorable that is

Like he knows its probably so unprofessional and might be seen as condescending BUT DAMN IT HE CANT HELP THR CUTENESS AGRESSION!!! HE WANTS TO SQUISH THEIR TINY FACES!!!

so sometimes hell have a very Serious and Leadership-like Captain Conversation, and then thr SECOND hes out of their sight (and hopefully hearing) HE JUST HAS TO STOP HIMSELF FROM JUST CRYING-

Cuz the second hes out of sight he will LOSE ALL COMPOSURE and need a minute because he loves them so much AND THEYRE SO FCKING SMALL-

Its kinda funny tho cuz ur captain barnacles is a pretty tiny guy, wonder howd that work for u XD

Anyways gn or whatever time it is for u 🐻‍❄️✨✨✨

Also he and Bianca call at least every week for an hour and frequently send eachother updates about what they're up to

He could talk to her about anything and she's good at talking sense into him

He makes sure that natquick gets plenty of social interaction too, that man is like his father figure

(Kinda sad but I headcanon barnacles dad died when he was really young cuz of an accident where ice collapsed, probably did not help how he felt when he got stuck in an icy hole as a kid 💀🙏)

ALSO

Barnacles looking up at u vvv

Barnaclea being his lil theater kid self^

Wait~ they don't love you ✨like I love you ✨🥰

Barnacles half awake at a late night mission when everything is done and they're just driving the gup a back home

Barnacles and Bianca on a video call

[lukeynewtssimp]

“Luke has no idea what he is doing. He needs a new team.” -🤡

Let’s address the angry people who think they know what is best for Luke 🙄

If people bothered to actually listen to what Luke has said in all his interviews and the different podcasts he’s been on, half of the crazy rumours about him would be dead and you’d actually realise that everything he is doing right now is true to himself and true to what he’s told us he wanted. A couple of examples:

“Luke is not doing enough, he needs more followers. He needs to get brand deals, etc.” - WRONG! He is actually doing everything he needs to do to live the life that HE wants, not the one YOU want for him. He told us so many times how his ideal life is a quiet one, where he can live in a small Italian town and just travel for work when necessary to do things he actually is passionate about and loves. He told us too how he really loves that he still can go to his local coffee shop or barber shop and not be bothered by anyone and just be treated like any other normal person. And he’s doing just that right now. He has a non-famous girlfriend with whom he can go out freely without feeling a million eyes on them. He’s only attending the events that he actually wants to attend without bothering with gaining popularity because, if you are actually talented, which he is, and you’ve got a good agent, you’ll get the projects that you actually want. He’s not living his life to please us. Would I personally love to see him engage with us more on socials? Absolutely, but that would be selfish of me. He does not need to do anything more than what he is doing to get where he wants and he knows that. Oh and btw pretty much nothing that he does is “calculated” or has some type of agenda behind it.

“Luke is engaged to Antonia and proposed to her on Christmas day!” - WRONG! He’s actually said out loud in the Still Watching - Bridgerton Podcast in June that he does not want marriage any time soon. He was talking about Colin and Pen’s marriage and he literally said “no thank you!”

[that-hazbin]

Omg omg omg your last post, the one about Charlie fucking up a spell and all the hotel residents disappearing amd the Al going crazy, is just *chef's kiss* already. I love me some radio demon angst, especially when he is forced to show he cares.

BUT BUT BUT HEAR ME OUT. What if this was combined with the Blackout AU? And now Alastor thinks what if he did something and doesn't remember it? What if everyone is gone and it's HIS fault? What if he hurt them? Idk, it just adds another level of angst, I think, to have Alastor not only unable to find any of them and also be hit with the realization that he cares so suddenly AND also think he might've caused it and just... feel so much self-loathing.

(Bonus points this is also how the residents find out about the blackouts. Or at least they start suspecting that there is more to Al than he lets on, not just about ghe fact that he cares. He starts talking to himself in a fit of panic and is like "Why did you have to this again?! You ruined it again!" and they'd be like wtf is he talking about and after they figure it out and they go back to normal and manage to calm Alastor down they're like "uhh, heyyyy btw what did you mean when you said this and that??" and Alastor is like "👁👄👁 Aha- I should retreat to my room now, it's been a long day after all, anyway, ta-ta people!" and just melts into the shadows. But now everyone knows that there is DEFFINETLY something going on with The Radion Demon that he doesn't want to tell them)

(Also another thing, what role would Vox play in this fic? I assume he saw them all disappear with his drone. Would he try and attack the hotel? Or stay out of it?)

