#like is it a perfect show?? obviously not

[lovelyrose20]

@giantpotato693 OK, basically the idea is that it’s a piece of media that people view as pretty irredeemable for like various reasons. Like it’s not only bad but it’s dangerous and will ruin society. It also means that the person who created is pure evil and should be drawn and quartered. Fuck whatever they say their intentions are, obviously they’re evil.

For examples for a while, Steven universe is considered irredeemable media by a section of Tumblrbecause they dare to redeem the main antagonists of the story. Whatever or not you think it’s a narratively good decision or not people legit say that that’s proof that the showrunner in the crew are bad people because allegedly this is the equivalent of them telling people to forgive Nazis. So yeah if this weird nameless concept where if this piece of media is 100% perfect and display a message that could be seen as bad or not the message that people wanted to hear then they will declare it as the worst thing ever

bonus points, if the show have the character not killed the bad guy because you know they are compassionate or whatever and they say that this is the sign that the show is for oppressors or something 

'Irredeemable media' is such a funny concept to me because it's never used for stuff like Birth of a Nation or A Serbian Film. It's always The Owl House or My Hero Academia because these people only watch things for children and can't stand any conflict more complex than Super Mario Brothers.

[onlyhereforthestories]

Ours (Alessia Russo x Reader)

Day 20! My first Russo fic? This was another cheesy one to write, I think this time of the year gets me in my feels. Not long to go!

The glow of the Christmas tree lights filled the living room with a soft, warm ambiance as you placed a tray of paints and brushes onto the coffee table. The soft hum of holiday music played in the background, blending with the occasional crackle from the fireplace. Alessia, who had just returned from the kitchen with two mugs of hot chocolate, raised an eyebrow when she saw the collection of art supplies you’d gathered.

“What’s all this?” she asked, handing you a mug and taking a seat on the floor beside you.

You grinned, reaching for one of the plain, round ceramic ornaments from the box. “I thought we could make some decorations together. Something special for us to hang on the tree every year.”

Her lips curled into a soft smile, and she took one of the ornaments from the box, examining it thoughtfully as if planning what she could do with it. “You mean, something for us to laugh at in five years when we remember how bad we were at this?”

“Speak for yourself,” you teased, grabbing a brush and dipping it into the paint. “I’ve got big plans for mine.”

Alexia chuckled, leaning closer to inspect your work. “Oh? Big plans like what? Scribbling our initials on it?”

“Very funny,” you shot back, though you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “Watch and learn, Alessia Russo.” You said as you turned your back to her slightly.

You began painting in earnest, starting with a simple heart shape in bright red at the centre of your ornament. Alessia, meanwhile, selected her paints with a surprising level of focus from someone who laughed this idea off a second previously, furrowing her brows as she considered which colours to use.

“What are you going for?” you asked, glancing over at her.

She smirked, tilting the ornament in her hand to show you the start of her design. “A masterpiece, obviously.”

The “masterpiece” in question was a series of uneven lines and smudges of green and gold, but the pride in her expression made you smile.

“You’re so modest,” you quipped, nudging her shoulder playfully.

As the evening went on, the two of you fell into an easy rhythm, dipping brushes into paint and laughing over your attempts to create something meaningful and cute. Alessia’s focus wavered quickly; every time she made a mistake, she would throw her head back and laugh, claiming it added “character.” At one point, she accidentally dipped her sleeve in the paint, leaving a streak of gold across the table.

“Oops,” she said, holding up her arm with a sheepish grin.

You couldn’t help but laugh, grabbing a cloth to wipe up the spill. “At this rate, you’ll have more paint on yourselves than the ornaments you are making.”

She shrugged, grabbing a smaller brush and adding a blob of white to her design. “It’s abstract. I’m an artist. Don’t all artists get covered in their artwork.”

Your evening continued like this for the next 30 minutes, you and Alessia exchanging playful comments or sharing your attempts at art on the decorations you were making. All your ornaments slowly took shape, bright, cheerful designs, one for which featured the date of your first Christmas together and a little snowflake on the back as created by yourself. Alessia, on the other hand, had abandoned any pretence of a cohesive design. Her ornaments had become a chaos of colours and swirls, one was all green with a tiny football painted near the top.

“You’re going to hang that on the tree?” you teased, gesturing to her mess of a creation.

“Of course,” she replied, holding it up proudly. “It’s a reflection of my soul: messy, colourful, and full of love.”

You laughed, reaching over to add a little star to the edge of her ornament. “It’s perfect,” you admitted.

When both of you finished your next ornaments, you set them aside to dry and reached for the next blank ones. Alessia surprised you by grabbing your hand, stopping you mid-motion.

“Wait,” she said softly, her expression suddenly serious.

You raised an eyebrow, wondering what had shifted. “What is it?”

Alessia hesitated for a moment before taking one of the blank ornaments and handing it to you. “Let’s make one together,” she suggested.

“Together?”

“Yeah. Like you know, both of us working on one. Something that’s really ours.”

Your heart warmed at the suggestion, and you nodded, a smile spreading across your face. “I love that idea.”

You scooted closer to her, holding the ornament between you as you decided on the design together. It started with a big, bold heart in the centre, with your initials inside. Around the edges, you added tiny stars while Alessia painted little footballs and a small Christmas tree. Every few minutes, your hands would brush, sending sparks of warmth through you.

At one point, Alessia paused, holding up her brush with a mischievous grin. “Hold still,” she said.

“What? Why?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at her.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she swiped a quick streak of red paint across the tip of your nose.

“Alessia!” you exclaimed, laughing as you grabbed a brush of your own.

A quick, playful battle ensued, with streaks of paint finding their way onto your cheeks and Alessia’s chin. By the time you called a truce, both of you were a mess, your faces streaked with colour and your hands covered in smudges. You had placed your shared ornament down on the table before you retaliated so that it wasn’t part of the faux war.

“Okay, okay,” you said, still laughing as you leaned back. “I think the ornament’s supposed to get painted, not us.”

Alessia chuckled, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. “It’s a work of art either way.”

When the shared ornament was finally complete, the two of you held it up to admire your handiwork. It wasn’t perfect in its own way, the lines were a little uneven, and the colours had smudged in a few places, but it was undeniably yours.

“I love it,” Alessia said softly, her voice filled with genuine affection.

“Me too,” you agreed, setting it gently on the table to dry.

You spent the rest of the evening cleaning up the mess you’d made, trading kisses and light hearted jokes as you worked. When the ornaments were dry, you carefully hung them on the tree together, stepping back to admire how they looked amidst the twinkling lights.

Alessia slipped her arms around your waist from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder. “These are going to be my favourite decorations each year.” she murmured.

You leaned into her, your heart full. “Ours,” you corrected gently.

She smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Ours,” she agreed.

[doeidawn]

doeidawn's kinkmas day eight ❆ spanking

KINKMAS 2024 | PREVIOUS DAY | NEXT DAY

a little mishap at the company christmas party has you subjected to punishment—directly from the hand of your boss. 2.9k

❆ pairing: boss!price x assistant!fem!reader

❆ tags: MDNI/18+; inappropriate workplace conduct; slight dom/sub dynamic (use of "sir"); spanking (obviously); fingering

Working as the assistant to the head of one of the biggest companies in England invited stress that few could understand. Add in the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, and that stress increased tenfold. Then add in a Christmas party that said corporate head expects you to both organize and attend on top of your regular holiday duties, and the stress might give you a heart attack before the week ends.

It was a miracle that the whole thing managed to go as smoothly as it did. The decorations turned out good, everyone was pleasantly surprised by the secret Santa turnout, and the food was nice. Even the most introverted interns stopped by to chat. By all measures, it was a success. Which meant your boss would happily wear the success and (hopefully) give you a nice bonus for all the hard work.

Until the celebration started to wind down and you spilled nearly half of your wine onto him. Onto his very nice and no-doubt-expensive dress shirt—a white one, at that. You could hear the notice of termination being typed up as soon as you realized who you had bumped into. 

Ever the charmer, he took it like a champ in front of the gaggle of people. Not for your own sake, you imagine; the man had to save face in front of his employees whether it was your fault or not. Still, that didn’t stop you from feeling positively mortified. Cursing yourself for even pouring a drink when you should’ve been making sure everything stayed perfect. So much for a little alcohol to alleviate the mountain of stress on your shoulders.

Everyone else seemed to forget about it rather quickly. And as the festivities died down and people started to filter out, there was no unwanted attention brought your way. But, seeing as the party was your responsibility in the first place, you knew you’d have to stay after and clean up. The few moments alone would’ve been nice…if only you truly were alone.

You couldn’t be mad at John for being a good boss. He stayed over nearly every damn day, worked later than most just to make sure things turned out right. He showed up to the office party because he cared about his employees. Surely you couldn’t damn him for that. But when he sidled past you with a quick “can I see you in my office real quick?” in your ear, you wished he were the careless type to leave early and forget that you even existed. 

You wasted as much time as possible just to avoid seeing him. Mingled with every last person who hung around until they had no excuse left to stay. You tidied up counters and swept the floor best you could. You figured maybe you could walk someone to their car and get yourself out of a reprimand that way. Alas, you realized that it wouldn’t be a good look if the assistant didn’t fulfill all of her boss’s requests. 

You stand outside the door to his office for a good minute, just staring at the wood before you. You’re fully prepared to be scolded. To be ridiculed and belittled and insulted. Not that John had ever done that before—he wasn’t the type to act that way—but you felt so worthless that you figured he might as well.  

Mustering the last of your courage and a hint of apathy, you knock on the door. When you hear his voice invite you in, you hesitate before turning the knob and slinking in. It wasn’t a conscious choice to move slow; it was like you wanted to make yourself seem small and meek as if it’d convince him to take pity on you.

There he was at his desk, pushing a paper to the side in favor of looking your way. The blotch of red wine staining his shirt was painfully obvious. You silently prayed for whatever washing machine would get overworked trying to clean it out.

“You look terrified.” John’s voice cuts through the silence and nearly startles you. You hadn’t even realized how tense your shoulders were. “Everythin’ alright?”

Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth. “I…I dunno, sir. Is everything alright?”

“Just fine. The party was nice. Very well done.” He leans back in his chair and you cringe when more of that wine stain comes into view. It almost felt like he was taunting you with it. “Though I shouldn’t expect anythin’ less from you.”

You nod, more out of relief than agreement with his statement. Muttering a small “thank you”, you shift awkwardly on your feet. You expected a scolding, but he was pleasantly warm. There was no anger or upset in his eyes. He didn’t even seem disappointed. 

“What’s wrong?”

The question is surprising, but it’s the tone of sincere curiosity that bewilders you. Not annoyance, or inconvenience. He wanted to know what was wrong, wholeheartedly. It takes you a minute to swallow your pride and give him a half-assed shrug.

“Nothing, sir. Just…stressed, is all.” It wasn’t a lie, but it was probably the mildest way to say you were frustrated and tense and angry and just about every other feasible human emotion.

John makes a sound at that. He shifts in his chair, inching it back from his desk. “‘Course you are. You poor thing…I’ve asked a lot of you lately, haven’t I?” You didn’t know if the smart thing was to agree or deny, but you wanted to sigh with relief that he finally seemed to notice. “That's not very fair of me, huh?”

Did he want you to agree? You decide not to chance it. Instead, you stare at your feet like they’ve become the most interesting thing in the world. Anything felt better than looking him in the eye right now. 

“So, what do you do with all that stress? How d’you manage it, I mean?”

It was a miracle he thought you handled it at all. If you came off well-put together, it certainly didn’t reflect the worry that consumed your private life. “I…don’t, really. I just sort of deal with it, I suppose.”

He snorts, an amused shake of his head. “Well, that’s not very healthy, is it?” Definitely not. But he didn’t know the half of it. “Someone ought to help you manage that stress. I can’t have my assistant on edge all the time.”

Unless he planned on including therapy in your benefits, you didn’t see that working out any time soon. You give him a tight-lipped smile, awkwardly nodding along. Was this what he wanted to talk about..? Scolding you for being stressed was certainly preferable to bringing up your blunder at the party, but that didn’t mean you felt comfortable with it. 

“C’mere,” he beckons you closer with a gesture and a cock of his head. You take a few hesitant steps towards his desk, but he grumbles and gestures again. “Closer. Get over here.”

You freeze for a moment before complying. Why John could possibly want you so close was unknown to you, and your slow steps betrayed your hesitance. You stopped when you stood just before him, mere inches away from his body. It wasn’t unlike him to get close—he seemed to like crowding you—but it felt different this time. 

“Listen,” he starts, reaching out to rest a hand on your waist. “I need you at your best. Your job is very important, and I can’t accept anything less than perfect.” You don’t even notice the slight nod of your head. It was a reflexive response to agree with him, even if it meant agreeing to your own faults. His heavy palm slides down to your hip, squeezing you gently. “And if you don’t give me your best, consequences are in order.”

Your heart sinks. You expect him to dock your pay or pile on ten extra responsibilities to your work load—something that’ll make you feel even worse, no doubt. But when he looks up at you, there’s no sincerity or disappointment in his eyes. Instead, there’s something…eager. Almost like he’s excited when he starts to speak again.

“Seein’ as you’re my assistant, I think a heavy handed approach should suffice.” He squeezes your hip to further his emphasis as he leans forward. He’s so close you can feel his breath against your waist, his lips nearly brushing against you. “Somethin’ a little more personal.”

Oh.

You swallow thickly, your heart beating so hard you fear it might burst out of your chest. Too many emotions conflicted with each other—relief that he wasn’t angry, worried about the implications, excited that he’s propositioned you. It wasn’t rare that you got a little excited thinking about John. He was an attractive man, and the authority only added to the appeal.

HR be damned, you’d think yourself a fool if you never took the offer. “Whatever you think is best, sir.” You didn’t intend for your voice to sound so breathy and coy, but you didn’t fight it. You rest a hand on his shoulder, gripping his shirt tight when his hand suddenly moves to grope your ass. 

“Oh, I know what’s best for my assistant." He leans back, his hands falling away from your body in a movement that almost makes you whine at the loss. He rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt before patting his thigh invitingly. “She needs bent over and taught about consequences, yeah?”

“Yeah.” The word comes out in a squeak before you can stop yourself. One last look in his eyes and you were ready to give him whatever he wanted.

Taking his implication as your instruction, you bend yourself over his lap, bracing your hands on his thigh once you’re in place. You can hear your own heartbeat, pounding in your head and mingling with every thought telling you this is a bad idea. But then you hear him groan and feel a heavy palm skirt along your back and every doubtful thought is drowned by something much more desperate. 

“This is my favorite skirt of yours, you know that?” John mutters while splaying his thick fingers along your backside. Of course you knew he liked this one—he was never very subtle about it. It’s why you wore it to the party in the first place, only now you wish you’d wore something more flattering than a Christmas sweater to go with it. 

He tugs your skirt up and over your ass without ceremony, scrunching it at your waist until you’re fully exposed. He runs a hand over your soft, pliant skin, squeezing just enough to see the fat spill over his fingers. You gasp at the rough touch but make no effort to move away. If anything, you find yourself arching into the needy movements. 

Then, his hand pulls back and comes down in a sharp smack that takes your breath away. He groans again, watching your body recoil. “Yeah, this’ll do just fine.” He punctuates the thought with another spank. “We’ll see how many you can take before you learn your lesson.”

Another sharp smack of his palm makes you whine. You nod in agreement, but you don’t think he’s much concerned with your input at this point. Two more harsh spanks hit and you hiss when he runs his palm over the spot of impact. The dull sting already throbs under your flushed skin, aching more when he gropes your ass in a tight squeeze. The next spank draws a moan from your lips, the sharp impact sending an unexpected wave of pleasure directly between your legs.

John hooks a finger under the seam of your panties, pulling the fabric to expose more of your flushed skin. “You’re doin’ good, takin’ it well.”

You pause, waiting for a spank that never comes. “Thank you, sir,” you manage to stumble out.

