#he'd be like why the hell are you telling me this

[kjhbsies]

Too much?

Smallville Clark Kent x reader

synopsis: Clark was too busy saving Smallville, and Y/n just wanted a little attention. But when he told her to stop being clingy, She took it to heart— pulling away completely.

wordcount: 1,771

note: 16+ angst to fluff

divider from @enchanthings

masterlist

"Am I okay?" Y/n echoed, tears welling in her eyes as she stepped forward. "You seriously had the audacity to ask me that?"

Clark blinked, completely thrown off guard. "What—?"

"Our date, Clark. You stood me up. Again."

His stomach dropped. And Clark opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Y/n wasn't finished.

"I waited for you for hours at the diner. I called. I texted. And nothing! No explanation, no anything. Just me looking like an idiot in front of everyone while my boyfriend completely blew me off."

Clark swallowed, "Y/n, I—"

"I'm so sick of this, Clark. This is the third time this has happened. And I know— God, I know you're busy. That people need you. But what about me? I'm your girlfriend."

Clark's jaw clenched. He had been through hell tonight, barely keeping Smallville safe, and how he was being berated for doing the right thing?

"Y/n, you know that's not fair." He shot back, voice sharper than intended. "I can't ignore people just because of a date."

Y/n scoffed. "Wow. That's just... great."

Clark exhaled sharply, patience wearing thin. "I'm not saying that, but you're acting—"

"Like what?" She challenged, tilting her head.

Clark hesitated, but the words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them.

"Clingy. I just—" He groaned, running a hand down his face. "I need space, Y/n."

Silence.

And then, something in her head shifted.

Y/n quickly wiped the tears off her face. The anger in her eyes didn't die out, but something colder settled in. Y/n inhaled a sharp breath and took a small step back.

Clark immediately regretted it.

"Y/n, I—"

"Got it. I'm sorry." She said, voice almost detached.

Clark felt like the ground beneath him had just shifted. "Wait, I—"

But she didn't let him finish. She quickly turned to her heel and walked as fast away as she could.

And Clark did nothing but watch her disappear from his sight.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, Clark actually got some rest. Deep, uninterrupted sleep. His body had needed it. His mind had been craving it. But the moment he opened his eyes, the argument last night was the first thing that crossed his mind.

Clark exhaled slowly, sitting up on the worn-out couch in the loft, running a frustrated hand on his hair. The barn was eerily quiet in the morning light, but his thoughts weren't.

He told himself over and over that it was probably for the best that Y/n was leaving him alone. That's what he wanted, right? He had been overwhelmed by Smallville's never-ending chaos, by his responsibilities, by the weight of everything he was trying to juggle. He just needed time to breathe, to think, to clear out his mind. And Y/n, for the first time, was giving it to him.

So why does it feel so wrong?

He shook the thought away, forcing himself to focus on the present. He had farm chores to do, and things he needed to take care of. He'd see Y/n later. He'd apologize after everything was settled down.

Except... he never got the chance. Because Y/n was nowhere.

She had stayed at Chloe's house for tonight. The next morning, she was out with her parents for the entire day. The day after that? She was doing something, somewhere, but Clark had no idea what. And the next day, and the next.

And suddenly, Clark had realized— he had no clue what she was doing at any moment.

For as long as he could remember, Y/n had always been there. She was in his messages before he could open his phone. She was calling him just to tell him something entirely random, or waiting for him at the Torch, or showing up at the loft with snacks. She was always present. But now? Nothing.

Clark had caught himself glancing at his phone every few minutes, waiting for a text that didn't come. His inbox was empty of her usual good morning and good night messages. No texts about her breakfast. No updates about her cat. No sudden burst of excitement at whatever TV show she was obsessing over.

Clark had shook it off, telling himself that it was fine. This is what he asked for and he should be grateful for it.

But the lack of her presence left a void in his heart. He missed her voice. He missed the way she would randomly call him in the middle of the day, just to tell him the most insignificant details of her afternoon. He missed her rants about school, her dramatic complaints about the people that pisses her off, and the way she would text him just because she thought about him.

Clark found himself staring at his phone, scrolling through their old messages, re-reading conversations he had taken for granted. He hovered over her contact, debating whether he should call first.

But he didn't.

Clark didn't remember running to Y/n's house. He didn't even realize that his feet had taken him there until he was standing beneath her bedroom window, hands shaking, heart pounding violently against his chest.

He had fought off yet another creature, saving Smallville again, but for once, Clark didn't feel like a hero.

For the past week, Clark had endured every kind of physical battle ever imagined— facing off against meteor freaks, barely dodging blows that could've shattered his bones, and throwing himself into danger with no hesitation. But none of those compared to losing Y/n. Nothing could've even come close to that.

His hands gripped the windowsills, knuckles turning white. He had climbed through this window a hundred times, sneaking into her room when he wanted to escape and when he wanted to see her. It had always felt so easy, so natural. But tonight, his knees felt weak.

Still, he climbed inside, landing on the floor, breath uneven as his eyes found her. She was curled up in her bed, her hair splayed over the pillows as she was reading one of the books Chloe had recommended. The soft glow of the lamp illuminated her features and Clark thought she was beautiful. Heavenly.

Y/n looked at him with a cold stare, sitting upright before setting the book down on her nightstand. She didn't say anything. She didn't rush into his arms. She didn't scold him for going through her windows like he always did.

"Why are you here?"

Clark took a step forward, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. "I wanted to talk."

Silence.

She just stared at him, head tilting to scan his face.

His heart clenched, his breath catching in his throat as his knees hit the edge of her bed. "Please," He begged, voice raw, and with pure desperation. "Please talk to me."

Y/n exhaled sharply, trying to toughen up as she could feel her resolve cracking. "What do you want me to say, Clark?"

"I— I miss you."

"You miss me?" She echoed, scoffing. "That's funny because a week ago, you called me clingy."

Clark's jaw clenched, regret tightening in his chest. "I was stupid. I thought— I thought I needed time to figure things out."

"For what, Clark? To decide if I was too much for you? That my love was overwhelming just because I wanted attention for my boyfriend who I haven't spent time much with for weeks?"

Clark opened his mouth, but the words died out his throat. Because deep down, he knew she was right.

Y/n looked away, angrily blinking away her tears. "I gave you space," She continued, voice quieter now. "I pulled away. I stopped texting, stopped calling, stopped clinging to you like you hated so much. Did it make you feel good now?"

"No," Clark immediately answered. "I hated it. I thought space was all I wanted. I thought it would make things easier. But it didn't." He took a hesitant step forward, reaching out, fingers trembling. "I missed you. I missed your texts. I missed your calls. I missed hearing about your day, about your cat, about your gossip with Chloe. I missed you— all of you."

