#these conversations are important to me and so i will discuss them until i'm satisfied (spoiler: will he ever be satisfied?)

[thelawsofdaylight]

Every single mention of Feuilly ever /Feuilly meta masterpost

Because it's barricade day and because my fixation on Feuilly has only grown these past few months, I've compiled a list of every single time he's ever mentioned in the brick. (Twenty-six times, for those wondering.) Below is a rundown of every single Feuilly mention and what this tells us about Feuilly as a character, with meta from fandom discussions past sprinkled in wherever relevant.

WARNING: LONG POST AHEAD!!!

1. Feuilly's name listed amongst the members of Les Amis de l'ABC, in the following order:

Enjolras, Combeferre, Jean Prouvaire, Feuilly, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Lesgle or Laigle, Joly, Grantaire.

Bonus Feuilly fact: Lesgle is singled out as the only one NOT from the South. Ergo, Feuilly is from the South.

Fun information on the meaning of Feuilly's name (spoiler alert: it's a pun) here!

2. Basic Feuilly information from his intro paragraph:

Feuilly was a workingman, a fan-maker, orphaned both of father and mother, who earned with difficulty three francs a day... He had taught himself to read and write; everything that he knew, he had learned by himself.

A lot of information in relatively few words. I won't reinvent the wheel of Feuilly meta and instead I'm going to direct people to posts discussing Feuilly's financial/employment situation here and here and here and posts about fanmakers/the Paris fan industry in general here and here.

3. Information about Feuilly's political beliefs from his intro paragraph:

Feuilly had a generous heart. The range of his embrace was immense... In this club of young Utopians, occupied chiefly with France, he represented the outside world.

Key Feuilly fact here: Feuilly cares about international politics. Like, really really really cares. He is not content with only liberating France and will not be satisfied until the whole world is free. He learns about a place's history and politics specifically so he can advocate for the rights and freedoms of its peoples! Ah, Feuilly <3

4. Feuilly's internationalist politics from his intro paragraph:

He had for his specialty Greece, Poland, Hungary, Romania, Italy... Above all things, the great violence of 1772 aroused him... All contemporary social crimes have their origin in the partition of Poland. The partition of Poland is a theorem of which all present political outrages are the corollaries... Such was Feuilly’s habitual text.

More internationalism! For more information about why Feuilly is interested in Italy see here. For 1772 and Poland specifically see here. Also this wonderful post about the historical context of Polish solidarity in French Republican circles (+some Enjolras/Feuilly propaganda.)

TLDR; Feuilly WILL find a way to bring the conversation back round to the injustice of Poland's partitioning and he's actually so correct for that! It's so important to me that people understand why Feuilly is so vocal about Poland and that he's not just bringing it up for shits and giggles, it serves a very real purpose in an organisation whose focus often doesn't extend beyond France!

5. Enjolras et ses lieutenants; Enjolras is directing Les Amis around Paris and he asks:

"Feuilly, you will see those of the Glacière, will you not?"

At least, this is how it's translated in the version I'm working from (Hapgood) but there's some interesting meta over this line as in the original French it goes "Feuilly, n'est-ce pas? Vous verrez ceux de la Glacière" Note the use of vous and the strange way the question is phrased! Interesting meta on this here and here and here. There's also a really sweet fanfic about the two of them discussing it here

I know, I know, only point 5 and we've already got contentious translations and multiple meanings. What can you do!

6. Enjolras et ses lieutenants; Enjolras is thinking about his powder-train of friends scattered all over Paris and their strengths:

Feuilly’s cosmopolitan enthusiasm

(Original French: l'enthousiasme cosmopolite de Feuilly)

Enjolras admires Feuilly's internationalist politics so much he literally cites it as something he wants to draw upon to light the spark of revolution. A win for Enjolras/Feuilly nation. Also, some really really nice meta about the term 'cosmopolitan' and what it means in relation to Feuilly here.

7. Marius waking up the day of Lamarque's funeral and seeing:

Courfeyrac, Enjolras, Feuilly, and Combeferre standing in the room with their hats on and all ready to go out

Feuilly being present for the all important preparation the morning of the funeral- he's in the inner circle of the inner circle! I think we as a fandom need more triumvirate + Feuilly shenanigans, we really don't do enough with them!

Bonus link to what Feuilly might've worn in canon as this is the only quote that even slightly relates to it but I wanted to fit it in somehow.

8. At the start of the insurrection:

In the meantime, in the Marché Saint-Jean, where the post had already been disarmed, Gavroche had just “effected a junction” with a band led by Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Feuilly.

The riot breaks out and insurrection begins. Feuilly is named as one of the leaders, alongside the triumvirate.

9. Describing what weapons everyone has and one of the only things Feuilly says in the entire book:

Feuilly, with a naked sword in his hand, marched at their head shouting: “Long live Poland!”

If you don't have much to say, better make it count right? He was so iconic for this. Also, background behind the cry and why it would've been a rallying call to migrant communities rather than just a funny thing he decided to say here. Yes, he's in France trying to overthrow the French king but Feuilly's a smart guy; he knows that no one is free until we're all free. He has a sword and he practices international solidarity. Feuilly Les Misérables no one is doing it like you!!!!!!

10. On the way to build a barricade:

Behind Feuilly marched, or rather bounded, Bahorel, who was like a fish in water in a riot. 

Not much actually about Feuilly here, but some nice characterisation of Bahorel!

11. Lesgle looking out the window of the Corinthe and paying particular attention to:

Feuilly with his sword.

Just in case you missed it the first time, Feuilly has a SWORD.

(Really sweet fic about how Feuilly acquired his sword here. Read it, trust me, it's so good.)

12. Building the barricade:

Feuilly, with his fingers skilled in painting the delicate sticks of fans, had backed up the barrels and the dray with two massive heaps of blocks of rough stone. Blocks which were improvised like the rest and procured no one knows where.

So that's two more important pieces of lore: Feuilly has skilled fingers and magical barricade building skills. No wonder Enjolras has a crush!

13. Sweet moment on the barricade:

Enjolras, whom it was impossible to divert, kept an eye on the sentinels, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Jean Prouvaire, Feuilly, Bossuet, Joly, Bahorel, and some others, sought each other out and united as in the most peaceful days of their conversations in their student life... these fine young fellows, so close to a supreme hour, began to recite love verses.

Which is interesting because Feuilly was never a student! I couldn't find any posts that address this but if you know of them, send them my way! My guess is that Hugo is simply using 'student life' in the past tense as a way to remind us that they've left their previous roles behind and have now transformed into Heroes of the Dawn. Or something. Either way, it's a sweet moment they all share before the fighting begins in earnest.

14. Feuilly and his battalion on the barricade:

Six, commanded by Feuilly, had installed themselves, with their guns levelled at their shoulders, at the windows of the two stories of Corinthe.

Hugo tells us there were 50 insurgents total, 43 at the main barricade and Feuilly + his 6 in the windows. 6 men is a decent sized command! And they're stationed on the upper floors, so it'd make sense that they're the men best trained in shooting. Sharpshooter!Feuilly AU when? Also, lovely post about Feuilly and his six men here!

15. Night falls on the barricade. Enjolras tells everyone to sleep but no one listens:

Feuilly employed these two hours in engraving this inscription on the wall which faced the tavern:— LONG LIVE THE PEOPLES! These four words, hollowed out in the rough stone with a nail, could be still read on the wall in 1848."

This makes me so emotional and I'm not okay about it at all. + Hugo's possible inspiration for this scene.

And also I'm going to sneak in a link to the fic I wrote for this year's barricade day focused on this moment here.

16. Courfeyrac bantering with Feuilly:

“I am delighted that the torch has been extinguished,” said Courfeyrac to Feuilly. “That torch flickering in the wind annoyed me. It had the appearance of being afraid. The light of torches resembles the wisdom of cowards; it gives a bad light because it trembles.”

This is during the section where they wait for the city to rise with them. No dialogue from Feuilly here but he is at least present for this little interaction with Courfeyrac.

17 & 18. ENJOLRAS' BARRICADE SPEECH:

"Listen to me, you, Feuilly, valiant artisan, man of the people. I revere you. Yes, you clearly behold the future, yes, you are right. You had neither father nor mother, Feuilly; you adopted humanity for your mother and right for your father. You are about to die, that is to say to triumph, here."

NOW WE'RE TALKING!!!! Quote of all time for Enjolras/Feuilly shippers!! Enjolras giving his all important barricade speech ushering in a new world and he takes time out of all these metaphors of love and light to specifically shout out Feuilly and his glorious political worldview <3 Feuilly is right about the need to see beyond France, the need to encompass all of humanity in the scope of the fight for justice, and at that final moment before the end, Enjolras, our priest of the ideal, the logic of the revolution, literally tells him so. It's all so symbolic and Romantic and I could cry about it way longer than would be healthy.

Also worthy of note: in line with his praising of Feuilly's 'cosmopolitan enthusiasm' in point 5, this part comes directly after Enjolras is talking about the international struggle for justice- Feuilly's influence!!!

19 & 20. A moment of quiet on the barricade:

Combeferre, wearing an apron, was dressing the wounds: Bossuet and Feuilly were making cartridges with the powder-flask picked up by Gavroche on the dead corporal, and Bossuet said to Feuilly: “We are soon to take the diligence for another planet”

First Enjolras and now Bossuet: people are obsessed with telling Feuilly he's about to die soon. Also! Second instance of someone bantering with Feuilly and Feuilly having no recorded response.

21. Enjolras and Feuilly barricade logistics dream team:

"In less than a minute, two thirds of the stones which Enjolras had had piled up at the door of Corinthe had been carried up to the first floor and the attic, and before a second minute had elapsed, these stones, artistically set one upon the other, walled up the sash-window on the first floor and the windows in the roof to half their height. A few loop-holes carefully planned by Feuilly, the principal architect, allowed of the passage of the gun-barrels."

I just think there's so much to be said for how much of a key player Feuilly is in barricade construction. He and Enjolras carefully planning and executing contingency scenarios, doing it so efficiently and with so much thought... and all just to buy them a few minutes more time!

22 & 23. More stunning teamwork from the dream team:

"[Enjolras] issued his final orders in the tap-room in a curt, but profoundly tranquil tone; Feuilly listened and replied in the name of all. “On the first floor, hold your axes in readiness to cut the staircase. Have you them?” “Yes,” said Feuilly. “How many?” “Two axes and a pole-axe.” “That is good. There are now twenty-six combatants of us on foot. How many guns are there?” “Thirty-four.” “Eight too many. Keep those eight guns loaded like the rest and at hand. Swords and pistols in your belts. Twenty men to the barricade. Six ambushed in the attic windows, and at the window on the first floor to fire on the assailants through the loop-holes in the stones. Let not a single worker remain inactive here. Presently, when the drum beats the assault, let the twenty below stairs rush to the barricade. The first to arrive will have the best places.”

Feuilly's longest recorded conversation. Short, sweet, to the point. Also emphasises his leadership and the trust that Enjolras has in him. Both of them staying calm and collected even under the immense pressure of a final assault and their almost certain deaths. The logistics talk right before the end... reference to Feuilly's six men who have now moved to the attic windows... the conviction of it all.... Oh, Feuilly <3

24. A conversation just before the end:

“Can any one understand,” exclaimed Feuilly bitterly, “those men,—[and he cited names, well-known names, even celebrated names, some belonging to the old army]—who had promised to join us, and taken an oath to aid us, and who had pledged their honor to it, and who are our generals, and who abandon us!” And Combeferre restricted himself to replying with a grave smile. “There are people who observe the rules of honor as one observes the stars, from a great distance.”

Longest piece of Feuilly dialogue! I think it's so interesting that Feuilly is the one who shows anger at having been abandoned by prominent figures- and for an idea of who he might've been referring to, see posts here and here and here (and thank you @pilferingapples for those links!)

I also think it's very relevant that his anger is directed at those people specifically and not The People at large. There's no blame placed on other workers, no anger in him for any of his fellow men- he specifically and explicitly blames the failure on a handful of named figures who had the power and influence to secure a different outcome but didn't. It feels hugely important to have this section of dialogue here, right before they all die. Feuilly man of the peoples always <3

25. :(

Feuilly was killed

26. Our last Feuilly mention :( Just a reminder that Feuilly is dead and the barricade has fallen:

When there were no longer any of the leaders left alive, except Enjolras and Marius at the two extremities of the barricade, the centre, which had so long sustained Courfeyrac, Joly, Bossuet, Feuilly and Combeferre, gave way.

And that is EVERY SINGLE MENTION OF FEUILLY EVER. If you have more meta or context that you think I've missed, please feel free to add on to the post, or link to other posts discussing Feuilly! I've done my best with the tumblr search feature but as we all know, that is by no means a comprehensive search tool anymore. All English quotes are taken from Hapgood because it's the best available version for copy + pasting online.

Huge shoutout to the various people whose blogs were invaluable in the quest for Feuilly meta, whether still in the fandom or long since deactivated <3

And remember:

VIVENT LES PEUPLES!!!

[homelanderbutbig]

Proper Incentive To Be A Hero (G/T Homelander x Reader)

2341 words. Hurt/comfort, and some angst. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

You are tasked by the Vought board with disciplining Homelander… he doesn't take it well. Inspired by a conversation with @sehtoast.

Although your official position at Vought is as Homelander's personal assistant, your role has become much more akin to his manager. You handle his day-to-day scheduling, book his appearances, help him prepare his speeches, and attend meetings on his behalf with board members. He trusts you to fulfill these duties for him, because you don't just go off with your own ideas; you listen to him. If there is something he doesn't like, you work with him until you're both satisfied. You operate as a team, something he never got to have with Madelyn. She made the decisions, and he had to follow them lest he upset her.

One day, you are called to the 82nd floor for an important meeting with the board. To be honest you were a little surprised for them to request you specifically and not Homelander, but once the meeting started you quickly understood why.

Homelander has always had an issue with collateral damage during his 'superhero missions'. Due to his size and strength you suppose it can't be helped, he's bound to topple a building or two to save people's lives. However, Vought is stuck footing the bill to fix everything he's destroyed, and to pay off any civilians he injured by accident.

First and foremost, he is costing them a lot of money with his carelessness that could be spent elsewhere. The board is emphatic that you ensure he curbs his destructive tendencies, seeing as you are the sole reason he's become easier to work with these last few months.

And truth be told, they really don't understand the half of it. Upon your gentle guidance, Homelander religiously tries to be on his best behaviour at the Tower and keep his anger under control, because you make sure to reward him with plenty of hugs, kisses, and cuddles. The things that he was never allowed to have, the love he's always wanted. You don't string him along with the feigning prospect of attention. You want him to know how much you appreciate his efforts, and he reciprocates by being an incredibly good boy, solely for you.

Later in the evening, you ask him to meet you in your office to discuss something 'important'. You have not yet told him what happened with the board, needing time to work out how to broach this touchy subject with him. He is not one to take criticism about himself lightly, especially when it's coming from the higher-ups at Vought. You just hope that your office is a hospitable environment to have this deliberation, with it being filled with photographs and mementos of your love for each other.

Like clockwork, Homelander enters your office at just the precise time you requested.

"Well, here I am," he smiles, shutting the door before strolling in front of your desk with his hands on his hips. His smile falters slightly when he sees your serious expression, which he can't say he's ever seen from you. "…What?"

"I had a meeting with the board members this afternoon," you begin.

"…Yeah? And what did they want?" he asks, his brows furrowing in anticipation of the board's latest demands.