Thanks you for reading my ask! Love your hcs and your AUs and just your whole characterization of Al!🫶🫶🫶

I'm not entirely sure Alastor would be able to even FUNCTION if this were combined with the blackout au, mostly because the stress of them disappearing would 100% send him into a blackout. A nonviolent one, where he runs and hides under his bed. Because feral unconscious Alastor is feeling very scared out of nowhere and thinks hiding will equal safe, which "deals with the problem."

It would take a WHILE for him to remain conscious enough to properly panic about the situation and actually start theorizing as to what had happened.

Personally, I want to separate the two AUs because it feels like there would be TOO MUCH going on and I wouldn't be able to dedicate a lot of time and thought into each individual aspects of that sort of fic.

Either way, there's definitely going to be questions after the cast gets out of the "ghost" situation. Because Alastor, under the belief that he is alone, is DEFINITELY going to let slip a LOT of things that he never would have otherwise.

His "rivalry" with Vox, for example, could be one of them. In this AU, Vox doesn't realize he captured something important until later when it becomes evident that the royal family is missing. Lucifer is capable of teleporting, after all.

However, Alastor's mental stability is very visibly deteriorating, and he's frantically running around the Pride ring asking about the residents of the hotel. He's basically making a public spectacle of himself in his desperation, and Vox doesn't need to be a genius to put the pieces together, especially when some other members of demon nobility start poking their noses around.

Vox is quite literally the LAST person to have seen the royal family. And he caught their disappearance on camera. He doesn't care about the hotel, but he DOES care about fucking with Alastor, so while he won't attack the hotel, he WILL be releasing that video to the masses. Possibly while Alastor is out in public, where his reaction can be seen by everyone nearby.

And oh, it will not be a good reaction.

Vox is deliberately trying to wear down Alastor psychologically, and he's going to wait until Alastor's hit absolute rock bottom before planning his attack. He just needs to be patient.

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

I am unabashedly requesting for rindou and Inui light-hearted cute funny HCs in a world where Bonten Rin has a huge crush on Inui (crushing on him since tenjiku times)

what are some of the things a secretly lovestruck Rin would do? He has to keep his feelings for an oblivious Inui at bay but he at the same time wants to see Inui as much as he possibly can

(if this req is too weirdly specific pls feel free to disregard this!!!!!! I love ur stuff as always mwah)

That sounds cute! Here's how I think bonten Rindou would act while crushing on Inui!

Honestly Rindou is pretty bad at hiding his crush, he blushes and get's flustered pretty easily. The only reason it hasn't been discovered by Inui yet is because Inui is so oblivious. 

Rindou keeps turning up at Inui and Drakens bike shop with 'problems' but they're like the smallest and silliest problems possible (he's actually just coming up with excuses to see Inui but he's not very good at it).

Brings Inui lunch often, normally with excuses like "they accidentally gave me extra" or "I packed too much today" Inui finds this a little odd but doesn't question it because free food.

Walks past the bike shop often, one time Inui waved at him and he almost walked into a street light in shock. 

Sometimes Rindou accidentally goes round there when Inui's not working and then he has very awkward interactions with Draken instead. 

One time Inui brings up how he wanted to beat Rindou and Ran up after he got out of juvie but then he immediately regrets mentioning it because he thinks it's probably weird to bring up now? Meanwhile Rindou is just thinking like "wow he knew I existed even all the way back then". 

Normally they talk about their weeks or random things while in the shop together, with Rindou browsing or waiting for Inui to finish whatever small problem he has now. Both of them enjoy these talks a lot. After awhile Rindou doesn't need the excuses anymore because it's accepted that he just takes his lunch breaks in the shop to hangout with Inui.

Rindou plans for ages on how to casually see Inui outside of the bike shop (his main plan is to invite him to see a movie together but he always get's too nervous). But then one day, when Rindou is mid rant about not having a good gym partner, Inui volunteers. Which really throws Rindou off for a sec but he quickly agrees and they become gym buddies. 

Rindou absolutely tries to show off his strength and flexibility to Inui.

During one lunch time hangout, Inui accidentally drinks from Rindou's bottle of water and Rindou stops functioning for a sec because indirect kiss!???

Rindou thinks he's being so secretive with this crush but literally everyone can tell aside from Inui. 

