#unintentional? who knows! but neither is wrong

[disruptivevoib]

Something I think thats key to Heart or to my interpretation of Heart is that, though he is manipulative, he genuinely does not believe he is nor does he mean to be or do it with any malicious intent. This does not make him less manipulative nor less self-victimizing! But I think it does better display how emotions work. Which is that they are instinctual responses and often deeply connected to defense mechanisms. So Heart is defensive and reactive but he isn't dumb- but he also isn't malicious. i think he can manipulate on purpose 100% but a lot of him is genuine reaction that winds up manipulative even though he believes its for the best or simply cannot help himself.

Its something about being the chaos without the balance. Mind is there to keep Heart as in check as Heart is to keep Mind in check.

Dunno if this makes sense? I just feel like people say "Heart is manipulative" a lot and don't put more nuance into it than that. Not to say he is villainized, but I feel there's a lack of acknowledgement that emotions may not intend to be that way, but can be and rely on consciousness or common sense to be recognized and realized as such.

[im-not-samantha-im-samanta]

Reader // Seeds of Doubt // Husk

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A few words from author: Hello there everyone, I'm back again! ^^

This time I'm feeling a bit better, and I'm presenting you a new fanfic format I'm trying out: Scenarios!

It's a bit different from what and how I usually write but I hope you'll still like it. ^^"

_

Type: Scenario

Scenario summary: You are Alastor's s/o, but he can sometimes make insensitive comments, so his dearest friend Husker reassures you about Alastor's feelings towards you,

Settings: Fully platonic

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

!TRIGGER WARNING!: Swear words used, light mention of alcohol consumption, typical things one can expect with Husk and Alastor, Reader doubts Alastor's love for them, Husk talks shit about Alastor for a bit but he still comforts reader, Alastor is a little shit and plants doubt into Reader's head for his own amusement, that should be all!

Sidenote: I included reader having doubts because of Alastor being aroace because it made sense in the scenario but I truly hope it didn't offend anyone - I'm ace and possibly on the aro spectrum too, so I really didn't mean to misrepresent the spectrums or anything!! I meant well I swear >-<,

Sidenote: Reader is written as gender neutral, but if the reader description leans more towards feminine sense it's purely unintentional and I apologize!

Sidenote: The editing on phone will be the end of me one day,

_

That should be all,

Hope you'll enjoy, <3

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Slouched at the bar, a drink is in your hand,

You're lost in thought,

It's not often you're found like this,

On the contrary, actually,

It's rare for you to sit down and hope to get lost in your drink to avoid your thoughts,

But sometimes Alastor can be rather insensitive,

He can say and do things that hurt and that plant little seeds of doubt in your head,

And whether that'd be deliberately or accidentally is up for a debate,

This time it was about him being aromantic asexual,

He made a comment that suggested him being with you just for pure entertainment, not for affection or anything else because he, as he phrased it: "doesn't feel the need for it after all",

And that didn't feel nice,

Not at all,

Again, he could be just messing with you,

Or maybe he didn't mean for his words to come off that way,

But still,

You worried there might be some truth to his words,

And again, Alastor being on the aroace spectrum didn't mean he felt nothing towards you,

It didn't mean he couldn't feel affection for you or anything similar,

And it definitely didn't mean you two couldn't be in a relationship!

That's why you tried to drink your worries away,

Because you knew they were just that, just worries,

Just thoughts you should pay no attention to,

However, you'd be lying if you said his orientation didn't play into your doubts after his playful but not so kind words,

And maybe that was his goal,

To have you all tense and on your feet, thoughts running wild,

But it still didn't make you feel any better,

And so, you just downed your drink, trying to ease up,

"One more... please," you told Husk who was behind the bar, watching your anxiety eat away at you,

"Geez, the fuck's wrong with you? You never order more than one," Husk commented, though he didn't sound like he actually cared to hear you out,

However, it was obvious he wasn't too indifferent towards you,

He remembered you weren't really a drinker, after all, which was nice to know,

"Nothing much..." you told him with a sigh, "Just overthinking...",

"Yeah, you look the part, you look like a fucking mess" Husk replied, borderline on insulting,

But you've learnt to not take it to heart,

This was just the Husk fashion of talking to people,

Silence then enveloped the two of you, and Husk poured you another glass,

Neither of you spoke until your thoughts got way too bad to ignore,

And you asked Husk a question, desperate to ease your worries,

Even if you knew that Husk was the least person you should go to with such question,

"Do you think Alastor keeps me around just for amusement...?" you asked softly,

And Husk looked a little surprised, before a scowl found its way onto his face again,

"You're seriously asking that just now after dating that piece of shit for months?" he scoffed,

And you looked down,

Husk frowned then, and gave a long sigh,

"Damn, you really are a case..." he muttered before sighing more and rubbing his face,

"What'd that asshole do now?" he questioned, an eyebrow raised,

And while he didn't sound all that much like he cared, you still took the chance to get things off your chest,

"He just... hinted I might be nothing more than just a source of amusement for him," you explain, gaze fixated on your drink,

And once again, Husk sighed, muttering: "Of course that piece of shit would do that, even to his own partner,",

Husk then exhaled through his nose before pinching the bridge of it and speaking again,

"Alright, listen, I hate that son of a bitch more than anything," he started,

"and it's not my fucking job to save his ass and relationship," he paused,

"but I'm gonna do him a favour and cut him some slack,",

Then he sighed and continued: "He does care for you... I mean, I can't say I'm 100% sure, after all that guy's all about messing with people and their emotions,",

"but... from what I can tell, you mean a lot to him..." Husk told you, looking you in the eyes, looking sincere,

"And while I don't think that asshole has anything close to a heart," he sighed lowly, "I guess he wouldn't go as far as to pretend to love someone just for a few laughs...",

"especially not to someone who's proven to be a nice person and a good friend," he told you, shaking his head a little before grabbing the first glass you emptied and beginning washing it,

And doing so, he continued speaking: "He's got some decency... at least I guess he does,",

"But honestly, you should talk to him about this," Husk advised, looking at you seriously, "that's a part of relationships, talking bout feelings, setting boundaries and shit...",

"He's a fucked up, messed up in the head sadist, but I'm sure if you'll be honest with him and tell him how his comments affect you, he'll change his ways..." Husk told you before pausing and thinking,

Then he thought out loud: "Yeah, he'll probably find another way of fucking with ya head, but it'll definitely be less harmful and damaging than what's he's doing now,",

"Of course, I can be wrong about him and this whole thing, I wouldn't be surprised," Husk stated, lifting his hands in surrender as if wanting to decline any responsibility from his advices,

"but... judging by how he acts n all, he does like you in some way... even if just in his own twisted way," he eventually told you then shrugged and again focused on the glass in his hand,

And you were left with lips slightly parted because you've not expected Husk to say anything of what he's just told you,

You were actually prepared for a rant about how much he hates Alastor and how much stupid you are for dating him,

But not this,

You were not prepared for this,

And you were quite pleasantly surprised,

Because hearing reassurance coming from Husk's mouth was a nearly nonexistent occurrence,

And that alone assured you that his words were genuine and meant something,

Even if everything was said in typical Husk fashion,

And, for the first time since sitting down at the bar, you smiled,

You smiled and gazed at Husk with appreciation,

"Thanks, Husk, I needed that," you told him lowly, making him scoff,

"Yeah, yeah, you're welcome or whatever, just don't pull any hugging shit on me or some other mushy bullshit," he scoffed, rolling his eyes,

Then he sighed,

"Now get your ass off that barstool and go talk to that fucken asshole," he ushered you, making a shoo motion with his clawed hand,

And you smiled again, knowing that Husk meant well despite acting rather rude and aloof,

But deciding to heed Husker's words, you nodded and got up from your seat,

"Yeah, yeah, you're right, I should go talk to him," you nodded with a playful smile at Husk's attitude,

"I'll be going now, and you can pour the rest of my drink down the drain," you told him before heading out of the room,

"And thanks again!" you called before rounding the corner and disappearing from sight,

And Husk rolled his eyes again,

But deep down he was glad he managed to comfort you,

Despite you not knowing it, you were quite a good influence on Alastor,

And Husker truly hoped you would continue to cling to the Radio demon's arm even if Lucifer himself put obstacles in the way,

Or well... even if Alastor was the one putting obstacles in the way...

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[arcadia-of-pluto]

"Pragma(tic) Love" || Xavier (M)

Pragmatic; meaning "dealing with things sensibly and realistically".

Pragma; one of the eight ancient Greek words for love, meaning "an enduring type of love". A passionate and committed form of love.

Paring(s); LADS Xavier x reader

Word count; 12,398 (GEEZ–)

Rating; 18+ for mature and sexual context; and swearing

Themes; childhood friends to lovers, unintentional flirting, reader isn't an idiot (sometimes), dumb humor, inspired by the webtoon "Childhood Friend complex"

Notes; some dumb humor, Xavier being out of character, kissing, poorly written sex (I haven't written smut in so long), vaginal penetration (finger and p), I could've done more but my Tumblr mobile app is lagging at 12k words–

Characters included; Tara, Jenna, Rafayel, Yvonne, Greyson (mentioned), Jeremiah, anyone else is just random names for other characters!

|| a part of the "tropes d'amour" mini-series ||

|| Main Masterlist ||

You are a rather naive and impulsive woman, no one would argue with that. You knew what you wanted and you were never embarrassed to admit that. Always head-strong and never thinking about the consequences of what comes afterward. You have, also, never been in a relationship, but you can remember the first time you really wanted to be in one.

It was a few years back when you were in middle school. Fifteen and highly impressionable. You were staying the night at a friend's house with a couple of other girls and they decided to have a group viewing of some x-rated videos. Even at fifteen, this was something you never thought of so as you watched with a mix of horror and intrigue, your friends eagerly laughed and made different comments about how hot the actions in the videos were. You, however, were more focused on the kissing scenes. You enjoyed how passionate they looked and you wondered if a kiss would be as nice as it looked. To this day, you barely remember the rest of the video. Only the kiss scene that left an impact on you and made you wish for a relationship, just to have a kiss like that.

Though, back in the present day at twenty-one, you had bigger things to worry about. Like college work and the new gossip your friends had every week.

For example, today, you and your group of three other women were all sitting down in a coffee shop, talking about the different guys at your college. “Oh my god, have you seen how hot Rafayel is? We have two of the hottest guys at our college and I don't see how neither of them are dating anyone,” Yvonne says with an over-dramatic sigh as she tilts her head back. “If I'm honest, their hands are what I'm more interested in,” Jenna murmurs under her breath with her chin resting on her hand. “Hands?” You take a look down at your own as you ask and Yvonne slaps her hands down on the table. “You don't know about hand sizes?! If they have big hands they have a big d–” “Yvonne, we'll be kicked out if you're too loud.” Tara puts a finger to her lips as she looks around anxiously.

“Alright, alright.” Yvonne pouts and sits back down. “Anyway, as I was saying, our college has two of the hottest guys I've ever seen. I'm surprised none of them are dating someone. I'd definitely volunteer in a heartbeat.” “So…I was going to ask this earlier, but who's the second guy?” You ask and tilt your head to the side. “Xavier, of course!” Yvonne looks at you as if you're crazy. “You know, the 6 foot something hunk who is in the engineering department?”

Tara covers her mouth with a hand to hide her laughter as your group leaves the café with your drinks in hand. “Xavier? Are you serious?” You scoff with a hand on your hip and your drink out to the side. “Doesn't he give off, like…delinquent vibes or something? You should really have higher standards.” “Y/n…” Yvonne trails off, pointing at something behind you and you raise a brow, “What's wrong? Can't I talk shi–” You feel pressure on the crown of your head and when you look to the side, you see someone dip their head down to take a sip from your straw. “Ugh, this tastes like shit. You're still drinking crap like this?” You spot the silvery-blonde sticking his tongue out in disgust before you groan and hit him on the head.

“Xavier, what have I told you about sneaking up on me!?”

As the two of you yell and pull at each other's hair, Yvonne takes a nervous glance toward Tara. “They…” “They've been friends since childhood,” Tara says with a small laugh, rubbing the back of her neck.

You don't exactly keep it a secret that you're friends with Xavier. The two of you are just from two completely different departments. His being engineering and yours in liberal arts. You did, however, want to start putting some distance between him since no guys approach you. They always assume you're dating Xavier, even if you correct them, so if you ever wanted a relationship you'd have to distance yourself from him…but that's easier said than done since your mothers were friends.

Your mothers were pregnant at the same time, having met during a pregnant yoga class and coincidentally moved in next to each other, so naturally you and Xavier were practically raised together. You’d even go as far as to say he's like a brother to you.

Back in class, you're utterly exhausted. You rake your hand through your hair with a sigh, holding your face in your hands until you feel someone tap your shoulder. You look up, confused, before you smile up at him, “Hey, Rafayel. What's up?” “You seemed a bit upset, so I was gonna ask if you needed help with something,” the purple haired upper-classman says, his head tilting to the side. “Actually…I need some research files for our essay and I don't have nearly enough time to get everything together.” You collect your things and stand up from your chair, “but I'll figure it–”

“You can borrow my USB,” Rafayel offers, slinging his back over his shoulder. “We'll just have to stop by my dorm.” “Really? Thank you so much. You're a life-saver!” you clasp your hands together. Your facial expression looks a lot brighter, compared to a few seconds ago. “Can we go now? I'm really excited to get started on this project.”

The two of you leave your classroom and head off to his dorm. You were done with your classes for today, but you were a little worried you'd be bothering Rafayel during his off time. Though, it doesn't seem that way since he offered to help you and you don't want to overthink anything.

“I'm sorry if it's a bit messy.” He unlocks his door before opening it. A…bit messy was an understatement. His floor is littered with paint tube lids, a few stray clothing items, a colour pencil or two, there's a spot on the rug from a charcoal pencil. It's extremely messy, but it's the room of an artist so you weren't really sure what to expect. As you step deeper into the room, you're unsure of where to sit until Rafayel points to a spot in front of his bed. “You can sit over there. I have a few USBs so it might take a little time to find it.” He chuckles, seemingly unfazed at how dirty his room really is.

You tentatively sit down and hug your knees to your chest as Rafayel sits next to you with a handful of USBs. As he looks through them, your eyes can't help but be drawn toward his hands. His…hands..That reminds you of something. What was Yvonne trying to say earlier?

“If they have big hands, it means they have a big di–” A big…oh.

Rafayel's hands were big…

You pause your train of thought with wide eyes. “Y/n?” The upper-classman asks, waving his hand in front of your face. You blink a few times, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you quickly stand up and grab a random USB. “Thank you so much, Rafayel, but I've got togonowbye!!”

You don't even give him a chance to respond as you run out of his room. You pull out your phone to quickly shoot a few texts to Xavier.

🩷: “HEY I HAVE A QUESTION”

: “ANSER ME”

: “WHAT DOES IT MEAN IF A GUY HAS BIG HANFS??”

:“XAVIER, I SWEAR TO GOS”

Your stupid, dumb, idiot friend isn't responding, so you decide the best thing to do is barge into his house. You take a few labored breaths, having run all the way through his house and to his bedroom door, before you enter without even bothering to knock. It's not like he could be doing something important, right? Nahhh.

The moment you step into his room, you notice two things. One, he had your messages with your profile picture up on his computer monitor…and two, he has his left hand wrapped around his dick.

“Why the hell is my picture on screen!?” You blurt out the first thing you can think of in your panic as you quickly look away with a red face.

“It's not–” Xavier quickly turns away from you before noticing that your picture was, indeed, on his screen. He scrambles to his feet to fix his pants before words spill from his lips, “It's not like that! I was just…getting off and you were getting on my nerves from all your messages and I noticed you had a new profile picture, and I wasn't even looking at your picture when I was doing it anyways!” His face and ears are a deep shade of scarlet, and you shoot him a scrutinizing look.

“Look, I'm not going to judge you but…” Your lip curls up as you can't decide whether you're disgusted or flattered, but the expression quickly leaves your face as you notice his eyes watering. Is he…crying?

“I already said it's not what you think…”

For the first time in forever, your mind was dead silent. You were a little too focused on the redness in his face and the desperation in his eyes. You needed to leave. Now.

“I'll talk to you later, but seriously don't forget to lock the door next time!” You say your words way too fast, almost unable to understand them yourself, and dart out the house as fast as you can. You only stop once you made it to the gate outside, holding a hand to your chest with reddened cheeks. What the hell just happened?

The next day in class, you're beyond zoned out. You're not sure what to think of the whole situation…but you clearly saw it. His…well yeah. You could faintly picture his hand, fingers that could just barely wrap around his girth-

You smack your hands against your cheeks, snapping yourself out of your thoughts. “Jesus, Y/n! Are you okay?” Tara asks with a small laugh, putting a hand on your shoulder. You groan and tilt your head back before quickly turning to face her. “Okay, so I have a…story. Alright? This isn't about me. It's about a uh– a friend.” “Uh-huh…and what happened with this friend?” Tara raises one of her eyebrows as she looks around the classroom.

“Actually, let's have this conversation outside.” She stands up, picking up her bag before she takes your hand.

Once outside, you sit down on a bench and take a deep breath. “Okay so, this friend of mine…she has a friend she's known for a long time and she ended up seeing his..” you trail off, not wanting to say the word, but you have to say something to make any sense, “..his junk. She saw his stuff on accident and there was a photo of her on his screen-”

“Wouldn't it just make sense to apologize and act like nothing happened?” Tara questions, honestly a bit confused since it seems like it would be common sense to just apologize about it. “But my picture was on the screen. Wouldn't that mean he's into me or something?” You don't even notice your slip up and Tara doesn't care since she already knew this story was about you. “It could mean that, but how about you just hear him out and apologize?” The woman rubs her temples. She loves you to death, but sometimes you can be a little dumb.

“I guess I could do that– hold on, I'll be right back!” You spot Xavier in the distance, quickly putting on your bag before you chase after him. “Xavier!” You shout and the silvery-blonde turns to look at you for a moment. Then, he takes off running as well. “Hey, I need to talk to you!” You yell after him, continuing the chase but you were honestly tired at this point. He clearly wasn't slowing down anytime soon. “Why are you running?” You feel sweat dripping down your temple and he shoots the same question back at you, “Why are you running??”

“Because I need to talk to you!” Your breath was coming out in heavy pants and wheezing, so you probably look a bit crazy at this point. “Well I don't!” “Dude, stop–” As you chase after him you bump into another student. His cold brew coffee spilling all over the front of your white t-shirt. You notice Xavier immediately stops in his tracks.

“Damn it–” You curse under your breath before you turn toward the male student, “Hey, I'm sorry about your coffee!” “It's fine, what about your shirt? You could just give me your number and I could get it washed..” His eyes were clearly trained onto the front of your shirt and you made the horrifying realization that your black bra is visible. Suddenly, a bag is pressed against your chest and you feel a hand grab your wrist. Xavier sighs and begins tugging you behind him as he walks, “Let's go.”

“Go where?” You ask, clearly confused and he shakes his head, squeezing his hand around your wrist, “To the sport's center.” “Dude, you're hurting my hand!”

Xavier takes you to the sports center's locker room and is looking through his locker. “So..what're we doing here?” You stand in the corner with his bag still clutched to your chest. You can hear him let out an audible sigh, “Do you want to walk back to your dorm with your shirt like that?” “You could've just let me borrow your bag..” you murmur with a pout, but Xavier runs a hand through his hair, “You can see everything through the back too, idiot.”

