#im just so burn out i want to drop out so bad lol

[maiomay]

my masters degree is already kicking my ass, i can't even imagine how i'm going to be next year when i actually write my thesis💀

[always-just-red]

hihihi! sylus girlie here. as a college student i often never take breaks whenever im working and often stay up late finishing up assignments. then i stress out but never tell anyone and suffer in silence:’) i was wondering if you could do something similar with sylus x mc where mc often forgets to take breaks at the hunters association and is always the first the volunteer for missions so she could improve.

but then it’s starting to take a toll on her and is so so stressed, but feels bad about venting to someone or saying no to new missions.

maybe one day she’s doing a simple task like cooking herself dinner (or something) but accidentally burns herself and she just ends up breaking down and decides to call sylus and he immediately goes to her. :’)

feel free to decline or change anything! i just like the thought of someone comforting u when ur overworked and stressed bc i wish someone would do that to me lol.

Fast-tracked this one for you, anon! I'm really sorry you're having a tough time right now, and I hope this brings you a bit of comfort- remember, Sylus would want you to take care of yourself! Good luck with all your studies, and feel free to send in another request if ever you need it! 🥰

Technical Difficulties

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: You're not very good at asking for help when you're struggling. Thankfully? You don't always need to.

Genre: fluff + comfort ft. a very domestic Sylus!

Warnings/Additional tags: stressed reader (has a lil bit of a breakdown!), some swearing, uses of 'kitten' and 'sweetie', Sylus is so soft here he should come with a health warning tbh

| Word count: 2.4k | Masterlist | Opt-in to my taglist here!

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

In the event of a wanderer incursion where evacuation of citizens is obstructed or otherwise not viable, association protocol 32.3-A dictates that you should first… That you should first… What?

Your pen is poised above the blank space where your answer should be. 32.3-A is a general procedure: something to do moving people to the nearest shelter. Or, wait— are you supposed to try to contact support, first?

You drop your pen with a huff and flop face-down onto the mock exam. It’s too much. Too much information, too much responsibility. Open textbooks are spread over your desk and around your head like an unholy halo— stacks of them, filled with codes and procedures. They’re supposed to be helpful, but they’re not; they’re drowning you.

Your phone pings and you glance up. Text from Tara:

Hi! Hate to be a bother, but did you finish glancing over that practice question for me? xx

Shit. You’d completely forgotten. You straighten, reaching for your laptop so you can load up your latest emails. You’ve got time to look over it; the exam isn’t for another two days. Breathe, ok? You have time.

Seven unread emails. What? You scan over them frantically. Two from the Captain: accepting additional mission requests you’d applied for. Were those both this week? One from Nero: you hadn’t sent in that finished report. Three from your colleagues, all scrambling for help with the exam. One from Tara:

Thanks for saying you’d look over this for me! You’re the best at this stuff!

Ok, so: Tara’s practice question. Nero’s report. Your own practice questions. Then… dinner? Maybe that should come first. You’d skipped lunch— had one slice of toast for breakfast. But you don’t wanna cook; cooking takes time, and you’ve got none. None.

Your phone is ringing, snapping you back to reality, and you peek over at it. Sylus?

“Hi,” you greet as you put him on speaker. On your laptop, you’re opening up Tara’s attachment.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Always straight to the point. “Uh… yeah?” you frown as you read through your friend’s work. “Why? What d’you need?”

Sylus sighs through the phone. “That was a test, sweetie. You failed.”

“Yeah, well…” you murmur, highlighting a sentence with your cursor. “Add it to the list.”

The man doesn’t find that funny. The phone is quiet— too quiet. “Are you alright?” he asks, just as your gaze wanders to check if the call has disconnected.

“Mmhmm.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, Sylus.”

You stare down at your phone. He’s waiting for more, but you won’t give it to him. You’re one word away from slipping, and you can’t let the dam crumble, especially in front of him. He’s smiling from the phone call background: a photo he insisted would ‘ruin’ his image when you took it last week.  

“I need to go, ok?” Your eyes are shining.

“Ok,” he says softly.

There’s a bleep as the call cuts out, and the photo is gone. Waiting beneath it is another text from Tara, and one from Xavier: Nero told me to txt U bout a report??

You swallow the ache in your throat and slump down on your desk again.

��

You wake up with a start, your head ringing. The tangerine sky outside your window’s turned dark— your laptop, too— and light spills from your desk lamp, yellow on white pages. There’s more, and you turn, tracing it back to where it leaks through the crack of your almost closed bedroom door.

You hadn’t left any lights on in your flat. You hadn’t switched on your lamp, either.

Tiredness is dulling your thoughts and your senses, but you know you feel uneasy. There’s something in the air: smoky, but not unpleasant. You can hear something as well. No— two things. A faint, almost imperceptible hiss, and a more obvious humming.

Hunter instincts kick in. You roll open a drawer of your desk, snatching up one of your standard-issue pistols and removing its safety with a click. You stalk up to the door, your trained footsteps near silent. You take a deep breath, clearing your head. One. Two.

Three! You shoulder the door open, leaping through with your gun trained forwards.

At the other end of your sights, Sylus turns, an eyebrow raised. Your kitchen stove seethes behind him, and he gives you a once over as he sluggishly raises both hands. “You flatter me, kitten,” he smirks in surrender, looking between your weapon and his: a spatula.

You lower your gun, your heart still racing. “I could have killed you, Sylus!”

“That’s the spirit.” His hands drop, too.

“How did you even get in here?”

He’s turned back to the stove, and he’s using the spatula to push something around a frying pan. “Hmm…” he muses, then blink— he’s gone. He’s at your fridge a second later, materialising from thin air. “I wonder,” he finishes as he reaches around for something.

Show off. “You know how I feel about you telepor…” No. “Phas…” No. “Magic…king…?” By now he’s watching you over his shoulder. “You know— that thing you do.” You’re twinkling your fingers. “What do you even call that?”

“Magicking, yeah.”

You huff in response and he laughs, walking back over to where he’s cooking two steaks and preparing a salad. You’re still coming to terms with the fact he’s even here, looking... quite frankly ridiculous, because he’s wearing your apron. It’s too small for him. Baby pink. Frilly, too.

“You know how I feel about you magicking into my home,” you mutter distractedly, because actually? He’s kinda pulling it off. His sleeves are rolled up past his elbows, tight on his arms. “Use the door like a regular person, you psychopath.”  

“Where’s the fun in that?” He sounds smug. Ugh, he must feel your eyes on him; he must know. You think he’s toying with the idea of calling you out, but he doesn’t, and when he does speak, the smugness is gone. “Mephisto saw you were sleeping. I didn’t wish to disturb you. You sounded… tired. On the phone.”

Guilt twinges in your chest as you draw up beside him. “Is that why you’re here? Playing housewife?” You pick at a frill on the apron.

“Poke fun all you want,” he sneers. “This shirt costs more than your entire wardrobe.”

“Snob.”

“Ha.” You have to retract your hand as he threatens it with the spatula. “Watch yourself, sweetie. I’ll remember that the next time you ask to ‘borrow’ my card.”

You laugh gently. Now that’s a threat. You’re about to tell him so when you hear a ping from the other room, and your heart sinks. Just a single sound, and you’re back to where you were an hour ago, at your desk with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

Sylus hums in acknowledgment as you excuse yourself and hurry back to your workspace, snatching up your phone. You missed three calls while you sleeping: all from Xavier. He’s been texting you, too.

Nero’s yelling at me

Wants to talk to U

Can U pick up? Pls?

It’s one report, for gods’ sake. You feel your chest tightening again. You just needed to proofread it, but it’s probably fine, right? You wake your laptop out of standby; you’ll just send it as it is. “I’ll just be a minute, Sy,” you call out. “Need to finish one thing.”

He mumbles something in response, and you imagine it’s for the best you can’t hear it. Your keyboard clacks as you tap out a quick email to Nero, then you surf your files for the report he so desperately wanted. It should be… here. You attach it. Hit send.

Nothing happens.

Huh. You hit send again. Then again— still nothing. You groan, trying to back out of the email. None of your keys are working. Your cursor is stuck. “Oh, come on,” you release on an impatient breath. Switch it off, switch it on again? You hit the off button. The screen goes black.

With a sigh of relief, you wait a moment before switching it on again. The screen stays black.

“No, no, no, no,” you plead quietly, but it doesn’t cooperate. Your phone rings and you snap, hitting more buttons: Answer. Speaker. “What?” you hiss.

“Whoa. Hi…?” Xavier’s voice is cautious. “I don’t know if you saw my texts, but Nero—”

“The report, Xavier! I know! I know!” You try holding down your laptop’s power button. “I’m trying to send it, but my shitty computer won’t—”

“No way!” Tara’s voice comes in on the other line; did they both get the night shift? “Hey you! Did you get a chance to—”

“No, ok?!” you practically cry out. “No! Can you two just back off? Please!”

“Oh, sorry, I…” Tara sounds upset, then distracted. “Wait, Xavier wants to speak to you.”

“Are you ok?” he asks after a second.

Ok? You just want everything to stop. “I’m fine. Shit, tell Tara I’m sorry. I am sorry, Xavier, I just… I just need my laptop to…”

Work. Work! Nothing’s working. Half of your files are on there. How much of it is backed-up? Panic is setting in, gripping your body like ice. Your throat hurts and your mouth is dry, the dam is breaking and you can’t stop it. Tears prick at your eyes as you blink at the blank, hopeless screen. Your reflection stares back at you.

You let out a sob, expelling days of frustration and exhaustion. Everywhere you look there’s something you need to do, something you need to learn, something you need to finish. You can’t. You clasp a hand over your mouth, muffling your own cries.

Xavier is speaking— saying something over the phone— but you can’t hear him.

The light changes, and there’s a figure above you, lifting the phone from the desk. “They’ll call you back,” the shadow says. Sylus.

“Wait, who is this?” Xavier.

“That’s Skye!” Tara.

Your friends’ distant voices cut out as Sylus ends the call. He sets the phone down again, nudging your laptop out of view, then lowers himself until all you can see is him: his red eyes, softer than you’ve ever seen them. “Come on, sweetie,” he coaxes, guiding your hands over his shoulders.

You understand what he’s asking of you. His arms wrap around you and you hold him tighter, letting him lift you out of your chair. He feels warm, his skin ever so slightly flushed from where he’s been standing over the stove, and he pulls your legs around his waist, letting him carry you with ease.

With your face buried in his shoulder, you can’t tell where he’s taking you, and you don’t care. His shirt is going damp against your cheeks. You want to stop crying, but you can’t with the taste of your tears on your lips. You feel weak. You feel pathetic.

Something solid is behind you, and Sylus is setting you slowly down on the kitchen counter. He’s away from you for a moment— moving the frying pan off of the heat and turning a dial on the stove— but then he’s back, standing between your legs, standing close. You’re looking down until his hand is under your chin, lifting it with the delicate touch one employs when inspecting a flower that might break.

He shushes you without a hint of impatience. “Look at me,” he directs quietly, and when you do, he unrolls his shirtsleeves— drawing the cuffs over his hands so he can use them to wipe your eyes. “Now tell me what’s wrong.”

You do— you tell him everything. The hunter’s exam. The textbooks. The extra patrols you’ve been signing up for. The work you’ve been doing for your friends. The stupid report. The even more stupid computer.

Sylus listens collectedly, nodding his head and issuing the odd hum of understanding. He listens to all of it, and when you’re done, he pushes your hair back from your face with a sympathetic sigh. “Oh, sweetie.” A tendril is tucked behind your ear. “You should have said something.”

“I know.” Your gaze is still shy of his. “But how can I? I need to do this— be this— for everyone.”

His hands are on your cheeks again, drawing back your focus. “You’re just one person,” he says. “You— just you— and that’s all you need to be. You’re stubborn, and strong, but you’re not invincible. Even Linkon’s shiniest hunter is allowed to have limits. Everyone does.”

“Even you?” you snivel, setting him up for a quip.  

Nothing. He smiles. Shrugs. “Even me.”

It’s hard to believe when he’s staring back at you, oh so solid, oh so perfect. Always a picture of strength: of fiery determination or calculated coolness. Everything in extremes; nothing by halves. Except… his hair is slightly dishevelled from where he’s been working away in the heat. There’s a damp patch on his shirt. He’s wearing your pink apron, and there’s mascara on his sleeves.

Then there’s the way he’s looking at you.

It shifts when you finally look back. He drops his hands from your face and pulls back a little. “You do a lot for your friends,” he continues with confidence, but he’s rubbing his neck, “and they care about you. You should afford them the chance to return the favour. It’s only fair.”

“You’re right.”

“…Good.”

Perhaps it’s the fact you’ve vaguely composed yourself— or the way you’re watching him like you’re seeing something new— but he straightens self-consciously, rolling his shirtsleeves back up as his eyes go sharp: assuming their usual severity.

“You’re too soft, kitten,” he scolds, reaching out to tousle your hair until you’re glaring daggers from behind a curtain of it. “How many times do I have to tell you? You put yourself first. Always. No-one else matters.”

There’s quiet for all of a second. He can’t help correcting: “Well, except me, of course.” The apron’s crooked, and he flattens it with a brush of his hands. “Any time spent with me qualifies as self-care. You really should know that by now, sweetie.”

