#like......the complete lack of self awareness is astonishing

[laurelwinchester]

yeah the people in the supernatural fandom are way too comfortable talking about people's bodies and physical appearances. (most of the time people they don't even fucking know.) it's extremely inappropriate and it's totally wild that they either don't seem to be able to understand this or just refuse to accept it. not to mention the fucked up and bizarre responses they often have to being called out.

i don't know if this is the weird entitlement spn fans have (for whatever reason????) or just a side effect of being terminally online but someone needs to teach these people the lesson they apparently missed back in kindergarten, which is that we do not comment on or touch other people's bodies without their consent.

and no it's not actually okay to make people uncomfortable (and then laugh about it) because you seem to believe you somehow own their bodies. that's disturbing and you're fucked up. you're a fucked up human.

[garmanarnarr]

Not a ground breaking thought but one I have been obsessing over: as a character, Rick is defined by his relationship to his own agency, ie, his virtually limitless amounts of it. He has, in almost every situation the show puts him in, a choice in the matter. In a lot of ways, his technical/physical power is nearly complete— he can build a solution to any obstacle presented to him, or kill it, or destroy it, or escape it. He’s so self-aware he’s breaking the fourth wall, cracking jokes at the audience. In-universe, he could LEAVE Beth and her family at any time. Get in his freaking spaceship and fly out of there. He’s an alcoholic that’s substance dependent because he has to numb himself to the amount of choice and agency he has. And I don’t really blame him?? Because, let’s face it, the idea that you can TRULY do whatever you want is terrifying (hence his nihilism, also. if you can truly do whatever the hell you want, what really matters? what is your struggle? etc). It’s in the DNA of the show: what are the narrative problems to solve when your protagonist can do…… virtually anything he wants?

ENTER MORTIMER

That’s what makes his obsession with Morty so fucking interesting!! His grandson! His irrational attachment! The way he’s scrambling to control Morty in whatever way possible!! Sure, there are other family attachments in the rest of the Smiths, and some friends here and there. There's Diane. There’s also probably some other whole meta post to be written about Rick’s nuclear levels of self-loathing and how that ties in with all this into some kind of psychosexual soup. But the show’s backbone is about his relationship Morty. Morty!!!!! Rick’s own feelings for Morty represent a lack of control that is, for a someone entirely defined by their omnipotent (canonically ‘god-like’) levels of it, astonishing. Rick’s love for Morty is, in his mind, his own greatest frustration and most insurmountable defeat. And even worse, because Rick cares about Morty, he has to, at least to some extent, care about the universe because that’s the thing Morty exists inside.

Rick, who cares about nothing, CARES about Morty. And he just can’t. fucking. stop. himself.

[swolesome]

Cis people have been doing the same shit for the past 200 years (a kind-of-update on Project Transmasculine Deep Dive.)

It's astonishing to me how thoroughly erased transmasc people have been throughout history not because I'm shocked by bigotry (that is, sadly, completely unsurprising from certain demographics) but because so many Western newspapers were completely and utterly obsessed with us. If you were born with internal reproductive organs and put on a pair of trousers, white cis people acted like you were belching flames and pooping gem stones while handstanding on a penny-farthing and foretelling the end of humanity. I used to get distressed and frustrated over the lies they push regarding "trans reactionaries" but these days I'm just fucking embarrassed for them over their lack of self-awareness and total ignorance of their own ongoing pattern of doomsday-level reactions to clothing. What a bizarre group of people.

[giuliadesu]

you were 24 when you feared the worst.

… & THEN?

a grand total of five years composed the relationship atsumu and you shared. it grew and matured with the both of you, changing but never faltering.

atsumu realized it was not easy loving you at a distance. not being able to hug you, hold your hand, come to your apartment or having you snuggle into his side hurt him in a way that was almost physical. whenever you cried on the phone with him, his first instinct was to go and purchase the first plane ticket to your city — knowing full well that it would’ve made you angry because you didn’t want him to miss his obligations just for you (oh, if only you knew what he was willing to do for you…). after reaching that awareness two years prior, things got harder. it was difficult not to blurt out an i love you for whatever reason, or hide how lovestruck he looked whenever he noticed you wearing his clothes and when noting that the small pendant never left your neck.

at some point, he ended up confessing his feelings to his teammates, who remained completely astonished — yes, they noticed how the setter behaved differently with you, but they would have never expected for him to be so madly  in love, let alone for such a long period of time! so many things made sense, yet no one had the courage to tell him that you may reciprocate his feelings. they wisely decided it was up to the two of you.

and what about you? well, you graduated from your bachelor's and completely cut ties with your family (especially when they got mad at you after they discovered you were not becoming a doctor or a lawyer). at 23 you graduated from your master’s in japanese language and culture, and in the same year you enrolled in a videogame academy to study game design. despite being financially stable and self-sufficient, a certain someone made you believe you had won a full scholarship for the three-years course of your choosing — when in reality he paid it off so you could keep on saving money for things that were really important (and maybe he was being a bit spiteful towards the behaviour of your parents). now you were breezing through your last year, happy and feeling satisfied with your career choices. the only thing keeping you up at night was a nagging feeling in your heart.

deep down, you perfectly knew what was the cause: atsumu. or the lack of, to be more precise.

after so many years, you concluded that it would have been impossible to get rid of your feelings. yet, deep down, you were scared: atsumu was incredibly talented and handsome; his position as one of the most sought-after volleyball players meant his face was plastered everywhere. his social media were probably blowing up with pretty ladies who only wanted to exploit his income and fame. but, if something like that would have made him happy, you were willing to bury your first  love in a secluded recess of your heart.

so, when some scoops and paparazzi shots of him with a girl made their way to your feed on twitter, you froze. despite all your thoughts of wanting to be happy for him regardless of your own emotions, you could feel a cold, solitary drop of sweat running in the middle of your back. before going on with your day, you shot a message to osamu, asking him if he knew anything about it (but making him promise not to tell anything to his twin). then, you simply ignored your phone all day long  — although you could feel it vibrate in your backpocket.

when you went to sleep later that night, you still hadn’t checked your notifications, and for the first time in a long, long time, you spent the day in  complete silence.

ŌSAKA, 19:45

one of the most important matches of the season was about to start for the msby. yet, the air in the locker room felt tense and almost rough. 

no one had ever seen atsumu that tense before. he had dark circles under his eyes, looked incredibly tired and was not showcasing his usual bubble of adrenaline prior to a challenge. it was an almost scary sight that left the other jackals rather perplexed.

“everythin’ okay, tsum-tsum?”

bokuto was the only one daring enough to pose the question. it was rare to see the setter silently sitting on the wooden bench, arms resting on his thighs and head hanging low; the silence that permeated the locker room was concerning. the sound of knocking on a door brought the athletes to divert their attention from their teammate. coach foster was standing in the doorway, a grave look on his features.

“it’s time to get on the court.”

three and a half hours later, the jackals walked out defeated. despite the victory of the other team, there was no cheering, just a deafening silence — no one expected the favorite team from ōsaka to lose, yet to some with a keen eye for details it might have been evident: their game was off; the services were either a bit too early or too late, their smashes not strong enough, their blocks never tall enough.

it was not their first time losing a match, and it certainly wouldn’t have been the last, yet it stung badly. the jackals went to their lockers in complete silence. atsumu opened the metal door to his own small set of shelves, retrieving the duffel bag and his three piercings (the two snakebites and the helix on his right ear), wearing them again; they were a gift from you for his graduation — dainty black metal with a small 13 engraved on the side of each hoop. no words were shared as he made his way outside, where his motorbike was waiting in the parking lot.

just outside the stadium, aran and suna blocked his way. they knew exactly what had happened; actually, they were aware of both sides of the story: when those pictures were leaked, they received concerned messages from the other jackals, asking them to check on you. the answer they got when calling you was enough to convince them to reveal everything they knew to the blond setter, before things escalated further.

“i do love him, and exactly because of that if he’s happier with someone else, i’m okay with giving up on him.” 

“you do realize she has no idea about what is going on, right?”

suna’s voice was not cold and was not bearing an accusing tone, yet atsumu felt as if he was burning.

“yeah? then why would she disappear like that? no text, not message left, she vanished into thin air. were these last five years really that meaningless?!”

“open twitter.”

a perplexed gaze landed on aran when he spoke. nonetheless, the setter obliged. scrolling back to the beginning of the day, he found the post where he had been tagged multiple times; that was indeed him with a random girl for whom he just happened to hold the door open when leaving the jva offices, but apparently the tabloids didn’t care.

“fuck.”

 “yeah, fuck indeed. she’s letting you go because she loves you, and she wants you to be happy, even if it hurts her. in a month and a half she’ll be moving here, and as of now she’s spent the last twelve hours crying like a baby because she thinks she’ll be alone again. you better call her and explain everything yourself, we’ve already said more than enough.”

after his best friends left him alone again, he jumped on his black vehicle and sped towards the bay area. he needed some time to think.

throwing the helmet on the concrete, he started running laps on the rocky beach. adrenaline was finally bubbling in his veins, albeit a bit too late to win the match. you loved him? he felt so stupid for not noticing it earlier. thinking back to the last year, it had been so obvious: the way you wore his clothes, how you kissed the red string, the thousands of ways you were always by his side whenever he needed you the most. you loved him and were willing to give up everything just to be close to him, even if it hurt you in the process.

sitting down, exhausted, he felt warm tears running down his cheeks. the last time he cried was when he and osamu had a fight right after high school, when his twin confessed to him he wanted to leave the volleyball path to focus on his culinary career. it felt like a life ago.

the sound of the waves was comforting, in the rhythmic way they crashed on the shore, bringing with them the salty perfume typical of the ocean. the sweeping breeze was rather welcome, helping to dry the tears currently streaming down his cheeks. atsumu didn’t even bother changing out of his uniform, just throwing the jersey over his short sleeved shirt. now calmer compared to when he left the stadium, he fished out his phone to write a quick message to kuroo, asking him to deal with the paparazzi and have those pictures and articles taken down as soon as possible, also with damage compensation.

a new notification was sitting on his screen. from you. it was a short message, but it warmed his heart in a way he never imagined possible. he was so glad to know you were not throwing to the winds the relationship you were nurturing.

“i’m so sorry. if you want to talk, i’m here.”

he wanted to do more than talk. he wanted to hug you, wrap himself around you and hold you close to his chest so that you could hear his beating heart, two sizes too big just because he was close to you; wanted to hold your face in his hands and kiss your tears away, whispering sweet nothings and reassuring you that he would not  leave you — not now, nor ever.

shooting you a quick reply (with a small heart at the end), atsumu went back to his black helmet, decorated with the msby stripes, and the matching vehicle; a soft smile finally made is way over to his face, imagining how nice it would feel to take you out for a midnight tour of the city on his bike, your arms around his waist and you sitting snuggly and safely behind him. 

the clock showed it was almost two in the morning by the time he reached home. atsumu started to feel the tiredness in his bones, yet there were more important things he had to do — the following day would have been dedicated to rest anyway, he didn’t have to worry about anything else now. the setter took a quick shower and then headed for the kitchen.

without thinking twice, he unlocked the ipad sitting on its stand on the counter and dialled your number for a facetime. few seconds passed and your pretty face appeared on the screen. your eyes were puffy and red; so suna wasn’t lying when he said you’d been crying for many hours. once the connection had been established between your devices, your vision became glossy again.

“atsumu i’m so so sorry for today. when i saw that article i got scared an-”

“hey, it’s okay. suna and aran… they kinda told me what happened. i should’ve checked in with you sooner. damn, i’m such an asshole! so out of the loop of social media that i didn’t know a thing about those pics.”

he saw your face slightly light up from the revelation. softening his voice, atsumu decided it was a good moment to share a bit of what was going on in his heart and mind.

“it’s you that i want in my life, not another person — and if it’s not you then i don’t want anything.”

two blushing messes were staring at one another. with just a few words, all that happened was left behind, albeit not forgotten: fears could creep up at the least expected moments, and it was a valuable lesson that both parties learned the hard way. luckily for you, the sentiment blossoming in your hearts was stronger than any fear, any doubt or slightly negative thought. after all, isn’t this what love does best? bring people together through their hardest and darkest times. atsumu and you had a very clear and tangible demonstration of that.

“‘tsumu, can i make it up to you somehow? i wanted to be there for you when you lost, but was too selfish and scared to reach out…”

your voice was soft and timid, but your eyes were filled with a determination springing directly from your heart and from the two small material objects that linked you and the setter (the silk bracelet and the necklace).

“you don’t have to. but if you really insist, sleep with me on the phone? so we can talk a little bit.”

after all, you could only spend that much time separated from one another; and having you close while you took a nap was all that the setter needed to be even more sure of his feelings and his future actions.

TOGETHER FOREVER, NEVER APART — MAYBE IN DISTANCE BUT NEVER AT HEART

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honorable mentions

@arquitecturadelanada | @cup-of-fluff | @kyopmi | @melancholicautumnfever | @ohtokki

taglist

@alienvarmint | @cloud-lyy | @mommyourcall420 | @opalloveworld | @voidshoutsback

© giuliadesu. please do not copy, translate, use in videos or reupload on other platforms and sites. it is strictly forbidden to feed any part of my content to ai.

[bara-izu]

havent been through your griffin and toma tags yet but im excited to look through them!! anyway how would they describe each other?

It's okay! In reality I haven't posted much about them on tumblr, but there is lots about them floating around on twitter and instagram too- Thank you for being interested in them 😭

As for how they would describe one another:

Griff would describe Toma as: Chaotic, loud and completely lacks self awareness! He would never outright admit the positives he likes about Toma but if pushed he'd also say They're full of affection, and a very doting parent. If only they could control their Lycanthopy... They have astonishing potential...