“Thanks..” You finally say after a moment of silence before you set his bag on the floor to look at your shirt. You tug at the soaked fabric with a finger, your nose wrinkling up at the cold feeling. You should probably take it off before it gets your bra and skin all sticky..You pull your shirt half over your body, but then pause because you realized you almost took your shirt off with Xavier in the room–

The two of you have been together practically since the womb, so you couldn't even count how many times you bathed together when you were younger. Key word: younger. But now??

“Hey– don't turn around, Xavier. I already took my shirt off.” You sheepishly laugh, keeping your soiled shirt over your chest as you notice his ear tips turning red. “I– why–” But he can't finish his sentence because someone comes into the room. You backpedal into a locker to hide and listen to Xavier tell the other student that he'll put the guy's stuff away. Once he shoos the guy out, you assume he locks the door behind him.

“Y/n, where'd you go?” Xavier calls out as he walks back to where you are and you kick open the locker with an embarrassed smile, “I'm…stuck.” You hold your hands out for help while keeping your legs against your chest. Your so-called friend laughs at your predicament, about to make fun of you, but then his gaze flits from your face to the swell of your breasts. He quickly shakes his head and clears his throat. “Geez, you really are something,” he sighs before grabbing your hand to pull back with all his strength.

“Ouch, Xavier, that shit hurts– woah–!” You're suddenly flying out of the locker and you land on top of Xavier with your hands on either side of his head. Just as you're about to get up, you hear the door knob jiggling and you jerk your body down as if trying to hide. “Oh shit– you locked the door, right, Xavier?” You ask in a panicked whisper, before realizing you could feel heavy breaths against your bare skin. You turn your gaze down and your eyes widen as you see Xavier's face buried in-between your breasts.

You quickly scoot backwards with your hand over your mouth. “I am so sorry, Xavier…”

Your best friend runs a hand down his red face with a long, drawn out sigh. “It's fine! No, really, it's fine.” He waves his hands before he tosses a shirt at your head. “Now, put that shit on.” The shirt smacks you upside the head and a hiss slips from between your teeth. “Well, I take back my apology now.” You murmur under your breath as you pull his shirt over your head. Though your gaze is drawn to his toned stomach. His shirt must've rode up during the fall and he never pulled it back down. That reminds you of something…

When you and Xavier were in middle school, you remember an old classmate joking about the two of you dating. While you both reacted in disgust, you clearly remember Xavier saying he'd never see you as a woman and then when the friend asked, “You never know. What if one day, you start feeling like she is?” Xavier replied with, “If that happens, I'm going to take my balls off. Both of them.” You were clearly disgusted by this and, albeit, a little offended so you spit back a jab of your own, “I’ll shave my head.” “Dude, I put my balls on the line!” He laughs, “You gotta match me. Or else…are you afraid you'd fall for me?” “You son of a bitch!” You grab Xavier by his hair, “You really think I'd fall for you when you find so many ways to piss me off?? The only emotion I feel for you is rage. You hear me!?”

“Y/n?? Yo, earth to Y/n.” Xavier waves a hand in your face and you shake your head before a book, from the shelf you're leaning against, falls to smack you atop the head. You rub your head as you stand up, then you clear your throat and hold your hands behind your back. “Hey Xavier?” “Yeah?” He glances toward you with one brow raised and you sigh, “I wanted to apologize for leaving like that yesterday. It wasn't fair to not hear you out and to make assumptions on my own like that. That’s what I came to tell you.”

After a few moments of silence and a shocked expression from Xavier, you can't take it any more and you start hitting him on the back, “Seriously, what's gotten into us? All this awkwardness between us just doesn't feel right! Let's forget the whole thing and go back to being normal again, yeah?” With each hit, Xavier says an “ouch” but you keep at it with a nervous laugh. “Anyway, bye!! I gotta go work on a project.” You leave him behind with a dumb expression on his face.

Once back in class, you have no time to dwell on everything that happened because you're busy with an animation project. You're working together with Tara, Yvonne, and Jeremiah. You and Tara are animation majors while Yvonne and Jeremiah are in design. “Do you think we can finish this in time?” You groan, tiredly running a hand through your hair before you get back to sketching. The four of you talk amongst yourselves before Yvonne points out, “You're so good with drawings, Y/n…I can only do stick figures. I didn't know we'd be drawing people.”

“Well, I prefer using a pencil.” You yawn, holding a hand up to your mouth. “I'm awful with 3D software.” Your eyes are a bit blurry from all of your yawning and you squint at your drawing. “What did the muscle look like on this arm?” You murmur. Your pencil completely stops its movements as you were suddenly reminded of Xavier's arm trying to push you away and the bright blush on his face from before.

You really need to do something to stop thinking of your best friend like this…but his abs– No, just because he's got chiseled abs and a nice face…and a pretty voice…Stop– He's just your friend. Your childhood, wombhood best friend Xavier.

Maybe…you could go on a group date? No, that probably wouldn't help much, but you could go just to meet new people!

You shoot Yvonne a text from the bathroom saying that you're going back to your dorm and that you want to be included in that group date tomorrow. You try to emphasize that you just want to go as a potential friend, but she's clearly not listening after that.

You weren't really too thrilled when Yvonne had asked you about the group date, when you guys were out shopping for lingerie– she was going on a trip with her boyfriend, Greyson, and knew it was time. Whatever that meant. You had also bought a lingerie set, just a basic dark red set since you thought it was pretty.

Though, you really hope none of the guys would actually see you as a potential romantic partner, because while you wanted to get those images of Xavier out of your head– you really didn't want to lead some poor guy on.

Tomorrow comes sooner than you expected and it's Saturday now. You're sitting in front of a mirror while Tara applies some light makeup to your face. She's only curling your lashes, adding a shade of lip gloss that matches your skin, and maybe some eyeliner. Nothing too dressy since you're just going to meet new people– even if Yvonne doesn’t seem to understand that.

“So, what made you decide to go on this group date? When Yvonne brought it up at the lingerie store, you didn't seem interested.” Tara points out as she styles your hair. “Well…I wanted to expand my social circle–” “Look up, I'm applying mascara,” Tara cuts you off and you pause before looking up. “Like this?” “I take it back– do what you were normally doing!” Tara holds back her laughter and gets back to your makeup.

“But yeah, like I was saying, my life pretty much revolves around my classes and the dorm.” Once Tara is done, you quickly stand up. “Alright, now let's see if I have anything I can wear..” You muse, popping into your closet before stepping out a few minutes later. “Look, am I overdressed?”

Tara's back is to you as she speaks, “Just dress in something casual. It's a group date, afterall–” Though, she goes silent as soon as she notices what you're wearing. “That's…not what you're actually wearing, right?”

You look down at your red flannel button-up and your blue jeans with a frown. “Is it…too dressy?”

“Too dressy? I–...You're right, it is too dressy. Let me make a few changes.” Tara runs a hand down her face before hyping herself up to create a bombshell of an outfit for you.

“Oh my– look at you, girlie!” Irina, a fellow classmate, exclaims as you step down from the bus at your meeting spot. She nudges her friend, Winona, with an elbow as you look down at your scuffed white sneakers, a bit embarrassed by all of the attention. Tara got you all prettied up, having chosen one of your white turtlenecks, one of her black velvet camisoles, her black sling purse, and a checked skirt that Tara had gotten you a few years back as a gift. Your fingers nervously tugging at the hem of your skirt, worrying that it might be too short.

“You look gorgeous! You should wear that skirt more often,” Winona smiles at you, before grabbing your wrist as Irina continues, “The boys are here already, let's go.”

“Oh, right, I don't think Yvonne told you guys, but I'm only here for–” But you can't finish your sentence as you're pulled into the restaurant. Your phone buzzes in your hand and you notice that ‘Jerk’ is calling you– Jerk being Xavier. You hesitate, wanting to answer, but instead you put your phone in your pocket. Any other time, you would’ve answered, but right now it seems a bit rude towards the others.

“Hey guys!” Irina holds up a hand to wave once you walk up to the table that was seating three other people. You didn't recognize any of them, but maybe it would be easier to make friends that way.

“Hey you!” One of the guys says to Irina and she laughs, “What's up? You should know it's an honor to be set up with design students!” “Hey, PE majors are more popular, okay?” “Ah..Hello!” Winona tries to speak up, not wanting to be drowned out of the conversation, while you didn’t really mind it. You, honestly, almost wanted to just back out and leave, but you decide to stick it out because you could make some friends today. “Come, sit. It's nice to meet you!” The second guy motions toward the table with a nice enough smile. While the other two girls go to sit down, you awkwardly lean over with a small wave, “Hi everyone..”

“Woa–” “H-hello!” Two of the guys speak while the last stays silent, but a smile does tug at the corners of his lips. “What're you still standing there for? Come on, sit!” The first guy laughs and that's when you finally sit down.

You learnt that their names were Damian, Mateo, and Caelus. Damian was the PE major who was talking to Irina. Mateo was the second guy and Caelus was the third one.

“So, now that we all know who we are…let's toast!” Damian holds out his shot glass of soju while you stare down at the cup. You've…never had soju before. You sniff the cup before looking up in surprise as someone asks what you were doing. “Come on, let's toast!” Irina laughs, nudging you with her elbow and, honestly, you felt so drained already. You wondered if you could last the rest of this 'date’. You clink your shot glasses together and, while everyone else downs their drink, you sip on yours. But you get a bit nervous when everyone looks at you expectantly, so you toss your head back to finish it off. Hmm…this is actually really good for getting your mind off of certain things.

A few shots and an hour later, you were drunk– having the time of your life, but drunk. Maybe you shouldn't have drank on an empty stomach.

“Here, Y/n, have some water.” Caelus places a glass of water in front of you before saying, “You're in for a terrible hangover otherwise.” “Oh, You're Caelus, right? Thanks!” You grin at him before taking a sip from the cup. After another thirty minutes of playing around and chatting, Caelus was also a little buzzed.

“Can I ask you something? I hope this doesn't sound weird or anything.” Caelus rubs the back of his neck, nervously, with a small laugh. “What is it?” You were, also, still buzzed and excited about having a new friend. “Um..You don't have a boyfriend, do you?”

You blink in surprise. Oh, right. That was the purpose of a blind date, afterall, but you weren't here for that.

“Ah, me? No, why?” You ask, hoping he wasn't going to ask you out because then that would get awkward really quick. “Well…do you know that seriously good looking guy? He's famous on campus.” “uh..you mean Xavier?” Your eyebrows furrow. You weren't sure where this conversation was going. “Yeah, him! I don't know if you know, but you're sort of famous too. You two are always together and frankly, I was shocked because I had always thought you two were a couple.” Caelus admits and you tilt your head to the side.

Seriously? You weren't aware of that, at all. You and Xavier…together? Half of you wants to vehemently deny it, but there's another part that kind of–

“Don't be silly! They've been friends since they were kids.” Irina laughs, slapping her thigh. Her face was so red, she was probably drunk off her ass. “So…you two aren't together?” Caelus turns back to you, an almost hopeful look in his eyes. “We used to hang out since we were practically babies, that's all. We know and have seen everything about each other.” You shake your head before you pass at your last statement.

Seen everything…

Oh.

You slap your hands against your cheeks to pull yourself out of your inappropriate thoughts while Irina and Caelus are both surprised at your sudden actions. You're now hyper aware of other patrons at the restaurant and how they're shaking condiment bottles, and decide that maybe it’s best to pass out drunk. You grab the soju bottle and tilt your head back to finish it off. The bottle clinks against the table and your forehead on the cool wooden smacks down to join the bottle shortly after.

The table felt so nice, compared to how hot your face felt. You could almost fall asleep. Almost, but the phone buzzing in your back skirt-pocket has you drowsily blinking your eyes and you reach back to grab it. Your blurry eyes scan across the contents of your messages;

💛: “pick up the phone”

: “im @ work”

: "lets get some desert after"

Oh right, Xavier did mention to you last week that he was picking up a part time job…Hmph. Guess he's perfectly fine, even after everything that happened. All while you're trying to make new friends and keep your mind off of it. Maybe you're the problem? That's right! You've got to snap out of it and just act normal like he's doing, but…why can't you do that? Ugh, this is annoying.

A sigh escapes your lips and you feel a hand on your head. “Are you alright?” You hear Caelus ask and you glance over at him. “Doesn't your head hurt?” Now that you think about it…yeah, your head does hurt. Inside and out.

“Everyone else went to get some hangover drinks. How is your head? You hit it pretty hard.” Caelus was clearly concerned for you and that would be sweet– if he were the right guy. “I'm not sure..It does sting,” you murmur, body tensing up as you felt Caelus's hand on your shoulder. Huh?

“Still? Let me see.”

Through your blurry eyes, you can see the man moving closer toward you. Or maybe not. You couldn't tell. Once he got close enough to where you could feel his breath on your nose, the loud clank of a bottle slamming against the table causes Caelus to jerk back. You curiously turn your head to the side, eyes widening because you've got to be seeing things. Right?

“Here are the two beers you ordered.” Xavier and he seems…angry? Upset? Hmm, so this is where he's working.

“Pretty…” You don't even realize you spoke out loud as you drunkenly meet his pretty blue eyes.

“Ah,” Irina exclaims as she stretches her arms up in the air, “That was such a good stroll. I feel so much better…I wonder if Y/n is okay, she had a lot to drink.” “Huh–” Winona quickly taps Irina on the shoulder, “Isn't that Xavier?”

You were still in a daze with your head on the table, but you snapped out of it and sat up so quickly that you felt dizzy. Did you just call Xavier pretty? You really hope you're hallucinating right now. It seems like you still have to get your act together. You look down at the table, contemplating hitting it again to knock some sense into yourself. You close your eyes, ready to slam your head down on the table, but instead of the table, you feel a warm hand on your forehead.

“What the..” You turn your head to the side, resting your cheek on the palm of whoever's hand this is before realizing that it's Xavier's hand.

“Are you drunk?” Xavier asks with a raised brow, “Is that why you're banging your head against the table?” He sighs, turning his head toward the four students, who were waiting to sit down. “How much did she drink?” He points at you as he rummages around in his apron with his other hand. “A-about a bottle and a half? She had soju..” Winona breaks the silence while the others are too stunned to speak.

“Soju!?” Xavier groans before quickly turning to look back at you, “A bottle and a half? Isn't this your first time? Are you out of your mind?” Your friend continues his rant, “Did you forget how you threw up after your first beer? Soju is even worse! Did you brain up and leave you before you drank that shit?? Why can't you learn?” He runs a hand through his silvery blonde hair.

“What're you doing, huh!? You're not my mom! Stop nagging me, I'm having a good time with my frie–” Your whining is cut off by Xavier tapping a cold can against your forehead. “–nds..what's this?”

“Drink this. No more soju for you.” Is all he says and you sigh, grabbing the can as you rub your forehead, “Did you just go out and buy this?” “Of course not, we sell that here.” His head turns toward the door as a bell chimes, signifying that another customer has walked in. “I gotta get back to work.”

After Xavier walks away, you hold the can to your chest. Heartbeat roaring in your ears. “Oh my god, how cute is he?!” Irina whispers to Winona and the other girl shakes her fists, “Even his apron is sexy..”

“Uh…I'm all buzzed out. I'm gonna go get some fresh air, okay?” You stand up, holding the can still, and do your best not to run your fingers through your hair. You didn't want to mess up all the hard work Tara did to fix it.

Once outside, you spot Xavier, who was taking out some garbage. “Hey!” You go to yell at him, but your words fall flat when you notice something sticking out of his mouth. “Are…you smoking?”

“...It's a lollipop.” “Oh..Anyway, why didn’t you tell me you worked here?”

“I did.” He says, dusting off his hands. “Did not!” You puff your cheeks out, trying to remember if he did tell you.

“Why? Are you embarrassed because I caught you acting all girly with some guys?” Xavier lets out a small laugh as he pulls the lollipop from his lips. “Well…Tomboys like you need to play coy to get a date, so I'll let it slide.”

So he somehow got the wrong idea too?

You'd love to tell him he's wrong, but you honestly didn't care at the moment. Instead, you change the subject. “Hey, take this back.” You hold the blue can he gave you back out to him, “You can't just give me this.” “I paid for it, so you take it,” he says as he pushes the can back against your chest.

At your silence, he raises a brow, “You know what? Give it back.” He holds his hand out toward you. “You got me all upset now, so I'll be taking it back.” “What?” You hold the can tighter to your chest, “No way! You said it was mine.” “Come to think of it…Why should I bother? You're too busy partying with guys to even answer my texts.” Oh, now Xavier is definitely pouting.

You quickly open the can and take a few swigs like a dog eating some table-food that hit the floor. “Oh–” Xavier pauses before his gaze squints and he leans forward. “Are you wearing makeup?” “So what? Tara did it for me. What's the problem with it?” You glare at him, immediately getting defensive. “Hmm…you can put makeup on a donkey, but it's still a donkey at the end of the day.” He shrugs as he moves away from you and you punch him in the shoulder, “You wear makeup too, you dick!”

“But I'm clearly not a donkey.” Xavier smiles.

You and Xavier continue to talk for a while, leaning against a green metal fence behind the restaurant. He pulls his phone out from his apron and sighs, “Ah, I'd better get back.” “Woah, how long has it been?” You turn your head to look at him as he puts his phone away once more, “It's been like fifteen minutes? Damn, I lost track of time talking about the beer vomit story.” He chuckles as he runs a hand through his hair.

“Say…Do you like any of those guys?” He asks, thumbs hooked through his belt loop. “Mmh…why?” You could easily tell him now, but you wondered why he asked that. “Just asking.” He shrugs, tapping the toe of his shoe against the pavement. “Anyway, we still on for dessert after my shift?” Xavier reaches down to ruffle your hair and says, “Let me know, but I seriously gotta go back in now.”

After he says what he needs to, Xavier goes back inside and you sigh, putting a hand in your skirt-pocket as you walk back around to the front of the building. “Huh–” you pause as you notice Caelus standing outside as well.

“I thought I'd check up on you since you've been outside for a while,” He easily answers you as if knowing what you were going to ask. “But I was wondering…if we could talk.” He smiles and boy, do you know what was coming. How were you going to let this poor guy down easy?

“So…you and Xavier look really close.” Oh…that's not what you expected. Or was he saying this to lead into something else? “Uh, yeah. We, kind of, grew up together,” You say, slowly, trying to gauge what his next sentence would be. “So you don't have feelings for him?”

Uh. Is this even an appropriate question to ask someone you just met? Sure, it's a good question if you were looking to date someone, but…it still feels weird.

“What?” “I know it's a silly question, but you two seem really close. That's why I asked.” Caelus laughs it off, rubbing the back of his neck. “So that means you're not seeing anyone?” “Well…not exactly, but I'm not here for–” “I'm interested in you.” He blurts out, cutting you off entirely, and you give him a deadpan stare.

“That's…very flattering, but–” “At the risk of sounding too forward, let me ask. Do you want to go out with me?” Your eyebrow twitches in annoyance and you take a deep breath. “Caelus, right?” You plaster the sweetest smile you can muster on your face and tighten your grip on the empty soda can in your hand. “If you'd allow me to finish my god da–” You pause, taking another deep breath before continuing, “–if I could finish my sentence for once, I'm not here to date. I’m not looking for a relationship. I told Yvonne this, but it seems like she didn't give everyone else the memo. I just came here to get out of my dorm room, for once, and make some new friends.”

“Anyway, I'm going back inside.” You clear your throat, after a tense moment of silence and walk past him to go back inside. But you feel a hand catch your wrist. “Y/n–” You jerk your arm out of his grip and turn your head to raise a brow at him, “Hey, did anybody ever tell you that shit only works in k-dramas and romance novels? Don't touch me without my permission. But, now that you've got my attention, what is it?” You cross your arms over your chest and he frowns, putting his hands in his pockets as he murmurs under his breath, “Geez, they always say the worst she can say no.”

