#he’s not actually dead but he looks SO dead I am simply tagging it anyway

[eevees-hobbies]

Sext Me Like Ya Mean It - NSFW (Fem!Reader x Haruka Sakura)

Author’s Note: This was inspired by this Haruka Sakura Nendoroid, where he’s blushing and looking at his phone. "But, Eevee, how did a cute little figure inspire a fanfic that’s 8-pages long? " I can’t stress enough how down bad I am for this man. Like I would let him put it in my ***, and I’d  *** his *** off of a plate. And I’m not even fucking sorry about it. I might buy this thing and purchase a *** jar, to be fucking honest. Also, if you see any debauched shit with Haruka, tag me cuz I’m Jonesing (I’m dead fucking serious). 

Synopsis: Sakura and technology don’t mix, and now you’re telling him there’s this thing called sexting?! It’s a no from him…unless you can convince him that sexting can be fun for all involved! How will you manage to do that? I dare ya to guess.

Content Warning: Fem!Reader x Haruka Sakura. Sexting in the form of text and video, Togame sees your breast, masturbation for you, public masturbation for Sakura, pet names including kitten, sir, and daddy. Tis smut. Minors Do Not Interact.

Word Count: 2.7K

Dividers by Saradika. Banner by me.

“What’s…sexting?” 

Sakura looks defeated as he poses the question. He had just grasped the concept of texting, and now you were throwing more terminology his way?

You shake your head, amused that someone who grew up in the age of smartphones is so pop-culture illiterate. “Sexting is just texting, except we send sexier, more suggestive messages through words, gifs, or pictures. It’s really hot.”

Sakura runs a hand through his dichromatic black and white tresses, “that sounds dumb and not sexy.” 

Even saying the word sexy has a persistent shade of pink stretching over cheeks. 

“Don’t knock it until you give it a try, Sakura! Anyway, have fun with Suo and Nirei tonight.” You give him a peck on the cheek, which results in a grumble and him pulling you in for a kiss on the lips.

You couldn’t stop thinking about your earlier conversation with Sakura. He was always so quick to disregard things he didn’t think he would be good at. 

You can think of all the times you suggested something new: baking, binge-watching Bridgerton, and volunteering at a cat cafe, and how all those things were immediately met with complaints from your boyfriend. 

It wasn’t until you forced his hand by involving him in those activities that he started to warm up to being someone who can bake a mean cake, enjoy a good cuddle session while enjoying the latest season of Bridgerton, and is actually a talented cat-whisperer.

So much like those situations, a little push might be warranted. 

You pick up your phone, enter the passcode, and flick past the home screen displaying a picture of you leaning up to kiss the chin of a blushing, scowling Sakura. 

Across town, Sakura sits at a bar with Nirei and Suo—a bar is usually not their typical meet-up place, but it’s Togame’s birthday, and they needed a venue that could accommodate the size of all the rowdy Bofurin and Shishtoren alums. It also doesn’t help that Kotoha also said, “Fuck. No.” to hosting the party at Cafe Pothos.

A light buzz vibrates in Sakura’s pocket; he leans over, pulls his phone from the back of his jeans, and looks at the screen. He’s pleasantly surprised to see a message from you; he thought you’d be half asleep by now.

God, I miss her. Hope she hasn’t started a new episode of Bridgerton without me.

As he taps on the text bubble icon to open the message, his eyes squint, needing some time to take in the message and then re-read it.

8:20 PM: Hey, baby. I miss you. Thinking of you sooooo much.

His heart thumps aggressively in his chest—a common result of simply thinking about you—as he stares at the text before him, already overthinking what he should send, but you beat him with a follow-up message. 

I hate back-to-back texts. Never have time to respond. 

8:22 PM: I’m lying in bed. Don’t worry…not watching our fave shows without you, kitten. 

He rolls his eyes at the pet name you gave him. You told him that he looks like an angry kitten when he scrunches his nose and bears his teeth. Wiith little complaint from Sakura, the pet name stuck. It’s so stupid and emasculating, but he kind of loves it. 

“You ok, Sakura? You’ve been staring at your phone for like five minutes.”

Sakura looks up at Nirei. “O-oh uh, yeah. Just texting.”

Suo looks over Sakura’s shoulder, trying to peak at his phone screen, “but you aren’t typing anything?”

Sakura tilts the phone away from his friends’ nosey eyes. Your conversations with each other are personal for him, and he’s committed to keeping you all to himself.

“Stop being fucking nosey!” he growls. Sakura decides this is becoming too much of a hassle, but as soon as he’s about to put his phone away, he receives another text from you.

He pauses to consider that he could wait until he is alone to read your messages, but who knows how long that would be? What if you needed something? He would be pissed at himself if he missed an opportunity to do something for you. He decides that the risk of getting caught being called a pet name by his girlfriend isn’t that big of a deal, so he flips his phone over to read your latest commentary. 

8:25 PM: Read receipts are on, so I know you’re looking at your phone. Party must suck.

What the fuck is a read receipt? 

8:26 PM: A read receipt means I can see that you’ve looked at the text message. 

He smiles, loving how you can read his mind even when you’re not physically in front of each other. He’s almost ready to make a pass at typing those exact thoughts out until the following message has him clutching the phone to his chest out of fear that someone could read it over his shoulder. 

8:28 PM: I think I’m…ovulating? I have this craaaazy desire to lick your balls all the way to the tip of your dick, kitten. 

Sakura gradually pulls the phone away from his chest, checking that Nirei and Suo are too engrossed in their conversation to notice the deep-set blush on his cheeks and how he’s peaking at the phone through his fingers. 

His thoughts are frantic; he has so many questions about a situation that he’s never been in before. Why would you send something so filthy through your phone? What is he supposed to do about any of this information when he’s so far away? 

8:30 PM: I’m drooling just thinking about it, baby. Remember when you fucked my face so hard that my hair had my drool in it? I want you to do that again. Fuck my cute little mouth. 

“Ok, this is ridiculous.” A hand reaches past Sakura’s face and takes the phone from his grasp. Sakura immediately stands up, the barstool he was sitting on making a loud scraping sound as it drags against the floor.

But the perpetrator is tall, and Sakura may have beaten his ass before, but they’re friends now, and it’s looked down upon to abuse your friends. 

Togame looks down at Sakura, shaking his head. “You’ve been on your phone every time I look over at ya. What is more important than spending time with me on my birthday?” He punctuates each syllable with a swing of Sakura’s phone.

Suo, ever the instigator, happily chimes in. “He’s texting Y/N!”

“Oh?” Togame’s brows furrow as he looks around the bar, realizing he hasn’t seen you all night. “Hey, yeah, your shadow is missing.”

In what feels like slow-motion, which it probably is because it’s Togame we’re talking about, Sakura watches as Togame’s eyes look down at the screen. He watches as emerald irises quickly scan the text—obviously a faster reader than Sakura—and his eyes widen. 

“Well, damn. That’s hot.”

Another text comes in to Togame’s delight. He lets out a whistle and hands the phone back over to Sakura.

“You sure you know what to do with a girl like that? I could take her off your hands.”

Sakura shoots him a murderous look; his fists clench as he steps toe-to-toe with him. “Wanna run that by me again?”

Togame chuckles, knowing that look in Sakura’s eyes. It was only a few years ago that he and Shishitoren had inspired that same look, which resulted in Sakura and Togame becoming close and saving his best friend’s life.

But somehow, the look Sakura harbors is more intense—protective—now than back then, and it’s all because of you. Togame fully believes that Sakura would be willing to swing on him for you and to protect your honor. Relenting, Togame pats his head, “Kidding. Y'all are cute together.”

Sakura looks down at the phone, curious to see what you’ve sent this time and what Togame glimpsed. What he sees is somehow worse than you calling him kitten or saying you want to gargle his balls down the back of your throat—it’s far worse. 

This time, you sent an image of you in front of a mirror, clad in only your bra and panties, legs folded underneath you as you pulled a bra cup down, exposing your breast.

His eyes dart up to Togame and down to his phone in quick succession, short-circuiting in a matter of seconds. 

Togame chuckles at Sakura’s reaction, “Yeah, she’s real pretty. Lucky guy.”

As Togame shuffles off with the image of your full breast sitting heavily on his mind and wondering what it would feel like for that same breast to sit heavily on his tongue—Sakura stomps off to the bathroom in hopes of regaining his composure.

Suo and Nirei exchange shrugs, assuming Sakura is experiencing one of his usual moods.

Sakura enters the furthest stall from the door and immediately texts you, with your picture still sitting enticingly at the top of his messages.

8:35 PM: Togame just saw that picture. 

Elipses in a bubble appear on the screen, signifying that you’re in the middle of typing. While he waits, he can’t help but look at the picture you sent, his thumb rubbing over your dark, perky nipple as he swallows thickly at the bulge straining against his jeans. 

8:37 PM: What did he say? Did he like it lol?

Sakura shakes his head. You are a ridiculously massive pain in his ass sometimes, but you’re also so…hot. 

8:39 PM: Send me another picture. But with less clothes. 

His heart is once again pounding in his chest, hoping you comply with little to no backtalk for once. He doesn’t even care that people are shuffling in and out of the bathroom as his foot taps against the shiny tile of the floor in impatience.

Another image appears on his phone in what feels like an eternity. This time, your legs are bent in front of you, with two fingers spreading your folds, allowing him to see every bit of your sex in the reflection of the mirror.

Before Sakura knows it, his hand is reaching down into his pants and palming his hard dick while zooming into the picture, inspecting every inch of you that he’s already previously committed to memory. His eyes dart over your clit, that cute little nub that makes you grip his hair as he sucks and licks at it. His eyes move down as he zooms into the image as much as it will allow, looking at your tight hole, which, despite image quality, he can tell is already shining with thick moisture that gives it that glazed, glistening look that makes his mouth water. 

Sakura unbuckles his belt, letting it drag his pants and boxers to his ankles. 

8:43 PM: Baby? Where’d you go? Or should I be saying hi to Togame instead?

Sakura grunts, not realizing that the logistics of sexting and jerking off can be so troublesome—you really have been teaching him a lot. He picks up his phone and shoots you another text.

8:45 PM: Shut up. Keep going. I like what I’m seeing. 

8:45 PM: Yes, sir.

His cock twitches at your use of that honorific. Yeah, being called kitten is lovely when you’re being sweet, but he also likes it when you call him sir or daddy when your naughty side comes out.

Sakura goes back to stroking himself and looking at the previous picture you sent him. The message is pushed up as you send a new image; he doesn’t have to scroll far to see something that makes him leak precum onto the toilet seat below him.

You’ve moved away from the mirror and are lying on the bed; your soft, thick thighs spread far enough to give him a clear view of the two fingers you have shoved in your pretty pussy. He can tell by the white coating near your knuckles that you must have been pumping the absolute hell out of her. 

His mind is racing. Were you thinking about him as you finger fucked yourself? What did you imagine him doing to you? How close were you, and could you hold off until he got home? 

Sakura squeezes his eyes shut, feeling like this entire experience is overloading his senses. He had just learned how to text, and now he’s sexting you? And you’re sending the dirtiest, filthiest messages to him as he jerks off in a public bathroom during his friend’s birthday party?

What the actual fuck..

He licks the palm of his hand and brings it down to stroke himself, imagining that it’s your slick being rubbed into the pores of his dick. He can’t even manage to start slowly because you’ve already done such an excellent job with these pictures—already making his cock hard to the extent that his balls hurt, and if he doesn’t cum soon, he’ll have to punch someone. 

Sakura begins mumbling under his breath as his strokes quicken and increase in intensity. She’s such a good girl for me. Perfectly needy and so into me. She’s so pretty and sweet, and I’m her Daddy.

He’s picturing you in every single position he’s ever had you in and every position he wants to try in the near future. 

He’s imagining sucking on your nipples, biting them as hard as he’d like to without you squealing that it hurts. 

He’s imagining pinning you underneath him while folding your ankles behind your head so he can hit that spot that makes you squirt on his stomach. 

He’s imagining you begging him to pull the condom off and fuck you raw because you “need every last drop of his baby batter” He shivers at the thought of you saying something so slutty and out of character.

The hand holding his phone vibrates, and he enthusiastically pulls his phone back in front of him. This time, you’ve sent a video; he’s never pressed play so fast in his life. 

The video is shakey, but when it beings to play, it focuses in on you fingering your pussy—-his pussy.

“S-SAKURA, FUCK,” blasts through the speakers as you breathily moan his name and your favorite expletive. 

He quickly lowers the volume but not too much so he can still hear as he presses the speaker to his ear, savoring the sound of your moans and the sound of your fingers being stuffed into your hungry cunt, mixing and squelching your juices noisily for him. 

It reminds him of that ASMR shit that you sometimes listen to–if he could have an ASMR recording of just you, your moans, and the sound your pussy makes for him, he’d listen to it every single day.

Sakura feels his hamstrings tighten and a burning sensation in his abdomen; listening to you is bringing him closer to his orgasm, and it feels like it’s going to be intense. 

God, and everything you were saying was just perfect.

“Your pussy misses you, Daddy.”

“I love the way-”  gasp “love the way you fuck me, baby.”

“Haru, I need you, baby. Please come home.”

“I’m so close, but I can’t cum without you, baby boy.”

“I want to squirt on your dick, sir. Please, please, please.”

Sakura hunches over and lets out a deep, guttural moan that can’t be stopped even as he grits his teeth. His balls clench violently, and his nut shoots out onto the toilet seat, toilet bowl, and on the floor. Even when he thinks that his cum is done spilling from him, more bubbles at his tip and dribbles down the length of his cock and along his knuckles. 

He leans against the stall wall and stares at the mess he made—all over himself and everywhere his airborne spunk could reach.

He’s convinced that he’s never come so hard in his life, and it was all because of you. Fuck! He hasn’t messaged you since you called him sir, and that was—he checks the clock on his phone—ten minutes ago!

He types out a message, sneering in disgust as cum smears on his phone screen.

9:05 PM: I just fucking came. Coming home. Don’t clean yourself up.