Toma on the other hand would say Griff is mean. He's got a lot going on which usually results in him being a grump... but he's super smart and can be so gentle when he wants to be!

Please also accept these old doodles from the vaults of my private account (they're 2 years old...)

[kinkandkreep]

Connor Kenway Drabble

A/N: Y'all?...*sigh* When I tell this man has taken me h o s t a g e??? It's been two weeks and I still haven't managed to completely flush this obsession out of my system. I mean, I'm not exactly complaining, I think it's rather astonishing actually. Anyway! Here's a fluffy lil' drabble I thought up and wanted to share with y'all. I hope y'all enjoy! Oh, and if you'd like to send in any Connor related asks/comments, please feel free to share! 😁

Connor has such a gentle, caring way of speaking to those close to him. 

It’s well known that he can be a bit abrasive when dealing with strangers, mainly men, but no one can ever say that he’s without compassion. 

He’s always especially cautious of appearing or sounding brutish around you. (Unless, of course, he’s having to handle bidness. But you absolutely do not mind.)

Even though you’ve reassured him time and again that you could never see him as anything other than nigh perfect, he still feels self-conscious of how big he is compared to how small and, to him at least, delicate you are. 

Connor doesn’t ever mean to belittle you or come off as condescending; he’s well aware that you can take care of yourself, and he admires you greatly for that. 

But now that you’re his, he can’t help but feel this soul-deep tug that calls for him to shield you from everything and everyone. He wishes nothing more than to hold you close and never let you go, no matter how impractical he knows that is. 

The man, though he may be 6’6 and bench 300 on a weak day, touches you so gently and with such consideration that it could almost cause you to shed tears. 

He’s never once raised his voice at you, and he’s the most excellent caregiver when you’re sad or feeling down. 

Granted, he may not always know how best to handle every situation as it relates to you, but he tries his darndest, and despite not always being sure, he seems to have a natural ability to care for others. 

You try to tell him this, and though he always becomes flustered by the praise from you, he simultaneously brushes you off, saying that he doesn't do anything special, just what comes naturally. 

(If only you could make him understand that even that is amazing in itself.)

If someone asked, you would describe Connor as secretly having so much love to give, and also as someone who subconsciously wants that love returned. 

You like to think he’s found what he’s looking for, in you and in the other inhabitants of the Homestead. 

For the past little while, you and Connor have been taking impromptu pie baking lessons from Corrine at the inn. Rather unsurprisingly, Connor is very good at it. 

You? Well…you try your best. 

Although, with Connor’s assistance and Corrine’s instruction, you’ve gotten exponentially better, and now your pies look presentable and taste fairly good. 

At least, according to Connor. 

Other than that, you’ve secretly taken to asking Ellen to teach you how to mend, so that, should the need ever arise, you’d be able to tend to Connor’s robes and other clothes. 

Your lessons with her have been going along swimmingly, and you’re even starting to feel confident enough to learn how to sew next. 

It’s just that Connor does so much for you, and for all of the homesteaders, you want to be able to do little things for him as well. Simple stuff that he’d appreciate, and tasks that he wouldn’t have to worry about being undone. 

He spends most of his time at home now, but he frequently makes trips to New York and Boston, to train his current assassins and recruit new ones.

Before he leaves and as soon as he returns, he’s always extra sure to give you a warm hug and a loving kiss meant to say either “I love you and will miss you while I’m gone” or “I love you and I’m so glad to be back with you” accordingly. 

Though he’s never gone for long, his lack of presence is always felt heavily across the manor and the Homestead as a whole. 

It’s nearly a celebration every time he comes back, so integral a part is he to your way of life. 

But even though you’re there to help him as he goes along, and even though his workload has considerably lessened from his younger years, you can't help but worry that Connor still feels burdened and, ultimately, unsatisfied. 

You wonder if he wants children; after all, he looks so fondly upon little Hunter when he volunteers to watch over him for Warren and Prudence, and he was especially ecstatic when Norris and Myriam announced they were expecting. 

He’s never expressly said anything to you about it though, and while you’re not opposed to the idea, you consider that perhaps he’s been waiting for you to breach the subject. 

He probably doesn’t want to appear as though he’s pressuring you (he’s real considerate like that).

One day, as you’re removing a freshly baked apple pie from the oven (that you successfully and proudly managed to make all on your own), you hear Connor enter through the back door. You call out to him, but to your utter surprise, there’s no answer.

You can hear his footsteps continue, and eventually they begin to recede up the stairs to the second floor. 

Carefully and quickly covering the pie so that it could cool, you wipe your hands and slowly begin approaching the stairs. You call out to your husband again, but no answer. 

You try your best to remain quiet as you ascend the stairs and once you’ve reached the top landing, you search through the rooms until you find him, sprawled out on the bed in his old room, seemingly fast asleep. 

‘Ah, so he was just so exhausted he probably didn’t hear me.’ You smile at the thought. 

Slowly approaching the sleeping man, you place a gentle kiss on his forehead, fondly carding your fingers through his lush hair.

In his sleep, he groans and mumbles something that vaguely sounds like your name, before unconsciously leaning further into your touch and settling once more. 

Your fond smile grows wider at his adorable behavior, and you carefully crawl into the bed alongside him, snuggling up into his side. 

He smells of fresh pine, rain and patchouli, very earthy and musky. 

It’s a pleasant scent, one that you oft find yourself associating with him. 

Taking a moment, you study your husband’s currently soft features as he sleeps.

Connor is a very handsome man, with deep caramel skin and rich chocolate hair. His cheekbones sit high beneath his skin and his jaw is sharp and chiseled. You can’t see his eyes, but you are easily able to recall how they shine a warm, comforting carob brown. 

His lips, parted slightly with each breath, glisten as they always do, and you find yourself tempted to place a kiss upon them. 

Your concerns from before still weigh heavily on your mind, and by now your pie should be sufficiently cool, but for now, you find yourself content to just lay here with the love of your life and bask in his calming presence. 

[shaftking]

https://www.tumblr.com/godmodebeginswithlesbians/732567688496431104/we-need-less-sanitized-queer-stories-youre-the

I can’t believe the amount of notes this post has of people agreeing with it. I have no idea what The Locked Tomb is so I can’t speak on that, but regarding She-Ra, ever since the finale, I’m one of the people who’s been agreeing with the statement that OP is mocking here. To clarify, though, I’m not a puritanical anti at all- in fact, I’m all for less sanitized LGBT stories (yes, LGBT, not q**r), but I want them to still be well written, make actual sense narratively, and deliver a positive message for a target demographic of children, all which She-Ra failed at.

I read some of the notes and aside from the typical nonsense I’m used to seeing toxic She-Ra fans spew, there are people who reblogged this defending She-Ra while simultaneously admitting that they DIDN’T EVEN WATCH THE SHOW. Ofc they’re not gonna understand or interpret any of the criticism in good faith if they haven’t even watched the damn show. That’s the brainless mob mentality that’s to be expected on this site.

Anyway, as a writer who majored in animation, seeing posts and notes like this is so disheartening. I don’t have much hope for the entertainment industry (especially animation) or the LGBT community. Both have proven that their standards are lower than dirt and that they all have piss poor media literacy and critical thinking skills that lead them to harassing and hating on anyone who dares criticize the media that they blindly worship. It’s insulting as a writer and sets a bad precedent that professionals can just produce poorly written fan fiction with a budget that validates childish NPCs who eat it up as long as it caters to their sensibilities and is under the guise of progressivism for kids so it can be praised as “groundbreaking.” It makes me wanna steer clear of this industry entirely tbh.

I’m also familiar with SPOP but not The Locked Tomb, so I can speak on that. And we all know that I really can’t stand SPOP. I personally view it as one of those shows that was fine and even good at times until it self destructed in the last season and especially the finale with just an astonishing lack of self awareness.

The problem with Catradora, especially compared to the other ships in the show for the most part, is that’s it’s dysfunctional and toxic in a show that is targeted to children that otherwise pushes a lot of life lessons subtexually and textually. This also isn’t just a problem of the relationship itself, it extends to their actions towards other characters, such as the fact that there is no real consequence for Catra literally killing Glimmers mother out of complete selfishness. I think the whole show kind of suffers from sudden character amnesia about other characters past crimes. Because it happened with Hordak and Scorpia and Entrapta as well to varying degrees.

And I think the doublethink the show has about being Mature and Complex vs It’s A Children’s Show So You Can’t Criticize It extends to fan attitudes. And let’s be real, the Catradora kiss was not that revolutionary when SU and LOK already had their representation moments years before. In fact it’s weird and dysfunctional asf to have characters who were implied to have grown up as sisters and raised together (the literal reason why Catra was jealous and over dependent on Adora) just kiss and have all of their problems and past just basically vanish so that they can have a few cute shippy moments before the series finale.

All that aside I personally hate being pandered to and baited. I genuinely want to see stories about people who are LGBT and different races and with different belief systems and backgrounds, but just slapping a label onto a character or story doesn’t make it good, you still have to write good characters and story. You still have to work to make things cohesive and you have to understand that as a writer you will always face criticism. Especially when you market your work so hard as the next big thing.

And as an audience member, at the very least as a teen and onwards into adulthood, you should be capable of media literacy to the extent that you can watch a show about a couple toxic codependent weirdos and recognize that they were toxic codependent weirdos even if you mostly just had fun watching them get up to fucked up shenanigans.

[moo-oon]

Good Omens Re-Watch pt. 3

I completely forgot to post this, so enjoy these very old ramblings :)

I'm rewatching Good Omens with some friends (some have seen it already some have not) and I thought I would share my thoughts as they come because I am dying.

EPISODE 5

So much of the beginning of this episode is Aziraphale conducting his plan without telling Crowley what is really going on. The lack of communication here sets up the absolute heartbreak that will be coming.

Shax is such an interesting character. You think she would be so much better at her job. She has been doing it for so long but she is mostly bite with a little bit of bark. 

All the people saying that Aziraphale can’t speak French cause it's a love language I adore and applaud you. 

Nina calling them out on their gay chaos I love it to death. “He's not a bit on a side, he's just an angle” Wow ow okay darn wow okay. Tell me you're a hopeless romantic (and suck at communication) without telling me. 

Crowley trying to talk out his anxiety and stress with Aziraphale, getting brushed off, and then basically telling Gabriel to end his own life could not be more perfect. I would not be surprised if Crowley blames heaven for Aziraphale's perspective (even more so after ep.6).

Also whoever made the comparison that Crowley understands the pain of remembering that Gabriel has to go through is horrific. So many “I knows” with very little specification. 

When Muriel reports back to heaven it could not be more alarming how little everyone knows. Michael and Uriel should know so much more and they should not have to use a lower-level angel like Muriel to figure it out. It really shows how disorganized heaven is. 

As much as I want Aziraphale to communicate his meeting plans with Crowley there is something very sweet about him surprising Crowley with a ball. Even though it does not give me much hope that it all goes so poorly it is a kind thought. 

WHOEVER did Garbiels ball outfit deserves so much joy and praise. It could not be more wonderful!

I did not previously notice how stressed Aziraphale says “You are definitely safe in here” to Nina. He clearly knows that something is up (you know like demons invading) and still attempts to have a normal evening. His priorities are all confused, and his avoidance is at an all-time high.

The absolutely gorgeous shots throughout this entire season of Aziraphale's pining look are absolutely wonderful and heartbreaking. 

Once again Aziraphale avoids the situation. He KNOWS that something is wrong but when Crowley (somewhat desperately) tries to talk it through with him Aziraphale drags him to dance. He even tells Crowley that he is “overestimating how much trouble” they are in. This is so much of the root of the problem they really expose in episode 6. 

AGAIN WHOEVER GAVE GABRIEL THAT COAT GODBLESS HAVE A GOOD DAY!

I do not understand why but Nina and Maggie clearly are aware of the miracles and are unaffected. I literally have no idea how or why but also I am astonished how I did not notice this the first time around.

“Rescuing me makes him so happy” I don’t know how to approach this line. First of all, I think Aziraphale truly likes to be rescued. It shows that Crowley cares, that someone thinks he is worth putting the resources into saving. Crowley also probably like saving Aziraphale because he is not great with words and cannot express his emotions in that way. Saving him is a significantly easier way. On the opposite end, Aziraphale needing saving clearly causes Crowley an insane amount of distress. Which I think is clearly seen in the gun scene. Crowley does not mind saving Aziraphale when he has control of the situation, but as soon as he is not sure he can it's just a pit of stress.

EPISODE 6:

I think Maggie accidentally inviting the demons in is a nice touch. Not only does it show how overconfident she is but it reminds me a lot of how Crowley so desperately tries to protect Aziraphale to the point of self-destruction. As well as Shax saying that she is “unloved and unlovable”. That part imparticular feels like a deep insecurity for Crowley (and Maggie of course). 

“You’d have to be a Throne a Dominion or above” and all the archangel Crowley theorists aid YAY!

When Aziraphale says that all that his plan contains is the circle it is so clear how much faith he put into Crowley returning with a better plan. I love that they have faith in each other but the codependency is too far. Even Shax knows that Aziraphale is “Crowley's emotional support Angel”. They both rely on each other far too much for it to be healthy. (I desperately want them to be happy but I also NEED them to communicate)

The relief of Aziraphales's “You came back” is so torturous when you know what's gonna happen in like 2o minutes.

I do fully believe that Metatron feels that this was the best way to get Heaven and Hell to be at actual war. He recognized that Aziraphale and Crowley would not allow Heaven and Hell to go to war if they could prevent it. Instead, he made Aziraphale START the war (not really of course but ya know significant).