“Annnnd that's all the patience I have left to spend on you. Nice seeing you never!” You wave to him as you re-enter the restaurant and go back to your table.

Sure, Caelus didn't seem like a bad person, but the vibes just didn't feel right to you. At all. Honestly, you’d feel a lot better once you got dessert with Xavier.

A few days later, you're chilling at Xavier’s house and eating some leftover cake from that time you went to a dessert café. Your laptop sits open on his coffee table as you're on the floor, in front of it, while Xavier is sitting on the couch behind you. He always liked to watch your work, for some reason. Maybe to make sure you did it right?

You had an empty word document in front of you and you tilt your head back to look at your friend. “Hey, are you gonna work on your assignments too or are you going to watch me like that vampire weirdo from Twilight?” Xavier was mid-bite when he started coughing, hitting his chest because he must've been laughing but choked on his food. “I'll work on it later. What's your assignment on?” He asks, once he's finally caught his breath, and wipes a few stray tears from his eyes. “Ah…it's a report on any classic film. I got a USB of the film from Rafayel, so I'll probably watch that first.” You move to grab the USB from your bag before plugging it in.

“Do you want me to watch with you? I could try and help.” He leans forward, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Uh–” you were startled at how close he had gotten, but you nod your head, “Sure…Huh, it seems like there's a lot to choose from…”

The titles were pretty weird too, but these could just be some indie films. “Animal addiction?” You murmur with a raised brow, glancing over at Xavier out of the corner of your eye and he shrugs, moving his finger to the touchpad to click on it. “Maybe it’s something like the Tiger man documentary?” He questions before both of you go silent.

The film was pretty grainy, appearing like amateur work. This didn't seem like a ‘classic’ film…Then, the camera pans to a woman laying down on a bed. Was she naked?? What the hell is this– a man joins her on the bed and–

“Ooh!” a moan erupts from your laptop. “Ah, yes! Right there!” Wet squelches are audible from your speakers, the sound of skin slapping against skin. “Harder!”

You quickly slam your laptop shut with your face in your hands. “What the fuck did Rafayel give me?” You murmur, face bright red and your heartbeat thundering. “Maybe…it's a risqué classical film?” Xavier offers, trying to hold back his laughter, even if his face was red as well.

You definitely knew it wasn’t a classical film, you recognized it. It was the same one you had seen in middle school!

“He could've accidentally added that to this USB.” You let out a panicked laugh, opening your laptop back up to scroll through the file. “Okay, so maybe…okay, these have numbers and symbols as the name so maybe these are okay?” You quickly click on it and silently take the USB out from your computer before the moans can even start. “...nevermind.”

You run a hand through your hair and rest your head on the couch. “I'm sorry, Xavi..I guess I grabbed the wrong USB.” You sigh, looking up at the ceiling until the light is covered up by Xavier's big head coming into view. No, not that head.

“Xavier?” You question, but he doesn't respond. He leans over you, dipping his head down lower…and lower. Though, you panic and put your hand over his mouth.

“Oh! Uh– sorry,” you quickly say as you move your hands back, holding them to your chest with a nervous laugh as you stand up with your laptop. “Actually, uh Tara– yeah, Tara told me earlier today that she needed her clothes back. You know, the ones that I borrowed! So…I should probably leave and go get those for her!” You clap your hands together, face probably even more red than when that porno appeared on your laptop.

“Y/n–” Xavier goes to grab your wrist, but hesitates. He drops his hand into his lap before he shakes his head. “I understand. Go ahead.”

Huh, why did he do that? He could've just grabbed your hand–oh, could he have heard your conversation with Caelus?

“Thanks, Xavi. I’m really sorry about that! I'll definitely see you later though.”

A week goes by and you finally submit your correct classical film report. You had to sneak the USB back to Rafayel and explain to him that you never even looked at it since you already finished the report. You’d rather not open that can of worms with him, afterall.

While you're leaving your college, you get a text message;

💛: “hey”

: “i got u some food from my mom”

: “come get it or”

: “dont i could eat it”

Oh hell no! If it's his mom's cooking, you definitely want it.

“Hey! I'm here for my food!!” You waste not a single second, having gotten on a bus and ran the rest of the way to Xavier's apartment. It wasn't too far from the school, so you were more than ready to sit down and ea…–

“Holy shit!” You slap your hands over your eyes as you were blessed with the sight of a shirtless Xavier with water dripping down his chest. He was drying his hair off with a towel as he curiously looked over at you. “Hey, you were the one who barged into my house.”

“Why're you naked, though!? My eyes–” You whine and you hear Xavier audibly scoff, “What? So, are you telling me that I can't even shower? In my own home?” Then, after a few moments of silence, you move your hands away from your eyes. Honestly, you loved being over-dramatic. It was like second nature to you. Anything to keep from blushing over your shirtless best friend.

“Forget it. You wanted the food, right?” Xavier points toward his couch. “Wait there, I'll go get my shirt.”

You didn't even realize how quickly you complied to what he said, already finding yourself sitting down not even a few moments later.

He comes back with a white shirt on, grabbing the reusable orange bags and sets them on the coffee table. “So, what's in it?” You ask, standing up excitedly. “Well, you know, only your favourites.” He takes the plastic containers out of the first bag and you rummage through the second one before pulling out a heavy glass bottle. “Huh, what's this?” Once glance was all it took to realize this was a bottle of Jack Daniel’s.

“Hey, it's hard liquor!” You show it off to Xavier with a grin and he runs a hand down his face, “Oh…great.” As if he knows where you're going with this.

“Put it back. It's probably your mom's. I must've grabbed it by mistake.” He goes to take it from you, but you look at him with a mischievous smile, “Do yoouuu want to try it?” “I– seriously, Y/n, it's your mom's. We can't just–” “I just looked it up and apparently it tastes good,” you tease, shaking the bottle in front of him before you sigh, “but I guess we can put it back…”

“Well,” Xavier perks up at it tasting good and clears his throat, “I mean we could give it a taste.”

The two of you each fill a cup with the amber liquid and sit around the coffee table with your food-filled tupperware. A nice alcoholic beverage and food always go good together.

“Blegh!” You stick your tongue out, nose wrinkling in disgust, “Why is it so bitter? What's the percentage on this shit?” “Hmm, maybe twenty?” Xavier grabs the bottle to see before he pauses, “oh…forty.”

“This shit is way too strong. You got any soda we can mix with it?” Even though you asked, you’re going straight toward his kitchen as if you live here. “Yup.” He leans back on his hands until you come back, mixing some soda into both of your drinks. You take another sip and nod your head, “Do you wanna try mixing it with other stuff?” “Hmm, I heard orange juice is good with it.” Xavier looks up from his phone. He must've googled it. “Yeah! Let's try out a ton of combos and find the best one!” you cheer, holding a fist up in the air.

Then, you pause. “Wait.” You hold your hand out. “First, let me borrow some of your clothes.” “Why?” “Because my clothes are too snug and I'm gonna eat some of my food– annnd I'll probably stay the night,” you say with a shrug and Xavier points in the direction of his room. “Go find something.” He nurses his drink while you change into the smallest clothes he owns.

Even if they're the smallest, they still practically engulf you. His shirt was loose around your body and his shorts were barely holding up around your waist.

“You look like a hobbit.” Xavier giggles to himself before he motions toward the plates on the coffee table. “Anyway, I unloaded some of your food. You’re sharing, by the way. You don't get a choice.”

As you shamble back toward the coffee table, you have to hold up your borrowed shorts. When did Xavier get so big..? Wasn't this shirt supposed to be a short sleeve? It's almost to your wrists…Hmm…

Where's this tingling sensation in your stomach coming from? Parasites, maybe? Maybe they'll go away if you drink.

“You know,” You slur, holding up an empty glass, “This is supposed to be hard liquor, right? Wouldn't it…be better to call it easy liquor since it goes down so easy?” Your body sways and you set your glass down next to the empty bottle of alcohol. “Here we go again. Do you realize how many times you’ve said that?” Xavier hiccups as he points at a plant in his room. Did he think that plant was you? Laughter bubbles in your chest before it erupts from your mouth and you lay onto the floor as you try to catch your breath.

“Hey..” Xavier brushes his hand across your heated forehead, “Aren't you gonna call your boyfriend?” “Eh? What boyfriend?” Your eyes were closed, relaxing as he played with your hair. “Didn't..well, that guy asked you out, right?” “Mmh…yeah, but I said no,” you say with a small shrug.

You raise a brow after you open your eyes and notice Xavier was smiling. “Why're you smiling? You look stupid.” You reach your hand up to poke your index finger against his cheek. “That checks out. Who would ask you out anyways.”

“Huh, are you trying to fight with me?!” You quickly sit up, body swaying from the slight feeling of vertigo as you glare over at him. “What? You know I'm right. Don't you remember, in elementary school, all the kids in our class thought you were a boy.” “And? All of the girls liked to dress you up in princess costumes because you were ‘pretty as a princess’ or did you forget about that?” You jab a finger against his chest.

“What about your last crush? He only realized you were a girl when you had to wear the girl's uniform.” Xavier leans closer, his face flushed from all the alcohol you both had drank. “Look who's talking Mister ‘I won an all girl's beauty pageant even though I was in the audience’.” Your face equally as red as you kept moving closer until your foreheads touched. “Tomboy!” “Delinquent!”

A silence fills the room as your breath washes over each other's face until Xavier closes the gap. You felt his soft lips against yours before he pulled back. “Huh–” You lazily blink a few times, gaze flitting between his lips and his eyes. You both stare at each other for a few more seconds, and then Xavier leans back in.

This time, he doesn't pull away.

Xavier kisses you softly, your body slowly leaning backwards until you're flat against the floor. You felt his tongue lick at your lips and you hesitate for a moment to let him in.

What…were you doing? With Xavier, of all people?

With another swipe of his tongue, you give up on thinking and open your mouth. Your head tilts to the side as the kiss deepens, his tongue dragging against yours. “Mmh–” a noise escapes your lips as he sucks your tongue into his mouth, tugging on it before he goes back to languidly kissing you. His tongue lazily fighting against yours for dominance, but neither side ever wins.

Your hand moves up to tangle in his hair, nails lightly scratching at his scalp. You shift in his hold, your chest lightly brushing against his and that's when Xavier tenses up. He pulls back, hands gripping your shoulders. “Hey…have your boobs always felt this nice?” He asks, looking down at them to see their stiffened peaks through the thin fabric of his shirt. “Hmm…I dunno since you've never felt them before.” You drunkenly tug at the neck of your borrowed shirt to look down at your breasts.

“Wait–” you squint your eyes as you notice something red coming out of Xavier's nose. “Is your nose…seriously bleeding from seeing my boobs?” You laugh. “What are you, a teenager?”

“Seriously, put your head back. It's getting everywhere.” You wipe at it until Xavier scoots back, “Hey stop–” He falls back against the couch, wiping his nose with a thumb. His legs are spread out with his shirt riding up his chest. His firm thighs…

You move a bit closer, your hand trailing up his shirt. “What're you doing?” He asks, stomach tensing up as your fingers brush against his abs. “I always wanted to feel them,” you murmur under your breath. “They're soft…I really thought they'd be firm.”

You poke at his stomach and Xavier groggily looks down at you, “It's because ‘m not flexing.” “ohh, what happens when you flex?” You already forgot what you were talking about. “My abs get hard.” “Hmm..flex it right now. I wanna see what happens.” Your fingers continue to prod and poke at his stomach. “Yo, you listening?” Your nails lightly scratch against his skin and he catches your wrist, “I heard you, so stop touching me…and this time, let me touch you.” His thumb rubs back and forth against your pulse.

“But…no.” You look away from him and Xavier raises an eyebrow, confused, “Why?” “Then…someone would be touching my body..and that's embarrassing.” You pout, cheeks somehow getting even more warm, as you squeeze your thighs together. “Then…it would be fine if I touch you in a way that doesn't make you shy, right?” He grabs your wrist once more, gently squeezing it before his hands dart to your waist. His fingers dance across your body as he tickles you.

A loud laugh slips from your lips and your body jerks around in his hold. “Xavi– wait!” Your body goes backward and you're back on the floor. Your hands push at his chest as your laughter causes tears to prick your eyes. He catches your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head, as his free hand continues to tickle your body. “Hold on–! Let me catch my breath you, fucking–” More giggles come from your throat as you try to finish your sentence, “–you fucking psycho!”

Xavier finally stops, your shirt up to your neck as your chest heaved from your breathing. “Are..you okay?” He asks, slowly, and you look up at him with (happy) tears in your eyes, “After everything you did, do I look okay to you?” You were out of breath, sides still somehow feeling like they were being tickled. “Well…in any case, it doesn't seem like you're embarrassed anymore.” Xavier trails off, his gaze on your bra-clad breasts. His finger slides under the cups to grab your right breast.

“Ah..” you let out a small noise in surprise, back automatically arching to push more into his palm.

“Fuck..” he breathily laughs before he leans his head down to wrap his lips around your nipple. His tongue flicks across the stiffened peak before he nips it between his teeth. “Ouch, Xav..” you wince before a moan slips through your puffy, parted lips as he swipes his tongue against it to soothe the pain.

“Xavi..” your chest felt wet from more than just Xavier's saliva.

“Hey, lift your head for a sec.” You tug him up by his silvery blonde hair and notice his nose was bleeding again. “Again? Are you exhausted today or do you just go wild for breasts?” You sit up to panic over the poor guy, trying to find something to wipe his nose with.

“No..” but his gaze is drawn to your bare breasts once more and you could swear you saw more blood drip from his nose.

Fuck. You needed to find a tissue for him. Why isn't he helping? You glance over at him and can't help but think that he looks kind of cute in a daze like that. Then, you notice he's getting blood on his white shirt. Ugh. Blood stains are a bitch to get off. Uh…

“Ah, seriously…this is so gross but–” you murmur under your breath before you cup his cheek and lean forward. You drag your tongue up his chin and move along the trail of blood. Moving across his lips…but you stop before getting to his nose because that's…just nasty. You weren't licking his nose. You move back and stick your tongue out. “Blegh. I can't believe I did that. You know blood stains– Mmph” Xavier cuts you off with another kiss. This one was more intense than the last. His tongue sliding against yours as one of his hands holds your face by the chin. This kiss was passionate and wet. Saliva drips down your chin and you greedily swallow any that makes it into your mouth.

You turn your head to the side for air and lightly hit him on the back. “You’re getting more blood in my mouth.” You meet Xavier’s eyes but he's clearly gone, out of it. He dips his head back down to kiss you again, gently guiding your body back to the floor for the third time tonight. Your hand grips the back of his shirt as he kisses you harder, lips sloppily colliding and gliding against one another. You feel his hands make their way up your thighs until he's slipping his fingers under your shorts. One hand squeezes your ass, his fingers pressing into the skin.

Your body jerks in surprise as his fingers slowly move toward your center. Legs trying to close on reflex as you felt his middle finger press against your entrance. “X-Xavier?” You manage to choke out, your breath coming out in small pants. “You're so wet…is this all just from kissing?” He asks, seemingly in a daze as his middle finger penetrates you.

Xavier rests his forehead against yours as he presses his finger inside at a slow pace. The digit curling and pressing at odd intervals as if trying to find something. “A-ah..” you can't help the tiny moans that spill from your lips, your hips jerking with every movement from his finger.

“W-wait a second,” you panic as you feel something warm and thick against your inner thigh, and Xavier pulls back for a moment. Your gaze immediately drops to the front of his sweatpants and your eyes widen. “Oh..” “What're you thinking about?” His pretty blue eyes were filled with a hint of darkness, a bit of lust.

You…wanna try it.

“Xavi…do you have any condoms?” You ask, your hands cupping his cheeks to make him look at you. That's when he frowns. “No…shit, do I need to get some?”

Damn it.

“No, it's…fine. We can uh– ah–!” You cut yourself off mid-sentence as Xavier pushes his finger back inside your pussy, a second finger teasing your entrance. “We can still get each other off though, yeah?” He licks his lips before adding a second finger. His hips pressed closer to you so you felt the warmth of his length against your thigh once more. “S-sure,” you hiccup your sentence out as he begins to move both fingers, curling them to press into that spot. You let out a loud moan and roll your hips upward.

A similar moan slips from Xavier's lips as you unintentionally grinded up against him and he grabs your hand, placing it over his clothed dick. “Please?” he asks with a tilt of his head, curling his fingers against your g-spot for good measure. You quickly nod your head, squeezing your head against his length before you begin to rub it.

The silvery blonde haired man continues to fuck you with his fingers, his thumb swiping back and forth over your clit. “Fuck, Xavier!” You arch your hips up with a small whine as you feel something building up in your stomach. Your hand moves against his warm dick, trying your best to jerk him off without going under his clothes, and it seems to be working because he dips his head down to kiss you once more.

“Come for me,” he murmurs against your lips. “Please? Wanna feel your pussy tremble around my fingers.” You felt the thread in your stomach winding tighter and tighter until…

Your body jolts you awake and you sit up in the bed with wide eyes. A dream? No…your sticky, cold panties were telling you otherwise. You slowly turn your gaze to the warm body next to you. How did you both get up to bed?

Whatever. That doesn't matter. You check your phone, quickly silencing your alarm so it doesn't wake Xavier up and you jump up to get dressed.

Yeah, leaving. That sounds great. Especially when assignments can be used as an excuse! You put your pants up before cringing at your wet panties. You sigh, taking them off. Guess you're going commando today…you put the clothes in his laundry hamper and hurry out the door.

Almost a whole day went by and you didn't get a single thing done. You were sitting in a daze for the most part, but now you were reading a mature romance novel. Tara had left a few behind in the dorm so you were distracting yourself with them. Though…they weren't helping much. You were imagining all of the sex scenes in the novel with you and Xavier instead…

You slap yourself and quickly stand up. Snacks. Yeah, snacks could help.

You throw on a jacket and leave the house with your book in hand. You read a few pages as you step into the store, walking straight toward the snacks aisle but stop in front of the adult section. Your eyes scan over a few condom boxes.

If…Xavier had a condom yesterday, you would've had sex, right?

Your cheeks heat up and you shake your head. Were you always this obsessed with sex?

You pick up one of the boxes, looking at it and murmuring, “Ribbed…for her pleasure?” You tilt your head to the side. Would that feel good..? You kind of wanted to know, but you probably wouldn't ever find out. Who would you even do it with? Well…isn't Xavier a viable option? Do you like him? You, honestly, are starting to wonder at this point. You might.

“He might be interested in it…considering what happened yesterday,” you murmur under your breath. Your head curiously turns toward the door as you hear a ding come from someone else entering the small store.

“Oh–”

You really hope he didn't see the condoms in your hand.

You speed walk to the checkout counter, buying the condoms in your momentary panic and drag him outside.

The two of you sit down on a bench in silence.

Maybe…you could ask him now? Or should you say you like him? Would it be rude to ask for sex without even dating?

“So…about yesterday..” Xavier begins and you excitedly look at him, pretending to play it cool when he looks at you. “We both made a mistake because we were drunk…maybe it's best to just forget about it all together–” Though he pauses once he notices the frown on your face. Your head was spinning and your cheeks felt hot. Did you drink today? It definitely felt like you had some alcohol.

Gosh, you're so embarrassed. Why were you thinking he'd ask to do it again?

