#tldr: don’t be an asshole

[designernishiki]

aight im just gonna say it. some folks really gotta stop treating nishikiryu like they’re actually related and considering anyone who’s so much as Okay with them as a pairing of being incest apologists. like. that’s a legitimately fucked up and serious thing to accuse someone of just because of your view of two factually unrelated fictional characters.

[sootnuki]

Do you have a dni?

i don’t have one written out, but my basic one is basically: all terfs, homophobes, mega creeps, racists, nazis, ableists, etc. are Not welcome on my blog whatsoever. to anyone who’s any of the above, please fuck off <3

[queerpdsys]

seeing disability awareness posts end with “TLDR; no, read it” is fucking WILD

[mur-art]

Oooo, you have Jefferson hcs? I'd love to hear them if you're comfortable with that (not forced)

I definitely haven’t thought about this too much /s

TL;DR I feel like he’d be a great one-off character for the Table purely for comedic value. Dude is pathetic and his antics and attempts to convince others of his legitimate (totally legitimate, he swears) statehood would be hilarious.

Some art and HCs under the cut.

@freshwolfhell has lots of good Jeff HCs as well! A lot of these are the results of our discussions!

TW Discussion of weed (ofc) and other drugs

I forgot if I posted this one or not; again, credit to @freshwolfhell for inspiring this silly comic.

-As the comic above implies, Jeff is sometimes the definition of political “horseshoe theory”; coming to agree with certain progressive/liberal values not because he understands them or agrees with them, but for his own completely unhinged reasons.

-Dude smokes so much weed. He’s just constantly surrounded by a haze. He also struggles with addictions to some harder drugs.

-He’s a hardcore conspiracy theorist. There aren’t many conspiracy theories he DOESN’T believe in, even ones that seemingly contradict each other.

-He lives in an RV deep in the forest. The RV is covered in moss and hasn’t been moved in at least 20 years. It’s at the end of a dirt road that’s impassable when it rains. He rarely leaves, but when he does, he drives an old beat up Subaru with a hundred somewhat contradictory political bumper stickers.

-He managed to rig up a setup for TV and shitty internet, but he’s very much stuck in the past technology-wise. He still rents DVDs and listens to the radio. His favorite pastime is listening to true crime or conspiracy podcasts, and/or watching news stories about how much California sucks.

-He may or may not frequently get mistaken for some type of cryptid.

-He used to work in the logging industry and he feels a lot of resentment at California and the “environmentalists,” who, in his opinion, ruined his life by lobbying against the industry, leading to the downfall of so many of “his” towns and plunging him into poverty. He’s extremely bitter about this, as well as every other wrong (imagined or real) committed by California and Oregon against him. (Just like California) He keeps receipts. He writes down everything in a journal, and takes it with him everywhere.

-He lets his resentment and anger control him. Instead of trying to better his own situation or trying to get along with others, he places the blame for his own failures on everyone else.

-A lot of his resentment and anger is (perhaps misplaced) jealousy. Of California. Of the other cities and regions of California who have (in his mind) everything he never had. Of the other states, who are recognized as such and the honor that brings. Of course he’d never admit this.

-He’s convinced in his own mind that he’s a real state, and has been for decades, and that everyone else is actively conspiring to hide that fact.

-In an attempt to to gain support, he’s gone to the other “misfits” in the nation like Puerto Rico, Hawai’i, and Maryland. Each attempt has backfired spectacularly, as he’s not exactly culturally or racially aware, and ended up saying some offensive shit to them.

-He tries to call both California and Oregon every Thursday to remind them that he’s a state, but they’ve long since blocked him on every form of communication. So he’s gone back to writing letters. They’re long-winded, filled with spelling errors, and list (in great detail) every grievance that Jeff has with both of them. He never gets a response, but he continues to send them.

-He also writes letters to various other California and Oregon cities— nasty, threatening letters if he hates them (San Francisco) or vague attempts to make friends if he likes/admires them (Bakersfield).

-He has a whole ass arsenal of guns. He is absolutely NOT a responsible gun owner. He should probably not be trusted with any type of weapon, not even a kitchen knife.

-He’s a self-proclaimed “survivalist.” He knows how to forage for food and he does eat a lot of wild blackberries and fish he caught himself. However, all the ramen and candy he eats on a regular basis might be hard to find during the apocalypse…

In conclusion, he (not California, as he claims) is his own worst enemy. He lets his legitimate feelings of betrayal and isolation burn out of control and rule his life. He’s lonely and bitter and he’s constantly seeking the kind of validation he never receives.

Also, here’s a playlist for this asshole. Mostly just vibes.

[cream-and-tea]

how do werewolves work in lmd (plus anything else like that)

OK SO.

(this got very very long)

(just as a warning)

(also i’m going to tag @transmasc-wizard bc i remember you asked about this a while ago and a lot of this response comes from what i had typed up to respond to YOU lol)

(okay here we go)

there are (putting it very very basically) two main kinds of magic in the Ghost Story Universe: mortem (Death Juice) and vita (Life Juice). they draw from the same source (God Juice) (which is also the source of the apocalypse but that’s another post entirely) and are kind of different aspects of one thing, but still act as opposing forces. equals and opposites, can’t have one without the other, etc etc. the point is that even though they’re two different types of magic they share the same set of rules and operate under the same basic facts. one of the most basic being that magic is physically taxing to use. no magic comes without a cost

so this is pretty straightforward. and generally it isn’t anything too debilitating, but the more powerful the magic and the more magic used, the more damaging the physical effects become (for example: early on agnes’s chitchats with the ghosts she sees don’t really wear on her because it’s a very passive form of her power, but as the plot progresses and she actively draws on it more and more she starts to develop chronic headaches). the more active magic bullshit you do in succession —> the worse you’ll be feeling the next morning. people would usually need to rest for upwards of a few days after performing a major act of magic and the reason The Library focuses so much on endurance and repetition is to prevent that from happening. it’s to the point that some majorly powerful stuff is possible but the benefit of it is almost completely outweighed by the potential damage it would cause.

rambly worbuilding aside, this is really just a preface so it makes sense when i say: vampires and werewolves are what happen when people push their magic to far.

they’re basically the most extreme end of the spectrum for either kind of magic. vamps are a result of overusing vita (blood life stuff), and wolfs are a result of overusing mortem (spooky death stuff). this happens to people when they’re drawing on so much magic that their body literally cannot support it anymore and starts canabilizing itself in order to support the magic and prevent the person from just. coming apart at the seams. a Regular Person body is just incapable of handling that amount of power, so in turn they have to draw their sustenance from a different non-human source. the comparatively small piece-of-magic-apocalypse-juice in them mutates and co-opts the functions of their body in order to save that body from collapse. both vamps and wolves have to feed CONSTANTLY or they risk their bodies giving in and all their organs straight-up failing. it’s a slow transformation process and sort of representative of how much Whatever Caused The Apocalypse has become so deeply ingrained in every part of the new world. again: it presents differently but it’s all the same stuff in the end.

the world is full of monsters and weirdness and general spooky bullshit but vampires and werewolves especially have an ENORMOUS amount of stigma surrounding them because of the fact that most people still see regular magic users as recognizably human, and view the transformation as a transition from Human Person With Emotions Who I Should View As Such Despite This One Weird Thing to Inhuman Monster. most magical creatures aren’t seen as sentient in nature and many of them are actively dangerous to humans, so if someone pushes their abilities to far and ends up undergoing the transformation then it’s seen as a shift from being one of Us (normal people just trying to survive this crazy broken down to world) to being one of Them (unnatural monsters that came about as a result of the evil forest and apocalypse and want to destroy humanity), except that obviously the people who are turned are the same people they were before, just with an extra set of challenges and probably more bloodlust (which i can see being a bit of concern but c’mon. are u really going to let a little killer instinct get in the way of a lasting and meaningful relationship. weak).

They’re also used as an excuse when it comes to hatred of people born with magic at all. bc sure it SEEMS harmless when you kid is learning from their dead grandma or healing a little bit faster than normal, but with ONE WRONG MOVE they could become A VISCOUS BEAST or a BLOODSUCKING MONSTER and do you really want to take that risk?? wouldn’t it be better to stamp that out now before someone gets hurt??? even in places like The Library, which usually serves as a safe-haven for people born w magic, vamps and wolfs are seen as somehow Lesser. The Library toutes them as cautionary tales and failures of magic, basically a warning of what not to do to their students.

to get into the more specific abilities and effects and What Being A Vampire Or Werewolf Means i’ve made some handy little lists (ft. calliope and luca macnamara, a book 2-3 character that nobody knows about lol) (please click tumblr absolutely wrecked the quality):

so. yeah.

[puppy-the-mask]

I was about to sleep and then got assaulted by the fact that Peng is my lmk equivalent of Mutt in that I hate them both and so think about them a lot and damnit they’re pretty to look at and I’m mad about it. I hate that I like them so much

And then immediately after I got bombed so hard I had to write this because Peng and Rant are the same fucking character- send help my precious best boy has the same personality as this dumb bird bitch. I find solace in the fact that my boy has depth, redeeming qualities, and an actual character arc. Yet I lament that they’re both sassy drama queens who would sell you out, not for a corn chip, but to see what happens when they do because they’re bored and think it’ll be funny.

[toohottohoot]

Tyler: “I thought you liked me, Wednesday. :(“

Me: excUSE ME WHEN THE FUCK DID SHE GIVE THAT IMPRESSION YOU MOTHERFUCKING BITCH—

[possiblyscrewed]

ooh this is actually a fantastic metaphor for how weird it was going from the closed trans forums that I grew up on where everyone understood gender dysphoria to mean the feeling of being trans to happening upon the tumblr trans community 5 years later and eventually realizing the next generation had redefined the word and were big mad about it.

Like. Imagine if one day everyone decided hungry only meant starving to death, but you were out sick that day. This was basically my experience of the discourse:

“I don’t need to be hungry to eat. I feel the urge to eat and I choose to eat and that’s valid.”

“Actually, if you feel the urge to eat then you are hungry. I get hungry like that too.”

“Uh no, I’m not starving to death. I’m choosing to eat because I want to. I’m not one of you hungry weirdos who can’t control themselves around food.”

“I’m not a weirdo because I get hungry multiple times a day. Everyone does.”

“Eww, no, you can’t force everyone to conform to your rules. We’re not like you and you can’t force us to be starving to be allowed to eat. And no one wants to hear about you needing to stuff your face all day. Back off and leave some food for the rest of us.”

Obligatory disclaimer that I wrote this example with a clear intentional bias because it is meant to depict how I initially perceived the situation. It’s not a commentary on either side of the stupid dysphoria discourse. And I am certain that people who grew up with the newer definition of dysphoria had an equal and opposite experience of the discourse. And were just as justified in their perception of the situation as I was, because we had a disparate set of assumptions informing our reality.

Huh

[milk-lover]

Found some neat thoughts in the preface to my edition of Jane Eyre:

“Having thus acknowledged what I owe those who have aided and approved me, I turn to another class; a small one, as far as I know, but not, therefore, to be overlooked. I mean the timorous or carping few who doubt the tendency of such books as Jane Eyre: in whose eyes whatever is unusual is wrong; whose ears detect in each protest against bigotry—that parent of crime—an insult to piety, that regent of God on earth. I would suggest to such doubters certain obvious distinctions; I would remind them of certain simple truths.

Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. To attach the first is not to assail the last. To pluck the mask from the face of the Pharisee, is not to lift an impious hand to the Crown of Thorn.

These things and deeds are diametrically opposed; they are as distinct as is vice from virtue. Men too often confound them; they should not be confounded: appearances should not be mistaken for truth; narrow human doctrines, that only tend to elate and magnify a few, should not be substituted for the world-redeeming creed of Christ. There is—I repeat it—a difference; and it is a good, and not a bad action to mark broadly and clearly the line of separation between them.”

So crazy that a book written in the 1940s has a passage that so closely resembles (in message if not style..) something I could have seen on tumblr last week.

[hatsukeii]

god, love's fuckin' embarrassing! / bsf!suna rintarou x reader

genre(s): fluff + a bit of crack, bsf to lovers, mutual pining, mutual DENIAL SMH, set in pre-timeskip second/third year, "love is embarrassing" x "love is embarrassing", suna lowkey is a sleazy heartthrob who just gets girls, fumbling his feelings in front of a baddie but it...works???

warning(s): dirty jokes, "suna ur a p3do" jokes and punchlines (he's not), and a kys joke LMFAO, also just INSANE/irrational behaviour from diff girls out of obsession/lovesickness because i have defs! met people like that... but other than those nothing! gn reader too i THINK if it's not lmk i'll fix it :)

wc: ~3.3k

tldr; suna rintarou swears he gives up, because love is just so fucking embarrassing. i mean, seriously, what kind of guy is placing all his bets on his best friend that he's definitely, totally, 100% not in love with? (he is.)