Smack! You jerk at that, biting your lip to stifle a pathetic sound. “You know I’m not mad at you, right?” His movements are as soft as his voice, gently massaging the welt forming on your sensitive skin. “I can buy a hundred more shirts, but I can’t replace you. Certainly not when you’ve shown me how well you can take what I give you.” You whimper at the next sudden spank. “Such a good assistant for me, and I haven’t given you the break you deserve have I?”

You’re not quite sure what the right answer is, but you hesitantly shake your head. The next strike motivates you to verbalize your answer. “No, sir. I haven’t gotten a break.”

“You poor thing…” You barely notice the movement of his hand as it slides off of your battered skin. It’s not until he slides his fingers over the center of your panties that you react, gasping at the sudden (and much needed) pressure. You hadn’t even realized how wet you’d gotten, and judging by his excited groan, neither had he. “You need a break from all that stress, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Pulling the sodden fabric to the side, John exposes your wet cunt and hums in satisfaction when he sees the slick glistening on your sensitive flesh. He grabs you on either side, using his fingers to spread you apart. One hand pulls back to spank your ass a final time, and he watches you clench at the impact. Two thick fingers run up and down your slit, gathering your wet arousal, before prodding at your entrance.

He sinks in with a groan and the sudden fullness takes your breath away. You curse and arch your back, rocking your hips onto his fingers. Your nails dig into his thighs, but he doesn’t seem to pay it much attention. He buries his fingers to the knuckle before pumping them in and out in a steady pace that makes your knees weak. 

“Christ, love, you are tense. This cunt’s fuckin’ squeezin’ me.” His fingers press deep on each thrust, curled and angled just right to make you push against his intrusion. “Is this what you needed? Someone to stuff this pussy full?”

You hum a soft “mm-hmm” and nod your head. But John isn’t satisfied with that; his free hand comes down in a sharp spank that forces a surprised yelp from your lips. “Fuck—yes, sir,” you sputter.

“Yeah, you just need a proper fuck to keep you goin’ huh?” His free hand moves to cup your jaw, tilting your head back until he could see your face. “Fuck, I’ll keep you late every day, bend you over my desk and fuck you as much as you need. Is that what you want?”

Hearing him say it was one thing, but seeing those filthy words come from your boss’s mouth made you clench around his fingers. “Yes…yes, sir,” you pant, eyes wide and pleading as you look up at him. “W-want you to fuck me.”

“Fuckin’ hell…”

Your head lolls forward when he releases your jaw. His hand fucks into you rougher, quick and sharp pumps that make you keen, almost like he’s too impatient to keep going slow. He bullies that sensitive spot inside you until you start to tense and quiver on his lap. His heavy palm brushes over your welted skin, kneading your ass just to hear the whimpers it draws from you. 

You hold onto his thigh, nails digging into his pants as you try to hold yourself steady. “J-John, m’gonna…fuck…” It’s near impossible to squeak out the words with the constant pressure filling your cunt. 

“I know, love. You’re gonna cum for your boss, aren’t you?” 

“Mm-hmm—”

“Yeah, gonna soak my fuckin’ lap with it? Make another mess on me?”

It sounded filthy when he put it like that. And while getting reminded of your embarrassing blunder at the Christmas party was the last thing you wanted to think about right now, you couldn’t deny that it certainly motivated you to make another mess. Especially when he was so eager for this one.

You couldn’t even form the words to properly warn him. You were sure he could tell by the tight pull of your slick walls around his fingers that you were toppling over that edge fast. Between his encouragement and the perfect fit of his digits, he was coaxing out all of your pent-up energy. And it hit you hard.

You were a quivering, dripping mess on his lap. Gushing around his fingers, clenching tight like you were trying to suck him in deeper. Your knees were so weak you weren’t sure you could stand back up. John slid his fingers out and delivered one final spank to your flushed skin. You think he mutters a soft ‘good girl’, but you find it hard to hear him properly as you catch your breath.

Raising off of his lap, you adjust your clothes and pull your skirt back into its proper position. Your legs are weak and your ass stings with every movement. You aren’t sure whether to thank him or apologize—so you settle for neither. The silence sits heavy in the room as you trudge to the door to take your leave. You could worry about facing him next week when you were alone, in the comfort of your home, and thinking straight.

Then, you hear him call out your name as soon as your hand touches the doorknob. You turn just enough to see his figure in your peripheral. Still sat with his legs spread and his sleeves rolled up, but now with a rather obvious hand palming himself through his pants. If you had any less restraint, you might’ve walked yourself back over to him. 

“I’ll see you Monday, yeah?” You nod at the sound of his gruff voice. “Do me a favor n’ wear that skirt again, sweetheart.”

You smile, mainly to yourself. “Yes, sir.”

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 8- Something to Believe In

Summary: Frankie makes good on his promise to pick you up from work.

Word count: 3.7K

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader (reader has a name/nickname, no use of y/n)

Warnings: Having a panic attack (cue Frankie to the rescue), mentions of death and grieving, angst, yearning, could we perhaps be ✨making progress✨?

A/N: Hi friends!! Thanks for bearing with me after no new chapter last week! This one's also on the shorter side, but that's not to say there aren't some BIG things happening 👀 My hope is to have another chapter done by next week, but with holiday business, it may have to be two weeks between chapters again (sorry sorry sorry!!) Thank you as always for your lovely and kind words, ily all so much MWAH

All The Things We Never Said Masterlist

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Frankie, Present 

“I’m done at ten.” 

By the time he gets back home at 6:43, he’s already counting down the hours until you’re finished with your shift. 

Three hours and seventeen minutes, to be exact. 

For as much as Frankie could easily spend the next three hours and seventeen minutes doing nothing but staring at the clock hanging adjacent to the TV in the living room, he knows he’ll drive himself out of his goddamn mind. He needs something to do. 

If he keeps himself busy, he can’t fester on the million and one ways he could manage to fuck this up. 

Frankie forces himself to eat some sort of half-assed dinner, despite his nervous nausea that’s got the best of him. He purposely uses as many dishes and utensils to make a sandwich as humanly possible- if he does, it gives him something to do after. 

He cleans out his entire truck, down to vacuuming every last crumb crunched between the driver’s seat and center console. He debates washing the car himself in the driveway, but if he drives it to the carwash three blocks down the road, it’ll kill more time. 

On his way home, he stops at Auto Zone to get you a new car battery and exchanges it for your old one, dead, under the hood of your car. 

Frankie takes a shower so long, he can feel in real time the water shift from boiling hot, to luke warm, to ice cold. He washes his hair twice. His body, three times. 

He unpacks just about every item of clothing from his suitcase, laying them out on his bed in multiple combinations of pants and shirts, debating whether you'll think he’s a psychopath for showing up in a different outfit only a few hours after dropping you off. Frankie settles on shorts and a t-shirt- nice enough he doesn’t look like a fool, but casual enough for you not to suspect he’s been staring at every article of clothes he owns for the past thirty minutes. 

And somehow, after all of that, he still ends up in the Parrot’s Nest parking lot at 9:23. 

Thirty-seven minutes worth of waiting is a lot more manageable than the better part of three hours. 

Unfortunately, the last thirty-seven minutes he spends sitting in the parking lot are the most agonizing of his whole endeavor. 

He throws the last few innings of the Tampa Bay Rays game on the radio in the background, unable to stand the sound of silence that haunts him when he’s alone with his thoughts. 

Frankie tries not to panic at the fact that it seems like he’s forgotten how to engage in basic human conversation, praying that no one can see the way he’s rehearsing his greeting to you upon your arrival into the passenger seat. 

“Hey, what’s up? No, fuck, that’s stupid.” Frankie mutters to himself, running his palm over his face, “Hey, MacKenzie, how was work? No, ‘cause what if work was fucking awful and I’m just gonna piss her off more. Jesus.” 

He takes a few more long, deep breaths, staring at the roof of his truck while he tries to concoct the perfect set of words to string together. 

“Hey, Kenz. Kenzie? MacKenzie? Does she even fucking go by Kenz anymore? Fuck. Hey, miss me?” He jokes by his lonesome, his fake smile quickly fading at the anticipation of your response, “She obviously didn’t miss you, idiot. You’re lucky you can barley get her to fucking talk to you. Fuck me.” 

His pained groan and scrunched shut face are enough cut off the awareness to his surroundings just long enough to leave him oblivious to the fact you’ve not only exited the Parrot’s Nest, but have made your way across the parking lot and have your hand wrapped around the passenger door, rattling the handle. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Frankie shouts, nearly jumping out of his own skin at the way you’ve announced yourself by shaking at the locked door. 

So much for rehearsing. 

“F-fuck-” He stammers, taking a moment to catch his breath from your scare, praying he hasn’t managed to shit his pants from how badly you’ve startled him. Once his pulse settles to rate low enough he’s convinced he hasn’t died of a heart attack, he leans over to unlock your door, unable to make eye contact with you as he grimaces his face in embarrassment. 

“S-sorry.” you murmur, sheepishly climbing into the seat next to him, quietly clicking in your seatbelt. 

“Jesus Kenz, you scared the shit outta me.” Frankie gulps, still trying to compose himself. He runs his hand through the curls of his hair, taking one last slow inhale and exhale with his eyes peeled to the floor, hoping the pink drains from his cheeks before he looks over at you. 

“Sorry, I- I didn’t mean to. I thought maybe you fell asleep, or something. You shrug, trying to defend your reasoning. 

“I wouldn’t offer to come pick you up and then fall asleep on you, I’m not that big of an assho-” 

Frankie cuts himself off before he can finish the rest of his thought, feeling the “L” and “E” of “asshole” die off somewhere in the back of his throat, killed by the death glare you give in proclamation of his own self-righteousness.  

He starts the car without another word, pulling out of the parking lot and hoping that his silence begs enough forgiveness. 

The crackling static of the car radio fills the void between you, Andy Freed’s ecstatic voice capturing both of your attentions enough to let the current state of the Tampa Bay Rays game shift your focus. 

“What’s the score?” You ask, nonchalant, eyes wandering anywhere but Frankie’s direction. 

“Oh- uh, I- I think it was 1-3 last time I checked, but it sounds like someone on the Rays just hit a sac fly, so I’m guessing it’s 2-3, now.” 

There’s a moment of silence, Frankie assuming you’ve got it in you to at least make one question’s worth of small talk. You seem just as surprised as him that you don’t let the conversation die there. 

“Did you um- you watched the game when you got home?” 

Your gaze won’t lock with his, but now, it’ll at least travel in his general direction. 

“N-no, I just uh- I just turned it on while I was waiting in the car.” 

“How long were you waiting for?” 

“N-not that long.” He barely gives you enough time to breathe, let alone call him out on his bullshit before he’s changing the subject, “How uh- how was work?” 

“Oh- It was uh- it was fine. Went by really slow. B-because it wasn’t um, it wasn’t that busy.” 

Frankie’s no code breaker, but he hopes the way you’re so quick to give him a reason why your shift had dragged on is a secret way of saying you spent just as long thinking about him as he did about you. 

“Sorry it was so slow.” 

Frankie knows his apology doesn’t do anything for you, but the way he’s picking each word that comes out of his mouth has him feeling like he’s tiptoeing through a minefield, too scared to make any move besides the one that seems the safest. 

“It’s okay, not your fault. That’s honestly part of the reason I took this job- was to give myself something to do, so I don’t spend every last second that my dad is alive dwelling on the fact that pretty soon, he’s not gonna be alive. It’s stupid, but I guess if being preoccupied with serving middle aged couples mozzarella sticks and over-cooked steak tacos for a few hours helps, then so be it.”  

He knows better than anyone that your attempt at humor is your shield, but it’s not hard to see how weathered and worn it’s become, barely hanging on by a thread to protect you from the worst battle you still have yet to face. 

“N-no, it makes sense. Distractions help. I-It’s been hard, having to see him like this. I get it.” 

His last sentence makes your head snap up from the ground. Out of the corner of his eye, Frankie hopes that maybe your attentiveness means he’s had a breakthrough, showing enough genuine empathy that you’ll cut him a little slack. 

When he turns enough to see the scowl plastered across your face, he realizes he’s stepped on a bomb, and he’s moments away from explosion. 

“Oh, you ‘get it’, huh?” You scoff, sadistic smile curling in the corner of your cheeks. 

Frankie can see the way your blood is beginning to boil, trying to backtrack as quickly as possible to find any way to save himself. 

“N-no- I mean, shit-  no, Kenz, you know what I mean.” Frankie pleads. 

“No, I don’t know what you mean, Frankie. Please, explain.” 

The way your arms are crossed and head is cocked tells him everything he needs to know. Against his better judgement, Frankie decides not to take cover. He goes headfirst into the warzone. 

“C’mon, Kenz, don’t be like this.” Frankie sighs, preemptively kicking himself that this is the route he’s chosen to take. 

“Like what?” You snap back, sharp and sarcastic. 

“Like it’s not hard for me, too. Like I can’t be sad about it. You’re not the only person who cares about him, MacKenzie. He was the closest thing I had to a dad, too.” 

“But he’s not your dad, is he? And if you were, that’d make you a pretty shitty son, wouldn’t it?” 

It hits him like a cold, hard slap to the face, the way you don’t dare to show him even an ounce of mercy. There’s something about the bitterness in the way you ask it that hurts even more than if you would have just screamed at him, cursed him out, punched and pushed him until he bruised. 

A stark silence falls over the car, tension so thick, it’s like a bag of bricks has been dropped from the sky, drowning him in a useless pile of cement. There’s no use in crying for help. He doesn’t dare to speak, simply out of fear that if he does, this won’t be the worst of what’s yet to come. 

Frankie stays trapped for what feels like hours, each second passing by more painfully slow than the last as you stare out your window, watching the shadows of street lights dance across your body, illuminating you just enough to see the way your chest trembles with short, frantic breaths as you unravel. Your sobs can’t hide behind the silence in the way your tears can in the darkness. 

“Do you know how fucking lonely it is, Frankie? How lonely it is when everyone you’ve ever cared about leaves you? It’s like I’m fucking Midas, but everything I touch, eventually, I lose. A life before cancer, my soccer career, an engagement, a future, my dad, you? You don’t get to tell me how hard it is for you, because you get to let go of what you want on your terms, when it’s convenient for you, don’t you? I’m so sick of losing, Frankie. I’m so sick of it.” 

He watches in real time how something inside you snaps, like a bottle of soda that’s erupted after someone’s violently shaken shaken it, the twist of the cap releasing all the pressure and tension that’s been stored up and compounded upon with each rattle of their wrist. 

Frankie knows he’s not responsible for all of it, but he's the last bump you can take before you have no other choice but to overflow, leaving every ounce of you to seep out, vulnerable and exposed. 

What starts off as softs sobs, quickly shifts to heart wrenching heaves of your chest, every word you’re trying to get out lodged in your throat. He sees how your eyes fill with fear at the way you suddenly can’t catch your breath, body shaking as you shrink into your seat, fingers wrapping around your seatbelt with an iron grip around the worn fabric. 

“Kenz? Kenzie, are you okay?” It only seems fair he’s completely disregarded everything you’d had to say, beginning to panic at your tremoring figure crumpled next to him, speaking in nothing but violent wails you can’t control. 

“I- I- f-fuck, f-f- Frankie, fuck, n- no, no, I-” 

He won’t let you finish your thought- he only lets you stammer out the few words you can manage before he’s pulled off on the nearest neighborhood side street he can find. He blames it on military habit, how quick he is to react in the face of your panic, but he knows damn well it’s nothing but instinct the way he’s all but throwing off his seatbelt so he can reach across the center console and wrap you in his arms. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. I’m here. Just try and breathe, okay?” Frankie whispers, squeezing you so tightly in his arms you just might break. 

“I c-can’t, I can’t, fuck, i-it- it, it f-feels like I can’t breathe.” You sob, feeling your tear stains pool in the fabric of his shirt covering, face buried against his chest. 

“I know. I know it’s scary. I promise you’re okay, it’ll pass. Just try and breathe with me, okay?” 