9:06 PM: CAME?! In your pants….? Or…?

9:08 PM: SAKURA?!

He doesn’t reply because he’s already on his way home to you.

[fanfics-for-you]

what's in a name? || Patrick Verona (TTIHAY) x gn!reader (Modern!College!AU)

AVAILABLE ON AO3 (SOON)

Inspiration: ✨️Patrick Verona✨️

Summary: Patrick Verona is apparently the most intimidating guy on campus. You just want to get by, pass your classes, and get to your actual dreams. When you casually approach him one day and decidedly are not scared of him, Patrick has some questions.

TWs: light language, use of Y/N (only like twice), second person POV (you, yours).

[[A/N: This is basically under the concept that you approach Patrick first, and aren't really as afraid of him as anybody else. He's intrigued. Also this is a college AU, because I am in college and I think it's weird to write about high school lmao. ALSO,,, I know this is incredibly niche and a dead tag, but... I watched the movie recently and was violently possessed to write this. The parasites in me what to continue this universe, but idk. Anyway. Enjoy :)]]

You were exhausted. Totally and completely exhausted.

You'd stayed up all night for your chem quiz, and still, didn't think you did great on it. Which made your day ever so worse. So, when you went to the library, and someone was sitting in the spot you always sat in, you halfway wanted to cry and halfway wanted to rip your hair out. Normally, such a thing wouldn't be a big deal, but today it was. So, with a certainty that rivaled a lawyer in court, you stomped over to the chair.

For a moment, the guy didn't even look at you. He kept staring at his friend, a surprisingly 'metal' dressing guy who was talking avidly about something.

You cleared your throat.

That's when they both looked at you.

You were entirely focused on the one in your seat. A taller guy with built shoulders, curly hair and a sharp jaw. In normal circumstances, you'd probably think he was hot. Today was not normal circumstances.

The man raised an eyebrow.

Okay, so maybe it was a little normal circumstances, but that wasn't relevant.

"What are you doing?"

The man answered, simply -maybe a little confused, "Sitting?"

"That's my spot," you clarified, pointedly.

"Oh, I'm sorry-" the man pretended to start getting up before pausing -speaking sarcastically, "-Oh wait, I've just remembered, this is public property."

Mindlessly noting that he had an accent that you couldn't quite place, you rolled your eyes, "I sit there everyday. Just give me the spot."

"You weren't sitting here all day," he pointed out, "-or else I wouldn't be here."

You pressed your lips together into a thin line, "I was busy failing a chem test, now get up."

His eyes skimmed over your face, thoughtfully, "Do you know who I am?"

"Why-" you sighed out, frustrated, "-would I know who you are?"

Even despite the comment, he did seem familiar somehow but you weren't going to tell him that.

He furrowed his eyebrows for a moment, and didn't say anything. You felt like you were going to explode in fiery flames.

You groaned, "Oh my god. There are thousands of seats on campus, just go sit somewhere else."

"Exactly," the man countered, "-why don't you sit somewhere else?"

"Because-" you huffed out a breath, "-that's my spot."

"And why is this spot so important to you?" He shuffled slightly, moving his hands along the cracks of the seat, "-You got something good stashed in 'ere?"

"Dear god," you huffed out a breath in defeat, "-Whatever. Enjoy your seat, asshole."

And with that, you spun on your heel and pulled yourself deeper into the library. Taking a breath in, you pulled yourself into a seat not too far from the original, but you were around the corner so you wouldn't have to look at his stupid face. You soured just at the thought.

You pulled open your chem book, and read through it -trying to figure out which ones you definitely missed, that way you could get the ballpark for what your grade might be. You really needed to know, to make sure your GPA stayed in the range for your dream university.

But, in the middle of it, you heard someone plop into the chair in front of you (it was a group of chairs, like for a group of people if necessary).

Before looking up, you spoke -sharply, "Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

Your eyes shot up at that familiar accent, and you frowned.

"You got the seat," you pointed out, bitterly, "-What the hell do you want now?"

"Your name," he answered simply.

You blinked, (what?) before settling back into your seat and flipping to the next page, "Yeah, no."

The man seemed to move forward, and unwillingly your eyes flickered to him (his curls moving with the motion), "Why not?"

"I don't give my name out to strangers," you retorted -flicking your eyes down to your book, "-especially not assholes."

"Don't know if I can change who I am," he smirked, "-but, I can work on the stranger part."

You frowned, eyeing him particularly, "Seriously, what do you want?"

"I already told you," he replied, fidgeting with something in his hands (you weren't paying attention), "-I'm Patrick, by the way."

"Well," you exhaled, sharply, and ignored his name, "-you're not getting it."

"Well," he repeated with the same sort of grin, "-I'll just have to work on that too, then."

You looked up at him again and squinted at him -trying to read him somehow. All he did was grin at you, a charming kind, of course, that made crinkles on his cheeks. You ignored the flutter in your chest that it gave you and darted your eyes back down to your book.

The next day, you were in better spirits. After studying for an entirely different class, you were pretty sure you aced that test. So, you weren't as pissed, thankfully. Until you went into the library to sit between classes like you always did.

You paused in your step and frowned.

The guy (Patrick, your mind treacherously noted) was sitting by your chair, mindlessly tapping his fingers along the arm of the chair. He wasn't in your chair, thankfully, but still, he was in the one beside it. Pointedly close.

You huffed out a breath, and moved toward the chairs, "What are you doing?"

"Sitting," he repeated.

You raised an eyebrow.

He seemed to take that as a repeat of the question -before saying, confidently (too confidently), "I'm studying for a test."

"You don't seem like the studying type," you retorted, throwing yourself into the chair and pulling out your laptop -realizing it was no use to try and get him to leave.

Patrick pointed out, "You don't even know me."

"And I don't intend to," you replied with ease, flicking your eyes to meet his, "-your point?"

He grinned the same bright one from before, amused maybe. Your heart skipped a beat, so you dropped your eyes back down to your laptop. He, on the other hand, didn't seem to look away.

"What's your major?" He asked, thoughtfully.

"I won't tell you my name," you leveled, scrolling through your online schedule for homework, "-but you think I'll tell you my major?"

"Well," he reasoned, "-a name is much more identifiable, but your major," he shrugged, "-not so much."

You eyed him again for a second, before saying, "What if you just want to look up my classes and hunt me down?"

Patrick smiled again, before asking, "What is your next class?"

"Why?" You ask, pointedly, "-So you can force me into talking to you again?"

"Preferably," he replied, grinning cheekily.

You raised an eyebrow, and bit your lip to pull down a smile that begged to quirk up, "I'm not telling you that either."

"What if I just follow you when you leave?" He questioned, curiously, "-Figure it out myself?"

"And what if I-" you smiled at him -patronizingly, "-call the campus police?"

He raised both eyebrows as if to say 'touché' without saying it out loud. You bit down another smile and moved back to your computer -pulling out your planner and jotting down dates.

"Your pissiness," he suddenly spoke, "-Are you often filled with boiling hatred?"

"No," you sigh out, before shooting him another patronizing smile, "-that's special just for you."

He laughed then, and something warm zinged down to your toes (you ignored it), "Do you seriously not know me?"

"Do you know how many Patricks exist in the world?" you point out, "-No, I don't know you."

"So you do remember my name," he smirked, patting along his lap with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes but didn't say a word.

It ended up like that for the rest of the time, Patrick shooting questions now and then, and you shutting them down. His stupid smirk and low, rumbly, accented voice, you hated that he actually seemed kinda nice -all things considered.

But, as you stood up to leave, you decided on something.

"Literature," you said simply, gathering up everything into your bag.

He paused, shooting up his eyebrows, "What?"

"My next class," you answered, nonchalantly pulling your bag onto your shoulder, "-Intro to Literature."

Patrick grinned, bright and shiny, "Gen Ed?"

"Yeah," you answered, moving to put the last few things in your bag.

"Can I walk you?"

Your eyes snapped to him then, curiously -detailing the rather honest look, before answering solidly, "No."

He burst into laughter then, throwing his head back against the chair -you mindlessly watched his curls fall back with the motion and then snapped your eyes away.

"Same time tomorrow then?" He asked, still laughing a little bit (something in you twinkled).

"Nope," you exhale a breath, ignoring the disappointment that swirled into your chest, "-I'm not on campus tomorrow."

He seemed to falter for a second, "Do you live on campus?"

You raised a solid eyebrow, you really think I'd tell you that?

"Right, yeah, okay," Patrick conceded, holding up his hands in faux surrender, "-What days are you on campus?"

You paused, pressing your lips together, but something in you did it, "Mondays, Wednesdays and Thursdays."

He grinned a little brighter, "Are you here around the same time on Mondays?"

Something in your chest flipped, but even still, you answered, "That's what you have to figure out. Not me."

And then, you spun on your heel and walked out of the library. His laughter trailed out behind you, and if you had a small little smile on your face at the noise, that was only for you to know.

Monday came, and you woke up early and made your way to campus -the first class of the day was at the crack of dawn. You physically despised it, but so is the schedule of a college student. Plus, you still worked, so the earlier the better for your schedule -didn't mean it didn't suck though.

Sipping on your drink, you wandered back toward the cafeteria -crossing the main connecting area, where everything led to. There was a baseball game going on, not an official one by the looks of it, in the grass. Your eyes hinged on the game for a few seconds, the echoes of laughter shooting toward your ears. It looked fun, but you weren't too invested in being outside for that long. Before you could look away though, your eyes caught on a familiar frame.

Patrick.

His hair was tied back, and he was wearing a pretty bland tank top (just grey), with some typical jeans. With his hair pulled back, you could see his jaw more distinctively -the sharp lines clear from even this far away. (Not that you were looking.) The sun bore down on them but all of the players seemed to be happily distracted. And you kinda were too.

You pursed your lips, for a moment, and looked forward again after a breath, heading toward the cafeteria again confidently.

Before you could get very far, though, you heard a familiar accent.

"Hey!" He yelled, a little distant -footsteps following his voice, "-Hey!"

At first, you weren't sure if he was talking to you, so you kept moving.

"Shit, I don't know what to call you," he called out, breathless and much, much closer.

You spun on your heels with furrowed brows, and met his eyes over a few people's heads. The grin that swallowed his face whole should've been criminal, bright and twinkly and... charming.

Before you could say anything, he was by your side with heavy breaths -assumedly from playing baseball and getting over to you. Leaning over slightly, he leveled out heavy breaths. You were almost concerned enough to offer him water, but he seemed to settle himself before you could.

"Hi," he echoed, "-'Ve been looking for you all morning, what time did you get here?"

You blinked, all morning?

"I get here early, 7, and immediately go to class," you answered, a little blankly (looking for you, looking for you, looking for you).

"Oh," he paused, "-I got here at 8. There's classes at 7?"

"Obviously," you respond, because you did in fact just say it.

"Did you-" Patrick started, before pursing his lips together, "-Are you going to the library now?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, "No, I'm going to the cafeteria to eat between classes. Why?"

"I'm actually quite hungry myself," he avoided the question, "-Do you mind if I tag along?"

"What about your game?" You furrowed your eyebrows even further -eyeing him curiously.

"'S just to fill time," he explained, "-It's nothing serious. They're sure to find someone to fill in for me."

You flicker your eyes along his face, trying to read him. What's your prerogative?

After a moment, you come up with nothing and instead, just turn on your heel -leading the way to the cafeteria.

"I'm taking that as a yes, then?" Patrick called out from behind you, catching up and matching your stride with ease (despite you making no move to slow down).

You decidedly don't answer him, and say something focused elsewhere -eyeing him as you walk forward, "Do you always stalk people this much?"

Patrick laughed, catching your eye with his warm brown ones (they were almost sparkly under the sun of the day), "Only the ones that blindly hate me."

You pressed your lips together in a flat line (trying not to give anything away), "I didn't say that I hated you."

His face lit up at the words (and you couldn't decide if you regretted it or not), "Well, you could've convinced me."

You roll your eyes, and keep walking forward, "Not telling you my personal information isn't... hating you."

"I'm not sure not introducing yourself is exactly anything but hatred," he argued back, fluidly.

"I just told you that I don't hate you," you point out, "-so it isn't."

"Does that mean you'll eventually tell me your name?" Patrick asked, curiously.

You turned to him, flicked your eyes over him, and then looked forward again, "Maybe on good behavior."

He burst into laughter, brown eyes set on your face, "You're quite an enigma, you know that?"

"And you're not half the mystery you portray," you fire back, naturally, with the flow of the conversation.

He grinned at that, eyes shining with something you couldn't quite label, "You know, I don't think I've met a person like you. You're fearless in like a-" he motioned with his hands, "-casual way."

"I'm not fearless," you argue, approaching the door to the cafeteria, "-I'm just confident."

"Do they not go hand-in-hand?" Patrick offers, getting to the door before you and promptly holding it open for you -unflinchingly.

Something warm stirs in your stomach at the gesture (and his woodsy scent that brushes your nose as you walk past him), but you ignore it, "You can be certain and still be afraid."

"But knowing you're right doesn't necessarily mean-" Patrick followed you in, matching your stride again, as if it's natural, "-that you're confident."

You furrow your eyebrows, genuinely intrigued, "What do you mean?"

He paused, maybe a little shocked by your attentiveness, "Plenty of people know they're right and still concede to someone else because they don't want to fight it. You-" he pointed at you, "-will fight it."

"Well," you purse your lips, avoiding his eye contact, "-maybe I'm only like this with you."

"You," Patrick paused, "-You're not this fiery ball of rage with anyone else?"

You eye him for a second, before saying flatly, "Maybe."

"All of this seething hatred and impressive indifference just for me?" He grins, the big teeth-showing kind, "-I'm touched really. Because I am special to you in some weird kinda twisted way-"

Before you can stop yourself, you let out a laugh at his words -just a quick one. Barely there.

But you could still see the delight smooth along his face, and just knew he caught it.

"How much of that have you been holding back?" He tilted his head curiously, before continuing to push it, smirking, "-Oh I bet you think I'm hilarious."