Suna Rintarou arrives at your house approximately fifteen minutes later than he agreed to. When he walks in with your spare key, you’re already on the couch, legs propped up on the armrest and back pushed into the plush seats as you scroll on some random forum. He takes aim, and tosses your spare key from the doorway, hoping it hits you in the face. You drop your phone at the same time, and it ends up bouncing off the case and onto the ground. 

“Asshole.” You yell from the couch while reaching to claw at your keys, just loud enough for him to hear, but not loud enough to wake the rest of your household. “You said you’d be here by ten to debrief. Was she that bad?” 

Suna frowns, something you, fortunately, don’t notice. You’ve regained control of your phone now, moving on from your forum to your photo album. Through the reflection of the television, his figure is blurry, but approaching. The fabric behind your head dips when he flips onto your couch, legs hanging from the headrest and head lolling off the seat. You finally find what you were looking for, shoving your phone into his face. 

“The scale? Seriously?...Solid nine-point-five. Not a ten, though. Redeeming factor was that she had big tits, but that wouldn’t have mattered anyways, because she’s fifteen.” You drop your phone on his nose. It slides off his face and onto the ground again. 

“Fucking gross, Rintarou. You’re so gross. This is why you can’t keep any girl for longer than one hour.” 

Pushing himself up, he plucks your phone from the ground, and tosses it onto your stomach. With the rate that he’s been going at, Suna doesn’t think he wants to keep anyone for longer than one hour. Sure, casual flirting is exciting. Hookups don’t sound half bad either. But the next time that Suna  catches somebody he’s never spoken to with a love letter in their hands, he swears he will run into the nearest vehicle. It’s not to say that Suna Rintarou wants to be a prude for the rest of his life, no, not at all. He just doesn’t want to spend half an hour chasing someone off his tail again, for the fifth time in his life. 

“Not my fault they think I’d appreciate them casting love spells and carving my name into their walls.” He glances at your grossed-out grimace, and nods knowingly, a nod that says yeah, it’s been that bad. “I’d rather die alone if that’s what I end up doing while in love.” 

You snicker, turning your entire body so your legs rest on the seats of the couch and your back leans against the armrest. Suna eyes your shirt up and down, frowning at the old, but persistent coffee stain that refuses to wash off. He doesn’t think he’s ever getting that shirt back, but he’s okay with that. He wasn’t going to ask anyways. “She was not in love with you, Rin. Stop being an egotist.” 

Something goes off in the kitchen, and Suna suddenly notices how his nose tingles at smells of burnt sugar and butter in the air. You hop off the couch, disappearing into the kitchen only to return with a bowl that Suna thinks might be bigger than your chest- your head. When you set the bowl down on the fabric between your crossed legs, and stuff handfuls of popcorn into your mouth, he sighs. There’s no running from this after all. 

“So? What’s the Mitsuki level warning?” You raise your brow expectantly, the same way that you do at every debrief session, which Suna never fails to show up late to. Thankfully, that usually gives you more time for the everything shower, because the sessions also never fail to carry on through the night, and into the next day.

Ah, Mitsuki, his recurring nightmare. In hindsight, Suna should have known better than to try anything with her, of all people. For fuck’s sake, she drew gore of pre-existing couples, and posted them publicly with pride. “Not that bad, my god. You think she was a villain or something? It was only, like, cried and told me that I must be in love with someone else level bad.” For the record, that’s not even a level 1 warning on the Mitsuki scale. You roll your eyes, mouthing booooo with popcorn stuffed in your cheeks and sticking a buttery thumb down. The horrors that you’ve had the displeasure of hearing about are enough to turn anybody away from love. In fact, they’re enough to undo the security of happily married parents, and an unproblematic friend group at school, and the fact that Suna Rintarou has been looking a little too decent recently. You chalk it up to him finally cutting the stupid hair short.

Suna’s hand invades the popcorn bowl, picking for the glossiest piece. He knows it’s in there, somewhere, the piece with the best butter to caramel ratio, the one that you always find before he does when he shares a bucket with you at the movies. To his disappointment, it is once again, gone. He settles for one that has enough butter, and pops it into his mouth. You throw a dry piece at his face. He eats that one too. 

“Keep going? I need to update my catalogue of your botched dates.”

“It wasn’t even a date!” You throw another piece of popcorn at his face, and this time, he chucks it back at you. “I agreed to show her around the area tonight because she asked, and I was assigned to her, of all the new first years! I didn’t think she would break down when I said no to hooking up now, did I?” You snicker, pointing accusingly at Suna and wiggling your finger. Then, you sign directions- directions he knows all too well from telling you too much about lovesick underclassmen whose feelings go unrequited. Out the door, to the left, straight for three blocks, take a right, it’s the blue sign ahead. It’s the police station. He claws at a handful of popcorn and throws it at you while you hold your stomach and cackle. 

“I’m gonna kill you, I swear.”

“Nah, you love me too much.”

“Bullshit, I don’t.” Any type of love is too embarrassing for Suna Rintarou to be in, whether it’s what his parents have, or whatever Atsumu has got going on with that foreign chick from “another school,” or if it’s throwing popcorn at him in his old Gorillaz t-shirt, which he is still, never getting back. “Kill yourself. I hate you. If you have one hater, it’s me. I’m your biggest opp.” Yes, of course he hates when you pull this shit, because it’s not like he’s glad that underclassmen ogle over him on the daily. How is he supposed to explain that firstly, he doesn’t want to catch a case, and secondly, he thinks they’re tainting the very concept of love by embarrassing themselves like that?

You put a halt to your mindless laughter and gasp, eyes widening and pointer finger shooting up in front of you. “Whoa there!” The feigned altruism of your voice makes Suna wish he was actually dead. See? No love here. One for Suna, none for love. “Hate is a strong word, Rin. You shouldn’t hate, you should love! Love thy neighbours! Love wins!” Popcorn crumbs line his t-shirt now, and Suna clicks his tongue, running a hand over the plasticky print. It’s in pristine condition, spare for the splotch of brown, conveniently placed in one of the four white areas on the shirt. You swat his hand away, throwing a coy smirk in his direction as you shake the fabric to let the crumbs fall off. He tries to wince, holding back the muscles in his cheeks from moving the wrong way and smiling, and a pained smoulder comes as a result. Better than a smile, especially when you’re prodding at him to choose love. That would have been embarrassing, and very, very hard to explain.

“Love does not win.” Suna turns on the television now, your muted reflections turning to colour as some reality show drones on. Oh look, it’s Love Island, where all the female leads are a little stupid, and the male leads are trying unnecessarily hard not to think with their dicks. “It’s sad, and half the time girls that say they’re in love with me end up running away crying because of it.” 

You hum, questionably. Is that what he thinks love is? Well, yes, it’s sad, obviously. Embarrassing too. You’ve seen it in the sappy texts that your freshly-dumped friends foolishly shoot to their cheater exes, and heard it in Suna’s many escapades, including, but not limited to being car-chased by Mitsuki onto your poor neighbour’s lawn, which they still haven’t managed to get fixed. Still, it always wins, because somebody else thinking they’re in love with Suna means that you get to hear all about them for hours on end, and then try to convince him that there’s obviously somebody better, or at least sane, that's around the corner, ready to love him normally. Not you though, because that’s, again, embarrassing. Although you admit that you wouldn’t mind if he ever asked. 

“I told you, Rin, they’re not in love with you. They’re obsessed, it’s different.” 

Suna shrugs, blowing a raspberry. He doesn’t think you know what you’re talking about, because if you ever needed him to, Suna Rintarou would undoubtedly lay his life down for you, no questions asked. If you ever wanted another shirt, he’d give you his collection, then buy you more if that still isn’t enough. He’d let you off the hook for snatching the best piece of popcorn in the bucket from him, and settle for the butter pieces with only bits of caramel on the edges. Hell, he’d even swallow his ego, and just date you if it helped you with anything. But he would rather die than hand you a love letter stamped shut with red wax, or push you up against a locker in the middle of school rush hour, and has never, in his life, wanted to watch you sleep through a bedroom window like Mitsuki has to him. Obsession, in the name of love, is sorely inapplicable to Suna Rintarou. Therefore, he must be romantically inept. It’s okay, he accepts it. 

“I don’t see a difference. How could you?”

Your mind blanks at his question, unsure how to explain to Suna that somebody screaming I love you! with a DSLR camera full of his photos, taken of him in secret, in places that nobody but he should know, is nothing close to love. When you reach for the coffee table and place the half empty bowl of popcorn down, you catch his expression. His eyes are half-lidded, glossed over, staring tiredly at the television. You almost let it slip that you feel a bit sad for him. 

“You’re kidding. Okay, give me a scenario, anything.” He hesitates, bouncing his leg up and down and tapping his finger against the seat of the couch. His eyes dart towards you, who are staring at him. He doesn’t look away.

“Alright, what would you do if you loved someone?”

In normal circumstances, you’d probably tell them, nothing. When Suna Rintarou is sitting beside you on your couch, however, it’s different. You think, looking at the ceiling to avoid any and all eye contact.

“Well, for starters, I wouldn’t try to fight their best friend.” You blurt out, remembering the black eye you suffered as a result of telling Mitsuki off for showing up at Suna’s doorstep in nothing but lingerie. “And I’d be okay taking a black eye for them anyways, it’s just not a nice experience.” Suna nods introspectively, looking back to the television. Nope, still Love Island, but it’s enough to occupy his scrambling mind. You continue.

“I mean, flowers are kind of embarrassing, and I kinda hate them, but if they wanted to give me flowers, I’d pretend to like them. Maybe try to keep them alive too.” By ascending the stairs to your room, you would see a single rose in a vase. It’s half-wilted, the water level decided with uncertainty a year ago when Suna thought it was funny to give you the rose from one of his secret admirers on Valentine’s day. “If they loved me though, they would know that I hate flowers.” See? Not love again, two for Suna, none for love, because Suna gave you the rose knowing that you hate flowers. 

“I’d take lots of consensual photos of them, anytime, and everywhere.” Suna knows that you have an entire album, filled with god awful, non-consensual photos of him. That means you don’t love him, which is good! Because he doesn’t either, even if he also has an album of unflattering, non-consensual photos of you. Suna’s favourite is one that is actually quite flattering, where you’re leaning up against the handle of a shopping cart, and reaching for a bottle of mayonnaise on a rack. Non-consensual, unbeknownst to you, but he thinks you’d like it if he showed you. “Keep them in a cute little folder or something too.”

“Are you sure you’re not in love with anyone? Because you seem to know way too much.”

“I think s-” Stopping abruptly, you bite your tongue before the next words have a chance to come out. “I think I’m open to it.” You stretch, and your foot pokes into Suna’s side. He grabs it, sitting closer, and pulls you down until your legs rest on his own, which are now bouncing uncontrollably. 

“Okay, good to know. What’s your type, then?”

Your hands reach behind your head, cushioning it as you lie on the headrest. “Someone funny. And sane. Good looking too, but that’s a bonus.” No, this is bad. It’s two for Suna, but one for love, because Suna Rintarou is sane. Love Island on the television erupts into a flurry of applause, and when the two of you look at the screen, two people are kissing. One of them opens their mouth too much, and it clearly freaks the other person out. “Oh, and somebody who doesn’t kiss like…that.” You nudge Suna’s chest with your knee. “What about you? First year freshmen?” He pokes the side of your stomach, right where the coffee stain sits on his t-shirt. 

“Fuck you.” His curses drone off, lost in thought. Does he want somebody tall? Short? Somebody who plays volleyball like him? No, that’s not it. He looks back at you, whose eyes are still trained onto the television. He thinks he should take another photo of you, one that he thinks you’d like just as much as the shopping cart one. It’ll be a lot of effort, trying to reach for his phone in his pocket with your legs over his own, but it’ll be worth it. “I just want somebody who won’t try to climb through my bedroom window at three in the morning.” Now that he says it out loud, it sounds like the bare minimum. “And maybe someone who actually wants me around, even if I’m not romantic or whatever.” You look back at Suna, and suddenly you’re putting every single person that’s ever confessed their love to shame just by being his best friend of four years, sitting beside him like you always have. Fuck, it’s two for Suna, and three for love. He’s not sure where the extra point came from, but he probably deserves it. “I think I just want somebody who loves me. Like, actually loves me.”

