#its seriously so exhausting to read things sometimes

[shaanks]

you ever see a post and you agree with the actual content of the post but it's written in such an aggressively stupid, unnecessarily rude, weirdly guilt-trippy way that you're like. not only am I not reblogging this but I disagree with you personally now. not the message just you, the person who wrote this. please get a grip.

[librababe99]

Through Crimson Glass: Part One

CW: feelings of guilt, self doubt, isolation, physical injury, hurt/no comfort, strangers to friends, friends to lovers...

Word Count: 1391

AN: Sorry that i'm blowing up your timelines tonight! I been so into writing and wanting to get things out for y'all ❤️ For those of you who voted for Scott on the poll this past weekend...this is for you! - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨

The mansion loomed ahead, its gothic architecture softened by the golden rays of the setting sun. You stood at the edge of the vast lawn, clutching the straps of your backpack as if it were the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground. The Xavier Institute for Gifted Youngsters—your new home, though the word “home” felt foreign on your tongue. You weren’t sure what to expect from this place, only that it was meant to be a refuge for people like you. People who didn’t fit anywhere else.

“Hey, you must be the new recruit.”

The voice startled you, and you turned to see a tall figure walking toward you. He was dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans, but what caught your attention were the red-tinted glasses that obscured his eyes. His expression was calm, almost unreadable, but there was something in the way he carried himself—a quiet strength that made you feel both comforted and nervous at the same time.

“Scott Summers,” he introduced himself, holding out a hand. His voice was gentle, though it held an underlying authority that made you instinctively straighten your posture.

You shook his hand, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. You introduced yourself with a soft tone. Meeting new people has always been difficult for you, especially with your powers—your emotions had a tendency to bleed into those around you, overwhelming them if you weren’t careful. But Scott didn’t seem fazed by your hesitation. If anything, his calm demeanor seemed to anchor you.

“Professor Xavier told me you’d be arriving today,” Scott said, releasing your hand. “I’m one of the senior members of the team. I’ll be helping you get settled in.”

You nodded, grateful for his kindness. He gestured for you to follow him, and you fell into step beside him as he led you toward the mansion. The grounds were vast, with gardens and wooded areas that stretched out as far as you could see. It was beautiful, but there was an underlying tension in the air—a reminder that this place, for all its serenity, was also a fortress.

“You’re a telepath, right?” Scott asked, glancing at you. “Or something similar?”

You hesitated, unsure how to explain your abilities. “Not exactly. I can… manipulate emotions,” you said slowly, trying to find the right words. “It’s not like reading minds, but I can sense what people are feeling. Sometimes, if I’m not careful, I can push those emotions onto others. Make them feel what I’m feeling.”

Scott nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a powerful ability,” he said. “But I can see why it might be difficult to control.”

You looked down at your feet, feeling the familiar weight of guilt settle in your chest. “It’s why I’m here. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“You won’t,” Scott said firmly, his tone reassuring. “We’ll help you learn to control it. That’s what this place is for.”

His words, though simple, held a conviction that made you want to believe him. You glanced up at him, finding comfort in the certainty of his expression. For the first time in a long while, you felt a flicker of hope.

Over the next few weeks, Scott became a constant presence in your life. He took his role as your mentor seriously, guiding you through training sessions designed to help you control your powers. The exercises were exhausting, both physically and emotionally, but Scott was always there, offering support and encouragement whenever you stumbled.

At first, you were wary of letting him get too close. Your emotions were a volatile thing, prone to lashing out when you were overwhelmed. But Scott’s patience slowly wore down your defenses. He never pushed you to open up, instead allowing you to set the pace. It wasn’t long before you found yourself looking forward to your sessions with him, not just because of the progress you were making, but because of the connection that was slowly forming between you.

There were moments, in the quiet spaces between training drills, when you would catch Scott watching you. His gaze would linger a moment too long, his expression unreadable behind his glasses. And in those moments, you could feel the undercurrent of something more—something unspoken that made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with the exertion of your training.

It was during one of these moments that the shift between you and Scott became undeniable.

The day had been particularly grueling. You were pushed to your limits, trying to hold back the tide of emotions that surged within you. Scott had designed an exercise to help you isolate your feelings, to focus them into something manageable. But the harder you tried, the more it felt like you were drowning in them.

Finally, Scott called an end to the session. You collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath as sweat dripped down your face. Your muscles ached, but it was the strain on your mind that left you feeling utterly drained. Scott crouched beside you, offering you a bottle of water. You took it gratefully, though your hands trembled as you unscrewed the cap.

“You did well today,” Scott said quietly, his voice cutting through the haze of your exhaustion. “I know it’s not easy, but you’re getting stronger.”

You nodded, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of failure that clung to you. “It doesn’t feel like it,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I feel like I’m just… holding on by a thread.”

Scott’s hand rested on your shoulder, the touch grounding you. “It’s okay to feel that way,” he said. “What you’re doing is hard, but you don��t have to do it alone. We’re a team. I’m here for you.”

His words, combined with the warmth of his hand on your shoulder, caused a crack in the walls you had so carefully built around your heart. You turned to look at him, your eyes searching his face for any sign of doubt. But all you saw was sincerity—an unwavering belief in you that you couldn’t fully comprehend.

“Why do you care so much?” you asked, your voice trembled with the weight of the question.

Scott’s expression softened, and for a moment, the mask of calm confidence slipped. “Because I’ve been where you are,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I know what it’s like to feel like you’re a danger to everyone around you. To feel like you’re fighting a battle you can’t win. But you can win this. I know you can.”

The intensity of his words, combined with the raw honesty in his voice, overwhelmed you. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned forward, closing the distance between you. Scott didn’t pull away. Instead, he met you halfway, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was gentle, almost hesitant.

The world seemed to still as you both lingered in that moment, your emotions intertwining with his in a way that felt like both a relief and a release. It was as if all the unspoken feelings that had built up between you were finally allowed to surface, pouring into the kiss with a fervor that left you breathless.

When you finally pulled away, you found yourself staring into Scott’s eyes, your heart pounding in your chest. His glasses had slipped slightly, allowing you to see a glimpse of the blue beneath them. For a moment, the vulnerability in his gaze mirrored your own, and you realized that this wasn’t just a fleeting moment of passion. It was the beginning of something deeper—something that both terrified and exhilarated you.

Scott’s hand was still on your shoulder, his thumb gently tracing circles against your skin. “We’ll figure this out together,” he said softly, his voice filled with a quiet determination that made you believe him.

You nodded, your throat too tight with emotion to speak. In that moment, with the weight of Scott’s gaze and the memory of his kiss still lingering on your lips, you felt something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in a long time: hope.

For the first time since you arrived at the mansion, you felt like you might actually belong. Not just at Xavier’s, but with Scott. And that, more than anything, was a glimpse of paradise you never thought you’d find.

[generalllimaginesss]

"I bet you have a finsta and spend your time trolling us." With Nico pls :)

I guess its Nico Friday! This is short and sweet, but I really liked writing it! I hope you like it!!

••

"I'm just saying, for you both to have been first round drafts that collision should be mortifying," You trailed off as Luke and Jack Hughes sat across from you and your boyfriend in the restaurant.

Nico knew as soon as he saw the replay of the collision that the boys would not be able to escape your criticism. It was one of the things that he loved about you; you were just as passionate as him when it came to hockey, you just spent your time watching instead of playing.

"Really?" Jack rubbed his eyes, exhaustion beginning to set in. The last thing he wanted was to hear another person mention the most embarrassing moment in his career so far.

"Yes, really. What were you thinking? Do you know how bad one of you could have gotten hurt?" You continued to hound them.

Jack looked at Nico pleadingly, begging him to shut you up, but it was no use.

"What else did you see?" Nico asked, curious as to who was next in your line of critiques.

"Well, overall I just feel like you all need to work on skating techniques. You're all talented, but you suck at the basics sometimes and it looks like you need a refresher course. Also, there never should have been an overtime, let's be real," You took a sip of your wine as you grabbed your phone to open the notes app and see what else you had jotted down that you thought could be improved.

"I'll make sure to tell coach," Nico joked with you.

You sent Nico a glare, but continued reading off your list of all the mistakes made in the game, catching the boys' attention when they noticed you weren't just conversing, but apparently had a whole list of things that went wrong.

"Are you...do you take notes during the game?" Nico began to laugh, watching as you scrolled through the endless comments you made.

"Babe, we're in this together," You looked at him with all of the seriousness evident in your tone.

Jack made the sound and motion of a whip, shooting a devious grin toward his captain. Nico rolled his eyes and groaned.

"I bet you have a finsta and spend your time trolling us," Nico chortled, wanting to be joking, but he's almost positive he's seen some notifications pop up for an instagram account that was definitely not your main.

"Somebody has to humble you all..." You trailed off, smiling as the boys realized you didn't deny it.

"I will spend the rest of the night trying to find it," Luke announced, pulling his phone out and putting his detective skills to the test.

"Good luck with that, Bud," You replied as you immediately went to your finsta and began to block all of the Devils players from your account, beginning with Luke.

Your finsta will be your dirty little secret...

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[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Cut the Shit-Delusion, Sweetheart | Cillian Murphy x fem!reader

summary: A young actress confesses her feelings to Cillian Murphy, this is how he responds.

warning: This is a much different story than I usually write but I think it's one that we all need in moments of pain and loneliness; to allow ourselves to feel sad and disappointment and hurt. We use people like Cillian to comfort ourselves and give ourselves reasons to be happy and sometimes we need moments to be sad. I was inspired by Fleabag (of course) and an AI edit I saw of Cillian where he turns someone down and its really sweet even though it breaks my heart lol. Age-diff, 1 noncon kiss, talk of infidelity.

word count: 1791+k

Blue Light- Mazzy Star 🎶

Don't interact if you're a Yvonne-hater, please and thanks <3

She hesitated before she knocked on the side-door of Cillian’s trailer. This desperate feeling overwhelmed her and she knew that she couldn’t sleep unless she went to him and confessed how she felt. She’d been plagued by dreams of them together, these beautiful, perfect dreams that poisoned her sleep like melatonin. She loved him and whether or not he felt the same way, she needed to tell him. She exhaled shakily as she dropped her arm back to her side. She was wearing her normal clothes, out of costume finally after a long day of shooting. She lost her sense of security behind the battlements of her gowns and numerous frilly things. She couldn’t hide her feelings behind her character anymore. 

The door opened and Cillian leaned against the doorframe in a casual greeting. 

“Don’t tell me we have a late night call time tonight, I’m fucking exhausted.” He smiled with his lopsided grin, his wide lips framing his teeth.

“No, but there is some business I need to attend to. May I come in?” She returned his smile and mirrored his posture. 

“Sure, come on.” He stepped aside and raised his arm in a welcoming gesture for her to pass through the door. She nodded in silent thanks and stood awkwardly in his trailer which was simple and quaint. Except for the unmade bed, the trailer was neat and orderly. 