“Ah…yeah, of course! We'll forget it ever happened. Yup! Just return everything back to normal, okay? Don't act all awkward when you see me again, you hear!” You awkwardly laugh as you hit his back. “It’s nothing special, am I right?”

“Stop that.” Xavier sighs, body barely moving from your hits. “Oh? Your back muscles are really prominent. Have you been working out again?” Your palm presses against his back and he shakes his head, “You know, it would do you some good to pick up some muscle too. I mean seriously, you–” he pauses as he realizes he has his arm wrapped over your shoulders, fingers touching your waist. Your hand was on his chest with your head resting on his shoulder and…This definitely didn't seem like ‘going back to normal’.

“Anyway, I'm gonna go! It's almost time for the dorm curfew so yeah!” Your ankles twist over one another as you try to quickly escape and you're falling toward the ground. “Hey, be careful–!!”

Xavier's arm wraps under your breasts to hold you up from falling and your hand rests on his elbow.

You both stood there for a moment with red faces until you cleared the silence with a nervous question, “Hey, I…Can I come over to your place..?”

Xavier kicks the door closed behind him, already closing in on you. You trip and fall back, the two of you landing on the floor with his hand cushioning your head. He looks over at the stairs before grabbing your arms. “Wrap your arms around my neck.” He tells you and you do it without question.

Suddenly, you're in the air with his hands gripping your ass as he hurries to his room. You can feel something hard– probably his dick– pressing hard between your thighs before he practically tosses you on his bed. Your body bouncing against the mattress as Xavier puts his hands on either side of your waist. You lean back on your elbows as you look up at him, nervously.

“Should I…take this off?” You tilt your head to the side, unzipping your hoodie to reveal your tank top underneath. “Should we?” Xavier lifts his shirt over his head and tosses it somewhere in the room. Then, he's back on top of you.

He pulls down your shorts and panties in one swipe, then your tank top follows so you're only in your sports bra while he's still wearing his sweatpants. His hand moves down to your pussy, tapping his fingertips against your clit before his middle finger dips past your entrance.

“Does it hurt?” He asks, finger gliding in easily with how wet you were. “N-no,” you choke out, doing your best to hold back any noises as he begins to thrust his finger. “I'm ah okay.” Your hips jerk and he holds them down with his other hand. “You're so…wet. Is that normal?” He asks as he adds a second finger. “How would I know!?” Your nails dig into his shoulder and Xavier lets out a hiss between his teeth, “Honestly…I've been hard since we were outside my door.”

“I know, I felt it.” A moan leaves your lips as he moves his fingers faster. Wet squelching sounds come from between your legs as his palm smacks against your clit with every thrust. “X-Xavier!” “I can feel your pussy squeezing around my fingers, are you close?” He questions as he curls your fingers and your body squirms underneath his grip as you cry out and come undone underneath him. “Ah…you didn't even answer me.” He tsks with a small pout.

“I'm…sorry.” An apology slurs from your lips as you try to catch your breath and Xavier pulls his finger out, bringing them up to his lips. He gives them a curious sniff before licking up his fingers, taking in your taste with a small hum.

“Fuck…are you gonna whip it out?” You sit up on your elbows, eyeing the wet spot on the front of his sweatpants and he chuckles, “Alright, greedy girl. I’m getting it out.”

He moves to take off both his sweatpants and boxers before he gets back onto the bed, stroking his dick with one hand. “Hey, grab the condoms.” He jerks his head toward your bag and you roll over to grab it from the floor. You feel a hard slap against your ass as soon as you grab the square packet and jerk your head toward Xavier. “What the hell?” The culprit holds his hands up in defeat and you hand him the condom as you lay on your back.

Xavier rips open the packet with his teeth, one hand still rubbing his cock before he rolls the condom along his length. His pretty pink tip was already leaking precum. He rubs his cock against your clit, coating the condom in your juices and then lightly presses the tip against your hole. “Ah–” you grab Xavier's shoulders to get his attention, “please be gentle?”

He smiles down at you, nodding his head as he slowly pushes inside. He waits a few moments, allowing your pussy to suck more of his length in as you adjust to his size. “It..hurts..” you bite down on your bottom lip. This was nothing like what the romance novel said. What the fuck. “Breathe,” he whispers, resting his forehead against yours. His hand moving down to roll his thumb against your clit. His other hand moves to arch your back, fingers pressing against your spine and a loud moan slips from your lips. Your hands smacking against your mouth in surprise.

“What's this, Y/n?” Xavier scoffs, a grin tugging at his lips. “Does it feel good when I touch your back?” He licks his lips as he lightly scratches his nails against your back. “A-ah, stop–” Another moan leaves you as he begins to move. His hips snapping forward and his balls slap against your ass. “Xav– fuck, please–” You weren’t sure what you were asking for, at this point. He changes the angle of his hips and you gasp out, legs wrapping around his waist as your back arches. “Hnngh!” You roll your hips up to match his thrusts, your gaze on his face to watch as it contorts with pleasure.

“Ahhh..fuck!” Xavier's hips still and you look up at him with a raised brow, “Did you just…” “Fuck, it's my first time too..I'll do better.” He pulls out to tie off the condom and tosses it in his trash can. He leans over to grab another one, rolling it onto his cock as he lines it back up with your pussy.

The pace is as harsh as ever. Skin slapping on skin, wet sounds and moans filling up the otherwise quiet room.

You can't even remember how many times you've came at this point, tied up condoms littering the floor since Xavier missed the trash multiple times. Your hands press against his sweaty chest as your equally sweaty body feels weak. “You said that was the last time!” You gasp out, legs shaky. “You've gotta cum one more time and then we're done, yeah? You can do it for me, right?” He throws one of your legs over his shoulder as he slowly thrusts into you. His thumb rubbing your clit to match his pace. “We'll cum together and then sleep, hmm?” He murmurs, dipping his head down for a soft kiss as he languidly thrusts into you.

You're not even sure if you can cum again, but you can't say no to that pretty face so you tiredly nod your head. Your fingers lightly running through his hair as you felt that stomach heat up. A soft moan slipping into his mouth as you came for the nth time.

Xavier's head turns to the side to break the kiss as he bites his lip and cums at the feeling of your warm pussy spasming around his dick. He pulls out, throwing the condom away once more and collapses next to you, one arm across your stomach. “Night…Xavi.” You yawn, eyes slowly drifting closed.

The next time you wake up, everything comes crashing back to you but you're not as shocked. If anything, you're content with it. You've come to terms with your feelings rather quickly and decided you would run away this time. But when you turn to see Xavier, he’s not there. You frown. Huh…was this how he felt when you weren't next to him before?

You get out of bed, pulling on one of Xavier's shirts as you wobbly walk into the kitchen. He must've cleaned you up since you didn't feel sweaty or sticky. Maybe he's still home..

You pause as you smell something and run to the kitchen like a newborn deer. Xavier can’t cook to save his life so you wanted to salvage the food somehow. You skid to a halt once you notice he's just heating up leftovers in the microwave.

“Oh, so you didn't try to sneak out on me today.” Xavier comments once he spots you behind him, his gaze raking up your bare legs. You snap your fingers and pout, “Hey! Eyes up here, idiot. We're not going at it again yet, I can barely feel my legs.”

“Yet?” He raises an eyebrow, setting a plate down on the counter. “Who says we'll do it again?”

“Mmh..” You pretend to think for a moment before you sheepishly smile, “Your…girlfriend?”

Xavier blinks at you owlishly in surprise before he shakes his head with a small laugh. “Girlfriend…yeah, that sounds nice. Great way to ask someone out, dumb ass.” He carries the plates toward his kitchen table. “Now let's eat before my dumb girlfriend passes away from starvation.”

I'm gonna post this now, before I update TOF since I've got it done! I'm sorry for the abrupt ending, but I'm glad I finished it because apparently Tumblr doesn't like things over 12k. I gotta take note of that for the future..

I hope you guys don't mind that I couldn't go through and use italics and bold. I would have but my Tumblr is being so laggy from the word count that I honestly can't bring myself to do it. Anyways, I'm not sure when I'll write the next ones in this mini-series, but I hope you enjoyed reading through this! It's a lot longer compared to my usual updates. But yeah! ToF updates later on today so I hope you're ready for that!! <3

[shannonsketches]

I don't usually talk about Goku but I feel like my little silly hours post has fallen into Media Analysis Territory, and I love me a Media Analysis, so I'm gonna talk about Goku (based on how Toriyama wrote him) under the cut, but the TL;DR is:

Goku (the way Toriyama has always written him) is just here to have a good time getting good, and the credit for his very potent (and distinctly passive) influence over people is squarely, "This Man Showed Up and Was Strange In A Way I Didn't Know People Were Allowed To Be" and That's It. That's Goku's Influence. Being a Freak on Main. Because sometimes that's all someone needs to start questioning their whole worldview.

Toei's Goku is "This beautiful man reshaped my life with his bare hands and I think about him every day"

Toriyama's Goku is "I was giving this guy a ride home and while we were waiting in a taco bell drive thru he said something so whimsical and unhinged that after I dropped him off I stayed up all night thinking about it and ended up watching the sunrise for the first time since I was like six years old and now I might take a roadtrip and get a tattoo"

anyway, MUCH longer analysis under the cut for interested parties (again, citing the manga specifically) because I love talking about storytelling

1) Yep! Piccolo credits Gohan for his change of heart

2) Yep! Krillin is credited for the androids redemption, by most of the cast and both 17 & 18 themselves

3) Meeting Goku is generally written as an Event that changes the course of someone's life because he is Distinctly Strange as a person. Vegeta said that Goku's influence made him Softer, and Piccolo said that Vegeta's growth is a result of having met Goku, which changed him. Both are Factually True Statements, as Vegeta would still be out and about doing space gangster shit if he'd not met Goku. 4) To that point, Goku's influence on people is extremely passive, not active. It's a running gag throughout all three titles that Goku is Largely Unaware that his non-combat actions affect other people (until he is told about it, is either confused or earnestly apologizes, and then does it again). He is constantly doing whatever he wants with little, if any, consideration for the consequences, and it's something he gets called out on in all three titles.

5) Goku's influence on Vegeta specifically is just existing as a living testament to how everything Vegeta's ever known is a Lie, including but not limited to the Super Saiyan legend (Goku's power and personality being so out of line with what Vegeta's been told about the Legendary Saiyan is what makes him start questioning the truth of it).

More importantly, all of the things Vegeta grew up understanding as weaknesses, Goku casually and consistently proves are strengths (love, trust, empathy, etc), which Gohan is not as influential about early on, because (as Vegeta points out) Gohan cannot access that strength yet except when he is consumed with fury, while Goku can do it with his Soft nature intact. Observing someone else be open hearted, while still managing to be secure and strong, often gives the observer permission to open up to that experiences as well, which is what eventually happened to Vegeta (and that observation is not only of Goku, of course, but seeing another Saiyan doing it was important when it came to Vegeta, who regularly used his heritage and rank as an excuse to not take the softer road. Vegeta undermines Goku's lineage with his soft Earth upbringing, but it doesn't change how strong he (or Gohan, or Trunks) is as a Saiyan, which puts Vegeta in a corner and forces him to either bite the bullet and start giving a shit on main or admit that it's not a Saiyan Thing or a Power Thing and he's just afraid to be attached to the people he's kicking and screaming about definitely not being attached to).

That's what the influence is, and why it matters. It's not Goku personally scratching his enemy's chin and giving them a cookie every time they opt out of murder. It's the simple act of being Happily and Unwaveringly Himself in plain view of people who didn't know that way of life was a viable option. And now that they do, they may or may not be willing to risk trying out for themselves, given the chance (which Vegeta did when Bulma offered him that choice, and ended up liking it so much that it freaked him out, because Goku is only an influence, not an instruction manual for how to live like that. That's the joke about him being the tool itself, and not the muscle or the mind to make it mean anything).

6) Goku doesn't just spare his enemies. It's worse than that. With rare exceptions, he actively works to avoid killing enemies, with the verbal purpose of wanting them to get stronger, so they can fight again, because he enjoys it. That always throws a Big Bad off, because it is an absolutely insane thing to say to someone who wants to kill you. Goku is usually upset when he has to kill someone -- but not because murder is Wrong, or that he's morally opposed at all -- it's because he thinks it's a waste of a fun rival.

The difference between sparing someone who hurt you out of moral superiority and sparing someone because you had a good time almost dying just now is very important to how unhinged Goku looks to his enemies (and his allies). Additionally: Sparing someone's life is a pretty important factor in how those characters continue to live when they expected not to, which is a very influential life event, for better or worse.

7) Most of the credit Goku gets for changing the ways of his enemies (in the manga) are from Dragon Ball, in which it was a very young Goku's spirit and determination that inspired his antagonists to live more like him (because Goku is and always has been very simple in his worldview, and doesn't hold a grudge. If you're a bad guy, stop doing that. You should try eating something instead. If you stop killing people we can fight more and it'll be more fun if neither of us dies. And he's still like that, and it's still confusing to everyone around him, because DB is a comedy at heart).

Krillin convinces Bulma in the Android saga to not destroying the androids early, because it gives them a common goal with Vegeta, since having a common goal is how everyone there became friends. He credits having to work together as the thing that changes enemies to allies (which was his experience with Vegeta on Namek, and his experience with Piccolo against the Saiyans), and just acknowledges that all of them met through Goku, which they did.

Roshi also does this in Dragon Ball, crediting Kami for the entire adventure and the fact that everyone became friends, because without the Dragon Balls, Goku and Bulma would have just stayed home that day and none of it would've ever happened.

8) Goku actively rejects credit in Super's manga (probably because the anime and the movies kept insisting he is superman doing Good and Just and Right in the world), as, again, he doesn't do any of it with the intention of Doing Good. And, again, the running gag throughout all three titles is Goku being Blissfully Unaware that his choices affect other people.

9) If Goku gets undue credit, it's largely from Toei and from fans of the anime/older movies, which constantly revised dialogue and added filler to give Goku credit for things Toriyama wrote him having nothing to do with.

Because the shows follow the manga's plot while still making it their mission to frame Goku as a Leading Man Action Hero, it adds up to a lot of weird plot gibberish, excessive padding, and nonsensical storytelling in order to frame Goku as Irrefutably Good, where he absolutely lacks any rigid sense of justice and morality in the manga. He's just out here having fun, and he gets mad when you play the game wrong (and hurt people he likes).

tl;dr part 2: Goku's influence over villains can be summarized by the vine of the guy in a mcdonalds pointing at a couple and going 'is this allowed??' but instead of a couple it's just Goku genuinely and truly having a wonderful time while being in extreme danger and it's mind-bending that someone like that can not only exist but also thrive

my post about gohan deserving more credit for Vegeta’s growth is going around again and my two braincells decided to say

“Bulma pried that door open, but Gohan wedged the crowbar in.”

“What about Goku”

“Goku is the crowbar”

[lanawrx]

Mash Burnedead with a S/O who's jealous of Lemon

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You always knew dating someone like Mash would come with its challenges. Mash Burnedead was kind, strong, and dependable, with an uncanny ability to turn heads and charm people with his unintentional charisma. Despite his obliviousness to the finer points of social dynamics, there was no denying that he had a magnetic pull on everyone around him. It was something you had accepted when you started dating him, but that didn't make it any easier when the insecurities crept in.

Lemon was one of your closest friends, someone who had been there for you through thick and thin. But lately, it was hard to ignore the way people whispered when she and Mash were together, the way their classmates would joke about how they "just seemed to fit" or how everyone expected them to end up together. Even though you knew Mash was yours, the thought of everyone else seeing him with Lemon gnawed at your confidence.

You tried to push the thoughts aside, telling yourself it was silly to be jealous of Lemon, of all people. But the more you tried to ignore it, the more it ate away at you. You started distancing yourself, pulling away from the group little by little, hoping no one would notice how much it hurt to see them together, laughing and getting along so effortlessly.

Mash noticed, though. Of course, he did. He was always so attentive when it came to you, even if he didn’t always know how to express it. His concerned looks and gentle questions only made you feel worse, knowing that your own insecurities were causing a rift between you.

It all came to a head one day in class. You were seated at your desk, trying to focus on the lecture when Lemon, in her usual clumsy way, tripped over herself as she walked past Mash’s seat. Everything happened in slow motion—Lemon’s yelp of surprise, her flailing arms, and the way she crashed right into Mash, sending both of them toppling to the ground.

The classroom erupted in laughter and teasing, your classmates wolf-whistling and calling Mash a “playboy” as Lemon blushed furiously, still tangled up with him on the floor. Your heart dropped at the sight, a rush of emotion overwhelming you in an instant.

Before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face, and you couldn’t take it anymore. Without a word, you bolted from the room, ignoring the shocked calls of your friends as you ran down the hallway. You didn’t stop until you reached your dorm, slamming the door behind you and locking it with trembling hands.

You crawled under your bed, curling into a tight ball as sobs wracked your body. It was irrational, you knew that. Mash hadn’t done anything wrong, and neither had Lemon. But the hurt was real, and it felt like the weight of your insecurities was crushing you from the inside out.

You heard footsteps approaching, and your heart clenched when you recognized the familiar rhythm. Mash was calling your name, his voice laced with concern as he gently knocked on the door. “Please, let me in. I’m worried about you,” he said, his voice softer than you had ever heard it.

You didn’t respond, too embarrassed to face him. How could you explain what you were feeling without sounding foolish or petty? How could you admit that you were scared of losing him, even though you knew he would never leave you for someone else?

When you didn’t answer, Mash hesitated for a moment before you heard a loud crack. The next thing you knew, the door was in splinters, and Mash was standing in the doorway, looking at the broken wood with a mix of concern and apology. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to break it…,” he muttered before stepping inside.

He spotted you under the bed, your body still trembling from the sobs that you were trying so hard to suppress. Without a word, Mash knelt down beside you, his large hand gently brushing against your arm. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice full of warmth. “Can I come in?”

You sniffled, hesitating for a moment before slowly nodding. Mash slid under the bed beside you, his presence immediately comforting. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close to his chest as he stroked your back gently. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m here.”

For a while, you just cried into his shirt, your tears soaking into the fabric as he held you. He didn’t say anything, just let you release all the emotions that had been building up inside you. When the sobs finally started to subside, Mash spoke again, his voice soft and full of understanding. “You don’t have to hide how you’re feeling from me,” he said. “I want to know what’s bothering you so I can help.”

You took a shaky breath, trying to find the words. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I know it’s stupid, but… I can’t help feeling jealous of Lemon. Everyone always says you two would be perfect together, and it just… it makes me feel like I’m not enough for you.”

Mash’s eyes widened in surprise, but there was no judgment in his gaze, only a deep, genuine concern. “You’re more than enough for me,” he said, his tone firm but gentle. “I don’t care what anyone else thinks. The only person I want to be with is you.”

His words hit you like a wave, and the tension in your chest started to ease as you looked up at him. “But… she’s always so close to you, and I just… I can’t help but worry that you might like her more than me.”

Mash shook his head, a small, reassuring smile tugging at his lips. “Lemon is a friend, and that’s all she’ll ever be. You’re the one I love. I chose you because you’re you—there’s no one else I’d rather be with.”

You stared at him, the sincerity in his eyes making your heart swell. Slowly, you nodded, the last remnants of your doubt fading away as you leaned into his embrace.

“I’m sorry for doubting you,” you whispered, your voice still shaky but filled with a sense of relief.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Mash replied, holding you a little tighter. “I’ll always be here for you, no matter what. And if you ever feel like this again, promise me you’ll talk to me about it. I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

You nodded against his chest, feeling the warmth of his words wrap around you like a comforting blanket. “I promise,” you said softly, the weight of your insecurities finally lifting as you let yourself believe in the love that Mash had for you.