Your mouth curls, but you haven’t quite got it in you to laugh— not yet. Stretching his neck with two sideways tips of his head, Sylus returns to his post at the oven, where the meal he’s cooking has almost certainly gone cold. You watch as the stove flickers back to life. The man is humming again, and though the food might yet be salvaged, whatever melody he’s attempting is long-past recognition, let alone saving.

You chuckle to yourself.

And you can’t see it, but Sylus is smiling, too.

[quarterlifekitty]

Hi! could you possibly write something about a fuckboy!soap and shy!reader that he uses for sex, and she keeps letting him? im craving angsty angst ANGST that just keeps hurting…you don’t have to if you don’t want to and thank you if you do! Have a great day!

Okay, one thing you all should know about me? Is that I’m a weenie lol so I can’t help but make things a little hopeful most of the time. Also— gonna make this like a college type AU

Soap clocks you from a mile away when he sees you at a party. There’s a cup of beer in your hand that you’ve been nursing, just sipping to have something to do while you cling to the side of the friend who forced you to come.

He’s seen you in his classes before. You’re good. Not the type to be seen in a place like this. And that kinda whets his appetite. He wants to fuck you, break you, make you fall apart for his own amusement.

He nudges Gaz— they have the routine down to a science— splitting up the birdies that are a little too huddled together so they can have their way with them. Gaz runs interference this time, Johnny mouthing an “I owe ye” his way— chatting up and pulling your friend away to talk a bit more. You’re alone now, and Johnny swoops in, weaving through people on a warpath.

He corners you expertly, and you’re a pathetically easy read. Easy to tease, to coax, to push. He just has to throw in a few lines about how pretty you look, peppered between him saying he’s always wanted to talk with you, always admired you in class— he gives just enough detail to lull you into thinking this is courting. That he’s going to fuck you because he likes you.

Works like a charm. Always does. You clumsily follow him to his room—“Ye didnae ken? This is my fraternity’s house, bonnie,”— as he pulls you along by the hand.

He enjoys pulling you apart. Like the birds taking Prometheus’s liver. He’s not a complete animal, he makes you cum, but he doesn’t give you kisses the way you’d probably hoped he would. He’ll tell his mates later— it was kinda cute how fucking bad you were at giving head, too.

He lets you stay the night even though your clinging is a bit annoying. Pushing you out would burn this bridge, and he’s not ready to do that just yet. Not when he could keep having fun.

Come morning your clothes are tossed your way (sans panties, those are going in his trophy collection), and he has the decency to drop you off at your place with the promise of further contact.

Come your next class, he’s back to acting like he doesn’t know you. You’re shy, but you’re not stupid. It’s easy to see that you were played, and you curse yourself for falling into it.

So why do you show up when he texts you, asking you to come over?

Promethean indeed.

And it keeps happening.

It’s not like he treats you badly— that’s what you tell yourself. You’re just the idiot for expecting more than orgasms. It’s nice to feel wanted. It’s not nice to put your clothes on and get out right after, but you’re willing to ignore that. You shouldn’t be. But you are.

You’re not the kind of girl who gets asked out. So why refuse the one source of attention you have? He makes you cum, right? That’s more than a lot of guys do, so it would be unfair to expect more. High maintenance. Right?

If Johnny can see the hurt behind your eyes when you turn to check behind you when you leave, as if he’ll suddenly change his mind and call you back into bed to hold you, he doesn’t do anything about it. He’s content to tug on his jeans and brush past you with a cigarette in his mouth.

You steel yourself as usual, double checking the straightness of your clothes as if it’ll make you feel like less of a cheap whore when his housemates glance your way as you leave.

The door across from Johnny’s is almost always open, despite how closed off its occupant seems. You’ve never met Simon. Well, you really haven’t met anyone in Soap’s life. That’s not what he keeps you for, is it? Fucktoys don’t get introduced to the friend group. Doesn’t stop Simon from staring holes in your back every time you leave. Must think you’re easy. Must wonder if Johnny’ll mind if he has a go. Or maybe he just thinks you’re pathetic. You certainly do.

But it’s happened one too many times. Apparently, even a worm will turn. His stare itches and crawls up your skin when you already feel like such a piece of meat— chewed up and spit out. And you must be losing flavor. Before long you won’t even have this. You turn to look at him instead of walking on as usual.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” You spit in a tone that surprises you. You’ve never said anything like that to someone, not in earnest, anyway.

“Lemme take y’out somewhere.”

What?

What?

[lovegalor333]

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

sick day (next part)

summary: you’re sick and paige looks after you

content warnings: none!

mainly because im sick and dying rn and wish someone would look after me lol 🥲

“You said you had a slight cold, Y/N. This is not a slight cold, you look like death.” Paige says as she looks at you from the end of your bed.

You’re bundled up under your covers shivering and the light Paige just turned on hurts your eyes so you keep them closed, not wanting to worsen your already brain splitting headache.

“It is a cold.” You grumble, your throat hurting with every word.

“Uh huh, that’s why you haven’t moved a muscle since I’ve been stood here, when usually I can’t even make it through the door without you being in my arms.” She says matter of factly and she’s right. Whenever Paige comes over, you’re practically bouncing at the door waiting for her and tackle her into a hug as soon as she comes into sight.

“I’m fine, just tired.” You try and lie but Paige knows you better than that and you know her well enough to know she’s about to challenge you.

“Come here then.” She remarked and you peeled your eyes open, squinting at the bright light to see her stood with her arms crossed over her chest, a knowing look on her face but you was not about to admit defeat.

You begrudgingly flipped the duvet off your body, arms aching at the slightest of movement and you manoeuvre your body to the edge of the bed before bracing yourself to stand. Your legs were weak and wobbly as you took small steps towards Paige and just as you were about to reach her and prove her wrong, your knees buckled beneath you and she lurched forward, catching you in her arms.

“Easy baby, it’s OK, I got you. Let’s get you back to bed.” Paige says, effortlessly hooking one arm under your legs and the other around your back, lifting you off the floor to carry you back to the safe surface of your mattress.

“You’re burning hot too, Y/N. I think you have a fever.” She notes as she lays you back down, the back of her hand coming in contact with your forehead, then your neck and finally your chest.

“But I’m so cold, I can’t get warm.” You mumble, burying yourself back under your duvet trying to stop the shivers taking over your body.

“Definitely a fever. I’ll be back. Stay here.” She tells you, fixing the duvet over your body as you had done a bad job doing it yourself.

“Do you think I can go anywhere?”

“Sick but still got an attitude, that’s my girl.”

You drift in and out of sleep while Paige is gone and your headache only worsens and you hope she comes back soon because you need a drink but you can’t move. Your limbs feel like lead and your head spins at the smallest of movements.

You hear the front door to your apartment open and close and the taps of familiar footsteps walking towards your room and you immediately know it’s your girlfriend and you’re thankful you’re no longer alone because you genuinely feel like you’re dying.

“You’re back.” You whisper and your voice comes out low and weak you barely even recognise it.

“And I brought supplies.” Paige announces and you flutter your eyes open and she’s holding a huge bag, packed full with God knows what.

“Tylenol, DayQuil and NightQuil, Gatorade because you need electrolytes, soup, tissues, herbal tea, oranges for vitamin C, your favourite candy and water because I just know you’ve not been drinking enough.” She reels off what she bought as she lays it out on your bed.

Paige helps you sit up, propping up your pillows behind your back for support. She pops a few pills into her hand and unscrews the cap of a bottle of water, “Open up.” She says and you’re in no position to argue so you open your mouth and she drops the medicine inside before bringing the bottle up to your lips for you to take a sip.

“Thank you.” You croak out and she just shakes her head, “I wish you would have told me you were this bad. I would have been here straight away.”

“I didn’t want to worry you…or being a burden.” You admit and she sits on the edge of the bed, her hands taking yours, “You are not a burden. Far from it. I want to help you get better, just let me.” She practically begs and you could cry. You were so used to looking after yourself and always being the one to take care of others, it felt foreign being on the receiving end of such selfless actions.

“I’m going to make you some tea and soup. You think you can handle that?” She asks, rubbing your arm comfortingly.

“Maybe just the tea?” You suggest not feeling particularly hungry.

“OK, but soup later because you have to eat, Y/N.” She insists before taking the pack of tea to make you a cup.

Paige returns with a huge mug of hot tea and a damp cloth, “For the fever.” She says placing it on your head and even though you feel freezing cold, your teeth are chattering, the cool cloth is a soothing sensation against your burning skin.

You take the tea with shaky hands and immediately take a sip, the hot liquid mellowing out the pains in your throat. Paige positions herself next to you in your bed, tucking herself under your covers. Her body next to yours is comforting after laying alone, sick and suffering for the past twenty four hours.

“I don’t want to get you sick.” You sniffle, weary that whatever illness had attacked your immune system is probably contagious.

“Don’t worry about me baby, let’s focus on getting you better.” Paige replied hooking an arm around your shoulder.

You take a few more sips of tea before placing it down on your beside table, starting to feel tired as if sitting up in bed had taken the last of your diminishing energy.

You shuffle your body down so your practically laying in Paiges lap and her hand falls to your head and she runs her fingers through your hair, repeatedly. Her actions are slow and soft and full of love, you knew you’d be asleep in seconds.

“I’m tired, P.” You mutter, feeling guilty that you were about to fall alseep, leaving your girlfriend nursing you.

“It’s OK, go to sleep baby, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You give into your exhaustion at Paiges words and your eyes fall shut to the feeling of her fingers in your hair, your head on her lap and her scent being the only thing you can smell.

˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊✧˚ · .

a/n: don’t forget to send me requests if you have any! ily 💋

[avengerphobic]

did the avengers even do anything about orchis? they were killing mutants but the avengers don't even give a shit

🏃🏿‍♂️3dmanofficial Follow

am i joke to you

134 notes

🏺greencianurn 🔁 pro-bono-boner

☢️chulkstan Follow

FYI Amadeus is really uncomfortable with yall writing amadeus/herc fics. Cut that shit out

🏺greencianurn Follow

lmao im not gonna stop #why is he even searching it up

1,568 notes

❄️lunasnowed Follow

i cant believe people are still circulating those pictures of brawn and luna kissing #i dont get why people ship them #luna just seems so much like a lesbian #honestly could have been a publicity stunt

14 notes

🕷️spidermarvel 🔁 tony-fucked-that-old-man

anonymous asked: I write fanfic of my friends (we're superheroes). Anyway i found my friends fanfiction of us and confronted him about it, and he said it was weird that I was reading fanfiction about us. And i was like well its weird that you're writing fanfiction about us. he called me a hypocrite. And I got mad and yelled at him and told him I didn't like that he wrote fanfiction where we got together and that it was even weirder that he wrote it so that it was a love triangle with our other friend. He's not speaking to me rn. I feel bad because it is hypocritical of me to be mad. But I feel like writing self-ship is different than shipping your friends. idk....

⚖️aita-polls Follow

#did msmarvel send this in lol

6,594 notes

⚔️blackknightofficial

actually really hurt that theres hardly any rpf of me #there should at least be a couple of fics of me getting down and dirty during the crusades

🤖robotomato 🔁 cap4cap

🌟cap4cap

people are weird why ship a guy with a dude who tries to kill him like every other week

#dont get the appeal especially when he has a best friend and wife?

7 notes

🚀illegalrocketship

I saw one of my mutuals vaguing me for shipping dr doom and reed richards. Girl have you seen the way victor looks at him? I have eyes and a heart #villian/hero antis are such losers

4 notes

🌟cap4cap

I DO NOT SHIP SAM WILSON AND STEVE ROGERS I SHIP MONICA RAMBEAU/STEVE ROGERS...... STEVE ROGERS IS NOT GAY #can you people leave me aloneeeee #ive been shipping captain marvel and captain America since before most of yall have been alive

3 notes

👨🏻‍🦲mrcleansgaybrother🔁yougottapinata

☄️mutantmeanace Follow

so we're all in agreement that professor x and magneto fucked right

🪅yougottapinata Follow

dont be fucking weird magneto dropped a car through my house??