“Oh fuck I’m sorry, were you asleep when I knocked?” She blushed and squeezed her palms together in an anxious gesture. 

“Nah, I was just reading the script for a movie my agent wants me to do next.” 

“Oh,” she nodded and turned her attention to the rack of costumes his character wore, “is it any good?” 

“It's definitely interesting but I don’t think it’s t’e right film for me.” He sighed and sat on the edge of his bed. Cillian was wearing a plain t-shirt and pajama pants, and seeing the innocent-intimate side of his life made her want so desperately to kiss him. She sat on the small couch he had in the trailer and tried to smile. 

“That’s too bad. Is it anything I’d like?” She joked and he nodded seriously. 

“Actually, yeh. I’ll send it over once I’m through. I’ve been re-reading it.” He moved his hands through the air as he spoke, so unlike his characters. She almost laughed and he smiled. 

“So, what can I do for you? You said you had some business to attend to. Sounds serious. Should I be worried?” He raised his eyebrow and crossed his legs, his hands cupped around the edge of the mattress. She tried to speak and immediately failed. Frustrated and embarrassed tears filled her eyes and she hid them by looking up at the ceiling. Cillian furrowed his brow, concerned. 

“What’s wrong?” He leaned forward on the bed and she shook her head, laughing lightly at herself. 

“I feel so incredibly stupid now for coming here.” She looked away and the bed squeaked softly as Cillian stood and joined her on the couch. She scooted over to give him some room and picked at the skin on her hands. 

“You can always come to me. Whatever it is.” He said softly and the air around them stilled with anticipation.

“Oh don’t say that, Cillian. You’re so kind…” she started to cry and tried to hide her face. 

“Fuck, I hate tears, please don’t cry! Did somet’ing happen?” He raised his hands helplessly, holding them over her without being sure what to do with them. She nodded her head slowly and hiccuped pitifully. 

“You’ll have to forgive me for my comforting abilities. I’ve never been good on t’at front and I have boys so I’m better at comforting members of the male species.” He shrugged and smiled, trying to lighten the mood. She laughed despite herself and wiped her eyes. She stood and paced the front of the trailer, knowing that it was now or never. 

“Cillian, this is such a horrible way to end your nice evening but I can’t continue on set without getting this off my chest. I hope you’ll forgive me.” She dared herself to look at him and he met her eyes, holding her eye-contact with mature resolve. 

“Of course.” He nodded softly, wrinkling his forehead, now more concerned with what his costar was going to tell him. He was naive. He assumed she was going to tell him that she couldn’t work with him anymore or that something had happened in their scenes that had made her uncomfortable. He shifted uneasily on the couch, watching her. She tried to speak a few times but exhaled and shook her head. Cillian stood and met her where she was standing. He was a good few feet taller than her and so much older, but having him there beside her made the feelings she wanted to tell him about so much stronger. 

“Cillian, this isn’t easy to say,” she looked down at her hands and then up into his clear blue eyes. “I have feelings for you, more than our professional relationship can offer. Working with you on set all this time has… it’s made my feelings so much harder to ignore, Cillian.” 

He froze and remembered to breathe, drawing in a startled breath. 

“T’at wasn’t what I was expecting you to say.” He ran his hand over his mouth and looked away, his blue eyes moving through his hidden thoughts. 

“I know you probably don’t feel the same but I just… it’s driving me mad, Cillian. It’s becoming a form of method acting that isn’t fun anymore.” She tried to laugh lightly but grimaced and put the backs of her hands against her burning cheeks. 

“Yeh…” he nodded and sighed, his eyes wide. 

She groaned and returned to the couch, sitting on her sweaty hands. 

“I can go, Cillian. I can leave if you don’t want me here anymore.” She whispered, tears pooling in her eyes. 

“No, no. We need to talk t’rough this.” He said calmly, slowly, and covered his mouth with his freckled hand. 

“Oh God, I’ve gone and fucked everything up. I’m sorry Cillian. I knew you didn’t feel the same but I still let myself go to you.” She leaned back against the couch and pulled her hands through her hair and pulled the skin back from her face. 

“Stop it. Don’t say t'at.” Cillian snapped not unkindly but sternly and took a deep breath. “See, we need to talk about t’is so we can still work together, eh?” He ran a hand through his own dark hair and looked at her for a moment, thinking. 

“How, Cillian? If you knew how I felt about you… it’s maddening. I can’t sleep, Cillian. You’re all I think about as pathetic as it sounds,” she took a deep breath, “I love you. And now you’ll hate me.” She continued and moved her hands, clasped together between her knees.

Cillian sighed and moved abruptly to her side on the couch, opening his body towards her. 

“Don’t talk for me, eh? Look, I understand. It’s hard to not develop certain er… feelings when we do what we do, right?” He cocked his head to the side and licked his lips awkwardly.

“I know I’m childish, Cillian, but I can’t help it. I’m suffering without you… without more from you, more than we can do on set.” She whined and rubbed her shoulders as if she were cold. “Can you indulge me? Do you feel even a little of what I do?” She whispered, looking deeply into his eyes. He said nothing for a second before running his hands up and down his face, exhaling loudly into his palms. He put his hands down and leaned towards her on his elbows. 

“I’m married, sweetheart. Yvonne is my wife and I love her.” He whispered softly, his hands splitting the space between them. 

“But I love you.” She whispered back and leaned in to kiss him. He allowed her to kiss him once and when she pulled away, dejected, he took her chin gently. 

“Cut the shit-delusion, sweetheart. You’re young… far too young for me. You may t’ink you love me but you don’t know me.”

He took her face in his hands and smiled sadly as tears rolled down her pink cheeks. 

“I know you’ll find someone who truly loves you. You’re a beautiful young woman who has her entire life ahead of her. I’m flattered t'at you feel t’at way about me but we can’t, I can’t. If the roles were reversed and we were married and Yvonne approached me, wouldn’t you want me to stop t’ings before t’ey went too far?” He supported her head as she dropped it slightly to the side. She felt empty of words and so he continued. 

“You’re a darling girl but you know we can’t do t’is.” He stroked her cheek with his thumb and wiped away her tears. “You need a boy your age who knows how to love you in the way you need to be loved. I only know how to love my wife… and she’s the only one who knows how to love me.”

“I could have loved you in whatever way you needed.” She whispered weakly and he smiled softly. “I know, sweetheart,” he soothed her like a father, “but you wouldn’t have been happy wit' me. You’re out of my league and you would have gotten bored of me.” He joked lightly and she allowed a pained smile to form on her lips. 

“I’m sorry, Cillian. I feel like such a fool.” She closed her eyes and he hugged her close. 

“Nah, you’re still a kid. You’re many t’ings but foolish is not one of ’em.” He squeezed her tightly and kissed her head affectionately. “You’re a good kid and a great actress. We’ll be fine, the two of us, eh?” He pulled away and she wiped her eyes dry. 

“I’ll try.”  

She kissed him briefly on the cheek and rose to her feet. She walked to the door and looked back at the actor with a small smile, the door open in front of her.

“Goodnight, Cillian.” 

He nodded from the couch. 

“Y/N?” 

“Yes?”

Cillian stood and shoved his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants, shrugging his shoulders up to his ears. 

“You weren’t the only one.... That is, you weren’t the only one who felt…” he broke off and cleared his throat, “but it's better t’is way, yeh?.... It’ll pass, love. It’ll pass.” 

He met her eyes one last time and she nodded sadly yet full of a completeness found in their mutual understanding. 

“Goodnight, Cillian.” She said again and closed the door behind her and left the trailer, walking with her back to the wind. Cillian collapsed back on the couch and looked at his watch, wondering if Yvonne was awake. She always answered his calls. She put up with everything, God bless her. She was everything and more than he deserved. He rang her up and she answered after the second ring, her voice ringed with sleepiness.

"Heya, love." He whispered with a smile, "No, everyt'ing's fine. I just wanted to call you. I miss you, girl. Yeah, yeah. Put them on."

[andraxicated]

Intimacy in all its forms

Pairings: ayato, heizou, albedo, kaeya, childe, scaramouche x f! reader

tags: fluff | highschool au! (currently reading seasons of blossom and i'm not okay)

a/n: this will probably be one of my last writings here before i'm once again swept up in school. this will be 3 parts with other characs!

taken from prompts here

pt. 2

Ayato | The intimacy of someone falling asleep next to you. On your shoulder. In your company.

—he was oh so capable. everyone admired and trusted him, he was all smiles to them and they'd worship the ground he walked on. he was good at everything; academics and athletics, student government positions, and work that seemed too much for one person. he handled it all like some kind of superman and you hated it so much. you hated how ayato promised he'd change his attitude when you're dating and he broke it—seeing him still handling paperwork when the sun was starting to set and the school was about to be empty.

"are you done?" you ask, leaning against the door to be met with his sorry eyes and words. "sorry (y/n), i'm about to be finished soon, you can go now if you want." what kind of question was that? of course, you'd stay with him.

you pull out a nearby chair and sat next to him, leaning closer and resting your head on his shoulder. "I can't have my afternoon nap because of you" you mutter before closing your eyes, hearing his hushed apologies that you inwardly groan to. and when you wake up, both of you go together in the darkened hallways hand-in-hand, passing by empty classrooms that you refuse to look at and ayato chuckles while glancing at you.

he doesn't call for a car ride when he's staying late, in fear of inconveniencing the family drivers but you tell him he's the only one who'd be inconvenienced commuting at a rush hour.

"how could I be inconvenienced when you're with me?" he says before yawning, a sign that he was about to succumb to exhaustion, and soon you feel a weight on your shoulder to see his blue hair nuzzling your face. ayato fell asleep on your shoulder as you held his hand, smoothing his knuckles over.

it was far from an uncomfortable silence. to have him resting on your shoulder, in your company, laying his guard down, and being vulnerable around you is enough to make your heart melt. you remember feeling something press against your head earlier when you were asleep on his shoulder, it felt like a kiss. and you know you'd always return the favor so you lean down a bit and kiss the top of his head, careful not to disturb him in this short slumber.

"take it easy sometimes, will you?" you whisper.

Heizou | The intimacy of “How did you know that?” “Because I know you.”

—you learned from the very start that heizou was a deductive person. it's like he knew everything as he was very quick to pick up on things. he even notices random stuff that you don't even know about. and all these little things he points out pile up and makes your heart flutter. you seriously think you're catching feelings and you hope this was one thing heizou won't know.

"you have something on your mind? you've been zoning out since earlier like your soul had flown out." he asks and you brush it off by saying you're just stressed from doing schoolwork. heizou won't pry if you don't want to tell him so instead...he's going to be the one to tell you something that's been weighing heavily on his mind.

it was just a peaceful day hanging out with him until he blurts out a confession out of the blue. "I like you (y/n)" he says and you're staring at him unbelievably with your eyes wide and mouth parted. he continues, "and I know that you like me too...at least from what I observed. turn me down if I'm wrong-"

"wait. how did you know that?" you cut him off. and you weren't even obvious with your crush from what you think. does he really know you that well to let you face your feelings for him?