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his hand still soothingly rubbing your back. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

The two of you stayed like that for a while longer, just holding each other in the quiet safety of your shared space. And for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt truly at peace, knowing that no matter what, Mash was there for you, and that was more than enough.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡ Thanks for Reading! ˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚⋆

[0oolookitsme]

Melted Ice Cream

Type - Blurb

Verse - Footballer!Harry x Art Director!Y/n

Word Count - 901

Warnings - None! Maybe some cursing here and there.

A/N - Wrote this on my phone and that too in a hour or so. This is just a cute little scene, hope you like it <3

(Just the Harry I pictured while writing this:)

The room remained silent, neither of them spoke a word but it was a known fact that both the pair of eyes were wide open.

"H?"

"Yep?"

There wasn't anything funny but the two still chortled. "Why the hell are you still awake?" Y/n asked, releasing his hand to rub her eyes.

"I don't know, why are you?" He asked back, turning on his side to face her. Out of habit, one of his legs swung up on her thigh.

Y/n didn't exactly turn on her side, but she still tilted her head in a way that she was facing him. Nothing but the A/C's light penetrated the darkness in the room, and they could still tell where the other one's eyes and mouth and head and nose were. Silence lingered around for a while before Y/n decided to speak up again.

"I can’t sleep, can we have ice cream?"

“I was about to say that!" Harry exclaimed silently and y/n could just tell that he had this wide grin on his face and that his eyebrows were probably closer to his hairline than to his eyes now.

It was as if they were little kids, the way they jumped off of the bed and scurried to be at each other's side – not exactly fitting in the door frame but still squeezing their way through. Sounds of small, high pitched giggles filled the whole house as they raced down the stairs. "No!" Harry cackled, fisting y/n's shirt from behind when she ran him out. Pulling her back into him he grabbed a tight hold of her by wrapping one arm around her waist and twisted to swing her behind and run ahead.

"That's cheating, H! You're such a loser!" She yelled, laughing and slightly wheezing.

Neither of them know why they are racing, it's not like they only have one scoop of ice cream left. But it was still obvious that the one who reaches the fridge first, wins. And while Y/n is a competitive freak, Harry wouldn't necessarily give himself that title – yet it's clear that if he's playing, he aims to win.

Harry opened the freezer with a smug smile on his face, pulling out a tub of vanilla ice-cream.

"Stop smiling like that or I will slap that off your face, you fuckin' cheater," Y/n grumbled from where she was sitting on the kitchen counter.

His frown started to melt into a lopsided grin on his mouth as he opened the drawer to pull out their ice cream bowls. "Oh please, you're just salty your loser ass couldn't win." He said, looking at her as if waiting for her to tell him to fuck off – and she did, indeed, flip him off.

Their ice cream bowls, on the other hand, are a whole nother story. They had gone to a ceramics class from their school's side and at the end of the workshop, had to make some bowls to show what they had learnt. The only thing that went wrong was that their bowls ended up looking like 'too-tiny bucket hats', as the incharge there had joked. They were so unbelievably tiny for a bowl that their crafts teacher at school believed that it had to be intentional.

But it was absolutely unintentional. They were just talking so much that the goal had escaped them, that's all.

On Harry's cup, Y/n had painted small footballs and written 'balls out' in the smallest font. And Harry, on the other hand, had painted small cherries and white doodle-flowers all over her cup. They had even gotten detention, for allegedly making a joke of a representation of their school.

"Want sprinkles?" Y/n asked him, kneeling on the floor in the front of the lowest cabinet. Harry only bummed in return, busy in scooping out equal amounts of ice cream in each bowl. She stood close next to him as she sprinkled the colourful bits on top of his ice cream first, and then onto hers.

"Hey! No fair! You have more sprinkles than mine!" Harry claimed, grabbing her hand and forcing her to put more on his. "Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop!" He rushed, trying to take the jar out of her hand as she leaned on the slab to keep her body up while she laughed.

Whining, Harry took a few steps back. "Oh my god, now that's too much sprinkles!" He gritted through his teeth, frowning at her wheezing figure, then slowly and slowly, joining her. Before he knew, they were both kneeling on the kitchen floor, curling up because they were laughing so hard their stomach hurt.

"Why the fuck are you la-laughing?" Y/n asked in the midst, sitting up straight to calm down. "What's funny?" She asked seriously but then Harry spurted out another laugh and she was laughing again.

Tears were rolling down both their cheeks as they finally gained control over themselves. "Wait, wait, wait – this is melting!" Harry shrieked, grabbing ahold of his cup and raising a full spoon to his mouth.

"I told you eat it right away, you idiot!" Y/n panicked from behind, also reaching for her cup. "What?" She asked when Harry passed her a suspicious look.

"You never told me that."

"Do i really need to tell you to eat your ice cream before it fucking melts, Harry?"

Prompt Creds to @me-writes-prompts <3

Tagging: @reveriehs <3

MASTERLIST <3

[smartwatermagic]

AITA for inviting my archenemy and his (ex?) girlfriend on a date the same time same place?

So some background info, I (17M) joined Ls (M 19 at the time) fight against his ultra neglectful father and extended family when I was 12. It was an easy decision considering they also neglect my mom (∞F) and I was tired of the disrespect she received and is still receiving. I just want to make her proud and get her some acknowledgement for all she did for them through centuries, you see. The fact that the summer camp they run made me and a lot of other kids sleep on the floor also helped.

Long story short, we lost horribly. L got killed at age 23, most of my friends died when two people from the summer camp exploded our main base ship and the neglectful parents™ killed my siblings (admittedly because of a wrong decision I made), twisted my mom's arm to stop fighting and kicked me out of the summer camp for life.

Now, this left me immensely angry at my archenemy, let's call him P (17M) as he was one of the people that blew up our ship, the leader of who we were fighting against, and as I suspect, responsible for Ls death so I swore vengeance to avenge the deaths of the people I loved.

Now the problem is, P had broken up with A (17F) as the amount of power he has scared both of them and he didn't want to hurt her. Apparently it happened at an unplanned trip to Ps uncle Hs (∞M) basement and my previous boss Ks (∞M) jail. I have no idea how they even ended up there. Despite my murder attempts P had been incredibly kind to me and denies that he killed L/K. I CANNOT put my undying hatred for this man into words but after a few unintentional date nights I think I have fallen in love with him.

Around this time A found me. One thing that I and everyone around me know is just how protective A and P are of eachother. One time my late friend E(17M) tried to stab P in his weakest point and A took a poisoned knife for him. P broke his nose in retaliation, I think if E hadn't escaped P would've killed him right there. Anyways, A is also very possessive and didn't take being broken up out of nowhere very well due to her abandonment issues. The thing is, she, like me, also looked up to L and we used to be friends when I was at the summer camp. After some mental warfare, a knife fight and some crying about L, one thing led to another and we ended up going on dates.

Neither A and P are aware I also meet up with the other but from what I've heard from them, they sound like they were a very dysfunctional and codependent couple. I feel like they're just using me to fill up their loneliness and as a person to vent up about their increasing resentment towards the neglectful parents™, almost like a pet passed between two exes.

I talked about this with Es ghost, who called me an idiot, and my mom and adopted dad (40+/dead,M) both pointed out I was as lonely as A and P.

So Aita for inviting both of them to the same date because I want to sort things out?

I created a side blog for this because of self consciousness, lmao, hi mutuals this is for you/hj

[miraculouscriticismshub]

Felix and Chloe - two sides of the same coin. SEASON 5 SPOILERS AHEAD

Introduction

As you may know , MLB is far from a decent show. Poor writing choices are common and most characters are inconsistent. But today I want to talk about two characters , Felix and Chloe . This might be a controversial take but I think Felix and Chloe are two sides to the same coin . Both are quite similar in character and personalities but whereas one character receives hate by the fanbase and is slandered by the writers , the other character is loved and gets rewarded for doing bad things. This post will talk about how MLB introduces unintentional misogyny despite the writers claiming they are feminists. This post will also go in depth to analyze how hypocritical the fanbase is. This is not a Chloe defense post or a Felix hate post. This is a post criticizing the writers and addressing the double standards. 

Felix and Chloe - similarities

Credits to @drawing2cope on tumblr. Link - https://drawing2cope.tumblr.com/

Despite what most fans may think - these characters have so much in common. First Chloe and Felix were both Adrien’s only childhood friends growing up. Second, both had a cuddly toy. Third , both had one abusive parent , for Chloe it was Audrey and for Felix it was Colt. Fourth , both had one enabling parent , for Chloe it was Andre and for Felix it was Amelie. ( Side note : the difference between Andre and Amelie is that at least Amelie loves her son and only enables him because she wants to show that she cares for him ) Fifth , both were part of the hero team. Sixth , both betrayed the hero team by siding with HM. The key difference is while Chloe failed , Felix succeeded. Both are bad as each other because while Felix seemed to have better motives, he had more control over the situation while Chloe was being manipulated and used.  Felix and Chloe are both essentially two sides to the same coin - both did bad things for different reasons and both had similar relationships with Adrien .

Why Felix receiving a redemption felt wrong . 

Hot take - Felix character was ruined in Season 5 (and before you delusional Felix fanboys start typing nonsense and sending death threats , read the rest of the paragraph before judging.)  What makes Felix’s character compelling is that he is an anti-hero. He is morally gray and only works for himself. He is on neither Gabe’s or Ladybugs' side. His “ redemption arc” in season 5 came out of nowhere and was badly done. Felix does have potential for a redemption and I am not against it but it would’ve been much better written if his character wasn’t rushed and he was redeemed in later seasons - when he will be an established character. His redemption in season 5 felt poorly written because of how he never proved himself or apologized to Ladybug or faced consequences for his actions. His crimes ranged from SA , assisted terrorism and attempted genocide but only faced consequences for the third crime. Him getting away with his crimes is not a terrible idea if he was portrayed as a villain but since the writers are portraying him to be a hero at the end of S5 , this concept is pretty much ruined. Hopefully , in S6  he turns against the hero team and works with Lila. If you want to read more about my opinions on this Character - please read the post My Thoughts on Felix - anti hero gone wrong on my tumblr.

Double standards of the writers and fanbase

Miraculous ladybug despite being a show that promotes feminism has undertones of misogyny. Felix and Chloe have both done atrocious things - I argue Felix has done worse - but while one person seemingly faces consequences for their actions and is hated by the writers and fanbase , the other character is presented as a tragic hero who doesn’t face punishment and is loved by everyone. Just to make it clear , I am NOT an abuse apologist or a toxic Chloe stan but I can’t just ignore the blatant hypocrisy from the producers.

The writers - more specifically Thomas - says on his twitter Chloe will never change because her actions are deemed too unforgivable and i quote “ Once a bully always a bully” . He also pretty much confirms Chloe will never be Queen bee saying “ Mean people don’t and will never deserve a miraculous”. This rule doesn’t apply to Felix, he is essentially a tragic character who is 100% innocent and deserves forgiveness and ownership of his miraculous despite being a nasty person. I am not denying he isn’t a tragic character - his abuse under Colt explains his motives which made him a compelling anti - hero but doesn’t excuse them. He is also a child too but compared to Chloe - a more malevolent one. The worst thing Chloe did was paralyze the train driver in Queen Wasp to cause a dangerous situation in which she saves everyone in order to get praise. She had selfish reasons but never had the intention of killing anyone. However the worst thing Felix did was mass genocide in Emotion with the malicious intention on murdering all humans. Both are horrible but it's obvious who is worse.

Sure he had better motives of freeing his cousin and Kagami while Chloe only thought of herself but he never apologized to Ladybug or proved himself as a good person to her for what he did. When Chloe nearly killed those people , Ladybug tried taking her Miraculous and it was only after she got deakumitized that she apologized to her and gave her miraculous back. Felix by the end of season 5 got to keep his Miraculous despite not saying sorry to Ladybug or proving himself .She faced the consequence of losing her Miraculous while Felix got to keep his. He has been awful committing crimes such as SA , assisted terrorism , genocide , stalking and kidnapping but seemingly doesn’t face punishment for most of his actions. Chloe crimes although still horrid are much less heinous than Felix's. A terrorist and extremist earns sympathy from the writers but a spoiled bully is painted to be the devil and is the only character to face consequences.

The Double standards the writers have for Chloe are too hard to ignore. Thomas himself mocks a fan who confronts him about the Hypocrisy saying he misinterpreted the show. If Thomas wasn't a hypocrite , he would've answered the question properly instead of ignoring it and mocking the fan . Chloe is no angel too , she bullied Marinette relentlessly, gave her trauma , took over Paris in miracle queen and Revolution, mistreated her friend Sabrina and nearly killed all those people in Paris in Queen Wasp but at least she is held accountable and experienced Karma. Her bullying Marientte causes Adrien to stop being friends with her and her teaming up with HM in Revolution causes Andre to disown her and send her to live with her abusive mother. Felix easily gave Marinette more trauma by exchanging all the miraculous to Monarch and is partly to blame for how Monarch won but Marinette seemingly forgives him and he joins the team. He even gets rewarded with a girlfriend and possession of his miraculous and still doesn't get his Karma. It's so clear the writers favour Felix while Chloe receives the short end of the stick.

The fanbase is not much better , they slander Chloe, glad she is gone from Paris and sent to live with Audrey because they think she is irredeemable but sympathize with Felix and cheer on when he joins the team. When Chloe does something evil , the fandom label her as Satan and only wishes the worst for her but when Felix also acts in a similar way , the fanbase feel sorry for him and defend him saying he does everything he does to ensure his freedom . The fans say the neglect Chloe received from her mum does not excuse her actions but defend Felix's actions by saying " Colt abused him, He isolated and controlled Felix , Felix is blameless and everything is Colt's fault" . While I agree Colt is horrible , he never told Felix to SA Ladybug or to steal the Miraculous or kidnap Kagami. Why does " past trauma doesn't excuse actions" only apply to Chloe not Felix? The writers think this too sadly by how they demonize Chloe telling the fans parental mistreatment doesn't justify bullying, even having Mylene say in the Derision Flashback

" My mother abandoned me but you don't see me bullying Marinette"

But try justifying Felix's actions with his abusive childhood with the play he acted out in Representation.

The hypocrisy of the writers are painted as misogyny even if it is not intentional because Chloe is female and is robbed of a redemption while Felix a male is deemed tragic and is given a second chance. Ultimately , both Characters are horrible people but one is portrayed by the narrative as a hero while the other is an irredeemable , oppressive monster who needs to go down

To conclude , Felix and Chloe are two sides of the same coin. Both are terrible people that deserved punishment . While I’d prefer Chloe getting redemption , I understand that at the end of the day not all people change. However Felix's character is poorly done in Season 5 and is redeemed out of nowhere. What annoys me the most is how Hypocritical the fanbase and writers are that Chloe is hated for being a brat and is not redeemed because she doesn’t show remorse while Felix is adored by the fanbase and is given a redemption despite not apologizing to Ladybug or facing any consequences. Again ,this is not a Chloe defense post or a Felix hate post, just me sharing my view on this. I'm surprised the fandom isn't addressing the similarities between these two characters . I cross my fingers that Felix either turns on the team and becomes the villain again or is held accountable in S6 and Chloe at least receives closure and becomes a better person in future seasons. But these are just my opinions. I’m not saying you are not allowed to like Felix or dislike Chloe. Feel free to disagree : ) . Don’t hate the characters , hate the writing .Please stay respectful.

[rinnelovebot]

ADONIS RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS.. *CLUTCHES MY HEART*

A/N: I’ve been thinking about him a lot recently. dreamy sigh… I’d like to be kissed by him. anyway, sorry these are kind of bland; I’ve been severely writers blocked for about a month now, so I didn’t wanna overwhelm myself just yet.

*ೃ༄ Adonis Otogari relationship hc’s

⤷ Regardless of the situation, Adonis always puts you first, above anything and everything. You’re his priority, and he tends to get tunnel vision when you’re on his mind — romantic and comforting, you admit — though, because of this, you worry that he isn’t taking care of himself like he should. Adonis would never disregard your concerns, so he reassures you however many times you need; His support system (you, his friends) is solid, and he pecks your forehead to make sure that you know he’s alright, and taking good care of himself.

⤷ Adonis has a subtle way of making you terribly weak in the knees; it’s completely unintentional, which seems to make it just that much more impactful. Whether his hand catches your waist when you stumble, or he looks at you with such gentle admiration — you feel like you could fall for him over and over, time and time again… he doesn’t believe that his actions are swoon-worthy, but here you are, melting in his presence.

⤷ His clinginess seems to be extremely prominent when the two of you are alone. Not overbearingly so, of course, but just enough to make a smile dance across the edge of your lips. God, he’s so endearing — you wonder how you got so lucky. In public, he limits himself to loving gazes and a few sweet pecks in order to remain polite; but in private, he allows himself to feel more comfortable, bringing you to rest in his lap, kissing the day away…

⤷ Before you, his relationship experience was precisely zero. So, unsurprisingly, he’s not very (knowingly) keen on romance, but oh man, does it come naturally to him. Adonis feels like a prince out of a fairytale one would read as a child, one who seems to be sickeningly charming. Of course, he doesn’t think so in the slightest, but you know so. He treats you with a gentleness and understanding that you’ve never once come across, one that takes your breath away, and makes your cheeks hotter than the surface of a thousand suns.

⤷ Neither of you would change a single thing about the other. He views himself as inherently flawed, imperfect in the most inconvenient of ways; you can’t even begin to verbalize how wrong he is. It’s humorous, he thinks. Because that’s exactly how he feels about you. Of course, neither of you are perfect — but love is a wonderful thing. It cultivates change, good change. You’re two peas in a pod, and you’ll uplift one another until the end of time.

[mostlydeadallday]

Lost Kin | Chapter XXXVI | So Thin a Thread

Fandom: Hollow Knight Rating: Mature Characters: Hornet, Pure Vessel | Hollow Knight, Quirrel Category: Gen Content Warnings: dissociation, description of injuries, past abuse, flashbacks, unintentional misgendering, panic attacks, referenced child death, intrusive thoughts, unwanted touch AO3: Lost Kin | Chapter XXXVI | So Thin a Thread First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Chronological Notes: Hornet makes a mistake. Hollow suffers the consequences.

Writing has slowed down recently due to receiving some monster edits (nervous laughter) and also due to having a houseguest. I've also encountered a lot of foreshadowing issues that I had previously said "nah, I'll save that for later" about and guess what? now it's later (I'm fine)

○

Quirrel was slipping. Hornet did not know him well, not enough to tell what it was that took up space behind his distant eyes, but she could see that it was something other than the present moment’s concerns.

She did not need this. She needed him here. She needed to know if this would work.

Hollow did not like him. Again, she had not dared to hope for much, but she had thought, perhaps, that they would not find him objectionable. His presence was steady, calming. Respectful in a way she could not quite quantify. Certainly he had a better bedside manner than hers. He had done nothing wrong that she could see—although he handled Hollow as if they were wrought of glass, he spoke to them like any other traveler he might meet along his way.

They might have been on a path toward accepting him; she could not tell. Not now that she had ruined it, though she still did not fully understand how.

Her sibling was locked down as tightly as she had ever seen them, refusing to even shift their gaze to follow her. Their throat crackled with each regimented breath, fist closed, claws tucked away where she could not see them twitch. They refused to react to her voice, to lean into her touch. They refused to do anything at all.

It was no use grasping at why they had reacted so strongly. They could not tell her, and any guesses she made would be pure speculation at best.