Your heart skipped a beat at the smirk, and you simply pressed your lips together and turned on your heel to the food counter. There wasn't even a second before you heard footsteps following you.

"You're not denying it, you know," he called after you, close on your tail.

You peer over the selection of food, eyeing the different items thoughtfully, "But I didn't confirm it either."

"Still not denying it," Patrick hummed, sing-songy.

"You know," you turn to him (mindlessly noting that he is very close), sharply, "-someone can have one good joke and still be unfunny."

He leaned forward slightly, eyes set on yours -challenging, "Then tell me why it came out like you were holding it back?"

You blinked at him, once and then twice, the sudden closeness sent a shock through your brain and the challenging tone of his voice nearly gave you full-body shivers. You can't find words to say, and you can nearly see it processing on Patrick's face (the way that he had made your mind melt for a moment), so you turn to the counter and point at something random for them to pick out for you.

The woman eyes the two of you suspiciously, but still diligently pulls out a to-go plate and piles the... mashed potatoes onto it.

"Oh my god," he finally says after a moment (you ignore it).

You go through a few other items, and the woman gathers them onto the plate. You pay, grab your plate-

"You like me," Patrick retorts, and you're not even looking at him but you can tell he's got a shit-eating grin.

Your brain malfunctions for a moment, but you step toward the tables and fire back (on autopilot), "I won't even tell you my name."

He's hot on your trail, following you diligently, "You're avoiding the question."

You spin to him, and reply -sharply, "You didn't ask a question."

His eyes flicker along your face, taking you in (you want to squirm but you steel yourself in place -your eyes now challenging), and then he grins so bright that you'd need sunglasses in any other scenario.

"Oh, you're really into me," he continues, low, gravelly, accented voice rumbling through your ears.

You screw up your face into something defiant, roll your eyes, and turn back to slide into a table. Patrick follows you like a lost puppy. Well, an incredibly arrogant lost puppy.

"You're still not denying it," he slides into the chair beside you and you hate the way your brain swims at the woodsy smell that brushes your nose.

"'Thought you were hungry," you say, simply (avoiding the question and decidedly not denying).

"It was very obviously a ploy," Patrick chimed back, with natural ease -tilting his head slightly and looking at you with twinkling eyes, "-They had pizza out there for all the players. I've already eaten."

Your fork froze for a millisecond (even still, you were sure he caught it), and after a moment, you pulled it to your lips. Maybe conquering both of your lack of response and the way your mind lit up at the idea of 'he just wanted to see me'.

His smile and eyes seemed to soften slightly, as he leaned his head down to catch your eye and guide it back up to your natural gaze (your heart skipped a beat). His brown eyes were soft and if you were honest, maybe a little affectionate.

"What's your name?" He finally said after a soft few moments.

And just like that, for you, the moment snapped, and you rolled your eyes -turning back to your food.

"Oh, come on," Patrick tried to catch your gaze again, "-Look, I'll tell you. Patrick Verona. That's my name-"

You bit down a smile, as he motioned to you with his hands.

"-Now, your turn, tell me yours."

You raised an eyebrow.

Patrick let out a half-laugh, before leaning forward slightly on the table -not quite a breath away, but certainly closer.

"You're so stubborn," he laughed, "-I'll beg. You want me to beg?"

You can't help but let the smile slip onto your lips then, "Why would you beg for my name?"

"Because I want it," he pointed out, still grinning "-Because I want to know you, and personally, I think it should start with a name."

Your heart fluttered in your chest, and you let your fork hang there on the path to your face. You took a moment, scampered your eyes along his face (dark brown eyes so incredibly soft, curls coming down from where he put them up in individual tendrils). Your resolve was weakening, it was really and truly broken under Patrick Verona's hand.

Stupid pretty boys-

"Y/N," you said finally (quieter than intended), immediately pulling a bite to your mouth.

Patrick blinked, "What?"

"'S my name," you explain -shortly, moving a hand in front of your mouth as you chew, "-Y/N."

His eyes lit up at the words, that stupid charming grin smoothing onto his face as he repeated, softer than expected, "Y/N."

You shove down the fluster that begs to climb up your cheeks at his accented voice saying your name. It's something you'd never really thought about but now that it's said, you probably should've thought about it.

Patrick leaned back in his chair, eyes still set on you. He was still grinning, as he said simply, "Suits you."

You furrow your eyebrows, "What's that supposed to mean?"

He raises his hands in faux surrender, laughing to himself, "Jesus, you're a true ball of rage, you know 'at?"

"I'm not-" you huff out, and take a deep breath in, "-I'm not mad."

"Defensive then," he mends, "-You act as though I'm about to strike any minute."

You pursed your lips, "Whose to say you aren't?"

"Me," Patrick laughs, "-This entire conversation. The way I've acted around you since the beginning-"

"Oh, shut up," you roll your eyes, unable to stop the smile creeping onto your lips, "-you were an asshole once."

He groaned, but something like amusement was twinkling in his eyes, "You are the most stubborn human being on this earth-"

"You took my spot," you interrupt, sturdy.

"-It's public property," Patrick argued back, "-and how was I supposed to know it was yours before I sat in it?"

You paused, for a moment, before saying, "You couldn't. But, you could have given it to me when I asked."

"And then we wouldn't be here," he explained, now fully grinning, "-and wouldn't that just be such a bore."

Your eyes swam over his face a moment, Patrick Verona. And his dumb persistence. And his stupid handsome face-

God.

You let out a long sigh, picking around at your food. Eyes watching the swirl of your fork, you debate a few different things to say. Finally, after a few spare seconds, you made up your mind.

"Yeah," you hum, flickering your eyes up to his, "-it would."

Patrick grinned, big and bright and twinkly (you felt your heart skip a beat in your chest). His eyes, the deep brown that if you weren't careful you could stare at for way too long, were soft but still sort of happy, eager. Definitely eager.

And maybe, just maybe, you could get used to-

"I told you I could work on the 'stranger' thing," he suddenly said, smirking, "-You never should've doubted me."

"What?" You raised an eyebrow, confused.

"You said-" Patrick explained, "-you don't give your name out to strangers. And I said I could work on that part-"

You level a look at him.

"-And look, I did," he continued, before adding with a smirk, "-I have successfully escaped the cavernous barrier, deeper than the ocean I'd say, that walls you off from any poor soul who wishes to know you-"

"You're really pushing it, Verona," you chime back, fiery (but not quite all the way).

"What?" He raised his eyebrows, like he said nothing at all to warrant the reaction, "-You can't tell me that it's not like pulling teeth getting to know you. Or trying to anyway-"

You press your lips onto a flat line, "Wow, you must be a sort of masochist, then?

He faltered for a second, before laughing a little, "Oh absolutely, I chase the high of you ignoring me for 2 hours straight every day."

You rolled your eyes, biting down a smile, "I despise you."

"Better that than indifferent," he responded with ease, "-I prefer you feeling something rather than nothing at all."

"Oh my god-"

It continued like that, a back and forth, as you finish eating your mediocre cafeteria lunch. The silence is sparse but not uncomfortable when Patrick isn't running his mouth, that is. It was nice. Insanely nice. You'd probably never had as much fun on this campus as you did with him, just in general, but...

"Same time Wednesday?" He poses with a cheeky grin, leaning onto one hand against the table -closer to you than before.

You felt something warm swirl into your stomach, as your eyes flickered over his face. He was still smiling, like he wasn't able to stop when he was here with you. And something in you never wanted to see it go away anyway.

So, with a slight head tilt and a brighter grin than what you'd let slip past all day, you repeated.

"Same time Wednesday."

[sameschmidtdiffname]

hai i have a request for a mike fic, so i was thinking of a comfort/hurt type of thing and maybe like a “i didn’t know where else to go” kind of trope where reader shows up to his house in the middle of the night distressed and he comforts her

To All I Think is Safe

Mike Schmidt x Gender Neutral! Reader

Summery: After a family dinner gone awry, something guides you somewhere where your mind can safely wander in better memories than the ones you're making right now.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific pronouns for Reader, mentions of arguments, heavy disassociation, heavy nosebleeding, flashbacks, first kiss, date, fear of heights, fair date, author is fucking trying, fluff.

Notes: I think my bosses want me dead. Anyway, here's Wonderwall.

                     ▪︎◇{¤♧■♧¤}◇▪︎

I can handle family. Who can't handle family?

The part of me knocking on the green door illuminated only by the orange streetlight a few yards away, trying to peak through one of the three window slots on the door to see if there's any sign of life inside of the modest house, praying that there is out of selfish desperation. That's who.

I hadn't called. Hadn't given notice. I'd been too caught up in the emotions of myself to do so, worried I'd be turned away if I had. The thought makes me feel ill now, my mind chastising me for such a self interested act.

For a moment I almost turn to leave, sure that no one is awake and that I've simply wasted the gas in the trip over here. But at the loud clunk of the door unlocking, I feel my heart jump and sink simultaneously as Mike peaks his head through the crack in the door, bags under his eyes and hair tossled from sleep.

"Hey," he croaked, blinking away the sleep as his tired face managed a look of surprise.

"Hey," I said softly, trying not to let my voice crack. But it does. "Is this a bad time?"

I don't know what gives my state away. Maybe it's how swollen my face is, puffy and burning from the overexposure to salt water. I can already feel the skin on my eyes balloning in a disastrously unattractive manner. Maybe it's the snot that's still on my face even after trying desperately to wipe it away, my problem being I'd run out of napkins in my car some time ago and hadn't replaced them, so I'd been resorted to just trying my best to sniff back the snot or use the arm of my jacket, which is now soaked and covered by my hand to conceal it, to wipe it away. God, it's fucking sticky and I feel gross. I don't understand why the snot won't just stop fucking flowing.

"Shit, you're bleeding," Mike says. His eyes widen as he steps forward, instantly dragging me into the house, down the hall and into the bathroom.

Oh. That's why my head hurts.

The white light is blinding and overstimulating in the small, disorganized room. One glance in the mirror and I can see the bottom half of my face is grossly smeared in the snot-blood combo running from my nose, my eyes bloodshot and more dry than a British comedy from all of the tears. I stare at myself for a moment, hardly even realizing Mike is yanking my coat off of me, stroking my hair and trying to ask me questions about what happened. I can hear his voice but the words are muffled, and even though my eyes are staring at him now, I don't know when I turned to face him or what I'm really looking at. I'm just staring at anything. My mother used to call it 'staring off into space.' It's actually a disassociation episode. The kind that can make me lose myself in other thoughts, making me distant from reality where I assume the worst of things.

I'm rational enough to know not to lean into him. If I throw myself into his arms I'll smear my shit everywhere and then he'll be grossed out and will have to play nice after I interrupted his sleep to beg for comfort that should come easily enough from my aforementioned mother, but clearly I'm adult enough now that I don't need coddling and I shouldn't have driven here and-

Am I saying this out loud? Because my mouth is moving and I'm trying to say something but I'll be honest, my head is in disarray and Mike looks worried. Me too, buddy. Me too.

My hands try to help his find a wash cloth in his closet, trying to be useful, but they're covered in snot and blood too and it's dried and horrid looking and I just feel like some sticky toddler that's wailing over nothing because that's what I'm doing, and I'm trying not to dissolve into a new wave of tears because my eyes really, really hurt and I'm gonna end up hiccuping and sobbing and I shouldn't even be here right now.

Mike's hands wrap around mine and he's trying to pull me somewhere. But he won't get out of my way, tugging me forward and blocking me like it's some game. Then I realize it's him he's trying to drag me to, and I try to push away, not wanting to get him dirty or let him fulfill some duty of pity just because he feels obligated seeing me in such a state. He's touching my hair and there's snot in that too and this is all just entirely too much, making me burst out sobbing once more as I try to hide my face in my arm, feeling all too vulnerable and alone while in a house that's not mine in any way, shape or form. But his arms feel nice around me, and he's guiding me to the bathtub and helping me lay down inside of it. When he pulls away I'm paranoid for a second that he'll turn the shower head on and wash me like a drunk, especially when he reaches for the shower handles. He presses a clean, white cloth to the spout and let's just a little bit of water out to wet the washcloth before turning the water off and coming closer to me, dabbing and wiping gently at the drying mixture on my face.

There's a long while of silence. Him carefully washing me, his touch gentle and caring as I feel the wet glumps with dried crusts fade away. The pounding in my head begins to dull to an overwhelming ache, making me shut my eyes as I softly groan. When I think he's done I dare peaking at him from under my lashes, trying to read his mind. His brows are furrowed, probably in disgust. Lips pressed together as he sits on the balls of his heels,, watching me carefully. Most likely he'll let me sleep on the couch and then kick me out in the morning. I'll be lucky if I get the "We should see other people" speech. I wouldn't blame him if my calls just couldn't connect when I get home, leaving me to wonder what could've been if I hadn't been so selfish.

I don't even know the time for fucks sake.

"I'm not crazy," I say in this broken voice that only a crazy person would have.

I don't know what's funny, but he's laughing. His hand reaches out to stroke my cheek, and he feels so warm. His callouses have this smooth texture to them. Working hands. It's the first thing I noticed when we held hands the first time. It was at some carnival thing, and Abby was with us. It was sweet under those neon lights. The rides always look so cheap, but there's something enchanting in that. It's what I focus on now as my mind finally begins to relax, allowing me the guilty pleasure of mentally slipping away into an actual memory instead of just static filling my mind and drowning everything else out unpleasantly.

"I know," Mike says softly, his thumb stroking the raw skin under my eye as he watches me with a gentle smile, one probably meant to hide his contempt. "You're okay."

The rides had these giant speakers built into them. And the workers would play songs from them, loud enough it was blaring in your ear on the ride but it was a reasonable volume when you were just walking around on the wet, overgrown and matted grass that curls around the giant cables Mike and I both had to be irritating about reminding Abby not to trip on, both of us looking down to watch for them more than looking at anything else.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Mike asks gently. He's always so gentle. Well, not always.

"Ope, someone lost their drink," I said to Mike, pointing at a spilled lemonade on the dirt path that had been created by decades of the county fair foot-traffic.

