#never thought that dude would have something like that

[matt0044]

And frankly... I feel we need to give it a better look over.

Story time: I vividly remember when

Netflix’s 13 Reasons Why was bandied about Tumblr and YouTube as this most offensive thing for it’s portrayal of suicide. I was aware of how this wasn’t the sort of subject to take lightly lest I be eating my foot for a full course meal. As such, I took the outrage’s word for it and steered clear.

I did start to get curious with a lot of specific scenes from Season 1 being passed around for the afformentioned dunking. Such as Hannah calling Clay a nerd for referencing Star Wars only for said post to show how much The Force Awakens grossed.

Said curiosity grew when I saw many video essays tackling 13 Reasons Why. Most were negative but what I footage saw didn’t seem bad. Some of it was pretty… nice actually. But still, this was the show that gave suicide and poor mental health a bad name with how the female lead took her own life seemingly out of revenge.

So… I stayed away. That is, until I saw a billboard for Season 2 in NYC. Now this got me seeing that this show had a legit audience. Not just hatewatchers but those invested in the story of Hannah Baker and Clay Jensen. That’s when I decided to add it to my watch list.

At best, it would be bad but maybe a fascinating kind of bad. The kind that RiffTrax would sink their teeth into. At worst, it would be a bore and I’d turn the other way. Then I started to watch it.

Twenty Six episodes later… I loved it. I felt that it… spoke to me emotionally on how life can be so messed up. I loved how no character was totally good or bad. How even Number 12 on the tapes had his depths despite being, well, the worst really.

When Hannah reached the end of her rope, I found myself begging her to not do what I knew she’d do. When Tyler Down tried to take matters into his own hands, I wished I could be there to talk him down. It takes a very special kind of story to invoke that kind of visceral dread.

Clay Jenson was the shlubby awkward dude that I saw a lot of myself from how he blamed himself for things outside of his control and took things very personally. Yet even he wasn’t the straight-laced good guy as our supposed audience surrogate, something that grew with each season.

While some claim that it glorifies suicide, it hardly if at all made the act out to be anything but damaging. The aftermath of Hannah Baker’s suicide isn’t the perfect revenge as some critics make it out to be. Even when recording the last tape, she held out just a little more before succumbing to her inner demons.

The second season finale even affirms that there’s never a reason no matter how much you might rationalize it.

Netflix would add in disclaimers for the heavier episodes and suicide hotlines to the credits as well as having the cast give a disclaimer before the first episode. However, it’s hard to deny that they cause plenty of grief despite their best of intentions.

Hello Future Me describes it well in his video on Mental Health’s troubled history in fiction in terms of how depictions of the suicide itself such as with Hannah Baker would push certain people struggling over the edge. While the character herself is hardly black or white in terms of morality, crossing the streams like this still made for what I like to categorize as “good story, poor takeaway.”

Now I could understand that the characters weren’t exactly totally good or bad so much as people trying to get through harrowing times in the lives. This isn’t always applicable to those struggling with dark thoughts or suicidal tendencies.

For some, the show can give them a vibe of, “This show gets me,�� in the sense of emotional catharsis. For other, the show can give them a vibe of, “This show gets me,” in that the surface level depressing tone validates their negative mindset or makes it worse.

If I had stayed away, I would’ve nodded to the consensus and agree that it was trash. Yet… I gave it a chance and now can’t hate it now that I’ve looked passed the YouTube hate crowds (the ones that don’t give a fig about mental health outside of clout and profit from clicks, that is).

It’s just… the show stuck with me with each episode feeling real to me. The actors, the script, the visual direction. It just... all clicked for me.

And it's a darn shame that too many aren't willing to give it the time of day. Not talking about those who'd find it hard to stomach, by all means they do them. It's just... it feels like we're giving poor critical thinking a pass for this one.

i like that 13 reasons why's cultural impact is how poorly it handled suicide and sexual assault as well as inventing a new way for people to say they're going to kill themselves

[myrleius]

what remains when the sound fades — bakugo k.

timeskip bakugo k. x patient fem!reader│wc: 3.8k

synopsis: Bakugo’s almost deaf now. But at a hospital he never meant to care about, with a girl who falls asleep without warning, he learns that maybe silence isn’t the end.

cw/tags: fluff, angst, hard of hearing!bakugo, made-up illness for fem!reader, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers

The doors slid open with a sound Bakugo couldn’t quite hear anymore. He just felt the pressure shift in the air, a faint vibration under his skin. 

He stepped into the hospital lobby anyway, hands buried deep in his hoodie pockets, shoulders drawn tight beneath the fabric.

No appointment today. No injuries or bruises to patch up either. But somehow, this visit felt heavier than the others combined.

His boots tapped against the polished tile—at least, he assumed they did. These days, sound was more of a memory. His hearing aids buzzed softly in his ears, letting in pieces of the world like light through cracked glass. Voices blurred, distant and muddled. Sharp one moment, swallowed the next.

He still wore them though. Most days. When he remembered.

He stopped by the reception desk. The nurse glanced up, clearly recognizing him. Pro-hero Great Explosion Murder God Dynamite wasn’t exactly subtle, even in civilian clothes. 

He didn’t bother speaking.

Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a slightly wrinkled sticky note—bright yellow with a tiny inked flower blooming in the bottom corner. Yn had given it to him months ago, back when he'd muttered—half ashamed—how much he hated asking people to repeat themselves.

The message was simple:

Hi. I’m hard of hearing. Can you write things down for me, please?

He held up his phone next, showing a photo of yn—caught mid-laugh, paint smudged on her wrist, eyes shining with something quiet and untouchable.

The nurse smiled gently and scribbled something on a notepad, turning it toward him.

She’s on the third floor. Art event today.

He nodded his thanks and made for the elevator, the paper note folded carefully back into his pocket.

As he waited for the elevator doors to open, he let himself replay the conversation from this morning.

“I’m losing my hearing,” he’d said, blunt and brief. “It’s almost gone.”

He expected disbelief. Or pity. Or those strained silences people always gave when they didn’t know what to say.

But it didn’t come.

Kirishima just slammed a hand on his shoulder, grin bright and unwavering. “Damn, man. That’s rough. But you’re still gonna kick ass, right? You’ll figure it out. And if you need backup, we’ve got you.”

Kaminari blinked, then leaned forward, curiosity overtaking any hesitation. “Wait, so does this mean you won’t hear me when I’m being annoying? Sweet—uh, I mean, not sweet, but—can I learn sign language just to mess with you?” He grinned, dodging the half-hearted swipe Bakugo took at him. 

Sero snorted. “Dude, you already ignore us half the time. What’s the difference?” When Bakugo glared, Sero held up his hands. “Kidding, kidding. But seriously, if you ever need us to repeat shit or write stuff down, just say the word.”

Mina didn’t miss a beat. “Okay, new rule. We’re all taking sign language classes. Also, don’t think this gets you out of game night. We will mime everything if we have to.”

And Deku—the one who’s known him longest, who’s seen him at his worst and his best—didn’t even flinch. His eyes remained steady, analyzing, before he nodded once. “You’ve already been adjusting, haven’t you? The way you’ve been positioning yourself in fights, relying more on visuals…” Of course he noticed. “You’ll still be one of the best. And… if you want help finding resources, or training workarounds, I’m here.”

No one stiffened. No one treated him like he was broken. And that hit harder than he’d thought it would.

And now, standing alone in the quiet of the hospital, he wasn’t sure if it made the weight in his chest had eased or fucking doubled.

The elevator dinged.

He stepped inside, pressed the third-floor button, and leaned back against the wall. He wasn’t here for anything urgent. Wasn’t even sure what he planned to say.

He just… needed to see yn.

They’d met a few months ago when his hearing started going to shit. She was always here, a familiar figure in the waiting rooms and hallways, worn hospital bracelets like second skin. At first, she was just a girl with the tired eyes and bright laugh who somehow made the place feel less suffocating. 

But she was more than that. 

She understood, really understood, what it felt like when your body turned against you.

He hadn’t expected to find someone like that in the middle of this nightmare.

Yet there she was. Her presence, gentle and steady, made it easier to breathe. She didn’t pry. Didn’t talk just to fill the silence. And she knew exactly how to sit with this kind of slow pain that didn’t have clean answers.

But when he needed it most, she always seemed to know what to say to help him hold his shit together.

The doors open, scattering his thoughts like startled birds. Before he could gather them again, his feet carried him out.

The third floor was loud.

Not in sound—Bakugo barely caught snippets of laughter and the thuds of feet—but in color, in motion. The hallway was lined with drop cloths and plastic sheets taped across the walls and floor. Furniture had been pushed back. Paint buckets sat open, and kids ran by waving paintbrushes like flags.

It smelled like wet acrylics and masking tape.

Bakugo didn’t need to ask who was responsible.

“Hey! No paint in anyone’s eyeballs, got it?” came a voice from further down the hall. “We want windows, not lawsuits!”

He turned the corner just in time to see yn balancing a tray of mini palettes, swerving between kids and elderly patients like it was a practiced dance. A brush was tucked behind her ear. Paint dotted her sleeves. Her smile was effortless.

And then her eyes met his.

She brightened instantly. “Bakugo,” she called, walking over. “You don’t have an appointment today, right?”

Bakugo shook his head and signed stiffly, fingers sharp with feigned disinterest, “Had extra time. Figured I’d see what you’re up to.”

Yn didn’t miss a beat. She was fluent by now, between her own years in this hospital and months of chatting with him.

“Oh, so you missed me,” she signed back with a cheeky grin, handing him a clean smock. “Got it.”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t refuse it. He slipped it on, its sleeves straining around his biceps, while surveying the windows. Every one of them, long panes stretching the whole corridor, was already a riot of color—splashes of sky blue, cartoon suns, stick figure heroes, one ambitious mural of a dragon and a bakery somehow mashed together.

“What the hell is all this?” he asked aloud this time.

Yn adjusted her stance, instinctively positioning herself so he could see her lips, just in case he hadn’t caught her words. They’d practice this enough that she didn’t even think about it now. 