"because i know you"

it had been bold of him to take that leap of faith to you. because there was that slight chance that he was just assuming and you only saw him as a friend. but his risk paid off knowing you all these years, staying by your side, and watching you fall for other people. for the first time, he chose to trust his guts rather than his mind. and it was rewarding to see you smile and hear your answer to his confession.

"once again you're right. i like you too, heizou"

Albedo | The intimacy of seeing someone’s unfocused eyes when they first wake up

—your eyes flutter open and the first thing you see is long lashes and striking tufts of blonde hair. you're curled up against the bed, a safe distance from this warm body and you haven't processed the information yet that your "classmate" is still here and you slept in the same bed together.

your parents are coming home today by the way.

you mutter a curse, soon realizing that the wet streets have dried and albedo is still here. oh my god. albedo! you wanted to scream but he looked so peaceful sleeping, you thought it would be a crime to wake him. but from your stirring and panic, you stop for a bit just to see his eyes flutter open, staring at the ceiling for a moment, revealing a lovely color of teal that soon moved to stare at you.

"good morning" he groggily greets and you say it back meekly. oh you've been a bad bad girl. when your parents are away from vacation, you invited your boyfriend to your house for a movie and cuddles since it was rainy season. turns out, you lead him to the bed for a continued cuddle session until you fell asleep.

you both sit up at the same time and you carefully watch what he does next. albedo looks at you as you flinch in surprise. "I should go now, you said your parents are coming back today, right?" you nod and he moves to kiss your forehead, feeling the warmth of his soft lips that closed your eyes. "I should've said no but unfortunately, I realized I couldn't resist you. I'm dating a bad influence." albedo says, playing with your fingers as you shake your head while giggling.

"let's have breakfast together first. then you can go after that, we have plenty of time." you whisper, kissing his cheek before going out of your room, feeling flushed and giddy from this intimate secret.

Kaeya | The intimacy of someone saying "Text me when you're home safe."

—"you don't have to do this", you shake your head looking up at him yet he gives you an easy smile in return. "this is the least I could do as your suitor." he insisted to wait with you at the stop until your transportation arrives. kaeya always made you feel safe and assured, he was constantly looking out for you. and before you go, he held your arm and said "Text me when you're home safe." so when you arrive, you let down your bag and pull out your phone to text kaeya.

"I'm home now! how about you?" you waited for a few minutes, growing worried until you see him typing a message that read, "home too. it's raining these days and it's going to be hard to commute. do you want me to give you a ride home starting tomorrow?"

you type in, feeling embarrassed yet he beat you to it saying "it's only for the rainy days. i hate seeing you squeezing against other commuters too."

yet he didn't say you'd see his brother too in the front seat with kaeya enthusiastically tapping the passenger seat at the back for you to sit in. it was very awkward in the car, proceeding to kaeya's smooth words that his brother lets out a groan every few minutes or so. you know it was his way of letting his brother know that he actually has a girl with him.

"hi can you please drop me off just around the corner? it will be fine thank you." you spoke to the driver with a smile and kaeya was confused as to why you wanted to be dropped off there.

"are you hiding something from me? a secret boyfriend coming over?" he teases yet he was quite nervous for the reason. you laugh it off, pushing him playfully before easing his worries.

"my parents still don't know about you, right? let's avoid any confrontations for now, I just don't want to be teased by my family that's all." you held his hand, giving it a little squeeze to see him break out in a small smile. "i'm not hiding something i swear! i'm serious about you. i like you kaeya!" if someone, even your neighbors saw this sleek black car parking in front and you coming out of it, it will certainly be the topic of gossip. you just wanted to avoid that.

"i know. i like you too. but was that your answer—" "ehem, (y/n) here we are. stay safe." diluc cuts him off with a cough, announcing your location and you pull away much to kaeya's dismay. you give him your brightest smile before shyly waving, thanking the brothers and the driver then got out of the car, walking to your house, knowing they're still there parked and watching you go in.

kaeya's phone beeps, a notification of your message saying, "I'm home! Thank you for the ride♡"

Childe | The intimacy of instantly recognising someone’s handwriting

—a piece of paper had found itself bouncing on your desk, all crumpled and white. you open it, not taking a glance at whoever behind you had thrown that but as soon as you open it you already know who it came from.

it was very evident from the handwriting, nice and clean but in terms of penmanship against other people you know, this person was on the middle tier. it was not something that gets someone to say "wow, your handwriting's good!" yet you loved seeing it anyway.

and you know he could see the corner of your lips rise from his view, it made him mirror the grin you so subtly hide in fear of being called out. you take a glance at the teacher before writing on the piece of paper.

replying to the message written, "Let's have lunch together :(( I miss you"

you write in, "Okay! And I missed you too even though we literally talked 10 minutes ago", you crumpled it back and threw the paper without looking, hoping ajax could somehow catch it.

have some faith in your boyfriend, would you? he's not part of the athletes if he's not that agile at catching. he secretly opens it and fails to hold back his chuckle that drew question marks above everybody's heads.

Scaramouche | The intimacy of answering the phone "Hey you."

—the phone rang, the door locked, and his heart fast as he was nervous about talking to you. pacing around, running a scenario of what would happen once you answered the phone.

scaramouche doesn't wait yet he finds himself wishing you'd pick up. but ultimately the tone ended without being answered and he was left with his screen showing a failed call.

he sighed, wanting to retire for the night until his phone rang once again with your name on it. he dives onto the bed to get ahold of the device and picks it up, speaking first as he always gets the first word.

"hey you"

"What's up?" he hated your dry reply. "What took you so long to pick up?" he wanted to know what kept you busy, didn't he tell you to always answer your phone when he calls?

"I took a shower and cleaned myself up. I'm literally in a towel. Why did you call?"

he didn't mean to do it but he immediately created a mental image of you freshly out of the shower with your hair wet and wearing a towel. the tip of his ears turned hot and he struggled to speak until you laughed over the phone and reminded him of what he was to you.

"hey boyfriend. you shouldn't be thinking of anything funny—"

"I wasn't!" he acted like a provoked cat as his shout tore that his mom shouted back asking who he was fighting. he was certainly fighting you and your schemes to get him all flustered, it worked though. and scara never changed, even after everything he always had the first word in calls. a "hey you" laced with unconcealed affection and a cheeky grin that follows.

[bakuhatsufallinlove]

Hello, I hope I can ask you this. I was exploring the Jp side of YouTube and watching review and discussion videos on MHA. I found a couple of popular videos on the potential future relationships of all the characters, and as expected, they were all the default m/f pairs. But the comments took me by surprise. Most of them were about “greentea,” obviously, but I could also see comments on very odd pairs like Eri and Deku, Mahoro and Bakugo, and even Eri and Mirio quite frequently! (Even typing it out is making me cringe)😭😭😭 However, I also saw a couple of comments on Bakugo and Deku, but very few, probably 1 out of 100. I’m really curious about how bkdk is perceived by the general Japanese audience, is it even taken seriously? Maybe I just couldn’t find any review videos that even considered them as a pair, but the ones I saw were kinda popular too; they had plenty of views. So yeah, I’d love to know your thoughts on this, again I hope this is ok to ask🥹

Also I just discovered you and I love all your content!😭 I’ve exhausted them haha, thank you so much for your work! Lots of love! 🩷🩷🩷

First off, I want to mention that I have a hitherto unspoken rule to not comment on ships other than bkdk. I know you are asking about bkdk specifically, but the framework of the question brings other things into the discussion, so I want to say this clearly to discourage follow-up questions from others which may be angled toward different ships or ship discourse in general. Bkdk is what I’m here for, so bkdk is what I’m going to talk about.

In regards to your actual question, I’m gonna answer by giving you some information about how fandom works in Japan.

Bkdk is the most popular mha ship in Japan in terms of fanworks, by a wide margin.

Japanese fandom is, compared to English-speaking fandom, heavily centered on fanart. Japan has frequent doujinshi (independently published comic) events where dozens or even hundreds of artists come to distribute their work, and many of these have been going on for decades. It is not hyperbole to say that some kind of doujinshi event, showcasing brand new work, is going on in at least one major city in Japan every single month, and these events are attended by hundreds and sometimes thousands of people. Sometimes there are two or more events in a single month.

To be clear, doujinshi are not only fanworks, which is why I specified “independently published comic.” Lots of doujin are original works, and many now well-known mangaka got their start, gained connections, and built their early fanbase through participating in doujin circles (collaborative groups of artists who create work under the same independent label). My point is that visual art and comics are so huge in Japan it is hard to overstate their prominence in the culture as a whole, let alone fandom culture.

So, fanart and doujin are huge, and among fans who make fanart/doujin, bkdk is wildly popular.

The thing you have to ask yourself is, does fanwork represent general readership? Drawing fanart is the most common way to show your love for a series in Japan, but that definitely doesn’t mean every reader is drawing fanart. In my opinion, fanfic is prominent in USA-centered fandom, but obviously only a fraction of the people who enjoy a series are going to write fanfic for it.

I don’t think we can really quantify the opinions of general readership this way. I mean, when you scroll through the comment section of the same kind of clickbaity, hot-topic videos about anime/manga that English-speaking audiences watch, do you feel like those comments accurately reflects what most people think? I know I don’t. There is always going to be a selection bias, because “people who comment on youtube videos” also only represent a fraction of “people who read mha.”

Japanese fandom is significantly more segmented and considerate of differing tastes than English-speaking fandom.

Japanese fandom is pretty strict with its rules of engagement. Personal privacy and respect for others are very important factors. Artists don’t want to be recognized at their day-job for their R18 doujin. Shippers don’t want their comments or cutesy fanart to be algorithmically-fed to users who have no interest in it. This is seen as polite and correct; it is respectful of the fact that people have different tastes, and not everyone will share yours.

See, Japanese fandom recognizes that the internet constitutes public view.

So fan language is coded: words are spelled slightly differently; characters, events, or ships get unique euphemistic nicknames; words or names are replaced with emojis. All of this is to prevent their stuff from being seen by someone just casually searching “Bakugou.”

You have to be in the know to know how to find stuff. You have to actively search for like-minded fans and curate your space, expanding your circle typically through word of mouth. And you have to abide by the rules, or else everyone is going to think you’re an overbearing jerk and not wanna be around you.

If you are just using google translate on social media posts or videos visibly labeled under the series title, you aren’t going to find much in regards to active shipping. Frankly, you aren’t going to see the whole scope of Japanese bkdk fan activity in any one place using any one method. This is how Japanese fandom is designed, and people work pretty hard to keep it that way.

Japanese fandom does not generally engage from the perspective that their desires will be validated by canon.

