#this is my first time doing this lol my bad

[diagonal-queen]

im basically back so i'm doing this even though nobody will read it lol (i dont even blame you because look at all that TEXT)

Do you have a good relationship with your parents? not really i guess? it's complicated so imma just say nah

Who did you last say “I love you” to? i think to my dog lol

Do you regret anything? i regret writing rpf as a kid 💀 i also regret smacking my little brother's butt to discipline him as a kid. it goes against my stance of 'don't hit children' that i have today and i do feel real bad about it, i just emulated the parenting techniques i knew at that age.

Are you insecure? HELLA lmao

What is your relationship status? single as FUCK boiiiiiiiiiii

How do you want to die? peacefully and in my sleep with my puppies laying next to me

What did you last eat? right now i'm eating crackers

Played any sports? used to be a bit of a discus prodigy as a kid, and was also not a half-bad sprinter. i danced from 2-12 as well and also enjoyed chess. nowadays i don't play any sports

Do you bite your nails? i do on occasion but i try not to

When was your last physical fight? i've never been in one. maybe with my sister when we were kids? idk

Do you like someone? kind of? if that makes sense

Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? no. but i've tried for sure lol

Do you hate anyone at the moment? yeah, but by now it's a dormant hate that just lingers

Do you miss someone? is it possible to miss someone you haven't met irl before?

Have any pets? two doggos!

How exactly are you feeling at the moment? neutral, but like a 6/10

Ever made out in the bathroom? i mean a lot of people pee in the woods right so technically yeah

Are you scared of spiders? i'm desensitised mostly, like if i see one i won't kill it (unless i KNOW it's dangerous). if the spider is on me it's a different story

Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? i literally always think about this lol. there's so much i wish i could change but at the same time, even though i don't like myself, i don't think i deserve to be put through all that again

Where was the last place you snogged someone? the gay bar

What are your plans for this weekend? moving lol

Do you want to have kids? How many? i would usually say 'i'm 20 i'm too young to consider it yet' but one of my classmates from highschool has a baby already so i don't know man T-T

Do you have piercings? How many? just on my ears

What is/are/were your best subject(s)? english and legal studies in highschool, and psychology now.

Do you miss anyone from your past? i reminisce but don't miss

What are you craving right now? a warm brownie would be great

Have you ever broken someone’s heart? HE said i did, i don't believe him, but even if i did he deserved it (trust me on this one. he deserved it.)

Have you ever been cheated on? not that i'm aware of, but i wouldn't be surprised if i was

Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? not that i'm aware of. i hope not??

What’s irritating you right now? the heat. i'm not having a hot girl summer at all T-T

Does somebody love you? i hope so

What is your favourite color? i like baby and dusty pink. and lilac

Do you have trust issues? i'm pretty sure

Who/what was your last dream about? last night i dreamt that i was in a relationship with pt4 jotaro. he was quiet, gentle and loving. this is weird because i am female

Who was the last person you cried in front of? i think my mother? if not then probably my bestie

Do you give out second chances too easily? yes, sadly

Is it easier to forgive or forget? it's hard for me to forgive someone if they don't at least apologise. so i guess forget

Is this year the best year of your life? it's february, but like hopefully yeah!

How old were you when you had your first kiss? sweet 16

Have you ever walked outside completely naked? no T-T

Favourite food? fried chicken, one specific chocolate cake, yellow nectarines and sushi

Do you believe everything happens for a reason? not in the way others do

What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? watched scott cramer

Is cheating ever okay? usually i'd say no. but there are rare instances where i reckon it's not necessarily a bad thing (as bad as that might sound)

Are you mean? i don't think so

How many people have you fist fought? none?? T-T

Do you believe in true love? yes

Favourite weather? dark and overcast (not raining), cool but not cold

Do you like the snow? i've only been in snow once and it was a good time. but i got ice in my eye during a snowball fight and it scarred me a little bit

Do you wanna get married? for sure i do! i know most people think of marriage culture as outdated and heteronormative (which i fully understand) but i do want to be a bride one day. i'd love that

Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? hm...when a girl does it i don't mind but when a boy does it it feels a little icky IM SORRY </3

What makes you happy? clowns, stuffed toys, colourful soap, poofy sleeves, tbh i'm really a six year old at heart and a lot of things make me happy

Would you change your name? okay so i wouldn't legally change my first name (i don't often like when people besides my family use it, but it's rare and pretty so i wanna keep it), but i would like to make Dia my legal alias that would be so sick. i would for sure change my last name though that shit boring asf

Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? no. i'd kiss her again she was nice

Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? i'd marry and adopt kittens with you @jesterph0bic

Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? refer to question 55

Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? my brother (hbd btw)

Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? my sister

Do you believe in soulmates? yes but not in the traditional way

Is there anyone you would die for? yes

70 horrible questions ... Fuck it

01: Do you have a good relationship with your parents? 02: Who did you last say “I love you” to? 03: Do you regret anything? 04: Are you insecure? 05: What is your relationship status? 06: How do you want to die? 07: What did you last eat? 08: Played any sports? 09: Do you bite your nails? 10: When was your last physical fight? 11: Do you like someone? 12: Have you ever stayed up 48 hours? 13: Do you hate anyone at the moment? 14: Do you miss someone? 15: Have any pets? 16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? 17: Ever made out in the bathroom? 18: Are you scared of spiders? 19: Would you go back in time if you were given the chance? 20: Where was the last place you snogged someone? 21: What are your plans for this weekend? 22: Do you want to have kids? How many? 23: Do you have piercings? How many? 24: What is/are/were your best subject(s)? 25: Do you miss anyone from your past? 26: What are you craving right now? 27: Have you ever broken someone’s heart? 28: Have you ever been cheated on? 29: Have you made a boyfriend/girlfriend cry? 30: What’s irritating you right now? 31: Does somebody love you? 32: What is your favourite color? 33: Do you have trust issues? 34: Who/what was your last dream about? 35: Who was the last person you cried in front of? 36: Do you give out second chances too easily? 37: Is it easier to forgive or forget? 38: Is this year the best year of your life? 39: How old were you when you had your first kiss? 40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? 51: Favourite food? 52: Do you believe everything happens for a reason? 53: What is the last thing you did before you went to bed last night? 54: Is cheating ever okay? 55: Are you mean? 56: How many people have you fist fought? 57: Do you believe in true love? 58: Favourite weather? 59: Do you like the snow? 60: Do you wanna get married? 61: Is it cute when a boy/girl calls you baby? 62: What makes you happy? 63: Would you change your name? 64: Would it be hard to kiss the last person you kissed? 65: Your best friend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? 66: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex who you can act your complete self around? 67: Who was the last person of the opposite sex you talked to? 68: Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? 69: Do you believe in soulmates? 70: Is there anyone you would die for?

[exocynraku]

I like to say that I absolutely adore how you design your feline characters and make them very unique. You’re my favorite warrior cat artist because of it! How do you go about designing your characters?

halloo... thank you! this ones a bit harder for me to explain, but i'll try! i'm going to specifically talk about cats, but these could be used for other types of characters, mostly furries. note: um, guess who talks too much! i had to split this post into four. so check the reblogs! 1. placing markings with PURPOSE (this is the big one!!!) it was only recently i finally managed to find a way to word this. to create a good design, you need to understand how to place markings with purpose. to me, there are two components to this: spacing/size and body wrapping. body wrapping first. this is how the markings on a cat's pelt wrap and contort around their body. bodies are not flat surfaces, they have plenty of curves, ridges, etc, which will alter the shape of markings placed on top of them. the markings on your character both needs to contort to the shape of the body part AND how it would look from the viewer's perspective. here's some examples;

in the first picture, you can see how i wrap the markings around the cylindrical shape of the leg. in the second picture, you can see both that i've wrapped the markings around the shape of the arm and belly, but likely also that the marking i've specifically highlighted on the arm is being smushed because of the bending of the arm. this leads to a better design, as when you look at it, i feels more natural than if you were to plaster markings over the cat in a straight line. here's a real-life example.

you can see how the markings curve around the body, though i find it's sometimes less pronounced as i would portray it in art. but it's there. sizing and spacing are second. these are less realistic aspects, as cat markings tend to be very random, however it art it leads to a cleaner, more readable & desirable design. sizing and spacing also have a lot to do with consistency. it's also... a little hard to show. i don't find myself messing it up in old pieces, and the designs i do know of which do this are... from strangers. who i would feel bad throwing under the bus for having designs i don't like LMFAO. but i can do my best to describe them. the size of your markings should stay relatively consistent throughout your design. what i mean by this is if you have large, thick stripes along your whole character's body, i wouldn't recommended adding one random thin, pinstripe-y stripe on your characters body. if you want to give them thin and thick stripes, then you need to have BOTH consistently throughout the body. or, give it a balance. thick stripes on the body, neck and tail, and thinner stripes on the face and legs, for example. very, very small markings are GOING to go unseen by you or others drawing the design, i absolutely guarantee it. similarly, the spacing of your markings should stay relatively consistent. for me this mostly occurs in tabby cats. if i draw, for example, the character's body stripes a certain distance apart, i'm not going to suddenly change that distance on another part of their body, such as their legs. the main issues i find with sizing and spacing is when people have issues with BOTH of them at the same time. random markings everywhere with all sorts of sizes and shapes and spacing will make your design cluttered, unreadable and unappealing. even on characters you'd think would be exceptions to this, such as randomly spotted characters/tortoiseshells, i still think about. how can i place these spots or patches in a way that will properly define the markings, making it easy to understand? how can i place spots to not make them too cluttered in certain area? etc. it's definitely a bit hard to explain, especially without visuals, but i tried lol (SOBS) (see reblogs for CONT.)

[foreveia]

fourteen ⤨ oikawa tooru

⨭ genre; fluff

⨭ pairing; oikawa tooru x fem!reader

⨭ word count; 6.5k

⨭ descriptions; as much as you love romcoms, you're a realist and recognise just how illogical true love is—unfortunately for you, fate has other plans.

⨭ warnings; profanity

⨭ a/n; my 2025 motto has been to just write and not worry too much about perfectionism, so here's my mess of an oikawa fic. it's acc unreal i have finished three fics in a week's time lol who knows how long this creative streak will last but wtv. in the meantime, enjoy :)

one.

During your four-hour layover in SFO, you decide that 4AM flights are only slightly less inconvenient than paying full price for a flight at noon. Because right now, it’s honestly just eerie: San Francisco International Airport (full-government name because you fear this might actually be where you die) is completely empty, largely dark, and very, very desolate.

You sigh and glance around the lounge, which is dimly lit and suspiciously quiet except for the distant hum of a floor polisher somewhere beyond the gates. Every shop is shuttered, every PA announcement echoes into nothing, and the only signs of life are a few overworked employees slumped behind their counters; you’re the only one at your gate, your phone charging via one of the blue-light towers, headphones blasting at maximum volume. You’re trying to drown out the unnerving feeling in your chest with Gracie Abrams and SZA—it’s not working in the slightest, actually making you increasingly wary of your vulnerability.

But whatever. You’re a #brokecollegestudent, so obviously you’re willing to risk your life for a good deal.

Honestly, you should really be asleep. That was the plan, after all: you had it all mapped out—get here, find a quiet corner, conk out, wake up only when it’s absolutely necessary. Instead, your brain is running on fumes and bad decisions, vibrating horribly in your skull because you’re an idiot and didn’t realize how paranoid you get when you’re sleep deprived.

You groan, stretching your legs out in front of you. “Kill me,” you mutter under your breath.

“First time traveling?” a voice pipes up, obnoxiously chipper for the time of night.

You freeze mid-stretch. You are not alone.

Slowly, you turn toward the source of the voice.

Sprawled across the lounge chair opposite you, looking for all the world like he belongs here, is a guy—tall, lean but broad-shouldered, stupidly good-looking even under the sickly fluorescent lights. Tousled brown hair, sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie that are clearly designer but worn like he doesn’t give a damn. His legs are stretched out like he owns the entire damn lounge, and he’s got this lazy, almost smug smirk on his face, like he’s enjoying whatever show you’re unknowingly putting on.

You narrow your eyes. “Excuse me?”

He gestures vaguely at you, at your very obvious state of suffering. “You look like you’re miserable right now.”

