#unless people really read textbooks like that

[conanssummerchild]

it's absolutely hilarious to me that in one's got class and the other one dyes when luke and lorelai walk in and shane hides in the closet, the first thing that occurs to jess is to start reading his chemistry textbook. good job, very natural behaviour

[synity]

Hey!

I was wondering if I could request a Wonwoo x Reader — something with a strangers-to-lovers theme where the reader falls first, but Wonwoo falls harder. I'd love it to have an intense romantic vibe with some angst and emotional depth. Maybe some possessive (but respectful) kind of love, and eventually them building a family together.

I'm not sure if my request makes sense, but if it does, I’d really appreciate it if you could give it a try — even if it takes time! I'll be looking forward to it. 🩵🩷

BREATHE ME

(Jeon Wonwoo x FemReader)

*Romantic angst, strangers-to-lovers, emotional, slow-burn*

I never believed in fate not until the day I met Jeon Wonwoo.

It was a rainy afternoon, the kind that made people rush through the streets, duck under umbrellas, and curse the sky. I, however, welcomed the cold drizzle. It gave me an excuse to slow down, to breathe amidst a life that often felt too loud, too fast. I was on my way to the bookstore a tiny one, hidden in the corner of an old alley near campus. The kind of place no one really noticed unless they were looking for it.

I had just finished a long shift at the library where I worked part-time. The dust of centuries-old books clung to my skin, and the dull ache of standing for hours throbbed in my legs. Still, I walked. My tote bag was weighed down by textbooks and dreams I hadn’t quite given up on yet.

That’s when I saw him.

He was standing inside the bookstore, a book in one hand, his fingers lightly brushing over the edge of a page like it was a piece of art. He didn’t notice me, not then. But I noticed everything about him. The way his brows furrowed in concentration, the curve of his lips as he muttered something under his breath, the gentle shake of his head when he decided the book wasn’t what he was looking for. I remember thinking he looked like a painting still, quiet, timeless.

It’s strange, isn’t it? How someone you’ve never met can suddenly become a character in the story you tell yourself every night before sleep.

I didn’t talk to him that day.

But I went back.

Again. And again.

At first, it was coincidence. Then it became intention.

He’d come every Wednesday at the same time. Always alone. Always browsing the literature section. And I… I would pretend to be lost in books, stealing glances like a teenager with a hopeless crush.

He never noticed.

Until he did.

It was a Thursday. I almost didn’t go because of a deadline. But something in me tugged, told me to skip the library and head straight to the shop. He was already there, dressed in all black, a cap pulled low, fingers dancing along the spines of new arrivals. I made my way to the poetry shelf, pretending not to look.

Then I heard his voice.

“You always pick that one.”

My heart dropped into my stomach. I turned, stunned, blinking up at him. His voice was low and rich, like velvet over gravel. He wasn’t smiling, but his eyes… they held something recognition, amusement, warmth.

“I-I like this author,” I replied, gripping the book in my hands a little too tightly.

He nodded. “You’ve read it five times. At least. I’ve been counting.”

My face burned. “You… noticed?”

He looked down for a second, then back at me. “Hard not to.”

That’s how it began.

From that moment, something changed.

I started going to the bookstore not for the books, not even for the poetry I claimed to love but for him.

Wonwoo.

That was his name. He told me the next time we bumped into each other, casually slipping it in like it wasn’t going to rearrange my entire world. He didn’t ask for mine right away. He just nodded when I introduced myself, then went back to the fiction shelf with that quiet smile that never quite reached his eyes but made something flutter in my chest anyway.

Our conversations were brief at first. Soft and hesitant. Like two people afraid to speak too loud, afraid to pop the bubble that somehow formed around us. He had a calm aura, but it wasn’t cold it was grounding. Like a forest. Like shade on a summer day. And he listened. God, he listened. Like every word I said mattered.

“I work in publishing,” he told me once, though I later learned he was far more than just an editor. He’d authored books, quietly helped build the careers of some bestselling writers, and was known in circles I only dreamed of stepping into. But he never boasted. If anything, he always downplayed himself.

That made me fall harder.

And I was falling. Hard.

The crush was no longer a secret I whispered into my pillow. I couldn’t help it. I looked for him in crowds, smiled when my phone lit up with his name, read into every soft touch of his fingers when he handed me a coffee.

But I didn’t tell him. I didn’t dare.

Because he was… Wonwoo.

And I was just me.

Still, he kept showing up. Not just at the bookstore, but at the art gallery I mentioned in passing. At the same café I worked at on weekends. Coincidences became too specific. One night, he even showed up with a scarf I’d mentioned loving weeks ago and said, “It looked like something you’d wear.”

That night, I cried into my pillow, unsure what the hell we were becoming but praying, hoping it was more.

And then came the day I realized he was falling too.

It was late autumn. The bookstore was about to close, and we had sat on the floor near the back wall, flipping through a novel we both loved, arguing over its ending like we hadn’t just spent hours doing this already.

I was laughing. Not a soft laugh but a real, throw-my-head-back one.

And he was staring.

I felt it. The weight of his gaze. When I looked at him, his eyes didn’t move away.

He was still.

Too still.

And then his hand reached forward, gently brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I think I’m in trouble,” he whispered.

I blinked. “Why?”

“Because I didn’t mean to feel this much.”

He didn’t kiss me that day.

But his words did.

After that, everything changed. The air between us charged with something electric, something dangerous. I couldn’t sleep that night. Neither could he he texted me at 3AM: Can I see you tomorrow?

We started spending every evening together. In silence. In bookstores. In hidden cafés. In the park under fading lamplight. He was thoughtful. He never rushed me. Never pushed. He asked questions that mattered. Looked at me like I was a mystery worth solving. Held my hand like it was a vow.

But there was something in him I couldn’t reach.

A shadow behind his eyes.

He told me he’d been hurt. That he didn’t believe in “forever” because it always came with a deadline. That the last time he let someone in, he watched them leave anyway.

“I’m scared of ruining things,” he admitted one night, his voice raw.

“You won’t,” I whispered, resting my forehead against his. “I’m not asking for forever. Just... stay for now.”

That was the night he kissed me.

It wasn’t fireworks. It was something quieter. More intimate. Like a prayer.

But with every passing day, I saw it he was falling. Slowly. Deeply.

And the way he looked at me… like he was memorizing me. Like he had already imagined a life.

He fell quietly, but hard.

Harder than I ever expected.

It started small. The shift.

At first, I told myself I imagined it because I always do that when I’m scared of losing something good. The overthinking. The second-guessing. The flinch when something beautiful starts to tremble.

But Wonwoo was different.

He’d made me feel safe. Sure. Steady. Like he’d catch me even before I fell.

So when the silence between texts stretched longer, I pretended he was just busy.

When he stopped showing up at the café like he used to, I convinced myself he needed space.

But then, the first real silence happened.

He left me on read.

For an entire day.

No explanation. No excuse.

And it crushed me more than I’d like to admit.

I sat on the steps outside my apartment building, phone in hand, reading our past messages like some kind of love letter eulogy. I replayed his voice in my head, his laughter, that night under the stars where he told me, “I didn’t mean to feel this much.”

And now he was acting like he didn’t feel anything at all.

When I finally saw him again, it was by chance.

or fate.

I was walking home from the bookstore, arms full of paper and poetry, when I saw him across the street. Frozen. Like he didn’t expect to see me either.

Our eyes met.

And there it was that old look again.

The one that used to undo me.

He crossed the road in slow steps. Didn’t say anything at first. Just stared.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, voice rough like he hadn’t used it in days.

I didn’t reply. I didn’t know how.

“I’ve been... off. I know.”

I waited.

“I started overthinking,” he admitted. “How serious this is. How much I want you. How scared I am to want this much and still not be enough.”

That was when I broke.

“You already were enough, Wonwoo,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “You were more than enough. I didn’t need perfection. I needed you to show up.”

“I know.” He took a breath like it hurt. “And I didn’t. I got so scared of falling deeper, I started pulling away. I thought if I stepped back first, I could soften the blow.”

“And you think hurting me like this softens anything?” I choked out, tears falling.

He looked wrecked. And I hated that I still wanted to pull him into my arms.

Then, in a moment of desperation—he did it.

He wrapped his arms around me, tight. Desperate. Like he was anchoring himself.

“I didn’t know I could feel this much,” he whispered against my hair. “You made me feel everything, and I panicked.”

I didn't move. But I felt the warmth of him seep into my bones.

I wanted to stay there. But I needed to protect myself too.

I gently pushed him back.

“I love you, Wonwoo,” I said, voice trembling. “But I can’t keep being the only one willing to stay when it gets hard.”

His eyes widened. Like that was the first time he realized what he was about to lose.

And he broke. Right there.

His knees hit the pavement. Mine followed. We didn’t care about the people passing by.

We clung to each other like lifelines. Both crying. Both shaking.

He pressed his forehead to mine. “Let me fix this. Please. I’ll do anything.”

After that night, things didn’t magically heal.

But he showed up.

Every day.

He made coffee for me before I woke up. Showed up at my class presentations with quiet pride in his eyes. Walked me home when it rained. Sat with me during my breakdowns and said nothing just held me like I was allowed to fall apart.

And when he asked me to move in with him months later, he didn’t make a speech. He just handed me a key and said, “Let’s start writing our story together, not just visiting chapters.”

We learned each other’s fears. Our triggers. Our love languages. Our silences. And we chose to love anyway.

Wonwoo became mine.

Not just in words but in the way he lived his days around me.

He was possessive, yes but in a way that always respected my space. Protective, not controlling. His love was quiet but all-consuming. He’d touch my lower back in crowded rooms. Glance at me a second longer if someone else made me laugh too loud.

And one night, years later, while sitting on the floor with photo albums and our newborn sleeping nearby, he whispered,

“Remember when I told you I didn’t believe in forever?”

I nodded.

He took my hand, pressing a kiss into my palm. “I was wrong. I just hadn’t met you yet.”

I noticed it before I admitted it.

The way Wonwoo’s hand tightened slightly whenever someone complimented me. How his arm slid around my waist like a quiet claim, even when the conversation was harmless. The way his gaze lingered on anyone who laughed a little too loud near me.

I knew he loved me. That was never the problem.

The problem was when it started to feel like he didn’t know how to let go.

It came to a head one evening after a long day of classes and studio time. I was exhausted. He had picked me up, like always, and we went back to his place. The silence in the car had been thick.

He glanced at me when we got inside.

“You’re quiet.”

I shrugged, kicking off my shoes. “Just tired.”

He followed me into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as I poured myself water. “Something happened?”

I took a slow sip. “No. Not exactly.”

He waited.

And that’s when I said it.

“Wonwoo, do you trust me?”

His brow furrowed. “Of course I do.”

“Then why does it sometimes feel like you don’t trust anyone else around me?”

There. I said it.

The air shifted.

He didn’t respond right away. Just stared at me, eyes searching mine like he wasn’t sure what I meant or maybe he did, and didn’t want to face it.

“I’m not accusing you,” I added quickly, softer this time. “It’s just… sometimes, it feels like you’re always on guard. Like you’re constantly trying to prove something.”

He looked away for a moment, jaw tightening.

“I’m just protecting what’s mine.”

“I’m not something you own, Wonwoo.”

That was the first time I’d ever raised my voice at him. It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.

His shoulders tensed. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know you didn’t,” I said gently. “But I can’t always feel like I’m being watched, like I’m being hovered over. I love you. I come home to you. Isn’t that enough?”

He was quiet for a long time.

And then he said, “I’m scared.”

That cracked something open in me.

“I’ve never had someone like you before,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “And when I see people looking at you, laughing with you, getting close… I feel like I’m holding something I don’t deserve. And I’m terrified one day you’ll realize that.”

Tears pricked my eyes.

I stepped closer. “Wonwoo… you do deserve me. And I deserve you. But love doesn’t mean you have to hold on so tightly you forget I’m standing right beside you.”