This is one of the biggest differences. In English-speaking fandom, you see people argue left and right about what’s going to be canon, who’s the endgame ship, and so on. People are very preoccupied by the idea that their ship has to be “validated,” and this validation comes from the notion that canon will reflect their personal preferences and fulfill their hopes for how the story will go.

This is just not the atmosphere in the vast majority of Japanese fan spaces. Remember how I said that jpn fandom recognizes that people have different tastes? This means people also tend to think that it is rather arrogant and demanding to think that your wishes are the only ones that should come true. It is also disrespectful of the mangaka’s artistic vision and hard-work to expect them to disregard their own desires to satisfy you personally.

So, when you ask, “are bkdk even taken seriously?” the question is built upon the idea that people who enjoy the series expect an outcome catered to their tastes.

As you said, most of the comments were for heterosexual pairings, which are the most obvious to predict considering the endings of other popular series published in Weekly Shonen Jump. Furthermore, Yashahime—sequel anime to shounen manga Inuyasha—confirmed that a character roughly ten years of age later grew up and had children with a (slowly-aging but adult) supernatural being who served as her caretaker and protector.

Maybe the video commenters were reflecting personal interest in those ships, or maybe they were just spit-balling off stuff they'd seen before. I can tell you I haven't really seen fanart for any of that, but I don't go looking for it, and m/f ship spaces will be separate from m/m ship spaces.

Still, it is important to remember that audience expectation is not directly correlated to outcome. When the online Shonen Jump+ manga Blue Flag was first published, the vast majority of readers did not expect that one of the characters in the love triangle would be gay. Hell, they expected it so little that the reveal went viral!

Audience expectation may be interesting to think about, but it is not a prediction method.

To sum it up:

Bkdk is extremely popular, but jpn fandom is very private and structured differently than English-speaking fandom.

Any metric of measurement for reader opinion will have its flaws, and audience expectation is not a foolproof way to gauge real outcome.

Personally, I think we should all take a cue from jpn fandom and just have fun.

I hope that answers your question and gives you some context, anon. Thank you for the kind comments on my work, I really appreciate it. <3

[oxygenbefore1775]

rotten endeavour

➼pairing: zeke x reader

➼cw: very grumpy zeke (he has his reasons), both of them are emotionally stunted idiots, tame mentions of injuries, canonverse

➼summary: worrying about zeke is a rotten endeavour sometimes but you persist anyway

➼wc: 4,3k

➼a/n: for a better understanding it's best to read this post first since this explains what boo-boo happened to zeke cuz he never explains it in the fic itself (fr, i mean it)

“You are the last person I'd come to for this.”

The first time you hear the words, they sound like a poorly veiled taunt, another reminder of the distance Zeke maintains between himself and you. Even when he chooses you, he ensures you're not honored by it.

“Usually Pieck or Porco assist me—”

But they're away on some military exercise, leaving you as the only option to him — the undesirable option. Even now, you sense it. In all the time you've been talking, never once did he turn to face you. His gaze constantly glosses over your features, fixating on anything in the room but you.

A surprisingly cold tone for someone hoping his beckonings would succeed in swaying you. His aloofness would gain him no favor, especially now, when you are the only one he could consider for help. Your favor — the word has a nice ring to it — and with it, your control over the decision. 

You cross your arms over your chest, pondering your options. 

“So you want me to walk you from the Titan research facility back to your home, that's all?” you lay it down plainly.

Rarely one for being interrupted, Zeke seems almost glad to hear you sum up his request concisely. A quick nod is all he deigns to reply with, as if his ability to answer with words has deserted him.

Surprised by his lack of rebuke, you quirk your brow at him. 

A short walk to the facility and back might exhaust an ailing elder, but certainly not the Chief of the Warrior Unit. You can’t help but to wonder what the possible explanation for this could be. Yet for the first time, you finally feel yourself in the position to demand one, instead of going along with his excuses as it often happens. 

“And what is the reason for this?” Your voice is on the verge of shedding its stoic tone. It feels almost wrong to ask something of him, not when he always keeps his answers so close to his chest, but you must persist. If he hopes for any of your help, he should give some common courtesy a try. 

It takes effort to cast your glance his way, silently demanding that he meet your eyes. To his credit, he obliges, but there isn't a sliver of the seriousness you had hoped to see.

“Should there be a reason?” he counters with a quip unbefitting his current position yet somehow so predictable, which brings your blood to a boil. 

Lacking the mood to entertain his antics, you do not relent in your inquiries. “With you, there usually is.” You don’t hide the skepticism in your blunt statement. 

At last, the finality of your reply compels a shift in his disposition. He glances at you, as if sizing you up, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes before he quickly looks away. As much as you’d like to brand it a silent re-consideration, you know him far too well to expect an immediate pliancy.

And it doesn’t come. 

He sighs, poorly hiding (or mimicking?) the exasperation you, apparently, have had the insolence to cause him. “Maybe I just want some company. Ever think of that?” You shoot him a look full of disbelief but before you can reply in the frankest way possible, he piles on, “Besides, aren’t you the one with the morbid fascination for my position? I thought you’d appreciate the chance to show me off.”

Even now he won’t say a thing. You wish you had enough annoyance in you to roll your eyes at his flippant tone but it all has burnt out and turned to simmering anger. Oh well, he is the only one to be poorer for it. You linger in your eloquent silence — a sign that Zeke would usually welcome, considering the plentiful history of your constant bickerings. But today it must have instilled him with something beyond the bland interest of having traded words with you. 

Before you are able to catch it, though, he turns away. The match, taken out of his pocket, hisses and burns, and the room is soon filled with the putrid scent of nicotine, the fog of smoke shielding his features from you. A cheap ploy, not to mention unpleasant for your senses. You are about to leave and free yourself from its presence when he suddenly speaks up. The next thing Zeke says is coated with a sentiment you never thought him capable of — nervousness.

“So, will you come?” Something in his voice falters, adds a yet unspoken urgency to his tone, and it urges you to hesitate, but not enough to break your silence.

You shoot him an inquisitive look in hopes to see the hint of the seriousness in his demeanor, but instead, he feels the need to ask you again, this time resorting to calling your name in his question. You can’t believe the distress you’ve caused in him with your lack of response alone. 

You purse your lips. Fuck him and his stubborness. 

“Sure.”

��₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

He'd better express some sincere gratitude, and lots of it, for you sacrificing your only day off to assist him. Especially when the morning weather has left you yearning to wait it out in the warmth of your bed, not forced to endure it at the gates of the research facility as you are right now. The Marleyan soldiers haven’t allowed you in since — as if you need yet another reminder — you have no official relation to Zeke that would sanction your immediate presence.

Yet annoyance seldom takes deep roots in your heart, even if its target is as persistent as Zeke. If anything, the only thing that seems to stir the ire within you is the intensity with which he plagues your thoughts even at this hour. Stuck waiting at the gate, pondering about him is left as the only way to pass the time. 

Zeke would rather die than ask you for a favor. Barring the unlikely scenario of him developing a newfound fondness for your aid, there are only a few reasons for his shadow of an attempt to break down the walls around him and actually seek you out. One particular reason seems to lie over there, in the caverns of the facility where they could be doing who knows what to him. But what? What could instill him with more dread than being vulnerable for once?

With each of your guesses more sinister than the other, it takes you time to notice the gate screeching as it opens behind you. The sound of his steps is light but somehow his voice is even lighter when he greets you with the same loud words of his.

“Now, aren't you a welcome sight, patiently waiting for me all those hours of the morning? One might mistake this commitment for something only a spouse is capable of.” A hint of sneer finds its way into his tone but drops just as quickly. “Shame that the resemblance alone couldn’t secure your entry past the gates, where I very much needed your company.”

Before you can take in the sight of him, a retaliatory quip already leaps off your tongue. “You can tell that to the soldiers standing at the gate. While their sentiments mirrored yours, the words they chose to express to me were far from mindful.” 

Only then, you look at him. 

Zeke is pale, and awfully so. As if they have drained him of all the blood his body had to offer back in those sterile rooms. He himself, however, seemingly refuses to acknowledge his condition as well as the unprompted reaction of shock that it has elicited from you. 

Perhaps the thick fog this morning has distorted your perception of colors, you muse to yourself. If he himself doesn't display any concern for his own well-being, then you shouldn't either. However, you choose not to seek comfort in this excuse for an explanation. The faster you get to Zeke’s house, the less time you’d get to spend in his company, already pestering as it is.

Fearing that you may slip and mention his deathly complexion out loud, you decide to speak no longer, instead signaling him to take off. And he, for a change, lacks the rebuke to call you out on it. At least this one time you'd enjoy the ‘peace’ of his company, you note to yourself with distasteful glee — only to become disgusted with yourself moments after. It’s wrong to think that way — if not of Zeke Yeager, then at least of the honorary Marleyan.

His gait is neither fast nor steady. For every three steps you take, he manages only one — and even that requires a significant effort as he drags his feet and takes his sweet time before making the next move. If you weren’t there with him in the early hours of the morning, you would think that he is walking in the dark. Not devoid of basic compassion, you shoot him a tentative look. For all you know, darkness might be all he sees right now. In all the time you've been watching him, his eyes have never strayed from the invisible spot he’s fixed on.

As you walk side by side — or rather, as you slow your pace to match Zeke’s — you flinch at the sudden feel of his palm brushing against yours. It’s not just the touch, already as rare as it is for your… connection, but the coldness of it that surprises you. Somehow unaware of this, he persists in finding your palm repeatedly, unaware of the subtle withdrawals your hand makes time and again to evade the clammy grasp of his trembling fingers. He’s too close. He’s never been that close, for that matter.

Just as you are about to turn your head to him to voice your quite justified confusion with his unprompted proximity, you hear the soft rustle of his voice. 

“You wouldn’t be thrilled at the prospect of lifting my two-hundred-something-pound body off the pavement if I were to collapse right here,” he says, his blue eyes appearing haunting against his pallid face. “Better to take care of this now, while I’m still in the right frame of mind to warn you.”

The loquaciousness is of no help to him, especially now, when he looks like this. Yet his words still have a sway over you. Your gaze averted, you take hold of his arm instead of his hand. 

It’s quite difficult to walk now, with you fused together at the side and him eagerly leaning his weight onto your frame. At times, you contemplate sending daggers his way, but your intentions are swiftly repelled by the sight of his half-closed eyes. His lids twitch ever so slightly, as if his whole body is held in tension. 

You've never seen him in such a state. If it's true, if he really is in pain like you suspect — no display of nonchalance can fool you on that — it still leaves you perplexed. A rare witness to his injuries, considering all of them that you see on him quite so happen to be the ones you inflict upon him yourself in the heat of the moment, you are nonetheless keenly aware of one telltale sign betraying his hurt — a sign currently hidden from your view. 

Clouds of steam — not one visible to your eye. You want to ask but you're too apprehensive of his answer. If he will be able to answer you at all, given his state, that is. 

Just what have they done to him? 

