#which is besides the point. but the point is that it's Different. this is an extension of canon sam yes

[endereies]

You get your lip gloss on a shared drink

More often than not, you found your own hand wrapped around the same drink that Matt did. It quietly rested by your sides while you let the easy moment flow through as a summer's breeze. Talking with Matt felt so welcoming, a quiet listener who simply admired the energy and thought behind your words. Yet you were so expressive that Matt opted to taking the drink purely into his own hands to eliminate another possible spillage. It was a cooler drink to cope with the recent sunshine and sloshed everytime he brought it to his lips.

“Don’t you ever think about that though?” Your arms finally took a rest from a vivid explanation, a breath entering your lungs. Your smile was etched with innocence and curiosity, one that Matt was caught in.

“On the contrary, I’m thinking if you don’t take a sip of this, I’ll end up finishing it all by myself.” Your eyes widened slightly once you saw that half the drink was near enough gone. That's all it took for your mouth to wrap around the drink, swallowing a healthy dose. A satisfied hum passes your lips at the acceptance of the sweet strawberry taste. Matt’s gaze falls to her face much longer than necessary, unable to pass it as a quick glance. You don’t comment on it, instead taking a final sip before nudging it back towards him in a wordless invite. He obliges, rewrapping his own hands where yours just were. 

Just as smoothly, you began speaking again about a completely different topic than before. But the moment his lips meet the rim, he pauses and pulls back. His eyes meet yours in faux frustration which just makes you fall silent. “Again, really?”

All you do is blink up innocently at him, tilting your head and narrowing your facial features. Matt lets out a low chuckle, twisting and raising the cup so that you can see the faint shimmer left behind from your lips. “You and your lip gloss…” He attempts a weak side-eye before swiping a thumb over the glossy imprint. It doesn't quite come off, however, leaving the pink dye smudged and the scent of cherries over his hand.

You grin happily, entirely unapologetic of your actions. “Maybe you needed a little pizazz, besides, we match now!” You’re quick to bump his side with your elbow whilst swinging your legs under the park bench.

Matt huffs, staring down to the cup, as if contemplating just how to remove it. Neither of you had any napkins and frankly, having a white shirt of his turned pink wasn’t ideal. So, with an exaggerated sigh, he lifted it up once more to his lips and took a sip. The texture wasn’t too different to lip balm he was used to applying. The taste of strawberry now/ was a combination with another berry, the subtle, sweet artificial taste lingering even after he swallowed. He couldn’t complain much, at least it was similar. “My mouth tastes of cherries too.”

“It’s like fate knew that drink needed extra flavour.” Your hand snatched the drink to enjoy the combination of tastes. His face softened at the sight of you happily chugging the drink. “Of artificial cherries? You’re ridiculous…”

“And yet you’re still drinking it.” You point out the way the shimmer has now transferred over to his own pouting lips, making him roll his eyes at your laughter. However, he considers your words before lifting it back up once more, taking a deliberately long sip. “Mmm… I love artificial drinks.”

It’s in these subtle moments where the teasing sentences bleed into something softer that neither of you want to let go of. The quiet intimacy behind shared drinks, the way that your lip gloss always manages to find its way onto his skin, the way you never apologise.

“Considering the fact that you keep drinking from it… you must not hate it as much as you say you do.” Your words catch him mid sip, acknowledgement slipping through the air. Matt’s warm gaze reaches yours.

“Only because it tastes like you.” For a moment you’re speechless, no longer providing conversation and instead smiling innocently at Matt. His own smile, as if what he said was the most casual sentence, made you blush slightly.

And even though he’d never say it out loud, he knows this cycle will repeat, over and over. Maybe he didn’t mind stained lips as much if it came from you.

[nyxi-pixie]

actually incredibly funny to me that ranpos entire thing centres on how his intelligence is not because of an ability or any other great thing, its just him. hes entirely, completely, inarguably human. and Yet, when it comes to dazai, so many people are Desperate that there just Has to be another explanation. his intelligence cant just be that hes unusual, no it must be a marker of separation, of difference so great it disallows the reality of his humanity.

[darkkitty1208]

Something I like to think about while chin-deep in this godforsaken serirei brainrot is the something-of-a-parallel in how both Serizawa and Reigen are both actually very lonely people.

One of the things I love about ONE's storytelling and style -- especially in mp100 -- is the way the sad stuff is deliberately concealed under humour/comedy while still managing to sprinkle a tasteful amount of seriousness in the mix. The show balances the Funny and the Plot really, really well.