“Window canvases,” she said. “They’re replacing the glass soon, so I asked if we could paint on them instead of just throwing them out. Figured it’d be good fun for the others. Plus, my friend’s gallery agreed to exhibit them, so they get recycled and displayed. Cool, right?”

Bakugo folded his arms. “Let me guess—you bribed the staff, didn’t you?”

“Hey! I got permission from the hospital director,” she said, wiggling her fingers. “Now quit stalling and help me out.”

They spent the next hour darting between stations. Yn played the ringleader—passing out fresh brushes, hyping up shaky stick figures like they were masterpieces. Bakugo kept a closer eye, steadying ladders, pulling kids away from spilled paint, reminding a particularly rowdy pair of teens not to paint each other’s faces again.

It was loud. It was uncoordinated. It was a mess.

And it was… nice.

He wasn’t giving orders or chasing down villains, but he could still do something here. Still be useful.

One of the older patients tugged on his sleeve, holding up a brush. She pointed to the top corner of her window, then mimed her arm not reaching.

Bakugo didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed a chair, climbed up, and filled in the empty corner with simple strokes of yellow.

When he stepped back down, the woman gave him a toothy grin and signed, slowly but clearly, “Thank you.”

He blinked. Then nodded, almost sheepishly.

Yn watched it all with a warm, quiet smile.

By the time the last of the patients shuffled off to their rooms, the floor had fallen quiet.

The sunset bled through the painted windows in long, glowing streaks. Everything was bathed in amber. Where once there was sterile white, there was now a wash of color—skies, forests, tiny heroes flying beside flowers, scrawled messages of hope and names written with confidence.

Bakugo stood at the center of it all, arms folded, head tilted back. Even the ceiling had caught a few stray splashes. The low hum of his hearing aids filled the silence, a steady static he’d grown used to. Tonight, it felt less like noise, and more like… presence.

Yn drifted to his side, her shoulder nudging his.

“Think they’ll let me do this again next year?” she asked, voice light and teasing.

Bakugo huffed. “Not if they see what you did to the walls.”

“They’re covered. Mostly.” She gestured to the plastic sheets still clinging to the walls, though tiny paint splatters had seeped into the creases. “Besides, they're repainting the whole floor anyway. I just… sped things along.”

He shook his head, a low laugh slipping out despite himself. He glanced over. Her hair clung to her forehead, cheeks flushed, fingertips stained in streaks of color. Despite the exhaustion weighing on her shoulders, triumph sparkled in her eyes.

“You did good,” he signed. Hands slower than usual, but sure.

She didn’t hesitate to sign back. “You helped.”

He looked away at that. His hand twitched at his side before he shoved it into his pocket.

A moment passed.

Then another.

“I… told them,” he muttered, more to the empty hallway than to her. Fuck if he knew why. Maybe just to prove it mattered. “The other heroes. Told ‘em I can’t hear for shit anymore.”

Yn didn’t react. She just waited, giving him space to let it out.

Bakugo stared out at the windows, jaw tight. “I didn’t think I’d be able to say it. But I did. Told ‘em I’m still learning sign, still working on reading lips. But I’d still… probably need someone to help interpret if my aids crap out. Might miss shit or mess up.”

A pause. And his throat worked again. “I didn’t expect them to—to take it so well. Just an, ‘Okay. We’ll adjust.’ They didn’t even look at me like I was broken.”

Yn’s hand settled on his shoulder, the touch feather-light. “Because you’re not.”

“But I’m slower now. I can’t do the same field work. Can’t hear civilians shouting. That used to fuck with me so much.” He exhaled sharply. “But they said they’d work with me. That they’d adapt or whatever.”

“Then that’s their call,” she said, shrugging. “They know what they’re signing up for. And they asked you to stay anyway.”

His gaze flicked to hers. Something tight and uncertain lingered beneath the surface.

“You ever think people say that shit just to be nice?” he asked, voice scraping low. “Like, they believe it now, but deep down, they still think you’re… a liability?”

Yn paused, thoughtful. Then tilted her head. “Would you?”

Bakugo blinked. His mouth twitched. “Fuck no.”

“Then why assume they would?” she asked, sliding her hand down his arm to catch his hand. “They’re not stupid, Bakugo. They’re pros. They know what a liability looks like. I don’t think they’d risk the safety of people on someone they didn’t believe in.”

His brow furrowed, mind scrambling to find the flaw in her logic. There had to be one.

As if sensing his spiral, she cut through with quiet certainty. “You’re not weak, Bakugo.” The word landed deliberately, dismantling his unspoken fear. “You’re just changing. That doesn’t diminish who you’ve always been.”

Bakugo was silent. He let her words sit, feeling its weight. Then, slowly, his hand turned, fingers lacing with hers.

“I just… I get scared,” he admitted, his voice cracking slightly. “Not about being deaf. About being fucking useless.” His thumb brushed her knuckle, an unconscious plea. “I thought it meant I was done. That I couldn’t be a hero anymore.”

“You’re not done. You’re just learning a new way to fight,” she said, her voice was softer but the steel beneath it never wavered. “And if anyone’s stubborn enough to make it work? It’s you.”

She leaned in until their shoulders touched, forcing his gaze up. “Imagine it—first deaf hero in the charts. Kids with hearing loss seeing someone like them up there.” Then her smile widened, teasing again. “Unless… you’re actually considering retirement?”

He snorted, real and unguarded. “No fuckin’ way.”

“Then you’re not done.” Her tone left no room for argument. “Because you get to decide that.”

Her words sat in his chest like a live wire.

Bullshit. 

Heroism was supposed to be hard. He'd welcomed that—the broken ribs, the sleepless nights, the impossible choices. But this wasn't another challenge to overcome. It was a permanent fucking handicap. Deafness wasn’t an enemy he could punch. It was a door slammed in his face.

But.

His hands flexed against his thighs. The same hands that had once sparked with explosions now knew the shape of signs. The same body that had lunged into battle without hesitation now calculated angles, light, vibrations—workarounds.

Was that weakness? Or just another fight?

The hospital hallway stretched too bright, too quiet. He could still see the other heroes’ faces when he’d told them. No flinching. No whispers. Just nods, quick adjustments. They planned to work around it. Like pros. Like equals.

Bakugo slowly felt the warmth of her hand then.

He gritted his teeth. Fuck. A long-buried memory resurfaced—one he’d almost let slip away.

Heroism wasn't about perfection. It was about persistence. About dragging yourself through hell with whatever pieces you still had, just to keep the light in others’ eyes.

A breath shuddered out of him. Fine. Fine. If the world wanted to count him out over something like this, they’d learn the same damn lesson they always did.

Because Katsuki Bakugo didn’t lose. Not to villains. Not to fate.

And definitely not to himself.

He breathed out slowly. His heart beat steady in his chest.

And then, with absolutely no warning, he reached out and ruffled her hair with excessive vigor, fingers combing through the strands just to wreck them completely. 

“The hell?” he asked, voice full of forced insult, but his touch was gentle. “Since when did you get smart enough to say shit like that?”

Yn squeaked, batting his hand away. But she didn’t move far. Because she felt it, too—the way his hand hovered for a moment too long. Shaking, not from strain, but from everything it took to admit he was scared.

She could’ve called it out. Could’ve gone soft. Instead, she smirked and poked his cheek. “Says the guy who needed me to spell it out for him,” she fired back.

He scoffed, but his hand lingered, sliding from her hair to cradle her cheek. His thumb traced the curve of her cheekbone—lighter than his usual rough handling, but just as deliberate. 

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice dropping to something dangerously close to tender. “Guess I needed that.”

He barely heard it, but he saw her breath hitch.

“Oi.” His squint was all mock-suspicion as his thumb brushed the flush spreading across her skin. “The hell's this, huh? Sunburn?”

“Shut up.” She tried to twist away, but his grip shifted to her chin, holding her in place.

“Ain't wearing makeup,” he mused, leaning closer. “So unless you're running a fever—”

“I swear to god—”

“—must be me.” The smirk in his voice was audible. “Damn. That's embarrassing for you.”

She huffed, but didn’t pull back this time. Instead, her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, right over his chest.

The light from the painted windows spilled across her face just then, making her eyes look like they were glowing. Blue paint smudged her cheek, a messy contrast to the red flush beneath it. And her lips, damn it, they looked so soft. So inviting.

He’d imagined this. More than he’d ever admit. Would she go all soft and sigh, feeling warm like her hugs or laughter? Or would it be all teeth and fire, like when she’d snap a comeback with that infuriating grin, leaving him itching for more? God, either would ruin him.

Bakugo leaned closer, their noses brushing. “Hey… I’ve been thinking—”

And then her body tipped.

His reflexes moved before his thoughts did.

He caught her easily, arms looping around her middle as her knees buckled. Her head dropped lightly against his chest, her weight sudden but familiar.

“Shit,” he muttered, adjusting her in his hold.

Her breathing was soft, even. Completely out like a light.

Right. Her sleep spells.

She’d explained them the first time it happened—some kind of neurological disorder with no warning signs or real triggers. One moment she was awake, the next she was out cold, collapsing like a puppet with cut strings. She’d joked that her brain had a faulty “off switch.” Nothing dangerous, just… inconvenient. That’s what she called it.

But it still scared the hell out of him every time.

“Ruined the moment, idiot,” he mumbled, brushing her hair back.

She didn’t respond, obviously. Just nuzzled unconsciously into his chest like she always did when this happened.

Bakugo sighed and looked around.

The hallway was empty. Lit gold. Quiet

He stood there for a long minute, holding her steady, his heartbeat slow in his ears. Her weight wasn’t heavy. Just… warm.

This wasn’t the kind of saving he was used to.

No villains. No collapsing buildings. No flash of cameras or crowd roaring after.

But maybe… that was okay.

Maybe saving people wasn’t always about being the strongest. Sometimes, it was holding someone when they fell. Watching over a hallway of kids so they could paint suns. Catching a brush before it hit the floor.

