#there's a lot of capacity for hurt in that first year or so of their new attempt at friendship

[57sfinest]

what do you think the best case scenario is for jean and harry's relationship post-martinaise?

okay so not to be Like That but i do have one fic up about this with another one currently in the works

but anyway. obviously their relationship is never going to go back to the way it was. there was just SO MUCH between them that they have no hope of restoring with harry's amnesia, and also jean knows rationally that things shouldn't ever be the way they were again. it's not like they were ever supposed to be that way anyway.

in the best-case, i think it takes MONTHS for them to even start to bridge the gap, and harry has to initiate it. jean is done being the one reaching out, being the fixer, overlooking things. IF harry wants him back, as a friend or anything else- and secretly jean wants him to want him back, but he'll never admit that- he has to take the first steps and do the work. so first harry has to put in the work to recover (if harry kept using drugs, i don't think jean would care, but he'd have to kick the alcohol) and then harry has to put in the personal work and learn how to communicate properly and respect boundaries. even when he starts trying i think jean pushes back for a while and harry has to take his turn being the bigger person and let jean complain or shut him down or whatever and not bitch about it or start a fight, because that will just push jean away more.

best-case is that harry passes these little trials of jean's, and they finally sit down and have an actual conversation about everything and clear the air. i don't think it's a pretty conversation, but they (jean mostly) says a lot of things that have needed to be said for a long time. assuming this goes to jean's satisfaction i think they agree- harry gets ONE more chance to stay on jean's good side.

buffered by the few months of jean REALLY hating harry and resenting him and being jealous of his second chance and all that, i think a friendship between them has a better chance to be healthy at this point. harry is ostensibly working on his shitty habits and behaviors, and now harry probably has kim (and possibly others) to talk to, which takes a lot of the burden off jean, because imo one of the biggest issues harry and jean had was a lack of distance. they just couldn't get away from each other, and ended up not wanting to. so now they have an opportunity to keep a healthy buffer and *choose* to engage, which also allows them to step away from one another if things get heated. yes, they'll definitely still clash sometimes, but it's a lot easier to deal with when they can just agree to leave the argument there and not speak until they've gotten over themselves.

the best-case requires harry to do a lot of personal work but assuming he does do it, i do think he and jean could go back to being friends. their new relationship would definitely start off very rocky and tentative- mostly harry is afraid to ruin it again- but given enough time i think harry proves it's for real this time and they can come to actually trust each other and be comfortable around one another.

[neverendingford]

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[amiableness]

not a request per se but something i started thinking about when you said you were bringing back dad!james. i feel bad for Henry’s mom because being a mom at 20 sounds so hard. i’m 20 right now and i can’t imagine taking care of a child. i want her to get a happy ending but i’m also thinking about her running into james and darling with henry, being the family she couldn’t give them. i feel like that would sting, like even if she is content with her life and doesn’t regret her decision to leave it would still hurt that her fears about y/n and james came true after she left. i can’t imagine having a baby with a man who’s been secretly (even subconsciously) in love with another woman. like i hope that henry’s mom can eventually be on good terms with james and y/n and even be apart of henry’s life, even if it isn’t in a parental capacity

also hi elina! hope you’re doing well and taking care of yourself

hugs and kisses- m

Dad!James Potter x Bsf!Reader ☼ 776 words

my darling m! i picked this request next bc i saw it was from you!

“I think we’ve gotten everything.” You mutter to yourself as you review the shopping list, noting the blend of your handwriting and James's. It’s a small detail, but it still makes your heart skip a beat. Though it’s only been a few months since you and James started dating, the sense of being a family feels natural. It might seem quick to some, but with you and James, it simply feels right.

“We forgot biscuits.” You glance over at Henry, who is gripping your hand tightly and nodding enthusiastically as if what he’s just said is sheer brilliance.

“Did we? I didn't see that written down.” You hum, peering into the trolley filled with groceries, sorting through the items mentally.

“Daddy probably forgot,” Henry chimes in, sending you a cheeky grin. “He forgets them a lot.”

You laugh softly at Henry’s comment about James, the warmth of his words brightening your mood. “We’ll get them,” you agree, your voice playful. “But only as a treat for your lunches. I can’t believe you start your first year of school next week.” 

There’s a squeak of wheels, and you turn your head, curious about the sound. To your surprise, you’re met with the wide-eyed gaze of a woman about your age, staring at you with a look of disbelief. Your stomach knots as you realize who she is: James's ex and Henry’s mum.

“Hi.” You say, the word feeling awkward as soon as it leaves your lips. You immediately wish you could take it back, knowing there’s a good chance she might not want to engage with you right now. Her eyes dart between you and Henry, and she seems momentarily at a loss, opening and closing her mouth as if searching for the right thing to say.

“Um, hi.” She finally responds, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. Her gaze is filled with a mix of curiosity and hesitation.

“Mummy, who is that?” Henry asks, tugging insistently at your hand to get your attention. His innocent question hangs in the air as you look down at him, your heart sinking at the uncomfortable tension.

Glancing back up at her, you open your mouth to respond, but the words seem to elude you, leaving you in an awkward silence.

“I’m just an old friend,” She speaks up, sending you a quick glance. “I went to school with your mum and dad.”

Henry looks up at her with wide eyes, absorbing her words. “Oh,” he replies, his curiosity momentarily satisfied.

“How is—” She clears her throat, her eyes briefly filled with a hint of regret as she glances back down at Henry. “How is James?” 

To distract Henry, you hand him your phone, and his face lights up with excitement at the chance of playing a game. You didn’t let him play games on your phone very often.

“He’s good,” You smile softly. “He’s a bit emotional. Henry starts school next week.”

“Oh.” She murmurs, her voice soft and tinged with a note of hesitation. For a moment, you brace yourself, worried she might become upset. But then she continues, her eyes meeting yours with an earnest look. “Listen, I know I have no right to say this anymore, but I want to thank you. For doing what I couldn’t and bringing happiness to both of them.”

She takes a deep breath, her gaze flickering to Henry, who is absorbed in the game on your phone. “It’s obvious you’re doing an amazing job,” she says, her smile carrying a mix of sadness and sincerity. “I don’t even need to see James to know he’s happier than he’s ever been. All he’s ever wanted is you.”

She offers you a soft, understanding smile, and you swallow hard, fighting back tears. “I don’t even know what to say,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “I know James and I didn’t part on the best terms, and I said things I shouldn’t have. But I want you to know that I’m truly glad he has you, even though I didn’t feel that way at the time.” She offers a tearful smile, her eyes glistening. “You make a beautiful family.”

You barely manage to choke out a response, wishing her the best, before she turns and walks away down the aisle. Left standing there in shock, you feel Henry’s curious gaze on you. He looks up as he hears your soft sniffle.

“Are you sad, mummy?” He asks, his voice filled with concern.

“No, sweetheart,” you reply, managing a gentle smile. “I’m alright. Let’s go find some biscuits for you.”

please consider reblogging or leaving a comment! it keeps me motivated to write! 💌

[marzipanandminutiae]

I have a question, where would gnc/trans people get their clotges in the days before the selling of premade clothes? I assume some was stealing from relatives, and that soem of them did know how to make clothes, but that doesn't seem at all likely to be the most common method

That is an amazing question!

Unfortunately for a lot of people, we don't really know- many trans folks flew under the radar and as such details of their lives are unclear. Legendary stagecoach driver Charley Parkhurst, for example, left no sort of record as to where he got his clothes (especially since he lived in a cabin in the middle of nowhere for many years of his life). And figures like Mary Jones, a Black trans sex worker from the early 19th century, flit into and out of the pages of history so quickly that there's barely enough info to get their vital statistics, let alone shopping habits.

However, my guesses would be as follows:

Secondhand shops. These have existed for a very long time, and if you already have at least one outfit that makes you read as the correct gender, nobody would question you going through that section of the store/market/whatever.

Sympathetic conventional tailors or dressmakers. This is almost certainly where middle- and upper-class GNC or trans people got their clothing- one can hardly imagine legendary writer George Sand buying her suits secondhand, after all. And since humans have always been human, and Let People Dress How They Please; They Aren't Hurting Anyone is a sentiment I've seen at least as far back as the 19th century, I suspect there were far more of these than many people might think.

Clothing workshops catering to the demimonde- that is, to theatrical companies for costumes, or to sex workers. Certainly this is where drag performers got their stage gear, and one imagines people for whom gender variance crossed the line from performance to identity- like Fanny Park and Stella Boulton -might have turned to their costumers for everyday attire, too. And catering to sex workers probably got all sorts of requests that were seen as outre for the time (in a roleplay capacity- most sex workers dressed conventionally while not actively Doing Sex), but their money was as good as anyone else's.

Friends and relatives. Some families knowingly supported their crossdressing or trans loved ones. Even partners who married the person in question as the binary opposite gender could fall into this category- Lili Elbe (though she lived after premade dresses began to rise in popularity) first experimented with feminine attire in dresses and jewelry loaned by her enthusiastically supportive wife Gerta Gottlieb. In fact, Gottlieb was bisexual, and their marriage was only annulled because Lili was a woman now and same-gender marriage was illegal in Denmark at the time.

Also yes stealing from your relatives was also an option, of course. if they were less than sympathetic

The king of France???? this is the wildcard, and my absolute favorite: the Chevaliere d'Eon, when she transitioned in the 1770s, got the king to not only formally state that she had been assigned female at birth (there had been speculation about her physical sex for years at this point) but to pay for her new wardrobe of gowns. Absolute Queen.

"but didn't her mantua-makers notice Some Physical Things?" she's believed to have had some form of gynecomastia, based on her autopsy, and they'd never have cause to see her in less than her calf-length chemise. if they did see anything, they kept their mouths shut, and rightly so.

[signanothername]

if Nightmare uncorrupted by a miracle, do you think he would find his happy ending or mend things with Dream?

Ough y’know I genuinely wanna say yes but-

Ok i’d say it’s gonna be way more complicated than a simple yes and a happy ending where Nightmare and Dream suddenly are on good terms

But it’s also not a simple no either

Nightmare’s and Dream’s relationship is beyond scarred and their pain runs way deeper than just simply like Nightmare’s corruption, it’s also important to keep in mind that they fought for years before Nightmare lost that corruption, and they both said and did some bad things to each other during that time in the high of their fights

It’s kinda like, how do you heal a relationship that’s beyond healing at that point? You mend and save what you can but accept that it can never go back to how it used to be

Not to mention, it’s important to keep in mind how Nightmare lost that corruption, and to me I feel like Dream’s the only one who can genuinely somehow get him out of his corruption at any capacity, and that in of itself would leave a big sore spot in the twins’ relationship, cause Nightmare sees his corruption as the only thing keeping him safe, it gave him power and strength and to lose such a thing and get back to feeling weak and helpless and it’s your brother’s fault?? Yeah Nightmare would not be happy with Dream at all

To him that’s just Dream hurting him more than he already is hurt

Like when Nightmare loses his corruption at first he genuinely sees Dream as the biggest threat to him, cause he’s the only one who can kill him and after so many years of fighting, Nightmare has no reason to believe Dream wouldn’t just take his helplessness as an opportunity to kill him

Like i want you to understand that this is the extent of how fucked up their relationship is, it’s so fucked up that Nightmare genuinely fears for his life around Dream without his corruption

And it’s not cause Dream has shown any true signs that he’d be willing to hurt Nightmare at all, Dream doesn’t find joy in their fights, it hurts him emotionally way more than any broken bone Nightmare bent out of shape, but just like Dream fears for his life around Nightmare during his corrupted state, Nightmare fears for his life around Dream in his uncorrupted state

And I think seeing the fear in Nightmare’s eye as he looks at Dream would just hurt Dream more than anything ever did, cause Dream is a bit deluded to think he’d finally see Nightmare’s old smile when his corruption is gone, but in reality all he sees is a look of fear he only saw Nightmare show towards the villagers and god does it absolutely fucking kill him inside

Another thing to keep in mind is what I mentioned before, how Nightmare views his corruption as part of himself, but to put it in clear bold words, Nightmare sees his corruption as a genuine part of his identity as a whole, and Dream took that away, it isn’t just even simple feelings of helplessness and weakness, if Nightmare loses his corruption he’d fully experience his already deep rooted identity crisis

And that in of itself makes Nightmare too disoriented and emotionally unstable, further contributing to how hard it is to mend his relationship with Dream, if Nightmare even wants to mend his relationship with his twin at all

That being said, Dream on the other hand, while he’s extremely forgiving and he genuinely doesn’t hold Nightmare’s actions against him or thinks/loves Nightmare any less after being hurt by him so many times, it still leaves marks on him, both physically and emotionally, and Dream would have to work through so much of that hurt to get to a point in which he can be close and look Nightmare in the eye without flinching away or feeling uneasy like death itself is looking back at him

And while Nightmare’s thoughts are a lot clearer without the corruption suffocating and plaguing his every waking thought, that doesn’t mean the hurt he experienced for so many years can just be forgotten and forgiven in a single conversation

I’d even dare say both twins aren’t even ready for a single conversation yet

For their relationship to even start its healing journey, both twins have to heal themselves first, separately

They have to stay away from each other for a while, just, take a look at themselves and process their emotions, trauma and whether they still even want that relationship to heal, cause sometimes, the true best course of action is to let go than keep digging

And while I think Dream would want their relationship to heal, Nightmare might be a bit hesitant on that front, Nightmare might give it a try, but I still don’t think they’ll just magically become as close as they used to, their relationship is beyond that at this point

So I think the closest their relationship can get to being better, is that they’re not actively trying to kill each other, maybe Nightmare would allow Dream a day in which they hang out, but that’s far in the future