But if you step back and peel off the slapstick for a moment you'll realise that a good amount of characters in the show are the kind that, if you think about them a little too hard or for a little too long, will just be devastating. Seri and reigen fit into that a lot -- while unlike reigen, serizawa isn't much of a comic relief/joke character that hides behind his flashy ways to obscure the raw existential terror of being fundamentally flawed inside, the way his character is being laid out in the story and how he subsequently grows and develops as a person is still very subtle. And kind of depressing, if you think about it.

They're both very isolated people. Serizawa being a former shut-in forced to navigate in society independently freshly after spending years relying on the boss of a toxic workplace environment -- understatement, btw, it was literally an evil organisation -- and Reigen spending most of his life faking who he is and robbing himself of the opportunity to form meaningful bonds and relationships and connections to people as Just Himself and not the persona he for some reason staunchly puts on... it's just something that gets me real pensive these days.

They literally complement each other. Reigen, giving Serizawa that one needed push to finally let go of his dependency towards anyone who poses a higher power over him, and to become his own person, and serizawa, being reigen's first ever adult friend besides a couple middle schoolers and a green cloud -- and the thing is!!!!!! The thing is. Serizawa admires reigen not for his psychic powers (or lack thereof). Somewhat-of-a-parallel aside, there's a contrast to how serizawa and reigen are about vulnerability; seri's the kind of person who'd dump his entire life story to anyone who's willing to listen (case in point: his literal first meeting with mob) but reigen would rather rub salt on his own underwear than share a single piece of his personal life or just about anything pertaining to his full, honest, human self. It literally took mob plowing through half the city to get him to admit that he isn't psychic. The only way he knows to form connections or befriend people is the indirect way -- giving personal advice without revealing any personal experience, giving encouragement and reassurance while acting like he himself knows how to handle a situation even when he's cornered himself/struggling not to let things go to (further) shit, being sincere but not exactly being honest.

Which is why seri probably wouldn't think twice about reigen's social 'adeptness' and 'wiseness'. Spending most of his life not exactly being taught social norms or how to read into social cues, it's not a wonder someone like reigen is somebody that seri canonically admires and looks up to a lot.

But that's the thing. Serizawa admires reigen for him, and his skills, and his good heart that pushed seri to choose what he wants in life and to make decisions of his own, instead of reigen's facade of being a great and powerful psychic. I firmly, firmly believe serizawa knows reigen isn't psychic at all, and while i think he might've been conflicted about it at first, i do think he eventually grows to accept it because reigen doesn't need to be a psychic for serizawa to connect with him or to admire him, unlike toichirou.

And that really enforces the whole "psychic powers are still a human trait/don't make you any different from others" message that the show time and time again delivers real, real well.

I just. Ugh. I love them a lot.

[hiraethwa]

how to kill a god

four from <the collection — how to kill a god>

pairing. gojo satoru x reader

cw. special grade sorcerer!reader, rivals/enemies to lovers, mentions of death and borderline suicidal thoughts, messy relationships, smidge of teasing, learning to cope with losing suguru with each other tbh

wc. 3.2k

in the wake of loss, all we had was each other.

it’s another five weeks before gojo attempts to talk to you, giving you a wide berth and plenty of space to yourself after how his last conversation—argument with you went. 

you had healed up rapidly in the days that followed, regaining your strength and mobility at an inhumane speed that surprises even shoko, who chalked it up to the massive amounts of cursed energy that your body generated from the emotions that flooded you after finding out about what suguru—geto did. 

he sees it too, even if he has not seen you in person. his six eyes see plenty of you, the shape of your cursed energy output that you struggle to regulate, involuntarily aware of where you were at all times, the burning bonfire of cursed energy too tall to ignore. 

you disappear from school grounds despite orders from the higher ups to keep you confined within the parameters of jujutsu high, returning drained every night, and he presumes that you have been out looking for geto. 

no one is chancing their necks to stop you. he could only imagine the cold murderous look in your eyes that sends everyone running away from you. 

gojo does not blame you, he would have done the same if he were in your shoes. 

and despite the way things were between you, he feels a strange pride at your determination, unflinching in the face of the rigidity of jujutsu society. 

he wishes he had done things differently, said things differently, that last time he had seen geto. then perhaps everything could have been different. 

yaga had given him a good scolding for not complying with orders and stopping you, but what is disobeying another stupid order from the know-it-all’s? 

he has the gojo name on his back, an image to protect, not that he gives a rat’s ass about it, but his hands are bound either way. on the other hand, you could do anything you wanted, and what could they do about it, except send him after you? he had only laughed at them. 

deep down, he secretly wishes that you are able to change geto’s mind, talk him out of his ridiculous notion and bring him back. even if the higher ups protested staying his execution, there is nothing they could do if gojo refuses to kill him. 

it seems that both you and him are out of luck, considering the fact that you have been pacing out in the cold for the fifth night in a row, your cursed energy a bright flickering flame that is impossible to miss. 