"Five second rule," Mike said, his voice low and teasing in my ear, making me burst out laughing.

"That's fucking disgusting!" I exclaimed, looking at him incredulously. A mother passing by snapped 'hey!' At me, tugging her child harshly behind her as she glared. I blushed, covering my mouth with my hand at the outburst, which made Mike laugh just as hard as I just had.

I suppose I have to talk about it. I can't really just not show up at his doorstep in the middle of the night and not just explain myself. But my teeth feel cemented together, my throat full of glue that halts the words I could use to inform him of why I look like this. And my eyes are too tired to make contact with his. So I just melt into his hand, pressing it between my cheek and my shoulder. And he doesn't press any more.

"I always liked the rides that made me feel like I was flying," Mike said as we watched Abby spin round and round with some girl she often spent her days with. Lisa Something.

"Yeah?" I asked, turning to look at him, taking a drink from the giant lemonade that was not at all real lemonade and was instead some horrid sugar that's taking five years off of our lives mixed with whatever makes the color of the drink the same as construction workers glow-in-the-dark vests that I'm sure will have like, ten different studies on how it gives you some cardiovascular disorder from overexposure in twenty years. There's a waxy ring of chapstick around my straw, so it's easy to tell which one to drink from. Mike had gotten just the one giant drink and two straws, shoving them in with a smooth smile as he handed me the already sweaty, Pepsi branded cup to hold while we walked. I think he didn't know that I noticed the twelve year old boy who'd been five people ahead of us in line do the same thing with his date earlier, but it was a cute gesture nonetheless.

"Yeah. I don't know why, it just felt comforting. Wind fuckin' up my hair and shit," he said, hands shoved in his jean pockets as he watched the two girls, who are sticking their tongues out at us as they whirl by.

"What, like you were flying away from your problems?" I ask, genuinely guessing.

"Nah, I don't really think of it like that. Just felt like I was somewhere else for a bit. Could close my eyes and the only anxiety I felt was whether or not Genie there was gonna fucken drop me," he said, glancing at me and smirking as he points at the giant airbrushed painting of Genie from Aladdin on the side of the ride. That's definitely not licensed.

"Have you eaten?" Mike asks softly, coming a little closer to me as his other hand cups my opposite cheek. At that I shake my head, pressing my lips together.

"It was all just some giant fiasco," I said as I laughed while trying to aim my basketball for the hoop several feet in front of me. Mike's made like five goals in a row and is proudly holding a very cheap rainbow dolphin with lopsided eyes for me while he watches me struggle just to get one.

"What, your prom date?" He teased, leaning closer to my ear as I take a shot. And miss. Again. "Or this?"

I turned to him, glaring and trying to suppress my amused smile.

"The date was fine, my hair was horrid," I said, turning away from the man working the booth who was trying to convince me to try again.

"I always like your hair," Mike says softly, one hand stroking my hair as he presses his forehead against mine. God, why won't he just tear into me already? The anticipation is fucking killing me.

I open my mouth to respond, but I just hiccup instead. At that he gently helps me up, guiding me out of the bathroom and leading me into the kitchen where he promises a leftover bowl of chicken noodle soup has my name written all over it in the fridge.

There's a thousand insecure questions I want to ask right now. Does he hate me? Will he hate me? Is this just a prelude to an awful breakup? But instead I just cling to my thoughts quietly, not wanting an answer to anything. Reality fading in and out of focus.

The kitchen is quiet as he moves about, dishing out the leftovers and putting them in the cheap, stained microwave he'd had to buy when Abby blew up the last one with a pitiful attempt at making her own rice Krispy treats. He leans against the counter as we wait for the rattling machine to finish, neither of us really saying anything as my leg bounces wildly in anxiety.

"Are you okay?" Mike asks softly after a moment, tilting his head. His arms are crossed in front of him, which is normal for Mike but it still makes me on edge.

I try again to speak, but I can't. It feels like I'll just blow up again if I do. So I just shrug instead, not wanting to talk about the lengthy screaming match I'd managed to find myself in earlier that night.

The microwave beeps loudly, causing us both to start, Mike pulling the door open quickly to shut it up and take out the now hot bowl, hissing under his breath at himself for not grabbing a towel as he quickly moves to set it down in front of me. If I'd been in a better state I would've laughed at the admittedly comical sight, but I felt like I'd done enough at his expense for one night.

Once situated, there's long while of silence. No other noise except for my spoon clinking against my bowl as I eat quietly, Mike watching me across the glass table as he takes a few drinks from his clear glass of water, head on his large hand. A clock ticks in the other room, the hour later than I'd wanted to be when I showed up unannounced.

"I'm sorry," I finally say in a soft voice, my spoon scraping soundlessly against the maroon bowl. "I just didn't know where else to go."

He smiles softly at that, his hand reaching across the table for mine. The touch meant to be comforting instead sends me back into my thoughts, my body stiffening as my mind tries to distract me from my anxiety and doubt.

Our hands had been brushing against each other for hours as we'd walked. Both of us were too nervous to take the others, which is a bit silly since we were grown adults. But really we hadn't had any serious discussions yet. We were still in the dinners and texting phase, dancing around any serious 'what is this' talks until we felt like we would both have similar answers ready for any questions. The night had settled in solidly now, the fairgrounds only alive by the bright lights of the rides.

The grazing, however, had come to an end when the ferris wheel started clicking towards what felt like my untimely demise.

I fucking hate ferris wheels, fun fact.

I don't think Mike particularly likes them either, based off of how stiff his body was next to mine, his eyes trained dead ahead, his jaw clenched. I think he might break a tooth. Or maybe I'm projecting.

Abby and Lisa had been insistent on riding it, and had been even more insistent that Mike and I needed to ride something with them before the night was over. And even though we both looked at the thing with a pit in our stomach, neither of us felt ridiculous about being grown adults on that ride as opposed to all the others flooded with teens and kids dodging in and out, stomping in puddles of who knows what on their way to the next ride. So we gritted our teeth, handed over our tickets and got into the cart right behind Abby and Lisa, who wouldn't stop looking back at us with amused eyes, whispering into each other's each as they covered their mouths.

"My dad worked as a carnie," I blurted out as we hung mid air, halfway up the ride while they still loaded people in. "These things are fucken sturdy."

Mike didn't look at me. Or at least he didn't turn his head. I didn't either. His silence makes my anxiety a bit worse, wondering if my random fact had somehow irritated him, or if there was something I was supposed to do that I wasn't picking up on.

"... I'm gonna die to Creed," he finally said between his gritted teeth.

My brows furrow for a moment before I realize what song is playing, and then I'm laughing. Maybe a little too much, but that's the anxiety. Abby and Lisa are darting their heads around to look down at us, trying to see what's set me off, and Creed's taking One Last Breath on the blaring radio somewhere around us as they have been for the past however many months with the top song.

"I'm never gonna escape this, they play this way too much at work," I laughed. And he started laughing too, both of us white knuckled as we gripped the bar in front of us. Then we move up again, and the cart is slightly rocking, making me feel ill.

"That's okay," Mike says softly, his thumb trailing across my knuckles as I stare down at our hands. "I was missing you, anyways."

I look up at him, trying to read his expression, my head still trying to balance my focuses. There's concern in his eyes, obvious as he realizes how awful this particular episode is.

Abby is yelling something at us, but my head is buzzing with too much anxiety to hear her.

"Go away!" Mike yells back at her, waving his hand in irritation, then stopping as he realizes he's rocking the cart. He looked back at me anxiously, trying to smile. It just looked like he'd been shot instead. "Sisters," he said shyly.

"What's she saying?" I asked him, leaning closer to hear him better over the heavy guitar.

"Nothing," he insisted. "She's just being twelve."

I go to look up, only to feel his hand on top of mine, warm and strong as he grips it a little too hard for the first time, but I think that's out of anxiety too. No matter what, the first move makes me more dizzy.

"Your dad worked fairs?" He asked anxiously, obviously trying to change the subject.

"I should've called first," I say softly, leaning onto the table and pushing the empty bowl away from me as I lay on top of my arm.

"It's okay," he reminds me in a soft voice, rising from his chair while still holding my hand. "You're home now."

"Well, I'm at your home now," I hiccup into my arm. His arms wrap around me, guiding me up and into his warm embrace that I'd been longing for for what felt like hours.

"I thought you said you liked flying!" I laughed, terrified.

"Flying! This is sitting still while dangling above death!" Mike clarified. The carts began clicking again, and we now had an easier view of the two girls in front of us, making him gasp and yell out Abby's full name in scolding.

I see why he didn't want me to look up. Abby and Lisa are miming a make-out session while they giggle obnoxiously.

"Oh my God, I'm gonna fucking ground her," he groaned, covering his forehead with his other hand. His face is completely red, his body so stiff it feels like I could break off his arm with barely any pressure, and my own heart is slamming so hard against my chest I think it's visible.

One more click and we'll be at the top. Great.

He's looking down at me, I think he's trying to get me to refocus but I just can't. I've done my duties for the night, and now I'm stuck in this emotional pit of hatred and numbness as my mind tries to remind me of a better time that just makes me feel worse because Mike is speaking again and I just can't hear him.

"She's being a wingman. Really, she's just spotting a good opportunity," I rambled in Abby's defense. Mike glanced at me, then at the tweens in front of us.

"Yeah?" He asked, his voice nerve wracked.

"Oh yeah. Every little sister does it. I mean, it's partially based in torture, but overall she's trying to help," I said quickly, my breath shortening.

"Are you okay?" He asked, looking just as pale as me.

"I fucking hate heights, please distract me," I pleaded quickly, only to immediately feel his teeth click loudly against mine as he kissed me, his lips sweet with sugar and hands nearly breaking mine from his tight grip, Abby and Lisa whooping obnoxiously in front of us as we freeze in the moment. It's clumsy, certainly. And it's obvious on both ends how long it's been since either of us have done this. But it's an effective method, my mind beginning to refocus on the taste of the borderline awful lemonade fresh on his breath, his shaking hand moving from the bar to cup my cheek cold from the wind. My eyes widen in surprise, the music swelling around us and the lights somehow brighter as we rock above the rest of the fair in the squeaking booth.

When he pulls away, there's a soft smile on his face, his tongue quickly darting out to taste his own lips.

"... I like your chapstick," he said shyly, neither of us focused on the fact that we're now moving steadily in the ride, fully tuned in to the other.

"Thanks," I said softly, cheeks burning against his touch. "Strawberry."

There's a long second of nothing, and I'm vaguely aware of Abby and Lisa screaming "Can You Feel the Love Tonight?" And someone is trying to shush them. I know it's not Mike because he's staring at me like an idiot. Completely satisfied and dramatically more calm as he leans in for another kiss, this time pulling me fully into his embrace.

"You're home," Mike repeats against my lips, then moving to trail along my cheeks, his hands carefully cupping my face once more as his touch grounds me back in reality. "I'll be here when your mind gets back."

As my own hands graze along his soft, cotton shirt, I feel my pulse begin to relax. Doubt beginning to creep away as his lips trail along my jaw, slowly working to my neck. It's not a demanding touch. It's just comfort. And he'll keep doing this until I return to him like I always do, and then he'll keep doing it until we both fall asleep in a tight embrace under a dozen blankets, half of which will be gone by morning as we wake in a pool of sweat across the bed from each other, only to seek the other out again in wakefulness. And there will be answers for his questions, and I'll be fine.

I'm home now.

                             ¤▪︎{♧}▪︎¤

I FINALLY FUCKING PUBLISHED SOMETHING. HOLY FUCK I'M OVERWORKED. (Fun fact, this was fucking hard because I was actively disassociating while writing the whole thing. Reader just like me frfr)

Taglist:

@cassiecasluciluce @gh0u1ishly @joshhutchersons-slut @schmidtsbimbo @sugarevans @wompwompwomp57 @jhutchissupercool. Thank you for your support pookies!!! <3

               •▪︎Masterlist▪︎•

[piratefalls]

welcome back to the latest edition of biweekly fic recs! as always, mind the tags, if you can't leave a nice comment don't leave one at all, and happy reading!

masterlist.

There's No Problem That San Diego Can't Solve by @historicallysam

Alex doesn’t even bother knocking; he simply twists the knob on the door and shoves it open. His eyes narrow as the door bangs against the wall and he sees Henry on the phone. Maybe (definitely) it’s rude but his blood is fucking boiling so he doesn’t really care.

All the Ocean was Sleeping by @sparklepocalypse

The worst part about being a siren in the modern era, Henry ponders as yet another ship flies past his cove at a speed that he knows will disturb the anemone gardens below, is the yacht bros. Between the sound of their vessels’ motors and the dissonant noise the humans call music, Henry’s singing has no chance of attracting anyone’s attention.

cause you're a classic, and i'm reckless by @firenati0n

“I've, actually, uh. I've never done this before.” At this, Henry stops short, takes a second as his gaze moves up and to the left, trying to recall something. “I've seen your films. You most certainly have done intimate scenes.” Alex clears his throat. He hopes his nerves aren't completely obvious, the slight waver in his voice about to give him away. “Yeah, well. Never with a man, so. Not at this scale, anyway.” “Would it help to, er, practice?" Henry winces a little as he says it, which does not inspire confidence. But Alex is shocked nonetheless. What the fuck?

Over Land and Sea by SatinBirds

Alex and Henry come from very different worlds, and still, they manage to find each other.