It took 500 years of hurt to get where they are now, and it’ll probably take another 500 years for their relationship to recover and mend to a point where it’s as close as it can be to how it used to be, but there will always be those days in which they don’t get along at all, those days in which they need their alone time away from each other

But still, a calm genuine and honest conversation between these two would do them so much good, if both are willing to take the gut wrenching truth about their feelings with stride, which I think would take so much time before that conversation even happens in which they actually keep calm instead of it escalating into a fight

Dream is more than ready to let go of the past and to make new memories, he’d already started out as stuck in the past for too long and then later just wanted to move on, and that was his opportunity to do so for good

Nightmare isn’t, he started out as someone too stuck in the future cause of the trauma he experienced cause he wanted to move on so bad that he didn’t process any of his trauma or emotions at all, only for his mind to catch up to him way too late and he’s suddenly stuck in the past, unable to let go of the hurt he experienced, he’s too stuck in the past to simply let go of everything that led up to this point of his life, too hurt, too scared of making new memories only for them to be tainted with more pain somehow

Nightmare doesn’t want to move on out of fear, not out of any actual genuine hatred, Nightmare fears that if he moved on, his past would simply catch up to him all over again

I think the true best course of action is that Nightmare and Dream stay in separate places, work together through their broken relationship slowly, but never force the process, just let it happen naturally, it’s best if each just lived under a different roof, they need to spend time with each other to heal, but not spend too much time, they both need to find their separate roads that don’t revolve around each other if they wanted to truly heal themselves and their relationship

Nightmare wouldn’t simply go back to the same Nightmare who was so open, gentle and happy to receive Dream’s hugs or smile at Dream every time he sees him, he won’t tell Dream how much he loves him or cares for him and he won’t be as openly affectionate as he used to be, he’d still deny his love for Dream and live in the delusion that he doesn’t care for Dream as much as he does, he won’t suddenly become a merciful, gentle and loving person like he didn’t inflect so much cruelty upon so many people, cause it isn’t as simple as “corruption is what made him a bitch”, it runs way deeper as his corruption shaped him as a person, and Dream has to accept that if he truly and genuinely wants their relationship to heal at all

But i’d say that no matter how long it takes, the twins’ relationship would mend enough that they don’t fight at every single conversation they have, mend enough for them to actually hang out with each other, it wouldn’t be exactly like it used to be, but something close, not too close, but I think close enough for both of them to heal and grow bigger than their grief eventually

I wouldn’t say it’ll be a genuine happy ending for them, but it’ll be a bittersweet one

But hey, Dream might get what he wants and see somthing akin to Nightmare’s old gentle smile one day <3

[multifandoms27-blog]

Hi!! I've been binge watching TFP, as I've recently just stumbled across it. And already wishing I've seen this show eariler!

May I request TFP Ratchet realizing he's fallen in love with a F/human ally? Honestly just love 'grumpy, gruff hero falls for sweet, caring love interest. But denies it at first till something happens' trope. Can be fluff/smutt. Anything you're comfy with 😊

Thanks and feel free to ignore, if your inbox is full.

Oh my God I literally love Ratchet so much, thank you for this. Finish the show and then watch the movie! I was lucky enough to watch it when it was coming out - I loved it as a kid and I love it now as an adult.

Content: TFP Ratchet x Fem! Hum! Reader

Warnings: None!

Notes: I wrote for Ratchet a lot on my old Wattpad account, or at least what I can remember of it. If anybody wants to see my cringy old writing, my username on there is the same here, Multifandoms27. I also have a four-part TFP Megatron series if anybody's interested. Also I apologize if this is shit - this is my first time writing for Ratchet in literal years so uh, hope you enjoy lol

• ───────────────── •

Ratchet usually didn't bother with the whole romance thing. He was too old for that. Even when you came into the picture, he didn't pay much attention to you. He thought humans were weak links - something that didn't belong in his world.

But through your own effort to get to know him, he slowly warmed up to you. He thought you were one of a kind - smart, funny, understood him in almost every capacity...he loved you. But he would never admit it, not even to himself.

You had been nothing but nice to him, even in the beginning when all he did was snap at you. Thats what softened him, made him draw closer to you. How could something so tiny be so kind to something so...large?

And then, when the children came and he had to grow accustomed to them, then to June and Fowler, he had realized that you had made him so accustomed to humans and made him believe he could finally...no. No, he did not love you.

...At least, that's what he told himself. Until you got hurt.

• ───────────────── •

Optimus had walked through the groundbridge, his servo raised and, for once, a solemn face. One of their own had been hurt, and Ratchet feared Miko finally had gotten hurt from chasing after Bulkhead. But, when Optimus showed him his servo, his spark nearly extinguished.

"(Y/n)! Oh, Primus, no!" He carefully took your unconscious form in his servos and called for June.

Optimus felt responsible for your state, and so he went to lock himself in his berthroom. Ratchet however, tried to assist June anyway he could. But June eventually grew too stressed trying to dress your wounds and assure Ratchet, that she finally snapped on him and told him to get out of the room.

Ratchet went to find Optimus, to ask how you had gotten so hurt. He was angry. He was so livid. How could this have happened to you? To his favorite human?

He knocked gently at first on Optimus' berthroom door. When he got no response, he began to pound on the door. "Optimus, I know you are in there!"

Slowly, the door opened. Optimus stood, staring down at his medic and long time friend. His gaze was quizzical, but he said nothing. Ratchet was even more put off by that. He began to speak. "How did she come to be like that?"

"She must have snuck through the groundbridge when none of us were looking, and-"

"Just tell me how she got this way, Optimus." Ratchet pleaded.

"Megatron was not so kind to her...that is all I'll say, for your sake." Optimus spoke, sadness lacing his tone.

Ratchet grew enraged. "And you couldn't protect her?! Primus, Optimus! You have had more than one chance to defeat Megatron, yet you stand here, sad as an Earth puppy who got kicked, while my (Y/n) is getting torn apart by the most tyrannical Cybertronian in our history! How could you?!"

Optimus sighed and looked off to the side. "Goodnight, Ratchet. We will speak in the morning."

Ratchet protested, but the Prime had already shut himself back in his room. Grumbling, he turned to find all three children staring from around the corner, accompanied by Bumblebee. He grumbled more. "What are you looking at?!"

Bumblebee whirred that you were awake. Ratchet blinked and rushed back into the medbay, where sure enough, you laid there awake and groaning in pain. June looked up and saw Ratchet once more.

"I administered some pain meds just now. She should be okay in about twenty minutes. Her wounds are all dressed." June backed away. "Do you want me to uh..."

"Yes, please." Ratchet waited for June to leave before kneeling next to you. "How are you feeling?"

"...Could be worse." You laughed, then cringed in pain.

"I'm not sure how much worse you could be. I hear you survived Megatron. Well done, sweetspark."

"Sweetspark? That's a new one." You chuckle this time, careful not to create a big pain response like before.

Ratchet blinked in surprise. "D-Did I say that? I meant-"

"It's okay, Ratch." You grinned and placed a hand on his large servo. "I know what you mean."

Ratchet stopped, then slowly and softly smiled down at you. Yes, you always understood him in some capacity...but not every one. You could never pick up on how much he loved you.

Yes, he loved you.

• ───────────────── •

Here's my Transformers masterlist in case you wanna request something!

[kaledya]

Constantine's character introduction:

Description: Constantine is the first child of Lilith and Lucifer, 6 years older than Charlie and the crown prince of Hell

-Constantine is rational as a person, he doesn't approach anything with emotions, he sees everything as a plus or minus or as moves on a chessboard.

-Constantine would probably tell you the perfect way out of your problems if you went crying to him for advice, but he wouldn't try to console you emotionally.

-Constantine has the philosophy that everything is fair game for victory, if victory is the result it doesn't matter how much of a monster he is on the road, for example if it means protecting Charlie he will gladly do things to make Charlie hate him and not regret it, after all his sister will be safe even if she hates him.

-He's calm and patient and proud and egoistic, and his pride and ego comes from the intelligence and power that he has in general. 

-Constantine is one of hell's foremost intellectually and is seen as having great potential even by his family. Even as a child he was able to grasp very difficult spells with ease and never had a problem memorizing spells due to his photographic memory.

-But this intelligence has a side effect Constantine can't feel emotions very well, he can't comprehend them very well, he can't empathize with someone, sometimes he even thought that Charlie inherited the angelic and humanoid parts of his parents (it could be said that Charlie has enough empathy for both of them). 

-And since he knew what hell was like, he knew that if he was powerless he would not be able to protect his sister or himself in the future, so for a period after his 20s he devoted himself only to his education and self-development. 

-As Constantine became more interested in politics, he taught himself how to be a snake with snakes, which again began to corrupt his own personality.

-It is really hard to get him angry, even when he is angry he keeps his poker face and never shows his emotions.

-He doesn't tolerate disrespect in any form and doesn't hesitate to punish anyone (except his family members and the people at the hotel (he knows that if he hurts Charlie's friends, it won't end well).

-As genius and calm as Constantine is, there's a mad genius underneath, sometimes spending weeks in his workshop and library researching and Charlie has to drag him out of there, or he can be brilliant at the hardest things and terrible at the simplest.

-Constantine is a really great wizard, often inventing his own spells and combining what he has (he may have blown up parts of the palace a couple of times, but on the bright side he created a repair spell).

----

Constantine is heterosexual, but he has never been in love, nor has he ever had a lover (he has the same capacity to understand love as a tree. He doesn't have) Lust has never been something that attracts him. For Constantine, it doesn't matter how attractive someone is, if that person can surprise him with her intelligence and see her as his equal, he will consider having a relationship with her, but lust is just salt on the dish.

in fact when Asmodeus asked him if he ever planned to make a lover he said "Lust is not something that interests me, my dear uncle, if one day I meet a woman who can surprise me with her intelligence and who I can consider my equal, I may love her. end of story''

-----

After the disappearance of lilith, Lucifer didn't want to be so involved in royal affairs anymore, he needed a break, so Constantine started to take care of most of the royal affairs and this increased his authority a lot over the years and now all the nobles look at the prince as a king instead of a prince.

Speaking style: 

Constantine's voice is cold, he speaks like an British aristocrat from the 1800s, he chooses his words very well, he is a sweet-tongued snake, and he likes to analyze the other party and reveal their weaknesses in his speech.

Fun facts:

Since his eating habits have been transferred to his own palace, he usually eats cereal, fried chicken and dessert-like things, except for royal gatherings (I mean, he's half Angel, so he knows his health won't be affected by his diet, so he doesn't care)

Constantine has owl features, walks very quietly and can easily turn his head in the opposite direction. He has feathers on some parts of his body. His hands are like bird claws and he has great vision.

Since he and Charlie are half Angel, 4 hours of sleep is equivalent to 8 hours of sleep for them, but despite this, Constantine sometimes stays awake for days and tries to fulfill his need for sleep by sleeping for 2 days in a row (this does not exist at the moment, Charlie disturbed him and helped him to establish his sleep pattern)

Relationships:

Lucifer: Constantine had a close relationship with his father as a child, he saw him as a role model and loved spending time with him, constantly following him around the palace like a duckling. And he did his best to make his father proud, asking him to teach him new spells and enjoying their time together. But as the years went by, they started to have differences of opinion and so on. Now, especially after what happened between Lucifer and Charlie, they had a fight and never spoke again. Lucifer is upset about this, but Constantine doesn't feel much because he thinks it's the right thing to do, even though he loves his father to the core.

Later in the series, when Lucifer overcomes his pride and apologizes to Charlie, Constantine forgives him and the ice between them slowly begins to melt.

Lilith: Constantine was always closer to his mother and developed many of his personality traits after her example, and Lilith was very interested in her son's upbringing, taking care to raise him in a strict manner, teaching him everything she knew and showing him what kind of king he should be in the future.

Charlie: Constantine loves his little sister so much that he would burn every ring of hell seven times for her. And although he doesn't have much empathy etc., when Charlie is sad he is always there to support her as much as he can, he always treats his sister with respect.

When they were little the two of them were mischievous enough to do things to destroy the palace, so Constantine's most fun memories are the times she spends with her sister and as much as they love each other, like all siblings they sometimes fight or bicker, when they were little it was normal sibling bickering, when they grew up it was usually about Constantine's inability to take care of himself properly, but now, even though they don't see each other much, they often call each other and they have a really healthy relationship and even though their opinions may be divided at times, they both respect and value each other.

Serenity: Constantine describes Serenity as an interesting case. As an overlord, Serenity was the only one Constantine noticed because she was someone who tried to gain power through sweet talk and knowledge, not brutality, a woman who built her empire through mind games, and she did something surprising for a sinner: she spread her power not only to the guru ring but also to other rings, which is why Constantine found her intriguing.

When they first met at the hotel, they naturally got along well, but as time went on and they were both in the same areas because of Charlie, Constantine got to know Serenity better and realized that he liked spending time with this sinner, even though even he was surprised by it. Serenity was smart and cunning, Constantine rarely found someone who could keep up with him in conversation, and he and Serenity shared many hobbies, so over time their enmity turned into friendship and even months after they met Constantine invited Serenity to his palace. He really liked listening to Serenity's comments on his books or projects and they both really enjoyed those days but of course there is no real trust between them, one is a prince of hell and the other is an overlord but they still like each other's presence. 

Hotel residents: Constantine is neutral towards them.

Alastor: Constantine and Alastor have a relationship of respect, as long as Alastor respects Constantine, Constantine is neutral around him, he doesn't get into dogfights with Alastor like Lucifer did. And Alastor knows Constantine's authority, so he doesn't do anything out of line, but Constantine doesn't like Alastor, he knows he's not in the hotel for fun, and he finds it annoying that he's trying to get close to Charlie, but he doesn't see him as a threat, he just sees him as a fly that makes a noise, and he's waiting for him to do something out of line. But of course they have a lot in common in terms of personality and hobbies, if you don't include their positions etc, they could get along well in that way.