“What, you finally get it?”

“Yeah, I think I do.” Suna rubs at his gradually reddening face with both of his clammy palms. You smile, because you’re not sad for him anymore. Your best friend is finally starting to see that love isn’t being chased by a car, or being cornered with a letter, or even being kissed on the cheek by girls who barely know him, but somehow think they’re in love with him. “This is so fucking embarrassing. Oh my god. Love is so fucking embarrassing.” 

“I know, Rin. It’s nice though, I think, when you’re in love.” Your words drift off into the air of your living room, and although you're punching yourself in your head, you come to the acknowledgement that you might just be in love with Suna Rintarou. Love really sets you up to embarrass yourself, especially when you realise it at a time like this.

“Have you been?”

You don't nod, and his stomach drops, because Suna Rintarou is pretending that he wants to make fun of whatever comes out of your mouth next, but hoping for you to say his name. Two for Suna, four for love.

“I probably am right now, but who am I to say? I know nothing more than you do. People don’t even go for me, which saves me the trouble.” You shrug helplessly. If love doesn’t come your way, then so be it. There’s nothing more embarrassing than putting out more than you get, which is exactly what you would do for only one person in the world.

“They would.” 

“You serious?” Suna nods, legs coming to rest. “Proof, right now, or it didn’t happen.” It’s about to end horribly, and Suna Rintarou might never live this down, but he’s lost four-two to love, so placing all his bets on this is now obligatory. 

“Okay, go out with me. I’ll take you somewhere nice.” You freeze, sitting upright. Your body is still as stone, legs still on Suna’s, which are shifting so he can turn and face you.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” He doesn’t miss the grin that creeps onto your face. It’s a good sign, he thinks. A sign that you do, in fact, love him back, one way or another. 

“Well, I’m funny, and I’m sane. That’s what you want, right?” Yes, that is what you want. In fact, upon closer consideration, Suna Rintarou is exactly what you want. Who would’ve guessed? Best friend of four years, like you thought, just around the corner. 

“You would be correct. And I want you around, always, even if you don’t like romance, which is what you want, right?” Suna nods, because that is exactly what he wants. 

“Okay, and you…actually love me, and are not just trying to see what boxers I’m wearing, right?” Your eyes dart between his own, and you think about the time Mitsuki somehow managed to steal Suna’s boxers after breaking into his house at three in the morning, before she was chased out and had the restraining order filed against her. No, you’d never stoop that low. Plus, you already know from shuffling through Suna’s closet for all these years, stealing t-shirts off of him. T-shirts that you still wear on rotation to bed, sometimes to go out. You don’t tell him about your friends asking you whether they’re your boyfriend’s shirts, and how you would respond, I wish, idiots.

“I do actually love you, Rintarou. Plus, I think I’d rather not see your boxers again, thanks. And if we go out, you’ll figure out whether you’re in love with me as well, and we can work with that.” The credits roll on the television, and it cuts to an episode preview. Suna looks at you, and he thinks maybe, just maybe, if you ever wanted him to, he’d show up to your doorstep, not just with more of his band t-shirts, but with handwritten love letters tied into a stack too. 

“Nah, I know I love you. We can skip the date and just get together.”

author's note:

watch me post this at 2am sydney time and then get annoyed when no one sees it because 2am is a cursed time for me.... JOKES i don't care because i loved writing this so sosoossoos much and im putting it out as soon as im finished but THANK YOU FOR READING TILL THE END!!! i have a newfound love for suna rintarou thanks to all the research i did on his character both fanon and canon he's so me frl i need to have a suna in my life ngl... I HOPE THIS LIVED UP TO YOUR EXPECTATIONS THO!!! genuinely one of my favourites that I've written thus far

anyways tags!!!

@chuuya-brainrot @zzwon @akaakeis @blvewave @kongkhoi @hiraethwa @kuroppiii @catsoupki @laughingfcx @tulip-room @fiannee @bailey-reeds @wyrcan @wishi-selfships

ok love u all bye bye until next time

[dekariosclan]

This is an appreciation post for all the grumpy pics of Gale that I see cross my dash.

Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely LOVE seeing him happy and smiling (wearing his ‘resting sweetheart face,’ as someone brilliantly put it) but whenever I see photos of him brooding or pondering a serious topic or being displeased about something, I can’t help but think about the whiplash a person would get once they actually met him.

Imagine your first impression of Gale when he’s in his battle robes, wizard staff on his back, looking breathtakingly handsome and wearing a stern expression on his face (literally looking like the photo above, from user eekeric) and all you can think is, “Oh my god, I can already tell this guy is going to be an arrogant, blunt, unfriendly asshole. He probably only speaks to people he considers ‘worthy’ of his greatness.”

And then the minute you introduce yourself he hits you with his thousand-watt smile and he’s all “HELLO :) :) :) I’m GALE of WATERDEEP! *shakes your hand vigorously, bows* I can’t help but notice you’re wearing an amulet of Animal Speaking! *chuckles* My oldest and best friend is my own Tressym companion, Tara. Our conversation topics range from roasted pigeon recipes to advice on expanding my social circle to suggestions for my love life. *raises a finger* Have you met any animals that offered you sage advice in regards to your love life or other topics? Perhaps a dolphin with recommendations for a particularly ‘FIN-tastic’ date? *laughs at his own terrible pun* May I fetch you a glass of wine? I’d love to converse further on—”

TLDR: HOW ARE THERE PEOPLE WHO CAN RESIST THIS MAN I SIMPLY CANNOT FATHOM IT

[seraphont]

All jokes aside..what DOES Tessa see in J? She kinda..rude, mean, bossy, snarky, traitorous .. Tessa is the complete opposite!! #youdeservebettergurl /J

Sjdkl I see where you’re coming from anon, I wrote a couple of paragraphs below, please bear with my thought process, there’s a TLDR way at the bottom. This is how I interpret J’s character (if shes nuanced lol) with the little info we’re given:

in the series we see J at her worst, similar to how we see V, kinda sucking as well at the beginning of the series. The difference is V actually gets an emotional story arc and screen time LOL (and N- the person she cares for- is actually still alive and well).

We get glimpses of their past selves at the manor, and though Cyn states that their personalities were left unaltered, the trauma of their past certainly changed them. We see this drastic difference especially in V. we don’t get many moments w J (dead for over half of the series lol), but she also retained her memories, and I’d find it hard to believe she wasn’t effected similarly to V.

The only instances of ‘care’ we see in the series by J, is when Tessa rubs at her sore wrists from being manacled at the manor, when J was asking V to join her side Ep 8, and when she stated she got tricked by the solver - where it’s implied that J’s been killed many times by the solver, believing she has no other choice.

going back on another post I made, I think a tell for her character is the line “I didn’t need either of you anyway.” When V rejects her offer after J asked V to join her. This felt like an extreme cope and a tell on how she deals w things emotionally. I do think she wanted both N and V to be with her, but she’s got her walls up and is a stuck up asshole.

unfortunately LOL, much of this lays in assumptions based off of what little canon provided, we see J and Tessa were stuck at the hip at the manor, which to me at least implies they’re very good friends/close. the ripping royals talk, that J is a confidant/someone she could rely on and trust, even though she’s rather blunt. The swapping of weapons, no words needed -a tell that they know each others preferences well, another signal to closeness. the ‘stick in the mud’/cheerful friendship dynamic is also just kinda my favorite lol.

The way I interrupt J at the manor is a very toned down version of her angry self that we see on C9. Aloof, tactless, loyal (she turned on the “company” when breaking Tessa’s manacles), jealous lol, but inevitably there for her friend.

TLDR: it’s implied she was good friends with Tessa at the manor, and yes she’s an asshole lol, but never towards Tessa, the only character shes ever outwardly shown care towards. Tessa probably saw the J who didn’t have her walls up, a J, who though aloof- was her confidant, someone who took her weirdness in stride, and a constant that stuck by her side during her worst times at the manor. A great formula for a strong friendship, and I’m a sucker for friends to lovers lol.

At least that’s how I interpret it c:

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dm Tip: Playing the Villain/ Guidelines for "Evil" Campaigns

I've never liked the idea of running an evil game, despite how often I've had people in my inbox asking how I'd go about it. I'm all about that zero-to-hero heroic fantasy not only because I'm a goodie twoshoes IRL but because the narrative-gameplay premise that d&d is built around falls apart if the party is a bunch of killhappy murder hobos. Not only would I get bored narrating such a game and indulging the sort of players who demands the freedom to kill and torture at will (I've had those before and they don't get invited back to my table), but the whole conceit of a party falls through when the obviously villainous player characters face their first real decision point and attempt to kill eachother because cooperation is a thing that goodguys do.

Then I realized I was going about it all wrong.

The problem was I had started out playing d&d with assholes, those "murder and torture" clowns who wanted to play grand-theft-auto in the worlds I'd created and ignore the story in favour of seeing how much unchallenged chaos they could create. They set my expectations for what an evil campaign was, and I spent the rest of my time developing as a dungeonmaster thinking " I Don't want any part of that"

But what would an evil campaign look like for my playgroup of emotionally healthy friends who understand character nuance? What would I need to change about the fundamental conceit of d&d adventures to refocus the game on the badguys while still following a similar enough narrative-gameplay premise to a hero game? How do we make that sort of game relatable? What sort of power/play fantasy can we indulge in without going off the deepend?

TLDR: In an evil campaign your players aren't playing the villains, they're the MINIONS, they're mooks, henchmen, goons, lackeys. They're the disposable underlings of uncaring overseers who have nothing but ill intent towards them and the world at large.

Where as in a hero game the party is given the freedom to challenge and overthrow corrupt systems, in an evil game the party is suck as part of that corrupt system, forced to bend and compromise and sacrifice in order to survive. The fantasy is one of escaping that corrupt system, of biding your time just long enough to find an opening, find the right leverage, then tossing a molitov behind you on the way out.

Fundamentally it's the fantasy of escaping a shitty job by bringing the whole company down and punching your asshole boss in the face for good measure.

Below the cut I'm going to get into more nuance about how to build these kinds of narratives, also feel free to check out my evil party tag for campaigns and adventures that fit with the theme.

Designing a campaign made to be played from the perspective of the badguys requires you to take a different angle on quest and narrative design. It’s not so simple as swapping out the traditionally good team for the traditionally bad team and vis versa, having your party cut through a dungeon filled with against angel worshiping holyfolk in place of demon worshipping cultists etc. 

Instead, the primary villain of the first arc of the campaign should be your party’s boss. Not their direct overseer mind you, more CEO compared to the middle managers your party will be dealing with for the first leg of their journey. We should know a bit about that boss villain’s goals and a few hints at their motivation, enough for the party to understand that their actions are directly contributing to that inevitable doom.

“Gee, everyone knows lord Heldred swore revenge after being banished from the king’s council for dabbling in dark magic. I don’t know WHY he has us searching for these buried ancient tablets, but I bet it’s not good”

Next, you need a manager, someone who’s a part of the evil organization that the party directly interfaces with. The manager should have something over the party, whether it be threats of force, blackmail, economic dependency… anything that keeps the antiheroes on the manager’s leash. Whether you make your manager an obvious asshole or manipulative charmer, its important to maintain this power imbalance:   The party arn’t going to be rewarded when the boss-villain’s plan goes off, the manager is, but the manager’s usefulness to the boss-villain is contingent on the work they’re getting the party to do.  This tension puts us on a collison course to our first big narrative beat: do the party get tired of the manager’s abuse and run away? Do they kill the manager and get the attention of the upper ranks of the villainous organization? Do they work really hard at their jobs despite the obvious warning signs and outlive their usefulness? Do they upstage their manager and end up getting promoted, becoming rivals for the boss-villain’s favor? 

Building this tension up and then seeing how it breaks makes for a great first arc, as it lets your party determine among themselves when enough is enough, and set their goals for what bettering the situation looks like. 

As for designing those adventures, you’ll doubtlessly realize that since the party arn’t playing heroes you’ll need to change how the setup, conflict, and payoff work. They’re still protagonists, we want them to succeed after all, but we want to hammer home that they’re doing bad things without expecting them to jump directly to warcrimes. 

Up to no good: The basic building block of any evil campaign, our party need to do something skullduggerous without alerting the authorities.  This of course is going to be easier said than done, especially when the task spins out of control or proves far more daunting than first expected. The best the party can hope for is to make a distraction and then escape in the chaos, but it will very likely end with them being pursued in some manner (bounties, hunters, vengeful npcs and the like).  Use this setup early in a campaign so you have an external force gunning for your party during the remainder of their adventures. 