"I thought you wanted to break up," Y/n admitted. "And I was ready to give it to you if it would make you feel any better—"

"No, no, no," Clark interrupted, immediately dropping to his knees beside her bed. He reached for her hand, grasping it gently as if she would slip away at any second. "Don't say that, baby, please."

Y/n stiffened. "Clark..."

"No," He pleaded, shaking his head. "Don't say it. Don't—" His breath hitched, squeezing her hands tighter. "Don't say we should end this. Don't say we should part ways. I can't—" His voice cracked, and suddenly, his vision blurred with tears. "I can't lose you."

"You hurt me, Clark."

"I know, baby, I know. And I'll spend forever making it up to you if you'll let me."

"I don't know if I can go back to how things were."

Clark exhaled shakily, hands reaching up to cup her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek with such tenderness that Y/n shuddered under his touch. "Then let's start over. Let me love you better."

Y/n let out a choked laugh, shaking her head. "You're such a sap, Kent."

Clark smiled through the tears, relief flooding his chest. "Only for you."

A long beat of silence stretched between them, heavy with emotions too big to be put into words. And then, Clark leaned in, his lips brushing against hers— gentle at first, testing, waiting.

Y/n melted into the kiss. Her arms wrapped around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him close.

Clark let out a desperate sound, his body pressing closer as if trying to mold himself into her as if trying to make up for every second they had been apart.

The kiss deepened— slow, intoxicating, filled with longing. Clark’s hands trembled as they slid down her back, holding her so close it almost hurt.

“I love you,” Clark whispered, lips hovering over hers.

"You better.”

And then she pulled him down again, her lips claiming his, her body pressing into him, her hands gripping him like he was the one who had been missing her all along.

Clark let out a breathless laugh between kisses, his heart feeling whole again for the first time in days.

Maybe he had been strong enough to fight monsters, to save a town, to lift things heavier than any man could imagine.

But when it came to Y/N?

She was the only one who could bring him to his knees.

©kjhbsies

[reignpage]

suddenly thought of a question— what are your pet peeves in smut writing? like stuff ppl write on fanfics that doesn’t actually happen during sex, stuff you find corny of stuff you know fucking hurts and makes u think the author might be a virgin

terrific question. my answers are half joking and half serious because smut writing is supposed to mix in reality with fiction right? so things are exaggerated for sexy purposes so it's really not a big deal for me, but I will be reading something and think, oh...ouch

He shoved into me without prep - WHO? NOT TOJI AND HIS 12 INCH MONSTER COCK FOR SURE, like wdym no prep????

Any talks about entering the womb - I've read far too many that says his cock went inside her cervix and blew his load directly into her womb like what in the hentai is this bs I'm reading did a reddit mod write this?

Improper size use - by this I mean, the guy can't be 'towering over you' and then somehow, whether in doggy or missionary or whatever, be thrusting in and is kissing you? because by your own description, his head would be out of reach. he'd have to break someone's back, like literally, to do that, trust me, I'm short and I've been with much taller guys, most I'm seeing if they come close is their chest

Any immediate orgasms - do notttttt play with me. you did not cum from him putting it in immediately. or one spank does it for you. orgasms need build up. this might be hard to do which yeah fair nuff but you seriously cannot believe a woman cums from making eye contact. it has to be on top of everything else

Tongues being long - his tongue did NAWT tease your cervix please what in the Venom is this 😭 have you ever been eaten out before???? hell spread those legs I'll do it for you so you can write it

Guy doesn't go soft ever - he can't have cum buckets inside you and be hard as hell talking about the next round, like some guys have shorter refractory periods sure but just doesn't work like that

Couldn't wrap both hands around it - MISS GIRL try it out yourself, put those fingers tip to tip and you tell me if that can go inside you

He spat on the coochie to get it wet - like saliva is drying, which is why when you lick your lips a lot, they get drier, but I get it in using it as a starter to get things going but let's be clear on this

Eating real food and then eating pussy - call your motherfucking doctor right now if you're doing this fr like cut the cameras

highkey tho, I am guilty of some of these. I think some times delusion is better than reality like f realism and logistics lets just be horny

[darkmarkmarauder]

Bad Intentions - M.R.

enemies to lovers? no, babe. enemies to oops, my legs are open again

You’re going to hell for this.

Maybe not in the biblical sense—not that you particularly care—but in the way that every time you say it’s the last time, you end up right back where you started.

Right back under him. Right back on top of him.

If sin had a name, it would be Mattheo Riddle. And if temptation had a face, it would be the way he looked at you from across the Slytherin common room, slouched in his usual spot, spinning a silver ring between his fingers like he had all the time in the world. Which is why you were now lying in his bed, covered in his cum, next to him. Goddamnit you were weak. And he knew it too.

"You set the rules," Mattheo says, his voice low and quiet. "No feelings. No strings. Just fucking." He tilts his head, studying you. "But tell me, love—why is it that every time I leave your bed, you act like you don’t want me to come back?"

Because you don’t.

Because you do.

But you’ll die before you admit it.

So you scoff, adjusting the strap of your slip dress as you rise from the bed, feeling the dull ache between your thighs—a phantom reminder of his hands, his mouth, his cock. You refuse to look at him as you grab your wand from the nightstand, flicking it to relight the candles he'd blown out hours ago. "I don't act like anything, Riddle. You’re the one still standing here like you’re waiting for me to ask you to stay."

Mattheo watches you with a look that is both amused and dark, the corner of his mouth curling like he knows something you don’t. His hair is a mess from your hands, his chest still rising and falling like he hasn't caught his breath, like he's still trying to steady himself from what you just did to him.

You don’t let yourself stare too long.

He steps closer, ignoring the way you pointedly avoid his gaze. "You always do this," he murmurs, voice laced with something dangerous. "Pretend you don’t give a fuck. Like you don’t have your nails down my back, begging for me, soaking my cock, and then act like I mean nothing once it’s over."

"Because you don’t," you lie smoothly, leaning against the vanity and running a hand through your hair. "We have an arrangement, Riddle. You fuck me, I fuck you, we both get off."

You finally meet his eyes. "You just have a hard time letting go."

He grinned, tilting his head. “That’s rich coming from the girl who keeps letting me fuck her in every dark corner of this goddamn castle.”

Your jaw tightened. You knew it was true. You hated that it was true.

Because every time you told yourself you were done—every time you swore that this was the last time, that you weren’t going to let Mattheo Riddle get under your skin again—you found yourself tangled in him, bodies pressed too close, his hands gripping your hips like he could brand himself into you.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard,” Mattheo laughed, voice thick with amusement.

