#like is it 'am i the asshole' or is it just now 'make up a tranny to get mad at'

[souljahwwitch]

FUCKED UP! °‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ hc’s about thanos x best friend reader who’s just as energetic as him <3

(no squid game!)

(kind of fwb like in my every other best friend! reader fic 😔)

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ choi su-bong (or thanos as he forces you to call him) have been best friends since diapers, both of your fathers being filthy rich, they were connected to the hip, and so you two are.

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ one out of many things you two have in common is the pure hatred towards your fathers, you two always found a way to fuck up some family dinners or country club parties—and no one ever suspected a thing.

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ no one suspected you, because how could y/n l/n, the oh so precious daughter of f/n l/n ever be so cruel? you were too pretty for that, too smart—no one actually knew you for who you are except thanos.

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ they suspected thanos, of course they did—but he didn’t really care, only thing that mattered is having fun with you—like taking hits from the bong right before your father and his father and some prissy guests wait for both of you to come down to some boring dinner.

you sat there—trying not to burst out laughing at random things, thanos was beside you, gripping your thigh to stop you—and himself from laughing

“ sweetheart, you’ve gotta stop looking like your face is about to explode.” thanos mumbled beside you—and that just made you wheeze, he couldn’t hold it anymore also—so you laughed it out while making an excuse you have to go to a very important business walk!! (you two don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.)

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ being his best friend means sneaking out at two am for whatever reason, you two were always in your pajamas too—even though you two are the same in personality—the style was a bit different.

“c’mon princess, jump i’ll catch you!” he whisper-yelled, between laughs because—why tf are you wearing a hello kitty pjs

“i can’t, asshole! what if you drop me-“ you hissed, sitting at your window, looking down at him.

“now don’t be dumb, i always catch you, angel, you know that.” he said cockily right before you sighed and jumped, he catches you, of course, but he doesn’t let you live it down

“see, dumbass! i told you!”

“fuck off >:(!!!!”

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ being his best friend means you can come to him for everything and he can come to you, your family were always on some business trips, so you two were often taking care of eachother.

and that’s how you find yourself in this position, pouring rain, walking from your mansion to his because you got a fever, and your dad was on a business trip with his dad—and he didn’t left you any over the counter medicine, yeah, he left you shit ton of money, but pharmacies don’t work at 4am.

you knocked on his door as if you were dying, you were shivering, you were soaked, and relief washed over you as you heard a voice call out “who the fuck in this time of night-“

when he opened the door and saw you there, sniffling and shivering, teary eyed—he knew you had a fever, fevers were hard on you, so he knew exactly how you looked.

“woah, woah—easy there, it’s alright sweetheart c’mere” he mumbled

“but-but you’ll get sick if you touch me-“

“what? you think some cold will knock my ass over like it does to you, stop being a brat and c’mere.”

°‧🫧⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ being his best friend meant spending late nights in your girly room, laying on your bed as you two look at eachother—high or not, it always ended up like this—his hands on your waist, and you being stubborn first five minutes before you let him kiss you

“thereee she is..”

[satoruxx]

THE SPACE BETWEEN COMFORT AND CHAOS.

✧ PAIRING: wolf!toji fushiguro x f!reader | 6.8k words

✧ SUMMARY: wolfhybrid!toji, hybrid au, grumpy x sunshine, animalistic behavior, pining, jealous toji, more blood as a metaphor for love, we getting a little suggestive with this one, nothing too smutty but toji does have a few questionable thoughts, he's lowkey tweaking out

✧ RHEYA'S NOTE: i'll be so honest i had the first half of this chapter written since like september but i got stuck with the second half. unfortunately i hit a wall with this series but now i'm back on track!! updates will probably still be slower just bc this semester is looking rough and i'm graduating but !! i have a lot planned for wolf toji dw :33 as always i'd recommend reading the previous parts before this one !!

prev. | series masterlist.

you have a date tonight.

even though you've said it's just a casual get together, toji knows it's a date. he can smell the giddiness rolling off of you as you bounce around your apartment trying to get ready, his eyes following your every move.

"so how long will you be out for this date?" he questions, trying to keep his voice even and casual as he leans against the doorframe of your bedroom. you're standing in front of your mirror, fixing your hair with a critical eye, and embarrassingly enough, toji can't look away.

"it's not a date," you stress with a quiet laugh, eyes sparkling with amusement. "and i should be back around eleven hopefully."

well at least you plan to come home.

(to him.)

toji lets his head rest against the wall, pursing his lips to bite back the snarkiness he wants to express. "well what am i supposed to do while you're gone?"

"i don't know, whatever you want." you grin at him through the mirror, teasing. "do wolf hybrids howl at the mailman?"

he snorts in return, crossing his bulky arms over his chest with a wry smirk. "'m not a dog."

"sure you aren't." you turn around to face him fully, gesturing to yourself with a tilt of your head. "this look okay?"

he bites back a sigh. toji isn't great with words, but he would love to tell you that you're quite literally the most attractive human he's ever met. his jade eyes travel over your figure, ignoring the instinctual rise of jealousy that is swimming in his gut because some other asshole gets to see you like this—all dolled up and pretty like you've dropped from the heavens.

which, to toji, you have. a guardian angel sent just for him.

"looks great," he mutters, nodding once at your ensemble. though he's sure you could make even the ugliest clothing look like perfection. you beam at him, grabbing your coat before bounding over to him.

"thanks toji!" you say his name with an absurd amount of sweetness, reaching up to poke your finger into his cheek. he rolls his eyes, making a show of playfully snapping his canines at your hand. a peal of laughter rips from your throat as you retract, and his ears flick at the sound, pleased. he has the strongest urge to squeeze you into his very being—all consuming.

toji follows you to the door, watching you pick up the house keys and slipping on your shoes as you ramble to him. "there's meat in the fridge and some leftover rice if you want it. oh and i bought those juices you said you liked—"

a fucking angel.

"—so make sure you eat well, okay?" you look at him imploringly, and toji inhales sharply. god he wants to wrap you up tight and keep you with him for the rest of eternity. but instead he's stuck like this, watching you go out to meet some other man while he aimlessly prowls your empty apartment. it's bad enough that the whole space reminds him of you—your scent heavy and sweet around him. but being stuck in your house without you there? that's another struggle all together.

toji didn't even mean for this to happen. god knows he's had enough of trusting humans for a lifetime, because all they can be are cruel and selfish and greedy.

so when you and him came face to face in that alleyway, all he wanted to do was scare you off and keep to himself—the only person he knows he can rely on. but of course, you are as stubborn as you are sweet. maybe that's why toji feels the strange need to always have you in his sight, to always feel you near him.

you're too good for this world, and he would rather gut himself than let anyone touch you.

so that incessant thumping against his ribcage and the swooping in his stomach that only happens when you look at him? that's just protective instinct—a way to repay you for taking pity on an animal like him.

it has nothing to do with feelings. he definitely does not crack a wry smile when you both share a meal. he definitely does not feel a surge of affection when he realizes that you've gone out of your way for him again. he definitely does not allow his tail to wag back and forth when you're excited or happy around him. he definitely does not mask his satisfaction behind a grumpy scowl when you reach up and scratch behind his pointed ears.

definitely not.

besides, toji needs to pull himself together. because if he cares about you even a little bit, he'll keep his distance. he doesn't want to be known as the animal who came and ruined your life.

he's sure you've told all of your friends and coworkers about him—the wolf hybrid you've allowed into your home. he supposes he should be grateful that you haven't been treating him the way most humans do—like a pet. no you've given him more freedom than he knows what to do with, and he's sure that your brain isn't even wired to see him in any other way than as an equal.

like he said, you're too fucking sweet for this world.

but toji knows that everyone around you probably sees him the way hybrids are supposed to be seen, and that's why nobody sees him as a threat. but toji can't deny the insane desire to be viewed as a threat. as a competitor—one that would gladly run in the race for your affection.

(but that's delusional. he knows that people would talk, would frown as you pass by. because you've crossed a line that society deems as dirty—wrong. he isn't worried about what people would say about him. no he doesn't give a shit about that. but the idea of anyone badmouthing you makes his stomach churn and anger spike.

so no. he could never do that to you. he cannot ruin you like that. to turn himself into the scum that took advantage of a poor little human.)

"yeah yeah," he waves you off, clearing his throat. he doesn't like that his brain goes to these thoughts so often these days. "get out of here now."

you stick your tongue out again, reaching for the door. "it's my house thank you very much!"

the wind is biting as it hits toji's skin, and it serves as a cruel wake up call to his reality. that there is no circumstances where you'd be going out to meet him in a situation like this. where he is the one on the receiving end of your sweet love and adoration. he approaches to lock the door behind you, lips slanted. just as you're stepping out, you reach a hand up. he stiffens as your fingers gently scratch behind his pointed ears, so very gently. a pleasant chill climbs up his spine, tickles his very nerve endings.

(he thinks he could die peacefully just laying his head in your lap and letting your fingers gently scratch at his ears.)

toji doesn't remember when you started feeling so comfortable touching him. he can't remember the moment he started feeling comfortable touching you. but if he racks his brain far back enough he can remember that strange sense of longing he started feeling when looking at you. can remember the instances where he'd push your face away when you got too close, heat crawling up his neck.

he holds back a shiver, steeling his expression into his normal unamused stare. yet he feels like his affection for you might be obvious if you looked too deeply into his eyes. you retract your hand with a grin, unperturbed by his moodiness. "i'll be back soon."