The relationship with sins:

Bee: Constantine loves his Aunt Bee very much, even when he was little he remembers like it was yesterday when he used to stay with Charlie and his Aunt Bee always did her best to keep them both happy and she was always kind to them and when they are with her he likes to forget all the royal stuff and have fun. Now Bee is one of the few people who can run up and hug Constantine at royal meetings.

Satan: Constantine grew up closest to Satan, who saw the potential for destruction in Constantine from the time he was young and wanted to guide him, and succeeded. Constantine's perception of power often comes from Satan.

Belphegor: Constantine likes to spend time with her. Belphegor is a women who studies medicine and science, so Constantine really likes to discuss these things with her.

Mammon: he doesn't like him, he thinks he's a clown.

Asmodeus: Constantine is not very close to Asmodeus, but he likes his uncle.

[voices-in-dark-violets-head]

"Be Yourself", says the Furry Fandom.

And yet, as with many things in life, it's far easier said than done.

I've found that 'being myself' can take a lot of bravery, but I want to tell you why it's so, so important.

Storytime!

At Eurofurence this year, I ran the e621 Gameshow for the third year in a row. And for the third year in a row, we were over capacity. As in, security-comes-in-to-tell-people-to-leave levels of over capacity (Which, my dear sympathies once again with those who had to go!)

We had a crowd that was there for an hour and a half of weird furry porn. Who cheered for horsecock. Who delighted in Falco Lombardi macro art. A hundred people - a quarter of the room - gleefully admitted to being into vore.

The atmosphere was electric, and I hadn't even needed my e-stim kit. This was a crowd who rejoiced in the adult side of the fandom!

And then I asked them - how many people had a fetish they'd be nervous admitting to?

A third of the room raised their hands.

In a room that had been laughing moments earlier about the amount of Mufasa/Simba porn, or getting a 100% success rate on guessing popular cock shapes, 1/3 of them weren't confident in revealing those same parts of themselves.

I don't think this is rare.

I've had folks ask me if I get hate for the kind of art I draw (not really much at all, by the way). But worse, I get people telling me - they wish they could draw what they want, write the characters they love… but they fear what others might say.

I've had commissioners remain anonymous, for fear of people knowing what they're into. Known artists start up alt accounts, so that they can draw a kink without their friends knowing. Writers wringing their hands over possible reactions to their stories.

And I would love to tell you it's all just fear - but truth is, it isn't.

Because it ain't just the big patron sites that are swinging the axe on the 'too weird'. Our own sites - our communities - sharpen their restrictions. Whole kinks, loving and accepted, are now 'too far'.

We're fearing the gaze from the outside. We're hearing their derision. And that can scare us, cause us to hide not just ourselves, but those around us. "What if they think that I'm into that? What would they say? I need to prove I'm not!"

We all crave love and acceptance. And in a fandom formed in rejection from society, don't we just hold such ideals even more tightly? So much so that the very idea of this same community throwing us out - for being ourselves? Of course it's terrifying.

But it turns out, even us outcasts, outsiders… we can all hold prejudices. We all have the ability to draw lines, and give too little thought to what that means. We can so easily turn our own opinions, our fear of what others think of us, into rules that hurt and exclude.

And therein lies the issue. "Be yourself", says the fandom, without stopping to consider how treacherous, how thorned that path can be. To be yourself, sometimes, is to suffer the disgust of those who would tell you to do it in the first place.

But… I'm missing something.

Thing is, this fandom isn't based on any one thing. We're not just here because Zootopia was a kinda cool movie, or Twokinds is pretty sexy, or StarFox looks good when he's fifteen stories tall.

We follow no one IP, no webcomic, no TV show. We follow only one thing:

Ourselves.

WE make the fandom we live in. We're dozens of sexualities, a hundred meetups and conventions, a thousand discord servers and Telegram channels, a million pictures and stories and alt-accounts and roleplays…

We decide what we are.

Aren't we the haven of the weird? The questioning of sexualities? The taboo, even incomprehensible kinks? We joke about vore, knots, gratuitous foot fetishists, but isn't that what makes this place home? Isn't every artist drawing obvious kink art following a beautiful legacy?

We are the monsterfuckers. The maw-obsessed, the paw-sluts, the musk-lovers (er, not that one). With every fetish we draw, every kink we commission, every smut-filled story and problematic character and taboo-laden roleplay…

We're the fandom, making ourselves.

Through being myself, through art and stories and chats and servers, I've found new communities. New friends. New ways to think, new art to enjoy. I've found love, deeper than I ever thought possible.

I've found myself.

And I've been told that through my artwork, stories, friend groups, I've helped people do the same. They've found the words to describe what's been inside them this whole time.

They've found they're not alone.

It's one of the sweetest and most delightful things I've heard.

Yes, it takes bravery to be yourself. You risk being misperceived, either accidentally or wilfully. You risk hurt. You risk confusion. But it's nothing you haven't done before. And in its wake, you will find yourself.

Do not let other people dictate who you are.

Do not let other people dictate who you are.

So when I say to keep furry weird, this is what I mean. Find that part of yourself that yearns to be free, and make this fandom the place for it.

Be yourself. Be so amazingly yourself that your very existence is an act of rebellion.

And Keep. Furry. Weird.

[fandomfloozy]

Classical Conditioning

Pairing: Kento Nanami x clingy!reader

C/W: reader's love language is physical touch, petnames (kento refers to reader as love, sweetheart, darling), sorcerer instructor!reader (students refer to reader as sensei), gn!reader, slightly nsfw, mdni

wc: 6.5k

~°•*~

You're on the way home from a particularly grueling training session with the second years. Your muscles burn, your limbs feel heavy, and you want nothing more than to treat yourself to a sweet dessert and head home.

Home to bed, home to sleep, home to Kento...

You weakly push open the door of the nearest cafe you could find and head in. No sooner does the entry bell chime that the exhaustion of the day dissipates from your aching body. From one moment to the next, you've gone from zombie walk to barely containing your excitement as you spot an unmistakably familiar head of blond hair.

You don't even hear the cashier greet you as you're halfway across the room, your feet moving on their own volition. The closer you get, the wider the stupid grin on your face grows until you've practically jumped your fiancée from behind, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing your cheek against his.

"Kento!" You're nuzzling into him with your eyes closed, feeling yourself recharge to practically full capacity.

He doesn't seem the least bit startled or surprised to see you as he reaches a hand up to place on your arms. He moves his face away to get a good look at you. "Hi, sweetheart." He rubs his thumb on your forearm. "We were just talking about you."

In your haste, you failed to notice Takuma Ino sitting across from your lover.

You breathe out an awkward chortle, slinking your arms away from Kento and rounding his chair to pull out the one next to him. "All good things, I hope?" You slide a hand down his arm as you take a seat.

"Nothing but, sensei!"

"You're not one of my students, Takuma-kun." You give a semi-exasperated smile as you reach down the table to grab Kento's hand. "I already told you; you don't need to call me that."

Kento glances your way. "We were actually talking about potentially having him shadow you on one of your next missions." He gives a squeeze at your locked hands at the suggestion. "Have you give him a few pointers, show him how you do things."

"Oh!" You look over at Takuma. "I'm not sure what I could teach you that you don't know, you're plenty capable already!"

"But you're a first grade, sensei! I could pick up a lot from watching you work."

"You're pushing first grade yourself!" You argue.

"And you're pushing semi-special grade, darling," Kento chides, coolly sipping at his drink. "Don't sell yourself too short."

You frown. If you sold yourself too short, Kento upsold you too much.

Leaning your head on his shoulder, you let out a hum as you think. "Well..."

You look up and Takuma is giving you the closest thing a young man his age can get to puppy eyes. And it's working.

You fiddle with Kento's fingers. "I trust you're capable enough not to slow me down..." Takuma visibly starts to brighten. "So I suppose it couldn't hurt to have you come on a mission and shadow me--"

"Yes!" Takuma pumps a fist and grabs your free hand to shake in earnest. "I won't slow you down at all, sensei! Promise!"

You giggle as he continues to shake. "There's no doubt in my mind."

Kento chuckles a bit and moves to stand up. "Now that that's squared away, why don't I get you something to eat?"

"Oh! Yes, please." You remember that the sweet treat you came for remains unordered. You lean away to let Kento stand. "You remember my order?"

"You need to ask?" He smiles and starts making his way towards the register. You hold his hand and then his fingers to the last moment as they slip away from you. You then watch him with your chin leaned into your hand and a dopey smile on your face as you watch him tell the cashier your order and pull out his wallet.

"Your two's relationship is so wild to me." Takuma's voice breaks you out of your lovelorn trance. You clear your throat.

"I guess it is atypical," you hum.

Romantic relationships in the jujutsu world, especially between jujutsu sorcerers, are few and far between. Not many sorcerers become old enough or secure enough to explore those kinds of relationships, let alone get to the point of planning to marry. You and Kento are lucky...

"Especially because you two are such an unlikely pair."

You hum in response again, before what he said kicks in. "Wait, what?"

Takuma responds casually while taking bites of his pastry. "Well, you know. Sensei and Nanami-san are so different. Don't get me wrong, he's a great man, but he's kind of a square."

You snort, recalling your jujutsu tech days with Kento. "He's always been a little standoffish. Been that way since we were students."

"It's just crazy. You're so bubbly and nice, and he's so..." He gestures vaguely. "I guess what they say is true: opposites attract."

"Well..." You fidget. "He is a little more reserved than I am, I suppose."

He takes in another fork full of his food. "I don't think I've ever even seen him hold your hand first."

That leaves you speechless.

Was that true? Has he never held your hand without you reaching out to grab his first? You've never thought about it before.

No, surely, it's just in public. Takuma has never seen Kento initiate because you're in public. Kento doesn't mind PDA, but you're just more prone to initiate in a public setting. Surely that's what he means.

Surely.

The weight of the day is suddenly returning to your body all at once.

Kento returns with your order, hand on the back of the chair. "Don't worry about the bill, it's covered." Takuma cheers to himself. Kento turns to face you. "Ready to head home? You look exhausted."

You nod and let out a little, "Mhm." You reach out a hand and Kento helps you up. Huh...

Initiated.

"We're heading out now. I'll see you tomorrow, Ino-kun."

"See you, Nanami-san. Sensei."

You offer a wave and lean into Kento's arm as you walk out of the cafe.

Initiated...

The ride home is quiet. You're on the verge of nodding off in the backseat as the driver takes you and Kento home. He holds onto your treat from the cafe, your craving now forgotten. Your hands are folded in your lap as you try to stay awake.

It's private enough in the car. Surely, he'll at least try to hold your hand...

You want him to hold your hand. Your thigh, your shoulders, your waist... Anything, really. But he could at least hold your hand.

Please, hold my hand...

The car coming to a stop wakes you. Your head lay in Kento's lap as he gently pets your head.

"We've arrived," the driver announces.

"Let's get you to the shower and then you can sleep all you want, alright?" Kento whispers as he tenderly lifts you from his lap and into a sitting position.

Falling asleep on him like that in front of the driver. You really forced his hand there. He had to hold you in his lap. He had no choice.

Initiated.

Arriving home is a bit relieving, though. It didn't get more private than that. More comfortable.

You were showering. He was undressing and going about his nightly routine. It didn't get more intimate than that.

So by the time you stepped out of the shower, water dripping off your form, you expected something--anything--as you creeped up behind him. Dressed in pajama pants and slippers, brushing his teeth in the mirror, he saw your naked form in his peripheral.

He smirked and spat out the toothpaste. "All done, beautiful?"

You nodded meekly, holding your arm behind your back. He turned to face you and you looked at him, alternating between looking at each eye.

Surely, he'd initiate. Nothing was stopping him. You'd initiated all day; it was his turn. Surely...

He reached out to you, and you waited with bated breath...

...as he reached behind you, grabbing the towel to place over your head and dry you off. He smiled softly. "Go put on some pajamas. I'll join you in bed soon."

He then wrapped the towel around your shoulders and turned to finish washing his face. You stood, dumbfounded for a moment, before scuttling to grab clothes to sleep in.

Maybe he just isn't in the mood tonight.

T-shirt.

I mean, you don't have sex every night.

Underwear.

But even when you do... does he initiate? You suddenly can't recall.

Something you do every night, though, is hold each other. That's a given. Cuddling is essential. It's how you get to sleep: relying on Kento's warmth to lull you into a sense of security and comfort.

You rush to the bed and under the covers. You wait.

Kento emerges from the bathroom, turning off lights on the way to you. Your anticipation is almost palpable at this point.

He situates himself in bed, sat up and looking down at you. "Long day, love?"

The top half of your face is peeking out from under the covers as you nod. "Very," you remark with a bit of a whine. "Glad to finally be home with you, Ken." You reach out to him instinctively then think better of it and stop short, your hand flopping on the bed with a thud.

You both look down at it for a beat.

He laughs. "Me too." He picks up your hand from the space between you and presses his lips to it, holding back a chuckle. "Sleep well. We've got an early start tomorrow."

He then drops your hand to turn off the bedside lamp. The darkness somehow makes the room feel significantly colder.

Kento shimmies down into the covers, lays down face-up, and closes his eyes. "Good night, love."

"Night, Ken," you whisper.

You close your eyes as you replay the exchange in your head.

Initiated.

~°•*~

You wake the next morning curled up by Kento's side. Through the course of the night, it seems like you ended up drifting closer to him. Your head is on his chest, your legs tangled up with his.

His form is the same as he fell asleep in. Supine. Completely relaxed.

You sigh. You tried to give him a wide berth last night and still ended up encroaching on his space.

You carefully untangle yourself from him. His alarm hasn't gone off yet and you don't want to wake him. Once out of bed, you pad down the hall and to the kitchen. With the extra time, you decide you might as well get some breakfast ready.