Okay so let us talk about the crack ship turned cannon, and how it could not have been done more beautifully. They had maybe a minute of discussion in season 1 and suddenly I am watching them fall in love. When I imagine soft romance it was not with them. They of course also represent what Crowley and Aziraphale COULD have. If they actually communicated and worked through stuff they too could feel the joy of living their own life. 

Aziraphale plainly asks Gabriel and Beezlepbub “What do you want?” and them HAVING AN ANSWER! If you asked Crowley and Aziraphale they would look at you and stutter profusely. 

The Angels not even being able to identify the Metaron is so telling. They don’t know how the earth works. They don’t know how Heaven works. They are so ignorant of everything and so self-righteous. Even the Metaron bringing Aziraphale coffee instead of tea shows how little anyone really knows. If anyone should know anything it would be him but no.

Crowley has begun to plan what they are gonna do, and he's cleaned up the bookshop so that WHEN Aziraphale returns they can continue living in their own little bubble. That my friends is why I sob.

Both Aziraphale and Crowley meet in the bookshop with such high hopes that they have solved the problem. They both believe they can now live happily because of their own solution. Once again they failed to communicate and this time it truly breaks both of their hearts.

I fully believe that Aziraphale telling Crowley about what Metatron said is completely unreliable. I do not believe that the Metatron would ever be so kind or know enough to say the correct things to Aziraphale. What we see the Metatron saying is actually what Aziraphale wants/believes he heard the Metatron say.

“Like the old times! Only even nicer!” For Crowley, it was never a nice time, especially now when it hurts to remember. 

I fully believe that Aziraphale cannot comprehend why Crowley is walking away. For the same reason that Crowley cannot comprehend why Aziraphale would even attempt what he was suggesting.

When Aziraphale turns around you can SEE the hope in his eyes. Then he sees the Metatron and he can’t even handle it so he turns back around. 

Then as Aziraphale is walked to the elevator what Crowley said in their argument/confession becomes true. WHEN heaven ends the world. Suddenly he understands but it's far too late.

Then Crowley gets his own moment of hoping that Aziraphale turns around, and of course, he doesn't.

Finale note, I fully believe that the Bently plays “A Nightengale Sang in Berkely Square” because it expected Aziraphale to get in. Because of course, Aziraphale would come back. EVEN THEIR CAR CAN’T COMPREHEND WHAT IS HAPPENING.

[i-booksandfandoms]

*me and the fam watching home videos when my bro was called baby -mums maiden name- at the hospital*

Mum: your dad got so angry you had my name; made the nurse change it

Dad: well how you would you feel if you were waiting so long to have your first child and they had someone else’s name

Mum:

Brother:

Me:

Me: have you ever spoken to a human woman

[todoscript]

how he would ask you out

request: pls some headcanons of how the boys (shinsou/tamaki/shouto) would ask the girl they like out 🥺

characters: shinsou hitoshi, amajiki tamaki, todoroki shouto

genre: fluff

word count: 3.3k+ total, 900-1200 per character

tags: pining, confessions, fem!reader

author’s notes: sorry if this sounds rushed?? i can’t write 

copyright 2021 todoscript, all rights reserved. i do not allow my creations to be published or translated anywhere else.

SHINSOU HITOSHI

two years after his enrollment into the hero course, shinsou had finally came to terms with the feelings he’s been holding for you for quite some time now.

what began as just friendly encounters and kind gestures felt like something more to him. after all, you were one of the key people that led him to transition smoothly into the class, with your helpful demeanor and coming to his aid whenever he was stressed and troubled by the new environment.

you went out of your way to organize study sessions and small arrangements to mingle and get to know the other students better.

you reiterated to him that if he ever had any questions about anything, he could always come to you.

initially, shinsou thought he was being a burden—that he was just heavy baggage that tied you down.

however, you assured he was anything but, and stated that you were more than happy to help him, even going to say you enjoyed spending time and getting to learn more about him.

at your response, shinsou was appalled at how genuine you were.

appalled… but also very grateful.

eventually, there came a point when he realized there was no mistaking the affection he felt for you—not when he subconsciously noted every one of your habits and intricacies, able to tell whatever emotions were running through you at a simple glance, or when he would stop to admire the way you decided to style your hair differently or changed your look, thinking you seemed even more charming that day by the confidence you exude.

no, at that point, he’s sure it was painfully obvious. so obvious, in fact, that kaminari and mina had chosen to skip today’s group study session in favor of letting the two of you have your “alone time”. whatever that could mean.

shinsou had grimaced over their excuse of “being too busy that day” when you had told him the reasoning they gave you over text, despite knowing their next exam was only a couple days away. recalling just how nosy and enthusiastic they could get when involved in these kinds of affairs, he had an inkling of what exactly those two were planning. you, on the other hand, seemed completely oblivious to their schemes.

however, what did latch onto your mind was the thought of spending the day with only shinsou, in his very room, sitting across from each other with your textbooks open in front of you. though you should be more attentive to your studies, you couldn’t help the palpitations beating loudly in your chest and your wandering eyes that snuck glances at him after every question you answered.

unbeknownst to you, shinsou mirrored your actions all the same, reciprocating the flustered behavior, albeit a bit more subtly.

keep calm, hitoshi. why are you getting all worked up? he would say to himself, putting on his usual facade.

although he came off as relatively calm and collected on the outside, it’s difficult to keep his emotions in check when actions never lie.

that was especially true as he reached his hand out for the eraser you two were sharing between each other. with his eyes continuing to gander down at his notes, he hadn’t noticed that you were lunging for the same thing—not until your fingers had suddenly touched and you both pulled away at a speed equivalent to making contact with fire.

his stare unfaltering, shinsou was surprised to discern the embarrassed look on your face that immediately fixed itself as you rummaged through your pencil pouch. a second later, you pulled out another eraser, one that was notably smaller than the one you were sharing.

“um.. i’ll just use this,” you offered, and shinsou rubbed the back of his neck, the whole situation more awkward than it needed to be considering you never had any trouble sharing your supplies with each other before.

through some examination of your demeanor, shinsou had made a… bold enough claim, thinking that maybe—just maybe—you held the same kind of affections for him as he did for you.

it’s like he recalled earlier—actions never lie—and shinsou didn’t let the quiver of your lips or the intense concentration at your work to avoid meeting his gaze go past his head. that’s what spurred him to finally act on his desires.

without warning, he leaned forward on his seat to lay his hand over yours that caught your attention. you met his eyes, astonished to say the least, but more so concerned by how your eyes widened before you were about to open your mouth to ask him what was wrong.

the violet-haired male beats you to your words, voice resonating firmly, “y/n.”

you blinked. “y-yeah..?”

“i know this might be a bit late coming from me, but,” you could feel his hand tighten atop yours, “after exams, do you want to catch a movie together? just the two of us?”

shinsou fought the urge to look away, bashful at how he made his declaration for your time. the warmth surging under his skin was alleviated at the smile that slowly curled on your lips as you rotate your wrist, your palm touching his. the expression washing over your features told him you’ve been waiting for him to ask you this for a while now.

“i’d love to.”

AMAJIKI TAMAKI

ever a shy and introverted individual, tamaki has never had the heart to ask you out despite years of harboring a crush on you.

every time the thought had crossed his mind, he’d reason poorly with himself that you wouldn’t be interested in him in that way.

it didn’t help that his low self-esteem only deepened that thought that had now rooted itself in his brain.

at such a prestigious school like u.a., you were bound to find someone far more compelling than him—someone with guts, confidence, and great social skills. not a guy like him who conjures the image of potatoes at every anxiety-inducing encounter he comes across.

he was relieved enough to settle himself comfortably as just your friend—a title that allowed him to stay close and keep within your circle, all the while subjecting him to simply admiring you from afar.

but his eyes that held a hidden longing for more weren’t overlooked by a fellow student of his. or to be precise, the ever curious and free-spirited, hadou nejire.

always aware of his surroundings, it was hard not to notice that peculiar stare she’d aim at him during moments where he might’ve just finished speaking to you, or when you’d pass by and his head would naturally drift in your direction.

it was like she was picking apart every detail laid on him and it made tamaki absolutely restless.

tamaki’s suspicions and anxiety were later raised during one instance at the lunch table. he was at his usual seat next to his other big three companions, mirio and the aforementioned nejire, who was eyeing him with a gleam in her eye.

even with his self-consciousness, tamaki did his best not to pay any mind to the undesired attention and munched on his plate of takoyaki—the octopus nestled in the batter sure to come in handy later in training that day.

to his dismay, you passed by their table with your tray of food in hand, and nejire did not waste any time calling you over in that cheery tone of hers.

she invited you to sit down with them. you gave her invitation some thought before ultimately placing yourself in the free spot next to mirio, with nejire and tamaki already seated across from you.

the girl was all smiles and hums while tamaki was in a state of distress, both at his friend’s odd behavior, which was starting to spell trouble, to having you pulled into all of this. mirio was just being mirio, welcoming as always.

you greeted everyone at the table, making eye contact with mirio and nejire, but tamaki evaded your line of sight. he simply waved his reply without breaking away from his balls of takoyaki.

luckily for him, you didn’t give his lack of words much thought and started digging into your own lunch. it was then that nejire found it appropriate to start up a conversation.

“y’know, y/n, i’ve been meaning to ask you this, from one girl to another,” she mused, finger waving around playfully, “are you interested in anyone here?”

upon hearing her question, tamaki almost choked on his bonito flakes, his cheeks puffed and eyes blown. meanwhile, your chewing slowed as you gave your answer some thought.

“uh… well–”

“i’d say fujita from class d is quite the looker! think you’d be interested in them?”

after swallowing the food in his mouth, tamaki began to subconsciously listen in on the conversation. he paid close attention to your responses with bated breath, a small part of him anticipating your answer highly.

“fujita’s nice and all, but i don’t think we’d really get along as a couple.”

tamaki mentally sighed, relief evident all over his face. it was then that mirio had started fitting the pieces together after watching his close friend’s brow wrinkle throughout the entire exchange before finally relaxing at your words. crossing his eyes with nejire’s only confirmed his suspicions as the girl sent him a wink.

as a friend, mirio wasn’t about to let nejire’s operations fall flat. getting up from his seat, he motioned tamaki to come with him.

“i heard they have extra yakisoba bread right now! we should go check it out!” he said as a guise to give the other two time to themselves, free from tamaki’s prying ears.

unaware that mirio had caught on so quickly, tamaki didn’t object to tagging along with him. mostly because he thought of this as an opportunity to get some fresh air and calm his racing heart, finally feeling the effects of the blood rushing to his face.

with tamaki supposedly out of earshot, nejire was free to go about her questions however she wanted.

“okay then, if not fujita, then who? there has to be someone, right?” the girl scooted further in her seat out of pure curiosity. “tell me, is it perhaps someone in our class?”

it was your turn to be stricken by her boldness. you tried picking at your food, stuffing it into your mouth to avoid answering, but nejire’s tenacity outmatched you.

finishing your lunch, you opened your mouth to speak, “actually, the person i’m interested in is pretty close to you…”

nejire feigned ignorance, innocently placing a finger under her chin. “who? mirio?”

“ah no, it’s tamaki, alright?!” you ended up blurting, voice hushed but frantic.

bingo. hearing exactly what she wanted, nejire returned to her original position, a triumphant grin plastered on her lips. replaying what you said out loud in your head, you buried your warm face in your hands.

unbeknownst to you, tamaki had ended up hearing the whole exchange around the corner coming back to their table as mirio lightly snickered at his revelation of an expression.

the blond patted his shoulder. “go on then, you know what to do.” he threw tamaki an encouraging thumbs-up.

the boy gulped in response before inhaling a deep breath of air to prepare himself for what would arguably be the most important yet stress-inducing moment of his life so far.

noticing you getting up to discard your tray, tamaki—through a final push from mirio—went to make his move.

hearing him suddenly call out to you, you were caught off-guard. after admitting to your crush on tamaki to nejire, you felt your cheeks get hot just seeing his face right afterward.

“oh hey, did you get your hands on those yakisoba breads?” you scraped up a way to start the conversation.

“right... that… mirio managed to get the last one in the cafeteria,” he answered. then he brought his hand to rub his elbow, fidgeting in his spot as he found it difficult to look you in the eyes again.

“tamaki? something wrong? are you upset that he got the last yakisoba bread?”

he shook his head. “no, i… it’s just… i’ve been meaning to ask you this for a long time now, but never had the courage to say it to you because i didn’t think you ever liked me that way. but…” he finally mustered the determination to face you head-on. “would you go out with me, y/n?”

at first, you were speechless—absent of words as you relayed his request in your mind over and over again. then, your eyes softened, lips easing into a smile as you reached out for his hand.

“i thought you’d never ask.”

TODOROKI SHOUTO

it’s no surprise to many that when it came to asking someone out, todoroki didn’t exactly know the first thing to do.

mostly because he’s never asked anyone out to begin with.

you were the first person he’s ever felt these kinds of emotions for, and to be frank, he wasn’t sure what to make of everything that had been going through him when that root of infatuation had started to bloom inside him.

rather than sulk or contemplate on his thoughts for too long, he surmised it was best to simply come clean and ask for advice.

but when he confessed to what had been on his mind lately, he wasn’t expecting such a vigorous response from his friends.