"They wanted me to help you… get better at your saves. So you… don't… um… destroy so much," you respond, struggling to get your sentence out through your rising nerves.

He stares at you vacantly, blinking rapidly in disbelief at what he is hearing. After a moment of silence he scoffs, rolling his eyes and shaking his head before he starts wandering aimlessly around the room.

"So… what, I'm a fucking toddler?" he frowns, the jovial mood he entered with now replaced by pure contempt. He's clearly irritated by the mere suggestion that he isn't doing his job perfectly. "I need you to babysit me because I can't be trusted to do shit on my own without being supervised?"

"I don't think that's what they want hun," you calmly attempt to rationalize, but you can see by how his eyes are twitching that this is going to be an uphill battle.

"This is what I was born to do, be a hero! Dedicate my entire fucking existence to Vought! And now what, I'm too much for them?!" he shouts, though you're unsure if it's directed at you or at the board.

"Sweetheart, I think-" you say, trying to get a word in, but your efforts are in vain as he begins walking towards you. Although you usually aren't bothered by his over-the-top bravado, the anger currently radiating off him is enough to make you feel uneasy. You're taking steps back as he stomps closer into your personal space, until you're back is against the wall. With nowhere else to escape, leaving yourself at his mercy.

"Is my best not good enough for you, is that it? Is that why you're siding with them?" he sneers, the unbridled derision dripping from his voice. Towering his expansive frame over you, you're forced to crane your neck straight up to even see his aggravated visage. "We're supposed to be a team! You and me against the world! A-and yet, what? One meeting and they convince you to keep me on a fucking leash? Are you too dumb to see they're just using you like a fucking pawn to control me?!"

"Hey!! That's not fair!" you retort, trying to push past the insults to delve into the obvious deflections of his guilt. "I'm not siding with you or the board. I'm just trying to do my job, just like you are! Can at least you answer me one thing?" you question him sternly, waiting a moment to see if he'll interrupt you again. When he remains silent, you seize the opportunity. "Why do you go out of your way to hurt the people you're supposed to save?"

That was enough to crack through his hardened exterior, you can observe it in the way his expression goes blank for a moment. His jaw tenses as he swallows back his rising anxiety, practically staring straight through you as he become lost in his thoughts. His brain is attempting to process a witty response, one to deviate the conversation back in his favour so you can admit that you're the wrong one. And yet, the way you look at him, so defiant in the face of an eight foot tall supe who could rip your head off with a flick of his index finger…

He can't handle it anymore.

"You know I can't control my height!!" he finally yells at you, throwing his arms out in exasperation.

The walls he's been trying so hard to maintain crumbling down, allowing all of his pent-up feelings to spill out with no signs of stopping now that it's started.

"I go out on these saves, and you know what I see? Every fucking time, these people, these fucking ungrateful mudpeople…" he rants, voice cracking as his once stable composure very quickly vanishes to reveal his vulnerabilities. "I risk my life to yank them out of a burning building, you'd think they'd be appreciative?? No!! They're scared, they're always scared!! They take one look at me and they don't think I can tell they all think I'm a monster?? How am I supposed to react to that? They think I can't hear what they're saying amongst themselves?? Gee, I'm grateful Homelander saved my life, but why couldn't Vought send a normal hero instead?? Why shouldn't I be mad! W-why shouldn't I break their legs so they learn how much their words fucking hurt!!"

By the end of his tirade, he looks like he's just about to burst through the walls and enact his revenge on the unsuspecting city below. His breaths are haggard, his whole body quivering heavily from the flood of emotions now laid bare for you to gawk at. His fists are tightly furled by his sides and tremoring uncontrollably, and if you were anyone else they'd be wrapped around your throat right now.

A sensible person would have run away from this outburst. Witnessing Homelander lose complete control of himself, only a fool would stick around to see the consequences.

However, you can see something in his body language that someone who didn't know him well would miss. That fracture in his otherwise immaculate armour, which normally shields his weaknesses from the world, is allowing you access to that part of him he's worked his entire life to keep a secret. His inner self, the boy whose childhood was nothing more than abuse and torture, you've pressured him to speak for the first time in a long time. Although his rage would appear to be from pure sadism to an outsider, he's revealed to you why he can't help but hurt those he's meant to protect. All he's ever wanted is to be loved, to receive what he's never been allowed to experience. And when people see him as nothing more than a monster…

He can't help but inflict his trauma back.

Sighing resolutely, you slowly saunter over to your office's oversized couch. The tears he's fighting back are all the evidence you require; while he won't say it out loud, he's admitted defeat. All he wants now is for you to forgive him.

"Sit down," you insist, your hand patting the middle cushion. He hesitates to even flinch, standing still like a deer caught in headlights. However, the way you eye him so intently is enough for him to understand you aren't giving him any chances to say no.

Homelander might have been in charge of this conversation before, but now it's your turn.

Like a scolded dog, he follows your orders and makes his way to the couch, sitting down with fists by his sides. He's waiting for you to do what everyone has always done when he disobeys: punish him by taking away the few things he holds dear. You might not be Vogelbaum or Madelyn, but tonight was the first time he exploded in rage at you, in a way that would warrant admonishment.

Regardless of his expectations, you don't intend to express any frustration.

Instead you climb up onto his lap, kneeling down on his thighs so your face is directly in front of his. Gazing into his eyes, it's apparent that his inner child now in control. He looks so petrified, so small; his breathing shallow in anticipation of the pain he's grown accustomed to. It's almost enough to make you forget he's so tall that you are literally sitting on top of his legs just to reach his head.

"You aren't a monster baby," you console him, resting your forehead against his while you cup his cheeks with both of your hands. "I'm sorry you have to deal with that. I know how hard you try."

Your compassionate words are enough to begin to soothe the scorches inflicted on his ego. Homelander stops fighting his tears as he exhales deeply, his breaths finally becoming more steady. He leans ever so slightly into your touch, resting his hands against your back to keep you from falling down from his weight. The way he's totally enveloping you in his hold, it's as if you're the only thing anchoring him to reality and he needs to be as close to you as possible.

"Let's make a deal, okay?" you eventually declare, pulling back to see his face. "Every day we'll check in. When you go out on a mission, and you do your very best not to kill someone or break anything… we'll do something special together." You can see the wheels turning in his brain as he ponders this proposal. "We can bake some cookies, cuddle on the couch, watch one of your movies, have a warm bath together… anything you want," you explain further. "You can choose your reward."

"Even… e-even milk?" he whispers shyly, his eyes unable to hide his internal turmoil, the mixture of yearning and apprehension.

It's always been something he's had to struggle with deep down, the desire for what he missed during his childhood. He never had a loving family, a mother or father, nor had he ever been bottlefed as a baby. He's always been confused by how strongly he craves it, the simple and human impulses.

Sometimes the two of you share a bottle of milk together. And sometimes you indulge him by feeding him the bottle. Those times it's hard to miss how dilated his pupils become once the bottle reaches his lips, how deadweight he feels leaning into your shoulder as he gives into his basic instincts.

"Yes, I can feed you milk too," you reassure him, kissing his forehead before leaning in to wrap your arms around his wide shoulders for an embrace. This earns you a heavy sigh from him in return as he sinks into your touch, resting back against the couch and letting any remaining stress fade away. Your fingers running daintily through his hair is enough to have him purring contently into your small stature, his voice rumbling through you in a way you know only you can achieve.

Homelander supposes, now he finally has proper incentive to be a better hero. Fame and fortune were never enough to motivate him not to leave a path of death and destruction during his missions. Madelyn would placate him with the prospect of albeit hollow affection for following her orders, but it was rarely ever doled out. Always dangled in front of his face, yet always out of reach.

You're different. You would never lie to him or judge him, especially with the way you actually attend to his need to be loved. No matter what happens, you're always there to pull him in for a hug, to tell him everything will be alright, and that you're always there by his side.

He'll do better for you. He wants you to be proud of him, he wants you to be happy that he's trying to do good just for you.

…And the milk.

[theespressooqueen]

More than concerned

Mira just landed on the outpost with Syrena, covered in dust and scratches, the aftermath of the skirmish. It had been a grueling fight, but they had won, thanks to their quick thinking and coordination. She and Syrenna stood off to the side, discussing what could have been done differently and how they had managed to gain the upper hand.

"Next time, we should flank earlier," Syrenna said, her voice casual despite the intensity of their conversation. "We took too many hits upfront."

Mira nodded, she noticed some of the fliers limping toward the infirmary, a few worse off than others. Immediately, she shifted her focus, her authoritative tone taking over. “Get the seriously injured to the healers. Priority are those who can’t walk on their own.”

The adrenaline still pumping through her made her feel invincible, but Mira knew better. She wasn’t untouched by the fight—she had a deep gash along her arm, but it was nothing compared to what some of the others had endured. Her wound could wait. The others needed care first.

That was the plan, anyway, until she was suddenly hoisted off the ground.

Mira let out a yelp of surprise as Drake Cordella appeared from nowhere, scooping her up effortlessly and slinging her over his shoulder like she weighed nothing. Her world tilted, and she barely had time to process what was happening before Drake started walking, his pace brisk, his steps unyielding.

"Cordella! Put me down!" Mira snapped, twisting to try and free herself, but his grip was firm as he walks towards the infirmary. She could feel the heat of his body through his brown flight jacket, his presence overwhelming as he ignored her protests. "I'm fine! The others need the healers more than I do!"

Drake didn’t answer her, didn’t even look back. He marched straight into the infirmary, where several healers were already busy tending to the wounded. Without hesitation, he set her down—gently, despite the abruptness of his actions—and turned to the nearest healer.

“Take care of her now,” Drake demanded, his voice leaving no room for argument.

Mira opened her mouth to protest, anger flaring in her chest. “I can walk in here myself! The other fliers and riders needs attention first.”

But Drake only stood there, his arms crossed, watching as the healers examined her wound and began to treat it. His intense gaze didn’t leave her for a second, and Mira found herself caught between frustration and confusion. Why was he acting like this? He hadn’t said a word since he had picked her up, and now he was just... watching her, as if this was the most important thing he haddone all day.

Mira could feel the tension in the air between them, and it only madeher angrier. She didn’t need to be coddled, least of all by him. She was more than capable of handling a simple injury. She had led battles, had made sure her riders got through it, and now Drake was treating her like she was helpless.

When the healer finished bandaging her arm, Mira shot a sharp lookat Drake. “Satisfied now?” she asked, her voice edged with irritation.

Drake surprised her by cupping her cheek, his forehead resting against hers. Mira could feel the warmth of his skin and the faint, steady rhythm of his breath. “You’re okay?” he asked quietly, his voice barely a whisper.

Mira blinked, taken aback by his sudden closeness and concern. “I think so.”

Drake let out a quiet sigh of relief before pulling back. “I’m going out to patrol,” he said abruptly, then turned and walked out, leaving her staring after him in bewilderment.

Syrena, who had been observing the entire scene with a knowing smile, shook her head. Mira raised an eyebrow. “Your cousin is weird,” she muttered.

Syrena chuckled. “I’ve never seen him like that, Mira. Not with anyone.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “I think he might be a little more than just concerned.”

Mira scoffed, trying to ignore the flutter in her chest. "Ridiculous," she murmured, but her thoughts lingered on his touch and the warmth that still seemed to linger on her skin.

[momsforroadhead]

ok i forgot i wanted to post insane klaine opinions. so here goes.

let me first start by saying that i'm not that emotionally involved in their relationship. there is ONE fictional couple that is extremely important to me and i will never discuss them on here. i think i simply don't have the shippers mindset. so this is all from an entirely serious and scientific perspective i swearrrr like omg i prommy

ok so. i genuinely think the way these two were written, especially kurt's role in this relationship, is really fascinating, especially considering that kurt's character was based on chris colfer (the actor that portrays him). and since he's the show's main and first gay character, and hearing the way ryan murphy has talked about him, i wouldn't be surprised if he was somewhat based on murphy as well. what this results in is that kurt's character feels, imo, a lot more grounded than other characters in glee and, often, that groundedness translates into a kinda more downer arc than many other characters.

kurt, as a character, is defined by all the negative things in his life. the very first thing we learn about him is that he gets so relentlessly bullied he has learned to kinda passively accept it. his mother died when he was young, and his relationship with his single dad, basically right up until the beginning of the show, has been tense and uncomfortable. he gets a crush on finn (and later, in a minor way, sam) and gets told that he is being selfish, that a crush that he is never gonna act on is something he'd doing TO them. he wants to have solos in class, and cultivate his talent, but always takes the backseat to other people. the ONE TIME he wants to stand centerstage, with the defying gravity-off, he THROWS IT to benefit his dad. HIS DAD!!!!! and i could go on and on and in more detail, the boy truly cannot catch a break.

and then here comes blaine and he's a fucking disney prince. mega popular. rich, supposedly, since he goes to dalton and tells kurt that he understands "not everyone can afford it". sure, we eventually learn that he was a victim of homophobic bullyign at his old school, but this is a while after meeting him. for a long time, the only way we see blaine as is essentially perfect and struggle-less. chris colfer has talked about this, about how the klaine relationship was an idealized relationship, which he didn't really love as a plotpoint because it was unrealistic for gay teenagers to meet a perfect guy and stay with him forever.

because that's the thing!! kurt is a downer character! he's based on one (possible two) real life man for whom being gay as a teen was hard! as a fictional character, he has grown accustomed to and almost comfortable with never getting what he wants, with his dreams not coming true. that's at the core of the character. and now he's dating this guy who is entirely built on wish fulfillment! and supposed to stay with him forever! how do you write that!! genuinely how do you make a relationship with a character like blaine satisfying, writing-wise. you have to put conflict in there, to make it interesting, but with a character who's defined by being conflict-free and another who's the most (/only) grounded character on your show... what kind of conflict can you write??

obviously i'm not done but this is already a wall of text about klaine in 2025 which is kinda embarassing and this is more of a conversation anyway so. stopping for now. unless people want to talk about klaine with me which. you know.

[erotischer-lesestoff]

The pleasure booster

Chapter 8

He spent Friday with Gabrielle. Her period was still going on, so she did not want to go out. The two of them had a cozy evening watching TV. Kevin stayed overnight and even slept in her bed. Everything remained chaste, of course. This was no longer unusual for Kevin.

He had come to terms with the cage - and once he had figured out how to satisfy himself in spite of it, sex with Gabrielle was secondary. The closeness and the conversations with Gabrielle were much more important to him. What annoyed him a little was that he wanted to go out with her again and she still refused. But she promised to think about it.

Where her mind went, Kevin found out three weeks later. He was about to go to bed when the phone rang. It was Gabrielle on the other end.

"You're gay," she said after greeting him.

Kevin was irritated, "What, gay? I'm not!"

"Yes, you are. You're my gay friend."

"Gabrielle, you know me. I'm definitely not gay!"

Quiet laughter was heard: "Yes, I know, but…"

Gabrielle explained what she had in mind. The idea had come to her quite spontaneously in the evening when she had talked to Robert on the phone. "I'm with him," she answered a question from Kevin. When he wanted to know more, she deferred until later.

She came back to Kevin being gay. She said that she told Robert that she had a boyfriend, a gay boyfriend, and that she would like to take him on weekends because he had nowhere else to go.

"That wasn't a lie," she explained, "you're wasting away at home."

"Yes, but gay? What did that Robert say about it? What kind of guy is he?"