Dog eat dog:  It’s sort of cheating to excuse your party’s villainous actions by having them go up against another villain who happens to be worse than they are. The trick is that we’re not going after this secondary group of outlaws because they’re bad, we’re doing it because they’ve either got something the boss wants, or they’re edging in on the boss’s turf.  This sort of plotline sees the party disrupting or taking advantage of a rival’s operation, then taking over that operation and risking becoming just as villainous as that rival happened to be. This can also be combined with an “Up to no good” plot where both groups of miscreants need to step carefully without alerting an outside threat. 

The lesser evil: This kind of plot sees your party sent out to deal with an antagonistic force that’s a threat not only to the boss’s plans but to everyone in general. In doing so they might end up fighting alongside some heroes, or accidentally doing good in the long run. This not only gives your party a taste of heroism, but gives them something in their back pocket that could be used to challenge the boss-villain in the future.  

The double cross: In order to get what they want, the party need to “play along” with a traditional heroic narrative long enough to get their goal and then ditch. You have them play along specifically so they can get a taste of what life would be like if they weren't bastards, as well as to make friends with the NPCs inevitably going to betray. This is to make it hurt when you have the manager yank the leash and force the party to decide between finishing the job , or risk striking out on their own and playing hero in the short term while having just made a long term enemy. This is sort of plot is best used an adventure or two into the campaign, as the party will have already committed some villainous deeds that one good act can’t blot out. 

Next, lets talk about the sort of scenarios you should be looking to avoid when writing an evil campaign:

Around the time I started playing d&d there was this trend of obtusely binary morality systems in videogames which claimed to offer choice but really only existed to let the player chose between the power fantasy of being traditionally virtuous or the power fantasy of being an edgy rebel. Early examples included:

Do you want to steal food from disaster victims? in Infamous

Do you as a space cop assault a reporter who’s being kind of annoying to you? in Mass Effect

Do you blow up an entire town of innocent people for the lols? in Fallout (no seriously check out hbomberguy’s teardowm on fallout 3’s morality system and how critics at the time ate it up)

I think these games, along with the generational backwash of 90s “edge” and 00s “grit” coloured a lot of people's expectations ( including mine) about what a "villain as protagonist" sort of narrative might look like. They're childish exaggerations, devoid of substance, made even worse by how blithely their narratives treat them.

Burn down an inn full of people is not a good quest objective for an evil party, because it forces the characters to reach cartoonish levels of villainy which dissociates them from their players. Force all the villagers into the inn so we can lock them inside and do our job uninterrupted lets the party be bad, but in a way that the players can see the reason behind it and stay synced up with their characters. The latter option also provides a great setup for when the party's actually monstrous overseer sets the inn on fire to get rid of any witnesses after the job is done. Now the party (and their players) are faced with a moral quandary, will they let themselves be accessories to a massacre or risk incurring their manager's wrath? Rather than jumping face first into cackling cruelty, these sorts of quandaries have them dance along the knife's edge between grim practicality and dangerous uncertainly; It brings the player and character closer together.

Finally, lets talk about ending the villain arc:

I don't think you can play a whole evil campaign. Both because the escalation required is narratively unsustainable, but also because the most interesting aspect of playing badguys is the breaking point. Just like heroes inevitably having doubts about whether or not they're doing the right thing, there's only so long that a group of antiheroes can go along KNOWING they're doing the wrong thing before they put their feet down and say "I'm out". I think you plan a evil campaign up until a specific "there's no coming back from this" storybeat, IE letting the Inn burn... whether or not the party allows it to happen, it's the lowest point the narrative will allow them to reach before they either fight back or allow themselves to be subsumed. If they rebel, you play out the rest of the arc dismantling the machine they helped to build, taking joy in its righteous destruction. If they keep going along, show them what they get for being cogs: inevitably betrayed, sacrificed, or used as canon fodder when the real heroes step in to do their jobs for them.

Art

[joobi7]

BIKER!SUKUNA X NURSE!READER

tldr: sukuna is the leader of a feared bike gang that's known for being the strongest. but what happens when the strongest finally loses? sukuna is sent to the hospital in critical condition and you are his nurse...

tw: mentions of violence and blood

wc: 1.4k

A/N: see above image to understand what a "bunny apple slice" looks like. plz tell me yall know what im talking about or else ill feel very sad and goofy :(

ִֶָ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ ִֶָ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ ִֶָ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ִֶָ⋅˚₊

Sukuna constantly finds himself in fights due to his blunt (and frankly asshole-y) attitude. He leads a motorcycle gang called the “Curses”. Truth be told Sukuna would’ve much rather the group be devoid of the cringey name, but Uraume already made matching motorcycle stickers for everyone.

Sukuna’s brash actions got himself into another fight. This wasn’t just any fight—he had picked a clash with a gang called the Arashi.

Earlier that week, they had been engaged in a shady deal that Sukuna had stumbled upon. His interference had been straightforward—he had dismantled their operation with little regard for the fallout. The Arashi, feeling publicly humiliated and threatened, had taken it personally.

Now, as Sukuna faced the Arashi members, it was clear this was different than a usual brawl. They had come ready for a real fight, bringing weapons and even a stolen car in an attempt to run Sukuna over. 

Despite his peak physique and fighting experience, Sukuna couldn’t withstand the impact of a car.

 By the time his gang members, Kenjaku and Uraume, arrived, the Arashi had already fled, leaving Sukuna badly injured at the bloody scene. They rushed him to the nearest hospital, worried about his condition.

Two days later, Sukuna awoke in a hospital bed, groggy and disoriented. The sterile smell of antiseptic and the beeping of medical equipment were overstimulating. His mind raced as he tried to piece together his predicament. It didn’t take long to realize the extent of his injuries. His spine was severely damaged due to the car crash, and he would need extensive physical therapy in order to recover. 

“Get me the fuck out of here” he spat, glaring at both you and the doctor. “I don’t need this place.”

“Sir, you need to stay put,” you say, clearly unaffected by his outburst. “Your injuries are severe. You could do lasting damage if you don’t follow the treatment plan.”

Sukuna’s gaze turned to you. You were a university student interning as a nurse at the local hospital. You had already witnessed several of his outbursts since he woke from his coma, and was tired of his attitude.

Although Sukuna remained quiet after your remark, you could feel his glare drilling into the back of your head as you left the room.

Five days passed with Sukuna refusing to participate in physical therapy. Uraume and Kenjaku visited frequently, trying to convince him to stay and cooperate, but he wouldn’t budge.

On the eighth day, you tried.

“You’re not leaving until you’re well enough. Your spine is damaged. Physical therapy is essential for a full recovery.”

Sukuna’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t need this hospital to fix me. I’m fine.”

Ignoring his hostility, you pressed on. “If you leave now, you’ll only prolong your recovery or make things worse. . We both know that you haven’t been able to regain all control over your left leg.”

Sukuna grits his teeth at the truth of your comment. The only reason why he hasn’t run away from the hospital in the middle of the night was because he physically couldn’t. He could barely make it halfway to the door before collapsing. 

Deep down, Sukuna knew that physical therapy was the logical choice that was in his best interest. But partaking in physical therapy meant admitting his vulnerability, it would be on display for everyone to see. The biker gang leader Sukuna was supposed to be invincible. He’s not supposed to lose. He can’t lose. What was he if he wasn’t the strongest?

“No person can beat a car going 40 mph at them,” you said softly. “Even the strongest.” 

“I don’t need your comfort,” Sukuna said, looking away. Still, you had said exactly what he needed to hear. “Fine, sign me up for physical therapy… I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try.” 

For the first time, he sees you break into a smile. You look as if you won the lottery or someone just told you Santa was real or both. “How odd”, he thinks, “how can you smile so easily just from hearing those words?”

The first physical therapy session was challenging. When you touched Sukuna’s left leg to guide him through an exercise, he instinctively pushed you away, causing you to fall.

Sukuna opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything you apologized. “Sorry I didn’t ask for your permission for physical contact. I apologize if that made you uncomfortable. Here, let's try another exercise and I’ll be sure to avoid contact.” 

Sukuna begrudgingly followed through, but he was confused. Why did he open his mouth to speak? What was he going to say? Was he going to apologize for pushing you? Did he feel sorry? Did he not mind your touch?

The days that followed were a mix of reluctant cooperation and gruff acknowledgment. You continued to work with him, and your patience provided a stark contrast to his abrasive demeanor.

He grumbled through physical therapy, the exercises painstaking and his pride wounded. But as days turned into weeks, he began to see the value in your persistence. Your care wasn’t just about the job; it was about his well-being. Even though he was too proud to admit it, Sukuna respected your dedication to even an asshole like him.

One evening, after another grueling therapy session, Sukuna caught you staying late, tending to his needs despite your shift ending hours ago.

“Why do you keep staying late?” he asked, curiously. “Don’t you have a life outside of this?”

You looked at him, a small smile playing on your lips. “Because someone has to make sure you don’t screw up your recovery.”

Sukuna’s gaze softened slightly. “You’re a pain, you know that?”

“And you’re not exactly a pleasure to be around,” you retorted playfully. 

One afternoon, an author visited the hospital to read a picture book about a bunny. As you walked Sukuna back from his physical therapy session, you noticed him eyeing a display of bunny plushies set up for the event. He thinks of how the bunny sort of looks like you.

Noticing his interest, you teased him. “Want one of those bunny plushies? I could get one for you.”

Sukuna turned his head, trying to keep his usual stern expression, but there was a faint blush creeping up to the tips of his ears. He takes a moment to collect himself before giving you a deadpan look, though it was clear he was trying hard not to smile. “No, I don’t need a stuffed bunny.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes internally. “Sure, whatever you say,” you retort. 

Later that day, as part of your routine, you brought Sukuna his usual apples for a snack. But today, you had taken a bit of extra time to cut ears into each apple slice so they look like rabbits. Although Sukuna’s pride wouldn’t allow him to keep a fluffy bunny plushie, hopefully he would accept the rabbit shaped apples.

You left the plate in his room while he napped. When Sukuna saw the apple bunnies, his face turned a deep share of red. “I thought I hid my interest in the rabbits well,” he muttered, abashedly.

His usual cool demeanor cracked, and he couldn’t hide his embarrassment. He stared at the apple bunnies, his eyes softening as he realized the effort you had put into them.

As Sukuna sat there on the hospital bed, munching on the apple bunnies, he couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of warmth and awkwardness. Sukuna found himself lost in thought as he munched on the apple slices shaped like little rabbits. He started imagining what it must have been like for you while you were preparing them. The cuts weren’t perfect—clearly an amateur’s attempt—but the effort you put into carving those bunny ears made Sukuna feel oddly touched.

He pictured you scrunching your nose in concentration, much like you did when guiding him through difficult physical therapy exercises. Or maybe you had a proud, toothy grin when you finished, similar to the one you wore when you beat him at whatever board game you guys were playing that day.

He looked at the remaining apple bunny slice on the plate and buried his blushing face in his hands. He just fell in love.

[tommytomatoe]

this is the wolf boys reaction to their mates acting like someone wants to fight them over the phone:

babe and asher

babe: “oh, you wanna fight? for real? okay, lets go. let’s do it, my place. i’ll send you my address right now.” 

asher: “woah what?”

babe: “yeah, i’ll be here. i can’t wait to watch my boyfriend beat that bitch ass smile off your face.”

asher: “huh?” 

babe: “what? you don’t want to fight for me? for my honor?”

asher: “no i do, but like, who is that? what’d they do to destroy your honor?”

babe: “you’re asking too many questions, ash. they’re already on their way.”

asher: “what’s my motive though?”

babe: “they’re an asshole.”

asher: “good enough. oh- tell them i’m over six feet!” 

sweetheart and milo

sweetheart: “really? okay yeah no let’s just fight this shit out. i’m sick of you, i’ll send my address now. my boyfriends gonna tear you a fucking new one.”

milo: “hell right i am, who the fuck is that?” 

milo proceeds to grab sweethearts phone, swearing profusely into in only to hear the other mates cackling on the other line

milo: “oh, oh you’re real fucking funny. is this one of you guys’ little pranks again?”

sweetheart: “yeah, we just wanted to see how you guys would react.”

milo: “well, did i, um, act accordingly?”

sweetheart: “our first date was you killing a shade for me, i didn’t expect anything less.”

angel, on the other line still listening: “your first date was a what?!”

angel and david

angel: “let’s do it then. you wanna act like that then put your money where your mouth is. come over now, let’s end this. my boyfriends gonna kill you.”

david: “angel, what the actual fuck?”

angel: “i need you to beat this man’s ass for me.” david: “what’d he do?”

angel: “he’s being a total asshole.”

david: “and he’s coming over?”

angel: “yep.”

david: “now?”

angel: “you don’t wanna fight for me?”

david: “baby, i’ll fight for you but i’m just a little lost.”

darlin: “i’m not. when’s he gonna be here, i’ll start digging a hole now.”

angel: “awww thanks hon.”

david: “how the fuck did you get into my house?”

darlin: “window :)”

TLDR; mates play prank, wolf boys go "huh?"