“i’ve been thinking about asking y/n out.”

there was a layer of uncomfortable silence amongst the group before all hell eventually broke loose.

midoriya, uraraka, and iida immediately sprung from their seats in the common room, yelling “what?!” in unison. tsuyu and her frog-like mannerisms were more idle, but still surprised nonetheless.

todoroki was unfazed by their reactions, actually expecting it to go that way considering he’s never brought up any topics of that nature before. at the very least, he’s thankful he decided to say this when it was just the five of them. compared to what the whole class’s reaction would have been like, this was incredibly tame.

todoroki was used to always listening to what others had to say and never being the subject of the conversation when it came to dating.

but now things were different. he was openly admitting to them that he was regarding someone romantically. that he possibly sought a relationship with this someone—wanting to be committed to them and become the very best person he could be right next to them. to the four, this was coming completely out of left field.

after everyone simmered down and let the news sink in, the dual-haired boy resumed his thought,

“but i’m not sure how to do it.”

though the entirety of the group never had any experiences when it came to dating, they knew enough from media and pop culture to get an idea on how to help him. more than todoroki could imagine on his own anyway.

“i know! how about we go with the romantic and suave approach!” uraraka suggested. the rest asked her to elaborate.

“it’s simple! it starts by you leaving a note on her desk right before class, saying to meet you on the rooftop of the school! before the designated time, you should wait there for her with a bouquet of flowers, and then when she arrives, confess your feelings and ask her out!”

midoriya rubbed a finger against his cheek, skeptical. “i don’t think that sounds as simple as you’re making it out to be.”

tsuyu chimed in beside him. “those kinds of ideas usually only work well in books, ochako.”

pursing her lips, uraraka gave her plan a once-over, and realized it did seem a bit more involved and out of character than what todoroki was used to.

despite sharing a few more ideas with one another, they couldn’t narrow it down to any perfect one.

that was when iida clapped his hand, bringing everyone’s attention to him.

“alright, i think we’re starting to blow this whole ‘operation’ way out of proportion,” he said.

“if you’re honest about the way you feel about her and show it sincerely, i’m sure she’ll consider your feelings. you don’t have to do anything extravagant when it comes to asking someone out.”

listening throughout every word, todoroki nodded. meanwhile the other three were astonished that their class representative could be so whimsical when it came to romance, which in turn, iida was conflicted by. however, at the very least he was glad they could help out a friend. and so, todoroki went about his day with their discussion in mind.

he found that in many occurrences, whenever he crossed by you and thought of it as a chance to ask you out, there would always be someone to come in and take your time away. leaving him to stand there awkwardly before dismissing the fated question for later.

eventually, the sky dimmed and evening arrived, and by then, the whole class was already back at their dormitory and about to have dinner.

through some rather convenient circumstances, you two were actually assigned on kitchen duty that night.

“it’s been getting pretty cold lately so i was thinking we should cook up a hot pot for everyone.” you gave your idea to him as you pulled out some ingredients from the fridge, waiting for his reply, but it came a few seconds later than you were expecting.

“right. sounds like a good idea,” todoroki answered a tad late. upon realizing it was only going to be the two of you making dinner tonight, his mind was occupied by what he and his friends spoke about earlier.

that was when he started overthinking the situation and absentmindedly half-assed his work.

“todoroki, the cut on the tofu is slightly uneven.” you reviewed his cutting board. looking down, he saw the inconsistent slices of tofu limp in front of him. if bakugou were the executive chef for the evening, he would’ve had to hear an earful from him.

“sorry…” he apologized quietly, reaching out for another cube of tofu to cut.

“is everything okay? i know you’re still learning how to cook, but i’ve seen you show some significant improvement on your knife skills recently.” you voiced your concern for him.

the white and red-haired boy stared at the white bean curd while hearing your worried tone and couldn’t find it within himself to continue the task. it was now or never he thought. he laid the knife flat on the cutting board.

“actually, i wanted to ask you something.” he turned toward you. “do you… want to go out with me?”

nothing but the sound of the fire running on the stove could be heard in the kitchen. todoroki didn’t move his eyes away from you, watching you nearly drop the plate of siu choy and shiitake mushrooms out of shock as your mouth was hanging open.

when you caught onto your bearings, you let out a small laugh. “oh… i… wasn’t expecting that,” you admitted honestly, placing the ingredients on the counter safely.

the boy furrowed his brows. “is that a no?”

“n-no! i mean that isn’t my answer! i–” you fumbled with your words, cheeks warming up now that his confession had finally sunk in. in the meantime, todoroki found your reaction quite amusing. the corner of his lip quirked into a grin.

“what i mean to say is that yes, i’d love to go out with you.” you accepted the offer wholeheartedly. todoroki would be lying if his heart wasn’t throbbing from anticipation. he’s glad he’s able to rest and put that aside.

“now let’s continue making this hot pot together!” you cheered, smiling widely and he found comfort in your words before resuming slicing the tofu.

[hispipsqueak]

Hunger

Beel x F!Reader NSFW

Synopsis: After a chaotic week at the House of Lamentation, you need a night out and your favorite demon is there to accompany you in more ways than one.

A/N: Hello! Here’s another smut of my favorite demon brother. I just really like Beel and so this is some v self-indulgent content. As always, likes and shares are mighty appreciated <3 Also there is a mention of Beel lifting the reader up during this. I HC all the brothers as extremely inhumanly strong and big so they could EASILY lift anyone up regardless of size. I know some people may get uncomfortable with that, but we are inclusive in these parts.

Tags/TW: unprotected sex, drunk/tipsy sex, distracted driving, rough sex, demon sex, drinking, creampie, slight cumflation?

You woke up to the sound of fighting outside your door. 

  “Mammon, I know you took it. That’s LIMITED EDITION Ruri-chan merch, you scum!”

“I didn’t take ANYTHING! Why ya’ always accusin’ me?”

“Are you two going to keep fighting? I’m trying to get beauty sleep! I require at least 9 hours for my youthful complexion!”

“Ridiculous.”

“HEY! Don’t do that!”

“Tell him to give it back!”

“Or what?”

You grabbed your pillow and pressed it against your face. Living with the demons was an...experience, to say the least. You could still make out the muffled voices even through the soft fabric and let out a low groan. You threw open the door.

“Mammon, stop being an ass and give the figure back. Levi, keep your door locked. Asmo, your complexion is fine. SHUT UP.”

The boys stopped yelling and looked at you. It was rare for you to yell at them, but you were TIRED. They had kept you up half the night with pointless arguments and texts asking you to be on their side and you were exhausted from it.

Mammon was the first to speak.

“Yeah, you heard her. You guys keep trying to start fights and it’s exhausting the poor human.” He threw his arm around you, and you groaned. 

“You know what? You clearly don’t listen to me. It’s fine. But you’re gonna regret it. I can’t be so stressed all the time with this. I’m going out tonight. AND I DON’T WANT ANY OF YOU TO JOIN ME!”

Lucifer appeared out of nowhere and glared at you.

“That’s impossible. You know it’s too dangerous for a human to go out by themselves here. I’ll go with you.”

His stare was piercing into your soul, but you stood your ground. You fought the shakiness in your voice.

“No. I made it very clear. I do not want any of you to join me. Respect my decision.”

An audible gasp came from one of the boys. No one stood up to Lucifer. Sure Satan and Belphie argued with him, but coming from you? This was going to be interesting.

“You are not leaving this house without a chaperone. Now you can either stay in, or I will accompany you.”

You narrowed your eyes. And then an idea in the shape of an orange haired demon boy came walking down the hall.

“Fine. I’ll take Beel.”

The rest of the brothers began to protest.

“I’ll go!”

“No, me. She’s my human!”

“Seriously?? Beel?”

“ENOUGH.” Lucifer bellowed, silencing everyone. Before he could continue, you interjected.

“Beel will you go with me to The Fall tonight?”

Beel looked up from his bag of chips. His lack of situational awareness when he was focused on food was astonishing really.

“Of course MC, and we can grab dinner after too.”

You cocked your head at Lucifer.

“Then it’s settled.”

And with that, you turned back into your room and slammed the door.

-----

The night couldn’t come fast enough. You had been ignoring texts and knocks on your door all day from the rest of the brothers and you were ready to go drink, dance, and flirt the night away.

You didn’t expect Beel to do much of either but he was good company and you know he would get the best food in town. As you finished applying your makeup, you heard a knock at the door. Beel’s deep voice rang out.

“You ready, MC?”

You took another look in the mirror. Your black dress accented every curve of your body. The halter top showed off your shoulders and the keyhole cut showed off your cleavage. Your hair was loosely tousled and you spritzed a bit of perfume over yourself before heading to the door. 

“Yeah I’m—” Your voice caught in your throat.

Beel, the goofy, relaxed guy cleaned up WELL. He had a dark leather jacket over a white v-neck that accentuated his muscular figure. He had a few silver chains layered around his neck and a couple silver rings on his hands. He was wearing dark jeans and black boots and...fuck...he looked HOT.

You always knew Beel was attractive, but this...this was new. You had half a mind to cancel the night and drag him into your bed.

You turned away, to grab your handbag and hide your heated face and Beel took the opportunity to stare at you. He had always found you gorgeous, but knowing he was the lucky guy accompanying you to the club had him feeling some type of way. HIs eyes roamed your body and locked on every inch of skin exposed. He could feel his body heat up and when you finally had grabbed your stuff, he prayed you wouldn’t notice his apparent blush.

The two of you headed to his car, a shiny black Ferrari, and he opened the door to let you in the passenger seat. You could tell he had cleaned it, since the usual bed of snack wrappers that adorned the interior were gone. You smiled at the gesture and he waited until you were situated before closing the door and getting in on his side. 

As he drove to the Fall, you admired him. His body was massive and built and his hands, god his hands, looked so good gripping the wheel. You imagined what they would feel like wrapped around your neck or clutching the sheets —

“...I really think it would be cool!”

You blinked. 

“Sorry, I completely spaced out. What?”

He glanced at you and chuckled.

“You look like you’re thinking a lot about something. What’s up?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I’m just happy I get to have fun tonight.” You shot him a smile.

Beel blushed. “I’m happy I get to hang out with you.”

He pulled into the parking space and opened your door for you. As the two of you walked towards the entrance of the club, he could see a few demons checking you out. He pulled you close to him and wrapped his hand around your waist, before throwing them a dark look.

Your mind reeled. You pressed into him and could smell the spicy scent of his cologne. You hoped the dimness of the club and the thumping music hid how much your heart was beating. You flagged down a waitress for a shot of something and handed one to Beel. The two of you toasted before downing the glasses.

The sweet liquid electrified you and you could feel your body loosen. You looked at Beel to see him licking his lips. He grabbed two more glasses from a passing waiter and passed one to you. Another clink of the shot glasses and this time the drink was rich and fiery as it slid down your throat. As the two of you polished off more drinks, you began to feel restless.

You tugged on his hand, emboldened by the alcohol.

“Dance with me.”

He nodded and let you pull him into the sea of moving bodies.

You pressed yourself against him with your back to his chest. His hands were wrapped around you, gently but firmly pulling you into him. The bass drummed in your body and you threw your head back into him. The combination of alcohol and the crowd, not to mention his fingers sliding down your thighs made your body heat up and you felt so good. 

Beel leaned into you, tilting his head down. His breath tickled your ear, as his low voice whispered. 

“How do you feel, cupcake?”

“Good, so good.” you breathed out, not even sure if he heard you. He must have though, because he twirled you so you were facing him. You looked up at him through your eyelashes. His skin was flushed and he had a cute smirk on his lips. The flashing club lights cast a hazy neon glow behind him. Before you could stop yourself, you pressed your lips against his.

His mouth tasted sweet and warm. He deepened the kiss as his hands ran down your back, gripping at your ass. Your tongues danced in each other’s mouths and you dug your nails into his shirt, feeling the hard muscles underneath. You could feel his excitement press against your thigh through his jeans and you let out a soft moan into his mouth. 

Beel let out a pained groan. 

“I need you, right now.” he whispered into your neck, pressing hungry kisses down.

“Not here. Home.” you gasped out. While you weren’t against fucking in the club bathroom, Beel was the largest demon there and it would be plainly obvious if you tried to sneak in with each other.

He nodded and pulled your hand as you headed out of the building. You made your way to his car while he continued to kiss and suck on every bit of exposed skin. He pushed you up against the door of the black car and kissed you eagerly.

“Fuck...cupcake, you’re so delicious. Need more of you.”

You moaned. It was taking all of your willpower to not let him bend you over the hood of his car, but you resisted. 

“Take us home and then show me how much you need me.” You whispered into his neck, before leaving a soft kiss. 

As Beel drove, his other hand was gripping your thigh, dangerously close to your heat. You leaned over and kissed down his neck, leaving soft bites on the sensitive skin. He let out a low grunt, and slid his hand up your dress, running a thick finger across your clothed pussy. You were soaked and he could feel your arousal through the thin fabric.

You grinded against his hand, craving any bit of stimulation from him. He pressed his fingers against you, teasing your slit through your clothes. 

The car slowed in front of the House of Lamentation and he pulled his hand away. He turned to you and whispered.

“We have to be quiet.”

The two of you stumbled into the house, looking around for any of the other occupants. It was dark and silent. Beel pushed you against the heavy front door and kissed you deeply. You wrapped your hands around his shoulders as he lifted you up with your back against the door. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he continued kissing your lips, trailing down your neck and shoulders.

“Beel we should go. Someone might see us!” You breathed out, half delirious from how good his mouth felt on you.

“Good. I want them to know you’re mine.” he growled into your skin, leaving what was sure to be dark marks to explain away later.

“Lucifer will kill us.” You giggled, though your resolve was crumbling away with every kiss. Beel grunted, and then pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours. His amethyst eyes sparkled from the moonlight.

“Yeah, actually that is a pretty scary thought. Let’s go to your room.”

The two of you crept to your door, being extra cautious when you passed each brother’s room. As soon as you clicked the lock, Beel picked you up and easily tossed you onto the plush bedsheets. 

“Finally.” He growled, before pushing up your dress and pressing hot kisses against your thighs. You let out a soft whimper. He tugged at the thin lacy material covering you and you felt him smirk against you.