“I need to leave,” you said, voice lazy, eyes still on the ceiling.

Mattheo sighed dramatically, rolling onto his back. “And yet, you’ll find me again tomorrow night.”

You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

“I don’t need to,” he said, grinning at the ceiling. “You do it for me.”

You turned your head then, meeting his gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his dark eyes.

“You’re making this complicated,” you muttered.

He rolled onto his side, propping his head up with his hand. “You’re the one making it complicated.” His eyes traced your features, something softer in them now, but still sharp enough to cut. “What are you so afraid of?”

You sat up, reaching for your clothes, the moment shattered. “Nothing.”

He made a low sound in his throat, something close to disbelief. “Right.”

You turned, glaring at him over your shoulder. “We agreed this was physical. That’s it.”

Mattheo sat up too, the teasing edge gone from his voice when he said, “You can lie to yourself all you want, but you can’t lie to me.”

You clenched your jaw, yanking your shirt over your head. “I don’t know what the fuck you think this is, but you’re wrong.” Godsdammit, you had done everything to keep him at arm’s length. But Mattheo Riddle was an addict, and you were his drug of choice.

“Tell me you don’t feel this,” he said, gripping your wrist before you could leave his bed.

You turned, rolling your eyes. “I don’t.”

Liar.

His gaze flickered down to your lips, then back up, burning into you. “Tell me you don’t think about me when I’m not there.”

You exhaled sharply. “I don’t.”

Liar, liar, liar.

He leaned back against the headboard, running a hand through his dark curls, and gave you a look that made your stomach twist. It wasn’t anger, wasn’t frustration—it was something closer to amusement. Like he knew something you didn’t. Like he had all the time in the world to wait for you to stop running.

So you ended it. Just like that.

"That’s it," you had said, voice firm, ignoring the way your chest ached. "This was never supposed to be anything more. And I’m done."

The muscle in his jaw ticked. He exhaled through his nose, gripping the edge of the bed like he was stopping himself from grabbing you. "Bullshit."

"Call it whatever you want, but we’re done."

You left before he could stop you, slipping out of his bed before the warmth of his body could seduce you into staying. That was the rule. No sleeping over. No post-fuck tenderness. Nothing more.

It lasts all of 2 days. 48 goddamn hours until he finds you in the library, dragging a chair beside you like he owns the place. You don’t even look up from your book.

“I thought we agreed—”

“You agreed,” he interrupts. “I never said shit.”

You sigh, finally glancing at him. He looks fucking good, as usual, and that pisses you off.

“I don’t have time for this,” you murmur.

Mattheo leans closer, his voice dropping low. “I think you do.”

And god, you want to push him away, want to tell him to fuck off, but then his fingers brush against your thigh, and you forget why you were fighting this in the first place.

This. This is a mistake. You snap the book shut so violently it echoes, your nails digging into the cover. You swat his hand away, but he only grins, eyes flickering with something dark, something hungry.

"Touch me again and I’ll break your fingers," you say sweetly.

Mattheo tilts his head, the smirk never leaving his lips. "You’re so fucking mean to me, princess."

"Christ, you’re desperate," you sneer, arching a brow. "What happened? No other sluts to keep you occupied?"

Mattheo grins, entirely unfazed. If anything, he looks even more entertained. "Oh, plenty. But none of them are you."

His fingers press into your thigh again, inching higher. You open your mouth—maybe to tell him to fuck off, maybe to tell him to keep going—but then he slips his fingers past the hem of your skirt, past the lace of your panties, and presses right against your already-soaked cunt.

His lips twitch, eyes dark and full of something dangerous. Lust, possession, the sheer thrill of getting away with something you shouldn’t.

“Fucking knew it,” he murmurs, fingers dragging along the inside of your thigh, parting them under the table.

Your breath catches, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of reacting—of letting him see how badly he gets to you. Instead, you tilt your head, feigning boredom, like his fingers slipping between your legs isn’t already setting you on fire.

“You’re pathetic,” you whisper, just to see that glint of irritation flash across his face, just to keep him on edge.

“You’re wet,” he counters smoothly, fingers pressing against your clit, right over the lace of your panties. “So what does that make you?”

Your nails dig into the wooden chair.

Bastard.

The library is dim, the massive shelves creating darkened corners, but you’re not alone. There are people nearby, just a few tables over. Ravenclaws studying for exams. A group of Slytherins murmuring about next week’s match. Anyone could see if they looked over at the wrong moment. And Mattheo knows it.

His fingers dip beneath your panties, brushing through your slick folds, teasing you just enough to make your breath hitch.

His mouth brushes your ear. “If you want me to stop, just say the word.”

He’s testing you. Waiting to see if you’ll break first. But he should know by now—you don’t break.

You shift in your seat, parting your legs just a little more, a silent dare. Go on, then.

Mattheo’s breath shudders. His restraint is hanging by a thread, you can feel it.

And you? You decide to cut the thread entirely.

Your hand slides beneath the table, fingers wrapping around his wrist—not to stop him, but to push him deeper against you.

Mattheo curses under his breath. His control snaps.

He shoves your panties aside, two fingers sliding inside you with an ease that makes your stomach clench, makes your grip on his wrist tighten.

Still, you keep your face impassive. Cool. Unbothered.

But when he crooks his fingers just right, dragging along that spot inside you that makes your thighs tense—a quiet soft moan escapes through your lips.

And he fucking hears it.

He smirks, his free hand coming up to tilt your chin toward him, forcing you to meet his gaze. His pupils are blown wide, his cocky smirk laced with something darker.

“You were saying?”

Your heart is hammering, your body betraying you—but you refuse to let him win so easily.

You lean in, your lips just brushing his ear, voice smooth. “I was saying… if you don’t hurry up and make me cum, I’m walking out of here and finishing myself off in the dorms.”

Mattheo growls.

It’s quiet, low in his throat, but fuck, it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.

His fingers slam into you, harder, faster, his thumb rubbing messy, tight circles over your clit, and it takes everything in you not to moan—not to let everyone in the fucking library know what he’s doing to you.

You clutch the edge of the table so hard your knuckles ache, your legs trembling under the weight of your own pleasure.

You’re right there, on the edge, seconds away from—

“Excuse me?”

A voice. Too close.

Your stomach drops. Mattheo’s fingers freeze inside you.

Your head snaps up to see a Ravenclaw prefect standing at the end of the table, arms crossed, brows raised. She’s looking at you both suspiciously, like she knows something is off but can’t quite put her finger on it.

Your breathing is shallow, your pulse pounding.

You keep your face smooth. Calm. You’ve gotten away with worse.