👨🏻‍🦲mrcleansgaybrother

yeah and he fucked professor x

153 notes

🇨🇦 alphadflight 🔁 northstarofficial

anonymous asked: Is it okay to ship you with Iceman even though you're married

💫northstarofficial Follow

Uh, so I'm not the superhero Northstar. I am a roleplay account for the North Star. Like in the Sky. But Sure you can ship me with Iceman #adjalkfjaajkfd

1,567 notes

anonymous asked: Not you shipping Bucky and Steve Rogers even tho steve met bucky when he was literally a child

🦥slothbaby

I DIDNT KNOW 😭 #i should have looked it up i know but it just never occurred to me #because its such a widespread ship

19 notes

👨🏻‍🦲mrcleansgaybrother

i want to shine professor x's bald head #id let him run me over with his wheelchair ugh

12 notes

🇺🇸 usgaygent

did yall see how sad us agent looked looking at hawkeye in this video. he wants him so bad..... #hawkagent #us agent #hawkeye #clint barton #the way being us agent is a performance for him #and the government doesnt let him act on his feelings #so he just has to burn with desire

1 note

🪩discodomino

why isnt there one million fics about them 😭😭😭 #UGH WHYYYY

15 notes

⛈️stormscloud

the way yall ship dazzler with every woman she so much as looks at is so annoying no wonder she's locked in the fucking closet yall wont stop speculating about who she has fucked #i hate rpf fans

4 notes

🌞wondermaynnnn

do yall think hank beast and wonder man have explored each others bodies

10 notes

[wnbnny]

our lost love - h.hj

genre: angst, break-up

tw: lots and lots and lots of angst, kinda sad ending:<

synopsis: "this is the end, isn't it?" you asked, the both of you tangled up in bed with your fingers interlocked. a bittersweet smile rested on your lips, yet your eyes were brimming with tears and unspoken grievances. "i'm sorry."

author's note: this was so sad but i got randomly inspired out of nowhere lol>< reblogs and likes r appreciated!

you could feel hyunjin slipping away from you, through the cracks of your fingers. and you tried, you really did. grasping and trying to hold on desperately to his hands as he slipped out of your grasp. out of your world. he would never acknowledge it, of course. he would never want to hurt you. he loved you, but wasn't in love with you. but you, ever the observer, could see the way his eyes gazed upon you with fondness but had lost their sparkle reserved for only you in the past. you could sense him closing up, dropping a quick peck on your forehead when he came home with a 'hi baby.' but it was never like the affectionate, loving kiss he always gave you in the past, taking his time to talk about his day and cuddle with you, never the deep conversations you two would have until 2am in the morning. you used to envision a future with him, a quiet family with one or two kids and a happy life, but deep down you knew that dream would probably never come to fruition. and it hurt. so, so, bad. countless hours spent sniffling into the pillow as you grieved for the inevitable loss of your love, your muse for the past 3 years. but for now, you would cling onto the last moments as if they were your lifeline, and wait until that fateful day when your nightmare would morph with reality.

hwang hyunjin knew he was falling out of love. he loved you, as a companion. the kind of person he would want to grow old with, the kind that would stick by his side through the years. but his spark, his passion for you had died down, from a once burning fire to a flickering flame in the candlelight, a familiar and comforting warmth yet not warm enough to heat the room. he tried so hard to fall in love with you again. memorised your every detail, tried to take you out on dates. but each time, he never felt that passion reignite. he would always love you as a friend, a companion and partner. you brought a certain warmth into his life. but hyunjin was a fiery person. if you were water, he was fire. he couldn't live without passion, without the burning heat that threatened to consume him. hyunjin felt so, so guilty, each time he came back late to see you asleep on the couch after waiting for him, each time you gazed at him with so much love and adoration that he knew he couldn't give back. hyunjin knew he had fallen out of love, yet couldn't bring himself to break your heart and break the perfect life he had been living with you for the past three years. so he would wait until the day when he knew the time was right and inevitably have to leave, leaving in his wake behind two broken hearts.

"this is the end, isn't it?" you asked, the both of you tangled up in bed with your fingers interlocked. a bittersweet smile rested on your lips, yet your eyes were brimming with tears and unspoken grievances.

"im sorry." hyunjin could only muster those two words, his heart breaking when he finally saw you close your eyes with a sigh, a lone tear trickling down your face.

"i know, just... hold me one last time." you breathed, fingers grazing his cheek and your eyes searched the eyes of the man you had once loved. no, you still loved him.

a part of you always would, no matter who you were with in the future. one day, you would look back on all of this with a smile and thank him for the memories, the moments that made you who you were. one day, your heart would expand to fit for another that you loved, the love for hyunjin remaining in a small corner of your mind. you would leave a piece of the old you in his heart, and he would leave a piece of him in you, but as time would pass and so would you grow into a new person, the old you simply just a stepping stone into the new chapter of your life. the memories made with hyunjin would always be moments to look back upon fondly, smiling wistfully for the happiness you experienced with him. you would always love hwang hyunjin, you supposed. a person never forgets the people they had loved. if someone were to ask you if you had regretted those three years, you would reply without hesitation a definite 'no'.

"thank you for letting me love and live."

[spectersgirl]

heyyy!! so i just started s5 of suits and (spoiler if you haven’t seen it!!!!) harvey’s panic attacks were introduced after donna left and IM HURTING FOR HIM. but i think that’s such great angst material lol so if you’re still taking requests maybe something with that?

Hiiiii friends!

I know I've been gone for... quite a while... but I'm hoping to start writing more frequently again! I've undergone some massive life changes over the last few months and the stress of that basically caused me to completely burn out creatively. That being said, I have a TONNN of requests in my inbox and a few of them are generally in this same realm, so I will be using all of them for this piece, I hope that's okay with you all <3

The other requests were

"soft harvey just around his girl in a tense moment?!"

"hiii! i love your writing! i was wondering if you could write a fic where harvey had like a bad day at work and he just goes home and collapses onto the reader. like just hugs and softness and cuddles galore!"

I referenced actual events and lines from the show but changed up the context a little bit, obviously.

I appreciate you all for reading my work and liking it enough to request anything from me. I've never had such a positive response to anything I've created before, so this all means the world to me. Truly, thank you :')

Be With You

Harvey Specter x Reader

--------

It was nearly 11pm and you were teetering on sleep, having worked all day and come home to do a much-needed cleaning of your apartment followed by a glass of wine, when your phone loudly pinged on the nightstand. You fumbled for it and turned on the small bedside lamp next to you. You smiled when you saw it was your boyfriend, probably just saying goodnight, you'd assumed.

"Hey, can I come over? Please? I really need to see you right now."

A pit formed in your stomach reading the words on your screen. Though you hadn't been dating Harvey all that long, you'd spent a lot of time together, but he'd never sent a message like that.

"Of course, is everything okay?"

You couldn't help but worry, it was simply in your nature. You stared at the bubbles that indicated he was typing, which seemed to take an eternity.

"Not really, it's been a rough day and I just really need you."

Your heart lurched, Harvey had rough days all the time as a lawyer, but none had caused this response from him. You wondered what could've possibly happened. You got up, going back out into the living room and took a seat on the couch as you lit your electric fireplace with a remote.

"I'm sorry :( come over whenever, I'll unlock the door for you."

You did just that and looked down at the pajamas you'd chosen, just some shorts and a tank top. You decided they were fine enough for Harvey to see you in. You busied yourself with some TV to pass the time until he arrived. He was there in 20 minutes, and you immediately clocked the visible exhaustion on his face as he walked inside.

He dropped his jacket onto the couch without saying a word. You opened your arms for him as he walked to you and wrapped himself around you in a hug that felt like he was clinging to you for dear life. You stroked the hair at the back of his neck as he breathed you in, and you felt that he had been sweating.

"Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?" You asked hesitantly, still cradled in his strong arms.

He shook his head before pulling back, allowing you to really look at him now. His eyes looked like he'd been crying, and his cheeks were flushed. Your heart plummeted into your stomach.

"Not right now, I just need to be with you." He said, his voice slightly hoarse.

You nodded and sat with him on the couch, laying your head on his chest while you listened to his heartbeat. He absentmindedly stroked your hair while staring into the fireplace, debating on whether he wanted to fully open up about everything that was on his mind.

When he finally spoke, his voice was laced with nerves, and you sat up at full attention.

"I... A while back, right before I met you, Donna had left my desk to go and work for Louis. When that happened, I started having panic attacks. It felt like I couldn't think, couldn't breathe, it just completely took over my entire body until it passed. She came back to work for me, and then I met you, and I think that combination helped me tremendously."

You nodded, listening as he continued.

"I didn't want to tell you about it because I didn't want you to worry or make you think I was weak, and since I stopped having them, I didn't think it was important anymore, but today... I had another one."

"Harvey, I would never think you were weak for being honest about your feelings or your struggles. I'd like to think you'd be understanding and supportive of me if I was going through the same thing."

"Of course I would!" He said definitively.

"Exactly. So, do you want to talk about it? Or do you want to sit some more?"

He sighed and ran his free hand through his hair.

"Donna told me she didn't want to be on my desk anymore, she said she wanted more. I get that, but I just don't know how I'm going to do what I do without her help."

"Did she say what she meant by 'more'?" You asked softly.

"She said she didn't know."

Harvey hung his head slightly, looking down at the floor. You could tell how much this was affecting him, normally he had all the answers and didn't sweat about getting what he wanted, but this time felt different. You knew how much he and Donna had been through for them to get to this point, so it never occurred to you that someday she might want to leave her position. You idly rubbed circles on his back.

"Maybe you can still give her more and keep her at the firm with you?" You suggested, desperately trying to come up with a solution to soothe the pain you knew he was in.

"I'd love that, but ultimately if she wants to go, I have no choice but to let her."

You sighed and laid your head on his shoulder, you yawned and briefly closed your eyes as he placed a kiss on the top of your head.

"You tired?" Harvey asked softly, suddenly noticing that it was long past the time you normally went to bed.

You nodded, sitting up again.

"Yeah, but I knew you needed me." You answered, looking up at him as you grabbed his hand, kissing the back of it.

"I'm sorry baby, I didn't mean to keep you up." He replied, feeling guiltier than he had when he walked in. The time hadn't even registered to him after the day he'd had.

"No, no. It's okay, this is what partners do. You should be able to lean on one another, it's a balance. I'm glad you trust me and our relationship enough to want me to be with you for this while you process. Now, are you sleeping here with me or are we going back to your place? Because I know you, and I know you won't admit you don't want to sleep alone tonight."

Harvey smiled weakly before he pulled you in for a soft kiss.

"I love you, Y/N. So much." He whispered against your lips when the kiss broke.

The admission made your heart skip a beat. Neither of you had said the L word yet, but you knew from the moment you saw him that he was it for you. Harvey had felt the same but didn't want to come off as some crazy boyfriend that knew you for all of five minutes, so he buried those feelings deep down for as long as he could bare.

"I love you too, Harvey." You said, a smile growing on your lips.

"Let's stay here tonight, I don't want to spend another second not in a bed with the wonderful, gorgeous, brilliant, selfless woman that I love." Harvey declared, standing and taking you with him.

"Uh oh, you're gonna make me cry." You warned, sensing the impending waterworks.

"I'm just getting started."

[reidmania]

made up memories | spencer reid

summary; reader struggles with feeling homesick, but has never felt ‘at home’ anywhere, good thing spencer cares and always understands.

warnings; fem reader, no use of y/n cus ew, angst w fluff, hurt x comfort, early seasons spencer, mentions of bad home life, family issues, homesick, feeling out of place, not knowing who you are, struggles fitting in, references depression, mentions vomiting, no one actually vomits, feeling physically sick over mental emotions, references missing a childhood dog, missing having a pet, bad childhood (arguing parents, lol same?) friends to lovers but not entirely romance based. mutual pinning, both are silly and idiots.

an; self indulgent bc im lying in bed at home and I feel homesick. 2kish words

Sick.

You felt sick. The sort of sick that had your stomach twisting around on itself and making you feel as if any moment an existential amount of vomit would leave your throat if you let your lips part. It was the sort where you knew you weren’t actually going to be sick, it was the sort of sick that was a physical reaction to the turmoil in your mind— even if it felt otherwise.

Your hands fumbled with the few keys on the keyring you had bought too many years ago from a small shop you didn’t remember the name of, your hands searching for the house key to slide into the lock. You just wanted to go home.

Your hands twisted the door handle down and you absentmindedly waited for the sound of barking as the sound of the door opening rang through the empty house, you waited for the pattering of paws against the hardwood floor of the entry way without even realising it.

It never came and the sick feeling created a hole in your gut.

You tugged off your coat, hanging it up as you took in the scent, the candle you had been burning before leaving for the case three days ago, still leaving a sweet lingering scent floating around the walls of your house, you expected the smell to be comforting and refreshing after a long day but it only caused your chest to tighten.

You made your way to the kitchen, keys discarded somewhere on the counter you paid no mind to, your hands shaky as you reached for a glass, filling it up with water from the tap. You tried to ignore the overwhelming silence that filled the walls, leaving an empty place in your heart. The glass of water was half drank and forgotten on the counter as your elbows came to rest against the cold marbled tops, head held in your hands, trying to focus on anything other than the ache that took over every single aspect of your body, and the thoughts that overcame your mind.

You didn’t know how long you were standing like that, it felt like hours, letting the silence leave room for your minds to be louder, you considered turning the tv on to full volume just for some sort of background noise — before there was a soft knock at the door.

You were tempted to ignore it as you stood up straight and shuffled towards the door, but also part of you ached for some sort of conversation regardless of who was on the other side of the door, or what they wanted, so you opened the door to reveal the last person you were expecting, your coworker, Spencer reid.

“Hi” He mumbled out almost sheepishly as his hand came to the back of his neck, as if he hadn’t just spent the last three days working with you, along with the last few years on top of that. Maybe this was different for him because it was outside of work, maybe he was just nervous to see you, maybe he was excited — Maybe you were trying to think about anything other than what was actually on your mind.

Your eyebrows dipped, taking in his expression as you wet your lips — too dry beforehand to talk. “Spencer, What- What are you doing?” You asked, curiosity getting the better of you because what was he doing at your house?