In the silence while you're cooking, however, you can't help the doubts that start creeping up in your mind... You probably make him uncomfortable with your constant need to be touching him in some way, shape, or form. You know physical touch isn't his love language, and yet you pester him constantly anyway, even in public. He didn't so much as touch you last night without you practically begging for him to. He probably only reciprocates out of obligation.

Maybe you should tone it down today.

You hear the rushing stream of water from down the hall as you finish plating the food. Seems like you have time to pack your lunches for the day as well.

As soon as that's done, you pick at your breakfast a bit. The pit of insecurity in your stomach is having adverse effects on your appetite. You sigh heavily to yourself and figure you should at the very least have a coffee.

You prep one for yourself and one for Kento, and as if on cue, he emerges from the bedroom. His hair is glistening from the water and product still drying in it. He's got his dress shirt on with his tie hanging loosely around his neck. He looks absolutely heaven-sent.

"Ooh, thanks for breakfast, love." He smiles as he takes his seat at the table and you hand him his mug. Your fingers brush as he grabs it, and you yank your hand away a little too forcefully. Kento raises a quizzical brow at you. "Careful, I'm sure it's hot." He blows on it a bit before taking a sip.

You hide your hands behind your back to avoid potential slip-ups. You resigned yourself to no touching him unprompted today. You were going to stick to it.

"How did you sleep? I missed you when I woke up this morning."

"Slept fine." You grab your own mug to give your hands something to do. "Just woke up a bit early. Lunch is packed and everything."

"Oh, wow. That's quite proactive of you," he teases. Oh, you wanna kiss him. He digs into his plate and gives a nod to yours. "Aren't you having breakfast?"

You shake your head. He scrunches his brows and his eyes soften. God, you want to rub at the lines between his brows. "I should actually start getting dressed, if anything. I'll go do that now."

You set down your mug on the counter and make a beeline to your bedroom. This is harder than you thought. He's irresistible. How are you meant to make it through the day?

Ugh, but this is for his sake. You don't want to make him uncomfortable. Show restraint, you're an adult.

You get dressed, do your hair, brush your teeth, and take a look at the clock to make sure you're good on time before your driver arrives. Once you're sure you're presentable, you grab your things and start making your way to the front door to put on your shoes.

"Hey, sweetheart--"

You stop in your tracks and look over at Kento, who is standing by the coat rack, jacket in hand and a weird look on his face. His tie is still loose. That's unlike him.

He gives you a crooked smile. "You seem frazzled this morning. I'm sure you're in a rush, but do you mind helping me get my jacket on?"

You hesitate, then you walk over to him. You don't have to touch him while putting on his coat. This is fine. He's asking you to do this anyway. "I've got you, Ken." You take the jacket from his hands, and he turns around to give you full access.

Oh, his back looks so good under his dress shirt. One arm in. It'd be so easy to just run a hand over it and cop a feel... Other arm in. Has he always had such a biteable neck?

You don't get a chance to think about it before it's covered by the collar of his jacket. You clasp your hands together in front of you as he turns around.

"Thank you, darling."

He looks you in the eye and you can't help your gaze from drifting down to his lips. You should kiss him. You want to kiss him. But he isn't leaning in. He's not initiating. You shouldn't. But you can't help gravitating towards him when he looks at you like that with so much love in his eyes and--

You lean in and tighten his tie up to the collar of his shirt.

He looks down in surprise. "Oh! Heh, thank you again." He lets out a chuckle.

You smile. "Anytime." Success. You restrained yourself. That was a close one.

Your phone chimes and you look down. "My driver's here. I'm heading out now." You turn around and put on your shoes at the doorstep. You open the door and spare a glance back at Kento, who is still standing right where you left him. "I'll see you tonight. Have a good day. Love you!"

"Love you, too..." He trails and adjusts his tie with one hand while the other waves a goodbye.

You give him a quick wave back and close the door behind you.

Phew, this shouldn't be that hard.

~°•*~

It's really not.

That hard, that is.

You spent the car ride to the school congratulating yourself on a job well done, coasting off the high of a win. By the time you arrived in the classroom, the whole ordeal took a backseat in your mind. As it stands, Maki, Toge, and Panda are enough of a handful in their own right.

You enter and all of your students seem to be here, sans Yuta. You close the sliding door and smile before walking to the front. "Alright, be seated," you announce as you set your things down. "Pop quiz today, so notes away and pencils out, please."

Your students' audible groans fill the mostly empty room.

"That's too cruel, sensei," Panda whines.

"Mustard leaf."

"Yeah, you didn't even prepare us for this," Maki complains.

The chorus of complaints keep ringing out. You sigh at the lack of order. You're not exactly in the mood with only your morning coffee sitting in your stomach, but you can't exactly blame them when it's so early in the morning and it's the last day of the week. However, that doesn't stop you from taking a deep breath and bringing your hands together in a forceful clap.

The sound reverberates through the floorboards and up the walls. Your students freeze.

The juxtaposition of your gentle smile and the tilt of your head lend to the immediate quiet. "I thought I asked you all very nicely to put your notes away and take a pencil out. I must have imagined the idle chatter, hm?"

They all sit up straight, desks cleared, pencil in hand. "Yes, sensei!"

A handful indeed.

It's what you need today, though. While Kento's off working, you're busy with the second years. There's no temptation this way. Not seeing him for the better part of the day helps. The rapid pace of training and lessons keeps you distracted... for the most part.

That is until, without warning, he's walking onto the training field where you're leading your class through combat drills. He has one Yuuji Itadori in tow, skipping along beside him.

You're kind of geeking, but you try not to let it show. This is Round 2. Second test of the day. You're in public this time. Your students are around. You can hold back.

You greet him with a smile. "You're back early. How did it go?"

Kento rolls the shoulder on his dominant side out. "It went well, all things considered." He looks a bit disheveled.

"It was so cool!" Yuuji cuts in. "Nanamin's cursed technique is always amazing to watch!"

You feel a swell of pride at that. Kento is very talented, you're glad Yuuji gets to learn from him. "How did you do today, Yuu-kun?"

"I think I did really well--"

"His form is still sloppy. He needs to get a better grasp on real-time battle strategy." Now that he's closer to you, you notice Kento's hair seems out of sorts. You want to run your fingers through it and fix it a bit...

"I thought I did a lot better today," Yuuji pouts. He leans his head onto the front of your shoulder and whines lowly so only you can hear. "Nanamin's been kinda mean today, sensei."

You laugh and wrap one arm around Yuuji, using the other to rub at his hair comfortingly. "He really wants you to improve. I'm sure it's nothing personal, Yuu-kun," you coo.

"I'll watch your students for you." You don't get a good look at Kento's face as he is already briskly making his way to where your kids are training.

Now that you mention it, that was a bit snappy. You wonder if something happened to Kento while he was out today.

You hum. You release Yuuji from your hold. "Why don't you tell me more about how today went?"

"Well." Yuuji starts prattling on about how he met with Gojo this morning who then let him know Kento would be instructing him again today, so they headed off to meet him, and Kento had seemed out of it this morning to begin with. Anyway, they went to exorcise some curses, but Kento seemed to be a little more aggressive with them today than usual. He mentioned how Kento had scolded him sternly more than a few times while they were working, but once they finished Kento still seemed unsatisfied and kept grumbling about this and that, stuff Yuuji couldn't make out. "And once we were done, I asked Nanamin if we could eat something and he said okay, but he just wanted to stop by here first to 'Check on the state of the instruction you students are being provided.' Whatever that means."

Huh. You should've guessed Gojo was at the source of this. He was probably pestering Kento into this morning. On top of that, Kento seems to be dissatisfied with how Gojo is teaching the first years and came to analyze the situation.

No wonder he seems a bit touchy.

Oh, Yuuji is still speaking to you.

"Sounds like a lot." You nod along to whatever he started talking about next. "I'm sure you and Kento had a long morning, Yuu-kun. How's about you take him to find Gojo-san and the other first years, okay?" You start guiding Yuuji back across the field to Kento.

It gives you pause to find that your second years are out of breath and hands-on-knees by the time you get back. You couldn't have been talking with Yuuji for more than a few minutes, what happened in that time?

"Really putting them through their paces there, huh, Ken?" You breathe out a laugh nervously. Kento is kind of scary when Gojo gets him riled up.

"They can handle this much," is all Kento offers, standing cross-armed, facing you students.

You pause. Your brows scrunch together in worry. "Okay, guys. Water break! Be back here in five minutes."

Your students let out a sigh of relief as they stagger towards the sidelines for some reprieve. Yuuji trails a safe distance behind you as you round Kento to face him fully. You soften your eyes as you meet his own, shielded from you by his round goggle sunglasses.

"Are you alright?"

The scrunch in his brow relaxes a bit at your scrutiny. "Yes, darling, I'm fine--"

"Are you sure?" You press. You take him in a bit more. His stance is relaxing some more. "Your hair's all fussed," you tease with a snort.

He looks at you. You look at him. You're mirroring his arm-crossed stance. You don't move to fuss over him, especially if it'll just make him more uncomfortable in this state, but you expect him to at least run a hand through his hair himself.

"Are you sure you're alri--"

"Yes, everything's fine. Yuuji, let's head over the first year classroom." He's already leaving before you can protest.

"Aww, but I thought we were going to eat first." Yuuji jogs to catch up with Kento and the two talk back and forth until their chatter becomes too quiet for you to hear.

You're left kind of unnerved by how he left things. Kento isn't one to beat around the bush. He'll usually tell you what's making him upset without mincing his words, especially when it comes to venting about Gojo. This recent transgression must have bothered him something fierce.

"Lover's quarrel?" You hear Maki comment behind you. You turn and realize all of your students have gathered to watch you watch your fiancée and Yuuji walk away.

"Pfft, no. Nothing that dramatic." You wave off their concern, or lack thereof. They're fishing for gossip, and you know it.

"Seemed like something fishy was going on between you twooooo," Panda singsongs.

"Salmon."

"Hey, do you want to waste the last..." You check your watch. "Two minutes of your water break yapping? 'Cause you're going to need it for the next set."

"No, sensei!" They scatter off to finish drinking at their jugs.

"Mhm, that's what I thought," you declare to yourself.

You want to bask in this recent victory. You staved off another round of the grabby hands again, after all. But something about this win just doesn't sit right with you. You don't feel good as long as you know something is eating at Kento this much...

Hopefully he works out whatever he and Gojo have going on.

~°•*~

The rest of the day is a blur. Your students are eager to get a start on their weekend or on missions, so as soon as it's time to dismiss them, they are out the door.

No new assignments were offered to you as the day went on, and thankfully, it seems like there aren't any pressing matters for you to attend to with the higher ups. By all accounts, you're free, so you grab your things and make way out the door and to the campus gates.

You haven't had a proper meal all day, so you start contemplating what you could pick up on your way home. You had enough ingredients to make a big dinner tonight. Maybe a quick snack would be enough to stave off the hunger until then.

As you continue to ponder your options, who do you run into but Satoru Gojo himself.

He spots you before you can think of turning tail to avoid him.

"If it isn't my lovely coworker and counterpart!" He offers a childlike grin and waves as his lithe form approaches you. "How is the beloved second-year sensei today?"

"Just fine," you respond, walking past him without a second glance.

He doesn't miss a beat as he trails behind you and continues chatting. "Aww, c'mon. Give me more than that. I feel like I barely get to see you."

You sigh. "That's on purpose, Gojo-san."

He feigns offense, dramatically pressing a hand to his forehead. "You wound me. We've known each other for years. You can call me senpai when we're not around the students, or at the very least drop the honorifics."

"Would you rather I referred to you as 'hey, you,' or maybe as 'trash-kun'?" You tease. You didn't hate Gojo, per se. You just found him a mite unbearable sometimes.

"'Gojo-san' is fine, then..." He pouts. "You and Nanami are just the same." He brightens as he seems to remember something. "Speaking of! I got to speak to our resident ex-salaryman today! He was telling me all about how you--"

"How he thinks you're slacking on training the first years?" You interrupt.

"What? No! I'll have you know I am doing an amazing job, especially with Megumi and Yuuji. As a matter of fact, they're..."

You tune him out for the rest of the walk to the exit. The thought of Gojo defending himself in the face of a scolding Kento was amusing enough to get you through the rest of the walk out. At the gates, you find your driver waiting for you, the car idling and primed to take you far away from the school and this conversation.

"As much as I love our talks." You turn to look at Gojo with thinly veiled annoyance. "I should be getting home for the day, Gojo-san." Before you can reach for the door yourself, Gojo does it for you. He opens it widely and with a flourish, offering his hand to help you in.

"But of course, sorry to keep you. Get home safe. Get rested. I'm sure next week will be another doozy."

You accept his hand and roll your eyes half-heartedly as he goes on and on. You can't help the small smile on your face as you make your way into the car, though.

As soon as you're securely inside, Gojo peers in and looks you in the eye. "But if I could offer you a bit of advice, my dear kohai." His tone comes across a bit more serious. You attention falls securely on him at that. "I'd go about talking to our friend Nanami over... stimulus control."

Huh?

You give Gojo a look that you hope conveys your confusion, but any note of seriousness in his demeanor leaves him as fast as it came. He grins widely at you and closes the door before you have the chance to question him further. As soon as the door closes, the driver pulls off and Gojo becomes but a shrinking figure in the rear window.

Well, that was cryptic.

What the fuck did he mean "stimulus control"?

You don't think much of it after a while. Gojo is infamously too unserious for his own good. It would be a waste of brain power to read too much into what could very well just be him messing with you, so you don't. What you do continue pondering is what you could do for dinner.

By the time you get home, you've decided on snacking on yesterday's treat while cooking up a suitable feast to make up for missing breakfast. And to congratulate you on a job well done today.