He swallowed hard, eyes glassy.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” I whispered, voice cracking. “But if we don’t talk about these things… if we keep letting silence do the talking, we’re going to break something we can’t fix.”

He looked at me then really looked.

And when I opened my arms, he stepped into them like he was falling. We sank to our knees, holding each other like we were the last people on earth. My fingers in his hair. His arms wrapped tightly around me. My tears soaking into his hoodie.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured over and over. “I’m sorry I made you feel like that.”

“I know you didn’t mean to,” I whispered. “But you have to let yourself breathe too. Love doesn’t have to hurt to be real.”

And in the silence that followed, we held each other until the shaking stopped.

Until his grip softened.

Until we remembered that we were on the same side.?

[americaine-noces]

under the bleachers ⋆˚࿔

what starts with one stolen glance across the soccer field turns into a secret-laced spiral of late-night drives, under-the-bleachers kisses, and the kind of love that makes you reckless. in a town that doesn’t understand girls like them, they find freedom in each other—and maybe something like forever. ⟢ a/n : ending’s almost theree!!!!

you’re not sure when it stopped being a secret.

maybe it was when natalie started stealing your scrunchies on purpose and wearing them on her wrist like a trophy. maybe it was when you kissed her behind the vending machines after sixth period and a freshman definitely saw but didn’t say anything—just widened their eyes and scampered off like they’d stumbled into an urban legend. or maybe it was when she started showing up to practice with two slushies and only ever handed one to you, muttering “team spirit” with that crooked smile like she wasn’t even trying to pretend anymore.

either way, people know now.

and the thing is? it’s not bad. it’s not like the movies made it seem—no slurs carved into your locker, no lunch trays flipped, no whispered threats in the hallway. just glances. longer ones. sharper ones. silence that stretches too long when you walk into a room together. people noticing. people noticing.

you thought you’d hate that part.

you always said you didn’t want attention unless it was the shiny, normal kind—the applause-after-a-game, captain-of-the-squad kind.

but with natalie’s hand hooked casually through your belt loop, her chipped nails grazing your hipbone while she grins like she invented rebellion, you kind of… don’t care.

you’re in too deep for caring.

lunch is a disaster, as usual.

she’s sitting on the table instead of the bench like a gremlin, hoodie up, sunglasses on indoors like she’s avoiding paparazzi. you’re next to her, tray in front of you, textbook open to a page you’ve read five times and absorbed none of.

natalie is carefully peeling the pepperoni off your pizza, one by one.

“you realize that’s my food, right?” you ask, nudging her with your elbow.

she doesn’t look up. “you realize i’m dating you, right?”

your breath catches.

she said it. like it was nothing. like it was a fact.

and maybe it is a fact. you just hadn’t said it out loud yet.

you blink. “you just said it.”

she freezes with a pepperoni halfway to her mouth. “said what?”

“‘dating.’ you said you’re dating me.”

natalie groans like you’re making it a thing. “i meant it as, like, a vibe.”

“you literally just defined our relationship.”

“take it back.”

“never.”

she peeks at you from under her hoodie, sunglasses slipping down her nose.

you grin. “you’re my girlfriend.”

“oh my god,” she mutters, chucking a grape at you.

you catch it in your mouth.

she looks disgusted and a little impressed.

“you’re gonna be annoying about this, huh?” she asks.

“obnoxious,” you promise.

natalie shakes her head, reaches over, and steals your drink like that’s gonna shut you up.

(it won’t.)

after school, you’re at her place. kind of.

her room’s a mess of old band posters, mismatched socks, a desk covered in half-burned candles and scratchy mixtapes in sharpie-covered jewel cases. it smells like vanilla, weed, and citrus—something that might be your shampoo, which is a whole other thing you’re not unpacking today.

she’s on the bed, upside down, legs thrown over the headboard. you’re doing homework on the floor like a chump.

“would you still like me if i shaved my head?” she asks suddenly.

“yes.”

“what if i got an eyebrow piercing?”

“hot.”

“what if i joined… theater?”

you pause. look up slowly. “babe—”

“okay, too far,” she mutters, grimacing. “even i wouldn’t do that.”

you throw a pen at her. she dodges. throws a sock at you in retaliation.

you throw it back. you miss. she cackles.

then, softer: “you’re not bored of me yet?”

you freeze.

it’s casual, the way she says it. offhand. like she’s asking about the weather.

but she’s not.

you set your pencil down.

look at her, really look.

at the way her knee bounces when she’s overthinking. the way her knuckles are always a little scraped from something. the way she always tries to pretend she’s tougher than she is, until you touch her wrist or her hair or the corner of her mouth and she goes quiet.

“not even close,” you say.

natalie turns her head, eyes unreadable.

you let the silence sit.

you’ve learned not to fill every pause. not with her. she needs room. space to come closer on her own.

eventually, she rolls over and flops beside you on the floor, stealing your notes.

you let her.

that friday, you wear her jersey again.

but this time, she doesn’t look surprised when she sees you in it.

she just nods, lips twitching, like: yeah. that’s mine.

you’re standing by the bleachers, pom-poms tucked under your arm, and natalie walks past you, barely glancing over—but she winks.

and the whole school sees it.

and you let them.

you’re done hiding. you’re done pretending this is anything but real.

later, when they lose the game and the field is heavy with the weight of almosts and mud and curses yelled into the grass—when you find her by the water fountain, sweating and breathing hard, bruised under her eye and pissed at herself—she says, “you sure you still wanna wear this thing?”

you reach for her hand.

tug her close.

and say, “you’re worth the loss.”

and this time, she doesn’t flinch. she just kisses you like she means it.

like maybe… this is a win, too.

⟢ a/n : this is longer bcs ending is in next part😁 part four ⊹ ࣪ ˖ part five ⊹ ࣪ ˖ part six ⊹ ࣪ ˖

[rambling-at-midnight]

Pros and Cons of Midnight Snacks

Pairing: Jason Todd x Civilian!Reader. No pronouns so can be read as any gender!

Summary: Meet-ugly with the Red Hood due to a gas station robbery gone wrong.

Word count: ~2k

(I'm branching out to other fandoms, apparently. Let me know if you want a sequel. Enjoy!)

You weren't born in Gotham, so it sometimes still surprises you that you had adjusted so well to its particular brand of crazy.

You're from somewhere a little more south of New Jersey, although most places in the U.S. are a little south of Jersey unless you're a lobster farmer from Maine or a tree hugger from Vermont.

Both of those descriptions sound critical, but they weren't meant to be. Right about now you're seriously considering taking up lobster farming.

No one sane ever moves to Gotham. Everyone knows the stories, and even if most of the country didn't believe all of them, most people aren't stupid enough to disregard them. And you certainly weren't stupid. But rent was dirt cheap for a city, and so was tuition for GU's vet school. So you thought to yourself, "How bad could it really be," bought pepper spray and a taser, and accepted the admissions offer.

You'd always liked iced coffee more than green bean casserole and peach cobbler, anyway.

Reading news articles hadn't been enough to prepare you for the utter insanity of Gotham City, unfortunately. But you adapted. You always did. Upgraded your taser, memorized the bus schedule, learned the less sketchy areas of town, did your best not to get caught outside after dark. Kept your head down, ignored the crime lords and genetic experiments gone wrong and lunatics and vigilantes scurrying along the rooftops, and you'd survived for almost two years without many incidents.

But you'd gone to the library because you were critically unable to work in your apartment, gotten distracted by panicking about how little you really knew about next week's test content, and stared at the pages of your textbook for almost an hour as you fought back tears. So now you were running late and it was dark as you walked home because the buses were down. Of course they were. That lunatic that thought he was a crocodile had smashed a bunch last week and they hadn't been replaced yet.

Goosebumps prickle on the back of your neck, but you tell yourself it's nothing. Keep your head down. Criminals target the people that look most obviously paranoid first.

You're just burnt out. Severely. But the end of your sophomore year of veterinary school was looming, which meant you would have a relaxing three-month vacation before the next one started.

And no, you weren't thinking about next year's summer 'vacation' of clinicals. Because if this year was bad after a year of summer vacation, what will it do to you to have no break at all?

That's a future you problem, thankfully.

You're still feeling sorry for yourself when you reach the gas station right next to your apartment building. You walk right by it, remember what's in your fridge or pantry—thanks, grocery store self, thinking you don't need any snacking foods—then backtrack.

Since starting vet school, you've tried to be healthier with your eating habits. Brains lacking in nutrients absorb information less efficiently, after all. But you're still a sucker for Cheez-Its and energy drinks.

You won't drink it tonight, obviously.

Right as you put the items on the counter for the bored-looking cashier to scan the barcodes, something cold presses to your temple.

The cashier freezes, eyes blown wide with panic.

"Easy there," someone says to your left. A man, voice oily in a way that sets your teeth on edge immediately. "Do what I say, or I blow their brains out, then yours."

A gun.

A gun is pressed to your head.

Because of course it is. A shitty way to end a shitty day. You should have kept walking right past the gas station.

Before you moved to Gotham, you might have screamed and panicked, but you know better now. You know to stay calm.

You clench your fists to stop them from shaking so noticeably, but otherwise don't move. You've seen hostage situations before, because this is Gotham, but you've never been the hostage.

The gun feels heavy. And so cold, like it's sapping all the heat from your skin.

"Okay, dude," the cashier said soothingly. "You want the money in the register?"

The robber scoffs. "Obviously."

"All right." The cashier's voice is even and soft, unthreatening. You wonder if training for situations like these are required for cashiers in Gotham. It certainly hadn't been for your old job, although that hadn't been in New Jersey, and it hadn't been at a twenty-four seven gas station, either. "I need to get a key to unlock it, okay? So I'm reaching below the counter."

"Just get the key," the robber demands. The gun shifts against your temple. You fantasize for a half-second about acting like an action hero, disarming him and taking him down all on your own. But you're not a vigilante and you've never been in a real-life fight before. You don't think you're fast enough to get out of the barrel's way before he pulls the trigger. If you managed to shove it away, what if he fired and hit the cashier instead?

Then comes the sound of another gun clicking.

Great, you think half-hysterically. Just what we need. Even more deadly weapons.

"Lower the gun," growls a modulated voice, and everyone freezes.

The Red Hood is standing behind the robber, also pointing a gun to his head like the meme of people lined up in a church with guns aimed at the person in front of them.

The robber lets his gun dip a little bit. Distracted enough that it's not pressed directly to your temple anymore.

Not to brag, but you recover the quickest. It's probably the adrenaline.

Thank God you keep your keychain in hand while out at night. Your fingers shake, but you have your pepper spray up in a second, and the robber's turning to look at your sudden movement when you squeeze down on the nozzle.

The spray hits him directly in the eyes, and his howl of pain is immediate. But you don't stop spraying, even when the cashier starts to splutter and your own eyes water.

The gun goes off, once in the robber's hands, and a second time when it hits the ground because he's dropped it in favor of clutching his burning face.

You stop the stream of pepper spray, because now the air is spicy when you breathe, but can't force yourself to lower your hand. The Red Hood quickly handcuffs the would-be robber, which is only difficult because he's clawing at his eyes in pain, and executes a tricky-looking martial arts move to get him on the ground.

Despite everything, you're impressed.

The Red Hood is bigger than maybe anyone you've ever seen before. He could have punched the robber in half like paper, probably, but you appreciate the finesse a little bit more.

"Hey." A gentle voice, and gentle hands, take the pepper spray out of your grip. "Quick thinking there," you're complimented. By the fucking Red Hood, one of Gotham's most infamous crime lords. The first time you read about him in the papers, he was chopping off people's heads, and every story since has been similarly alarming. But he's not supposed to be here; the Red Hood stays in Park Row, which locals call Crime Alley, apparently, and you've always steered very clear from that part of town.

"Can you look at me?"

You do. Maybe he won't chop off your head if you listen well enough.

"Are you okay?"