[saetoshi]

corazón de melón.

tldr; the one time you have a proper conversation with itoshi sae ends up unleashing a series of events you never imagined could’ve happened.

wc. 10.2k

¿?: roommates to lovers, college!au, idiots in love, this is pure domesticity tbh, fluff, lowk word vomit, ooc-ish sae (he’s a silly lil guy sometimes this is the hill i’ll die on), slow burn ig ??, swearing, someone’s mean to you (not sae), not proofread (no surprise)

a/n: i have so many emotions in my heart for sae, SOMEONE SEDATE ME PLEASE FREE ME FROM HIM I CANT LIVE NORMALLY ANYMORE, turned rue into a sae liker for this so real of me, @rintosei, enjoy ur meal my children this is probably the longest thing i’ll write in a hot minute

when others think of itoshi sae, many words come to mind: genius, talented, jerk, asshole, rude, mean, scary, lashes, pretty—the list goes on. 

you have no particular thoughts about sae. all he is to you is your roommate. you’d like to have an opinion of him, but that seems impossible with the way you can count the number of times you’ve spoken to him with one hand.

though, if you had to be honest, the only common thread in the few interactions you’ve had is that he very clearly does not care for your company—or anyone’s company, for that matter. 

not that you blame him. if you had to deal with having to go to practice after a day of classes, you wouldn’t want to interact with anyone else, either. (you’d also not have the energy to do anything.)

it’s why you’re used to hearing him get back to the apartment while you’re eating dinner; why you started leaving some leftovers for him to eat whenever he wants to.

it’s also why you’re surprised when he comes back from practice earlier than usual. you jump when you hear the front door open, placing your hand over your heart.

your turn to the door, eyes widening slightly when you see sae walk in. you don’t greet him—you never do—you don’t think he’d appreciate it. (he never greets you either, so you assumed it was fine.)

so, you turn your attention back to the tv, reaching out to grab the broom. you quickly start sweeping, humming a tune while the noise of whatever drama is playing in the background fills the apartment. 

you barely register that sae’s door doesn’t open, but the thought quickly leaves your mind when something dramatic happens to one of the leads. 

you take a step back, an unceremonious yelp leaving your lips when your back bumps into something. a second passes by before you slowly tilt your head back.  

your eyes are met with a pair of teal ones. a sheepish smile tugs at your lips, “hi?” 

he raises a brow, “what are you doing?”

“cleaning.” you move the broom from side to side in hopes to draw his attention to it. (he barely glances at it before his eyes snap back to yours.)

you take a step forward, moving to face him. he just stares at you. an awkward silence settles between the two of you.

“you’re back early.” you hope he didn’t hear your voice crack.

he blinks, clearly uninterested. “practice ended early.” 

you hum, nervously bouncing on the balls of your feet. you huff, tapping your fingers against the broom. “i see.”

it’s clear both of you feel uncomfortable. still, neither of you makes a move to leave. you’re more surprised sae’s still standing in front of you. (sae’s mildly intrigued you’re attempting to talk to him.)

you open your mouth to speak, but promptly shut it close. you repeat the action two more times before sae interrupts you, “what?”

your eyes drift away from his. you gnaw on your bottom lip. “it’s nothing.”

he glares at you. “just spit it out.”

your eyes widen, snapping back to look at him as you dismissively wave your hand. “it’s really nothing, you can just leave!”

“you clearly have something you want to say to me,” he deadpans, “so i suggest you get it over with so we can put an end to this lukewarm conversation.”

you take a deep breath, wiping one hand against your shirt, gently swaying the broom with the other. “i was just wondering, y’know since you’re back early–”

“hurry up.”

“do you wanna eat together?” you look at the ground, feet shuffling uncomfortably. the silence feels unbearable. 

“that’s it?” the confusion in his voice confuses you. you lift your eyes to stare at him, confusion etched in your face.

your head tilts to the side in confusion, “what do you mean ‘that’s it’?” 

“you wanna eat with me?” he points at himself. his brows knit when you nod. sae owlishly blinks, 

“okay.”

his eyes widen in confusion when he sees an elated smile bloom on your lips. 

“i won’t start cooking yet, since i at least have to finish sweeping,” you hum, “but if you’re hungry you could get started on something and i’ll join you when i’m done.”

“i can’t cook.” sae awkwardly coughs. he shoves his hands into his pockets, looking away from you, a soft flush spreading through his cheeks.

“oh,” you blink, smiling at him. “that’s fine! i can cook something while you clean instead.”

the blush on his cheeks deepens as his brows furrow.  “i don’t know how to clean.”

your smile tightens, eyes squinting as you inch closer to him.

there’s a beat of silence. “what can you do then?”

“play football.” you wait a few seconds for him to say something else. 

“that’s it?”

“yeah.” he says it as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. (as if it was the only thing that mattered.)

you rub your forehead, a dry laugh escaping your lips. 

if you were to tell others of this discovery you’re sure they wouldn’t believe you. you’re not even sure you believe him, yourself.

at least you didn’t, until he took the broom from your grasp. you have to bite back your laughter when he can’t even hold it properly. you wonder how he’d manage to survive alone.

itoshi sae is basically useless outside of football, you conclude. (and you’re not sure if this is the opinion you want to have about your roommate.)

it’s been a week since you learned about sae’s lack of ability to do seemingly anything other than kick a ball around.

it’s also been a week since he started coming back from practice earlier. you have mixed feelings about it. on one hand, you find it strangely comforting knowing you’re not alone in the apartment. on the other, sae just stares at you while you clean.

you’re sick of feeling his eyes follow you around. it feels like a predator watching its prey. having his eyes trail you makes you feel judged, and you’ve had enough.

so, you tighten your grip around the mop in your hands, turning around to look at sae. you take a deep breath, “why are you staring at me?”

he blinks, propping an arm on a couch cushion and leaning his head into his palm. “i’m trying to learn.”

confusion paints itself all over your face, “learn what?” 

“learn to clean.” you hate when he says things like they’re the most obvious thing ever. it makes you feel as if he expects you to know what goes on in his head.

“by staring at me?” you raise a brow. 

he simply shrugs, “i’m a visual learner.”

you don’t know if you believe him. 

so, you place one of your hands on your hips, tilting the mop back and forth with the other one. “in that case, you should try cleaning today.”

his eyes widen, mouth curling into a fine line. “i don’t think i’m ready for that.”

you take a step closer to him, holding the mop out to him. “well, i think that after a week of watching me you should start practicing what you’ve learned.”

“don’t ever think again.” he frowns.

“oh, please,” you roll your eyes, “don’t tell me the itoshi sae is afraid of a little mopping.”

that makes him get up. you bite back the satisfied smile threatening to creep up your face when he snatches the mop from your hands.

“i’m just supposed to move this side to side, right?” he stiffly holds the mop, looking at you with a raised brow.

“‘m not gonna help you out,” you make your way to the couch, mimicking his earlier position. “if you’ve been learning from staring at me for a week then you should know what to do.”

“i know what to do.” he rolls his eyes, “i just don’t know how to do it.”

“figure it out, then.” you lean forward against the palm of your hand, trying to hide your smile behind your fingers.

he glares at you and scoffs, redirecting his attention to the object in his hands. you fail to stifle your laughter when he moves the mop in a sweeping motion.

“don’t laugh!” his grip tightens around the mop, heat rushing to his ears. 

you bite your tongue, the ghost of a smile still lingering on your lips, “i’m not.”

he tsks, slightly pouting. he walks towards you, dragging the mop behind him. you look up at him, you eyes flutter closed when he flicks your forehead. 

“teach me.” your eyes snap open, flickering to meet his. a confused noise leaves your lips as your brows furrow. 

“teach you what?” your eyes flutter when he flicks your forehead again.

sae’s eye twitches in annoyance, “are you stupid or something?”

you glare at him, “not everyone thinks the same things you do!”

he clicks his tongue, rolling his eyes. he points at the mop and then at himself. “teach me to clean.”

“i thought you said you were a visual learner.” you deadpan. 

“consider this your punishment for laughing at me.” he huffs, a condescending smile blooming on his lips when he sees your pained expression.

his face leans closer to yours, “i look forward to learning from you, teach.”

you dumbly stare at him as he places the mop in your hands. he flashes you a shit-eating grin before retreating to his room. you blink twice before coming to your senses, punching the couch cushions in anger. 

you wish you hadn’t found out itoshi sae was a little shit. you much preferred when you only thought of him as your useless roommate. 

itoshi sae is the most infuriating student you’ve ever met. 

you thought someone described as a genius would be a much better student than he actually is. he doesn’t pay attention to anything you say at all. you wonder if his teachers just let him pass the class because they don’t want him around anymore. 

you have a newfound respect for his actual teachers. you don’t know how they manage to stand him for a whole semester when you don’t think you can even last two weeks. (it’s still longer than you expected.)

“sae,” you loudly sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, “you’re doing it wrong. again.” 

his grip around the broom tightens, his knuckles turning white, “i’m doing what you told me to do!”

“you’re not!” you groan, running a hand down your face, “gosh, how do you manage to do everything i tell you the wrong way?”

“what, so i’m the problem?” his eyes narrow, he takes a step closer to you, “have you ever thought that maybe you’re a bad teacher?”

an angry gasp leaves your lips, “excuse me?!”

“you heard me.” he grits his teeth, “you’re clearly the most lukewarm teacher ever. how do you expect me to learn when you don’t care about teaching me properly?”

“have you ever considered that maybe i don’t want to teach you because you forced me to?” you rub your temples in a poor attempt to prevent the coming headache.

he scoffs, brows knitting in annoyance, “you could at least put more effort into making sure i’m learning.”

“you think i’m not?” you point him square in the chest, glaring at him. “i’m doing my best here, okay? it’s not my fault you’re a shit student.”

“you–”

“you listen while your teacher is speaking.” you seethe, grabbing a fistful of his shirt, “i’m trying to do the best i can. i’m not qualified to teach you anything, especially not with how you don’t even pay attention to what i say!”

he frowns, “well, i–”

you shake him as hard as you can, angry tears pooling in your eyes, “you’re the most ungrateful, useless piece of fucking shit i’ve ever met in my life!”

sae grabs your wrists, letting the broom fall with a clang to the floor. he stares at you with wide eyes. you blink, heat creeping up your face in embarrassment.

there’s a beat of silence. sae’s eyes scan your face. “you good?” 

he lets out a soft sigh of relief when you nod. “are you going to punch me if i let go?”

he relaxes a little when you shake your head. he looks at you as he slowly lets go of your hands. you stare at him, wide eyed as he gently walks you over to the couch and sits you down.

sae plops down on the other end of the couch, glancing at you. he opens his mouth to speak, but promptly closes it. you stop yourself from laughing at his awkwardness. (it reminds you of how you must’ve acted when you talked to him a couple of weeks ago.)

you twist the hem of your shirt in your hands, looking away from sae, gnawing on your bottom lip. “’m sorry about that.”

“don’t apologize.” he coughs awkwardly, crossing his arms, “i probably stressed you out too much.”

“yeah, but, still,” you turn to face him, “i shouldn’t have said something so rude.”

“it’s fine. i really did deserve that, after all.” an amused laugh escapes his lips, “i’ve never heard you so mad before, though.”

you tilt your head to the side, “what do you mean?” 

“i mean,” a hint of amused smile tugs at the corners of his lips, “you tend to get really loud when you complain about your classes. i can hear you all the way to my room.”

your face heats up in embarrassment. you slump against the couch, hiding your face behind your hands. “sorry.”

“stop apologizing,” you slightly relax when you hear a sliver of empathy in his voice. “it’s better to let your emotions out instead of holding them in.”

you lower your hands from your face, staring at him. “do you do that?”