Clean Slate by smc_27

“Henry.” Pez comes over, puts both hands on Henry’s cheeks and looks him dead in the eye. “You are not a sad man who’s gotten dumped. You’re in the prime of your life, and I quite desperately need you to act like it.” “The prime of my life,” Henry scoffs, more incredulous than questioning. “I’ve just gotten out of a 15 year relationship, endured a divorce, am suffering an almost impressive case of writer’s block, and your hands are like bloody icicles.” Pez grins, doesn’t take his hands away. “Explain to me how this is my prime. Please.” Pez tilts his head, and sounds entirely serious when he says, “Literally anything can happen from here.”

in bloom by stutteringpeach

Yoo, can u hook me up with some flowers?? It's the busiest day of the year for florists. Alex texts Henry with a last minute request.

here is a map (with your name for a capital) by @alasse9

That day at the Rio de Janeiro Olympics, Alex comes across the very same Prince Henry who just dismissed him having a panic attack in a bathroom. The choice Alex makes then has ripple effects neither of them could have ever expected. What's the story like, when they actually are friends all along? “So, you’re going back to England tonight, and you’ll spend the next three days pretending you two are the closest and best of friends until we can put this mess behind us.” And there are reasons he hasn’t told anybody this, good reasons, even though he’s sure June and Nora saw through him ages ago. Faced with his mom’s disappointment, though, and with the realization that the entire world apparently thinks he hates Henry and would willingly shove him into a fucking cake, he can’t stay quiet. “But we are friends,” he says, vehement and serious. “We have been for years. He’s—he’s probably my best friend, actually, along with Nora.”

thoughts of you consume by yrsonpurpose

Henry sees Alex appear on the red carpet in a blue suit that screams sex on legs and is ready to throw away all attempts at concealing their secret relationship in the name of dropping to his knees at the first available opportunity.

eyes on me by matherine

Alex’s hips buck back against Henry’s mouth the moment his tongue does more than tease, and Henry squeezes his hip in gentle consternation. But before he can say anything, Alex is already rambling. “Sorry, I’m — I’m sorry, I know you said not to move, and I’m trying, I — I’m trying to be good, I promise,” he blurts, voice shaking ever so slightly from something that certainly doesn’t sound like pleasure, resolutely refusing to turn his head so that he can meet Henry’s gaze from where he’s positioned behind him. Henry’s heart aches. “Alex — love, it’s alright. Where’s your mind?” Or: Sometimes, Alex needs a distraction. Something to take the edge off, to scrub away at the stress of the day. Some days, it works better than others. 

the evolution of intimacy by Poutini

There’s no spontaneity anymore. One might think this boring. That the novelty had worn off. The spark snuffed. Absolutely not

Want Me by OrchidScript

Henry had always been weak for a nice smile, but his was impossible to ignore. Blame it on summer heat and a fresh flush in his cheeks. Blame it on sunset painting the outdoor bar sweltering, romantic colors. Blame it on two healthy glasses of albariño thrumming in his bloodstream, or the good music floating on the air. Henry could blame it on anything liked if he thought long and hard about it, but that didn’t change much at the end. The core remained the same: he had been gone from the jump. -- Henry and Alex hook up on a vacation in Spain. Henry falls a bit deeper.

fill my lungs with sweetness by @priincebutt

Henry George Edward James Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor wakes up at 3 AM on his birthday to an empty bed. What could Alex possibly be getting up to at 3 AM the night before his birthday? The possibilities are endless.

got myself in quite a tangle by coffeecatsme

"It seems I've gotten myself in quite a tangle." "Tangle?" Henry's voice is hoarse, eyes darkened as they travel over Alex's body. They stop at his crotch, and Alex can see it even under the dim lights—Henry's growing hard too, a visible bulge pushing at his sweatpants. Alex's cock gives a desperate twitch. "Y'know, I was trying to put them around the tree," he starts, gesturing at the plain tree at the corner. It's clear he didn't even attempt to touch it. "And somehow I've managed to completely trap myself. Can't even move my hands." Henry makes a desperate noise at the back of his throat as his eyes snap up to Alex's face. Alex flashes him a suggestive grin, teeth biting down on his lip. "Seems I'm completely at your mercy."

The Forces of Chance and Coincidences by @stellarm

Bad weather leads to a late flight that leads to no one being where they wanted to be, but maybe everyone was where they needed to be.

I've never felt safer (than when I'm with you) by viciouslyqueer

Alex takes the bag and opens it slowly, careful not to rip it, and gasps quietly as he sees what’s inside. “H, you didn’t…” Strong arms wrap around his waist from behind, Henry’s chest warm against his back. “Do you like it?” Henry asks in a whisper, resting his chin on Alex’s shoulder. Alex doesn’t know what to say. Gingerly, like he might ruin it with even the smallest touch, he takes out the silky fabric and holds it up in front of them. It’s a gorgeous dress, fancy too, in a deep red color with thin straps and an open back. It’s long, almost touching the floor even as Alex holds it up and has a slit on the left side that would probably end a little above Alex’s knee.

An Amateur's Guide to Professional Gift-Giving by anincompletelist

Alex, a former-law-student-taking-some-time-off turned professional part-time gift giver, is tasked with finding a gift for the most high profile client he's ever worked with, both in and out of the world of law. It turns out finding the perfect gift for the Prince of Wales might be easier than he'd anticipated.

Love At First Bark by everwitch

“I still don’t know your name, do I?” Henry watches Alex where he’s crouched down in front of David and gently scratching David below his chin. David absolutely loves Alex. Henry can relate. “It’s David,” Henry supplies. “Cool,” Alex says. “And what’s the dog’s name?” Henry blinks at him. “... David?” “What?” Alex exclaims. He looks from David to Henry and then back at David again. “Wow, okay, that is a choice.” Henry wants to sink through the earth and never come back up again.

don't let me get drunk again by headabovethewater

Alex had never wanted to cancel plans as much as he had while watching Henry pull a pair of light wash, tight jeans over his stockinged legs and bare ass. Christ, he’s getting hard thinking about it now.

The Beginner's Guide to Floristry by clottedcreamfudge

As if there's anything romantic about it; as if it's not the most humiliating death Alex can imagine. This is why he doesn't do relationships. This is why he never will. The risk, as far as he fucking sees it, is too great. -- Hanahaki Disease is a fictional disease where the victim of unrequited or one-sided love begins to vomit or cough up the petals and flowers of a flowering plant growing in their lungs, which will eventually grow large enough to render breathing impossible.

Everything you take, you make it better. So go on, take forever by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

It's 2024, and nobody knows they're engaged. But they will, just as soon as Alex can decide what to wear to his birthday dinner. Henry has an idea and a special gift to match.

false pretenses by rizcriz

Henry spins around, glaring at Alex. “For christs sake,” He hisses, holding a hand out between them. “Can we just not? I do not have the capacity to pretend to hate you today.” Alex splutters as Henry turns on his heel and starts to walk away. He stares after him helplessly. “Pretend?” After a beat, he starts to follow after him, “What the fuck do you mean pretend?” Three years of breathing down each others necks, fighting every time they come in contact with each other. And if Henry is saying every single thing on his end has been pretend, Alex Claremont-Diaz is going to have a fucking breakdown. Because he has been harboring this stupid fucking crush and burying it beneath false antagonism, meeting Henry where he’s at, for three years, and if Henry is implying that they’re both faking it— -- or, Alex learns better.

turn the desert to glass (you would be the one) by @taste-thewaste

Henry and Alex's domestic bliss has lead to some changes in Henry's body. Henry doesn't really mind being a little chubby, but he wonders if Alex does. Alex, it turns out, does not. Not one bit. He does not mind one bit, and he is more than eager to prove it.

coming on fast like good dreams do by cricketnationrise

When Henry recovers from his unexpected factory reset, he still can’t really breathe properly and somehow Alex is still standing in front of him with a hopeful and excited expression on his face. “Run that by me again?” he asks faintly. “I need your help.” “Right…” “I need you to edge me. Like a lot,” Alex says with a shrug. Nope, it’s not any clearer a second time around.

as always, let me know if you want to be tagged in future lists, whether you're a reader or writer!

tagging @starkfridays @stilesgivesmefeels @midnightsfp @sarahjswift @enablelove

[inkblackorchid]

me again! 😹 I love the headcanons you wrote ,thank you ! While reading them I imagined something else so I thought to give it a try !

Perhaps, do you think you could write Faithshipping married headcanons? That would be so cool , thank you in advance:)

Also ,I am so excited for more Faithshipping fanfictions. Also ,I love how you're giving Aki more time to shine and get actual development 🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

@mathemagician93 Hope you don't mind me combining these since they pertain to similar topics!

Had to think about these for a while so they've unfortunately been sitting in my inbox for a couple of days, haha. But here we go, married faithshipping headcanons!

The proposal is a long time coming (especially to Aki and Yusei's long-suffering friend circle), but both of them don't know how to go about it at first.

I imagine Aki's parents are just traditional enough that they're basically expecting Yusei to propose, while Aki herself really doesn't mind who proposes, but ends up being too chicken to do it herself. (She doesn't think Yusei would reject her, but old fears are a bitch and she knows it would break her heart if he said no for any reason.)

Yusei, meanwhile, definitely has the courage to propose, but doesn't have the foggiest idea how to. What do people do when they propose?? (Jack and Crow are the polar opposite of helpful, btw.) He ends up taking Martha's advice of doing it in a simple, but heartfelt way.

It's not a big thing. It's a date, but not a date that immediately seems special. There's no crowd, only them. The question's quiet and earnest, and the memory of it belongs to them and them alone.

(For a couple of days, the others don't even know the big question came up. Everyone's offended as hell when they find out Aki and Yusei didn't consider it big enough of a deal to make a big announcement out of it. But big doesn't matter to them. What matters is each other.)

I imagine several parties would try to hijack the wedding planning. Among them, Jack, Carly, and Aki's parents. Nobody manages to keep their trap shut and not make unprompted suggestions, at any rate.

Despite the above, the wedding wouldn't be big and fancy, either. Everyone who's important is there, but nobody beyond that. Aki manages to wriggle the occasional input out of Yusei and puts together some kickass (floral, duh) decor.

(They both stress about the wedding. Aki looks more like she stresses, but in truth, Yusei's also worried he's going to make an idiot of himself. Fancy occasions were never his thing. But they manage to put their heads together and make it work, because that's what they're best at.)

Married life ends up not being all that different from the way things were before. I'd imagine they already lived together and tackled day-to-day life together before. Except now both of them are Dr. Fudo.

(Yusei wouldn't have minded taking Aki's name, but Aki's parents fussed and she wasn't too attached to Izayoi, anyway, so she happily takes Fudo.)

They absolutely manage to mix up their name tags for work (if not their lab coats outright) at some point.

Half of the nurses working with Aki know and are convinced she's married to Yusei Fudo (yes, that Yusei Fudo). The other half are dead convinced the others are just pulling their legs and that it's a rumour because it would be cliché anyway, etc. The reason why is that Aki doesn't see the reason to make a big deal out of her marriage (and knows Yusei likes his privacy).

By contrast, the entirety of MIDS knows Yusei's married to Aki Izayoi. Because he brings her up every second conversation—not even to brag (although he sometimes does), but simply because he thinks of her that often. (You cannot convince me Yusei would not be one of the most wife guys to ever wife guy.)

They are popular with literally all their neighbours because they're the most capable couple on the block. Your washing machine is broken? Ask Yusei about it. Your grandma tripped and fell? Better pop over to Aki.

They're good at dividing up the chores and know exactly which chores each the other likes to do less. (Aki's better at doing the laundry and hates cleaning the bathroom, Yusei's better at doing the dishes and hates dusting the furniture.)

Despite Aki's demanding work hours, being a doctor and all, Yusei still always manages to be awake earlier than her. He knows exactly for what time her alarm is set and always makes sure a cup of tea and something small to eat are ready for her by then.

In return, Aki likes to stay on top of making sure that Yusei's got lunch he can take with him to work. (Because she knows his abysmal working habits and the fact that he makes time to actually go for lunch too rarely.)

They coordinate their days off to the best of their ability. What free time they have, they want to be able to spend together.

Yusei may or may not forget his lunch on occasion. Aki, on days where she's not stuck at work herself, may or may not pop into MIDS to bring her husband his lunch. (Yusei's coworkers find it hilarious.)

Hope you like these! And thank you so, so much, glad you enjoy my stories! Aki deserves every little bit of development I can give her. ^^

[sneezemonster15]

I'd give you an analysis, but frankly from what I've seen from your own "analysis" you're not very good at reading

also if you'd be so kind to tag this as mha spoilers, or screenshot this ask and put it under a read more so i dont spoil anyone who's interested in reading mha. it'd be greatly appreciated

(also thanks for getting rid of anon, this time i will include pics !)

anyway, this is the "straight dude who is having a typical cutesy high school het romance with a girl in a taken for granted het world." you're talking about;

also i wont lie, calling mha a het world when these are real dialogue is highkey stupid:

and i know the topic at hand is s/n/s and bk/dk but lets pivot to tg/chk bc theyre more relevant to what im saying

theres a lot to say but honestly, the manga speaks for itself :)

oh and also, you're right, bk/dk has no romantic subtext - it has romantic text. no subtlety needed! :) that is, if you have read the manga - my favourite example is this:

and then shgrk then proceeds to kill bkg, who "dies" (sort of) thinking about izuku in his final moments:

and then izk loses control when he sees bkg "dead" on the ground

and these are from recent chapters! imagine the rest of the series, ey

well! that got long. i'd tackle your crappy assessment of deku's character, but then I'd be here all day!

anyways, if i were you, I'd reread mha and really really understand the text you're reading. you might end up seeing something you missed at first!

Aiyyo someone got triggered! Hehehe. Ah it was inevitable that the moment I talked about MHA and rejected shippy head canons from the show, some delusional hardcore shipper would get all up in arms. Sigh.

You think what you wrote is analysis? Hehehe.

So just some random panels and chapter covers from the manga prove Bakugou or Deku is gay? Lol. I have seen fans like you in Naruto fandom as well. But you are right, I am not as invested in MHA, because it just doesn't have the versatility and genius of Naruto and Shippuden, it is actually quite a straightforward story and I don't need to burn a lot of my braincells to 'get it'. Lol. I am not saying it's bad, but as compared to its contemporary mangas, it just isn't at par for my tastes. It's good for entertainment but it doesn't affect me like other mangas that it takes inspiration from. Some silly shipper telling me I can't read, I would tell you my credentials but nah, too much work for disproving silly ass headcanons.