He looked back at the art. 

At the handprints. 

The names. 

The hope.

Bakugo exhaled.

Yeah. He could still be a hero like this, too.

When yn woke up, the first thing she noticed was the dim lighting. It was night outside, the curtains pulled but still faintly glowing at the edges. The overhead light cast a soft halo around the room—just enough to see by.

The second thing she noticed was the dry taste in her mouth and the dull ache in her back, which meant she’d been out for a while.

The third thing she noticed was the very broad figure slouched in the chair beside her bed, arms crossed and chin tucked low against his chest.

Bakugo.

He was fast asleep. His hearing aids were out and tucked into a little case on the table beside her water cup. His hair was messy, a smear of green paint still streaking one forearm like a leftover memory of the day.

Yn blinked at him, a slow warmth blooming in her chest.

“You could’ve gone home, dummy,” she whispered.

He didn’t respond. Of course not.

She pushed herself up slowly, limbs stiff but cooperative.

The motion must’ve stirred him, because Bakugo’s eyes cracked open a second later. Red, sleep-heavy, a little bleary.

He blinked, squinted at her. Then straightened with a quiet grunt, dragging a hand over his face. “You’re up.”

“Was I out long?” she rasped, reaching for the water.

He grabbed his hearing aids and slid them in. “Five hours.”

“Mm. That’s not bad.”

He gave her a flat look. “You missed dinner.”

She smiled, unbothered. “Worried I wouldn’t get my pudding cup?”

“I ate your pudding cup.”

She laughed. “You thief.”

“It was melting,” he said, smug.

She looked at him for a long moment.

The curve of his shoulders. The stupidly hot smirk. The stubborn warmth in the way he always stayed, even when it wasn’t convenient.

Then, she held her arms out with all the drama she could summon. “Pity hug. Now, you monster.”

He gave her a look—half amused, half exasperated—but stood up anyway and leaned down to hug her, arms looping around her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her hands found the back of his neck, fingers toying lightly with the tips of his hair.

He didn’t pull away. Just rested his forehead against hers, eyes half-lidded and soft.

“Did I miss anything?” she murmured.

“Mm. Something pretty major,” he murmured back. “Life-changing, even.”

She chuckled. “Can I still experience it? Or was it a one-time thing?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” he said. “It’s a lifetime thing.”

Then he kissed her.

It wasn’t perfect. There was too much grinning, too many half-laughs between presses of lips. But it was good. Warm. A tiny pocket of peace carved out of everything else.

And then, it changed. Just a little. He leaned in again, his hand sliding lower, and lips parting with unsubtle intent.

Yn made a sound of protest, half chuckle, half warning, and pressed a hand to his chest.

“Hey,” she said, breathless. “We are in a hospital.”

“No one’s watching,” he muttered, cocky. “I’ll be quick.”

“Bakugo,” she warned, trying to look stern.

His grin went lopsided. “Be glad I waited ‘til you were awake. I was tempted earlier.”

She groaned. “Oh my god.”

But she was still tangled in him, still laughing, and he looked unbearably pleased with himself.

A knock at the door interrupted the moment—gentle, polite, and clearly a nurse’s way of saying wrap it up, Romeo.

Bakugo sighed dramatically. “There goes our chance…”

“Text me when you get home, all right?” she said, hand still on his chest, ignoring his whining.

He leaned in, kissing her forehead. “I can smuggle you out, you know.”

She flicked his arm. “Out. Go. Before they revoke your visitation rights.”

He laughed and headed toward the door, pausing just before he stepped through.

“Oh,” he added, glancing back over his shoulder. “By the way. You’re my girlfriend now. Just letting you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh. That’s it? No asking?”

He shrugged. “I figured the kissing made it pretty clear.”

She tried not to smile, but failed. “Fine. But you’re buying me pudding next time.”

“Noted.”

And then he was gone, the door clicking softly behind him.

Yn lay back against the pillows and let the silence settle.

Officially dating a half-deaf, overly-confident exasperating pro hero with a pudding problem.

Not exactly how she thought the day would end.

But it felt good. Solid. Like something she could lean into without fear of breaking it.

And even if he was a thief… At least he’d finally stolen something she’d wanted him to all along.

[manytoonepoet]

(Aaa you don't have to (well... that's a given) respond to this at all, not expecting it, just wanted to share the same sentiment because your post reminded me of it) (Plus this is vv long it's a rant srry. If you do respond though (only an if) I recommend screenshotting so you can turn it into your own post and crop it so it doesn't take so much space)

Honestly, before 3.3 I was kind of sick of people saying "stop making everything about shipping/sexualities" because I assumed it was mainly just people getting salty that they're dealing with a inevitable fandom thing which was shipping/fandom and not staying in their own lanes (besides the obvious obnoxious exceptions).

And then when 3.3 leaks came out, Aglaea and Cipher turned out to have this really tragic and poignant history together, and me & other ppl were shipping it.... until it turned out Aglaea had know Cipher when the latter was a child & Aglaea was an adult + Aglaea raised her = they were a adopted mother daughter dynamic. I felt kind of embarrassed but after quickly moving on, giggling at myself, and examining it closer, I fell in love with their mother daughter relationship and how it was handled in 3.3. I can't even talk about it because then i'll start rambling lol. But then other ppl who assumed this would finally "be the proof" Hoyo was going back to their "yuri roots" (esp when Cerces and Mnestia are RIGHT THERE if you want that) and that Aglaea would finally be "confirmed lesbian" (not even gonna get into that) got angry and denied it to the point where they were looking at their interactions and lines such as "Your weave shop... I wish..... I could chance upon it again, just once.... Say something... Anything.... please" (Cipher was saying this to Aglaea in her final moments) as proof they were actually lovers and that no child would say that to their parent??? Especially when that's where Cipher AS A VISIBLE CHILD (there was a cutscene) met Aglaea who was A VISIBLE ADULT. And then they tried to excuse it by saying "oh there's a 1000 year time leap so it doesn't matter now" when they kept that dynamic since then and that's why Cipher calls back to that moment in the first place, she wants her mom. This wasn't one instance, the post had thousands of likes and many ppl share this sentiment (thankfully many called them out too).

Like.... have you people EVER had significant feelings for others that extended past romantic? Have you ever considered that to be possible? The concept has always been so foreign to me. Family, romantic, friendship, all have such importance that I could never try to scale them against each other. But these people seem like the first thing they do when they judge a relationship is to fit it into one of these categories depending on the weight.

I also find it so funny (in an ironic sense) that people use romance to simplify characters down to such stereotypical traits when instead it should add depth to them. Figuring out how their qualities work together, how they change as people, what parts of them stay the same, when other parts don't, and how they will stay in a relationship if they can at all. There's so much to uncover about characters if you put them in a situation, any tbh, so how this can turn into complete character flanderization is... kind of startling to me? (Speaking as a diehard ratiorine fan.... dude it's so bad)

And now that i've been looking, there are so many cases of shippers (wlm, wlw, mlm, doesn't matter, and my goodness all are completely obnoxious in their own circles and to each other) going into comment sections of nonshippers and spamming their own headcanons, or if someone calls them "besties" in their video (if they're unconfirmed) they'll be in the comments like "and they were roommates" and "history said they were best friends".

I was going to put a whole nother thing in about interpretation but this is already really long sooo. Yea. I just wanted to quickly share my thoughts because wow fandom can suck but i'm glad there's people like you who can call it out when it does

Oh, don't worry about the long rant, Anon, I don't mind reading it all.

Anywayss, to start, yes, I am aware of the annoyance I was causing to some people in this fandom, and for a while, even I doubted whether or not I wanted to be so "bothersome" instead of "staying in my own lane" as you said, which for me, is continue writing poems and musings. But after being bombarded with so many posts about Aventurine and Veritas being gae gae, and so many pornographic fan arts being labeled as masterpieces by the fandom, I decided to break my silence and thought "If these people can be so loud and proud promoting something so disgusting and wrong, then why can't I be just as loud and proud but promoting the truth instead?" — this was the only thing keeping me going, really. This, and the many people I've encountered agreeing with my posts and saying that I've expressed the very feelings they've wanted to express, but don't know how. And that makes me very happy. I may not be able to appeal to most, but I am content with whatever I can achieve.

For Cipher and Aglaea, I can't comment much since I have yet to go through 3.3, but I will say that, based on what you've given me, I'm not surprised. Shippers will say and do anything to everything just to "prove" their ship when there really isn't much proof at all. And while I understand the appeal of shipping (truly, I do, I've spent the majority of my childhood shipping Elsa and Jack Frost, Skye and Chase, and Sonic and Amy), sometimes all shippers do instead of just enjoying and having fun with the ship, as they claim to do, they instead shove their headcannons into everyone's throats and drag people into ship wars and make them choose, and proceed to attack them once that said person they've dragged into this mess disagree with what they want.

And also, that is the thing with some of these shippers, where they claim that Character A can't say this to Character B in a platonic manner when it obviously can? Cipher can say all those things to Aglaea as a child would say all those things to her mother, just as much as Phainon would say "It's a date, Mydeimos" to Mydei as an army veteran would say to his brother in arms after promising to meet each other again, alive, after the war. That is the beauty of HSR's writing; it's full of nuance and depth that a writer could only dream of making!

Character A can have significant feelings for Character B that aren't romantic. Character A can have significant feelings for Character B without necessarily wanting to marry and bed them. It's possible, all of it is possible because having these significant feelings for another person is natural and human! That's why we can have friends and lovers, and families at the same time! And they're all important. Very important.

For Cerces and Mnestia, I wouldn't necessarily call them "confirmed lesbians" or as Hoyo going back to their "yuri roots" mainly because I believe that Titans, much like Aeons, are not confined to the concrete or physical, but rather, they represent divine and abstract concepts, and the people following those concepts. And also because of the fact that, in Chinese culture, according to what I've read, they have a specialized term to refer to the divine beings they worship.