One time when they're walking past the shop together, Ran makes a comment to Rindou like "you sure do like going into that shop don't you?" and Rindou, who's panicking just goes "I've never been in there before" (this happens seconds after Inui waved at Rindou and Rindou waved back. 

Sometimes Rindou will leave anonymous gifts for Inui like a bouquet of his favourite flowers (he had to pay Koko for that information).

And finally, Rindou may not know it but he has already confessed to Inui. One time when they went drinking together, a drunken Rindou told Inui how much he loves him. Inui just smiled at him and said "you're drunk". Rindou may have forgotten that incident but Inui remembers it and wonders if he'll get to hear those words again from Rindou some day...

[sammsays]

Hey, I have been following your blog for a while and it inspires me to try to get better at hypnosis. I have been working on a file that motivates the user to make art as a reward to themselves and I tried using a confusion induction. It seems to work well with my friends, but I don't really understand how a confusion induction works. I also need to refund the recording and change the script a bit to improve the file overall, and I think understanding this will help. Thanks!

Many people will try to legitimize some aspect of confusion inductions as if they are any more special than any other arbitrary induction method, but the truth is simply this: a confusion induction works because you say that it will work.

Getting confused is correlated with being dumb or of a lower mental functioning than normal, so it's easy to conceptually tie it in to the common associations we have with hypnosis. However, there is absolutely nothing that actually causes it to hypnotize you.

You, as the hypnotist, are in essence just setting up a game mechanic that feels like it makes sense to the subject. Because confusion feels like it would be related, you tell them that they'll get dumber or go further into trance by them getting confused, so every time you manage to confuse them, their mind sees it as legitimate and capitulates.

Every single induction is built off the foundation that routes to hypnosis are whatever you can convince your subject they are. Named/iconic inductions are made legimitized by being used collectively, but there is really nothing special about them.

Say they'll get dumber, and if you're convincing enough, it'll work. Happy hypnotizing!

[evenmyhivemindisempty]

what pronouns do you headcanon for the Boyd characters?

So, I’ve actually been sitting on this ask for a while, because I’m of two minds of how to answer it. I tend to just default to “he/him” for the Boyd characters - afaik, no other pronouns have ever been used for his characters; while I don’t HC all of them as cis men, pronouns don’t necessarily correspond with gender anyway, so it’s an easy way to have our cake and eat it too, as it were.

But I also wanted to have fun with this ask! So! Here goes!

Steve Murphy: He’s so he so embedded in that conservative Government culture he never considers any other options for himself other than he/him. If he’s asked his pronouns, he’ll just adopt a faintly perplexed look and say, “um, the normal ones?”. You know? I also have this weird feeling Steve prefers other people use neopronouns to they/them, he finds it more specific! His brain is always running on investigative mode - he finds they/them far too ambiguous! (He’s heard “omg they’re getting away!” too many times not to have an instinctive “WHO EXACTLY IS THEY” response)

Donald Pierce: He/him, but there’s rare, kinky roleplays where he’ll use “she” (he sometimes likes being called a girl in the bedroom, but he usually still prefers he/him pronouns even then). Oddly, I think he’s often more comfortable having women refer to him with she/her pronouns in the bedroom than men. I could see him doing a roleplay where Gabby is some madam at a brothel getting her new girl ready for a client (Mendez or Val, etc).

Cap Hatfield: Neither historic nor modern Cap cares one bit about what pronouns he’s referred to by. I bet once or twice historic Cap was derogatorily referred to as a girl, and he barely noticed. He’s also been called “it” as an insult, which totally backfired when he liked it. Nancy’s used she/her pronouns for Cap too. Initially it was to be mean, but I think his lack of reaction kinda took her by surprise; she still does it sometimes, but it’s usually a lot fonder (she’s sweeter with him when he’s her girl), and he can really get into that. (He’s happy being a girl - she’s nicer to girls!)

Clement Mansell: He/him, but I don’t think he’d mind they/them. That being said, I sometimes bat around a trans masc Clement HC, and trans masc Clement is *only* okay with he/him pronouns.

The Corinthian: He/him primarily. I go back and forth about how he feels about it/its. I wonder if he’s okay being referred to as “it” by some people more than others?

Eli Klaber: He/she. I think he’s largely fine with either, but she/her is slightly more preferable during sex. I think being referred to by she/her pronouns unexpectedly would be a pleasant surprise for him.