How fortunate for you both that only a small distance lies between the research facility and Zeke's home. 

You come to a sudden halt at the sight of his front door. In a mere moment, he will disappear behind it, dismissing you to continue on your way. And afterward? You can't anticipate that someone so accustomed to enduring frequent physical hardships would possess the knowledge of proper self-care. His default course of action would likely be to wait it out — whatever ‘it’ may be. From what you can see, ‘it’ has only worsened for him.

“Now would be the absolute worst time for you to go back on your promise,” Zeke hisses through his teeth as your nails dig deeper into the flesh of your palm in hesitation. “Not just a few steps away from the house.”

“Watch me,” you shoot back momentarily, fiddling with the keys.

In a way, he is correct. It's just the level of your commitment to the promise that he is wrong about.

Standing at his doorstep, you ponder the sentiment that has driven you here. Perhaps you linger a bit too long for Zeke's liking. With the seclusion of his house so within the reach, he feels bold enough to reject your assistance and stagger past you. No, you would never feel such worry for Zeke Yeager, the thought settles in your mind. The holder of the Beast, though, is another matter entirely. There’s no strings attached to the concern a conscientious citizen would express about the well-being of the invaluable warrior, his regeneration be damned. A sense of relief washes over you as you pinpoint the exact reason for your lingering presence. You are simply here to watch over him, the honorary Marleyan, to ensure he doesn’t have the indecency to deteriorate further. That’s all there is to it.

He doesn’t object as you follow him into the house, he’s too preoccupied with making his way to the couch. Each step is unsteady, as if he's channeling all his focus into placing his feet just right. A grunt escapes his lips as he collapses onto the couch, his coat and boots still on. He buries his face in the crook of his elbow, away from the cold white light streaming in from the street.

The shallow ragged breaths he takes mirror the fluttering beats of your heart as you stand near the doorway, in an abashed contemplation of his form. 

“Why are you still here?” he murmurs, likely hearing you go deeper into the room to close the curtains rather than near the exit like he’d prefer. 

“Well, how do Finger or Galliard usually proceed when it comes to this point?” you counter, a soft rebuke finding its way into your voice. 

He takes his time to answer, spacing his labored breaths between each word. His response is laden with a finality you’re expected to pick up on. “They do precisely what they’re asked and leave,” he hisses. “Do you get a kick out of doing exactly what I told you not to?”

His voice, though quiet and almost breathless, still persists, as if his silence might jeopardize his perceived victory in the confrontation you two — apparently — are having. As much as the barbs of his words beckon your counter quip, you can’t find it in your heart to entertain it. There is no bickering to be had with the man who’s a hair’s breadth away from passing out from pain.

“And what then? What do you do after they’re gone?” you inquire further, emboldened by the lack of possible retaliation on his part.

Silence is the worst that he's capable of at this hour. And that's all you hear first, until a whisper reaches your ear. 

“This. Precisely this.”

You find no pleasure in being right, because it means that every time — and you don’t dare to venture an exact number — he’s been in the caverns of the facility, he’s been recuperating the same way he is now. On his own, with an injury apparently too grievous even for his regeneration to heal. "Zeke is no stranger to the mutilations his body has endured during his years of service to Marley, yet you’ve never heard of a single wound rendering him to the state you find him in right now.

“Oh, how viscous of me, then,” a smirk starts but fails to form on your lips as you struggle to keep your nonchalant composure, approaching the couch he is laying on. “Taking care of a man who’s too helpless to resist my nursing advances. Only a monster would be capable of such cruelty.”

Your remark doesn’t elicit any reaction from him. The serene expression of his features you’re so used to seeing is now shattered as you pry his arms away from his face to get his glasses off. Ever averse, he opens his eyes the moment he feels your touch on his skin. 

“What a rotten endeavor you’ve chosen for yourself,” he speaks with a sullen strain in his voice, “to pity me.” 

In the dim light, it’s hard to see clearly, but it appears that even his eyes have lost their usual brightness. Only the shadow of a smile that he manages to crack remains the same, ever playful. As much as he feigns annoyance, the inordinate amount of attention you give him still amuses him. 

“Not true. It’s not true,” you rush to counter him.

As if the redundancy would make your lie any less obvious.  

He doesn’t fight your advances anymore, not with words nor attitude, as he closes his eyes again and lets you slide the glasses off of him. The metal frames have left red dents on his nose and forehead, even more visible against his pale face now. His hair, a mess of damp locks clinging to his forehead.

Lying down seems to have provided some relief from the pain, whatever its nature may be. But not much. His ragged breathing and shivers ravaging his body are dead give-aways of that. He must be concealing from you the true extent of his suffering.

His voice rustles once again, but even in the deathly silence of the room, you have trouble discerning his words. Thus, he has to repeat himself, much to his chagrin. “A smoke, give me one.”

“I don’t think that—”

“I think that you are still here because of some noble notion to ‘take care’ of me,” Zeke lashes out in a whisper that somehow manages to sound brimming with frustration despite its weakness. “And the only thing that I want right now is a good smoke, so be so ‘caring’ as to give some to me.”

It’s strange to see him crippled with pain to such an extent. Maybe that’s why you pay no mind to his unusually quiet yet all-too-familiarly barbed outburst and refrain from mirroring his retorts. 

He finishes the first cigarette in under a minute, reducing it to a stump between his trembling fingers in a few deep drags. With his lungs saturated in nicotine, a semblance of calm finally settles into his breathing. Despite yourself, a sigh of relief escapes your lips at this sight. Without missing a beat, the second one is ignited. Nicotine is all he breathes. 

“I'm sure that there's something more interesting in the house to stare at other than this couch.” The puff of smoke carries his words. 

His hint falls on deaf ears. A begrudged plea is all you can recognize in the sound of his voice. 

You ponder for a minute, casting your gaze towards the very thing he'd like you not to look at. Perhaps it would be a good bet to let him endure the pain in the comfort of solitude with you keeping a close eye on him from another room. At least that way he will have to expend energy on healing, instead of employing a fruitless tactic to hold back his grunts and keep a straight face, like he is trying now. 

He doesn’t need you. He wants you gone. Even with the gravity of the situation in mind, you can’t help but to let his attitude cut deep. Broken and suffering, he wouldn’t dream of letting down his guard for you.

Fine. You’ll allow your sentiments to mirror his, then.

“Indeed,” you feign agreement. “It’s not like you’re a sight for sore eyes right now, anyway.”

You mean to hurt him, even just a little bit — a semblance of retaliation for what he’s put you through on this endeavor — but his emotionless facade doesn’t even budge. If anything, he appears glad at the mere mention of finally getting some alone time.

You infuse your voice with feigned incredulity to a painful extent, grateful that he's in no condition to pick up on it. “Well, I suppose even the shelves in your room could be a more welcome sight than this, especially with what happens to fill them.”

A flimsy excuse to leave his side, but he’s all too happy to take the bait. Your veiled ultimatum is accepted without a moment’s consideration as Zeke immediately shoots back.

“Yes, a lot of deficit stuff to read, so help yourself. Now get out.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Cooped up in a room filled with the rarest books Zeke has collected from invaded cities for the past hour, you find yourself caring less for these spoils of war than you'd like to admit. All your thoughts are of the living room, of the warchief’s broken form on the couch.

You rush to the living room as soon as you hear his grunts still. For the briefest of moments you consider the possibility of him being dead, the regeneration having failed in ridding him of this invisible ailment, yet brush off the baseless assumption. Marley wouldn't do anything to cause the death of their wonder-warchief. Not for another five years at least. 

You have proven yourself right in the end. Without your persistent presence, his guard has dropped enough for him to fall asleep. A considerably better outcome to staying awake and aware of the pain. 

Entering the room filled with blue smog, your attention is immediately drawn to the ash-covered patch of flooring near the sofa. It all still smokes, fills the air with the nicotine stench from no less than half a dozen stubs, the smell so potent it stings your eyes, making them brim with tears. In the poisonous haze, it takes you a moment to make out the amber glint still nestled between his pale fingers — a lit cigarette, burning away. The ember laps at his skin, singeing and instantly steaming anew with regeneration. You ensure to take it from him and stub it out in the ashtray nearby. His body doesn’t need any more damage beyond that of the original mysterious ailment that’s led to his chain-smoking in the first place.

You have to admit there's a touch of morbid curiosity, if not concern, compelling you to contemplate his features and the impact that the shock from the last few hours has had on them. Usually his sleep is far too thin for this fit to work out in your favor. But now he barely registers your presence even as you sit down at the very edge of the couch beside him.

Even in his nicotine-fueled dream he fails to find rest. His body’s still full of pain-born tremble and tension. Yet you have to admit that he does look less deathly than a couple of hours ago. Neither pallor draining his complexion nor sweat beading his skin seem to be the case now. 

You’re glad, almost relieved even, to see him find some semblance of peace. With his body’s regenerative abilities, it's only uphill from here. At least until the next time he has to return to the facility. 

Another time that likely won’t come for you, given how your recruitment happened. And along with it, any chance for your curiosity to be sated, if it ever truly existed. No amount of pressing on your part would make him consider divulging any explanation for his compromised state to you — pressing that you are too prideful to conduct in the first place. 

In the quiet of the room, disturbed only by the sounds of his breathing and the occasional noise of the city coming from outside, you can’t keep your thoughts at bay. So you turn to him once again. The sight of his features, still heavy with sleep, brings you twisted comfort that you may sit here with him for a bit longer. You study him closely. For a moment, you’re even tempted to reach out and brush the hair from his forehead but restrain yourself. 

The redundancy of your altruistic intentions is truly laughable. A man of his gifts, known to be undeterred by the multiple loss of his limbs, would want for nothing when it comes to his health, let alone your feeble attempts to take care of him. And yet despite his regeneration, there’s a part of you that wants to help, no matter the futility of your efforts. But you know better than to expect gratitude or even acknowledgement. Zeke is not one to show vulnerability, and most certainly not one to thank you for witnessing it. 

And in the end, you’re always the one poorer for it.

The warchief’s quarters are much more quaint than yours, but there's no comfort in being here now. You recall the very reason you decided to stay instead of leaving immediately. With your intentions fulfilled and his sleep growing lighter, you desire to leave more than ever. You don’t want him to wake and his first words to you to be yet another remark at the sliver of affection you have for him. He doesn’t get to hurt you any more than he’s done today.

Only fools harbor hope — you care to remember that after the years of knowing him. But for your persistence today, you’ve been given a glimpse of the other Zeke. Even now, you can see a bit of that in him as he lies there, curled up on the couch, wincing ever so slightly at the light pouring in from the open front door. Once again, you stand at his doorstep in a moment of weakness, pondering one last thought before leaving. Maybe you're fine with being hope’s fool.