And well, I don't believe anyone in HSR is gay, nor should they only be known for their sexuality, and the reason why I think "queerness" apparently happens within stories is a mix of fan-service and self-projection. It's no secret that Hoyo knows their audience well and does things that satisfy their pre-existing fandom and appeal to potential customers simultaneously, and with the growing popularity of that community, I'm not surprised that Hoyo would join in and drop "hints" and "teases" in their own game as well. Personally, it really is just a marketing strategy to keep as many people as satisfied and attracted to their game as possible without triggering the censorship. And to be quite honest? I don't necessarily blame them for wanting to appeal to a bigger audience; the character trailers alone must've cost them a fortune to make, so of course they're going to find ways to earn back the money that they've spent.

I understand that my stance might be controversial and wouldn't be accepted well by many people, so I will leave it at that. However, if there are some of you who are interested in discussing more of this with me, please go to either my Inbox or message me personally and let us engage in a healthy debate — we are talking about differences in opinions, not personally attacking each other and I would like to keep it at that.

But anywayss, if you truly want to talk about interpretation, then don't hesitate to send me another ask in my inbox. This was a fun read, and I would love to hear more from you, all of you, actually.

I find enjoyment in hearing other people's thoughts and opinions and engaging in a healthy debate with them. But what truly makes me happy is, as I've said above is when I, apparently, express other people's thoughts in ways that they can't. An example would be what you said about me being able to call a fandom out when needed, Anon, and that is an honour for me, and I hope to create more of these analyses that will hopefully resonate and bring light to the unspoken thoughts of the people within my circle, in real life or online.

[forsaken-headcanons]

ive been waiting to put this here for sooo long

Anyways heres a few headcanons and an au.

-All the kidds actually sound different pre-forsaken, and i think they would sound like the kittens in Aristocats(cough cough pr3ttypriincess as marie-). Maybe part of the reason n7 doesn’t recognize c00lkidd?

-Guess what. Two time headcanon. Yknow how their hair is super spikey? Give them Pinkie Pie Hair Physics. If they weren’t so insane it would actually look less like a hedgehog and more like frizzled hair.

-Bald 77noli. Thats it. Both got hit with the bald. (Insert the “Oh my god! She’s bald! She’s bald and she’s torturing people who have hair!” Meme here.)

anyways heres the au.

I read somewhere here that Would You Fall In Love With Me from Epic: The Musical(Winions arise) fit Azuretime, and it did, but not completely. So thats why i made an entire au just so it fit better-

An AU where both Two Time and Azure escape the Spawn cult, but Azure still dies to one of she cult members or amarah finding and killing him(I need him to get forsakened for it to fit-). After escaping the spectre’s realm, and reunites with Two Time, telling them that he isn’t the man they fell inlove with in the past, etc

(JUST LISTEN TO THE SONG OR THE ENTIRE MUSICAL I PROMISE ITS ALL BANGERS. I dont listen much to the cyclops saga tho because. Pancake.)

(Also i once thought of an Epic x Forsaken au where everyone is just. Different two time skins. Anyways bye.)

-(I forgot my anon tag, i think it had 🌟🌌🪄 or something? Its been a lotta days since my last ask here so i dont know if i can find it-) anon

we... actually couldn't find any anon tags similar in the list... either whoever answered your ask didn't add it in, or what you remember isn't accurate. EITHER WAY! we'll js make this one a new anon tag! :D anywho onto the headcanons themselves hshsd

ohh aristocats mentioned... you are SO correct. pr3typriincess Would sound like one of the kittens

THEY'RE BALD

oh god that au sounds tragic. we fear tt will Never recover. dude... 💔💔 ): what is WITH yall and avoiding joy and whimsy at all times /silly /pos

[welostheplot]

── 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 ᨒ↟☾.࿔*:･ 𝐯𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐞 𝐢 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: vampire!ellie williams / werewolf!abby anderson / reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: after a near-death experience in your school's parking lot, you're left questioning what ellie might really be capable of. ancient secrets begin to surface and you start to wonder if there’s more to jackson—and to abby—than anyone’s letting on.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: the briefest mention of incest (but it's not in the way you might be thinking, i swear!), technically underage drinking but it's not explicitly described.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.4k

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: abby's back THANK GOODNESS!! one chapter without her was way too long... also! i've gotten a couple people asking to be tagged when new chapters are posted... guys i made my first tumblr post like a week ago i never thought people would be interested in my work enough that i'd need a tag list (ᵕ—ᴗ—) should i start using one?! and thank you so much for all the support!!!!

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐄 𝐈 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎: "friendly enough"

IT HAD SNOWED AGAIN LAST NIGHT.

and it hadn't been the soft, storybook kind that you see in christmas movies either. it was a wet, icy sleet storm that had turned the sidewalks into skating rinks and lasted well into the next day.

you’d slipped on some black ice on your porch steps that morning while leaving for school and earned a large wet patch on the ass of your skinny jeans. it almost made you walk right back inside and skip the whole day.

you were glad you didn’t.

the abysmal weather, for some reason, was perfect for the millers. they chose that day to make their grand return to school. and grand return wasn’t even an exaggeration. at lunch, they didn’t enter the cafeteria so much as descend into it, moving like a silent, coordinated unit.

ellie was the last to come through the double doors. she scanned the room and then her eyes landed on you.

your breath caught before you could stop it.

“dude, you have got to stop doing that,” said cassie, nudging your shoulder and breaking the moment. “she’s gonna think you’re, like, obsessed with her or something.”

you huffed out an awkward chuckle, tugging at the sleeves of your sweater and turning your attention back to your own table. devin and marcus were arm wrestling, nat cheering them on while leah filmed it on her camera.

“i’m not obsessed,” you mumbled.

“really? could’ve fooled me.” cassie pointed a ranch-dipped baby carrot at you accusatorily. “besides, i already told you it’s not worth it. i mean, yeah, they’re super hot. but also weird as fuck.”

“and borderline incestuous,” leah added, having given up on filming now that devin and marcus were fully wrestling on the cafeteria floor. "i'm pretty sure dina and jesse are, like, a thing. they're not actually related. but they live together! it's weird."

“literally,” cassie agreed. “total turn-off. unless you’re into that kinda stuff.” she gasped, dropping her voice. “you’re… not into that kinda stuff. right?”

you rolled your eyes, half laughing. “don’t be weird.”

“oh, so now i’m the weird one?!”

THE MILLERS BEING BACK MEANT YOU HAD A LAB PARTNER AGAIN.

ellie never really said hi. or looked thrilled to see you. but you weren’t doing two-person assignments solo anymore, so you chalked it up as a win.

"you missed our first quiz on friday," you said one day, halfway through class. your teacher was droning on about something to do with ribosomes.

ellie didn't look up from her notes. “wasn’t feeling well.”

you blinked. a response. actual words. “you feeling better now?”

she glanced at you then. brief. unreadable. “depends.”

“on?”

“whether or not you’re gonna keep asking questions.”

you raised a brow. “so that’s a no, then.”

ellie’s lips twitched. almost a smile.

“noted,” you said, turning back to your own notebook and pretending like your heart wasn’t thudding obnoxiously loud in your ears.

a couple days later, you passed her in the hall between third and fourth period. “hey,” you said before you could stop yourself.

ellie gave you a once-over. “you always say hi to people who are clearly ignoring you?”

you bit your lip, then decided to take a chance: “only the attractive ones.”

you saw the way she paused, her jaw flexed, like she was fighting off a smirk.

“dangerous habit,” she said, voice low and teasing. "yeah, well," you replied, backing up a step, "i’m a reeeeal rebel.”

ellie kept walking. didn’t look back. but you could’ve sworn you saw her shoulders shake—just once—as if she was laughing.

BY THURSDAY, YOU HAD BOTH FALLEN INTO A SORT-OF ROUTINE.

you’d show up to bio, ellie already in her seat—slouched and staring at the door like she had been waiting for your arrival. you did your lab work together, not much talking beyond what was necessary: “i think your answer for question three is wrong.” “i’m never wrong.”

she hadn’t ignored you once all week!

progress, you told yourself.

today, she had actually been what you’d describe as almost pleasant. you were both hovering near the lockers, her shoulder brushing yours every so often as you flipped through the study guide you’d made for the bio quiz next period.

“hey,” a voice cut in, sudden and close enough to make you flinch.

a girl stepped up beside ellie. short, confident. dark curls framing sharp cheekbones.

“you must be the one ellie won’t shut up about.”

ellie glared at her. “dina.”

the girl just grinned. “what? i’m being friendly.”

she turned to you. “i’m dina. one of ellie’s very…. few friends.”

“uh, nice to meet you,” you said, thrown.

“you too,” dina replied, eyeing you with casual curiosity. “i’ve seen your car in the lot. that old red truck?”

you nodded. “hard to miss, huh?”

“it definitely has character,” she said, not unkindly. “but it could probably use some chains on the wheels.”

“funny, my dad said the same thing this morning. he wants to put some on this weekend.”

dina nodded, like that confirmed something. “makes sense. roads’ll get pretty icy the next couple days. worse than usual. you should be careful.”

something about the way she said it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. it was like she knew something you didn’t.

ellie crossed her arms, visibly annoyed. “okay, are you done?”

“don’t be rude,” dina said. “i like her.”

your stomach flipped.

“anyway,” dina added, already turning to walk away, “don’t let me interrupt. good luck with the quiz!” she patted ellie’s shoulder, smiling knowingly. “i already know you’re gonna get a one hundred on it.”

then, she vanished down the hall, leaving behind a trail of confusion and spicy cinnamon perfume.

you turned back to ellie, still processing. “...she’s nice.”

ellie sighed. “we should get to class.”

the next day, you were twirling your pencil, waiting for your teacher to hand back the graded quizzes. when ellie got hers, there it was—bright red ink scrawled at the top of the page:

100%

she bit back a smile. nodded to herself.

then quietly slid the paper into her folder and tucked it away.