You are in high spirits as you eat and cook at the same time. You could get used to this! Restraining yourself was far easier than you had anticipated. What had seemed like an impossible task this morning didn't seem so bad in hindsight. Maybe every day could be like this...

With no touching Kento at all...

And him not initiating any physical contact with you... at all.

This experience had really put Takuma's observation to the test, hadn't it? Kento really doesn't initiate physical affection with you at all, does he?

Your mood sours a bit.

But you attempt to pull yourself out of it just as quickly. He has other methods of showing he loves you. He shows you he loves you every day. Constant messages checking on how you're doing. Doing the chores whenever you're far too drained. Sitting down to watch your favorite show with you. Bringing back trinkets from missions outside the city that made him think of you. Not to mention that he says he loves you outright every day without fail.

Kento is an intensely loving man, and if you only had to sacrifice a bit of hugging and squeezing for his sake, that was completely fine with you. He just wasn't the type to receive love that way and that's okay.

That's fine.

There's a jingle of keys in the lock of the front door just as you're finishing up the last dish of tonight's spread. You turn off the stove and start transferring to a serving dish as Kento appears in view, dropping his briefcase and shedding his jacket at the front.

"Ken! You're home!" You turn to place the pot and spoon in your hands in the sink. "Dinner's just about ready, just gotta set the table and everything." You reach to grab a towel and wipe your hands as you turn around to face him. "Unless this is a have-dinner-standing-up-at-the-kitchen-island sort of da--"

Kento leaning on the kitchen island with a hand on his hip gives you pause. His head is hanging low as he reaches up to rub at the bridge of his nose.

You crane your neck to look him in the eye. "Long day?"

He sighs. "Like you wouldn't believe." He looks up at you, facing you head-on. An uncomfortable silence fills the space between you. He doesn't elaborate.

You scratch your head. "Well, at least dinner's ready!" You gesture to the courses for the meal. "One less thing to worry about."

"Mhm." He nods. You're not sure with the tinted lenses, but it almost seems like Kento is looking at you... expectantly? You don't know what to say. The silence stretches on. You twist at the towel in your hands.

You tilt your head and press your lips in a thin line. "You seem stressed."

He surprises you by letting out a dry chuckle and turning away. He takes off his goggles and places them on the counter. He runs a hand down his face as he leans on the other.

"Kento..." You approach him cautiously. You're not sure what to do. Usually you'd rub at his back, but you're not sure that's the right thing to do here. "If this is about the Gojo thing--"

"Gojo?" You're taken aback as he stands at full height and throws his hands up. He starts pacing and grumbles to himself, "Of all the things... Had to sit there and talk to Gojo about this, of all the people..."

"Are you alright?"

"Are you alright??" He turns quickly and faces you.

The outburst has you dropping the towel and bumping into the sink. You didn't realize you'd stepped back so far. Kento's right there with you, though. There's nowhere else to go and nothing else to do for him but to press a hand on either side of you, caging you in.

"Have I done something to upset you?" His bare eyes look into yours solemnly, almost pained.

You alternate between looking at both of his eyes for a moment. In your surprise at the seriousness of this exchange, laughter is suddenly bubbling up in your chest and bursts out before you can stop it. "What? Haha!"

Your fit of giggles seems to take Kento aback. He blinks. "Darling, I'm serious."

You try to stifle your laughter with the back of your hand. "Ken, honey, what do you mean?" You shake your head. "You haven't done anything to upset me. What made you think that?"

The warmth of a gentle hand on your cheek shocks you out of the hilarity of the moment.

Initiated.

Kento doesn't give you any choice but to look him in the eye. "I had to pull you in so you'd sleep in my arms last night." He emphasizes his words with a stroke of his thumb on the apple of your cheek. "I woke up without you this morning. You left today without a send-off kiss. God, I stopped by while you worked and didn't even fix my own appearance for the chance that you'd run your hands through my hair." Kento grows progressively more distressed as he speaks. You're speechless. "You haven't so much as brushed a hand against me all day. Have I done something that made you... uncomfortable with me?"

"Oh..." In the blink of an eye, all of the restraint you'd brute force trained into your disposition today is thrown out the window. "Oh, Kento." You reach up to place both hands on either side of his face. "You could never make me feel uncomfortable with you." You reach around his neck and squeeze him into you, rubbing your head into his cheek comfortingly. "The whole reason I pulled back today was because I thought I was making you uncomfortable."

"What?" He pulls away to look at you, placing his hands squarely on your shoulders, not moving them away. "What could possibly make you think that you make me uncomfortable?"

"Well..." You look down at your hands as they fiddle with his tie and dress shirt. "You have to admit the way I'm constantly touching and hugging and kissing you is a bit excessive, no?"

"No, actually. I don't have to admit that because it's not true. Look at me."

You peer at him through your eyelashes.

"Sweetheart, what made you feel this way?"

You glance away.

"Love, look at me."

You do. He's making full eye contact with you. Patiently waiting.

"Someone might have..." You trail off a bit. "Offhandedly pointed out...." Man, this is hard to admit now. "That you never hold my hand first?"

Kento blinks. Then blinks a few more times. "Surely, that's not true. Who told you that?"

"That's beside the point," you blurt. "The important thing is that that's what this whole thing was. Me making an effort to not touch you as much, only if you initiated first. And then it sort of turned out to also be a ploy to see if you'd even initiate at all... Which you didn't..."

Kento looks appalled.

"I just got really in my head about it!" You ramble on. "And then a little insecure. And then I was really just doing this all for your sake because I sort of got it in my head that you didn't like PDA--or physical affection in general--at all, because you never initiate any of it! And then I thought that maybe I was being too much and--"

In your panic, you failed to notice Kento slinking his hands down to your hips, towards the hem of your shirt. The feeling of the pads of his fingers on the bare skin of your stomach makes you jump a bit. "How could you ever think you're too much..." His palms are warm as they join his fingertips. He's moved his head to lean beside yours and speaks lowly into the shell of your ear. His hands start wandering farther up to your bare waist. Unfettered. "When I can't get enough of you?"

You squirm in his grasp. "Kento..." you breathe. You're not used to him taking initiative like this.

"I'm sorry I got so used to receiving your affection without any effort on my part." He glides his nose from your ear down your neck. "I got so used to having your hands on me without trying-" He presses a kiss at your pulse point. You gasp. "That I made a real ass of myself as soon as you took that away." One of his hands moves from your waist to your bare spine. It makes you shiver and arch forward. "I took you for granted and for that I apologize."

Your breathing is picking up. "It's okay, Ken," you say unevenly.

Kento shakes his head. "No, it's not." He pulls back just enough so that he's practically nose to nose with you. "I love you very much. Let me be sorry." He presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed.

You nod against him. "Okay."

"Surely," he continues. "I have to show you just how sorry I am." The sideways smile he gives you carries mischief. Your eyes widen before he leans down. You let out a yelp as he lifts you off the ground and onto the counter.

He sits between your legs, and you hold him by the neck as you try to keep your breath even. "The food'll get cold."

"You'll hear no complaints from me."

You giggle as he leans on one of his hands to smash his lips into yours and uses the other to start loosening his tie.

This is so unlike him, and you can't help thinking that you should deprive him of your touch more often just to illicit this response.

Somehow that reminds you of a certain someone's advice and you end up smiling deeper into the kiss.

"What?" Kento's laugh mixes with yours in the space between you.

You snort at the thought. "I can't believe I Pavlov'd you into expecting hugs and kisses from me."

"Oh, sweetheart." He leans down and gives your neck a playful nip. "You're one bell I'll just about always salivate for."

That makes you snicker and shriek even more as Kento continues trailing kisses down your neck and squeezing and touching wherever his hands can find purchase.

Dork.

For a love language Kento didn't start off with when you met him, physical touch sure seems to be something he can't go without. And that's all your influence.

You guess what they say is true, to be loved is to be changed.

~°•*~

divider via cafekitsune

gif via darkbluepassion01

[promptsbytaurie]

anything with wing clipping. i once tried to do research on it for a fic and,, it is SO angsty

i got u fam <333 (i have way too much brainrot on this bear with me LMAO)

tips for writing ✨wingfics✨

!!please credit/tag me if you use this!! i'd love to see what you write!!

physical differences:

area where wings connect to their back is insanely sensitive!!

feathers falling e v e r y w h e r e

wings are big!! if the wearer hasn't had them for long, or is younger/inexperienced, they're gonna knock shit over

~birb noises~

they're actually really good singers with insane lung capacity, a lot of them are/could be opera singers

thin bones, so they're super light and even though most think it's embarrassing to be picked up so easily there's always One Dude who's like 'carry me everywhere'

smaller birds = smaller people. most wings correspond to a specific species, and hummingbird varieties are notoriously short (though never say that to their face, they will probably murder you <3)

unless the avian is a kind of waterbird (penguins, sometimes eagles) going into water will clog their wings and they could drown!! adding onto this i imagine that avians have special bathtubs and brushes and stuff so that they can properly clean their wings

on the flip side if an avian does NOT clean their wings they can get tangled or matted which a) is super painful b) could impact their flying and c) could cause sickness !!

dislocated wings >:(( this happens about as often as dislocated shoulders do with regular people. this can be caused by a couple things like blunt force, trying to manuever/twist wings in ways they aren't supposed to go, or flying too often/straining wings.

psychological differences:

preening!! it's intimate, but doesn't have to be romantic/sexual. obv there is room for very fluffy and romantic moments but it can be either way

flock!!! it's kinda like a family or a pack

the urge to Make a Nest and Only Let the Flock In

once the Flock is In the Nest then the Flock Will Not Leave Ever

molting!! old feathers fall out to allow new ones to grow in !

molting is basically the bird version of a period except all birds have it once or twice a year. they're more emotional, super sensitive, and extra clingy during molting!!

if an avian gives you one of their feathers it's basically a version of marriage, except it doesnt have to be romantic. its essentially a promise, like a 'we're with each other forever' kinda thing.

just as humans have discrimination, i imagine that avians have it too. more common species like songbirds, ravens, or crows are probably valued in society way less than those like eagles, doves, or parrots, and there could also be stereotypes against species like vultures or condors.

on wing clipping:

in my mind wing clipping is a lot like trimming your fingernails realllly sloppily, except the difference is that you should NEVER clip an avian's wings.

what i mean by fingernails is that the nails themselves don't hurt but if you do it sloppily there are Consequences: clipped too short -> irritated skin. clipped inconsistently -> sharp edges, snags on everything INCLUDING other feathers

huge violation of boundaries/self!! clipped wings -> can't fly. flying is integral to avian health and if they can't fly their mood and mental health will fall drastically.

clipped feathers take a long time to grow back, and therefore clipping has long-term effects. it also damages the feathers themselves (obviously) in ways that sometimes can't be healed

if an avian's wings are clipped their trust goes DOWN and their insecurity goes UP. its likely that if someone else tries to touch their wings they will freak out

clipped wings also make avians more jumpy and paranoid because they've lost their major way to escape/protect themselves: flying away.

angst potentials in wingfics (spoiler: there's a lot):

like i said, clipped wings -> can't fly. write about an avian's first time flying again. (not super angsty but still)

SUPER angsty: write about the actual act of wing clipping.

an avian is neglecting their wing care and tries to hide it.

relationship between a 'noble' avian (eagle, dove, etc) and a 'basic' avian (crow, raven, etc) and society's dislike of the relationship.

or maybe avians are a minority in a human world, and an avian has to hide their wings to be safe.

hope this helped!! <33

[extremely-judgemental]

Cassian is ugly and his arc is messier. The more you look into his past and his chemistry/dynamic with other characters, his behaviour doesn’t corroborate with his words, and it becomes harder to see him as the goofy, sunshine guy SJM wants us to believe.

(response to this by @flat-neines. I agree with everything you pointed out and I didn’t want to hijack your post, so here we are. This has been in my drafts for months and I didn’t have the mental capacity to put them in a coherent order, and it’s a LOT (also because I didn’t want to dedicate another post to this mf, really). So, have an open mind and take it with a grain of salt. If anyone doesn’t want another long rant, you should read that one lol.)

Cassian is devoted to Rhysand.

For a bastard who’s constantly dismissed in his life, Rhysand is the first one to give him the validation he craves. Of all the boys, he was the chosen one and his life turned around when he was basically adopted (I’m not gonna repeat this again, you can read it here). Because of this, he is more loyal to Rhysand than his people, his title, his armies, or even his court.

Cassian doesn’t see Azriel as his equal.

He’s been enjoying this new life for a whole year and only befriends Rhysand after Azriel comes into the picture. They both are bastards. They both are underprivileged. Cassian’s unwarranted aggression towards an already abused boy, who doesn’t know how to fly or fight, outside their training can imply that he saw him as a threat to his status with Rhysand. So, he put him in his place.

There are two other instances where his sense of superiority comes through. First, in the dinner scene in MAF where he boasts about giving Azriel hell and he doesn’t hesitate to share about his captivity. There’s no emotional cue in the conversation that indicates he truly feels bad for either of those. Morrigan has to interrupt the guy who is supposedly emotionally so capable of reading the room that he gets Feyre’s trauma during their training better than anyone and ‘knows’ what Nesta needs to heal.

Second during Eris’s seduction in SF. Cassian is jealous only when Eris is dancing with Nesta. Azriel can keep up with her too, but he isn’t bothered by it. It’s dismissed because they are friends and he trusts his friend. But Cassian’s insecurity is that he’s a brute through and through and it’s why Nesta sees him as less than. And Azriel is well-mannered compared to him in every way. He’s polite, he sings and dances, and also he has a way with people which is noted in his interactions with the Archeron sisters and the priestesses. But his mannerisms don’t bring out these fears in Cassian. (Insecurities don’t understand if you’re their friend or foe.)