Mattheo? That motherfucker is grinning. His fingers are still inside you. Not moving. Just there. You were going to murder him.

The prefect clears her throat. “The library closes in ten minutes.”

You force a nod. “Got it.”

She doesn’t leave right away, though. She lingers, eyes narrowing slightly, lips parting like she’s about to say something else. Like she’s about to question.

Mattheo, still the absolute bastard that he is, presses his fingers deeper.

Your whole body jerks before you can stop it.

The prefect blinks. “Are you—”

You cut her off. “We’re fine.”

She hesitates, then nods slowly before finally walking away.

Mattheo waits exactly three seconds before leaning in, his breath teasing against your ear.

“You almost got us caught.”

You whirl on him, grabbing his wrist, wrenching his fingers out of you before you can lose your fucking mind.

His eyes darken as you suck his fingers into your mouth, tasting yourself on him, keeping eye contact the entire time.

Mattheo’s breathing goes ragged.

“Fuck.”

Your deathgrip on his wrist tightens, nails biting into his skin, dragging his hand away as you stand. His gaze follows you, pupils blown wide, lips parted, waiting.

You lean down, mouth just brushing his ear.

“If you want to fuck me, Riddle,” you whisper, “you’re gonna have to try harder than that.”

Then, without another word, you grab your book, straighten your skirt, and walk away.

He watches you go, "See you later, Matty," you sing, your innocent voice honey sweet, not sparing him a glance as you leave.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

a/n: i want to fuck the both of them

ᴅɪᴠɪᴅᴇʀ ᴄʀᴇᴅ: @ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀɢʀᴀᴘʜɪᴄꜱ

MASTERLIST

[mixolya]

ᓚᘏᗢ — golden hours, golden hearts : chapter 040 !

the afterparty was loud - too loud for sae's liking. music pulsed through the grand hall of the ballon d'or, glasses clinked and voices blurred together in an endless hum of celebration. people were congratulating him left and right, offering drinks, trying to pull him into conversations he had no interest in. normally, he'd tolerate it, but only if you would stand beside him. smile politely, nod, maybe throw in a few words before excusing you both. but tonight, he wasn't in the mood.

maybe it was because you weren't here.

sae exhaled slowly, swirling the water in his glass as he leaned back in his seat. he knew you weren't coming. you had already told him that you had an overseas shoot in LA that overlapped with the ceremony. he had pretended not to care, telling you to enjoy your trip.

but now, as he sat in a room full of people, the kopa trophy on the table in front of him, he couldn't help but think about how empty the victory felt without you.

he told you multiple times about how you two would attend this event and he would win the trophy for her - but why isn't he feeling better after he did win the trophy?

you would've loved this party. he could already hear your voice in his head. you would've teased him about winning, made some sarcastic remark about how "of course itoshi sae would get the kopa trophy." and then you would have-

sae sighed, shaking his head as if that would shake the thoughts of you away. it was fucking ridiculous. he wasn't the type to dwell on things like this. he really was a whipped man.

you were wicked. so so wicked for making him head over heels for you.

but then, his gaze landed on someone familiar across the room.

rensuke kunigami.

he was standing near the bar, his posture relaxed as he talked to someone. but it wasn't just anyone.

it was lanlan.

sae's brows furrowed slightly. he hadn't seen her in a while - not that he wanted - but her texts on instagram were really confusing. he didn't take them serious nor did he tell you about it. why should he? it's just an annoying bug that pretended to be important in your lives.

yet, he knew what kind of person she was. she didn't talk to people unless she wanted something.

what was her plan?

sae looked away. not interested in whatever game she was playing, but when he glanced back, lanlan was looking right at him.

she smiled, slow and knowing, before making her way toward him. her walk was smooth, the kind of confidence that came from someone who thought they still had a hold over him.

she didn't.

"sae," she greeted smoothly, slipping into the seat beside him without invitation. "where's your little girlfriend? enjoying your win all alone?"

he didn't bother looking at her. "what do you want?"

she clicked her tongue. "so cold. can't i just come congratulate you?"

he finally turned his head to meet her gaze, eyes sharp. "cut to the point."

lanlan sighed dramatically, twirling a strand of hair between her fingers. "alright, alright. i just wanted to talk. you know, catch up with my favorite ex. it's been a while."

"not long enough."

her lips curled into something between a smirk and a pout. "still as difficult as before, i see. maybe even more difficult after y/n. what did she do to you?"

sae didn't respond. he didn't need to. he already knew how this conversation would to. she would try to flirt, try to remind him of what they used to be, and he would shut her down, just like before.

it was a waste of his time. he'd rather be in his hotel room, calling you.

but before he could tell her to leave, she suddenly grabbed his wrist, standing up and tugging him along.

he immediately resisted, irritation flashing through him. "the hell are you doing?"

"just talk to me for a second," she said, her grip tight. "somewhere more private."

"i don't have anything to say to you."

but she didn't let go. instead, she pulled him toward a quieter corner, away from the main crowd. and before he could even process what she was doing-

she kissed him.

ew.

sae reacted instantly, shoving her back with enough force to put distance between them. his jaw clenched, eyes burning with irritation.

"the fuck was that?" he bit out, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

lanlan tilted her head, feigning innocence, but there was something smug in her expression. "come on, saesae. wasn't that bad, was it?"

he scoffed, his voice ice-cold. "you're pathetic."

her smirk faltered for just a second before she rolled her eyes. "you used to like me, you know. but that bitch destroyed everything."

chapter 039 > here > chapter 041

taglist is open ! <3

back to golden hours, golden hearts

note: hi what if i pull out a cliffhanger and post in 3 months (jk)

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[letsyapthenightaway]

thinking ab to nico hischier and his love for big girls... wdyt ab him and plus size reader ? 👀

Nico Hischier x PlusSize!Reader

Nico gives me munch vibes...I said what I said but I won't elaborate. I get nervous to talk nsfw about real people but idk this man kinda gives me that he likes to smother himself.

Nico is a hidden PDA lover. Like he looks all cute and shy but this man is clingy. I see Nico and I think of a bear and that quickly makes me think he's warm and cuddly.

So I can see him always on you even before dating. Arm around your shoulder, waist, or holding your hand. He wraps himself around you a lot his chin is usually on your shoulder in some way. You won't go cold around this guy.

Man is a big worshiper. Again! Even before dating his eyes held hearts for you! All the boys saw it, how their captain literally stumbled and fumbled for the attention of his so-called friend.

I feel like he's a big "Sit on my lap" guy. He'd so proudly have you sit on his lap and his hand is on your hip. He grabs and runs his fingers on your love handles. It's so casual to him and don't tell him you're too heavy. Literally would tense up and give you those eyes he does, "I'm strong" yet so understanding about why you are scared.