Danny Maguire: He/him, and he’ll actually lose his shit if you refer to him as anything else. It’s definitely some overcompensation in action. I think Danny’s absolutely got some gender issues he’s trying real hard not to look at.

Ty Shaw: He/him, but in the bedroom, it’s anyone’s game! Whatever his partner thinks is fun, he’s down for!

Quinn McKenna: He’s the type that declares that pronouns are dumb and he doesn’t care, but then gets twitchy when he’s referred to by anything that’s not he/him… except it/its. He finds he’s actually very, very okay with it/its.

[dusty-pistol]

Woo hoo Dr. Sawyer headcannon!!! Plus some other stuff and more under the cut =]

As it says in the photo + more. Also, keep in mind that some of these may seem harsh because he's literally an evil, terrible person in the game.

>>: 40-60 year old man.

>>: Wrinkly old fucker....

>>: Not thin, but not muscular either. Just extremely average figure.

>>: Grown out hair that he's too busy and focused on his work to cut.

>>: Grayin hair cuz he's old and from stress.

>>: Yellowin teeth that again he's too busy and focused on his work to brush.

>>: Tries to keep up with appearances to look good, but constantly forgets to take care of himself/his appearance cuz again, work focused.

>>: Since this is a headshot I didn't show it, but for his outfit it's just black dress shoes, black dress pants, black button-up shirt, red tie, white lab coat with chemical and blood stains on the forearms, and black surgical gloves. Full doctor fit since this guy is literally a neurosurgeon.

>>: Ruined fingertips but not because he bites his nails. He just peels the skin around them until it bleeds. But he doesn't really notice he's bleedin cuz he's got a high pain tolerance. He just kinda does it idly when he's bored and subconsciously fidgets. It would worry the people around him to see blood on his hands but.. well nobody really likes him enough to care AND this is Playtime.Co. I feel like it'd be sorta normal for the scientists to be a lil bloody.

>>: The WORST eyebags you've seen. Bro gets NO SLEEP. Will and does fall asleep at his desk and gets like really fuckin mad at himself for doin so. And then he's grumpy at everyone and everythin for the rest of the day.

>>: Addin onto that, the corners of his eyes are red cuz he rubs them constantly due to the lack of sleep. It would be concernin but again, nobody cares about him enough to ask him about it. (That, and if they did ask, he'd just tell them off.)

>>: Does NOT own up to his mistakes. He'll just blame them on someone else for their "incompetence" even though it's a completely baseless accusation.

>>: God complex, narcissistic, the whole package. Hurts people just for his own amusement. (Not sayin anyone who has these issues hurts people for laughs, btw!!! It's just him. Like, canonically, he has said he finds enjoyment outta others' pain.)

>>: Uses a large vocabulary with complex words to make others feel stupid.

>>: If he has children, he doesn't care about them. Nor would he particularly care about his wife if he has one. Personally, I think he's single because he thinks he's too good for anyone. But it's actually cuz nobody FUCKIN LIKES HIM.

>>: High maintenance bastard. You can't keep up with him? You're not useful in his eyes.

>>: The kinda guy to yell at or not tip waiters if they got his order wrong.

>>: Doesn't really have a soft spot for anythin. But he's more calm around the experiments (especially Yarnaby) cuz he knows he's protected. (Or at least, he thinks so.)

>>: Hates not knowin/understandin things. It makes him feel stupid and weak. So he immediately forces himself to get as much information on that thing as possible so he can be better than those around him and gloat that he knows more than them. But does it in a casual way so he doesn't seem like a tryhard.

>>: Absolutely despises the commercial jingles Playtime.Co made for the toys. He finds them obnoxious.

[pynkhues]

How do you think Lestat conceptualizes what Louis feels for him? Watching s1, especially with the context of s2, it really looks like Lestat genuinely thought Louis never really loved. I find the contrast between 1x1 and the latter half of s1 so interesting. It seem to me that without being able to read Louis' thoughts and with Louis' refusal to verbally affirm his feelings, he genuinely started to believe that Louis was interested in him physically at most, and then not even that (which must've stang especially, seeing how it can be argued that Lestat has a tendency to objectify himself and tie his self-worth to his desirability as a trauma response). We're really just speculating for now, obviously, but I'm wondering about your thoughts on modern day Lestat especially!