“I am,” you say. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing,” he shrugs, then tilts his head. “Just figured misery loves company.”

Your brain is still catching up to the fact that this man—a stranger, an audacious one at that—has just decided to start a conversation with you, unprompted, in the middle of an empty airport. You eye him cautiously. “You do realize there are approximately four million other places to sit, right?”

He grins. “Yeah, but none of them have you.”

You blink. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Depends.” His smirk widens. “Is it working?”

“No.”

“Damn,” he says, without an ounce of actual disappointment. “Guess I’ll have to try harder.”

You scoff, shaking your head as you glance away. God. Of all the people to be stuck in airport limbo with, you had to get the charming, insufferable kind. The kind that probably coasts through life on natural athletic ability and the kind of face that gets him out of parking tickets. The kind that’s entirely too comfortable stretching out in a public lounge like it’s his personal living room.

He’s watching you, you realise. Like he’s waiting for something.

“What?” you sigh.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he says.

“I don’t remember you asking one.”

The corner of his mouth twitches like you’ve just mildly amused him. “First time traveling?” he repeats.

You roll your eyes. “No. Just first time being stuck in an airport at an hour when no one should be conscious.”

“Ah,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “A rookie mistake. 4AM flights are a scam.”

You snort. “And yet, here you are.”

“Touché.”

You take another glance at him, this time really looking. Something about him tugs at your memory, like a song you’ve heard before but can’t place. The messy hair, the easy confidence, the way he’s practically radiating I’m used to being the center of attention energy.

Then, in a flash, it hits you.

“Oh,” you say, recognition clicking into place. “Wait—you’re Oikawa.”

His eyebrows lift slightly, a flicker of interest crossing his face. “You know me?”

“You’re that volleyball guy,” you say, pointing vaguely at him. “The one who’s, like… unnecessarily famous.”

Oikawa grins. “Unnecessarily?”

“I mean, it’s volleyball,” you deadpan. “I didn’t even know people could be famous for that.”

His expression morphs into something between offense and wounded pride. “Ouch. I think I might actually cry.”

“Please do,” you say. “It’ll entertain me.”

He clutches his chest theatrically. “You’re ruthless.”

“I’m tired,” you promptly correct. “And delirious. And currently stuck in an airport with a man who’s trying to convince me he’s a big deal.”

Oikawa scoffs, but there’s something amused in his gaze, like he’s enjoying this. “You’re not a fan of sports?”

“Not really,” you shrug half-heartedly, looking back down at your beat-up Filas. You’re not lying; even so, you’ve seen his games on TV before (you watch the Olympics after all—you’re not a total basket case). He’s a flirt, a player with double meaning, and you would really rather avoid getting involved with anything complicated. “I’ve never been into jocks.”

“Never been into jocks,” he echoes, shaking his head. “And here I thought I could be your Peter Kavinsky.”

“No, thank you. I would never write you a love letter.”

Oikawa laughs at that—an actual laugh, not just the smug little chuckle you’ve gotten so far. It’s rich and warm, and you hate the way it makes your stomach flip just slightly. Who even are you right now? This whole situation is so unbelievable that it makes you more confident.

You cross your arms, looking him up and down. “So what’s your excuse?”

“For what?”

“For subjecting yourself to this hellscape of a layover,” you say, gesturing at the ghost town of a terminal around you.

He sighs, dragging a hand through his already messy hair. “Came back to visit some old teammates in California. Now I’m heading home.”

“Japan?”

“Bingo.”

Your brain is slow, groggy, and running on fumes, but something about that answer sticks. “Wait,” you say, frowning. “What flight are you on?”

Oikawa glances at you, like he knows exactly what you’re about to realize. “4:00AM to Haneda.”

You stare at him. “No.”

His grin is almost devious. “Yes.”

Your stomach drops.

Fourteen hours. Fourteen whole hours, stuck on a flight. With him.

Oikawa watches the realization dawn on your face, and for the first time since he sat down, he looks genuinely entertained.

“Well,” he says, stretching his arms over his head. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”

You are going to lose your goddamn mind.

two.

For all your romcom consumption, you never stopped to consider what you would do if coincidence and chance conspired against you in that manner. You figured if fate was ever going to meddle in your love life, it would be in an incessantly normal way—maybe a slow-burn situation with a coworker, or a friend-of-a-friend you never noticed until one fateful night.

Not… this.

Not staring at seat 14A like it’s a death sentence, because your boarding pass is crumpled in your fist, because of course when you finally find your row, Oikawa Tooru is already lounging in 14B, looking far too pleased with himself.

He glances up as you approach, then breaks into the most shit-eating grin you’ve ever fucking seen.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls, leaning back like he just won the lottery. “Fancy seeing you here.”

You stop dead in the aisle, refusing to believe what your own two eyes are telling you.

“Are you following me?” you blurt, because there is absolutely no way the universe would do this to you.

Oikawa, ever the dramatist, clutches his chest. “Sweetheart, if I wanted to follow you, I’d at least be more subtle.”

“Show me your ticket.”

He raises an eyebrow but pulls out his boarding pass with a flourish anyway. You squint to read the text, half-hoping that you would find some spelling error that could place either of you somewhere else. But nope: his ticket reads 14B in big, bold letters, right next to Oikawa Tooru and Gate 11.

You exhale slowly, pressing your fingers to your temple. Jesus fuck. He manifested this, with his snarky commentary and all about being stuck with him; you would say that you’re gonna kill him for this, but evidently, karma is real and terrifying.

Oikawa, meanwhile, is having the time of his life.

“What are the odds?” he muses, tucking the ticket back into his hoodie pocket. “Out of all the seats on this flight, I get to sit next to you.”

“This is a nightmare,” you mutter.

“Nightmares are scary,” he says. “I’m a delight.”

You glare at him and shove your bag into the overhead bin with slightly more force than necessary. He watches, thoroughly entertained, as you lower yourself into your seat like you’re walking into a trap.

The cabin fills with the usual pre-flight chaos—flight attendants directing traffic, the hum of passengers settling in, the occasional thud of an overhead bin slamming shut. You try to focus on that, on anything other than the man currently making himself comfortable in the seat beside you.

Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll get bored.

Oikawa leans an elbow on the armrest between you, tilting his head slightly. “So,” he says. “What’s your in-flight entertainment plan?”

“My what?”

“You know, what’s gonna keep you occupied for the next fourteen hours?” He gestures vaguely to your bag. “Movies? Reading? Soul-searching?”

“Sleeping,” you say immediately. “It’s four AM. Like a normal person.”

Oikawa tilts his head, considering. “See, I would believe you, but you already look wide awake.”

You scowl at him. Because unfortunately, he’s right—your body is so far past exhaustion that sleep is a distant, unattainable dream. You sigh and shift in your seat, pressing yourself closer to the window.

He grins, victorious. “You should talk to me instead.”

You let out an actual laugh—short, sharp, disbelieving. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because I’m fun.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Same thing.”

You shoot him a flat look. “I don’t like you.”

“And yet, you still haven’t put your headphones in,” he points out.

Damn it. You hate that he’s right. Again.

You huff, finally fishing your headphones from your bag and shoving them into your ears with exaggerated finality. Then, just for good measure, you turn to the window and squeeze your eyes shut.

Oikawa doesn’t say anything else. For about thirty seconds. Then, right as the plane begins to taxi down the runway, you hear him say, way too smugly for your liking, “you’re gonna talk to me eventually.”

You pretend to be asleep. You can feel him watching you, like he’s waiting for you to crack, like he knows something you don’t. 

Ugh. This is gonna be a long flight.

three.

By hour three of the flight, you’ve come to realise that Oikawa has a surprising love for the classics. 

Trust: you weren’t actively trying to notice his choice of in-air films, but your periphery and conscience betray you, and you become acutely aware as your seatmate cycles through The Proposal and Crazy Stupid Love (two objectively incredible films). He cues 10 Things I Hate About You next, which is probably your favorite movie of all time; you adore said movie so much that, despite all of your previous complaints and window-seat protests, you eventually lean into the seat rest separating you two and watch along.

Not openly, obviously. Not in any way that would give Oikawa the satisfaction of knowing he’s captured your attention. You angle your face toward the window, feign a vague disinterest, and sneak quick glances when you think he’s not looking.

Spoiler: he notices immediately.

“You know you could just watch with me,” Oikawa says, not even bothering to take his eyes off the screen. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say flatly, keeping your gaze stubbornly trained on the clouds outside.

“Uh-huh.” He shifts in his seat, casually turning the screen toward you. “C’mon, if you’re gonna steal glances, at least commit.”

“I wasn’t stealing anything,” you huff, but it’s weak, and you both know it.

Oikawa smirks, and—against your better judgment—you give in, finally glancing at his screen properly to watch Kat Stratford dancing drunkenly on a table. He offers you one of his earbuds, which you take very, very tentatively. You would be deeply unhappy about the proximity if your love of Hypnotize didn’t trump it. 

You sigh, leaning your cheek against your palm. “This movie is so good.”

“Right?” Oikawa grins, clearly pleased with himself. “Pretty bold of you to call me insufferable when you clearly have taste.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “What does that mean?”

“It means you love this movie, I love this movie—therefore, you and I have more in common than you’d like to admit.”

You scoff, but there’s no real bite to it. “Liking 10 Things I Hate About You is just basic human decency.”

Oikawa presses a hand to his chest, mock-flattered. “Oh, so now you’re calling me decent?”

“No, I’m calling the movie decent. You’re a fluke.”

He gasps dramatically, then shakes his head, muttering something about how you wound him. But his smile lingers as the film plays on, and maybe—just a little bit—you don’t find his presence as unbearable anymore. He’s too distracted watching Joseph Gordon-Levitt pine to be truly annoying.

Somewhere between the next few scenes, you relax completely, not even pretending to look away anymore. You’re leaning in slightly now, watching the moment where Patrick buys Kat a guitar, and it takes an embarrassingly long time for you to realize that Oikawa’s staring at you instead of the screen.

You blink. “What?”

He tilts his head, amused. “You’re, like… really into this.”

You scoff, flicking your gaze back to the movie. “I just appreciate good cinema.”

“Oh, so you’re a romcom person.”

You hesitate—because there’s something about the way he says it, a sort of curiosity that feels deeper than just casual conversation. It could be interpreted as judgmental, but somehow, the way he says it doesn’t seem to be. Still, you brush it off, nodding begrudgingly. “Yeah. So?”

Oikawa hums, glancing back at the screen as if weighing his words. Then, without looking at you, he says, “Do you think this stuff actually happens?”

“What, grand romantic gestures?”

“Yeah. Stuff like this. The running through the airport thing. The whole public love confession in front of the entire school thing. Do you think it’s real?”

You consider it for a moment, shifting in your seat. “I think… I think people want it to be real,” you admit, watching as Patrick and Kat kiss in the movie’s final scene. “Like, deep down, even the most cynical people kind of want to believe that this kind of thing could happen to them.”

Oikawa doesn’t respond right away. He just watches you, his expression unreadable.

Then he asks, voice softer this time, “And do you?”

The question settles in your chest, heavier than it should be. Do you believe in grand gestures? In someone showing up unannounced at your door, confessing their feelings in the pouring rain? In someone looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world worth fighting for?

If you’re being honest, you’re a hopeless romantic at heart. It’s why you love the genre so much—because despite all your cynicism, despite every realist take you’ve ever had, a part of you still wants to believe in love that lasts. You just don’t think it’s likely. People fall out of love with each other. Feelings fade. Real life is rarely as cinematic as the movies make it seem.

You exhale, suddenly too aware of the way Oikawa’s watching you, like he sees right through you.

“I think it’s… nice in movies,” you say carefully. “But in real life, people just disappoint you. It’s not worth taking the chance and getting hurt.”

Oikawa studies you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to your utter surprise, he smiles—small and knowing, the kind that makes your stomach do something weird.

“Well,” he murmurs, leaning back in his seat, “maybe you just haven’t met the right person yet.”

Your breath catches. You hate the way your heart stumbles over itself, just for a second.

You force yourself to roll your eyes, turning back toward the window. “Gross,” you mutter, hoping he doesn’t hear the slight waver in your voice.

Oikawa just chuckles, hitting play on When Harry Met Sally.

