#not expecting to feel a certain kind of way about this one

[creamflix]

MAKE SOME NOISE FOR THE DESI BOYS! — featuring gojo, nanami, sukuna, toji, choso, geto content warnings: writing this as a way to cope with my horrible first draft of a oneshot. south asian & desi settings/culture/reference(s), certain non-english phrases or words have been written in italics. established relationship, more of character headcannons than x reader moments. lots of fluff and crack and very self indulgent.

what’s this? it’s spicy? — every time. gojo’s arrogance would be no match for a plate of golgappa with the most fiery paani. he’d insist he could handle it, only to down half a bottle of milk and dramatically flail about. would wear a kurta to your cousin’s wedding but would make it somehow... scandalous? the kurta would be slightly unbuttoned, the sleeves rolled up, showing his forearms, earning him several aunties’ stares (and jibes). absolutely insists on dancing during wedding processions. he’d make it his moment, hyping everyone up, and yes he'll even sit on your uncle’s shoulders, long limbs flailing around. if he accompanies you to a relative's house, he'd out-chat the most talkative aunty. someone needs to remind him he’s not the center of attention during mid-afternoon snack time. insists he doesn’t need or drink tea but still sips yours every single time, claiming it “just tastes better” when it’s from your hands. decides to help your mom in the kitchen one day, only to create a disaster. your mom bans him after he burns roti and mixes sugar instead of salt into daal. everytime he goes with the aunties to shop at the local markets, he always gets a few knick-knacks for you, even without asking. expect you to wear them on your dates together, duh.

nanami would be in awe of your mom's cooking. he'd sit quietly, savoring every bite, occasionally muttering, “this is exquisite.” he’d be polite to the point where he wouldn’t admit his stomach was done at a family dinner. your uncles would keep piling food on his plate, and he’d silently soldier through, sweating a little but never complaining. he’d be fascinated by your family's love for cricket and would learn the rules just to engage in conversation. next thing you know, he’s analyzing the team's batting order at 3 a.m. you’d catch him sneaking sweets from the fridge at odd hours, eyes lighting up like a kid when he discovers them stashed away. learns exactly how you like your tea and makes it for you without asking every morning. he even knows to add extra ginger when you’re sick. helps you set up lamps during diwali and insists on doing the rangoli with you, though he’s oddly meticulous and wants symmetry everywhere. tries helping you drape your saree during a family event and somehow manages to get it perfect after watching one youtube tutorial. after work, he picks up paani puri from the stall near your house because he knows it’s your favorite, even though it’s been a long day for him.

geto would become every single kid’s favorite at family gatherings. he’d let them braid his hair, play charades, and act as the mediator when they start fighting over who goes first. he’s the kind who’d sit with your grandma for hours, listening to her stories about her youth and nodding thoughtfully as if committing everything to memory. would absolutely insist on wearing a sherwani to a wedding because he respects the tradition, and he looks like he just walked off a vogue india cover. notices every detail — your earrings, your bangles, even that small bindi you put on. always manages to say something that makes you feel seen and cherished. loves watching old shahrukh khan movies with you and mimics the dramatic hand gestures, leaving you in fits of laughter. makes a mess of eating sev puri, getting imli chutney all over his fingers, but enjoys it so much that he insists on taking you for chaat every week.

sukuna refuses to admit he likes your mom’s parathas but will eat five in one sitting. he’d grumble about “why does this butter smell so good?” while scooping another bite. at first, he’d scoff at cultural events, calling them “pointless human traditions,” but eventually, you’d catch him laughing at your cousin’s bad singing or mouthing the words to a song. bhindi fry or aloo gobi would become his favorite dish. he’d demand you learn your mom’s recipe exactly as is. and god forbid, you forget the pickle. hates most people but inexplicably bonds with your uncle, the one who’s slightly tipsy at every function and making inappropriate jokes. makes you explain the 10 different kinds of pickles your mom keeps in the pantry. ends up liking lemon pickle the best but hates admitting it. accidentally steps on the edge of your saree while passing by and tries to play it cool when you glare at him, muttering, “how was i supposed to know it’s this long?” initially says, “i don’t get what’s so special about biriyani,” but after tasting your mom’s, demands she teach you exactly how to make it “or else.” always insists on driving you home from family events, saying, “your uncles are insane drivers, and i don’t trust their shortcuts.”

choso’s sweet, quiet nature would win over your aunties almost instantly. they'd call him little one and pinch his cheeks every chance they got. he’d be a sucker for gulab jamun. you’d leave him alone with a bowl, and suddenly half of it would disappear. he’d give you that guilty but adorable "did i do something wrong?" look. would love watching bollywood movies with you, but he’d always side with the villains because “they’re misunderstood.” his favorite movie is don 2. lowkey obsessed with mehndi. he’d insist you draw some on his hand for fun, sitting patiently while you doodle a peacock and floral designs. takes notes as your mom explains how to make dal tadka. later surprises you by making it, though it’s slightly too salty. gets genuinely emotional watching kabhi khushi kabhie gham, especially during the family reunion scene. refuses to admit he cried. helps you untangle strings of lights before diwali and insists on hanging them up himself so you don’t climb any ladders. sneaks sweets from the fridge at night, only to leave a sticky trail of crumbs everywhere. when confronted, he sheepishly blames the cat.

toji would absolutely love the chaos of a desi wedding. the dancing, the food, the random uncle fighting with the DJ — he’d thrive in it. shamelessly asks your mom to pack leftovers. he has zero shame about taking home an entire packet of biryani. the man can handle spice, but even he’d flinch at a particularly deadly pepper. he’d recover quickly, though, saying, “it’s good. just clears out the sinuses, ya know?” absolute menace during garba. no rhythm, no technique — just a wild flailing of arms and a massive grin. he's suprisingly good at bhangra and now everyone wants to dance with him. fixes random things around the house for your parents, like the fan or the jammed door, all while your aunties try (and fail) not to ogle him.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost. banners by cafekitsune — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[nymphbroadcast]

Can we get the octa trio with a fluttershy reader please? I just Love her!!!!

Octavinelle x MC! Like Fluttershy

⊹Synopsis ⊹ೃ 🌊⋆The Octavinelle boys with an MC! or Yuu like Fluttershy.

⊹Relationship ⊹ೃ 🌊⋆ Fall in love / free of interpretation.

⊹FEM! MC/Yuu/Reader ⊹ೃ⋆

⊹Clarifications: my Little Pony Fluttershy pony ver!

⊹Fluttershy's Analysis ⊹ೃ 🌊⋆

• Fluttershy is the living representation of kindness, her personality is introverted but not asocial, since she enjoys spending time with her friends, she is gentle with her acquaintances and friends, although she prefers the company of animals since due to the bullying she suffered from young, his consolation was the company of butterflies and other animals. At that moment she discovered her talent for handling animals and beasts of all kinds. Despite her shy and calm personality, Fluttershy is also a person with a strong character, not necessarily aggressive but firm in her ideals and, if necessary, protecting her friends... Fluttershy does not judge by appearances and always tries to find a second chance for those seeking redemption. Although she can also be insecure and doubtful and carry a lot of guilt on herself, she´s very talented in her 'work' with her animals, maybe like a Vet in the series. Unlike Twilight, Fluttershy is not from an aristocratic family, but she is not from a poor family either since it is mentioned that her father worked in a cloud factory and for his part he has a large house in the most natural areas of Ponyville. And the others seem to go to only her for advice regarding their pets, Fluttershy is a balance between peace and chaos.

Azul Ashengrotto

🐙 Cute butterfly... You get on Azul's nerves, you know? You must be doing it on purpose.

🐙 At first, Azul, without knowing you, begins to feel nervous, you are too kind, you do things for others and you don't even receive a payment, you must be dangerous, that is his conclusion.

🐙 Since no one has ever been genuinely nice to Azul, Azul has a hard time getting used to how selfless you seem to be.

🐙 You're so gentle, even while he's trying to manipulate you with the Dorm Ramshakle, Azul was genuinely expecting you to yell and insult him, you're full of surprises, aren't you? - Chapter 3

🐙 Although he must admit that he underestimated you... You're smart, strong and you have limits... That itself only makes him panic, you're like a dolphin, cute and seemingly friendly, but you can be genuinely scary sometimes. – Chapter 3

🐙 Luckily for him, you're the embodiment of kindness (Literally) and even after he tried to steal Ramshakle from you, manipulate you, and almost kill you in his Overblot, you're still kind and understanding to him, Azul almost genuinely feels like he's gonna crying. – Chapter 3

🐙 After all... Azul begins to feel more and more desirous of your kindness and genuine affection, looking for a way to see you and feel your genuine affection.

🐙 Azul genuinely wonders how you are so transparent, he has seen you talk more to animals than to people, you are shy and anxious, how do you do it? He needs the advice.

🐙 But, Azul begins to grow fonder of you every time he sees you, he is glad that despite everything, you were able to forgive him and continue to be so kind and gentle with him. Who knows, maybe it's a deeper affection than Azul believes, maybe even genuine love.

Jade Leech

🍄 Jade finds you adorable, you don't really like socializing or being the center of attention and yet, one way or another, you always end up doing it.