"you better…" he mumbles quietly. before he can stop himself, he's reaching up and placing his palm on your head, just like he did all those weeks ago. sure enough he can see the slivers of embarrassment creep into your expression, the subtle dip of your lashes and quirk of your lips. he had quickly realized how truly addicting this expression was to him—almost drug-like. he had chased after it shamelessly since then.

you give him a look, a semi pursed smile, and then leave him. he watches you until you disappear down the street, and he feels his mood sour further. he doesn't like how much influence your presence has on him. when he shuts the door behind him and is only met with the silence of your empty apartment, he starts to feel restless.

toji is no idiot. he knows that he is gradually beginning to care for you. he knows that he has already melted far more than he should've. but you're sneaky, managing to worm your way into the coldest corners and crevices and light a fire there.

but he hates that. he hates that he has even allowed his brain the luxury to think of you in that way. a rational mind has always been something he has been able to brag about, but somehow he finds that it fails him when you're around.

it takes about twenty minutes in your empty apartment for toji to feel like he's going stir crazy. he's not unaccustomed to you being away—but the idea that you're out with someone else just makes him feel irritated. he sighs, grabbing a jacket and slipping on his shoes. he picks up his set of keys from the bowl by the door before heading out into the cold. he doesn't really know where he's going, but he knows that he can't sit in your apartment for the next couple hours.

(not in this space that constantly reminds him of you. the space that is heavy with the scent that clings to your body and invades his senses late at night. drives him up the wall with restless need and longing in his muscles that he has not felt in a long time.)

the streets are brightly lit, and toji pulls his hood over his head before shoving his hands into his pockets. keeps his eyes on the ground because there is still that sting of paranoia that his past will come back to haunt him. honestly he would've been fine living with only himself to rely on. but the universe must have truly been praying on his downfall, because here he is—the oh so terrifying and feared wolf of the underground, being worried about something as silly as a damn crush.

he'd figured that this brief wave of attraction he felt towards you would disappear easily. in fact, all he planned on doing was taking advantage of your blatant kindness and open mindset towards hybrids. eat your food and gain some strength before moving on to the next city and becoming nothing more than a stranger who once dipped into your life. but no, you and your stupid smile had practically invited him in, open arms and generous comfort that made him feel sick to his stomach for even considering taking advantage of you.

that's the most frustrating part—your dumb sweetness makes it impossible for him to hurt you.

even now, when he feels this unreasonable sense of betrayal at the thought of you being out with some other man, he doesn't have it in him to be angry at you. of course toji isn't stupid. he isn't delusional enough to believe that he has any right to be angry about such a thing. you're perfection embodied in human form—he'd be an idiot to think that nobody else in the world would look at you the way he does. and he knows that they'd probably be better suited for you.

(what, as a washed up bitter old wolf hybrid, does he have to offer you?)

so yes, he's trying to convince himself that this is good enough. being able to share your space and take up a corner in your life. to hear your thoughts and hear his name fall from your lips.

his feet carry him forward without having a destination in mind. he briefly thinks that maybe he'll go to that one little restaurant where you often get takeout and bring some back for you. he's sure you'll eat on the date, but he's thinking about doing it anyway. a gruff smirk worms its way onto his face when he thinks about how you'll chide him for being buying food even though there were leftovers at home. you're so easy for him to read and that makes him ridiculously happy.

"toji?"

he freezes, brow twitching. bile instinctually rises in his throat, and he feels his hackles rising. his ears stiffen, claws lengthen, and he feels as though the hair on his body has stood on edge. it takes every bit of willpower to not bolt down the street, right back to your apartment. instead he can only stiffly turn around, teeth gritted as he comes face to face with his grandfather.

the old man's eyes are narrowed, but otherwise he shows no emotion. "so this is where you've been."

toji purses his lips, mind spinning with a thousand different ways to get out of this situation. he's screwed, royally. "i've been all over."

"it's been months. don't you think your little vacation is up now?"

"fuck off," toji snarls. his anger spikes so fast even he finds it a little unreasonable.

naobito lets out a boisterous laugh—grating and sharp. "how can i turn a blind eye when my damn investment is running around in the streets?"

"well you shoulda kept a better eye on me, huh old man?" toji snarls. he feels more threatened than ever before. his body is overwhelmed with a thousand different emotions. the horror of being caught and maybe being thrown back underground. the disgust at seeing the man he hates most in the world.

the pure unadulterated fear that consumes him when he thinks that he might never see you again.

he won't do it. he'll die before being dragged away once more.

"oh you're so entertaining toji." naobito pulls out his phone, the light from the screen illuminating his face in a way that makes him look strangely terrifying. "enough games. you've had your fun."

toji's lunging before he even realizes it, the growl that tears through his throat sounding almost feral. his right hand snakes around naobito's throat, and it takes all his willpower to not crush the man's windpipe between his fingers. his other hand is ready to strike, claws sharp and glinting in the moonlight. the old man's eyes go wide for a second, but then they narrow, and despite the difficulty, his lips stretch into an oily smile.

"you won't do it…" he chokes out, strained and painful. toji's palm tightens further, eliciting a wheeze from the old man. "you know what they'll do to you."

toji honestly doesn't care. in his mind, being put down wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if it means killing this bastard once and for all. but then he has a thought, and it all comes crashing down.

you.

he thinks of you and your sweet smile and welcoming arms and everything suddenly stops. because by chance if this fucker finds out about you, everything is over. toji's mind races. thoughts of his grandfather's men coming after him and finding you instead, punishing you for taking in the animal that so clearly didn't belong to you. ice floods his veins—chilling and jarring.

his grip loosens, and then he's backing away slowly. the goosebumps on his arms are almost painful, and he can feel his pulse thudding against his jugular as naobito stands and straightens his clothes. the old man clears his throat. "you can run all you want. you know they'll find you."

"i'll take that risk." toji wants to go. never in his life has he felt so inclined to run. he takes another step back, and naobito raises his phone again.

"do it," toji grits out, flashing his lengthened claws. the old man's eyes catch the movement, and even though his expression remains neutral, toji can smell the hesitation spiking as he stills. "i dare you."

"you even touch me and they'll lock you up for good," naobito spits. "maybe even put you down."

"well that's fine with me as long as i've ripped you to shreds." toji licks his teeth, eyes narrowed. "shame that brat naoya isn't here with you. i would've broken his neck too."

naobito lets out a mirthless laugh, but he doesn't make any more advancements. toji takes another step back, snarling. his grandfather crosses his arms, tilting his head with an amused smile. "you do all this drama, but you know you'll go back there on your own."

toji barks out a laugh, though it is strained with anger. "oh yeah? how come?"

naobito's smile becomes chilling as his voice drops. "because it's in you, toji. you're nothing but a rabid animal, and you'll crave blood soon enough."

toji's skin prickles. nausea churns his guts, and all he can manage to spit out is a growled "fuck you," before he's turning around and running. thankfully, the darkness of the night acts like a blanket—covers up his footsteps until he's sure he's far enough. for once he thanks the heavens for his animalistic traits; the speed with which his feet carry him is almost superhuman. he wonders if his damn grandfather is calling all the people he knows, sending them after him. but another part wonders if naobito is so psychotic that he would wait for toji to come crawling back.

both options are ridiculously plausible.

toji stops and thinks that maybe he shouldn't go back to your house. he could be leading his past right to your doorstep. but then he realizes there is no other place in the world where he is more safe, and then he's speeding up again. when he reaches your apartment, he hides in the shadows for ten minutes waiting to see if he's being followed. when he deems it safe, he quietly unlocks your door and slips inside.

the apartment is just as he left it, and toji finally releases a shaky breath. his heartbeat feels erratic, and he didn't even realize that he'd been biting his lip so hard, only now tasting the metallic flavor of his own blood.

(he ignores how easily his tense muscles seem to relax when your scent invades his senses once more.)

toji flops onto the couch unceremoniously, rubbing at his brow bones. what are the odds that he'd run into his damn grandfather in the streets and still be a free man? toji always figured that if he ever saw the old bastard again, he'd find himself either dead or back underground. after all, naobito zenin has always cared so deeply about his number one investment.

now the only thing on toji's mind is the fact that he might be putting you in danger. you and the sweet life you've so carefully built. the life that you shared with him so willingly—open arms and all. what right did he have to bring threats to that comfort and stability? you've been so good to him, and what has he done to repay that except constantly put you in tough situations?

he thinks that maybe meeting him in that alley was the worst thing that could've happened to you.

there is a dull throbbing that has settled between his brows, and toji puts his face in his palms, exhaling heavily. he wishes that you were here. wishes that you would open the front door and chatter away to your heart's content. wishes that you'd easily forget that fool who's taking you out tonight and look toji's way instead. wishes that you'd sit next to him on the couch and let the warmth of your arm bleed into his skin.