“Talk to me when we hit the part where Meg Ryan fakes an orgasm,” he says, stretching his arms behind his head. “Then we’ll really see where you stand on romance.”

You shake your head, biting back a reluctant smile.

And as the flight drags on, you realize—with a sinking feeling—that you don’t actually mind sitting next to Oikawa Tooru as much as you thought you did.

Oh God. That can’t be good.

four.

Halfway through the scene where Harry and Sally are in flight, you decide, after much internal conflict, that you’ll allow yourself to like Oikawa for this flight and this flight alone. It’s harmless. A temporary indulgence. You can enjoy the anonymity, let yourself sink into the moment, and then disappear once the plane lands. Maybe you’ll see his Olympic gameplay on TV one day, mention it offhandedly to whoever you’re with at the time, and then promptly forget about him.

Because here’s the thing: if you let yourself, you could probably fall for people pretty easily. You keep your guards up because it’s safer, but you imagine that love is like getting sucked into a black hole—you either fall forever, or you hit the ground so hard it shatters you. And if there’s one thing you know about yourself, it’s your tendency to self-sabotage: you don’t remember a single relationship you’ve had where you didn’t walk away first. You really would prefer to keep your romantic fantasies in fiction; it hurts less. 

You never realized that Oikawa could share this conviction. 

He doesn’t say anything when you shift slightly toward him, resting your arm on the seat rest between you. He doesn’t comment when you fully give in, watching When Harry Met Sally with him like it’s something you’ve been doing forever. He just lets it happen—like he expected it, like he knew you’d cave.

You don’t like that. But you do like the movie.

The scene in the airport plays, Sally meticulously laying out her travel quirks—I like the aisle seat, so I can stretch my legs. I don’t like to eat between meals, but I always want something sweet after dinner. You smile to yourself. You’ve always loved the specificity of it: how she knows exactly what she likes, how she doesn’t compromise on it.

“I feel like dating you would be exhausting,” Oikawa muses abruptly, arms crossed over his chest. 

You tear your gaze away from the screen just long enough to give him a withering look. “Excuse me?”

He gestures vaguely in your direction. “You’re too—” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Particular.”

You scoff. “And you’re not?”

“Not in the same way.” He shifts slightly, smirking. “You’d analyze me to death. Pick apart every little thing I do.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You say that like you wouldn’t be a terror to date.”

Oikawa grins, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Thinking about dating me, are we?”

“I’m thinking about how insufferable you’d be,” you correct, turning back toward the screen.

“Mm. You sure?”

You shoot him a look.

He sighs, dramatic as ever. “Shame. I’d be great at it.”

You snort. “Doubt that.”

His smirk widens. “That sounded a lot like a challenge.”

“It’s not.”

“I think it is.”

“Oikawa.”

He chuckles, finally turning back to the movie, and for some reason, you feel yourself relax again. The teasing is easier now, lighter. You don’t hate it.

And, despite yourself, you sneak another glance at him before looking back at the screen.

The movie plays on. Harry and Sally are walking through Central Park in the fall, debating the age-old question of whether men and women can be just friends. You know every word of this scene, could probably recite it in your sleep. 

“I love this part,” you say, before you can stop yourself.

Oikawa glances at you, intrigued. “Why?”

“It’s just—” You pause, searching for the right words. “It’s the conversation. The way they both believe so deeply in their own side of things. And they’re both right, in different ways.”

Oikawa hums, tilting his head. “So, which one are you?”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

“Do you think men and women can just be friends?”

You hesitate. You’ve thought about it before, obviously—you’ve had guy friends, you’ve had moments where those friendships blurred at the edges, where you wondered if they were really as platonic as you claimed. 

“I think it depends,” you decide finally. “Some people can. Some people can’t.”

Oikawa watches you for a beat, his expression unreadable. “And what about us?”

Your breath falters; the question feels heavier than it should. You force yourself to scoff. “We’re not even friends.”

He laughs, and you hate how warm the sound is. “Cold.”

You shift in your seat, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips. “I just mean we met, like, five hours ago.”

“Five very meaningful hours,” he says, nodding seriously.

You shake your head, turning back to the screen—just in time for the diner scene.

“Oh, here we go,” Oikawa murmurs.

You grin. “Cinematic excellence.”

Sally fakes an orgasm, loud and unashamed, right in the middle of Katz’s Deli. You try not to look at Oikawa as you laugh, but his presence is suddenly overwhelming, like you can feel him beside you even without looking.

“She’s got a point, you know,” he says.

“What?” You glance at him.

He gestures to the screen. “Half of dating is just making people think you’re having a good time.”

You scoff. “That’s your dating experience, maybe.”

Oikawa raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“You’re a playboy.”

He groans. “I knew you were going to say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“It’s outdated,” he argues. “Was I kind of a flirt in high school? Sure. But I grew out of that.”

You snort. “Did you?”

Oikawa turns to you, expression softer now. “I did,” he says, and you don’t know why, but the look in his eyes and the way his voice wavers make you believe him. 

There’s something almost sad about it, how under his layers of bravado and grandiosity, he seems just the slightest bit lonely. You don’t say anything. You just watch him, the way his jaw tenses slightly, the way his fingers drum absentmindedly against the armrest.

“I don’t know,” he continues, voice quieter. “Never really met someone who gets me like that.”

You hesitate. Then, before you can think better of it, you mumble, “I get that.”

Oikawa looks at you. Something shifts between you. Not huge, not dramatic—but something.

You clear your throat, turning back to the screen. “The best part of this movie is the ending, anyway.”

He watches you for a second longer, then smiles slightly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, watching as Harry races through the streets on New Year’s Eve, heart in his throat, words spilling out in a desperate confession. “Because he realizes it’s real.”

Oikawa hums. “And you don’t think real love is like that?”

You hesitate. You really don’t want to answer that question, not right now. So instead, you shrug. “Like I said, it’s nice in movies.”

Oikawa doesn’t push. But as the credits roll, he glances at you one last time, something unreadable in his gaze. He’s not entirely convinced by your answer, and you both know it, even if he isn’t saying it aloud.

five.

Oikawa’s phone password is his own name, which is a fun fact you discover as your flight nears hour ten.

You don’t even mean to find out—really, you don’t. He dozes off halfway through Crazy Rich Asians, phone balanced precariously on his knee, screen still lit up from whatever mindless scrolling he’d been doing before sleep claimed him. He’s slumped in his seat, arms crossed, mouth slightly open in a way that would be embarrassing if he were anyone else. But he’s Oikawa, and people like him have a way of looking effortless even in sleep.

The moment the phone slips, it’s like slow motion. It free-falls, landing with a soft thud on the armrest between you. Oikawa startles awake, lashes fluttering, hands fumbling to catch it a second too late. His fingers curl around the device, flipping it over with bleary concern, only for the screen to glare back at him—locked.

And that’s when you see it.

You don’t mean to. It’s just…right there. The exact moment his fingers trace out the unlock pattern, it clicks into place, predictable in a way that makes you snort.

“Oikawa.”

He turns toward you, still shaking off the drowsiness. “Huh?”

“Your password,” you say, fighting a smirk. “You really chose Oikawa?”

He yawns, unbothered. “And?”

“And that’s… so predictable.”

He stretches, spine arching lazily before he slouches back down, as if the conversation itself is something he can’t be bothered to put effort into. “Predictable or genius? You tell me.”

“Predictable,” you say immediately. “What if someone tries to hack you? Your name is the first thing people would guess.”

Oikawa grins. “Exactly. It’s so obvious that no one would actually think I’d use it.”

You scoff, shaking your head. “I bet all your passwords are just variations of your own name.”

He makes a noise of vague offense, rubbing a hand over his face. “That’s an outrageous accusation,” he says, clearly lying.

You narrow your eyes. “Your Netflix account—Oikawa123.”

He lets out a small, amused breath. “No comment.”

“Instagram? KingOikawa.”

“Hey, now—”

“Banking password?” You pause, then shake your head. “No, don’t answer that. I don’t even want to know.”

He chuckles, tipping his head back against the seat. “You’re awfully interested in my passwords, aren’t you?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m interested in the fact that you’re a narcissist.”

“And yet,” he muses, smirking at you, “you’re the one paying so much attention to me.”

Your lips part, an immediate retort on the tip of your tongue—but nothing comes out. Because damn it, he’s right.

Somewhere between hour one and hour ten, between watching him cycle through romcoms and pretending not to care, between brushing shoulders and arguing about the best scene in 10 Things I Hate About You, between the countless small moments where his presence started feeling less like an inconvenience and more like something else entirely—you started paying attention. And he knows it.

You let out a slow breath and turn toward the window. “I hate you.”

Oikawa laughs softly. “No, you don’t.”

You don’t respond. You’re too tired to lie.

 ***

At hour eleven, your seat neighbor learns something about you, too. It’s not even because you tell him, but because he notices.

The plane has dimmed its lights, casting everything in muted shades of blue and gray. The hum of the engine is steady, a low vibration beneath your feet. Most of the passengers have settled into varying stages of half-sleep—some curled against their window seats, others with neck pillows wedged awkwardly under their chins.

You, on the other hand, remain awake.

You lean against the window, knees drawn up slightly, arms folded. Your gaze is unfocused, staring out at the endless stretch of dark, empty sky. Exhaustion clings to you, but sleep never comes easy—not on planes, not in cars, not anywhere that isn’t familiar.

Oikawa shifts beside you, the rustle of fabric breaking the silence. Then, softly, he asks, “you don’t sleep well on planes, do you?”

You blink, a little surprised. “What?”

He nods at you. “You’ve been sitting like that for a while now. You look exhausted, but you’re still awake.”

You hesitate, because he’s right. You’ve never been good at this—at shutting your brain off, at forcing comfort where it doesn’t exist. Your body stays tense, your thoughts wired for worst-case scenarios, always preparing for turbulence that might never come.

“It’s fine,” you say, voice quieter than before. “I’ll sleep when I land.”

Oikawa watches you for a moment, then, without a word, grabs his hoodie from his lap and balls it up into something vaguely pillow-shaped.

“Here,” he says, placing it between you.

You frown at it. “What?”

“You’ll be more comfortable,” he says simply. “Try it.”

Your gaze flickers to his, searching for the inevitable teasing remark, the smugness, the gotcha. But for once, it’s not there. Just an easy, offhanded kindness.

You swallow. “You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he says, cutting you off before you can argue. “Just take it.”

After a moment of hesitation, you do.

And when you finally let yourself lean into it, letting the exhaustion settle into your bones, you hear him murmur—softer, barely audible— “See? Told you I’d be good at this.”

Because you’re actually significantly more comfortable and way too tired to argue, you just snuggle into the fabric and ignore your thumping heart.

 ***

At hour twelve, you wake up to warmth.

It’s subtle at first, just a gradual shift from the hazy quiet of sleep to the soft awareness of something unfamiliar. You’re warm, comfortable in a way you shouldn’t be, your head still heavy with lingering exhaustion.

Then, slowly, the details start to register.

The weight pressed lightly against your shoulder. The faint scent of something clean and familiar—fabric softener, maybe, or whatever detergent Oikawa uses. The steady rise and fall of breath, slow and even.

Your pulse stutters.

He’s leaned into you, his head resting lightly against your shoulder, body angled just slightly in your direction. His breathing is deep and even, completely at ease. At some point in the last hour, he must have drifted off.

And instead of moving away—you stayed. Your brain short-circuits. You should move. You should definitely move. But you don’t.

Instead, you sit there, utterly still, heart pounding with something you don’t want to name. Because this—this—is not how Oikawa looks on TV.

The Oikawa you’ve seen in interviews is all sharp angles and practiced charm, leaning into the cameras with a knowing smirk, effortlessly collecting attention like it’s his birthright. The Oikawa on the court is even sharper—brilliant and untouchable, playing with a confidence that borders on arrogance, eyes burning with something that makes it impossible to look away. Even after a game, drenched in sweat and exhaustion, he still performs—laughing, winking at the reporters, throwing casual remarks over his shoulder like he knows the whole world is watching.

But right now?

Right now, he’s none of those things.

His expression is unguarded, free of the practiced ease he wears like armor. His brow is smooth, his lips parted slightly, his breathing soft and steady. There’s no smirk, no carefully placed bravado—just quiet, unconscious stillness.