He hopes you don’t notice how shaky his own breaths are, trying his best to stay calm with each long inhale and exhale he takes. The wave of grief that washes over him is different than the one you’re drowning in, the kind that makes his heart break at the type of panic he’s known all too well- he’d give every bone in his body to absorb your pain and make it his, but the best he can do is hold you until it subsides. He’ll hold you all night, if that’s what it takes. 

It’s a few minutes before he can finally feel your heart rate starting to slow, the stiffness of your muscles beginning to ease in his grasp as you come back down to earth with him. Your tears haven’t stopped, but at least your chest starts to rise and fall with his. It’s a baby step, but he’ll take any steps he can get in the right direction. 

“There ya go. Just like that. It’s okay. Worst of it’s over, I promise.” 

With the way one thumb is gently stroking your back and the other is carefully brushing the back of your head, it’s safe to say every inhibition Frankie could have has flown out the window. He hates how there’s a selfish part of him that can’t describe the way it feels to hold you again, even if it’s like this, but that’s a battle of his own he’s not willing to face today. For now, he’ll accept the sweet bliss of his self-indulgence while you’re curled against him. 

“You’re okay, Kenz. I’m here. I promise, you’re okay.” 

Enough time passes that his t-shirt isn’t getting any wetter, finally brave enough to peek your head up from the crook of his neck to wipe your tear stained cheeks with the back of your hand. Frankie’s grip only loosens enough to let you sit up, arms still engulfing your frame, tight enough to make sure you don’t float away on him again. 

“I- I’m s-sorry.” 

It’s so soft as it leaves your lips, if he wasn’t waiting on your every word, Frankie just might have missed it. Little do you know, he’s hanging on your every breath. 

“Hey,” he pauses, your eyes locking with his, softly pouting at the way your panic has made your face red and puffy, carefully swiping his thumb across your cheek to catch the wetness still streaming down the corners of your eyes, “you have nothing to apologize about, okay?” 

He waits in the silence again, letting you softly nod your head in agreement, watching the gears turn in your head as you process everything that’s just happened. You’ve come to enough to notice the way his hand still sits on the small of your back- he’s just as surprised as you when you let him keep it there for another moment before subtly shifting back in your seat. 

Your face scrunches shut, wincing with the last few deep breaths you take, like you're trying to push the rest of it out of your system for good. Frankie runs his hand through his messy hair and down the nape of his neck as he takes you in, still riding his melancholy high of the weight of your body pressed into his. 

“Thank you. For um- just, t-thank you.” You mutter, too sheepish to look him in the eye again now that full blown embarrassment has set in. 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” 

Frankie nods, trying his best to let you know that he means it- really, truly means it. It’s the way he won’t take his eyes off you that must let you know he understands, watching you shift just enough in your seat for him to notice how your body turns ever so slightly to face him. 

“They’ve uh- fuck, it just comes out of nowhere sometimes. It’s um- it’s happened before, but these past few weeks, it just- it’s been a lot, I guess.”  

“It’s been a while since I’ve had one, but I um- I got ‘em all the time after I came home. Feels like you’re dying. It sucks.” 

It’s not graceful, but it’s genuine. Vulnerable. Honest. Frankie knows it’s the most truth he’s given you in more years than he’d like to admit. It’s not much, but it’s enough to see you scale the top of the wall you’ve built between you and him and kick down one of the bricks that’s holding it together. It’s not much, but it’s one less brick than that wall has had for a very, very long time. 

“What are you talking about? That was so much fun.” 

In the shared moment of soft, sympathetic laughter, it’s that he realizes the softest smile that’s stretched in the corner of your lips. Frankie tries not to stare, but when he sees it, he remembers how much he’s hated living without it. He takes it in for as long as he can, memorizing every crease and crinkle in your face, no matter how subtle. He’ll soak in every second he can. He’s thankful he does, because it’s only a matter of time before it starts to shift, corners of your cheeks shifting as you pick at the skin around your nails. 

“I- um- I’m sorry- a-about what I said earlier.  I- I didn’t mean it.” 

Frankie lets out a huff of confusion, convinced you must be playing a joke on him with your unprompted apology. He’s almost tempted to laugh again, but the way your jaw shifts back and forth, anxiously grinding on your teeth while your eyes stay peeled to the fingers working away at your skin reminds him of every other apology you’ve ever offered. The same look when you accidentally popped the brand new basketball he got for his 13th birthday, the same fidgeting of your fingers when overreacted to the dent you thought he put in your brand new car backing out of your driveway, the same tick of your jaw when you had told him why you hadn’t written him more while he overseas on his last tour of duty. 

You really do mean it. 

“It’s okay. I deserve it.” Frankie admits. As hurtful as it was, he knows you weren’t completely unjustified in what you said. He also knows if you’re offering him an olive branch, he’ll offer you nothing short of a whole olive tree back. 

“No- well, I mean, maybe a little-” your sarcastic self correction makes him laugh again, something long forgotten warming in his heart at the way your hidden grin reappears in the corners of your cheeks, “No- I just- that was shitty of me to say. I’m sorry. It’s- it’s just a lot right now. Not totally fair to take it all out on you.” 

“I know. It’s okay.” Frankie pauses, captivated by the way your eyes flicker up to meet his, still wet and sparkling from the last of your tears, shimmering in the warm glow of the streetlights. He wants to reach out, to grab you, hold you, press you against his chest again and tell you that everything will be okay, but he won’t risk burning the bridge of the progress he’s built. Not yet. The best he can do is keep building, nail by nail, plank by plank. 

“If you um- if you ever need someone to- to talk to, or whatever, I’m always-” 

“I know.” 

There’s a different kind of silence that fills the empty spaces of his truck the last ten minutes of the ride home. It’s no longer heavy, burdened by pain and fear with every breath that enters its void. It’s the quiet kind of reassurance that doesn’t need any words. The kind that says everything it needs to from stolen glances back and forth, accompanied by the warmth of pink cheeks hidden in the black of the night sky. 

The last thing that’s said after he’s pulled into your driveway is a simple “thank you”. It’s only two words, but something about those 8 letters put together seems like enough to fill a book with how much it says. 

The only thing that says more is the way you look over your shoulder when you make it to your porch, so brief that if he wasn’t looking for it, he surely would have missed it. 

Because in that moment you look back at him, he swears there’s a smile straining against the line of your lips that you’re trying desperately to fight. 

Maybe he’s imagining it. Maybe he’s truly lost his mind. Maybe he’s crazy. Whatever he may be, Frankie Morales knows he won’t sleep a wink tonight at the thought that he’s finally the reason for the smile on your face again. 

@chaotic-iguana @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine

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@javierpena-inatacvestnotifs

[sweaterkittensahoy]

The thing about House and Wilson, and Holmes and Watson obviously, is that it's a story about two people who are fucking weirdos but wired in similar weirdo ways.

Except. And this is the important part. Holmes KNOWS he's a weirdo, and Watson has a hard time accepting some of his own levels of weirdo.

But, because Holmes is like "ALL IN ON WEIRDO," it gives Watson the opportunity to go, "WAIT. WE CAN DO THAT."

And it's not to say that Watson is absolutely unable to be a weirdo without Holmes. He can be. But Holmes helps him see that there's LOTS of ways to be a weirdo without hurting anyone and making himself happier and ALSO that there are definitely ways to be a weirdo that aren't about being a weirdo and are, in fact, about doing drugs. Which is not great for you. And that's where Watson comes back to Holmes and says, "Hey, maybe be fucking reasonable about this one goddamn thing."

Which, even in the end of the show, we see. Wilson's wondering who he would have been if he were a huge prick like House, and House gives Wilson the last of his vicodin because he cares about his friend having any sort of comfort in a trying time.

Anyway, they're a perfect Holmes and Watson because they match each other's freak.

that's how they match each other's freak

[fruitbasketball]

ncaa recap: uconn vs. usc

first of all: what a way to lose a completely winnable game. WHAT a thing to do. truly!!! i applaud it. i’m SHOCKED at it, really - bc no way you wanna lose every fucking top 10 matchup y’all have. there’s just no way!!!

and now i have to do the thing i have been dreading all season, bc i have such immense respect for this man.

geno. what. the fuck. are you. doing.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING BRO????????????

what’s the game plan?? HUH???? no matter what happens, it’s paige’s fault??? the best player in the fucking country stayed an extra year to play for you, and THIS is how you do her???

quit playing her off ball bro PLEASE matter of fact she can’t play off ball. yup! CAN’T do it. every single one of her numbers but efficiency is down from last season, so i can conclude that you need to stop playing that bitch off ball.

put the ball in paige’s fucking hands luigi or i swear to god i will shove it up your ass. you have the most CREATIVE, TALENTED, INTELLIGENT scoring pg in the country and you’re playing her OFF BALL???? WHAT THE SHIT?????

and paige bro. we don’t get to pick and choose when we wanna play basketball. you don’t get to ONLY show up the second half. and MAN was that a fucking monster second half. like my legs are still shaking from it jesus fucking christ. but when we do THAT SHIT!!! right???? when we DON’T PLAY THE FULL 40???

it comes down to a freshman and her free throws. sarah strong, you are a perfect angel. you did NOTHING wrong. the play was all wrong, it shouldn’t have come down to you, i am so so sorry it did. sarah has been so unbelievably consistent, and i just KNOW she’s blaming herself for it.

what’s the reasoning behind these last few possessions. like what the fuck is up bro. why are we going for the 2 when we’re down 3. why are we fouling with no fouls left to give. if you’re gonna do that shit take the 3!!! close the gap completely. why are we willing to widen the possession margin??? i understand the technicality of the strategy here, and it might be the smartest thing possible in ANOTHER situation.

in MY mind tho: take the 3, tie the game. get a stop on the other end, set a decoy, have paige or ash take the 3. or send jana down low for a 2. but it was so obviously a matter of geno not trusting the defense. which is NUTS - because this is one of the strongest defenses in the country. and it wouldn’t have been a perimeter job. probably not!! probably would’ve been a juju middy or kiki down low!! REALISTICALLY!!!

i just, like… those last few CRUCIAL possessions were really muddled and it pissed me tf off. like actually made me so fucking mad.

anyway bro’s yapping again - bc if kk is a game changer, keep her in the fuckin game dawg. idk just a thought.

SIT ice, START jana, and SHUT THE FUCK UP ‼️‼️‼️ hm i wonder who will be a better match for the best power forward in the nation - the 6’5 paint beast, or the big who’s been showing you she lowk CANNOT PLAY BASKETBALL

anyway i just wanna say - to anyone who thinks paige got outplayed this game, fuck all the way off. juju couldn’t even guard paige the whole game, while paige did not let up. if juju had a hard time scoring, it’s because paige was in her mouth the whole time. that’s a two way player. so i don’t wanna hear shit.

in conclusion: MANE FUCK THIS SHIT

[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

Series summary: When Noah was left alone to take care of his daughter about two years ago, he never thought he would find someone else he would trust enough to include in his little family. But things can change.

Tw: drunk jason

Series masterlist

That evening, after Noah’s flight, your phone buzzed with a message from him. His words weren’t as distant as you’d expected, and you found yourself exhaling a quiet breath of relief.

Noah♡: We’ve landed! Everything’s good here so far.

You: Glad to hear. How’s the weather?

Noah♡: It’s a bit colder, but no big deal. I’ll survive.

Noah♡: How’s Luna doing?

You: She’s great.

You: We’re having fun. No worries here.

Noah♡: That’s good to hear

Noah♡:Hope she’s not getting into too much trouble

You: She’s been perfect. Just finished watching cartoons.

Noah♡: Nice!

Noah♡: Well, I guess I’ll let you go

Noah♡: Catch you later

Noah♡: Bye

There was no "I love you" at the end of his message, something that would’ve been so automatic just days ago. But somehow, it didn’t feel like a cold goodbye. It felt like he needed a bit more space, and maybe you did, too. You held the phone in your hands for a moment longer, letting that thought settle.

You: bye! Have a good show.

You sent the last text.

The rest of the evening passed as smoothly as expected. Luna’s energy and creative stories kept you both occupied, and you found yourself laughing more than you had in a while. She told you a wild story about how Mr. Flop had to fight off Broccoli Man, who had been stealing all the vegetables in his garden, trying to turn them into broccoli soldiers to take over the world.

The entire thing was ridiculous, and you couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm.

"Mr. Flop is really strong, though, right?" Luna asked as she leaned closer to you, "Like daddy!"

"Of course, he’s a superhero." you replied with a grin, "Mr. Flop, not Noah."

Luna nodded seriously. "He’s going to save the universe from Broccoli Man! And then everyone will be able to eat all the strawberries and carrots they want!"

You laughed softly, gently tapping her nose. "I think you’re right. That’s a pretty good plan."

Luna beamed and threw herself back onto the pillows, giggling. "And then he can fly to the moon!"

"Why not?" you said, settling next to her. "He’s Mr. Flop. He can do anything."

Luna snuggled into the blankets on the couch, her eyes fluttering as she fought to stay awake. "And he’ll get all the carrots in the world." she mumbled.

"I think it's time to go to sleep for someone."

"Mh. Who? Not me."

"Actually I think it's you." You laughed as you picked her up and brought her to her bedroom.

Luna, however, didn't give up right away and insisted until it was your turn to create a story. You came up with a tale about a family made up of a big but kind bear (inspired by Noah), his daughter, a rabbit (obviously Luna), and a cat who was, of course, you.

It was so silly and Luna giggled the whole time, until her eyes started to close.

You softly brushed a lock of hair out of her face. "Sweet dreams, Luna," you whispered.

"Mhm," she hummed, already drifting into sleep, "Goodnight."

After Luna fell asleep, you quietly slipped out of her room. You took a moment to pause outside her door, listening to the soft sound of her breathing before making your way into Noah’s bedroom. The bed was neatly made, but as soon as you climbed under the covers, the familiar scent of Noah’s pillow surrounded you. It smelled like him—faintly of cologne, warmth, and something distinctly him.

For a brief moment, you let yourself linger in the comfort of it, breathing deeply as you settled into his space.

You lay there, your mind racing. Thoughts of Noah and the tension between you both circled in your mind. But as you tried to clear your head, you focused on the rhythm of your breathing and the warmth of the bed surrounding you.

Things were still up in the air, uncertain, but for now, you hoped everything would work out. Maybe Noah just needed time to process everything, to clear his mind. You knew he loved you.

With that thought, you closed your eyes, letting sleep gently take over. You thought about the way he’d said goodbye, the way his hand lingered on your back before he left for the show, and the way he had smiled, though it felt a little strained.

You had a weird feeling in your stomach and conflicting thoughts in your head.

You wanted to believe that the time away, even if only two days, would help both of you figure things out.

Maybe things would be okay. Maybe this space would give him the time he needed to work through the mess of feelings he had. You just hoped that when he came back, things between you would be a bit different—better. That he would understand that Jason was part of your past.

You drifted off, letting the night surround you, hoping everything would fall into place. The silence in the room felt comforting, and you whispered to the empty space next to you, "Everything will be fine. We’ll make it work, Noah. I know we will."

You closed your eyes and fell into a deep sleep, the thought of Noah lingering in your dreams.

“This is his city, Jo,” Erika said to her friend, almost in awe, gesturing around with a wide sweep of her hand as the two walked through the city center. “Can you believe it? This is where Noah fucking Sebastian lives."

I mean, I can’t even process it! I’ve been a fan for so long, and now I’m actually here... in the city where he fucking lives.” She grinned, practically glowing with the thought of it. “I just hope we spot him while we’re here, like... just walking around or something. You know, like fate. He’s gotta be back in town in a couple of days, right? After that concert I was too slow to get the tickets for."

Jo, who had been listening with half an ear, couldn’t suppress a smirk. “Yeah, sure. You’re totally gonna run into him and play it cool, right?”

Erika shot her a playful glare. “What? What do you mean ‘play it cool’? Like, I’m supposed to act casual about it?”