[thesparklingwriter]

words of comfort

" You’re not alone in this world anymore, so please just stop acting like you are.”

word count: 0.8k

original ask

tags: hurt/comfort, kaeya is working too hard and reader says 'no more of that', there's a mild innuendo at the end but i couldn't help it it was the kind of opportunity that i know kaeya wouldn't pass up but I've been so conflicted as to leave in or not because i feel like its too soon but kaeya's also the type of guy to not dwell on things too much after it's solved but i still feel like it might be too soon but we all know he wouldn't pass on an opportunity like that and i'm just going to let you read it

taglist | masterlist

Perhaps Kaeya underestimates how much you notice. He thinks he’s done a fantastic job of hiding how exhausted he is from you, from everyone. He’s been putting a little extra effort into his work, so desperate to prove to himself that he could work harder, that he could take things seriously, he could be better for you. You’d never asked that of him, and he knew you wouldn’t, but something in him made him think you deserved better. And he couldn’t stand the thought of ‘better’ being someone else, so he buried his worries and concerns into his job in hopes he could work them away.

When he finally gets home, he’s convinced that you’re fast asleep already—a fact that doesn’t fill him with excitement. Rather, it increases the feelings of inadequacy he’s been feeling recently. He slumps onto the couch, rubbing a hand over his face and pulling off his eyepatch. 

“Kae?” He hears you coming down the stairs and sits up with a fake casual air.

“Hey, sunshine.” he grins. “How was your day?” 

“It was alright,” you say quietly, reaching to turn a nearby lamp on. He must have been so exhausted when he got in that he didn’t even have the energy to put the lights on. “Yours?”

“Same as usual,” he says, pulling you onto his lap. Being close to you makess him feel like he’s floating in the clouds. You protest slightly, but he ignores you, his hands gently massaging you. “How come you aren’t asleep?” 

You look at him properly then, in the warm light of the lamp, and you curse yourself for not putting a stop to his working sooner. Of course, you noticed he was tired, and coming home later, and you tried your best to comfort him the best way you could without making it too obvious. Sometimes it was staying up late for him, or sneaking into headquarters during the day to bring him lunch or just distracting him a little to force him to have a break, but your efforts clearly haven’t been working, and you’ve left it way too long.

“Kaeya,” you say quietly. “Tell me the truth. Same as usual?”

Kaeya maintains his aloof composure, and if you didn't know him as well as you do, you might have missed the slight twitch in his right eye. “Why the sudden interrogation, hmm?”

“You come home late, you’re so exhausted that you don’t even take your jacket off or turn the light on, and you don’t even make it to bed some nights. I’ve tried to make things more comfortable for you without saying anything for your sake, but it’s not working.” Tears bunch in your eyes as you speak, and Kaeya feels the guilt mounting up again. More than anything, he wanted you to be happy. He didn’t want to bring this to you and he thought he was hiding it well enough.

“Sunshine–”

“No. I’m not going to sit and let you waste away. I care about you so much it hurts. Watching this happen to you hurts. You’re not alone in this world anymore, so please just stop acting like you are.” The tears really start coming then, and you can’t speak anymore. Kaeya quietly pulls you to his chest, gently rubbing circles into your back.

It was never his intention to hurt you this much. To be honest, this was what he was trying to avoid the whole time. You made the long days and short nights bearable, with the smile you gave him every morning, and the patience you had for him. You were healing him in places he didn’t realise he was broken, and somewhere along the line, he had taken that for granted and allowed insecurity to replace the peace he should have felt.

“Kaeya, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me. You deserve peace, you deserve to be happy. You deserve to sleep at a godly hour.” You pull away to look at him properly, gently wiping stray tears from his face. “Am I that unapproachable?”

“No,” Kaeya replies. “No, you’re not. I just assumed you had better things to worry about.”

“‘Better things to worry about’? The only thing I worry about is you when you throw yourself into work like you’re trying to run away from something. I’m scared for you sometimes, Kae.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you,”  he replies carefully. “My intention was never to hurt or scare you. I just didn’t want to be a burden.”

“You are not a burden. You will never be a burden to me. You never have been. Okay?”

Kaeya nods. You cup his face in your hands, gently planting a kiss on his forehead and suddenly all his worries and insecurities melt away. If he had known that all it took to calm his thoughts would be a few words from you, he would have gone down that avenue first. It would have been significantly less work for him.

“You’re taking a day off tomorrow,” you say quietly. “And we’re getting you out of that stuffy jacket and going to sleep.”

Kaeya smiles softly. “Just my jacket?” He smirks, and you laugh, taking his hand and standing up.

“We’ll see.”

author's note: hello kaeya nation it has been a hot minute ToT

nonnie i cannot apologise enough for my inadequacy in getting back to you on time i don't even know if you're still around, idk if you survived the shadowban of 2023 but i hope you get to see this

taglist: @tartigglez @aixaingela @atlaincorrect

[gffa]

This is a long rant and I apologise if this comes off as too much 😅 I just want to let you know that I'm SO GLAD you're part of the star wars fandom. You're one of the few reasons my interest in this franchise has survived despite the toxicness that it has seeped into everything the past few years. Yes, star wars fandom has always been pretty much a mess but I feel like these days it's somehow gotten even worse. And there isn't even anything coming out that could distract everyone from the constant drama.

Your blog and your posts about the books are always a breath of fresh air in all this. I really appreciate that you take time to make all these long canon references and share them with us. And that you actually engage with canon content! For some reason that seems to be a tall order for most 'fans' these days.

It's exhausting seeing the ice cold takes about the jedi be repeated over and over again by people who seem to have barely even watched the films, let alone read the random book they're referencing to show how the jedi are So Evil and failed poor anakin by Forcing him to let go of his Attachments so they definitely deserved to all get massacred down to the last child!!! And if you push back by citing literally anything canonical to show how ridiculous their takes are they reference a random obscure legends novel (that they are often twisting and also usually haven't even read) And if you point out that, no, Legends isn't canon (and never has been) and we could discuss it as its own separate thing instead of dragging it into canon discussions, they completely flip and say they don't care and to stop taking star wars so seriously 🙄 ( u can probably tell I've had some pretty frustrating fandom arguments recently lol)

It does feel like groundhog day sometimes with the same arguments being repeated over and over again to villainize the jedi while absolving the genocidal mass enslaving space fascists that are Very Clearly the Bad Guys. And it feels pretty much deliberate at this point when people misunderstand star wars' canon definition of attachment and project all their issues in their own lives with their christian upbringing onto the space monks... This has only been exacerbated by people like Headland jumping onto the franchise and doing this with fuckass disney's approval, so now the racist anti jedi youtubers have started attacking this new anti jedi show so if I defend the jedi I get lumped in with them *sigh*

Anyway, I just listened to Padawan's Pride because of your posts and it was fun and a much needed palate cleanser for me after the months of anti jedi takes. I also started reading your jedi citations project and it's gotten me back into reading some other of my favorite jedi fics and maybe writing some of my own. So tldr; Thank You!

Oh, anon, I hear you and I went through a lot of similar feelings over the last few months. In between a lot of IRL stuff coming up and the fandom getting incredibly weird about Jedi fans (soooo much projection going on that it started getting unsettling sometimes) and the same old constant beratement on my posts, I was thinking that I was just too tired to deal with any of it.

It did get hard some days because it felt like no matter how hard I tried to be friendly and make a point to say that everyone needed to be allowed their space whether we agreed or not, that I would still get words put in my mouth or my posts misinterpreted or accused of trying to shut down other people's conversations, when I've never even interacted with that person, I've never reblogged anything from them, never talked about them, just made my own posts about the Jedi on my own blog.

That aspect of how, if we write posts that cite Lucas quotes or moments from the movies and shows, we're taking things too seriously (or the super weird one of how we're trying to "force" people to have to take Lucas' commentary as a holy grail or whatever), then we're taking it too seriously is SO REAL, I have been through that SO MUCH. And it's like, no! Nobody has to take authorial intention into consideration! But if you're going to say that I ~missed the point~ of what Lucas intended with the movies, I'm going to break out the Lucas quotes to show that, no, I didn't miss the point. You're still not obligated to agree, but the point is that I'm not coming out of nowhere with my views and deriding me as not a ~true fan~ or whatever is asshole behavior.

And it's hard to have that groundhogs day feeling, especially because you don't necessarily want to spend that time getting into arguments with people--they are allowed their own space, if they want it! But if they're coming into our space, then yes we get to respond with an essay if we like. (And, hey, some of us genuinely like writing essays, it's satisfying!) But I've found the best mindset for me to have when arguing is: I'm not going to convince this person in front of me and that's fine, they're not going to convince me, either. But there are other people watching this discussion and they are seeing which one of us is being a pill and which one of us looks kinda fun to hang out with.

Which is my way of winding around to what I really want to say--I'm so glad that I can help you want to have fun in this corner of fandom! There's always going to be times to respond with sharp edges to Jedi-critical stuff (especially when it starts dipping into the racist, xenophobic, bigoted nonsense)(not all of Jedi criticism is this, but it does happen all too often), I don't blame Jedi fans for having their nerves scraped raw by people feeling absolutely free to treat our posts like public property instead of them coming into someone else's lane to make a mess. (I've met some very nice Jedi critical people, this isn't about them, this is about the assholes.)

But is it really worth being in a fandom where that's all we do anymore? We can't avoid the negativity, we can't avoid people being assholes to us, but we can work on making the content we want to see at the end of a long day when we get home and log onto the computer and want to see something that makes us feel joyful.

I hope I'm doing my part to make it fun to stick around the fandom, to want to read some of the books or some of the fic, I love the artists who are drawing the cutest Jedi art, I love the fic writers who are writing great Jedi-positive stories, I love people who make silly shitposts about how funny the Jedi fan be, I love people who cry over the deaths of their favorite Jedi, they help make the fandom worthwhile.

It really does make a huge difference, I think! Whenever I need that same palette cleanser, I just take a week or so to push aside all discourse (don't even go look), just pick up some of my favorite Jedi fics, just go looking for some of my favorite Jedi art, reread "Padawan" or "Padawan's Pride" or "Obi-Wan & Anakin" or "The Living Force" or "Dark Rendezvous" and just spend time thinking about the things I love about the Jedi in canon, thinking up headcanons about lineages or nerdy Jedi philosophy arguments or adrenaline junkies, and it helps create the space I want to be in.

Hearing that I can help you with that is a huge boost as well--I hope you know that it helps me in return to know that we can help build something together here in our corner of the Star Wars internet. We're in this together and we can cheer each other up with cute content and I am getting out the pom-poms for you to have fun with that fic! <3

[66sharkteeth]

I just wanted to say that even though I'm a mostly silent reader, never really commenting on episodes and rarely interacting on the discord, CoB is by far my absolute favorite comic I've probably ever read. I dont doubt for a second that there are many more out there like me, silently gushing over every new episode and excitedly theorizing with their friends.