That's an interesting question, anon! Mm, I'd say that he must have known Louis had feelings for him at the very least before he turned him - he could still read his mind at that point after all, and they were courting for a year - but I tend to think that would probably have been a combination of deep affection and attraction more than anything else, given - - y'know. Louis didn't even know they were courting, haha. During their relationship - - I don't know, I suspect he probably pendulumed between knowing that Louis loved him, and having genuine doubt too.

Lestat's raised by Gabrielle to understand that love is something that's generally withheld, and depending on your reading of his relationship with Nicki, I do think that perhaps further entrenched parts of that. While Nicki can be generous, loving and affectionate, the way they break up with Nicki swearing he actually hated him all along and wanted them to die together in Paris would fuck anyone up, especially given Louis and Nicki have some similarities (although I don't think they have as many as parts of the fandom do, really, same with Louis and Gabrielle - I think all three of them are pretty unique characters).

Lestat's a chronic romantisier of his own history as a means of emotional survival, but I don't think he forgets much, and I imagine that the memory of his and Nicki's break-up probably coloured a lot of his and Louis' fights, particularly the one where Louis technically broke up with him before returning with Claudia (Louis, the disaster you are, ily), so in those moments - - yeah. I think he probably thought Louis had never actually loved him, but I think in the moments when they were good, when they were happy, he probably was unwavering in his belief that Louis did.

(It's kind of interesting to think about too that Louis did tell Lestat he hated him too, only where Nicki said it while breaking up with Lestat, Louis said it while getting back together with him, and I'm genuinely looking forward to those parallel gifsets in s3, haha).

I do think he took Louis saving his life as an act of love though, and I think in the long aftermath of that, both before the Trial and after it, when Louis chose Armand, it's probably the thing he clung to the most as reflective of that. There's so much that he feels - the cord between them, their hearts beating in time, the memories of the best of it all - but Lestat's also a character with just so much baggage (totally agree about Lestat objectifying himself as both a trauma response and a manifestation of insecurity, and that Louis no longer wanting to have sex [which is absolutely his right, and normal] was something Lestat took as a much deeper rejection than Louis realised), that I think can outweigh that sometimes.

So yeah, I'd say it probably varies based on his mood and maybe even the minute. A part of him knows, a part of him doubts, the only thing he can be sure of is that he himself loves Louis, and Lestat might withhold his history, but he rarely withholds his emotions.

[ashes-goin-down]

This is a great analysis that raises some very important points! Considering what an incredible challenge it is to suffer from depression and addiction at such a young age, Stan really deserves to get more credit for the way he handles it. The fact that he was basically forced into alcoholism definitely deserves more attention, especially since I've seen some portrayals of his addiction where it seems as if he'd willfully picked it up just for the sake of being a bother to his friends and it genuinely both baffles and saddens me. One thing I would like to point out is that functional alcoholism absolutely can and will fuck up your entire life. I'm sure OP didn't actually mean to suggest otherwise but the misconception that functional alcoholism is somehow "the harmless version of alcoholism" is unfortunately still very prevalent. In fact, hidden alcoholism poses a particularly insidious challenge, as the lack of awareness about the addiction within the sufferer's social circle often results in them not receiving any support until their drinking has already led to (frequently severe) consequences. In Stan's case this is especially heartbreaking, as the deciding factor in his turning to alcohol as a coping mechanism was that seeking help for his depression (several times, from multiple sources!) actually caused his situation to worsen, which inadvertently taught him that it was best to try and deal with it on his own (unfortunately a tragically common and realistic outcome for many struggling with mental health).

Another addendum I'd like to make is that even though I agree that Stan's alcoholism stems from the need to feel "normal", addicts who drink for that reason also often do get excessively drunk in social drinking situations. This itself can stem from a desire for normalcy: Everyone else getting drunk is viewed as "permission" to do the same and since functional alcoholics tend to have a very distorted view on what being "drunk" actually means this can often lead to them becoming dangerously intoxicated

I'm not claiming that Stan would definitely do this but the possibility is there, depending on how his issues develop as he grows older. The psychology of alcoholism is complex and can vary wildly from one case to another. As wonderfully described in the OP, Stan is a deeply layered character and as such there are many different directions his struggles with mental health and addiction could potentially take.