“burning extra energy before bed?” he steps out into the brisk air of the courtyard where your footsteps are imprinted in the snow, overlapping from the sheer number of footprints that have disturbed the fresh layer. 

you don’t even bother to look at him, having felt his presence moving towards you within the barrier that you kept up. 

your cursed technique lapse, similar to gojo’s, allows you to extend the boundaries of your innate technique from your own body to a larger range, encompassing a certain radius with you as the center. 

devour takes care of the rest, absorbing cursed energy from a selected area, human, or curse over time. the caveat being you could only select one target at a given point in time to absorb from, leaving you vulnerable in combat when you absorb attacks meant for other sorcerers. 

you do so sparingly anyway, since gojo no longer needed you to shield him—which begs the question of why his clan bothered to go to such lengths to break and shape you into his shadow.

besides being able to absorb cursed energy from this invisible boundary, you could also sense and differentiate cursed energy signatures that move within it. perfect for hunting down one geto suguru and demanding an explanation from the man himself for this nonsensical mess.

except he is able to discern your cursed energy from the technique and flee before you could catch up to him, and frankly, you tire of the cat and mouse game that has been going on for weeks. 

“you sound like you know it.” you throw back at him, frustrated at the foolishness of the entire situation. what is suguru thinking?

shoko had talked to you about her encounter with suguru, and the fact that he bothered to speak to her and gojo, but not you, makes you want to kill someone. 

it was mostly relief in the days following your regaining of consciousness. relief that gojo is alive and suguru is unharmed, your defensive mechanism pushing your own encounter with fushiguro toji to the back of your mind, filed away with other unimportant things. 

and then this. this nonsensical situation that you cannot make any head or tail of. 

it has your cursed energy running rampant from the different emotions that afflict you. 

“did you see him?” you shake your head, clenching your shaking fists by your side.

normally, his questions would make you bristle, as does every little thing he does. normally, you would not deign to give him an answer, try to pick a fight with him. you can’t remember a time when you were not fighting, but it wasn’t always this way. 

it had started out this way as teenagers, with him being unable to stand you, always trying to be the one who wins. but there was a time when you almost understood each other, when he almost wiped out the elders for you. 

gojo had posed a threat to the clan elders, and they decided that you were becoming a detriment to their control, sending you away from the main estate. 

away from satoru. 

and then everything changed. you changed. so did he. 

but it wasn’t always this way. 

“it seems that he deigned to speak to everything but me.” you swallow thickly, “he is avoiding me. every time i sense him, he escapes my range before i can get there.”

“maybe it is better that way.”

“you can’t possibly be serious. of all people, i deserve to see him, hear him explain himself at the very least.” you breathe shakily, “i need to. i deserve an explanation, something. anything.” because i don’t know what to do otherwise. did he ever loved me?

“if you want to kill me, then kill me. that’s what he said to me.” his throat bobs, “brushed off the lives he took like it was nothing. the things he said…” he shakes his head, “it wasn’t like him at all, and i know it isn’t, it is his ptsd taking over. i don’t know if seeing him now would give you any kind of resolution.”

“he was the best of us.” hot tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, your angry fist swipes across them, drying them with your sleeve. “where do we even go from here?”

without him, the best of your souls, where do you go?

he stays silent, unable to answer your question, for he himself does not know it either, hadn’t had the time nor the space to even think about it. because if he slowed down, if he stopped for more than a second to think about life after geto… he might not be able to keep going while keeping himself intact.

it would mean that he has to come to terms with the reality of a future without geto in it, and the enormity of it, the loneliness of it, makes his knees buckle.

“it’s oddly unsettling when we are not at each other’s throats.” you clear your throat, changing the topic, pushing your feelings to the back of your mind, next to the pile of unprocessed events that was collecting dust and spiders. “i can’t remember a time when we aren’t.”