🍄 For Jade it is also funny how your kindness often works against you, since you don't want to hurt other people's feelings you usually resist your displeasure and end up helping (even if it is something you don't like, fear or feel disgusted by) and maybe Jade sometimes (almost always) takes advantage of this.

🍄 You are good with common animals and since you arrived at Twisted Wonderland you decided to study about the fauna there, so it is certain that you know a lot about the Tweels and Azul species, but don't use it against them, okay? They are just "innocent" guys.

🍄 That is something neutral for Jade, on the one hand you understand his behavior and his needs, on the other you can use it against him despite your kindness, although we all know how sadistic he can be, so he probably provokes you on purpose to see your reaction.

🍄 Something else to highlight is that Jade loves it when you lose control, you are so kind and shy almost all the time... Until someone breaks that way of yours, you scream and look harshly at whoever provoked you regardless of whether you are being the center of attention, which normally would make you panic. You can see this guy smilling with pleasure in the corner.

🍄 It's something unusual, but Jade tends to be more real with you, you don't judge him by his... Curious likes... For mushrooms, you even give him advice since you usually deal with animals that eat all kinds of plants and he thanks you... In its own way, but he does it.

🍄 Just like his twin Floyd, Jade finds you adorable, your natural but well-groomed appearance and adorable embarrassed expressions make this eel boy burst with you into a tight hug that could almost be mistaken as Floyd.

🍄 We would like to fool ourselves a little, but Jade is Jade, he takes advantage of your kindness a little to help him do his homework and your company. What can he say in his defense? That he likes your company... Which isn't a lie, actually.

🍄 For the same reason, Jade starts to develop that 'protective instinct' towards you, you are too kind and shy in his eyes that he should protect you, come on, the whole NRC is afraid of Tweels, so you have your cute eel boy as your personal bodyguard... Or something more, maybe...

🍄 Of course, maybe he mentally compare you to a pretty butterfly or a shrimp, just like Floyd does.

Floyd Leech

🏀 Are you two Discord and Fluttershy in this universe???

🏀 Well, in a way yes, you two are chaos (Floyd) and peace (you) in NRC.

🏀 We all know that Floyd has a similar way of being to Discord, rarely being serious and actually in great danger when he is...

🏀 You, on the other hand, prefer discreet and simple, here are two options: he calls you 'shrimpy' because you are easily scared by everything except real pests, or because you are shy.

🏀 Floyd loves to make fun of you, scaring you and chasing you, God help him be careful because you have patience and I don't think it's a good experience for him to receive 'the look'...

🏀 You seem adorable to him, squeezable and very tender, your big gentle eyes make his heart race and he can't help but fawn over you, pinch your cheeks or hug you for a long time.

🏀 Just like in the series, no one believes that you two are really friends, especially knowing Floyd's adventures, you are too good to even be his friend! Floyd is bothered, but as soon as you tell him that you like being with Because they are very different, he is immediately happy.

🏀 He likes to see you take care of the animals, it's funny how you keep Grimm like a spoiled baby knowing he's a beast! However, be careful if you interact too much with any brunette other than him... He may be jealous... In a strange way, obviously.

🏀 As an animal whisperer, you love that he's a merman! You insist a lot on seeing his mer form and he gladly shows it to you, you both spend a lot of time just playing in the water and having fun!

🏀 Eventually the two of you would become very fond of each other, Floyd is happy that you are his true friend, one who doesn't care if he is chaotic and different, you love him just the way he is and he loves you too...

Nymph's Note:

I'm loving these MLP requests since it's my favorite cartoon for a long time, I remind you again to read my rules in the post pinned to my profile for your requests!

I hope you enjoyed!

Remember to tune in, end of this broadcast!

Octavinelle Dorm x MC! Like Fluttershy Done!

[k-yurieee]

'ALMOST ALWAYS' CHAPTER 4 IS HERE!! WOOOOOOOOOOO!!!! 🎉🎉

(Edit 3 : I started writing this post/reblog last week Monday. Don't worry about what day it is today. I just kept nitpicking at it and having more thoughts that I wanted to add everytime I came back to this, and time kept getting away from me because of irl events, sooo yeah. Stuff happens.)

Edit 1 : My usual yapping will be under the cut for this one, cause I might ramble on for bit longer than usual today. Yeah, I've got some things to say. They might not be particularly intelligible, but is anything I ever say on this app comprehensible? Probably not. Soooooo buckle up I guess 🤷‍♀️

Edit 2 : (also please ignore that I'm posting this like wayyyy after I've read this chapter, I had this saved and edited as a draft and thought I had posted it after editing it, before I decided to take a nap, but... Guess I was mistaken lol. And sleep deprived, but that's besides the point. Also I guess the draft didn't even save properly earlier??? Because I'm rereading the whole thing now and I'm pretty sure there's stuff I added earlier that seems to be missing now so.... That's sooo fun haha 🙃 I'll try to re-add anything I can remember 🫡)

Edit 1 (continued) : ohhhhh my gosh, this chapter was another ✨emotional rollercoaster✨ (which isn't anything new with this series, and honestly I should've expected it but mannnn, it just gets me every. single. time 😭😭😔)

Let me just quickly gush about this part first because EEEEEEEEhEEhEEEeeeee I can never NOT giggle and kick my feet over sweet moments like this, are you KIDDING me, I'm an absolute sucker for fluff, and I will die on that hill (also I just need to let myself simmer in this fluffy warmth before I divulge into my slightly more serious thoughts, I'll get to those in a second but firsttttt LOOK AT THIS ARE YOU KIDDING MEEEEEEEE👇👇👇😭😭😭😭)

'You deserve to cuddle up next to someone who truly values your presence and genuinely just wants you to be there with them for a little while.

You deserve the soft tickling fingertips that delicately dance across your hairline, lingering there for far longer than ‘just a second’.

You deserve the barely whispered, super soft “Love you.” spoken so tenderly and punctuated with a gentle kiss pressed to the top of your head, it makes you tighten your arms around him.'

When I tell you this made me wanna scream (wouldn't be the first time this fic affected me this way lolll) into my hands and jump up and down 😭😭😭 like girl can you PLEASE be normal (and by 'you', I mean 'I', as in ME. I need to relax lmaoooo 🙃)

This chapter... This chapter was so much. I truly am not sure how to put into proper words everything it made me feel, but I will try. Honestly I feel (and have felt) more than a bit conflicted about them (Joe & R, obvs). And I mean, that's kind of expected, right?

I want to support them but I also low-key want to smack them both upside their head sometimes (but like, in an affectionate 'why did you do that, you flippin idiot, I believe in you and know you can act better than this' kind of way)

It made me remember this quote I heard a while back that went something like "sometimes we dislike other people because we see the parts of ourselves that we dislike, in them". And it irked me because it reminded me of how I'd treated certain people in my life before, in ways that I'm not proud to admit. In one of the previous chapters, Joe had a thought somewhere along the lines of "I can't control my feelings, but I can control how I treat others", and I thought 'this is great, he knows how he should move forward, good for him, he's learned his lesson.' And I hoped it would be the same for the Reader character as well, and that both of them would implement this afterward.

And then... Then this chapter happened, and yeah, maybe they weren't in a completely committed relationship with the people who were sleeping in their beds, and maybe they 'weren't doing anything illegal', and all that, but... They could still be hurting someone else's feelings. Again. Low-key I had my face in my hands like "guys please, I know y'all can't stay away from each other, and I want you guys to end up together too but likeee there's got to be a better way to do this, pleaseeee" 🛐 😭

And maybe that's the point. They're human. They make mistakes. Sometimes they learn and grow from their past mistakes, and sometimes they continue doing the same stupid thing a million times over even if they know it won't end well for them. And it was when they made those questionable choices, when they tried to pretend that their problems didn't exist, when they constantly made excuses and kept repeating the same regrettable cycle over and over – it was during of all those moments that I looked at these characters, and I saw a part of myself. Parts of myself that I didn't like, but acknowledged was there nonetheless. It was these aspects that I could personally relate to.

This is why they feel so fucking REAL to me.

I just really hope things will end well for everyone in the last chapter because mannnn 🥲🥲😭

'But he wants you to stay. It doesn’t have to be like before. Things can be different. Better.'

This part hurt me more than it should 😭😭😭😭

(I know I wrote more about my personal feelings than about the actual fic, but like I said before, I had written more about it - over a week ago - in this draft that didn't save properly, and my memory is generally not that great, sooo yeah. I at least know that I had some thoughts about Emily's response to the whole situation and stuff but I can't recall anything specific I'd written rn. I want to reread this chapter at some point to see if it re-sparks any of those thoughts I had last time but... we'll see lol.)

Anywayssss I can't believe there is just ONE more chapter left to this series omggggg this fic has been an experience for sure

(I'm gonna need to lie down again aren't I 🥲🙃)

Almost, Always

♥ ♥          Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader 

Summary: Happy endings aren't for everyone, so it seems, but that doesn't mean that you can't stop trying for one. Question is, are you actually star-crossed lovers that can figure something out, or just absolutely blind to reality and really fucking stupid?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, smut, cheating

Author’s note: -

Wordcount: 6.5K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“I didn’t say he doesn’t… I just said, he has never actually said it.”