“So pretty.”

He slowly dragged them down and pressed his mouth against your folds. His tongue flattened and lapped at your cunt, eliciting a loud moan from you. He circled your clit with his tongue, before sucking it into his mouth. You clawed at the sheets. 

“Fuck...Beel please! Need you.”

He continued his delicious assault on your body, pressing his tongue inside you.

“You taste so good. Please cum in my mouth. Wan’ taste you” He mumbled into your pussy. You writhed against his mouth and you could feel your thighs tense up and attempt to close on him. He gripped into the soft flesh of them and forced your legs apart while he continued, pushing you closer to your release.

“Fuck...Beel! I’m gonna–”, was all you could muster before you felt the rush of your orgasm hit you. He groaned into your cunt as he guzzled you down.  Your eyes fluttered and you tried to push his head away.

“No...mine...so good.” He moaned hungrily. Your body shook against him.

“S’ sensitive, please…” you begged. Beel was the avatar of gluttony and you knew he could spend days between your thighs but you wanted him, all of him.

He pulled away, his face wet with your juices. His eyes were hazy and unfocused and he looked drunk on you. He pulled off his shirt and jeans before pushing you back into the soft bed. You took this moment to take a look at his cock and your eyes widened. Before you could panic, he was on top of you. His silver chains dangled off his neck as he towered over you and his hands held your wrists above your head. You gazed up at him and your breath hitched as he lined his cock up with your entrance. Beel was BIG and you knew it was going to be a tight squeeze. Sensing your hesitation, he pressed a kiss to your lips.

“I’ll go slow and tell me if you need me to stop.” He looked at you waiting for confirmation. You nodded and bit your lip.

“Please…” you whispered and he pushed into you.

The stretch was intense and your eyes watered as he eased himself into you. But quickly the pain morphed into an intense pleasure. You felt every vein of his cock press against your walls and he stilled. 

“You okay, cupcake?” 

You nodded, and he pulled slightly out before slowly rocking back into you. You felt so full and started to buck your hips against him. He started fucking into you faster and you cried out as his cock hit the most pleasurable spots inside you.

“Fuck...fuck...fuck. So good! Feel’s so fucking good.” you moaned out as Beel slammed into you. You opened your eyes and noticed Beel had transformed into his demon form. His horns glinted in the light that streamed in from your window and your eyes rolled back. 

“So good. Squeezing me so tight...I wanted this so long. Let me claim you, MC. Make you mine.” Beel grunted as he fucked you into the mattress. You could feel his claws dig into the skin around your wrist and you squeezed your legs around him, pressing him closer into you.

“Yes...I’m yours! Please...fuck me, use me. I need you so goddamn bad!” you wailed, feeling your second orgasm of the night rapidly approach you. He kissed you hard and you tasted the desire on his tongue as you thrashed under him. You could feel the soft walls of your cunt clenching tighter against his cock and every cell in your body was on the edge of explosion. You felt stars dance behind your eyes and you gripped at his biceps, dragging your nails down across the lightly tanned skin.

“I’m gonna–gonna…” Beel grunted, his thrusts getting sloppier and faster. His breath was ragged and he pushed his cock as deep as he could. 

Your pussy clamped down around his cock and you arched your back from the sheets as you gushed around him. Beel’s eyes rolled back and he groaned as he shot his cum deep inside you. You could feel his hot cum spurt into your cunt and he gripped your shoulders tightly as he rode out his release. He slowly pulled out of you, before using two fingers to scoop the dripping cum back into your hole.

“So good. So full.” He mumbled. You looked down and could see the slight bulge from the amount of cum he had filled you with. You laid back down and sighed in satisfaction.

“Fuck that was amazing.” you whispered, suddenly aware of how loud the two of you had been.

He got up and pulled you against his chest, running his fingers through your hair.

“It really was. I wanna do that again.” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your head. You giggled and buried deeper in his chest.

“Maybe not tonight, but yes we will definitely do that again.” you mumbled into him, smiling as your eyes started to close. Before the both of you drifted off to sleep, your eyes widened.

“Beel!” you whispered, startling him awake, “We never got dinner!”

It was silent for a moment before the two of you burst into laughter. Beel grinned before softly speaking.

“It’s strange MC. When I’m with you, I don’t feel as hungry. It’s like another part of me is full.”

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. A soft smile danced on your lips and you kissed him, pouring as much love into the kiss as possible. You pulled away and buried yourself into the crook of his neck, and as your breath slowed and you fell deeper into sleep, Beel wrapped himself around you and let himself rest.

[cosmicjoke]

Saezuru chap 7 observations

Well, Kageyama truly is an idiot.  His conversation with Doumeki is so frustrating, because he’s just so oblivious.  He tells Doumeki that Yashiro never sympathized with anyone, and could never connect with anyone, while the entire time they were together in high school, he did both of those very things with Kage himself.  This is purely Kage projecting too.  He says he liked that about Yashiro, that he wasn’t interested in anyone, and never sympathized, but he’s describing himself.  He “liked that” about Yashiro because that’s who Kageyama is.  This is what a truly self-absorbed person looks like.  He can’t see past himself in any situation.  It’s truly Yashiro’s hard luck to have fallen in love with a guy like this.  He tells Doumeki that he did try to get Yashiro to leave the Yakuza, but admits at the same time that he didn’t think he ever had any chance of surviving in regular society, which pretty much tells us that he didn’t try very hard, because he never believed in Yashiro, or his ability to do anything more with his life.  Him punching Yashiro too, after Yashiro tells him that if he was bothered by him being a Yakuza so much, he wouldn’t mind him disassociating from him, and then telling him it would be easier for him, shows Kage’s truly terminal lack of self-awareness.  After the way he treated Yashiro in school, pretty much never showing any interest in him, or genuine concern for his situation or circumstances, it’s only natural for Yashiro to think Kage wouldn’t want to be associated with him any more.  So Kage’s brilliant response to that is to hit Yashiro, and stupidly think that made Yashiro happy, and then get upset because of his own failure to find out more about his supposedly best friend.  He even admits to Doumeki that he never asked for details regarding Yashiro’s life, but then blames Yashiro for not being able to connect to anyone.  Yashiro tried sharing details with him, and Kage’s entire response consisted of “oh”.  Jesus.  

As unaffected as Yashiro acted after making his presence known, it’s obvious that Kage’s words really hurt him, as evidenced by his thoughts afterward in the car, when he realizes that Kage only continues to “indulge him”, to associate with him, because he still feels sorry for him, and thinks of him as pitiable.  Kage acts like he’s doing Yashiro a favor by putting up with all the “trouble” Yashiro brings him, as if he’s the saintly one in this situation.  Kage tells Doumeki that Yashiro is still just as much of a kid as he was in high school, and that he doesn’t connect with anyone, but it’s Kage who failed to grow and mature at all, failed to ever, truly make the effort to sympathize or empathize with anyone, or understand anyone.  In contrast, it’s Yashiro who’s always held a deep well of compassion and sympathy for others.  This is something that Doumeki sees and has observed in Yashiro even with regards to himself, remembering how Yashiro reconnected him with his sister, etc...  Doumeki’s anger at Kageyama is more than justified, his astonishment at his failure to see what a beautiful and faithful person Yashiro is just as much so.  He points out to Kage that Yashiro cares about him, to which Kage acts completely confused (because he’s a self-absorbed idiot), and tells him that Yashiro will want to keep their connection up into the future.  He understands that, even though being around Kageyama is painful for Yashiro, for how it reminds him constantly of Kage’s rejection, he still wants to remain friends and still cares about him enough to endure that pain, and more than that even, goes out of his way to better Kage’s life, by setting him up with Kuga, for example, even as it obliterates whatever last vestiges of hope he might have had for Kage to one day reciprocate his feelings.  It becomes doubly ironic then that Kage truly believes he’s the one doing Yashiro a favor by supposedly putting up with him and his “trouble”.

Doumeki doesn’t understand why he’s so angry and hurt, but it’s because he realizes the cruelty of what Yashiro’s endured at the hands of Kage, all without Kage even being self-aware enough to realize it himself after more than 15 years of friendship.  He’s angry and hurt on Yashiro’s behalf, even as Yashiro has been so beaten down and abused in his life, that he doesn’t know how to be those things for himself.  This is a really important thing, I think.  It shows how, even if Yashiro doesn’t possess the necessary tools in life to defend himself against others, those tools being a sense of self-worth and self-love, which in turn would allow him to feel angry on his own behalf for how badly he’s been treated, and therefor demand better treatment from others, Doumeki can do it for him.  He can be the one to demand better treatment for Yashiro, to force others to treat him with the respect and kindness he actually deserves.  Yashiro may never be able to see himself as worth those things, may never learn to demand those things for himself, but Doumeki can act as the shield which protects him instead, and the sword which demands them.

Also, we see how hurt Yashiro is by Doumeki’s turning him down in the movie theater for a blow job.  His immediate response is to think that Doumeki must hate it, which could translate as Doumeki hating Yashiro (which of course isn’t even close to true).  But coming off of what happened at the end of chapter 6, Yashiro is no doubt feeling fragile and unsure, while struggling with his own, confused feelings for Doumeki.  He gets defensive because of it, and a lot of that hurt bleeds through in his words when he angrily tells Doumeki he won’t do it anymore then, if he hates it that much.  The panel after, when Doumeki tells him he doesn’t hate it, but fails to explain why he’s rejecting him, shows Yashiro’s plainly hurt expression.  Just like we saw Yashiro get mad after Doumeki failed to understand what he wanted while they were role playing, and took it out on poor Nanahara, we see him do the same here, when he takes his hurt and confusion out on the theater attendant.   Yashiro’s been pretty much abandoned and rejected by every person in his life who was ever supposed to care about him, and so that fear is clearly ever present for him.  Like he’s just waiting for it to happen. He’s started to fall in love with Doumeki, but he doesn’t yet know that Doumeki really cares about him too.  He doesn’t know yet that Doumeki wouldn’t abandon him for anything.  He’s wondering, after they leave the theater, why Doumeki wouldn’t let him blow him, but still wanted him to stay.  Doumeki’s turning him down seems to him like a clear rejection, but it conflicts with his desire for Yashiro’s company, and the two things don’t fit together.  Yashiro’s hurt feelings really reveal just how deeply he wants Doumeki’s acceptance and love, already at this point, even if he isn’t conscious of it.  

I think this is really interesting too, in how well is shows just how hard it was for Yashiro to let Doumeki go, in the end.  Even this early on in the story, Yashiro fears Doumeki’s abandonment and rejection.  He fears losing him, either by Doumeki’s own choice, or as he realizes later, by his being killed while trying to protect him.  The thought is terrifying to Yashiro.  He doesn’t want to be alone, he doesn’t want to be abandoned.  Doumeki being out of his life is something which would be deeply painful and terrible for him, a repeat of the loneliness and isolation he felt after Kageyam’s rejection, only even worse.  He longs for Doumeki’s acceptance and love.  And yet, for Doumeki’s sake, because he genuinely believed it was what was best for him, he tried again and again and again to make Doumeki leave, even to the point of trying to make Doumeki hate him.  He was willing to vilify himself to Doumeki if it meant Doumeki’s safety, and likely eradicating any hope or chance for Doumeki’s continued love and care in the process.  This goes back to Yashiro’s selflessness.  It was a total self-sacrifice.  He went directly against his own interestes, his own desires, his own feelings and even his own needs, to protect Doumeki.  He let go of the one thing he longed for most, all for the person he loved.  Talk about romantic.  

[whitneywrites]

Writing Guide 003 - Feelings

The following categories are included in this guide:

Words to describe positive feelings

Words to describe negative feelings

Positive Feelings:

accepting - regard favorably or with approval; welcome

admiration - respect and warm approval

affection - a gentle feeling of fondness or liking

altruism - a feeling or behavior that shows a desire to help other people and a lack of selfishness

amazed - greatly surprised; astonished

amusement - something that causes laughter or provides entertainment

appreciative - feeling or showing gratitude or pleasure

at ease - free from worry, awkwardness, or problems; relaxed

attraction - a quality or feature that evokes interest, liking, or desire

blissful - extremely happy; full of joy

bold - showing an ability to take risks

brave - ready to face and endure danger or pain; showing courage

calm - not showing or feeling nervousness, anger, or other strong emotions

cheerful - noticeably happy and optimistic

comfortable - providing physical ease and relaxation

confident - feeling or showing confidence in oneself; self-assured

content - in a state of peaceful happiness

courageous - not deterred by danger or pain

delighted - feeling or showing great pleasure

ecstatic - feeling or expressing overwhelming happiness or joyful excitement

elated - ecstatically happy

enraptured - give intense pleasure or joy to

euphoric - characterized by or feeling intense excitement and happiness

excited - very enthusiastic and eager

exhilarated - very happy, animated, or elated

exultant - triumphantly happy

exuberant - filled with or characterized by a lively energy and excitement

fascination - the power to fascinate someone; the quality of being fascinating

frisky - very playful or lively

generous - showing a readiness to give more of something

glad - pleased; delighted

gleeful - exuberantly or triumphantly joyful

goodwill - friendly, helpful, or cooperative feelings or attitude

gratitude - the quality of being thankful; readiness to show appreciation for and to return kindness

great - very good or satisfactory; excellent

happy - feeling or showing pleasure or contentment

hopeful - feeling or inspiring optimism

inspire - create (a feeling, especially a positive one) in a person

jaunty - having or expressing a lively, cheerful, and self-confident manner

jolly - happy and cheerful

jovial - characterized by good-humored cheerfulness and conviviality

joy - a feeling of great pleasure and happiness

jubilant - feeling or expressing great happiness and triumph

liberated - given liberty; freed; released

love - an intense feeling of deep affection

merry - cheerful and lively

mirthful - full of mirth; merry or amusing

optimistic - hopeful and confident about the future

overjoyed - extremely happy

passionate - showing or caused by strong feelings or a strong belief

peaceful - free from disturbance; tranquil

playful - full of play or fun

pleased - feeling or showing pleasure and satisfaction

provocative - arousing sexual desire or interest, especially deliberately

rapturous - characterized by, feeling, or expressing great pleasure or enthusiasm

reassured - to restore to assurance or confidence

relaxed - free from tension and anxiety; at ease

relief - a feeling of reassurance and relaxation following release from anxiety or distress

safe - free from harm or risk

satisfied - contented; pleased

serene - calm, peaceful, and untroubled; tranquil

surprised - feeling or showing surprise

sympathetic - feeling, showing, or expressing sympathy

tickled -  cause (someone) amusement or pleasure

thrilled - cause (someone) to have a sudden feeling of excitement and pleasure

triumphant - feeling or expressing jubilation after having won a victory or mastered a difficulty

understanding - sympathetically aware of other people's feelings; tolerant and forgiving

victorious - having won a victory; triumphant

wonderful - inspiring delight, pleasure, or admiration; extremely good; marvelous