(he doesn't mind hearing you talk. your voice has a lovely timbre to it, not too harsh and not too grating. he thinks that the waves of your laugh would soothe the pain in his head very quickly.

he doesn't like that there's someone else. he knows it has nothing to do with you—after all you deserve someone who treats you well. someone who can lay the world at your feet even before you ask. and he understands that he is not that person and will never be that person so long as ears sprout atop his head and his teeth are elongated and sharp.

he is irked by the craving for warmth he has developed. he wonders why he doesn't miss his solitude. instead the empty space feels awfully full when you're around—not suffocating, just full. he thinks he wouldn't mind sharing that space with you for a long time.)

toji's fingers twitch in irritation, and he flops back, draping across your couch. his eyes conjure up floating patterns against your ceiling, and he cannot blink them away no matter how hard he tries. it is a struggle to dispel these thoughts—the oh so valiant fighter losing a battle as simple as this. it's almost laughable.

there is a sour taste in toji's mouth because he knows what this is. that damn feeling that everyone raves about. the one people are willing to do anything for. a blessing, a curse. able to make life worth living and yet wars were fought over it.

something he never deserved.

if he had common sense, he'd leave well enough alone. it's bad enough that he feels indebted to you, but bringing any other feelings into whatever arrangement you both seemed to have feels almost self-destructive. especially because he'd be the last person on earth to have a chance anyway.

he does not know why that conclusion feels so damn prickly.

toji sits up straight, eyes burning holes into the armrest of your couch. then he reaches over, grabs the tv remote, and turns the tv on to some random show. then hits the volume button more times than he probably should. he can't help it—the silence in your apartment is deafening.

another less than graceful flop back into the heat of your couch. heavy eyes bore into the ceiling once more. if he strains hard enough, toji can imagine your reactions to the dialogues coming from the tv. his lips pull up to the side, wry and somewhat wistful.

he's pushing his luck. you should really send someone to get rid of him. he's gotten too full of himself, thinking that he knows you so well.

toji thinks that if he focuses hard enough, he can find remnants of you in the couch's fibers. sweet shampoo, detergent, faint traces of curry, and the hints of your natural scent that pushes through all the artificial ones.

toji's eyes go unfocused the more attention he pays to that scent. invading his senses and pulling fatigue away from the sinews of his muscles like it's easy. behind his eyelids, his mind is able to conjure up an image of you—and he's honestly surprised at how detailed it is.

you've managed to fully consume him now.

(all that talk of sinking his claws into you when he hadn't even realized you'd gotten to him first.

soft, untouched fingers gently curling around beating muscle and tissue. sweet caresses of blood-filled chambers, honey slipping through the valves. addictive, drug-like. a shot of adrenaline.

one squeeze of your fingers and he'd bleed all over the place.)

toji inhales sharply. before he's even fully awake, scents are invading his nose. the bus, sweet shampoo, olive oil, pungent cologne.

he finds you. his shoulders relax. the door clicks open, your unique footsteps quietly pressing against the hardwood. toji suddenly feels all too weary, throwing a heavy arm across his face because he's still trying to remember what he was dreaming about—grasping at straws.

"you asleep?" your voice is quiet, probably out of consideration in case he really was sleeping. his ears flick at the sounds of your coat being pulled off.

"no," he responds—groggy. he doesn't make an effort to move, staring at the same ceiling he fell asleep looking at. your smile is etched behind his eyelids.

"good," you chirp. he hears the drop of your keys into the bowl. your footsteps get louder. "i brought food back."

a noncommittal grunt in return, and your laugh is almost breathless. your face makes its way into his line of sight. half smile almost wry, you bend over the back of the couch and study his expression.

the spark in your eye is lively, almost vivacious. it sends adrenaline through toji's veins almost instantaneously. he can't see the ceiling anymore, your face obscuring it perfectly. he watches your hair fall with the weight of gravity, studies it like it's a necessity.

beautiful, he wants to say. but he doesn't know how to articulate that word aloud. so it remains hidden in the backlogs of his brain that never see the light of day.

"did you already eat?" you ask, and he shakes his head no. he doesn't mention his failed attempt at going to bring you takeout. screw his damn grandfather.

he sits up straight, and you walk around the couch and take a seat next to him. "how come? you aren't hungry?"

"not really," he mutters, shutting his eyes. that throbbing between his brows has returned. when he glances at you from the corner of his eye, you're giving him a look that is comically skeptical.

"you're not?" your voice goes dramatically worried, and you lean over and press a palm to his forehead like it's the end of the world. "toji not being hungry? what, are you sick?"

he snorts out a sound that sounds suspiciously like a laugh, reaching up to tug at your wrist with an exasperated roll of his eyes. "don't be ridiculous. you're so dramatic."

you grin, watching him stand up and pop his joints with a groan. toji glances at you for a split second. the hair on the back of his neck stands, a chill running down his spine. he feels like someone is chasing him, getting closer and closer with outreached claws. claws that would crush you almost easily—like paper. he swallows, glancing over his shoulder to peek out your window.

darkness is all he's greeted with.

toji sighs heavily, massaging his temples. he realizes that you're still staring at him, so he forces a vaguely disinterested expression—so carefully neutral. "changed my mind. i'm starving now. where's the food?"

a beat of silence passes, and he turns to look at you expectantly.

balancing on your knees, you peer at him from over the back of the couch, a cautious look in your eye. "you okay?"

he bristles. he hates that you can take him apart like that. that you can see the irritation settling in the crinkle of his brows. that it somehow feels so easy for you to see right through him.

he briefly considers spilling his guts to you then and there, but then that one image flashes behind his eyes once more. the image of bulky soldiers holding heavy guns in your face, and the words die on his tongue. "'m fine."

you raise a brow, eyes raking over his expression. he can tell you don't believe him at all, but he doesn't want to discuss this any further. he's decided that he won't take such risks—not with you anyway.

you look less than pleased as you watch him stand up and walk into the kitchen, effectively cutting the conversation short. but you don't say anything, choosing to just attach yourself to his shadow and follow him. your hesitant expression makes him feel a little guilty, but he brushes it off.

toji is suddenly struck with the realization that you've been with someone else tonight. his mood dips slightly, but he tries not to be too obvious about it. "how was the date?"

he is surprised at the way your expression seems to sour. you cross your arms, huffing as you lean against the counter. "not great," you pause, before glaring at him. "and i told you it wasn't a date!"

"yeah right," he snorts, dropping your leftovers into his plate and throwing it into the microwave. the droning hum echoes in his ears as he turns to you and crosses his arms. "why was it not great?"

"well i don't know," you shrug, lips slanting. you hop up onto the counter, settling in like you're about to drop the next great american novel. "he just…wasn't how he normally is at all?"

the microwave beeps, and toji turns away to pull the plate out. he thinks that he can taste blood on his tongue, but he clears his throat and keeps his voice even. "it was one of your coworkers right?"

"yeah, but like…" you suck on your teeth, searching for words. "he was so self-centered!"

toji is grateful his back is turned to you, because the way he's grinning would seem really strange given the circumstances. the satisfaction that is thrumming through his veins is almost ridiculous.

"i mean at work he was always polite and stuff so i figured he'd be nice to hang out with—" you roll your eyes at your own naivety. "but no. as soon as i sat down he started going on and on about himself and i just sat there. i barely got to say a word about myself at all."

"sounds like he really likes the sound of his own voice." toji finally looks at you, and despite feeling relieved that the date didn't work out, the miserable look on your face makes him feel a tad guilty. the wolf sighs heavily, walking over to you with the plate full of food. "here, eat."

your expression goes blank, giving him a look that basically translates to 'are you serious?'.

"i brought the food back for you!" you protest. toji rolls his eyes harshly.

"if this date was as bad as you're making it sound, i bet you were too icked out to eat."

a laugh escapes your throat, and you shrug in a way that seems to be acquiescent. the wolf approaches you, a half smirk on his face that looks comfortingly familiar, and when he is right in front of you, you watch him stab his fork into the food before raising it to your lips.

it is all too natural—the way he offers and the way you immediately take.

your lips part and close around the fork. toji's eyes zero in on the movement almost instantaneously. he is embarrassed that he didn't think twice about the so obviously domestic action, but he can't backtrack now. so all he can do is watch your mouth as you savor the taste and chew, his own throat feeling oddly parched.

he hadn't realized just how intimate the gesture was.

even now he feels like he's invading your space. you're close enough that he can count your lashes and see the flecks of light in your eyes. he wants to know what you're thinking—if your brain is going haywire the way his is. but all he can do is peer into the windows to your soul and search for any hints.

he is not perceptive enough to find anything. all he knows is that you're looking at him with stars in your eyes and that same honey like sweetness dripping from your smile. his ears flick restlessly, and swallows with a bit of difficulty.

"thanks," you mumble after you've finished chewing, looking at him with deliberation. "you eat the rest."

"you sure?" he asks, not understanding why his own voice is coming out just as quiet. you nod wordlessly, giving him a grateful smile, and his tail unknowingly begins its steady back and forth movement. your tongue peeks out to wet your lips, almost nervously, and toji's eyes greedily trace the path again. there's an almost bashful tinge to your expression, and toji is reminded of the way you reacted the first time he told you he trusted you.

(warmth bleeding from your skin. eyes moving away from his gaze. licking at your lips. flustered.)

something in his soul had practically sung when he saw that expression. just like it's doing now.

toji is suddenly struck with the thought of how easy it would be to kiss you right now. you're so damn close, another step forward and he could capture your lips easily. a sharp inhale, claws twitch around the plate. his brain dives further into those thoughts almost instantly, and he curses himself for it.

(forget sinking his teeth into you. forget digging through bone and flesh to find the beating muscle in your chest. all of that pales in comparison to actually getting a taste. to have you at his mercy the way you've had him for all these months—a deliciously sweet vengeance. he wonders what your lips would taste like, what they would feel like under the drag of his tongue. quiet little gasps pressed against his greedy mouth, soft flesh against the scar cutting over his lips.

if he strains hard enough he can hear the ragged pants filling the space between you two. his mind is frustratingly skilled enough to conjure up images of your naked skin and what it would feel like under his hands.

he swears he'd be so damn careful. just to make sure his claws don't damage you in a way that only an animal can damage a human.

but he knows he can do it. with reverent fingers that are skillful enough to take you apart and make you sing. and oh how you would sing—he'd make sure of it. sweet sighs and moans and a whisper of his name in a way that only you can say. he'd map out every inch of your heated skin until he had each detail memorized, seared into his very being.

that's what loyalty means after all. giving you every single piece of himself and gratefully taking what you offer him in return.)

the wolf has to blink away the haze in his eyes, turning away while clearing his throat. he busies his hands with shoving food down his gullet, but his mind is still racing.