He huffed slightly, lifting his hand a little and your gaze dropped as you took in the bag that he was holding — your bag. “You- Uh- You left your bag” He said, eyes trailing over your features, taking in every expression on your face. Your eyes widened slightly at the realisation.

“Oh- I didn’t even realise” You mumbled out, it now dawning on you that you had in-fact been in such a rush you hadn’t grabbed your bag, your coat and keys — yes but your bag no. You were grateful he had realised and thought it was important that he returned it, even though you could’ve just got it when you went into work tomorrow morning, it was a sweet gesture.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to bring it — I could’ve gotten it tomorrow” You mumbled out apologetically as he handed you the bag, you took it thankfully. Feeling slightly guilty he had come all the way to your house just to give you the bag you had forgotten, but you appreciated the kindness of the small act of service.

He looked down for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling in a soft shrug, “Its no big deal- And um- I was worried about you.” He deadpanned the end of his sentence as his head lifted to try and gauge your reaction, seeing if maybe he had a right to be worried over your stranger behaviour the last few days.

You tilted your head slightly, sure you had been quieter as you tried to drown out the overwhelming dread and displacement you felt over the last few weeks — the feeling you had felt almost the entirety of you life yet just a little more recently, but you didn’t think it was noticeable.

“Oh” It passed through your lips as Spencer slowly stepped inside your house. You wondered if the place felt as un-homely to him as it did it to. You wondered if the silence was as loud for him as it was for you — then you realised it probably wasn’t. You closed the door as he was now inside your house.

“Are you okay?” He asked, taking in the silence of your demeanour that matches the silence of your house.

You let out a huff at the loaded question because technically yes, you were fine. You weren’t seriously ill or doing really horribly mentally — you just felt sick, and out of place in the one space you were supposed to call home. You felt homesick and you didn’t even know where home was, you didn’t know what that feeling felt like. Was it possible to miss something you had never felt?

“What does my house smell like?” You asked, trying to figure out something, like a debate in your mind. Spencer furrowed his eyebrows as he walked further into your space, you followed like a lost puppy — as if this wasn’t your house. You knew he didn’t understand the reasoning of your question and the lack of your answer to his.

“Sweet, but subtle. Its nice” He said, turning his head to look at you as he sat down on the sofa, his full attention on you. You could tell by his body language his focus was on you and you completely. That was overwhelming as well, but you ignored that.

You sat down next to him but keeping a fair distance, your hands resting on your knees as you kept your focus on the way your fingers fiddled with themselves rather than the fact you were pretty sure the more you spoke the deeper the pit in your stomach grew uncomfortably. Taking the the difference of your perception of the scent that filled your house.

“Its making me feel sick” You admitted, your voice quiet.

His lip tucked under his teeth in concern as he tried to catch a glimpse of your expression. You knew it probably wasn’t the candle, or the scent of your house, the silence, or the lack of animal presence that was making you feel sick. It was probably just your own presence in a place that felt so wrong.

“Why?” He asked, trying to understand what about the scent that made you feel sick, knowing the issue most likely ran deeper than that, it was obvious in your avoidance of the question. Your shoulders raised and fell in a shrug as you turned your head to look at him.

“It feels wrong.” You said.

He hummed in understanding, he was tempted to go into the scientific and psychological aspects of scent and familiarity but he decided against it, instead his gaze was gentle as he shuffled to sit up a little straighter. “Just the scent?” He asked, a gnawing feeling at his gut that there was more to it.

You shook your head. “Everything — Just everything feels wrong. I feel wrong, I feel.. Out of place.” You huffed out, voice and words slightly muffled for a moment as you dragged your hands down your face. “Everywhere I go.” You finished.

A frown fell on his lips at the honesty of your words, but he understood more than he cared to admit. “Do you want me to just listen? Give you a solution or a hug?” He asked.

He hated physical touch but he hated seeing you upset way more. Spencer would never admit it but the idea of your touch didn’t seem as bad as everyone else. Not even close.

You furrowed your eyebrows at his gentle and caring response, “Just listen.. For now” You mumbled out, pretty sure you would need a hug at the end of this. You didn’t necessarily want a solution or advice on how to fix what you were feeling, you just needed someone to understand.

He nodded, shuffling as he leant against the back of the couch, eyes lingering on yours with a soft reassuring nod, encouraging you to talk. Spencer was happy to provide you with comfort — even if that just came in the form of listening.

“I just- Constantly feel sick, like in my stomach and I get headaches and its constant, all the time no matter where i am. ill find myself laying in bed and just thinking ‘i want to go home’ when i technically am — if home isn’t here then I don’t know where else it would be” You mumbled out the ramble.

His head tilted as he listened to you talk and express your inner turmoil, heart aching at the knowledge of your pain. Feeling out of place constantly was something Spencer knew all too well. “When was the last time you felt at home?” He prompted, his voice gentle and curious with an overwhelming ache to help.

Your frown deepened as you mulled over his question as if it wasn’t one you had asked yourself a million times, answer always left unfound. “Thats the thing- I don’t know if I ever have.” You spoke honestly.

Your hands ran through your hair as you sat up straighter, full body turning on the couch so you were facing him. “I buy new candles every week, new blankets and pillows, i rearrange my furniture, i move houses — all to try and find a resemblance of something i don’t know, i’ve ever experienced.”

It wasn’t a lie; ever since you had moved out of your childhood house, away from your family. you signed short leases and would stay until they were over — even if offered to extend you were searching for somewhere that made you feel a little less out of place between the walls. You would rearrange furniture from a memory you could never see clearly enough — maybe because it wasn’t a real memory instead a false representation of what something was suppose to feel like.

The comforters on your bed changed monthly, even sooner, you were buying new bedding and new cushions because nothing was quite right, nothing matched what you wanted in your head, how could it when you weren’t even sure what it was?

“Im sorry” He frowned out, his words sincere and genuine. Like he genuinely hated hearing to know you were feeling this way. He wanted to help you understand the realistic image your mind was creating, an unrealistic expectation of a feeling, but he didn’t want it to come across wrong or in an attempt to invalidate. He was also sure you already knew that this wasn’t realistic or sustainable.

He knew this wasn’t a way anyone should live their life, especially you. But he also knew he was a little bit biased.

“Could it be something from your childhood?” He asked, voice gentle and caring as he tried to help you understand the inner struggle you were facing. Everyday.

You shook your head as you didn’t even need to think about that, “No. God no.” You huffed out, running your hand through your hair again, an overwhelming need to do something with your hands. “That- I remember what that felt like — thats not- I don’t- I wouldn’t, No. I don’t want that feeling, that feeling isn’t what I’m looking for. The only thing even remotely the same is its like I am expecting my dog at the door everyday when I get home — and i miss chaos, I can’t stand silence anymore.”

Your mind filled with memories of the chaos of your childhood, not the good sort. Not the sort of siblings running around and playing with imaginary friends or laughing loudly at a kids show playing on the tv.

No, it was more like yelling of parents and arguments constantly drowning out any other possible noise, glass and dishes shattering when things got a little bit too intense, doors slamming and your mothers sobs in the other room.

Spencer didn’t need to pry further into the inner workings of your mind, not to know that whatever you had experienced when you were younger clearly wasn’t a good memory. He also could tell by your reaction, and other context clues because — he knew you better than he’d admit, you weren’t exactly fond of your childhood.

“Sometimes people who grow up around chaos grow to hate loud surroundings, noises, too much people or chaos in general. Other people, like you — learn to thrive in it, find comfort in chaos, especially if it’s all you know. Silence and awkwardness is uncomfortable because it’s unfamiliar. Thats understandable.” Spencer nodded as he spoke, unable to stop the facts rolling off his tongue.

Your heart soared slightly, here he was offering you comfort in the most beautiful way. He was validating, understanding, and truthful in every word that left his lips. He was also offering advice in his comfort without even realising he was doing it. You needed chaos, you needed background noise, and people. It didn’t have to be yelling or doors slamming, just sound, any sound that offered you an escape from the dangers of your own mind.

“I want to get a dog” You mumbled out gently, in response to his words even if it was an indirect response. His head nodded, as his eyes studied your face. You ignored the fact you were being profiled right now by him.

“I think thats a good idea” He said his voice gentle. Validating, understanding. “I know this feeling its horrible, and feels never ending. the feeling of being ‘Home’ Is subjective, depending on the person feeling it. Home doesn’t have to be a place, nor does it have to be a candle scent, or a certain type of bedding. Its whatever makes you feel comfortable, and safe. Free to feel what you need to feel and be whoever you need to be. It feels different for everybody.” He said gently, his hand reaching out.

You took it as you mulled over his words, letting your mind take focus of the feeling of his fingers gently trailing down the veins on the back of your hand before brushing softly over your knuckles, the touch offering more comfort than you thought humanly possible.

You knew he was right, trying to find a feeling created purely by your imagination and a memory that didn’t exist was silly and you only set yourself up by failure by doing so time and time again. Home wasn’t supposed to be something so demanding.

“Can I have that hug now?” You asked, peering up at him. Voice quiet. He let out a soft laugh and nodded his head almost instantly, his arms spread as his hand intwined with your gently tugged you closer. You shuffled on the couch, hand loosing his as your arms wrapped under his arms, resting against his back as your head found place on his chest. His hands instantly wrapped back around you, rubbing soft smoothing circles over your shirt.

You allowed yourself to let your mind wander away, instead focusing on the warmth of his arms and the smell of him, your mind blanking out all unrealistic expectations and thoughts, all made up memories and feelings that hadn’t yet to exist, instead you just focused on the feeling of Spencer.

And for the time being, the pit in your stomach began to fill with him rather than homesickness.

[kakujis]

you what?;

a/n: hey... remember a couple months ago i said i wanted to write out what happens after this? well i did, it just took me a while! also sorry, i think i just write a pretty soft whitney so sue me!!! also, i definitely wrote the first half 4 months ago and the last half today LOL. oh reader is in love w whitney bc IM in love w whitney. >:)

wc: 2.01

warnings: afab!reader, overstim, oral f!receiving (with whitney?! blasphemy), unprotected, creamp*e , usage of the words slut n whore, violence, itty bitty angst, not proofread, that should be it! lmk if i forgot any!

“i think,” hesitates a slight boy from behind. “i think that’s Whitney’s girl.” 

“fuck,” the taut boy says, releasing you at once. “don’t tell him i touched you.” the pair shove past you, leaving you to compose yourself. 

you sigh, brushing your skirt back down. at least i can get to class in time. grabbing your bookbag you head towards the door. as you leave, you jump at the sound of banging metal. 

“shit! we’re sorry! serious-“ the two boys that were assaulting you earlier are unfortunately between a locker and whitney. his friends stand by his side, blocking their escape. the boy’s friend cowers by him, holding his head in his hands. 

“answer me. don’t tell me what?” whitney hisses with a swift kick to the taut boy’s stomach. he stands bent over, hands in his pocket, his right foot raised.

as quietly as you can, you start to walk the other way. no way. there’s no way i’m getting detention for being late again. i’ll just go and-

“oi, whit, ain’t that your girl?” one of his friends asks. 

fuck. 

you freeze, keeping your head down while hugging your bag tightly. whitney’s scary when he’s mad, even if it’s not at you. 

whitney smiles, before lowering his foot back onto the ground. swiftly, he turns, and you hear the squeak of his shoes heading towards you. 

its not long before you feel his hand in your hair, wincing as he pulls, no, drags you towards the cowering boys. “c’mere, youre gonna tell me what happened.” 

once close enough, he releases your hair and shoves you forward. he grabs your arm right as you feel your balance slipping. his nails dig into your skin and you find yourself staring down at the meek figures. 

“alright slut, spill it. what happened?” he asks, holding you in place. 

you can’t help but feel bad. tears roll down the taut boy’s face, his gaze downcast. but lying to whitney has consequences and you don’t particularly want to face them. 

so you tell him. starting with how the encounter itself was brief and nothing happened- 

“but they still tried to touch what’s mine, right?” he says, his grip tightening even more. 

“w-whit, that hurts..” you squeak, hoping he’ll let up. he has to be leaving a mark at this point. his face is unreadable as you look back over your shoulder. 

“then answer me, stupid.” he says, beginning to twist your arm. the pain starts shooting up your limb, burning. 

“yes! yes they tried..” you yell, “please, just let go!” 

and he does, pulling you behind him. “sit.” 

and you do, holding your battered arm. what happens next doesn’t surprise you, whitney and his friends take turns assaulting the boys, kicking and punching. 

you close your eyes and wait, for what seems like an eternity for the abuse to stop. by the end, the two boys are crying and trembling, crumpled on the floor. whitney squats down, grabbing the taut boy’s hair and bringing up to look at him one last time. 

he moves closer and whispers something in his ear. his eyes widen as he nods profusely. “n-never again, w-we’ll never even look at her ever again.” 

“good.” whitney lets go, the boy’s head dropping. he turns toward you, holding his hand out. “let’s go.” 

tentatively, you grab his hand, bracing yourself. to your surprise he helps you up gently, looking you over, as if he didn’t just shove you around too. once satisfied, he slings his arm around you and starts dragging you down the hallway. his friends follow shortly after. 