Negative Feelings:

agony - extreme physical or mental suffering

alone - feeling unhappy because of being separated from other people

anger - a strong feeling of annoyance, displeasure, or hostility

annoyed - slightly angry; irritated

anxious - experiencing worry, unease, or nervousness

ashamed - embarrassed or guilty because of one's actions, characteristics, or associations

bad - regretful, guilty, or ashamed about something

belittle - make (someone or something) seem unimportant.

betrayed - treacherously abandoned, deserted, or mistreated

bitter - unhappy and angry because of unfair treatment

boiling - (of a person or strong emotion) be stirred up or inflamed

cheated - deceive or trick

confused - unable to think clearly; bewildered

criticized - indicate the faults of (someone or something) in a disapproving way

cross - annoyed

degraded - treated or regarded with contempt or disrespect

demoralized - having lost confidence or hope; disheartened

depressed - in a state of general unhappiness or despondency.

despair - utter loss of hope

detest - dislike intensely

discouraged -having lost confidence or enthusiasm; disheartened

disgusted -feeling or expressing revulsion or strong disapproval

dissatisfied - not content or happy with something

distressed - suffering from anxiety, sorrow, or pain

doubtful - feeling uncertain about something

enraged - very angry; furious

embarrassed - feeling or showing embarrassment

fearful - feeling afraid; showing fear or anxiety

foolish - lacking good sense or judgment; unwise

frightened - afraid or anxious

frustrated - feeling or expressing distress and annoyance, especially because of inability to change or achieve something

fuming - feeling, showing, or expressing great anger

guilty - conscious of or affected by a feeling of guilt

hateful - arousing, deserving of, or filled with hatred

helpless - unable to help oneself; weak or dependent

hopeless - feeling or causing despair about something

hostile - unfriendly; antagonistic

humiliated - to make (someone) ashamed or embarrassed

hurt - feel mental pain or distress

incensed - very angry; enraged

indignant - feeling or showing anger or annoyance at what is perceived as unfair treatment

infuriated - make (someone) extremely angry and impatient

insecure - deficient in assurance : beset by fear and anxiety

insulted - speak to or treat with disrespect or scornful abuse

irritated - showing or feeling slight anger; annoyed

jealous - feeling or showing envy of someone or their achievements and advantages

left out - to feel that one is not included in something

lonely - sad because one has no friends or company

lost - very confused or insecure or in great difficulties

lousy - wretchedly bad; miserable

mad - very angry

miserable - wretchedly unhappy or uncomfortable

misunderstood - wrongly or imperfectly understood

numb - unable to think, feel, or respond normally

offended - resentful or annoyed, typically as a result of a perceived insult

overwhelmed - completely overcome or overpowered by thought or feeling

panicky - feeling or characterized by uncontrollable fear or anxiety

pathetic - arousing pity, especially through vulnerability or sadness

powerless - without ability, influence, or power

prideful - having an excessively high opinion of oneself

rejected - fail to show due affection or concern for (someone); rebuff

repulsed - cause (someone) to feel intense distaste and aversion

resentful - feeling or expressing bitterness or indignation at having been treated unfairly

scorned - feel or express contempt or derision for

screwed - in a difficult or hopeless situation; ruined or broken

sickened - make (someone) feel disgusted or appalled

small - insignificant; unimportant

suffocated - feeling trapped and oppressed

tense - causing or showing anxiety and nervousness

terrible - extremely or distressingly bad or serious

terrified - cause to feel extreme fear

tormented - experiencing or characterized by severe physical or mental suffering

uneasy - causing or feeling anxiety; troubled or uncomfortable

unloved - not loved

unwanted - not wanted or needed

upset - a state of being unhappy, disappointed, or worried

useless - not fulfilling or not expected to achieve the intended purpose or desired outcome

woeful - characterized by, expressive of, or causing sorrow or misery

worried - anxious or troubled about actual or potential problems

[qqueenofhades]

So like. What if there were a fic of Ivan and Fedyor falling in love? Just saying. Someone could write that...(and could that someone be you?!)

Fedyor Kaminsky is brought to the Little Palace when he is nine years old. Before that, he has lived his whole life in the place he was born: a small village about twenty miles southeast of Kribirsk. It is just close enough for him to be constantly aware of the Shadow Fold, looming like a thunderstorm on a hot summer day, and to know, also, the honor that it is when the examiners arrive, he receives a sharp prick in the arm, some sort of strange result takes place, and he is formally declared to be Grisha. His parents know it too, and are eager to tell him of it. They are not well off, and Fedyor is the sixth of seven children. The payment for their patriotic service will be welcome, and while his mother hugs him tightly and tells him to make the Saints proud, he feels, somehow, that they are not that grieved to see the back of him. He is the only child from his village that has been picked, and they all assemble to see him off. Just think. One of their own, in the Second Army.

Fedyor cries himself to sleep his first night in the dormitories, as most of the children do. But he wakes fully rested, hungry for breakfast, and eager to throw himself into his new life. He has a sunny temperament, a personable nature, that serves him well here, and any talented Grisha can climb high in the ranks, almost as high as the Black General himself. Back home, what did he have to look forward to, aside from the taunts and punches of his brothers, who always saw him as more like one of their sisters than one of them? He is learning things here. Religion and medicine and geography and history. And, of course, the arcane art of the Small Science, the one thing that binds these young people from all across Ravka. Their power, their responsibility, and their upcoming effort in the endless wars.

His first few years pass rather well, all things considered. When he is thirteen, it is officially declared that he will be taken onto the Order of Corporalniks, and – somewhat to everyone’s surprise, including his – he is best suited not as a Healer, but a Heartrender. It turns out that unassuming, smiling, friendly Fedyor, who knows everyone’s name and is always given an indulgent second portion of dessert from the doting canteen ladies, packs quite a punch.

It’s here where he first puts Ivan Sakharov on his back, and his whole life changes.

Fedyor and Ivan have known of each other, ever since they arrived in the same class of recruits. Ivan is a tough, taciturn northern boy from Chernast, skinny and scowling and always displeased about something, no matter what. Fedyor once saw him brood through the whole Winter Fete, and he has taken it as a professional challenge to get Ivan to smile. Once Fedyor plays a practical joke on him, to the awe of the entire dormitory, who would not dare to even imagine such things themselves. Ivan scowls at him like the Black Heretic himself, and stomps off to have his important life problems somewhere else. But now they’re both thirteen, Ivan is shooting up like a weed and channeling all that pent-up resentment into some really effective Heartrending, and Fedyor is regretting all his previous liberties. As they face each other and bow, thus to commence the duel on Botkin’s word, he thinks, Please don’t kill me. Please don’t kill me.

Then he remembers that he’s the same Order, he has the same red kefta awaiting him when he finishes his trials, that he has as much right to be here as some tight-arse bastard from the frozen northern wastes, and that is why, thirty seconds after the duel has begun, Ivan is flat on his back and looking astonished. Everyone is applauding, and Fedyor feels somewhat confused. He strides over to his fallen adversary and offers him a hand. “Good job.”

Ivan glares at him, exquisitely sensitive to the possibility that he’s being mocked. “You’ll regret this, Kaminsky,” he says, low-voiced. “Mark my words.”

After that, for several months, Fedyor lives in terror of going anywhere in the Little Palace alone, lest Ivan suddenly leap out from behind a shrubbery and murder him. He and Ivan spar in their classes, in practice, in trying to outdo each other in Baghra’s ridiculous lessons, throwing all their effort into the sort of stupid, pointless rivalry that can only be maintained by teenage boys with too much pride and too little sense. They start to look for each other wherever they go, waste no opportunity to glare heatedly, and they are sixteen years old when Fedyor notices to his extreme vexation that during all this time spent staring at him until he has memorized his face, Ivan has gotten a little… handsome.

(What? No? Ivan? Horrifying.)

Fedyor himself isn’t exactly cursed in the face department, once a persistent bout of acne clears up. With his wavy hair, dark eyes, and easy smile, he provokes his fair share of sighs and pining among the female Corporalniks, but he is oddly uninterested in reciprocating their advances. Then he and Ivan get paired together on some training exercise that goes horribly wrong, they are trapped in the woods for hours until someone comes to find them, and with nothing else to do, they are forced to actually talk. Ivan has that northern chip on his shoulder that they all seem to, and probably started fighting Fjerdans when he was two years old, but what he says next takes Fedyor completely aback. “You’re… not that bad,” he says grudgingly. “You’re the only one who’s brave enough to actually talk to me, not just tiptoe like a mouse.”

“Well.” Fedyor throws a stick of wood at him. “Have you considered being less of a total grouch all the time?”

Ivan scoffs, lunges at him, and they end up wrestling in the leaf mold, an exercise that both of them enjoy a bit too much and take extreme care that the other not notice. By the time the search party from the Little Palace comes to retrieve them, they have forgotten all about being lost. In fact, as they were lying on the ground together, tangled up and panting and staring at the stars, Fedyor had the strangest thought that it was the best night of his life, and he doesn’t have a clue what he should make of that.

After that, an even stranger thing happens: they become friends. Well, sort of. Ivan maintains his default posture of appearing to hate everything and everyone, but Fedyor is the only person he tolerates, or allows to yank his chain in any way. And in turn, though Ivan Sakharov is the last person who would seem to need any kind of protection, the favor is returned. Once, when a city boy from Os Alta starts going on about how savage northerners are, staring pointedly at Ivan the whole time, Fedyor launches him halfway across the room. He gets in trouble, but it’s worth it. And they do undoubtedly work better together, Fedyor fighting right-handed and Ivan fighting left. They cover each other’s weak sides, learn to anticipate each other’s moves, and…

It’s a deeply inconvenient fact of life that when you are a Heartrender, and are exquisitely sensitive to pulse rates, you notice when yours starts going consistently haywire around certain people. Especially when, the year they turn eighteen, they are assigned to room together. The Little Palace is spacious, but not enough for every Grisha to have his or her own room, and since they’re no longer children, they’re not expected to share with the entire class. So Fedyor and Ivan end up in a garret room of their very own, and it is here, to his extreme consternation, that the next phase of Fedyor’s torment re: Ivan begins.

It is difficult to share a small room with Ivan and not want to look at him, and unless he is much mistaken, Ivan always seems to be concentrating a little too hard on his books whenever Fedyor is changing clothes. Fedyor is self-aware enough by this point to know that he prefers men, but he has absolutely no idea as to Ivan. Do they do this sort of thing in Chernast, or does it distract from arm-wrestling bears and shooting drüskelle? Ivan is so constantly unwilling to admit any kind of weakness or effeminacy that Fedyor figures gloomily he’s just doomed to suffer in silence. Naturally.

Except then both of them start rejecting any other romantic overtures, and they even go to the Summer Fete dance together, and Fedyor is taken aback when Zoya Nazyalensky asks bluntly the next day, “So, you and Ivan? Really?”

“What?” Fedyor is aware that Zoya and Ivan cordially hate each other, though she and Fedyor have always gotten on. “We’re not – Zoya, it’s not like that!”

He pauses.

“At least,” he adds guiltily. “It’s not like that as far as we’ve said?”

Zoya gives him a look silently agreeing that for the sake of their friendship, they will never mention Fedyor’s terrible taste in men again, though that doesn’t mean she has to like it. As for her, she’s pining after Kirigan, as almost all Grisha do at some point. Fedyor did so himself – the Black General is gorgeous, all right, shoot him – but he cares about nothing except finding the mythical Sun Summoner and engaging in a busy schedule of brooding even more intense than Ivan’s. Ivan, for that matter, seems to have struck it off with him, as Kirigan always values talent, and Fedyor has to fight down an unbecoming surge of jealousy. It’s not like they’re something. Not really.

(Though not for lack of wanting.)

After that, an even stranger thing happens, which is that people start assuming that Fedyor and Ivan are, in fact, a couple. Fedyor gets asked how his boyfriend is doing (sometimes sardonically, sometimes in a tone that turns genuinely surprised when he hastens to correct them) and he minds it less and less. Of course, for his part, Ivan is utterly oblivious. They’re sitting in a sunny hallway one day, Ivan tolerantly letting Fedyor play with his hair (though he keeps it military-short and it’s not like there’s that much of it) when Genya Safin walks by, glances at them archly, and says, “You know, Ivan, you’re much nicer now that you’re going out with him.”

Ivan turns such a deep shade of purple that Fedyor’s afraid he’s going to blow a gasket. “What?!” he splutters. “We are not – we are not – we are not going out! Never! I don’t – what are you talking – I don’t even like him!”