(he is too ashamed to admit that similar thoughts have kept him up before.)

when he tries to take a steadying breath, he picks up the change in the air. the various scents floating around the room mix together, and yet his nose is strong enough to pick yours out. there's a strange difference to it, a spike of adrenaline and something else that makes his mouth water.

(he thinks he knows exactly what that something is. he'd been able to pick these changes out his whole life. all animals could.)

this is ridiculous. he isn't some hormonal pup that lacks self-control. he'd crawled through hell and back and made it out just fine. your stupid sweetness should not be a weakness—not to him anyway. and no amount of vague daydreaming and unrealistic pining would change that.

his pointed ears twitch as he hears you hop off the counter. you stretch out the stiffness in your neck and sigh. "well anyways, i'm ready for this day to be over. i gotta figure out what to do about him."

toji stiffens, tail going rigid as he turns to face you again. his expression is steely. "what do you mean?"

"it's crazy but he asked me on a second date."

you roll your neck again, and his eyes zero in on your skin.

(if only you knew. a bare canvas. so readily available for his teeth to sink into. vulnerable, yielding, devoted. he'd let you sink your teeth into his neck too. only you. no one else.)

"what a fucking fool," toji scoffs, crossing his bulky arms. he leans back, feeling the sharpness of the counter digging into his tailbone. he looks at you expectantly. "you're not going, are you?"

"nah," you shake your head, smiling mirthlessly. your fingers come up to push your hair away from your face, and toji's finger twitch in tandem. "the whole thing was weird. i'm good ending it here."

"mmh good," toji replies casually. your head snaps up, and you look at him with an intensely interested expression.

"good?" you repeat, with a little scrunch of your face that looks awfully curious.

toji blinks at you blankly, mind stuttering for a second.

(he didn't realize how that would sound. how truthfully honest it was.)

instead he just gives you a glance before nodding. he reaches for a glass and starts filling it with water unceremoniously. "yeah, it's good that you're not going."

"okay…" you trail off, confused. he thinks he can hear obscure smile in your voice.

"i mean he sounds stupid from what you were yapping about." the wolf continues indifferently. his fangs scrape against his bottom lip, and the urge to bite down for his own foolishness is extremely strong. "and ugly."

"ugly?" you ask in surprise, and he looks up to meet your gaze. at your confused expression, he shrugs gruffly.

"yeah. ugly." he doubles down. he doesn't know why you're looking at him like that—like he's just acted completely out of character. it's making his palms sweat and he hates it.

you scoff out a laugh, strangely amused and almost disbelieving. "you've never even seen him."

(a flash of burning heat. a roil of the guts—churning and churning. shades of ugly green.)

toji wonders why you're even defending this fool, irritation flickering in his stomach. now he just feels stubborn—unrelenting. "he just sounded ugly."

you gape at him, though you're smiling while you do it. almost like you're saying 'wow, i can't believe you said that'.

he rolls his jade eyes, downs the water in a gulp, and sets the glass down with more force that he intended. "why? you gonna go out with him again?"

"no…no i'm not going," you answer, a finality in your voice. your gaze searches his face for answers, and he keeps his expression neutral with great difficulty. your eyes are wide and a little surprised, and there's an odd look of satisfaction in them. bewilderment, too. like something has just fallen into place—settled.

a beat of silence passes.

the whole moment feels suffocating, but in a painfully good way. for some reason, toji can feel sweat dripping down his shoulder blades and soaking through his shirt. he glances at you again, and when he sees that same expression, something in his chest does an exhilarated flip. he purses his lips, and then clears his throat. "well i'm tired as fuck. i'm going to bed."

"right," you say, and toji doesn't know if he's imagining it, but you sound a little breathless. he gives you a final look, and when you look back at him, it feels more intense than any other contact the two of you have had. your smile gets a little wider, eyes going frustratingly soft, as you tilt your head.

(so that's what it feels like to be on the receiving end of your sweet attention. honey eyes and sugary smiles. saliva drips from his fangs.)

"get some sleep," he says throatily. his fangs feel like they're elongating, claws feel extra sharp. his tail has resumed its side to side motion. and that fire in his gut has come back tenfold, searing and all consuming.

you nod, teeth sinking into the flesh of your lips. "i will."

you look like you want to say something more, but then your eyes go a little more softer, and when you look at him, he realizes he would willingly lay the entire universe at your feet. "goodnight toji."

all he can manage is a soft grunt and a subtle nod of his head, before turning on his heels and heading for his room. he can feel your stare on his back, and it sends pleasant chills up his spine.

your words echo in his ears.

(no…no i'm not going.)

when he's in the sanctuary of his room, he catches sight of the satisfied grin on his face in the mirror. a little smug, a little delighted, a little surprised.

the same grin that was plastered across your face as you stood in that kitchen.

(so fucking pleased.)

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[poettheythem]

Can I say something. I am still so mad about Good Omens season 3 being a 90 minute episode. Listen I understand what happened with Neil Gaiman and I am upset about it too but the thing is he stepped down from season three of Good Omens. He stepped down and the other writers know that season three was suposed to be and Amazon instead of making the third season of a show that is so beloved and has a cult following is reducing it to a 90 minute episode, and you know why they're doing it. Its not because of Neils allegations and we all know it. Good Omens is being fucking nerfed because its gay. Season two was filled with queer characters in the forefront, had an amazing representation of a disabled character, had trans character, gay characters, gender fluid characters, black gay characters, It was a GAY fucking show. and now its being killed. Componies are taking Neils allegations as an excuse to cancel queer shows.

Dead Boy Detectives was NUMBER ONE on netflix when it realized and I didn't see any promotion from Netflix or anything of the like. People LOVE the show and its fandom is still active and wants the show to return. But oh it got cancelled due to neils allegations and totally has nothing to do with the fact that the show features gay and POC main characters with amazing representation where their identity is not their whole personality. Netflix was just chomping at the bit to cancel a show like that because its not the cis straight white media that assholes say are the only shows that can exists.

The Sandman is from the same fucking universe as Dead Boy Detectives and I don't see it getting cancelled or reduced to a 90 minute episode. Because its not explicitly gay. Yeah all the fans love Hob and Dream and I do too but its not actually cannon. Producers LOVE queer coded characters to make lgbt+ viewers interested and still not have to actually be inclusive or anything and The Sandman has that. The Sandman was never questioned as the direction the show would take without Gaiman and is allowed to live. Fuck I mean Disney never said that they were taking Coraline down or anything of the like because ITS NOT GAY. All the shows and movies that don't explicitly have queer characters have been FINE this whole time, no one was killing American Gods, no one is touching Coraline because oh its a beloved film and I grew up on it, Well guess fucking what I know so many people that grew up on Good Omens and it was the first time they felt seen as a queer person, Good Omens has a cult following too and I my entire life have heard people talking about Good Omens as a show everyone needed to watch. But his gay shows that already have material written for its next season(Remember Dead Boy Detectives is a comic series as well) are being killed

So no its not because componies are supporting victims its pure homophobia that is the reason these shows are ending like this and I am still mad.

[lordprettyflackotara]

Hey Tara, could you do some Toby fluff? Like, specifically a fempov after a nasty breakup...??? Sorry for the weird request ik you usually do smut but I love your style and need some sort of comfort after my boyfriend left me, even if it is just a fictional character... Love you ❤️

-🫀

crown || ticci toby

‘wait, you can’t please everybody’

sum: after a messy breakup you’re undeniably heartbroken and toby wants to make you feel better

tw: unintentionally a little angsty but mostly fluff

a/n: my dearest anon, i am so sorry i just now saw your request. i hope this is not too late and hopefully helps you navigate through your journey and makes you feel a little better. i went through a messy breakup around christmas as well and feel like this resonates with me as well. i’m not the best at writing fluff but i tried, i hope you enjoy and are doing well <3

“I-I found you!”

You could hear that Toby was excited, even as your back was turned to him. You had been curled up in a ball for the past hour, hiding in the attic of the mansion. Dust covered boxes were scattered around the room, your small form perched beside the oval window. You didn’t say anything, unable to match Toby’s typical perky energy. Your knees were tucked to your chest, your gaze settled on the grass outside.

Toby frowned slightly at your lack of a response, the young proxy walking around one of the boxes. “Hey, y-you good?” He asked unsurely. Toby wasn’t good at handling negative emotions, or so he thought. The moonlight gave him a good look at your face, which made his eyes go wide. Bags hung under your eyes, your lips chapped so much they were becoming cracked. Your eyes were undeniably puffy, which he suspected to be from hours of crying. He approached you quickly, squatting down in front of you. He shoved his orange goggles onto his head, licking his own dry lips.

“T-Talk to m-me, what’s wrong?”

The concern lacing Toby’s words was almost enough to send you over the edge again. You inhaled, trying to refrain from more salty tears from escaping your waterline.

“We didn’t workout.”

Your words hung heavy in the air, your ex boyfriend’s name on the tip of your tongue. It felt odd to think about, nevertheless say out loud. Toby’s brain instantly clicked, his bandaged hand reaching out to touch yours. “That’s a g-good thing though r-right? Wasn’t he an asshole towards t-the end anyways?” He asked unsurely. Your eyes were sharp as you met his puppy dog gaze, your flicker of anger immediately diminishing. Instead you took a deep breath, realizing how irrational your scattered emotions were.

In through your nose, out through your mouth.