And it unsettles you. Because this is real.

This is not Oikawa under stadium lights or Oikawa playing to the cameras. This is just him, asleep against your shoulder, completely unaware of the effect he’s having on you.

And maybe that’s what makes it worse.

You exhale slowly, careful not to move too much, not to wake him. Your gaze drifts downward before you can stop yourself, just enough to see the way his hand has fallen between you, palm up, fingers lightly curled. For a second, just a second, you have the insane urge to reach out.

You don’t. Of course, you don’t. But the thought lingers, settling somewhere deep in your chest, unwelcome and impossible to ignore.

You turn your head toward the window, watching the faint glow of city lights far below, hoping the view will quiet whatever this feeling is.

It doesn’t. And still—you don’t wake him.

For some reason, you let him stay.

six.

There’s approximately one hour left before your plane is due to land, and you’re beginning to realize that you don’t actually want it to end.

Maybe it’s the absurdity of the whole situation, or maybe it’s because of your sleep-deprived delusions, but you like Oikawa. You don’t want to—really, you don’t. It would be infinitely easier if he were just another stranger you made small talk with before forgetting the moment you stepped off the plane. But no. He had to be annoying and charming and stupidly perceptive. He had to watch romcoms like he actually gives a damn about them. He had to see through you, easily and effortlessly, as if he simply understood you.

And now, because the universe is cruel and loves to humiliate you personally, you’re sitting here in the final stretch of this flight, hyper-aware of every single second ticking down, not wanting it to be over.

Oikawa doesn’t seem to share your existential crisis. He’s been quiet for the last twenty minutes, scrolling lazily through his phone, one elbow propped against the armrest between you. Every so often, he glances up at the in-flight map, watching as the little airplane icon inches closer to Tokyo.

You hate that it makes your stomach sink.

You shift in your seat, pressing your temple against the cool window, staring out at the early morning sky. You wonder if this is how romcom characters feel in that inevitable third-act moment, when they realize they’ve accidentally gone and caught feelings. When they recognize, with dawning horror, that the person they were supposed to be indifferent to has somehow carved their way into their life.

The difference, of course, is that those characters always get a happy ending.

You don’t know what you get.

The PA system crackles overhead. A flight attendant reminds everyone to prepare for descent. Around you, there’s the familiar rustle of people adjusting in their seats, pulling out jackets, stretching the stiffness from their limbs.

Oikawa shifts beside you, adjusting his hoodie. “Almost there,” he murmurs.

You hum, noncommittal. You think he’s going to leave it at that, but then he glances at you, eyes sharp despite the sleep still clinging to his edges. He tilts his head slightly, like he’s studying you. “You okay?”

Your grip tightens on the armrest. He notices too much. You should’ve known that he would see it—the way you’re staring too long at the window, the way you haven’t snapped at him in a while.

You force yourself to scoff. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Oikawa smirks like he knows something you don’t. “No reason.”

You hate that. You hate how easy he makes it look, the whole watching-you-like-you’re-a-puzzle-he’s-figuring-out thing. You hate that part of you wants him to keep looking.

You exhale slowly, turning back toward the window. The seatbelt light dings on. The plane begins its slow descent, the city below coming into sharper focus.

It’s almost over.

 ***

Airports are supposed to be soulless places. That’s what you tell yourself, at least, as you walk through the terminal—bleary-eyed, exhausted, your carry-on digging into your shoulder. Your brain is already working on a plan: get your bag, get through customs, forget Oikawa Tooru exists.

That plan lasts approximately five seconds before you hear it.

A cheer. Loud, unmistakable, coming from somewhere near Arrivals. You glance over, along with half the airport, and that’s when you see them.

A couple, standing in the middle of the terminal like a goddamn movie scene. One of them—tall, dark-haired, a duffel slung over his shoulder—is staring at the other like he can’t quite believe she’s real. The girl—small, blonde, practically vibrating—throws her arms around his neck and kisses him so dramatically that the people around them actually applaud.

You blink. “What the fuck.”

Oikawa appears at your side, hands in his hoodie pockets, watching the scene unfold. You can feel him glance at you, the smirk already forming.

“Well,” he says, voice smug, “would you look at that.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“You know what.”

He hums, still watching the couple, who have now dissolved into an absolute mess of forehead kisses and whispered I missed yous. It’s excessive. It’s dramatic.

It’s also… kind of nice.

You hate that you think that.

Oikawa stretches, tilting his head toward you. “So?”

You frown. “So, what?”

His smirk widens. “Do you believe in it yet?”

Your heart does something stupid. Because the question—it’s not just a callback to your in-flight debate. It’s not just him poking fun at your skepticism. It’s softer than that. More curious. Hopeful, even.

Do you believe in grand gestures? Do you believe in love that doesn’t disappoint? Do you believe in something real?

The answer forms before you can stop it. 

“…I think I’m starting to.”

Oikawa stills. Just for a second. Then, slowly, his grin shifts into something real.

You exhale, turning back toward the baggage claim, but before you can walk away, something stops you. Maybe it’s the exhaustion. Maybe it’s the high of stepping off a fourteen-hour flight and still feeling wired.

Or maybe it’s just him.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you reach for his hoodie pocket.

Oikawa blinks. “Uh—”

You pull out his phone, type in his password, and create a new contact in his list. You quickly type in your number, and pause for a second, considering, then—just to be an ass—save your name as oikawa hater. Then you hand it back to him.

Oikawa takes it, glancing between you and the screen, lips curling into something almost incredulous.

“Wow,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m actually speechless.”

“A first for you, I’m sure.”

He huffs out a laugh, eyes flickering back to his phone. He stares at your contact name for a second too long, like he’s memorizing it. Like he wants to. And then he locks his screen, tucks it back into his hoodie, and glances at you—grinning, smug, a little bit victorious.

“So,” he muses, as the baggage carousel hums to life. “Do I get to keep my title as your Peter Kavinsky now?”

You roll your eyes, biting back a smile. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“You like me,” he says in a sing-song voice. “What happened to love only being good in movies?”

And maybe it’s just your imagination. Maybe it’s the jet lag, or the weird 6AM haze of existing between time zones. But as you step toward baggage claim, you swear—just for a second—Oikawa looks at you like the answer to that question might matter more than anything else.

Honestly, nothing is confirmed. He might never text you, or even if he does, who knows if you two would even make it past the first date. The world could end tomorrow, or he could completely forget about you, the way you thought he would. There’s always the chance that you’ll get hurt anyway. But he deserves to hear it. You, against all odds, want him to know.

So you turn, meet his eyes, and say, completely honestly, “Maybe you’re worth taking a chance on.”

⨭ closing; i wrote this instead of paying attention in my lecture lol i don't really know how i feel about this one yet but here's to hoping it'll grow on me when i'm not so tired from a long day of uni classes </3 let me know yalls thoughts but pls don't be mean :') thank u and love u all

[zepskies]

@lamentationsofalonelypotato

I'm so excited for you, my friend!! Thank you for diving in. 🥰

I like this line, because it's what made Dean stop. In my head I feel like this version of Dean has pushed away so many people and the reader is the first person in a long time to genuinely say that she was "worried" about him, and it strikes something in his chest because he couldn't remember the last time it happened. That's the headcanon in my head anyway lol.

Oh yeah, that's a totally accurate observation, poor Dean. 🥲 He hasn't allowed himself to be "worried about" in a long time, since he and Sam started up their own lives.

Also the spice was.... 😱🌶️🔥. I literally cannot write smut to save my life, but you always write it so well! I also liked that you didn't do it as intense as omegaverse usually is, because we both know how it can be 👀

ahaha thank youuu 😘 It's really not easy for me, but I write it when I feel the story warrants it. And totally, the more subtle approach was what I was going for loll! I don't think I could write the aggressive smut that omegaverse fics tend to be. 🤪

OH MY WORD DEAN SHUT UP! I promise it's okay! She loves you and she can see that you're not a bad person because you literally have been nursing her back to health with her broken ankle 😭 Not to mention you guys are fated! She's not going to let you go no matter what you do.

Lol RIGHT?! How many times do we have to go over this, Dean???? 😭

But again... on brand for Dean to hate himself and to think he's not good enough -sigh- just means that you get to spend more time wrapped up with him trying to convince him 😊😉. I also believe that Dean loves intimac, that he does crave that connection with someone, not to mention I still love what you do in your Midnight Espresso series with Dean being a little touch starved for non-sexual touch. I feel like you've also implied this here and it is marvelous!

This is where I have to beat down the "not worthy" aspect of Dean's personality when it comes to love and intimacy. 😭 But I SO agree with you -- he craves it, even though he doesn't feel like he deserves it half the time. That's a big theme in Midnight Espresso, so I love you so much for enjoying that aspect in that series and in this one. 🥹💓💓

I'm literally cackling. I can hear Dean saying this to his significant other. Meeting Baby for the first time holds the same place in his heart as meeting Sam for the first time 🤣 ALSO, I wasn't ready for the palm kiss. Palm kisses and forehead kisses DESTROY me.

LOL this part of the scene was so vivid in my mind -- I have no doubt he'd be just like this when his girl meets his Baby. 🤣🤣 Oh same. I LOVE hand kisses and forehead kisses. They're so wholesome. 🥹

I like that this was an alternate ending to the dumpster fire that was the end of Supernatural. That it's Dean and his girl out on the open road listening to a Led Zeppelin song holding hands in the front seat of Baby was just beautiful in the best way and a perfect ending to this mini-series my wonderful friend!! I am going to miss this couple so much, but it really was a fitting end for them 🥰

Honestly that's the biggest compliment I could get on this story! 💕💕 It's the two of them riding into the subset to some Zep tunes, on their way to see Sam and his new little family. I might come back to write their little reunion, but until then, I'm so glad you've enjoyed this snowy, angsty ride. 😘❄️💜💜

Against the Wind - Part 4

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: The grand finale...

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 3.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, knotting, claiming, fluff and feels.

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 4: Running to Live

His cold hands are warming on your skin as he slides them underneath your sweater. They move smoothly up your back, bunching up the material. You break from his kiss only to help him get the sweater off you, followed closely by his pants.

Your sweatpants slide down your legs with just a sharp tug, baring most of your body to his gaze. His eyes drag over your exposed neck and shoulders, your breasts cupped in your bra, down to your panties and bare thighs.

A shiver runs through you, both from his heated gaze, and from being exposed to the cooler air. Even with the fire going and the heater running in the cabin, the frigid air outside is unforgiving.

You have no problem with the way Dean guides you down from the chaise to take advantage of your nest on the floor, right in front of the fire. He draws you into a sensuous kiss, sucking your lower lip into his mouth and grazing with teeth.

“Were you nesting, Omega?” he teases, between the sinful meetings of his lips with yours. You hum your affirmation before his tongue swipes across your lower lip, seeking entrance.

You open yourself to him in more ways than one; you slip your hands across his naked shoulders and explore the smooth planes of muscle, the dips and softness in between. You encourage him to lower down, to cover you with the length and broadness of his frame. His weight is a welcome one between your thighs and against the softness of your body.

“Was worried about you,” you whisper a confession against his lips. Dean briefly pauses, meeting your eyes.

“Thanks for waiting up,” he says, with a hint of a smile.

Your lips curve upwards in return. You reach up to caress his cheek, feeling the prickling of his stubble. Your fingers thread into his hair, and you pull him back down for a devouring kiss.

Dean’s brows furrow as he holds you to him, wanting to feel every part of your skin against his. His calloused fingers map their way down your side, and across your back to unhook your bra. His lips veer away from yours to burn a wet, heated trail along your neck. His teeth come out to graze your skin, down your throat, down the lovely valley between your breasts.

“Dean,” you gasp, encouraging him when his hand cups one of your breasts. He explores the other with his mouth, teasing a pebbled nipple with his tongue. Your fingers tighten in his hair, your thighs rubbing together between the cage of his knees in the mess of blankets. Already you feel slick forming at the apex of your thighs and slipping down in between.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin. “Fucking beautiful, you know that?”

You can’t help but smile. Your face warms either from the fire dancing shadows across your bodies, or from him, his attention, his warmth, and the heat in his eyes when they meet your again. His hand slides down your body, over your hip and squeezing your thigh as he opens you up further for him.