Fans make comparisons between Naruto and BNHA because Horikoshi is inspired by Kishimoto, definitely some similarities are there, but it misses on the most crucial point. Naruto and Shippuden are love stories. BNHA is simply your typical shounen manga. Naruto and Shippuden use the narrative tool of subversion to tell a love story in the restrictive genre of shounen. It has multiple layers and you need presence of mind to see them. Naruto is gay and you see comphet in his character, his interest in Sakura looks superficial from the beginning and then in kage arc, it is concluded as a mere cover to run from confronting his dilemma, and closetedness. His character is consistently shown as having an internal fight, a dilemma. Sasuke is just on your face, he is clearly shown as having no interest in women, but with Naruto he is especially intimate on his own accord. Ya know, using random panels ain't gonna help, you need to establish it in the narrative. Headcanons are all nice to entertain when that's all you watch media for, shipping. But please to be showing more maturity and media comprehension when sending me an ask, I am not very sympathetic to gaslighters whose heads are filled with shippy shit and cheap self gratification. When I talk Naruto, I make comparisons with other clearly gay media, and point out the common tropes, it's a result of expansive research. Not just random panels that prove nothing. Little one, you need more than that to prove your theories. I have watched a wide range of media, including gay media, your ask is just representative of your ignorance and lack of knowledge about how storytelling and character building works. Heh. Or do you think BNHA has its own concept of homosexuality, its own private language that cannot be compared with how other media establishes homosexuality in a given universe? Yeah, solipsistic ideas like that cannot be taken seriously.

Conformity is one of the pillars Japanese society is built upon, so it's not surprising that Japanese media talks upon how anything that doesn't conform to the norms is rejected. Their media is representative of their society. Mha also touches upon that and there's no surprises there, but again, you need more than that to prove it in the course of plot building and narrative. Some random out of context panel about some character saying something about conformity proves your point? You need to SHOW it and not just tell. But where other mangas, great mangas, popular and critically well acclaimed mangas have explored this idea in detail, MHA is just touch and go. It doesn't entertain a balanced proper discourse on it. It is truly shounen in that sense. Again, I am not saying it is bad, it is just more age appropriate. Which is totally fine. Do you know how heteronormativity is established in the narrative? Like this. Show me where this happens in MHA. Lol. Sweetheart, if the writer had made any attempt to write this world as heteronormative, where gay characters face challenges, I would have seen it. But mha is just not that deep. Sorry to burst your bubble. But that's just a fact.

Seriously, you are going to give me the example of Toga? I haven't gone through the recent chapters yet. I have only watched the anime. But it is clear that, that girl is medically insane. Her idea of liking someone is to kill that person and drink their blood, for her own pleasure. She ain't a homosexual, more like hemosexual. Hahaha. Again, you gotta show me the trajectory of her character, start with the base and show me how it escalates, how does she learn better about herself, her own feelings, the world from her perspective. No character is isolated, any writer who is talented enough to write multimillion franchise knows that. Don't project your assumptions on the story and the characters, work with what you have and draw the meaning from what's given, not the other way round.

There is no doubt Izuku and Bakugou have a strong relationship, even if it is mostly rivalry. But one can see that Bakugou cares about Deku and vice versa. Before telling me how to read, perhaps you should have done it yourself. Lol, I see this type of behaviour a lot from typical silly shippy shippers. "What, did you just say my ship makes no sense? 🤬"

Read.

Do you even know what subtext or text is? Hahah. This is text and subtext. So just because Bakugou and Deku talk about their rivalry in their vulnerable moments, that the audience knows as congruent since we have already seen they have a hot and cold relationship but that they are friends nonetheless, that proves they love each other romantically? You obviously don't know how romance tropes work. The dynamic between two men who respect and admire each other is always shown with a lot of empathy in Japanese media. It is one of the founding pillars of shounen, a genre meant for teenaged boys. They are certainly closer to each other than they are with women they are interested in, but a lot of fans such as yourself misinterpret it as romantic, because headcanon goggles. No, you gotta have more than that. Where Naruto and Shippuden have it in truckloads, none of that in BNHA. Deku is heterosexual af. If he is so interested in Bakugou, how come he reacts the way he reacts to Uraraka? Where is his conflict? Where is his dilemma? His affection and romantic interest in Uraraka is genuine and sincere, not a cover to hide his more private feelings. Unlike in Naruto's case. Kishi uses clever narrative tricks and tools to tell his love story in shounen and he does it skillfully. His motives and intentions are clear as water. He uses inventive smokescreens and red herrings to escape from being too controversial and colour inside the borders of shounen, nothing like that in BNHA. To begin with, Horikoshi doesn't even delve into the sexualities of his characters, because his story is not about that. There's no context, no set up, nothing. His worldbuilding is simply conventional, by which I mean heteronormative, there's no talk about sexual orientation of characters. You see the usual shounen perviness by Mineta and Kaminari and typical straight girls going kawaai over good looking boys like Todoroki, what impression does that give? If Horikoshi wanted to establish his characters being gay, he would have set up the context mindfully and carefully, like Kishi did. Gay relationships and characters can't be shown so explicitly in shounen as that would jeopardize its distribution in the west. Reason? Censorship. That's why Kishi had to be so careful, his target audience might not get it, but the adults do. Well, unbiased adults do, at the very least. So the boys in bnha are gay just because? Because you want them to be? Storytelling and character building doesn't work like that.

Seriously everything you think works as 'analysis' isn't even valid. I honestly didn't even want to respond to this ask, given it's so surface level and ridiculously simple minded. Perhaps you are a tween or teen who thinks every time two boys or girls smile at each other or rescue each other, they are gay and in love. Lol, watch gay media. Like actually watch it and see where your arguments stand in the scheme of things. I will tell you, nowhere. Juvenile kiddy stuff. I won't entertain anymore asks like these, they are a waste of my time.

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Sauvignon Blanc | Guest Check

Tags: Nina first person POV train of consciousness, suicidal thoughts, self harm, substance abuse, it's a heavy one, sorry

The year I was born was the year that the government made it so that paracetamol had to be sold in blister packs rather than bottles. It was meant to prevent suicides as opening up individual packs was harder and gave a person more time to think. I want nothing more than to kill myself every time I have to dig my nail in to pop the foil but whatever. It worked, at least from what I've been told, never bothered to actually look it up.

Paracetamol poisoning is lousy fucking way to go anyways. Very English to choose a slow and miserable death. On par with the other preferred, yet slow, method of alcoholism. Nothing beats a destroyed liver and kidneys, I suppose.

I decided years ago how I'd kill myself. I won't mention it here in case someone gets nosy and gets me sectioned. It's not something I dwell on, but it feels like a back up plan, I guess. Like how some women have a secret cash fund in case their boyfriend beats them, I have my suicide plan.

I don't want to kill myself. More out of not wanting to hurt Kyle than anything else. It also seems like too much work most days. Why kill myself when I can drink a bottle of wine and curl up in bed?

There are rough days.

Like a spring is being compressed inside me and one day it'll release in some violent display against myself. I have to gently release the pressure. Always quietly. Always invisibly. Fear of my father trumped all other emotions growing up.

Plucking body hair (avoid the face!) and skin picking and scratching (avoid face and hands!) being two particular favorites of mine. One pair of tweezers can reliably do both. Sit in the tub to clean away any hair, skin or blood. Come out and present myself like the glossy, red eyed girl I am.

It's my biggest secret, strangely proud of that. Kyle doesn't know, despite once walking in on me aggressively plucking arm pit hair out (Do you not own a razor, you weirdo?). Growing up in the early era of "mental health awareness" that hammered in this behavior was not done for attention. That only made me feel worse as a teen, who fantasied whole heartedly about her father walking in on her, razor in hand, who would then fall to his knees and sob out apologies for not paying enough attention to her to notice. I never good at getting his attention in the first place so feeling like it was faux pas only increased my covert skills.

None of that helps with the post pain shame. The patheticness of it all. If I was a man I could simply punch a whole in the wall and break my fist. I don't want any more pity. My family is already dead.

Everyone looks at me different now. i try to act like it doesn't bother me and most of the time it doesn't. I'm not really friends with the rest of the staff at work.

It's Kyle though. Twenty odd years of friendship and he looks at me differently. I don't know if its pity or something else but I hate it. It's like he gets sad looking at me. I don't want to be that. Sex was never rough rough but now its like he doesn't want to break me, like he's afraid to touch me.

We broke up. I couldn't fucking do it. It was like chewing glass.

The only person who doesn't look at me differently, abiet he rarely looks at me at all, is Simon. Maybe it's why I let him take me home and basically give him free reign.

I don't have to think about it. I don't have to worry about him telling me he loves me. I don't have to worry about disappointing him. It might be because he doesn't actually like me so nothing I do will make him think less of me. I can just lay there. He does the work to make me cum and that's it. Wears a condom without complaint too.

It's easy.

He doesn't stay the night, which is fine, I can just enjoy myself with a bottle of wine in bed.

Tag List: @queen-ilmaree@macravishedbymactavish@gogh-with-the-flow@water-bearz @pvssytrux

[bunglegaydogs]

i hate twitter

i fucking hate it i want to burn it i despise twitter with a fucking passion

this post, look in the tags

it actually rages me and this is why i hate twitter and this is why im going to go into a rant about how these characters actually do have fucking depth and personality to them and that people need to stop pushing their outrageous agendas on people and being toxic xoxo

So, one main point I want to make is obviously Dazai and Chuuya, that's my main point here. They are separate entities as much as they are one. They have their own personalities, their own pasts, their own feelings, thoughts; they're fucking human. But something that a lot of people seem to want to do is make Chuuya's personality Dazai. That Chuuya is salty with him for leaving the mafia, and that Chuuya's "trauma" is Dazai (that man has fucking far worse trauma, Dazai leaving the mafia is not traumatic to him, especially when it had nothing to fucking do with the poor guy), and that his whole being is simply just Dazai. Dazai, the man who admitted that he spent every waking second thinking about Chuuya. The guy who got himself caught by the mafia partly because he wanted to see Chuuya. Are we all forgetting the dead apple scene? It's far more accurate to say that Dazai's personality is Chuuya, jesus fucking christ. That guy forgot to breathe when he watched Chuuya fighting like??? He's so homo, anyways.

Their characters are integral to each other, and they're made for one another (I'm saying this as a character creating thing, not romantically lmao (although-) ) and they compliment each other perfectly, they're perfect rivals. And, they can stand on their own as their own people, their own characters. Yes, whilst we meet Chuuya through Dazai in the series, and we see him as Dazai's ex-partner, the more information we get and the more content we receive about/from Chuuya steadily make him his own individual character, and Stormbringer cemented that.

I'm going to talk about the "Chuuya has trauma from Dazai leaving" thing because I saw it on Wattpad and it pissed me off.

Chuuya's trauma doesn't stem from Dazai, of fucking course it doesn't. It stems from Arahabaki, it stems from not knowing who he is, it stems from N (piece of shit), it stems from all his friends dying, it stems from being betray by his friends; this fucking guy has been put through the fucking mill, and yet the only thing that people like to focus on is how Dazai leaving affected him.

Dazai's defection from the mafia wasn't because of Chuuya, it was because of Oda. This is blatantly fucking obvious, yet again, some people like to think otherwise. Some people like to believe the most abhorrent shit. I swear there was someone one time that said he left because he "couldn't handle his feelings ofr Chuuya" like fuck off oh my god oh my god.

These two each have their own issues and their own traumas separate from each other. Can we please let Chuuya be his own character and let him have a personality without shitting on it?

These motherfuckers will scratch at anything, absolutely anything, to make anything about Chuuya to do with Dazai. Not every bad thing that happens to a character has to be topped by your deluded fantasies. "Oh, Chuuya was tortured? But Dazai-" LIKE NO FUCK OFF. We literally have NOTHING on the man, and you want to make some bullshit up just so that he can, what, be more mentally ill than others? Bruh? I don't know what these people are scheming or planning, but comparing trauma and saying that a character's is worse is so fucking awful and makes others feel like shit. I've always struggled with mine, because I constantly tell myself that worse things have happened to worse people, so I am a hypocrite here. But I understand how trauma works and affects people, and that it affects people differently. Your worst experience could be different to somebody elses, but you'll both be heavily affected by it. Chuuya doesn't show signs of the amount of immense trauma he has (mans internalises it and won't let himself show it because that's how he is pls PLS somebody give this man a fucking hug) whereas Dazai is clearly not right in the head; this doesn't mean you're allowed to say "Oh, Dazai has worse trauma clearly" because we have nothing about his past. We hardly have anything from his time at the mafia except his first mission, and his last. What happened in between for those 3-4 years? We don't know. We know bits now thanks to Stormbringer and Dead Apple about the Dragon's Head Conflict, but we still don't have much to go off. We haven't even had so much as a hint towards the first 14 years of his life, and we don't know anything about those two years he went undercover, except that he was unemployed and frequented Bar Lupin (I always thought about how the bartender felt after finding out about Oda but hey :') ), but other than that, we have virtually nothing on the man. We never know how he's feeling, what he's thinking, etc. He is a complex character, and he's made that way as a character because, and I cannot stress this enough, that is his character. Sorry, I derailed a bit there. Anyways, what I mean to say is that you can't use Dazai being bat-shit crazy as evidence for your delusions. That's his character, and yes, he may be influenced by his trauma, but we can only speculate. Clearly something has gone awry in his life for him to think the way he does and to crave death so badly, and to just be the way he is now. But, as I said before, trauma affects everyone differently. Just because Chuuya doesn't want to fucking kill himself does not mean that his trauma should be brushed aside and glossed over. Chuuya puts up a front because he doesn't want to be weak; all his life people have relied on his ability and his strength and wit to get them through, and even though the Mafia go a different way about it than the sheep, his ability and strength is still utilised; it's like Sigma, and Yosano. Nobody wants to be used, yet they still end up in a cycle of it until someone can come along to get them out of it. Supposedly Chuuya has been taken out of that cycle from the Sheep, but not necessarily so. Yes, the Mafia treats him better. But it doesn't really. Ah fuck I'm making zero sense yikes. Sorry, my bad. Ignore that lol.