 “what? didn’t like the show?” he smirks, lowering his arm to your waist. 

truth be told, you didn’t necessarily like it, but you felt a little warm thinking about how he protected you. but you knew you couldn’t condone it. nervously thumbing at your bag strap, you mumble “i just think… you’re a little too mean sometimes. did you really have to go so-“ 

“we’re here.” he interrupts and you’re hit with some deja vu. you find yourself standing in front of the same empty classroom from earlier. he opens the door and shoves you in. 

ah, of course this is what he wants. not actually to protect you, more so to make sure no one else can use you. you’re disappointed because deep down you thought maybe, just maybe, he could’ve at least pretended he cared about you more than that.  

“not in front of your friends… please.” you say, fighting back some tears. god, you were stupid. your request was for some semblance of dignity, because what was he? he certainlywasn’t yours, but you were always his. 

he mulls it over, eyeing your downcast form, before nodding. he shoots a glance at his friends to leave and keep watch outside. 

“so tell me, what the fuck are you upset about now?” he sighs as he grips your chin with his hand, forcing you to look up at him. “afraid more monsters are gonna get you?” he mocks, trying to not laugh. 

you’re not sure why you feel so compelled to tell him, to feel any kind of care from him at all. why? he’s an asshole who assaults you on the daily, emotionally and physically. and yet, you still spit back at him. 

“am i just something to use?” hot tears spill down your face, coating his fingertips, “do you even care about me or do you really think i’m just that stupid-“ 

“yes,” he interrupts bringing his face closer to yours, glaring. “maybe if you weren’t so fucking stupid and stopped letting others touch you, then i wouldn’t have to remind them. but you’re too fucking naive aren’t you?” 

he pins you to the nearest desk, his leg in between your thighs. you can’t help but let out a small moan when his thigh makes contact with your clothed cunt. you bite on your lip, trying to stifle your noises, his friends were outside. 

whitney continues, “i do so much for your stupid ass and you’re going to cry over it? all because you got your feelings hurt?” 

soon enough you’re practically bouncing on his thigh with the wetness between your legs starting to seep through your underwear. fuck, you hope he doesn’t notice you broke a rule. if he does, he doesn’t comment instead focusing on finding a rhythm that makes you moan harder. he’d never admit it, but your moans are like music to his ears, a constant reaffirmation of what is his. 

“are you wet slut?” he growls, breath hot as he nips at your ear. you whine in response as he continues down, peppering your throat with bites and licks. releasing his grip on your face, he starts tugging at your shirt. 

“take this off, now.” he commands, and you oblige with shaky hands. he throws your garment to the side, removing his leg to quickly tear off your skirt and underwear. you whimper at the loss of stimulation, cheeks burning as you stand on display. 

he looks you over, eyes trailing down your body with w pleased hum. “no wonder everyones so eager to fuck my bitch.” you feel yourself deflate at his words, soyou sink to your knees and begin crawling up to him. 

he slaps your hands away when you try to grab for his belt and you blink, perplexed. he looks annoyed, but the thumb running over your mouth says otherwise. “i didn’t say you could suck me off,” he sounds mean, but there’s a blush tinting his face as he pushes you down, back flush to the floor. 

“whit?” you question, eyes wide and mind tumbling. 

“shut up,” he says, as he spreads your legs, “before i change my fucking mind.” 

settling himself between your thighs, he glances up at you once more before flicking his eyes toward the door. you look back, the form of his friends against the door, as if a warning to keep quiet, that’s right, he’d be mortified if his friends saw he was the one giving pleasure and not receiving it. you make eye contact and nod at him as he scoffs, a little annoyed you know him so well, and then he’s diving in. 

little kitten licks against your clit and sloppy long ones in between your folds have you keeling, into his mouth. he digs his nails into your thighs as you squirm and struggle to stay still. throwing one arm over your waist, he keeps you in place, as his tongue fucks your hole languidly. 

he’s never gone down on you before, the feeling is foreign, yet so good. you try your best to stay quiet, you really do, but you can’t help but have a breathless “f-fuck,” escape as his tongue massages your gummy walls. his hand comes down to slap your pussy hard and you yell before you use a hand to cover your mouth and glance back at the door. 

he replaces his tongue with his fingers, disconecting from you with a sticky string of saliva. “keep your fucking mouth shut, dumb slut or i’ll tell my friends to come in so they can watch me face fuck you.” he snarls, curling his fingers  in as he finishes his sentence, hitting right at your sweet spot.

you bite down on your lip, shaking your head frantically, as you watch his friends joke around outside. he curls his fingers in again, and your eyes roll back, before he’s shifting up and grabbing your face. 

“eyes on me, dummy.” he glares and you nod, watching as you settles back into his original position. continuing to finger you, he latches back onto your clit, suckling the bundle of nerves. you card your fingers through his hair and he grunts in response, picking up the pace of his digits and his tongue. 

its not long before you’re cumming, bucking up into his mouth as he struggles to hold you still. you bite hard enough to draw blood as your orgasm runs through you, body trembling and shaking as he pulls off, too distracted to notice to the sound of his belt undoing. 

he lines up with your twitching hole before he sinks himself in, you gasp clawing at his arms. “my turn.” he says through gritted teeth, giving you no time to adjust as he slams into you setting off a brutal pace. 

he doesn’t bother shutting you up now, your moans ripping through the air with little intermissions of “wait! whit too much, too much!” tears prickling your eyes as he abuses your cunt. 

“don’t fuckin’ care,” he grunts, “i can use you whenever i want,” his nails once again digging into your hips. pain always turns to pleasure with whitney, your overstimulated body once again burning with desire. 

he laughs as your legs wrap around his waist, “feels good, huh?” 

“mm, yeah,” you hiccup, pretty eyes rolling back, “feels so good, whit.” 

the grip on your hip gets even tighter, “gonna cum again?” he starts, but his thrusts are getting sloppier with each throb of your cunt on his cock. 

you nod at him, “yeah ‘m gonna,” you mumble, staring up at him through hazy eyes. 

he wraps one hand around your throat, squeezing lightly, “then do it, whore.” and you do. 

wrapping your hand around his wrist as you convulse again, entire body shaking. whitney isn’t too far off after you, filling your cunt with spurts of white. 

“love you,” you pant as he pulls off and out of you. he hesitates for a second and you’re not sure why you felt the need to tell him. 

he looks at you, no, analyzes you and your fucked out face alongside your cunt that leaks with his seed. he opens his mouth, as if he wants to say something before he shakes his head, a little confused. he grabs your clothes and throws them back at you. he walks to the door, leaving you to get dressed but you don’t mind, noting the little smile he tries to hide on his face.

[gilyoungroach]

(screenshot because im dumb lols thank u smmm @soulreapin )

Keith hated missions on humid planets. Especially ones with environments similar to that of Earth's jungles. Sure, he lived in the desert for most of his life, but the desert air was light and dry on most days. Jungles on the other hand were sweaty and moist, the atmosphere weighing heavier than he could bear.

He extended his bayard towards a bush of foliage as he heard a loud groan behind him. It was obvious who it was as he was alone with the last person he'd ever want to be trapped in a moist forest doing physical labor along side.

"I'm dying over hereeee!" The paladin moaned as he dragged his feet through overgrown roots.

Keith snarled in his direction, "We have no choice Lance, just get over it." He felt the same way as the boy, the thick atmosphere really getting to him and pulling at his last strands of patience.

"Keith why can't we go back and play it off as if we came up short!"

"Because this is a mission. Now, help me cut through these damn bushes."

Keith turned back towards the plants that were oozing strange goo more and more with each swipe of his blade. He could pick up small mutterings from behind him--most likely Lance mocking him.

Shoving his arm under a large leaf, parting it to the side he took a step forward but paused when he heard Lance take in a large breath.

"Shiro said to keep our armor on." He reminded sternly, turning to look back at the blue paladin.

Lance groaned as he dropped his helmet to his side, arms resting on his hips. "Can't you give me a break? I'm suffocating in this thing!"

Keith furrowed his brows at how disobedient Lance was being. He could ruin the entire mission with how selfishly reckless he was acting. It wasn't like he was the only one dying. All of the paladins were parted throughout the alien jungle, searching for a strange mineral that the citizens swore was enchanted.

"That's too bad. Put it back on bef-" His scolding was interrupted by a loud yelp.

Lance clapped his gloved hand on the back of his neck as he dropped down to his knees, bayard falling to the floor as well.

"Lance! You idiot what's wrong!?" Keith moved away from the plant he was stabbing, kneeling to Lance's side. The boy had he head dropped down as he groaned.

"I- I don't...something bit.."

Keith resisted the urge to slap himself in the face in annoyance, overwhelmed by concern for the fallen paladin.

"Shiro! Lance was bit by something get over here!" He spoke into the coms, voice filled with worry.

It took a few moments before Shiro's voice buzzed back. "That child..I told you guys to keep your armor on! I'm on my way over with Pidge."

Keith grabbed Lance by his shoulders. "The others are coming. Does it hurt?" The boy didn't respond so he continued, "Lance!" He shook his body.

"Quit shaking me.." Lance looked up at his worried face. "I'm.."

Lance's eyes went from slack to splaying as wide as physically possible. There was a purple trace to his dark brown eyes. Keith waited for him to continue speaking but he just stared as if Keith's face was the only thing left in the world.

"Lance?" Keith spoke, "Are you there?"

Lance visibly gulped as he raised a hand to Keith's face. He wanted to shift away but something in his chest kept him grounded.

"Keith.."

"Lance?"

Lance leaned forward as he let out raspily, "I wanna kiss you." His eyes flitted down to Keith's lips.

Keith's eyebrows shot to his hairline, now painfully aware of their lack of proximity and Lance's burning palm on his cheek. The boy's proclamation left him speechless, and yet he didn't pull away, as if he had been waiting for this moment for his entire life.

He knew deep down he would have swapped spit with Lance at that moment, in the humid alien jungle. He would have thrown his helmet off completely disregarding the possible dangers; He would have done it if it wasn't for the sudden voices from the other paladins' interruption.

"Keith! Lance!" Shiro's voice rang from behind them, and Keith shoved the suddenly love stricken boy away with a careless amount of force.

"What's wrong with Lance?" Pidges question directed all of the paladins' gaze towards the boy who was sprawled out on the floor.

"I don't know.." Keith answered, the blush conquering his face hidden by his helmet.

Shiro squatted down by Lance, lifting him up by the shoulders. "Where was he bitten?" He asked, not looking away from Lance.

Lance on the other hand, was staring at Keith. Their eyes meeting the moment he sat up.

"Earth to Keith..." Pidge spoke, waving her hand in front of his face.

"Oh, he had his hand covering the left side of his neck."

Shiro nodded, investigating the bite. It was a glowing purple, a concerning color for a wound as it could be the sign of a strange alien venom. "We should get him to the castle. Maybe Coran knows what it is." He said as he lifted Lance up, arm over his shoulder.

Lance, ignoring Shiro's aid, threw himself towards Keith like a damsel in distress. All of the paladins had the same reaction--utter confusion.

"Okay, what the fuck?" Pidge spoke first as she watched Lance basically koala himself onto the brooding teen.

Keith sputtered out a response as he held Lance in his arms. "I don't know he's been acting like this since he got bit.." As if Lance acting like this wasn't enough, him acting like this in front of all of their friends.

After many unsuccessful attempts at prying Lance off of Keith, many of which almost ended in someone getting bit, they decided it was best to leave Lance draped over him.

They walked back in silence--well almost silence, because the entire treck back to the castle consisted in Lance whispering sweet nothings into his ear.

"You're skin is so pretty I wanna bite it.."

"Thanks." Keith coughed out.

"I wanna hold your hands, I love your hands they're so large and your fingers are so long..I wanna see them-"

"Lance." Keith sputtered, face growing hotter with each comment.

Pidge stared back at them in disgust and a twinge of the urge to puke everywhere. "What kind of bug even does this?"

--

"It's a love bug!' Coran spoke enthusiastically.

The paladins were sitting at a table waiting for Coran's deduction--most at least. Lance sat in Keith's lap, arms slung desperately over his shoulders. They had left their armor in their hangers, so Keith's red face was left mercilessly on show.

Shiro eyed him with pity, "How long until the effects wear off?"

"That my dear paladins, I cannot answer."

"Why not!?" Keith spat out, his heart rushing faster at the idea of Lance being in love with him for an unknown amount of time, even more so because he had found himself almost liking the new affection.

"Yea! Why not!?" Lance yelled as well, most likely not understanding at all but following whatever Keith had said.

Coran sighed, "The Love Bug changes from plantary system to planatary system, there's no rhyme or reason behind their attributes. We'll unfortunately have to wait."

"So we're waiting until bite to wears off or until Keith dies of embrassment?" Pidge joked, "My votes are on Keith's early demise."

She glanced at Hunk, waiting for him to join in on the lighthearted poking, but instead, his eyes were focused on the blue paladin that was struck by an alien's cupid arrow. His face was cringing painfully with each move Lance made on Keith, as if a guilt was punching him in the gut.

Lance reached a hand up to Keith's jaw, pushing it to face him. "Where are you looking? I'm over here handsome." He purred with a smirked.