Gabrielle went into raptures when she talked about Robert. He was very manly, very attractive, she said. He was already thirty-three years old and had both feet firmly planted in life. She told him that Robert was an architect and had a lot of money. But that was not important to her, Gabrielle insisted. In Robert, she had found her prince charming.

"How did he react to you having a gay friend?" Kevin wanted to know.

"He is curious about you. He has no prejudices, he even finds homosexuals interesting. Especially after I described you."

"Described? How?"

"That you're really cute, about my size, and have a boyish figure."

"Sounds like you're trying…"

"Set you up?" She finished the sentence for him. "No, I'm certainly not. Robert is mine. Besides, I don't think he's into that sort of thing."

"But…"

Gabrielle interrupted, "I'll come by tomorrow and we'll discuss it then."

"But …"

"We'll talk about it tomorrow. Okay?"

Kevin agreed. After hanging up, he went to bed very thoughtful. How did Gabrielle think everything would turn out? It wasn't as easy as she had imagined. A horror went through Kevin. She had described him as gay to this Robert! Who knew to whom else?

He had nothing against gays. To be honest, he never had anything to do with them. There were no gays in his circle of friends. What circle of friends, Kevin thought. Gabrielle was right, he was wasting away at home. But gay? That would certainly spread further. What if his family found out? He shrugged inwardly. He didn't care about them. He was the black sheep of the family anyway, gay or not. Kevin rolled onto his side and tried to clear his mind. It didn't work. He didn't get any rest until late at night, and in the morning he was pretty exhausted.

It wasn't any better at work. Again, he kept thinking about how Gabrielle imagined it. How would people here at the company react if it came out that he was gay? Something had to leak out one way or another, and he suspected that Gabrielle wasn't keeping it a secret. After all, she had already told Robert, and he might spread the word.

When the workday was finally over, Gabrielle was already waiting for him. On the way up they were both silent. Only when they reached the third floor and Kevin closed the front door behind him did he break his silence.

"I can't do this," he said, "I can't be your gay friend."

"But why not? It's the best solution, isn't it?"

"Why not?" Kevin patted his chest, "I'm not gay. So I can't play a gay man."

Gabrielle pulled him into the living room, "Calm down first."

But Kevin didn't want to. "Have you ever thought about what people think about me? What you're about to do will have very far reaching consequences. I could lose my job over this."

"Bullshit!" said Gabrielle, "Why would you lose your job?"

"If it comes out that I'm gay, who knows what they'll think, I could get kicked out."

"I'm sure they won't. Your employer knows very well that if you are fired for being gay, you can sue them."

"But I'm not gay!" Kevin spoke up. "What were you thinking, telling this Robert something like that?"

"I was thinking about us," Gabrielle said quietly, "that we could stay together like this."

She took his hand and said, "It's about us. Our relationship. I don't want to lose you."

He was completely overwhelmed by her words. If he was angry a moment ago, he was calmer now. He sighed deeply. He looked into Gabrielle's eyes and said, "I don't want to lose you either, I love you."

"I love you too," Gabrielle replied.

Again Kevin sighed. "But this isn't the answer."

"Would it be so bad for you if people thought you were gay? Do you have something against such men?"

"No," Kevin said, "but the problem is, I'm not gay."

"You're not supposed to be gay, you're just supposed to pretend to be."

"To outsiders, though, it would look like I was."

"I don't care about the others. The only thing that matters to me is that we're together."

"If there was no Robert…"

"Stop," Gaby interrupted him, "that's not up for discussion. Can't you see that I'm trying to juggle you and Robert?"

For a while they were both silent. Pondering their own thoughts.

Kevin took a deep breath and asked in a low voice, "How do you even imagine that?"

Gabrielle beamed at him: "So you're okay with it?"

"I didn't say that," Kevin countered, "I just wanted to know what you thought it would be like."

"Simple, you act as my gay friend."

Kevin raised his hands, "You said that already, but how is that going to work? I don't know anything about it. How should I act towards you or towards this Robert?"

"Act normal, you don't have to flirt with men, just be yourself." She smiled, "Robert knows you like men, you don't have to show it, of course you can't flirt with women, but I wouldn't tolerate that either if I went out with you alone."

Gabrielle watched as Kevin thought things through.

"So?" she asked after a long pause, "Do you?"

Kevin nodded, but pointed out, "I'm only doing this because I love you more than anything and I don't want to lose you."

Gabrielle took him in her arms and said: "You're a great man, a man I love and don't want to lose." There was a sense that she really meant what she said.

Kevin clung to her. He still had reservations, but he pushed them aside. Somehow it would work out.

Gabrielle stroked his hair. "You'll see, it'll be fine. Everything fits so well with you, too."

"What do you mean?" whispered Kevin, still pressing his head against her shoulder.

Gabrielle explained it to him. First, the chastity cage thing.

They had a sexless relationship, but they loved each other very much. Then she pointed out Kevin's slender figure and delicate, almost feminine face. She also mentioned the fact that he shaved all over his body, admired his hair, which was so beautifully thick and growing so vigorously, and concluded by saying that if you looked closely at Kevin, you would immediately believe that he was homosexual.

Kevin sighed again. That was all well and good, and he played the game too, but now he didn't want to hear any more about it. He also said that. Gabrielle started to change the subject. Unfortunately she started to talk about Robert. She gushed about him and also showed Kevin pictures of the guy.

He saw an older man with an admittedly distinctive face and short hair. This Robert had a five o'clock shadow. Kevin was jealous, he would have liked to have had such a strong growth of beard as well.

Gabrielle of course also asked him what he thought of Robert. Kevin said that he thought he was very masculine. Gabrielle agreed, Robert is a real man. And what am I, Kevin thought?

He had to admit that Gabrielle was right. Compared to Robert, he seemed like a little boy himself. Mind you, the guy is also in his thirties, so he's quite old, and he himself is only nineteen. But Kevin knew that he would never be as manly as this Robert.

"I'm sure you'll like him," she said.

Kevin grinned as he replied, "I wonder if I should go to bed with him."

Gabrielle played along with the game: "Maybe later, I want to have fun with him first."

She now listed Robert's merits in the area of sexuality. How good he was in bed, how nice and straight his penis was, and how much effort he put into sex so that Gabrielle got something out of it.

"Does he have a big one?" asked Kevin curiously.

"I can't describe him, but he's just the right size. Not too big and not too small."

"Notice anything?" asked Gabrielle suddenly, smiling, "We're sitting here talking about penises." She gave him a quick kiss on the lips and then said, "You're already my gay friend, you always have been. I can talk to you about anything. I think that's great. Real men usually tune that out right away."

Kevin wanted to say something, but Gabrielle didn't let him, "I know what you're going to say. You're a real man too, but you're just not that real. You know what I mean?"

Kevin nodded, he knew what she meant but couldn't put it into words.

He stretched and yawned deeply. He looked at Gabrielle and said, "Your gay friend didn't sleep well because of the homo thing and he's dead tired, will you be mad at me if I kick you out?"

Gabrielle shook her head: "No, not at all. There's nothing more to talk about, everything's fine between us." She stroked his hair again. "I'm sure you'll sleep better tonight." With a smile she added: "Maybe you'll dream about Robert."

Kevin shook his head, "I want to dream about you."

"You're so sweet." She gave him another kiss on the lips and said goodbye.

Click here for Chapter 9 & 10

https://erotischer-lesestoff.tumblr.com/post/778904106581508096/the-pleasure-booster

[elleniartu]

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[unknown-lifeform]

One choice about Rebirth I am sort of confused about is specifically how Myrna Wallace was handled. It's great that we finally see her face in the one flashback! But also I'm not quite satisfied with how she was presented to us

Because when you see the flashback of Barret convincing Dyne they should let Shinra build the reactor, Myrna is never mentioned, while in OG Barret was all about the reactor because he hoped it would bring doctors to help with Myrna's sicknesses. In Rebirth, all Barret talks about is Marlene. Which is mmm a choice? For starters, it makes the whole thing feel a bit more manipulative on Barret's side since he's bringing Dyne's family into this as opposed to his own. But at the same time, I don't think Marlene existed yet? The flashback is set six years ago, and Marlene is four, so like. Not only she wouldn't have been born, but presumably Eleanor hadn't even been pregnant

But it just feels weird that Barret would never mention Myrna there. In fact, all of Myrna's sickness seems to not be mentioned in Rebirth at all. It's kind of annoying to me personally in a way, because imo the fact that Barret was so desperate to bring better doctors to Corel served to highlight that he is fundamentally a man that cares a lot about his loved ones and would do anything for them, and that to me is a key part of Barret's character. He just cares a lot about people. Maybe sometimes he makes bad decisions, but hell if he doesn't put himself into it

Also like we know Barret cares about Marlene. We have countless moments building up their relationship, both in Remake and Rebirth. And while being a father is an extremely important part of Barret's character, not everything needs to be about Marlene necessarily. He can have scenes that show his ties to other characters too

So anyways. I could sort of understand if the writers had decided to make Myrna a surprise, you know? Give new players a shock showing them Barret was married. After all, Corel is an open wound for him, and especially Dyne and Myrna. No one knew of his part until they hit Corel, not even Tifa who knew him the longest. Clearly Barret doesn't like talking about it. And it would make sense, then, that he would still be so deep in grief about Myrna's death that he wouldn't talk about her specifically. That angle makes sense. He could have omitted Myrna from his retelling of the discussions regarding the reactor. Then we get the Dyne fight, and Dyne does mention Myrna a few times, and I think as a new player that would be enough to pique my interest, who is this Myrna? And then at some point a big reveal

Except the reveal isn't quite there. Especially because I got the Barret Gold Saucer date, and in Gold Saucer Barret talks to Cloud about Myrna. Sure, it's assumed by now there is a level of trust, but still. It's a relatively light conversation. Knowing Barret's backstory already I enjoyed seeing him mention his wife, but it also means he doesn't have that much trouble talking about her in the end, and the previous reasoning is moot. Maybe he doesn't talk a lot about her, but he does obviously

And then we get that other flashback that actually has Myrna, which I guess if you are a new player and didn't get the Barret date is how you discover Barret had a wife (or partner, at least, I don't actually know if she is explicitly called wife but I think not). And idk it just doesn't quite hit as a big reveal kind of scene for me. It has good emotional impact but in a different way. And I feel seeing Myrna's corpse would have hit more if we had gotten more context of Barret being in love with her, as opposed to her being barely mentioned before

So yeah idk. I don't quite like how they dealt with Myrna here. Which is a pity because I feel in general the fact Barret is a widower deserves to be elaborated upon more, instead it was just kind of left there hanging a bit

[wellofdean]

the trap anon here! i wanna second your post about enjoying sharing different thoughts about things. i really appreciate some of the more positive posts i’ve seen about the trap, like yours, reframing it to emphasize the beauty of love, compassion, and forgiveness. i do really like that.

unfortunately i’ve come to the realization that my issue with the trap feels bigger cause it relates to one of my issues with s15 overall—there’s just not enough time. thinking it through more, i’m not so much bitter about what dean says (in some part thanks to all the positive takes i’ve seen :)), but it still feels incomplete. like it goes back to the fact that yeah they don’t ever get that time to decompress. i def agree that they couldn’t get into it all then, with everything still going on and on and on. and yeah i guess ‘calmly’ was the wrong word haha, but i do think, if they had that chance, dean would be able to be a little more clear about his needs. but he never gets the chance. or rather, dean and cas don’t get to have a bigger conversation without all the weight of the world on their shoulders—they’re not allowed to by the time constraints of the season, and it seems like dean gets the short end of the stick, even with cas’s confession (cause then cas is gone 🥺), and it’s not so much the in-world or watsonian explanation but the doylist effects that disappoint me … and idk i guess this is one of those situations where i’m just not satisfied by assuming that they talked more off-screen, if that makes sense.

ahh anyway, sorry for rambling even more in your asks! i hope this isn’t weird, or like responding too much, and ofc, no pressure to respond back. but i am enjoying talking about this topic so cordially :)

First, let me say that yes! Cordial discussion! I think there is a climate of being...I dunno, afraid to disagree. I wonder if it felt like a vague-post call-out, that I made my own post and referenced things on my dash without naming any names or reblogging something, but I did that so as not to muck up anyone's notes and to not argue directly with anyone. If that was wrong, mea culpa everyone! I really just love you all for being here, four years later, still obsessed with my TV boyfriends. If not for you I would be all alone in this, losing my damn mind. And like, this is a TV show we are talking about! It's totally fine to disagree, or to feel like what you're seeing in it is more important for you! Thanks for these asks, and for being willing to discuss.

I will say that I am, generally speaking, less interested in Doylist commentary. My background is in literary theory, and even there, I am more interested in closely reading what's on the page than I am in a writer's biography or intention. I am more interested in the story they actually told than anything else. That said, I think there are genuine and in fact catastrophic Doylist issues with the end of SPN. If we are generous? COVID. If we suspect foul play? The Network PTB. For me, the ones least to blame are the writers and the actors, because what's on the screen makes it pretty clear what story they wanted to tell.

My argument about The Trap is just this: it's a beautiful scene, and Dean said things he needed to say, not because of any culpability he bears, but for the health of his own heart. It's in-character, beautifully acted, and the things he says sound right in Dean's voice. Jensen, keeper of Dean, clearly believed in it. I like the writing in that episode a lot. I think that scene is really moving, and that expecting it to be the thing that fixes them is putting too much weight on it. What I see in it is Dean unburdening his heart and needing to not let himself dwell on grievances because time is short, and love is more important, and he LOVES that angel. I love that. I love DEAN for that. It would have ruined the scene if he was saying "I'm sorry it took me until now to say it...but, Cas, man...you gotta..." Dean doesn't even know if Cas is ALIVE in that scene. He is making a desperate, last ditch effort to get himself right and tell Cas he loves him; that he forgave him a long time ago. It has to be pure grace. They were right to write it that way, imho. And then Cas doesn't let him say more, and it's because he is afraid to let himself be happy.

Can an argument be made that Cas should have told Dean about his deal with the empty? Sure! Could they have done a million other things than the things they did? INFINITELY! So, to your other point about there not being enough time in the end of SPN? and their not doing enough to let Dean say his piece, I mean... I agree? I would have preferred it if SPN never ended? Like, please let it continue literally forever? Please show me every single minute of Dean's life? I love him so, so much and I never want to live without him? Of course I wanted them to finally communicate directly about their relationship! And, make out! And then go to bed in Dean's sweet, gun be-decked room! And then have Sam burst into their room for some reason, and find them sleepily spooning (Dean's the little spoon! He deserves it!) and obviously naked! And they spring apart and Sams says "Oh, so...this is happening?" and Dean says "AND HOW!" with a big, shit-eating grin he can't suppress... Like... yes! ALL THAT. PLEASE AND THANK YOU! I will confess, though, that I don't think healthy relationship/therapy-type talks about their feelings appeal to me in the context of these characters or this story, but otherwise? Yes! I wanted it resolved.

And, Anon, I most fervently agree with you that Dean gets the short end of the stick. Like, quite literally, where, like, the stick is a piece of fucking rebar and I make no secret of the fact that the end of Supernatural, especially the last episode, is the biggest narrative shit sandwich I have ever been served and somehow choked down in all my life. It's fucking MALPRACTICE, and seriously, after Cas's beautiful goodbye, it would really have taken VERY LITTLE to satisfy me. They could have just had Cas be there in Dean's heaven, and have Dean look at him with those fucking big, wet eyes of his and hug him tight, and I would have been like...ok. I can live with that! But they did not do that. They sent my baby Dean to boring drive heaven and made him meet Sam on a bridge. I mean...fuck that. I am ready with my pitchfork!