Jo raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly as if to mock Erika’s dramatic flair. “Well, yeah, I'm sure you would start screaming like you lost your mind.”

Erika’s eyes widened. “Pfft, honestly? I would totally scream. What if we’re just walking down the street, and he... like, just walks by us? Imagine if we catch him going to the grocery store or something. We’d just—”

“Freak out? Like a total sane person would do?” Jo teased.

“Uh, yeah. I’d probably lose my mind. You don’t even understand. Imagine me yelling out his name when I see him walking past us.”

Jo sighed, rolling her eyes dramatically. “You’re such a fangirl, Erika.”

“Guilty,” Erika admitted, smiling widely. But then her grin faltered for just a moment. “I mean, imagine though, if we actually do run into him. Like, what if... what if he doesn’t look like a god on earth in person? What if he’s all... unshowered or something? Would I love him less? Probably not, honestly."

Jo chuckled, but then her expression shifted slightly. “Wait. Isn’t he... isn’t he in a relationship right now?”

Erika’s face lit up as she leaned in to gossip. “Yeah, apparently. You’ve seen him holding hands with that girl in the pics I showed you, right? I mean, she’s cute, but... it’s Noah fucking Sebastian we’re talking about here. Everyone thought he was gonna stay single forever after the big break up with his ex. But nope, turns out he’s taken now. But you know what the fans are saying, right?”

Jo rolled her eyes again, though this time there was a hint of genuine curiosity in her tone. “What, are the fans still convinced they’re gonna break up? I swear, Twitter is just full of delusional people.”

Erika’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Hey, I’m on Twitter too, you know.”

Jo smirked. “I know.”

“So you know the vibe,” Erika said with a shrug, her grin returning. “I’m just saying, Twitter’s pretty sure they won’t last. I mean, they’re like, ‘Noah’s gonna wake up and realize he can’t be tied down, blah blah.’ You know the drill.”

Jo snorted, crossing her arms. “Yeah, because Twitter has such a good track record when it comes to relationships.”

“Hey, sometimes they’re right,” Erika said. “There’s always some truth to the madness.”

Jo shook her head exasperation, but there was a bit of amusement in her eyes. “Alright, fine. Whatever. Let’s just hope you don’t have to chase him down the street screaming.”

“Who says I wouldn’t?” Erika winked, and Jo just laughed.

They continued walking for a while, Erika practically floating on her own excitement. “I know he’s not in town right now, though,” she repeated, her voice suddenly quieter. “But hopefully, he’ll be back soon, and I’ll get the chance to run into him. I mean, we’re here for a whole week. Who knows? Maybe we’ll be lucky.”

Jo gave her a teasing look. “So you’re gonna hang around for a week, hoping he’ll just pop up out of nowhere?”

“Well, yeah. What’s the worst that could happen?” Erika grinned, her optimism unchanged. “If fate wants us to meet, it’ll happen. And if not, well, at least I can say I was in his city.”

Jo rolled her eyes playfully. “You're hopeless.”

Erika shrugged with a smile. “What can I say? It’s Noah fucking Sebastian. A girl can dream.”

"Maybe you'll meet his girlfriend."

"God, don't make me think about that."

As they continued walking through the city streets, Erika couldn’t help but imagine all the ways she might accidentally run into Noah. Maybe it wouldn’t be today, but she’d hold onto the hope that someday, somehow, she’d get that moment of fate.

And, if that moment did come, she’d make sure she was ready to scream.

The morning sunlight poured in through the windows, casting soft beams across Noah's living room, where you and Luna were sitting on the carpet. The air was warm, the peaceful hum of the quiet house making it feel like an ordinary, calm morning.

Luna, her dark hair tied back into a little ponytail, was sitting cross-legged beside you. Her tiny hands were busy, gathering the colorful perlite beads, placing them neatly in front of you both. She handed you a strand of elastic thread, her eyes wide with concentration as she carefully picked up the beads one by one.

"Here, these are for your bracelet." she said softly as she passed you a little pile of pink beads.

"Thanks, Lu," you replied, taking the beads from her hand and threading them onto the string, forming a delicate bracelet. Luna had decided you two should make matching ones, with one for you and one for her. But when she had asked, if you could also make one for Noah when he came home, you had agreed with a warm smile. The thought of the three of you having a tiny shared piece of something meant so much to you, more than you could explain.

She glanced up at you, her brown eyes focused and intent on your every movement as you worked on the bracelet.

"I like this one," Luna said quietly, as she looked at you working on it. "Very pretty."

"You can keep it for you, if you want," you replied, your voice soft as you gave her a reassuring smile.

"No, no. It's for you. You need a pretty bracelet too."

"Alright." You chuckled.

You continued working side by side in peace, you made some comments about how hard it actually was and Luna laughed every time.

She passed you the beads to make Noah's bracelet too, some were white and some pink. You laughed at the idea of Noah wearing it.

After a while, you finished with the last few beads of Noah's bracelet, tying the ends of the threads and holding it up. "See? We all have matching ones. He's gonna love it."

"I love them too! They are all so cute!"

Luna’s eyes sparkled as she reached out to take her bracelet from you. You carefully tied it around her little wrist, making sure it was just the right size. She looked down at it with a sense of satisfaction, before lifting her arm up to show it off.

"Y/N," she said softly, her voice filled with warmth. "Thank you for making these with me."

You smiled at her words, your heart melting just a little at the simplicity of it all. "It was fun, Luna. I’m happy we made them together."

Then, you put your own bracelet on the left Noah's one on the coffee table.

The two of you sat back for a moment, admiring your handiwork. The quiet was comfortable, peaceful. It wasn’t about grand gestures or big moments. It was just the two of you, making something simple, yet meaningful, that made you feel even more part of the family.

During the early afternoon, the air was just enough chill to feel refreshing but not too cold to keep you indoors. Luna was beside you, skipping along the sidewalk as you made your way to the café. She had been asking for the cookies there all morning, and you’d promised her you’d get some.

"Luna, don’t run off too far!" you called as she darted ahead, her tiny legs moving with a quickness that matched her energy.

"I'm just going to see if I can spot the cookies through the window!" she called back over her shoulder, already well ahead of you.

You arrived at the café, the familiar jingle of the door opening greeting you as you stepped inside, already feeling the warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked pastries wrapped around you. Luna headed straight for the display case, eyeing the rows of cookies.

"Well, look who finally decided to show up," Grace’s voice came from behind the counter, dripping with sarcasm. She didn’t even glance up from her phone. "I thought you weren’t coming in today."

You sighed inwardly, already knowing where this was going. "Hey, I told you I was gonna stay with Luna for a couple of days. But she wanted the cookies."

Grace scoffed, still not bothering to look at you. "Yeah yeah."

Luna, blissfully unaware of Grace’s sharp tone, pointed to the cookies on the counter, eager to get her hands on the treats. Grace grumbled under her breath as she grabbed a jar of cookies, setting them down on a plate.

"Here. Your usual."

"Thanks, Grace," you replied, a little too sweetly, grabbing the cookies from the counter and leading Luna to a table by the window. She plopped down happily, already tearing into one of her cookies.

After a few moments, Grace walked over to your table, her eyes narrowing as she folded her arms across her chest. "So, how’s the rockstar boyfriend of yours?" she asked.

You raised an eyebrow, already preparing for the usual jabs. "He’s fine."

Grace leaned in a little closer, her lips curling into a sly smile. "Really? That’s it? Just fine?" She paused, her tone laced with amusement.

You clenched your jaw but tried to keep your cool. "Yeah, he’s fine. He texted me a couple of times, he seemed chill. Maybe the distance helped calming the waters. He’ll be home tomorrow morning."

Grace chuckled, scanning your face as though she were trying to pick out any crack in your calm exterior. "Well, alright. But- oh. Look who's there!"

You turned around to the sound of a familiar voice calling your name. Standing in the doorway of the café, was Jason. He gave you a slight no and a little smile, but you could almost see the tension in his posture. However, you noticed the way his eyes softened when they met yours.

"Hey," he called, walking toward you.

"Jason." you said.

It's not the right moment, it will never be the right one. You wanted to say. But the words died in your throat.

"I need to talk to you," he said, his voice low but urgent.

"Jason-"

"Please."

You hesitated for a moment, then you stepped away from the table, walking a few paces toward Jason, keeping a cautious distance between you both. You casted a quick glance over your shoulder at Grace, who was chatting with Luna at the table.

"Alright," you said. You didn’t know what this conversation would bring.

You could hear Grace talking to Luna in the background, her voice casual but with an odd warmth to it.

"...Your eyes are so big and pretty, you know that?" Grace’s voice drifted over to you, and you found yourself smiling a bit. You couldn't deny that Grace had her sharp moments, but you always knew there was more to her—more than just the snarky attitude and sarcasm. You never really understood what had made her so cold, but you knew she wasn't actually a bad person. She just had a way of hiding it.

Focusing back on Jason, you tried to push aside the strange feeling that had crept into your chest. "What’s up?" you asked, doing your best to keep your voice steady.

Jason took a breath before speaking, his gaze locking with yours, blue eyes staring right into your soul. "I—" He paused, as if weighing his words carefully. "I can’t stop thinking about you. Since I got back into town, it's like I never left. And I know things ended, but I need to tell you the truth."

Your stomach twisted, but you forced a calm smile. So Noah was right. "Jason, I'm happy with Noah," you said, your voice firm but gentle. "He's—he's good to me, and things are really good right now. I’ve moved on."

A little part of the sentence was a lie, but he didn't need to know that. Things weren't "really good" but they were going to be.

Jason's eyes dropped for a moment, and when they met yours again, they were filled with something raw. "I get it. You’re happy. But I’ve changed. I’m not the same person I was when we... when we ended things. It hurts, seeing you with someone else, but I don’t want to lie to you anymore. I still care about you, Y/N."

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and for a moment, you felt that familiar pull—the one that had once made you believe you could fix things between you two. You swallowed hard, shaking your head softly. "I’m happy, Jason. I’m really happy with Noah. I... I think you need to move on, too."

Jason stared at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. "It’s hard," he muttered. "But I get it. I just wanted you to know."

You gave him a small nod, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. But it didn’t change anything. "I’m glad to hear you’ve changed, Jason. But this is my life now."

With that, you turned on your heel, walking back to the table. You could feel Jason's gaze still on your back as you went, and when you reached Grace and Luna, you tried to put on a brave face. Grace raised an eyebrow when she saw the look on your face, but Luna didn't notice anything amiss, still happily munching on her cookie.

Jason didn’t say anything else. He left without another word, disappearing into the street, and the door of the tattoo shop slammed shut behind him.

Grace gave you a questioning look, but didn’t pry. Instead, she shrugged casually. "Everything alright?"

You took a breath, trying to shake off the weird tension that had filled the air. "Yeah, it’s fine. Let’s just eat."

Jason slammed the door of the tattoo shop behind him, the quiet hum of the neon sign above flickering as the shop fell into a tense, suffocating silence. He walked toward the counter, his fists clenched at his sides, his jaw grinding with frustration. Rick, still sitting where Jason left him before going to the cafè, glanced up at the noise, raising an eyebrow at the storm brewing inside his friend.

"Jesus, man. It didn't work out?" Rick asked, his tone low but laced with curiosity.

Jason didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he slammed his fist down on the counter, the wood groaning under the force of the impact. Rick flinched, his eyes widening, but he didn’t move. He’d seen Jason angry before, but tonight was different. This wasn’t the usual frustration; this was something deeper, more explosive.

After a moment of silence Rick tried again, playing with a pin on his leather jacked with his hands.

"She fucking shut me down, Rick," Jason growled, his voice shaking with rage. "I had it all planned out! I was going to tell her those bullshits, show her that I’m not the same guy I was when we broke up. I thought, maybe, if I played it right, she'd—"

Jason cut himself off with a bitter laugh, raking a hand through his short light brown hair. He kicked a chair out of his way and began pacing back and forth across the floor, his eyes wild with frustration. Rick just leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching his friend unravel.

"But she didn’t bite," Jason muttered darkly. "She just fucking shut me down, like it was nothing! No hesitation. No second thoughts. Just—'I’m happy with Noah.' Like I didn’t even matter!"

Rick let the silence hang in the air for a moment before he spoke again. His voice was steady, as if trying to cut through the storm of Jason’s anger. "So, what do you wanna do now? You can’t just sit around pissed off about it. She made her choice, man."

Jason’s gaze snapped toward Rick, eyes flashing with a mix of disbelief and fury. He slammed his fist into the counter again, this time harder, the sound of wood cracking under the pressure ringing out in the big space. "What the fuck do you think I’m supposed to do, huh? Let it go? Just walk away and pretend this didn't happen? I can't lose! Jason Clarke can never lose! You hear me? He cannot!" He tapped his index to his temple a few times while shouting like he was trying to spat out everything that was going on his mind at the moment.

"You could just try to move on too," Rick said with a shrug. "I mean, she told you. She’s happy with Noah. Maybe it’s time to face facts."

Jason’s eyes narrowed. "No," he spat, stepping closer to Rick, his voice a low growl now. "I’m not just gonna let it go. I want her. I fucking need her" He paused, his fists flexing at his sides. "I want her to want me again."

Rick’s expression softened for a moment, but he didn’t say anything. Jason’s eyes darted to the closed sign hanging in the window and the empty tattoo chairs around them. The weight of the silence pressed down on him, but then something shifted in his eyes—a flicker of realization.

He stood still for a moment, staring at Rick, his mind working at a pace that seemed almost dangerous. The anger faded, replaced by a sly, almost mischievous glint in his eyes.

"What are you thinking?" Rick asked cautiously, already suspecting what was coming. It was going to involve him too, he was sure.

"Rick, my brother" he said, his voice dropping to a more dangerous tone, "you free tonight?"

It was late, well past midnight, when you finally decided to lie down. The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the wooden floors beneath the weight of the night. You had just finished watching My Neighbor Totoro with Luna, who, despite her attempts to fight sleep, was already tucked into bed, clutching Mr. Flop tightly, in her soft pink pajamas.

She had asked if her dad would be home tomorrow, to which you had softly replied, "When you wake up, you dad will already be here."

That was enough to comfort her, and now, the house was dark and quiet.

You slid under the covers, trying to ignore the unease still lingering from the earlier conversation with Jason. But you tried not to think about him. Just relax, Y/N. You’re with Noah now.

But then came the sound.

At first, you thought it was just the wind—the soft, eerie whisper of the trees outside—but then, you heard it again. A light scrape, then a thud.

"Fuck." Someone muttered.

You hesitated for a moment, listening. It was unmistakable now.

Someone was out there.

Your heart skipped a beat as you slowly got out of bed, your bare feet cold against the hardwood floor. You tiptoed to the window, the one that overlooked the porch. You peered through the curtains, and for a split second, you thought you were imagining it, but there he was.

Jason.

He was standing on your porch, swaying slightly, his body unsteady as he gripped the railing for support. The faint glow of the porch light caught the bottle in his hand. He was drunk.

Drunk? He looked completely wasted.

Your heart raced. Why was he there? It was well past one in the morning.

You rushed to the door, flung it open without thinking, and before you could say a word, Jason stumbled over, nearly knocking into you.

"Y/N," he slurred, his eyes blurry, "I love you. I... I love you."

You froze, taken aback by his words. The heat of his body, the stench of alcohol, and the recklessness of his presence hit you all at once, you put a hand on his chest to slightly push him away and to avoid a possible fall. "What the hell are you doing here?" you spat. "It’s fucking late and you are drunk. Go home."

Jason shook his head, his eyes glassy. He reached for you, his voice pleading, "My friend... he played a joke on me. Left me out here. I don’t know where to go. Please... let me in."

You felt your stomach drop as you looked him over. He was shivering in a light jacket, his eyes half-lidded as he tried to steady himself. The chill of the night air was sharp and biting, and he looked like he might collapse any second.

"Jason I- God. I fucking hate you."