Tight grip on you at all times. Especially during intimate moments, his hands are literally marked on you. He's soft but like that he can be a little rough with you.

I can see a playful Nico making you part of his gym routine. Like your his girl he should be able to hold you and do a couple squats. He'd definitely be someone to add a couple more weights into his routine because he wants to be secure of his strength for you.

Calm but protective. Everyone knows that you're his girl before it's official. It's those little actions I mentioned before that give it away. If he's out with you he knows you can defend yourself but he's a couple steps behind just in case.

If someone even tries to chirp on you hell breaks loose. I can see him trying to ignore it but then snapping. Getting into a bad fight on the ice all because someone said something about you. He'd ask if you're okay even though you have no idea what the other player said about you.

Dare I say that out of all the players I write for I think he is on the top of my list as a grabber? Idk.

[killishin]

— ◇ jjk men when you draw them.

pairings: nanami kento, gojo satoru, geto suguru

category: fluff

content warning: suggestive themes, sfw

a/n: i love when men support their partners in their art, its literally so sweet. saying so as an artist myself. wrote this in the dead of the night so not proofread. hope everyone enjoys :)

dividers by @cafekitsune

masterlist

NANAMI KENTO

he would have all your art and pieces memorized. he would be the one who'd give detailed compliments— strokes, composition and a hell lot of 'you're the best, darling'. he would definitely have favourites, and god forbid you ask him to choose— he'd be going back and forth, trying to choose because you won't accept the 'all are beautiful answer', only to mess with him.

also i believe, he would also have tried it out. just some doodling, some sketching perhaps— turns out he is good. he can grasp the basics quite fast and he finally understands why art is such a part of you. best believe all he ever draws is you.

now, the often times you draw him, he's a mess. a sputtering mess even though you've made like a ton of portraits of him, in every medium you knew and still he blushes.

"sweetheart why don't you draw something better?" he'd suggest as he tries to maintain the small smile on his face that was itching to widen into a full blown grin. he was all mushy inside.

"define better." you rolled your eyes at him, a knowing smile adorning your lips.

"i don't know— i guess something more... captivating?" his nose crinkled as he suggested that, looking up at you only to pause at the deadpan stare.

"honey, the love of my life—" you begin as you inch close, holding his jaw between your thumb and index, "this should be the last time you insinuate that you aren't captivating."

you lean closer to peck his lips and he subconsciously moves forward to chase your lips, not caring about the dazed smile or the blush raging on his cheeks that he tried so hard to hide.

"you are my muse." you added, murmuring against his lips, to further mess with him.

oh you best believe he is going to thank you for that portrait and sweet praises.

with praises. just in a different setting.

GOJO SATORU

"BABE AM I REALLY THAT HANDSOME?!" he exclaims, fully believing himself that yes, he is that handsome.

he is that push you need when your mind is stuck in an art block, with his constant over the top praises and compliments, he literally powers the creativity in your mind. he is the type of guy to literally decorate your shared home with your pieces, every inch. he'd leave no opportunity to show off, to a friend or even sometimes strangers. it gets especially concerning when the person doesn't quite like it.

"how do you not like it?"

"gojo i just—"

" absolutely pathetic taste." he says with the withering glare still on, rattling the other person's soul and you need to literally drag him away.

and oh when you draw him. its like already fanning that enormous, gigantic ego into something much more out of control. he absolutely smothers you, crushing you in a hug and a fit of kisses attacking your face.

"babe do you have a crush on me? seems like you do, how you draw me so damn beautiful."

"you idiot we're married."

in the moments when he isn't as loud with his appreciation, you catch him gazing at your paintings in silence, that content and proud smile on his face.

even his wallpaper is a your painting of your self portrait, for him to gaze at but also to boast about you when someone asks about the painting in the wallpaper.

"my love's a genius." is what he always says, and never gets tired from it.

GETO SUGURU

he loves your art, like its a part of you. he even helps you sometimes when you don't quite know if it looks good, gives pointers and suggestion. he even tells you if something looks wrong that maybe you overlooked, says it in the best way possible. he likes to watch you do your magic, at first it was a little unnerving for you in the beginning of your relationship so he used to just sneak and watch. there's just something about you in your element that puts him at ease, grounds him.

he poses for you if you want to draw him, a huge help and you don't even have to go look for references. he'll do whatever you like. whatever pose you suggest, anything. (he means anything ;])

"is this pose alright?" his eyes twinkle while he smiles smugly, knowing exactly what he's doing.

"...yes. hold that." you can't even focus on your canvas, god knows drawing what.

"darling you're sweating. you okay?"

"shut up."

he keeps the more...mature art safely tucked away, his daughters don't need to see that, only for his eyes.

but like satoru, he's vocal with his appreciation. whenever guests are home he literally gives a whole ass description, from the strokes, inspiration, interpretation, paragraphs of pure compliments— literally everything. and lets just hope they do not say they don't like it, that sweet smile doesn't look much sweet later.

and you don't know it, but he has drawn you a concerning amount of times, he just doesn't show you because they're his little secret.

reblogs are appreciated :D

[anli-rambles]

Alright, since I'm seeing this discourse again on my dash, I'm gonna give my two cents even if no one asked.

I think the thing the "Haytham is a colonizer" crowd fundamentally gets wrong about this is that Haytham is a walking contradiction. That's the whole point of his character. His actions are in complete opposition to his actual core beliefs. Let me explain.

I'm not gonna excuse him working with racists and supporting an ideology that would essentially subjucate the entire human race in the name of arbitrary peace, because that's definitely colonizer mentality and that's inexcusable. Whether or not Haytham believes in the shit he says doesn't matter at the end of the day because the result is the same. That much is clear, and this isn't what I'm trying to justify.

The thing is, this same crowd will happily accuse those of us who like Haytham's character of actively sympathizing with colonizers. There are weirdos in every fandom so I'm not gonna deny that some may do that (in which case I do not claim them), but I can tell you that the majority of us don't. After lurking in this circle for over a year I can confidentally say that an overwhelming majority of us hate every Templar working for him except Shay, Weekes and Gist. The reason we like Haytham is, as I said before, because his core beliefs align with Assassin ideology way more than they do with Templar stuff.

The thing that bothers me the most about the "Haytham is a colonizer" crowd is that they have no interest in digging just a little deeper because if they did, they would see how glaringly obvious it is. Haytham hates the Templars. Everytime one of them does anything that follows Templar ideology, he deludes himself into believing they just "went Rogue" and executes them. He did it with Church. He did it with Braddock. He hated Washington's guts and wanted him dead when the guy embodied Templar ideals far more than anyone in his circle did. He did nothing to stop Ratonhnhaké:ton from killing Biddle even if he was on the Aquila with him at the time.