If, instead of being a bastard, Azriel had been a true son of a lord, their dynamic would’ve been so different. 

Cassian doesn’t love Morrigan.

Both are bastards, but Morrigan, the second woman he encounters in his life, is drawn to Azriel and not him. Cassian knows Azriel longer, he knows how much he’s been deprived of love, and he knows his reservations around people. He still chooses to hurt him and only realises his mistake when he sees the look on his face, but he already knew his brother is in love. The reason that makes sense is Morrigan validates him by sleeping with him, proves that he isn’t at the bottom of the pyramid, there’s someone else beneath him—Azriel. Once he got that, he moved on. It’s why he’s not bothered by her endless partners which clearly affects Azriel. Which is why he still flirts with her because he doesn’t regret it.

And now, he still doesn’t love Morrigan. He’s infatuated with the idea of the 17-year old big-eyed girl who saw him as a saviour. With the sexual element thrown in, she became the standard against which other women in his life are measured.

Cassian doesn’t want a mate.

His dream is to have children—not specifically a mate—so that he can be a better father. He only mentions ‘mate’ because he knows he has one. Mating bonds are rare and the one he witnesses is the worst of the ‘mating bond gone wrong’ cases with Rhysand’s parents. His desire for a mate is not as woven into his identity as it is for Azriel. He wants a woman to bear his children—like the other Illyrians, and for him, it’s convenient that she’s already chosen. Even without a mate, Cassian would have settled with any woman as long as he could parent someone. This also shows in the way he treats Nesta. If he yearned for such a bond, he wouldn’t disrespect it as much as he did and definitely wouldn’t prioritise Rhysand over it.

The second bond he witnesses is between Rhysand and Feyre. Since he doesn’t know what happened UtM, all he sees is Feyre knowing the ‘bad guy’ act and still falling in love with his best friend, Feyre supporting him and going along with his every decision. Given how Cassian idolises him, he wants to replicate their relationship even to the point of breaking Nesta to his will. He wants someone to be his Feyre.

His treatment of Nesta in SF is more than his loyalty to Rhysand. The first and only woman to nurture him is Rhysand’s mother. She took him in, fed him, clothed him, educated him. She cared for him in ways his mother should have and couldn’t. Cassian wants an amalgamation of Rhysand’s mother (the ideal mother for his children) and young Morrigan (his dream standard). But he’s stuck with Nesta who is neither ‘motherly’ to anyone nor does she admire him. When Cassian says ‘he’s shackled to her’, he means it. So, he moulds her into someone who is in awe of him, puts him on a pedestal, and makes him feel like a superior male.

Cassian’s arc is fake and forced.

The beginning of SF is quite strong with Cassian doubting himself. He is a War General and yet he struggles to earn the respect of his people because of his status. He’s thrust into the role of a courtier and he questions himself more and more as he’s not a high-born, nor is he trained to handle such diplomatic situations. 

Cassian is no Jon Snow.

His insecurities stem from the fact that he’s a bastard born to an unnamed father. It’s rooted in his core identity. However, Cassian’s situation is not so unique. Of course, he lost his mother because of his birth and that’s an incomparable trauma but it’s also common among his people who breed women. Every boy is thrown into the camps and trained, and only rightful ones are allowed in the Blood Rite. They don’t even live with their families and the only exception is Rhysand. Not to dismiss his trauma, but his insecurity falls flat and undermines the narrative when we factor in Illyrian culture.

All this could have been fixed if Cassian had tried to earn the respect of his people instead of the courtiers who were never going to anyway. Though he’s a War General, he doesn’t share camaraderie with his soldiers, he doesn’t live with them, and he has no respect for them. He does nothing to change his own beliefs or prove to others that he's more than a bastard. Instead, he uses a ‘you have no right to judge me’ attitude while constantly looking for approval everywhere.

Instead of addressing it where it counts, he’s comparing himself with Lucien and Eris, but not Vassa (a human queen) and Jurian (a renowned human War general). Why does an Illyrian who yearns for respect from his people compete with a select few who are only high fae and are of royal blood?

Nesta is his cure-all.

There’s one instance that truly marks Cassian’s supposed growth—where he sees his real ‘worth’—when Nesta admires him for his wits and apologises. In the same conversation, he admits his act was inspired by her. This is meant to be a ‘We make each other better’ moment but it fails miserably as Cassian spends the entire book tearing her down. He shows little to no concern for her wishes or needs. He assaults her in her room, stalks her, dismisses the bargain, and coerces her into an imbalanced relationship. For someone who cares so little about Nesta and her opinion of him, his fears being wiped out in a single conversation is laughable. For someone who doesn't believe he's smart, he sure seemed quite smug about outdoing an evil witch instead of it being pointed out by others and coming to the realisation being a bastard has nothing to do with being a hero.

(This could also be seen as his jealousy which leads him to fuel her self-loathing and fears so that Nesta never realises she deserves better than him. Which is quite similar to what he does with Azriel. The only ones he allows to surpass him are Rhysand, Feyre by extension, and Morrigan since he already got what he wanted from her.)

On the other hand, the one whose validation he truly seeks is Rhysand. Cassian's inner monologues clearly suggest his attempt at embodying him during the different meetings. Despite this imitation, he says the aforementioned to Nesta which can only be seen as a manipulation tactic.

I don’t even think this conflict was even in the OG Cassian character. SJM slapped it on him just for SF because it’s convenient and he needs an arc in his book. But she doesn’t want to fix Illyria or even give it a spotlight, so she stuck with Cassian trying to beat Eris. His insecurities aren’t even resolved. He still hasn’t come to terms with him being a bastard. His healing requires acceptance from himself first and also deep self-reflection. Nesta is only a supply for his ego and an emotional punching bag. Honestly, Cassian disgusts me more than Rhysand.

[five-and-dimes]

As You Always Were

A very silly fic based on a convo I had with @gabessquishytum about Dream being an idiot but in a gender affirming way lol