Just...The Trap was still beautiful. It was a shining moment. Dean had never looked prettier. What he said was important FOR HIM. The forest sucked in the end, but that was a fucking beautiful tree. That's really all I'm saying.

[uncanny-tranny]

I think some people have this idea that the goal of recovery is to be perfectly normal, perfectly whole...

...But at least for me, I will never be normal, and I have to make peace with that. It used to sting, to know that I was impacted so young that I do not know what feeling like a whole, undamaged person is like, and I never will. But I've started to grow around that. I will always grieve my lost self, I think, but I know I can still live a full life.

The goal should not inherently be reaching normalcy. It should be comfort and safety. I know I may never feel undamaged, and still... I yet live.

[ayyyez]

I'm so glad that you're back! I genuinely missed your headcanons (especially Neji ones since I simp for him as much as You). What about naruto boys reacting to reader being lithosexual +/or sex-repulsed? I can imagine Jiraya being flabbergasted lmaoo

a/n: aww thank you I really appreciate that! I'm glad to be back. Haha yes gotta love our mans Neji he's just the sweetest, awkward (beautiful) bean. Now I actually hadn't known about lithosexuality before this so it was really interesting to look into (especially as someone who also identifies on the ace spectrum - demi) so I hope I did this justice! I did do both. But yeah someone like Jiraya would probably be flabbergasted first hearing about it but then again once he's older he's probably the one who has heard it all lmao

I picked a couple random characters I was feeling I hope thats okay!

I'm going to chuck a definition on here for those who may also want to know more information but also keep in mind like with everything it's different for everyone who idenitifies and deeper than this mere definition:

Lithosexual is a sexual orientation on the asexual spectrum. Someone who is lithosexual may experience sexual attraction but does not want it reciprocated. The lithosexual person may be uncomfortable at the thought of someone being sexually attracted to them, or they may lose their sexual feelings if they learn it's reciprocated. As such, lithosexuals do not feel compelled to seek out a sexual relationship. Like with any sexual orientation, lithosexuals can have any romantic orientation.

Tags: discussing sexuality, lithosexuality, demisexuality, sex repulsion, pansexuality

Characters: Neji Hyuga, Madara Uchiha, Shisui Uchiha

Neji Hyuga

Neji honestly doesn't know much about different sexualities and identities when he is younger thanks to the conservative environment he grew up in. He doesn't even know what he identifies as until later when his world view gets opened up tbh.

That is exactly what happens the day you sit down and explain to him your sexuality. It's very blunt and to the point. It ends with something along the lines of 'So yeah, that's me.'

Yeah that's you. As if you didn't just blow his entire world view. 'Oh.' He says as if he doesn't want to ask But how did you figure all that out by yourself?

If he did ask that you could have bonked him on the head and told him of course you didn't. You figure it out through other people. By reading, talking, etc. But he didn't he just sits there stunned looking out at the trees while you try not to laugh at his lopsidded expression.

But its through this stunned encounter and many more conversations that Neji learns he is demisexual. Huh so there was a word for what he was after all? He feels? Satisfied? No. He feels a little more certain. Of himself and the world. A lightness in his step.

If you told him you are sex repulsed Neji is the type to be the most understanding and respectful. (You also have to tell him exactly what it means though because he's a little confused at first but he's got the spirit) Finds out your boundaries the second it comes up. Never strays from them.

Madara Uchiha

A who what when where how? Confusion. However, he's an attentive listener when it comes to all things serious. Especially if you're someone important to him. Doesn't mean he's not all smirky and making jokes to ease to tension. They're not in poor taste but he's so awkward lmao.

He makes talking about it fun nonetheless. But he also feels bad for all the times he flirted with you because he flirts with everyone (he's a natural flirt) and now he feels like he needs to apologise bc he's that guy. You can take it or tell him to stop trying to be a gentlemen it's not for him lmao.

I can see the conversation just casually going into the lighthearted territory after this. The two of you just talking about sexualities in general. Madara casually being like oh pan? Yep that one. Mine. Okay congratualitions sir. Label yourself to your hearts content.

Real talk though this bastards a little smug just by the fact that you trusted him enough to tell him. He feels important. Special.

Tell him that you're sex repulsed and he's also confused. Like he can put the words together and he THINKS he knows what it means but you really should make sure because his mind can just take off sometimes. So yeah he's sitting there like the pikachu meme politely while you explain it to him. And once your done it clicks and MADARA IS BACK he's cool and understanding.

He's definitely on the opposite end of the spectrum with that sort of thing which is fun because he gets to learn! He didn't know it was a thing until now. He's very big on respect so he'll respect you for telling him honestly. Won't cross any boundaries. Make jokes about him though being a gremlin he deserves it lmao.

Shisui Uchiha

I feel like he's going to be the kind of guy who knows a little about this sort of thing? Like you think he's going to be surprised with that carefree front he puts up but he always just knows everything about everything. Damn anbu man.

'Oh yeah that's kind of like when you don't want someone reciprocating sexual attraction right?' He just drops on you in reply. and all you have to say back is 'Yeah kind of.' To which you go on to explain exactly how it is for you.

And he listens. LIKE ACTIVELY LISTENS. Eyes watching. Head nodding. Absorbing everything like its a damn assignment. Such a sweet guy. The best friend like ugh. The best. Asks questions too when he doesn't understand.

'Does that mean you don't ever want to date either?' and then 'Oh wait is that to invasive? Sorry I got to curious don't feel like you have to answer.' Like super curious but also considerate. He's just super interested in finding out more about but also learning about you since you're in his life.

Since the discussion was so deep and serious he'll end it with. 'Well that was great lets go grab some dango.' As if it were just any other day. It's the pure acceptance and sweetness for me.

As for sex repulsion he'd probably also know what it is but want you to clarify what it is for you (if it was something you were wanting to discuss since you brought it up) He wouldn't say to much other than 'Aw thanks for telling me.' But would ask questions again if they were prompted.

And of course if it was a seperate conversation yaknow this man is taking you for food again. He was taught that deep conversations should end with good food.

[stylistiquements]

Day 9 : Scronch'love.

𐐪𐑂 Pairing : Sapnap x fem!reader {Playlist}

𐐪𐑂 Summary : a lovely afternoon and an ancestral question; when are you going to join the dream smp?

𐐪𐑂 Word count : 1.5k

𐐪𐑂 Warning : swearing

Masterlist | Previous | Next

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・　　 .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

“Have you been here for a long time?”

“Have you been here for a long time?”

“Have you been here for a long time?”

Time bends and twists into unknowns shapes when well spent. So, you’re so not sure. Long enough for your fairy garden to start looking like at least a proper garden, long enough for your feet to start fidgeting, brushing against the soft fabric of the blanket ever so slightly and softly.

“Can you share your screen?”

“I’m just picking flowers, there’s nothing much to see,” you warn but it never does the proper job.

“That’s fine, I like watching you play.”

“Oh, do you now?”

“Yeah. You’ve been playing for years and you’re still dog water. It's almost soothing,” you hear him grin through the silkiness of his voice.

You smile evasively, palm gripping the mouse and executing on memory. Soon, Sapnap’s satisfied noises hovers and everything is just how it’s supposed to be. You spend a while humming the music of days and nights of the game while building your project. Sap helps from time to time, giving advice when his attention is there and leaving trails of compliments on his way. You don’t think the garden is necessarily that good, you don’t mind either.

“Do you think the tree should go on the left or the right of the pond?” You ask, fingers drumming back and forth between the two options. Right he says. "What about the roses, do I plant some or not?"

“It’s just a detail, don’t hurt your brain too much on that,” he says in a light tone, but you disagree.

“Details are what make things important. Like when you remember I prefer warm pillows so you give me yours, it’s just a detail but it makes me happy.”

“Of course I do; you’re a baby,” he murmurs teasingly.

With an arched eyebrow, you retort, “says you,” and silence follows for a second as you plant the tree on the right of the pond.

“Yeah, Dream already made sure I was aware of that.”

“Not sure why the piss baby thinks he’s qualified to have this conversation, buddy,” you note and Sap chuckles are as vivid as contagious. “Why would he call you a baby anyway? What have you done?”

“I-I’m not telling you.” As soon as the mumbles fades, your phone sends loud vibrations on your desk. You abandon your character to the night and the wildness, picking the phone as you murmur a low oh, okay. Whether it’s to your phone or Sapnap, that, isn’t really clear. Still, Sapnap’s words sound more distant, more of what wonders are made of. On the screen, a twitter notification of a certain Karl Jacobs.

“You’re not even listening to me anymore,” Sapnap whines.

“I don’t listen to whiny babies, sorry.”

“We’re on the verge of divorce, yn and it’s your fault.”

A scoff skitters out through teasing lips, “But you still talk about me all the time, don’t you?” Your voice drags through different lands, unknown and musky.

“So what?” He splutters all awkward like it’s some kind of confidence that shouldn’t have left his thoughts and, somehow, you’re surprised the almighty confidence has left the game. “Who said that?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re obsessed with me, admit it,” you demand and though you don’t notice it, too tangled with the moment, the atmosphere is tinted with a different nuance like it’s suddenly dawn at the end of a summer party.

“So are you.”

Now, your heart drums a strange yet familiar rhythm. Something made of secrets and uncertainty, something you decided to leave unnamed a long time ago. Sapnap, you reason, can’t be lied to. He knows better than words half meant, half made up and it’s annoying, really, but he just does somehow. If you dare to lie, he would know and then it would be even more annoying.

“Yeah, you’re living in my head rent free but at least I’m not trying to hide it.” No answer. You peek at the game, you’ve been slain by a spider. “Karl said that,” you resign yourself. “He said he was about to join the vc by the way.”

Before the conversation can carry on, the sound of Karl joining the call resonates. Being in this Discord server is like living in a house with 10 siblings, that’s what you understand from the way Sap exhales heavily.

“Oh, I am interrupting something?” Karl says, struck by a peculiar energy.

“Besties time Karl, besties time,” Sapnap mumbles beneath his breath and it chimes a little like disappointment.

“Well, too bad I guess,” Karl exclaims. “It's about time I meet miss Bunnyshow.”

Karl is like that gif of a cat sitting in a tiny box with the caption “if it fits, I sit”.

“Does that mean our passive aggressive subweet arc is over?” You ask, faking the dejection when your smile grows wide.

“Oh god, I hope not. That’s my favorite part of the day.”

"It means a lot to me. Especially coming from my comfort streamer Karl Jacobs," you confess.

Satisfied, your attention gets back on the game; flowers rooting gracefully into the dirt and hives ready to host the beloved honey bugs as Karl and Sap catch up on time being apart. Everything is quiet and peaceful like the end of an afternoon well spent.

“I like your garden,” Karl points out and you hum a thank you beneath your breath.

“So you can take Karl’s compliments but not mine.”

“We’re besties you’re honor. Sapnap you can leave now, thank you,” Karl giggles and you follow along.

“Sorry Karl, there’s only room for one man in my heart and that has to be Sapnap.”

He fakes a cry to keep the theatrics before adding without transitions, “You know if you asked Dream he’d probably let you on the SMP.”

“No thanks,” you grin.

“Sapnap, your girl doesn’t want to play with us.”

“She’s already been whitelisted for months now,” Sapnap informs but fails to comment on the first part of the complaint.

He’s not lying, but you feel like it says more about Dream’s stubbornness than it says about you. As for your best friend, he understands better than anyone that wish for privacy and it’s something made of respect like yours for his career. You’d rather see him shaped by all the light than being touched by a glimpse of it. He does, after all, deserves it all. So, that’s the contract you made with yourself because it made sense; being a supportive shadow. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that you’ve never considered streaming before. It’s that it’s his world more than yours.

Karl, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to think the same way, “This is unacceptable, I gotta send a few texts.”

“Lost cause, dude, lost cause,” you grin but stubbornness seems to be a pre required trait for those mcyts.

Before you have time to find a suitable comment about the newborn group chat, a new person joins the call and Sapnap's annoyance is even more palpable, "No fucking way dude. We can't even have a second of peace on this server."

"Why would you be in a discord call if you want peace. You're just dumb," Quackity retorts with an energy he and he only can ever own.

Then George joins and Dream follows on his heels and soon your ears are filled with conversations that are as loud as scattered. Your shoulders sink in the back of your chair as soft fingers try to brush the upcoming migraine away. This is why you can't join the SMP; -not really but still- too much energy that has to be processed at all time. And you should know better, being friend with a very chaotic boy for the last 15 years, but you're not somehow.

"No, fuck that," Sapnap mutters. "I'm out."

"You can't leave now we have things to discuss," George exclaims. "Bunny, explain to me how Sapnap's proposition is more appealing than mine."

"Because I know her more than you do," he defends, and he's right. Money isn't of you interest. Love, on the other hand...

"Because she's like scronch'love," Karl giggles mindlessly.

"The fuck does scronch'love mean?" You ask, amused.

"It's very simple," Quackity intervenes. "If I offered you the same thing, would you even consider it?"

"Of course I would. What kind of question is that?"

"Fine. So, if Sapnap keeps his offer, here is mine; you become the president of Las Nevadas in addition to what he said."

"What?" Sapnap takes offense.

The call brims with an agitated confusion as you smile deviously, heels rooted into the floor to make your chair spin lightly and your fingers drum on your desk.

"I don't think you wanna do that," George corrects.

"Yeah, you absolutely don't," you confirm.

"Fine," he retorts. "So Sapnap's offer plus a Las Nevadas citizenship. How does that sound?"

"Like an offer I'll confider," you sigh. "So who's scronch'love now?"

"Still you," Dream answers. "Except you're also a big dummy."

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・　　 .・゜゜・　　・゜゜・

A/N : helloooo,, how are you??? this part very self indulgent and I think this fic will be in general but I hope you liked it anyway. I love the idea of c!quackity always being too much and always having something to add to be even more over the top. I'm having more trouble than I thought about Bunny's and Sap's friendship because I want them to have a very special friendship but I hope it appears as such. idk. lmk what you think and thank you for reading it it makes me very happy <3 Until next time (ɔˆ ³(ˆ⌣ˆc)

Taglist : @open-minded-chip-101 ; @itsoakaa ; @gaysludge ; @tinyegg ; @qnfdnf​ ; @paintingpetalsforyou ; @notjennaleigh ; @victoria-a567 ; @washy-washy ; @moneybagmarvel ;

[logosbot-tm-fics]

WHOOP WHOOP ANOTHER CHAPTER LET'S GOOOOOOOOO

Take My Tea With Formaldehyde

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Chapter 4: Take My Tea With Formaldehyde

(More beneath the cut)

"...so you're going on a break?"

Ariana laughed a bit, her long brown hair following her movements. 

"Yeah, I'm going on a break," she replied, smiling gracefully and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her silver earrings sparkled in the light of the studio, shimmering like stars.

"That sounds like a good decision," the talk show host flashed a smile in response, one that didn’t reach his eyes no matter how you looked at it. Everything about him was flawless, from the meticulous style of his hair to his creaseless suit – he seemed too well-practised to be real. He seemed plastic. 

“May I ask you why?" he prodded, and Ariana gave a smile that seemed far more genuine, although a little strained.