ANYWAY sorry to cut this short, but my point still stands that Chuuya's character and personality does not solely revolve around Dazai, the man who has his ex-partner on his mind 24/7 and makes him come save him like a disney princess. Anyways lol.

These characters are their own people, and trauma isn't a competition. You don't have to come up with the most abhorrent shit to make Dazai's situation "worse" and then force that onto everyone else and start berating and belittling them when they don't believe you. ANYWAYS I am so sorry about this, the last few nights have been hectic for me.

Anyways I'll definitely be coming back to this, rn I'm honestly just too fucked to finish <3

have a lovely day/night <3

[ggren-mainz]

Umineko - question arcs playthrough -> ep 1 - 9

last part - All parts and episodes - next part

A while ago i saw something super weird. So basically it was just a fanart of Sayo, literally normal think the only weird part was that she had longer hair? Anyway and it was tagged as umineko spoiler and i keep thinking, what was it??? Like obviously i don't wanna know but still. I reblogged it so maybe one day I'll get it, but it is true that i also didn't look close so maybe there was something i missed.

1- hell yeah you're so right kanon, at least some believers still exist. 2- as i said, i think she wanted to take Natsuhi first but because of the charm, Sayo was chosen. Sad.

I am so smart.

Battler then proceeds to say that he listened to the entire convo and asks (quite brutally) for answers, to which the servants say she exists, she doesn't have a physical form, and that he should stop profane her name.

Ah i get it....so they're the ones doing the hate sex.

Maria proceeds to belittle Battler and tell him to believe, while she and the servants all look in one place, as if they're seeing Beatrice. Battler laughs in their faces and says how he'll only believe when he'll see, thing which i severely doubt, as from my knowledge even after he sees her he still doesn't believe lmao. Battler the nonbeliever.

i mean yeah but like NONBELIVERS!! BEATRICE, GET THEIR ASS!!!

Battler the insensitive strikes again.

no way, cause as we have noticed this is the beginning of his epitaph. so like don't threaten me with a good time type of thing.

She'll say that Natsuhi lied about meeting up with Kinzo, or that she kidnapped him, won't she?

Ok i did not expect the receipt. But ok this is...interesting. How did he get out? is he out? Where is he? Is this the work of witches? That's the only thing that makes sense.

Those are some bold words thrown towards the person with the rifle. And i'd argue we can say she's innocent simply because Eva isn't dead lmao.

Nah she fr for this one, I'd also start shooting. Like there's a limit alright. Some bitches deserve to be put back in their place sometimes (despite my comments i actually think Eva is quite interesting, and definitely entertaining which id argue is the most important thing a fictional character should be).

While i do know she's wrong, from her pov she's absolutely right, like shes fr as well. But on an unrelated note, why tf are their boobs highlighted like that??? like why is there a line between them?? jesus i hate these artists sometimes.

Wait but like. Eva you're the one who put the recipe there and also the one who confirmed it being there? when is someone gonna point that out huh??

Bro thinks he's the shit huh. Let him speak ig.

shitty ass argument tbh. Like yeah from our pov it makes some sense, since we know Kinzo would want to cause more ruckus but from theirs, and even his tbh, this is a very shitty argument. ig it just puts into vision this fact we knew all along. That we can't be sure of anything at the moment. We aren't sure that he wasn't in the room, we aren't sure that Beatrice exists, we aren't sure if there is or isn't a 19th person etc etc.

But yeah that was basically their conclusion too, so good job. After that Jessica has an asthma attack and damn if that will not be used as something to kill her later. It's just too convenient.

THEY SAID THE NAME WEEEWOOOWEEEWOOO. And also didn't we establish before that it won't be all resolved? That's not what the epitaph says...

next part

[threehuskiesinatrenchcoat]

Istg each time I read your username, I start associating Graves a bit more with huskies. His fursona is a husky huehehuehehe

On another note, I am here to bring before you another offering, oh great one. Indeed, it is another dead bird! Oh what wonder! Oh what joy this bird shall bring! Can you tell I‘m writing this way too late at night? Also, ohoho?! A college au? I‘m all ears, please do tell once you’re ready. 👀

I kinda wanted to write a first meeting for the "Graves moves to Las Almas when he’s young and meets Alejandro" au, so I did. It took me a bit, but still. Btw just as a question, would it be alright for me to post the dark au drabble on ao3 and put a link to your art in the description? I kinda wanna contribute to the tag over there, but do horribly with any kind of fic longer than 1k words.

Well anyways, enjoy!

The sun beat down onto the dusty streets relentlessly. Alejandro kicked a pebble into the gutter and smirked victoriously at his best friend, who simply rolled his eyes. "Maybe if you had skills like me, Valeria would be interested in you, hermano." He evaded the other’s vicious attack and cackled, not letting up his teasing. "After last week’s mess up in English class, you might want to actually impress her."

Rudy just tried to hit the back of his head again, his face red as a beet. "Cállate, cabrón! You’re the worst- and I wasn’t even trying to impress her!"

By Ale‘s shit eating grin it was clear that he didn’t believe a word his friend said. With a sigh and a shake of his head, Rudy merely looked away, ignoring the other’s laugh.

They soon arrived at school, a few students mingling about in the sparsely shadowed yard, an escape from the heat provided only by the school roof‘s overhang and dry looking trees. Classes would start soon anyways, so they didn’t bother finding a place to sit outside, making their way towards their classroom. It was an old school, the hallways a squeaky linoleum, but some of the rooms themselves still had floorboards just like their‘s did. They creaked when you put too much weight on them or took any kind of step. Alejandro did take a step backwards when he first crossed the threshold. In the back of the room, next to the window, sat someone he‘d never seen in any of his classes before. The stranger had short, sand coloured hair and, most importantly, Alejandro noted, the bluest eyes staring right at him. Instantly, he was aware of his appearance, how his hair just wouldn’t lie right today, his shirt that definitely wasn’t a bad one but also not his nicest, that he probably looked stupid just standing there-

"Huh, I didn’t know we‘d get a new student this year", Rudy noted nonchalantly, as if there wasn’t a cute guy sitting on Alejandro’s assigned seat, and stepped around his frozen form blocking part of the doorway. He made his way over to the guy. "Hey, you’re new, right? I‘m Rudy."

The stranger shook the offered hand and introduced himself. "Phillip, how‘s it going?" His American accent was strong, Alejandro noticed, and sadly very charming. Rudy smiled politely.

"I’m good, thanks, I just wanted to ask if Señora Rivera told you to sit here?" Before Phillip could answer, Alejandro had stridden over and motioned to the seat he was occupying. "That’s mine. You can’t sit here." What a great way to talk to the cute new guy; he wished the ground would just open up and swallow him whole.

Said guy also didn’t like his tone and crossed his arms, leaning back in the chair. "I got this seat assigned, so fuck off." Before anyone else could be insulted, the teacher stepped into the room, hair pulled back tight and gaze sharp.

"Ah, Vargas, Parra, good to see you‘re already getting acquainted with our newest addition. I was hoping you two would show him around after class; we don’t want him to get lost on the first day, do we? Your new seats are one to the left." Just a quickly as she had entered, she had left, some papers in her hands, probably to go copy them like always, leaving Phillip and Alejandro staring at each other, one smug, the other angry. Rodolfo sighed, sensing a headache from a mile away.

teehee i was thinking more of a husky wolf mix cuz my man is edgy like that but also riddled with adhd. yes i was thinking about it. why and don't worry im answering this at like 5am sipping on my coffee cuz insomnia and i decided might as well pull an all nighter and do some work but im here now instead lol also yes omg of course you can post it!! giggling excitedly. but also like yeah me too damn😭 i barely post anything i write because it's always tiny drabbles i wrote at 3am for a bunch of different ideas stuck forever in my notes and google docs lol

anyway. i fucking adore you i hope you know that.

i love ale and rudy's banter at the beginning it's so sweet i just ughhh this is how i always imagined their friendship and this is absolutely how they would be in their younger days. like are you even friends if you don't bully each other from time to time

also the way ale instanly starts mentally assessing if he looks good and cool enough because he wants this cute new guy to like him and then immediately fails miserably 😭😭 he's so pathetic i love him and the way they start off very wrong and rudy is already so done with it. and the way ale was just bullying rudy for failing to impress val and the next moment he tremendously fucks up trying to impress graves lmao

[lycanlovingvampyre]

MAG 120 Relisten

(a-mag-a-day people: I fucked up the tag on yesterday's post T_T If you still want to take a look at it, click here: MAG 119 Relisten)

Activity on my first listen: cutting apples.

There is static as soon as the statement starts.

"Desperate, he tries to throw the apple at his observer, but it is too late." Actually, have you tried throwing something really hard in a dream, or punching very hard? It's frustratingly not possible, it feels like you're moving underwater.

Hm, the static has died down a bit at some time, probably so it can audibly rise again at "It hurts."

Hm, it rises again to well audible background static when he leaves the MAG 65 dream and ventures on to those he cannot access anymore.

"The rain is still there, though it is empty. The long and desolate road, slick with the downpour; a police car’s lights flashing over the unmoving van. The doors are open, and the too-familiar statues stand either side of the well-worn wooden box. He looks around, his eyes scanning this forever road and the clouds of iron gray, looking for her, but she is not there." Daisy's dream is still here. Yet Leitner or Gerry, who are clearly dead, never come up. Daisy alive! (Hm, on second thought, we don’t know if Leitner would have come up at all since one, he died before Jon could go to sleep and two, he had read A Disappearance, maybe he would have never come up at all, even if he lived.)

Okay, so I think the static’s phasing in and out. Almost no static at Daisy's dream, though very strong at "I Am For You".

"There is nowhere in this universe that it would not blot out the sky." Just 40 more episodes!

"More than anything, the Archivist wants to look away, to turn his eye from her gentle sadness, from the disappointment in what she sees in him." Ouch...

ELIAS: "Hello, Inspector. Martin. I’m, uh, sorry to hear about Tim –" MARTIN: "Don’t." ELIAS: "And Daisy, I suppose –" MARTIN: "Don’t. You. Dare." ELIAS: "I suppose it’s some consolation Basira made it out. And John. More or less." I mean, they are vital for the audience to know what happened, but I love this little bits of information casually coming up in a conversation for us to fill in the blanks.

ELIAS: "There was simply too much to keep watching over. I only have two eyes, after all." Can't imagine how much of a problem a truly omniscient villain would have been. Even if here it's what he wanted anyway.

MARTIN: "Just be, be careful with him, all right, he can see things – put thoughts and – stuff into your head –" POLICE OFFICER: "Like I said: I’ve been briefed. And the situation is being monitored –" OMG, I just remembered! I was just thinking, you can be briefed all you want, but how would you keep someone like this out of your mind. Does anyone know Village of the Damned? (1995 by John Carpenter, based on the 1960s movie) Under weird circumstances, children with psychic powers were born in the eponymous village. Those children were not benevolent, they could make other people do stuff, get into their heads etc. The town doctor though found a way to keep them out of his head by imagining a brick wall and all this thoughts well hidden behind this it.

ELIAS: [ow] "Are those really necessary?" [SOUND OF ELIAS BEING APPARENTLY PUNCHED IN THE STOMACH] ELIAS: [gag, wheeze] I may not be one for revenge. But I take delight if someone does occasionally reap the fruit of their labor.

ELIAS: [wheeze] "Goodbye, Martin." [wheeze] "Be seeing you." Ha! Seeing!

PETER: "To be honest with you, Martin, I didn’t expect to be taking over the place so soon, or in quite such a state of disarray. But I’ll do my best to keep the place afloat." Ha! Afloat! Coming from a sea captain!

PETER: "Well, if you could send Melanie and Basira up to see me, I’d like to introduce myself." First time around I assumed Elias would be at the hospital when speaking of Jon's dreams. But I guess he wouldn't need to be physically near Jon and this line makes it quite clear, that they are in Elias' office.

PETER: "After that, I’ll put through a couple of weeks of paid leave for you all – I think giving everyone some space to try and deal with the loss of Tim and Daisy might do everyone some good." As someone who likes to deal with grief in isolation, I thought "Oh, how very nice of him". But that's not exactly what this is, given it's a Lukas.

@a-mag-a-day

[ten-cent-sleuth]

for the fic writees ask, 49? (im reading a galling yoke so i hope youll talk about the next chapter 😂😂) and also 15 33 and 41 bc im curios

What’s your favourite AU that you’ve written?

My best AUs are for Philinda lol. My favourite is Committed to the Cause, a POTUS/USSS one with Coulson as the president and May as his head of security.

If you write chaptered fics, what’s your ideal chapter length to write? Is it different from your ideal chapter length to read?

My ideal chapter length to write is 4–7k, which is also about my ideal chapter length to read. Maybe my reading ideal is on the shorter end, so more like 3–5k, but gfhjsgdhs that’s not too big a difference.

Link a fic that made you think, “Wow, I want to write like that.”

There are a few that come to mind. The main ones are literally anything by @indilwenofmirkwood (but especially What Makes Her Tick, which can be read here on AO3 and here on FFN) and Kismet by @midnightlovestories (can be read here on AO3) for how they developed plot/romance, analysed my comfort character, and got some whumpy goodness snuck in there. The former is for Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. while the latter is for The Addams Family.

Feel for You by @parksanddownton603 (can be read here on AO3) made me fall in love with a specific tone of AU and gave me the motivation to try my hand at writing an AU like they did (also for Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.). On the flipside, Defensive Wounds by @rebecca-in-blue (can be read here on FFN) is an in-universe fic but I greatly admire the characterisation in it and would love to know and honour my blorbos as well as they do. It’s for NCIS.

Another one for the Addamses, Human by @unhappychildhavingfun (can be read here on AO3) packs the kind of emotional, meaningful punch that I want my writing to throw. Though I also aspire to churn out numerous one-shots that just put my guys in situations the way @suallenparker does (if I must name particulars, the ones that affect me the most in this way have been Bulletproof, Lifeline, Safe and Sound, Liar, Mayism, Second Chances, and Being Someone Else, all for Philinda hfjsgdhhd).