"Mh... please." He mumbled.

You didn’t know what to do. Every fiber of your being told you to shut the door, to send him away. This isn’t your problem. But your conscience—your heart—had other plans.

You took the bottle from his hand and put it on the ground, then stepped aside, grabbing him by his jacket as he swayed again, and helped him inside, closing the door behind you with a click.

"God, Jason," you muttered, glaring at him as you took in his disheveled state. "What the hell were you thinking? You’re drunk off your ass, and it’s freezing outside. How do you even fucking know where Noah lives?"

Jason didn’t respond right away. Instead, he collapsed onto the couch with a defeated sigh, his eyes half-lidded. "You’re beautiful," he muttered, his voice soft. "Even without makeup... in your pajamas."

You rolled your eyes. "This is so messed up. This is so fucking messed up. You can’t just show up here like this. Do you have someone to call?"

"Someone to... I don't have anyone."

"Be serious."

"I swear. My only friend is the one who left me in the middle of the street."

"Jesus Christ. Jason you... fuck you, Jason. For real. Noah’s going to be back in the morning. You need to leave before then. Got it?"

Jason nodded, but you could see the drunken fog in his eyes, clouding any attempt at sincerity. "I’ll leave," he slurred. "I promise. Before Noah gets here... I’ll go."

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to be here. He shouldn’t be here. But you didn't even know where he lived and couldn't even drive him there.

"You should have never come," you hissed, rubbing your temples in frustration. "Why would you think this is okay? It's Noah's house! His daughter is sleeping in her bedroom right now!"

Jason blinked slowly, a smile tugging at his lips despite his condition. "You didn’t leave me out there," he muttered, as if that was some great revelation. "That’s what I always liked about you. You’ve got a good heart."

Before you could respond, Jason’s words trailed off, his body slumping further against the couch. His breathing deepened, and within moments, the rhythmic sound of snoring filled the room.

You stood there for a moment, watching him, trying to process what had just happened. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Jason, drunk, and seeking comfort from you, was far from what you had imagined.

That was crazy. You didn't want him there. He shouldn’t have been there.

But despite everything, you couldn’t bring yourself to just leave him outside. He was still human, still someone you had cared for, once. And that damn heart of yours... Maybe I’m too soft, you thought bitterly. Maybe I’m too kind.

You sat down on the couch next to him, unable to ignore the wave of conflicting emotions that washed over you. You didn’t want him here, didn’t want to help him. But the truth was, you couldn’t leave him there, not when he was like this.

It was wrong. So wrong. He was in Noah's house.

So so fucking wrong.

But what else could you do?

As you sat in the dim light of the living room, your gaze locked on Jason’s peaceful face.

Almost like the old times.

This was a mistake.

You didn’t know how to fix this. You didn’t know if it could be fixed.

And as the hours stretched on, you were left alone with your thoughts, the sound of Jason's snoring filling the empty spaces between your anxieties as you were still sitting on the couch, processing everything.

Tomorrow would come, Jason would leave and Noah would be back, and everything would change again.

But for tonight, Jason was here.

And there was nothing you could do about it.

Erika and Jo stumbled down the sidewalk, their laughter echoing through the quiet streets. The night had been a blast, full of music, drinks, and dancing, and they were finally going to the apartment they rented for their vacation.

"Seriously, though," Erika laughed, wiping a tear from her eye, "did you see that guy trying to dance? I swear, I thought his legs were gonna give out."

Jo chuckled, adjusting her jacket against the cool evening air. "Oh my god, I thought the same thing. He looked like he was having some kind of seizure. But you have to admit, he was really trying. Respect for that."

"Yeah, yeah, he was trying," Erika laughed. "Trying to give us secondhand embarrassment. But it was kind of adorable."

They walked in silence for a few moments, the streetlights casting soft halos on the sidewalk, until Erika suddenly froze in her tracks. Her eyes narrowed, her grin faltering as she stared down the street.

Jo, still walking, bumped into her and almost knocked her over. "Erika? What’s up?"

Erika didn’t answer immediately, still focused on something a little further up the road. She pointed towards a house, a slight tension in her voice now. "Wait... Jo. Look over there. Is that...?"

Jo squinted in the direction Erika was gesturing to, where a porch light illuminated a figure standing outside a front door, speaking to someone.

"No way," Erika muttered, her breath catching in her throat. "That’s—"

"What? Who?" Jo asked, frowning. "That’s just a girl... opening her door at... what time is it?"

Erika’s eyes were wide with disbelief, but there was no mistaking the recognition in her voice. "No, Jo. That can’t be... That’s her. That’s Noah’s girlfriend."

Jo stared at her in confusion. "What? Are you serious right now?"

Erika’s heart was pounding in her chest. She pulled out her phone, her fingers shaking slightly as she zoomed in on the scene. The girl was talking animatedly to the guy standing in front of her—no, not just any guy—this guy was tall, attractive, with messy hair, and he seemed way too close to the girl on her porch. But it was you Erika was focused on.

"Look!" Erika hissed, thrusting the phone towards Jo. "Look at her! It’s totally fucking her. Look at her hair. Oh my god. I know it’s her."

Jo blinked and took the phone, squinting at the picture. "I don’t know, Erika. Are you sure? She looks a little different than in the photos... and it’s kind of dark, so—"

"I’m telling you, Jo!" Erika almost whispered, her voice tight with excitement. "It’s her! I’ve seen her in those pictures online a million times. It’s definitely her."

Jo raised an eyebrow. "Okay, but... what about the guy? That doesn’t look like Noah."

Erika’s gaze hardened. "I don’t know who he is, but it sure as hell isn’t Noah."

Jo crossed her arms, uncertainty creeping in. "Erika, don’t you think you’re jumping to conclusions a little? It’s the middle of the night. You can’t just—"

"Shh!" Erika cut her off, practically hissing as she lowered her voice. "I’m not missing this. I need proof."

Before Jo could protest, Erika started recording the scene on her phone. The porch light illuminated the two figures clearly now, and Erika focused the lens. You were still talking to the guy, though Erika couldn’t hear the words from this distance, but the exchange looked... intimate. Too intimate. He was close to you and at some point, your hand was on his chest.

"What the hell, Erika?" Jo whispered, her voice filled with disbelief and a hint of concern. "You really shouldn’t be recording this. It’s none of our business."

"Are you kidding me?" Erika scoffed, not taking her eyes off the screen. "This is totally our business. People need to know about this. You’re just jealous because I’m about to break the internet."

Jo shook her head in disbelief. "You're insane. You know this could cause trouble, right?"

Erika shot her a look, one part playful and one part defiant. "Trouble? Jo, come on. People love drama. Imagine the reactions on Twitter when I post this. It's going to blow up. You know they’ll go wild over this. Everyone is obsessed with Noah's love life right now."

Jo rolled her eyes. "You’re unbelievable. Do whatever you want."

Erika laughed, her attention still fixed on the screen. "You’ll thank me when this goes viral. Now get ready for some real fangirl action."

As she kept recording, Erika couldn’t help but smile to herself, despite the nagging feeling in her gut. She didn’t know why, but something about this whole scene felt... off. But at the same time, she couldn’t stop herself from capturing it. After all, it wasn’t every day that you got this close to the drama of Noah fucking Sebastian’s personal life.

And if there was one thing she knew for sure, it was that this was a moment she couldn’t afford to miss.

Twitter was gonna love it.

Tags: @anything-more-than-human @ladyveronikawrites @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @fadingangelwisp @xmads-omensx @iwasntstable @thisbicc @pathion @flowery-mess @into-the-grey @lacy1986 @tosoundlessdarkistare @stardustsirenmelody @thewrstinme

TBAF Tags: @klutzy-kay24 @mrscevans @concreteangel92 @iconic-taurus @niicoleleigh @cheyyyyr @supersquirrel1996 @respectfulrebel @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @clickmedead @missduffsblog @whenyouwannafindlove @chey-h @kenjipepsi1

[webco-dawnn]

Winter Hc!!

~ Here are just some fun hcs about what I think the Haikyuu boys would do with you during the winter. This post isn't categorized into teams unlike my other posts, but instead just a jumble of headcanons, so I hope you enjoy! (this includes Kenma Kozume, Osamu Miya, Tsukishima Kei, Bokuto Kotarou, Oikawa Tooru.)

꒰ ୨ ୧ ◞ 。Kenma⠀.ᐟ 🐈

╭ ; Kenma normally isn't one to go out. So, now with winter rolling in, it actually gives him an excuse not to go outside without the nagging voice of his friends telling him he could be using his valuable time practicing or that he needs some sun since he is pretty pale, afterall. Though he'd probably just stay in his room all day, buried under many blankets and wearing a bunch of layered clothing to warm him up.

When you come over, he doesn't really react. He greets you with a, "hey," flashing a gentle smile before focusing back on his game. You sit down next to him, and that's when he folds. He leans over, laying his head on your shoulder or your chest, eyes glued to the screen in front of him. If you comment on how close he's gotten he'll just say, "it's cold. You're warm. Use your brain." Though his tone held no actual bite of aggression in it.

He'll let you look over his shoulder to watch him play and eventually inch closer to you as the day goes on, until he's fully in your lap, your arms around his waist. There hasn't been a single word uttered ever since Kenma told you you were warm, but it was nice. It was a comfortable silence between the two of you that never got old. Well, silent except for the music and sound effects coming from the Nintendo held between Kenma's hands.

꒰ ୨ ୧ ◞ 。Osamu⠀.ᐟ 🍙

╭ ; You beg to come over to his house, claiming it's "too cold" in yours. Osamu tries to discourage you by telling you that his annoying twin, Atsumu, will be there as well since he has no plans today, or the fact that Osamu hasn't taken a shower yet or done his laundry. He was only trying to discourage you from coming over because.. well, Atsumu was home.. he didn't want his twin brother to see how different he was in front of his significant other. But after some more begging, you finally convince your beloved boyfriend to let you come over.

When you arrive, Osamu's already got hot chocolate made for you, handing it to you after you take your shoes off. Osamu makes some good hot chocolate, which is also another reason why you wanted to come over today. After you've finished the hot drink, he asks if you want to bake cookies with him. He has enough ingredients and a shit ton of free time, so why not?

In the process, you both get flour on your faces and in your hair, cookie dough all over your hands, and stains on both yours and Osamu's cheeks from the handful of chocolate chips you two ate.

꒰ ୨ ୧ ◞ 。Tsukishima⠀.ᐟ 🍋

╭ ; You wake up to a text from Tsukishima, telling you to be ready by 11 AM with no other information. It definitely confused you, but you're used to it since Tsukishima always texted you random things like this with no other information provided.

At 11, he picks you up and, surprise, he brought you two to an ice skating rink. You had been ranting about wanting to go for a while but not wanting to go alone, so Tsukishima took this as his cue to take you ice skating.

On the rink, Tsukishima is definitely a different person. Unlike you with your carefully calculated moves, perfect, careful, precise, Tsukishima is a wobbling mess. He has an iron grip on your bicep, not even daring to separate from you for a minute. He wasn't good at ice skating at all..

Anytime you'd laugh, he'd look up at you, saying, "It's not funny." but you couldn't really take him seriously with just how cute he looked with his red cheeks and nose.

꒰ ୨ ୧ ◞ 。Bokuto⠀.ᐟ 🦉

╭ ; The energetic owl shows up at your door at about noon, a box in his hand. You obviously let the boy in, watching as he took off his shoes before quickly walking over to the kitchen counter and setting the box down. Before you could even question anything, why he's here, (not that you're complaining, just curious) what the box was, you then read the front of the box and figured out that Bokuto was here with the intention of making a gingerbread house with you.

And so the two of you spent the rest of the afternoon making the gingerbread house. The contruction part of it ended about an hour ago, but you two were still working on the decorations of the house. It didn't look the best.. but it was fun. Talking to Bokuto while making the dessert was more than enough of a perfect day for you.

It was about 2 PM when you two finally finished, two hours after you guys had started. You look over to see Bokuto with icing all over his hands, and even some in his hair, along with small candies sticking to his fingers due to the icing. It made you chuckle. You wouldn't trade this for the world.

꒰ ୨ ୧ ◞ 。Oikawa⠀.ᐟ 🌀

╭ ; You weren't surprised when you opened your phone to 12 unread messages from Oikawa, begging you to come over to his house since he was just "So cold without you." You sigh, slipping your phone back into your pocket. You felt no real annoyance toward the boy, you could never feel annoyed with him. You get ready to go to his house before he starts whining even more.

When you get there, Oikawa's face immediately lights up with a wide smile, pulling you close and kissing you all over your face. Many, many kisses littered on your lips and cheeks. After he finished attacking you with his love, he allowed you to come inside. He told you how his parents weren't home before suggesting to rewatch a movie he loved, one you've watched with him about 10 times now. You agreed, but he suddenly changed his mind and suddenly started making tons of snacks.

after 20 minutes, you two finally settle down on the couch, Oikawa's head lying in your lap with a blanket over top of him and on top of your lap. An array of snacks lay on the table as the movie started.

[interestingturnofthetables]

Don’t get me wrong, I do also enjoy watching them duke it out in the cage. I think they have a really interesting relationship between them that I love exploring because it’s toxic. I think your version of ‘ship them’ here is pretty much my thoughts on most things too. I just didn’t want to rehash points made above in the tags.

When I say they don’t work together and it makes me sad to see I was more so talking about a specific interpretation (which I didn’t make clear that is on me lol) of post-canon; any variation of Bill shows up at the shack after theraprism and within a week him and ford are somehow in a weirdly stable romantic relationship. I don’t like seeing them in a ‘good’ relationship because it feels disingenuous given their entire history and Ford especially doesn’t deserve that after everything.

As for the au’s, I think there are certain aspects of both their characters that do work well together if they were accentuated. I find it just as interesting to explore that ‘what if’ of any version of such as I do to explore their canon situation. It’s sort of just a chance to mix and match personality traits or motives in a character and see how it turns out. I often very much feel like a mad scientist running a simulation over and over to figure out the perfect scenario and circumstances for my evil plans to unfold.

Even in au situations I tend to lean more towards the ‘everything is terrible! But hey, these guys seem happy!’ premises. (What if Ford was actually just pretty chill with the end of the world? There’s also so much more potential for family angst if Stan is trying to fight this demon but also his brother). I can also appreciate a ‘bill has other motives’ au or the Mr bill pines au where everything is just pretty ideal for everyone involved, because it’s very much just “wow, look what it could’ve been like. How did [canon] happen!?” Which only serves to make the distinction that “yeah. Canon billford is SO toxic” all the clearer.

This isn’t to say I don’t enjoy au’s without romantic/healthy billford. I just think in a different set of circumstances there might be a chance to explore it without it clearly (to the audience) being a manipulation tactic or anything else that is obviously not a healthy relationship. And even without changing every part of their characters, their dynamic is so interesting to explore all the different possible situations, and some of those situations can give them a shot at actually being a good (albeit odd) couple which to me is such a funny concept.

Hopefully that made sense. Tldr: canon billford is toxic but interesting as heck to look at. I just don’t want to see that magically twisted into a ‘healthy’ romantic relationship. And au’s are just like character trait jigsaw puzzles that can give you so many more options of positive or negative relationships under new and interesting circumstances.

The fandom interpretation of billford vs how I interpret it personally has such stark contrast that I kind of wonder if we all read the same book/watched the same show sometimes.

I don’t mean that in a bad way (sorry if I come across as condescending). I find it really interesting actually. I think fandom, in general, has a tendency to ignore darker themes present in a work because they’re difficult to talk about.

I feel a little odd seeing so much fluff and domesticity type stuff surrounding them when their relationship was so terrible. There’s nothing wrong with fluff obviously (I like it sometimes!), it’s just hard for me to fully enjoy … I can’t help but view any moments of Bill treating Ford nicely as underhanded. I am also probably projecting though - part of why I like Billford and interpret it the way I do is because I find it (particularly the darker parts) relatable to me.