The best she could do was sit at their side, stroke their horns, and hope that she was providing something of a distraction, rather than contributing to the strain. They did not object to Quirrel’s touch, exactly, but they did not relax into it, as they often had before, with her. It was gentle, businesslike, carrying no intention of comfort—

But then again, neither had hers, at first.

They were not pulling away, though she’d given them leave to. She tried to content herself with that, as Quirrel slowly shifted from drying their shell to a closer inspection of the wounds she had cleaned, touching lightly, in case they were still tender.

She wasn’t sure how they could fail to be. Soul healing aside, they were still bereft of shell, and she winced as Quirrel ever-so-cautiously probed at the twisted scars and pockmarks in their charcoal-colored skin.

Hollow did not. There was no indication that they were not lost in their own mind somewhere, except that this was exactly how they had been while under her knife, and to take that inaction for apathy had been a grievous mistake.

Slowly, she reached down and pulled their hand into her lap, brushing their knuckles with her thumb, waiting for any indication that they might lash out at Quirrel, as they had attempted to do with her. No matter the guilt they appeared to feel regarding that action, no matter that she had deserved it. She would not risk her ally’s life on so thin a thread as this.

Quirrel looked up and met her eye, one hand keeping contact with her sibling’s side, below the worst of the injury. “This is good work,” he said, and when she glanced aside, he added, “I know you are not proud of it. Nonetheless, there was little else that could be done. And I would be hard-pressed to find anyone alive in this kingdom who could do better.”

She had nothing to say to that. I should have been gentler or I shouldn’t have rushed it or I should’ve noticed that it hurt them—all lodged below the lump in her throat that she knew would squeeze her voice thin if she tried.

He did not comment, although he did clear his throat uncomfortably in a poor attempt to break the stillness before going back to his task.

“These, here.” He indicated one of the empty blisters, the largest of them, looking like nothing more than a burst waterskin, empty and shriveled. Though not quite the right color to match Hollow’s skin, it was close enough that she suspected it had originally been part of them. He lifted the upper corner of it, showing her where it was separating from their shoulder like a dried-out scab. “They’re beginning to detach. I’d advise removing them before you continue.”

She nodded, unsure if she could manage anything more. Thankfully, he accepted her silence and moved on to the active infection in Hollow’s chest. He refrained from touching the swollen growths, only laying his hand down to measure them against the shrunken, half-filled sacs that had reappeared a day or so after her efforts.

“You did well to wait, I think, before attempting more.” He spoke almost absently, peering closer at the dull, diluted color of the looser cysts. “As hostile as the infection is to all forms of life, I recall that it seemed to have an especial antipathy to void.”

“Oh?”

“Well, yes.” He straightened. “The two are diametric opposites. Soul-based life was the primary target. As both are forms of light, the process of infection was simple. Void, however, proved extremely difficult to contaminate. Soul and void can co-exist, even synergize. But void and infection, or, more properly, void and dream, cannot. They are in constant conflict. One will always snuff out the other.”

Hornet had to take a moment before she could speak again. Her hand had tightened on Hollow’s without her knowledge.

When had she grown so attached? She could not point to a single moment. Not the first time they fell asleep under her hands, or the first time they spoke to her, or the moment she awoke sheltered in their arms. But somewhere in between, sometime during the mundane work of keeping her sibling alive, she had begun to see them as more than an obligation, more than a debt she must pay. When she imagined the Old Light extinguishing what life remained within them, it was not only the thought of her work being wasted that made her gut roil with cold, sick anger.

“And yet you say I did well to wait,” she muttered, unable to keep that anger from tainting her voice.

Careful. Hollow did not need to think that she was angry at them again, and it would only confuse Quirrel if assumed her wrath was meant for him instead.

Fortunately, he seemed too taken with his theory to have noticed. “I believe so. The synthesis of void and soul is more resistant to dream than either alone. Hence the creation of vessels.” He paused, glanced at her. “What you have done is given the void a chance to regroup and fight back against the intrusion. As well as forced the infection to concentrate at the surface, rather than raging unchecked as fever through their body.”

Hollow’s breath shuddered briefly. Her attention snapped to them, to the break in the pattern of repression, but they gave her no more—only stared at the ceiling, their fist half-clenched in her lap, their mask lying still beneath her hand.

“That said,” Quirrel continued, oblivious, “I would not wait much longer. Allowing the infection to persist will do more harm than good, now.”

“I know,” she whispered. There was more that she intended to say, but the enormity of the situation rushed over her and she could not breathe.

She would have to hurt them again. She would have to cut them apart and pull poison from their veins, and the worst part was that they trusted her to do it, had trusted her even while she laid them open, and afterward when she left them alone in a dark room with their wounds still bleeding, when she should have been there to console them, to make up in some trivial way for what she had done—

Someone said her name, soft and expectant, and for a blank, thoughtless instant she thought it could have been Hollow, until she shook herself and lifted her head, and it was Quirrel, of course it was Quirrel.

“Tomorrow,” she said. “I-I will do it tomorrow.”

Quirrel looked like he might want to say more, but he only bowed his head and removed his hands from her sibling’s shell. “Of course. I think… that would be best.”

○

It did not move.

This was as it had always been. As it always should be. It lay still for examinations. It lay still for the spells to weave over and around and through its body. It lay still when it was alone, when the walls and ceiling shone so brightly and for so long that its eyes burned, when all its joints ached from the chill of the marble and the core-deep scars of blade and soul. And it lay still when the others were there, whether its father’s cold, careful hands were working over it, or the warm, blunt, indifferent touch of the scholars and spellwrights. It lay still.

No one had ever held its hand while it lay there. No one ever saw a need to.

And it never had needed it, before now.

Its sister’s touch was constant, distracted but continuous. A slow rasp of her palm along the inner curves of its horns. A graze of her thumb over the crack through its eye. A warm weight on the back of its hand, with an occasional stroke across its knuckles.

It should feel ashamed of what she knew of it, of how quickly she had picked out its weaknesses and made use of them, turning fault against fault, keeping it calm with just the tangible pressure of her presence.

Or as calm as it could be. Though the warmth of her beside it was more comfort than it had ever dared to ask for, every brush of the scholar’s hands across its shell made the void beneath churn with unease.

He did not call himself a scholar, he had said, but the cadence of his words and the paths of his thoughts were identical to the ones that it had known, enough so that the distinction meant little. His touch, too, was… familiar. In a way that it intimately remembered. It could not stop its own response to that. It could do nothing about that at all. Everything about him was gentle, every word well-measured and softly spoken, and yet it could not stifle the expectation that—

That what? There would be pain? There was always pain, even though its sister had done everything she could to reclaim its body from the light. Every breath, every heartbeat hurt; it could not remember the last time its own existence had been painless.

No, it was not pain that its fragile body feared. What, then?

It was not meant to be examining its own thoughts like this. It was not meant to have thoughts to examine, or a mind to examine them with.

Yet it was already corrupted, far too faulty for its original use. Should it put those faults to use to better serve its wielders? If it could not now be sacrificed again, if its impurity had damned it, what else could it be used for? If that use demanded anything like its former standard of control, it was already doomed to fail.

Perhaps that was irrelevant. It could not stop its cursed mind stirring, any more than it could stop the twist and writhe of void beneath Quirrel’s hand. But it would not crack where he could see, would not let loose the terror that strained to break free, would not—

Was this what it feared? This newcomer becoming aware of its faults? His gaze was as sharp as his mind, piercing it through to its essence. He was certain to find out. There seemed to be only so long it could go without descending into helpless panic. But though that familiar fear pulsed beneath its mask now, it was not alone; there was another joining it. A new fear, too bright to see directly, as sharp and hot as the invading light, and just as damning.

He knew of vessels, its sister had said. He had worked beside the Teacher-Dreamer Monomon. He—

“These marks.” Quirrel’s voice came from near its knees; it could not see him well, not with its head resting stiffly on the pillows placed to keep its horns off the floor. “They’re left by offensive soul-spells, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Mm.” His warm hand skimmed across its shell, then lifted. The pain that woke under his touch was different than the rest, a slow-burning throb that sank down through its shell and into the flesh beneath. “Thankfully, these should heal without intervention. The damage to their legs goes deep, but will right itself with time.”

That word again. Their. A crooked plate, a limb out of joint. Its sister and the scholar spoke over it, as it was familiar with, but they did not do so as they should. As it expected. As it had always heard before.

It… was not to respond in any way. It must remind itself of that. The way its wielder referred to it was none of its concern. It understood that people often grew attached to inanimate things: weapons, tools. That did not make those things deserving of affection, or of respect. It was not deserving of this way that they spoke of it, or the gentleness with which they handled it, or the needless comfort its sister insisted on bestowing.

She had paused as he explained, her hand falling still on its horn. Deserving or not, it could not stop its tension spiraling higher, a painful pressure swelling in its chest, independent of the mass of light that still beat there. This was all its own: its own weakness, its own twisted desire, a desire it had not known it had—a gnawing hunger acknowledged only after it was sated.

She resumed after a moment, and the pressure eased—fortunately before the strain in its tattered lungs could give it away. Its heart settled back into rhythm, pain drumming in its mask with every rapid beat.

It could endure this. This was a test like any other. A test simple enough that, even in its broken state, it would be a disgrace to fail.

Previously, there would have been no question of its ability. Inspections were routine, especially between molts, or after healing from wounds acquired in training. This was unnervingly similar, in fact. The whispering rain, the persistent ache of its missing arm, and the idle touches on its face and hand grounded it in the present, but in many other ways, it could have been laid out upon a marble slab in the Palace while its father’s assistants performed one of their many assessments.

But why would the press of his hands and the weight of his gaze sicken it so? Simply because he was a scholar, like the many others it had known, faces and masks that came and went, voices and words that meant nothing more to it than the motes of drifting soul? Had it feared them then, and merely forgotten, or denied itself the knowledge of that weakness?

It should have no reason to fear a scholar. They were merely the hands of its father, instructed by him to bring it closer to its intended perfection. And yes, their touch had often hurt—but then again, so had his.

Its body was determined to ignore these facts. Its body wanted to shrink away, to press back into the blankets, to cringe from the touch that stirred some urge within it that it did not understand.

The past felt close, closer than it had for an age, as if the vessel could reach out and pierce the membrane with its claws, allowing its former life to bleed through to the present like the insides of an egg.

If only it could summon the clarity and stillness with which it had once been so familiar. If only it did not require the constant stroke of its sister’s hand along its horns to keep it calm.

If only it could pretend to be empty once more.

“What I wouldn’t give for a clock,” the scholar muttered. “And a thermometer.” His hand was on its shell again, just above its hip, and it suffered through a wave of nausea that threatened to sweep it away. Its heartbeat surged.

He could feel none of that, the vessel knew, from his palm against its plating. He did not know of its fear.

“A what?” Hornet asked.

“Thermometer? A device that monitors temperature, using predictable expansion in certain liquids.” His hand moved higher, closer to the infection, and he was silent for a moment before shaking his head. “The Madam sponsored its development. It was, among other things, a much more precise method for detecting fevers, which proved useful in the early stages of infection.” He sighed, stepped back, and raised one hand to his chin. “Unfortunately, the plague progressed too quickly for such things. They never became common, and I would not know where to find one.”

Its sister hummed, politely sympathetic, and it felt the way her voice moved through her body, the ripple of sound transferring to its mask through the weight of her hand. A nameless warmth unfurled over it, a strained, aching sweetness rising to answer the pull of her voice upon it, something inside it reaching up toward her, longing to be seen. She did not seem to notice anything amiss, even as it fought to bury the feeling. “And the clock?”

The silence lasted a beat too long. Quirrel took a long breath. “A clock, or a chronometer, measures the passage of—”

“I know what a clock is,” Hornet interrupted. A tautness had crept into her posture, her hand going stiff before she breathed out, low, faintly hissing, and relaxed. “Why do you need one?”

“Ah. Um.”

The scholar had the sense to be taken aback, at least. Its sister was formidable, whether armed with steel, silk, or nothing at all, and she did not take kindly to insults, even unwitting ones.

She had been the cause of many muttered oaths from its father shortly after her arrival in the Palace. The royals had soon learned that their glancing slights were met with bared fangs and an immediate invitation to duel—and, later, a reprimand from their monarch, scribed into stone with the king’s seal glowing in the corner. The vessel itself had witnessed multiple offenses and as many quick rebukes, as well as its father’s frustration: the tightness in his voice as he dictated the messages, the stiffness in his shoulders as he pushed aside guard reports and City maintenance projects to reach for his notes and missives on Deepnest.

Its sister came from a strange culture, it knew. A place far less refined than the palace, wilder and darker than anywhere within the borders of the kingdom. Its father’s light did not shine there, and his laws held no sway. It was no surprise that such a land’s inhabitants would be fierce and hardy, quick to strike with both their weapons and their words.

When Quirrel spoke again, it was muted, perhaps in tacit apology. That seemed wise. Perhaps she would not need to challenge him after all. “A clock would be helpful in much the same way a thermometer would. I would very much like to establish a baseline—temperature, duration of sleep, heart rate, respiratory function. Without having precise measurements of time, however, much of that information would be subjective. Guesswork, at best.”

“Guesswork is better than nothing,” Hornet said. “Can we start now?”

The tension was back in her shoulders, in her arm with every stroke, and it felt a similar strain drawing its body tight despite her efforts.

It had known that it would be exposed, but it had hoped—do not­—it had thought, perhaps—do not—

No, no, it was broken, defective, it could not help but think, but hope, and it had hoped that this would not come so soon. If he intended to pin it down, to measure and catalog its faults, it had no choice but to submit; its sister wanted this, regardless of how the prospect made the void twist and knot within it.

“We can,” Quirrel mused. His voice was warbling, distant, and the vessel attempted to refocus, to bring the world back into clarity. To control that which it no longer had a grasp of—regardless of how steadily it breathed, how intensely it stared at the ceiling, the beat within its chest sped higher, and a bright haze crept farther and farther into its vision. “It will certainly suffice until we can do better.”

“Then what should I do?”

Hornet stopped petting it, her hand unmoving on its mask, and it nearly pressed its face into her touch, nearly begged for her to have mercy on it. No, it could not do that, it must endure, should not even need this comfort in the first place. Lie still. Lie still.

“Heart rate should be simple to record, if you know of a place to take it.”

“I have an idea.”

Lie still. It had only to lie still. It had only to obey, to push its fears away, to breathe in and out and ignore the sensation of its traitorous, fluttering heart attempting to beat free of its ribs.  It could not hide any longer, though it wanted to; it wanted to crawl into the dark and curl into itself and press its face to its knees until the world disappeared.

Why, why was this so difficult, why was its mind a labyrinth of blades and spikes and thorns, hostile at every turn, why was this one thing enough to take it apart when it had experienced the same and worse, much, much worse before—

Its sister tugged on its horn. She was whispering something soft; its own name, the name she had given it, surfaced from beneath the enclosing fog, but it could hear nothing else besides the ringing in its skull. Her grasp was gentle, not enough to truly stir it, but it moved with her, obeying, as it was meant to.

She inched closer, crossing her knees beneath her and guiding it onto its side. As she laid its head in her lap, it felt the warmth of her legs against its cheek through the thick weave of her cloak. Its hand was still trapped beneath hers, it could not pull away, no matter that she had told it that it might; it would not.

This was what she wanted for it. She wished to know of its flaws; it was powerless to hide them from her. She wished for this scholar to record its faults; it must allow him to do so.

Please please please—it would obey, it would be good—

Sister’s claws brushed beneath its chin. Just the barest touch, before she grasped its jaw and tilted its head up, exposing its throat.

No. NO.

Her wrist rested on its mask, holding it still, her fingers draped over its jaw, across its mouth, trusting, trusting it—

She should not. There was a hiss building in its throat, a crawling itch inside in its teeth. It should hold still, it should not move, but its instincts drove a hot current beneath its shell, a crackling charge that set every plate on edge.

It felt the buzz of her voice through its mask. She spoke to the scholar, and he stepped closer, a bluish blur against the shadows in the room—

Four eyes staring down at it. Pale knife in a pale hand.

It felt the thrum of void through its throat, swift and thin, and the pulse of pain through its cracked mask, and—

The press of soul-bands round its wrists.

Wrists not its own, hands too small, claws chipped, cracked, and worn blunt, carving valleys in the marble—

The chill of void-loss in its limbs.

Far more void than it had ever lost, far more cold than it had ever felt, the final chill of a death it had never been granted—

The echo of its breath: panting, panting, panting.

It knew, suddenly, with the swift certainty of lightning and the finality of thunder. It knew what the scholar was here for.

He had come to finish it.

○

Something was wrong.

Perhaps it was only because she was holding Hollow’s face in her lap, but Hornet felt a chill spreading through her. This pose was meant to offer Quirrel a better view as she took their pulse, with their head across her legs to bare their throat. She’d been prepared to reconsider if they seemed hesitant, but they had gone with her almost eagerly, she thought. Now, though, the skin beneath her fingers was drawn taut, and a nervous spasm rippled down their throat, shifting their jaw until she felt the grate of their teeth through her shell.

This was a spectacularly bad idea.

The impression came too quickly for her to do anything more than lift her head and draw breath to speak; Quirrel was already too close, reaching down to steady himself as he knelt in front of her, and an icy certainty pierced her mind—Hollow was going to hurt him, and there was nothing she could do.

Her grip curled tighter on their mask, claws clenching, a helpless reflex that would do no good against their strength, their speed, their terror that she had not sensed until too late—

She nearly shouted as Hollow jerked back. Quick as a wasp, moving far faster than she’d thought them still capable of. She nearly did not have time to let go, nearly hooked and dragged her claws into their throat as they yanked their head away from her.

Blind fear took hold. She scrambled back, shoving Quirrel to the side, bowling him over and out of reach. Soul flooded to her fingers, cold air pouring into her lungs, vision narrowed to the white of Hollow’s mask and the black daggers of their claws. Now, they would strike out, her instincts cried. Now they would lurch up and snap at her, knock her over and pin her down, drive those void-touched talons straight into her heart.

Nothing. Nothing but the slow curl of her sibling’s shoulders into a mortified hunch, and the sudden, rough sawing of their breath through their throat as they began to sob.

Quirrel propped himself on one elbow, his confusion bleeding rapidly into shock. “Stay back,” she hissed, already moving. She did not need him trying to help and making things worse. Whatever had set Hollow off this time, his presence had no doubt contributed. She could have cursed herself for pushing them too far, for not noticing how close they stood to the edge.

To his credit—and Hornet’s relief—he did not test her.

She forced his presence from her mind. She wanted to be alone, to comb over her actions and pick out her own faults, but she could not have that, should not even want it. She could not afford to be so selfish, not now.

Instead, she crept back and knelt at Hollow’s side, ignoring their obvious flinch, though the wretched fear in their eyes cut her to the quick. Their chest was heaving, mouth and vents both gaping open as they gulped breath after quivering breath.

She had frightened them. Despite everything, she had forgotten how terribly afraid they were, how little reason they had to trust her. She had asked of them something she doubted she could do herself, a vulnerability she would find more than difficult to show, and lost sight of the fact that they had as much reason as she to object to it.

As much and more. It would be no small thing, to bare her throat to a stranger. And, despite all her scars, she had still not been hurt as deeply as her sibling had.

She’d miscalculated. She’d taken their obedience for granted, and now here they were once again—breathless and scared and expecting far, far worse than she could ever have the heart do to them.