Keith felt like puking, not because he was disgusted but because Lance's entire being, every gesture, every love struck smirk, every dilation of his pupil once Keith made eye contact with him, was causing his stomach to flip and flood with butterflies.

"Lance you-"

The love struck boy suddenly craned his face up, landing a huge smooch on Keith's chin, and then another on his cheek.

If smoke could physically burst from his ears, it would have with how much heat Keith's face was producing. His brain spun uselessly as he let Lance pepper more and more small kisses on his face and neck.

"Lance!" Shiro yelled, pushing up from his chair. Pidge started dying with laughter, and to her left, Hunk let out the loudest, stressfilled sigh a human could possibly produce.

--

Quarantine hadn't boded well. They had all mutually agreed to lock Lance in his room until the bug's venom left his system, but it resulted in him wailing for Keith as he pounded and clawed at his bedroom door. It would have been cruel to leave him alone any longer, and with Keith's consent, he was let free.

But Keith was gravely reconsidering the decision as the moment he was out, he latched onto his arm, whispering drunk words once again.

Keith retreated to the training area. He couldn't stand the other paladins watching Lance act like an idiot, especially when Keith was the victim of his idiocy.

"I want to touch you again, please." He begged from his spot on the training deck floor. Keith had forced him to sit down a few hours ago as he set up.

Keith almost got stabbed in the stomach, completely thrown off guard by Lance's pleas. "Lance you can't say that when I'm training. You can't say that ever!" He snarled as he sliced into the metallic abdomin of the training bot, it decomposed into a hologram as the castle announced the next stage.

"But I love you!"

The robots acended from the floor as Keith held his sword firmly, his grip tightening til his fingers turned white. "Lance. Shut up."

"I can't help the way I feel!"

'Yea, because of that damn poison,' he thought in response, charging at the attack simulation.

"Please I just wanna feel your lips on mine! I wanna hold your hand, and hug your waist until the end of time! I wanna-"

"Lance." Keith spoke with ragged breaths, his face covered with an embarrassing red, "Please, shut up."

The castles automated voice silenced Lance's light footsteps, Keith hadn't even realized Lance was walking towards him until he felt warm lips on the back of his neck, revealed by his tied up hair.

A strange concoction of mirth and anxiety shivered up his spine as he spun around to face Lance. "You- I- Stop doing that!" He cupped the back of his sweaty neck that was tingling from Lance's touch.

--

The night didn't go well either. Once again, putting Lance in his room caused a tantrum and destruction so alternatively, Keith let him spend the night it his room.

Another decision that he regretted as the monent he slipped into bed, Lance jumped in with him, arms circling his waist. "Lance, I told you to sleep on the floor."

"How can I sleep so far away from you? It physically wounds me to be apart when you're within my reach."

"..Whatever." He huffed out, shoving his blushing face into his pillow.

Lance pulled their bodies closer together, shoving his face into Keith's slightly damp hair. (He had also asked to take a shower together, but Keith fervently refused the offer) His arms enclosed him, hands teasing the hem of his shirt. Keith felt a scream bubble in his throat but he swallowed it down.

"Sweet dreams my samurai.." Lance spoke with a soft voice as he put his lips on his shoulder one final time before passing out.

Keith, on the other hand, remained awake the entire night, staring at his dark wall until his eyes unfocused. Consciously aware of every movement the boy behind him was making, every breath that hit his nape, every sleeping nuzzle into his hair.

How could he sleep when a man he apparently is criminally attracted to was glued to his back?

The morning came both too soon and took way too long to approach. Keith's eyes throbbed from the lack of sleep, but all the pain went numb when he heard a small grunt from behind him. Lance rose from the bed, rubbing his eyes.

"What..." He slowly grumbled out, his voice a thousand octives deeper from drowsiness. His hands slowly came down from rubbing his face as he eyes shot open, head craning painfully slowly to Keith. "I-"

Keith shoved him off the bed, face red as a tomato. He winced when he heard a loud thump as Lance made contact with the floor.

"Ugh....Keith! What the hell man!?"

He was obviously back to normal.

"Why am I-" He was about to ask but suddenly interrupted himself, "Oh my god..."

Keith watched his slow approach to realization from atop his bed. His face grew even redder as the boy came to remember his mistakes from the past day.

"Keith, oh my god..." Lance's face was matching pigment of blood rushing red, his hands coming up to cover his features. "Fuck oh my god I'm- I'm so sorry."

Keith didn't know how to react. Cry? Laugh? Punch him in the face? All of the above?

Lance stood to his feet as he started pacing around the small room. "Shit. Fuck. Jesus.."

If Shiro was in the room he would have told him to watch his language, but he wasn't. It was just Keith and Lance, alone, left to deal with the aftermath of a strange love potion.

"I don't know what came over me, I just saw you and felt all of my urges lose rationality, the need to hold you, kiss you, touch you, they just exploded! Fuck I didn't mean to, I know you wanted none of that I'm so sorry. You can punch me if you want, actually you don't even need to I'll just eject myself into space-"

"Lance. It's...It's okay." Keith interrupted his spiraling rant, "I didn't...I didn't even hate it...that much.." He admitted, hiding his face with his gloved hand.

"You- I-"

"I'm saying I like you idiot. If anyone should be sorry it's me. I- I took advantage of you when you couldn't even control yourself..." Keith replied, ashamed of his actions.

Lance walked towards him, caging him between his arms as he pointed a long finger back and forth between them. "You. Me. You-"

"I'm sorry.."

Lance laughed, eyes scarily wide open as he tugged on Keith's shirt, connecting their lips together, "I- Fuck I like you too.."

Keith let out a laugh in utter disbelief. "What?"

"I've liked you since I saw that shitty mullet at the Garrison." He laughed again, physically on cloud nine.

"Kiss me again, do it before I throw you." Keith grinned, and before he could continue Lance tackled him, lips crashing into eachother.

The End byebye

>3<

[carduelism]

Making RDR2 characters into bagels: Charles Smith

Hyperfixation is evil but also great so. Ever wanted to take a bite out of charles?yeah me too. So have this recipe for a herbal sweet savoury gingery bagel

(Recipes for Arthur and John are made and coming, just need to get photos ❤️ Expect the rest of the camp too)

Results:

Recipe:

Usually I'd be batch making bagels, but I'm just going to make 2.

1 cup of plain flour

Bloom 1/2 tablespoon of yeast in warm water (wait 10 mins) then add water as needed til dough comes together

(I don't like measuring liquid as it may over hydrate the dough and that's uncomfortable to work with)

2 tablespoons maple syrup

Pinch of salt

2 tablespoons of ginger

1 tablespoons of thyme

1 teaspoon of nutmeg

1/2 table spoon of cinnamon (because I’m evil and really like cinnamon)

You can also just measure seasonings with your heart if you are brave enough

Half your dough for the marbling. Add a teaspoon of blue food dye and the slightest dash of red

Knead each dough for 10-15 minutes. Put a cute video or music in the background as you knead if you want. And yes im sorry for making there be two doughs, you will need to knead separately for a combined time of 20-30 minutes 😞

Let doughs rest for an hour, or however long your ADHD brain deems an hour. The doughs should have doubled in size

Start working on the water you are going to boil the bagel in, I put a gulp of molasses in my big pot, turn the heat up and put the lid on, get it boiling! You can use other sweeteners too; honey, brown sugar, maple syrup.

Also preheat your oven to 180C/350F (fan-forced)

Third each ball of dough and then sandwich them randomly together. Mush the dough around for a bit to make sure there stuck to each other but not enough for the colour to start mixing. Then you can half the dough again and begin making the bagel shape via this method:

make a dough ball by rolling it around on your surface. Puncture your finger through the middle to make the hole (HINT: the hole will close in during the second rising and possibly during boiling, so make the hole bigger than you think it would need to be!)

Let the bagels rise for 10-15 minutes on some baking paper. I like to cut the baking paper underneath it into squares, it helps with placing it into the boiling water (as a guy with nasty burns from baking I get Very scared) and just falls off.

Once they've risen for the second time, place those bad boys in the water! Air lift them by the sides of the baking paper and drop them in carefully please I don't want anyone getting burnt. Now here is where you get to decide on texture;

Boil for a minute minimum, this gives the shiny effect and sets the bagels size but keeps a fluffier texture. If you like your bagels chewier and tougher like me, I go with 5 minutes lol.

Consider what texture you want!

Put the bagels on baking paper in a tray but before putting them in the oven, add an egg wash. Mix a whole egg together and brush that shit on top, makes the bagel brown nicely. If you don't have a brush, just use paper towel; dip it in the egg and brush it over the bagel.

For the decorative effects I put poppyseeds and chia seeds on the pale dough coloured side, and used the clean flat end of a texta (bit less than 1cm) dipped slightly in egg and then in flour for the dots.

OVEN TIME!!!!!! Put them in for 35-45 minutes (I accidentally under baked mine at 35 mins and they were a bit gummy…)

I would serve with well marinated meat though I Am pescatarian and fold salmon slices worked quite well too, of course veggos can use tofu too. used some stronger herbs instead of a salad, like rocket ect 😗

Enjoy!

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Hello kekaki! Cloud you please write something for Jason with a stoic/shy body painter reader? I feel like he’d be a great model, cause he’s very patient and all. What do you think? No worries if u don’t feel like it, obvs!

I actually loved this idea and ended up putting heaps of headcanons and shit in it too because I love this kinda ask! [everyone usually just does simple stuff which is all g lol but this is so creative maybe its just cause im artsy haha] Anyway this is mixed in with an ask I got for a London Boy [Taylor Swift] type ask x Jason <3 <3 <3

There's still a trace of body paint--- Jason x Body paint artist!reader [London Boy-Taylor Swift]

»»————-　★　————-««

Jason tried not to laugh.

It was so hard though, because holy Hades the paintbrush was so cold and it was tickling his sides and he began chewing on his lip to stop himself from squirming away.

He sat as still as he could, which wasn’t hard, one thing Camp Jupiter got right was the whole soldier thing, and Jason could stand still for hours at a time without moving if he had to. And this way he was sitting on a cushioned stool watching your expression shift when you thought no one was watching you, or eating MnM’s, listening to whatever pop song came over the little radio by the open window. 

The smell of strawberries wafted through with the warm summer air from the fields a few cabins over, and it made him hungry, but he wasn’t about to get up and ruin the carefully designed strokes all down his back and over his shoulders.

He didn’t even get to know what it was until the end, apparently, which was so mean of you, but then you’d stick your tongue out while you worked a little bit in concentration and he forgave you. 

You looked up and made eye contact too quickly for Jason to play it off, and you took the tiny brush off his shoulder slowly, “what?”

“Nothing,” Jason said quickly, chewing the inside of his lip to stop his grin this time, and turned to the rest of the cabin. There was one set of bunks, but the rest of the beds were all retro hammocks hung between messy easels and tapestries and a few statues in progress. 

There was a mini fridge with a salt lamp on top, and every windowsill had little trays of incense next to the mugs filled with paint brushes or lemonade. His view was skewed when you spun the stool around a little and took another brush from the table, this time with an inky dark blue. 

Jason looked up at the roof to move his hair when the cold began to dot lightly where his neck met his shoulder. There was a big circle cut out of the white stone ceiling, replaced with glass that let the light in like a halo. It fit the whole scene though, you looked like an angel, even with the bit of melted MnM on your cheek.

“Hey,” he started, noticing the polaroid’s stuck to the wall around the mustard colored hammock belonging to you. “Can I ask..” 

“Hm?” You asked, getting a sponge and dabbing at the scars shredding up the right of Jason’s lower back. 

He wasn’t sure what your answer to the question would be, and if it was something bad, he didn’t want to make you upset, but he was curious. “How did you… how did you get here? When were you claimed?”

“Well, it wasn’t as dramatic as falling out of a burning chariot into the lake,” you muttered, wiping yellow paint from your hands onto your forehead without noticing. “My mum booked a flight to New York when I was ten, and then drove me to the borders of Camp.”

Jason looked down at his shoes, “your mortal mum?...She just left you?” 

You shook your head quickly, “oh, no, it wasn’t like that. She told me I was a demigod when I was six. Didn’t want to keep secrets. Said she went out with a lady at Glastonbury that dropped me off a few months later with a bunch of flowers.”

“I lasted a lot longer than the flowers,” you chuckled quietly, “I knew I was coming here for ages, and I knew I was a son of Iris. We didn’t get a lot of monsters in England, I’ve been attacked more by going to Starbucks on the weekends here than living in Manchester for ten years.”

Jason didn’t like talking about his own mum, but the way you smiled talking about yours, he figured you didn’t mind. “Do you miss her?”

“A lot, but Iris messages aren’t exactly hard for me,” you said with a shrug, dipping the paintbrush into the little tub Jason was balancing on his thigh. “Besides, Iris pays for my mum to fly over every summer, cause she feels bad that she had a kid with someone so far away.”

“Really?”

You smiled again, and the little shiny crystals on your necklaces clicked against the beads, “she’s a pretty great mum, as far as godly parents go. She’s gonna pay for art school, as long as I show her everything I paint.”

Jason blinked. “Does that include me?”