I’m curious to hear other peoples opinions on this matter. Sorry for the random rant - don’t worry, I’m working on something! This has just been on my mind lately.

[esoteric-crow]

hey actually isn’t there something kind of really sad about the fact that the hardest difficulty (that isn’t just like. hell or hell. which is just ‘haha hehe Blow up.’) is called Dante Must Die. i think about it a lot. i can’t quite put my finger on why it makes me miserable but maybe someone else can.

but you know what i CAN talk about and i DO have actual fully formed thoughts about?

regenerating like crazy is great. but isn’t there something kind of inherently fucked up about the fact that, because of the regeneration dante and vergil have, neither of them will ever have tangible evidence to themselves or others of their suffering? asking themselves, was it really that bad? did it even happen at all? no matter how much you put vergil through hell and how afraid he is inside, there will never be a mark on his skin that says “i have suffered”. the world leaves no proof, nothing to take home from this experience aside from a more broken mind. vergil doesn’t say his feelings, or even allow them to surface properly, because that’s a kind of vulnerability he cannot handle. the only way he could perhaps earn someone’s sympathetic care is by expressing what he has suffered through, but he cannot verbalize that. and he looks perfect. unmarked by time or trauma. there isn’t a single part of his body that could scream out for him that something horrible has happened that he cannot figure out how to deal with alone.

and dante is just as poor off. and he’s very difficult to figure out emotionally to a passerby. dante purposefully puts on a happy face every day, and to the majority of the world, it’s convincing. there’s certainly no evidence to themselves contrary. not a scratch on him. but he is like kind of constantly getting the ever loving fuck beat out of him. stabbed and jabbed. when you look at him, you see happy, sweet, goofy dante. for all the years of pain he’s gone through, there isn’t a single marred inch of his skin that could tell you even a day of the agony unless he told you. and why would dante do that when he can pretend it simply isn’t happening until he’s alone and can sit with the terror that’s constantly in him and the loss he’s been living with, over and over losing people and being surrounded by the ghosts of their presence. whether the ghost is a wayward descendent, a gun, or just a lingering smell of ash in his childhood home. but that will only be private. he can be the walking dead, he can treat himself like shit, but his body refuses to show anything for it. and he’s certainly not going to die.

obviously, the same thing can be said for the opposite side of the spectrum: scars can be a constant reminder in the mirror of what happened that you cannot erase, always to some degree a part of you. among other stuff. so both sides of the coin are full of The Pains and The Anguishes.

on a side note, i really like when people give them like, one scar. i don’t really have a favorite one that people give vergil but i really like dante with just the one bigass gnarly one in the middle of his abdomen from the rebellion gettin jammed in there. his One scar. a treate. like it defies his regeneration somehow.

i love making a scarred up guy. i have plenty of scars n marks myself, and i feel like they should definitely be more normalized, so like, no this post isn’t anti scars or something. they’re normal and not ugly or whatever the hell people try to say. this side note is probably entirely unnecessary, but i’m tired and i’m worried about someone misunderstanding me i think. anyway i’m trying to say ooh scar angst yeah but sometimes No scars is also fucked up too. that’s the point here.

to sum up: i believe there can be something Fucked Up and angsty to be said about the fact that the sparda boys heal perfectly fine, but only externally. it is 3am. this is not articulated as well as it could be i don’t think. aaaand post.

[short-honey-badger]

Peppermint Tea 33 - All Blends 4

Summary: Katakuri is smart and the boys start to make up

Pep Tea Masterlist-> HERE

Katakuri stares at you, and a bad feeling begins to creep up. You look so sure of yourself, so confident that the men you named would come for you, and he couldn’t help but silently agree. He had seen the destruction that Shanks and Mihawk could bring, and his mother had brought it to their home. If he were a good son, and he was, Katakuri would go straight to Big Mom and tell her what was coming, shore up their defenses to hide you away to never see the light of day again. 

But, he can’t. Katakuri has never had a good example of love, especially with his family. He knew that his mother had never loved any of her husbands the way you obviously loved these two men. It is obvious with the way that you speak their names, laced with soft affection and a sureness of knowing that they would come for you. He knows then, that for the sake of his own family, he would have to go behind his mother’s back and give you back to them. 

“My mother never should have taken you,” He murmurs, and you look up at him in quiet surprise. 

You hadn’t expected him to say something like that, and you shift your weight, arms tightening about Sukuna. The cat begins to purr, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the giant man. He did not like this one, though he was glad that the other humans had left and he and his brother were out of sight of the disgusting female who sat on the cloud. She had put a fear into the cat that he had never felt before, and it had made him angry. 

His brother seemed content in this one’s presence, however, and Sukuna had found that Hank was a much better judge of character than he was, so maybe this one wasn’t so bad. He much preferred the other human men, though, and he hoped that they would get here soon. 

“No, she shouldn’t have,” you agree, and then shift so that you can sit down on the floor. Your belly makes it hard, but your feet ached, and you are tired of standing. It’s not like you were going anywhere anytime soon, anyhow. You tilt your head, eyeing Katakuri and the contemplative expression that he wears, “So what are you going to do about it?” 

He grumbles quietly to himself, crossing his arms over his massive chest. His family didn’t deserve the fate that would await them if Shanks and Mihawk showed up. The two of them would wipe the Charlotte family off the face of the planet, and nothing that his family could do would be able to stop those powerhouses. His mother had made a grave mistake in taking you, so he would fix it. 

Katakuri turns away from you, and back to the door. He had noticed your pregnant belly, and was sure that you were hungry, “I’ll be right back.” 

You watch the giant of a man leave, lips pursed to the side. When he is gone, you drop the brave face you are wearing and bury your face in Sukuna’s fluffy fur. Hank whines and pushes against you, sliding his big head under your arm, so you pull him close too. You were happy that Wiseman had allowed you to keep them with you, and their presence made the situation better, but you wished that none of this had happened in the first place. 

Truthfully, you couldn’t even find it in you to be mad at your boys anymore. The day that you were taken, you had told yourself that morning that you would call Mihawk again and ask them to come back home. You had told yourself that while you would never forget what Mihawk had a hand in, you could forgive him. The destruction of your home island had been over twenty years ago, and Mihawk had been a different person then. It wasn’t fair to keep him away when he has done nothing but take care of you the past few years. 

You had an idea in mind that it had been Shanks who had given away your island, and while you were terrified of having been taken, you weren’t upset with him. Despite how perfect the two men seemed to be, you knew that they were still human, and humans would always make mistakes. And if you were being honest with yourself, the trip to Whole Cake would have been fun if your circumstances were different. 

You’d seen so much while out on the sea. You had refused to interact with any of the crew, but they had allowed you to wander the ship and stay out on deck every now and then. Sukuna and Hank had stayed by your side the entire time, your cat swiping at any member of the crew who came too close to them. The cooks, who after finding out that you were pregnant, had provided you with all sorts of new and interesting food, and had been helpful in informing you about the nutritional side of it, too. 

You had absorbed the information, wanting to know everything you could get your hands on to properly be prepared for your child and the eventual birth. As if knowing that you were talking about her, the baby kicks wildly, and you grunt at the feeling. You glare down at your stomach, cursing both Shanks and Mihawk for doing this to you. 

Of course, you knew that unprotected sex led to children, but like everything that had happened to you the past couple of years, you hadn’t expected it to happen. You should have, but every time you had given any thought to the possibility, you’d shoved the thought away, not wanting to acknowledge it. 

“I know sweetheart, I miss them, too,” you murmur and smooth your hand over your stomach, and your baby kicks again. You can’t help but laugh when Sukuna is slightly dislodged by the next hit, and the cat turns to glare down at your stomach.

“We’ll be back with them before you come into this world, I’ll make sure of it,” you tell her because you don’t know if you would be able to do this all by yourself. You would need both Mihawk and Shanks there to welcome her, just in case you happened to not make it. 

It’s a morbid thought, but one you can’t help but have on occasion. You know that childbirth is dangerous, and for all that you have read and listened to Mihawk read aloud to you and Shanks, you can’t help but feel unprepared, and the feeling terrifies you. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when the door of the room creaks open and you look up to see Katakuri coming back inside the room. In one hand there is a plate of food that smells so good it makes your mouth water, and your stomach roars in interest. In the other hand is a snail transponder. You watch in interest as he sets the plate near you, and you can’t help but lean closer to get a good look. 

“Eat your fill, and then we’re going to make a call,” Katakuri tells you, and you eyed him suspiciously. The feeling of tentative hope begins to bloom in your chest and you scoot closer to the plate, picking at what you know you like and handing off scraps to Hank and Sukuna. You watched in fondness as your kids scarfed down everything you gave them. You sat the fluff ball down after you were finished and stood with a wince, your back protesting the movement. 

Katakuri sits across from you, and you can’t help but feel amused when you see the massive man sitting criss-cross, his hands resting on his knees while he watches you behind that scarf of his.    

“Done?” He asks, and when you nod, you get to witness just why his mouth curves up like it does. He pulls the scarf down, opens his mouth wide, and dumps the rest of what is left on the plate down his gullet. You watch wide-eyed as he chews a couple of times and then swallows. He shrugs when he sees you watching him, a blush staining his cheeks that you can’t help but giggle at. 

“Are all of your family named after food?” you ask him, and Katakuri dips his head in a nod, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Yes, our mother has a fondness for it,” He grumbles and eyes your stomach when you waddle around, arms stretched high over your head to try and relieve some tension in your back, “Have you thought of a name?” 

The question stalls you, and you drop your arms, looking down to stare at your pregnant belly. It’s a good question, and it makes an embarrassed flush light up your face. You’d been so busy wallowing the past few weeks without Mihawk or Shanks to keep you company, that other than focusing on your furry children, you never put much thought into a name for your actual child.

“...No.” 

Katakuri just shrugs, “Sometimes you don’t know until they are born. Mother makes it look easy.” 

You can’t help but snort. Of course, it would be easy for a woman like Big Mom, all she had to worry about was the possibility of repeating one of her many children’s names, “I’m sure that I will figure one out.” 

However, talking about this makes you miss your boys even more. It should be them that you were talking baby names about, not the son of the woman who kidnapped you. You swallow thickly and wrap your arms around yourself, smiling wetly down at Hank when the big lug crawls up to you with a low whine. Fuck. You miss them so much. 

Katakuri stares at the woman who was slated to be his wife and frowns, his decision to go behind his mother’s back cementing even further. He’d never wanted any children to begin with, he had plenty of siblings that he had helped his mother raise, so to him, it wasn’t that important for him to find a wife, never had been. Charlotte would be angry at him, but she would get over it. 

You jump when the transponder snail is sitting in front of you, and you look up at Katakuri in question. He gestures at it, “Call them.”

You turn wide eyes on Katakurti, heart in your throat, and voice nothing but a croak, “What?” 

Katakuri rolls his eyes and scoots the snail closer, repeating himself, “Call them.”

----

Perona jumps when the snail transponder begins to ring. They have been sailing for the better part of two weeks now, getting closer and closer to Big Mom and Whole Cake. She stares at it for several seconds before she jumps up and answers. 

Ca-lick. 

“Mihawk?” 

Perona’s throat goes dry, eyes going wide at the sound of your voice. 

“_!?” 

She hears you suck in a sharp breath, and when you speak again, it sounds choked like you were holding back tears. 

“Perona? Is he there?”

The pink-haired girl is already striding to the deck of the ship, snail clutched tightly in her hand, “I’m finding him now. Gods, are you okay? They’ve not hurt you have they?” 

She hears you sniff on the other side of the phone and then the sound of a yowling cat, Sukuna having heard the familiar voice of his second favorite human and letting her know how displeased her was.

“No, I’m okay. I’ve been with Katakuri the entire time, and he’s been nice so far. I can hear the ocean, where are you?”

Perona scoffs, skidding to a stop beside Mihawk, and holding the transponder snail out to him, “On our way to you, silly!” 

Mihawk whips around, hand snatching the snail out of her daughter’s hand and cradling it closer, ringed eyes taking in the basic features of your face that the snail forms, “Angel?” 

He hears you burst into tears on the other side of the call, and a fond smile tugs at the corner of his lips. Mihawk had missed the sound of your voice, even if it was thick with sobbing. 

“I’m here, please, please tell me that you are on the way. Is Shanks there?” 

Mihawk purses his lips, heart thruming with irritation at the redhead for half a second before he pushes it away, “No, dear one, he isn’t. We decided to travel apart to cover a large search area. How are you, both of you?” 

He listens to you sniff and cry for a second longer, and then your voice breaks through once more. 

“We’re both okay. Suku and Hank have kept me safe. Are you okay? You sound better than the last time we spoke.” 

Mihawk grimaces at the reminder. He and Shanks had been in a drunken stupor for days and were still under the influence when you had called the last time, “I’m fine, darling. You shouldn’t worry yourself, over me. Where are you?” 

The snail morphs into a masculine face then, and Mihawk can’t help but glare down at it. He could recognize the purple hair and dark eyes as one of Big Mom’s sons. Rage threatens to consume the warlord, knowing that you were with them, but he pushes it down for now. You had told him that you were doing okay, so that meant they had not hurt you or the child growing inside. Mihawk would teach them the meaning of destruction if you had been. 

“Whole Cake, but we plan to travel back to my home tomorrow. It’s on the eastern side of the archipelago.” 

Mihawk sneers, “And why are you telling me this?” 

There is a scoff on the other side, and he watches the snail roll its eyes at him. 

“Because I’m giving _ back to you. Mother should have known better than to take her in the first place, and I’ve seen what you and Shanks are capable of. I’m saving my family.” 

The warlord can’t help the dry laugh that escapes him, “Charlotte was a fool to have thought that her actions would not have consequences. You are doing the right thing by giving _ back to us. At least one of you has some kind of intelligence.” 

The snail gains your features again, your tone amused but admonishing. 

“Be nice, Mihawk.” 

He listens to you and asks Katakuri the name of his home, and then you are back. 

“The island is called Komugi. It’ll have a big donut in the center of it.” 

Mihawk nods, committing the location and name to memory, “I’ll be there, darling. Perona and I are only a couple of days out.” 

“Please hurry, Mihawk. I miss you.” 

His heart aches in his chest, and Dracule wants more than anything to be able to wrap you up in his arms and hold you close. To hide you away and never leave your side, so that this could never happen again, “We’ll be there as soon as we can, sweetheart.”

He hears you sniff again, and then your voice is quiet but strong. 

“And Mihawk, please don’t be too upset with Shanks. None of us are perfect, and I’m sure he is beating himself up enough without you tearing him down.” 

Mihawk sighs heavily and looks out into the sea. He had already begun to regret how he had reacted to the news back on your island. You and Perona were right. 

“I will beg his forgiveness just like I will beg yours, darling. I’ll call Shanks and tell him to meet us at Komugi. Be strong for us, darling. I’ll see you soon.”

He listens to you give a teary goodbye and the snail transponder clicks once the call is ended. Mihawk dreads having to call the redhead, but if he didn’t, he knew that Shanks would go straight to Sweet City and raze the entire island to the ground. The emperor had always been rash when it came to the people he loved. 

“Do you really think she is okay?” Perona asks him, and Mihawk dips his head in a nod, opening his arm to the ghost girl so she can tuck herself close to him. He had learned from you that sometimes a person just needed a little physical contact to feel better. You would be proud of him, he thinks. 

“She would have told us if they weren’t treating her well, and I find myself… trusting Katakuri to keep his word.”

Perona pouts but nods, “They better. I’ll throw ‘em all in the ocean myself if they aren’t.” 

Hawkeye huffs a laugh and then releases his charge, turning away to go below deck. He still needed to phone Shanks. 

---

Shanks can see the archipelago that makes up Whole Cake on the horizon. They sailed hard and quickly, taking shortcuts and catching updrafts only he knew about to get to Big Mom’s territory as fast as possible. Shanks and his crew were ready for anything that the woman could possibly throw at them, for he had let that rage build and grow inside of him, his haki lashing out uncontrollably.