Emily’s jaw dropped, and you immediately regretted saying what you just said.

“No, stop. He has said it. Forget I said anything. It’s fine.”

You knew exactly what she was going to say.

She’d alluded to it from the start. Rolled her eyes at him. Made faces of outrageous confusion that told you, how can someone behave like that, without having to say the words aloud. Without making you hear them.

“I’m just saying…” Emily started, and showed you a facial expression that made you feel stupid for even bringing it up.

“It’d be better for you to leave him.”

You laughed, like she made a joke, yet so aware that she absolutely wasn’t.

But listen, if you didn’t laugh, you’d cry, because you knew, you knew somewhere in the back of your mind that it probably was better for you to leave him.

Not a truth you wanted to face though.

There were still too many easy excuses for you to make.

So... you made them.

But Emily’s face remained quite serious.

“Emily. You don’t mean that.” You said on the back-end of a giggle.

“Are you joking? My God, it’d be so much better if you left him. Better for you, better for, well, me. Can’t even tell you he loves you? What is he on?!”

You shushed her, and looked over your shoulder in the general direction of your bathroom and listened for a few seconds. The shower was still going. He couldn’t have heard her.

Good.

Not that Emily’s general opinion was a huge secret. But still. It was nice if the peace could be kept for the night.

“He does tell me that.” you argued, much softer. “Just...”

“Just does it when he’s about to hang up the phone? Just a quick, casual, love ya, when he’s saying goodbye?”

“Well, he–”

“Or does he only say it when he’s about to come?”

“Emily.”

“Oh, God. You’re so beyond help, I don’t even know what to tell you anymore.”

For a moment, you avoided eye-contact. Pressed your lips together and looked around the room whilst your friend tried her best to get it into your head that Joe really just wasn’t it.

“You know you’re in second place.” Emily said, suddenly much more earnestly. “You don’t deserve to be in second place.”

Which was a nice sentiment. A thing a best friend was meant to tell you. A bit like a parent calling their baby a genius because they accidentally made a bit of babbling sound like a real string of words.

“Well,” you said, taking a deep breath in and giving Emily your best smile. “So is he, so I guess we’re even.”

He wasn’t.

These were two different leagues.

But suggesting that Emily was in first place with you was the quickest way to make her feel appreciated even though her advice went untaken.

It always did.

Emily was a good friend and always gave excellent advice. And you were a good friend because you always listened to what she had to say. Or, you thought you did. Would tell yourself you did.

But then you simply wouldn’t follow any of it.

You hadn’t taken her advice when she’d told you to stop fucking around in a fourteen month situationship.

“I like how this just… works, don’t you?” Joe had said one evening when you were wrapped up on his sofa together. You’d made a comment that someone had flirted with you and had asked if you were single. You hadn’t known what to tell them.

Joe had just shrugged then.

“Let’s not push for something if it doesn’t need it. Something not broken doesn’t need a fix, does it?”

And you’d disagreed then. Had hoped that he’d grow a little protective and would’ve gone, um what do you mean of course you’re not single. For a while you also hadn’t wanted to define anything, because fuck commitment, right? But it had been over a year and Emily said that you should ask him to just fucking label it already.

You hadn’t.

You also hadn’t taken Emily’s advice when she’d told you that she thought this guy wasn’t going to make you happy.

Hadn’t taken Emily’s advice when she’d told you that she thought this guy was ultimately just there for a bit of fun, but not really much else.

Hadn’t taken Emily’s advice when she’d told you to just leave him already when you told her he had never sincerely told you that he loves you.

“I know you’re smart enough to know that it’s absolutely wild that he’s not said–”  

“It’s because you just hear all the bad things, I’m sorry. I should also tell you about the good shit.”

“Oh, yea? Like what?” Emily challenged, and in the silence that followed, you heard the shower turn off.

“Like... look! Look what he got me!” you said, picking up a bag from a dining table chair.

Your friend looked at it for a moment, blank faced, and then narrowed her eyes in suspicion.

“Got you? Like, he went out and bought that for you? Or, was that sent to him by the brand, and he just passed it on?”

You looked at the bag you were still holding, then gave a small shrug. “I don’t know. He still gave it to me.”

It was a nice bag.

“Not exactly the same is it.”

No, it wasn’t. But... you know. You could pretend it was.

“Still counts.”

“Okay. If you think so.”

You didn’t think so, not after what Emily had just said, but you were willing to accept it for the nice gesture, and that was all you cared about. Or, what you told yourself was all you cared about.

“I think so.” You definitively told Emily, breaking into a smile to really sell it.

Just when she was about to roll her eyes at you and maybe try her hand at talking a little more sense into you, Joe called you from the bathroom.

You left Emily on her own for about a minute before joining her again.

“Okay. Let’s go. He’s not coming.” You grabbed your coat and found your bag. The one Joe had given to you, but hadn’t spent a penny on.

“He’s– what?”

“He thought of something that still needs doing. He’s not coming.”

Emily stared at you from where she was sat, watching you hurriedly wrestle your arms into the sleeves of your coat as she slowly caught up to speed.

“So, I’m sorry, but have we just waited for him for ages for fucking nothing then?”

You ignored her tone, finding your phone, your keys, and then Emily’s coat as well.

“Let’s go. If we hurry, we might beat the rain.”

You chucked Emily her coat, and she almost didn’t move her arms in time to catch it. With the front door already open, you gestured for Emily to make her way through, calling, “Bye! We’re off!” into the flat.

Emily, under her breath, very mockingly sing-songed, “Love you!” in that same tone as she walked past you, making her point once more.

You didn’t repeat her, but instead rolled your eyes at what you decided was a joke, and then loudly said, “Don’t wait up!”

You didn’t wait for Joe to answer before you slammed the door shut.

It’s been weeks.

Months, technically, although it doesn’t feel it.

“Please be home, please be home, please be home,” you mutter to yourself as you rush your way down his street. “Please be in the fucking country, for just this fucking once…”

You’d texted and had gotten no coloured ticks from him. So then you’d called, but it just rang for ages before you were eventually sent to voicemail, and that’s something you don’t do. Especially not now. Not about this. Hell would have to freeze over before you’d leave a voicemail message. You could delete a text thread, or a voice note. But, a voicemail? Once a voicemail sends out, there is no undoing that.

Maybe you’re crazy, but what you’re doing now feels safer.

It’s after midnight, dark, the streets wet from earlier rainfall, but you feel wide awake. You’ve got Emily’s words ringing in your ears still, and you’ve not been able to shake them yet.

Her advice.

Or, well, it was more just her opinion. She had expertly dressed it up as a fact, though, which is probably why that one sentence still held you in a vice grip.  

Telling her about how you’d had a few… moments, with Joe, since you’d broken up with him, turns out, was the wrong thing to do.

You just really wanted to tell her about the wine.

The expensive bottle you’d satisfyingly dunked into his kitchen sink.

It’s been weeks by now, but you still think about that all the time. And every time that you do, you feel pure glee spark inside of you.

You thought she’d be the same.

You thought she’d absolutely love it.

But then, after you had told her all about that night, she’d just looked at you with so much disdain and disappointment, it startled you into rambling excuses, none of which sounded true to your own ears, let alone hers. She then had shook her head, and sort of muttered something to herself that you asked her to repeat.

It’s those words that haven’t left the forefront of your mind since.

You didn’t ask Emily to clarify herself. You hadn’t gotten into an argument, either. You had just… moved onto a different topic. A lighter, easier to digest thing to talk about.

It left those words to rein freely, left those words at liberty to inflate themselves until they were all you could think about, and the feeling had clawed at your chest for the rest of the day. The rest of the night.

You hadn’t been able to answer the question, what’s wrong, that you were repeatedly asked until it made you upset.

“Nothing’s wrong! Stop asking me what’s wrong! God! You asking me what’s wrong a million times a minute is what’s wrong!”

Something is wrong though.

Obviously.

You just left someone in your bed for this.

Ringing Joe’s doorbell is a quick action, fingers pressing that familiar button before you can have any doubt of what you’re doing. It takes longer than a few seconds before you hear a small beep.

“Joe? I texted you, can you reply to my text?”

A silence follows, and for a moment you think maybe the intercom doesn’t work properly, or maybe he just hadn’t heard you.

“I– I sent you a message, check your phone–”

A loud click of the door unlocking and a loud shrill buzzing sound interrupts you.

“No you don’t have to– just text me back, will you?”

No answer follows, but the loud buzzing persists. After a few more seconds of it, you know Joe’s just holding down the button until you go inside.

That wasn’t the plan. 

With a frustrated grumbling sigh, swearing under your breath, you push yourself into Joe’s building and make your way to his front door.

In the lift you decide you won’t let the doors close properly when they’ll open on Joe’s floor. You’ll tell him from half inside the lift that he just needs to check his phone.

You just want an answer.

But then the lift doors open and one foot steps out as you lean into the hallway, expecting to see Joe waiting by his front door, yet he isn’t.