YOU ATE SHIT ON THE PORCH STEPS AGAIN THAT MORNING.

same patch of black ice. same bruised ego. and this time, you landed so hard you actually sat on the curb for a second just to wallow in the shame. when you finally limped back inside to change your jeans, your dad barely looked up from his coffee.

“thought i told you to salt those steps,” he said.

“you did, and i did,” you muttered, rubbing your ass. “it rained. and then sleeted. and then froze again.”

he sighed, pushing his mug away. “we’ll get those chains on your tires this weekend.”

“you can’t do it any earlier?”

“well,” he sniffed, flipping to the next page of the newspaper. “abby’s doing it. and that’s when she’s free.”

“so what am i supposed to do till then? crawl to school?”

“ride with a friend.”

and so you did.

nat picked you up fifteen minutes later, blasting the heater and looking way too chipper for how early it was.

“i like your sweater,” she said as you slid into the passenger seat. “it brings out your soulful eyes.”

you blinked. “okay, what?”

she stuttered, cheeks going bright red as she moved to click on the radio. “just— never mind. pretend i didn’t say that.”

you opened your mouth to respond, then closed it again, opting to lean your forehead against the fogged-up window in silence.

nat drove like a maniac, skidding around corners while singing along to the static-warped radio. “why are you in such a good mood?” you asked as she rolled into the school parking lot.

“because,” she said, “today’s the welcome back assembly. which means no third period. which means we’re basically doing nothing until lunch. and if there’s anything i love more than joel miller preaching to us about the city’s improvements while all the female teachers try not to cream their pants at the sight of him, it’s skipping math to sit in a freezing gym while it's happening.”

“you are deranged.”

“i am festive,” she corrected, winking as she pulled into a spot near the front.

you both climbed out of the car into the freezing morning. the ice crunched under your boots. you were in the middle of adjusting your backpack strap on your shoulder when it happened.

a sharp screech.

you turned.

marcus’s car was skidding out of control across the ice-coated parking lot, tires spinning uselessly, the vehicle veering sideways—straight toward you.

you barely registered nat yelling your name. didn’t even have time to move.

but someone else did.

arms—cold and fast and impossibly strong—wrapped around your waist and yanked you back just as the car crashed, full force, into the light post behind you.

the impact echoed like a gunshot. glass shattered. people screamed.

you were on the ground, heart racing, mind struggling to catch up with your body.

ellie.

ellie miller was kneeling over you.

you blinked up at her, dazed. her face was inches from yours. wild green eyes, lips pressed into a tight line.

she let go like you'd burned her.

“are you okay?” she asked, voice strained.

“you—” you sat up, breath hitching. “how did you get here so fast? you were, like—across the lot—i saw you—”

ellie stood up abruptly. “you’re not hurt?”

“no, but—ellie, what the hell just happened?”

nat appeared a second later, breathless. “oh my god, are you—what the fuck just happened? that was, like—holy shit—marcus almost killed you.”

you barely heard her. you were still staring at ellie, who was backing away, eyes on the pavement. marcus stumbled out of his car, shaken up but uninjured. a crowd had started forming. teachers were arriving. someone had called the nurse.

cassie ran up and crouched next to you, pulling an errant shard of glass from your hair. “and i thought the assembly was gonna be the most interesting part of the day.”

you got to your feet, unsteady. ellie was already stepping away, disappearing into the crowd before you could say another word.

and as your friends guided you toward the nurse, you had one overwhelming thought:

that hadn’t been normal.

and ellie knew it too.

THEY MADE YOU GO TO THE HOSPITAL.

even though you insisted you were fine—you had some mild bruising at most—your dad was already on his way before you could talk anyone down.

“they said you were almost hit by a car,” he said, practically throwing himself into the room once the nurse left. “why the hell am i hearing about this from a school receptionist?”

“because i didn’t actually get hit,” you mumbled. “i mean. not technically.”

“you’re lucky your ribs aren't broken,” he said, jaw clenched, eyes flicking back and forth between your IV line and the monitor tracking your heartbeat. “jesus, i can’t believe that kid almost took your life.”

“it wasn’t his fault.”

“he ran you over.”

“almost,” you corrected.

“i swear to god, i’m gonna kill him.”

from the other side of the curtain hung in the middle of the room, you heard a frightened whimper.

you and your dad both turned. the curtain rustled aside just enough to reveal marcus, laid up in the next hospital bed, a bandage on his forehead and an apologetic look on his face.

“i’m really really sorry, sir,” he said. “the road was—i couldn’t stop. it just happened so fast.”

“you shouldn’t even have a license,” your dad snapped. “you’ve got rust holding that car together. you shouldn’t be driving that piece of junk anywhere near a school.”

you scoffed under your breath. “ironic.”

your dad turned slowly. “what was that?”

“nothing.” you sank back against the pillow.

he opened his mouth to say something else, but the door creaked open.

joel miller stepped in, dressed down in a flannel and jeans. he greeted your dad with a firm handshake and a “sorry to hear about the accident,” before turning to you.

“you feelin’ alright?” he asked.

“uh. yeah.” you gave him a half-smile. “i’ve had worse. honestly, probably got bruised more slipping on ice this morning.”

your dad cleared his throat loudly and joel gave a polite, throaty laugh. “just wanted to come by and check in. council’s already coordinating with the school board about next steps. might be time to look into some serious ice mitigation.” he glanced at the monitor beside your bed. “but i’ll get out of your hair now. 'pologies again about all the trouble.”

he slipped out of the room quickly after.

“maybe they should also coordinate on the fact that they need to cancel school when the roads are shit,” marcus muttered.

you ignored him. you hadn’t missed how joel’s eyes lingered on you for a second too long. like he was studying something. and it made you uneasy.

you felt itchy.

“gonna stretch my legs,” you said suddenly, swinging your legs over the side of the bed before your dad could protest.

“you need to take it easy,” your dad warned.

“yeah, yeah. i’m just gonna walk the hallway. the beeping’s giving me a migraine.”

he didn’t argue. you slipped out of the room, hospital socks padding softly against the tile floor.

the hallway was quiet.

you rounded a corner—then froze.

just ahead, voices.

you ducked behind a wall just in time.

“—wasn’t gonna let her die,” came ellie’s voice, low and frustrated.

“you don’t get to make that call,” joel said sharply.

“what was i supposed to do? let her get fucking steamrolled in the parking lot?”

“you’re not supposed to draw attention, ellie.”

“too late,” another voice cut in—sharp, feminine. “maybe you actually should’ve let her get steamrolled. would’ve nipped that little obsession you have with her in the bud.”

you blinked. jesus.

joel’s voice turned to steel. “riley.”

“what?” the girl—riley—sounded exasperated. “you really think this town is gonna be different than the others if she starts snooping around?”

“enough,” joel snapped. “we’ve got company.”

you flinched, then slowly peeked around the corner. joel was looking right at you.

riley groaned and turned away. “i’m over this.”

joel gave ellie a look. something unreadable passed between them before he turned to you again. “glad you’re feeling better,” he said smoothly, then walked off after riley.

you and ellie were left alone.

she was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. hands balled into fists.

you stepped closer. “so... what was that about?”

“don’t start,” she said flatly.

“i’m just curious.”

“you’re always curious.”

“you give me a lot to be curious about.”

ellie looked at you, something stormy flickering behind her eyes. “you need to leave it alone,” she said quietly. “seriously.”

you didn’t reply right away.

she sighed.

“i mean it. you ask the wrong question to the wrong person, and... it won’t end well.”

“are you threatening me?”

“no.” her voice softened just a little. “i’m warning you.”

YOU WEREN’T TRYING TO INTERROGATE ELLIE MILLER.

you were just… talking to her. a lot.

and noticing things.

cassie, ever observant and entirely too nosy, clocked it immediately.

“you’re doing the thing,” she said one day during homeroom.

“what thing?”

“the thing where you ignore all my warnings about how freakish the millers are and proceed to ask, like, twelve different questions about them over the course of a week.”

you frowned. “it’s not twelve.”

“it’s ten and counting. i’ve been keeping track.”

you scribbled a mindless doodle into the corner of your notebook. “it’s not like that.”

cassie smirked. “sure.”

and okay—maybe she had a tiny point.

after the hospital, something shifted. ellie wasn’t warm, exactly. but she wasn’t ice cold either. her usual glare had softened to a squint. and sometimes, if you caught her off guard, she’d seem even genuinely interested in what you had to say.

you didn’t know what to do with that.

so you kept testing the waters.

attempt #1: bio lab

you nudged her notebook with your pencil.

“your notes are, like, impossible to follow.”

“they’re not impossible,” she said, without looking up. “they’re just for me.”

you squinted at the chicken scratch.

“what even is that? cursive?”

“alien.”

you stared at her. she glanced up.

“kidding,” she said, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “it’s shorthand. you can’t read it.”

“how convenient.”

“maybe you should just pay attention instead of trying to steal my work.”

you flushed. “i’m not stealing.”

“sure,” she said. “you just really like my handwriting.”

you bit your lip to hide a smile.

attempt #4: the parking lot

you were leaning against your car after school, waiting on cassie and leah, when she appeared. no footsteps. no sound. she was just there.

you jumped.

“jesus—”

“chains on your tires yet?” she asked.

you blinked. “what?”

“you mentioned it. last week. your dad said he’d take care of it.”

you narrowed your eyes. “…you remembered that?”

she shrugged. “yeah, i guess i did.”

you stared at her.

she stared back.

"what does it matter to you?”

“just don’t want to have to save you again,” she muttered.

you smiled. “so you admit it. you saved me.”

“oh my god,” she groaned, turning to walk away.

attempt #7: the hallway

you tried to catch her walking between periods.

“hey. wait up.”

ellie paused. didn’t stop walking. just slowed a little.

you fell into step beside her.

“so,” you said casually, “when you… saved me… you moved fast.”

ellie bristled. “...okay?”

“like, really fast.”

she didn’t look at you. “guess adrenaline does that.”

“right,” you said. “but i heard marcus didn’t even hit the brake before you were already pulling me back.”

she stopped walking.

you nearly bumped into her.