“Surely you’ve met her, you’ve met all the gods, right?” You asked, eating an MnM and swishing the paintbrush around in a cup. Jason was pretty sure you’d just cleaned it with lemonade, but he didn’t say anything. 

He blinked, watching the colorful stained glass of your earrings catch in the light, “Yeah, but that was before…”

Before he’d found you with Racheal using the blank stone wall of his cabin as a space for her next mural. He didn’t really care if Zeus got annoyed, because you had pink paint on your cheeks and you were using a pegasus called Clover to put all of the paint tubs on and Racheal was saying something stupid and you were laughing with your nose all crinkled up and if Zeus got annoyed by that, Jason would take the smiting himself.

Before he’d somehow ended up in the same activities together after he told Piper about you [who could convince Annabeth to do anything for her somehow, even without her mothers tongue].

Before he’d offered to sit still for hours at a time so that you could build a portfolio of paintings on his scarred skin. He’d had to ask instead of agree, because you weren’t exactly the outgoing type. Neither was Jason, so you could sit together for hours with only the sound of the tens of wind chimes outside the cabin and paint tubes being used to their last drop.

Before Jason found himself more invested in the process of the painting then the outcome. 

He gulped, and mentally shook his head, “well, I hope the art school people don’t mind scars. You’d have to use someone else.”

“I don’t care if they do. I’d still paint you,” you said quietly, looking up from the dark blue sketchy strokes Jason could only just see without his glasses. Then you looked away, changing your paintbrush for the yellow one, “unless you didn’t want to.”

“I do.”

It was silent for a moment, and then you smiled, your lip piercing shining in the sun that streamed in, “okay.”

“I’m done,” you said a few minutes later, passing Jason the rest of the MnM’s once he could move without fear of ruining the paint. He watched as you pulled a mirror out from behind an easel depicting what looked like a robot bear with square teeth and red eyes. 

Jason stared at the blues and golds with wide eyes. He didn’t want to blink, he didn’t want to not see it. He didn’t know how to put it into words. “...Wow.” 

Wow didn’t seem like enough, but you grinned nonetheless with a shy shrug, “It’s a Van Gogh, well my version of it. Everyone likes Starry night, but I like Starry Night Over The Rhone a lot more, so…” 

»»————-　★　————-««

“Is that her?”

You rolled your eyes at the question, the only one Jason had been able to ask the past ten minutes as you both sat at a park bench outside the movies, an old one near the markets that just played grainy reruns in its shabby chic theater. “If you ask one more-”

“No I think that’s Iris,” he whispered with wide eyes, “she’s staring at me.”

About to explain that the old lady with a basket of kittens and a black lace umbrella [it was sunny. She was probably a vampire] was not your mother, you turned to see the woman who was actually your mother, in her bell bottoms and matching top, hoop earrings made of tiny dreamcatchers casting colorful light everywhere. 

You grabbed his wrist, and pulled him along into her cloud of floral perfume that hurt your nose when she brought you into a bearhug. “Hi mum.”

“Darling!” She shrieked, kissing your cheeks and holding your shoulders and she shook them violently, then snuck another hug while you were making sure your head was still attached to your shoulders, “oh, how I’ve missed you!” 

“Missed you to mum,” you said, pulling away with a smile, and turned to Jason, who had the same expression big dogs get when they’re picked up. “Um, mum… this is Jason.”

“Yes, yes! I’ve heard all about you!”

“...He’s my boyfriend.” 

»»————-　★　————-««

[secretobsessionstuff]

nawwwhh man you aint gotta feel bad about not doin sicktember. im bein real here, i thought i was and i did like 3, so i aint either. but if you really do want me to request one, i'd probably do psychogenic fever/stress induced illness with madix bein sickie bc itd relate to me personally the most (bc i always get stress sick and i'd love to see madix sick witb it too (bonis point if dakota take care of him GOD i loved the fic where dakote took care of him))

Hey man, thanks for always being there and loving my fics. I hope you like this one even though it's nearly two fucking years late I swear.

This fic is set in the past when Madix and Dakota are in school together.

CW: Graphic description of vomiting! It's seriously so gross I love it lol.

-------------------

A flood of relieved students rushed past Dakota. He swam against the current looking for Madix among the test-takers. Since it was 2pm, they were no longer test-takers, but the sea of knowledge inside their brains would still be there until the PTSD of organic chemistry was washed away by time. 

Dakota knew how anxious Madix had been for this final. The dreaded Orgo Chem kept his roommate up for the past three nights. It was a known fact that this second-year course was a killer, and Madix’s prof was a distinguished serial killer. Many students retook Orgo in the summer, trying for that passing grade with perhaps a more lenient prof. 

With the hallway now empty—all the students having left—it was easy for Dakota to find Madix. He hadn’t expected his friend to stick around after the final was over, but there he was sitting on the floor by the large windows. Madix looked like a crab, trying to find safety in the shell of his hunched over back. He had his head in his hands and was rubbing his temples as if the trauma of the exam pooled behind his eyes. 

“Hey, how did it go?” It was a very pointless question given that Madix was curled into a question mark. 

“Fuck if I know,” Madix slurred as he slid his hands down his face. “I keep going over every question, doubting my answers.” 

“Well, it’s over now so you don’t need to think about it.” It worried Dakota how glassy and fragile Madix’s eyes looked, like he was about to cry or explode into flames. His cheeks were pale and sunken too. 

“I need a 73 to pass the class.” 

Dakota squinted. “Mmh sounds like you’re still thinking about it.” 

Madix dropped his hands to his side. “I can’t stop. That exam is all I’ve been thinking about for the last week. I haven’t even had time to study for Anatomy tomorrow.”

With a sigh, Dakota sat down on the floor next to his friend. “I brought you something to take your mind off studying.” From behind his back, Dakota revealed a fast-food bag from the student lounge. It was Madix’s favourite place to get comfort food because of the crispy fries, the juicy burger, and the creamy milkshake. Madix didn’t like to indulge that craving too often because it was a greasy cheat meal that often left him feeling bloated, but Dakota thought it would be a nice gesture since Madix had hardly eaten anything leading up to this exam. 

He was about to hand his friend the grease-wrapped gift, but hesitated. The heat coming off Madix’s body was alarming. Dakota could feel the waves just sitting next to him. A quick touch to Madix’s forehead with the back of his hand told Dakota that he’d been neglecting his roommate. 

“Shit, Mads, you’re burning up. I didn’t know you were sick all this time.” 

“I’m not sick.” Like a starving animal, Madix reached for the bag of food, but Dakota held it out of his reach. 

“Bullshit. You can deny it all you want, but your head’s on fire, buddy.” 

“I know.” 

Dakota couldn’t stop his lecture now, as if the two of them hadn’t heard enough lecturing the whole year. “You’re the one in pre-med, you should know—wait what?” 

Madix sighed at the theatrics of his friend. “I’ve had a fever for three days. It’s not going away.” He rubbed his own forehead, feeling the familiar yet puzzling temperature. “I don’t have any other symptoms. I think it’s from stress.” 

It was honestly the oddest feeling. Madix could feel himself cooking from the inside. His cells buzzed like the many diagrams of excited particles when submitted to heat. But there was nothing else to indicate a virus or infection. His throat was fine; his nose was clear. If anything, he was infected with school. Perhaps his nose was clogged with equations and his throat was sore from reciting textbook chapters. 

Dakota looked skeptical. “So, you gave yourself a fever from worrying?” 

“Yes, it’s a medical mystery. They should name a disease after me. Anyway, gimme burger.” Madix reached for the food like a child with grubby fingers. 

Dakota scooted away from his friend, taking the prize with him. “I don’t know, Mads. You really don’t look well. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to eat something so heavy.” 

“Come on. You know I’ve been surviving on goldfish crackers.” It was only now that he could smell the fries and beef that Madix realized how hungry he was. His stomach was aching for something substantial. “Besides, I need the energy to study for Anatomy. It’s tomorrow by the way.” 

“Tomorrow? But you just had orgo.” 

“I have a shit exam schedule this year.” Madix pouted. “Please, Kota. It will make me feel better.” 

Finally, Dakota relented. He had bought it for Madix after all. But now he was worried that it was the exact opposite of what the overworked boy needed. 

He watched Madix stuff his face with his first real meal in 72 hours. The burger disappeared in record time. Fatty juices glistened on Madix’s chin as he dug into the fries. His fingers were coated in grease and fry seasoning by the time he was done. In between each mouthful, he took longs slurps of the Oreo milkshake. 

“You wanna slow down there, bud?” Dakota asked incredulously. There wasn’t much more to eat at this point. 

Madix dragged his sleeve over his mouth and shook his head. “Have to start studying soon.” He swallowed the last bite of fries and sucked at the last remnants of the milkshake. Madix let out a long burp at the end and sighed. 

“I’m not gonna lie, that was impressive.” Dakota couldn’t believe his eyes. “You’re getting more colour in your cheeks.” Maybe the meal really had been a good thing. “But I’m still worried about this voodoo fever though.” 

“It won’t go away until the exams do.” 

‘Then neither will I.” Dakota stood firm in this decision. He wasn’t going to let Madix get burnt out…literally. His hardest exams were done, so he could keep a closer eye on Madix now. “I’ll study with you in the library.” 

“You don’t have to, Kota. I’ll be fine.” 

“I want to.” 

By the tone of Dakota’s voice, Madix could tell that he wasn’t going to win this one. “Fine, but we’re studying in the red zone.” 

“Not the red zone! Anything but that.” 

Madix shrugged. “You’re the one who insisted on babysitting.”

• • •

The red zone was the fourth circle of hell—also known as the library during exam season. 

It was the quietest level of the building, reserved exclusively for students to study in absolute silence. No talking, no phones, you couldn’t even sneeze without getting dirty looks. You could hear a pencil drop and then watch that pencil be escorted out of the red zone. 

As someone with ADHD, Dakota hated the red zone. He much preferred the orange or yellow zone. At least in the orange zone, you could whisper and cough without being shunned. The yellow zone allowed for conversation and anxious tapping. He admitted that the green zone was definitely not ideal for studying. That was the first level of the library were students could openly cry over their exams or practice for their theater final that involved a murder scene. 

Dakota pretended to zip his lips and throw away the key. He shoved his hands into his pockets to keep them from moving on their own. 

Madix on the other hand had no issue keeping his mouth shut. The nausea forced his lips together. 

The fast food was quickly catching up to him, staying true to its name even inside his stomach. It hadn’t taken long before the burger, fries, and milkshake resisted digestion. The meal churned in his belly like a wad of chewing gum. 

The red zone was popular during this time of year, so Madix and Dakota hunted for two chairs next to each other. They found a long table with many students already studying there, but luckily there were two empty spots across from each other. Madix was grateful to be sitting across from Dakota so that he could rub his upset stomach discreetly. 

Unfortunately, the red zone was not a good place to have a gurgly tummy. The girl next to Madix gave him the stink eye when the organ groaned, tossing chewed up cow inside his gut. He felt grease sticking to his throat and hot burps in his chest. He pushed down every belch lest he be escorted out of the level. 

The words of the anatomy textbook swam across the page. Madix felt his fever ignite with a vengeance. Now he was dizzy, disoriented, and disgustingly full. There was heat behind his eyes that turned his vision to soup. Everything he needed to know for the exam was right in front of him in the book, but the letters became alphabet stew on a white background. 

He dared not look up at his friend in fear that Dakota would see right through him. 

Dakota could not study in such an environment, so naturally he saw every twinge of nausea flash across Madix’s expression. His poor friend was not having a good time. Madix’s cheeks were now flushed bright red, and beads of sweat gathered on his brow. 

In the dead quiet of the library, he could hear Madix’s stomach struggle to digest the heavy meal. Dakota kicked himself for giving into Madix’s begging. The nausea was no doubt thwarting his efforts at studying which created a vicious cycle of stress and pain. 

Dakota did a quick doodle in his notebook and passed it to Madix. He was quite proud of his drawing and had to keep in a chuckle. 

Madix frowned at the drawing. Along the top were the words Green Zone Now? Below Dakota’s messy handwriting was a drawing of a green-faced emoji. Its cheeks were ballooned with vomit. It seemed he wasn’t hiding his ailment so well. 

On the same page, Madix wrote back I’m fine. Must study. Madix didn’t think he needed to go to the green zone, despite what his complexion said. He could control his stomach. The food would stay down; it had to. 

Dakota gave Madix a disappointed look when he got the note back. Why must he be so stubborn? Dakota had to drop the matter. Aside from physically picking up his friend, he didn’t see any other way of convincing Madix to take a break for the sake of his health. He wasn’t going to be making any compelling arguments in the red zone. 

Madix tried to ignore his blistering fever and his unhappy guts.

Systemic Anatomy was hard to study for when he was so keenly aware of his digestive system. He imagined partially digested fries mixing with the gastric juices in his belly. His body went through the steps with much difficulty. 

The muscular organ was literally in the process of contracting itself to squeeze all the nutrients out of the fast food. Madix did not like the squeezing. He hugged his aching middle and laid his head on the table in defeat. 

It didn’t seem likely that the food would continue on to his intestines. His stomach couldn’t handle the greasy meal after days of hardly anything to eat. On top of all this, his body was too busy fighting a made-up virus called stress. The stress was very real, but his immune system was taking it too literally. It was no wonder why he couldn’t keep the meal down. 