“It’s not that simple. You don’t know, how horrid the actual breakup was. It was like, the shell of the person I used to know. The man I used to know vanished right before my eyes and got replaced with whatever the fuck he is now,” You rambled. You could feel yourself getting worked up, Toby’s eyes softening as he looked up at you. “I spent so much time, so much time with him and now it’s wasted. Gone. Like it meant nothing at all to him, but it meant everything to me,” You continued. Tears flooded your waterline with ease, painful flashes of memories appearing in your mind. You bit your bottom lip, attempting to stop the tears from flowing. “And I don’t know how i’m supposed to do this. How i’m supposed to waltz around like I know what i’m doing. He was my rock and now he’s gone. It’s like he was never here and I feel like i’m going insane,” You whimpered lowly, unable to stop the tears from free falling.

Toby was never good with dealing with heavy human emotions. Most of the time the responsibility of handling them was handled by someone else in the mansion. But you were the apple of his eye, one his favorite people to walk the planet. So instead he tuned into his instincts, hoping that what he was about to do was even semi socially appropriate. He rose to his feet, sitting across from you on the bench built into the large window. Stretching his long arms outwards he wrapped them around you, pulling you against him abruptly. You tensed for a moment, feeling Toby hold you so close. It wasn’t until your brain registered his warmth and earthy scent that you finally allowed yourself to crumble.

You felt like your lungs were going to collapse, your breath shallow as you nuzzled your face into his chest. Your chest felt tight, your sobs muffled as you cried into his signature jacket. Your soft sounds only made him hold you tighter, the brunette careful to not squeeze you too hard. Toby swallowed, bringing his slender fingers to your hair. Unsurely, he began to stroke it, hoping it would bring you some sort of ease. He continued these actions until you had no tears left to cry, your wheezing now simmering down to deep breaths. “I’m s-sorry I don’t h-have the inhaler,” Toby apologized, regretting leaving it with Tim. (It was in fact Tim’s inhaler).

His sudden outburst made you chuckle, even as a few more stray tears slid down your cheeks. You pulled back a few inches, just enough for Toby to see your face. He didn’t like seeing you like this, so hurt. Without thinking he raised his hand, fingertips grazing your cheek as he tucked some stray hairs behind your ear. “F-Fuck him, you’re the important one, y-you’re the one,” Toby said as confidently as he could muster. You knew his words meant well, even if they didn’t come out the way he meant for them to. He used the pad of his thumb to swipe away the few remaining tears, cupping your cheeks. Your eyes fluttered closed, your face relaxing in the palms of his hands.

Social constructs were a mystery to Toby, truthfully. But he knew in this moment to do what he thought was best. He leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. He ignored any emotion he felt towards the gesture, his attention completely centralized on you. “Y-You know i’m not the b-b-best with words, but I p-promise everything’s gonna be okay,” He mumbled, his chocolate eyes filled with worry as he tried to catch your gaze. Your glassy eyes eventually met his, your bottom lip trembling as you confessed, “He’s the one who left me, Toby.”

You might as well have shot him dead then and there. Toby couldn’t feel pain, due to a list of neurological disorders he couldn’t bother to remember. But he knew for a fact he felt a pang of despair mixed with anger thud in his chest. “P-Piece of shit,” He grumbled, his hands still cupping your cheeks. The animalistic side of Toby wanted to find him, to make him hurt for causing you so much pain. But the soft look in your eyes, the way you were borderline clinging to him, made those thoughts evaporate. You came first. You needed him. You needed Toby more than you needed anyone. Swallowing thickly Toby tilted your head upwards, forcing you to look at him.

“You’re b-better off without him, alright? I never liked him anyways,” Toby started. Maybe this wasn’t the correct way to comfort someone, maybe he should try a different route instead of spewing insults. He dug into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small joint. “It’s n-not much but, we can s-smoke and talk about it,” He offered. This made a sad smile creep up your lips, your hands moving to open the window. “I think i’d like that Toby,” You agreed. You both readjusted in your seats, turning to face the window. Toby admired the moon as you took the joint between your lips, sparking the lighter. Again, social constructs were foreign to him. But as he threw his arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer, he got the sense he made the right decision.

[mugglebornmarvelite]

Flirting with Disaster

Paring: TASM!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader (Brother's bestfriend)

Summary: You're about to go on the first real date you’ve had in years, and the nerves are hitting hard. So, you turn to the one person who might help: Peter Parker, your brother’s best friend.

Word Count: Roughly 1.5k 

Warnings: Fluff, anxiety around dating, mentions of insecurities, unrequited/complicated feelings, cringe-worthy moments

Note: I’m planning on making this a three-part or a four-part. Let’s see. Oh, and I've been away from my usual shenanigans, so I am going to post twice this weekend :)

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Divider by: @strangergraphics

You sat cross-legged on your bed, phone in hand, as if looking at it too long might make it spontaneously combust. The flutter in your stomach definitely wasn’t from hunger. 

No, tonight was the night—a real date. A proper date with an actual guy. 

And the thought of it had you wanting to crawl under your blankets and pretend the world didn’t exist.

Your friends were all in your corner, practically sending you a virtual pep squad of texts: You got this! Go for it, girl! But deep down? You felt more like a deer in headlights. Spiraling towards your impending doom.

You weren’t ready. Mentally? Nope. Emotionally? Not even close. Physically? Definitely not.

Flirting? Kissing? Oh God. It felt like you were about to attempt something far more complicated than rocket science, like you needed a PhD in how to act normally around a guy just to get through the night. And if anything even remotely intimate was on the horizon? Yeah, that sent you straight back to high school, where you could barely look at a guy without tripping over your own feet.

Talking to your brother about this? No way. He’d send you a full PowerPoint presentation on how awkward you were, followed by an Excel spreadsheet of potential embarrassing scenarios. Your mom? She’d tell you how beautiful you were and then proceed to give you every single detail of her first date with your dad, including the color of the sweater she wore and the exact type of pasta they had.

Which left you with one option.

Peter.

Peter freakin’ Parker.

He’d been your brother’s best friend since before you could remember. Still, somewhere along the way, he’d gone from being that cocky, arrogant, too-cool-for-school guy and literal genius whose favorite pass time was annoying you to someone who made your heart do a little flip every time he looked at you. The messy hair. The cocky grin. The snarky vibe that screamed I’m cooler than you, and you were just you. Awkward. Nerdy. And definitely, the girl who’d had an intense crush on him when you were younger, an embarrassing crush at that. But, for the record, you had mostly gotten over.

Mostly.

But now, with the date creeping closer and your nerves flaring up like fireworks in your chest, you were desperate. You needed help.

So you hit dial.

“Hey, little peach.” His voice slid through the phone like melted chocolate, smooth and warm, and the kind that made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t know how to process.

“Hi, Peter,” you muttered, trying to sound casual, trying and failing miserably.

“Long time, no talk. What’s up?” His voice was laced with that familiar mischief, the one that hinted he knew something was off but was enjoying every second of the suspense. “Don’t tell me you burned down your kitchen trying to make some sad excuse for pasta and now you’re too embarrassed to call the fire department? Because, if so, I’ll happily dress up as a fireman and fulfill that fantasy for you.”

You stammered, and he laughed. Loudly.

“You’re hilarious, asshole,” you grumbled.

“I try.” He chuckled. You could practically hear his smirk. “So what’s the emergency? Need bail money? Lemme see, petty theft? Destruction of public property? Actually, scratch that, even you wouldn’t pull something like that, peach.”

Peach. That damn nickname. It hit you like a sucker punch of nostalgia. You remembered summers spent trailing behind him and your brother, trying to act like you were calm and cool while you tripped over your own feet just trying to keep up with them.

You cleared your throat, doing your best to sound like you had it together. “Uh, I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor?” Peter’s tone shifted instantly, a little more serious now. “Everything okay? You’re not in actual trouble, right?”

Panic crept up your spine. Why had you called him? This was so stupid. But here you were, spilling your guts anyway.

“Uh, yes. No. I mean…” You sighed, your voice wavering. “I have a date,” you muttered, hoping he wouldn’t hear the tremble in your voice. “It’s tonight. And I’m freaking out. Like majorly.”

There was a long pause on the other end. Then, that unmistakable chuckle, the one that made you want to punch him. “Wait. Hold on. You? Freaking out about a date? I didn’t know you had it in you little miss awkward. You?” His voice dragged out the last word like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

You grumbled, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, thanks for the support, asshole,” you muttered. “You’re just gonna mock me, aren’t you? This was a waste of time.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, regretting the entire call. You were better off canceling the date and hiding in your apartment with a Netflix binge and a pint of ice cream.

This was just as humiliating.

“I’m sorry for bothering you,” you mumbled. “Bye-”

“Hey, hey,” Peter interrupted. His tone softened, just a little. “I’m sorry for laughing, okay? But you know I can’t help it.”

You huffed, but something in his voice made you hesitate.

“But seriously, you? Nervous?” His voice was almost affectionate now, though he still sounded like he was having way too much fun with this. “Baby, you’re smart, you’re funny when you try, and last time I checked, you grew up gorgeous. What’s there to be nervous about, hm?”

Your heart did that weird skip thing, and you cursed your traitorous body. Baby.

He didn’t even know what he was doing to you when he said it. He said it like it was nothing—like it didn’t even matter. But it hit you harder than it should’ve. 

"Easy for you to say," you snapped back, but even as you tried to sound annoyed, there was a softness creeping into your voice. “It’s been forever since, you know, I’ve had to, like, flirt or kiss or whatever. I don’t want to make a fool of myself.”

There was a long pause. Then, Peter’s voice came through, low and laced with mischief. “Wait a second. Are you asking me to teach you how to flirt? I’m honored, peach.”

“What? No!” You nearly dropped the phone in your panic. “I…wait! No! That’s not what I meant!”

“Oh, but now I have to,” Peter said, sounding far too pleased with himself. “Come over. I’ll help you practice. Flirting, kissing, whatever you need.”

You gaped at the phone, heat rushing to your face. “You can’t be serious.”