You blink. That... does not compute.

The Red Hood doesn't save people. And he doesn't leave Crime Alley. So what's he doing outside of Crime Alley, saving people?

The robber is still screaming, eyes screwed up in pain. He's handcuffed on the ground.

"You should probably let him wash out his eyes, at least," you tell the cashier. "Pepper spray is pretty painful." You'd sprayed yourself once out of curiosity, realized how much it burned, then sprinted to the shower to rinse it off. Which, pro tip: not a good move, especially with warm water. Water reactivates it by opening your pores, or something, and when you're in the shower it just spreads all over your body.

Your eyes are watering. The Red Hood sees that, because he tells you, "Let's get some air," and tugs you out of the gas station.

He's right. The cool night air does feel good. You blink away the stinging in your eyes and he repeats, "Are you okay?" His voice is robotic from the mask, but kind of pleasant at the same time. You'd never guess just from listening to him that he's a killer.

"Yes," you say automatically. "Thanks," you add. You're lightheaded for some reason; you sway on your feet.

"You sure?" he asks critically. "You look... pale." Judging by the pause, 'pale' wasn't the word he really wanted to say. The red helmet tilts. "You weren't shot, were you?"

"I don't think so," you shrug. Then you look down at yourself and realize that there's a large bloodstain on your hip. "Never mind. I think I was."

"Jesus!" he yelps at the sight. It's kind of funny, actually, this grown man built like a brick shithouse yelping at the sight of blood. "Why didn't you say anything?"

You shrug and peel your sticky shirt away from the wound to inspect it. "I thought I just bumped something." Sure enough, it's just a graze. You weren't sure which shot had hit you, but you'd honestly been injured worse. Plus, supervising surgeries at the animal clinic you'd worked at for years has desensitized you to the sight of blood. Maybe it's also altered your perception on what 'serious injuries' count as; the amount of times you've been bitten by startled dogs...

"You need to go to the hospital."

"It's just a scratch," you argue. "I can't go to the hospital. I need to feed my cat."

"Your cat can wait. You're bleeding a lot."

"I'm already late, and if I miss dinner, he'll start pissing all over my apartment."

The Red Hood sighs. "Where do you live?"

Your mouth opens to answer on instinct. You snap it shut just in time and glare. "Why?"

"So I can feed your cat for you while you go to the hospital."

It's nice of him to offer, but... "No."

"No?"

Maybe it's not the best idea to refuse Gotham's most prominent crime lord, but it would also be pretty stupid to tell a strange man where you live. Especially when he happens to be said crime lord.

"Look," you sigh. "I'm a vet student. I have surgical tools at home to treat myself with, and I promise, under the blood, the bullet barely hit me. I've been hurt worse by Chihuahuas that hate the vet."

"There's no way I can convince you to change your mind?"

"It's been a long day," you sigh. "I really, really just want to go home." And he's blocking the path. Your apartment building is directly behind him, just calling your name.

"At least let me walk you to your building." He holds his hands up at your suspicious look and assures you, "I won't ask for the apartment number."

"I'm literally right there." You point.

He turns, sees how close you are to being home, and says, "Seriously?"

"Seriously. What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you were some kind of villain."

"I'm reformed," he grumbles.

"Well, good for you."

You make sure you have your keys and your wallet, then step around him and make it all the way to your building's door before he calls, "Wait!" The Red Hood's jogging to catch up to you, holding the box of Cheez-Its and energy drink you'd almost died for. "You forgot these," he says.

"Thanks," you say, taking them. It would have been a shame to waste four dollars.

"You're welcome," he says. There's something odd about his voice, but you attribute it to the mask, scan to be let into the building, and make sure it's fully closed before heading to the elevator.

Your cat is unhappy about dinner being an hour late. He weaves between your feet, making his protests loudly and viscerally known. You wince. He's worse than the dogs that bark in this building sometimes.

Your poor neighbors.

You give him his wet food, then hop in the shower to clean off your hip. It bled a lot, but once the blood washes away, it's actually not as bad as you thought. You've stitched up animals before, but never yourself, and decide against trying tonight. If it heals a little unevenly, who cares? No one will see it, anyway.

You pad the wound with gauze, tape it over, and fall into bed. Staring at the ceiling, you're forced to admit to yourself that you may be looking up more in the future. Just to see if anyone in a red helmet is running on a rooftop nearby.

It was a long day. But, strangely, almost dying wasn't the worst part of it.

Actually... it may have been the best part.

~~

Forever tag list:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

[wolfiesmoon]

Bakery

Leona x gn!reader

ok but can we feel the love tonight tho

i learned something new recently and i want to put this knowledge to good use (smirks evilly at leona)

also i am sick asf right now so i apologise if this is sloppily proofread

It seems like being Leona's pillow has become a part of your daily at this point. It's become an unspoken routine for you.

Usually, he'd sleep anywhere but he had to adapt his sleeping habits a little because of you. Turns out most people don't find the floor of the greenhouse a comfortable napping spot.

Usually, the perfect spot is your room in Ramshackle dorm. It's quiet and empty, save for the pesky ghosts that interrupt the two of you sometimes. It makes for the perfect hiding place when Ruggie is bothering him with some stupid papers he needs to solve for potionology, too.

All in all, worth the walk to the dorm. Especially since he gets to see you and feel your warmth without fail.

You were already waiting for him on your bed, busying yourself with scrolling through your Magicam feed. Usually, you keep a few textbooks for studying with you, but exams have mostly concluded for now. You know once Leona attaches onto you, you're not going to be able to leave for atleast 2 hours, so it's always great to prepare in advance.

Sure enough, you heard familiar footsteps getting closer and the door opened to reveal your sleepy lover. His tail swished when he caught sight of you. What a lovely sight, indeed.

"Hey Leona, had a good day?" you ask casually and he sighs in response, mumbling something about being tired. Well, that's just the usual, isn't it?

He climbs up on the bed and you smile at his sleepy expression. He's so cute when he's sleepy, but you probably shouldn't tell him that unless you want to get glared at.

Instead of crashing on top of you like you're used to, though, he places his hands on your belly, still sitting at your side. You raise an eyebrow at him, but he doesn't even meet your eyes.

Suddenly, his hands start moving in a kneading motion. A surprise massage? Not that you mind it, but that's highly unusual coming from Leona of all people. If anything, it should be the other way around.

"Leona..?" you question, trying to get a good look at his face. You can't really see it well because of the hair that fell to the side of his face. But from what little you can see, he seems to be in sort of a trance right now. His eyes are barely opened and he's wearing a little satisfied smile on his face. He doesn't respond to you at all.

"Leona?" you try again, a little firmer this time. He suddenly stops, probably finally coming back to his senses. You can see the way his eyes widen for a moment before he falls down on top of you without a word, wrapping his arms around you. Now you can't see his face at all, unable to read his expression.

"Leona, what was that?" you hugged him back, still a bit dumbfounded. You weren't going to lie though, that felt really nice.

"Don't ever bring this up again." Leona did not seem in the mood to discuss what just happened any further. He could have sworn he left that behaviour behind as a toddler. How embarrasing.

He's kind of worried now. That's how much you affect him.

"Oh... uh, okay." you pet the back of his head lovingly. Hmmm... now that you think of it, Grim does the same thing sometimes. The common denominator with Grim and Leona is that they're both cats, atleast somewhat.

If you apply this knowledge to what you know about cats in general... Oh, Leona, that silly goose. Seems he's a bit embarrased about kneading on you. You wonder if it was pure instinct.

yep, turns out the big kitties knead too, ain't that just a testament to the tried and true saying "cat is cat"

[strwberri-milk]

Hello! I hope you are doing well. Can I request Rafayel, Zayne, and Sylus with a bookworm reader (who loves buying books to the point she has a wall full of books at her apartment). The fluffier the scenario, the better. Thank you!

hihi!! ive written sylus (here) (the post will be posted on feb 12th and i have no idea if i'll remember to add it into this post bc im writing this on jan 13th LMAO)

Rafayel finds your collection of books super interesting. He's especially curious by any special editions you have - even more so if they're from first prints for older books because he just thinks they're cool. He'll flip through them on occasion and ask which ones you recommend he read. He's not super big on reading so honestly, no chance he'll actually read the book but he's just trying to connect with you! He's also the type of partner that will buy you any book you want, or multiple versions of the same book if a special release comes out. Also, if you ask him nicely he'll definitely either rebind, spray edges, or a combination of both for your books if you want him to! He lives for it and loves being able to add to your collection in a way that's close to his heart.

Zayne inadvertently has a collection of books but they're all medicine textbooks that he gathered from school or picked up to do research on certain procedures. They're not on display the way yours are and primarily sit in his office since that's where he needs them more. He isn't super interested in reading your books unless you've got a lot of history/non-fiction. That's just what he typically likes to read, but he also likes books that are about people or like, coming of age stories - something that makes you really think. He's just super picky so it's hard to buy him books but he will read with you sometimes if he's got the time and a book to read.

[pankowcrumbs]

PR relationship X Will Poulter

MasterList

Will Poulter Masterlist

The first time I met Will Poulter, he didn’t look at me. Not properly, anyway. He nodded in my direction, murmured a hello, and turned back to the publicist mid-sentence like I wasn’t even in the room. Charming.

I tried not to take it personally. I’d been warned this was all for show a bit of strategic matchmaking. Our teams had cooked up the idea after the first round of press photos for our upcoming project looked “a little too professional” and “not enough spark.” Translation: we didn’t look like people anyone wanted to write fanfiction about.

So now, here we were, sitting at a long oak table in a private conference room, across from each other like two actors at a chemistry read neither of us had signed up for.

“They just want a bit of buzz,” my agent had said that morning, like it was a weather forecast. “Some hand-holding here, a few candid coffee runs. It’ll help sell the film. You don’t actually have to like him.”

Perfect. Because I didn’t.

Or rather, I didn’t know him. But Will had this aloof thing going on that instantly put my guard up. Tall, confident, vaguely distracted like his brain was always somewhere else. Maybe I reminded him of someone he didn’t like, or maybe he simply didn’t care to charm people off-camera.

Fine by me.

The first few outings were textbook PR fluff. We were papped sipping iced lattes on a park bench that may as well have had Please Photograph Us carved into the wood. He’d touch my hand for exactly 1.5 seconds, then retreat as if I were on fire. In interviews, we gave the usual lines 'We get on so well'. 'It’s such a joy working together.' Lies. Not malicious ones, just... necessary ones.

Behind the scenes, we barely spoke unless prompted. Our trailers were side-by-side on set, but he always closed his door. I told myself I didn’t care.

Then one afternoon, the director called for a break mid-scene. I stepped off set, rubbing at my temple, and Will appeared beside me out of nowhere. He didn’t say anything. Just gently took the water bottle from my hand, unscrewed the cap, and handed it back.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

I blinked. “Yeah. Headache.”

He nodded. “You were squinting in the last few takes.”

It was such a small thing. Insignificant, really. But no one else had noticed. I didn’t know what to do with that.

After that, something shifted.

Not publicly. We still played our parts holding hands at premieres, letting our fingers linger just long enough to make headlines. But the difference came in the quieter moments.

Like the time we were ushered through the back door of a hotel, dodging fans and camera flashes, and his hand pressed gently to the small of my back to guide me through the chaos. There were no photographers inside. No one to perform for. But he didn’t move his hand. Not for several seconds.

Or the way we started sitting closer during breaks on set, our shoulders brushing as we looked over lines or shared snacks from the craft table. It wasn’t romantic. Not really. Just… easy.

We stopped pretending to be chatty in public and started actually having real conversations in private. Like how he missed London and couldn’t find a decent sausage roll in L.A. Or how he got into acting because of a school play he didn’t even audition for his teacher had just written his name down.

I told him about my mum. About how she used to record every show I was in and make my siblings watch them at dinner. Will had laughed softly, eyes crinkling, and said, “I’d love to meet her.”