“Hollow,” she breathed, and the way her voice shook was not important, not important at all. She reached for them, incautiously, hoping against hope that whatever misplaced loyalty they held for her would not fail her now. And when they flinched again, her fragile calm nearly shattered, except that they halted before pulling further away, seeming to hold themselves down against the bed as if bound there.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I’m sorry,” and she didn’t know why it was so easy now, why it took seeing her sibling shaking and fighting to breathe before she could say it, but she meant it, meant it for all the times she had been too proud to say it before.  “I didn’t mean—I didn’t—”

All the rest of her air escaped in a meaningless rush, pushing out of her throat like a sob of her own, but she couldn’t cry now. Quirrel was there, still in the room, and more importantly, Hollow needed her. Needed her to be present, as she had not been before, needed her not to ignore their distress for the sake of easing her own.

They had not taken a full breath since pulling away from her, trapped in the same quick, shallow rhythm that she remembered from the day they had first spoken of their own accord. She wanted nothing more than to take hold of them and drag them free somehow, but they’d already flinched away from her once; she did not think she could take it if they did so again.

Instead, she slowly reached down to touch their hand, giving them time to expect it, although the void behind their eyes still spasmed at her touch.

“Easy,” she said. “Easy, I’m here. You’re—you are safe.”

Something caught in their throat at that, a high, choked-off keen wavering just at the edge of her hearing. Behind her, Quirrel groaned softly, a sound of heart-torn sympathy that she hadn’t the space to think about now.

Turning their hand until she could slip her own into it, she wrapped her fingers around as many of theirs as she could manage, squeezing tight, offering what she could—something to hold onto, an anchor against the encroaching tide. Her own heart was racing still, and she could think of nothing that would fix this.

They trusted her. And her actions had worn that trust thin enough to snap.

She could do nothing now but reach out again, spinning a single thread over empty space and hoping it would hold.

Hornet had to swallow once before she could speak. She would not push forward again, not until she knew they would accept it, not until she could be sure she was not terrifying them. She would have to try something else. She would have to talk them through it.

Could they even hear her? Whatever panic had them lying rigid in its jaws, it was bad enough that their vacant stare went right through her, the movement of the void within their mask erratic and unfocused, as unstable as their breath, as the helpless quiver in their hand, even as she tried to hold it steady.

 “Listen. Listen to me,” she said, and try as she might, the words came stilted, distant, nowhere near as strong and sure as they needed her to be.

It would have to be enough.

○

Someone was speaking to it.

It could not answer—would not—could not. Was an answer expected of it? That was not right; it was not meant to answer, surely. It was a test—another test—

Another test that it would fail, another way in which it was broken, another flaw, another crack in its façade—

When would it happen? It should feel the blade at its throat at any moment now. It was damaged, dangerous; it could not be trusted, not even with the smallest of the tasks it had once performed with ease. Not even with the first orders that had been given it.

Lie still.

It could not bear the strain any longer. It could not push back the growing fear. That was plain to see now, when it could not even hold itself together for the simplest examination, when the presence of a single scholar in the room was enough to send it into madness.

Madness it was, truly; the vessel had no cause to act on its own, no grounds to do what it had done. And oh, even thinking of it was enough to make the vessel cower, to make its head go light, to squeeze the air from its aching lungs in a silent cry that none would ever hear.

It had defied its sister’s will. It had pulled away from her, resisted her purpose for it, and it should be punished. It could not be trusted, and she knew that—her instincts served her well, to push away from it. The appalling nature of its actions was proof of its treacherous nature. It no longer knew what it might do.

Its mind was an uproar, a chaotic clamor of panic and pain and things better left forgotten, things it had not even known it could remember anymore.

The scholar had made to approach it, and its sister had stretched its head out upon her lap, and it had thought—

It had almost seen, flickering before his face, another. It had almost felt blunt fingers on its skin. And it had known what would be next. The cold bite of a soul-blade, the numbing bitterness of void. The desperate surge of a thoughtless, maddened shade against its bonds—

A trace of warmth against its hand. It could not see, not truly; what should have been a high, arched room washed in blue was nothing but a blur filled with flickering shadows. And its sister’s voice as she tried to comfort it—to comfort it—quavered like a fading song, its hearing gone as vague and faithless as its sight.

“Easy,” it heard, and then, “I’m here,” and the simple solace in her words crushed its chest tight, wringing another soundless whine from its throat. She was trying, again, to give it what it never should have needed, and it hurt, and the vessel did not know why.

It should have been far beyond asking why it suffered. Far beyond trying to make sense of its pain. But this was something new. Somehow, even after enduring every whim of the goddess, every taunt and torture she could fathom, there were still ways it could be hurt, fresh wounds opening alongside old scars that had long ceased to bleed.

It was a terror to be seen, to be known. It was a long-feared, wrenching horror to be something capable of being known. And yet the fear was not simple, not any longer. There was something else, now, something deeper, something hot and heavy and ready to crush it.

It was no longer only afraid that its sister wished to understand it. It was afraid that she would stop.

What had she done to it?

Between one choking breath and another, her hand wrapped around its own, her grip tighter than she had held it yet, tight enough to startle it—and warm, singing with life against its cold, dead shell. It could not rightly see, or hear, but it could feel this. It could feel her here with it, despite every reason for her to walk away.

Its mind was a broken blade, shards of steel that lay strewn about, still sharp enough to cut a careless hand. This new memory… this thing that it had seen… it was a danger to her, just as the others had been. If it tried to remember, if it tried to forget once more, it made no difference—eventually, it would slip. It would slice itself open on the edge of its own mind, and perhaps this time it would not be the only one to bleed.

She should stay away from it. What was she doing? Why did she not give it what it deserved? It was useless. It kept on disappointing her. It would hurt her, sooner or later. Its frayed control would snap, and she would pay for it.

Why?

“Listen,’’ she said, intent, and her voice sent another tremor through it, another quake through the fractured resolve at its core. “Listen to me.”

Anything. It would do anything for her, as long as it was able.

Her face came into focus before it, beyond the strangling shadows in its vision, beyond the glaring after-images from its past. She was… unsettled, it thought. It heard a quiver in her breath, and her eyes darted over it, again and again, searching with a hunter’s eye for some enemy to seek out and destroy.

There was none, nothing it could offer her, unless she could part it from its terror. It had faith in her; she was quick and strong and clever, but it did not think even she could manage that.

She could not see into its mind—it would not wish her to be witness to the horrors there, all the many ways that the Radiance had warped it, all the dreadful visions that had been forced into its thoughts. Hornet could not see, could not know, all the myriad ways it had found to be afraid, all the traps it had set for itself, its former control turning against it as every step revealed another pitfall.

But this—this was something the Radiance had had no hand in. It was sure of that. The gleam of this new memory was untarnished, untouched by rot; it was one that the goddess had never uncovered or had simply passed by. Whatever terror awaited, it was fully to blame—the grasping tendrils of its past were reaching out to embrace it, to pull it down as soon as it stumbled.

It trembled, briefly, violently, and a soft, hushing chirr left its sister’s throat, a sound that struck it through to its heart.

“You have done well, Hollow,” she said. “You’ve done what I asked. I said that you could pull away from anything you please, as long as I did not tell you otherwise, and that is what you’ve done.”

She did not understand. It would not have done so, had it had any choice—had its fear not seized hold of it, had it not bowed to baser instincts that it thought long worn away. The action was to its shame alone—there was nothing to praise it for.

Whether the phantom it had seen foreshadowed its fate, whether she intended to do away with it or had another use in mind, did not matter. It was created by and for the will of others. Its only purpose was to bow to the whims of those who wielded it, and it had, once again, gone against that, doing something it was never meant to do.

It had stared into the face of its own destruction, and it had flinched.

Foolish, to have ever considered itself a knight. An empty title for an empty being—an empty role, for a thing so filled with faults that it could not live up to any of the names that had been granted to it.

It was not empty. Not as it should have been.

It wheezed again, attempting to lock its breathing down, attempting to do what she wanted, to accomplish one of the few things she had asked of it, pitiful as that effort was now.

In response, she wrapped her other hand around it, too, where its fingers had gone numb, seized by that same terrible, buzzing haze that had invaded its vision. Her voice reached it, pleading, still, trying to calm it. “It’s… it’s all right. Hollow, it’s all right. I’m here.”

Yes, and that was the problem. She should not be. She should leave it behind, for her own good. There was nothing for her here, nothing but disaster.

Its breathing caught up on this snag, a lurching hiccup that it could not quite stifle. Sister’s hand squeezed tighter in return. “I am sorry to have frightened you. You have nothing to fear.”

When she said it, the vessel almost wished it could believe her.

It dared to shift its fingers, to squeeze her hand back, gently, gently, not so much that it would hurt her. The warmth of her grip seemed to thaw it, little by little, sensation reaching back up its arm and toward its frozen heart. And she was whispering to it, still, things that it could barely understand, but with every shift of its fingers in hers she would praise it, stroking its knuckles, offering it little half-heard words of approval, words that made something inside it go as weak as water.

Every breath was lighter than the one before. The fog began to recede, rolling back from its sight like a curtain pulled away from a window. Its sister’s head was tilted, staring intensely into its face, and it recognized the moment she realized that it could see her once more.

“There,” she breathed. “There, that’s it.” Her hands crushed its own, clinging so tightly that it could begin to feel the pricking of her claws into its palm. Nowhere near as large or strong as its own grip, but so warm, so alive—and so fragile.

It could hurt her so easily. It would take so little. A forbidden fear. A misplaced memory. An instinct, long ignored.

But if she did not intend to leave it, it must try. It must learn. To master its own mind, to make itself strong enough to save her. To protect her. To be sparing with its strength, to be soft, as soft as she was with it.

It would try to learn not to fear, if she wished for it to do so. If that was what would keep her safe.

It might be a hopeless cause. The vessel would be afraid forever, it seemed. There was little she could do to change that.

But the faith she placed in it, misguided though that was, almost made it hope it might be wrong.

○

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[evieismol]

Accidents - One Shot

A/n: another one shot featuring my oc Easton as well as the humans he previously befriended before going to work on Earth. Chronologically set a couple of years before the main story

Word count: 1041

Content warnings: language, fearplay (unintentional), angst, potentially dangerous situation (no one hurt)

“Hey,” Easton said as soon as the door to his room was closed. Larissa looked at the giant as he entered from her place on his table. He looked even more exhausted than he had that morning - his usually shiny, platinum blonde hair was more of a dull, limp mess, and dark circles were obvious under his eyes. Still, he offered the three small humans a smile that didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“How are you guys doing?” He asked. He looked over at Ruby, who was sitting up on the makeshift bed he’d made for her. “How’s your leg?”

“It’s doing a lot better,” Ruby said.

“I’m glad,” Easton said. “We should get the bandage changed again tonight. What do you guys want for dinner? I can see what’s in the fridge or go get something at the gas station - I know those aren’t super luxurious options, I’m sorry.”

“Hey, we’re just happy to have food at all,” Kyle said. “Seriously. Thanks for all of this…for helping us.”

Easton shrugged. “Of course. Helping people is kind of my job anyways.”

“Speaking of your job, how was your day?” Kyle asked. Easton sighed as he sat down on his bed, careful to not bump into the table the three humans were standing on that was next to it. “Long,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Ruby offered.

“It’s fine. I’m just tired,” Easton said. Larissa felt a pang of guilt at that - she felt sure that her and her friend’s presence couldn’t be helping with that. Over the week they’d been staying with Easton since he’d found them after they’d gone through the portal, he’d gone out of his way to make sure they were as comfortable as possible. And Given that they were stranded in an alien world where they were comparatively only a few inches tall, that was quite the task. It had so far included not only making beds for them, but also figuring out a way they could “shower” safely in the sink, bringing them 3 meals a day, and even trying to find ways to keep them from getting bored while they were mostly confined to his desk. Among other things.

We really need to figure out how to get back through that portal, she thought. Of course, given who was looking for them back on Earth, that wouldn’t be without its risks either.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Larissa asked.

“I swear every entitled person in a hundred mile radius picked today to come to the park,” Easton sighed. “And then right when I was getting off work my dad called to tell me he’s marrying his fourth wife next month and I’m still a disappointment. So. That was fun.”

“He sounds lovely,” Larissa said. “That sounds like a shitty day.”

“Yeah, well, that’s life,” Easton said, annoyance faintly present his voice. Larissa wasn’t sure if it was at her or the general situation, and she shifted uncomfortably.

“Sorry,” she said.

“It’s fine,” Easton said, and for a moment, she thought she might have been wrong about him sounding annoyed. Maybe more sad. He looked away, and she was pretty sure she saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes.

“Are you sure? I’m really sorry if-“ she started. Easton cut her off, this time definitely sounding short.

“I’m sure,” he said, standing up abruptly. A little too abruptly, as this time he did hit into the table. Had he also been human - and human sized - the mistake would have been minor. He was decidedly neither of those things, though. Larissa lost her balance, letting out a sharp yelp as she fell forward - and off the table. In a split second, images of the cold impact of the floor below flashed through her mind. It had to be at least a 70 foot drop. It was easily high enough to severely hurt her, and likely kill her. Instead of the wood below, though, Larissa felt herself land on something soft and warm almost as soon as she’d realized she was falling.

“Holy shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, are you okay?” Easton sounded frantic as she realized he’d caught her. Still stunned, she gave an uncertain nod.

“Larissa!” Kyle had hurried over to the edge, looking as concerned as she felt. She looked from him to Easton, seeing the panic and guilt swirling through the giant’s eyes as he held her. He sounded close to tears when he continued.

“I-I’m so fucking sorry, I should have been more careful-I wasn’t thinking-oh my god, are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Um it was just an accident, it’s fine,” Larissa said, wincing internally as she realized her voice was shaking. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself down. Easton obviously hadn’t meant to scare her, let alone almost hurt her - his instant change from annoyed to worried and concerned seemed to make that much obvious. That still didn’t entirely help, though.

“Okay-I swear I didn’t mean to-I was just tired and I-I don’t know, frustrated with everything going on and my dad and-I could have hurt you. Or worse. Shit, I’m so, so sorry.”

“I get it,” Larissa said. “I’m just kind of freaked out still I think.”

“Yeah, of course. Um, here, holding you probably isn’t helping,” Easton said, lowering his hand back to the table. Larissa was a little surprised at how relieved she felt climbing off of his hand - she didn’t think he was going to hurt her at this point, but having her life literally in someone else’s hand was still a surreal feeling.

“Thanks,” she said. “And for catching me.”

Easton swallowed, guilt washing over his face again. “I shouldn’t have had to-I’m just really sorry. And probably not helping. I’m just going to go see what they have at the gas station, I’ll be right back. I- I’m sorry.”

Larissa felt Kyle’s hand on her shoulder as Easton quickly left.

“Seriously, are you okay?” Kyle asked.

“Yeah. Just shaken up,” Larissa said. “I’ll be fine, though.”

When Easton returned later with food for them, once again apologizing profusely, Larissa couldn’t help but notice how red his eyes were as well as the tears staining his cheeks.

[rayshippouuchiha]

what was your opinion on the Portrait of a Father episode? I know a few people where mad at Dazai and Ranpo for seeming inconsiderate of how awfully the Headmaster treated Atsushi, and there’s even been people who think it was (potentially unintentional) gaslighting of Atsushi into even thinking of the shit heel as a father figure. to be honest, I’m a bit torn myself, haha.

obviously people can have their own opinions! I’m just curious what you think, is all~

That episode was a gut punch.

That being said, I think that the way Dazai, Ranpo, and Atsushi handled everything was neither right nor wrong.

It was complicated, just like the situation. Just like Atsushi's emotions toward the Headmaster.

Because it's obvious that the Headmaster was a source of major torment to Atsushi but he also felt something for the man.

He was the closest thing Atsushi had ever had to a parent considering his circumstance. The Headmaster has also been the voice in the back of Atsushi's head telling him horrible things about himself for so long now.

And even knowing that the Headmaster had other motives for what he did to Atsushi doesn't change the fact that he tormented Atsushi throughout his childhood.

That kind of relationship isn't always so cut and dried.

If all Atsushi felt for the Headmaster was hate he would have laughed at him being dead and then moved on without any issues.

He didn't. He couldn't.

There was a degree of attachment there even if it wasn't healthy or even remotely positive.

So I don't see Dazai's comment about "most people cry when their fathers die" as him gaslighting Atsushi into seeing the Headmaster as a father figure. I saw it as Dazai acknowledging Atsushi's obvious emotional turmoil about the situation and, in a way, giving Atsushi the permission/push he so obviously needed to openly grieve.

[greyeyedmonster-18]

one brush with love

(also in honor of @impishtubist day, i am going to do something i dont normally do and have two fics occurring at the same time. this was supposed to be dropped yesterday but...alas.

inspired from an unintentional prompt on discord of "I said no!", where someone doesn't accept a proposal...a tumblr Starking exclusive.

enjoy xoxo)

a/n. there is a line in this that i think is quite possibly the funniest thing I've ever written and if any of yall can take a guess...

--

Chapter 1. An Indecent Proposal

Sirius face felt like it was going to fall off he had been holding a fake smile for so long. His “present face”. That’s what James used to call it, anyway. The face Sirius made when he opened a gift he hated or was otherwise impractical or would take up space in their dorm, and Sirius would nod and smile and say thank you; and his voice would go up several octaves lying through his teeth as he described how much he wanted one of these things for ages and simply had never bought it for himself. James would always poke fun, laughing loudly as the smile dropped from Sirius’s face, and the lies stopped.

Sirius never imagined when he was proposed to for the first time, by the man he thought he had loved the very best since he was sixteen, that his “present face” would appear, and he would be rendered speechless.

Sirius didn’t know what to do with his arms, letting them hang there stupidly at his side, suddenly aware of how long and bulky they were. Too much, too much, maybe I can have them shrunk at St. Mungo’s. Just two short little arms that don’t look ridiculous at your sides when you’re standing in front of your boyfriend who is expecting an answer to a proposal. Yeah, just go ahead and say yes, so we can get this operation started and you never have to worry about stupid dangling arms again, THAT works, right? Okay.

Saying words…. now.

“I—”

“I feel like I deserve a trophy of sorts for managing to surprise you, baby,” Remus said, looking up at him. “I love you and I—”

“No!”

The flock of birds that erupted from the trees surrounding them might have been funny had Sirius said yes. Some people after getting engaged shot off confetti canons, doves released from boxes, and it would be just so SiriusandRemus to have pigeons or whatever the fuck they were instead flapping around them.

So wrong, it was right.

But standing there with his stupid arms…Sirius realized it might have just been wrong.

"No?"

Sirius felt a chill go down his spine, frozen as he stared at Remus, who was down on the ground on one knee. There was a hole there. Sirius could see the freckled, knobby kneecap poking through the hole of the brown trousers that Remus loved.

That Sirius loved, even though the waistband didn't fit and there was a hole, and in the pockets too-- throughout the day Remus would drop knuts on the ground, uncaring as they slipped through his pockets, and Sirius would smile and pick them up. Stealing someone else's good luck. Because Remus was wavering on his knee, and his long fingers holding a ring were starting to shake as well, staring up at Sirius.

There was ink down Remus's arm, where he had written a speech. I love you and you and you and you, only you, forever, always, in this lifetime and the next. Written in the stars, shit.

The romantic kind that Remus usually didn't do, but he had this time.

And the sun was setting just right, and the golden light reflecting off brown hair should have been it. And the birds should've been singing, and Sirius should've been crying, and there was a bottle of champagne somewhere, right? To pop, to explode. They were supposed to be kissing.

But neither of them had moved.

"N-no?" Remus asked again, his arms lowering slowly.