“Come on, peach,” he continued a dangerous lilt in his tone. “You used to trust me with everything. Like that time you tried to ride my skateboard when you were, what, ten? You ate it so bad I thought your brother was gonna faint. But I carried you home, dried your tears, and made you laugh instead of cry. You know I’ve got you.”

You closed your eyes, cringing at the memory. You’d been ten, desperate to prove you weren’t just the annoying little sister of his best friend. You’d failed miserably, but Peter hadn’t laughed at you. Well, at least, not until after he made sure you were fine.

"Oh my god," you muttered, cringing at the thought. "I was a mess back then."

Peter’s voice softened, but that smirk was still there. "You were adorable, though. Adorable," he teased, his voice dripping with something almost affectionate. "Especially with those rainbow bandages on your knees. I swear, I could’ve sold tickets to that disaster."

“Don’t remind me,” you muttered, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

“So, come on over,” he pressed. “I’ll give you a crash course. I’m talking flirting 101, kissing for dummies, the whole shebang. You can thank me later.”

You bit your lip, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if you were blushing from memory or how his words made your stomach flip.

You hesitated for a second. This was ridiculous. 

"Peach, you still with me?" His voice broke through your thoughts. "What's your decision?"

But you sighed, giving in. “Alright,” you said before you could stop yourself. “Fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Good girl,” Peter purred into the phone, and you froze. His voice sent a shock through your system that left you breathless. Suddenly, the whole flirting crash course didn’t feel like a joke anymore.

You knew he was messing with you, but it didn’t stop your skin from flushing.

You stared at your phone, wondering what you’d just gotten yourself into.

Peter Parker was going to help you with your love life. No big deal, right?

You weren’t that kid anymore. You definitely didn’t have a crush on Peter Parker.

“Don’t give me that look,” you glared at your stuffed animal as it silently judged you with its big brown eyes. “I don’t have a crush on him anymore.”

That’s what you told yourself, anyway.

Mostly.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @ficcharsimp

If you'd like to be added to my taglist

Much love x

- Maeve

[cjlouwho]

How are the chances to get anything Rocker/Deacon out of you today?

No pressure or anything 👀

Gotta be honest, love, I'm feeling a little pressure... but I like it 😉

"I don't think we should keep doing this."

"Seems a little late now, don't ya think?"

"I'm serious, Rocker, I- I've got a wife. I've got kids. I- I gotta think about them."

"I- ohshityeah, right there, Baby." Rocker pushed himself up on his elbows, arching his back as Deacon slipped further inside him. "I- get that, I do, I just- I don't think right this second is when you should be making this decision."

Deacon groaned as he bottomed out, leaning over Rocker and pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his back. "I go... I go by the church most days," he panted, "ask for forgiveness, say I won't do it again. Next day, I'm here again."

"That all I am to you?" Rocker asked bitterly. "Some dirty sin you gotta confess to the preacher?"

"Priest, actually."

Rocker growled, moving himself forward and pushing back onto Deacon with force. "Fucking move, asshole."

With an eye roll, Deacon sat back up. He grabbed hold of Rocker's hips and began fucking into him hard and fast. He watched his cock disappear into Rocker's hole over and over, his rim getting more pink and puffy with each thrust.

It was so fucking hot.

"Fuck," Rocker breathed out, spitting into his hand before reaching for his cock. "Deac, I- I'm not gonna last long."

Instead of responding, Deacon smacked Rocker's ass.

"Shit," Rocker hissed, coming over his hand and onto the sheet below them. He clenched around Deacon, working himself back on his cock. "Come on, David. Come in me. Wanna feel it."

Deacon held onto Rocker's hips so hard it was sure to leave behind bruises. He came in him with a moan, nearly lying on top of him as he came down from the orgasm.

Once he caught his breath, he carefully slipped out of Rocker. Rocker flipped onto his back, but Deacon made no effort to join him in the bed.

"Gotta get to the church?" Rocker asked with a smirk. "Let the priest know what we just did? Does he like all the dirty details?"

Deacon shook his head, gathering up his clothes. "I'm serious, Rocker, I- I can't keep doing this," he said as he started to get dressed. "It's over." He pulled his shirt over his head and zipped up his pants. "I'm sorry, but we're done."

"Okay, Deac," Rocker mumbled as Deacon left the room. He listened to his front door slam shut. "See you tomorrow."

[that-hazbin]

Your blackout Alastor au is fascinating! Sounds like it has the potential for a lot of black comedy. Angel's technique for pulling Alastor out of Lucifer's interrogation was flawless.

It's also funny to imagine Lucifer's rapid 180 from taunting Alastor to being deeply invested in uncovering his traumatic backstory. Like he got smacked with the realization that Alastor's actually a person and now he's screaming at himself in his head, 'Wait... am I an asshole????'

SO much black comedy. I cut out some ideas from the post because it was getting too long, but there were also little snippets of Alastor making up wild and very false stories as to how he ended up in hell because, well. He's not just gonna say he doesn't know.

Also, making shit up is funny.

And yesss, Lucifer completely switching gears when he realizes he might have just waltzed himself into a very real Traumatic Backstory. Oopsie, Alastor's an actual person and Lucifer crossed a line before he realized it!

As much as Lucifer hates the guy, there are lines you just don't cross. Unfortunately this means he'll have to... UGH. Apologize.

(Good luck with that Lucifer, Alastor's going to be avoiding you like the fucking plague for the next week at least.)

[whoiwanttoday]

Guys it has been a week and it's only Wednesday. Somehow. Anyway, I am taking the easy way out here by posting Jessica Nigri. Cosplayers tend to be easy mode cause I don't have to look very hard or very long for pictures. There are a lot and they tend to be good. I am posting her cause she did a Squirrel Girl cosplay, a thing I did not know I needed but apparently I did. I have a long and storied history with Squirrel Girl in that once upon a time in my days as a youth roleplaying online in X-Men based Roleplay servers my password was Squirrel or SquirrelLover or Squirrelllll depending on the server. I did not set these, other people set them for me when they created my login because I had an ongoing joke about how Squirrel Girl was the new character find of the 90's and actually history's most powerful superhero. This is because at this point, Squirrel Girl had exactly one appearance, where she teamed up with Spider-man and kicked the shit out of Doctor Doom. It just was a comedy bit for me because there was no world where Squirrel Girl was every coming back because she was a one off character that was kind of silly and I love the silly side of comics but a lot of people, especially back then, hated it. Comics were serious business. Get this girl with the power to talk to squirrels who kind of looks like a squirrel out of my comics about serious stuff like a teenage boy getting bitten by a radioactive spider so he turns into an asshole which kind of gets his uncle killed and then he feels so guilty he spends the rest of his life fighting Nuclear Physicists who have the name Octavius and somehow end up with mechanical arms so they are like an Octopus and Billionaires who put on Halloween masks and create weapons that are all themed to be kind of halloween adjacent (this is what I would do if I were a billionaire but I'd be a good guy thank you very much) or you know, multiple people who just literally take an animal name and then wear suits to look like said animal. Serious business. Anyway, all that said, the joke got a lot less funny when eventually Marvel started making the same joke. And suddenly Squirrel Girl was the star of a comic about joke Avengers. Then she was just an Avenger. Then she got her own comic and somehow became the favorite comic book character of multiple children I knew in the mid 10's. Crazy. But I have always had that connection. I have not yet faced her in Marvel Rivals, a game I am awful at, I was much, much better at RPing the soap opera stuff in X-men than I am at using Magneto to I guess shoot bolts of magnetism at people. But I like the cosplay here either way. I think she's make a really hot Magneto now that I think about it. Maybe a good Scarlet Witch too but I want every cosplayer to do a comics accurate Scarlet Witch so don't trust me there. Today I want to fuck Jessica Nigri.

[leashybebes]

I was tagged by @typicalopposite (impulsive) and @hyperfocusthusly (fire) for this wip game.

Rules! Share one sentence or excerpt from your wip(s) that starts with each letter of your word!

Decided to make it confusing by pulling from my extremely unwieldy file with allll the wips from you plus me verse, along with the actual ongoing wips and a Super Secret project so...don't expect anything coherent, I guess!

also, at least one bit is nsfw, i sorta lost track. impulsive is a long word and i have NOTHING in the tank today.

re: nothing in the tank, i cannot even consider tagging onwards. if you see this and wanna do it, your word is heart

impulsive

i -

"I mean. I think you could make just about anything sound hot."

"Do you see how that could be a problem?"

"I - guess. But um. It's a problem in a hot way."

Tommy pinches the bridge of his nose. "Evan."

"I mean it. Um. Hold up." Buck scrolls through his phone, switching back to his notes app and, yikes, that's a mess that he will need to tidy up at some point, but he thinks he worded it pretty well in his little brain-dump earlier, so carefully filed sex notes will have to wait.

m -

"My round," Tommy says.

"I'll come with you," Eddie offers.

Buck stands up to let them out of the booth. Clearly not even thinking about it, Tommy touches his waist as he goes, a brief trail of his fingers that has Buck making what he's sure is a pretty goofy expression at Tommy's retreating back.

p -

"Put some clothes on, have a shower if you want, I'm going to make some lunch."

"Is this the famous Clipboard Buck?"

Buck's aware he's probably having what Hen would call a face journey because he wants to know who said that to Tommy, and to point out that he doesn't actually have a clipboard right now, but that he has one at the loft and he could grab it if they swung by, and he also wants to say something embarrassing about how handsome Tommy looks after a nap. He might be in danger of going full Buck here.

u -

"Uh. No. But. You know my friends."

"And soon you'll know mine." He brings Buck's hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles. "I've told them about you. They'll love you."

"Um. Um. Sure." 