Something about the way he’d said it made my stomach flip.

One night, after a long day of filming, we ended up in the same car on the way back to the hotel. His head lolled against the window. My shoes were off, legs curled beneath me, still buzzing from the adrenaline of a particularly emotional scene.

“You were brilliant today,” he said suddenly.

I turned. “Thanks. So were you.”

He looked at me properly then. “You’re not as guarded as I thought.”

I raised a brow. “You thought I was guarded?”

“I think we both were,” he admitted. “At first.”

There was a pause. A comfortable one, surprisingly.

He added, “It’s strange, isn’t it? Faking something for long enough that it doesn’t feel fake anymore.”

I didn’t reply. Just looked out the window, hiding the smile tugging at my lips.

A few weeks later, we were sitting backstage before a press junket. I was flipping through cue cards while he scrolled on his phone, humming some unfamiliar tune under his breath. One of the assistants popped her head in and told us we’d be mic’d up in five.

He stood, stretched, then held out his hand to me. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” I said, waving him off.

But he stepped closer, gently tugged the sleeve of my jumper back down my arm where it had bunched at the elbow. His fingers lingered for a moment.

“You’ve got that scrunchy forehead again,” he said, smiling.

“I do not have a scrunchy forehead.”

“You do when you’re nervous.”

I rolled my eyes, but the truth was I was nervous. Not about the press. About the fact that he noticed. Again.

By the time we were halfway through the press tour, I stopped flinching every time someone called him “your boyfriend” in interviews. Sometimes I didn’t even correct them.

We started spending time together outside of the film bubble. Real time. Lazy breakfasts in the hotel cafe. Walks that weren’t scheduled by publicists. Movie nights in my suite that always ended with us asleep on opposite ends of the couch, our legs tangled somewhere in the middle.

There were still no labels. No confessions.

But one night, after a gala, we stumbled into the quiet hallway of our floor still laughing about something ridiculous a reporter had asked. I fumbled for my key card. He stood beside me, his tie loose around his neck, hair messier than usual.

I unlocked the door, but didn’t go in.

Neither did he.

“Do you think,” I began slowly, “that maybe… we’re not faking it anymore?”

Will looked at me. Really looked.

“I was never that good of an actor,” he said, barely above a whisper.

My heart did that stupid fluttering thing. I wanted to kiss him. I almost did.

Instead, I smiled. “Me neither.”

He leaned forward, pressed a kiss to my cheek, and whispered goodnight.

And maybe it was the softness of it. The restraint. The way it felt more intimate than anything we’d been forced to do in public.

But that was the moment I knew I was properly in trouble.

The next morning, the tabloids were filled with blurry photos of us exiting the gala hand-in-hand. The captions were predictable. The chemistry is real. Co-stars or couple?

Will sent me a screenshot with a voice note that simply said, “Told you they’d run with it.”

I replied with a heart emoji. Then: Dinner tonight? No cameras.

He replied in three seconds flat: Absolutely.

Maybe it didn’t start real. Maybe we weren’t even meant to like each other.

But I’ll never forget the first time he reached for my hand when we were alone. Not for show. Not for press.

Just for me.

And I held on tight.

Because suddenly, it didn’t feel forced at all.

[a-bottle-of-tyelenol]

caregiver iida tenya headcanons !!

— requested by @kacchans-cradle —

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

📚 - has never heard of age regression before one of friends (probably midoriya) brought it up in regards to the regressors in their class. iida goes full study mode and spends an entire week using what little free time he has to research things. he takes notes for it and, while he isn’t as bad as midoriya is with his notebooks, iida has a binder full of information and defined terms. it’s important for him to be well researched on the topic in general, because it could help him be a better and more empathetic hero, but it means a lot to him specifically because it has something to do with his friends. at first, he tries to play it off as simply one of his duties as class president but it only takes a couple minutes for him to fold and admit that he just wants to help in any way he can.

🕊️ - he is painfully obnoxious about caregiving at first. he asks every regressor in class if he needs to petition aizawa to get them car seats for the bus and he goes out of his way to stock the dorm kitchen with food for every age group, including jars and pouches of baby food (they keep disappearing, though, so he assumes that someone is eating it, but after a while he realizes it’s just aizawa stealing from them when he’s out of his own jelly packets). he’s also a stickler for the rules— which means that he very much emulates those parents that meticulously time how much their kid spends on a screen and how much they’re eating and sleeping. he has a spreadsheet that he updates every so often and it takes him way too long to realize that it’s a bit much to catalogue his classmates’ habits like that.

📚 - he’s usually not the default caregiver for anyone, since most of the regressors in their class have a friend/caregiver that they’d rather turn to, and that only upsets him a little bit (he swears). he doesn’t mind being more of a babysitter to everyone and he’s far too busy to keep up with the needs of a regressor anyways… but it does hurt a little that he’s always the one standing in the background, always the third wheel to every friendship. even his closest friends, midoriya and uraraka have someone they’d rather turn to even outside of agere discussions. it’s not that he feels unappreciated because he knows his classmates mean well, but it is rather lonely and he doesn’t really understand why he struggles connecting to his peers (autistic iida truthers stand up!!!!)

🕊️ - that said, he doesn’t realize this but he’s the most reliable caregiver in class and the one everyone turns to when they have an emergency or need something. he always has a diaper bag on him (an upgrade to what he had before— which was just a bag filled with pads/tampons, snacks, water, and extra pens/pencils for people to have if they need it) and he never refuses the opportunity to help someone when they need it, even if it overlaps with his study time. have you ever warmed a baby bottle while reading a calculus textbook? ever had a baby on your hip while overviewing that baby’s homework and writing notes on a separate sheet of paper for them to read when they’re bigger? ever been the savior for a fussy baby that skimmed their knees and refused to do anything unless they had a specific brand of all might bandaid that you happened to have in your bag? ever taken over the teacher’s position because too many regressors dropped during a training simulation gone wrong? ever excused yourself from class to help clean up a mess from a regressor that stayed in the dorms sick? well iida has done all of that and more and he’d happily do it again!!! a single mom who works two jobs who loves her kids and never stops!!!

📚 - it’s because of that reliability that, eventually (whether he gets a regressor of his own or he just continues being the best class president), everyone starts calling him mom because yes!!!! I am a momma iida truther!!!! and it starts as a joke because of how he handles things as the group parent but it quickly becomes an honored titled given with the respect it deserves. he cries the first time he realizes that it’s become something genuine and special and he holds that title with pride. if he could, he would walk around introducing himself as a pro hero in training, 1-a’s class president, and a mother of nineteen (because he will mother you even if you aren’t a regressor!). there is, of course, the matter of parentification and there are a few times that iida comes dangerously close to burning out because he is just a kid/young man himself, but everyone makes sure that he priorities self care and there are often days where the littles take care of him instead (it’s utter chaos but he appreciates the gesture).

🕊️ - genuinely forgets that some of his classmates aren’t literal toddlers. in his phase of researching everything, he also read a bunch of parenting books and books in preparation for birth. he reads about all the things that are detrimental to growing children and has to be reminded semi-regularly that, no, a physical teenager cannot get shaken baby syndrome from training. if there’s ever tension between iida and a regressor, it’s almost always because he indirectly (or sometimes directly) infantilizes them outside of their regression and is being a little too overbearing because he struggles with the transition between headspaces. it’s a work in progress and everyone knows he means well, he just loves everyone a whole lot and wants to take care of them 🥺🫶

[literaila]

admissions

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: it's midnight and satoru's bored

warnings: abandonment issues, anxiety, and gojo <3

a/n: angst tomorrow?

last part | next part

*

second year, month five.

you're sitting on your bed, reading through an old textbook that nanami gave you (for some indiscernible reason) when there's a knock on your door. 

pounding, actually. it shakes the walls and makes you jump. 

there's a distant chuckle from the other side of the door. 

no one really comes to check in on you, so this is unusual. even after living at jujutsu high for four months, you're finding it difficult to fit in. 

maybe it's the fact that you were a month late to join your classmates, maybe it's because you find yourself pushing any available person away (because of fear, or insanity, or...), or maybe it's just that you can't relate to anyone for the life of you. 

but, either way, the last person to knock on your door was yaga, who came to wake you up to go out on your second day here. 

and, it's midnight, so unless someone's dying-- 

you sigh, shaking your hair out of your face. your eyes burn from staring at the small text for so long, so you rub them, hoping that you fell asleep and this is a dream. 

it's not, apparently, because there's a second knock, much louder than the first. so you reluctantly get up and go to the door. 

you try to tip-toe across the floors, hoping that the person hellbent on speaking to you can't hear you creeping up to the peephole. 

"let me in," someone says because they have any right to demand anything of you. 

you cross your arms like he can see you, and wait. 

"y/n?" gojo whines, and there's a thud as he slumps against the door. you can almost hear him breathing. "please. it's important." 

you wait another moment, for an explanation (which is unlikely) or for him to leave (which won't happen). you should've pretended to be asleep. then, after you realize he's going to wait, you sigh and unlock the door. 

and when you open it, gojo falls right on top of you. 

"ugh," you say, pushing him off, not caring about the two seconds it takes him to regain his balance. "you're heavy." 

" i work out. i'm made of muscle." 

you roll your eyes. "what do you want?" you ask, crossing your arms. you make sure not to open the door all of the way. lord knows that gojo has a way of slipping through the cracks. 

"no one else is around," he whines, "and i'm bored." 

"okay? go step on some ants or burn down your room or something. i'm going to bed." 

you should be nicer to your classmates--the people whom you literally entrust your life with--but you can't help your hard exterior. at least you know that no one will be able to break through it if you don't let them. 

and plus, gojo kind of annoys you (and is maybe, a little bit, amusing).

gojo looks you up and down with a brow raised. how you're able to see him from behind his ridiculous sunglasses, who knows. 

he's clearly questioning your outfit and the shoes you're still wearing inside your room. it was a mistake to stay in your uniform. 

"you don't look very tired," he says, smiling at you. his face is unwrinkled and youthful. he looks like a boy and acts like a child. 

"you're terrible at reading people." 

"hey, no i'm not. i can tell you want to hang out with me." 

"can you?" 

"mm-hmm," he hums, grinning as he tries to lean forward, into your room. 

"where's suguru?" 

he gives you a skeptical look. "why do you wanna know?" 

you snort. "cause usually you'd be bothering him." 

"oh," he grins, undeterred by your insult, "he went to see his family." 

you frown. "oh." 

"and before you ask, shoko said that she's tired of me," he pouts a bit, but behind his notorious smile. gojo is an illusion of expressions. you've never seen anybody's face move so quickly, or shift so subtly. "now can i come in?" 

you weigh the cost and benefits of allowing satoru gojo to intrude on your saturday night, and how likely you'll be subjected to him in the future. (is he going to damage you if you let him in? are you going to let him break you?).

but he's leaning down so you can see the tips of his lashes, and he's smiling like he already knows your answer. 

so you sigh, hesitantly, and open the door a bit more. "don't touch any of my stuff." 

"wow," gojo says as he walks in, by-stepping you and ignoring the glare you shoot his way. "you're a terrible decorator." 

he's right. you haven't bothered to put anything up on the walls, even after almost half a year. a small part of you has been too worried that you won't be here for long. that you might die, or... 

"sorry it's not up to your standards," you roll your eyes, going back to sit on your bed and leaf through the stupid textbook again. "but, you know, luckily, you have your own room. i can show you where it is, if you forgot. we can go there now." 

"subtle," he says and messes with a couple of books on your shelf. you doubt he's going to pick one up and ruin it, so you ignore him. 

you could complain about him touching your things like you just told him not to, but it's probably not going to get you very far. plus, you don't want to say something he can laugh at. or something to make him leave. 

but after a moment, you can't help yourself. 

"why are you up, anyway?" you ask him, trying to sound more annoyed than you are. "didn't you have to leave early for a mission this morning?"