Understanding Stan Marsh: A Character Analysis and Response to Fandom Mischaracterization (Writing Depression/Addiction Responsibly):

I’m sure a similar analysis exists - but I haven’t found it so I wanted to make it. I’ve seen similar analyses about Wendy with her intelligence/tendency to serve as a villain in things like Style fics and Kenny with his own addiction as well as lower-class designations, which absolutely should exist. But I haven’t seen any about Stan in the same sense despite issues I’ve seen in fandom about his characterization and either blatantly disregarding and misunderstanding what depression is/or/trying to further their specific shipping agenda such as Kyman. And I think it’s finally time we fucking talk about it. This is due to me noticing a prolific increase in the ‘Stan Marsh is an asshole’ tag on AO3.

The Problem of Character Flanderization

Character flanderization (the tendency to focus only on a character's weaknesses) has always existed in fanworks, but the current treatment of Stan Marsh reveals a particularly troubling trend in how mental health and addiction are portrayed. This isn't about calling out specific creators - many (even most) write Stan beautifully, even in ships like Kyman. Rather, this analysis addresses a broader pattern of mischaracterization that does a disservice not only to his character but to real people struggling with similar issues.

Please note this analysis is not directed at any particular creator at all! I see SO many good characterizations of Stan, even in Kyman fics (I’d argue a lot of them do!). But I also see very unfair portrayals of him in some fics which at the end of the day show a complete disregard to addiction/depression and ignore his good traits in favor of furthering their own agenda. I’M NOT OKAY with this, and I think it’s time we talk about this as a fandom. 

 This trend often manifests in two primary ways:

Depression Mischaracterization:

Some of fandom's handling of Stan's depression reveals a profound misunderstanding of clinical depression that goes beyond simple character misinterpretation. The "You're Getting Old/Ass Burgers" arc isn't just about Stan being "negative" or "selfish" - it's one of television's most authentic portrayals of how depression manifests in young people. Stan doesn't CHOOSE to see everything as shit; his brain chemistry literally alters his perception of reality. This isn't character weakness - it's a medical condition that he fights against while still trying to maintain his relationships and sense of self.

What many fanworks miss is that depression often coexists with deep empathy and care for others. In fact, Stan's depression might partly stem from how deeply he feels things - his awareness of environmental destruction, animal cruelty, and societal hypocrisies. He continues to fight for causes he believes in and protect those he loves even while struggling to find meaning in his own life. That's not selfishness - it's remarkable resilience. The show demonstrates this complexity brilliantly: even at his very  lowest points, Stan still:

Tries to maintain his friendship with Kyle despite literally seeing him as shit

Continues to stand up for what he believes in when he realistically thinks it can make an impact

Attempts to understand and help others, even when he can barely help himself

Fights desperately to stay present in a world that has lost its color and meaning

When fanworks reduce Stan's depression to mere selfishness or use it as a convenient plot device to make him the villain, they not only mischaracterize Stan but potentially harm readers struggling with similar issues. They send the message that depression makes someone unworthy of friendship or love - exactly the opposite of what people with depression need to hear.

Alcoholism Mischaracterization:

Stan's relationship with alcohol deserves particular attention because it's portrayed with a nuance rarely seen in either animation or fanworks. The show presents a complex web of factors that contribute to Stan's relationship with alcohol:

First, there's the genetic component - Stan comes from a family with clear predisposition to addiction, particularly through Randy. But crucially, Stan never sought out alcohol on his own. He was introduced to it by adults who should have protected him, making his initial exposure a betrayal of trust rather than a character flaw.

What makes Stan's arc so powerful is how it captures the insidious nature of functional alcoholism. He discovers that alcohol makes an unbearable world bearable - it literally changes how he sees things from "shit" back to normal. STAN HAS NEVER EVER BEEN ABOUT getting drunk for fun; it's always been about self-medication to seem 'normal' to others in response to genuine mental health struggles. The show demonstrates how someone can be both struggling with addiction and highly competent - a reality many fanworks seem unable to grasp.

Even in the "bad timeline" of the Post-Covid episodes, Stan maintains his fundamental characteristics and ability to function. He becomes what's known as a "functional alcoholic" - not because this is healthy, but because it reflects a tragic reality that those who seem most adjusted often hide the deepest struggles. He learns exactly how much alcohol makes him functional versus dysfunctional, developing the kind of careful management that allows many real-life individuals with addiction to hide in plain sight.

When fanworks reduce this complex portrayal to "pathetic or asshole drunk Stan," they miss the point entirely. They ignore:

The environmental factors that led to his alcohol use

The relationship between his depression and self-medication

The reality that addiction often coexists with high functionality

And especially, and something I think a lot of you need to fucking understand - the way addiction can stem from trying to feel normal rather than trying to get high. Stan never ever tries to feel ‘high’ or even drunk. He ALWAYS is just trying to feel fucking NORMAL. 