Even when CoB reaches its end, I will 100% be sticking around for anything else you make.

thank you. im ngl, there's a big irrationality in me that feels like im only writing this comic for like 15 people sometimes. ik that's completely untrue, but it can really feel like that, especially when i step outside the bubble of webtoon and try to share or talk about the comic anywhere else. i've full on just...stopped posting on instagram, because it's just so defeating and exhausting every time i post. I know there's more than 15 people reading my work, but boy its harder to tell myself that every time I post outside of webtoon. i only continue to post here because i've put no effort into growing this so i don't feel as disappointed when only 20 of my 700k followers on webtoon see it.

ik this completely dismisses my silent followers, which i know there are a lot of, and i'm trying really hard to account for them. but man, it's really hard. and i dont think how lonely the process is helps either. i remember numbers never used to bug me as much when i had a close friend to gush about OCs and ideas with, but now that i just gotta kind of do it all myself and be my own cheerleader with nobody to gush about upcoming stuff to, its doubly defeating when it finally posts and nobody's that excited. i don't know how i can feel so alone when there's a good amount of people who follow me, but the whole thing is an incredibly isolating process and it's just gotten so much worse with declining readership and algorithms doing everything they can to make sure nobody sees my work.

sorry if i veered off a bit, but it's been on my mind lately haha. i appreciate every reader so much, silent and vocal. like no seriously, you guys are literally the only thing keeping me going bc i know we're supposed to "create for ourselves" and stuff, but i think most people at least have a friend or partner that they're gushing about their OCs and stuff with, but i just have you guys lol. so thank you for reading, enjoying, and giving me someone to actually share my creations with.

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

status of babbit's life yeehaw

tl,dr: busy moving and a couple of other big life things that just complicate things, but well on the way to being back to normal! new fic chapters and better quality art coming soon.

tl,wr (too long, will read):

Helloooo what's up its me, Babbit. or Rabbit. or Bones. or Idiot Moron Menace Child, idk im not picky lol

i know a lot of you guys have been wondering wtf is up with my upload schedule lately and the extreme lack of even basic content and also i am extremely aware that i have not updated my fics in a few millennia and for that i am very, very sorry. this post is to answer a few questions you might have, if anyone was curious about the 'reason' instead of just the 'when.'

my family and i have had a hell of a year, y'all. like, jesus christ, i really hope things level out and calm down for a while once we're moved in to our new apartment bc god damn we are so tired. the list goes: 1. we got kicked out of the house we were renting-to-own bc we wouldn't be able to afford the new rate, so they gave us two months to find a new place to live (not long enough, it turns out) and then foreclosed to get us out. 75% of our belongings were still in the house when we had to leave. that includes all of our christmas ornaments- including the ones kept for decades, and the ones made by me and my siblings, and the fancy ones made from blown glass. 2. the first night out of the house, one of our dogs, freaked out by the strangeness of the situation, panicked and slipped her harness and ran off. that was over a year ago. we haven't seen her since. 3. my cat got very ill and became unable to eat. she passed away almost exactly a year ago. she had been 14-15, and had been my baby since i was maybe 8. 4. one of the tires on my dads car blew out. during the night, while it was parked on the curb so he could put the spare on in the morning, one of the in-tact tires was fucking stolen LMAO 5. we applied to rent at so many places and got rejected so, so many times. it costs money to apply, btw. we're talking like $200+. no, u don't get that money back. 6. i lost my job bc knowing i would have to work 8 hours at a job that stresses me out to the point of exhaustion (at a place where no one takes me seriously and would actively laugh at me when i try to express my need to step away for a minute) sometimes paralyzed me and made me sick to my stomach and made me feel unable to leave the house, and i called out one too many times. a day after my birthday, too! 7. just recently, like within the last week, my dad's car got fuckin totalled!!!!!

THE GOOD NEWS IS WE OFFICIALLY, FINALLY, AFTER A SOLID YEAR, HAVE AN APARTMENT!!!!! I'LL HAVE MY OWN ROOM AGAIN!!! THERE'S AN ENTIRE KITCHEN!!!!!!!

the 'oh god' news is we still have to move in, and replace a lot of the stuff that we just couldn't take with us when we moved out (mostly stuff like bookshelves, dining table, dressers, etc) AND get the few things we could cram into a storage center out and moved into the new place, which isn't a lot but at the same time is more than we can realistically handle on our own. and then, we have to get my mums cats (a pair of kitty sisters that we had to temporarily house with my aunt, who got tired of looking after them and let them outside to be outdoor cats a few months ago. yes, this was an extremely shitty thing to do, and we've been working hard to get them back safely) AND my gecko (who my cousin has been looking after, even tho feeding him worms freaks him out LMAO yes i plan on compensating him) moved in, as well... basically oh my god there is so much to worry about but at the same time it's nice to have to worry about it bc it means we're making progress sdkfhsjdkfhdsjfh

basically i am just so tired but so busy and also thinkin abt so much im so sorry for lack of stuff but i am so looking forward to being able to bounce back, pls stick with me, it'll be sorted out soon i think and then i'll hit y'all with some good stuff i promise!!!!!!!

anyway thank u guys i love u and appreciate u all for sticking around

[art-of-love-and-war]

Hi!!! This is the first time I've EVER requested anything, so I'm super excited to be asking you. Would it be OK if I could have headcannons with some of the ikevamp boys? If you're comfortable with it, could I have Arthur, Comte, Isaac and Leonardo with and mc who has ADHD? I completely understand if you don't, feel free to completely ignore me. Thank youuu 😊😊😊❤❤❤

Characters: Arthur Conan Doyle | Comte De Saint Germain | Isaac Newton | Leonardo Da Vinci x GN!Reader  Rating: General.  Word count: 819 words  Warning/s: Reader has ADHD, mentions of procrastination, hyperfocus, not enough focus. Author note: Hello! Sorry this took so long, I’ve had this on my mind for a very long time, and I even thought about doing Isaac’s route to write him more accurately but work has been killing me so I didn't get to open the DSM-V collecting dust in my shelf for this one :c

[୨୧] — Arthur Conan Doyle

There are quite some things he can understand about your symptoms. The main thing being procrastinating. 

Listen, he is a writer, and he is not perfect, and there are moments where inspiration poofs out and he is forced to stop with his writer's block, or sometimes he feels stuck in a sentence and decides to do everything except finish his next chapter, so he can empathize when you go through periods where you keep pushing certain activities until the last minute.

He still worries about your well-being, even if he is not a doctor anymore; he is curious about the treatment you had back at your time and home. 

He is sweet and understanding, despite having some pet peeves, he does his best to understand how it's something that is part of you and can work with support. And he wants to be that support.

Arthur also finds relatable the moments where you are stuck with your hyper-focus periods, and you happen to do your and Sebastian’s chores for the day on your own, though he is hurt by you mostly ignoring him those awful days when he wants nothing but to pamper you.

[୨୧] — Comte De Saint Germain

He is a wonderful and understanding man.

I can imagine him having a lot of pet peeves with people getting distracted too easily or drifting off and, part of loving you is the imperfections you embrace of each other and, they make you perfect for him as anyone. 

He is careful of the periods where you either procrastinate too much or hyper-focus too much to not exhaust yourself with the chores you take or by making you overwhelmed by taking care of the mansion and its inhabitants. 

He will listen to your weekly obsession without trouble. Do you want to tell him about 30 crow facts you learned? Tell him. Did you find a new way to make Sebas flick your forehead? He frowns. Do you want to tell him about your comfort fanfic you know by heart because you can’t read it anymore? He will listen.

If you fidget too much, and if you ask, he will get someone from his multiple contacts to make a “replica” of the fidget toys you used to have back at home.

[୨୧] — Isaac Newton

I have been seriously thinking of this since I got this ask because it seems too funny even if I haven't read his route: Consider, you don’t shut up.

Isaac strikes me as the type who wants to study in peace and quiet.

So maybe your relationship is quite a bumpy ride at first. 

What amazes him is your capability of telling him about 100 things that interested you in the span of a single week.

Your conversations flow at random, so he would often be working on his stuff to suddenly be whisked away by you to tell him about that one thing you found out about hedgehogs for 3 hours. 

Sometimes you are the cause of some of his frustrations. Last month you started knitting? He found some yarn with a texture you like and bought it as a gift, thinking you could make something for yourself.

He came back to find your knitted sweater half done and forgotten, and now you are learning how to bake. 

And it is an ongoing cycle, but he finds a bit of happiness in you trying new things, as you often drag him along, which means spending more time together.

Maybe your relationship is the answer to what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

[୨୧] — Leonardo Da Vinci

ADHD? 

Avoid tasks? Hyperfocus? Not enough focus? This man is a master at all those (and at dozing off)

He doesn’t mind you procrastinating, he has been avoiding to clean up his room for the last century, so he can’t complain. 

Now, if you forget or get distracted about other things, now that’s a different story. Did you feed Lumiere in the evening and forgot to tell him, and then he fed him that same day, and now you have a chubby cat? 

That’s funny, but no. 

Aside from that, he doesn’t have trouble with your condition; he is still a loving man. He always is and has been when it comes to loving you. 

And he likes your energy and how you keep him awake, in a sense, always making him try new things together, like dancing! Which he is not the best at, but he doesn’t mind trying your interests. 

If you take an interest in one of his multiple areas of expertise he’d definitely teach you and not be bothered if you happen to drop your interest in the activity, in fact, he invites you to try other things.

Beware, he is a strict teacher, so he doesn’t want your attention wandering off too often.

He enjoys…, grounding you, lets say. 

[tozettastone]

RE: "there's so little F/F fanfiction," and its supposed relationship to misogyny, unexamined "fandom truly hates women," statements, and also why "eating your veggies" ala dutyfic is all kind of... inadequate and poorly expressed, in my view (and in my experience, as an AFAB person).

--

"Fandom hates women," is a statement that's usually written as though the person writing it does not hate women themselves. I think feminists who can't acknowledge their own misogyny are probably living the unexamined life (sorry, Socrates).

These people are right that misogyny is a problem. But they are wrong about how, why, and whether or not the amount of F/F fanfiction or female character-centric works is a proxy for measuring it.

I think there must be room to accept that among the people who happen to be assigned female at birth, even the most liberated suffer from some amount of internalised misogyny — or even just the relentless examination of their own thoughts in trying to root out the misogyny they know is in there. It's an ugly thing people really try to pretend isn't real. Feminists are also misogynists. Society has raised us all ugly and correcting it is a lifestyle, not a one-and-done deep clean.

Sometimes we've thought about it so much that every line of text is haunted by the long shadow of that misogyny. I know I often start and don't finish, or finish and just don't post, my f/f fanfics. It's not just because it attracts more harassment (although it sure used to, at least; I don't know now), but also because I overthink what I'm putting into the world: Is her vulnerability in this moment an attitude of feminine weakness? Is her stoicism just me the writer falling into a bland stoic butch trope because it's easy? Am I replicating gendered things I hate in M/F fanfiction but don't notice in F/F? Is this just writing in character, or is it a sexist stereotype? Hey, what if writing "in character" IS a sexist stereotype? What does this female character, a representative of her entire constructed identity, say about women? Shall I write another scene where she cuts her soft hair and rejects pink girly things and takes her job ever so seriously as part of a power fantasy, in which the excision of femininity goes hand in hand with the attainment of that power?