Not only had you been taken, but Mihawk had taken his heart and crushed it with no remorse. Shanks didn’t like it, but he couldn’t help but resent the other man for it at first. He had worked so hard to get the older man to trust him, and one tiny mistake on his part had led to Mihawk throwing his love for him in his face and raised his sword in anger at the redhead. Shanks understood that what he’d done had cost them you, but he hadn’t been the one who had made their treasure send them away. That blame lay at the hawk’s feet. 

So yeah, he was pissed right the fuck off, and had let his anger fester when he would normally let it slide away. He had wept and raged and drank in his cabin for the better part of the trip, and had only stopped when Neal, the damned goat, had tried to bite his fingers when he’d reached for the next bottle of rum. They had glared at one another before Shanks had scoffed and fell back in his bed to sleep the rest of the day away. 

Shanks’ anger had tempered in that time, but the more he was forced into being sober, the more he felt those feelings of resentment had faded into hurt. He had already beaten himself into the ground over his fat mouth in the first place and had hoped that Mihawk would have been a bit more understanding, but he should have known better. 

“Shanks,” Benn says quietly, and he turns to see his first mate standing behind him with the transponder snail in hand. It looks at him with familiar golden eyes, and he purses his lips, tempted to ignore the older man, but Benn puts that thought to the ground, “It’s about _.” 

The emperor sucks in a sharp breath and snatches the snail out of the other man’s hand, and beats a hasty retreat to his quarters. Once safely inside, he sets the snail on his desk and plops in his chair, “Mihawk.” 

“Shanks. Where are you?” 

The redhead frowns, leaning back in his seat, “Why?” 

He hears the warlord sigh in frustration, and can’t help the smarmy smirk that crosses his lips. Good, be mad.

“Because I know where _ is and I am still a few days away from Whole Cake.” 

Shanks drops the act at that and sits forward, eyes going wide, “What? How do you know?” 

“She called me. They planned to marry her off to Katakuri, one of Linlin’s son but he understood how ignorant that would be and decided to let her call me. They plan on traveling to his home island tomorrow. So where are you?” 

“We’re just out of range of any of their ships, but I can see the archipelago.” 

Mihawk huffs again on the other side, and Shanks watches the snail narrow its eyes at the redhead. 

“Then start sailing east, and I will meet you there.” 

If this hadn’t been about you, then Shanks would have snapped and been difficult about the obvious order, so ignored the urge. He is about to agree and just hangs up the phone, but Mihawk’s next words stop him in his tracks. 

“I’m sorry, Red. I should not have reacted the way I did. I was angry, and worried about _, but I should not have taken it out on you. You didn’t deserve that.” 

Shanks isn’t sure what to say at first. It was like pulling teeth to get an apology out of the warlord, so he knew that you had to have something to do with this. But even if you had been involved with this, he could hear the quiet sincerity in the other man’s voice, and it made Shanks ache with the need to see him. 

“I-.”

“I love you, Shanks. I don’t want you to think that I don’t.”

Unbidden, tears spring up in the redhead’s eyes, and he smooths a hand over his mouth. He blinks harshly to clear them away, heart in his throat, “I love you, too.” 

He can hear the relieved sigh on the other side, and the warlord is back to his usual drawl seconds later. 

“I will meet you there by the end of tomorrow. Wait for me, Shanks. We will get _ back together.” 

Shanks swallows roughly and scrubs at his face, voice still thick with unshed tears, “Okay, Hawkeye. We’ll wait for you. Be safe, yeah?” 

The other man huffs on the other side. 

“I should be telling you that, Red. I’ll see you soon.” 

Ca-lick

Shanks curls into himself the moment the transmission is cut, hope and relief flooding his veins and he finally allows the tears to fall. His shoulders shake, and a broken whine leaves his lips as all the rage and resentment floods out of him. His family was slowly beginning to mend itself, all they needed was you, and everything would be okay again. 

The emperor pulls himself together and drys his eyes with the back of his hand. His crew would know that he’d been crying, but the redhead can’t find it within himself to care. Shanks stands and ambles back out on deck dropping his hand on Neal’s head when he walks past the goat. 

“Sail us east, Yasopp. We’re meeting up with Mihawk,” he orders, and Benn lopes up beside him, his brows raised and an unlit cigarette hanging from between his lips. 

“Good news?” 

Shanks nods, and angles a smile at his first mate, “Good news.”

Tag list: @writingmysanity @djbumblebee @goth-mami-writer @myradiaz @fluffybunnyu @bookandstar @foggyturtleknightangel @browneyedhufflepuff @anastasiyax @jaguarthecat @atricksterwithwings @black-swan-blog27 @breadedloafs @enpvrirnce @gottalovethefandom @mfreedomstuff @caniseethefourthsword @olenoname @glitterystarfishfestival

[calico-lamb]

god I just wish jentry was straightforward with it instead of talking all about how he's not "normal" or whatever like after being told so many lies and certain things you'd think by NOW she'd just be honest with it because she KNOWS that's better then a lie., and it's so frustrating to see this because because I know she knows this is cruel in itself, from the experienced of being lied to, but she's doing the exact thing that others have done, lie, to "protect" her when it hurt her more it's just, UUUAAAUGH I WANT TO SEE THE BETTER SIDE OF HER IN THIS LOVE TRIANGLE!!, I DONT WANT TO SEE THIS MANIPULATIVE DODGING cHEATING CYCLE, I WANT TO SEE HER MATURE OVER TIME LIKE THE OTHER SHOWS GIVE US THE MERCY OF!!!!!! RRAAAAAUGH JWNTRYYYY (she's a good kid and obviously not perfect but I really feel like she would know better while in this love triangle)

love when a conflict is so good that you can acknowledge a character being a total douchebag while also being like 'yeah i totally understand how they'd come to this conclusion when looking at it through their perspective'

[blackbackedjackal]

Soul Eater has always been a bizarre case. on one end of the spectrum there's characters like Kilik Rung, Mira Nygus, and even major manga antagonist Noah. on the other end there's the infamous bg jazz band that are straight up minstrels (they look identical in the manga. this was not studio bones' artistic liberty) and the death scythe repping Africa named Dengu Dinga who wears a mashup of "african flavoured" clothing. and then there's Sid, obviously i can't pass judgement on what's good or bad design rep but there certainly was a scene where Maka literally calls him a "mean blue gorilla"..

sorry for rambling, but Ohkubo absolutely takes inspiration from graffiti art and hip hop aesthetics in his work which makes the antiblackness even more disrespectful

Feel free to ignore that ask if the topic is bogging you down btw, I didn't see your last post if you're done engaging with the topic for now feel free to delete it. Looking forward to what you do with strawberry moon <3

Oh dude you're good. I just needed a nap before I answered more lol. I'll try and answer as many of these as I can because I'm honestly enjoying the discussion even though I have to step away from it for a bit. It's triggering to me but not in a way that I can't talk about it, just bogs down my mind ya know?

Anyway, I've never watched Soul Eater so I had no idea of the Black characters in the show! I had to look them up and I see what you're saying. Mira is a stereotype because I'd consider her a sexualized Black woman in this context. Kilik is like 100% fine to me at a glance, like he just looks like a Black guy though there may be some writing I'm missing that still makes him a stereotype.

I had no idea that he was influenced by graffiti art but I TOTALLY see it now in his shape language. Sid is by far the worst since he still has the big white teeth and a more 'gangster' aesthetic. Especially considering the time period Soul Eater was released, it's in poor taste at best and still perpetuating Black stereotypes at worse.

Anime is it's own sub-genre of racism in animation. White people LOOOOOVE to say "oh it's a different culture and they don't know" LMAO YES THEY DO DON'T PLAY stop infantilizing Asians you fucking sickos.

Colorism alone is such an issue in Asian countries. I've lived with people from China, South Korea, Thailand, Taiwan, and the Philippines. I've heard first hand accounts of people from the Philippines being treated like lesser human beings just for having a slightly darker skin-tone and don't get me started on how Chinese imperialism has impacted Taiwanese people. I'm not going to speak for disenfranchised Asian people but it's easy to find if you look it up. But my point is if colorism is that prevalent, imagine how much worse it is when your entire culture has a history of being exploited to the point that blackface is a worldwide issue.

Also the Boondocks exists and though not a perfect example, it still has some of the best depictions of Black people in an anime style. There's no excuse to draw racist stereotypes when there's literally 5 seasons worth of overall solid Black character designs that can be referenced for other series.

[swagbonkoperaweasel]

SONIC 3 POST CREDITS THOUGHTS

Spoilers obviously…

So as we now know, Metal and Amy are confirmed for Sonic 4. As an Amy fan, I am thrilled that we FINALLY get to have her in the movies, albeit rather late into the movie franchise. I wanted to talk a little bit about what we are seeing in this scene, as well as some of my hopes for Amy Rose’s movie portrayal.

As we can see, Amy’s combat seems like it will be different from her game self. Whereas game Amy uses her hammer and relies on her physical strength to defeat enemies, it seems like movie Amy will have some extra abilities with her hammer. In a way it seems to work like Thor’s hammer, where she can use it as a projectile against multiple enemies and summon it back.

Amy’s origin is that she uses her tarot cards and they basically tell her she will meet Sonic. This was something about her that had kind of been forgotten with Sega, up until recently. In Frontiers, Sonic make a few references to Amy and her fortune cards, and Amy actually uses them in the DLC. Some of her attacks also involve the cards.

It seems like in her portrayal, she will probably have some sort of magic, as we can see she appears to be able to float (or maybe she just jumped but it looks like floating to me). She very clearly has some combat experience and it’s interesting that the first time we see her, it’s a lot like Tails where it seems like she’s specifically trying to find Sonic. My prediction is that she will probably explain that she used her cards to find him, which is a nod to Sonic CD.

In terms of her seemingly having some sort of magical powers, I kind of have mixed feelings on that. I feel like part of what made Amy special is that she never really had special abilities the way others in the main cast do, but yet she’s still able to hold her own and be a hero in her own way. She’s also extroverted and kind hearted, which is why she’s able to so easily make friends and connect with others. I’m honestly scared that they’ll tone down those parts of her character just to make her more visibly “flashy.”

Her design is kind of perfect imo. At least, her face and hammer is. Im hoping she’ll have a similar outfit to her modern one under the cloak. It looks like they actually took a lot of Amy fans headcanons about her appearing in the cloak and decided to actually make that a reality. I’m sure the original fan who came up with that is gonna freak out when they see this.

As happy as I am for her appearance, I can’t help but feel very nervous for how her personality will be, especially when she has a reputation of being butchered. I really hope they don’t go the route of “girl character is stronger than the boy characters,” as that imo is actually more offensive than progressive. I am a woman btw so I think I’m allowed to have this opinion lol. A female character doesn’t have to be this overpowered character that is stronger than her male counterparts to be strong. I feel suggesting otherwise only implies that girls/women can only be alongside boys/men if they can prove to be better than them. That is simply not true. They can be equals. They can be strong in their own way. Amy does not have to prove anything to the Wachowski boys or to the audience. She is canonically strong and can fight. She is bubbly, she is kind, she is a romantic, she can be hotheaded, she is girly, and she is STRONG. All those things can and SHOULD coexist in her character. I don’t need her to be mellowed out into a stereotypical “I’m a girlboss who doesn’t need help from men” character. Amy’s crush on Sonic is important to her character because it shows that love is not a weakness, it can be a strength just as much as anything else.

My biggest ask for her character is to just LET AMY ROSE BE AMY ROSE.

[r3yk]

ex boyfriend! Rindou Haitani x fem!reader

Rindou has been a Bonten of member for the longest time now, he enjoys the time being there with his older brother Ran but there is something he doesn't have and that's you. He thinks of you alot and wants to be with you again after you broke up having a fight. He would do almost everything to get you back with him.

You were still friends with Ran, his older brother and he invited you to go have lunch together. You came to the Bonten’s headquarters waiting for him to finish his meeting with the other executives.

Ran would soon open the door to see you and he had a small smile on his face with a raised eyebrow as he looked down at you.

"So you actually came this time, huh?" He asked with his usual smirk and leaned against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Yeah it’s really hot today so i won’t say no to a free lunch!” You smiled at him, too lost into talking with him you didn’t notice Rindou also coming out of the meeting room. You were showing Ran your cute outfit of today, a long sundress with a naked back, perfect for a hot day and perfect to Rindou’s eyes!

Ran kept that smirk as he took in your outfit and he whistled a bit, he found you pretty attractive but he would never dare do anything.

"My my, you're such a tease, huh?"

Ran commented, and Rindou soon stepped out of the room, he spotted you in the sundress showing your figure and stopped completely. Rindou felt his face begin to heat up as his eyes widened. That’s when you noticed him, your smile dropping as you frown at him.

Ran would notice that your smile dropped when you saw Rindou, and he knew it was about to get interesting now. Rindou stared at you with widened eyes and he just took in what you were wearing, he didn’t realise just how revealing and pretty you would look on this hot day.

“Ran you didn’t told me he was here..” You mumbled, crossing your arms under your chest. Ran let out a small chuckle and he folded his arms across his chest.

"Would you have come if I told you Rindou was here?"

He questioned with a smirk. Rindou on the other hand just stayed quiet as he just looked at you, his eyes slowly drifting up to your face from your figure. He was thinking how damn good you look and that it's torture, it's a goddamn torture.

Just as you were gonna reply Sanzu got out of the meeting room and immediately went to you and wrapped his arm around you.

”Heyyy princess what are you doing here?”

Sanzu was always very friendly to you when you were dating Rindou and came to Bonten’s headquarters to visit him.

“Hi Sanzuu!” You replied.

Ran was quite surprised at how Sanzu came up to you and wrapped his arm around you and called you princess, that just pissed Rindou off a little, he just wanted to make Sanzu get away from you.

Ran glanced over at Rindou who was just staring at Sanzu having his arm around you, obviously feeling the jealousy coming from his brother.

"Sanzu, nice of you to join the party."

Ran said with a slight smirk.

“im not joining i have shit to do but it’s always nice to see an angel around here.”

Sanzu smirked at you, as you just smiled at him kindly. Sanzu’s words just made Rindou clenches his fists as he was slowly starting to get really pissed off at Sanzu, who always calls you ‘princess’ or ‘angel’. Rindou really doesn’t like it when other guys talk to you like that except himself and that pissed him off like crazy.

Ran glanced between you and Sanzu with his smirk as he knew that Rindou was getting jealous but he was amused at how much it was affecting his brother. Sanzu’s arm wandered against your waist as he pulled away saying goodbyes and walking to his office.

Rindou really didn’t like seeing Sanzu touch your waist like that, it really made his blood boil but he was at least happy when Sanzu finally left the three of you by yourselves.

Ran glanced at Rindou who was obviously pissed off and he chuckled a bit.

"Oh my, someone’s jealous~"

“Sooo what are we doing here?” You looked at both of them. Ran found the way you said it really cute, he knew you were ignoring the fact that Rindou is really jealous over Sanzu touching you like that.

Rindou was still clenching his fists as he continued to glare in the direction Sanzu went in before he looked at you.

"So? You don’t care that he was just touching you?"

Rindou said, his voice cold and low as he stared you down.

“No? He’s just friendly? Like you were with the girls at the club.” You frowned at him, spilling your venom. Rindou’s eyes widened slightly, he totally forgot of the times where he would talk to girls at the club when you both were together. He had a feeling you would bring it up eventually.

He grits his teeth as he tried to come up with a response back to your venomous comment.

"It's not even the same thing, Princess."

“Don’t call me Princess.” You spat at him.

Hearing those words sting his heart like a knife, he slowly walked up to you, his expression hardening a bit more as he was obviously bothered by you saying that you weren’t his princess anymore. Rindou reached you in a few steps and stopped right in front of you, looking down at you with cold purple eyes. He had his jaw clenched as he replied.

"You used to be mine."

“Yeah and you fucked up big time.”