“what do you want me to say?” she asked, voice quiet. not angry. just tired. “that i’ve got superpowers?”

you stared at her.

she shook her head. “you need to stop asking questions.”

and, finally, attempt #10: the cafeteria

you slid up next to her on the lunch line, her hood up and face blank as the lunch lady slapped a sloppy joe onto her tray. “so… beach this weekend?”

her brows lifted. “what?”

“we’re planning a trip to colter bay. cassie’s idea. you should come.”

ellie blinked. something in her jaw twitched.

“i don’t do colter bay. actually, i don’t do beaches, period.”

“why not?”

“sand.”

“that’s it? sand?”

“and people,” she added. “and crowds. and being expected to wear a bathing suit.”

you laughed. “you’re a total recluse, huh?”

she shrugged.

“well, the invitation’s open,” you said, nudging her tray. “to, like, all of you.”

ellie didn’t answer.

but her eyes lingered on you a little longer than necessary.

NAT HAD INSISTED ON STOPPING AT A GAS STATION TO PEE.

completely unnecessary, given the drive was only forty minutes, but somehow had turned into twenty minutes of intense debate about what snacks to get and an accidental slushie spill. by the time you rolled up to colter bay, the sun was already beginning to dip, casting a golden haze over the shoreline.

“ugh, i can’t wait to come here when it’s actually hot out again,” devin declared, climbing out of the car and snapping a picture immediately.

you were busy hauling a grocery bag of marshmallows and wine coolers when you spotted a familiar figure walking down the edge of the beach. blonde braid, bulky jacket, broad shoulders.

“well, well,” she said, grinning when she saw you. “look who brought the party.”

“you heard about this?” you asked, surprised.

“manny’s been hyping it up for days,” she said. “he was under the impression there was gonna be ‘hella hot chicks.’ his words, not mine.”

you snorted. “unfortunately, it’s just cassie, leah, devin, and nat. and me. i hope that counts.”

“i dunno,” abby said, giving you a slow once-over. “i definitely think you qualify.”

“abby, shut up and stop flirting” came a voice from behind her—taller guy, long hair, goofy smile. manny, presumably.

the rest of them trailed behind:

nora, serious-faced and sharp-eyed;

mel, eyes lighting up at the sight of the wine coolers;

and owen, who seemed very invested in figuring out who abby was allegedly flirting with.

they all looked... at ease out here. like they did this all the time.

“hey, weren’t the millers invited to this?”

you glanced back at cassie. “yeah i invited them,” you said a little too quickly.

“they never come here,” nora said, sharp and dismissive—almost eager to shut it down.

abby shot her a warning look, but nora just shrugged.

“what?” she said. “i’m just saying. this is our lake.”

“i don’t think it can be your anything,” nat said, half-laughing. “it’s a state park.”

“yeah, sure,” manny said, but there was something weird in the way they all looked at each other.

abby broke the tension with a half-smile. “don’t mind them. they get a little territorial about colter bay. it’s like… home turf.”

“ellie had said she might come,” you muttered quietly, mostly to yourself.

abby nudged your shoulder with hers. “her loss.”

YOU AND ABBY WANDERED OFF AFTER THE SECOND ROUND OF S’MORES.

“you wanna skip rocks?” she asked, already veering off the path toward the lake’s edge.

you nodded. “sure. but i’m warning you now, i have horrible aim.”

“figured,” she smirked. “you’ve got that indoor girl kinda vibe.”

“rude,” you said, scoffing, but it made you smile.

the two of you settled near the shoreline. the lake was quiet now—just the occasional ripple breaking across its surface, catching the light from the stars and the firepit behind you.

“so,” you said, rubbing your arms against the cold, “you guys always hang out way out here?”

abby shrugged. “we live out here. my family, my friends. the rest of the WLF's. always have.”

abby crouched to pick up a flat stone. “you ever hear the stories about this place?”

“like what, ghost stories?”

she tossed the stone. it skimmed once, twice, then sank. “sorta. depends on who you ask.”

you mirrored her, finding your own stone and hurling it with zero technique. it plunked into the water with a pathetic plop.

“they say our people come from wolves,” she chuckled. “wyoming liberation front? WLF? wolf? makes sense.”

“pretty on the nose.”

she ignored that. “and there was another group. back then they called themselves the fireflies. different kind of power. colder. not from the land like we are.”

“and let me guess,” you said. “they were your rivals.”

abby nodded. “my great-grandfather... he caught a group of fireflies on our land, doing something they shouldn’t have.”

“so what happened?”

“he made a deal,” she said. “the fireflies could stay—so long as they didn’t step foot on our land again. in exchange, we wouldn’t tell anyone what we knew. we’d keep our secret. they’d keep theirs.”

you turned that over in your mind. “but that was a long time ago. it still matters now?”

“the millers? they’re fireflies. or what’s left of them. the treaty still stands. it’s why they didn’t come here today.”

you swallowed. “and if they did?”

abby’s face turned serious. “we don’t cross the line. they don’t cross it either.”

there was a finality to the way she said it.

“so what are you guys now?” you asked quietly. “still wolves?”

abby met your gaze. “we’re protectors. of each other. of this place. and sometimes,” her voice dropped, “of people who don’t even know they need protecting.”

your heart stuttered.

"right,” you said, turning back toward the firepit glowing in the distance.

THE BELL ABOVE THE DOOR JINGLED AS YOU STEPPED INTO THE WARM DINER.

your dad was already in his usual booth, newspaper unfolded in front of him, cup of black coffee half-drained.

he glanced up as you slid into the seat across from him, folding the paper in half with one hand. “you’re late.”

“blame leah,” you muttered. “she wanted to walk me through every second of her dream where devin asked her to prom in front of the whole school. with an acoustic guitar. in a tuxedo.”

“romantic,” he deadpanned. “didn’t know teenage boys were capable of that much effort.”

“devin’s barely capable of remembering his own locker combo.”

he grunted a laugh and went back to skimming the paper. the waitress dropped off two menus and topped off your dad’s mug with steaming hot coffee.

“another animal attack,” he said, frowning at the front page. “that’s the third this month.”

you blinked. “where?”

“outside the east edge of town. ranger found what was left of a hiker yesterday morning.”

you took a sip of water, trying to tamp down the chill that slid down your spine. fiddled with the peeling lamination on the menu.

he flipped the paper and took a sip of coffee. “you alright? been kinda quiet since… y’know.”

you didn’t answer right away. your finger traced a line through the condensation on your glass. “i’m fine.”

he glanced up at you, squinting. “you sure?”

“yeah,” you said. “i mean. abby put the chains on my tires. so you can stop worrying about that.”

he grunted. “finally. car like yours needs all the help it can get in this weather.”

“rude.”

“honest.”

“i’m fine,” you repeated. “really. and marcus still won’t stop apologizing even though i told him it’s all good.”

“kid deserves to grovel a little. he’s lucky i didn’t file a report and drag his ass to court.”

you rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “his car’s worse off than mine.”

“well, his license should be revoked either way. driving that junker through black ice…” he trailed off, shaking his head.

you let his voice and the chatter in the diner fade into the background as you glanced out the window.

your mind wasn’t on marcus. or your car. or even school.

it was on what abby said at colter bay.

they’re fireflies. or what’s left of them.

the beeping of a microwave from the kitchen pulled you back.

you tapped your nail against your water glass. “hey, dad?”

he looked up, one eyebrow raised.

“…do you ever get the feeling like something’s coming, but you don’t know what?”

he studied you for a second, then leaned back and blew out a slow breath through his nose.

“i think that crash rattled you more than you’re letting on.”

you sighed, shaking your head. “i told you, i’m fine.”

he hummed, clearly not buying it, but didn’t push. reached for his coffee instead.

outside, the sky had turned a heavy grey, and there was a weight to the air that hadn’t been there before.

this work is mine. please don’t repost, copy, or publish elsewhere without permission. thank you!

[luna-rainbow]

Canonically, if the films can’t show everything, then wouldn’t it have made more sense to make the inference that the Howling Commandos, including Bucky, “taught” Steve additional ways to fight? In the films, he’s shown fist fighting even before the serum, he goes to basic training (even for a short time) where he displays mental and physical dexterity (even if he’s not the strongest), then he goes on the USO tour where it’s clearly implied there’s no fighting or learning to fight really happening including with Peggy, then the dude goes and spends a couple of years leading a spec ops team of fighters - and it’s THAT group with Steve that is depicted fighting together the most consistently.

In fact, the STRIKE teams in later movies are a callback to the Howling Commandos and meant to echo what Steve has lost. In Avengers, he’s using battlefield strategy that to Steve, he was just using a couple of weeks back; he’s using the shield to fight soldiers (the aliens are even referred to as a battalion or something similar). In TWS, he’s shown using knife skills to directly mirror the Winter Soldier.

When he’s in the elevator fighting the STRIKE team, they fight like Steve. That’s why they thought they ever had a chance of winning. Brock in particular uses a fighting style very close to Steve’s, aka very similar to what is taught to spec ops soldiers (again, mirrored by WS, the ultimate spec ops soldier). Look at the fight between WS and Steve and how evenly it’s matched, and they use similar moves (another example, Steve kicks the guy off the boat, the way Natasha kicks Sitwell off the building, the way WS kicks people off the helicarriers, etc.). By CATWS, Steve displays fighting styles that weren’t even introduced, let alone popular, in the US until after he was frozen, so he wouldn’t have even have had a chance to learn them until he was taught after he was defrosted.

All that to say - Steve fights like a (modern) trained special forces soldier, aka the people he spent most of his time fighting with in WW2, then SHIELD in modern age. Also, Why wouldn’t he have wanted Bucky to teach him how to shoot, when Bucky was considered a highly elite sniper and adept at hand-to-hand combat and boxing, if he needed to learn? “No, thanks, Bucky, I know you and the Howling Commandos are a group of expertly trained, highly-skilled operatives, but someone I know who has never been in actual combat taught me how to throw a punch (even tho I already knew how to do that, since I was shown doing it about an hour before in this film) and she shot straight at me once and I learned how to shoot, so I’m all set!”