“you give yourself too much credit, there’s plenty of time when…” he trails off, racking his mind for such instances. oh. there really isn’t, is there? “well, this is nice too, isn’t it?”

“perhaps you should go back to yelling at me. it’s really disconcerting when you are being civil to me.” 

“oh gods, you’re so dramatic.” gojo groans, smile twitching at his lips as blue eyes meet gold ones. 

you look away first, as a thought crosses your mind that you wish didn’t. “do you regret it? walking away from suguru when i got here. maybe you could have saved him. maybe he didn’t love me as much as–”

your words must have come out wrong, for he stiffens out of the corner of your eye. 

his voice is harsh, heavy turned light atmosphere returns to being tense as he interrupts you. “he didn’t want to be saved.” it was too little, too late.

and yet, you could not fathom it. the desperation and darkness that compelled him to do what he did, and for what? a world with only sorcerers? for what? 

you could only see pieces of what he must have gone through, relying on your imagination to fill in the large swaths of blanks with what others had told you, which was a whole lot of nothing. 

knowing nothing of what had occurred in his fight against fushiguro, nothing of his struggles afterwards, nothing to go off of except what you knew about suguru, and these days, it feels as if you did not know him at all. 

your suguru who believed in protecting the weak as the order of society. this geto who massacred in his village, including his parents. 

the puzzle only falls apart when you try to add logic to it.

the next time he sees you, it is in your dorm room. 

your question continued to haunt him long after he walked away from you. the possibilities are endless and too uncomfortable to ponder, 

shoko had practically dragged him here, and upon meeting your eyes, he understood why she reacted with such urgency. 

you are alive and unharmed but your eyes—desolation lives in them.

he wonders what had happened, what figurative door had been slammed shut, or open, but he does not get a chance to speak before you do.

“i went to the temple.” the temple, the one that suguru left you all for. he detests that place so, finding himself wishing that he had razed that forsaken place down when he had the chance. 

“there were two girls, maybe five or six years old, waiting for me. said that suguru had been expecting me but sadly had something else to attend to, that he left a message for me.” your voice sounds raw, as if you had screamed your lungs out. “he wants me to forget him.”

you chuckle, an unhinged laugh that teeters on the edge of your sanity. “apparently they were orphans, so he took them in from the village he massacred, not that the girls knew what he did, but the time and place match.”

he sees it now, the devastation, the implication written between the lines—he loved you, but not enough to stay, not more than the two orphans he just met. 

for a split second, he thinks he might lose his own shit too. but if he breaks now, there would not be any coming back for the two of you. 

your uncontrollable laughter chokes into hysterical sobs, each and every one of them gut wrenching on its own. 

it’s all he could do as he gathers you in his arms, keeping you tethered, holding your world together as you fall apart. 

he wishes suguru loved him enough—trusted him enough to have done the same. 

the third time he sees you, he teleports to you out of sheer panic. 

he had been keeping tabs on you since your meltdown, and the moment his six eyes sensed something wrong with you on your mission, he went to you without sparing another thought. 

the scene before him stops him dead in his tracks, heart racing in his chest, hands reflexively forming gestures to release blue stops midair as he realizes he is powerless to save you from the special grade curse that has you in its stranglehold.

because you are in the direct line of fire. 

gods, what the fuck are you doing? the special grade should not have a leg up on you. and you, your eyes are closed, as if—fuck. as if you allowed it. 

“what are you doing?” he can only hope his voice carries over the wind, assisted by infinity. 

only you can save yourself. gojo is getting sick of this constant theme in his life, this stupid lesson that the universe is trying to teach him, forcing him to stand by helplessly and watch while the people close to him choose whether they want to be saved. 

your eyes fly open, registering his presence, remembering your mission. right. 

gojo watches in disbelief and a tiny smidge of wonder as a sphere falls over you and the curse, enveloping you in molten gold. a domain expansion?

the wait lasts all of a few seconds before the reflective bubble dissolves with you landing on your feet deftly. he has to admit that he is more jealous than worried for you at this point. 

“when were you going to tell us that you can cast a domain expansion?” his voice sounds accusatory, with too much awe that you are unworthy of. 

“i don’t want to talk about it.” you had once hoped that your domain expansion is something good. something that creates instead of destroying like you were taught to. 

but it was born out of a need for vengeance, your domain expansion, the image of a corrupted and twisted version of heaven. instead of healing, it just takes and takes and takes.

fine, fine. if space is what you need, then he will give it to you. he teleports you back to the school grounds, to shoko to heal your injuries and adjust your makeshift healing on the battlefield.

the image of the curse trapping you in its grasp stays with him though, nagging at him from the back of his mind for attention. he gives in to himself on the walk back towards the dormitories.