“it depends,” he hums, “feelings are lukewarm most of the time, so when i get angry or whatever i’ll let it out so i can get it over with.”

you narrow your eyes at him, scanning his face. “how does that even work?”

he shrugs nonchalantly, “if i get mad at someone i’ll say it to their face while i’m still mad so i can stop being angry.”

you mull over his words, “so instead of having pent up feelings and reaching your limit, you just act on your emotions as soon as possible so you go back to feeling nothing?”

“pretty much.”

a small hum leaves your lips. silence settles between the two of you before a loud growl echoes through the apartment. laughter bubbles in your chest, spilling out of your mouth when sae’s face flushes.

“shut up!” he hides behind his hands, “i haven’t eaten all day!”

you stand up, walking over and extending a hand out to sae, “wanna help out with dinner?”

he lowers his hands from his face, glancing between your eyes and your hand. he blinks, “i can’t cook.”

“i know,” a smile blooms on your lips, “you can consider it your first lesson.”

sae’s eyes light up, the corners of his lips tilting up ever so slightly. “you’re still gonna teach me?”

“i can’t let you stay useless forever.” you stick your tongue out at him, smiling when he grabs your hand.

a huff of laughter escapes his lips when you fail to tug him up. you flip him off before leaving him behind on the couch. a smile lingers on his face when he follows you to the kitchen. 

he’s not a good assistant. (and he’s an even worse cook). in fact, if you’d known that letting him into the kitchen would’ve resulted in having to evacuate the building due to the fire alarm, you wouldn’t have asked for his help at all.

however, you do appreciate that he invited you out for dinner later as an apology for stressing you out. 

(it makes you think he’s more considerate than he pretends to be.)

you’ve lost track of the times you’ve had to apologize to your neighbors over sae activating the fire alarm. 

it’s embarrassing enough that seemingly everyone in the complex goes to your college, but sae seems to make it worse by glaring at anyone who so much as looks in your direction with a judgemental stare.

“i can’t keep going on like this,” you cover your face with your hands. you shrink into yourself when you feel multiple eyes staring at the back of your head.

“stop overreacting.” sae clicks his tongue. still, he discreetly grabs the hem of your shirt and gently pulls you closer to his side. 

you lower your hands from your face, frowning at him as tears of shame pool in your eyes. “everyone’s judging us!”

“just ignore them.” he awkwardly pats your head, “they’ll forget about it soon enough.”

“sae, this happens almost every week!” you cry, gnawing your lower lip, “some guy yelled at me last time because we interrupted his studying! do you have any idea how long i had to apologize for?”

his jaw clenches as anger flashes through his face for a split second before his uninterested expression returns. “what’d he look like?”

“i don’t know,” you blink, “he was tall. he also had brown-ish hair, i think?”

he shoves his hands in his pockets, tilting his head in the direction of the building, “do you know his apartment number?” 

“no,” you sigh. “why?”

the corners of his lips quirk up into a mischievous smile. “i was thinking of baking him some apology cookies.”

you cover your mouth in a feeble attempt to stifle your laughter. (if everyone was staring at you in judgment for triggering the fire alarm, now they’re judging you for laughing in this situation.)

sae tugs you into the building when you’re all cleared to enter, glaring at a few neighbors who shoot dirty looks at both of you.

you smack his arm, “stop doing that, you’re embarrassing us!”

he scoffs, flipping off anyone who’s still staring, “does it look like i care? they’re all too scared to say anything to my face, anyway.”

“yeah, but they always say shit to me when you’re gone,” you click your tongue, frowning. sae drags you up the stairs to your apartment.

both of you stand in front of your door when sae puts his hands on your shoulders, staring at you in the eyes. his eyes are a pretty shade of teal, you note.

“if anyone gives you shit when you’re alone, just remember what they look like, ‘kay?” he flicks your forehead, a malicious gleam in his eyes, “i’ll make sure to personally apologize for the trouble.”

a smile blooms on your lips, “you’re so mean.”

“shut up,” he rolls his eyes, pinching your cheek, “as your roommate, i’m the only one allowed to give you a hard time.”

“whatever you say, freak,” you rub your cheek, smile widening, swatting his hand away when he reaches out to pinch your other cheek. 

sae bites back a smile as he nods his head toward the door. “did you bring your key?”

you reach into your pockets, feeling around for the key. your head tilts down, eyes widening in panic when you don’t find anything. 

an embarrassed chuckle slips past your lips when you lift your head back up to look at sae. he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“gosh, you’re so useless.” 

you kick his shin, sticking your tongue out at him, “you don’t get to say that to me.”

he sticks his tongue out at you in return, crossing his arms. “whatever. just go and ask the landlord for a key.”

“me?” you raise your brows at him, haughtily tilting your head to the side, “you’re the reason we had to evacuate the building in the first place! i think it’s only fair that you get the key.”

sae opens his mouth to tell you off, but seemingly decides to sigh loudly in annoyed defeat instead, “fine.”

you smile triumphantly, turning to face him, your eyes closing as your chest puffs out in pride. sae rests his index finger on your forehead. your eyes flutter open in confusion at the contact, smile dropping into a curious pout. 

“tell me if anyone bothers you while i’m gone.” he flicks your forehead one last time before turning around and walking away. a content smile blooms on your lips as you stare at his back, sliding down to sit next to the door.

you don’t tell him the tall guy from last time dropped by to yell at you again. sae didn’t even have to ask to tell something was wrong with the way your smile seemed dimmer when you told him you’d take over making lunch.

he doesn’t tell you he’s going to give that asshole the ‘apology’ cookies he’d mentioned before. (and he definitely doesn’t mention that he got his apartment number from the landlord when he got the key to your apartment.) but you had an inkling of what he was going to do when you saw him take out some bowls and a whisk from the cabinets. (you didn’t stop him.)

you bake him some actual ‘thank you’ cookies and place them by his door before heading to your room for the night. the next morning you find a post-it with an ‘anytime’ messily scribbled on it and a ‘thanks for the cookies :)’ on the other side.

you smile fondly at the teal-colored square. you think it resembles the color of his eyes. (it makes you feel warm and fuzzy.)

sae’s gotten slightly better at cooking. he’s able to make at least one meal without triggering the fire alarms.

you feel proud. you suppose that’s what teachers feel when their most lazy, unmotivated student finally manages to put effort into something. 

it makes you feel proud enough that you take a detour to the convenience store on your way home. a fond smile lights up your face when you walk out of the store, plastic bag in hand with a chocolate bar and a pack of star stickers.

there’s a skip to your step as you head home, swinging the bag back and forth. 

you’ve barely even opened the door to your apartment when it swings open. your eyes widen in surprise when they meet sae’s. 

his eyes narrow, “what took you so long?”

a slightly burnt scent wafts the apartment. your nose scrunches, “is something burning?”

“answer my question first,” he points the spatula in his hand at you. 

“i got you a reward,” you smile, lifting the bag in your hands. 

his eyes light up, “what’d you get me?”

you quickly hide the bag behind your back when he reaches out for it. “answer my question first.”

a small smile tugs at his lips. he rolls his eyes, “nothing is burning. i turned off the stove before opening the door just to be sure.”

you reach out to pat his head, a teasing smile on your lips, “good job, sae!”

he scoffs, a soft blush dusts his ears. “you make it sound like you’re praising a dog.”

you huff, “stop complaining when you’re getting praised.”

“whatever.” sae pouts, brows knitting, “when are you giving me my gift?”

“so impatient ,” you tsk, shaking your head, “let me in first, i don’t wanna stand in the hallway any longer.”

he grabs your arm and pulls you close to him, kicking the door closed. you bump into his chest, eyes widening as heat rushes to your ears.

the first thing that pops into your mind is that he smells nice. there’s a hint of a burnt scent that clings to him, but he still smells nice. (you note that he feels warm too. it makes you feel warm.)

you feel a slight pressure against your brows. it makes you blink as you slowly snap out of your stupor. 

“you good?” your eyes meet sae’s worried ones. he leans in closer to you, scanning your face. you awkwardly nod. 

his brows furrow. “are you sure? you zoned out for a bit. are your classes stressing you out too much?”

you shake your head, slightly leaning away from him. your lips press into a fine line. sae’s eyes narrow as he scans your face. he steps back, his hands resting on your shoulders. the spatula lightly digs into your skin.

“is it that guy again?” he tightens his grip, making you wince when the spatula presses harder against your skin, “is he still bothering you?”

“i think you scared him away,” you quickly swat his arms away. “i’m fine, though.”

“are you sure?” he sighs when you nod, “why’d you zone out then?”

“i got distracted,” you gnaw on your bottom lip. 

his expression morphs to confusion, “with what?”

your eyes widen slightly. you don’t want to tell him he’s the reason you zoned out. so, you settle for the only thing that comes to mind, “the smell of something burning. are you sure you turned off the stove?”

“yes.” he groans in annoyance. there’s a small pause. sae turns around, tugging you into the kitchen with him. 

“look!” he points at the stove, “it’s off. stop making me second-guess myself.”

an amused smile blooms on your face, “i can’t believe you had to come check if you actually turned it off.”

“i can’t believe you actually haven’t given me my gift yet,” he scoffs, pouting. 

you laugh, reaching out to flick his forehead. “patience is a virtue, sae. it’d do you well to have it.”

“whatever.” he tries to grab the bag from your hands. “just give it to me already.”

you smile, pulling out the chocolate bar from the bag. laughter bubbles in your chest when you see his stunned expression.

“chocolate?” he glares at the bar in your hand, “do you know how unhealthy that is for me?”

“if you don’t want it i’ll just keep it, then.” you nonchalantly shrug.

he snatches it out of your grasp. “i never said i didn’t want it.”

his eyes twinkle when he unwraps it. he glances up at you, “do you want a bite?”

“just a small one,” you reach out to grab the bar. 

sae moves the chocolate out of your reach, “open your mouth.”

you blink, tilting your head in confusion. he sighs, “i’ll feed it to you. i need to make sure you don’t bite off half of the bar.”

“do you trust me so little?” you scoff, crossing your arms. still, you open your mouth, heat rushing to your ears when sae tells you to take a bite. 

“is it good?” he stares at you, taking a bite of the chocolate when you nod. 

you both swallow at the same time, a smile lighting up your face. “i think you deserve another reward for sharing.”

his brows raise in intrigue, “another? gosh, you’re really spoiling me today, aren’t you?”

you take the pack of stickers out of the back, waving it in front of him. he gives you an unamused look. 

“i bought these for whenever you do something nice,” you place a sticker on his cheek.

“that’s stupid,” he frowns. 

“shut up, you look cute.” you pinch his other cheek.

he clicks his tongue, “whatever. now get out of my kitchen i need to continue making dinner.”

laughter spills out of your mouth when he pushes you into the living room. “do you want me to help?”

“no.” he huffs, “i can do it myself. now go relax or something, i’ll come get you when dinner’s ready.”

“are you sure you’ll be fine on your own?” you snicker, “i’d hate to have to evacuate the building.”

he lightly smacks your shoulder, “i can cook by myself!”

“sae–”

“just let me cook something for you this once,” he mutters. 

a soft, defeated sigh leaves your lips, “okay.”

“i’ll let you cook alone,” you smile, “just this once, though. i can’t leave you unsupervised for too long.”

he hums, patting your head before heading back to the kitchen. a small smile lingers on your lips as you make your way to the couch, turning on the tv.

it doesn’t take long for sae to walk over, two plates in his hands, and a self-satisfied smile on his lips.

you’d be lying if you said the meal was good. it was slightly charred, and a little too salty. you’re sure you would’ve managed to turn it into something decent if he’d let you help. 

still, as bad as the food was, you can’t help but eat it with a smile on your face, a warm, fuzzy feeling tugging at your heart. 

sae groans in annoyance when you place another sticker on his forehead. (your heart leaps when you notice the soft flush to his cheeks.)

he lets you help him wash the dishes, complaining when you flick soapy water in his direction. laughter fills the apartment when he flicks water back at you. time seemingly slowing down to let you savor the moment just a little longer before you head back to your room.

you drift off to sleep with a smile on your face. your heart drums against your chest when you recall the smile on sae’s face. 

(you wish he’d smile at you more often.)

you’ve discovered sae is much better at cleaning than he is at cooking. you’ve also discovered that he’s more thoughtful than he lets on. 

he tends to clean the apartment while you’re in class. he claims it’s because he absolutely must practice cleaning in order to get better. (you don’t believe him.) he swears he ensures the apartment’s clean by the time you get home because he can’t stand your nagging. (you still don’t believe him.)

it’s why you’ve had to go out and buy more stickers to reward him with. it’s also why you’re a little surprised to see him still mopping the apartment when you get back.

you take your shoes off, quickly putting on your slippers. “you’re still cleaning?”