"Well," Ariana said, and if you didn't know what to look for, you wouldn't have heard her voice waver, “Mostly because of my mental health, at the moment. Iskall – he's my manager – and I discussed it, and we both agreed that it was for the better." 

The interviewer furrowed his eyebrows a bit, and he looked down at his cards. He didn't seem satisfied, pushing the topic further, "It has nothing to do with the alleged drama between you and Scottune then?" His voice bordered on annoyed. 

"Oh, goodness no!" Ariana smiled, chuckling a little awkwardly as she fixed her skirt. “She's actually rather supportive of me taking a break. There's no drama between us." 

"None at all?" He pressed.

"None at all," Ariana confirmed, nodding. Either she was ignoring his invasiveness, or she genuinely didn't notice. She paused for a moment, before joking, "Well, unless you count her stealing my lipstick…"

The talk show host laughed in response, something fake and repetitive, as though he had practised it over and over. Ariana simply smiled good-naturedly and the audience laughed along. 

“That's good to hear," the talk show host looked down at the cards in his hands, shuffling them around them until he came to one he seemed to like. "Now, how-"

Zap!

Mumbo shut off the TV, he’d already seen the interview multiple times, and he wasn’t really interested in listening once again to the rest of it. Honestly, he was just using it as a distraction from what he should actually be doing. 

His phone laid on the coffee table, screen facing up.

He should probably text Grian. 

~

<Peskybird> anyway so iskall half forced me to take a break

(20:31)

<Peskybird> he was nagging about how ‘it's not good for you to work so much’ etc etc etc

(20:31)

<Peskybird> he can be very convincing when he wants to.. kinda like my dad used to be when he got concerned lol

(20:31)

<You> Isn't that a good thing?

(20:31) 

<You> That he cares, is what I mean. Not him forcing you. 

(20:32)

<You> Forcing someone to do something isn't good, of course. 

(20:32)

<You> I meant him caring, that’s a good thing, right?

(20:32)

<Peskybird> i guess??? idk

(20:32)

<Peskybird> its kinda annoying ngl

(20:32)

<Peskybird> dont get me wrong i appreciate the support but sometimes he acts a bit too much like my parent, and i kinda feel like hes treating me like a child 

(20:32)

<Peskybird> i don't really like that part

(20:32)

<You> That makes sense, I wouldn't really like that either.

(20:32)

<Peskybird> yeah

(20:33)

<Peskybird> still, im happy that he cares. its comforting :)

(20:33)

<Peskybird> anyways thats not really important lol

(20:33)

<Peskybird> how are you doing?

(20:33)

<You> I'm alright.

(21:03)

<Peskybird> are you sure?

(21:05)

<You> Yup.

(21:21)

<Peskybird> 100%?

(21:22)

<You> 100%. :)

(21:34)

~

Ever since Grian messaged him a few weeks earlier, they hadn't been able to stop texting. At first, they spoke awkwardly about how Grian was doing, conversations interrupted and shaky as they learned how to speak to each other again. It got better, after a week or so, and now they’re back to talking mostly as normal.

Though Mumbo tries hard not to dwell on the fact that they don’t really talk about what happened.  

Each night they would stay up late messaging each other, it didn't matter how early they needed to be up. Each of them would forget about the time passing as they spoke, too occupied with talking to the other to even notice. 

They'd text "good morning!" almost daily, check up on each other whenever they had chance during the day, and have long conversations at night.

 

Despite this, despite them texting almost constantly, they still had yet to meet up.

Mumbo never had the courage to ask, and each time either of them so much as mentioned the idea, the other would steer the topic away as if they were scared. 

They also avoided phone calls, though Mumbo wasn't really sure why. Hearing each other’s voices like that shouldn't be an issue, not as much as meeting up was.

Despite that, despite their avoidance of certain topics, their skirting around ideas of doing anything more, Mumbo felt less lonely. 

He missed Grian less. A lot less. 

Just being able to talk to him made him happy, and he didn't want to do anything that would make it go away. He was so scared to do something that would ruin this new, fragile, good thing.

As their messages went on, Mumbo also slowly started to believe that maybe, just maybe, the whole thing hadn't been his fault. 

~

Slowly, Iskall began to swing by Mumbo’s more often again, showing up at random times.  Sometimes early, sometimes late. As if he just really wanted to see Mumbo at any chance he could. 

Mumbo didn't mind. In fact, he rather enjoyed having company. It made the flat feel less lonely; more lived in.

Sometimes Iskall would stay late into the night, the pair of them laughing together for hours, which often ended with them playing Mario Kart and eating take out. 

Iskall would never stay over, he preferred to sleep in his own flat. It hardly mattered though, Mumbo still really liked the company. 

He felt less lonely. 

~

Grian had sent a text that spiralled Mumbo into mild panic. 

<Peskybird> can i come over? 

(16:34)

<Peskybird> it’s okay if youre busy

(16:36)

Mumbo stared at the messages for a long while. His ears were ringing, his thoughts battling, as he read them over and over again. It felt like they weren’t real, like the question was some fantastical dream that his brain had conjured up while he slept. 

He pinched himself. They were real. 

Some part of Mumbo expected him to dwell over the message for hours, desperately trying to come to a decision about such a conflicting question, but, unlike when Iskall had asked, he found himself responding easily, sending a reply as soon as he realised that what it said wasn't a weird hallucination. 

<You> Sure, feel free to come over in an hour. I have some things to do first. :) 

(16:39)

<Peskybird> okay cool :D

(16:40)

Mumbo nodded to himself, feeling confident, almost excited. He was going to see Grian again– he really was! Grian wanted to come over and spend time with him! 

It felt like a big step, it felt like something in his chest had finally settled back into the right place, like things were going to be okay again.

He stood from the couch quickly, elated, and had a look around at his messy flat. First things first, he should clean up.

He began to run through the apartment, putting dirty clothes into the hamper, making his bed, and washing the dishes as fast as he could. He was a hurricane of motion, trying to clean the place as quickly as possible, and feeling more productive, more fulfilled, than he had in weeks. 

He wasn't sure why he felt the need to clean, really. Iskall had been there recently when the apartment was messy, and Grian was more than used to it being messy.

Or well, messy by Mumbo's standards, Grian usually found it rather clean. 

So… why did he feel the need to clean?

He paused in his motion and thought about it for a second. He never felt the need to clean whenever Grian visited, not usually. 

What was different about this time?

He couldn't figure it out, shaking himself out of his stupor and going to find something else to focus on instead. 

That something ended up being making tea, as he slowly remembered how Grian liked his.

He preferred flowery teas, the type that tastes like sunflowers and roses. The type that smells like a flower garden. He often had milk in it, along with honey, claiming that the overpowering sweetness made it taste a lot better. That it made the tea remind him of picnics in flower fields during the middle of summer. 

It was cute, Mumbo thought.

The tall man hummed softly as he poured the boiling water over the tea, and put out the milk, honey and the tea cups. 

Now, he just had to wait for Grian to arrive.

He was excited.

~

Mumbo, as usual, hadn’t locked his door. 

He expected Grian, as usual, to just wander inside. 

But… this time, he didn't. Instead of hearing the old door creak open, someone shuffling in his hallway as they removed their shoes and coat, Mumbo heard a soft, almost cautious knock. 

He didn’t move at first, simply staying where he was on the couch as he waited for the person to enter. It wasn't until he heard knocking a second time, slightly louder and bolder than the first, that he actually realised the person at the door wasn’t about to just waltz in.

What?

Grian had knocked. 

He hadn't walked inside. 

He had knocked.

Suddenly, the excitement that had been fluttering in his stomach turned to nerves, churning and ugly. This was different to what he had hoped it would be. The evidence of their falling out was still clear.

Mumbo considered shouting that the door was open, that Grian could just let himself in, but it didn't feel right to do so. Instead, he stood up on shaky legs and went to open the door.

Standing on the other side was a very worried looking Grian.

He saw just a flash of the expression, before Grian’s face quickly changed into a small smile, as if he didn't want Mumbo to see it.

For a second, they just stared at each other in silence. 

Mumbo couldn't help but notice how out of place Grian looked. He seemed small… smaller than usual. He stood awkwardly, glancing around like he didn’t belong there. Like this was a place he wasn’t supposed to be.

Mumbo tried to think of something to say, desperately running through greetings and topics of conversation, trying to find something that felt right. Before he managed, Grian spoke.

"Hi," he said, raising his hand to give Mumbo a small wave. He shot him a nervous smile that made Mumbo's heart ache.

It didn't look right on him.

~

They made their way inside soon after, automatically settling in the kitchen. Grian sat down in his usual chair, the one across the table from Mumbo’s He seemed strangely uncomfortable in the space, shifting stiffly as he stared at every detail of the room, taking them all in like this was the first time he had ever seen them. 

The two sat in silence as Mumbo poured the tea. Somehow, either because they knew each other so well, or because Mumbo had a good memory, Grian's cup still ended up with the exact right amount of honey and milk. 

Grian hummed his thanks as he took a sip from the warm, sweet tea. Mumbo silently did the same, blowing lightly at his tea before taking a sip. He stared down at his mug when it settled back on the table, looking at it intently as to avoid accidentally meeting Grian’s gaze. He focused on the way the milk swirled around the dark liquid, not stirred but still mingling with it, the blooming pattern appeared akin to smoke.

It wasn't until he heard Grian beginning to stir his tea that Mumbo looked up.  

His hair half covered his expression while he looked down at the spoon, at the cup, at the contents swirling together into one. He seemed thoughtful, mouth partially open like he wanted to say something but hadn't quite found the words yet. 

Whatever it was he was trying to vocalise, it seemed to require some effort, as he opened and closed his mouth a few times, never quite forming the words. 

Mumbo waited patiently. He didn't want to interrupt Grian's train of thought, or push him into sharing what he wanted to before he was ready. Not when he was seeming to struggle so much to just phrase the words. Instead he just watched Grian stir tea.

Then, suddenly, Grian said, "Did you know that there either is," he paused for a second, brows furrowed as he collected his thoughts, "or used to be, formaldehyde in milk?" 

What.

"What?" Mumbo responded, rather confused. 

"Yeah. It was a preservative of some kind, I’m pretty sure," Grian continued to stare down at his cup, letting go of the spoon he had been gripping.

It was silent for a second. 

The air was… odd. Not quite tense, but certainly not casual. Certainly not what it used to be, before all of this.

Then Grian spoke again, "Which means that I'm technically taking my tea with formaldehyde." He tilted his head to the side, a few locks of hair falling into his eyes as they remained locked on the mug between his hands, but his mind seemed to be elsewhere. 

"I...what?" Mumbo wasn't quite following the conversation, "Isn't formaldehyde dangerous?" He eventually, cautiously, asked. 

"Yeah,” Grian shrugged, “That doesn't stop people from putting it into makeup and stuff." 

Mumbo’s mind was spinning, entirely baffled as he tried desperately to figure out what made Grian say such a random thing. 

"Huh…interesting." Mumbo replied slowly after a long moment, unsure of how else to respond. 

"Take my tea with formaldehyde…" Grian mumbled, bringing his mug up to his mouth and sipping at his tea, eyes askance. 

The room grew quiet again. Mumbo, unsure of what else he could be doing, simply observed Grian’s movements. They were stuttered, somewhat stiff and robotic-looking, and Mumbo was once again struck by how out of place he looked in the flat. 

God, it didn't look right at all.

Despite the awkwardness, despite the long silences and stumbling conversations,  Mumbo couldn’t help but find it comforting. The two of them, drinking tea together. Despite every little detail that wasn’t as it should be, it was nice. 

He'd missed Grian. 

Missed his presence. 

Maybe this was why they had just been texting. 

It was easier to know what to say when you had time to think about it properly. Time to write and rewrite the message before sending. Time to back out, to change your mind.

That's probably why they hadn't called. 

"I'm sorry." 

The silence shattered like glass as Grian whispered the apology.

Mumbo blanked for a moment, his fingers turning stiff and the cup of tea falling from his grip,  hitting the table with a harsh crick. He ignored the tea spilling onto the table, ignored the way that it dripped onto his clothes, looking up at Grian instead of the tea that began to drip onto the floor.

Grian's hand gripped his cup tightly, his face covered by his hair, obscuring his face, his body hunched forward. His shoulders shook, rapid shivers wracking his small form where he sat.

Mumbo stared down at Grian's whitening knuckles, at the way his bitten nails clawed at the mug, before slowly registering the tears falling down from Grian's cheeks. They kept coming, rivers passing over his skin and falling into his tea, making it splash slightly as they hit the surface. 

"I'm really sorry," Grian whispered, his voice shaking just as much as his body. 

Mumbo sat silently, reeling, trying to organise the thoughts that flew through his head. 

Grian simply continued to cry, unwavering sobs passing his lips with a force that had him bending further, his forehead practically connecting with the rim of his teacup. 

"I'm sorry for just disappearing–" he cut himself off with a desperate gasp for breath, chest rising and falling choppily, "I know it was really shitty of me to disappear, I know that I really shouldn't have done that. I'm so, so sorry, I’m sorry, I–" He looked up at Mumbo, exhaustion pooling behind his brown eyes, more vulnerable than Mumbo had seen him in a long while. 

"It was really shitty of me– I’ve been a pretty shit excuse for a friend lately."

His words hung heavy in the air like smog, tangible and viscous, dripping down each of their backs with an uncomfortable grip as Mumbo slowly processed them. 

"It's okay," Mumbo settles on saying, eventually. His voice was tired and gentle, and he stood clumsily from his chair after a moment, going over to the other. 

"What?" Now it was Grian's turn to be surprised. "But–"

"Grian,” Mumbo said, firmly, interrupting him. “It's okay. I forgive you." 

Disbelief was obvious on the other’s face, staining his expression in the same way that Mumbo’s spilt tea soaked into his trousers; creeping and gradual. It wasn't until Mumbo wrapped his arms around Grian, arms shaking and holding him perhaps a little too tight, that the other seemed to realise that he was being genuine. 

"You– I don’t… thank you." Grian whispered, voice shaking, whilst he wrapped his arms around Mumbo as well. "Thank you."

"I've been able to tell you haven't been feeling well lately,” Mumbo murmured as he pet Grian's hair, “I was so scared that it was my fault. I don't blame you for disappearing."

At that, Grian let go of Mumbo, bringing his shaking hands up to cup Mumbo’s face, rubbing his thumbs tenderly along his jaw. He looked at the other resolutely with sad, worried eyes, gaze unwavering as he spoke, "Mumbo, what happened had nothing to do with you,” he looked close to tears again, eyes shining with some deep, unspoken pain, “I want to know that."

"I know,” Mumbo replied softly, closing his eyes and resting his head more intentionally in Grian's hands. “I just… got scared, I guess

"I'm sorry," Grian said again, looking guilty. "I shouldn't have disappeared."

"It's okay," Mumbo said again, "It's okay." He gave Grian a small smile. "I just want you to be alright. If you ever need anything, just message me. I'll always be here to listen."

It took a while, but eventually Grian smiled back. It was shaky and unsure, and didn’t quite reach his eyes, as if he had difficulty believing that Mumbo actually meant what he said.

As Mumbo pulled Grian in for another hug, he decided that he'd make sure that Grian knew that he'd support him. 

It didn't matter if it would take years to do so.

The tea continued to drip onto the floor.

~

A few days later, Grian and Mumbo were out on the town, just walking around, window shopping. 