"are you keeping tabs on me?" 

"you were bragging about a 'solo' mission all through dinner last night. it was impossible not to overhear." 

gojo sighs. "i don't get a lot of sleep. it's too lonely." 

"i've heard some very interesting rumors about you and suguru's cuddling rituals." 

he grins but doesn't say anything, teasing you with just his eyes. 

after a second of it, you ask, "don't you have a family to go home to?" 

he turns to you, tilting his head, long fingers tapping along your appliances. "clans are more like... begrudged allies than families. i haven't seen my parents in..." he whistles, shaking his head. but it doesn't seem to bother him, because he shrugs after, and resumes his snooping. 

that... actually explains a lot. 

at least he's like the rest of you. 

gojo, abandoning your books--which he probably can't read--goes to sit down on your swivel chair, spinning around. "what about your family? don't you miss them?" 

you give him a tired look. "seriously? you think i don't know that you guys talk about me when i'm not around?" 

gojo bites his cheek, having the gull to not even blink, and then a reluctant smile makes its way to his lips. "who told you?" 

"haibara can't keep a secret to save his life. don't gossip around him anymore." 

he shakes his head, grinning at you again. gojo knows no shame. "well you started pretty late into the semester," he says, "that's not very typical." 

you roll your eyes. 

"so. not going home?" 

"i'm not welcome in my parent's house, anymore," you say, trying to act like the words mean nothing. you could be discussing your favorite color. "as i'm sure you know." 

"did they kick you out?" 

"do you really want to talk about this? it'll probably bore you." 

he shrugs. "nothing else to do." 

you sigh, shutting your textbook.

maybe it's because gojo doesn't seem to actually care, or because you've been alone all day--with lots of time to spend spewing over choices that weren't yours. either way, the words make their way to your lips before you can stop them.  

"both of my parents pretty much ignored me as soon as i turned ten and started having nightmares about the monsters i was seeing around our house," you shake your head, swallowing, "and after yaga scouted me this year, they decided i'd probably be better off with 'people like me.' so, no, i'm not going home. i'm sure they've already moved." 

gojo stares at you like he's trying to discern if you're telling the truth or not. 

you probably shouldn't have said anything. but it's not your fault that no one's had the guts to ask before him, or that you've been dying to talk about it. 

you roll your eyes. "satisfied, gojo?" 

"satoru," he says, grinning. "anyone who's got a clear attitude problem gets to call me by my first name." 

"did your 'begrudged allies' forget to teach you manners?"

he hums. "i think i skipped those lessons." 

you snort. 

you could thank him for not pitying you--for not saying a single thing about how you didn't deserve it, or that it isn't fair--but you don't. it doesn't feel necessary. 

"suguru's family is like that," he adds because this is a normal thing to discuss with an acquaintance you've hung out with once. "but he's too righteous to cut them off." 

"yeah, i don't have that issue." 

he laughs, spinning around again. then he stands up and plops down on your bed, unwarranted, taking off his glasses so he can lie on his side. 

and then he sits there, staring at you. 

it only takes thirty seconds for you to break. 

"did someone surgically implant diamonds into your eyes?" you demand, kicking his foot away from yours. his body is warm against yours, and it makes you wonder if he's got a fever. 

he would come and bother you just to get you sick. 

"these are all-natural, sweetheart," he whispers, fluttering his lashes. he doesn't look away for a moment. his eyes are prettier up close, you suppose, when you can see them in their full glory. they look less alien, somehow less intense. 

"what are the glasses for anyway?" 

"try 'em on." 

he hands them to you, grinning like he knows something you don't, and you take them--maybe just so you can smudge the lens. 

they are surprisingly light, and warm. you put them over your eyes, blinking. 

"oh, are you clinically blind?" you ask, feeling slightly bad for bringing it up. he's probably going to pull your hair and lock you in your room now. 

satoru snorts. "no, i just don't need to see, unlike some people." 

"...was that supposed to be a brag?" 

you take off the glasses, wincing at the light. then you hand them back to him, tingling skin where your fingers brush his. 

"it would drain my cursed energy if i didn't wear them," he says, "'cause i see a lot more than you do." 

"okay? so it’s not to keep people from screaming when they see you?”

he pinches your thigh in retaliation, scoffing. “i am beautiful.”

he shakes his head, but leaves the glasses off, setting them on his stomach, and closing his eyes. one hand travels to the top of his head, as he relaxes into your bed. 

you'll probably need to wash the sheets after this. 

"hey," you say after he's been still for a minute. "satoru. you can't fall asleep here. i thought you wanted to be entertained."

"then entertain me." 

you roll your eyes, even though he's not looking. "i'm not your servant. go back to your room if you're just going to bed. i'm not cuddling with you." 

"i promise i'm good at it. ask suguru." 

"he's not here, so i can't." 

satoru sighs, opening his eyes again. "talk about something." 

"like what?" 

"uh... your favorite movie." 

"i don't watch a lot of movies." 

he sits up. "what?" he asks, genuinely shocked. 

you roll your eyes at him again. 

and, okay. despite his attitude, and his freaky eyes, you guess it is... nice, to be called upon. 

and as satoru sits there, talking to you about the most ridiculous of things, you feel settled in. unafraid of saying something wrong or pushing him away. 

it's good, you suppose, easy. 

*

next part | series masterlist

[what-even-is-thiss]

You post a decent amount about the various elder scrolls games. (Respected)

As someone who has never played them but loves rpgs and has always wanted to get into this series, which game would you suggest for a starting point?

I think it depends on your personal preferences. I’ll just give you my opinions about why you might like each one and let you decide. Very very long infodump incoming.

The early two games, Arena and Daggerfall, are really hard to use if you’re used to modern controls and might not work on modern operating systems well. However, if you’re one of those people who’s really into 90s computer dungeon crawlers that require reading a textbook length manual you’ll probably like them. They take a lot of inspiration from dnd and constantly use invisible dice rolls when it comes to stuff like damage and hit chance and you’ve gotta be careful about building your character. I’d suggest looking up a guide, even.

These games have a campy sexy pixelated dungeons and dragons feel to them. Plot isn’t super important in these games but Arena’s plot revolves around gathering the parts of a broken staff to defeat a wizard. Daggerfall’s plot has more to do with political intrigue and deciding which faction you think is better. Neither of these games have much of a plot when it comes to guilds and factions. Daggerfall does have randomly generated guild quests you can do but there’s almost no plot to them.

Morrowind is far more user friendly but it’s still kinda hard to grasp if you’re more used to modern games. There’s a dice roll mechanic on attacks and if you don’t build your character correctly you’re sort of screwed. You can learn to get good at the game though and it has a pretty compelling story in my opinion. This is the one right before they started doing full voice acting so it involves quite a bit of reading. There’s also no fast travel. You need to pay for transportation in universe with currency. There’s also no quest markets and you need to follow directions given to you by NPCs. Some people like that though.

The vibe of Morrowind is like very overcast and foggy and muggy. Kind of European inspired, kind of Asian inspired. There’s giant insects and a lot of ash everywhere from volcano storms. They do a lot with what few polygons they have. The plot has to do with a prophecy that you’re caught up in and the political implications of it. Morrowind is ruled by a trio of living gods and you are the one prophesied to bring their downfall. Guild quests have way more of a plot than Daggerfall in that they sort of have a plot but they tend to be pretty formulaic. My favorite of the bunch is probably the thieves guild because you get to sort of cosplay as Robinhood for a bit due to a plot point that barely makes sense. The DLC for this game is a treat. You get a big city and a snowy island to explore. There’s werewolves and goblins and a weird drug addict.

Oblivion is my personal favorite and it’s the goofiest elder scrolls game by far. The ragdolls are hilarious and the NPCs are programmed to have randomly generated conversations with each other throughout the day which are sometimes interesting but usually don’t make sense. The random chance mechanics are gone but stats like strength and the importance of building your character correctly are still there. Oblivion is still a bit outdated but it’s more user friendly than Morrowind. It also retains some customizable elements like multiple enchanting pieces and spell making from the old games without being so huge as to be overwhelming. The thing people often don’t like about oblivion is the level scaling of enemies and the graphics. Personally I think the graphics are charming but some folks don’t like the potato face low polygon look that everybody has. And as for the level scaling, well, unless you wanna look up in depth how to level optimally, probably just don’t level past level 20 on your first playthrough and don’t worry about it too hard. Maybe use some skills that aren’t in your major skills sometimes. Turn the difficulty down if you need to. You’ll be fine. It’s not that complicated but also don’t be a hero. Turn the difficulty down if you need to.

Oblivion has like a Mediterranean vibe. It’s bright and colorful and is sort of stylized like you’ve stepped into a landscape painting. It’s like a late medieval Italian countryside with some ominous Roman ruins hanging around. Cyrodiil is also a very diverse Provence in universe with it being centrally located and also the seat of power for the empire. It probably has the most diversity in types of NPCs of any other game in the series because of this. The main plot starts with you witnessing the emperor being assassinated as he’s escaping through your prison cell and you need to go find his one surviving son but as you go to find him, portals to oblivion, which is sort of like Hell but also not, start opening up all over the place and you need to start working with the new emperor to figure out how to close the oblivion gates and stop an invasion of the material plane.

The guild quests in oblivion are where faction quests actually get good. This is also the only game in the series where you can fight to death in a gladiator arena despite that concept being what set off the idea for the entire series. The dark brotherhood assassins guild is one of the best in the whole series and in the mages guild questline you get to fight a secret cult of necromancers. The DLC is also quite fun. Meet the god of madness and fight a demon in the sky.

So, Skyrim. Skyrim is most people’s introduction for the series and for good reason. It drops some of the RPG elements and customization from the previous games but it’s by far the most user friendly. You can use both hands, there’s a unique shouts and powers mechanic, you can be a werewolf, the leveling system is way improved from previous games (no more having to plan out your character), you can fight dragons, and although the elder scrolls series has always been about wandering the world and getting distracted, Skyrim perfects this aspect of it. The world is somehow simultaneously vast and dense which is an incredible feat. You will get distracted and that’s the whole point.

The vibe of Skyrim is far north. Scandinavia at its harshest. It’s got dense forests, tundras, steep cliffs, rivers, and snow. It’s a land of myths that are not only real but lying in wait to tear you limb from limb. It’s also gorgeous. You can wander around and watch the moons rise, watch an aurora borealis, see unique styles of architecture in each city, look at wood and stone carvings. The ghosts feel both ethereal and solid. The world is worn and comfortably lived in. A blunt instrument as well as a sharp object.

The plot of Skyrim is that there’s a civil war going on. Choosing between staying with the empire or becoming independent. However, just as it looks like the war is about to end and the rebel leaders are about to be beheaded, a dragon shows up for the first time in thousands of years. You’re a prisoner that manages to escape in the chaos and you get caught up in discovering the reason the dragons are coming back and you can pick sides (or not) in the escalating civil war. The guild and faction quests in Skyrim are decent. There’s werewolves, menacing orbs, holy keys. The DLC is where Skyrim’s side adventures really shine though in my opinion. Evil Dragonborns, vampire hunters, trekking through oblivion and the afterlife, discovering lost civilizations. Skyrim’s DLCs also have some of the best characters in the series.

So. Sorry for info dumping that much lol. Hope some of that information is useful. If you just want an easy starting point, pick oblivion or Skyrim. If you want a more customizable start point with a bigger initial learning curve, start with Morrowind. If you like fighting with early 90s computer games you might be the type to prefer arena or Daggerfall.

I really hope you enjoy the series! It’s one of my favorite things in the whole world if you couldn’t tell by my adhd rambling lol

[eddiemunsonhoe86]

Head Over Heels

Part 1/?

Pairing: Eddie Munson x AFAB (she/her pronouns) reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: There is cursing, sexual harassment, mentions of pregnancy, bullying, general assholery if you will, and the smoking of Mary Jane, of course.

Summary: A new girl at Hawkins High catches Eddie's eye.