You make an angry face, nose pulling up and showing your clenched teeth with a frown. You’re in a building where people are asleep so you can’t make any noise, but you absolutely would have otherwise. Joe leaves you no other choice but to get out of the lift, and begrudgingly, you make your way over to his doormat.

When you get closer, you can see how the door’s been left open.

“Hey,” you whisper-yell into the flat, “Joe?”

You get no answer, and take a few careful steps inside to find him standing in his kitchen in a T-shirt and a pair of boxer-briefs. He’s got his back turned to you, and is seemingly busy cleaning up mess he’s left out from dinner.

It’s the fucking middle of the night.

It’s dark in Joe’s flat, the only light in the room coming from his under cabinet LEDs, and it’s weirdly warm for the time of night, you think.

“Hey, I–” you start, voice low because it’s late, but you quickly get cut off by Joe.

“Did you close the door?”

You blink a few times and watch Joe very carefully load some things into his dishwasher, making little to no noise at all. No plates softly clashing, no rattling cutlery.

“What? No. I–”

“Will you close the door, please?” Joe asks, but it sounds like a demand. Sort of cold, a little detached.

“All I’m here to say,” you try again. “Is that I want you to check your phone...”

Joe stands up straight and finally looks at you. Whilst maintaining eye-contact he slowly closes the dishwasher until it latches, machine clicking shut, and when he then just... keeps staring at you, you throw your head back like an annoyed teenager, and reluctantly do as you’re told.

You go to close his front door.

In the kitchen you hear the tap go, and when you join Joe there again, you can see how he’s filling up a glass with water.

Joe is about to take a sip when he suddenly decides against it and lowers the glass.

“Water?” he then asks, and holds it out to you with a stretched arm.

You’re slightly confused, but you take it, and then watch Joe reach for another glass from a cabinet and fill that one for himself.

“Thanks, but…” you place the glass on his counter and hold two hands up to Joe. “I’m just here because I need an answer to a text.”

Joe, with his mouth in his own glass, sort of looks at you a moment as he gulps water down.

He looks tired.

Which, yea, that checks out.

You fucking woke him up, didn’t you?

There’s so many reasons to declare yourself clinically insane right now, but you’re holding onto the notion that this is actually all totally normal with all of your might. If you pretend to believe it, you might just be able to trick Joe into it as well.

But Joe just looks at you like he’s waiting for you to give the real reason of why you’re there.

“So, if you could just, check that. Answer it. That’d be great.” You force a polite smile and step back. “That’ll be all.” And you turn to leave again.

“You’ve been crying.” Joe stops you in your tracks.

You turn back to him.

“No. Well, yea I was, but that’s not– I’m fine, that was about something else, not this. You don’t have to– stop, I’m going to go, please... respond to my message. I’ll read it when I get in, and that’ll be that.”

“Wait.”

Joe picks up the glass of water you’ve just put down and gives it back to you. When it’s in your hands, he even gives it a little push upward to ensure that you have a sip.

“I’ll go get my phone.”

And he’s so calm and agreeable that it feels rude to do anything else but take a sip and wait for him. You watch Joe walk out of the room to go get his phone, and it’s a lot of opening and closing doors, everything done as quietly as humanly possible. Then, you suddenly notice how hot you feel in your coat. It’s really fucking warm in here.

That’s new.

That’s... weird.

When Joe comes back, he closes the door behind him again and looks at his phone as he unlocks it.

“Why did you call me?”

“Just–”

“I’ll read the text.”

In silence, you stand and watch Joe open his texts and read your message. Messages. There’s several. Then, he starts typing back, and, this is what you came here for, but now that you’re standing in Joe’s kitchen in the middle of the night, having pulled him out of bed for this, you almost want to tell him he’s being an idiot. He can just as easily answer your question in person.

His message sends, and your phone buzzes in your pocket.

Joe places his down and gives you a tired stare.

“Yea, okay. Th-thanks.”

“Read it.”

It startles you.

“No, that’s…” You’re so stupid. “I’m sorry. I’ll leave. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Read your message.”

You feel like a fucking child that’s being scolded by a parent.

Guilt.

Regret.

Self-inflicted, which makes all of it so much worse.

Every feeling sits dark and sticky and bitterly uncomfortable in your gut, clinging to all the edges, stretching longer until the shadows overtake all of the previous excuses you had for being here.

You shouldn’t have come.

You shouldn’t have gone to wake up Joe over something so insignificant and, well, dumb. It’s embarrassing, and you want to leave.

“You’re here now. I’m up. Read your message.”

You inhale deeply. Hold it there for a moment.

He’s right.

The damage has been done.

You’ve dipped a toe into this strange pond, and now you might as well canon ball yourself right into this uncomfortable mess, no matter how cold the water might be.

The only way out seems through.

You pull your phone from your pocket with a clammy hand, and fucking damn it, you’re sweating underneath all of your layers.

“I didn’t mean to… I shouldn’t have woken you up.”

Joe just lets his eyes drop to your phone before he looks right at you again, his very stance issuing the orders.

Read the fucking text.

You see the notification and open your phone with face ID. Your own messages to Joe catch your attention first, before you see his reply.

“Were we as good as we’re going to get?”

“What we were together”

“Was that really as good as it can get?”

“Ever?”

You didn’t have to send the same question in various different ways, but that’s what had happened.

Emily’s reaction to the stand alone get-togethers you’d participated in with Joe hadn’t been what you’d expected. You’d hoped for a level of girl power encouragement. For a loud get it girl, or a, yea babe get what you want.

Instead, you’d gotten a sigh and shake of her head, followed by a soberly mumbled, “You really do deserve each other…” that you’d asked her to repeat.

Before she’d always said that Joe didn’t deserve you. That was always the point she tried to get across. The idea she tried to sear into your brain. Joe was beneath you, and you were far above. Always.

And then suddenly, now you are no longer too good for him?

Suddenly you’re on equal footing, and you deserve each other.

What the fuck.

You look at your own messages and realise in that very second that you have no idea what kind of answer you are after from Joe. This isn’t a coin toss situation where you know what side you want that coin to land on the moment it get’s thrown into the air. Fear strikes you lightning fast. No matter what Joe is going to tell you, it’s going to be wrong.

What the fuck are you doing at Joe’s flat?

And why is it so fucking hot in here?

The only way out is through.

You read Joe’s text.

“Darling it’s late, let’s not do this over text”

A non-answer.

You look up at Joe, who is now leaning against his kitchen counter, legs crossed at the ankles, arms crossed over his chest. His head tilts to the side a little and neither of you speak.

It’s oddly unexpected that the guy in his underwear exudes more confidence than the girl bundled up in heavy layers of clothing.

You frown and read the message again.

For a second you debate what to do next. What to say. If this is going to be the end of this interaction, or if it’s going to be just the beginning.

It’s late, though.

You inhale deeply. Slowly.

Then, resign.

“Okay.”

Because honestly, what were you really even expecting from him?

Your soft little defeated okay isn’t what Joe expected though, you can see it in the minor change on his face. The eyebrows that quirk up slightly, his jaw that loosens, the eyes that round out...

“I’ll um...” you say softly, letting your phone sink back into a pocket before pulling at your sleeves to let them cover both hands.

Joe steps forward and bends to look at the clock on the oven behind him before he says, “Well. Since you’re here. Might as well.”

He gestures an arm at his dining table. At one of his chairs. It’s hard, but you do your best to ignore the memories of the last time you were there, sat in one of these chairs. Well, technically, you hadn’t sat in one of the chairs... Joe had sat on one of the chairs and you–

“Am I going to get an explanation of what’s going on?” Joe asks as he pulls out a chair for you.

Finally, you remove your coat.

“It’s a long story.” You say, then think for a moment and add, “No it’s not, actually. Emily said–”

“Ah. Emily.” Joe sits down in a chair opposite. “How is Emily doing?”

“Shut up. She’s fine.” You exclaim, voice a little raised in defense, and you’re immediately shushed by Joe. He holds up a hand as he perks up, and you get the message, lowering your tone as you add, “This isn’t about her.”

“It’s not?”

“No. She just said something. I…” you trail off for a second.

Your head’s a scrambled mess of doubt and insecurities and it doesn’t help that all you’ve done in the past few hours is overthink every single thought that’s popped into your brain. It’s a bit of a journey to retrace your steps and go back to the start of all of this.

“We were talking, and suddenly she... she said something and I’m just… I wanted to know if you think that… if you think what I texted you is true.”

“You just… wanted to know… if I think…” Joe narrows his eyes up at the ceiling as he thinks, slowly repeating your words.

It’s condescending.

Patronising.

Joe’s making fun of you.

“All right, be fucking honest or–”

“No, no. I’m sorry. Sorry. It’s nearly two in the fucking morning,” two already big eyes comically enlargen, but don’t make you laugh. Wrong audience. “But, yea, you’re right. Honest. I’ll be honest.”

You take a deep breath in preparation of what he’s about to say.

Were we as good as we’re going to get?

“Imposing question, though.”

Yea, you’re aware. It’s why you hadn’t been able to sleep and had eventually decided to just get up and out of bed, leave the boy you had in there on his own, and make your way over to Joe’s.