Read on AO3

~~~~~~~~~

Hob felt like a teenager in a lifetime movie, but he was choosing to lean into it.

Gripping the bathroom sink with both hands, he stared himself down in the mirror. “You can do this,” he said to his reflection, “You deserve to live your truth. You love yourself. Even if things don’t go the way you want, you’ll survive it. You’re sexy and you know it.”

Nodding to himself, he turned away from the mirror and began pacing his flat, looking for anything left to clean or organize.

He was going to come out to his boyfriend today.

It had been two months since he and Dream became official. They had known each other in some capacity for much longer. They shared a lot of mutual friends, but for a long time Dream didn’t tend to join large group get-togethers, so Hob only saw him occasionally. Then this past semester they had both ended up in a class together for the first time. Despite studying vastly different subjects, this particular course was required and both had managed to miss it when they were underclassmen. And now, as they entered their final year of university, they both needed to complete it in order to graduate. Drawn to any remotely familiar face, they had sat together, and then started talking more, and then slowly fallen for each other.

The past months had been amazing, full of sweet dates and kisses and hand holding and Dream being nothing but understanding when Hob hesitated to go any farther. But Hob wanted to go farther, had been burning out of his skin with the need to touch every part of Dream and be touched in return.

He just… needed to let Dream know what to expect when he took his clothes off.

Stalking through the living room, he moved the books on his coffee table this way and that, as if it would make any sort of difference. It’s not like it was the first time Hob had let someone know he was a trans man. He’s had plenty of experience sharing that part of his life, with family, and friends, and hookups. It’s gone good, and bad, and all the levels in between.

So why was he so nervous about telling Dream?

He was being ridiculous. It’s not like he was worried about Dream hurting him or anything…

Groaning, he put his head in his hands and allowed himself to turn and flop face-down onto the couch. What a world he lived in, where he consciously felt grateful to not worry about being murdered. Sometimes he hated everything. 

With a sigh, he pushed himself up, shaking his head and aggressively re-fluffing the pillows he had flattened with his brief pessimism. He wasn’t going to think about the world right now. This was just about him and Dream and their relationship. And, optimism aside- even just being logical and realistic in a way he so rarely was- he didn’t think things would go badly, per say. Dream was gay, and had always been an open supporter and ally for the trans community. Worst case scenario, even if Dream decided he didn’t want to date someone with Hob’s body, he was certain they could remain friends.

Turning on his heel, Hob speed walked to the kitchen and began wiping down the counters for the third time.

Could they stay friends? He wanted to say yes, to say they could move on from this little bump in the road, but the truth was, even after such a short amount of time, if they broke up Hob would be heartbroken. He had fallen hard for Dream… could he really go back to being friends with him after knowing what it was like to kiss him and hold him? What if it was too much, hurt too badly to take that step back, and then he lost not only his boyfriend, but his best friend? And their lives were so entwined, they shared much of the same friend group, would he lose them, too? Choosing Dream over him because Hob was clearly the one being ridiculous and overemotional? 

Catastrophizing, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his therapist rang in his head.

He nearly jumps out of his skin at the tentative knock on his door, glancing at the clock to see that, yes, he has spent the entire morning worrying and fussing and it is in fact the time he asked Dream to come over. 

Hob honest to God straightens his shirt. As though that will help.

What does help is opening the door and seeing the subtle way Dream brightens. No matter how stoic he tries to be, Dream has always been terrible at hiding how very fond he is of Hob, something Hob is eternally grateful for. It’s nice to have the reassurance. Especially now.

“Hello Hob,” he smiles, giving him a quick peck as Hob gestures for him to enter. He takes two steps inside before halting, raising an eyebrow as he glances around Hob’s impeccable flat. He’s been here before, he knows this isn’t the usual state of things. “It seems you were productive today.”

Hob laughed nervously, which only made Dream turn his gaze to look at him curiously, “Ah, yeah, you know, the motivation just sort of hit, haha.”

Dream frowned slightly, “Are you alright?”

Nodding rapidly, Hob starts herding Dream into the living room, “Yeah, absolutely, I just-” Dream allows him to gently push him to sit on the couch, “I mean, I am fine, there’s just something I wanted to talk to you about,” he paces in front of Dream for a moment as his boyfriend’s head moves to follow him silently, “And it’s nothing bad. Or, or at least I don’t think it is. It just… it just is, y’know?” 

He turns back to look at Dream and finds him staring, blinking slowly in carefully reigned in confusion, “No. I don’t know. What’s going on?”

Hob released a shuddering breath, dropping down to sit a respectable distance away from Dream on the couch. “Okay, I…” Hob wrung his hands together, “I had a whole speech planned, but I didn’t write it down and now I can’t remember any of my talking points, so I… I’m just gonna say it.”

Dream nodded, brow furrowed in concern as Hob closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I’m transgender.”

Even just saying the words made his chest feel lighter. It was out in the open now. Whatever happened, happened. 

And what happened was Dream reaching out to gently cover his tense hands with one of his own.

“Thank you for telling me.”

Opening his eyes, Hob looked over, and his breath caught in his chest at the soft smile Dream was giving him, the one he only showed Hob, “I know that must have been hard,” Dream continued, running his thumb over Hob’s knuckles, “thank you for trusting me with that.”

“So,” Hob’s voice was breathless, a smile slowly creeping onto his face, “So you’re okay with it?”

“Of course!” Dream took both of Hob’s hands into his, eyes wide and anxious in a way Hob had come to recognize meant he was afraid of being misunderstood, “Of course I’m okay with it! I’m sorry if I ever made you think I wouldn’t be. I l-...” He swallowed thickly, “I care about you so much, Hob. This doesn’t change that at all.”

Hob couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him at the cut off confession. Dream had warned him of his struggles with love, especially with “falling too fast”. Despite Hob reassuring him that Hob also had a history of falling far faster than some would deem reasonable, Dream still tiptoed around it, always wary of scaring Hob off. So it meant something that he had come so close to slipping.

“I care about you, too,” Hob leaned forward to press his forehead against Dream’s shoulder, letting out a relieved laugh, “God, I was so nervous!”

Dream pet his hair, “Understandable. I know it’s a big deal. But I promise you have nothing to worry about.”

For a few minutes they stay pressed together, Dream a comforting presence as Hob let the adrenaline bleed from him. When he finally pulled back, they smiled at each other. Before he had a chance to lean in to kiss him, Dream spoke again.

“So,” he tilted his head questioningly, “should I use she/her pronouns from now on?”

Hob could feel the record scratch in his brain. 

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Shook his head, “What?”

Dream frowned, “I just meant in private. I wouldn’t change pronouns in public if you’re not ready for that. I’d never want to out you. Although I’d be more than happy to support you whenever you want to begin social transitioning.”

“Transitioning?” Hob was still waiting for his brain to restart. He felt like he was in the twilight zone. Dream was smart, Dream was studying astrophysics, there was simply no way-

“I’m sorry,” Dream bit his lip nervously, “I don’t mean to make assumptions. I just want to make sure that when we’re together I refer to you as you want. Would you prefer they/them? She/they?”

“What? No. What??” Hob shook his head rapidly as he realized that no, this wasn’t a dream, this was actually happening, “No, Dream, it’s the other way around!”

“...They/she?”

“No!” And even as he yelled the word, Hob’s face split into a grin and he burst out laughing. Dream blinked in confusion, looking like he didn’t know whether to be offended or not, and it only made Hob laugh harder.

“Dream, babe, sweetheart,” Hob gasped for breath, trying to pull himself together and failing, “I’m a trans man! I’ve already transitioned, that’s what I was trying to tell you!”

For a moment Dream just stared, blinking slowly like a cat. Like a particularly dumb orange cat.

“... He/him, then?”

All Hob could do was keep laughing. 

Slowly, Dream began to giggle too, which only made Hob laugh harder, which made Dream laugh, and the vicious cycle continued until they were both doubled over with tears on their faces.

“You are the smartest person I know, how are you such a himbo?” Hob exclaimed.

“Shut up!” Dream shoved him playfully, “I was being supportive!”

Hob couldn’t resist. He threw himself forward, tackling Dream back onto the couch, allowing himself to lay on top of him as he kissed him clumsily, barely suppressing his grin enough to press their lips together, “God, I love you so much.”

A laugh caught in Dream’s throat, his eyes widening. Hob doesn’t want to pressure him, so he smiles, leaning in to rub their noses together, coaxing a soft giggle from him. He just wants to make him comfortable in the wake of a confession that he knows is a lot for Dream, he’s not expecting anything back right now.

He thinks maybe it’s that sentiment that allows Dream to look up at him and reply, “I love you, too.”

“Yeah?” Hob grinned, leaning back so he is sitting up and stradling Dream’s hips, “Even though- and I can’t believe I have to say this outloud but now I have to make absolutely sure you understand- I have a cunt?”

Dream sputtered, face flushing at Hob’s bluntness. And yet, even as he pouts, he nods, “Yes. I love you, however you are.”

“You would love me if I was a worm?” Hob teased.

Dream nodded solemnly, replying completely seriously, “I would love you if you were a worm.”

Hob’s grin softened, and he leaned down to kiss Dream again.

And then, feeling bold and brave and loved, he grinned mischievously.

“I hope you know I’ll be telling this story at our wedding.”

(Years later, Hob will end the story by telling their guests about how Dream smacked him in the face with a pillow.)

[cu7ie]

what do you think toman boys are like in relationships like loyal or nah

content: discussions of cheating, general relationship head canons and love language discussion towards the end.

I think Mikey doesn't cheat because he's lazy. The kinds of relationships he likes are ones of great emotional depth and the actual physical steps required to find someone suitable, hide it from you or eventually break it off is too much. Doesn't have the mental capacity for that level of espionage, the emotional strength to lie to someone's face like that. Toman Mikey does not have that dog in him, Draken has taught him too well. Bonten Mikey has no problem fucking other people however! Not a sad thought in his mind or tear in his eye, might even think about you while he's going at it and wonder if you'd notice the taste of someone else on his lips when he gets back to ya. Sanzu seems like a hopeless romantic with obsessive and possessive tendencies. I don't think he'd cheat but he also has high expectations and probably strict rules for a partner. Doesn't like overly friendly touches and certain attitudes.

Respectfully, I think Bonten Sanzu fucks other people and will laugh in your face about it. But his inclination to do it more rests solely on the idea of it bothering you; he likes making you upset and to some extent grows irritated with the idea he's so invested in you emotionally that a chunk of his pleasure is derived with tormenting you in such a way, but it's a vicious cycle... He finds a soft body to indulge in, but can't help but think of you while doing it.

Nahoya fucks man. I mean.. like I don't think he really pursues concrete relationships in the first place. He likes something ambiguous he can't put a name to, the fun of it is the attention, you know? It's the assurance of something he can come back to, because if nothing ever starts it can't end.

Souya is the complete opposite of his brother. Sometimes he can put in a lot of faith in little time, and he can turn up with the shit of the stick right - and it's the worst, because he can't help but be so genuine. He's just not a liar, doesn't have it in him really.

I think Draken is very loyal. I don't think he'd cheat like cheating on Emma with you or vice versa.

He's very reliable, he's sticking around just because he thinks it's the proper thing to do. Even if he was in love with someone else entirely, if he has an obligation to a partner he will honor that first and foremost.

I think that Baji is… questionable? It's not emotional cheating he'd participate in, I just feel like he's a simple-minded, high sex drive kinda guy. He'll feel... bad about hurting you so much, but also has trouble comprehending why it might hurt. He loves you, isn't that more important? If you don't care that he has sex with other people, y'all should be cool.

Kazutora is possessive above all. I think he considers you less and more about how he needs to keep you close to him more, and he really does like you, just works harder and not smarter.

I think takemitchy is very loyal.. but idk .... I feel like ....

He's only loyal to Hina because she's the only girl interested in him. I feel like if he had Catherine situation - like there was a girl trying to seduce him away from Hina, he'd eat some shit like that up. He's brainless. Not entirely a dick-thinker but he doesn't always use the right head you know???

Mitsuya and Chifuyu are pretty straight laced. Their dedication to people is obvious in canon relationships and I don't think much changes beyond that! I think they differ in their demonstrations of affection, however:

Mitsuya performs acts of service and is a huge gift giver, especially after he gets into design and fashion in his later years. Too often though, sometimes he can neglect a good old fashioned 'i love you' in favor of grandeur and extravagance. He hopes that in any case, you'll love the things he gives you - knowing he didn't get gifts a lot growing up, it's more important to him than you'd think.

Chifuyu is an opposite to him. He is very open with saying I love you to the point where he'll say it in front of other people and follow it up with a kiss (or six), and most regularly he can be overbearing with his PDA - forgoing gifts to emphasize spending time with you and physically being there for you.

[intothedysphoria]

Going from a social outcast to seemingly universally desired was a change that Billy found himself sorely lacking the capacity to deal with.

It felt like barely a year ago he was just the fat kid with the asshole dad. The kid who was more comfortable speaking Irish than English. The weird kid who couldn’t sit still in class and had “outbursts” that would leave a classroom completely overturned.

Now he’d lost weight (not by choice), had to speak English if he didn’t want to be uprooted for a third time and was supposedly taking his adderall post ADHD diagnosis. Neil was still an asshole but that would never change.

He was desirable now. A hot commodity. Had the approval of everyone apart from his own fucking dad.

In short, Billy was absolutely miserable.

He missed California a lot. He missed Belfast even more. He missed being fat. He missed his mam and grandad. He missed everything.

Showing any signs of weakness was how it started though. So Billy did what he always did. He adapted.

Harrington was weird. Taking the crown from him was almost too easy. For all the talk he’d been fed about King Steve, what Billy got was a teenager who couldn’t make eye contact, spent an hour reading two pages of a textbook and walked like a penguin when nobody was watching.

Good thing Billy didn’t mind weird.

The usual taunts didn’t really work. All it really achieved was getting Harrington flat on his back on the gym floor and that got Billy thinking about sex which wasn’t helpful.

Harrington just stared up at him with these big startled eyes. Like a damn deer. The pointed star he wore around his neck swayed as Billy let him up. Jewish maybe. Billy felt his hand unconsciously drift down towards his own pendant, the one his granny had given him.

The one that would help him find his way back home.

They fought within a week. Arsehole had Max holed up in a strangers house. It made Billy’s skin crawl just thinking about it. Especially after having to flirt with Karen Wheeler just to get any answers, All he could remember was that he was winning then the world started going black.

When he woke up there was a dead something in the fridge. He probably hadn’t woken up at all then. His body took that hint as a sign to collapse again.

He woke up again. A small woman with mousy brown hair and a nervous tic was cooking. Billy could hear The Clash drifting from another room. Christmas lights were scattered across the wall. It was the first place in Hawkins that had actually felt like home.

The woman’s name was Joyce. The house he’d found Harrington and Max and the nightmare in had been her house. She was dressed practically and smelled like paint and reminded him so much of his own mam that his heart hurt.

She was a good cook. The soup wasn’t like anything he’d ate before, probably Polish but it was fantastic. She asked if he wanted to stay the night. He said no.

Neil would be waiting. He always was.

Neil had burned the damn book. The one Billy had wrote when he was seven, colouring all the words in orange and white and green. It hurt more than any punch every could have.

He was under house arrest again. Only let out when Max needed a fucking taxi to a Christmas dance. Harrington was a couple of cars away, fussing over a boy of about thirteen who could have been his younger brother.

They weren’t biologically brothers. But Henderson was his cousin. So they were in spirit. Those were some of the things Billy learned from a few strained sentences of conversation.

He apologised in a way so Billy reluctantly returned one. Apparently he hadn’t realised how fucking dodgy he’d looked with Max.

Billy was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Neil kicked him out of the house on Christmas Day for hanging an Irish flag on his door. Billy went to the Byers. Joyce’s family didn’t exactly celebrate Christmas but she still gave him a present.

She gave him gorgeous Polish cakes which were fucking delicious and some of Jonathan’s old vinyls which he didn’t listen to anymore.

That day Billy discovered The Specials and tucked the vinyl under his weed stash in the Camaro boot. Somewhere Neil would never think to look.

Harrington was tolerable after Christmas break. Tolerable in an infuriating way because Billy still wanted to fuck him. The queerness wasn’t something he’d told anyone about though apart from Patrick McKinney so he kept those thoughts to himself.

He spent more time at the Byers, learned what Shabbat was, came out to Joyce in a flood of tears, kissed Harrington, wrote a letter back to Ireland for the first time in two years and made a plan to get the hell out of Hawkins Indiana.

Harrington managed to pass high school with a lot of bribery and tutoring and kissing at his place. Jesus but Harringtons house was a bloody mansion. Billy had spent his first eight years in a terraced shared accommodation where his entire extended family had lived. Harrington had five bathrooms and his own television. Not even in black and white.

Billy got his predicted mix of A’s and B’s so he was happy and spent most of the weekend post graduation floating on his back in the Harrington pool, beer in hand. He couldn’t afford to slack off completely though. So he got a summer job.

Working at the community pool was fine. As long as Billy didn’t think about the middle aged women staring at him like a piece of meat. Fucking perverts. Heather was fun though. Funny. The only lesbian he’d met in Hawkins apart from Buckley.

Neil had started acting even weirder than usual after a night Billy had slept over at his boyfriends. He’d taken to ice baths and Billy swore he’d seen the man drinking bleach. Ugh.