Eddie does not know what exactly he was expecting on a Friday morning at 9:15am but it certainly was not this. He fidgets with his thumbs as Ms. O’Donnell introduces her. “We have a new student today, why don’t you introduce yourself to the class, dear,” she says in her overly polite way with a tight lipped smile. “Hi, my name is (Y/N), I moved here from Indianapolis,” She says with a shy smile and Ms. O’Donnell rests her hand on the new student’s back, “Looks like you’ll be sitting next to Eddie today,” she gestures towards the empty seat next to Eddie and he straightens up in his seat as she walks towards the empty seat. “Alright, let’s begin the class by going over last night’s homework,” Eddie winces silently and makes no move to grab the homework out of his backpack like all of the other students do. He notices his table mate crossing her fingers in front of her and looking down at her hands with her bottom lip between her teeth. For being from the city she’s awfully reserved. 

Eddie finds himself watching her study her own nails, cheeks a bright shade of pink. He quickly chastises himself for staring and looks back down to his own hands. “I like your rings,” her whisper is so gentle he barely hears it. His head shoots up to look at her. “Oh,” he turns his hands over, forgetting which rings he put on that morning. “Really?” he asks and she nods. “I know she already kind of introduced me but I’m Eddie."

“(Y/N),” she repeats and he nods with a soft smile. “It suits you,” he chuckles. “Lady (Y/N),” he jokes. She giggles and Eddie’s heart practically stops and he decides he’ll do anything for her to make that sound again. “So Indianapolis, huh? City girl,” he says with a tug at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, my parents divorced so I am living here with my mom,” she says and he winces uncomfortably. “It’s okay, It’s been a long time coming,” she says in an attempt to reassure him but he just nods awkwardly. “Well if you need any help finding anything, I’m happy to help. I happen to be the king of the lost sheep around here,” he says and she smiles. “Is that so?”

“Yeah well a lot of other people would just call me King of the freaks but I don’t think we need to split hairs here,” she giggles again and he can’t stop the close lipped smile that takes over his face. “You don’t seem like a freak to me,” she says and he raises an eyebrow. “Well maybe that’s because you are a freak too,” he says, leaning slightly towards her and she laughs again this time a little bit louder. 

“Miss (Y/N), this is your first day here so I’ll excuse this once but please keep your… conversations to a minimum,” Miss O’Donnell glares at the two and the new girl immediately ceases her laughter. “That was my fault, Ms. O’Donnell I was distracting her,” Eddie speaks up. The teacher is taken aback, eyes widening. “Well, Eddie this wouldn’t be a first for you. Unless you plan on putting off graduation for another year I suggest you pay close attention,” she narrows her gaze at him and he gives a defeated nod and pulls his lips together briefly. Ms. O’Donnell turns back to the chalkboard before the new girl leans towards Eddie. “You didn’t have to do that,” Eddie shrugs and smiles at her. “It’s nothing new for me, as you could probably tell,” he whispers and she tilts her head to the side. He just shrugs casually and turns back to the chalkboard. The rest of the period is spent with going over whatever homework assignment was given out the day before and then reading through a textbook before the bell rings. “Hey, what’s your next class?” Eddie asks her as she is fitting her binder into her backpack. “I have Horticulture next,” she says and his eyes go wide. “Wow I didn’t even know that was a class here,” he says with mild bewilderment and slings his backpack over his shoulder. “Well I’ll walk you over to your next class,” he says and she smiles. “Oh is your class near mine?” she asks and he shakes his head. “No, but I was planning on ditching anyway, I have a uh… prior appointment,” he says and she narrows her gaze at Eddie as they filter out into the hallway. “Oh, Okay… cool,” she says nonchalantly and he chuckles. 

“Listen, you should come sit with me at lunch. I mean it’s me and some other kids, we’re all in the Hellfire club it’s our D&D group, but I doubt if half of the kids at the table have ever even met a girl so it’ll be good for them,” she laughs with him as they stroll down the hall, seemingly in their own world. Eddie notices plenting of kids gawking at them, nudging their friend groups and nodding at himself and the new girl of Hawkins High. Eddie tries to block out the sound of their whispering but it invades his train of thought before she responds. “Oh, good I’ll be a new specimen for them to gawk at,” she says with an exaggerated eye roll and he laughs.

“No, they’re all polite. And if they aren’t I’ll make them be polite,” he says and she raises her eyebrows at his stern tone. “Oh, so you keep them in line, huh?” Eddie holds his head up before responding. “Of course, I’m their King,” he says and she smiles and giggles. “What will that make me, then?” she asks, nudging his arm with her elbow as they enter the Science hall. “Well, you can be my new subject, that is if you accept my offer,” he brings his chin down closer to his chest and leans against the wall just outside of the classroom. She leans against the wall across from him and taps her index finger to her lips in mock contemplation. “Well, what kind of perks are we talking about?” she asks and his face breaks out into a smile. “Oh, a little quid pro quo, huh? I see, how about a seat next to the King and… a bag of chips?” He raises one eyebrow, awaiting a response from her as he crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Deal,” she says and holds out her hand to Eddie. He looks down at her hand being held out to him and pauses before shaking it. Nobody ever wants to be seen touching the freak. Without warning, Eddie is suddenly being pushed forward into her, falling against her and knocking her back. She doesn’t fall though, only holds out her hands to catch him and lifts him back to his feet. “Hey freak, already perving on the new girl?” the culprit of the shoulder check calls and Eddie shakes his head and looks down to the floor. “I’m sorry-”

“Hey asshole!” Eddie is shocked at her voice as she turns to face the brunette in the letterman jacket. “Watch where you’re going,” she says and he stops walking and chuckles. “Oh, the freak has a girlfriend?” He chuckles and his group of friends laugh along. “Hey, you don’t have to-” Eddie tries to de-escalate but is cut off by her anger.

“Fuck off douche bag,” she says and his friends all let out a chorus of “ooooooh’s.” Eddie’s hand finds her arm and he attempts to pull her back. Who knew the new girl could get so mad. And for him! Eddie Munson, who at school is only referred to as "freak," by everyone besides his handful of friends. “What are you going to do about it, bitch?” He walks closer and she doesn’t back down, looking up at him as he approaches her. “Listen, man-” Eddie begins to interject but is cut off by her quiet unwavering voice. “You think because you play basketball you can say whatever you want to whoever you want but who’s going to be laughing when you graduate with C’s and have to work at McDonald’s for the rest of your life?” she says and Eddie’s eyebrows raise and he fights back a chuckle. “You better use protection when you let him fuck you, new girl,” he says, eyeing her up and down and Eddie can’t see her face but he feels an energy shift and he can sense her rising anger. “You should take your own advice before you end up impregnating some poor girl and ruining the gene pool with your trash semen,” she says and Eddie nearly combusts at that, bringing his fist up to cover his mouth. He flattens his hand over his mouth and clenches his eyes shut, taking everything in him to not burst out in laughter.

“What’s wrong, Munson can’t defend yourself so you let your new girlfriend to do it for you?” he says, peering behind her at Eddie. “Big talk coming from someone who is actively trying to fight a woman,” she says and he snaps back towards her. “It’s a shame, you have an amazing body and you’re wasting it on this piece of trash,” he says before walking away, joining his group of friends and snickering as they walk off. She shakes her head and turns to Eddie and Eddie is stunned by what he sees. Her eyes are red and watery, tears threatening to spill beyond the surface. Her cheeks are red and blotchy and her eyes are hardened. “Hey, it’s okay,” she shakes her head. “No, it’s not. Someone needs to kick his ass,” Eddie nods and reaches out his hand to hold her arm. “You are right about that,” he says and she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I should’ve known you’d be targeted for hanging around me,” he says and looks over towards the wall but she shakes her head. “No, this has nothing to do with you and everything to do with him, Eddie,” the bell rings, interrupting her thought and she sighs. Eddie is silent as he watches a tear fall down her cheek and drop down to her black long sleeved top. “I’m half tempted to skip and go punch something,” she says and he smiles mischievously. “Well, I’d be happy to join you if you’d like in that case,” he says and she nods enthusiastically. He walks her towards the doors leading to the football field and they walk out of the school together. She wipes her eyes and tries to stop herself from shaking but it’s no use. “Listen, you really didn’t have to do that. It’s an uphill battle and it won’t end with him,” Eddie says and she shakes her head. “Would you say that to your D&D group?” she asks and he cocks his head back, yet again taken aback by her response. 

“Well, no-” he stops himself and looks back to her. “Have you ever played?” he asks and she shakes her head. “No but I’ve heard of it,” she says and he nods. “You know we have a session after school if you want to come sit in?” He says as they walk across the bright green turf towards the tree line. “Can I still sit by you?” she asks and he feels like his chest is about to cave in, nearly collapsing at the sight of her round eyes looking back into his. “Of course, I am a dungeon master after all, who best to learn from?” he asks, pressing his hand to his chest and she giggles. Just past the tree line is a picnic table and Eddie takes a seat and pulls something out of his backpack, a lighter and a joint. “This was your appointment, huh?” she asks without sitting down. She rests her backpack on the ground and looks up at the trees. “Yup,” he says and lights it, taking in a hit and blowing it out. “Want some?” he asks, gesturing towards her with the lit joint and she shakes her head. “No thanks,” she says and he feels himself pause. Shit, what if she’s not comfortable with this? “It feels so nice out here,” she says and he breathes out a silent sigh. “Yeah it’s a good place to think,” she nods in response, observing a squirrel darting up the trunk of a tree. She walks back over to the picnic table and takes a seat on the table itself. “So about the punching,” she says and turns to him. Eddie jumps out of his seat and leans his shoulder towards her. “Okay, but make it quick sweetheart,” he clenches his eyes shut and she laughs unapologetically and he chuckles, straightening back up. Leaning back on the table, she rests on her palms behind her and smiles. “No, I don’t think I need to punch anymore. I feel better being out here,” she says and he smirks and walks around to one edge of the table. “Just needed some good ole fresh air, huh?” she nods as he takes another long hit. 

“Yeah and to hang out with someone who doesn’t have their head shoved up their ass,” she says and Eddie chokes on the exhale, coughing violently. “Are you okay?” she jumps off the table and rests her hand against Eddie’s back as he intermittently laughs and coughs. “Y-yeah, I’m okay,” he says in a strained voice and she goes back to the edge of the table, pulling herself up on it. Eddie recovers and takes a step towards her. “Likewise, by the way,” he says and she smiles at him, staring into his big brown eyes. “No my head is in other places,” she says and he quirks one eyebrow up. “Is that so?”

He takes another hit of the now half smoked joint. She nods and looks at him and holds eye contact. “Well, your head could probably use a break from the emotional turmoil of being seen with me and publicly called my girlfriend,” he says, poking her forehead with his index finger as she rolls her eyes. “Would you stop doing that, Eddie? Any girl would be lucky to be your girlfriend. You’re sweet, funny, and you have weed,” she says and he chuckles. “Tell that to the thousands of women in Hawkins,” he says and she shakes her head. “I will!” she says and he rolls his eyes in disbelief. “So where’s your boyfriend, huh? Probably in Indianapolis finding the cure for cancer?” She narrows her gaze at Eddie in confusion and tilts her head to the side.

“What’s that supposed to mean, Munson?” he shrugs in response and takes another hit. “Well he’s gotta be pretty amazing if he landed you,” he says and she shakes her head as her cheeks flush a bright pink. “Oh please,” she slowly looks back up at him. “I was invisible in Indianapolis,” she says and he shakes his head. “I’m calling bullshit on that,” he says and she scoffs dramatically. “I’m serious! It’s a big city and I’m just a girl with an over inflated sense of justice,” she says, holding her chin high and Eddie chuckles. “Well I can’t speak for Indianapolis, but I can say that I’d spot you out of a crowd of thousands,” he says and the smile leaves her face as she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. “What exactly are you buttering me up for?” she asks and he shakes his head. “Oh you know just a spot as your right hand man in your battle for world domination?” he proposes and she laughs. “If I succeed in my plan of world domination then yes, Eddie you can be my right hand man,” she says and he chuckles. Eddie leans forward and rests his hands on either side of her thighs on the edge of the table. 