“Tell me what you want, Omega.” While I still have control, his tone implies. His voice is gravel and sin while his hand moves swiftly and smoothly up the inside of your thigh.

“Touch me,” you breathe.

Nodding, he hooks his fingers around the hem of your panties and slides them down. You help him kick them off. Afterward, his thumb brushes over your mound, making you sharply inhale and squeeze his shoulders encouragingly. His fingers dip inside your wet heat, his brows raising with a smirk, as he feels the sheer amount of your slick already coating his digits.

“Fuck. This all for me, baby?” he remarks.

You hold onto the back of his neck with both hands as you nod, biting your lip. Your hips begin to cant against his hand on reflex, urging him to touch you.

“Alpha, please…” you implore, in a ragged whisper. He swallows your plea with a ravaging kiss, but he still gives you what you want. His thumb circles your clit, earning a moan from you into his mouth.

Soon, two of his fingers plunge slowly inside you, working you open, drawing more gasps and shudders of pleasure from your body. His length continues to strain hard against your thigh, but for him, it’s worth it to draw every sound, every time your body writhes and arches against him, craving release.

With a few more purposeful strokes, your inner walls clamp tight on his hand, and a flood of slick coats his knuckles even more. You gasp his name, your hands squeezing his arms just as tight as your pussy around his fingers.

Your skin is beginning to get dewy with sweat, and he kisses some of it off you when he trails down your chest. You stroke down his arms, down his back, whatever you can reach as you catch your breath. But then, his name falls from your lips with a firmer tone.

Dean raises his head, and you gently push at his chest. His brows furrow in confusion, only for it to be replaced with a smile of surprise when you curl a thigh over his hip and guide him onto his back. His head just manages to fall on one of your pillows, but he still utters a small grunt. You giggle down at him, bowing to meet him for a kiss.

He smirks and holds onto your hips, playfully squeezing your ass. “My wily omega.”

“Thought I was your cheeky omega,” you tease.

He snorts. “That too.”

You giggle some more as you treat him to the same path of open-mouthed kisses down his neck. Except this time, you hook a hand behind his neck, and you trail your tongue around his mating gland. You feel his jolt of surprise, as well as his instinctive growl of pleasure in response to his mate. Or at least, not yet…

His heart pounds in his chest.

“Omega,” he says, a warning not to tease as his grip tightens on your hips.

The command in his voice makes you shiver, but you smile and nuzzle his cheek in affection. You kiss your way down his body, playing special attention to his nipples, his stomach, the soft V and the happy trail of light brown fuzz leading you down between his hips.

Your fingers slide down his hardened desire through his underwear, earning a grunt from him, along with a shifting of his body against the blankets. Your lips curve as you nuzzle him there as well, letting your lips drag across his impressive length.

His fingers tangle in your hair when you hook your nails around the waistband and free his cock from its confines. His boxers join the rest of your clothes somewhere, and finally you get to see all of him, as much as he takes in all of you. Your hand wraps around his girth, your thumb circling around the sensitive, weeping head of it. Dean groans, a sound from deep in his chest.

You don’t know this, but it’s been a while since anyone but his own hand has touched him. That’s not the only reason his body has been calling to yours, but it plays a part in how fucking good it feels, and how much more he wants you.

He feels your intentions when your hand moves down his shaft in a teasing caress, your fingers tracing around his knot. A shudder rattles down his spine, makes his desire burn hotter in the pit of his stomach.

He can’t fucking take it anymore. He needs you, needs to be inside you. Needs to take you the way his instincts demand.

He grasps your shoulder before you put your mouth on him. You blink up at him, with a question forming on your lips, but he hefts you up onto his chest by your arms. He cages you there with a kiss filled with abject need.

“I can’t. Can’t wait anymore,” he says. He drags his fingers through your folds and earns another moan from your when he finds your clit. “You ready for me, Omega? Need my knot?”

“Yeah,” you nod, agreeing against his lips. “Need you, Alpha—”

No sooner had the words escaped your lips, when Dean rolls you back underneath him. But this time, he guides you onto your stomach, then raises up your hips, until you’re on your hands and knees. You catch your breath as you regain your bearings, shooting an incredulous smile over your shoulder at Dean. He smirks back at you, but his gaze is intense, his pupils darkened with the alpha inside him. 

Still, he soothes a hand down your back and steadies you with a hold on your hip. You feel him slot himself behind you, guiding his cock at your entrance. His chest presses hotly against your back.

“Last chance, Omega,” he says, his voice tight with restraint.

You look back at him again over your shoulder, your mouth threatening to frown. You reach back and sink your fingers into his hair with a sharp tug. “Do it.”

He sinks into you with one smooth plunge. It’s a relief for both of you, your mingled moans echoing in the near silence. All that’s left is the sound of your quickening breaths, of skin against sweat-slick skin as you move together.

Dean brushes your hair away from your neck. He kisses and licks his way along your bare shoulder, and finally the back of your neck. You’re trembling by the time his lips find the sensitive flesh of your mating gland. It echoes with the pulsing from your core as he continues to drive into you.

“Alpha,” you gasp on reflex. You squeeze his arm; he has it wrapped tight around your middle. Your pleasure builds ever closer to that crescendo, especially as his thrusts become ragged, at an angle that zips delicious tingles through your core. “Close…just…I need…”

Dean isn’t so far gone. He hears you, and helps you, reaching his hand around to strum his fingers insistently on your clit, along with his final thrusts.

Finally, it tumbles you over. Your inner walls become impossibly tight around him as he draws out your second release—one that triggers his own. Dean groans into your ear; his knot swells and locks into place, and he spends himself deep inside you. He pants hot against your neck, but even though he fastens his lips there, he hesitates, once again making you shudder. 

“Do it,” you repeat, in a coarse whisper. You’re close to tears. “Please. Want you, Alpha. Need you…”

Once again, he hears you.

His teeth sink into the back of your neck, making you cry out. But your pain is quickly overshadowed by a deepest pleasure, thrumming along with his.

 Afterward, Dean holds you in his arms. The warm glow of the fire paints your skin in its light, despite the utter darkness in the rest of the house. 

While you both wait for his knot to subside, you revel in the fact that you know he’s content. You can feel it through the newly formed bond. He traces random shapes in your skin, which still glistens with a fine sheen of sweat. The fire he stoked doesn’t help to cool you down, but you don’t care.

Nothing else matters but this. You turn your head toward him over your shoulder. He meets you there with a gentle kiss, much more gentle than any other you’ve shared before. It feels right. 

When he parts from you, he presses another kiss to your forehead. Then he leans back a little and sighs. You feel his thumb trace the raw flesh around the claiming mark on your neck. A small shiver runs through your body. Maybe on another day, you’ll mark him in return.

“It’s too damn late,” he says, breaking the silence. “You realize that right?”

You shoot him a frown. “Too late for what?”

“For me to let you go,” he says. 

His words both warm you and make you sad. Just how little does he think of himself?

“Dean,” you say, endeavoring to be patient. “You’re my true mate. Do you know how rare it is that we’ve actually found each other?”

Dean remains quiet.

“And after everything you’ve done for me,” you add, “how can I not think you’re a good man? How can I not think this is right?”

He seems to consider your question. His gaze briefly falls, then meets your eyes again.

“You don’t know me that well,” is his answer, with a wry turn of his lips. 

You reach back to caress his cheek. “Then tell me. Tell me about, um…tell me about how you became a hunter. From your dad’s journal, I got the sense that it’s a family thing.”

A vendetta, you wanted to say, but you keep that thought inside.

Dean chuckles, dropping another kiss onto your shoulder. You feel the pleasurable rasp of his stubble.

“Yeah, more like a family business,” he says. 

He tells you why John Winchester started writing in that journal in the first place. Dean explains it in his own words, of what his family was before and after a demon broke into his brother’s nursery. Your heart continues to break for him, over and over, the more story he tells. Your shock can only reach new heights when he tells you about angels and demons and everything in between. 

There are moments where he pauses, needing the time to find his words. He’s talked for so long that his knot finally softens, allowing you to withdraw from him, just to turn in his arms and be able to see his face. He bundles you in the blankets to keep you warm, but he also keeps you close, with a loose arm around your waist as he continues. 

You sense that he’s not telling you everything. How could he? A lifetime of blood and wins and incredible losses; family gained, and family lost, endless saves, and so many near misses. You listen with rapt attention (and a lot of shock) to everything he can share, but your heart twinges when you see how he struggles to talk about his mother’s most recent death. Then his best friend Cas. 

You realize that this man, for all his self-deprecation, is a hero. More so than you already knew.

“After the whole Chuck thing was done, I thought we’d just…go back to status quo. Me and Sam against the world, you know?” Dean says. He gives a rueful smile. “Then Sammy tells me he knocked up his mate.”

You smile. “You’re happy for him though.”

“Course I am,” Dean nods. “He never thought he’d get to have all that. A badass chick who can keep him on his toes, a house, the kid, the whole damn thing. He’s downright respectable again.”

His brotherly pride and his humor are tinged with something else though. You think you begin to understand. His losses have weighed him down, leaving him aimless and living in that in between, not unlike the ghosts he used to hunt. You know the feeling. 

You thread your fingers with his, earning his attention. 

“You can have that too, you know,” you say. “I mean, I don’t want to skip ahead, but I feel like things are going well here, despite the whole busted ankle thing.” 

Dean slowly smiles, shaking his head. He brings your hand up to his lips. 

“Okay, enough about my Hallmark movie life. What about you?” he asks. 

So you tell him. 

You two continue to share and explore, both in words and with your bodies, until morning comes. 

It’s another week in the cabin before Dean insists on helping you down the mountain. Your ankle has gotten a little better, but at this point, you need to see a doctor. It takes a couple of days, going as slow as you need to. He ends up carrying you for most of the way anyway. You tell him over and over that he doesn’t have to, but your alpha is stubborn. 

Once he gets you back to the city, you two take a shuttle to the nearest hospital. X-rays are taken, and you get a new cast for your officially fractured ankle. At the very least, you don’t need surgery. You’re able to call your mom from there and let her know where you’ve been, that you’re all right, and best of all…that you’ve found your mate. 

You cry along with her on the phone, this time for a good reason. The best reason. 

When you’re eventually released from the hospital, Dean picks you up in a sleek, black Chevy that has your eyes wide. 

He grins at the look on your face. “Hey, sweetheart. Come meet my Baby.” 

He parks the car and keeps the heater running while he comes around to you in swift strides. He takes your crutches and slides them into the backseat, then helps you into the passenger seat. 

“It’s beautiful, but my God, how old is this thing?”

“She. She’s a she.”

“Oh, pardon me,” you say in amusement. “Do I have some competition here?”

Dean gives you a teasing smirk. “Well, technically, she’s been with me a lot longer than you.” 

You scoff incredulously. He laughs and takes your hand, pressing a kiss into your palm. You discreetly study him and marvel at how much lighter he seems. You don’t know how much is because of this, what your hand in his symbolizes, and how much is because he’s reunited with something important to him. 

“It’s okay, Omega mine,” he says, with a measure of desire in his eyes. “From now on, you’re my priority.”

Your spine prickles with the same arousal you can feel from him through the bond. You lean across the way and share a thorough kiss. 

Until a horn honks loudly from behind. You both jolt, but Dean’s face falls into annoyance. He shoots up a choice finger at the car behind him in the rearview mirror. You laugh as he begins to peel out of the curved pick-up and drop-off zone in front of the hospital. 

“Where are we going, Dean?” you ask, still smiling in amusement. 

“Wherever we damn well please.” He turns to you with a hint of a smile reforming on his lips. “Want me to take you back home? We can sort out the logistics on, uh…well, this.”

You think about it. He poses a good idea, but at the same time, you’re not quite ready for this part of the adventure to end. 

“How long has it been since you’ve seen Sam?” you ask.

Dean blinks at your question. He whistles lowly. “About a year. Jesus, since my nephew was born.”

You smile and reach over, resting your hand on his thigh. 

“Let’s go see him, then,” you say. “I want to meet your family. Then you can meet mine.”

After that, you two can figure out the rest, like where to live, and how you’ll live. 