He had no interest in land expansion - in fact, his goal was to prevent it from happening. Unfortunately, he trusted Johnson with the task, and when the man decided mass execution was the way to go and subsequently got killed by Ratonhnhaké:ton, Haytham felt no empathy for him. In his journal, he even said Johnson asked for it by choosing mass murder of the Haudenosaunee chieftains because they refused to sell their land. His endorsement of Charles Lee is also a complete farce. He admits himself that Charles has very little chances of suplanting Washington because he's "too British" to appeal to the American settlers but that he'd rather work with him over Washington.

Hell, Haytham is the one who tells Ratonhnhaké:ton that Washington is a fraud who only cares about the freedom of white men specifically. He calls him out on it and he's furious. That's why he calls Ratonhnhaké:ton 'naive' - it's because Ratonhnhaké:ton fails to see how the people he works for give no shits about him and his people (and he isn't wrong on that, Ratonhnhaké:ton actually does believe supporting the Revolution will save his people up until then). He's not being patronizing here, his whole rant is in response to Ratonhnhaké:ton telling him Washington fights for freedom and that he was chosen by 'the people', when in reality 'the people' were a bunch of his buddies gathering in a room and going 'yup, Washington's our guy lads, case closed'. Ratonhnhaké:ton even admits that it's Haytham who made him realize this in the loading screen after the Sequence is over.

The whole reason Haytham doesn't defect from the Templar order is because the grooming/brainwashing runs too deep, and admitting that becoming a Templar wasn't his choice would be admitting that he failed to do the one thing his father wanted him to do - to choose for himself. So he deludes himself into believing that no, he did choose this way of life, even if he disagrees with pretty much everything the Templars stand for. And that's why he's easier to sympathize with.

I'll also add that I find it very ironic that Haytham critics aren't as willing to call Achilles out on his own bullshit, because what he does with Ratonhnhaké:ton is very reminiscent of what white people did to the First Nations irl. He barely knows this kid and already decides to use him as a surrogate son to process his grief through. He strips him of his Kanien'kehá:ka identity almost as soon as they meet. I'll never forget his "I'm not even gonna try and pronounce that" after Ratonhnhaké:ton tells him his name.

(Duncan is so right when he tells him later when they meet that he should use his real name. He has no reason to, he already immediately gets clocked as a Native whenever he meets people, Achilles' excuse doesn't work.)

I can't explain how pissed off I was when Ratonhnhaké:ton storms out of the homestead because he knows his people are in danger and Achilles has the absolute AUDACITY to tell him that "his struggles are the colonists' struggle". No the fuck it isn't ? How is threat of genocide and loss of their homeland ANY comparable to the British raising taxes on the colonies ? The worst part is that this mentality isn't just shared by Achilles. Samuel Adams also tells Ratonhnhaké:ton a similar thing when he claims the colonists are "no freer than the slaves". Excuse me ?

I've seen people call Adams out for it but Achilles always gets away with it scot-free when he's the one pushing Ratonhnhaké:ton to work with slave owners like Washington when all they want is to expand westward, burning down Native settlements along the way, and then has the audacity to claim it's in Ratonhnhaké:ton and his people's best interests to do so.

I'd take any Haytham critic a lot more seriously if they were also willing to call Achilles out for his undeniably racist behavior towards Ratonhnhaké:ton, but they don't. Because Achilles is supposed to be 'the good guy'. (And I don't mean to assume, but I think this lack of accountability for Achilles comes from a fundamental misunderstanding / ignorance of (and unfortunately indifference to) Native American issues, which we absolutely need to talk about more.)

What we're not gonna talk about, though, is how Achilles also owns a giant homestead on indigenous land that he lets other colonists settle on. Because of course it doesn't count.

Anyway. Those were my two cents. Do with it what you will.

PS. I think the comparison that was made with Edward also being a colonizer is flawed. While it was very similar at the beginning, with him leaving Wales to work as a privateer for the British Navy, he did a complete 180 later on and set out to work with indigenous people and fight for their freedom too. His mansion was also stolen from a colonizer (as opposed to it being built by him) and when he left the Caribbean to go back home, he gave it back to indigenous people instead of selling it to the highest bidder.

[blackcherrywitch]

sotr spoilers //

I am shocked that in all the discussion I've seen, I haven't seen any mention of Plutarch's role in SOTR. I am so perplexed with his position in the Capitol. Forgive me if I missed the reasons why but- why is he given 12? Through Drusilla, Magno, and even Effie in the later books we're given the impression that an assignment to district 12 is an afterthought or a punishment. An opportunity to prove yourself worthy of working with tributes that actually have a chance later on in your career. District 12 was the runt of the litter, table scraps, etc. Do we remember how Snow reacted when he was given 12 in TBOSAS???? Even the hair and makeup team were Academy students, implying that 12 was the practice run before they got to the big leagues(if other tributes had students as well ignore this but my point still stands)

So WHY is Plutarch there???? When we see him escort Haymitch to his meeting with Snow in the Heavensbee mansion we're shown unending grandeur- overflowing liquor cabinets stocked with rare indulgences, long hallways with towering portraits of each family member, a library for gods sake. The Heavensbee family is clearly very well off, and if my memory serves me right they faired well in the Dark Days. What did Plutarch do to be given 12? Did he request this because he knew they'd be the most likely to support an uprising? How did he get involved with the rebellion in the first place? What did he mean when he made that quip about wanting freedom to Haymitch? If he was working with 12, how did him and Beetee confer to plot the flooding of the arena? If he did do something that put him in an unfavorable position, how did he work his way up the ranks to earn the title of HEAD GAMEMAKER in Catching Fire? Snow is not exactly one to forget (*cough* lucy gray *cough*), so if Plutarch did do something to deserve 12 as a "punishment", there's no way in hell Snow would allow him to have a position as delicate as head gamemaker in a year where there was already serious levels of unrest in the districts. Out of everyone in the Capitol, he seems the most dead set on an uprising. WHY??? Is it because his family is high ranking enough to understand the corruption in the Capitol? Is there a personal vendetta? Where is the rest of his family? I'm guessing he's somewhere in his 20s in sotr, so where is the rest of the Heavensbee clan? His however-many-greats grandad Trajan was considered the FATHER OF PANEM. You're telling me the direct descendant of DADDY PANEM is given 12 to broadcast? Was Snow threatened by his connections to Panem's founder? Even still, Snow is a mastermind of political theatre, surely he would recognize this as unsavory???