“what was that back there? you overpowered the curse easily enough, how did it manage to get you in its hold?” 

you glance away, out to the snowy courtyard. “next question.”

“we need to talk. shoko is worried about you.” he catches your wrist easily, worry taking over his rationality. “you have been returning from missions bloody and battered. missions that should be a piece of cake for you.”

“just reminiscing about our childhood years.” your answer sends him reeling.

his throat bobs, knowing well what your life was like before high school, “that makes it worse.”

“i’m tired, gojo.” you whisper. the ends of the hallway stretch in both directions, both feeling out of reach.

“then rest, i will take care of your missions.” gojo refuses to let the matter rest, stubbornly blazing ahead. he has seen this scene before, and it did not end well. he should have pushed harder.

“you know that’s not what i meant.” 

“then what did you mean? you want to take the easy way out and die, is that it?”

“maybe. not exactly.” you hesitate, fingers twitching in anxiousness, “i don’t know anymore. life feels like wading through sludge and i am sick of being lost with no end in sight.”

“then talk to me, we will work through it. i am not giving up on you.” for the briefest moment, you wonder if he sees suguru in you. 

“it’s not your responsibility to fix me” just like it was not your fault that suguru could not be saved. but gojo stiffens, pulls you into his arms, engulfing you in a tight embrace, fingers weaving between strands of your hair, cradling the back of your head softly.

“i can’t lose another friend.” his voice is quiet, barely loud enough for you to hear if you were not pressed up against him, chin on his shoulder. you feel the movement as he swallows shakily and says in a thick voice, “if you don’t have anything left to live for, then live for me.”

a selfish, selfish request, considering you are to die for him, but if it were to save to you, then—

you puff out a breath of air, hands rubbing his back soothingly, the roles reversed for a brief moment as the arrogance hinting behind his words makes you smile slightly, “you’re an arrogant bastard, you know that?” 

“only the best.” 

gojo withdraws from the hug, sniffing and shifting his sunglasses. you couldn’t see his eyes in the dark, but you knew that there were tears brimming on his eyelines. 

“you need anything, you know where to find me.” 

“mhm, even if i need to be tucked into bed?”

“it would be your honor to have me tuck you into bed and chase away your nightmares.” he sticks his tongue out at you.

you roll your eyes jokingly in response, feeling the heaviness on your shoulders become lighter with the knowledge that he stands by you as you walk back to your room. 

this boy you grew up with, who never saw eye to eye with you, and yet the one who is the closest anyone has ever come to understanding you—ironically also the reason for the ordeal you were subjected to by the gojo clan that made you lose hope in living.

without him, you would have never met suguru, would have never felt the warmth of his soul that wrapped around you and coaxed you back ashore, would have continued to drown in the depthless oceans of your power. at least then you would not be missing him, feeling like a piece of your heart had been carved out, leaving hot blood gushing from the hole in your chest. 

the breath of air above the surface had saved you then, but now it dooms you to a life knowing what freedom tastes like, knowing there is no going back—that this is where you belong, lost in the endless void of your power. 

the history that weaved your paths together, intertwined with complex braidwork branching out through the course of the world as you know it, is full of mirrored knots filled with contradiction, too complicated to ever undo the haunting beauty painted in blood. 

but… friend. gojo called you his friend despite everything that stood between you.

you chuckle to yourself, calling out to him over your shoulder before the door swings closed behind you, “you have a very odd definition of friends, gojo satoru.”

you miss the drop of his jaw at your words, the stilling of his body for a few seconds as he catches himself and a smile creeps its way onto his pale features.

and maybe, maybe you were both going to be alright.

a/n. this took a hoooooot second, but here we go <3 time to get going

awaiting updates? browse the library while waiting

if you liked this, please consider leaving a like, comment, rb or ask <3 (perhaps i enjoy breaking hearts a little too much)

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[goldfades]

can you do one with azzi and the five love languages? like how her and her gf are with all 5

ugh i love azzi so much, shes my baby angel precious princess she cannot do anything wrong in my eyes. anyway! heres a fic

words of affirmation

It wasn’t like Azzi needed to be told she was good—her stats, her trophies, her highlights, they all spoke for themselves. But that didn’t mean she didn’t want to hear it. Especially from her.