Unless the argument is Peggy taught all of the Howling Commandos lol. Also in no way would anyone consider Steve’s fighting style to be *defensive* or like that of an opponent who doesn’t know his own strength or considers himself weaker?? The ONLY time he does that is when he’s fighting the Winter Soldier when he knows it’s Bucky. (Compare: when he doesn’t know it’s Bucky, he goes running full tilt at him.)

Anyway I know that’s an older post, but I just saw it again for the first time in a while and it just doesn’t make sense that Peggy fans argued that she taught Steve.

Thanks for the rant XD Yeah when I saw the Peggy + Steve fighting style post I was like what?? Bucky's fighting style clearly mirrors Steve a lot more, even though they are also very different.

I wish we got more of the stunts actors talking about Steve and Bucky's choreography. I remember watching some videos a long time ago. Steve's fighting style is very different in CATWS compared to the previous movies (A1 and CATFA), which to be fair didn't really showcase his fighting prowess beyond shield throwing. I think one of the stunt actors said they incorporated various Asian martial arts styles for Steve in CATWS, and made him a lot more acrobatic in his movements. Personally I think the brute force of the strike team is more similar to Bucky than Steve, who's far more agile -- but also from a practical perspective, the guys in the elevator are the stunts people/choreographers so of course their movements are similar to Steve and Bucky's styles. (The Asian dude in the corner is the stunts guy for Black Panther in Civil War, very cool!)

Steve's new fighting style is extremely efficient. I don't think it comes from a "used to be weak" background (like the Steggy meta said), because it's so different from his "in the back alley" fighting, which was just punching and shielding until he got knocked down. In CATWS he's trained his body to take advantage of his new physique -- sure it's bigger, but it's also faster, more agile, stronger, better endurance, and better coordinated. There are scenes he gets by with brute force (e.g. running through the walls) but where he can, he uses jumps, rolls and spins to increase the impact on his opponent while taking less blunt force on himself. I'm not sure if the stunts actors were riffing off Chris's own dance background, and Chris is a big guy, but Steve looks very light-footed and nimble in this movie. It might also be because his centre of gravity changes a lot in this new fighting style -- he'll make high leaps and spins, but he'll often also hug the ground with his shield, so it gives a sense of incredible agility.

Bucky on the other hand - we never see him in hand to hand combat in CATFA except maybe when he (literally) kicked the guy's ass in the alley, so the Winter Soldier's fighting style is also completely new. It's a very distinct way of movement, and I remember a TFATWS interview where someone said Sebastian was being very particular with the stunts team about how Bucky moves (Sebastian doing the heavy lifting when it comes to Bucky's characterisation again...)

The Winter Soldier - and even Bucky, in later movies/series, makes big flourishing movements with his arms and get into wide-based stances (and very big kicks) that make him look bigger than he actually is. Which is interesting because why would a sniper/stealth assassin need to have a threat display? Predators who are on the hunt don't do this because it would startle their prey. Threat displays are defensive (or territorial, which is kinda still defensive).

The Soldier is perfectly capable of sneaking up on his prey when he tries, e.g. him stalking after Nat on the Causeway. But when he's in melee mode, his movements are (coming from an untrained eye) a lot less economical than Steve's because of these extra flourishes, and it makes the Winter Soldier look like a creature of brute force rather than stealth.

Which is...interesting. From a Doylist perspective, maybe they wanted the Terminator vibes to make him look like an unstoppable "cyborg" as they called him.

From a Watsonian perspective, two thoughts: 1) Hydra turned an instrument of finesse (sniper) into a blunt force weapon, and 2) despite his proficiency, Bucky/the Winter Soldier does not feel at ease with hand to hand combat, hence the extra threat displays that's meant to scare his opponents into submission...which when your opponent is in any way trained, is just going to trigger their fight response.

Even when you look at this fight, yeah Steve was pushed onto the defensive quite a few times by the Winter Soldier, but he didn't come in on the defensive, he was very much on the offensive. And as you say, Steve's entire fighting style is that of someone who is very self-aware of his superhuman strengths and uses it for maximum attack damage despite using a defensive weapon (shield). Similarly Bucky's moves are also that of someone who's been force-trained to push that body to the limit of his strength and speed.

If we're really talking about someone whose style is based on defensive strategies, that's Nat. Her moves are far more characteristic of someone of a smaller stature taking on bigger stronger opponents, hence her abundance of stun weapons and her reliance on stealth and surprise.

[zayn-210]

THE ENEMY - christopher chahn bahng

it's never been easy getting along with him, but the world works in funny ways, and one project leads to things you've only ever dreamed about before.

warnings: college!au, chris is lowkey down bad, a few uses of y/n, making out in the studio, swearing

God, he hated you. Chris would even go as far to say he loathed you. Everything was a competition between the two of you ever since you found out you were tied for the top of your class.

Chris swore he hated those stupid little skirts you would wear, but his fingers were always itching to rip them off of you. He hated your oversized sweaters, but deep down, he wished they were his.

He hated how neat and organized your notes were, and he hated how fucking perfect you were.

Which is exactly why today's production class was going to be the death of him.

You were sitting directly next to him, not even paying the slightest bit of attention to him as you tapped away at your laptop. The professor begins reading off the partners for a project that was worth nearly 50% of your grade.

"Christopher and Y/n."

His head shoots up. Oh fuck.

You nod at your professor, jotting down the deadlines in your planner.

When class ends, Chris sighs loudly, hitting his head dramatically on the desk.

"Don't hit your head too hard, you might knock all of the brain cells out," you say, slipping your laptop into your bag.

Chris scoffs. "You say that like you care about me."

"I care about this project grade being worth 50% of my grade," you reply.

The two of you sit there, neither of you breaking the eye contact.

"Oh, for fuck's sake! Will you two quit? We have another class to get to," Changbin, one of Chris's close friends, yells as he walks out.

You snap out of it, smoothing your skirt down as you stand. "Can I see your phone?"

Chris cocks an eyebrow at you. "And why would I do that?"

You roll your eyes. "So we can set up a time to work on the project, idiot."

Chris reluctantly hands you his phone. "I thought you were flirting with me for a second."

You laugh, and it's a dry, sarcastic sound. "In your dreams, Christopher." You hand him his phone back. "I'll text you later when I'm at the studios."

Chris watches as you exit the classroom, your hair fluttering behind you as you go. As soon as you're gone, he groans.

"Dude, you have got to grow some balls and ask her out," Changbin says as Chris joins him in the hall.

"I don't want to hear it right now," Chris replies, rubbing his face tiredly.

It takes all day for you to text him.

Every time his phone lit up, Chris would pick it up, hoping it was you.

'y/n - does friday at 730pm work for you? we'll be in studio 4'

He swears his heart does a flip in his chest.

'christopher - yep'

Chris sets his phone down and walks into the kitchen.

"Dude, party at Delta Gamma on Friday, you in?" Felix asks.

"Can't, I've got a project date with Y/n."

Seungmin's jaw drops. "No way you got paired with her."

"Yeah, unfortuantely," Chris grumbles as he rummages through the fridge for something to eat.

"She's going to eat you alive, man," Minho comments.

"Oh, please! He would let her," Jisung adds.

Friday night at 7:30 p.m. sharp, Chris walks into Studio 4 carrying his laptop and headphones.

You're already there, legs tucked up under you as you adjust a couple of settings on the computer. At the sound of the door opening, you turn around. "Oh, hey," you say.

"Hey." Chris sits down in the other chair, opening up his laptop. "So, what were you thinking for this?" he asks timidly.

"Honestly, I was waiting to hear your input."

He gives you a look.

"What? If we're going to work on this together, we might as well get along. And it's only gonna be worse if we're at each other's throats the whole time," you explain.

"That's fair."

Chris leans back in his chair as he thinks. The sound of your typing fills the quiet room.

"What if we embraced the hate?"

You look over at him. "Go on."

"Like, we write a song about two people hating each other but deep down, they really care about each other."

You nod, your brain already working. "That sounds really good, actually. Okay, I'll tackle lyrics and rhythm, you tackle the sounds?"

Chris nods, scooting towards his laptop.

The studio falls silent as the two of you work. Occasionally, you slide your laptop closer to Chris for his input on a lyric, and he passes you his headphones so you can hear what he's putting down.

After a few hours, the song is fully written and all that's left is vocals.

"Are we singing this or are we recruiting some friends to do it?" Chris asks.

"I think we can do it."

He looks over at you as you look up at him.

"If you're cool with it, of course," you add.

Chris nods. "Yeah, I'd like that."

He holds your gaze for a few minutes until you snap out of it.

"Shit, I have an early lecture tomorrow!" You jump up, putting everything into your bag. "Can we meet again on Sunday? Around noon?" you ask, sliding your bag over your shoulder.

"Yeah, of course."

You pull out your phone and check the bus schedule. A groan leaves your lips as you see the buses are done running for the day. "God, I don't want to walk all the way across campus," you mutter as you head towards the door.

"Do you want a ride?" Chris offers.

You look over at him and nod softly. "Yes, please."

Chris nods, grabbing his stuff.

The two of you walk quietly to his car. The cool air of the night blows around you, making you shiver as it slides through your thin shirt. Without a second thought, Chris is sliding off his letterman's jacket and putting over your shoulders.

"Christopher, I'm fine-"

"You're shivering. Wear the damn jacket, please."

With a sigh, you give in, sliding your arms into the sleeves.

He opens the door for you when you get to his car, which shocks you.

Who knew Chris could be such a gentleman? you think to yourself as he climbs into the driver's seat.

Chris turns the key and his black Mustang rumbles to life. "Which building are you in?"

"South Tower," you tell him.

Chris turns around, his hand braced on the headrest behind your head. You never understood why people found that attractive until now. Chris bites his lip in concentration, the veins in his hand flexing as he steers the car one-handed. You admire him for a minute before looking away bashfully.