And it's not like he doesn't wield power! How many people would be able to pull of the phone call between Lenore and Haymitch prior to the games? If anyone else tried that and Snow found out about it he'd have jabberjays rip out their vocal chords, but with Plutarch it's just what, no biggie? Or does Snow know and allow it to happen to make his murder of Lenore hurt worse?

Yes, anyone with an empathetic bone in their body sees the games as barbaric. But the book is about propaganda and political programming, I do not believe that there is no good reason for a high ranking Capitol aristocrat to be so invested in the rebel cause. Sure, he could just disagree with the Capitol's ways. But why. What was the catalyst. There had to have been a reason, a moment that made him question, a SOMETHING. The comment about freedom keeps ticking at me, because in order to crave freedom you have to be or feel caged, so what is making him feel that way? Who?

Anyways I'm feeling Very Normal after finishing sotr

[pipinpali]

Unlike pt. 3

—--

3/?? — Reluctant Refuge

<- First - <- previous - Next ->

TW!: language, mild mentions of death

Word count ~ 1200 words

—--

He needed to get the fuck out of here.

How? Randall didn't know.

Why? Who fucking knows. But why else would he be here if it weren't for something bad?

His leg hurt like hell. There's no way he could climb down for the desk.

But he had to leave.

The man had left into the next room, he was patched up.

If there was anytime to escape, it'd be now.

Randall's watery eyes traveled around the room. It was vast, fit for a giant. The room was mostly dark, save for the dim lights in what he had assumed was the kitchen where the man had left and the overly bright, antique-looking lamp above him. The place vaguely reminded him of the human café down the street. There was a fancy electric chandelier above the cozy looking dark, oak, furniture. Papers and notebooks were scattered around on the desk he sat at with various pens and pencils.

He shuffled closer to the edge, biting back a strangled cry as he tried to get a good look at the nauseating height below. If he'd jump now he'd definitely break something else... Randall glared back at the desk, wondering briefly if the man had gotten his hands on his knife, only to look in the distance to see the figure of the human walking towards him.

He scrambled back, his arms fumbling to pull him backwards.

He was holding something. What was he holding?

Randall was too afraid to get a better look.

It wasn't long until the man was looming over the desk he sat on with his towering form, sitting down and placing a plate onto the table with a small 'clink!'

"Sorry," he apologized, his brown face gentle as if he hadn't tried to pull off his leg, "I don't usually eat at my desk... or this late. I made you something, too. I thought you needed it." He laughed a little — a breathy one that tustled through his hair. Was he a joke to this man?

Randall scowled, his sharp gaze widening as he caught the human's hand moving. He flinched as he was slowly slid a bottle cap full of scraps of the man's dinner, "Tell me if you like it, if you don't I could make something else," he said carefully.

He hessitantly glanced down at the makeshift plate before him. The meal was made up of morsels of some type of vegetable, red sauce, a single noodle, and a piece of chicken...

The most unbelievable meal ever.

'No way this guy was giving it out without a catch. Hell— he probably poisoned it!'

Randall nervously swallowed, his mouth salivating at the thought of getting his hands on something like that. He refused to give in, defiantly turning his head.

The human ignored him, simply stabbing a piece of chicken with his fork and taking a bite, covering his mouth with his hand before he spoke, "To be honest, I'm not really sure you understand me or not," he mused, his gaze flicking back down at Randall as he swallowed and put aside his hand. "...Can you?"

His brows furrowed. What did he think he was? Stupid? He shouldn't have expected more from a human. "...Of course I can," he practically croaked, his voice sounding much more pathetic than the snarky response he was planning to give.

"Do you have a name?"

"...Maybe."

"Alright, Maybe, I'm Jone."

Randall gritted his teeth. He thinks he's funny. "It's Randall," he muttered back.

Jone gave a content smile, humming at the sound of the name.

The smallfolk grumbled and glanced back down at the bottle cap full of food, finally unable to ignore it. He waited until Jone looked away, hessitantly bringing his hand closer before swiping a small piece of chicken. It was warm with a faint tangy scent, things that his food never usually had. He hunched over it, bringing it close, carefully smelling it for some type of poison or odd chemical. He was good at that sort of thing — one of the biggest reasons he's still kicking around at his old age of 24 whole years.

After he couldn't smell anything particularly odd, he nibbled at the edge of it and—

There's only been a few other times in his life where tasted something like this, far too long ago. It reminded him of what his mother made...

Randall didn't dare waste a second to see if the human was watching, scarfing down the miniature meal faster than anything he had before. When he was done, he mild-manneredly wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, glancing up to see the man with a soft grin that — for a moment — he almost thought it that the food really was poisoned.

"Was it okay?" The man asked, tilting his head as he set the fork onto his empty plate, "I wasn't really sure myself... I haven't really cooked this recipe much." Randall, protecting his dignity in the worst way he can, replied with a blunt, "It was shit."

Despite this, Jone kept a barely hidden, knowing smile on his face. He carefully pushed his own plate aside, leaning onto the table and making Randall flinch and shift backwards. He felt more than uneasy now that the man had his focus solely on him.

It was silent for a few moments before the smallfolk spoke up. "Why did you take me here...?" Randall carefully asked, testing the boundaries of what he could say. Jone’s brows furrowed a little in concern, "I couldn't leave you out in the street... I'm sorry that I sort've... kidnapped you... I can take you to your home next morning if you'd like—"

"—Next morning?!" Randall exclaimed, sitting up and sucking in the pain as he continued to yell, scrambling to find reason, "Y-You can't just— just keep me here—!"

Jone was taken aback, gently trying to reassure him with that stupid, condescending voice, "Well, it's too late to take you out tonight, and you seem pretty weak... On my way to work tomorrow you

can tell me where you live, and—"

"—I'm not telling you where I live, and- and I'm not letting you touch me!"

"It's not like you can just walk there, though,"

"I—!.." Randall stopped himself before he said, 'I'll crawl then,' not quite stupid enough to even attempt something like that if Jone somehow agreed. He glanced down thoughtfully, wracking his mind for an answer for his problem, right before he caught a glance at the empty bottle cap once more, and a light bulb went off in his head.

Maybe he didn't have to leave.

Randall searched the man's face. If he wasn't some sort of phyco that will kill him in his sleep, maybe he could stay— leech off of his stupidity while he heals in the luxury of a warm house with a full stomach.

The smallfolk leaned back a little, playing a disappointed look, "I guess I'll stay until I go my own way," he sighed. He watched with slight disgust as the human's face lit up slightly. "Alright then," Jone said, "I'll... let you rest I suppose— you need it. I'll be over in the living room." He gestured over to a big, brown, leather chair in the other room. "Call for me if you need me."