“I don’t know.”

Wild how you feel about five inches tall whilst simultaneously feeling like you’re taking up too much space in the room.

“You don’t know.”

Typical.

“Well. No, I… was it as good, wait, what was it?” Joe looks past you and sees that he’s left his phone on the counter. “Was it as good as it could be?”

You exhale through flared nostrils, frustration forcing your eyes shut for a moment.

“Were we as good as it’s ever going to get for us?”

“Were we as good as it’s ever going to get... I mean, I think so? I– But–... you tell me. Were we?”

And Joe’s right. It is late. You have spent hours thinking that question over, and you couldn’t answer it when you weren’t as tired as you are now, so it’s useless to even try at this hour.

You shrug, and for a moment, it’s quiet. You don’t know how to go about leaving now. You came here for something you aren’t going to get and so, fucking now what?

“Why um... why have you been crying?”

“Oh, I...” your fingers find your sleeve to rub. “I was asked why I couldn’t sleep, and I... well, I couldn’t really explain, so...”

Joe frowns in confusion, not understanding.

“I don’t know, you try listening to someone say shit like, if you don’t tell me what’s wrong I can’t help you, fifty times in a row, and try not to fucking snap.”

They’d been tears of angry frustration, mostly with yourself, and they’d actually surprised you. You hadn’t expected to cry, but, you felt hurt by words your best friend said to you, so you guess that does add up, actually.

Something slowly dawns on Joe before he then leans back in his chair and nods, scrunching his nose, and he whispers, “Jasper.”

“Jasper.” you confirm, and it makes you chuckle a little before a yawn breaks it up.

Joe watches you. Lets his eyes take you in. It’s the middle of the night and you’re very clearly going through something, but he hasn’t got the answers to the questions you’re asking him, and he hates it.

Wishes he could help.

Wishes the questions you wanted answers to weren’t so impossible.

Joe watches you yawn. Watches your eyes blink slowly as you stare into space for a moment. It’s so quiet, he can hear his clock tick on the other side of the room. Then suddenly, you smile.

“I told Emily about the wine... about how I was a complete bitch and poured that bottle right down your drain.”

And Joe can’t help but feel more amused at your smile than feel annoyed about his expensive wine being wasted. He won’t let his face show it though.

“Bet she enjoyed that.”

“Yea I thought she would, but... she just... she said that we deserve each other. Whatever that means.”

Joe watches your fingers rub along your sleeves. Knows what that means.

“That’s not true.” he suddenly says, voice low and sincere.

“Oh, right,” you huff a laugh and half-heartedly joke, “I don’t deserve you, of course.”

Joe doesn’t laugh.

“No, I mean... well, yes. Technically.” Before he continues, Joe shakes his head in an attempt get his thoughts in order. It’s late. “But not in the way you just said it. In that... you probably deserve better.”

“Probably?”

“Yea. And so do I. Probably.”

Hmm.

You silently mill that over for a second. Aren’t sure what to make of it. If there’s even anything to agree or disagree with there.

“But, who’s to say. All we know is that we weren’t the best before.”

Joe stresses that last word and then lets the words float in the air for you to draw your own conclusions from. It’s certainly true that you weren’t the best together - hence the break up that eventually happened. But Joe’s expertly sharing the blame, which is not a fun truth to face.

The before saves it, a little.

The before makes it sounds like Joe’s talking about two people who no longer exist. Like, those people are gone. That door is closed. And look at you now. You’re a whole new set of two different people. It’s a different world, and you’ve changed. Grown. Learnt.

Who knows what you’d be like now.

Joe can’t predict the future.

And neither can you.

“Hmm.” you hum, eyes trained on the surface of the table, body flushed with conflicting feelings you don’t know how to put into words. Instead of stumbling through words until you find ones that make sense, you remain silent and pull at your sleeves so there’s more fabric for your fingers to run across.

“Hey,” Joe leans forward a little and catches your attention. “Are you okay? Do I need to be worried about you?”

You smile and let it take over your whole face as you shake your head no before you bring your hand up to cover another yawn.

“No. But I should go. This was never meant to be– she just… I don’t know, Emily got into my head and I didn’t know how to get her out.”

Joe contemplates in silence. Wonders if he’s okay with the idea of you walking out and going home right now, in this state. It’s almost three o’clock.

“I don’t make the best decisions after midnight. Sorry.”

You push your chair back and get up on your feet, the plan being to give Joe a quick polite hug goodbye before you make your way back to his front door.

You’re tired, but you know the second you step outside into the cold air that will make your lungs feel sore, you’ll wake up enough to make your way home without any problems.

But then Joe decides you can’t just go.

You can’t just leave.

He’s stuck.

You’re stuck.

You’re stuck in it, together, in this muddy sludge of whatever the two of you have become now. One of you is going to have to step out of their shoes and escape, and Joe thinks it should be you, because you’ve escaped this quicksand of a relationship before. You know how to get out.

It’s weird that you willingly came back.

Keep coming back.

And it’s awful that Joe just keeps inviting you in. Welcomes you with open arms every single time.

But he wants you to stay. It doesn’t have to be like before. Things can be different. Better.

He decides he’s not just going to let you leave, so when he stands up and you go in for a hug, he takes hold of you by your upper arms and starts moving you towards his sofa.

Says, “Come sit for a second.”

And no resistance comes from you. Joe thinks it must be because you’re tired. You’ve cried and you’ve worried and you’ve let all of it eat away at you until you decided to reach out to him, and now, he wants you to stay. He’s not a fan of how, from a certain angle, it looks like he’s taking advantage of the situation, but... you’re both adults.

He’s not doing anything illegal.

Well.

There’s a girl in his bed.

It’s why the flat is warm and why all the doors are closed. Joe shouldn’t have let you inside. Shouldn’t have made you come in and shouldn’t have made you close the door behind you. Shouldn’t have given you a glass of water and shouldn’t have sat you down.

He doesn’t want you to leave now.

There’s a girl in his bed.

And you’ve got a Jasper in yours.

Joe’s closeness to you will come at a price, he’s aware. But it’s one he’s willing to pay. One he’s got the cash for, no problem. Name the sum and he’ll double it.

He’s got you by the arms and is walking you over to his sofa. You are stopped just before you’re about to step onto the area rug.

“Shoes off,” he says, like he gives a shit. You know he doesn’t, but listen to him anyway, and know that taking your shoes off means you’re not going anywhere. At least not for a while.

You get turned around and get sat down, and immediately, you feel far too comfortable. The seat’s too soft. The cushion’s too fluffy. Memories of the hours spent snuggled up on this sofa shoot into the forefront of your mind and you want to warn Joe that it’s not going to take much for you to fall asleep.

But before you can, he pulls a throw blanket from the other side and hands it to you, and you realise that getting comfy and cosy is actually the goal here.

There’s a guy in your bed, who you’ve just… left. Didn’t tell him anything. Just got out, got dressed and left.

You take the blanket from Joe.

It’s probably a good idea to at least let him know something. Send him a text. Let him know you’re okay. But that little voice of reason in your head gets drowned out when Joe sits down next to you and helps sort out the blanket so it covers you both.

“Sit for a second?” you ask through a soft half-suppressed laugh as Joe settles in beside you, your thighs touch underneath the throw. “Am I staying the night?”

“I don’t know, I don’t control what you do. I just want to sit for a second.”

Joe stretches an arm behind you that you think he’s going to rest on top of the sofa, but it moves your head forward a little as it grabs hold of your bicep to pull you in a bit more.

“Joe...” you warn, but it sounds lighthearted and sleepy.

“What?” Joe acts all innocent, but you can hear his amusement when he adds, “Just for a second.”

Joe is still shuffling in his spot, using his other hand to sort the cushion behind him, then pulling the blanket and tucking it under his leg, followed by him using his chin to fix the bit of flipped cotton of his T-shirt sleeve – it’s a lot of faffing for someone who wants to sit for just a second.

He’s nearly done, a centering sigh half way out of him when, suddenly, you feel how he pipes up a little and see how he looks across the room. His phone’s still on the counter, and for a second, Joe debates getting up to go and get it.

You determine on his behalf that he doesn’t need his phone by draping your arm across his stomach and snuggling up.

It’s warm in Joe’s flat.

And this little nest is perfect.

“Fine.” you mutter softly. “Jus’ for a second.”

Joe pauses for a moment as he looks down at how you let your nose brush his arm, your eyes already closed, and he grins as he sinks back down into his sofa.

You don’t make the best decisions after midnight.

Neither does Joe.

Maybe you do deserve each other. Maybe you don’t.

But you deserve this, you think. And you mean that in the best way possible. You deserve to be comfortable, and cosy, and toasty warm in a dimly lit room with a man who smells really nice.

You deserve to cuddle up next to someone who truly values your presence and genuinely just wants you to be there with them for a little while.

You deserve the soft tickling fingertips that delicately dance across your hairline, lingering there for far longer than ‘just a second’.

You deserve the barely whispered, super soft “Love you.” spoken so tenderly and punctuated with a gentle kiss pressed to the top of your head, it makes you tighten your arms around him.