Neither was really sure why they were out on a walk, but it felt like they both needed it. Needed to get some air, to just do something together. Something that wasn't watching Ariana Griande shows, or playing video games.

In Mumbo's hands was a styrofoam cup filled with coffee, while Grian held one with hot chocolate. Grian had never liked coffee, nor any other type of caffeinated drink, complaining about the headaches they tended to give him. He only ever drank one if he desperately needed energy, and even then it was just a small amount. 

Both of their drinks were beginning to cool, but they still drank them slowly, using the time to just silently enjoy being in each other’s presence. 

They turned a corner, and Grian spotted something in the distance, stopping where he was.  Mumbo looked back at him, stood frozen in the middle of the pavement, and followed Grian's gaze, confused. 

There, when he finally managed to track down whatever it was that had magnetised Grian’s attention, was an Ariana Griande poster. 

It was plastered on the side of a bus stop, and Mumbo knew with certainty that it had been there for months. The album it was promoting was long-since out, with newer music being released since that one had, but the poster still held strong against the scratched up plastic, remaining clearly readable.

If Mumbo had been in a different mood, he might have taken it down and brought it home, but… it didn't feel right to do so this time. 

Grian sighed, dragging Mumbo’s attention away from the poster as he spoke, "I heard that she's also taking a break." He turned to look at Mumbo, blinking quickly. 

"Uh– yeah,” Mumbo replied, tilting his head to look over his shoulder at the poster once again. Ariana smiled widely on it, her brown eyes seeming to sparkle as the image stared on, unbothered by the strange atmosphere she had seemed to create. Mumbo continued hurriedly, “Iskall had to convince her to do so, from what I know." 

Grian hummed, "That's good. He seems to have a talent for convincing people to take care of themselves."

Mumbo chuckled slightly, "He really does."

They stood quietly for another moment, before Grian began to walk again and Mumbo jolted to follow after him.

"You know,” Grian began, his tone conversational, “He tried to convince me to start therapy." 

Mumbo was taken aback by the information for a second, before he replied, "Oh?"

"Yeah," Grian sighed. "And I thought about it for a while…" He paused, drinking some of his chocolate, "but I just… don't feel ready yet. If that makes sense."

It didn't really, but Mumbo still replied with a, "Yeah."

Grian, knowing Mumbo too well, snorted, and then elaborated anyway, "There's just… some things I feel like I have to deal with, before I get therapy. I don't really feel like it would help me much, not at the moment anyway," he sighed again. "I honestly feel more scared than comforted."

That didn't make any sense at all to Mumbo, and it must have shown on his face because Grian huffed out a soft laugh again. 

"What do you mean?" He asked. 

"I… I don't really know," Grian replied. "I guess there's some things that I'm too scared to face– that I don't particularly want to face. Not yet, anyway. I feel like they'd just… make everything worse, y’know?"

Maybe Grian was an expert at confusing people, or maybe Mumbo just simply didn't relate to Grian’s experience. Maybe it was a common feeling to be scared of facing one's issues.

"No," Mumbo replied, truthfully. 

The laugh Grian gave was a proper one, this time. One that had his head tilting back with the force of it, his lips breaking into a grin. The type of laugh that didn’t necessarily hold joy, rather being filled with a heavy relief. 

"That makes me glad to hear, honestly," he nudged Mumbo’s arm gently. "It's not a fun feeling. I wouldn’t really want you understanding that, I don’t want you to feel this way."

"It doesn't sound fun." 

"It really isn't," Grian continued to smile, though something in his expression twisted slightly. It looked bittersweet. "It really isn't. "

The conversation died there, and the two continued to walk. 

Eventually, Mumbo finished his drink, throwing away the empty cup in a nearby bin. A short while later, he was holding Grian's hand in his as the other continued to sip at his, at that point, cold chocolate. 

Holding Grian's hand made the butterflies in Mumbo's stomach come to life, fluttering dizzily and filling him with a soft, smitten happiness that he hadn't felt in a few months. 

As they walked, stopping at random stores and browsing the products. They laughed together, making jokes and keeping conversation going easily, and Mumbo started to feel… happy. He felt happy again. 

Maybe this meant that things were changing. 

Right?

[gracielitamargarita]

Thoughts on Kyoru in Fruits Basket: The Final as a manga reader

(and bad metaphors about lava cake)

So with next week's impending shit storm of a Furuba episode next week, I've been doing some reflecting on our favorite Mutual Pining Idiots, Kyoru--and thinking about how the anime adaptation's choices in rearranging or removing content has impacted things, specifically with Se3E6.

And just to preface, I think the anime adaptation has been terrific overall. I also think loving something and critiquing something aren't mutually exclusive either. The goal of what I'm about to write is not to incite negativity, just to get some feelings out about my favorite pairing from my favorite manga series and provoke some deeper thought, I guess.

ALSO, I hope you don't mind metaphors--specifically ones about chocolate-raspberry lava cake, because that's what I've decided works best for explaining Kyoru. So FASTEN THOSE SEATBELTS PEOPLE 

MANGA SPOILERS regarding previously omitted content as well as VAGUE ANIME SPOILERS that can be implied/inferred from the ending of Se3E7 under the cut.

I think one of the (many) reasons I find Kyoru to be such a satisfying ship is because of the slow-burn element. Come season 2 through the beach arc, their chemistry is palpable, natural, and growing stronger and stronger with each episode. When Kyo finally admits to himself that he's in love with Tohru in Se2E9, it feels like we've been rewarded with a chocolate lava cake topped with raspberry sauce--it's delicious, complex, and full of gooey and satisfying substance.

Now like many, I'm a sucker for the pining idiot trope--let alone the MUTUAL pining idiot trope--and we do get to see this through the end of season 2 as Tohru's feelings for Kyo become more apparent to everyone BUT her. It's like we're LOOKING at the chocolate-raspberry lava cake, so close that we can ALMOST touch it, but we as viewers aren't allowed to cut into it yet--which makes every little encounter between the two of them all the more exciting, because we wonder what's finally going to allow us to ravish this goddamn lava cake (sorry).

Which is why I realized I'm actually struggling more than I initially thought in the final season. As it's been widely speculated, discussed, and now officially confirmed, we're getting 13 episodes this season. And while like most everyone else, I'd be thrilled with two cours, I don't know the ins and outs of anime production, AND, while I'm bummed, I've accepted that it is what it is--and that it isn't the reason I'm writing this post.

Of course not every panel or fleeting moment can be adapted from the manga to the anime. There were small little cuts here and there over the course of the first two seasons, but nothing in my opinion that's really SO substantial that it drained the lava cake of its filling--maybe some of that raspberry topping, but generally, the good stuff is all there. (Though I do love this moment below from chapter 82, which was skipped over in Se2E19)

The final season has been different, though. As we know in the manga, the inner turmoil for Kyo--and Tohru to an extent--really starts escalating immediately after Cinderella-ish with Kyoko's backstory and Kyo's nightmare from chapters 90-93. I also understand that Cinderella-ish was Se2E23, and with only 2 episodes left in the season, it made sense from a directorial standpoint to end with the Kureno/Akito reveal versus Kyoko's backstory and Kyo realizing he needs to know his place.

But without this context, it leaves moments like the flower scene from Se3E2 less impactful--like a lava cake made by someone who skimped on the filling. To an anime-only (and even as a manga reader), it's likely still a satisfying moment to watch: we know that Tohru clearly has a lot of inner turmoil following her conversation with Kureno. Kyo's turmoil following his nightmare, however--and overall, the sentiment of him thinking he needs to stay away from Tohru, yet still finding himself drawn to her above all odds--is deeply diminished.

Which leads me to the main reason (finally, sorry) that I wrote this post--Se3E6, or the episode when Tohru finally admits to herself AND to Rin that Kyo has taken the place of her mother as the most precious person to her. 

In the manga, Se3E6 is made up of chapters 107, 108, 109, AND 114, spanning the end of volume 18 through the beginning of volume 20 of the TokyoPop mangas. Volume 19 in particular is one of my all time favorite mangas in the entire series for one clear reason: just as we've seen Kyo get to do in season 2, we finally get to see Tohru slowly own her feelings for Kyo, and MY GOD, is cutting into that lava cake and enjoying that delicious filling satisfying AF. The Mutual Pining Idiots are in full swing here, both dealing with inner turmoil but also being unable to stay away from one another either. In addition, they're dealing with normal teenage awkwardness too, which feels like a bonus topping (would nuts go well, do we think? LOL) to the Kyoru lava cake.

But between the producers adapting Momiji's arc prior to episode 6 AND the producers ending episode 6 with a 2-minute horror movie essentially--AND, lest we forget, none of the Kyoko backstory at this point--we lost essentially all of that satisfying filling. 

And again, I understand, only 13 episodes and the producers are trying to make shit work and I do see why they made some of these changes in the overall big picture of things, but I wish it weren't at the expense of Tohru's character development and also for Kyoru, which had been so thoughtfully and delightfully well-developed in the first two seasons.

My biggest issue BY FAR with episode 6 is Tohru's confession to Rin happening before the sheets scene. The producers combined 109 and 114 for the second half of episode 6. In the manga, Tohru is able to openly admit that Kyo is the most important person to her BECAUSE of how he accepts her after she "opens the lid" to reveal the ugly feelings she's been harboring for years about her father. And in the manga, since we have the context of Kyoko's backstory and can see how she nearly committed suicide and left Tohru alone for days, it is gut-wrenching to finally hear Tohru confront and express her trauma in her own words. 

The sheets scene is arguably my favorite scene in the entire series. The anime portrayed it beautifully. Jerry and Laura ripped my heart out with their performances. It was a deeply moving scene (even with all of the changes) and the romance and pining was there--but, I hate to admit it, the feeling of cutting into that delicious lava cake to reveal that even more satisfying filling was not.

And now, come the end of Se3E7, we're approaching the climax of the series that we've been salivating for for so long now, the result of all of this inner turmoil and secrets and deep, deep longing for one another--and it almost feels now like the cake was baked too quickly, in addition to being drained of much of its filling. 

I was debating waiting to write this until next week after we see how Se3E8 goes, but my thoughts have been swirling about and this clown couldn’t help herself. I'd like to end this post on a hopeful and more forward-thinking note, though, if you've made it this far into my novel LOL.

There is definitely the potential to add a little more about Kyoko's backstory in next week's episode. I also expect that we'll hear more of Tohru's inner narrative and thoughts, which I’m really looking forward to. As several others have speculated as well, I predict that we'll be getting chapters 119-122 next week. Despite it being 4 chapters, everything should happen in sequence (versus with episode 6) and there's a lot of action, so I do feel like it won't feel rushed or disjointed. And while I could see them possibly ending with 121, 122 would be my preferred ending for many reasons (manga readers know where I'm going with this ;P) and I honestly see it fitting best there.

And regardless of what happens, I'm looking forward to eating whatever variety of lava cake is served to us next week.

And at the end of the day, we'll always have the manga, which will probably always be my favorite lava cake of all.

(and now I'm hungry for an actual lava cake)

[sisterssafespace]

Salam sis, hope all is well. I've recently been feeling VERY angry it might be because it is that time of the month but I hate it. I feel so drained and down because of all this negative energy that I'm generating. I also feel distant from Allah even though I'm trying to stay connected, I just feel like I'm not doing enough. How do I calm myself down and stop obsessing over little things that drive me insane😣

Wa alaykum assalamu wa rahmatu Allahi wa barakatuhu dear 🤍

First of all, feelings of anger, frustration and irritability might be intensified by our pms but it's not permanent. That would take a couple of days max, then it goes away. And, technically, if the feelings haven't already been there from the start, then they wouldn't come up when you're hormonal. So, let's admit that you are just angry or frustrated in general. And it is okay to be angry, it means you have a sense of what's right and what's wrong. It means you are not settling. It means you are not satisfied with a certain situation or certain people. It means you know better and you know that you deserve better. What is not okay though is to let that anger take over our lives and give it bigger space than it needs. I am not going to discuss your anger with you - that's not my job - but I will tell you what you can do when you feel that burn and that heat coming up. Our Prophet ﷺ said “If any of you becomes angry and he is standing, let him sit down, so his anger will go away; if it does not go away, let him lie down.” because changing positions / resting will calm your heartbeats and your blood pressure.

But the first basic thing to do when angry is to seek refuge in Allah, from the plots of Shaytan by reciting (أعوذ بالله من الشيطان الرجيم). Then, it depends on where you are, if you are able to make wudu ( ablution) then go ahead and make wudu, because water extinguishes fire. And my favorite tip is to make Istighfar until you feel that the moment have passed and you have calmed down. Also, keeping you tongue busy with istighfar will save from saying something out of anger that could ruin the situation or that you would spend a lifetime regretting. So always stick to your istighfar. I also want you to not feel guilty about your anger, and try to control your reactions as much as you can. We are not held accountable for our emotions but for our actions (how we channel these emotions and act upon them).

And ask for wanting to connect to Allah swt, that's also very common habibty, don't beat yourself up. Faith is a journey. It has lows and highs, and the lows are more common than the highs. Try to stick to your adhkar as much as possible (especially morning and evening - and sleeping adhkar). It is very important that we start and end our days remembering Allah swt. And always make duāa that Allah swt guides you and helps you stay on the straight path, because guidance only comes from Allah swt. May Allah swt make us among the guided and the people He is pleased with, ameen.

Here's a beautiful duāa you can practice:

يا حَيُّ يَا قَيُّومُ بِرَحْمَتِكَ أَسْتَغِيثُ، وأَصْلِحْ لي شَأْنِي كُلَّهُ وَلَا تَكِلْنِي إِلَى نَفْسِي طَرْفَةَ عَيْنٍ أبدا

‘Ya Hayyu Ya Qayyoom birahmatika astagheeth, ass-lih Lee Shahaani kullaahu, wa laa Takillni ila nafsee Tarfataa Ayyin abada.’

‘O the Ever-Lasting, O the Sustainer and Protector of all that exists. I seek aid through Your Mercy; correct for me all my matters and do not entrust me to my own self even for the blink of an eye, ever.’

[Collected by Ibn as-Sunni in ‘Amal al-Yawm wa Layla’, Al-Bayhaqi in ‘Al-Asma’ & Albaani graded it Hasan in Saheehah no. 227]

P.s. if you want to stop obsessing over things that drive you insane you have to practice removing yourself from toxic situations and conversations - even if it's within your own house. Learn to say : No, I cant don't this or I can't have this conversation, or I am not available, or This is none of my business .. take it from me, it's life changing ;)

May Allah swt bless your beautiful soul and grant you peace and relief habibty, ameen 🤍

Stay safe.

- A. Z. 🍃

[doberbutts]

I gotta say I really appreciated your candour in discussing sex stuff and you're absolutely right that communication should be a normal thing well before any clothes come off but also just

It's kinda made me realise that a big reason why I struggled to relax or go further with the cis guys I dated was purely down to the assumption that they would assume we would be doing x thing and just

That made me terrified of being intimate with them

And now I'm like damn, man, I should have just discussed it with them, because they may well have been completely fine with not doing x/not even been wild on x themselves, or actually preferred if we only did x with them receiving (which I'm completely fine with, it's just receiving it myself that is a total dealbreaker for me)

Or at the very least confirmed that we were incompatible, shrugged our shoulders and parted ways with no harm done

But they never brought it up and I never brought it up, so it never lasted long before I just noped out (and then wondered what the fuck was wrong with me, getting panic attacks over the prospect of doing something that was supposed to be fun and feel good :/ )

It's only years later that I was tentatively discussing preferences with my partner (whom I've been best friends with for a decade before we even got together, so there was already a strong trust there) that it came up and she didn't even bat an eyelid over me telling her, just agreed that if I didn't like it we'd never do it, nbd. And now I'm just like. Huh. Okay. In that case I would like to try y and z things then. And we did, and everything went great.