Dean raises a brow. “Really? That’s like, a thirteen-hour drive.”

You shrug. “I’ve always wanted to go on a real road trip. Can we get some food first though? I’m starving.” 

He laughs and nods as he stops the car at a red light.

“What do you know? A woman after my own heart,” he says. His amusement eases into a gentler smile the longer he stares at you. You smile back, and you give into the urge to lean in again, meeting your lips with his. He brushes your cheek tenderly with his thumb. 

“I know what this needs,” he says lowly. Your brows draw together in a silent question. 

He pulls away to reach into the side compartment along the driver door. He fishes out a cassette tape labelled Zeppelin IV. You bite your lip and try not to say anything smartassed.

Damn, this man is old school. 

He skips ahead until he finds Track 7, just as the light turns green. A melodious guitar riff fills the car as he turns onto the main road with your hand wrapped in his. 

Made up my mind to make a new start.

Going to California with an aching in my heart…

AN: And that's all, folks! 🥹 I truly hope you enjoyed Against the Wind!

Like I said in a recent update, I have more stories in store for you guys. January 3 will be Part 1 of Outlander -- sequel to The Honorable Choice -- a Western AU with Dean as our resident cowboy! I'll post a sneak peek on that one soon.~

But in the meantime, I hope you'll let me know what you thought of ATW! 💜💜

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[alan-without-the-an]

Happy (early) birthday, Oya!!!

GROOOOVY!!

My submission for @oya-oya-okay's birthday event (which you can find here)!!! Happy early birthday Oyaヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ • *✰ Thank you for bringing many good vibes and friendly energy to this part of the TWST fandom!!!!!

Non-UI versions:

Progress talk under the cut (cause I think it's interesting)

HOLY SHIT this took me so unexpectedly long LOL....... I started this back in january, and managed to finish the first drawing pretty fast!

But then the second one tripped me up so BAD HEUAHIEA... the composition was the hardest thing for me to get right!! my original idea was to have azul braiding shuu's hair in the morning OR something similar to jade's groovy where he's getting ready in the bathroom.

In the end, I had to reel it back in for my own sanity. this is the sketch that I ended up using as a base (always revert to traditional in times of desperation lol):

And that, combined with just how many things came up...

(Oh, we're going to my late grandma's house... Oh, we're going on a shopping trip... Oh, we're having a sleepover... Wait, it's almost 8th February already!?!??!?!)

I had a lot more references than usual.. Mostly so the background (and azul) doesn't look too wack T_T

(And that drawing off to the side is my first time trying to do a color draft!! I didn't end up sticking to it, but it was helpful for the most of the rendering early on ^^)

In the end, I had a lot of fun!!! I learnt a lot while making it and I'm super glad I finished it :D

[stellar-collective]

my whiteboard doodles: pirate au addition! i watched the Pirates of the Caribbean trilogy for the very first time this past month and was struck with inspiration

more sketches + a lil au rambling below

like you can read in the doodles (hopefully, my handwriting is a lil iffy) the Agency is a beast hunting ship commissioned by the Queen (Reggie is actually an ex-member of the Queen’s Navy) to patrol and protect the seas from the mythical monsters and pirates that reside there. Captain Morales’ ship, the Agency, has a particular rivalry with the captain of a small pirate fleet, self-styled Pirate Lord Zor, who has recently set their sights on using the monsters in the water to gather more power.

Phoenix was found by the Agency when they were a teenager, tied to a tiny boat and half-drowned following a storm. they woke up panicked and voiceless, and Doctor Prism quickly deduced that they were cursed and the Agency’s crew decided to take them in. Phoenix hasn’t yet told them that they’re a siren (the harpy-like, feathered kind like the ones in the Odyssey) who was cursed by their own kind, their voice (the source of their power) taken. the conditions of the curse mean that they feel all the pain of being human, but ‘death is no escape’ so nothing can kill them.

John Juniper is also a siren (the mermaid kind) who has all the powers that entails: shape-shifting, the ability to charm people, perfect vocal mimicry, etc. too bad that fellow sirens are immune to his charms.

Doctor Roxana Prism is an absolutely brilliant researcher who revolutionized the study of mythical creatures but feels underappriciated by her crew. she thinks that Zor has got the right idea in trying to turn the beasts of the ocean into an asset.

oh. that was more au rambling than i meant to do. um. whatever. feel free to steal (dare i say, pirate?) whatever aspects of this au you’d like, i think that siren!Juniper alone has like eight fanfics begging to be written about him, i just like putting ieytd characters into silly outfits lol

there are a couple more sketches for this au that @warden-draws-sometimes did that you should go to the whiteboard and check it they’re really good :3 and also look at @solarfizzy’s interpretation of the pirate au it’s good

[bringbackmaes14]

Genderfluid person and would be fine with it. My stepmom is the person who helped me be okay with it.

My stepmom got diagnosed with breast cancer in 2016. Back in 2016 I still identified as a woman and I was very attached to my long hair (it was probably down to my butt at that point). Well of course when my stepmom started chemo her hair started falling out, and I saw how upset she was about it. She got to the point where she asked my dad to shave her head for her, not all the way bald, mind you, more into a crew cut style just so all the hair that was falling out wasn't super long big clumps.

And my dad is. Well. I don't know why my stepmom is still married to him and I don't know why he's not in prison for events of my childhood let's just describe his personality that way.

So he's buzzing her head and he tells her he has a surprise for her. And my younger sister and I watch in horror as my father proceeds to change the head of the razor for a closer cut and shave a horseshoe into the top of my stepmom's head (she's an Indianapolis Colts fan). She was mortified when we started yelling and telling him to stop and she realized what he was doing but the damage was already done. He tried to laugh it off and say her hair was gonna fall out anyway so what did it matter if they did silly things with it. Then when that bothered her more he tried to shave the horseshoe into a heart and tell her he loved her but then of course she had an even larger bald spot on her head, and at that point, through tears, she just told my dad to shave her head completely.

So as much as my stepmom tried to make becoming bald her decision (because it was inevitable because of the chemo), that little bit of control she had over it was taken by my dad, and I remember how much that hurt her. I remember my stepmom trying out different wigs and bandanas and hats. She'd wear them whenever she left the house. In the early days, she's even put on a hoodie or hat just to go get the mail from the mailbox. She was embarrassed of her baldness (she told me that, wanna make that clear, I'm not just assuming her feelings). She even wore them around me and my siblings for the first week or two after my dad shaved her head.

I always felt really bad because I thought my stepmom was pretty before her head was shaved, and while I definitely wasn't used to seeing her bald or with a wig, I didn't think it made her look bad either. Honestly nowadays it's weird to imagine my stepmom with hair because she's been bald for so many years now lol.

But I remember one night after dinner that kinda changed things. My dad and stepmom's house was open concept, so you could look out over the kitchen island right into the dining room and on the back dining room wall were these huge windows that looked out on the back deck.

My stepmom was standing at the kitchen sink, at that island, washing the dishes and I'm clearing the table. We're having a conversation about something or other, I don't really remember what, but what I do remember is getting cut off suddenly because my stepmom looks up from the sink towards where I'm standing in the dining room during the conversation and very suddenly gets startled, gasps, and then doubles over laughing. She was cackling in a way where I couldn't help but laugh myself even though I didn't know what was so funny.

I asked her what was so funny, and when she was finally able to catch her breath she told me that she thought she saw some random weird old guy standing on the porch but it was just her reflection in the window and it was so ridiculous that she couldn't help but laugh.

It was kind of from that point on that my stepmom became a lot more comfortable with her baldness. I gained a lot of respect for her in that moment and a lot of clarity about my own life. I think that was the first time in my life that someone had shown me it was okay to laugh about your own illness/disability. I'd had other people, even family members and people I thought were friends, laugh at my disabilities. And my mom (who primarily had custody of me and my siblings) kinda always freaked out about any self-depricating humor or humor that otherwise played up our disabilities so they weren't jokes I grew up feeling comfortable making (for fear of setting off my mom, not because I personally wasn't comfortable). But it was my stepmom who showed me there are ways to be silly and stupid about my disabilities and to laugh them off and not be so serious about them so they don't have to drown me every moment of the day, even when the physical aspects meet me every time I look in the mirror.

And like I said, it's hard to imagine my stepmom not being bald now. And because of her I don't think I'd be too worried about it because I think even if I didn't like it at first I could learn to laugh about it.

(I actually came pretty close to shaving my head last year. I keep the sides/back of my head shaved with it longer on top, and I officially decided to do that because of my shoulder injury and how much trouble I was having brushing my hair and keeping it out of my face on windy days on campus, but I almost considered getting a fully shave. I've just kept the style I got for ease because I ended up also liking it for gender reasons!)

We ask your questions anonymously so you don’t have to! Submissions are open on the 1st and 15th of the month.

[twola]

I’m sorry for asking but I don’t know where else to turn but— do you or anyone else who might see this question have any tips for writing Mary Linton? Especially in a fic where Arthur falls in love with a female oc or a reader. I find it hard to write without either demonizing her or making Arthur look completely uncharacteristically over her. That being said, I have no problem with the fics that dive into their dare I say toxicity of a relationship but I just don’t want to be extreme lol

So I don’t claim to be any kind of expert on this, but I’ll tell you my way of approaching it. There is no right answer on how to approach this; it is all about how you want to approach. That is the joy of fandom. I’m not sure if this will even qualify as tips, but I’ll just extrapolate on my approach.

In my writing canon, Arthur certainly still cares for Mary. Pines for her. After all, she was his first true love. Mary also pines for him, she loves him deeply, but cannot condone his lifestyle, and cannot live within his existence. Frankly, he’s a murderer. A killer, a thief, an outlaw. An overall bad person, even he says so.

That’s why she begs him to run away. If only he can give up being an outlaw, it will work!

But that gets into the toxicity. Is that asking too much because it is that is who Arthur is? Is that asking too much to change? We as the players mostly think so. But we also play AS Arthur. For Mary, someone who was never forced to scrape by, Arthur’s behavior is abhorrent. From her perspective, it shouldn’t be that much to ask of Arthur to stop being a bad person.

Mary has the luxury to ask that of him. She has never had to scrape by for existence. She has never had to resort to criminality to live.

In my writing canon, I think that is the difference. If a female OC is running with the gang because they are an orphan, an outlaw, a widow, an outsider with nothing, that OC doesn’t have the luxury to ask Arthur to change.

Arthur sees and knows that he can never give Mary what she’s asking for. He’s not going to change his ways (in the canon, he is not going to leave the gang, which he loves also).

But over time, there is that OC… she may be there. They may bond. There may be tension. There may be attraction. She doesn’t ask Arthur to change.

Mary’s love, tragically, is conditional. Which I can’t blame her for!

I love you, but you need to change. For you, for me, for us.

Maybe that female OC isn’t asking Arthur to change.

I love you, in just the flawed way that you are.

I actually like Mary Linton. As soon as I finished the game I actually started writing an A/M fic. Their love story is incredibly tragic. They both obviously love each other, but are unwilling to meet on either side of the chasm between them.

So writing Mary, I try not to make her mean, or out of touch, or overly manipulative. I write her as a woman deeply in love with a man who won’t make that final commitment to her. And the asking for help that she does? Very much part of it is to see Arthur again, because again, she is in love. And he loves her too. And always will.

But he has room in his heart to grow. Maybe part of it will belong to his first love. But maybe he will grow to love a woman that does not or cannot ask him to fundamentally change.

I hope that answers your question…? Maybe? Or maybe that is just me rambling.

[obsidianpen]

Howdy! Awhile back you mentioned you weren't likely to get back to Enticed and asked if anyone wanted to pick up and write the rest, you could share your plot/plan with them... I'm no where near as good of a writer as you and couldn't do that (it actually terrifies me the idea of trying to continue a fic that you started tbh, you are one of my favorite writers). But I still find myself sometimes imagining what happens in later chapters of Enticed, for instance the big showdown at the end of OotP where Harry finally presents at the Ministry, and then in Year 6 when Harry as an Omega leads to some kind of huge Alpha fight (I imagine something like a massive chaotic bloody fight in the Great Hall where the Alphas are all triggering each other & beating each other to a pulp/dueling while the Omegas hide and Betas run for cover and teachers try to stop it). So, I wanted to ask if you wouldn't mind sharing maybe your general plot/key scenes with us just for fun? And maybe the endgame couples? If not, no worries! :)

sure! Spoilers ahead!

so yeah Harry presents as a delta (omega) during the whole ministry fiasco, ofc, and it’s about as dramatic as you would expect me to make it. It happens during the possession scene and so V is right there - like couldn’t be closer to it really - and loses all self control and sense of self, trying to uh, get Harry lol but Bella, also a delta, is there, and she and Harry’s dynamics actually revolt each other so she’s not affected at all. She manages to drag her lord away to safety (she is the only one who would be powerful enough to do this), where he otherwise would have been caught by Dumbledore.