You fall asleep in the soft glow of the under cabinet LEDs with the knowledge that the next morning is bound to be awkward. But this is still infinitely nicer than trying to fall asleep with Emily’s words on your mind. It’s difficult to think about impossible-to-answer questions when you’re wrapped up in strong warm arms that want you there, so you allow yourself to sink and to drift until dreams fully take you.  

A loud bang of a door slamming shut wakes the both of you with a violent jolt.

Two pairs of tired bleary eyes look around the room, and there’s a fleeting moment of confusion. Your mind scrambles to piece together where you are and what just happened, but all your mind can focus on is how dry and heavy your eyes feel as you blink to adjust to your surroundings.

“Oh, fuck,” Joe croaks, groaning as he goes to sit up. He looks over his shoulder, then rubs a heavy hand across his face before he goes, “Yea…”

You feel disoriented and frazzled, and move to sit up just enough to look over the back of the sofa with squinty eyes to see what Joe is even looking at.

All you see is an open door to the hallway that leads to his bedroom.

“What was that?” you ask, thinking maybe something dropped or knocked over somehow. When Joe gets up and walks over to his bedroom to check, you think that’s it. Something fell because gravity finally got a hold of whatever Joe had been precariously balancing on a bookshelf.

But then you hear Joe audibly sigh and dejectedly go, “Yea, she won’t be coming back.”

That takes minute to land.

It’s too early for your brain to comprehend what just happened, but slowly, puzzle pieces click together.

Oh.

Oh, that’s fucking detestable, isn’t it?

When Joe walks back out, he’s wearing joggers and is holding a ball of socks, and you hope there’s a different explanation than the correct one you just concocted. He looks at you for a moment, and you can tell by the look on his face that he feels awful.

Right.

Emily can fuck off.

You don’t deserve each other.

You deserve better than this.

Okay, so, yea, admittedly, you aren’t really one to talk, seeing the personal choices you have made over the past eight hours. But the choices Joe has made in that same span of time are just as bad, if not worse.

You decide to give into the feeling of wanting to lay back down rather than to face whatever this morning has on offer for you. You disappear from Joe’s sight, and cover all of your face with your hands that press and pull at your skin.

This is such a mess.

“Emily can fuck off.” You mutter into your own palms, hoping Joe can translate that and connect the dots of your disdain for him in this very moment.

You should leave.

Should check your phone for any messages or missed calls, and you should leave.

Never come back.

Learn your fucking lesson already and never set foot into this flat ever again.

But then Joe leans over the back of the sofa, and with knitted eyebrows that show off every single line on his forehead, he softly asks, “Do you want a coffee?”

You drop your hands.

Look up at him. The kind face. His short hair sleep messy. Jaw line. His mouth.

You should leave.

“Um…”

Oh... oh no.

“Yea…”

Fuck.

So close.

“Yea?”

You almost had it.

“Yea. I could use a coffee.”

Almost.

---

The Taglisted

@alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @cowboymcflurry

@demonsanddemogorgons, @djoseph-quinn, @dolcevitalifestyle, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson

@emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @ferfan14, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby

@gri959, @hanahkatexo, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns

@keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @loves0phelia, @mandyjo8719

@mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr, @munsonssweets, @nadixq

@niallersfreckles, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @prettiestboyreid

@readergf, @royale1803, @skulliecadaver-blog, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac

@solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle

@tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @witchwolflea, @xxladymjxx, @yunirgo

add yourself

[fairlyabookie]

Little things they like about you

Content: lighthearted | wholesome

The fae wasn’t particularly picky with whatever life threw him, as long as he gave himself time and the mental fortitude to handle such. Love, on the other hand, spoke of a different matter. He finds himself craving your presence, just the sound of your voice enough to quell his troubles for the day. 

He sneaks glances of you when he feels your presence, his ears pricking for a tease of your voice, for any sign of laughter or change in tone. Whether he had spoken to you, the fae always found your presence welcoming - your presence enough to do wonders to his heart. Your presence felt like a panacea, a welcome invitation into one’s space. He feels a familiar memory whenever he was with you, fragments of centuries flashing him by as familiar faces wash ashore in the banks of his mind. 

Lilia finds beauty in your hands, so soft and gentle, compared to his callous ones. He’d find himself playing with your fingers, tracing the imperfections, the lines all over your palms. At times, he’d coo at how delicate your hands are, so precious, an image seemingly reminiscent of hands he had held oh-so-long ago.

The quiet tranquility between you and Lilia was more than enough for him, the content smile on your lips, sunlight casting upon your features like a halo - Lilia thought he had found another embodiment of heaven at first sight. He wishes to have this moment a little longer, if he could be selfish, so he can see to your happiness. 

Just as how he was able to raise Sebek, Silver, and Malleus, he wishes to ensure your happiness is everlasting. He recalls a faint memory of long ago: a promise he had made with someone he had loved, the bittersweet sensation of a broken promise, cruel tears bordering the corner of his eyes. Alas, he wishes Fate were kind to him for a selfish wish. For now, he could cling onto your presence, a cruel gossamer existence for a fae like him.

Cater was not used to the concept of sustaining friendships. He was fine with keeping each other posted by viewing each others’ stories on social media, taking pictures together for the memories, and sometimes teasing his peers. He didn’t really mind keeping superficial airs for his peers - his cheery demeanor a usual sight for everyone around him - except for you on the other hand. 

You often reciprocate his antics with a teasing smile on your lips, always ready to quip back when you had the chance. Such reciprocation would catch him by surprise, earning a genuine smile on his lips. He wasn’t expecting anyone to return his little teasings, but a strange sensation akin to warmth would encompass his chest, this very interaction engraved in his mind. 

He would anticipate every interaction with you, anticipating every banter he can think of as a means of interacting with you. Of course, he’d ask for your social media, if you had one, so he can see your posts. Cater would find himself delving into your social media, your likes, and would look for the time to talk to you. 

At first, he’d be quite shy about it, leaving small comments on your recent posts or boosting your post on his story, sometimes DM’ing you about certain things. Of course, he’d love to take the time to get to know you from peering into your story or meeting up with you physically. Yet, in the back of his mind, the thought of you leaving his side haunts him, a bitter pill he might have to swallow if he ever loses you as a friend. 

Soon, he discovers something beyond the screen; your smile, your laughter, your vivaciousness, something he found quite endearing apart from what he normally sees from your social media. He wishes to preserve such happiness, a rarity that he had the honor to experience. For now, Cater had to keep his cool, the sign of a budding friendship a welcoming omen for his social life. 

Kalim very much indulging into you, even if it meant spending his family fortune just for a quick smile. He relishes in the way your eyes light up in delight for every trinket he brings you, his heart soaring as soon as he catches a glimpse of your smile. There was something charming about the way you smiled, the way your lips curl to the corners of your lips. 

If he can perfectly describe your smile in written form, he’d make a poem worth pages long. Such sentiments were pure, sincere, and clear as morning dew, his heart quite heavy with thoughts of you when he peers your smile. If he had a camera, he’d capture the very moment you let your lips curl, an expression he wishes for eternity on your beautiful features. 

Some say a smile indicated of a window of happiness, an embodiment of one’s satisfaction in the present moment. Kalim very much embraced that notion, wishing nothing but joyfulness in everyone’s lives. Such a naive mindset, many would say to Kalim, as life isn’t as simple as making one happy with a wave of a wand. 

Although Kalim was quick to give counters about his naivety, he simply wished for the well-being of others if not bright futures that could merit smiles. In his own words, a smile was something worth protecting, even if something small would bring a temporary smile. 

He keeps your smile close to his heart, immortalizing it in Polaroids, pictures on his phone, and little text messages exchanged between the both of you. Your smile, the sun, radiant in its beauty, fuels his motivation for the day - another reason why he keeps smiling. Your smile was his sun, as he was also the sun itself, ever bright and forever shining. 

[bethanydelleman]

Someone tagged on my inflation calculator post about if they should think Darcy is similar to Bezos or Musk and it made me think. The answer is no and I'll tell you why:

People who are "self-made" (they never are) and reach extreme wealth in their lifetimes tend to have a certain type of personality and it's not one I admire. They don't care who they maim or crush on the way to the top. They are single-mindedly devoted to their goal. It may bring them wealth but I wouldn't want to be within 500 feet of them. There are rare exceptions, but you don't get to that level of wealth by being kind. And I'm talking about the extremes, you can have a good idea, become a millionaire, and not be a terrible person, but a hundred-millionaire or a billionaire? I don't think that's possible.

On the other hand, people who inherit massive generational wealth like Mr. Darcy have a different problem, which is that they never have to strive for anything and therefore can be lazy and directionless. We see this with Henry Crawford, for example, who without any purpose to his life has fun manipulating people's feelings. Jane Austen seems to admire those landowners who make a real career out of their inheritance (Mr. Darcy & Mr. Knightely for example), but, at least in her novels, this is pretty rare. And that makes sense, because inherited wealth is random. You have all the access to education in the world, but you can't change a person "in essentials". There are those trying to get richer, but mostly by concentrating other generational wealth. It's those trying to get in who are more vicious.