The human pushed himself to stand, Randall flinching as his massive form moved so suddenly, looming over him. He gave a slight wave before he turned to the living room and bundled up on the chair with what looked like a notebook and a pencil in hand, placing a pair of square glasses on his face.

Randall let out a sigh of relief as his nerves cooled.

This'll be fine.

—--

So uh... .hi

This took a minute...or a month or 3 .

BUT YAY LOOK I DID IT!! Wow!!!!

I hope you enjoyed reading..

[localburntoutkid]

Right *cracks knuckles* here we go: THE ORIGINAL TRIO: Will Solace as Percy Jackson. A son of Poseidon who doesn't really care who his dad is - he's got his mom! Naomi Solace is a small indie singer that works two jobs on the side to help herself and her son. she'd do anything for him, and he'd do anything for her, because they're each other's only family. they live with Naomi's rather strict and overbearing parents (who kind of hate Will) and Naomi sends him away to different boarding schools every year to keep him from her parent's judgmental gaze. he doesn't know why he ends up getting kicked out from schools, or why the hell he glows underwater. his mom drives him out to Montauk, but halfway they get chased by the Minotaur - who ends up "killing" his mom. his last bit of family. his best friend. so , he ends up unconscious at camp half-blood, with some boy called Nico informing him that he snores in his sleep and a camp director who is literally the god apollo, banished to looking after kids for some reason. he's going to find his mother, and that's that.

Juniper as Grover Underwood. A girly dryad - and the only one - who is out to find the god Pan, because who decided it should only be a satyr's job when a dryad is literally nature? but she puts her search on stop to befriend and protect a demigod she met at school - a simple boy with blonde hair, dimples and penchant for accidental trouble. she's unsure, of course she is, after her first mission had gone awry (Annabeth had died, no less - and she knew both Nico and Percy were struggling.). she takes it on anyway, listening to his mom's final wishes and dragging him to camp. it feels like she can't save someone without there being a death to overshadow it. she is kind and shy and sometimes a scaredy-cat, but her love for her friends will never go away. when the boy declares he's going to the underworld to find his mother, she decides that this is her chance. she's going to protect her only friends.

So yes, Will Solace meets an oversmart Nico Di Angelo, who is rightly suspicious of him and stays on friends with a nature spirit. He gets claimed during the capture the flag games, when trying to heal someone who was gravely injured, with water - not even noticing the gleaming trident above his head. It is, of course, Nico who speaks first, with a bitterness in his tone - Children of Athena and Children of Poseidon were always meant to be rivals, of course, he says. he was right. Chiron announces to the campers in a tone of grave surprise:

“Earthshaker, Stormbringer, Father of Horses. Hail, William Andrew Solace, Son of the Sea God.”

@cceanvvaves @dreamboyinthedarkvoid @itsmylovedaydreamdreamdream @zufi @jerry-the-leech <- pjo mutuals taglist :D, tell me if you wanna be added or removed!

Listen, thinking about PJO Swap AU, but not like a parent swap, i mean whole character swaps. So, so hear me out- THE BROKEN TRIO: - Percy Jackson as Luke Castellan. But not in the conventional way - he's a son of Ares who hates him and all the gods for doing what they do. for leaving mothers and fathers everywhere heartbroken or worse like Ares did with his mother. Sally Jackson is not weak, but her situation is getting worse - visions of her baby boy dying, an abusive husband and a poor financial standpoint - she is the one that urges him to leave. to get out of this. to find camp halfblood. he leaves reluctantly, promising to come back and take her away soon. he finds a girl and a boy both stuck in similar situations and decides i'm going to take care of them. - Annabeth Chase as Thalia Grace. A daughter of Zeus who ran away from home after her already abysmal home life got worse with the addition of a stepmother. she almost kills Percy when she sees him and is otherwise wary of him for a while - but finds out they're made of the same steel. signs from her father guide her and Percy to a little boy with olive skin and dark eyes too smart for his age, and she decides that these guys are her family now - not the airplane-obsessed man at home or his blonde new wife. - Nico Di Angelo as Annabeth Chase. A son of Athena (or maybe blessed by Athena, not sure yet)who got separated from his sister after leaving the Lotus Casino. he's lost, scared and young. but he's going to make it out and find his sister, come what may. he's found by a weird boy with turquoise eyes that freak him out and a girl with unruly curly hair who looks like she knows everything. they look after him. he has a puppy crush on the boy - but he'll never, ever admit it. he sees them and decides that yes, these are the people he can depend on - and he'll grow up to be strong so they can depend on him too.

So it hurts when they reach Half-Blood Hill with their satyr - it hurts when Annabeth jumps to protect them, her new family - and dies for it. it's just more fodder for Percy's hatred because he loved that girl and now she's dead. nico mourns her like he mourns his sister, and he shares the grief that Percy holds. they start life at camp half-blood with a promise - i'll always be on your side.

@cceanvvaves @dreamboyinthedarkvoid @lovely-rants-alot @itsmylovedaydreamdreamdream @zufi @jerry-the-leech <- pjo mutuals that i remember ! i was Having Thoughts so here this is - feel free to ignore, sorry if i disturbed yall!!

[naturesass]

I can't stop thinking about the 0% ship log vision

[gorps]

I feel sick, I still cannot believe I had my ucsd professor that promised me a glowing recommendation letter just ghost me again. I feel so so evil for asking an old teacher for one literally two days before applications are due. The worst part is I could have easily get into any grad program I wanted to for a psych masters program. With that letter I'd be competitive enough to get into 5%ish admission rate PhD programs, and now I have no clue if I'll be able to get into a masters program

[silusvesuius]

g*lmar rly has to be the best skajrim character on the real like even if you don't like him he just is . literally The best one i think......... on dat note i also imagine that he and ulfr*c despite being fairydust BFFs for lyfe genuinely have the worst communication skills ever seen

[wiretism]

we live in a world where im terrified that if i show off my very special headcanon of william liking physical affection it'll get tagged as ship

[franeridan]

I really wish yamato had gone with luffy and I love that he asked to be considered a crewmate anyway and that luffy told him he'd always have a place on the sunny so I a hundred percent consider him a mugiwara but in my ideal one piece where the war ended differently and ace is still alive yamato is his. like obviously ace is dead and he hadn't been a captain for a while before then anyway, but in my ideal one piece yamato belongs to him. he's a spades. he's ace's crewmate first and foremost.

[ourceliumnetwork]

i have acquired a mystical and powerful ointment (hydrocortisone cream) from the village herbalist (rite aid) to assist with the curse set upon my bloodline from many generations ago (eczema)