Communication about bedroom stuff definitely needs to be more normalised, and people need to not assume they know what their partner's preferences are/what will happen if things get to the bedroom point. My relationships weren't even cis het - all the guys I dated were either fully aware I was queer or were queer themselves and still there was basically no discussion of bedroom preferences whatsoever. It's a real issue.

Yeah, there's a lot of pressure that a lack of communication adds to things, and that can really have a negative effect on relationships, self esteem, and sexual interest. Talking about it helps, because it lets you draw healthy boundaries while understanding your partner's expectations and visa versa.

For one of the gay men I've dated, he was very up front that while it didn't *disgust* him, he really had no idea what he was doing with that part of me, and thus if I wanted anything in that regard I would need to show him. Lucky for him I super do not want anything from that part of me, so I was able to take that pressure off of him by relaying it was a hard no from me anyway, and we were able to move on to discuss what we did both like. He was free from the expectation he had assumed would be there, and I was free from the worry he would pursue that thinking I would like it. We didn't even start messing around for several more weeks- once again a solid conversation to be had well before the pants come off.

On the flip side, I did have what turned out to be a ONS with a bi guy even though what he'd SAID was that he wanted a relationship 🙄 and *even though* we had talked about things, it turned out he had not revealed all of his expectations, and there was a lot of awkward fumbling for 'oh I uh... don't actually like doing that' and 'I would rather do this but I don't think you're down for it', and at the end of the night it was an overall anticlimatic and unfulfilling time. We could have resolved that easily far before rolling in the sheets but instead he opted to wait until that very minute, and in the end we were both just frustrated instead of satisfied.

Anyway. Bedroom stuff demands intimacy, trust, and vulnerability. If [general] you're unable to talk about it when there's really no pressure either way, how can [general] you expect to have a good time? I mean yeah sure maybe you'll get lucky, but also maybe you won't. I don't understand couple that just... go at it, and then complain they don't like xyz thing that their partner does, but also refuse to talk to said partner about it. Maybe this is just the kinky part of me but if I don't like something I say so in the moment. I'm no longer a super nervous 20yo laying under my boyfriend as he tries to tell me it'll start feeling good soon. I really feel bad for the folks who are still at that point, mentally.

Talk to your partners before committing to the deed. And if you both like to be spontaneous or you both are still figuring out what you like and where boundaries are, then make sure to provide a safe atmosphere where your partner can bring things to a halt if they need to. I understand that like... super a kink mindset... but I think that's an aspect that some variations of vanilla have forgotten. The ability to pump the brakes is just as important as the ability to rev the engine.

[welllpthisishappening]

Should Auld Acquaintance be Forgot

Honestly, Emma was less mad about the whole thing than she expected. Disappointed, that was the word. And everyone knew that disappointed was far worse than mad. 

Because being dateless on New Year’s Eve was one thing. Being dateless while pining over a roommate with a secret Match.com profile and apparent relationship-type desires that were the complete opposite of her was—

Disappointing, really. 

If Killian kissed anybody, she was going to drink an entire bottle of champagne by herself. 

-----

Rating: Teen, kissing, far too many Grinch references

Word Count: 9.2K

AN: Today is our last festive prompt! Or, at least one that’s a stand-alone story. Our said prompts come from @kmomof4​ who asked for “i don't wanna get up-- you're comfy."// "i'm cold. come closer." //"i love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck.” And I got all three in. As always, I cannot thank you guys enough for clicking and reading and saying such nice things. Here’s to a 2021 that’s full of even more fic, satisfying TV storylines and lots of fictional characters making out. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s your jam

-----

“Shit.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Rolling her eyes over the top of the phone in her hand, Ruby didn’t look particularly amused at the distinct lack of enthusiasm in Emma’s voice. That was something of a theme. For like—the last thirty-six hours, but also the majority of their relationship, and none this should have come as a surprise, only she’d had a lot of wine in the last forty-six minutes, and it might have been catching up with her. Was definitely catching up with her. 

“How much did you pay for the garbage alcohol you’ve been shoving at me?” Emma asked archly, and she was only slightly worried about getting home. Her head felt muddled. Like there were too many thoughts, and this time of year always did that to her brain, and her consciousness, and at least eighty-two percent of this was Mary Margaret’s fault. 

For deciding that they were going to have a party. 

On New Year’s Eve. 

Like complete cliches. 

“I’ll have you know,” Ruby drawled, eyes dropping back to her phone and whatever noise it was making, “that I paid at least twelve dollars for—”

“—Lies,” Elsa yelled, and it was a testament their current situation that she’d raised her voice at all. Nothing like that ever happened, and the overall roll rate of Ruby’s eyes was going to give her a migraine. 

Her phone made another noise. 

“She’s lying to you,” Elsa added. “Straight to your face.”

She’d still be staring down a dateless New Year’s Eve, but—

Emma scrunched her nose. “What else is new?”

“Oh, I take offense to that,” Ruby cried, but she was almost too obviously distracted, and the inability of this conversation to be concise was starting to grate on Emma’s nerves. Or what remained of them. Maybe she was the Grinch.

No, that wasn’t right. The Grinch had an enlarged heart, which Emma certainly did not have — and that was nice and appropriately festive for the season, the Grinch, not her, and he had a dog. Emma didn’t have a dog. If she had a dog, there was no possible way she’d be annoyed as she was. 

Whatever, honestly. 

Her date, or lack thereof, was not important, and she was going to drink this entire bottle of Barefoot Moscato, price tag be damned, and then she was going to figure out some way to get home. Without falling over. 

Also, the Grinch didn’t have a roommate. Unless you counted the dog, and Emma didn’t think Max could conceivably hold so many titles in a twenty-two minute animated Christmas special, and she imagined the Grinch was also not pining after his dog slash roommate slash stand-in reindeer. That’d be weird. 

For a twenty-two minute animated Christmas special. 

She’d never seen the Jim Carey version. Or that other one with Benedict whatever-his-name-is.

Away from dating apps and wine that was very likely going to give her one hell of a headache, and Killian would at least make sure she was vaguely hydrated before she collapsed on some sort of horizontal surface. She wasn’t going to be picky about which one, honestly. 

“Why are there so many versions of the Grinch?”

Ruby didn’t look at her. Her eyebrows moved, though. Lifted ever so slightly into her hairline, and Elsa’s glance wasn’t exactly subtle, and Emma needed to go home. 

“Expand on that for me,” Ruby said, lips twisted as soon as she stopped talking. Something was wrong. Well, more wrong. In an alcohol-saturated sort of way that included all those previously discussed mobile dating apps. 

“There are so many Grinches,” Emma said. “You think that’s a commentary on society? Like as a whole? That we need to—”

“—Embrace the spirit of Christmas?”

“Because we as a general population are all assholes?”

“You’ve had too much wine.”

“Not a question,” Elsa mumbled, elbow bumping Emma’s shoulder when she perched on the edge of the sofa, and Ruby’s eyes were still doing that thing. Widening every now and then — a flash of understanding mixing in with surprise, and Emma wasn’t sure how many muscles were in a human thumb, but she figured all of Ruby’s were getting quite a workout, scrolling as quickly as they were. 

“If I have,” Emma muttered, “it is entirely Ruby’s fault. Who buys pink Moscato and expects their guests not to drink the whole bottle?”

“Seems to suggest you’re a guest, though,” Ruby said, “and that’s awfully prim and proper.”

Ruby couldn’t possibly be Cindy Lou Who in this metaphor. 

Emma couldn’t argue with that. Mostly because she’d drank so much of the pink Moscato. “Ok, ok, forget the wine for two seconds. And the Grinch. Why were you making proclamations before? They were very loud and—”

Nothing changed. The phone was still there — wobbling slightly because it seemed Ruby’s forearm strength was lacking just a bit, but the screen didn’t change, and Emma was certain this was somehow also Taylor Swift’s fault. For rerecording Love Story and letting Ryan Reynolds use it in that Match.com ad. 

“So…”

Although really that made it more Scooter whatever-his-last-name-was’s fault, for stealing all of Taylor Swift’s songs and being a noted and massive dick, and Emma’s inability to remember anyone’s last name was clearly something of a personality failing. 

“Thoughts?” Ruby pressed. 

At least twelve-thousand, but none of them seemed especially interested in being said out loud, and Emma’s tongue felt like it was simultaneously growing and dissolving in her mouth. None of it was particularly comfortable, what legitimately felt like cotton balls bursting out of her cheeks and making it difficult to breathe, and she should have lived in a cave. With her dog and the inexplicable set of antlers she owned to make that same dog look like a reindeer, and then she wouldn’t have to be staring at Killian Jones’ dating profile on goddamn Match.com eight days before a New Year’s Eve party she only marginally wanted to attend. 

“Don’t people just use Tinder now?” 

Emma’s voice did not sound like her own. Presumably because of the tongue thing and the cotton ball analogy, and she wondered if the Uber driver she was inevitably going to request would be especially annoyed by her desire to blast Taylor Swift in the backseat. 

She’d give them five stars. 

No matter what — because she wasn’t an asshole, but especially if they let Emma blast Taylor Swift in the backseat. 

Ruby rolled her eyes. “You’re very old; you know that?” 

Her face was very warm. 

“Buy me better wine.”

Emma had never gone into cardiac arrest before, but the sinking feeling in her chest was sudden and a little jarring and she tried very hard to swallow down the wad of emotion currently taking up residence in the middle of her throat. Didn’t work. 

“Only nine bucks, honestly?”

Failed spectacularly, quite honestly. 

“I don’t want to know,” she announced. “Whatever he put on there is his—”

“What Killian does or doesn’t do in the world of modern dating has nothing to do with me,” Emma said, only a little disappointed because she didn’t think people got multiple miracles in their lives and to having hers ensure her voice didn’t shake over those particular words in that particular order felt lame. 

“I don’t care.”

All things considered. 

Scrunching her nose, Ruby’s nod lacked a certain sense of honesty. “Sure, sure, sure, well—” She shrugged. “—He’s here. Being available. Presumably for New Year’s, and…”

Emma waited for the rest. All the reasons she’d heard before, and her friends were convinced. Something about inevitable, and happily ever after, but that second part was mostly Mary Margaret and it was likely easier to believe in the fairy tale when you were living it. 

Pessimism was also fairly lame. As far as defining traits went. 

“What are you—” Elsa started, but then she was moving and her teeth clicked exactly five times, as soon as she looked at the screen, and Emma was not capable of dealing with any of this. Watching her friends gape at her, Ruby’s phone still held loosely in her hand, and neither one of them objected when she finally managed to get to her feet. 

And the Uber driver didn’t offer to play any Taylor Swift, but Emma didn’t ask and she didn’t blast it in the backseat. 

So, that felt like a victory. Which she desperately needed — to counteract the state of her pancreas and half a dozen other internal organs when her thumb hovered over the button, and it took at least two minutes and twelve seconds for Match.com to download. 

She should have waited until she was on wifi. 

To say that Emma’s relationship with Killian Jones was complicated would be something of an understatement. And she wouldn’t use the word relationship. 

He was her friend. 

Her very good looking friend, with stupid eyes that regularly flashed at her like he was too aware of the mush-like state it sent her into, and he was friends with her brother, and once upon a time she’d briefly considered hating him, but that never really stuck and he made hot chocolate better than anyone she knew. Refused to use the prepackaged mix. Did something on the oven that Emma didn’t entirely understand, and never trusted herself to try on her own, and Killian was never late with his half of the rent. 

Or any of the utilities. 

Living together was a decision born of convenience and the extra room Killian had once Will moved out, but it also made a lot of sense and it was good. Really good. Would have been great if Emma wasn’t pining after him and his stupid eyes like some lovelorn idiot, but she had gotten almost impossibly good at rationalizing the whole thing in the last few years, and—

“Shit, shit, shit,” she chanted, slumped in the corner of the couch with her knees threatening to impale her chin and there must have been a record for frustrated cursing while staring at a roommate's dating profile. She’d definitely passed it, like, seven minutes ago. 

Scrolling down only led to scrolling back up, twisting her lower lip between her teeth while staring at photos and lists and options she was sure came from some AI or relationship-type algorithm and coming to terms with the end of the world was harder than she expected it to be.  

At least the end of her love life. 

Of which there wasn’t much to begin with, so it probably wasn’t very hard for the whole thing to topple over, but Emma was feeling especially melodramatic and they needed to buy some WD-40. For their very squeaky door. 

“Hey,” Killian said, shrugging out of his jacket and it was apparently snowing out. Flakes dusted his shoulder, clung to several strands of hair, and Emma couldn’t melt into the couch. They couldn’t afford to buy another one. “That can’t be good for your spine.”

Humming, Killian didn’t bother brushing the snow out of his hair before he walked forward, falling onto the other end of the couch and pulling Emma’s sock-covered feet into his lap. “Are they any cookies left?”

“I’m going to tell Mary Margaret you’re a cookie glutton and—”

Sixteen guys had messaged her already. 

“So I’ve heard. Whatcha you doing?”

Maybe that was a compliment. Emma didn’t think so, though. 

She couldn’t believe she had to make a profile. To stalk her roommate. And his interests. There were a lot of interests on Killian’s Match.com profile. 

Strictly speaking, she didn’t have much experience with shoulders and their proclivity to being rested on, but she liked to believe Killian’s was one of the more comfortable out there. Her head fit very well, at least. 

“Nothing.”

So as to avoid any lingering after-effects from its continued failure. 

“I’ve got twenty-seven bucks on him asking at the party,” Killian said, “but Locksley thinks he’s just going to lose any sense of self-control and blurt it out before, I just—”

Emma’s phone dinged. 

Again. Multiple times, in quick succession — and she should have turned off notifications for that stupid app, but she wasn’t really using it for its intended purpose and Killian was staring at her. With a look that made it all too clear he knew what was going on. 

That didn’t make her feel any better. 

“Ruby said she was thinking about bringing someone,” he muttered, “to, uh—to the thing. The New Year’s thing.”

The air shifted. Crackled with electricity Emma knew she was imagining, and want she was only barely managing to temper and if Will did propose to Belle on New Year’s Eve she refused to be held accountable for her emotional reaction. She’d totally cry. 

“Call it a thing again.”

Ruby would never let her hear the end of that.

Shaking his head brusquely, Killian’s grip tightened around Emma’s ankle. She had no idea he was holding her ankle — fingers wrapped all the way around the joint until the tips threatened to touch because apparently his fingers were that long, and she’d probably only obsess about that for like the next few years, or so. Which seemed reasonable. 

“Anyone good?” he asked, low and gruff and whatever was back in the middle of her throat did not appear intent on leaving any time soon. No matter how many times Emma swallowed. 

Or how often Killian’s eyes flickered. Towards her throat.

The idea never even crossed her mind, honestly. 

Flinching the way she did only guaranteed that Emma’s spine collided with the arm of their couch, but she was at least less inclined to melt and she supposed romantic beggars could not be choosers. “Yuh huh,” she said, “and you’re well acquainted with the noises and the reasons behind the noise?”

That probably wasn’t important. 