Azzi was always hardest on herself after a bad game. And by “bad,” it usually meant she’d still dropped a solid twenty points but missed a few shots she thought she should’ve made. She didn’t sulk, exactly, but she got quiet. The kind of quiet that sat heavy between them, stretching across the space in their apartment like an unspoken loss.

And Azzi never asked for reassurance. Never outright sought it. She was too disciplined, too locked in, the kind of player who internalized every mistake and used it as fuel. But that didn’t mean she didn’t need it.

Especially on nights like this.

You knew the pattern well by now—how she’d shower in silence, how she’d settle onto the couch with her protein shake, her body still tense from the game, jaw tight with whatever frustration she was turning over in her head.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just sat beside her, close enough that your thigh pressed against hers, letting the space between you settle. Letting her come down from it in her own time.

When the moment felt right, you leaned into her a little more, your fingers tracing lazy shapes against her wrist. “You know,” you started, keeping your voice soft but certain, “I love the way you see the court. You always make the right play, even when it’s not the easiest one. That kick-out to the corner in the third? That was beautiful, Az.”

You felt her exhale, the slightest release of tension, but she didn’t respond. You kept going.

“And I love how you fight for every single point. Even when it’s not your night, you never stop pushing. That’s what makes you different.”

Azzi turned her head slightly, looking at you for the first time all night. There was something unreadable in her eyes—something softer than frustration, something closer to understanding.

“Yeah?” she asked, quiet but almost hopeful.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “And also, you’re still the best shooter in the country, in case you forgot.”

That finally pulled a small, breathy laugh from her, her head dipping for just a second before she leaned into you, letting her forehead rest against your shoulder. She didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to. You could feel it in the way she softened against you, in the way her fingers curled around yours.

She was letting herself believe it.

acts of service

Azzi wasn’t good at slowing down. You knew that about her. She ran herself into the ground, always pushing past what her body probably wanted, never really stopping long enough to listen to it.

So you did it for her.

It started small—little things like making sure she had her protein shakes prepped, slipping extra recovery packs into her bag before away games. But then you started noticing more—the way she winced slightly when she sat down, the way she rolled her ankle absentmindedly throughout the day, the way she stretched her calf a little longer than usual.

She never complained. Never even acknowledged it. Which meant it was exactly the kind of thing she’d ignore until it became a real problem.

So, when she got home from practice one evening, sweaty and exhausted, she walked into a fully prepped recovery session in the living room.

The coffee table had been pushed aside, a yoga mat rolled out in its place. Next to it, a foam roller, resistance bands, massage oil, the works. Everything she needed to take care of herself—if she ever actually stopped long enough to do it.

She stood there, hands on her hips, staring at it like she didn’t understand what she was looking at. “What’s all this?”

You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, feigning nonchalance. “Recovery session,” you said. “You don’t take care of yourself, so I’m doing it for you.”

Azzi scoffed, amused. “I do take care of myself—”

“You literally said, ‘it’s not that bad’ about a sprained ankle.”

Azzi opened her mouth, then shut it. You had her there.

She sighed, the kind of sigh that meant she was giving in, and flopped onto the mat. “Fine,” she muttered, but there was a smile threatening her lips.

You sat beside her, already reaching for her calf, hands working over the tight muscle with practiced ease. She let out the smallest, pleased hum, melting just a little under your touch.

“You just wanted an excuse to touch me,” she murmured, eyes closed now, smug.

You rolled your eyes. “Maybe.”

receiving gifts

Azzi wasn’t someone who cared about gifts in a material way, but she was terrible at keeping track of things. Shoes, water bottles, her lucky shooting sleeve—you name it, she’d misplaced it at some point.

You, however, paid attention.

So when you noticed that she’d lost yet another pair of her favorite grip socks—the same ones she swore made all the difference in her footwork—you didn’t even hesitate.

You ordered a new pair and tucked them neatly into her practice bag, right on top of her jersey, so she’d find them the next day.

That evening, she walked into the apartment holding them up, an amused expression on her face. “Did you…?”

You barely looked up from your coffee. “You lost yours. Again.”

Azzi shook her head, pulling them on immediately. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me,” you said simply.

She grinned, no hesitation. “Yeah. I do.”

quality time

Time together was rare. Between games, travel, and training, it felt like life kept you moving in different directions.

Which was why, when you finally had a full day off together, you made it count.

You didn’t go anywhere, didn’t make plans—just stayed in, wrapped up in blankets, soft candles flickering, homemade pancakes stacked high on the counter.