Max was pretty obviously freaked out though so Billy slowly phased her into spending most nights at the Byers or the Sinclairs or Steve’s. Susan wouldn’t budge. Something in Billy’s chest felt a bit sick about that.

The Fourth of July they were in the mall, the one Steve worked at. Something even more hellish than the thing in the fridge stood above them. And Neil just stood by with blank, hateful eyes and let it happen.

He died. Billy killed him. Stabbed him in the chest then the monster went away.

Steve was gripping his shoulders as he stood there, Neil’s blood on his jacket and he cried.

Susan left.

Social services took Max. Billy cried a lot that day. She was living with some family in Michigan. They promised to keep in touch.

Billy went to therapy twice a week. A guy from County Mayo who Billy trusted immediately.

There was no point really in Joyce adopting him as he was over eighteen. Besides she didn’t need to. Billy knew who his family were.

A letter came back from Belfast. Inviting both him and Steve back to his grandparents house. Steve had never left the US, had never really left the Midwest actually. Billy wanted to show him everything.

The years went by and Billy regained weight. He stopped speaking English as much and was determined to teach Steve Irish. He still sometimes forgot to take his adderall and had awful nightmares but Steve was there to make it better.

He was alive. And life was pretty ok.

[hiskillingjar]

Petplay (Strade/MC)

i feel like i haven’t done as many strade prompts this year. let it be known i am fucking HORNYYYYY!!!!! I WONT HIM SO BAD HE MAKES ME CRAZYYYYY!!!! :3

woof woof, give me headpats and lots of likes and comments in my bowl please! (sorry)

day 17: petplay second person.

"Hey, buddy! How's it going?"

You raised your head hesitantly at the sound of Strade's voice from the top of the stairs, each of his steps heavy on the wooden floorboards as he descended into your makeshift prison.

The thick soles of his leather boots only enhanced his intimidating stature above you, especially when you were restricted to your hands and knees, your sliced tendon hidden beneath a thick ankle cuff chained to the wall, and your hands and knees wrapped in duct tape so you couldn't move them properly or put up a fight.

He had reduced you down to an animal with barely any effort. It might have said something about him, but it certainly said a lot about you.

He laughed heartily, good natured and jovial, at the pitiful sight of you, amused by your dire condition as he reached the bottom of the stairs and paced in front of you, solid steps making you shiver all the more as he placed a hand on your head and ruffled your hair.

"Someone doesn't look too happy this morning, do they?" He crooned, scratching your head like he was petting a dog (though his dirty nails only irritated your skin further). "What’s the matter, hund, are you hungry or something?"

You were going to mumble a non-answer (your capacity for speech impeded by a deep gash through your tongue), but his question was answered, quickly, by a loud grumble from your stomach. 

The comedic timing might have been perfect had it not been so utterly mortifying. 

He laughed again at the timing and comedic irony, his eyes creasing handsomely and his wet smile infectious (though you had been thoroughly cured of that particular infection), clearly finding the whole thing hysterical as he ruffled your hair once more, hard enough to knock your head side to side, your brain rattling in your skull.

"Aww, looks like someone is hungry!" He said in a patronising tone, before walking over to the cupboards and browsing through them. "Well, it’s lucky for you that I'm in a pretty generous mood today, ja?"

You watched him carefully, tilting your head (like the animal you were) as he rooted through the cupboards, shifting aside torture porn supplies and camera equipment for whatever poor bastard he next had in here, before producing a silver dog bowl and placing it on the counter.

That was to be expected, even if it was utterly humiliating.

He then produced an actual can of dog food (where could he have possibly gotten that?), to your immediate horror, and pulled the tap open, shaking the brown slop into the bowl with a cheerful hum.

You stared at him with a disgusted expression as he paced back over and took a knee in front of you, placing the bowl of dog food on the ground. You shook your head that no, you weren't going to eat this, he couldn't expect you to, you must have been allowed to have a modicum of self respect, surely?

Surely not.

"Whaaat? I'm being nice and feeding my dog and this is the thanks I get?" He pouted, feigning a saddened expression as he placed a hand on his heart, as if genuinely hurt by your refusal to play along with him.

That hurt didn’t last too long, though, before he suddenly placed his hand back on the top of your head and roughly pushed it into your hair, curling his fingers into a tight first and pushing your face forward, dangerously close to the ground (to the bowl).

"Don't you wanna eat? It's good for you, I promise!"

"NGH-!"

You grit your teeth and squeezed your eyes shut, reaching back and clawing (pawing) at his fist with your taped up hands, trying, desperately hard, to fight him off before he pushed your face into the congeled mess of dog food.

"Come on now,” He murmured with a dangerously amused edge to his low voice, as he finally won over you, forcing your head down completely into the muck of a meal. “Be good.”

Jellied gravy (if you could even call it that), grainy chunks of meat and pureed vegatables smeared against your skin, to your visceral disgust, as he kept smushing your face down into the bottom of the dog bowl, and every part of your body just ached with the shame of letting him do it, too weak and helpless to fight back against him in any significant way. 

All the while, Strade just curled his fingers tighter into your hair and laughed, rubbing the small of your back with his other hand, like he was trying to comfort you.

Some fucking comfort. 

"Cmon, just give it a taste, puppy," He ordered light heartedly, in his normal jovial tone. “I'm sure you'll love it, if you try!”

"Mm-mmm!" You protested with another shake of your head, pressing your lips into a tight line so you wouldn’t get even close to tasting the disgusting slop.

"Do I really have to make you eat? What, are you backwards or something?” He asked, tilting your head back to meet his gaze, a dark brow raising in a silent question, a smile on his (stupid) (handsome) face, but more sinister looking. “I mean, I was going to be nice, but you're really testing my patience, puppy..."

He let go of your hair suddenly, giving it a slight shove back into the slop (and caking your chin with more of it in the process) and stood back to his feet with a little ‘hup!’, idly pacing back in front of you, his hand dangerously close to his khaki pocket.

“Bad dogs earn discipline…don’t you know that, hund?”

You felt a quickly growing, searing heat against your neck for just a moment, just long enough for you to raise your head our of the much, before recognising it as-

*BZZT*

“Oder bist du zu dumm, ja?”

You yelped like a dying animal as your collar jolted awake with a painful electric shock, sending a sharp, agonising jolt of pain straight through your spine and radiating through the rest of your body.

Strade laughed again before he crouched in front of you, taking your messy chin in hand and forcing your head up, so you were making eye contact with him. His smile was still there, like it always was, but his usual friendly (and deeply insidious) tone had changed to a more malicious and sadistic one.

"Still not hungry, puppy?” He asked, tilting his head to the side with a condescending click of his tongue. “You didn't seem to enjoy the little zap you just got...figuring anything out yet?"

"Mm-mm..." You gave your head another little shake, hoping to communicate, wordlessly, that you just weren't that hungry anymore, he didn't need to shock you again, really.

“You never learn, do you?” Strade huffed out a little sigh, shaking his head and feigning disappointment before he stood up straight again, his hands on his hips. "Well, the way I see it, you have two choices here..." 

Taking one of his hands off his hips, he started to count off fingers as he spoke.

"One, you play nice, you be a good dog, and eat your meal. Or two…I shock you again,” He patted his pocket. “But this time, it'll be stronger and last much longer. Choice is yours, puppy."

You frowned and looked back down at the dog bowl, your own pitiful reflection looking back at you in the shiny, metal surface.

God, you hated this fucking collar.

Already feeling the painful burn on your neck start to settle and throb, and...really not wanting a repeat of it (or, god forbid, anything stronger than that), you hesitantly put your head down again and took the first, repulsive bite of food.

It was fucking disgusting.

You could feel your throat contracting, like your body itself was trying to reject what you were putting into it, but you stopped yourself from gagging and took another hesitant bite.

"There we go, ‘atta dog!” He praised in a patronising tone as he watched you force yourself to eat, walking behind you and giving you an idle kick to the tailbone, treating you more and more like an animal as opposed to the person you were. Are. “That's a good puppy. Was that so tough?"

"Heh. There we go, that's a good pet." He leaned and firmly ruffled your hair again, as you continued to force yourself to eat the slop, a mean laugh emitting from his throat as he watched you. "That’s what you really are, you know, that’s what you want to be. A good, obedient dog, aren't you? Always doing what your master tells you, hm? Always doing their best to be good?"

You weren’t a dog.

If you were a dog, you might have had the good sense to cower and hide from someone who was hurting you this much, whimpering and shivering in the corner, as opposed to trotting out on your hands and knees, lest you earn another punishmenet. 

If you were a dog, you might have even been stupid enough to bite the hand that was feeding you, hurting you, making you suffer, dig your teeth in and make him bleed, and feel even a percentage of the pain that he had already inflicted on you. 

You were too stupid to be a dog. 

Too much of a coward to put up any modicum of a fight.

You gagged on the third bite of dog food, unable to swallow it properly, and sloppily spat it back into the bowl in a bubbling mixture of bubbling saliva and “new and improved: real gravy!”

What would a dog care, if the gravy was real or not?

Maybe that was just a clarification for the owners.

Strade didn't seem too sympathetic to whatever you were going through in your head, his smile faltering, just slightly, as he scooted his body in front of you, taking your slack jaw in one hand, a fistful of your hair in the other, and forcing your head up so you were looking directly at him again.

Or you were supposed to be looking at him. 

Your eyes were, instead, fixed ahead on the single lightbulb hanging from the basement ceiling, watching it gently sway, back and forth.

Your tendon started to throb. Would you ever be able to walk again, after this?

Would there even be an “after this”?

"Did you just spit your food out?" He asked curtly.

"Mmf-" You groaned, trying to shake your head, a few tears running down your cheek.

"You really are so fucking ungrateful," He said, the grin on his face contradicting his firm, domineering tone, before he let go of your chin and gave your burning cheek a few, mean slaps, as if trying to smack you to full attention. "I have to do everything myself around here, don't I, pup?"

He then reached down and grabbed a handful of the dog food, clumped together like a ball in his fist, before forcing it against your mouth, covering your jaw with his palm, covering your nose (and stopping your breathing as he did it), and mashing the wet, gelationus mess of meat into your whimpering mouth.

You shrieked, your mangled tongue throbbing from the forceful intrusion, and tried to fight against him again, your taped up hands (mitts, paws) pressing against his chest.

But you were too weak to fight him off, and any attempt to cry or scream just made you take in more of the repulsive "meal" he had prepared for you.

"Wanna get your strength up, dog?" He barked loudly, his grin now manic and excited and his golden eyes sparkling with mirth, as the beginnings of a hard erection rubbed against your thigh, evidently delighted that you still had some fight in you, despite everything.

"Eat up, mutt~”

[imfinereallyy]

@henderdads posted this about domestic fluff and I realize that I love this trope and I just don’t write enough of it, and I wanted to give her a little treat to read. Mostly because her tags when she reblogs on my post give me absolute joy, I laugh every time.

Two things might come as a surprise when getting to know Steve Harrington. The first being he didn’t actually like parties. He likes making other people feel good, wants to make them happy. Hence why for years, he lets Tommy and Carol wreak havoc on his house. It makes them happy and, for a short while, makes most of Hawkins High happy. Steve, in retrospect, has learned to regret this since he has now gained a reputation for being a party king, despite not throwing one in years, but he knows all too well how hard it is to let go of a high school reputation.

The second surprising fact is that Steve Harrington hated his birthday. Well, maybe hate wasn’t the right word, but he has incredibly low expectations for his birthday. Either everyone forgets his birthday, or somehow Steve is reminded that he is an inconvenience.

“Sorry sweetie, your dad has a business meeting that day.”

“Dude, I have a baseball game in that night could we do something another day?”

“I’m late! I know, we stayed up all night playing D&D. I even forgot to call Suzie!”

Steve isn’t necessarily hurt per se when these things happen. He knows that some people, more than others, are really trying. That it’s human to make mistakes. But Steve doesn’t like to get his hopes up; that’ll be much better than that.

There is also the more commonly now known fact that Steve doesn’t like being the center of attention. And birthdays come along with a lot of that. Sure, Steve wants someone to pay attention to him, really listen to what he has to say, but he has long since out grown the desperate need to have everyone look at him.

It is why it is such a surprise the upside down crew throws him a 24th birthday party.

Steve always thought something like this would upset him, but he is delightfully warm at the sight of all his friends, all of his family, inside Robin and Nancy's apartment screaming,

“Surprise, Dingus!”

Steve can’t believe she got everyone to say that.

After the shock of seeing them all packed like sardines wearing party hats, Steve can’t help but smile.

Eddie walks up to him, placing a hat on his head and a soft kiss on his cheek. “I tried to stop them,” Eddie whispers. “I know you don’t like parties, but they just wanted to show how much they love you. It was hard to say no.”

Steve turns to Eddie, a man who knows him inside and out and knows he can’t lie to him. “I thought I would hate this, but I don’t. It’s perfect.” He kisses Eddie on the lips, just as soft as the one before.

“Good, because I really didn’t try to stop them.” Eddie smiles into the kiss.

“Ew!”

“Gross!”

“Get a room!”

Various shouts across the room cause the couple to giggle and pull apart. Eddie flips them all off, “It’s been four years, assholes! Grow up.”

Eddie runs off to particularly chase Mike, who actually hasn’t said anything but did make a face, and Steve can’t help but be overwhelmed by joy.

🎉🦇🎉🦇

Hours later, after the cake has been cut and the presents have been shared, and his kiddos are definitely way too drunk, the party doesn’t show any signs of slowing down. And Steve, who is having fun but growing antsy since he slowed down on drinking years ago, isn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

He doesn’t want to ruin the fun or make anyone think he didn’t have a good time. This is one of the best birthdays, if not the best one, he’s ever had. But Steve is getting overwhelmed and worn out. He isn’t really tired, but being social has reached its capacity for the night.

Even so, he can’t help but laugh at Robin as she tells a story about the most recent disaster of her sign language class, where kids keep accidentally swearing instead of the proper words.

Eddie catches his eye across the room; he looks happy as he talks to Hop and Wayne. But even mid-conversation, across the sea of people, he tugs his helix piercing over his right ear twice.

It’s their signal for, “Do you want me to come over?”

Steve rubs the scar over his left eye twice, “Yes please.” It means.

Eddie excuses himself and makes his way to Steve. “Hey, baby.” He interrupts Robin mid-rant, who makes a sound of drunken protest. “Did we feed Mrs. Pierson’s cat today?”

Another signal, which translates, “Do you want to go home?”

And Steve knows he can just tell Eddie yes, and they can stay at the party, and Steve will have fun, and he’ll be happy, but it isn’t what he wants. What he wants is to be at home with their own cat Beelzebub, snuggled up in their bed. So Steve says, “Shit, I don’t think we did.” Yes, please. Let’s go home.

Eddie acts quickly. They make their rounds, say goodbyes, and make their excuses. Everyone lovingly pokes at their forgetfulness. The couple insists everyone stays and enjoys themselves. Steve thanks everyone with individual hugs.

Steve and Eddie hold pinkies the entire walk home, down the streets of Indianapolis. The dark night blanket of night, and the never-ending sound of the city, keeping them safe enough to risk the intertwined digits.

When they make it home, they say nothing. They unwind slowly. Sharing kisses, delicately take off each other's clothes, hum into each others mouths. There is nothing rushed, or rough; they have time now. There will be moments for that later.

And in their journey from the front door to the bed, Eddie kisses the place where Steve’s shoulder and neck meet. It’s his signal for “I love you.”

Later, when they are tangled up in the sheets, heavy breaths slowing down, Eddie’s arms wrapped around him, Steve leans up and kisses the tip of Eddie’s nose. It’s his signal for “I love you more.”

Eddie’s smile back says, “that just isn’t possible.”

“Thank you for today.” Steve finally speaks out loud, playing with Eddie’s fingers.

“Oh, it isn’t over yet, baby.” And Eddie jumps out of bed naked, running out of the room.

Steve can’t help but cackle at his boyfriend's antics. There is a sudden thump on the bed; Steve peeks down to see their cat making his home on the end of their bed like he knows they are finally done for the night. “Hey, bee.” Steve scratches him behind his ear, earning a resounding purr from him. A little to the left, it means.

Eddie comes back into the room and dives back into the bed, bouncing Beelzebub but not startlingly him enough to move. Steve supposes he’s used to his father's antics. “Okay, I would tell you to close your eyes, but I know you’re not going to listen, so I’m just going to hand them to you.”

Steve giggles and grabs the pieces of paper in his hands and his heart stops. “Eddie.”

“Steve.” Eddie’s grin is wide.

“These are three tickets to see Madonna.”

“Yup.” Eddie pops his ‘p’ clearly proud of himself. “One for you, one for Robs of course, and one for me.”

Steve whispers in awe, “But you hate Madonna.”

Eddie brushes the hair out of Steve’s face, “Please, no one can hate Madonna.” Eddie’s eyes turn soft, “Besides, you love her, and you love me. It only felt fair to have us both in the same place. And you’d worry the entire time if I wasn’t there.”

Steve throws his arms around Eddie, squeezing him tight. Hoping he can translate how much he loves this man through it. Steve loves making other people happy, but no one has loved making Steve happy, quite like Eddie. “I love you so much,” Steve says once he leans back.

Eddie kisses the place where his shoulder and his neck meet. I love you. Eddie kisses the tip of his nose. I love you more. Finally, he holds Steve’s face and says aloud,

“I love you too.”

***

Was this perhaps inspired by the fact I turn 24 in a week and a half? Maybeee. I’m a lot like Steve in this where I have such mixed feelings about my birthday. I’m feeling a lot of anxiety about it if I’m honest, and I don’t have high hopes.

Unlike me, I don’t have a partner like Eddie, but Steve deserves the world and I wanted him to have some loving and domestic fluff. The idea that these two have secret signals is an important headcannon to me, and I would love to see others take on it.

I hope @henderdads you enjoyed this if you made it this far. It was a lot of fun to write. :)