Harry meanwhile is a mess, and it’s too late for any kind of repressing potion for him. He gets taken away by Dumbles (who has MUCH more self control than Voldemort btw) and is put into quarantine. Poor Harry, it’s not a fun time.

he eventually resurfaces and is told what all happened. He has a nice little chat with Dumbledore about the uniqueness of being a Delta, which Dumbles knows all about, because duh, Grindelwald was a delta. (He also learns ollivander is a delta).

year 6: Harry is getting all the stares. He’s finally able to perceive magic and now he GETS it. He and Ginny (also an omega) have insta-bonded. Hermione is protective and already planning future ministry legislation. Ron is uncomfortable but is still Harry’s best friend and ride or die.

Draco Malfoy keeps a great distance from Harry but can’t seem to keep his eyes off him. Harry gets it because he’s having the same problem with him and about six other alpha wizards. He still hates him.

Harry is no longer able to stay in the boys dorm. He now has to stay with the other omega girls in their special dorm room, which he finds mortifying at first, but then realizes how necessary that is, and grows to enjoy them quite a lot.

Harry is aggressively adopted by Godiva (self appointed Head Omega of the Gryffindor squad) and is forced to be ‘one of them’ (though he still escapes all the time and prefers to hang out with his ‘lowly beta’ friends). Godiva is upset when she learns his name is not Hadrian or Harrison. She calls him Hadrian anyway. In lieu of being able to give him a real proper lady make over, she and Fey (who has a muggle mother as I’m writing her) figure out Harry’s glasses prescription and get him some contacts ‘so that his lovely eyes can be admired properly’ and because ‘those glasses are hideous and you’re going to make us all look worse if you wear them’. Harry is sort of into it once he gets used to it. Snape kicks him out of class when he shows up without them with no explaination.

Harry becomes obsessed with Draco Malfoy. Hermione tells him it’s just because he’s an alpha and says be needs to go shag someone else to get over it. Ron is still uncomfortable. Harry says it’s def only because Malfoy is up to something Bad but he isn’t sure if he trusts himself anymore.

Harry (who has to be even more meticulous with taking repressants btw, because he’s not as predictable as a delta) thinks yeah maybe hermione is right actually but every time a bold alpha dude hits on him he panics and can’t handle it. Godiva sighs and makes it her mission to teach him.

the Myrtle bathroom scene with Draco goes very differently. Idk for sure how that would go but probably Malfoy has been forgetting to take his repressing shit what with how stressed he is and there’s probably some pretty intense hate sex, or at least very close to hate sex and plenty of hate snogging. Is this drarry? Maybe

the death eaters still break in, Harry still goes with Dumbledore, Dumbledore still dies

seventh year starts semi similarly, Harry is out with Ron and Hermione doing their thing and hunting horcruxes but they have a limited supply of the repressing elixir for Harry. Voldemort, being a bastard who still very much wants to kill Harry (perhaps more than ever now, because deltas are exceptional and this makes Harry more of a threat in some ways), puts insane regulations and safety measures around repressing elixirs for omegas, as well as any ingredient needs to brew it, making it impossible for Harry to get his hands on any without outing himself. They eventually run out when they’re out camping in the woods when Ron is with them and they have the locket.

he has no options. Hermione and Ron have to tie him up and help him suffer through a heat when one hits (they’re beta so they can’t help in the uh, other way). Harry is losing his mind halfway through it. The only thing that helps at all is the locket. He somehow gets to it and puts it on. Locket Tom reaches him in a dream and manages to convince a half-mad Harry to say ‘voldemort.’

the snatchers show up first. This includes Fenrir Greyback. He immediately goes insane upon finding Harry like that. But voldemort has been waiting for something like this to happen, so he shows up too.

big crazy alpha duel. V versus Fenrir. Hermione and Ron can’t get anywhere near the insane magic that’s happening, but Harry can. He’s having the wildest magical awakening of his life, and when he commands these two alphas (who he no longer sees as individuals in his current state) to kill for him, they do (or they try to anyway; Voldemort wins)

and then ofc Voldemort is supposed to kill Harry because that was the point of all this. But he sees his locket and Harry’s wearing it and that poses many questions and, well, if he’s going to kill Harry anyway he might as well enjoy him first. Somewhere in the middle of that much more intense and messed up hate sex, he realizes what Harry is, so of course he takes him ‘home’ (and don’t worry either he takes him away from hermione and Ron first or more likely Harry somehow banished them, idk the details there but I would not have them watching that lmao).

uhhhh yeah that’s about how far I had the plot going in my head!

[rangerelizabeth]

🆓: ... Free space - add your own what if...? scenario about episode 3

What if Gale made it to Algeria but wounded?

I got inspired to write a little drabble for this one! This is the first thing I've written in months (is my writer's block finally over?🤞) so I hope you enjoy it! Kind of an abrupt ending, but I promised myself I'd keep it relatively short lol. Drabble under the cut!

Word count: 1153

When the wheels of his fort touch down on Algerian soil, the first thing Gale feels is a flood of relief, despite being several yards from the runway, in a beat up fort made of what seems like more bullet holes than metal, all engines feathered, one of his crew killed, and far too many others lost on the way. At the very least, they made it. 

The second thing he registers is the dull ache in his right side, just below his ribcage. He’d felt the initial impact, certain and painful, when they were flying through heavy enemy fire some hours ago. 

Yet in the chaos of the moment, it seemed his copilot hadn’t noticed his wince of pain accompanied by a sharp intake of breath. So, he’d elected to keep it that way, allowing the initial excruciating pain to fade to a low thrum in the background as they continued with the mission. His crew was already shaken enough as it was. No reason to add insult to injury by informing them their pilot had been hit.

Now, safely on the ground in Algeria, he knows he should probably tell someone. But time seems to swim confusingly in the haze of a post-mission adrenaline crash, and before he knows it, Bucky and Jack are there and his crew is pulling the remains of Norman Smith, their trusted radio operator, out of the wrecked fort, so Gale shoves the injury out of his mind once more to take care of his crew.