The drive to your dorm is silent. So much silence, you think.

Chris parks the car and you open your door, stepping out. You start to slide his jacket off, but he stops you.

"Keep it. Don't want you freezing to death on your way up to your dorm."

You feel a blush on your face as you wrap his jacket around your body tighter. "Thanks for the ride," you say as you lean down to see him.

"Any time," he replies with a grin. "So, I'll see you Sunday?"

You nod. "See you Sunday, Chris."

You're bombarded the second you walk into your dorm room.

"Okay, spill!" Jisoo, your best friend and roommate, demands.

"Spill what?" you ask as you set your things down on your desk.

"You're wearing Chris's jacket!" she exclaims.

You had almost forgotten that. "Oh, yeah. I was cold walking to his car, so he gave me his jacket." You slide out of said jacket and put it over the back of your chair, the last name "BAHNG" big and bold on the back.

"Girl!" Jisoo gives you a pointed look. "You were walking around wearing his last name! Chris just told every guy that saw you to back off," she explains.

"What are you even talking about?"

She rolls her eyes dramatically. "For someone so smart, you're so fucking dense sometimes."

"Thanks, Ji, love you, too," you reply as you gather your things for a shower.

"Chris fucking likes you, you idiot!"

You whirl around to face her. "Oh, please! We can't stand each other!"

"And that's why you're next to him in every class then, hm?" Jisoo asks, sitting up on her bed.

"Jisoo, it's the professors that put us together, not ourselves," you say.

"Maybe it's because the tension between you two is killing everyone around you," she retorts.

"Remind me why I put up with you again?" you say as you grab your robe.

"You love me!" Jisoo calls as you walk out of your room.

Sunday rolls around, and Jisoo blocks your path.

"No way, you are not going to meet the number one guy on everyone's fuck list looking like that," she says, ushering you back into your room.

"What's wrong with my outfit?" you ask.

You're dressed in a hoodie and a pair of black leggings with Converse.

"The whole slutty school girl look you have going for you works so much better! Don't you want him to listen to you?" Jisoo says as she rummages through your closet. "Oh, yeah! This is perfect."

She hands you a white tennis skirt and a tight red sweater with a deep V neck. Jisoo also tosses white knee-high socks and a red ribbon in your direction.

"What's the ribbon for?" you say as you pick it up.

"Your hair, or for something else," Jisoo replies with a wink. She sets your Mary Janes down in front of you and smiles. "Get dressed, Cinderella. Your fairy godmother needs time to work her magic."

Twenty minutes later, you're out the door and looking twenty times hotter than before. You walk out of your building with Chris's jacket draped over your arm, and you nearly drop everything in your hands due to shock.

Chris is there, leaning against his Mustang while he scrolls on his phone.

"Chris!" you exclaim

"Hey," he says, looking up. Chris's jaw drops as he takes you in.

"Hi," you say with a small smile.

Your hair is curled and pulled up in to a half-up, half-down style with your bangs hanging loose. The red velvet ribbon is just the finishing touch.

"I brought your jacket," you tell him, handing it over.

"Oh, t-thanks," he stutters, taking it from you.

Chris opens your door, letting you get in before he shuts it. He sets his jacket in the back then sits in the driver's seat.

The drive to the studio is quiet, and you absently mess with the hem of your skirt.

"You okay? You seem tense," Chris says, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, I'm good. My roommate just said something and it's bugging me," you reply.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he offers.

You shake your head. "No, I'm good. Thank you, though."

The two of you walk into the studio and get set up.

"Do you want to just run it a couple of times with the two of us first before we record?" Chris asks.

You nod. "Yeah, it'll be better if we can get a feel for each other's voices before we really try to record."

You step into the booth and start adjusting microphones and headsets. You're lowering a mic for yourself when Chris walks in.

He steps in wordlessly beside you, messing with some of the settings. Chris's hand touches yours as he moves to adjust something on your mic. Something electric flows from his hand to yours as he brushes past. You step out of the booth to grab a couple of water bottles and the rest of the sheet music from your bag.

"Here," you say, passing him a copy of the music and a water.

"Thanks."

Once everything's set up, Chris starts the track and it's time to sing.

You can tell from the corner of your eye that he's shocked at your voice, but you don't quite catch the way his eyes practically sparkle as he watches you.

When his voice joines you for the harmonies the two of you created, Chris swears he feels his heart explode. He was completely in love with you, practically head over heels. He never picked girls up from their dorms nor did he willingly give them his letterman's jacket and let them keep it for a night.

What the hell is going on with me? he asks himself as you wrap up the first take.

"How'd that feel?" you ask, taking your headphones off and setting them down.

"Really good," Chris mumbles.

"One more time, just for good measure?"

Chris nods, going to restart the track.

Your verse and the first chorus flow smoothly, but when it's Chris's turn, he freezes. You look over at him and sigh, brushing past him to turn off the track.

"What's going on with you?" you ask as you step back into the booth.

"Nothing, nothing!" he replies, blushing furiously.

"Doesn't seem like nothing," you say, leaning your weight into one hip.

Chris groans, pulling his headphones off and running his hands through his hair. "Really, I'm fine."

You grab his hand and pull him out into the studio. Chris is shocked when you shove him down into a chair and sit across from him. "Talk."

His gaze snaps to you. "What?"

"Talk. We're not going to get anything done if you're out of it like this, so talk. What's going on?" you ask, more sternly than before.

"Fine, you really want to know?"

You nod.

"It's you. It's the way you carry yourself, the way you always have an answer everytime I have a question. It's the way you dress. I fucking love those tiny ass skirts and I want nothing more than to rip them off of you. Or those fucking oversized sweaters that I wish were mine. I convinced myself that if I hated you, these feelings would go away, but fuck. They're worse than before, and when I picked you up today and saw how gorgeous you were, I almost got on my knees right then and there. I know we can't stand each other, but God, I fucking adore you."

Your jaw is slighly dropped as you take in everything Chris just said. He moves to get up and leave, but he stops when you say, "Wait."

Chris sits back down, looking at you expectantly.

Without warning, you get up and climb into his lap, crashing your lips onto his. Chris gasps slightly in surprise, wrapping his arms around your waist as he pulls you further into him. Your fingers tangle in his hair as you kiss him harder, your lipstick smearing on him.

"I adore you, too," you say as you pull away slightly.

Chris is a mess beneath you, his eyes are hazy, his cheeks are blushing a deep pink, and his lips are swollen and tinted red by your lipstick.

"Really?" he breathes out.

"Really," you reply with a nod.

Chris pulls you back in, and it's like fireworks explode between the two of you. His hands slide under your thighs as he stands, carrying you over to the couch. Once you're settled firmly on his lap again, Chris lets you take control again. Your lips leave his, causing him to whine.

"Hold on, you big baby. I just want to do something."

You grab your purse next to him and fish out your lipstick. He watches, his deep brown eyes wide as you apply a fresh coat.

"Much better," you whisper to him.

Chris practically whines as you start leaving kiss marks all over his neck, the red standing out against the paler tones of his skin. Once his neck is covered, you kiss him again, his hands tightening on your waist.

"You drive me crazy," Chris mumbles against your lips.

"I know," you reply. Your fingers grasp the hem of his shirt, aiming to lift it up and off of him.

"Wait, wait."

You look at him, slightly confused.

"You deserve more than the studio couch for your first time with me. Let me take you to dinner, just us. Then we can go back to my place and do whatever you want," he says, his hands holding onto yours.

You giggle. "Such a gentleman, Chris," you say, kissing his cheek and leaving a bright red print of your lips. "I'd like that." You card your fingers gently through his messy hair.

"Good. Now how the hell am I supposed to leave looking like this?"

You laugh again, making him laugh as well. "I have makeup wipes," you say, grabbing them and your phone. You lean back, opening your camera. Chris looks at you and smiles. You snap a few pictures. While you do, he takes your free hand and brings it up to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

Your jaw drops at the photo. "How are you so gorgeous?" you ask, turning your phone so he can see.

"Maybe it's because I have the prettiest girl in the world on my lap."

You blush and giggle, hiding your face in his neck. "Shut up."

"Never."

[liltumgrum]

Never considered this before but now I have many thoughts.

Specifically I think it’s sky blue, payne’s gray, and a growing interest in various greens.

I doubt he’s ever seriously considered it before, at least in adult hood, but if asked would come to a firm conclusion. Sky blue indicating a clear sky. It’s something he would associate with freedom and the opposite of the weeping. Which triggers his seasonal depression. It’s about the same color as Syl, one of the few lights he can make out when life is the darkest. Sky blue feels like a less serious and heavy color than the blue of their uniforms.

Payne’s Grey I think is similar to a storm cloud. The dudes got a complicated history with storms but does typically enjoy them.

Greens reason is a super super minor spoiler for Wind and truth.

Green could be a growing contender. I’m basing this purely off of how he was enjoying all the greenery in shinovar.

HIS favorite color if you pick blue just because it's his uniform and you don't have actual reasons I'm coming for you

[trlblzd]

found these again and laughed my ass off

[lemongogo]

viktor prev 🤖

[kori-senpai]

New Leokumi content in the lords year of 2024?? It's more likely than you think! (x)

[spaciebabie]

would smash leshy

[doverstar]

every year around this time I rewatch Julie and the Phantoms, and every year I am reminded how much heart this little tween show about grief and hope has

[deus-ex-mona]

ok yk what. now that i’ve had some time to process nghy canon, considering the current pacing of gen retcon, i think their next step is as ✨clear as day✨

i really like seeing them happy together, but i truly do think that they should divorce and either live the rest of their lives as single besties; partners in hero/heroine-isms, but better off as just friends, or go their separate ways for a bit and get back together when they’re a little older and wiser, staying together for good this time around, as each other’s first and last boyfriend/girlfriend

[fucknugg3t]

hugs need to last longer wdym it’s over wdym the school has a rule against pda bro I love my friend I want to be held what

[atigrado]

class of 09 the flipside