At some point in the afternoon, Azzi sprawled across the couch, her head resting in your lap, a book balanced on her stomach. She wasn’t reading, though. Just lying there, eyes closed, letting you run your fingers down her back.

“You asleep?” you asked softly.

She hummed. “Not yet.”

You smiled, shifting slightly so you could get comfortable. This was what you loved most. Not the grand gestures, not the crowded arenas—just this. Just her. Just quiet, lazy afternoons where nothing else in the world mattered.

physical touch

Azzi wasn’t overly affectionate in public. She wasn’t cold, just… private. She didn’t need big displays, didn’t need to prove anything. But when it was just the two of you? Different story.

Which is why, after an exhausting day, she walked through the door and immediately collapsed into you, wrapping her arms around your waist, pressing herself against you like she was trying to crawl into your skin.

You barely had time to react before she buried her face in your neck, sighing deeply.

“Rough practice?” you asked, running a hand over her back.

She mumbled something unintelligible, tightening her hold.

You smiled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Wanna talk about it?”

She shook her head.

“Just wanna be held?”

A nod.

So you held her. No questions, no expectations. Just the soft weight of her body against yours, the steady rhythm of her breathing, the unspoken promise that no matter how chaotic the world got, this was always her safe place.

You.

[livingfiction]

AARON, TT, PARASOCIAL, AND SO ON IMMA SAY THIS AND LEAVE IT ALONE...

This is a lot so bear with me, but also ppl over here don't mind reading

So I've been gone for a few days and I come back to see there are some arguments, negativity, and a lot of venom in general being spewed about Aaron and TT's alleged relationship or whatever. Now, let me start this off by saying everyone is entitled to their opinions. We all have them about celebrities that we love and follow. There are times that we disapprove of their choices, especially their choice of partners. And that's fine. But lets all remember we don't know these people (hello Jonathan Majors) and we don't know Aaron personally. We can watch a million interviews and dissect every little movement and motion this man does and we can "learn" him as much as we want, but WE DO NOT KNOW THIS MAN. And I'm sorry to say this, but honestly I would have rather he popped out with a white woman cause the commotion and frenzy he and TT have caused is beyond ridiculous. I even made a post about this when she posted those pictures and EVERYBODY came out the woodwork on the internet (except here of course) to talk about how all of it was a marketing ploy to "rehabilitate" his image with black women because obviously he doesn't like black women (mind you this is based off that one picture of him and that one white woman). And now we're on here and apparently TT is too aggressive for him and he likes women that are softer and more feminine??? (and idk where that assessment came from)

[ Side note: I do find it funny that ppl are saying that about TT as black women are often thought by default to be more aggressive, angry, and masculine in comparison to non black women and ESPECIALLY in comparison to white women. And ppl have been saying he prefers white women AND "soft" feminine women-which white women are thought to be more of in comparison to black women so🤷‍♀️...very interesting to say the least]

Also apparently TT is to ghetto and hood yet there have been plenty of jokes made about Aaron being from the "hood" in London, now granted their hoods are most definitely different, but hood dudes do tend to love hood girls so once again 🤷‍♀️😂 Now idk TT's personality cause I don't keep up with her and have not tried to dissect her personality. I think her and Iman had a show at one point and I may have seen a clip or two but I can't really tell you too much about her besides the basics and that she look good as fuck. She may be ghetto, aggressive or whatever else but shit ain't nobody holding a gun to Aaron head and forcing him to interact with her, Idk what they have going on because honestly I felt like ppl jumped the gun with pics but whatever it is whether it be BF&GF/ Friends/ Fuck buddies, acquaintances, PR couple(still don't believe that but whatever) Aaron is a 30 year old grown ass man and he's capable of making his own decisions. Some people are coming across like jealous ex girlfriends and as much as we joke about this man being our husband and boyfriend we DON'T KNOW THIS NIGGA, have never been within 100 ft of him.

And tbh I shouldn't be surprised this is happening, cause when male celebrities have large female fan bases it tends too. I mean look at the One Direction boys (even now), Justin Bieber, shit even Prince Harry! I remember people on here saying that the only reason he was with Meghan when they started dating, was because he had mother issues so he chose a woman that was nothing like his mother and he was just having fun and trying something different to distract from the pain and it wouldn't last--fast fwrd to 8 yrs of marriage and two kids later (yes they was coming up with some crazy shit) No woman will ever really measure up or be good enough to the fan that knows their fave celeb apparently better than they know themselves. Hell even Lori Harvey, the quintessential soft feminine, and high class black woman wasn't good enough because apparently she's a clout chasing gold digger ( despite her coming from more money than anybody she's ever dated and her being a constant trending topic before she LITERALLY ever opened her mouth to utter a word). In case anyone is confused I saw comments claiming she said no, when someone suggested she date Aaron, because he wasn't rich or famous enough ( I made a post about that too I think) .