Besides, he figures, it can’t be that bad if he’s made it this far.

~~~

As they get the men settled with bedrolls and water and whatever food they can scrounge up, considering their less than warm welcome in Algeria, Bucky basks in the relief that Gale is really there, on the ground, alive. He thought he knew nerves, but nothing could compare to the feeling of watching Gale’s beat up fort from his faux position as ‘reserve command pilot’, unable to do anything except hope against all odds that they would both make it to their destination.

Bucky can’t help but notice that the other man looks paler than normal, can’t help but notice the way his hands shake as he helps set up their makeshift camp. It’s understandable, Bucky supposes, after using every ounce of his willpower to keep his fort in the sky, then finally, finally touching down safely by nothing but the skin of his teeth. The comedown from something like that isn’t easy.

So, he chalks it up to that. Until moments later, that is, when sudden, frantic shouting comes while his back is turned. He whips his head up from where he was neatly unfurling a bedroll, his senses shocked when he finds Gale collapsed on his knees in the sand a few feet away from him.

Bucky abandons the bedroll, rushing forward. He drops to his own knees in front of Gale, hands latching onto Gale’s forearms while his eyes frantically search his face. Somehow, he looks even paler now. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Gale’s eyes are slow to find his. When they do, they’re pinched with a deep pain that Bucky can’t believe he didn’t notice before. Still, Gale shakes his head weakly. “’M fine.”

They have an audience, which Bucky knows isn’t helping Gale to tell him anything, stubborn and unflappable as he is. Or rather, as he would like to appear. Reluctantly, Bucky tears his eyes from the other man’s to glance around at the rest of the men. “Make yourselves busy, will you?”

Mercifully, they get the hint, dispersing in all directions away from the pair of them, busying themselves with getting settled in once more. Bucky’s gaze returns to Gale’s face with even greater urgency. “C’mon, Buck. What’s going on?”

It’s then that Gale presses a gentle hand to his right side, wincing even at the slightest pressure. There’s a tear there in his flight suit, accompanied by a spot of blood, which Bucky had naively assumed was someone else’s or just a minor scrape like the littering of small cuts now marring the other man’s face. 

“Think I’m hit,” Gale finally admits reluctantly, low and under his breath. 

Bucky clenches his jaw, inhales sharply through his nose, and forces himself not to panic. “You stubborn bastard. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

Gale shrugs. His eyes appear cloudy with fatigue or dizziness, Bucky can’t quite tell. When he speaks, his voice comes out sounding weak. “Had things to do. A mission to complete.”

John stares at him in a mixture of concern and disbelief for a moment before spurring himself into action. Pushing Gale’s jacket off his shoulders and beginning to undo the straps of his flight suit in hopes of getting a good look at his wound, Bucky admonishes in frustration, “The mission was complete the second you landed that fort against all odds, and you know it. You should’ve told me right then.”

“Didn’t want to cause a fuss. I’m fine.”

“You are not fine,” Bucky disagrees sharply, but then softens. He could have lost Gale today. Still could, really, depending on how badly he’s hurt. If they both make it back to Thorpe Abbotts safely after this, then he’ll give the other man an earful about taking better care of himself. But for now, harsh words aren’t going to make Gale feel any better. “It’s my job to fuss over you. So just let me do my job, okay?”

Gale sighs, accepting, then nods. He glances around to see if anyone else is keeping an eye on them. Then, apparently satisfied when they’re not, allows himself to slump forward against the broad warmth of Bucky’s chest with a quiet grunt of pain.

It’s not helping Bucky get him out of his flight gear any faster, but it feels so good to have Gale close after the day's events that he allows it, just for a moment. He strokes a hand down Gale’s back, ducking his head to murmur into his ear, for the two of them only, “I’ve got you, doll. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Once Gale hums in acknowledgement, Bucky reluctantly pushes him back to continue his efforts. He’s afraid of the injury he might find underneath the layers of clothing, but forces himself to keep his attitude light and optimistic on Gale’s behalf.

“Never thought I’d be taking your clothes off surrounded by all of our men,” Bucky teases quietly as he pushes the top Gale’s flight suit down to bunch around his waist, hoping to brighten the mood.

It seems to work briefly, with Gale letting out a surprised, albeit weak chuckle. But then the movement seems to pain him, and he winces. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky quickly sobers, worry flooding his veins. “Let me take a look. We’ll have you all patched up in no time, promise.”

[dufferpuffer]

Oh no a post about Remus Chronic illness my utter kryptonite It's worth taking into account that his Lycanthropy causes chronic illness symptoms - but they do not last all month, no. (I try to go through it a lot here lol - my imperfect canon scouring)

He always looks ill - though that doesn't mean he feels ill. As you pointed out, in PoA he is generally an energetic, fun person - bubbly when he is feeling safe, quick-witted when pressed, etc.

He might have been wearing masks, lying to everyone all year to leave a certain impression of being a popular guy that's more put-together than he actually is (being a show off to the kids - but getting facts wrong in his classwork) - but I also think that's similar to who he is when he is happy. He liked being at Hogwarts.

Before the Full Moon he looks more sickly than usual, enough for Harry to notice at a glance when off Wolfsbane - but he could still study for and do exams. He 'feels off colour' but can still chat to people when on Wolfsbane.

So before the full moon, for a couple of days at least, he isn't too bad - just a little under-the-weather.

After the Full Moon He is pallid and his voice might be hoarse. If we guess he was recovering on the train from a Full Moon - he sleeps for 8 hours, looking so bad 'one hex could finish him off' With Wolfsbane: he cannot go to a small Christmas lunch. He looses a noticeable amount of weight very quickly. Judging by days stated in the books, he takes at least 2 days off work to recover. That recovery period would be longer without Wolfsbane.

So he spends about 10% of each month too sick to work, and likely a bit more than that noticeably under-the-weather - say 20%.

That could reflect in his work as a teacher, too - beyond it simply being his first year. He is disorganized and behind schedule. He puts his effort into making things engaging for the students at the cost of being the most informative, which would make sense if he can't work properly for up to 20% of the time.

But 80% of the time he is alright. He isn't constantly suffering or in pain. Pain doesn't even seem to be a particular symptom. He has a few days a month of being wasted, a few more days of being a little unwell - but he is absolutely quite perky, when life is good.

Enough of constantly in pain Remus (this is about him in Canon not a comment about personal HCs). When we meet him hes jumping around and giggling for most of the book. He's friendly and funny and a trickster. He is tired after his transformations, which also cause him to lose weight and to look sickly. Between them he looks healthy and is able to teach like 28 classes a week no problem. Before poa he had it harder than other people to get a job bc he's a werewolf, but it wasn't impossible, and there is no reason to think James didn't leave him an inheritance.

He becomes the tired and stressed out man in ootp. When it's impossible to get work as a werewolf even with a full hogwarts education and all the connections that he has. Should James have left him any money it's not unreasonable to think it ran short after 14 years, and the upkeep of his welsh home would then also prove harder - a reason why he'd move in with Sirius.

I mean, the sad and broken man of ootp and hbp is not the man we meet in poa, nothing close to it! He is reckless and charming and brash, he sets up obstacle courses for his exams which he has to reset for each of his students and be ready to rescue them from. The anti werewolf laws set up in ootp really really hurt him, and we see that in the books. This isn't his normal state

[calebslittlecrow]

Don't get too caught up in your method! Okay, maybe I should elaborate a bit lol During my time hanging around in the shifting community I noticed that a lot of people get really caught up in their method. "I did my method for 4 hours straight and still didn't shift" First of all, mad respect, because I could never do this for hours T_T But second, there is no need to try for so long. A method is mostly used to detach you from your CR and attach you to the thought of being in your DR. The method isn't the thing that grabs and yeets you into your DR (we heard that one before, haven't we? xD) A method still tells your subconscious : "We are in our CR and trying to shift". Which... isn't bad. But the best thing you can do is find a point where you can tell your subconscious: "We done with trying, I am in my DR, I am my DR self. No trying anymore because it's done" (living in the end, basically). Imaging it as riding your bicycle. The method is you getting on your bike, sitting there, ready to go. At one point you have to simply push forward a little bit to drive, yes? Otherwise you'll just stay where you are. And please, if a method doesn't help you detach from your CR, just look for another one, especially after months with no signs of a molecule of process x.x Just because random person A shifted with the help of that specific method doesn't mean it will work for you. It can, but after a while maybe looking around the method buffet isn't that bad of an idea.

[exocynraku]

sorry if this is a bit strange to say but your style is so charming :] are there any specific inspirations you have? ALSO can i ask where you learned anatomy from? drawing cats has always been a pain for me and i’m wondering if you have any tips… and i hope you have a lovely day!!! love your works so much :]

thank you veery much.. warrior cats related? ursiday, lupiine, thunderc1an/rebe adventures, movdotmov, assignedk9, bunnyfarm and many popular warrior cats artists on youtube come to mind. otherwise, a lot of what I take inspiration from is manga. i didn't really learn it from anywhere persay, just practice. if you look at some of my first ever wc designs, i could definitely do better now LOL. i'd love to give you more specific tips but literally how i learn is just draw cats. i drew almost all day every day in early covid days when i wasn't in school, and did like, 10 designs a day. ( i wouldn't recommend doing this though, cause now i have Wrist Pain <3 ). so my best advice to you is just draw cats. i never had a problem with seeing my art as 'bad' because in the beginning i was horrendously egotistical and though whatever my current artstyle at the time was was absolutely peak, but i know a lot of people do, so you really need to push yourself forward. even if you see problems in your art now, you have to keep drawing to rectify them. you could study a hundred art books and go to dozens of dozens of classes and look at tons of tutorials but if you don't actually DRAW anything, you aren't going to learn. if you're experiencing artblock, draw something you like which is easy for you (i usually draw my fursona). etc. the minimal amount of tips i CAN give you is to trace. not in like a post-it-online-claiming-its-yours sort of way, but find an artist you like and trace their pieces. specifically, trace the things you like from them, like the paws or face. i do this not often i would say but enough it's able to help me, plus it usually gets me out of ruts where i don't like certain parts of my art. also, real pictures. i'd say this helps more for things like understanding cat anatomy vs how to stylize it. for resources, i'll give you this and this. i can also say, if you're not liking your art, it might be the brush you're using. change it up, i have TONS downloaded and will spend literally hours finding and editing one to what i like. also, get rid of any idea of an "artstyle". you may develop something concrete eventually, but don't stick yourself to a box in the beginning. also, KEEP EVERYTHING. going back and looking at my old designs and art is extremely entertaining, and it can show you how much you're improved over time. tldr: just draw. it's how i learned. a couple other things, but 90% of it is literally just keep drawing.

[eternalera]

ngl im not upset that izuocho is canon because that means tha bkdk isnt canon or togachako isnt canon (although im a little sad i wouldnt say upset. because ofc people are gonna be a little disappointed when soemthing they want doesnt happen)

im more so upset about how fucking bad their get together was like holy shit. or how little they interact or how just not close they seem to each other. like they were always shown admiring each other, but it always felt like they were doing so from afar.

whenever ochako was saying how much she admired izuku and wanted to be like him, even changing her costume to match hers it reminded me of izuku making his first costume like All Might and uh... you see the problem there? she changed it because she admired him and because she admired him she loved him. it wasnt she loves him so she admires him and that always made their relationship feel so distant

then whenever they did interact it just felt like all might and izuku's team ups and stuff like that. even with the blushing i couldnt get into their relationship because they hardly interacted and when they did their relationship always felt so surface level to me that i couldnt get into it

also not even mentioning that literal SHIGARAKI himself says how BAKUGO is the closest person to izuku, NOT ochako. which is... you'd think the person you love/get together with should be the one that you're closest with but thats just not the case here

he's closest with bakugo and with ochako she was closest with tsuyu or toga for that matter.

toga and her bonded over their love for izuku and while yes it was romantic they saw past that and loved each other (whether you think of it as platonic or romantic). they literally saw that and cared for each other. toga valued ochako's opinion and we're shown this when she asks ochako if ochako would kill her in s6 and when she says yes thats when toga basically becomes a 'full fledged' villain

like its so clear that these two are not each others #1's and are NOT each others first thought or anything. yes they're blushing when theyre around each other, yes theyre cute together, but in terms of who they develop the most with? who they're always with? who's on their mind pretty much 90% of the time?

its not each other.

hell whenever izuku goes berserk its because bakugo gets injured and yes he would do it for any of his classmates but it establishes their relationship a LOT more and states bakugo's importance to izuku more than anything.

idk anyways thanks for coming to my tedtalk lol-

[terrinle]

first and foremost, i want to note, as i did in the post, that this is not about me saying gender segregation is good-- i dont think it is. i think that people should be able to access things the that they need and it shouldn't be based on gender. but that is not what i was talking about lol

this post was prompted by seeing a guy say that he had "no reason" to be excluded from womens spaces, and i just think thats kind of ridiculous, because obviously there is one reason why he would be excluded from a womens space: him being a man. that is, in fact, a reason, lol. whether you think thats a good reason is not the question. the question is: if being a man is an invalid reason to be excluded from a womens space, then what reason is there that at all that anyone can be excluded from a womens space?

if youre not out yet, then idk why you wouldnt already be allowed to go into womens spaces? like lmao. like obviously if people think youre a cis woman, they'll allow you into womens spaces? this is a complete nonstarter lol

with a lot of these, you yourself admitted they're coed/accesible by cis men, so i dont know why you brought them up? they arent relevant. medical procedures, though systemically gendered in a way that can exclude us, are not womens spaces in and of themselves, as evidenced by the existence of male doctors in these fields?

my question to you with many of these is: okay, so your theoretical guy is older and hes not out and isnt transitioning and maybe doesnt even want to. i can understand the argument for his inclusion. but does that mean that EVER trans man should be included in womens sports/dorms/etc entirely on the basis that we're trans men? because thats the argument that bothers me, the idea that, no matter what, we should be included in womens spaces, even in cases where there are existing alternatives for men that we can easily access? like what other reason could there be except for our agab?

i dont see why youd have to divorce your lesbian wife (a marriage is not a womens space lol), but i could see why she would divorce you for being a man and i also think thats fine lol. i think that if lesbians do not want men, including trans men, in their spaces, that should be respected lol. sorry! hanging out with your lesbian friends isnt a "womens space" even if it is a space with all women, lol. an event for sapphic women is not necessary for survival. this is another example wherein you have so many caveats and it feels so granual that i dont know what you want me to say. yeah, maybe in that specific case, sure, yeah, but not every trans man fits that description-- probably, most dont! should those of us who do not be included on the basis of being trans men?

honestly, i dont care if you want to go into lesbian spaces, but i do wish that trans men could ever seem to acknowledge that the whole "we've always been here 😌" is not a value neutral statement in this context. we've always been there because of biological essentialism and transphobia lol, the same kind that excludes trans women from those spaces, both historically and today. i realize a lot of trans men identify as lesbians which i think is whatever, im not gonna tell you what to do with your life, but idk, acting like there is a reason besides our agab that we're allowed to do that leaves a bad taste in my mouth every time i see it being said without so much as a nod to that fact

and yeah. of course i think men should be allowed to access dv and sa related services, shelters, and

anyway. i know i missed some of these but many of them were completely irrelevant so you'll forgive me lol, but i have to cook dinner now. i hope you understand that, as i said, i dont support gender segregation! my question was: since gender segregation does exist, then what other reason besides gender is there to exclude them?

okay my question, genuinely, to trans men in the transandrophobia space, is this:

upon what grounds can someone justifiably be excluded from a womens space if not their gender? if trans men should be allowed into womens spaces, then why not cis men? i mean, theyre men, we're men, and if we're allowed in, why shouldnt they be? "they dont face the same struggles that we do!" lmao some of them do!

its just perplexing why the statement "the only reason someone can justifiably be excluded from a gender segregated space is that they are not the gender that the space is for" is so fucking offensive to people all on its own? like yeah yeah our struggles but like we are still men, right? and these spaces are for women, right? so why is "you are being excluded for being a man" when you are one treated like this absurdly offensive thing or like theres "no reason" for it. there is one! youre a guy lol.

whether you think that you should be excluded for being a guy or not is not the question im asking here-- its that, if being a man is not a justifiable reason to exclude someone from a womens space, then what is lmao?

[banana-can-do-art]

(Book 7 spoilers) I just watched Trey’s dream. This is incredible. The orbs are on the level of buff Epel and that is an achievement. Also their voices are cracking me up it has the same vibes as Floyd in that one part of book 4 when he got the deep voice. Actually though, I like how it does show that he wants the dorm members to be happy and also that he is a weirdo in the best possible way. I love how Cater is like hm this is the first time I’ve thought of Trey as a weird guy… The first time?! Cater I know he tries to act like a normie but the guy has absolutely slipped multiple times. Trey is silly and we love him for that. I feel so bad for Trey in some of the parts of the dream though, like his friend’s mom screamed at him for 5 hours and then when he finally met said friend again years later he just ignored him like nothing happened. I get why Riddle would do that but still that must have been so awkward. Also though even though it was a serious scene it was so funny when they did the flashback and said Riddle avoided him and then Riddle’s png just slides across the screen, I dunno I thought it looked really funny for some reason. And then the way this shows how Trey doesn’t view the others as like I dunno able to look after themselves in a way, like they’re these silly orb people because Trey thinks that if he were to stop keeping the dorm running smoothly it would just self destruct because he doesn’t think that the others can manage themselves. And I mean in some ways he’s right lol I mean have you seen the people in heartslabyul I mean they’re based off of Alice in Wonderland characters, do you expect them to be sane? Still, Trey is holding up Heartslabyul on his back he deserves more credit for that. Trey is underrated, this is one of if not my favorite dream we’ve seen so far.