Every line of text might be a new enfilade in the long identity war. It's Schrodinger's sexism. Who's reading? What will this imply? What will they infer?

I just feel like, personally, until you can exist in society as someone that other people view as a woman, in a way that isn't being perpetually dissected and examined (by yourself, by others, by the people who feel insecure and defensive and want to respond to this saying "uhmmm sweetie that's YOUR problem, I'm an enlightened woman who genders and fucks how I want actually, YOU'RE the only misogynist here, you just suck," as though that's not yet another permutation of exactly the high-pressure, high-critique behaviour I just described), there will simply be fewer people putting their writing about female characters (and by extension F/F) into the public eye, and fewer people who want to do that writing at all.

It's just so fucking exhausting. I think it must be nice, sometimes, writing deathly boring (to me) M/F romance that openly embraces gender stereotypes, where she's always taken by surprise, and he's always competent. Ha.

But then you attempt a M/M romance, and you have to think, "isn't writing masculinity as the totally unexamined default actually kind of an act of collusion, too?" It doesn't have to be. But it sure can be, when you feel like this. And then you throw your laptop out the window. (I'm writing this on my phone. How did you guess?)

You have to draw a line somewhere, horribly, between your existence in a politicised body, your representation of politicised bodies in your art, and your existence as an individual who wants to enjoy their fucking hobby.

Maybe that means you delete all your social media accounts and go herd goats on a mountainside. Or you write about aliens for five years and give them whatever genitals you feel like today. But, like, listen. It's going to be fine. Gender is made up. I know, I know, pretty much everyone else thinks it's a holy binary, just like good and evil, and you have to live in the same world with them, sending coded gender messages all day every day and unable to stop. I know. But it is made up anyway.

Key takeaways: People should write whatever they enjoy writing and kind of just worry less about it. Worrying isn't helping you make fun art. And the amount of fanfiction about female characters and F/F relationships is a poor proxy for whatever we think we mean when we say, "fandom hates women."

[lucienne-thee-librarian]

More Lucienne Fic Recs

Part 2 to Morphienne and gen Lucienne centric fic recs, this is a non-exhaustive list of other Lucienne rarepairs!

Gaulcienne

This is Why I Don't Leave the House by @zorawitch has to be one of my most revisited and beloved fics not just for this pairing, but for this fandom ever. It's the one that actually hooked me for this ship, it's a human au but everyone is written - just spot on and it's both romantic as hell but with some serious drama too, the entire family is in this, even Despair actually gets moments to shine which is rare it seems. Dr*ml!ng is in it but very very briefly, like it's objectively the Side Pairing Where One Is On the Phone For 5 Minutes in the background for once, also contains very side (but weirdly cute) Desunity. I seriously want to turn this fic into heroin and put an IV to inject it right into my veins. I love it so much (Obviously) and you'll see why if you read it. Descriptions: A+, dialogue A+ character work A ++++.

In Places No One Will Find by starsniper explores the grief of losing Jessamy from Lucienne's POV and Gault is the Best as per usual. This broke my heart in all the best ways, it needs SO much more love.

Obliterate All Prior Things by The_KickIt_Domain is. It is one of the most beautifully written fics I've ever SEEN. Everything about the way Lucienne and Gault are written and the sense of history between them is 10/10. The yearning and the tenderness is off the charts. Definitely a favorite

Daydreams by james is a sensual and beautifully written snippet of domestic Gaulcienne and I adore it.

Beautiful by melime tender fluff with lush description.

"This is my wife..." by @honeyteacakes is just. Short but so so sweet and feels like a look into Matthew and Lucienne's bond as well as hers and Gault's relationship. They also have a bit of fun at his expense lol

dreaming weather by Anonymous way too short but HOT and poetic smut.

Sea Changes by Cafephile FLAWLESS addition to monsterfuckertober. Gault brings back an old nightmare form with tentacles for fun and a good time is had by all:) hot and lovely.

Calliene (Calliope and Lucienne)

@two-hands-toward-the-sun is literally carrying this ship tag on their shoulders and all of their Calienne fics are good but here's some highlights:

I carried this for years plus it's sequel, I can feel the sun whenever you're near are just. *chefs kiss* absolutely great exploration of them trying to deal with their trauma and sometimes competing needs together.

you love each other until the city becomes beautiful , heart of my heart, come my way and stay my honey are all pure quality fluff. Shoot this serotonin straight into my veins.

Corinthienne (Cori × Lucienne)

I haven't read much fic for this pairing so its gonna be short lol, but I couldn't pass these by

Insatiable by honeyteacakes is incredibly tragically steamy and beautifully written.

Quiet in the Library by starkraving is just. MWAH. Very smutty and full of Feelings, it packs such a good punch I can't oversell it.

Just Between Us by onyourleft084 Lucienne tries to domme the Corinthian into behaving and staying in line and it works...for awhile. Honestly I don't feel like I'm selling it right though, just by that simple description. You will feel things about this and them by the end, I promise. At least I did.

[sassysnowperson]

Why am I not writing anymore?

I've been kicking this one around inside my head and have decided to share here. See if it helps me get it out of the incoherent jumble in my head and into some orderly thoughts.

Burnout?

This was why I stopped writing. I should have stopped writing at the pace I was probably about a year earlier, but I really wanted to hit a million words on AO3. I did! I'm glad I hit the goal, but oof, I felt it. But I don't think that's what's happening right now. I've had time to recover, work got a lot less stressful when I changed jobs, I'm happier. I'm not exhausted when I think about writing anymore. But I'm not doing it.

Well, wait, AM I not doing it?

I do have a couple people I chat with about fandom things. It's not writing for an audience, but it is creative. That's where I figured the energy was going. But interestingly, I started doing word count on my therapy notes, out of curiosity. Yeah, I'm writing at least 2k a week at work. It's not creative writing (but it is narrative writing) and its THE EXACT OPPOSITE of for a public audience, but it is burning similar energy in terms of sit down at computer and type time.

But is that really a bad thing?

Maybe not! I think the time at the desk is bad, but I don't have to write at my desk. Laptops enable gremlin writing everywhere. And maybe it's easier to write when I'm already in the habit of writing.

Really?

Maybe? I'm not pivoting from notes to fun writing, so the momentum isn't quite there. But I gotta admit, word counting the therapy notes did wake something up inside me.

Word counting? Seriously? What about The Story That Needs To Be Told? Creativity?? Having something to say?

Wow, inner voice, you got judgy real fast there. I think...I think you're part of the problem. Aside from like, three fics out of that million words I wrote, I never started knowing the complete story. I have a rough idea of what I want to say, or a dynamic I want to explore, and then I find the rest as I go. So if I'm waiting for The Story That Needs to be Told, I'm probably not gonna write again. I think I need to fall back in love with the process.

You wrote a million words in four years. What was the process that worked then, and why isn't it working now?

Well, part of it was the wordcount. Not making words for words sake, but having a solid metric to point to in terms of progress. I have ADHD, and the fact is if I want to do something, I need to make it fun and measurable. Tracking wordcount is both. But it wasn't just wordcount. It was also talking with people about things, gift giving, writing hangout time, and other people's excitement motivating me. I don't have that consistently right now. I have people that have made it clear they'll cheer me on (♥️), but I don't have it as a habit, as a part of my regular day to day life.

Why not?

Well, I stopped writing. That's kinda a big one. But also...writing took up a lot of time. I stopped watching new media, basically. I wrote the most while I was in a reading slump. I'm not comfortable with this idea, but I think I need to wrestle with the idea that I focus on one thing at a time. I don't know if I can watch all the Dimension 20 seasons and write like I did. I don't know if I can have a good reading life and a good writing life. That makes me sad. I don't want it to be true.

But is it? Sometimes sad things are true.

Too right, inner voice. And I don't know! I think I can safely say that without intentionality, I will tend to do 1-2 leisure activities at a time. But I now that I'm thinking about it, I suspect the trouble is in task switching, not the task itself. If I make a goal to task switch, maybe I'll be more able to.

And set more reasonable goals. You probably can't write 250k words a year and do other stuff.

Yeah, probably not. Maybe I should set a wordcount maximum, to make sure I do other stuff too.

But do you *want* to write? Do you miss it?

...yes?

Oh man I hoped I'd be more confident in answering that. Do I want to write, or do I miss being A Person That Writes?

Well, we already established you are actually writing a lot right now. So maybe let's phrase it as: Do you want to tell stories to a wider audience?

...Yeah. Yeah I do! I miss that! I miss being a storyteller.

So either you find some other way to tell stories...

Like framing my self-analysis as a conversation?

Maybe this whole method should have tipped you off sooner, yeah.

Good point. On both counts. Either I start a podcast or a twitch stream or something, or I go back to the way I'm most comfortable telling stories.

Writing.

Yep.

So what are you going to write about?

I don't know, inner voice! But waiting on that to be clear hasn't worked. Think I just need to start somewhere. But it's good to know I want to start.

[oddishfeeling]

what do you do for fun? after work, i come home and doom scroll through tiktok and before i know it, i have to get cleaned up and go to bed for the next day. i sorta feeling like im losing my personality and interests, not to mention my attention span is really bad. looking for more things to do, enrich my life as much as i can.

im right there with you bud!! and i love to read and watch movies, both really good for attention span. sometimes i'll watch trash tv too. also i definitely get lost in the doomscroll. twitter seems worse overall than tik tok, time spent aside lol but at least tik tok isnt intentionally trying to rage bait me at every opportunity.

i seriously struggle with this too. even on days when i feel a little bit more energized or motivated, there still never seems to be enough time to exercise, make dinner, pack lunch for the next day, shower, and then get to sleep at a decent time. even then, i love love love getting in the bed to either read or scroll, i won't lie!

planning things to look forward to will help break up the mononity too. doesn't have to be a big trip or anything. just something fun or exciting or comforting or new. something to work towards so that there are some checkpoints along the way.

learning something new might be fun for you too! bc you still have a personality. even if it doesn't feel like it. i felt like this for a while. but really, you are just exhausted. tired. burnt out. likely overworked and underpaid. likely very young and feeling like you're under an insurmountable degree of pressure. and the distraction of doomscrolling is a relief. at least a relief from your own personal doom. at least its a collective doom. where we are all commiserating together. commiserating is so addicting too. it's so comforting. like a too hot spa towel.

anyways, this too shall change. like everything. it's all just going to keep changing. including you! and life will feel this way for a bit. but not forever. thank god, right!!

i trust something will come along and give you the much needed wind beneath your wings soon. return a twinkle to your eye. a pep to your step. a feather in your cap. wishing you all the best my friend.