Buck screams at himself to shut the fuck up because they'll love you is literally just a thing people say, and it is too goddamn early.

l -

"Love you."

"Love you too."

"Love you!" Jee chirps up, not really directed at anyone in particular, just putting it out into the universe. Buck swoops her up onto his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and she shrieks with laughter. When he leans in to drop one last peck on Tommy's cheek, he hears Jee's mwah! as she lands a kiss in Tommy's hair.

s -

"She was a kid when I joined the army. I should have done better by her, but - "

"You were a kid when you joined the army," Buck counters. "I'm not mad, stop looking at me like that."

"Okay," Tommy says carefully. "You probably - "

"I mean, I am confused. Because when your dad died, we talked a lot. I thought - I thought it made us closer."

i -

"I don't wanna - "

"Sure, okay, make me say it," Tommy says with a huff that might almost be a laugh. "You've got a big dick. Just - it's good, just go slow."

"Yeah," Evan says. "Sure, of course."

He thought he was going slow, but Tommy's the boss, so he works on tiny, incremental little thrusts instead, and it feels crazy. He can feel Tommy's ass working around his cock, like it's actively trying to get him closer, further inside.

v -

Verging on tearful, Evan says, "I would have come. I would have helped."

"I know you would have. It's exactly why I didn't. Why I wouldn't let Sal."

"God, you are a stubborn asshole," Evan says, but he sounds almost impressed, now.

Tommy shrugs and snags another cookie. "These are really good."

Evan gives him a familiar, teasing glare. "For the record, I am allowing you to change the subject."

e -

"Evan, wait - "

But it's too late. Buck pulls open what appears to be Tommy's sock drawer. He's rooting around before Tommy's words can register and his fingers find it like they knew it'd be there - a box. Small and square and navy blue and unmistakable. 

"You - "

Tommy sighs and drags a hand over his face. "Surprise?" he suggests. "This really isn't how I thought this would go."

fire

f -

For a second it's their first kiss all over again, but then Tommy's free hand is preemptively cupping the back of Buck's head as he very efficiently gets Buck pinned against the wall and kisses him fervently. Buck makes a noise of surprise but then gets with the programme immediately. Tommy kisses him hard, urgent, licking into his mouth and slotting their bodies together in a way that Buck is already learning makes him melt. He winds his arms around Tommy's neck, arches into him, lets out a happy little hum.

i -

"It's up to you. I won't be offended if you just want to go sleep in your own bed, but I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't serious."

He's so fucking direct, and it makes Buck feel crazy.

"I don't want to sleep in my own bed," he says, and wants to curl into himself and disappear. It's too much and too honest and too intense and too early and too Buck. 

r -

Reflexively, he notes Evan very deliberately not looking at the cane, probably trying to reconcile the man who walked out of his loft eight years ago with it, and with the glasses, and the decrease in muscle mass and the more grey than not in his hair. He decides to give him an out.

"Congratulations on the promotion," he says. "You deserve it."

e -

Evan holds out  an honest-to-god printed list. Lists, Tommy realizes as he takes hold of the paper, and sees that it's multiple sheets. The first is titled non-sexual intimacy, the second date night ideas, the third mutual self-disclosure. Evan's hand covers his, settling the rising itch of panic he's barely had time to notice.

"Slow down," Evan tells him. "Your pace, remember?"

Part of Tommy hates the feeling of being handled. Another part of him, the part he's trying to lean into, wants it desperately. Wants to be treated carefully, treated with care.

[aita-blorbos]

(⚫️⚫️⚫️ <- to recognize it later)

AITA for visiting my son? 

My (2000M) son, who I will hereby refer to as S (complicated, male) doesn’t like me and refuses to admit the obvious fact that he is my successor and heir. S is going through his “rebellious phase” and he even killed me the last time I visited him because I was planning to destroy the Earth or whatever. Honestly, I think he’s just being sentimental about this little human girl that he got weirdly attached to and refuses to let go of who died decades ago (S was frozen in cryostasis so to him it wasn’t that long ago but still). 

Anyway, on his friend??? rival???? boyfriend???? I don’t actually know what they are to each other except that said person is nowhere near good enough to even associate with my son. Either way, on that guy’s birthday the timeline got messed up and I was able to make my way into the manifestation of my son’s memories. I tried to give him the abilities he needed to be my heir, and he didn’t even thank me! I think it was because that idiot professor and S’s dead childhood friend also were in his memory space. S tried to kill me again and fully refused to be my successor! I think I’ve done nothing wrong and my son is being unreasonable. Especially since while S made a promise to that girl about protecting the planet or whatever, but S should’ve moved on by now. 

So, am I the asshole for visiting my son? I know I’m right but I’m proving a point to S.

[swanqueen-is-the-story]

Okay, here's the thing... I've always LOVED the big coma theory from Operation Out...

BUT THIS RIGHT HERE makes the show MORE SWAN QUEEN!!

Like, I totally understand why people hate coma theories, I hate it too most of the time 'cause it sort of erases everything that happened in a show or a book, and makes it a dream.... But, that's not the case with OUAT, and I LOVE THAT! Like, yes, give me MORE TO CHEW ON!

All the emotions are not erased by this theory, and I love that the Swan-Mills family is still THE HEART OF THE SHOW!

This opens up the possibility of so much Swan Queen that we haven't witnessed but that's told metaphorically... Like, maybe in the beginning, Emma was not very responsive, but then she's kinda back and forth, so she isn't completely cut off from Regina and Henry.

She's sometimes moving and talking. So Emma and Regina are interacting, they just have to work super hard for it... like they're on opposite sites of the town line.

Or imagine Regina mocking an Emma who says weird fairy tale sentences... and a Regina who is so lonely that the only person she comes to talk to is a woman who is half-conscious... because it's safe. But then still being snarky about it like:

Sidney: The only thing I really learned was that she doesn’t like to sit still. Regina: Well, that appears to have changed.

OR

Regina (to Emma): Well, you covered this room. I suggest you branch out.

And then, the half-conscious woman is completely in love with Regina against her own better judgment because this asshole is not being precious with her like everyone else. And Regina goes from little sarcastic interactions to starting to look at Emma and really seeing her... she's listening to the weird things she says, she's trying to go to where Emma is, understand what she's saying with all her fairytale adventures. She fucking likes her, in spite of being in different realms, and feels like she knows her... profoundly. And that's holy CANON.

Video: YouTube

Like, I love Swan Queen still after all these years, and the fact that analyzing this show with these new glasses still has the potential to give me new SQ squeal moments is just insane. I am now on the HUNT for hidden Swan Queen moments in other storylines.

Like, one thing I've already noticed is that from the beginning, Regina is "cast" as the love interest every time in the first season. I mean the fact that Sydney is "The Mirror"... literally a reflection of Emma, and he goes, "She's an amazing woman." and then Emma "You're in love with her? Ugh." Like, Emma's annoyed with herself for totally being into this woman... and all of this stuff seems fully intentional. Just when you thought this show couldn't get more gay, it really, really does. And that's an example that's not super evident.... because let's remind ourselves that Swan Queen parallels Snow and Charming ALL THE TIME!!! So where are the other hidden ones, you know? 👀

So anyway, all I'm trying to say is that we should hunt all the Swan Queen that's still left to discover.

SQ really, really is the story.

Analyzing Once Upon a Time

This can't be how the story ends

Since this blog is now as old as Henry in the Pilot, we thought this would be a good time to re-introduce this Once Upon a Time theory to the new kids on the block - and to the old kids on the block, because we have learned a thing or two during the decade we've been researching this concept.

The heart of the theory can really be summed up in one sentence:

"Everything that happened on Once Upon a Time also really happened in our world, and it is all a metaphorical retelling of Emma's life experiences in the past and in the present."

That's the part of the theory that we are certain about. Every episode has a deeper meaning, there is no fluff and together they all form one big story.

Does that mean that the story that we watched, didn't really happen? No, it's more like getting two stories for the price of one. The best metaphor we can come up with is that of lenticular cards.

Remember those little cards that you would twist and then the image would change? It doesn't really matter which one of those two images is real, because they both are. Someone had to draw and print both of them and use the right technique so we could see them both. Usually the images tell a bit of a story when you combine them, but they work perfectly fine as two standalone images.

So what we are doing is simply twisting the card, we're revealing our second story. We've really emotionally invested in these characters and now we're entering an Alternate Universe that was written by the same writers. And that's the real appeal of this theory, to get another story after the show's been off the air for so long, with the characters we know and love, because they are both.

Let's say the genre of the story we watched on television for 7 years is fantasy and the genre of our new AU is magical realism. So take a seat, suspend disbelief and enjoy the ride, because we're about to watch the official trailer of this new ABC show called Once Upon a Time.

If you watch the trailer, you see the idea of the two sides of the story being reinforced. You also hear the voice-over tell us that "someone from our world" needs to save the fairy tale characters while showing an unconscious Emma. This is the moment when the story splits in two.

Once Upon a Time takes place in what Jung called "The Collective Unconscious", or in this case The Enchanted Forest - a place where humankind's stories are real, where the fairy tale characters we know and love live - the world of archetypes.

A metaphorical curse is cast when Emma crashes her car. She loses consciousness and travels to her own subconscious mind. The fairy tale world and Emma's personal world collide and she gradually steals the fairy tale characters to work through her own issues and traumas. This is how the fairy tale characters actually get trapped in our world.

This is why this version of the story is "Magical Realism" - In magical realism, the underlying idea is that the world we currently live in actually has an undercurrent of magic, of intelligence, a magic that expresses itself through uncanny coincidences. We see this in the Pilot. Emma makes a heartfelt wish, and a second later, her long lost son rings the door bell. Unlikely, but possible in our world. When she slams her car door in anger, electric sparks fly and when she looks up at the clock, it's stuck on 8:15. August 15th. The date her long lost son was born. Odd coincidences, but entirely possible.