And just like that—it was fine. Well, maybe not fine, but at last fine adjacent, and something inching closer to normal, and Killian kissed her temple again before he stood up. 

“You’re avoiding my question.”

She didn’t pick up her phone until she went to bed, dragging every blanket they owned behind her down the hallway. 

On the ever-growing list of problems Emma had during a week when problems were supposed to be non-existent, Killian's Match.com profile had very easily cemented itself at the top of the list. 

It didn’t match — her, at least. Every single thing he was apparently looking for in some sort of potential life partner was the exact opposite of every single thing that made Emma her. Musical tastes were diametrically opposed, movies she’d never once seen him watch in the legitimate decades she’d known him were praised with the kind of adjectives even Robert Ebert would scoff at. The pictures were good, but Emma knew that was more a result of her attraction to her roommate than anything else, and he said he liked people who cooked. 

She couldn’t cook. 

She tried. 

Twenty-four hours after the weird couch incident, which was a name only Emma was using, she was sure, and the smoke alarm had gone off and—

This was Ruby’s fault. And Taylor Swift. Whose new album was very good, and made for perfect and consistent pining music. 

She was so disappointed she was positive she reeked with it.

“Cooking,” Emma said, like that was an explanation and not an excuse and she was definitely using too many of her personal miracles. “Nothing caught on fire!”

Lolling his head to the side, Killian leveled her with an exasperated expression. Brows pinched together and that shade of blue wasn’t quite as sharp, but was still somehow almost amused and she didn’t think the oven was supposed to make that noise. It was very loud. “Lack of flames is not a sign of success, love,” he said, “and it’s—ah, fuck.”

The smoke alarm was louder than the oven. 

Blasting through their apartment and, Emma was sure, through the entire building, the beep hit its rhythmic stride quickly, so she reacted like an adult to the whole situation by gritting her teeth and squeezing her eyes shut. Killian breezed by her, swinging open another squeaky door and fumbling through what sounded like several dozen boxes and he cursed. More than once.

Emma nodded. 

Emma cracked open one eye. “We do, I—”

Their neighbors must hate them. Rightfully so. 

“We definitely own a broom,” she promised, “we’re not savages. We clean.”

Graham was probably very nice.

“Was there a reason for that?”

Emma swallowed. Still didn’t help. 

“Swan.”

“Alright,” Killian said softly, “c’mere.”

Saying that what happened next happened quicker than Emma expected it to, also suggested that Emma expected it to happen at all, which was one of the bigger lies she’d told in the last week or so, and she was really growing a metric shit ton of lies, so that was especially impressive and she yelped very loudly. As soon as hands gripped her hips, lifting her off the floor and directing her underneath the questionably loud smoke detector. 

“This could wake the dead,” she proclaimed, shouting the words because if they were going to descend into total farce, then she was really going to lean into it.

Killian’s head fell to her stomach. If she died right there, she hoped he didn’t drop her. Although, she’d also be dead, so—she probably wouldn’t notice. 

“Just turn it off, love.”

She hated all that music. 

“See,” he grunted, “that makes it sound like we don’t have a broom, and—” Adjusting her, one of her legs twisted around his, something Emma was going to claim as instinct and not that same want that was another one of her more defining characteristics, and he definitely exhaled. Loudly. And directly into her t-shirt. “—Swan, I really need you to fix this, love.”

Using his shoulder as leverage, and keeping her leg exactly where it was, she still had to stretch her arm out and it took far more movement than either one of them could apparently handle silently for her to press the button that fixed everything. 

Despised The Godfather, on some sort of fundamental level and Kay deserved better than Michael Corleone, even if that version of Al Pacino was almost kind of attractive, but—

Relatively speaking, at least. 

He didn’t lift his head immediately. Or drop her. That probably wasn’t a metaphor. 

Emma’s metaphors regularly sucked, anyway. 

“Pizza or Chinese?”

Chuckling into her stomach, Killian’s laugh warmed her from the inside out and kept the goosebumps there and she’d kind of forgotten he was shirtless. Idiot bastard, that was her.

Graham Humbert had owned more plaid shirts than anyone Emma had ever seen. 

“Order extra egg rolls, and I’m in,” Killian said, finally working her back to the ground and they didn’t move. They stood there. Staring at each other, and conducting more inventory, and Emma could only imagine the penance she’d have to do for keeping her stomach in its correct spot. 

“Deal.”

“She’s in love with him.”

“Which part?” Ruby asked. “How in love Emma is with Jones or whether or not we were acknowledging his shitty dating profile?” 

“Doesn’t have to,” Elsa muttered over the top of her half-empty glass. “It basically broadcasts out of her.”

They took the batteries out of the smoke detector a day later. 

“Either or, I guess.”

Not the safest thing they’d ever done, but Emma kept trying to cook and failing spectacularly and she was certain the people at the Chinese restaurant fourteen blocks away knew their order based solely on the sound of her voice when she called. 

“Does this have a name?”

Slumped as she was over the edge of the bar, Emma barely noticed the lift in Killian’s eyebrows, but that also might have been her tendency to be preoccupied with his mouth and he was smiling at her. Wide. Meaningful—ly. 

Distractingly. 

At some point that afternoon, she’d decided she needed to respond to Graham’s messages. Or, well—keep responding. There’d been some conversation, what might have been construed as flirting if Emma’s thumbs didn’t keep cramping up while they flew across her phone’s keyboard, but that definitely wasn’t a sign either, and the overall lightness in her body was likely a direct result of whatever blue-colored alcoholic concoction Killian had put in front of her forty-seven minutes before. There were gummy—things floating in it. 

Or there had been. 

She’d eaten them. 

Her mouth felt a little numb. 

“What do you think we should call it?”

Propping her chin on her hand made Emma wobble a bit, Killian’s lips twitching again. Idiot bastard asshole. Poor Graham. She was a jerk. And his eyes were getting brighter. 

Killian’s. Not Graham’s. 

She had no idea what Graham’s eyes did. 

“Are you serving me unnamed alcohol?” Emma asked, and she was sure she did not slur her words the way it sounded. 

He shrugged. 

Good thing the holiday season was nearly over. 

And Will’s reaction was far too loud, tossing a towel over his back before he draped himself across Killian’s back, hooking his own chin over that slightly lifted shoulder. “He’s showing off, Em. That’s all it is. Are you going to die, though?”

At the bar. 

“Your tongue is blue.”

Four seats away from Leroy the regular. 

“Don’t move so quickly, Swan,” Killian said, a hand finding her cheek and that was fine. Totally fine. Great, even. Super—

Califragilisticexpialidocious. 

So, she was more drunk than she’d been. Like, ever. 

“Your fault,” she mumbled. Burrowing further into his palm was not an option Emma had, so naturally that’s exactly what she did and Will made another noise. “Something to add, Scar—” Emma paused, lifting an impatient finger when both men in front of her dared to laugh. “—Let, you jerky jerkface.”

“You will find out whenever else does, kid,” Will guaranteed. “And there were at least four different types of rum in that swill he gave you.”

That would have annoyed Belle.

Humming, Will untwisted his limbs from Killian, a different hand finding her cheek and the strands of hair that were hanging over her eyes and she scowled when he tapped her chin. “Trying to impress you,” Will repeated intently.

“Is he—” Emma’s brain couldn’t keep up. Thoughts rushed through her, firing synapses that were only passably functional, and the lights from the jukebox across the room were starting to float in her vision. Pressing her fingers into her cheek, Emma knew the skin there moved, but she also could not feel a single thing and—“You’re laughing at me.”

Her head hurt. Ached, even through the haze she’d only recently evolved into, and Emma hated bowling. Was absolutely God awful at it. The kind of awful that required bumpers whenever they’d gone, and they used to go when they were kids. On New Year’s Eve afternoon, some tradition that Ruth had come up with and David honored, even after he and Mary Margaret had segued into happily ever after, and Emma could count on one hand how many times she’d crested the 100-point mark. 

“I am,” he said, “but you’re also sloshed, so I’m willing to give you a pass. And no.”

She felt oddly similar now. 

Playing a game she wasn’t very good at, with more gutter balls than any self-respecting adult should record. Eight pounds of cylindrical force kept rolling through her, threatening anything in its path, but not hitting what it was supposed to, and she also could have eaten an entire tub of bowling alley snacks right now. 

“Why are fries better in a bowling alley? Like, better than anywhere else.” 

Will’s eyes narrowed. “Better than Shake Shack?”

Blinking continued to be one of Emma’s less impressive reactions, but she was stuck on that bowling ball metaphor and Killian’s arm around her shoulders made it impossible to talk. 

“‘S’totally different.”

“You ready, love?”

“We’re leaving, love,” Killian said, and there was at least part of her that was smart enough to pick on repeat endearments. And then promptly cling to them. In her swollen heart. 

“For?”

“Make sure you brush your tongue too tonight, Em,” Will advised, “otherwise that blue is going to stick.”

Saluting left her more off-balance than she’d been all night, laughter echoing behind them as Killian pulled the door shut and he’d ordered them a car. Emma honestly had no idea how they got in said car, but then they were moving and she was only slightly dizzy and he—

He made another noise, slumping next to her, which made it even easier for Emma to touch as much of him as possible and he didn’t object. She didn’t think he would. Ever, actually. 

“Smell really good.”

God, poor Graham. 

She was the worst. 

David played hockey when he was a kid. 

“Not as such, no,” Killian said, “just thinking we might be able to add something new and—” His shoulder shifted under her cheek, Emma’s soft hum of disapproval making him smile. She still didn’t check. “—Not that we haven’t been making money, but...people gotta have a schtick.”

No sound. Nothing except engines, and there could only be one engine in a car, Emma was fairly positive, so that didn’t really make sense and Killian stared ahead when she tilted her head up. “Sometimes,” Killian admitted softly, “but, uh—like I said, just trying to get something that might help us a little more and weddings are expensive, y’know?”

“Whatever,” Emma groaned, “just—I’m saying it’s a good bar.”

Thinking about melting as often as she was, was starting to become patently ridiculous. 

“You’re trying to come up with ridiculous bachelorette party drinks—”

With such God awful interests in the opposite sex. 

Emma rapped her knuckles against his chest. “To help pay for Scarlet’s wedding?”

The world was a joke. Happy Holidays. 

“You’re not getting ready with Lucas or Elsa or anything tomorrow, are you?”

Huh. No grand slam, then. 

Of all the questions she definitely wasn’t prepared for, that was at the bottom of the list. Emma was not actually making any of these lists. “This isn’t prom.”

Being hungover on New Year’s Eve was one of the crueler jokes the universe had played on her in the last week or so. 

“Yeah, ok,” she said, letting her head drop back to his shoulder and Emma wasn’t sure why it sounded like he exhaled. In something almost like relief. Eyes fluttering the way they were, she must have imagined it, another ridiculous metaphor and even dumber analogy and her groan was especially pitiful when the car stopped. No way her stomach was going to stay where it was supposed to for the rest of the night.

All of Emma hurt, muscles she hadn’t been aware she was in possession of seemingly rising up in revolt of her very existence, and she couldn’t really turn her head. Which endlessly delighted Ruby in a way that was making her reconsider their friendship, and Killian kept glancing in their direction. His arm bumped Emma’s no less than twenty-four times in the car over. 

And for as much as she wanted to crawl under several mountains of blankets and consider all her romantic shortcomings, something in the back of Emma’s mind preened a bit under his flitting gaze, trying not to meet his eyes too often. Only to fail every time — if Ruby’s laughter was any indication, and Will had groaned several times, but he also didn’t appear to be engaged yet and Emma had apologized to Graham that afternoon. 

Through text, though. So it only kind of counted. She wasn’t even sure parts of the messages were English. Her head felt like it was going to snap open, which made the champagne she was practically shotgunning at that point a very bad decision, but she’d been on a roll on that front, so she had no intention of altering course and it was nearly midnight.

“This is depressing,” Ruby announced. “He’s staring again.”

Rolling her eyes was an impossibility if Emma didn’t want to make a spectacle of herself in front of her brother and some of the teachers from Mary Margaret’s school, and Ruby’s date was nice. Had a lot of pictures of her dog on her phone, but nice all the same.

More blinking. Honestly, she was a mess. The teachers kept hogging space on the couch. Killian smiled when he looked at Emma, that time. “Elaborate on that.”

“Are you the dumbest person alive?”

“No, this is just our general opinion of you. Both of you, really. I—are you not almost painfully aware of how in love Killian is with you? Em, he is staring at you. Like, right now. Blatantly. Obviously. Some other adverb.”

“We live together.”

Wide eyes and an impressively straight row of teeth were all the warning Emma got before there was a hand on her shoulder and he smelled just as good as she was hopeful she hadn’t mentioned last night, but that felt like wishful thinking and Emma did not, in fact, eject any bodily fluids when Killian turned her. Victories, she was flush with them. 

“I’m so bad at cooking.”

“Hey,” she breathed, and Ruby groaned so loudly it likely did damage to the ozone layer. 

Frozen to the spot, she tried very hard to regulate her breathing and fix her pulse, and neither thing worked. And then. Something clicked — almost audibly in her brain, and her soul and her heart’s potential for explosion was suddenly something she had to worry about. 

Killian’s lips twitched. “You got a second?”

“Please don’t look at me like that,” Killian murmured. She barely heard him. Not when there were fingers tracing up her side and lingering on the small of her back, and Emma’s head moved her head as slowly as she could. 

If she moved any faster, she’d either fall over or wake up from this very lucid dream and neither of those things were all that positive. 

“Cooking, it’s—I love you a lot, but you are absolutely atrocious at it.”

“You’ve got to stop cooking, love.”

The world stopped. Paused, at least. Gave Emma’s muddled mind a second to catch up, and she’d need several more seconds, but she also wasn’t quite that greedy and Killian’s smile widened. As soon as her fingers curled into his shirt. 

He didn’t move his hands. 

“I—” she stammered. “I am...but we don’t match!”

“What is happening right now?” Emma breathed, only cautiously optimistic she wanted the answer. 

A chorus of angry jeers rained down on them — Will using Robin to keep himself upright while he flipped Killian off with both hands. “Pining piner who pines like a goddamn idiot.”

“Well, I’m fairly in love with you. To an almost ridiculous degree.”

“I do appreciate the cooking effort though,” he added. “But it’s a very old profile, made almost entirely by Scarlet in—”

“I honestly forgot it existed,” Killian continued, “I’ve never used it, really. Just knew that Scarlet had made the thing, and then I ignored the messages and—”

As it was, her fingers were already tight enough that Emma very easily pulled herself up and the hand at her waist helped keep her balanced and they were very good at this. Kissing, specifically. Heads tilted automatically to an angle that made it all too easy for Emma to open her mouth, and Killian’s tongue was even more distracting when it was brushing hers, and someone was groaning, but that might have been her, or possibly him and his hair was soft. Between her fingers. 

“Not as many as you did.”

Breathing was suddenly a secondary concern, and Emma’s lungs had already proved they were basically made of steel, or at least impervious to the flames currently exploding between her ribs and none of that was biologically accurate. 

She never did find out where her pancreas was. 

And she was so busy dealing with the way the solar system appeared to be reordering itself around the pair of them, that Emma didn’t notice the countdown or the metallic crown tossed at her feet. Only that there were eventually cheers and Ryan Seacrest’s face plastered across the TV on the other side of the room, and one of Killian’s hands had worked underneath her shirt. 

The sparkly one that had made his eyes noticeably widen several hours earlier. 

“How did you figure it out?”