Fedyor’s lip quivers, despite himself. “Come on,” he says, failing to make it entirely lighthearted, wounded deeper than he wants to admit. “You don’t mean that, right?”

Ivan turns to him, flustered. “No,” he says convulsively. “Don’t look sad. Don’t look at me like that. Shh. Of course I like you.”

Fedyor brightens.

Genya gives them an obnoxiously knowing look and walks away.

By now, they’re twenty-one, old enough to be properly deployed as soldiers to the front, and Fedyor can’t help but thinking about where Ivan is, what he’s doing, if he’s all right, whenever they’re apart. He doesn’t like it, it feels wrong and unnatural, they always did better side by side anyway. Finally, they both get back to the Little Palace after a grueling campaign of many months away, Ivan against the Fjerdans and Fedyor against the Shu Han. They see each other, and it’s like lightning, rooting them to the ground. They’re dusty, dirty, banged up, bruised and bloody, but they know as a simple truth, beyond any doubt or questioning, that Fedyor will be coming to Ivan’s room tonight, and that Ivan will sit up and wait for him.

And that, therefore, is what happens. Fedyor can barely concentrate on washing up and fetching supper because he is so fixated on the knowledge of what’s coming later. He goes through the motions, barely hears his friends, barely tastes what he’s eating. He scarcely manages to wait until it’s dark. Then he gets up, slips through the corridors – they no longer bunk together, but he knows the way – and reaches the door. Fights a final attack of nerves, about how long he’s been waiting and how it might go wrong – then knocks.

“It’s open,” Ivan calls from inside, his voice dark with wanting. Of course it is.

Fedyor steps inside, and looks at him. After all this time, it feels like he should make a speech, have something more grand to say, or perhaps even an I-told-you-so. He doesn’t get around to any of that. He can’t stand it. Instead he shucks his kefta in a quick, practiced movement. Runs across the room, and climbs, claws, into Ivan’s arms.

Their kiss is rough and wet and wild, mouths open, teeth dragging, tongues scraping, trying to get as close as they possibly can, and then closer. Ivan’s hands, deft and eager, rough with calluses, spread across Fedyor’s arms and shoulders, the neat muscled column of his torso. “You should have let me do that,” he scolds between kisses, evidently referring to the business of undressing Fedyor. “I’ve been waiting long enough.”

“You’ve been waiting long enough – ?!” Fedyor Kaminsky really does love this man, but Saints help him, he is dense. “You could have said something!”

Ivan looks at him with pure wickedness in his eyes. “I thought I just did.”

Fedyor groans, grabs Ivan’s head to kiss him again, and they roll down onto the covers together, tearing at the remaining clothes in their way. It’s raw and agonized and real, this coming together, this needing, this consummation and completion, and afterward, as Fedyor lies gasping on Ivan’s chest and Ivan sleepily strokes his hair with a tenderness that seems totally inconceivable to anyone who has met him at literally any other moment, Fedyor knows, in some way, he will never truly leave this room again. That he’s here. Home.

(Later, Fedyor finds out that Ivan actually asked his boss for help with his romantic quandary, and Kirigan’s advice was evidently so terrible that Ivan decided to just give up and go for it with Fedyor rather than trying that again. Even if Aleksander Kirigan is the Black General, the Shadow Summoner, the most powerful Grisha in the world, Ivan does not intend to let him forget it. They are all fortunate that Aleksander thinks it’s funny.)

[moonbeamsung]

Serendipitous Synergy

“I can’t believe I got stuck with you, of all people, as a dance partner.”

“What? Scared I’ll steal the spotlight?”

“In your dreams, Lee.”

member: haechan

au: dance partner and rival!haechan x gn!reader

word count: 4.9k

genre: angst, suggestive, fluff

warnings: talk of insecurities and thoughts of self-doubt, a house party, stubborn reader, smug haechan, mentions of ‘sexual tension’ in the context of a dance, kissing, slight innuendos

author’s note: As a dancer myself, this idea came to me after we learned the choreography for Thriller in class one day! And yes I know Halloween was weeks ago but shhh. It’s my first time writing an enemies to lovers au, so I would greatly appreciate any feedback about things I can improve on in the future. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!

network tags: @neo-constellations

“...You’ll be partnered with Haechan.”

The words of your instructor seem to swallow up the dance studio you’re standing in, echoing off of the walls with a piercing sound that makes your ears ache, your gut twist, and your blood boil.

This could not be happening.

Said boy seems just as averse to the idea as you are, the corners of his mouth downturned in displeasure.

Your teacher, however, continues to rattle off the rest of the pairs, some of them a little surprising but none nearly as unexpected as the two of you being put together.

Eyes narrowed and gazes sharp as daggers, both you and Haechan turn to stare each other down.

The standoff makes everyone else in the studio uneasy, and though the other dancers aren’t unaccustomed to your endless rivalry, they fear the potential hostility of your reactions. But to their astonishment, it never escalates beyond these stinging glares directed at one another. You’re surprisingly professional about it on the outside, not letting a single swear word slip out from between your lips, while he bites back a snarky insult.

On the inside, though, you’re a mess.

Haechan has been somewhat of an enemy of yours for as long as you can remember, though by no fault of his own. No matter what you did or how hard you tried, ever since you were both young students struggling to find your footing in the artistic world, he’s always been better than you. At everything.

If you managed to nail a double pirouette, he’d step right up and do a third like it was nothing. You finally got your split? He’s already had it for a month, at least. It just wasn’t fair. You both had started dancing at the same age, at the same time, with the same amount of experience: zero.

In all honesty, Haechan had done nothing wrong. The combination of poor timing and better luck had worked against him all those years ago to brew these bitter feelings inside of your heart, rising to the surface whenever you would set foot inside the familiar studio.

These constant sentiments of inferiority took their toll on you, making you fear being compared to him above anything else. It was childish, but you couldn’t stand to be reminded of feeling completely and utterly incompetent next to him. Whenever you performed, you were grateful for the large amount of other dancers occupying the stage, leaving little opportunity for the two of you to be noticed in conjunction with one another.

Now that it’s going to be just the two of you under the bright beams of light cascading down from the rafters, dancing in close proximity, this worry is at the forefront of your mind.

You would do anything to be able to go back to your first year at the studio, when you were young enough to recognize that his skills seemed to outweigh yours, but as a carefree child you remained largely unbothered by this fact. As you got older, it was like a switch inside of you flipped and made you extra aware of each and every thing that you did. Perhaps it was the heightened self-consciousness that puberty brought combined with the already stressful lifestyle of a dancer, but something changed one day, and it was all you could think about when you saw him.

Your internal doubts always translated into being eerily quiet during practice, asking a question to clarify the movements only when it was absolutely necessary. Even your teacher noticed a shift in how you danced. Your gestures and steps lacked their usual precision, and all the confidence you had built up for so long vanished into thin air.

Not sure how to interpret your sudden silence, Haechan took it upon himself to get a word out of you in whatever way that he could, with comments and jokes and even the occasional compliment on your technique. It hardly helped, though. In fact, your constant failure to respond to his attempts created a sort of resentment in him as well, one not generated by envy or insecurity, but simply by confusion and frustration.

During practice one afternoon, you had become so fed up with him trying to talk to you that you lashed out, pushing him away with surprising strength. “Just leave me alone!” You had shouted at Haechan, but you instantly regretted it when you saw the way his eyes welled up with shiny tears, full of hurt after his genuinely good intentions had been totally rejected by their unwilling recipient. Your guilt, however, failed to overpower your stubbornness.

This sent Haechan into his own spiral of the silent treatment before he started to channel his feelings into a similar bitterness. From that day forth, you each became the other’s arch-enemy, challenging one another in any way that you possibly could inside the studio and on the stage. Your instructor, choreographers, and fellow students quickly became tired of the implicit competition that always existed between you, but what on earth could they do to stop it?

At the present moment, they’re contemplating this exact idea, along with just why your teacher thought pairing you with each other would be a good idea. She had done it with the intention of putting a long overdue partnership into action and hopefully eliminating your immature rivalry. Selfishly, she’s also very eager to see how your mutual contempt translates into movement, inwardly predicting that the tension levels will be off the charts.

Not long after, you’re dismissed from practice for the day, but not without a warning look from Haechan. Against your better judgment, you join him by the doorway once everyone else has filed out of the studio.

He clearly called you over for a reason, but you cut him off without even waiting for him to speak.

“I can’t believe I got stuck with you, of all people, as a dance partner.”

Oh, so this is how you’re acting? Two can play at that game.

“What?” He snickers, “Scared I’ll steal the spotlight?”

“In your dreams, Lee,” you scoff, already tired of his taunting attitude.

“Anyway,” his voice is stern before doing a complete 180, now a bit more gentle, “If we’re going to be dancing together for the next few weeks, we might as well be on speaking terms, don’t you think?” The expression Haechan wears on his face is the softest you’ve seen it in a long time, which is definitely saying something.

“I suppose.” Answer short and tone abrasive, you huff a lousy excuse for a goodbye before marching out and into the hallway, but he’s faster than you. You spin around to shrug off his hand from your shoulder, and it gives him the chance to tell you one last thing.

“Look, if you’re going to be like that, it’s not going to make working together any easier. We’re not little kids anymore. You can go back to hating me once this is all over, but can we at least try to put our differences aside and just cooperate for once?”

You nearly split your lip as you bite down on it, holding back a burst of aggravation at the situation you’ve been put in. “Fine.”

You have no idea how you’re going to get through all the practices and all the shows while simultaneously dealing with the boy, but one thing’s for sure: you’re going to prove that you are just as skilled, and just as talented a dancer as he is.

The next time you see him is two days later, at your first rehearsal for this dance. Your studio has always had a Halloween-themed showcase, but it wasn’t until this year that you were old enough to finally be cast in a more exclusive number. The fact that you’re no longer a part of the large group routine, always performed to the same upbeat tune and with the same easy steps, is one of the few silver linings that your duet with Haechan presents.

Faces lined with fatigue and eyes still heavy with sleep, you both arrive at the studio in the morning, duffel bags in hand, the comfy slides on your feet dragging across the hallway carpet with every step. Loud music blares from inside the room, brightly lit despite the early hour. Beside you, Haechan instantly recognizes the tune to be Michael Jackson’s Thriller, and perks up a little at the sound. Too tired to poke fun at his near obsession with the singer, you let his little celebration of the choreographer’s song choice slide.

It’s not your usual instructor that’s going to be teaching you the movements to go along with the piece, which means you have the added challenge of adapting to a different set of preferences, expectations, and choreographing style.

It’s certainly a dance that’s unlike any you’ve ever learned before.

The rehearsal starts off well, and both of you quickly catch on to the basic steps that are somewhat like those of a waltz, except they have a more sinister feel to them in order to match the spooky time of year. Facing each other but standing on opposite sides of the room, you step forward, to the side, to the back and then to the side again. On each accented beat you throw your heads back sharply, mimicking the way the neck of an inhuman creature might snap under any sort of force.

In the next section of choreography, your gazes are supposed to meet once you tilt your heads downward, slowly this time, but it’s difficult to maintain eye contact with Haechan for more than a few seconds. Maybe it’s the way he doesn’t even hesitate to stalk towards you in this part of the dance, which calls for you to circle each other like a hungry predator and its timid prey. Maybe it’s the animalistic glint in his irises that throws off your balance and makes you stumble when you see it. Or maybe it’s the fact that your rivalry with him has been entirely disregarded at the moment, brain focused solely on absorbing all of the new information and ingraining the movements into your muscle memory, nothing else.

What frightens you even more than the things that go bump in the night is that all those years you spent... well, not hating, but strongly disliking him could go to waste. It usually takes a lot of time for you to get over things like this, and in a way, you feel like you would be disappointing yourself if you let all of the agonizing feelings of self-doubt go, just like that.

These thoughts swirl around in your mind as you listen to the choreographer’s next words.

“Okay, put your hand here.”

“Like this?”

“Yes, now you’re going to drag it across him, from there to there,” she directs you with a finger, “And then he’s going to pick you up in a scissor lift.”

You’ve never done one of those before, but with some helpful guidance, you begin to have a small bit of faith in yourself that you’re capable of pulling it off. The music starts and you go from the top all the way to the part you were just taught, taking a deep breath in preparation for what’s about to happen.

Just like you had been instructed moments ago, you step very close to Haechan, right behind him, actually, and place one hand on his shoulder as you trail the other across the front of his chest, fingernails scratching the skin underneath through the flimsy t-shirt he’s wearing. You step around to stand in front of him and continue the motion, peering at him with a hesitance that melts away and into an assertive gaze once you see the apprehension in his own eyes. His skin crawls a little, not out of fear but an odd satisfaction and excitement at the feeling of you so near and the sight of your eyes bright with so much determination and dominance, lingering touch tracing the base of his neck and stimulating his nerves from head to toe.

You yelp slightly at what he does next even though you knew it was coming, your self-assured exterior evaporating only moments after it appeared. Haechan turns around and sweeps you off of your feet to hold you in his arms. In the blink of an eye, he helps you hook one of your knees behind his head as he tosses you into the air with seemingly no effort whatsoever, flipping you around to face the other way and catching you immediately after. The complicated lift makes your heart leap to the front of your throat with exhilaration, and you mentally applaud yourself for succeeding on the first try.

Haechan finds it odd that you were so willing to do this lift in the first place, since trust is a key component of partner work in dance. He can’t explain it, and neither can you, quite honestly. A small part of him, however, is glad you didn’t object to the prospect of him being directly responsible for your safety for even the most instantaneous of moments.