This magical world, however, is also a world of karma, because she violently knocks a man against his steering wheel earlier in the episode. Later that night, she hits her own head. This was the only way for the hidden magic of our world to grant Emma's wish and to restore her karma. The intelligent universe forced her to confront her demons with the help of age-old archetypes, so she could heal from her traumas, learn the life lessons she needs to allow people like Henry and Regina into her life.

Everything we saw on this show was Emma's real experience during the show's timeline, but the undercurrent of the world she experienced was created by her memories and by everything what's going on in the world around her while she is in different states of consciousness. Like Jefferson points out during "Hat Trick", even fictional stories come from a real place. They come from the writer's emotions and experiences, codified into story.

What we didn't know when we first started writing this theory, was how weird our consciousness really is. Real comas are nothing like movie comas where people just sit up one day. Maybe they need a little bit of physical rehab and then off they go. No, in the real world, people spend days, weeks, months or even years living in between their dream world and reality, trying to make sense of it all. Some people report having no memory of the months after they woke up and after they were up and somewhat functional. Many report strange dreams and remembering conversations that happened around them - except they thought they were participating.

Based on this newfound knowledge, we concluded that Emma was only in a deep coma for parts of the show's timeline. We think Emma's state in this theory closely aligns with what medical professionals call a minimally conscious state (MCS). Sleeping curse victims in an MCS are awake but show limited awareness of their surroundings. They may respond to stimuli, have brief moments of purposeful behavior, or even show emotional reactions to familiar voices or events. While their consciousness seems fragmented, they can form connections between external events and their inner experiences. The show uses David's coma story to tell us what's happening with Emma. He is able to grab Mary Margaret's hand, which he couldn't do if he was in a full coma. That means Emma is sometimes saying words and interacting with the people around her. They can connect with her in meaningful ways. And they do.

The show is peppered with hints that point to Emma's state in the land without magic. Jefferson is one of the characters who is used as a part of her subconscious that is trying to make Emma aware of her situation in the reality realm, but during the second episode, Emma herself gives us a description of the curse that she is now trapped in.

Emma: "So, for decades, people have been walking around in a haze, not aging, with screwed up memories, stuck in a cursed town that kept them oblivious."

What's very important about this description, is the "screwed up memories". The flashbacks about Emma's life that we have seen, are just as metaphorical of the other parts. They did happen, but they didn't happen in the way we saw them happen. The best explanation for how these 'new memories' are created is by looking at one clear example.

The "memory" of Emma giving birth to Henry is actually a metaphorical memory of Henry coming back into Emma's life, through parallels and visual clues. In this new memory, she expresses how she really felt in that moment, in so much emotional pain she could scream, and terrified to be asked to be a mother. This is how all the stories are created.

Much of the show works this way, except unlike during this scene, we haven't seen the original experience that the metaphor is based upon. So to decipher the rest of Emma's memories, all we can do is look at the recurring themes and storylines, as they show what Emma is wrestling with. Season 1 is full of car crashes, because crashing her car in the Pilot is a very recent trauma. Parents giving up children is a recurring trauma, because it matches both her story and Henry's story. This is the translation key to figure out Emma's story. Look at the patterns.

If we listen back to the show's trailer one more time, the theme song that was chosen to represent the show couldn't be more of an invitation to see the reality layer of the story.

Rescue me

Show me who I am

'Cause I can't believe

This is how the story ends

Fight for me

If it's not too late

Help me breathe again

No, this can't be how the story ends

This is Emma fighting for her life in reality. Asking Regina and Henry and the people around her to help her come back to life, because this can't be how the story ends. This can't be how she dies.

Ooookay... so where's the fun exactly?

You may be wondering, what is the appeal? Admittedly, this story is somewhat sad and dark at first glance, but remember when you watched the first season and you were trying to guess the characters' fairy tale identities? You get to do that again, except this time you are trying to guess the real world identities. You get to experience the curse from the inside and it really does feel like you can recapture some of the fun from the first time around.

Once you realize that the memories we saw were warped, many questions bubble up to the surface. How did Henry really find Emma? Who gave him the story book and why? How did he come to his conclusions? Is he the author because he is creating the fairy tales he is reading to Emma? Who are Emma's real parents? Why was she given up for adoption? What really happened to her in foster care? Is Neal really Henry's father or is there more to the story? What is wrong with Emma? Was there something fishy about the adoption? Why is she in and out of consciousness? How do Henry and Regina react? Did Regina really try to kill her? If Regina wasn't actually the evil queen, why did Henry think she didn't love him? Why is everyone suddenly related? Who is Emma Swan? Who is Regina Mills? Who is Henry? And Gold? And Hook?

It becomes a gigantic mystery, a fantastical true crime show. And the more people lend their ears and their eyes to it, the better our chances are to actually solve this very, very weird puzzle. Because as we said, the only part of this theory that we are sure of, is that everything we saw, is all a metaphorical retelling of Emma's life in the past and in the present. We report on the connections we find, the possible interpretations. The recurring themes. The meaningful parallels. We don't claim those are the correct interpretations, because they change as we dig deeper.

So consider this an invitation to take a bite out of the forbidden fruit of knowledge, join in and share your observations, because we would like to see the full picture once we tilt our little card to take another look.

[gremlingirlsmell]

anyways, am-i-the-asshole-official is uncritically platforming transmisogyny. like, real obvious transmisogyny.

like that post has everything. pedojacketing. saying she's gross/creepy. she's "creepy" for basically confessing (joining OPs polycule). her not getting work and her coworkers hating her some how reflecting bad on her, and not them and how transmisogynistic society is. mentioning how tall and broad and scary she looks. calling her creepy for wearing a maid outfit at home while cleaning. and then just peppering in a half-assed vague "oh she sexually abused my partner he says so" while also vaguely saying she "gives off creepy vibes". to justify making her homeless btw

and the people in the notes are LAPPING it up! nta is currently winning. and the blog owner sees no problem platforming this. in the context of the everything happening on this website rn, disgusting honestly

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Izutsumi character study

[solitaireships]

I feel like I should say since there's been a recent uptick in a lot of communities I'm in/see stuff from a lot of white people pretending to be Asian, but you are not welcome here if you are in anyway stealing from Asian cultures for clout or the aesthetics of it

This includes if you're white and you give your self inserts Asian names, I truly do not care if your f/o is from an anime, you should not be using an Asian name under any circumstances. I hate that whenever I see someone using an Asian name online, I feel like I have to start searching their account to see if they're actually Asian or just a white person who likes the aesthetic of it bcs far too many white people will use Asian names here just bcs it sounds cool, with no regard for the actual cultural meaning behind it. Meanwhile actual Asian people will be mocked for their names, or treated like their names are too hard to learn to pronounce, or discriminated against based on their names

Asian cultures are not a fun little costume for people to dress up with. They aren't just a nice aesthetic, they aren't just a thing you can borrow from bcs you think it sounds cool

[topaziraphale]

"Stop saying Crowley won't help Aziraphale in S3 he'd go back to him in a HEARTBEAT and nothing would stop him" I get it no one likes the idea of Crowley being bitter after what happened for a long period of time but like can we at least acknowledge that he's currently going through probably the most emotional pain in his life since falling? Can we agree that he's opened his heart entirely - something you couldn't pay him to do unless the world is literally ending and he's desperate - to Aziraphale, and got shot down? Can we understand that he did it AGAIN only to lose Aziraphale again? Not that what Aziraphale did isn't without Crowley's own shortcomings (hiding the truth of Heaven's cruelty from him) but like,,,,

The appeal here isn't Scorned Crowley Doesn't Love Aziraphale Anymore, or Never Wants To Help Him Again, the appeal here is Crowley learning enough self respect to not just walk back right to Aziraphale like nothing happened after Aziraphale has had a pattern of consistently refusing him. Going years ping-ponging between "We're not friends I don't even know him" to "That's what friends are for right?" and "We're friends, why would you even say anything?" and "Friends? We're not friends. We are an angel and a demon!"

Like I get it, Crowley is a heartbreakingly forgiving person. Of course he's gonna forgive Aziraphale, I'll be surprised if he didn't forgive him by the time he walked out the bookshop door, but gdi he could at least grant himself the luxury of being at least a little irritated for longer than however long it takes to make a globe and some books float and angrily cry out to God in his flat. But due to the change of pace and dynamic that is establishing part of the conflict for Season 3, I just really like the idea of him for ONCE prioritizing himself and being like "Okay, fine. We'll get back at it when you're ready, then," instead of just taking Aziraphale back like his words and actions meant nothing to him, when clearly they have an effect on him.

What is Aziraphale going to learn if Crowley just accepts what he did so quickly, like he always has the entire time they've been friends? Idk maybe I'm just projecting too much darkness on their dynamic but I mean, if the pattern of Aziraphale pushing Crowley away/disrespecting him one day and then being fine with his friendship the next + Crowley never stopping to be like "Hey, that's not cool, at least give me a little credit" or smth was fine all along and will continue to be fine in the future, then why, after 6,000 years of being friends and loving this demon, can Aziraphale still not accept that Crowley is just fine the way he is, and instead got excited to promote him to an angel in a heartbeat once the opportunity presented itself? You can't blame all of it on Heaven when Aziraphale has demonstrated his free will/defiance to Heaven so many times. Or, I don't know, I guess maybe we can? Maybe I'm just craving too much angst to the point where I'm letting it cloud my analysis of canon. Idk.

[stormyoceans]

LINE READING SO DEVASTATING I NEED TO DIE ABOUT IT