Additionally, there was a different view towards the morality of the wealthy compared to what we have now. The gentry in Austen's time were expected to be involved in charity and to contribute to society by acting as a magistrate (for example) for free. It wasn't just something they did for a tax break and good PR, it was thought more as their obligation, as far as I understand. They were also expected to show a good moral example to the lower classes (which... um... lol).

So I don't think Mr. Darcy and our modern day billionaires are comparable, not in personality or the way that they are perceived in their respective societies.

[666writingcafe]

Emergency Meeting

Which Takes Place A Few Weeks After the Flood

Mephistopheles

What a day. Several false calls about supposed important news items that turned out to be completely blown out of proportion, followed by one about a bunch of brats taking my brother's backpack and throwing it in the messiest trashcan they could find, and yet another meeting with the House of Lords where everyone was too busy arguing amongst themselves to get anything done.

And then when I thought I could just go home and relax for the evening, I overheard a few members of the upper House quietly conspiring against Lord Diavolo again, so I had no choice but to report straight to the castle and deliver the news myself.

Barbatos greeted me like he normally does: courteous with a smile that doesn't quite travel up to his eyes. I know he isn't the biggest fan of me, but since I haven't done anything to put Lord Diavolo in danger, he resigns to merely tolerating me. Which is fine. Butlers aren't really supposed to develop intimate relationships with people, anyway. Interferes with their job performance.

What I wasn't expecting was to walk in as Lord Diavolo was beginning to cozy up towards the Avatars' attendant. Obviously, they scooted away from each other once Barbatos made our presence known, but the light blush dusting both their cheeks indicates that we clearly interrupted something.

Stupid feelings.

I was merely meant to be a friend of Diavolo's. Our families have been close for many centuries, so consequently the kids are expected to maintain that relationship. But things changed when we were teenagers. Diavolo was never bad-looking by any means, but as he was morphing into his adult form, I found myself more and more attracted to him. Didn't want to admit it to myself initially, but it's kind of hard to deny it when you repeatedly wake up stiff from a certain type of dream starring a certain individual doing certain activities to you.

So, yes. I'm jealous. I've worked very hard to hide that from people, because it does nothing to change the fact that Diavolo will never see me in that way. The only way my jealousy is apparent is my hair. After one too many incidents where I looked in the mirror and saw him looking back at me, I broke out the hair dye and vowed to never be mistaken for that prideful bastard. His mere existence here mocks me. He has Diavolo wrapped around his finger.

And apparently so does his fucking attendant.

"May I help you?" Diavolo's question forces me to calm down and remember the reason why I showed up here in the first place. I suppose it's a good thing they're here too, for the news concerns them as well.

"My Lord, trouble's afoot. Members of the Upper House are making plans behind your back." Diavolo sighs.

"What else is new?"

"They're working with the Celestial Realm this time." The attendant's eyes widen. "My Lord, are you familiar with the Rembandy Accord?" A stern look develops on his face as he nods his head. Upon the confused expression on the attendant's face, Diavolo explains,

"If two members of Celestial and Devildom leadership sign a formal agreement, they can sentence an angel or demon they deem to be a risk to both realms to be sealed in Cocytus indefinitely."

"I see," the attendant replies, sighing. "I suppose after what happened the last time, they would feel the need to escalate things. If this Accord were to go into effect, I'd imagine you'd be powerless to stop it."

"That is correct. It is one of the few laws that I cannot override."

"From the sounds of it, both realms have picked their representatives," I add. "It's only a matter of days before they meet and sign the document, effectively extinguishing the lives of the Avatars." I swallow the scathing words bubbling in my throat about them. Nothing I say will change Diavolo's perception of them, after all, so why start an argument over it?

"I'm surprised they haven't signed it already," Diavolo comments. "Not that I want them to, of course, but given their opinions on the brothers, I would have thought they'd do it the moment they found their representatives."

"They're contemplating adding one more name to the list." I glance over at the attendant. "Yours."

They don't react the way I expected them to. Instead of turning on the waterworks and flailing across the room, they merely remain seated, albeit while looking more morose than they did moments ago. The room grows eerily silent. Eventually, the attendant stands up.

"If that is what they deem to be the acceptable punishment for my crimes, then so be it."

"MC--" Diavolo immediately stops himself, but the error has already been made. I heard about what happened to Solomon when he made the same mistake, and I'm prepared to stop them before they do the same to Lord Diavolo.

But they simply sigh, their focus still remaining on me.

"It's only right that you know the truth. You're one of Diavolo's closest friends, after all." They take a deep breath before continuing,

"Zephyr the demon was only an alias for me to use during my stay here. My place is in a future timeline, where I'm a human exchange student turned magical apprentice. My power is amplified by my ancestry and pacts with the seven Avatars of Sin, and in my world it was difficult to control, resulting in damage across the three realms.

"I received an object that helped tame it, but wearing it here would bring about too many questions, so I've kept it off. You've witnessed some of the effects of that decision recently. Objectively, I do pose a danger, and so it is only right for people to want to protect others from me." They briefly pause to wipe their eyes, and reflexively I pull out a handkerchief from my pocket and hand it to them.

"Thanks," they mutter as they accept it from me. Once they've finished, they offer it back to me, but I wave my hand to indicate that they can keep it. It's not like I can't get another one.

"Believe it or not, this has been the tamest part of my day," I tell them. "At least it makes some degree of sense. Only a human would have so much power tied to their emotions." Diavolo shoots me a warning look.

"Okay, tell me the last time you saw that severe of a flood! It paled in comparison to the ones caused by Leviathan's hissy fits, and he usually summons a whole ass serpent to help him out!" His look doesn't waver. "I swear on my life, I'm not trying to put humans down! They've proven to be quite useful over the years! I was simply making an observation based on things that I've seen frequently whenever I've been around humans. Nothing more." He finally relaxes, allowing me to do the same.

And notice the amused look on MC's face.

"What's so funny?" I ask them.

"You're a very expressive person," they reply. "That's not a bad thing, by the way. It helped me briefly take my mind off things." Right. Their potential sentencing. I really do need to quit getting distracted so easily.

"Look, I do not care so much about the brothers. What happens to them is of little consequence to me. But having you trapped with them would cause so many holes in space and time that the universe would look like the human world's Swiss cheese, and I am not about to be at the end of that particular lecture from Barbatos. So, I will do everything in my power to ensure that you get back home." I extend my hand out to MC, and they shake it. As I turn to leave the room, I call out to Diavolo,

"Don't think you've gotten off scot-free, Lord Diavolo. You, me, and Barbatos will be having words about your conduct towards our time-traveling human."

Taglist: @lost-in-time-wanderer, @fuzztacular, @dianedancer18, @sweetbrier2908, @flare-love, @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf, @thunderlightning351, @l3v1chan, @anxious-chick, @5mary5, @expressionless-fr, @tenkobitch, @budbuddnbuddy

[firewoodwander]

🥨 for Jessix? 🫶🏼

Wintertime prompts

“—and don’t go lifting anything heavy for the next few days at least.” Kix says. Then, “Yes, I know it’s your ankle that’s sprained. How do you think you’re going to carry anything when you can barely walk?”

The Lieutenant closes his mouth with a grimace. Kix is kind when he hands over a crutch with a smile, helping the slightly-wobbly kid get back onto his feet. To his utter lack of surprise, once Bo waves his goodbye he hobbles straight towards the bustle and lights of the civilian celebration.

Coric snorts when he sees Kix shaking his head.

“Come on, they’re not going to do themselves any more harm than they would on this ship.”

“You are far too optimistic about that,” Kix mutters, but it’s more for the principle of the argument than any true disappointment.

The slap to the shoulder and good natured jostle are expected, Coric grinning in that way of his that always makes you feel like you’re sharing a joke together.

“Not really,” he says lightly, “but I am certain you’re just grumpy because you’re stuck here with me. Where’s that second of yours?”

“Jesse? He’s probably stuffing his face with some kind of unrecognisable species of tuber.”

“Someone say my name?” comes a voice from over Kix’s shoulder. They both turn to take in the sight of—yes, a rather pleased looking Jesse tearing a chunk of something bread-like and definitely dunked in too much sauce, off a stick as he wanders into the medical tent.

Kix watches in fascination as he chews, swallows, and somehow manages to get it all over the left side of his chin.

“Why are you like this,” he groans, mostly to himself.

Jesse grins and throws his arm over Kix’s shoulder. It’s the arm holding this strange half-mauled treat, so Coric is forced to lunge out of the way lest he also be covered in sauce.

“I know you’re just sad you’re missing out, it’s a real fun time out there. Looks like we’ve come during some kind of local holiday, so all the stallholders have Hardcase’s squad helping them put up decorations. So, I thought I’d bring the festival to you.”

Jesse’s other hand, which Kix had somehow ignored, appears in front of his face holding a second stick. It’s the same bread-snack, apparently originally shaped like a tree, although this one is adorned with a much more reasonable quantity of sauce. Kix takes it carefully and sniffs it. Tangy.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Jesse grinning. He only gets like this when he knows it’s something Kix will genuinely enjoy—unlike Echo, who adores Fives’ terrible reactions to horrible tasting foodstuffs from the worst corners of the galaxy. So Kix bites into it, pleasantly surprised but not actually shocked when the warm, savoury flavours make his mouth water and his stomach gurgle.