"I don't know why I said that" Sirius said, unconsciously taking a step back from Remus, "I didn't mean--"

"I think you did."

“I didn’t, I swear I just..didn’t.”

“You practically shouted it, Sirius."

"I thought you were asking if I wanted cheese on my sandwich." A picnic. Remus had planned a picnic for Merlin's sake!

"Well, do you?"

"No."

"Two for two."

"Remus...."

Remus slowly rose from his position, the hand holding the ring going into his pocket. Almost immediately, the tiny band slipped through the hole in Remus's trousers, barely making a sound as it fell to the sidewalk, and Remus began walking down the path. Sirius don’t know what compelled him to pick up the ring—maybe if he looked at it up-close his answer would change, and they could go back to how it was 10 minutes ago before Sirius had destroyed everything. Remus had surprisingly done a good job with the ring, golden and not too thick, handmade; inside a barely perceptible inscription of forever just as Remus had verbally said.

Just as they had said when they were eighteen and graduated from Hogwarts, holding hands and looking at the Black Lake for the last time with death-grips. Eight white knuckles. Convincing themselves that they would stay together, forever, because they had to be.

“Remus, wait!”

And to Sirius’s surprise, Remus stopped in his tracks on the pavement, Sirius barely having to jog to catch up with him.

“What?”

“I—” Sirius stalled, “I wasn’t expecting you to actually stop and wait for me, so I don’t…have anything to say right at this moment, but give me a second and—”

“I only stopped to wait because I realized you drove us here.”

“Oh.”

“Oh.” Remus mocked, eyebrows raising and staring at Sirius for some sort of explanation. “There’s a fucking party waiting for us back at Number 12. Harry helped me plan this bit out. And we’re going to go back there and say what? Never mind! It was all a lie! Nothing matters! Go fuck yourself, Sirius.”

“I mean…that’s probably going to happen for a while considering I don’t think I’m fucking—”

“Don’t be charming.”

“Well, I can’t help that.”

“I am going to spit in your face, I swear on Merlin’s Right Saggy Tit, Sirius Black.”

Sirius sighed, and handed the ring back to Remus carefully, “I…said no.”

“To cheese on your sandwich, I’ve heard.”

“And to getting married.”

“Remember that time James accidentally pantsed me in front of the entire school? Don’t laugh, you are not allowed to laugh anymore,” Remus said, sternly, pointing a finger at Sirius who bit down on his lip, “And I said to you I didn’t think there was anything more embarrassing?”

“I…remember.”

“This takes the cake.”

“…Do you have one in that picnic basket?”

“There’s one at Number 12.”

“It’s…still ours to eat.”

“It says Congratulations, not feeling particularly celebratory at this moment,” Remus shook his head and shoved the ring back down into his pockets. The same one with a hole in it. The ring would undoubtedly fall out again and Sirius wasn’t sure this time he would pick it up. Maybe a bird would find it, bring it back to its nest. At least then someone, something would use it as part of their home.

“We don’t have a lot of options here Remus, and I’m—”

“Trying to make the best of it, you always do. It’s why I wanted to marry you.”

And this was where the guilt set in. This was where Sirius would normally back-peddle, already thinking of ways he could pull the punches and soften the blow. Confess to Remus with his “present face” that he just wasn’t ready now and, in a year, or so when Harry was older, or maybe when the sitting room was painted the perfect shade of yellow, Sirius would say yes, loudly and proudly. Or else return to their home and start plotting a proposal in reverse, where it was Sirius on one knee with shaky hands telling Remus that he just had to be the one to propose and the ring would be perfect, and Remus would smile so wide Sirius would be able to see the gap in his bottom teeth. But Sirius didn’t want to do either of those.

There was always a third choice between yes, and no. You just had to be clever enough and brave enough to find out what it was.

“So…” Sirius breathed out, “How…about we just get trashed instead?”

“What.” Remus asked, unamused, eyes red from tears that hadn’t fallen yet but had dried all the same. Shoulders hunched over. All pride from the start of their drive to the park gone.

“We get trashed. Off the…whatever you packed for our picnic, I’m assuming there’s something?”

“Fucking 20 galleon bottle of wine.”

“Then we drink that. And…then go to a pub down the road. Stay out so late, everyone leaves Number 12, and…we don’t have to deal with anything until…not now.”

“And well just go home together? And sleep in the same bed together? And tomorrow morning tell Harry that love is a joke?”

“Yeah,” Sirius nodded, “I think he can take it.”

“We’ll I can’t. Why—”

“It doesn’t…feel right, Moony. And I didn’t…know until you were down on one knee.”

Remus nodded slowly before starting down the path again. Sirius stood and waited again, watching Remus’s retreating back unsure of whether to stay or follow and try one more time. But he saw Remus reach into the backpack, pulling out the aforementioned bottle of wine. He looked around before magically popping out the cork, pausing on the sidewalk, and chugging the expensive wine like it was water.

He turned his head towards Sirius, holding out the bottle like an olive branch, and for the second time that late afternoon, Sirius walked to catch up to Remus.

“I get most of this.”

“Alright,” Sirius grinned, feeling the guilt that had knotted itself up in the pit of his stomach slowly unravel. He took a sip from the bottle.

He fucking hated wine.

Wrong.

Present face.

--

The night was long, mostly spent drinking in silence across from each other. Not wanting to drink alone but not walking to speak to the other person.

Remus was hurt.

Sirius was in shock, adrenaline coursing through his veins and he would feel the hurt later.

They used a portkey to get home, leaving Sirius’s car at the park for him to retrieve tomorrow, along with anything else left behind.

Dignity.

Maybe love.

Number 12 was empty, as Sirius expected, the Congratulations cake left on the kitchen table, though it had been carved into (as a result of a hoard of impatient children in attendance) no doubt.

Sirius woke up the next morning with a throbbing headache, too old to be drinking all night, and stumbled into the kitchen for a glass of water. He leaned against the refrigerator—a ghastly muggle appliance that Sirius had grown accustomed to in the tiny flat days with him and Remus and hadn’t found a way to make it blend seamlessly into the décor of Number 12.

But at the moment in felt cool and calming on his forehead and racing thoughts.

He hadn’t quite figured out what to do, or what to say, or what was going to happen next.

“Uh…Mr. Black?”

Sirius startled, pulling away from the fridge and running a hand through his hair before turning around to face the voice.

Kelly? Clara? Katie? A muggle babysitter they used for Harry from the neighborhood. They had cycled through so many over the years, between accidental magic and Number 12 Grimmauld Place deciding to have a mind of its own whenever Remus and Sirius would leave, that Sirius was starting to lose track of the names.

“Oh, hi K…aaa…rrriiitt—”

“Karina.”

“Right, right, sorry, Karina, long night,” Sirius offered, giving her a weak smile, “Thank you for staying…over unexpectedly. Let me just find…” Sirius walked across the kitchen and down the hallway leading to the front door where they kept a small chest of drawers. A stack of muggle money was in the first one, after Sirius had attempted to pay babysitter and pizza delivery persons one too many times with galleons. “Sorry about that—was Harry alright?”

“He went into a sugar coma about eight and has been asleep since. I did my best to clean up the party.”

“Ah, what would we do without you, Kate.”

“Karina.”

Sirius closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face, silently cursing himself, “Right. Here’s…a little extra just for that.”

The young girl laughed, reaching up to the hook to grab her coat and her small purse before accepting the money, “How…did last night go?” she asked, a smile on her face as she expected what Sirius knew everyone expected.

“I…I said no!” Sirius exclaimed with false excitement, extending his empty ring fingers to Karina and watched as her face fell and turned pink.

Seemed about right.

[tenebriism]

Ghirahim/Fi for the ship meme thing? ( if you don't ship them, no pressure )

Send Me a Ship and I'll Tell You . . . [ ACCEPTING ] ;;

GHIRAHIM X FI :

Who is more likely to hurt the other?

Ghirahim would 100%, without a doubt, hurt Fi before Fi would hurt him, whether accidental or intentional.

Who is emotionally stronger?

Fi. Ghirahim suffers from one tiny little inconvenience and he has a meltdown.

Who is physically stronger?

I'd have to say Fi? Simply because light trumps darkness, and as the spirit of the Master Sword, Fi has a huge advantage over Ghirahim.

Who is more likely to break a bone? 

Neither. They're sword spirits, so they're extremely resilient.

Who knows best what to say to upset the other? 

Ghirahim. He's a spiteful, rude man and won't hesitate to resort to tactics that give him the upper hand, even towards someone he's, supposedly, supposed to care about. This gets better as time passes and he learns how to treat other people, but it's definitely a rocky start.

Who is most likely to apologize first after an argument? 

Fi. Ghirahim would sooner perish than ever admit he was wrong.

Who treats who’s wounds more often? 

Surprisingly, I could see them both being extremely over-protective and attentive? Just in their own unique ways.

Who is in constant need of comfort? 

Ghirahim, although he won't want it and he won't admit it. Post Skyward Sword, he has a lot of self doubts and self worth issues... a lot to work on, and work through, basically.

Who gets more jealous? 

Ghirahim, Ghirahim, Ghirahim. He's territorial, his emotions are a ticking time bomb on a good day, and if something or someone is imposing upon something that is HIS, he definitely gets pissy about it.

Who’s most likely to walk out on the other? 

Ghirahim would walk out on Fi. In fact, he probably does it several times amidst their relationship, and then comes crawling back like a fool. It's not necessarily to hurt Fi, but his ability to cling onto something good, and believe he DESERVES this aforementioned good, is non-existent.

Who will propose? 

I could see Ghirahim proposing to Fi. When Ghirahim loves, he loves INTENSELY, and if he has decided that he wants to be with someone for the rest of his life, he's not going to hesitate to seal the deal. It would take QUITE some time to get there, though.

Who has the most difficult parents?

Ghirahim. The way Demise treated him as nothing more than a tool to be used? Hardly acknowledged his existence or individuality, and Ghirahim definitely has some trauma from that... meanwhile, Link would probably give the Master Sword bubble baths and wrap it in a blanket if he could.

Who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public? 

Surprisingly, Ghirahim, but very, very tentatively.

Who hogs the blankets? 

Definitely Ghirahim, lmfao. It gets better with time, but he's, uh... not the most GENEROUS of beings to start.

Who gets more sad? 

Ghirahim. Fi is still learning human emotions, so I don't think she'd cry much, if at all, and if she does, it would be rare and purely unintentional. Ghirahim, on the other hand, feels... and he feels a LOT. It's a lot easier to get him worked up than it is Fi.

Who is better at cheering the other up? 

Definitely Fi. Ghirahim and positivity don't necessarily mix, and it's difficult for him to get out of his OWN head, let alone help someone else out of theirs.

Who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the time after they make silly jokes?

Mm... I can't see either of them doing that, but if I had to choose? Ghirahim.

Who is more streetwise?

Ghirahim. Not by too, too much, but he's, arguably, had a lot more freedom and exposure than Fi has.

Who is more wise?

Fi.

Who’s the shyest?

Fi. Ghirahim? Shy? Naaaaaah.

Who boasts about the other more? 

Ghirahim about Fi. He finds her absolutely gorgeous even while they're enemies, so once he successfully gets with her? Oh, EVERYONE is gonna know about it (the few people who are willing to listen to his rambling, at least.)

Who sits on whose lap? 

Hilariously, I can see Ghirahim wanting to sit on Fi's lap a lot. Nobody else can sit there if he's there, after all~

@braveryhearted ;;

[frogsmulder]

The X Files 30th Anniversary Mulder Appreciation Post

The thing about Mulder for me, more so than Scully (I don't need to explain the cultural impact her representation has for women) is how relatable he is. When I watched the x files for the first time, even as I thought I was a woman at the time, I didn't at all identify with her. I think this is because of how queer/ neurdivergent coded (or at least the lense I read it through) Mulder is. Don't get me wrong, I wholly believe that this is unintentional, but the facets of his character add up in this sense.

I think also the time in which I watched the x files is somewhat removed from it's creation meaning that I have been fortunate enough to not experience workplace misogyny to the same extent that Scully has, meaning I relate to it less (? Idk) and The Scully effect has already taken place unbeknownst to me, so I have seen more women in STEM than there was during the nineties so her representation is less significant to me who watched this in 2019.

First of all, the childhood trauma is very much a real representation neurodivergency. The important thing for me is how it changes him and I forms his character/decisions into adulthood even if he doesn't realise it. There have been several times where Scully has pointed out that Mulder is chasing his sister in whatever little girl their case involves which he denies, to the point where Scully stops mentioning it, even though both we the audience and she can see it.

We can see how it informs his trust issues and attachment/abandonment issues. Mulder is generally a dichotomy of too easily trusting (like of deep throat, phoebe, dianna), which then he knows he gets hurt by, so he is also slow to trust (Scully, Skinner, X), creating an inner turmoil of logic vs feeling. Scully is an especially important example of how trust/attachment inform each other in Mulder, where once he trusts Scully isn't a spy, he immediately trusts her with everything, which is a big leap. With Scully, he feels like he doesn't have to hold back and can be who he really is, which is where the queer coding comes in: in Scully he has an ally.

Aside from the fact that queer people often experience all or some of the above neurologically, socially Mulder shares similar experiences because of his beliefs. He is portrayed as an outsider, who doesn't really fit in, even though it feels like he should: he has other normal hobbies like basketball, he can work well with others in a team and get on well with them (I know he doesn't always most of the time but the point is he can) writing profiles to help out other departments when asked, having a good partnership with Reggie and report with the VCU etc. But he is still shunned and ostracised for being different. Despite this, he never properly tries to hide that side of him, standing up for his beliefs in face of the damning consequences (insisting in front of the court that Pusher had supernatural powers for instance).

This also resonates a lot autistic experiences: being able to put on a mask to fit in, but never properly fitting in, a fierce sense of justice and truth despite how it may be perceived. This isn't to say that Mulder is autistic but that his experiences are relatable.

Mulder is also kinda queer coded in that he is never shown to have a dating life (neither he or Scully have let's be real) outside of work, but where as Scully, has had fairly normal seemingly healthy relationships in the past (excusing Daniel), Mulder hasn't that we know of. We get to her about Scully's high-school boyfriend but we don't here about Mulder's high-school relationships. Whilst the absence isn't fool-proof evidence that he didn't have any relationships it is more likely to be perceived by the audience as so. This is much like some queer people's dating experience, where we come to sex and relationships later in life because of both social constraints and internal figuring-stuff-out. Then his past two relationships we do know of have been unhealthy, which isn't to say that all queer people start off in unhealthy relationships but that Mulder's initial relationships feel wrong much the way that some queer people in their initial relationships feel whilst they are still trying to figure stuff out.

Then there is the last straw for me which is his inability to sit still, he is always fiddling with something, throwing pencils in the ceiling, impulsively running off, or calling Scully at inconvenient times because he either misses her or has had a thought that he needs to share immediately which is very adhd of him <3

[rainbow-shine]

Okay, I'm sorry for making everything about supernatural, but like, I literally can't stop thinking about a TLOU AU. 

Dean's a mechanic who lives happily with Emma, his daughter. It's just the two of them and even though not everything's perfect, they make it work and just really love each other. Sam's studying law at Stanford or something and has a generally good life as well; maybe he has met Jess already, they're disgustingly in love and equally happy. Everything's as good as it can be.

Then the Cordyceps happens.

Emma dies. Jess dies. And the entire world dies with them.

Dean and Sam essentially become what Tommy and Joel were in TLOU, living nightmares just wanting to survive at any cost. Their hearts hardened and their humanity died the same day their family did. The years go by and the world's still in decline; scavenging, slavery and public executions are the new normal. 

Eventually, they break apart, and Dean ends up in the QZ of Illinois, where he meets a FEDRA agent named Castiel. Obviously, they start on the wrong foot and hate each other to death, but eventually they end up warming to each other; they become allies, friends, best friends and then something they don't quite know how to name. They create a whole smuggling and trade operation without the knowledge of FEDRA and are equally parts feared and admired in the QZ. Both of them have done and continue to do horrible, awful things, but they find peace and perhaps even a certain type of contentment in each other. In a kinder world, they would've called that feeling love.

Of course, Dean wants to go look for Sam. And while Cas isn't exactly on board with leaving the safety net they've built in Illinois, he won't let Dean go on a mad and dangerous quest alone. So, they began to plan.

This is the point where they meet the fireflies; where they meet an allegedly immune child. Neither of them really wants to know anything about this whole vaccine/cure for mankind thing, but the pay promises to be good, and they kinda need it, so they accept. 

They take Jack out of the QZ. Both of them are distrustful and weary of the kid; meanwhile, Jack is his usual self, trusting and perhaps a bit naive. He is amazed by the world and, even though he has faced loss before, he's still optimistic and innocent. Cas, of course, is the first one to warm up to him. They bond really quickly. Dean's puzzled by the gentleness Cas shows to this random kid. It doesn't really bother him, but he doesn't understand it either.

Then, a lot of bad things happen. Like a lot. 

But they stay together. They become a unit. Together, Dean and Cas are a deadly force, and the fact that now they have something dear, something valuable to protect, they become even fiercer. Jack learns a lot, too, about the world from before and the world from now; he learns how trust is hard to give and kindness is a strength not many have. Dean softens and Cas warms. They, however unintentional it was, became a family.

And then Cas gets hurt. Not infected. Just hurt. Something serious enough that would be a threat to his life if he stays on the road. 

So, they find Sam, who has found his place in the world in Lebanon, Kansas. With Eileen. They help Cas, and they settle there for a moment. But Sam and Eileen find out where the fireflies are and point the direction to Dean, who is... reluctant to take Jack without Cas.

He doesn't know how to be a parent anymore. He's not the same man who put Emma to bed with a lullaby and a kiss. Not only that, but he doesn't want to taint Jack's light; he doesn't want to hold him with his blood-stained hands. Cas was the one who understood the kid, he was just the shield that kept him safe. Nothing more and nothing less. 

But Jack clings to him all the same and Dean, despite everything, has a soft heart.

So, with a kiss on Cas' forehead and a very long hug, Dean leaves with Jack. 

And things are... Good.

Jack shares Dean's love for crappy puns and weird pop culture references. They bond over old comic books and movies. Without Cas, they become more dependent on each other. It comes to the point where they don't know how to live apart anymore. They, without even noticing, start planning for a future together; about how they are going to decorate their house in Kansas, what jobs Dean and Cas will take and how Jack could go back to school, a normal school. For the first time in a long time, Dean feels hopeful. 

They arrive at the hospital and fireflies take their dreams away from them.

And the thing is, one year ago, Dean would've done it. He would've given up Jack without hesitation. He would've felt like crap, but he would've convinced himself it was for the greater good. When Jack was nothing but a stranger; when he was nothing more than a sweet, weird kid, they paid him to get out of the QZ, he would've done it. 

But not now.

Not now, when that kid had become his kid.

Dean doesn't think twice about saving him. He's not feeling anything while he murders everyone who dares to stand between him and his child. He doesn't hear the pleas for mercy or the screams of hate, he hyperfocus on finding Jack before it's too late. He's dooming the world and he's doing it without guilt and without regret. Carrying Jack in his arms, taking him away from there, feels like a victory, like a second chance.

After that, he takes his kid home, where he will be safe.

He lies to Jack. He lies to Sam. He lies to everyone.

But he doesn't lie to Cas.

Cas, who wants to feel anger, betrayal, or even sadness; who was a FEDRA agent, who still remembers and griefs about what the world used to be. Cas, who wants to feel something else besides relief. Because Jack's alive, because his little, makeshift family is together. So really, there's only one thing Cas could say:

"I would've done the same thing."