“i’m almost done,” he hums, “practice ended a little later today.”

you make your way to the couch, careful not to slip on the floor, “why? is there a match soon?”

“there’s one tomorrow,” he turns to look at you, frowning when he sees you pull out a pack of stickers with a teasing smile on your face. (he still makes his way over to you when you tell him to come closer despite knowing your intention.) he watches you place the sticker on his shirt, a concentrated look in your eyes.

he sticks his tongue out at you when you look up at him with a satisfied grin. sae rests his hand on top of your head. “wanna come watch?”

you tilt your head to the side, “i’m not a big football fan.”

he playfully shakes your head, brows knitting, “have you ever even been to a football match?”

“no,” you pry his hand off your head, “but i don’t really see the point of going when i know i’ll get bored.”

he rolls his eyes, “you won’t.”

“how do you know?” you lean closer to him, raising a brow, a playful grin on your lips.

he leans closer to you, nose playfully scrunching, “because i’m going to be playing.”

your face scrunches up in mock disgust, “you’re making me not want to go even more.”

he teasingly clutches his heart in faux pain, a smile on his lips as he tries to hold back his laughter, “you’re so mean. you’re hurting me right now.”

“are you trying to make me feel bad?” you bite back a smile, fondly rolling your eyes. “because it’s totally working.”

“your sarcasm wounds me,” he frowns, shaking his head. “i can’t believe my roommate won’t support me at my match.”

you punch his arm, “keep this up and you won’t be eating any dinner.”

“fuck,” a hearty laugh escapes his lips, “when’d you get so mean?”

“i learned from the best,” you stick your tongue out at him. a soft laugh leaves your lips when sae scoffs, looking away. 

“are you really not going to go see the match?” he turns to you, pouting. you hate when he uses that little pout to guilt you. (you hate that you fall for it even more.)

you sigh, slumping against the couch, “i’ll think about it.”

“just give me an actual answer, damn.” he taps your forehead, “are you going, yes or no?”

a teasing smile creeps up your lips, “maybe.”

you laugh when he calls out your name in annoyance. he groans, glaring at you, “i hate you.”

“no you don’t,” you smile at him, “if you did you wouldn’t have asked me to go see you play tomorrow.”

his face flushes in embarrassment. “you’re not even going anyway!”

you rest your head on your hand, “i am, though.”

he stares at you, unimpressed. there’s a beat of silence before he huffs, the corners of his lips quirking up, “i really can’t stand you sometimes.”

“it’s not my fault you’re fun to tease!” you laugh. he flips you off before turning around to continue mopping. you sigh, stretching your arms up. a couple of seconds go by before you get up to make your way to the kitchen.

“where are you going?” 

“the kitchen,” you hum, turning around to look at sae. your ears burn when your eyes meet his. you wish you knew what goes on in his head when he stares at you so intensely. you wish you knew if he even knows he’s staring at you so intently. a small, awkward cough leaves your lips, “i wanted to get started on dinner.”

“you’re not even going to wait for me?” you fiddle with the hem of your shirt at his teasing tone. 

sometimes you wonder if he knows how domestic your dynamic has become. if he’s aware that people have started associating him with you, and vice versa. if he’s aware of the effect his words have on you. (you really wish you could take a peek inside his mind.)

“you’d just get in my way,” you tsk, “besides i wanna finish quickly, my head hurts a little.”

he quickly walks over to you, dragging the mop behind him, “have you taken any medicine?”

“i’m fine,” you wave off the hand he placed on your forehead, “it’s probably because i’m hungry.”

“are you sure?” your heart pounds against your chest at his concern. 

you give him a reassuring smile, “i’m sure. if it still hurts before i go to bed i’ll take some medicine.”

“fine.” he huffs, lips pursing, “but if you still feel bad tomorrow, promise you’ll let me know.”

you feel your heart squeeze. you gnaw on your bottom lip, twisting the hem of your shirt with your hands. 

“i promise.” your voice is barely above a whisper, it’s just loud enough for him to hear.

he smiles, patting your head, “don’t push yourself too hard, ok?”

sae turns around. you stare at his back, his name tumbling out of your lips before you can stop yourself. he turns around with a curious hum.

you feel like your heart rests on your throat. he patiently waits for you to continue. heat rushes to your ears and you wipe your hands against your shirt. “i also promise i’ll go see your match.”

the smile that lights up his face makes you wish it was tomorrow already. you want to go. (because you like seeing him smile.) you want to go see his match. (because it’ll make him happy.)

you want to see him do his favorite thing in the world. you want to share that happiness with him, despite not caring much for the sport. (because you think it’ll make him happy to see you there, even if he doesn’t say it. you want to be the reason he feels genuine happiness.)

you’re not there.

it’s the first thing sae notices when he looks at the stands. it’s what he keeps noticing whenever he turns to look at the stands throughout the match. when they reach halftime and you’re still not there, so he texts you. the second half starts and you’re still not there. 

the game ends and you never showed up. his brows knit when he checks his phone only to find out you never even read his messages. concern carves itself into him. 

he makes his way back to the apartment as quickly as he can, secretly hoping that nothing bad happened to you.

his heart beats faster, anxiety seeping into him when he opens the door and he doesn’t see your figure on the couch. 

sae hastily kicks his shoes off, dropping his duffel bag somewhere on the floor. he lets out a deep breath when he stands in front of your door, quickly knocking.

a couple of seconds go by before he knocks again, frowning when there’s no reply. he quietly opens the door, mentally apologizing. his eyes quickly scan the room for you. there’s a lump in his throat when he sees something stir under your bed sheets. 

he quietly walks over to your bed, slowly lowering your comforter. his chest tightens, brows knitting with worry when he sees your face twisted in pain, a slight sheen of sweat on your forehead. he grabs a tissue from your nightstand, gingerly wiping the sweat away. 

he sharply inhales when you stir under his touch. sae stares at you as you slowly open your eyes. his eyes fill with concern when he notices how heavy, and unfocused yours look.

he presses the back of his hand against your forehead, brows furrowing even more, “gosh, you’re burning up.”

“sae?” he can barely hear your voice. “why’re you here?” 

he clicks his tongue, wiping more sweat off your forehead.

“what about the match?” you blearily look at him, voice laced with soft concern. you try to keep your eyes open when he heads out, grogginess catching up to you when he returns with a bowl in his hands, a hand towel over his shoulder. 

he dampens the towel, wringing out the excess onto the bowl. sae gently presses it against your forehead, “have you had a fever all day long?”

“did i miss it?” his heart aches at how choked up your voice sounds. 

“i thought i told you to tell me if you weren’t feeling alright, dumbass,” he nags, carefully lifting your head up to prop another pillow under it. 

“‘m sorry.” your eyes fill with tears, a pout tugging at your lips. he gently adjusts the towel against your skin. 

“don’t apologize,” he softly tsks, “worry about getting better, not about missing the game, idiot.”

he panics when a tear rolls down your cheek, hastily brushing it away. his heart squeezes in pain when more tears freely roll down your cheeks. 

“i didn’t,” you sniffle, “didn’t wanna miss the game.”

he shushes you, grabbing another tissue to wipe your tears away. “it’s fine.”

“‘s not,” your breath quickens, brows knitting in sadness, “i promised.”

he firmly calls out your name, “it’s not your fault.”

“i promised,” you hiccup. sae frowns, reaching out to remove the towel from your forehead, pouting when he notices you’re still burning up. he quickly dampens it again before resting it against your skin once more.

“i’ll go get you some medicine,” he whispers, turning around to exit your room.

sae stops in his tracks when he feels something weakly tug at his fingers. he turns to look at you, sucking in a shaky breath when he sees you holding on to him.

“don’t leave.” you weakly try to pull him closer. 

there’s a slight flicker of hope in him that tells him you’re aware of what you’re doing despite your raging fever. but he quickly extinguishes it by reminding himself that you probably think you’re dreaming. (because there’s no way you’d tell him to stay with you otherwise, he’s sure of it.)

“i have to get you some medicine,” he mutters. still, he makes no attempt to free his hand from yours.

“stay.” he wants to. he wants to stay with you more than anything. but he needs to get you something to relieve your fever.

he sits on your bed, readjusting your grip on his hand, “i need to go get your medicine.” 

he gingerly readjusts the towel on your forehead, slightly smiling at you. his heart pangs with worry when he notices how clammy your hands are. 

sae’s eyes widen when you lift yourself up, wrapping your arms around his neck. the towel on your forehead drops into his lap. he feels you rest your head on his shoulders, frowning at the heat emanating from you. (still, he wraps his arms around you so you don’t fall.)

his worried eyes meet your hazy ones when you slowly lift your head to look at him, a sleepy smile on your lips. 

“so stubborn,” your hands cup his cheeks. 

sae freezes when he feels your lips press against his. his heart beats faster, blush spreading through his face like wildfire. 

a sharp inhale leaves his lips when he feels your hands drop from his cheeks, your body tilting back. he cups the back of your head before it hits the pillow.

his eyes scan your face. he lowers his head when he feels your feeble grip on his jacket. his eyes flicker to yours when you weakly tug him closer in an attempt to press his lips against yours again. 

he slowly lifts your head up, a soft huff of laughter slipping past his lips when a glimmer of anticipation flashes through your eyes. he presses his lips against yours in a short peck, a startled noise leaving his mouth when you pull him back in. 

his face heats up more and more every time you chase after his lips when he pulls away for air. he pants when you pull away, trying to catch your breath. he rests his forehead against yours, his breath fanning against your lips. 

you softly call out his name. butterflies erupt in his stomach. he really hopes you know you’re not dreaming. 

his arm tightens against you, the hand resting on the back of your head gently tilting it to the side. he doesn’t think twice before pressing his lips against yours again, a content sigh escaping him when you melt under his touch. 

he presses his lips against yours over and over again, gently lowering you back onto the bed. your kisses feel like they’re the very air he breathes. like he’ll suffocate if he’s apart from you for more than a second.

sae kisses you silly until he feels your grip against his jacket soften. he pulls away, panting, face ablaze, eyes looking at your sleeping face with a softness that is so unlike him.

he carefully removes your hands from him, lifting your comforter to tuck you into bed. a smile lingers on his lips as he places the towel on your forehead again. 

he quietly makes his way out of your room, pressing the pads of his fingers against his lips. his heart feels like it wants to jump out of his chest. a deep sigh leaves his lips. he makes his way to the front door, quickly putting on his shoes to go buy your medicine.

sae really hopes you get better soon. (he wants to kiss you again, and he wants to be sure you’ll remember it properly.)

if you thought sae was a bad student, he’s an even worse patient. he is the most uncooperative sick person you’ve ever met in your life. 

you suppose it’s only fair to put up with him since he took care of you while you were sick. (even if it makes you want to knock him unconscious.)

still, it never fails to make your blood boil when you find him wobbling around the living room with a broom in his hands.

“would it kill you to stay in bed?” you stomp over to him, prying the broom off his hands before propping it against the wall.

he blearily looks at you, pouting. he sniffles, “yes.”

you frown, grabbing his hand and dragging him to his room. he glares at you when you force him to lay down on his bed. 

“stay here while i get your medicine,” you point at him, glaring back. “or i’ll suffocate you with a pillow until you fall asleep.”

“you can’t be rude to me while i’m sick!” he angrily crosses his arms, scoffing.

it’s still surprising that he’s still in bed when you get back. it’s even more surprising that he’s staring at the door, his face lighting up when you enter. 

his nose scrunches up in disgust when he sees the cough syrup in your hands. he burrows himself in his comforter, turning his head away from you. 

“sae.” you gently call out, sitting next to him. a small smile blooms on your lips when he slowly turns to look at you. “you know you have to take your medicine to get better, right?”

“if i take my medicine,” he sneezes, “will you give me a reward?”

“yeah, sure, i’ll give you a sticker.” you absentmindedly hum, uncapping the syrup. 

“no,” he shakes his head,  “i want another reward.” 

your brows raise in confusion, your turn your attention to him. “what kind of reward?”

he smiles, lifting a hand to tap his lips and then tapping yours. your face heats up, jaw dropping. you gently swat his hand away, pouting. “you shouldn’t tease like that.”

“‘m not,” he sticks his tongue out at you, “i want another kiss.”

“another?” you blink in surprise. your eyes widen slightly when a cheeky smile creeps up his lips. 