“Hells, you two make me sick,” Coric laughs. “Take the rest of the evening off, for stars’ sakes, just don’t bring any of that sticky stuff into my sterile zone, you hear?”

Jesse laughs, replying with something jovial and almost witty, no doubt; Kix, suddenly feeling the weight of exhaustion from the day’s work and a deep, spiritual gratitude for surviving this battle yet to have this moment here, sinks into Jesse’s side and enjoys the comfort of good food and a safe embrace.

Even if Jesse smears sauce over his cheek when he leans in to kiss him.

(He can be forgiven, just this once.)

(And every time hereafter.)

[casadegatos]

Favorite thing I wrote today, It's Hump Day Baby Edition:

today's prompt: one accomplishment

Down to his toes, down to his toenails, even, Shirl promised himself. This was the last time. The last time. The last time had been the last time, too. And the time before that. Shirl picked at a scab on the back of his hand and blocked out the stench of the other men. Other men who were as hollow looking as Shirl felt.

He didn’t know how many times Narcan worked on you. Some guys said after five times it didn’t work, then your O.D. would be permanent. Shirl didn’t want to find out. He pushed up from the cot, slid his bag out from under it, and nodded at Cuke as he started for the door. The Shining Light would let him stay another night, but the cool spring weather was inviting and there were guys worse off than him. His bag was lighter than he recalled it being when he checked in. Rummaging around inside, his fingers touched the leather binding of the book. At least Frost was safe. The metal canteen was missing, that was it.

A narrow look Cuke’s way. Cuke’s eyes slid toward a new guy, one Shirl hadn’t noticed. Under his cot, the canteen. Shirl shrugged his bag over one shoulder and made a circuit of the room, barely breaking his stride when he scooped the canteen up. Then he was outside.

Bright, optimistic rays of sun slanted through the branches over his bench. Shirl settled on one end, leaving the other open for anyone else who wanted to enjoy the park that day with him. It was a singular type of Spring day, every green hue possible, light pink buds just about to burst, some sparrows twittering. Shirl breathed in. He liked this, this was being alive. He could do this.

If he stayed here, read Frost, appreciated the sun, and didn’t think beyond that. He’d get hungry, but Shining Light gave him a packet of trail mix on the way out, so he could handle that. If he stayed here and It left him alone, he could do this.

Even though he had memorized the poems back in his classroom, all those years of teaching them to freshmen, he still liked to look at them on the page as he ran them through his mind. Sometimes he forgot a word here and there, but only sometimes. It. It didn’t like poetry. So Shirl kept his eyes on the page and in his mind the road diverged, the fences were mended, nature was green and gold. The order of the poems mattered, so he turned the pages carefully. He couldn’t skip any of them. If he did, It might find the opening. Make Shirl shiver and need. Next. Next. Next.

No one sat at the other end of the bench, not once. If they had, Shirl would have smiled and offered some of his trail mix to them. Talking to people, though. Shirl pushed It away. Thinking about people hurt. He turned another careful page. Darkening clouds fretted over the horizon and Shirl stuck out his tongue. No rain, he didn’t think. No. The empty bench was long enough for him to lay on, he knew because he’d slept on it before. Probably would tonight, the park was quiet.

Only a few dog walkers and stroller pushers had passed him the whole time he’d sat here. Shirl was invisible to them. That was good. His loneliness was his, he didn’t want to inflict it on anyone else. How he’d ended up here, he supposed. Protecting others from It. Drugs only did so much. Distance only did so much. Whatever tether he’d had before unraveled every time he used, but every time he used he could almost touch what it had been to feel…normal? To feel something. To not feel It.

Purple and orange streaks announced sunset, followed by a soft breeze. Shirl closed Frost and put it under his head as a pillow. He would be able to sleep. He’d made it through the day and he was alive.

[crescentfool]

having the hc that minato is ace is incredibly funny sometimes when you think about how ryoji is oh so very bi because it's like. "ah. death stole my ability to be attracted to people," in the same way that ryoji stole minato's eye color and energy level. like wow, thanks ryoji, you just keep finding things to steal from minato!

[redheadedfailgirl]

From 'Dream of a woman' By Cacey Plett.

This sums up exactly how I feel about most transition timelines. As much as they reflect people's experiences, they are also a narrative. And the narratives that get shared the most tell a lot about what our values are. The timelines that get the most attention are the ones where people go from sad, loser, nothing boys into beautiful women.

But if you go to /r/transitiontimelines or a similar place, and sort by controversial or look at what has the least likes, its people who made timelines when they still don't 'pass' yet. Even if they're happy as can be, that's not what people are looking for.

I think it says a lot about what people expect from trans women, that they only want to see us be beautiful. In some cases, that they want to believe they can be beautiful. So there is no value in trans life if you're not beautiful.

[purpldawne]

that one arashi post about presenting her as overtly feminine in fan media but not in a "trans women are only valid if they conform to traditional femininity" kinda way and more in a "happyele are a bunch of pussies for having a trans woman imply/state she wants to be more feminine in every sense of the word and then never letting her do so beyond socially" kinda way

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

I feel like the post I just reblogged pointing out the all-or-nothing in how many people interact with their deconstruction of systems of oppression is resonating for me right now with so many different moments in my life where someone decides that because some part of myself has access to some of the levers of control/influence/etc that come with the relationship to power, and decides what that must mean about all the other parts of me that might be explicitly refused access to those same levers.

It has happened in so many spaces/aspects of my life, and it can be so hard to feel safe and seen and trusting of others when that's my chronic relationship to being perceived - half truths and obfuscation.

It doesn't really change regardless of who's doing the assuming either. Like, where they land in relation to systems of power may influence which direction they lean in their assumptions about me, but even that is often inconsistent. Both sides of the equation (those who share my marginalizations and those who exist in spaces of closer proximity to power) will still do it nonetheless.

When I was doing my liminal social identities work in undergrad, this was actually a big part of the conceptualization we explored of traumtic alienation of self as individual from self as collective, and what it can do to people to exist in this liminal relationship with your environment and the people in it. As I'm starting to gather my thoughts about my stress modeling, this conceptualization is bubbling back to the surface. I'm finding myself meandering through it on both a path specifically my own, and in an effort to better understand what other paths may be available to people during their version of the process/experience.

Selfhood is so fragile, and so in need of balance between self-construction and co-construction for us humans, and that gives us so many beautiful, even spiritual, experiences of meaning making and generativity of self. It also createa many pivot points where we may find room in our path for vulnerability or blurring of self. As much as these pivot points can be distressing, I think they also sometimes become our foundations of change/personal evolution, when we find that through the distress of existing in shift, something meaningful is occurring or observable in our experience of self-in-transition.

I think something I've valued especially about my own relationship with self is its transience. It doesn't always end up somewhere I would be happy to sustain, but it always allows me a degree of comfort in complexity that I think has made my body-mind a safer place for me overall.

[itspileofgoodthings]

also it’s interesting because. my family is deeply unsentimental (in a very powerful way) and society is divided into the pretty heartless or the pretty sentimental (generally speaking) and I’m sort of this walking heart wound of emotion trying to straddle these lines (and having a hard time of it!) but one of the things that does guard me from being more sentimental than I am is the secret cruelty and unfairness that lurks at the bottom of all sentimentality.

[quietwingsinthesky]

there’s a progression in there, somewhere, of even going from ‘the master might kill me any day now :(‘ to ‘the master is going to kill me :) she’s not going to let someone else do it after all this time’

[moonmoonthecrabking]

"chaotic bisexual-" i don't find this particularly encourages me to read the book, actually. i might anyway, because of the concept (and in a partial hope to prove my preconceptions wrong), but i think that a mistake was made somewhere in the marketing stage

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

3, 6, 14, 15, and 20

uhhhhh i'll just do these 3 b/c i've been thinking abt them lately

3. have they died before? as it currently stands, spencer's dead dead yeah and not coming back, lucian is also dead (stuck as undead in his main timeline and while he might've suffered a less terrible death in other ones he still is probably dead in those). in aurelio's case they tried to execute him but it didn't work so i don't know if that counts as a death technically? don't know if he's completely immortal either but he survived the execution so that's gotta count for something lmaoo?

6. what's their greatest fear? aurelio's is loneliness and i think lucian's would be death; at the moment i can't think of one for spencer but? i suppose fearing consequences would be very fitting for him.

14&15. are they trans? / are they neurodivergent? up to interpretation.

20. will they recover from their trauma or will it consume them? i actually think, given enough time after the main story events, aurelio might, eventually. but the whole point of spencer & lucian's storylines is that, no they dont lol: i'd say their stories focus on the effects of not allowing yourself to move on from your trauma and fixating on it to the dangerous point of destroying everything around you and yourself (ESPECIALLY in lucian's). there is the small chance that maybe in one alternate timeline lucian does actually somewhat recover in some part, but for his main timeline nah