Madix couldn’t stop the burp from coming up. It burst from his mouth, splashing the back of his throat with acid. The girl next to him shushed him. Her expression was as sour as his stomach. He didn’t have the will to apologize for the noise. Regardless, he wouldn’t have had the chance to say sorry anyway because another burp filled his mouth with sticky saliva. 

Dakota looked up quickly to see Madix hunched over his chair and gagging into his hand. Another sickly belch bubbled up, draining the colour from Madix’s face. 

Before Dakota could do anything, he watched Madix lurch forward with a loud heave. Thick vomit spewed from his mouth and fell onto the table in front of him. The sick quickly spilled onto Madix’s lap. 

“Oh, shit Maddy,” Dakota cooed as he came to his friend’s side. He didn’t bother with the anti-social etiquette of the red zone, not that it mattered though because everyone in their vicinity bolted from the room. No one wanted to risk catching whatever Madix had during their exams. 

Madix coughed and sputtered. Scandalous! He could only moan miserably before the muscles in his belly contracted again, sending up another wave of mushy fries and curdled milkshake. Dark flecks of Oreo and beef dotted the sick. 

“Oh God…” Madix choked out. “I can’t stop.”

Dakota rubbed his friend’s back while trying not to look at the growing pool of vomit that was…everywhere. “It’s okay, buddy. Just let it out.” The same heat from before lived beneath Madix’s skin. Dakota could feel the fever through his clothes. “No one is here. You’re good. Do what you need to do.” 

Madix’s belly gave another deep lurch. The pressure forced the undigested food up his open esophagus. If this wasn’t the best way to study the digestive system, then Madix didn’t know what else to do besides open himself up like a cadaver. 

His fever made the room spin around him. If he had any sort of receptacle, he probably would have missed. Luckily, he had no issue catching his notebook, his lap, and his shoes in the process. 

“Good job,” Dakota encouraged. He patted Madix’s back firmly. “Get it all out. Get that stress out too while you’re at it.” 

Madix had to admit that there was something cathartic about this purge. He felt lighter with each bout that left his body. He gave over to his subconscious mind and let his body do what it needed to do. He probably should have listened to the hunger and sleep cues before this, but he was listening now to the Get Out cues. 

If stressed looked like a melted Oreo milkshake then it was certainly no longer in his body. He tried to imagine the pressure and the expectations and the need for validation leaving his body along with the vomit. 

When Madix caught a break, he couldn’t help but give a chuckle. “This is the red zone. I just puked in the red zone.” 

Dakota laughed with him. “All over it really.” He looked around at the empty room. “You scared everyone away. They must think you have the plague.” 

“I think we’re all infected with it. This pressure—it’s an epidemic, man.” 

“Don’t go turning into a philosopher.” Dakota took a step back from his friend. It wasn’t a good view, but he was happy to see Madix’s shoulders relaxed. “Do you need anything? Water? Sleep?” 

“Both.” Madix slowly stood up from his chair, cringing at the wetness that made his shirt cling to his body. “But I think I better find someone who works here.” Madix rubbed the back of his neck. “Guess I should have listened to you, huh?”  

“Let’s discuss my vast amount of wisdom when everything’s cleaned up, shall we?" 

[formula-fun]

can i ask you what instrument you played and for how long? also do you still play?

ugg ok im sorry this is an essay but perhaps this is important ostinato backstory so

i started piano when i was 4, i had to do recorder when i was 9 (mandatory) and started clarinet the same year to get ahead so i could skip the junior band at school and go straight to the advanced one. and then a few months later we were already thinking about jazz band (good college scholarship opportunities, yes this is something 9 year olds should be thinking about) so i started sax lessons to have more opportunities there

and then in middle school i skipped to the advanced one and was also in a jazz band on the side, but by the time i was 12 i was too busy so i dropped piano lessons. i did sax for about another year but i really was more interested in classical so i ended up pretty much dropping it that year because i had clarinet parts in all the orchestras/bands i was in at the time. piano became really important to me too because it was the one thing i felt like i could do whatever i wanted with so it was my emotional support instrument at this point

and THEN in high school i auditioned to go straight into symphony and i mostly played b flat and a clarinets there but i did bass where needed and i got to play sax on literally one piece because there was a part for it <333 and i learned ukulele because literally everyone was playing ukulele at my school

and then in college i missed music a TON because i wasnt studying it at all and i was playing piano whenever i could but was basically going through withdrawal. i took up guitar (acoustic, i built an electric, and i got a 12 string a while later) which i wasn't great at but it was therapeutic

so basically clarinet for 9 years, sax for like 2 ish? recorder (lol) for 1, ukulele for like 2 but not intensively, guitar for 4, and piano for 23. piano is the only one i really stuck with but im shockingly bad for someone who played for that long

but yeah even now its hard to think of instruments i played for fun as "counting" as a part of this list, which is shitty. there was so much pressure from all sides that i just got completely burned out and didn't want any part in it by the time i was 18, and something that's really social and communal became something i could only enjoy when i was doing it by myself for no audience--even an approving audience, because people who approve of you now tend to push you to give more and more later on

so yeah i know this isn't an uncommon story but the bottom line is it's something nobody can take away from you and something that will always be a part of you. if you loved it once you'll probably find a way back to it, hopefully on your own terms. it's just shitty that so many kids are passionate about it but end up getting burnt out from being pushed way too hard

[sssammich]

4?

lol oh ho ho ho i see what you're doing

ask meme

4. Share a dark thought? (Go on, vent a little)

IM GONNA VENT (this is behind oh well i had to get my feelings bubbling up)

honestly i hate canon or bust. it literally kills the joy and sucks the fun out of fandom. and even the source material itself. maybe it's just me being older and having been in fandom for literal decades, but like this crusade for Canon or Nothing At All is just so fucking bad and is just overall detrimental to engaging with the source material, with fanworks, and even just each other!!!

about to just drop everything under the cut because it's long and incoherent

like, okay. yes, do i want representation? sure. do i want stories written for queer characters deserving of story arcs equal or better than what the straights typically get? yeah of course im not a monster. but like, people don't even know how to handle the representation they do get. and then have the gall to ask for perfection when it does show up. that's the burden to bear of being the Chosen Ones is that the weight of expectations is heavier than, like, side character three. so i get it. i get all of that. i want the good things also. i want the ladies kissing ladies on television etc etc

but that's not what im talking about. im talking about the people who literally will just sour the well with their desire that if their Ship isn't canon then it's time to ruin the playground because if i'm not having fun no one can be having fun. and that's literally so terrible and bad and also makes everyone not like being there any more. you shat on their sandbox, you burned down the monkeybars. like, it's not fun there anymore. but the problem there (other than it's annoying and destructive), is that it just further puts fanworks under the agenda of Pushing for Canon Truth instead of, like, a fun thing to share and do with your community.

another caveat here: OF COURSE fandoms have been doing both of those things this whole time, but it just always feels like when i see a push for "make X canon" (X being a ship, 99% of the time), it almost doesn't care about just enjoying yourself??? making a ship canon can be and is important in the larger landscape of media, culture, and representation. yes yes, i'm with you. but i think especially in fandom spaces if canon is not there, then what else is left? is such a bad take.

the rare pairs are there. the multiships. but not even just ships, but dynamics between characters. there are probably other strong contenders for the piece of media that irrevocably changed the landscape of fan/media relations, but since i *was* in the glee fandom, i'm gonna blame that one. i think the nature of how glee essentially opened access to the actors, to the producers, to the showrunners that had direct impact on the source material's canon kinda set up the groundwork for how the rest of media would evolve for the next decade. the ship wars and the ship polls were kinda insane back then. idk if it's still insane now because i've retired from my 'fandom city apartment' to my 'fandom small coastal town bungalo' and just minding my business. all that to say that even as a shipper, 90% of fandom conversations when it comes to Canon is literally just the pursuit of making their two white men (or women) kiss.

which means that we lose out on actual conversations and discussions around character development, dynamics with others as foils or as antagonists, and the larger implication in the plot of the whole thing.

i know the desire for canonifying two characters with insane chemistry and with storylines that lead to romance were they cast as one heterosexual male and one heterosexual female comes from the unfairness and frustration that if it's already right there, why not just fucking do it? listen we're all fighting an uphill battle for equality across the board, so any step forward is gonna be met with a step back, if not more. so like, i'm cognizant of this. so i get why. but when the entire persona that someone displays is just to push for wanting a ship to be Canon above all else, that's when it breaks down for me.

i doubt im making any sense at this point so im just gonna close this out by saying that yeah, i want similar things at the end of the day. i also want the two women with insane chemistry and whose storylines beat for beat match that of a heterosexual pairing had they been cast as such. but canon is not my business, i have nothing to do with that. because i don't make my fun at the doll shop where i bought my barbies. that's not the appropriate place for me to play. i make my fun in the sandbox where i stick the barbies' heads in the sand, as a treat.

[bleue-flora]

Hate to intervene on the discussion about the genuine finale, but Tommy did apologize previously to the nuke going off and he did it before Dream even killed him, Im not sure if it was intended for him to say the apology so early on if at all but it did make me a little confused when the reaction to the apology was dream focusing on tommy dismissing the revival book and then killing him. Its not that out of character or anything, it made sense for Dream to be paranoid and lash out especially considering Tommy accused him of being the same person the whole time within his apology, but it did make me feel bad for tommy, as well as the fact he didn't get a sorry in return but then again had the nuke not dropped and no reset, Dream probably would of apologized for his own actions once he really processed what was going on which is rlly the only issues i had with that final convo

Regardless on my opinion on that part of the stream, you've definietly highlighted why many dislike it and I completely agree. Dream and Tommy had closure, while pretty much no one else in the server really did, not sure if punz even did, many character arcs didn't rlly end, stuff was left ambigious, ranboo had their ending on twitter, we got nothing about dreamxd. killing staged duo off is just a repeat of everything before and it just makes the moral that violence is the answer to trauma and multiple characters in dsmp use violence as revenge and the ending having that would just be like saying that was okay. But the fact it instead took this understanding morally grey approach and ended that destructive cycle gave it a much better moral. Solid essay btw.

[context]

Always feel free to intervene, just know you’ll probably get an essay in response lol. ;D <3

In regards, to Tommy’s apology [clip] I am of the opinion that anything Tommy said before he died was not really genuine because he was stalling for time. He only asks Dream what his point of view is the server because he needed to stall. And even when Dream is explaining his side [clip], instead of really understanding it or even having remorse he mutes and says “Come on, Tubbo.” He’s not really listening, and his apology shortly after isn’t really sincere. He keeps repeating how Dream was always like this, so if he was apologizing it wasn’t because he realizes he actually hurt Dream. He even questions how Dream can be upset about burning down George’s house “it wasn’t even your house.” Language like “you could’ve got over that” tells me he isn’t seeing the point. He does not see how he might be in the wrong nor how much he hurt Dream.

So honestly, I think this apology is really just manipulation, trying to get Dream to stay. And honestly, that makes sense, because if you want someone to stay you’re not going to keep pissing then off, or at least he learned this because that was his first strategy. But that was only making them want to leave or kill him, so he changes tactics, getting Dream to talk [clip] “take as long as you need.” So yea, it doesn’t really count in my mind, just as Dream’s “I’m sorry” in prison doesn’t necessarily count.

If however the nuke hadn’t happened, and Tommy had actually apologized, now beginning to understand Dream more, then perhaps Dream would also. But to be honest that would be pretty out of character for both. Character growth can only go so far in one stream.

And I think Dream doesn’t feel sorry, not really. I think he regrets things getting out of hand and going further than they should have, but I think he’s so hurt by Tommy that he feels justified in his lashing out. And unless, Tommy were to express actual remorse for his actions and see them as wrong vs the “that was just me having fun with my friends” we got, then I don’t think Dream would apologize.

If the nuke hadn’t happened, I don’t necessarily see Tommy changing his behavior, only his view of Dream. I see him still being Tommy and pissing Dream off, just not viewing Dream as this evil devil out to get him. So honestly the reset was probably good because might as well go out on this nice moment when they understand where the audience can be optimistic about what could’ve happened vs seeing what the actual aftermath would have been. Certainly better and different but I don’t think things would change as much as we’d like to think.

Certainly Dream and Tommy had a satisfying wrap up where some other characters did not, but I would say it is pretty fitting that they would have a more dramatic actual resolution considering they have been the center of a lot of conflicts from the very start.

I do think though Punz did complete his character arc, perhaps not as satisfying as we’d like but still. Throughout the whole thing he has been in the background and more secretly Dream’s ally, but finally he was able to stand beside Dream and speak his truth, and be openly his friend, openly defend him and have his back. That was a good ending for him. Instead of being a bystander like in the disc confrontation this time he got to speak up and be heard. He finally got to die alongside Dream, instead of watching Dream die for him. He finally got to be included. It’s not perfect or as well thought out, but it works.

Have another essay I guess lol, glad you liked the other. <3 <3 and yea for sure sending a good message to the audience is super important (again something that Supernatural failed at) and to say let’s talk it out and try and see each others point of views instead of just continuing the cycle of violence is certainly a very important message to highlight. :)