“you kissed me when you were sick,” he snickers, nose scrunching up when you force the syrup into his mouth. 

“no i didn’t,” you frown. he forces himself to swallow the cough syrup, a choked gasp leaving his lips.

“you don’t remember?” he whines, sniffling when you shake your head. 

you feel a pang in your heart when sae looks at you, eyes swimming with sadness. “‘m sorry, sae.”

“‘s fine,” he playfully smiles, “i’ll just have to make up for it later.”

heat spreads through your face. a pout tugs at your lips, “don’t say stuff like that. i might take you seriously.”

“i’m being serious,” he sniffles, “wanna kiss you again.”

you shyly stare at him, shrinking into yourself. you suppose being sick must’ve made him bolder. or maybe he just wants to get back at you. but you have to admit it gives you the perfect excuse to make him stop being so difficult.

“i’ll kiss you if you stop complaining about taking your medicine,” you quietly huff, fingers playing with your shirt. 

your ears feel like they’re on fire when his face lights up. “but only when you get better! i don’t wanna get sick again.”

he nods, a satisfied grin blooming on his lips. “sounds good to me.”

there’s a beat of silence before you stand up. sae’s eyes widen, “where are you going?”

“i’m gonna go make you some soup,” you hum, “you should sleep while i’m gone.”

sae pouts, “‘m not tired.”

“that’s too bad, then,” you stick your tongue out at him. he clicks his tongue. 

“i’ll be back soon,” you pat his head. he huffs, pouting.

you barely take a step forward, yelping when you feel something yank you back. your brows knit in annoyance when you feel sae wrapping his arms around you. 

“sae.”

“‘m only going to sleep if you stay with me.” he mutters.

an amused smile tugs at your lips. you’re starting to think he’s cute when he’s sick. a little clingy, but cute. (you also think you might indulge him just this once.)

“fine,” you sigh. “but i’m leaving as soon as you fall asleep.”

you don’t. 

you’re not sure exactly when you fell asleep, but you’re sure it wasn’t dark outside when sae pulled you towards him. part of you wants to stay with him, just to let him sleep longer. but you also know you need to make him some soup. 

so, you gently try to pry yourself off of him. a soft groan leaves your lips when his arms tighten around you. 

his name tumbles out of your mouth. “i have to go make your soup.”

“‘m coming with you.” his voice sounds hoarse. (his nose sounds stuffy, too.)

“sae,” you try to pry his arms off, “you need to rest.”

“‘m going with you.” he huffs, “there’s nothing you can say to make me not join you.”

you begrudgingly decide to indulge him again. which is why he’s slumped over your shoulder as you make your way to the kitchen. it’s why he’s holding onto your waist, burrowing his face in your neck as you move around the kitchen. 

(it’s why your face feels like it’s on fire when he nuzzles closer to you, smiling.)

and you think that maybe him being a little too clingy isn’t that bad.

when a girl in your class asks you what sae is to you, you’re not sure what to say. 

you could say he’s your roommate, like you used to. but you don’t think he’d make himself extremely comfortable in your personal space if he was just your roommate. you could also say he’s your friend (much to everyone’s surprise.) but you’re not sure if he’d be so obsessed with kissing you whenever you’re both home if he was just your friend. 

(still, he’s not exactly your boyfriend, either. you’re not sure what he is. neither of you have brought it up before.)

either way, she wouldn’t be satisfied with the answer you give her. at least, that’s what you think with the way she glowers at you.

so, you just say he’s nothing. (which is a lie. but she doesn’t need to know that.) 

the result is what you expected, some angry huffing and empty warnings to stay away from sae. (not that it’d work seeing how you live with him.) except, things take a turn for the worse when your phone screen lights up, displaying sae’s name on it while it rings on the table. 

a pained expression flashes through your face when she clears her throat. you tilt your head up to look at her, an awkward, tense smile on your lips.

“i thought you said he was nothing to you?” she scoffs. 

“he is.” you internally curse how fast you replied. you hope she didn’t notice. 

she rolls her eyes, “then why do you have his contact saved with a star on your phone?”

you blink, your lips pressing into a fine line. “because he’s a star?” 

she doesn’t look convinced. (neither are you.) a loud, annoyed groan leaves her lips as she looks you up and down, crossing her arms.

“listen here, idiot,” she glares at you. anger flashes in her eyes when your phone rings again. “i don’t know who you think you are–” 

(you don’t know who she thinks she is, but with the way she seems to be unaware that you literally live with sae, you assume she must be some clueless freshman who happened to go to one of the football matches, saw sae, and became one of his many fans.)

“–but if you even consider the idea that sae might be into you–”

(you don’t even have to consider the idea, it pretty much solidified itself as a fact given with the way he kisses you until both of you are struggling to catch your breath whenever you two are alone.)

“–then you’ve got another thing coming,” she grabs your wrist, digging her nails into your skin. “i don’t know how someone like you got his number, but he doesn’t need freaks like you bothering him.”

she looks at you with contempt, “so stay away from him, or else–”

“or else what?” 

you both turn your heads to the door. her grip on your wrist loosens. you bite back a laugh when she removes her hand, shyly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“sae,” she takes a step closer to him. you hide your smile behind your hand when you see his clearly annoyed and disgusted expression. (you note he looks disheveled. you also notice his duffel bag slung over his shoulders.)

“or else what?” you snort at the clear anger in his voice. he glares at her, crossing his arms. she shrinks into herself, clearly nervous. 

“i was just trying to keep this freak away from you,” she plays with her hair. you feel embarrassed for her when she continues, “you shouldn’t have to deal with–”

“who the fuck even are you anyway?” he cuts her off, scowling. 

her eyes light up, “i’m–”

“leaving? i sure fucking hope so.” he scoffs, walking over to you. his face softens when he looks at you. 

sae extends his hand out to you, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips when you slip your hand into his. he reaches out for your backpack, quickly shrugging it on his shoulder before you can protest. 

“i thought you were one of the first people out of class,” he hums, lacing his fingers with yours.

your eyes flicker to the girl, who is still standing next to the table, face flushed in embarrassment. “i got held up.”

sae glances in her direction, scoffing in annoyance. “you’re still here?”

you can’t help but feel a little bad for her when her eyes well up with tears of embarrassment, her hands bunching up her skirt. “i thought–”

“you thought wrong,” he clicks his tongue, “now get lost.”

her eyes snap to yours, anger replacing the embarrassment, “i thought you said he was nothing to you!”

sae gasps, looking at you, hurt written all over his face. you look away, biting the inside of your cheek. he calls out your name, “why’d you say that?”

“i didn’t know what else to say,” you mumble. 

“say i’m your boyfriend!,” he huffs. “or do you not want to say that?”

heat floods your face. you hide your face in sae’s back when you hear choked sobs. you tug at his jacket, “can we just go home already?”

you take a peek at the girl from behind sae’s shoulder. “i don’t want to talk about this here.”

“fine,” he mutters, “but this conversation is not over.”

he drags you out of the classroom. you don’t look back, but you gnaw your bottom lip when you hear muffled sobs coming from behind you. 

you both walk in silence for a bit. a small smile blooms on your lips when sae slows down his pace to match yours. 

“i’m surprised you didn’t tell her off.” he hums. 

“you got there before i could,” you fondly shake your head, “i would’ve loved giving her a piece of my mind.”

a soft laugh leaves his lips, “i’m sure you’ll find another occasion to do so.”

the walk home feels quicker than usual. you suppose it’s because sae’s actually with you instead of over the phone.

you’re barely past the door to your apartment when sae wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. he relaxes when you wrap your arms around him. 

“if someone asks you what i am to you,” he nuzzles his face into your neck, “just tell them i’m your boyfriend.”

“are you sure?” your hands clench around his jacket. 

he pulls back slightly to look at you, confusion written all over his face. “yeah? am i not your boyfriend already?”

“i don’t know?” your brows knit in confusion. 

“i thought it was clear?” he blinks. “it wasn’t clear to you?”

“i don’t think i would’ve been threatened by one of your fangirls if it was clear,” you deadpan. 

“oh.” he presses his lips into a fine line. “well, now you know.”

your jaw drops, “you’re not even going to ask if i want you to be my boyfriend?”

“i think it’s safe to say we’re well past asking,” he stares at you. 

“still,” you pout, “it’d be nice if you did.”

“what, are you going to give me a sticker if i do?” he scoffs. 

“i was gonna give you a kiss, but if you don’t wanna ask, then–”

“would you let me be your boyfriend?”

laughter spills out of your lips, “you didn’t even let me finish!” 

“just answer my question.” he smiles. “and hurry it up too, i have to clean.”

you playfully shake your head, “so demanding. but, i suppose you can be my boyfriend.”

sae’s lips are on yours as soon as the words leave your mouth. you gasp in surprise when he nips at your lower lip. 

you’re not sure how long he kisses you for, but you feel dizzy when you pull away. you angle your head away from his when he chases after your lips again. 

“i thought,” you pant, “thought you said you had to clean.” 

“it can wait.” he breathes out. 

“i have to cook.” 

he angles your head back to face him, “it can wait.”

“but–”

he calls out your name with a smile, “it can all wait. just let me kiss you again.”

“okay.” you smile when he tilts your head towards his. 

you think you’re starting to understand sae’s obsession with kissing you.

when you think of itoshi sae, the first thing that comes to mind is: boyfriend. you’re not sure if you’re ever going to get used to calling him that. you’ve told him it still sounds weird, he simply says it sounds perfect. 

you’re also not sure you’ll ever get used to the many pairs of eyes staring holes into the back of your head. (you blame sae for insisting you wear his spare jersey to his games.)

still, you suppose you could put up with all the staring if it means you get to see sae play.

(even if it means you have to endure his showing off for the next hour.)

“did you see how great i was out there?” he puffs out his chest. 

“you were the best!” you smile when he laces his fingers with yours. “i think you deserve a reward.”

you bite back a laugh when his head turns to look at you, eyes twinkling with anticipation. “close your eyes.”

you can practically feel the excitement rolling off of him as he closes his eyes. you let go of his hand, snickering when his brows furrow. you quickly reach into your bag, pulling out the sticker sheet you stashed in there. 

a laugh leaves your lips when you gingerly place a star sticker on sae’s cheek. “you can open your eyes now.”

you heartily laugh when sae touches his cheek, glaring at you when he feels the outline of a star. he huffs, “you’re the worst.”

“shut up, you love them.” you flick his forehead. 

he tsks, poking your nose. “when you said i deserved a reward, i thought you meant a kiss.”

“i can kiss you if you want.” you cheekily smile at him. he huffs, crossing his arms.

he turns his head away from you, “you ruined the moment with those stupid, lukewarm stickers.”

“you say that as if you don’t stick them against your mirror.” you stick your tongue out at him, the corners of your lips lifting into a smile when his cheeks flush. 

“i hate you,” he frowns, looking at you.

“no you don’t,” you peck his cheek.

“whatever,” he grumbles, “let’s just go home already.”

you laugh when he grabs your hand, tugging you in the direction of your apartment. (you don’t mention the smile on his lips.)

“i’m going to cook today,” he laughs when you groan in disgust. “i’ve gotten better!”

“yeah, right.” you quip. “i think it’d be better if you clean while i cook.”

“what if we cook together?” he hums.

“you’ll just get in my way.” you smile, laughing when he shakes your arm. 

“what if we go out to eat?” he shrugs nonchalantly. (you still notice the flush on his ears.)

“itoshi sae!” you gasp dramatically, “are you asking me out on a date?”

he scoffs, cheeks turning bright red. “don’t make a big deal out of it.”

“i’d be honored to go out with the itoshi sae,” your voice drips with mischief. a soft gasp leaves your lips when he tugs you to him, wrapping his arms around you.

“i think it’s me who’s honored to go out with you,” he mumbles. you hug him back, nuzzling into him. 

“we still need to head home, though,” he pulls away, “i want to take a shower.”

“want me to join you?” you laugh when you see his scandalized expression.

“you’re so shameless!” he bites back a laugh, hiding his face behind his hands.

“oh, please, like we haven’t showered together before.” you playfully scrunch your nose. 

he clicks his tongue, “as tempting as it sounds, i really would like to go eat early today.”

you fondly roll your eyes, tugging him towards your apartment. “fine.”

“but i’m not opposed to taking a shower with you when we get back.” he bites back a smile when you smack his shoulder.

the walk home is filled with laughter, teasing smiles on both of your faces. and, for once, you’re glad to have an opinion of sae.

(especially because it’s based on the version of your sae, and not the one everyone else thinks he is.)