“The world would be lucky to have you dominating it,” he says and she blushes wildly at the innuendo. She struggles to form a response, mouth opening and closing repeatedly and her eyes wide. “Wow,” she says and he chuckles. “Well I think I’ll start with being at your side for lunch, how about that?” she says and meets his big chocolate eyes that are staring right back into hers. “Yes, princess (Y/N),” he straightens up and bites the inside of his cheek. “Oooh, I’m princess now?” she perks up and he shrugs. “I don’t see why not, the title is vacant, and you seem like the perfect choice,” he says and she rests a hand on her chest and gasps. “What an honor. What will be my first job as princess?” she ponders, looking off into the trees. “Well don’t get ahead of yourself, princess you still have yet to meet your loyal subjects,” Eddie says and she giggles. “Ah, yes, this is true,” she says and he smiles. “Do you think they’ll like me?” she asks, her tone completely serious. “Are you kidding? Did you not just hear my entire speech about how amazing you are?” he asks and she giggles bashfully. “I’ll be shocked if they’re not tripping over themselves to pull out your chair for you,” he says and brings one hand up, tucking her hair behind her ear for her. 

The air between them is thick and tense with energy. She pauses and watches his eyeline move from her eyes to her lips. Slowly taking in a deep breath as he leans in, Eddie's hand coming down to rest on her cheek. They're inches apart when a rustling sound to their left makes her jump, looking around to find the culprit. “It’s okay, there’s no one else around,” Eddie says, backing up much to her dismay. She sighs and nods. “What time is it?” she asks and Eddie feels his gut clenching in dread as he looks down at his digital watch. “10:49,” he says and she hops off of the picnic table, now only inches from Eddie. “I should probably at least catch my next class before I’m late,” she says and he nods, not backing away just yet as she holds his gaze. “Well, uh… what’s your next class?”

“Calculus,” she says without breaking eye contact. “Do you know how to get there?” he asks and she nods. “I think so, it’s on the opposite side of the school, past the cafeteria?” she says and he nods. “Unfortunately I cannot join you on that adventure, I really do have a prior engagement in about fifteen minutes, but I’ll meet you outside of the bathrooms on that end of the building before lunch, okay?” he says and she nods and looks up at him through her lashes now. Eddie feels his jeans tightening and prays to God that she leaves soon for his own modesty. “Okay, well I’ll see you in about an hour then,” she says, making no move to get past him. Eddie nods and sucks in a deep breath. The sound of the bell shakes them both from their trance and she quickly grabs her bag and is off. “See you soon, Eddie!” she calls and she is off.

[devinescribe]

The Kinda Guy To…

Steven Meeks ver!

My boyyy ❤️

- Steven is the kind of guy to take courting very seriously.

- He wants to do everything the right way and show you that he is a gentleman, and not all crass like other guys

- Makes up for lost time when he gets back from Welton. Any breaks he's home for he's most likely spending time with you.

- On a night when he and the boys escaped from Welton and they got drunk... he tries to go to a telephone, desperate to call you but Todd and Pitts, the two designated sober men, stop him. He actually whines and pouts for you until you show up to take care of him. (Pitts called on the same phone he didn't let Meeks use. He wasn't dealing with a drunk roommate all night no sir)

- Calls you the future Mrs. Meeks after you've been dating a while.

- Let's be honest, he has never had a girlfriend. The only reason he's dating you is because you met at a bookstore when he was out and you exchanged addresses, and gave him your home phone number.

- Reads his latin textbooks to you as a form of studying.

- Let's be real, he's a highly intelligent guy who is interested in you because you are also intelligent and love having conversations with him about challenging subjects. He loves an intellectual woman who knows what she wants and how she wants it. Is that strange for a guy in 1959? Yes. But, he wouldn't have it any other way.

- At Dead Poets meetings he had always listened, not really having his own poetry to share... until... he had you. Then people couldn't get him to shut up.

- Mentions you in every interaction. At a coffee shop and a girl tries to flirt with him about his book or something he's just like:

"Oh thanks... my darling girlfriend recommended it."

Some girl likes his jacket?

"Thank you. My beloved girlfriend also loves it. She gave it to me."

Everything is "my girlfriend" this and "my girlfriend" that. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

- Says he can't wait to grow old and do taxes for you, and become boring old people together. He mentions it randomly, and it leaves you shocked

- Can't stop petting random cats and holding them looking at you with his puppy dog eyes like "can we pleaseeee bring it home."

- Could be completely off board with a plan and then you say it's worth a shot at least, and he's completely on board with it now, ready to sacrifice his life for the cause! (It was trying to sneak something on campus that most definitely wasn't allowed)

- Will never ever let you pay. He has the money, why the hell would he let you pay?

- Not a physical touch guy, surprisingly. He more so enjoys just being in your company, and he's a big acts of service giver.

- Super sweet baby all the time

- He always dresses nice, even when out of Welton.

- Sends you letters weekly. Send you poems in your letters bi weekly. Sends you a care package monthly. He's a very orderly guy! Care packages include your favorite candies, one of his sweaters(with his cologne on it duh), and odd knickknacks he found that reminded him of you. Always a new book you've been wanting to read included.

- Sneaks you onto campus and into his dorm, has never been caught. He's one of the most well behaved boys at Welton (as far as admin knows) why would they suspect him?

- Yaps. Yap yap yap. Only time he's quiet is when he listen to you yap. His friends (cough cough Charlie cough cough) call you a "pair of bash ears."(old slang for a chatterbox)

- You know how he smokes from that pipe? Yeah, you begged to try it even though it wasn't lady like, and he doesn't really care, he just knows you can't smoke 😔. You choke on the smoke. He sits there like "I told you so."

- Never outwardly corrects you on anything, unless you're" extremely incorrect. Big fan of "kiss me if I'm wrong but...Rome's main language was French right?" He loves it.

- Speaking of, yapper make out sessions?! He literally keeps talking when you’re making out like the second you pull away for air he’s still talking about whatever you two were talking about.

- Promise ringggg. He gets you a new one every year to the point where you’re like “I don’t have enough space and only a limited amount of fingers.😔” to which he replies “Well, you’ll only need one finger for your wedding band so…”

- Awkward until he’s been with you for a bit. Then he’s a little more flirty, but still very respectful and still shy.

- Makes you a record (yes like sends it to make) of all the songs that remind him of you, and all of the songs you love.

[lizthewriter]

general theodore nott headcanons

• theo is the textbook defintion of dark academia

• his wardrobe is only filled with varying shades of black, grey, brown, and green; he mostly wears suits, but when he wants to feel comfortable, he'll thrown on a knit sweater

• he is very quiet - around people he doesn't know, he doesn't speak; around his friends, even, he doesn't speak too much

• he is highly intelligent; he's literally right up there with hermione, top of the class

• does a lot of free reading - mostly nonfiction but will tell no one about the romance novels hiding under his mattress

• sleeps around because parent issues - even though he doesn't really speak, he still gets bitches . . . probably because he is handsome af and also cause when he does speak, he is smooth

• he plays quidditch, though he doesn't care too much for it - when draco saw how good theo was on a broom, he begged and begged theo to join quidditch until he finally agreed

• does smoke, but would stop if you asked him too

• he is the adopted introvert . . . prove me wrong

• he's only really close with blaise, but because mattheo and blaise are best friends (by the transitive property of arithmetic), mattheo and theo are good friends too

• he's extremely protective (and slightly possessive) of the people he loves, probably because he lost his mother and he's afraid to lose the people he loves too

• scary dog privileges

• was almost sorted into ravenclaw

• loves winter and fall too much - he kind of looks out of sorts in the warmer months

• has never worn a pair of shorts in his life . . . i'm not kidding

• he's a little self-obssessed, but mostly just with his hair (you do NOT touch unless you have permission)

• he's not a hopeless romantic, but he'd do the most romantic shit and pretend like he did nothing, this mf 💀💀

• *sets up an entire romantic, home-cooked, candle lit dinner* *sits down, places napkin in his lap, and begins to eat* "well, aren't you gonna sit down?"

• doesn't tell anyone he has a crush on you

• he pines after you for ages - at first, he's kind of mad at you, cause he can't understand why he feels this way about you, but then this man is HEAD over HEELS for you

• he wants to figure out the perfect way to ask you out

• he gets really overwhelmed and stressed about it

• blaise sees theo huddled over his desk, hair all crazy, muttering like a maniac and asks him what's wrong - theo just starts shouting at blaise about you and he realizes his best friend is in love

• blaise is a good bro

• he helps theo plan the perfect date in hogsmeade - now all theo has to do is ask you out

• theo actually hasn't interacted with you too much, you have some classes together and you've been partners in potions

• he kind of just finds you after class one time and hovers behind you until your friends point him out to you

• you shook away your friends and turn to face theo - he stands completely straight and he looks obviously distressed

• "all right, nott?"

• "come to hogsmeade with me. please."

• "uh, sure. all right!"

• he takes you all around hogsmeade to anywhere you want to go

• he's not sure exactly what to do - he's never been on a date before . . . he wants to kiss you but doesn't know the perfect moment so he ends up forgoing that paticular thing

• he loves massaging - idk why, but I just feel like he would love to just run his fingers through your hair while you're cuddling or rub his back but his massages are >>>>>

• he thinks far into the future - living together, marriage, having kids, growing old

• he's a daydreamer

• he's a bit of a perfectionist too, but he never let's that side of him show to others

• everything HAS to be perfect for you

• he stops sleeping around once he gets with you, dedicates to you completely

• won't even look in the direction of another girl

• he prefers to sleep in with you - his love languages are quality time and physical touch

• he will help you study whenever you need

• will also drop any plans he has for you (hoes before bros)

• prefers to take you out to nice and exotic places for the holidays instead of having you over at his place (his father is a nightmare - he's adamant on ensuring that the two of you never cross paths)

• will propose to you spontaneously, approximately six months after being together

• he will not take no for an answer; will compromise, but he will not let you say no unless you despise him

• you are his favorite person in the world, his one and only, and you'd best remember that he's do ANYTHING for you

tags: @annaisabookworm

[mangotangerine]

More mango writing advice! This episode on Writing Tools, Not Rules, we answer the question:

Where do I start my story?

(Or scene, or sentence)

In the middle! Unless it's better to start at the beginning.

There is some advice I've seen a couple places, about starting a scene "late" and ending it "early", that I think is good advice—for the most part!

But sometimes it's not good advice, because perhaps starting late and ending early isn't actually what you want to do for the specific story you're telling.

We'll start with talking about what "starting late" means first.

What this common advice is getting at is the importance of hooking the reader and building interest.

"But how do I hook a reader?" you ask. Good question. And people will tell you, "By adding curiosity! By leaving information out! By starting in the middle!"

But what the fuck does any of that actually mean?

All around us, every day, we're surrounded by (and filtering through) tons and tons and tons of information. Some of it's environmental information that our brain is subconsciously taking in and categorizing, some of us are in school, reading textbooks, or scrolling through Wikipedia. Or maybe a waiter is telling us the specials of the day!

It's all information, and it's all being processed, and it's all being sorted and subconsciously (or sometimes consciously) judged.

As a species, we've gotten real fucking good at being able to tune out what's not important and at anticipating what might come next.

And we know, when something starts out at the beginning, with something like, "There was a girl," or "a long long time ago," or "Jimmy wakes up on Sunday," or "Janine takes a bucket of chicken feed out to her chickens," that it could go fucking anywhere.

Starting like that isn't wrong, but it's asking the reader to invest time in something that could end up going nowhere at all. Hooking a reader is about giving them right in the beginning: A) why they need to care, B) why what you're writing is interesting, and C) why the reader can trust you to deliver something interesting.