“Alright, so for this next part, I’m sure you’re aware of that fact that Michael Jackson was famous for his pelvic—”

Okay, that’s enough, you’ve heard enough. Tuning out the conversation and whirling around to face away from the floor-to-ceiling mirror, you twiddle your thumbs while the choreographer teaches Haechan one of the iconic dance steps in Thriller, and your evident shyness at her unabashed explanation makes him smirk. Thankfully, she has a different set of movements prepared for you.

Since when are you ever shy around him, though?

You still can’t bring yourself to watch your reflections in the glass when you practice the new part together, since he gets so into the provocative motions. His eyes seem to taunt you with the smugness they hold, and you hate the way he’s testing you. You can’t stand it, you can’t stand him, you can’t stand those eyes for all the times they send a shiver down your spine, for all the times they come alive with a beast-like glow. Those eyes can go from soft and sympathetic at times, although the moments are rare, to something else entirely. His mocking stares make your stomach turn, reminding you of why you’ve felt this way about him for so long.

But you’re scared that a new and different feeling is developing inside of you, one that’s telling you he’s not so bad, that you should give him a chance. Haechan has noticed a similar one within himself, and he begins to regret the way he immaturely perpetuated your own resentment for so long.

Even if you do end up making amends eventually, he’s not sure he’ll be willing to abandon all of the playful glances and teasing remarks with flirtatious undertones he sends your way. Do you even notice these things? If your periodic blushing is any indication, then the answer is most definitely yes.

You spend another couple of hours under the choreographer’s direction, stopping only when you had been taught each and every step from the piece’s beginning until the end. Though a Halloween-inspired performance, there’s a surprisingly large amount of eerily romantic undertones within it. You don’t have enough fingers to count the number of times you ultimately caress some part of the other’s body in a forbidding manner, with locked eyes and threatening, fiery glares.

The two of you also have a second but more simple lift, in which you jump and Haechan catches you by the legs to pull your torso against his, while you cling to him tightly like a koala. He supports your weight fully, and never once does the possibility of falling cross your mind. It’s strange how your body is so trusting of him, much more so than your mind.

Towards the end of the song, the lyrics mention something about cuddling close together, the timing of your movements intentionally mirroring the words. Haechan walks in a circle, still carrying you in his arms, and unlike when you’re standing on your own two feet, he actually has to look up slightly to meet your gaze with his own. Something doesn’t feel quite right, though, both of you sensing that you should be putting more effort into the eye contact between you right now.

“No, no, no! Stop for a second.” Your choreographer looks frustrated.

“You have to look at each other like you really mean it,” she corrects. “Just imagine that you’re two lovers on Halloween night, clinging to each other for dear life as you’re being surrounded by every kind of monster imaginable.” Even Haechan flushes a deep red at the descriptive picture she paints in your minds, hoping to inspire you. “Try again, please.”

Putting every necessary emotion into your expressions, you both stare each other down as he lifts you up again, this time with a never-before-seen passion burning in your eyes that could only be described as crazed, lustful desire.

Haechan has always admired your skills, although internally these days, ever since he met you, especially your ability to easily adapt to the message or tone of a piece. Happiness, sadness, anger, whatever your instructor asked of you, you could embody the exact feeling on your face, not to mention in the way that you moved to the beat. Out of all of the scenarios your choreographer could have illustrated, this one is something he never would have expected you to be so ready for. He’s taken aback by how smoothly your facial expression transitions from sheepish to seductive in no time flat.

You wish you could say that you’re not flustered by how well he matches the look in your eyes with his own tantalizing gaze, but alas, that’s not the case.

It’s undoubtedly a dance with a more mature theme than either of you are used to, but you’re both such naturals at it that she compliments you once Haechan sets you back on the ground.

“That’s exactly what I want to see! Keep it up, you two. Are you sure you’ve never been in a piece with any sexual tension before?”

You’re glad you hadn’t quite taken a sip from your water bottle yet, because you definitely would’ve spit it out from pure shock and embarrassment at the bluntness of her remark. Haechan was not so lucky.

The two of you run through the dance almost endlessly, and by the end of your rehearsal your legs are threatening to give out at any moment. “Last time,” she alerts you, “And then you’re done for the day.”

A chorus of some minor corrections but mostly proud affirmations meets your ears as you practice the piece for the final time. “Other foot, Haechan... Strong arms! Good... And lift! That’s it...”

About to collapse from exhaustion and grimacing at the disgusting feeling of sweat on every inch of your skin, both of you thank the choreographer once she dismisses you.

“You two did a great job today, now go home and rest. You worked hard.”

Fishing your car keys out of your bag, you hear her packing up her things inside the studio before she exits the room and strides into the hallway, flipping the light switch and shutting the door behind her. “I’m going to recommend to your teacher that she should partner you up more often. I was really surprised by how well you collaborated.” She chuckles a little, “And to think she told me that you might not get along.”

Exchanging questioning looks, you both nod and smile at her before she makes her way down the hallway, leaving the building through the staff door.

“What was that all about?”

“No idea,” you reply to Haechan with nervousness in your voice, not sure if this is the right time to apologize for several years’ worth of constantly being at each other’s throats.

The moment passes before you can make a decision, and Haechan bids you farewell with a “See you around” over his shoulder. You can’t get the choreographer’s comment out of your mind as you drive home.

But she’s right: your chemistry with each other is unbelievable. Each time you practice this dance in front of them, the rest of your friends stand wide-eyed and open-mouthed at how you move in perfect unison, leaping and turning and touching at all the right moments. Your instructor is sure her jaw is on the floor. Sure, she was expecting something powerful, something fierce, but nothing like this.

The weeks leading up to the Halloween showcase are hectic, as they always are, filled with the rush of adrenaline and last-minute preparations being made, ensuring that everything would be ready for those long nights spent on waiting behind the curtains, moving amidst the stage fog, and dancing below the bright spotlights.

You think you’ve spoken to Haechan more in the past 4 days than you have in the past 4 years. He doesn’t know if it’s just his imagination, but it seems like you’ve gotten more comfortable performing with him as time has gone by. Maybe he should be paying more attention to the steps instead of the way you lean further into him as he clutches your form in his strong arms, torsos pressing into one another and the crevices of your bodies aligning with ease. Maybe he shouldn’t get distracted by the closeness of your lips to his forehead, by the distance that always seems to decrease each time you run through the dance. One day he’s sure he’ll feel their delicate curve against his skin, or maybe they’ll slip down a little to be more level with his. Either way, Haechan isn’t complaining.

The rehearsals that spill over from their scheduled time slots into the late hours of the night leave everyone in the show drowsy after the intense quantities of repeated exertion, running piece after piece over and over again until just standing up is a feat within itself.

And then, all of a sudden, it’s the day of the first show. Costumes have been tailored, makeup has been applied and hair has been done up with an ungodly amount of products and pins.

It can’t be much longer until it’s your turn to perform, so you’re not sure why you find yourself grabbing Haechan by the sleeve of his intentionally tattered shirt, meant to look like that of a zombie, and pulling him into a dark, secluded corner of the backstage area.

“We’re on in 5, what are y—”

“Can I apologize?”

He blinks a few times, processing the word he never thought he would hear leave your lips.

“For... huh?”

“Everything.” You’re thankful that the lighting is minimal back here, concealing the glistening water drops that are beginning to gather at the rims of your eyes.

Voice nearly breaking, you can’t articulate why it feels like the right time to say all of this. But here you are.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry for so many years of unexplained anger and outbursts towards you, I’m sorry that I’ve been acting so immature even after all this time. I’m sorry for blaming you and making excuses to justify my actions and my feelings, I—”

You have more that you want to say but the words are no longer coming out, and maybe it’s because your throat feels like it’s burning from all of the emotion it just conveyed in the span of just a few seconds. Maybe it’s because you’ve somehow lost your voice even though you hadn’t been speaking above a whisper. But the most probable cause of them all, is this: maybe it’s because you’ve been rendered speechless by Haechan’s own apology that he delivers by messily crashing his mouth into yours, any further thoughts melting away against his soft lips.

For once, you don’t mind being cut off by him if it’s like this.

His heart begins to sink when you pull away after only a few seconds, but a small smile graces his features once again as you lean in so that your lips hover next to his ear.

“You better not mess up my makeup, Lee Haechan.”

“Donghyuck, actually.”

“What?” Quizzically, you arch an eyebrow.

“My name. My real name.”

“So why do y—”

“Shh, no time. Kiss now, talk later.”

You can’t argue with that. Not when he’s beholding you with a long-awaited forgiveness and a fondness long-concealed in his eyes. Not when the thrill of a time limit has your brains going a mile a minute, an electric buzz erupting over the expanse of your skin his hands are grasping.

You kiss him like it’s the only thing in the whole world that you know how to do. The setting is far from picturesque, with the tangled technical wires littering the floor at your feet and leftover stage equipment haphazardly leaning against the wall, but neither of you really care. Taking care not to snag the fabric of your costume, his fingers find purchase on your waist and his lips on the dip of your collarbone. At first they dotingly imprint fleeting pecks onto the rise and fall of the skin there, but when their pressure and his haste starts to escalate, you know you have to stop him before he starts something you can’t finish.

“Hyuck!” The abbreviation of his name makes his head snap up, bewildered but pleased.

“You can’t leave marks, I told you...” you trail off. “Hey, why are you smiling like that?”

“Please never call me anything else, ever.”

Donghyuck brings you in for one more kiss, well aware that a stagehand could turn the corner at any given moment. Drinking you in, he captures your lips between his, letting your body press his back into the wall behind him, and a few sharp inhales later, you break apart.

You fix his hair while he adjusts your clothes, and you’re just in time because a technician spots you and urgently gestures towards the stage. “You’re up!”

Positioning yourselves on opposite sides of the large performance space, the lights go down and you hear the rush of air from the heavy curtain opening as it glides past you. The thick artificial smoke partially obscures his form, but you can see his eyes clearly, nearly glowing in the darkness.

As the music starts, slow and quiet at first, you step to the rhythm just like you practiced. When a loud, electronic chord blares, you both pick up speed, launching into that waltz step you first learned many weeks earlier. For the first time ever, you’re able to look into his eyes.

Anyone could see that your movements complement each other effortlessly, but only your teacher picks up on the shift in mood after the countless times she’s seen you perform in the studio. Only she notices the shift in both of your gazes. You look... happy. Focused. Confident.

Donghyuck was able to bring you out of the shell you retreated into so long ago. You don’t feel subordinate as you’re dancing next to him, or being held in his arms. You move as equals, two parts of a whole.

When he picks you up, you can’t help but allow a small smile to stretch your lips. Donghyuck tries to remind you that you’re supposed to have lustful looks in your eyes by narrowing his own at you, but it’s no use. Your slight grin is contagious, and it ends up taking over his face as well.

You finish the piece smoothly, ending in a pose with your backs pressed together and hands clasped. Applause erupts from the audience, and a few cheers come from the rest of the performers waiting in the wings, shielded from the view of the crowd sitting in the seats below.

Needless to say, as you pass other dancers in the halls and receive countless congratulations and compliments, all you can think about is having Donghyuck’s lips on your skin again.

One long heart-to-heart and dozens, no, hundreds of kisses later, all is right with your world. It’s foreign territory to you both, not wanting to pounce on each other at every waking moment. But it’s something you’ll explore together, figuring out how to make up for lost time and just how to go about this newly-repaired relationship.

Exiting the empty dressing room, you take his hand in your own and head backstage once again to watch the rest of the showcase from the side, with your head leaning on his shoulder and his arm pulling you close.

At the party held for all the members of the show’s cast that night, it’s far too loud for your liking, and there’s no room to properly dance with Donghyuck. Despite you all being professional dancers-in-training, everyone else seems to have reverted to the mindset of your average high school student, thinking that jumping up and down repeatedly qualifies as dancing. You disagree, but whatever. It’s not important.

What is important, however, is the fact that the two of you would much rather escape the suffocating crowd of young adults. You would much rather slip out through the sliding glass door that leads to the house’s backyard, marveling at the fading sunset that melts into a deep blue night sky dotted with splashes of clustered lights. The stars are nature’s spotlights, shining down on you as Donghyuck takes you in his arms, one hand finding yours and the other resting on your side, somewhere between your hips and your waist.

Swaying in the silence with only the noises of the evening as your soundtrack, the boy that you would’ve sworn was the devil incarnate a month ago looks so angelic, so lovable. You can’t believe this is what you’ve been missing out on.

“So, should we start over?”

“Definitely.”

There’s no one else in this world you’d rather dance the night away with.

[neverfaraway-fic]

Tongue and Groove by neverfaraway

Stede Bonnet isn't dead. Despite a ship in imminent danger of sinking, a crew incapable of following a plan, and an utter and devastating lack of self-awareness, he's determined to make amends for (what Lucius reliably informs him are) his many crimes against the man he loves.

Shame Blackbeard's determined to kill him before he gets the chance.

FINAL CHAPTERS - in which Stede gives Ed permission to ruin a perfectly lovely dressing gown.

Ed holds his gaze helplessly while Stede slowly strokes his arm. The cabin, this bed, is a fixed tableau; it’s like they’re in a painting - Gentleman with Ruffian in Silks - and outside of it, the world no longer exists. It's as though time, and Izzy Hands, and their misdemeanours against one another in the recent past ceased to exert any influence over them at some point between Ed climbing over the gunwale of the Redemption and Stede offering him a glass of rum instead of fighting him to the death like a proper pirate would. Stede’s always had this effect on him, making him feel like he’s swimming through honey, everything slowed-down and sweet.

Slowly, sweetly, he raises a hand from the mattress and lays it on his stomach, fingers splayed on the soft plane of skin below his navel. Stede watches him in astonishment, desire written openly across his handsome, guileless face.

Pairing: Stede Bonnet/Edward Teach

Words: 28,000 [complete]

Rating: Explicit