This oversimplification doesn't just do a disservice to Stan's character - it perpetuates harmful stereotypes about addiction that make it harder for real people to seek help.

Stan's Core Character Traits

Stan consistently demonstrates practical morality alongside emotional depth. His quiet leadership often goes unnoticed - he's frequently the instigator of group plans alongside Cartman, but without the manipulation or need for credit. His relationship with Wendy shows realistic pre-teen awkwardness while maintaining genuine care and respect. These aren't the traits of a "simp" or an "asshole" - they're the complex characteristics of a well-written character dealing with real challenges.

Just rewatch the show for evidence of this - Stan at the same level of Cartman instigates things. And at the same level of Kyle, he tends to do it for the greater good of society. He’s just not as attributed to his actions because he’s naturally more quiet about it than both Kyle and Cartman are. 

TLDR- /Mental Health and Responsiblity in Writing:

The show's handling of Stan's mental health offers a masterclass in nuanced characterization that many fanworks ignore. His depression and struggles with alcohol aren't plot devices - they're part of a larger narrative about growing up in a world that often doesn't make sense. Writing Stan as a "pathetic drunk" or "selfish depressive" isn't just bad characterization - it's potentially harmful to readers who share these struggles

His depression on the actual show is shown as a legitimate struggle, not a character flaw

His relationship with alcohol is portrayed as functional and carefully managed - something maybe some of you would be surprised to learn that some of the most functional folks in your life actually are pretty good at hiding. Stan in his depression arc is ultimately meant to be shown as someone who is a ‘functional’ alcoholic rather than a ‘dysfunctional’ one. That’s not to say it’s healthier to be functional. But it’s ultimately the whole point of that goddamn arc - that even those who seem the most well-adjusted may be hiding a more sinister addiction. So I don’t really see the fucking point of writing Stan as someone who is so alcoholic to the point that it fucks up his entire life. 

The Shipping Problem

The rise of ships like Kyman often comes with an unnecessary cost: the villainization of Stan. This ignores the show's complex web of relationships - Stan's deep friendship with Kyle doesn't need to be erased or twisted to explore other relationships. The best Kyman fics prove this by maintaining Stan's character integrity while exploring new dynamics. Additionally, Stan's relationships with other characters, particularly his often-overlooked friendship with Kenny, deserve more attention and respect in fanworks.

Complex relationships can be written without villainizing other characters like Stan

Good Kyman fics prove you can write the ship while maintaining Stan's character integrity. 

Both Kyle and Stan canonically view each other as super best friends and equals- and this is because they literally ARE equals, even in a moral sense. Neither of them is better than the other. They have a deep connection to each other. Any fic written about either of them HAS to accurately represent this without making Stan to be a primarily weak selfish villain. This is so incredibly unfair to Stan’s character, and a massive representation of him. Same if it’s vice versa for a fic for Stan misrepresenting Kyle (though I’ll be honest - I far more often see Stan as misrepresented in recent works as a selfish asshole over Kyle). 

When writing Stan, consider:

His actions, even negative ones, should stem from established character traits

His struggles with mental health and substance use should be treated with nuance and care. Writing him as an asshole or complete loser (he can be a lil bit of a lovingly designated loser lol) is a slap in the face to those who do function quite well in the real world but with this particular struggle of depression and addiction. Don’t ignore Stan's many strengths, such as adjusting well to things in the moment both physically and intellectually. (He absolutely can be dumb about some things to the extent that it's humorous, but he is not actually dumb - he consistently shows some of the most complex critical thinking in the entire show, even compared to Kyle. And it makes no sense to disregard this aspect of his character.) 

His relationships with other characters should reflect their canonical complexity. Stan canonically seems to spend more time with (and even care for) Kenny more than Kyle does, demonstrably at a canonical level. Don’t disregard this - same as don't disregard his loyalty and love to Kyle, especially canonically.

If writing him as antagonistic, ensure it serves character development rather than plot convenience.

Stan deserves better than reductive characterization. His struggles with mental health and addiction make him more relatable, not less worthy of respect. Writers who reduce him to his lowest moments not only do a disservice to a complex character but potentially harm readers who see their own battles reflected in his story. We can and should do better - both for Stan and for each other. He is literally meant to be written as the person most relatable to general society, after all.