And can’t play dead by @widespindriftgaze (can be read here on AO3) is…simply some of the best creative writing I’ve ever read. I love how they dabble in various, sometimes small/short-lived fandoms; I long to do that.

Welp, that was more than a few.

I hope the authors don’t mind being tagged—I wanted anyone who reads this post to be able to click onto your blog directly, but if you’d rather I not tag you, let me know and I’ll neutralise the ping right away. Sorry!!

(And of course, the one you’ve been waiting for, anon—)

What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

I am currently working (well, focusing) on A Galling Yoke, my Sherlock Holmes x Reader exes-/friends-to-lovers casefic. (It was actually supposed to be enemies-to-lovers lolol.) I’m like a third or so into Part 12, and I’ve got like seventeen chapters planned total plus an epilogue. Exciting stuff!!

And hey, you want a few lines? >:P

“No.”

“Mr Holmes, I cannot impose—”

“It shall not happen!”

You straightened in your seat, shoulders tensing. Sherlock groaned and dragged a hand down his face.

“I meant not to be…domineering,” he said. “But […] am I not to assume that you came here…for a reason?”

He and you looked at each other for a long, open moment.

I grabbed that out of the middle of a conversation for Maximum Suspense. I cut out […] because what I have written there currently is a bit of a placeholder. There was another part I wanted to share because it’s got a long quote from Arthur Conan Doyle’s “The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton”, but I figured that excerpt was a tad too spoilery. I’m sure you guys will prefer this romantic tension anyway. ;P

Thank you, and please feel free to send in more!

[snugglyporos]

// also one strange thing, that might just be my age talking, is that I have a very different mindset to what I call 'the modern tabletop fandom.'

Now, I cut my teeth on 3.5e, but I played a lot of Vampire the Masquerade, and at some point I got involved in 2e D&D. And I would say that in every case, the way we played was a lot more live fast, die quickly, have a good story after.

Part of this is because we decided to play 2e's Temple of Elemental Evil, which for those of you unfamiliar with it, is less a game module and more a character sheet shredder.

I'm not kidding, you basically have to play this by bringing a stack of sheets because it's grindy as hell and every time you fail a throw you might as well replace that character.

Now, you might think that's boring, but actually it's pretty fun simply because you never know what's going to happen next and you can pretty much guarantee you're going to have some interesting times.

I don't think I've ever had a character in any game survive more than like, seven or eight sessions. Usually because I do something insane with them.

Granted, to me that's the fun part; I'll roll characters who I know damn well won't survive the dawn just because it'll lead to an interesting story. Though sometimes they live but I can't think of any other way to play them, as seen when I played an Oozemancer in a party of otherwise lawful goods.

For those unaware, Oozemancers are magic users who, for reasons no one understands, decide that the best application of their time is to talk to the oozes. Or find a way to do so. Or become the ooze. This does not particularly help their sanity, because worshipping Jubliex, demon lord of Ooze, does not exactly mark one as a rational person.

However, I made it work because he and his pet gelatinous cube (which was also his mount), essentially tagged along with the party because A. adventurers create lots of dead bodies, and B. adventurers tend to look the other way when you're helpful. Also, you can store things in the cube! Which will also get all those unfortunate fleshy bits off of them. It's like a sentient washing machine!

However, I mostly did it because I never got tired of our paladin going insane trying to convince everyone that it was not rational to keep an ooze worshipping version of the Lorax in the party, no matter how many suits of armor his slime could carry. I will also say that it led to one fun night where our rogue bluffed our way into a castle by explaining that no, the Oozemancer isn't insane, he's a circus performer who trained a gelatinous cube to do tricks!

Anyway, my point is that I am basically allergic now to any 'normal' tabletop game because I'm too prone to going 'I have the worst idea.' Developing things like long term survival instincts just isn't in my nature as a player.

Ironically, this worked out when playing Call of Cthulhu, but I always felt it needed an even earlier version, rather than the 1920s one. Ah well.

[fuumiku]

hiiiii you don't need to reply to this i just wanted to say thank you for the kimbliza :)c its always refreshing to see riza rarepairs and i think your brain is huge for liking kimblee/riza ... i rarely see people being interested in it and i think thats a shame when they only have one interaction in the entire series BUT it is kimblee calling riza out on her bullshit while also calling her ojouchan/little lady like cmon... just that leaves possibility for such an interesting dynamic.... and im personally obsessed with the valentines day art bc this meme instantly came to my mind when i saw it LMAO anyway!! thanks again for sharing your kimbliza i hope to get to see more of your art/thoughts of them!!! have a nice day!!

Omg thank you so much! :D I don’t usually answer asks like these out of self-consciousness but the meme is too accurate to keep to myself and you are sooo right! I loved your tags as well lol they gave me a good chuckle.

I can’t find the post again, but I once read a post that went like "the reason that you’re both touch-starved and touch-averse is that you’ve spent so long without human touch that you interpret every contact as a threat" and I really do think that fits them both. Hehe might as well put a song I love here that fits them and this theme really well: Touch by July Talk

If you want more of my thoughts, @fumifooms is the blog to look at! I’ll link my kimbliza tag on there here. I recently did a sort of masterpost of kimbliza crumbs in canon because I am starved. I’ll also shout out @tombraxas because they churn out awesome kimbliza posts and fanfictions regularly! I owe it to them for having radicalized me as a kimbliza shipper lol

Kimblee literally meaningfully impacted Riza’s character fundamentally so hard like damn!! For a rarepair that is a massive win. Idk the interaction they had feels so special. I do think people tend to forget that Kimblee doesn’t say the things he does out of malice, ouugh he’s so interesting!! I think Kimblee and Riza have soo many parallels actually. Blunt and strong convictions vs quiet, reserved and a follower. Both ready to kill their superior/commanding officer if the situation demands it. His iconic “don’t avert your eyes from the dead” speech was originally meant for her not Roy and no one can take any of this away from me. I’m like Denji eating the cake with my hands lolol. The flavor kimbliza has is simply unmatched. Riza is my special wet cat little war criminal princess (Wet cat and war criminal have the same first letters, if not equivalent then explain 🤨 /j)

I do plan on making more kimbliza art yes! I actually have a few actual Valentine’s day themed ones in the works lol. I’m rather slow and busy though… ;w; Also fics! I’ve already made two short ficlets, see them on my ao3! I’ve been hyperfixating on them for like 2 months now with no sign of stopping… I have so many wips. My kimbliza spotify playlist is my longest playlist ever 😭 I scoured both ao3 and ff.net and read everything about them I could find. I may be obsessed.

[biboybuckley]

First Ten Lines Game

Rules: Post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to ao3. if you have less than 10 fics posted, post the first lines of all your fics.

this is so fun thank you for the tag @buddiefication!! i have 34 works and 22 of those are 9-1-1 fics, so here’s the last 10! (not including my collection of tumblr ficlets)

1. i need somebody to pull me out of this grave

Buck!

He didn’t know yet. He didn’t know that Buck was already dead, that yelling wouldn’t do any good. The first shout cracked open something in his chest, spilling poison into his veins. It didn’t matter that he was injured too- he was moving. Buck wasn’t. Buck wasn’t moving.

2. lying to ourselves, acting like we're something else

Okay. Here’s the thing. Buck likes sex. It’s fun. He likes how it feels, he likes making other people feel good. He likes sex. He’s pretty good at sex, if his partner’s praises are to be believed. He doesn’t like it when things get complicated. So he tends toward casual hookups, one time things that he never has to deal with again. Except… okay. He’s good at sex. The aftermath? Not so much. 

3. all the pain i should have saved

Eddie thought Buck was canceling on them. The clock hits 5:55 and he hasn’t heard from Buck. He was supposed to get here around 6, sure, but Buck has never, ever , not been early for a family dinner. Ever . He usually texts Eddie when he’s heading over, but there’s been nothing. Not a text, not a call, not the familiar sound of the jeep pulling into Eddie’s driveway and Buck’s warm voice calling out as he lets himself in. 

4. crashing, i'm crashing right into you 

Buck planned on telling Eddie. Really, he did.  He was sitting in front of Conner and Kameron and hoping his smile looked real and thinking what am I gonna tell Eddie ? And then he was at the station a few days later and Hen was watching him and Eddie was venting about Chris and it became more about how can he possibly tell this to Eddie?

5. this is my family- it’s little and broken but still good

It starts with a movie night.

It’s not anything abnormal- Christopher tucked between Eddie and Buck while some Disney movie plays on the TV and Eddie tries to force himself to watch the screen rather than Buck and his son. He usually gives up before the movie is halfway done and allows himself the small luxury of simply watching as his son drifts further from him and curls deeper into Buck’s side.

6. make me a promise, tell me you'll stay 

If Eddie never sees Buck in another hospital bed again, it’ll be too soon.

He’s getting really, really sick of it, actually. Of riding in the back of the firetruck because Buck refuses to take an ambulance that “someone else might really need and, anyway, I’m fine .” Of Bobby’s hand on his shoulder, holding him back as the doctors take Buck away to do a more thorough exam, despite his protests of “ really , I’m fine , Hen and Chim already- Bobby, would you tell them I’m fine? Eddie, c’mon I don’t- guys , this is just unnecessary, seriously!” Of waiting to find out that this is the time. The time that Buck inhaled too much smoke, that he hit his head too hard, that his injuries from the fire truck had regressed.

7. can you hear me screaming (please don't leave me)

Eddie’s world shatters the moment Evan Buckley’s heart stops.

He’s standing just a few feet away, at the door to Evan’s hospital room, fist poised to knock on the door. He stands frozen as he watches the other nurses swarm around the bed, unable to move even as the doctors shove past him. There’s frantic chatter all around him, orders being shouted, instructions flying around the room. No one spares him a glance- he’s off shift. The voices fade to white noise, the only sound Eddie can hear is the monotonous beep of a flatline.

8. been here all along so, why can't you see?

Eddie doesn’t care that Buck’s dating other people. Really, he doesn’t. He’s proud of Buck for coming out and happy that he’s finally exploring what makes him happy. It just. It’s just. Buck apparently has really, really shitty taste. Like his taste in guys is somehow even worse than his taste in girls.

So, really, it’s not that Buck is dating someone that’s Not Eddie, it’s that he’s dating people that Eddie wants to punch in the face. That’s all. Because Eddie’s worried about Buck getting hurt. That’s it.

9. nothing the matter with a kiss

Eddie really has to learn to not drink when he’s with Buck. Purely because, well, when Eddie drinks it suddenly gets very, very difficult not to kiss Buck. Like, okay, it’s not that Buck’s like irresistible or anything- Eddie has some modicum of self control. But a few rounds in, when Buck’s eyes are sparkling with inebriation and he has the rose blush of being tipsy and his lips are pinker than normal, it’s suddenly extremely difficult for Eddie to look away. 

10. take my voice, i'm giving it though i don't feel safe at all

Buck can’t name this. He has no way to identify the thing that chokes him, that curls around his heart and squeezes , that floods his lungs and lies bitter on his tongue, that fogs his mind, that winds through his veins. He can’t name the beast anymore than he can name what releases it. It’s- simply put, sometimes the dam breaks. The walls he has carefully built up, the ones that hold the nameless monster at bay, they come crashing down. And they bring Buck with them. 

tagging @swiftiebuckleys @ajunerose and anyone else who wants to do this!

[where-theres-smoak-2]

Here's the kind of stuff I come across and get me down:

" #who am i kidding #even if we get a little bit of corruption arc it will all be merzost's fault #and they will find some magical medicine to cure her #maybe by Mal's true love kiss 🙄 #the war was completely erased as well #and alina will cure racism simply by being a flashlight and changing fashion #and there is no way i hell that those writers are bringing darkling back #and i would actually be surprised if ben wanted to stick around for season three #he's finally free of this monstrosity of a project #and netflix is finally rid off the character they hated the most #and since it was a character that fans loved most #i predict that sab is dead #they just don't know it yet #also persecution is almost no exist in the show so it's not like Alina will have to watch Grisha enslavment"

I really don't see why the Darkling wouldn't come back in the sequel, since they're adapting books where he's present. I don't see why Ben Barnes would refuse either. As for that "netfliix hates the Darkling" rant? I don't understand this kind of thinking. Yes SAB is not the best series in the world with flaws, but there is a limit to exaggeration anyway.

I mean they are almost certainly bringing back Aleks in season 3, they dropped too many hints not to, the whole make sure there's nothing left of me but there still being his hand thing, the fact that we saw someone being brought back with merzost showing that is something that can happen. The bee showing up during Aleks' funeral, which King of Scars spoilers but is a hint at Elizaveta who resurrects the darkling in the books. If they wanted to only reference the character and not the resurrection plotline then they could have had that bee show up at some other time, like the coronation scene or when Zoya, Alina and Genya are in the room getting ready for the coronation, but they specifically chose Alek's funeral which to me is a very clear hint that they are bringing him back.

As for netflix hating the character I don't think that's true because they have gone to alot of effort to make Aleks a much more nuanced and developed character than he was in the books, you don't put that kind of effort into making a character that is as sympathetic and nuanced as show Aleks if you hate them. I do think that the actors and producers etc are overly careful about talking too sympathetically about Aleks, but that, I think, is because of all the loud purists who yell ab*se apologists at them if they do, not because they hate the character. Ben also hasn't given any indication that he wants to leave the show, it seems that he is very interested in his character and he clearly has a good bond with all the cast so I don't think we have anything to worry about there.

It's understandable that the negative comments are getting you down, I'll admit there have been times this week I have avoided going into the darklina and character tags because of the negativity, when going into the tags I like to see pretty gif sets, fanfics and people excited about the ship/character not negativity as of course that is going to bring your mood down. But at the same time everyone is entitled to their own opinion and have the right to express it so my best advice would be try to ignore it and not engage. If you start reading a post and it looks like its going to be negative then stop reading and just scroll past it, its what I've been doing, or if it is really bringing you down and you feel the need to, block those accounts. Also if you are feeling negatively about darklina and Aleks or Alina's characterization this season maybe consider using an anti tag or putting a warning at the top of the post to make it easier for those who want to avoid negativity. That's the best way around it I can think of anyway.