Example One

Consider these two options:

Janine takes a bucket of chicken feed out to her chickens.

vs.

Janine stares up at the sky, chicken feed spread out in a chaotic smorgasbord across the lawn.

The first one: okay, what's she doing with the chicken feed? Feeding chickens. Great. Cool. What next? Something cool? Is it gonna be about how much Janine loves her chickens? What's this story?

The second one: What the fuck happened to Janine and why'd she throw chicken feed across the lawn?

This is what people mean when they say "start in the middle."

Don't start with Janine taking her chicken feed out, trying to scatter it, and how she, I don't know, steps on a banana peel, chicken feed flying, chickens tumbling out of the coop like bowling pins.

Start with her slipping on the banana peel, chicken feed flying, chickens tumbling out of the coop like bowling pins, or start with the aftermath of Janine lying down surrounded by chicken feed.

You immediately hand the reader something interesting, something they now want to know more about, a mystery for them to solve. They're invested. What happened to Janine and her chicken feed?

Then you can go into the backstory. You've seen the technique before in other places, I'm sure. We've all seen a movie or TV episode where it starts on a chaotic scene and you get the narrator character voiceover of, "So how did I get here?"

Exact same concept, just a different medium. You want to tell the reader there's something interesting here, give them a flavor of what to expect, and then you can pull back and start to fill in the blanks—or not! You don't have to! You can just go forward from Janine and the chickens tumbling out like bowling pins, or from her staring at the sky, surrounded by chicken feed and tumbling chickens.

See, you don't really need the, "she walked outside with a bucket full of chicken feed," if your story isn't about how she has chicken feed, and where it came from, and even if that is what your story is about—where can you start it instead, that gives the reader a taste of what to expect? That leaves a little mystery?

Example Two

Let's explore another example, and explore what your intro is actually doing and what the impact of the words is. We're going to take one of the examples I gave that I implied you shouldn't start with, and tell you how you can start with that.

"Jimmy wakes up on a Sunday."

What does this tell the reader about what kind of story this is? What's the relevant piece here? That he's waking up, that it's Sunday? Is any of that relevant? What's important about him waking up on a Sunday?

Jimmy = our character, who will be revealed anyway.

Wakes up = something everyone does. Well… usually.

on a Sunday = this adds specificity. Specificity is an indication that something is important.

What's your next sentence going to be? Will it give context as to why Sunday is important? If it doesn't, the reader is going to either think, "okay maybe the next sentence will," or they're going to throw, "on a Sunday," out as unimportant.

You've just given the reader a sentence that does nothing. It tells them nothing.

Consider:

"Jimmy wakes up on a Sunday. He checks his clock—fuck, it's 12:00 PM already."

Jimmy = our character, who will be revealed anyway.

Wakes up = something (most) people do.

on a Sunday = specific, potentially relevant.

THEN

He checks his clock = He has a clock, he checks it, that's a normal thing.

fuck = Oh. An emotion. Something's wrong.

it's 12:00 PM = the time. Most people wake up earlier than that, but not everyone. Why is waking up at 12:00 PM bad?

already = he did not mean to wake up at 12:00 PM.

You added just one sentence, which did the following:

It confirmed that Sunday is important information. Wonderful, now your reader knows there's something to discover here.

It gave some more very specific information. Using our fantastic brains and how we are pattern matching experts, we have the beginning of a pattern emerging—that you are giving us specific information that is, in fact, actually important.

It gave emotion. It tells us something about the character. He's not just Jimmy anymore, he's a Jimmy who is unhappy about waking up at 12:00 PM on a Sunday for some reason. What could be the reason?

It gives something to anticipate. Is it because he's missing church? Is there important band practice? Why would he be upset about waking up so late if it wasn't something interesting? We don't usually feel fuck-level emotions about mundane shit.

It presents a setting.

It drives the story forward. It adds important information. It confirms the first sentence wasn't empty and purposeless.

The thing is, you still started at the "beginning." You went against advice. You broke the rules. Does that make this start bad?

No. Why? Because this does what the advice is trying to tell you to do. It's a quick hack to build interest, starting in the middle of the action. It's advice that's easy to follow, a great formula for people who aren't sure.

But it doesn't tell you why starting in the middle acts as a hook, it doesn't tell you what that does to the reader, how that hooks the reader, not in a way you can repeat.

And this information I present to you isn't just useful for starting stories, either. Maybe you're starting a new scene, or a new chapter. Or maybe you're in the middle of a scene, and you don't know where to take it next. Or maybe you're reviewing a scene, and editing, and it drags a bit, and you're not sure why.

Understanding the reader journey, where you're leading them, and what they're getting from your writing—that's useful regardless of where you are in your story.

So you've learned what starting "in the middle" looks like, you've learned that it isn't always necessary, and you've learned why. You've learned how to repeat the process. You've learned why certain things work, and certain things don't. You've learned how one sentence leads into the next, what drives a story forward.

You've learned how to start your story.

[sorry-moots]

Sharing is Caring idfk

i thought of something to follow up on Clever... Boy? but it can be read on its own too, anyway can you tell i'm bad at coming up with titles pairing: tsukishima kei x gn!reader tags: reader insert, characters are aged up, fluff, no pronouns used, no use of y/n, reader likes jurassic park cw(s): none

tsukishima spends his hours at the boba shop annotating his notes

the man first writes them by HAND (none of that digital note-taking bs) and then reviews the powerpoints and textbooks just to make sure he has everything written down, adding in little bits that the professor glossed over or failed to mention entirely

as he does this, he listens to music because he’s not some sort of masochist (unless you hc that, we don’t judge)

you also like to listen to music while you’re on the job but, dumbass that you are, you forgot the most important thing

From his secluded corner table, Tsukishima hears a cry of anguish behind the AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY door. You come out with puppy eyes and a pout, immediately making a beeline for him.

“My AirPods died,” you whine. You have the look of someone whose beloved pet has to be put down.

Tsukishima loves teasing you and it’s so easy when you’re this dramatic. “Did you forget to charge them again?” he asks with that trademark smirk. Y’know, the one the that makes people wanna punch him in the face.

Your brows furrow and your pout deepens. “I put them to charge but my case is dead and I didn’t bring a charger.”

He laughs and you hop on the defensive. “Tsukishima, it’s not funny! If one more person comes in with a crying baby and I don’t have music to listen to, I’M gonna cry!!”

His laughter gradually subsides as he looks up at you. As adorable as he thinks it is when you’re upset, he doesn’t want you to suffer. Crying babies are hell.

Reaching into his bag, he grabs his own AirPod case and offers you the remaining earbud. “Here. We’re listening to my music.”

the smile you give him has him weak, he regrets this decision 0%

until you hit him with the obligatory rickroll ofc

he threatens to close spotify (you have to beg him not to)

after your little prank, things are chill and you just enjoy the lofi hip hop he’s been listening to

“yk tsukishima, this is somehow exactly what i thought you would listen to and not at all what i was expecting” “how does that make any sense”

he likes listening to you hum/whistle/sing along to the music (if that’s your thing)

he also takes note of the songs you skip; maybe he’ll make a playlist that doesn’t have those songs in it just in case this happens again

teases you when he has to leave

“Time’s up, Cinderella. Give me back my AirPod so I can head to practice.”

“Ok, ok, fine,” you say as you reluctantly remove the earbud.

As he’s packing his things, you queue up one more song and bring it to the top of the queue.

When the Theme From Jurassic Park starts playing he just gives you a look that says “really?” before he walks out the door. But you can see on your phone that he doesn’t skip it. Nerd.

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Hi!! I love your writing!! Would it be possible for your thoughts on Ford/stan with a girlfriend who is a therapist or psychiatrist? (I’m studying psychology so this is a totally self indulgent ask!) thank you!! 🫶🏼

A/n: Ok! I'm sorry these took long

Stan/Ford pines x therapist!reader

Ford Pines:

Ford is instantly intrigued by your profession. He’s always been interested in how the human brain works, and having a girlfriend who understands the mind on such a deep level excites his curiosity.

He loves asking you questions about psychology, sometimes treating your discussions like he’s learning from a textbook.

“So, if someone were to experience prolonged exposure to isolation, how do you think that would affect their psyche?”

Ford absolutely loves to hear your insights on everything from mental health to obscure psychological theories, often adding his own knowledge of psychology.

Ford greatly values your calming presence. As someone who has gone through trauma from his interdimensional travels, Ford finds comfort in how you can guide him through his anxieties and ground him during his moments of overthinking. It’s not that he’s asking for therapy, but the way you talk and listen to him brings him a lot of peace.

Sometimes Ford gets lost in his head, overanalyzing everything or diving too deep into his research, and you’re the one who pulls him back. You know just how to approach his worries without invalidating them, and he’s beyond grateful for that.

“You always know exactly what to say to bring me back to reality. How do you do it?”

He’s particularly interested in your take on the psychological impact of interdimensional travel or exposure to anomalous phenomena.

He’ll often turn to you for discussions about the mind’s adaptability and resilience. You’ve become his go-to person for talking about the human condition in the context of the strange.

Ford is also incredibly supportive of your career and education. If you’re studying or need quiet time to work, he’ll make sure you have the perfect environment to focus. He’s always ready to offer encouragement when you’re feeling stressed.

“I know it’s a lot, but if anyone can do this, it’s you. I’ve never seen someone so dedicated to understanding the complexities of the mind.”

Ford loves sharing intellectual moments with you, like reading papers or discussing recent psychological studies. Sometimes, he even helps you with your work by giving you unique perspectives from his travels, and in turn, you help him manage the more stressful parts of his past.

Stan Pines:

Stan doesn’t fully get what a therapist or psychiatrist does at first (he’s used to handling things by “toughing it out”) but he quickly comes to appreciate how insightful you are.

“So, you talk to people about their problems? Gotta hand it to ya, you’ve got a lot of patience. I can barely deal with the customers.”

Stan is amazed at how you can listen to other people’s issues all day and still come home well. He’s constantly in awe of how much you care for others and how you help people through their darkest moments.

“You’ve gotta be some kinda saint to listen to people’s problems all day and not go crazy yourself.”

He loves that you don’t push him to talk, but when he does, you listen attentively. You’ve taught him that it’s okay to share his feelings without making him feel weak. Sometimes he’s caught off guard by how much better he feels after talking to you.

“Huh, I guess it’s not so bad… all this feelings stuff. You really know how to make a guy feel better.”

Stan appreciates your ability to see through his tough-guy act. You can read him like a book, and while it’s a little intimidating, it’s also a relief. You pick up on the small things, like when he’s more stressed than usual or when something’s bothering him.

“How do you always know what’s goin’ on in my head? It’s like you’re a mind reader or somethin’. Say how bout we put that to use in the shack? I'm joking, unless you want to.”

He loves to brag about your career, even if he doesn’t always understand it.

“Yeah, my girl’s a therapist. Helps people sort out their problems. She’s smart as hell. I dunno how she does it, but it’s pretty impressive.”

If you’re ever feeling overwhelmed by your work, Stan is the first to encourage you to take a break. He might not know all the details of your job, but he knows how important it is for you to recharge. He’ll pull you away from your books or laptop and suggest watching a movie or doing something fun together.

“You’ve been workin’ hard all day. Come on, let’s kick back and relax. You deserve it.”

He’s a little protective of you, especially if you’ve had a rough day. If you come home stressed after dealing with a difficult client, Stan will be there to comfort you in his own way, whether that’s making you laugh, cooking a simple meal, or just sitting beside you.

Stan will occasionally ask for advice, though he’ll frame it casually. “So, let’s say someone I know has a lotta stuff from their past they don’t like talkin’ about. What’d you say to help ‘em out?” He trusts you more than he’ll admit and values your wisdom, even if he’s not always ready to face his own feelings head-on.

A/n: you give them therapy they need, the end ^^