Rindou’s cold expression slowly hardened even more when you said he ‘fucked up big time’. He was remembering how it was all his fault, how the two of you got into a bad fight, leading to the break up.

He let out a low scoff and reached up to gently grab your chin, his fingers gripping it gently as he locked eyes with you.

"So what, you’re still mad at me?” You swat his hand away turning to Ran for him to get his brother back in his place. ”Maybe i am.”

Ran was just watching the both of  you and he rolled his eyes slightly, he knew he had to calm down his brother before things get heated. Ran stepped in front of you so Rindou was now focused on him.

“Rindou, back off.”

Rindou huffed a bit but he obeyed and he stepped back, giving you space but still looking at you with a hard glare.

“Stop with the glaring dickhead.” You swore angrily.

Rindou’s jaw clenched even tighter when you called him a dickhead, he really hated it when you would call him mean things like that.

"It’s not my fault that I can’t help but glare at you in this damn outfit."

He mumbled, but loud enough for you and Ran to hear. You frowned.

“What.” You were speechless, so now you were the slut for just wearing a dress ?

Rindou’s expression softened slightly at your response and he was beginning to question why you suddenly became defensive.

“Wait.. No, I meant-“

Rindou suddenly cursed himself for not phrasing his words more correctly but Ran was quick to interrupt the two of you.

“Rindou. Shut up and think about what you’re gonna say next.”

“No let him tell me what he thinks but im practically sure i wasn’t the one with a girl on my lap while my girlfriend was cooking for me at home.” You bit back.

Rindou tensed up and his body went still. He knew that you were bringing up the incident about the club when he had a girl on his lap while you were waiting for him at home after cooking his favourite meal.

Rindou clenched his jaw and his cold glare returned as he didn’t say a word, he just stared at you, silently listening to what you’re saying.

“What ? You’re silent now ?”

Rindou’s expression darkened as you continued to call him out. He was quiet for a few more moments before he gritted his teeth and finally spoke.

“What are you trying to do here, trying to guilt trip me or something?”

“no im trying to let you understand how a dick you were and that you cant talk about who touches me and how i dress.” You frowned.

Rindou’s body tensed up once more as you called him a dick again. He knew that he was at fault for the breakup but that doesn’t mean he can’t hate to see other guys touch you and call you cute nicknames like that.

“That’s different. You’re my-..”

He suddenly stopped himself before he could finish his sentence as he suddenly remembered that you weren’t his anymore.

“your what now?” You looked at Ran who was still between you guys, waiting for him to take your side.

Ran was just watching the interaction between you and Rindou but he couldn’t help but smirk a little at Rindou’s reaction to your words.

Rindou gritted his teeth at Ran’s smirk and he stayed quiet for a bit before finally he muttered the words.

”My girlfriend….”

He mumbled, clearly struggling the admit that you were no longer his.

“i hope you think about what you’ve done everyday till you die.” That was your last straw as you walked away, Forget about lunch.

Rindou’s eyes widened when you suddenly said those last words before walking away, and it felt like a knife stabbed through his heart.

“Hey wait-“

He quickly tried to call out to you but he was interrupted by Ran who had blocked his path, stopping him from going after you.

“Rindou should really stop acting like a crazy ex and let her live..” Ran mumbled to him. Rindou clenched his jaw as he tried to push past Ran’s arm but Ran remained motionless.

“I-… But I..”

He mumbled, not knowing what to say or do. He just let out a huff as he slumped his shoulders in defeat, his eyes glancing up to look at your departing figure.

You later walked to your apartment, crying, you still loved Rindou but Gods he was such an asshole. The rest of the day goes on, you just stayed into your bedroom crying. While on the other end, throughout the rest of the day, Rindou would sit in his office and think about all the things he did wrong. He really hated himself for it, he hated himself for letting you go, he hated himself for being the reason why the two of you broke up.

He just couldn’t get your words out of his mind. The way you told him to think about him and what he did every day till he died, the way you called him a dick..

You then remember that you shouldn’t let your soulmate go away like that, you’ve got the proof that the girl that was on his lap, was just a bitch who was rapidly shrugged off Rindou, but that was enough for you back there to think he was cheating. You decided to call him.

Rindou was sitting in his office, staring out the window with a blank expression before he was snapped out of his thoughts when his phone rang out. He immediately fished it out of his pocket when he saw your number.

He was quick to pick up and answer, raising it to his ear.

“Rindou..?” You mumbled through the other end.

Rindou felt his heart clench at the sound of your voice, he immediately recognised it.

“Yeah.. It’s me princess…”

He mumbled back, the old nickname slipping out of his lips.

“come home..I need you.” You sniffed, you see, Rindou left you and your old apartment that you owned together to you. It’s was a home to the both of you.

Rindou’s eyes widened slightly when he heard your request and the way you sounded on the line.

“Yeah.. Yeah okay.. I’ll be there..”

He said, immediately standing up from his chair getting ready to come to your apartment. You hang up and went back to sleep waiting for him.

Rindou quickly rushed out of his office, not bothering to say anything to Ran as he walked out of the headquarters building and into his car.

He drove to your apartment as fast as he could, the whole drive his mind was replaying your conversation with him earlier, your words was still stuck in his mind, and it hurt him a lot that it’s his entire fault for everything. When he finally arrived at your home, he quickly got out of the car and locked it before swiftly walking up to the front door of your apartment.

Rindou took a deep breath to calm himself before he reached up to knock on your door with his cold knuckles. You heard the sound and got up to open the door, dressed in a short nightgown and your hair in a bun. You looked like a mess as You opened the door.

Rindou’s eyes widened a bit when he was met with your figure and your appearance, it was different from how you looked earlier in your sundress. He hadn’t seen you like this before, messy and unkempt.

He slowly stepped closer to you, his eyes never leaving your face, he didn’t know what to say, he had so many things he wanted to say to you but he was silent for a few moments before he finally spoke up.

“You called for me…?” You nodded, immediately jumping into his arms, lips crashing together. Your arms wrap around his neck and legs around his waist. Rindou was taken by surprise when you suddenly kissed him but it took him a few moments to return it, his arms quickly snaked around your waist to hold you close and support you so you didn’t fall off him.

He started to slowly walk forwards, walking you both back into your apartment while having your lips pressed against his in a hungry kiss. He closed the front door with his feet before going to you guys bedroom, he knew the way by heart.

When the two of you reached the bedroom, Rindou quickly laid you down on the bed, his body hovering over you. His cold hands slowly started to trail down your body, caressing every inch of your skin in a silent act of worship, just like the old times.

That’s how you guys finished having the best make up sex, You were now resting against him, You didn’t even talked yet.

Rindou was lying down on the bed, still trying to catch his breath as he stared up at the ceiling. You were now lying on top of him, your head resting against his shoulder as you slowly drifted to sleep. Rindou slowly wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to him. He was slowly moving his hand up and down your back to smoothe you to sleep.

“i still love you..”

Rindou tensed up a bit when he heard your soft voice, his hand around your back slowly came to a stop as he glanced at you.

He was silent for a few moments before he finally spoke in a soft voice.

“.. I still love you too, Princess…”

He mumbled, holding you closer to him, he missed the feeling of your body against him.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled.

“i forgive you..Ran told me how much it bothered you and how much you actually loved me..and that it was the girl who sat on your lap but you immediately pushed her off..”

Rindou was silent for a few moments, he was processing your words before his expression suddenly softened, and he slowly let out a breath that he didn’t even know he was holding.

“You forgive me..?”

It was the only thing he managed to say, he couldn’t help but feel relieved hearing that you finally knew the truth and that you’ve forgiven him for his mistake. Rindou’s arms around you tightened, holding you even closer to him now.

“Yes..but if that happens again im killing you..Sanzu told me how to hide a body..” You joked half asleep.

Rindou couldn’t help but chuckle softly at your small joke, he actually forgot that you managed to be friends with Sanzu. But Rindou quickly got serious and tightened his arms once more around you, he wouldn’t allow you to ever go out of his sight again.

“That won’t happen again… I’ll never make that mistake again.. I promise.”

He mumbled, his voice was deep and soft, he buried his face into your hair and inhaled your scent.

“Then im yours..”

[grumpchump]

Adding the full yap because a few people asked for it !

(no fast pass spoilers, I'm not caught up yet anyway!)

I feel like this theme applies to almost every character in the main cast.

First of all, we all know that one of Chase's biggest aspirations is to be a famous singer, even though nobody in his life really thinks he can do it. He seems perfectly aware of this. He knows that everyone thinks his dream is impossible, and maybe part of him thinks the same thing, but he just doesn't care. He's still extremely determined to realize his goals despite what everyone thinks of him.

Buddy especially doesn't think very highly of him (at first!)- throughout a good portion of the season, he constantly assumes Chase is going to give up the stories as soon as they get hard. But as Chase says in Sick Day, it's not his style to give up. He is so much more than what a lot of people expect him to turn out to be and he's so cool and I love him so bad

This applies to Buddy pretty obviously too. He's meant to be a cold and ruthless villain, and he certainly does try to be that. He's tough and more than a little mean at times, but we can see pretty consistently that he isn't as heartless as he might want people (Chase) to think. Even from the beginning when he's determined to antagonize Chase and get his key, he drops hints and helps him to finish the stories.

I always thought the scene in the Cinderfella arc where he tells Chase that he can eat the storybook food was really interesting. Like, he has no incentive to do that. He has no reason not to sit by and watch Chase suffer wanting to eat the desserts. But instead he does this small act that is, whether intentionally or not, actually kinda nice of him. It's just another small moment that shows that the villain persona people expect of him isn't really all that he is.

(This is a smaller thing, but I think with his exterior and how he acts in the books, we kind of expect him to be cunning and hard-working. I believe Punko said in a Q&A that in his free time he's actually an extremely lazy person, contrary to how we usually see him. I'm just mentioning that because I think it's funny and I love him a lot.)

Deacon is an extremely complex character with so many layers that I honestly am still grappling with, this guy's really cool.

A lot of his struggles are with the expectations placed on him. We know his whole life and career have been planned out for him by his parents. There's constantly a lot of pressure on him to work hard at this path that has been chosen for him, but in reality, he doesn't want any of it. My man just wants to read his shitty fantasy novels and chill with horses, give him a break !!

He's also constantly trying to defy his role as the helper key (specifically in Sick Day and The Book of Deacon). I think it's really interesting how he struggles to accept his role. Chase and Buddy don't actively try not to be the hero and the villain, they just naturally are more morally grey with it. Deacon, on the other hand, is almost a little desperate to go beyond being a helper and fall into another alignment, acting carelessly and causing trouble because of it. And the thing is, it makes perfect sense why he'd do it.

Books are very much a source of escapism for him. Actually getting to LIVE OUT the books is extremely exciting. Inside the books, he has a chance to escape his parents' expectations- being the helper, though, he just feels like he has a new set of expectations placed on him. Once he actually gets to be the hero in The Book of Deacon, he learns that this role is just as tough- again, he's trading one set of expectations for another. There's really no winning for this man lol. but im getting a little off topic here.

What Deacon needs is to reject the expectations his parents have placed on him and do what will make him truly happy. We can see how Buddy and Chase sort of naturally deviate from their expectations just through being themselves, but Deacon is still struggling in this process. Deacon is struggling to be himself in the way Buddy and Chase do.

There is still that level of acceptance he needs to have for his current situation though, specially in his helper role. He's still struggling to grasp all that being a helper means and how it's still just as important a role to take on as the hero or villain. He needs to find a way to balance his responsibilities and his happiness.

In Prunella's case, it's a bit harder to say- as of Friends and Family, we haven't gotten to spend as much time with her as the boys, so we're still learning more about her. I think the irony of this little girl getting to play the role of the big strong hero is sort of a subversion of expectations in itself lol.

We've also seen her upbringing. We've seen her mom. We've seen her house. It's a big awesome fairytale mess, and she doesn't really fit into it at all- being more into wilderness survival, she's not really what most people would assume her to be when they see her home life. Nothing wrong with that of course, just worth mentioning. We also learn in Friends and Family that she's very advanced for her age- she's extremely smart and probably a lot more understanding and level-headed about all the key business than I think a lot of other kids would be. I'd say she deviates from what a lot of people would expect of a child her age.

I'd love to hear if anyone has any other thoughts about her character !! I like her a lot and I'm excited to get to know more of her in the story :)

I wanna touch on the Keys last, specifically Silver. This part will be more speculation, so take it with a grain of salt.

In line with the theory about Silver possibly betraying Chase, this theme would apply perfectly. The way we've gotten to know Silver, she's extremely sweet and caring. She acts very selflessly for her family and friends and is eager to lend Chase a helping hand in saving his mom.

What we need to remember is that her first priority is to take care of her family. Helping Chase with his thing is definitely a means to reunite everyone (since he'll need all 12 keys to make his wish anyway), but it may not feel like she's doing enough. Helping her family and taking care of the Keys is her ultimate goal. If she's the heroine of her story, it makes perfect sense that she would take whatever actions necessary to do this.

The problem is, Cinderella Boy follows CHASE as the protagonist. We're rooting for Chase to evade Ex Libris, collect the keys, and save his mom. From this perspective, Silver betraying Chase, going behind his back, etc. would technically be an antagonistic action.

Am I saying that makes her a villainess? No, I really don't think so. But we've come to know Silver as a kind, supporting force for Chase. All I'm saying is, if she really were going behind Chase's back in some way (referring specifically to the letter she writes to Violet at the end of Friends and Family), it would absolutely subvert ours and Chase's expectations of her. It would line up with the theme of defying these expectations.

This theme is another of the many reasons why the Beach Boys arc is so important.

Circling back to Chase and Buddy, the core relationship at the center of the story- up until this point, Chase and Buddy have not cooperated with each other. Just a few episodes ago was the Toffee Break arc, where Buddy was an absolute menace and Chase straight got him thrown off a boat, lol.

But then Chase sees Buddy struggling to light a fire, and he does something unexpected. Even though he and Buddy have spent pretty much every moment together as rivals, he offers Buddy a tip on how to start the fire. He completely subverts what we've come to expect of their relationship. And then Buddy does something even more unexpected by returning the gesture and sharing his fish.

They're meant to be the hero and the villain- complete antagonists to one another. But in this moment they both choose to defy their expected roles and share a small, nice moment.

Later, Chase offers to help Buddy get out of the dangerous situation he's living in, and Buddy assumes he's lying. He doesn't expect Chase to be genuine about it. But like he says in Beach Boys (VI), Chase gets mad at him for doing the same thing, and he realizes he's been wrong about Chase maybe the whole time. Chase is not at all like Buddy expected him to be.

I think the point Chase makes in this episode about their roles as the hero and the villain is extremely important to the story as a whole. Buddy is meant to be the villain, so he's supposed to be a horrible person. Chase is meant to be the hero, so he's supposed to be patient and forgiving. But Chase says it himself- he doesn't care about that. He isn't the perfect protagonist we might expect him to be. He's an extremely kind and good person, yes, but he also has no trouble standing his ground and acting the way HE wants to, despite what everyone thinks of him. And Buddy, while harsh and standoffish, has plenty of moments that showcase how he's actually quite a caring person when he starts to let down his guard around someone.

Hell, even the entire concept of Cinderella Boy as a whole is kind of a subversion of expectations in itself!!!! A boy finds a magical artifact that lets him enter and play out any story he uses it on, but, ironically, he always has to be the princess?? it's amazing i love it

Cinderella Boy shows us consistently that nobody is stuck playing the role everyone expects them to. Nobody is bound to the perceptions that other people have of them, and everyone is free to defy these expectations and be the person they want to be. Chase says it best in Beach Boys (IV): "Nobody should have to accept being the villain if they're trying their best not to be."

To rap up my yap session, Cinderella Boy is a narrative about defying expectations and other people's perceptions of you and being a person of your choosing and everyone should go reread it one billion more times !!!!!!

shout-out to Cinderella Boy and its ongoing theme of defying the expectations everyone has for you and being more than your roots and upbringing, gotta be one of my favorite genders fr