[Sidenote: I wasn't aware that people thought that Lori and MBJ were a PR couple too because of that whole rumor about MBJ not liking black women , WHICH AGAIN ppl seemed to have pulled that out of their asses. Till this day I have no idea where that came from. Idk if its a pattern but it seems like the only time an A-list black male celebrity dates a black woman is if it he's trying to pander to black women so he can keep collecting our money despite not liking us 🤷‍♀️]

At the end of the day Aaron is a grown man in control of his own life, including the dating and career parts. If shit starts to go side ways or off the rails professionally that's on HIM and his team. He's in control of his own destiny. We all are in my opinion. And I genuinely don't give a fuck who he's fucking or dating...for real or for fake. I'm not trying to defend TT or their relationship or whatever but I'm damn sure not going out of my way to tear her down or whatever they have. All in all this shit has gotten ridiculous.

I'm just enjoying the community we built, the love and admiration we have for him, and the bonds we've built with each other. Lets just fucking laugh and read awesome stories written by these amazing fucking writers and everybody fucking relax!!!!

Thank you. That is all loves ❤️❤️❤️❤️

[veryinnovative]

there's a clear, inherent difference between recycling overarching fandom-wide plots involving meet-cute coffee shop aus, decade-old fan-favorite tropes, and deliberately mirroring unique arcs and plot points for the most part (occasionally even including stolen lines or going so far as to rephrase/paraphrase whole paragraphs to avoid word-for-word plagiarism accusations!) from other writers without giving credit where credit is due. not quite sure when writing 'the better' fanfic became a contest, maybe i missed a memo, but having been in fandom spaces for quite a while, i can only pray and hope we respect one another and each other's works enough to not steal creative, original ideas? being inspired by another's original work is natural and something that happens constantly in fandom (which makes this a collaborative, communal space where ideas are always exchanged and makes writing/drawing fun), but it's only courteous to acknowledge said creator somewhere at the start of your work to keep the community supportive and transparent instead of copying works without acknowledgment. i've seen an alarming increase of mutuals posting about how they are scared to share their ideas and that's a concerning indicator of how a fundamental part of fandom is gradually being erased because mutual respect is fading.

besides, fanfiction cant and shouldnt be directly compared to original published works in any way or manner. published authors, movie creators, playwrights etc receive widespread recognition, often even in the form of financial compensation, while fanfic thrives on community engagement alone! having your work acknowledged, especially when it's your /own/, is one of the few rewards writers get, if not the only one. if a writer wants to maintain ownership over their original ideas within fandom spaces, that choice deserves to be respected. this is a community.

tl;dr fandom is built on collaboration. a lot of common aus and ideas get rehashed. but if you are inspired by an original idea, at least credit it

[taradactyls]

So I could be totally wrong but, I believe it was sort of expected that men/gentlemen lose their virginity before marriage in regency times. But I also there’s some fandom ‘debate’ about whether or not Mr Darcy would’ve had sex before getting married. So I was just curious about what your canon for Mr Darcy in T3W is. Is he a virgin or not?

I knew someone would ask me this eventually, haha. I've actually had really long conversations with my beta reader about this trying to figure it out. It sounds like this might all be stuff that you’ve already seen discussed in the fandom, but I’ve never thought about it deeply before and so these are new thoughts to me.

I keep going over the historical real-world likelihood, the authorial intent, and the text itself but I’m still not 100%. I’ll explain my thinking and what I find most likely, but here’s your warning that it’s not a clear cut yes/no.

Because on one hand, at that time period it was most common for men in his position to have seen sex workers or have casual encounters/mistresses with women from their estates. Though I do absolutely believe not all men did that, no matter how much wealth and power they had. To go back some centuries, William the Conqueror seemed to be famously celibate (no hints of male lovers either according to the biography I read) until his marriage, and there's no evidence of affairs after it either. The best guesses as to why are that it was due to his religious devotion and the problems that had arisen from himself being a bastard and not wanting to recreate that situation. Concerns over religion and illegitimate children would certainly still have been applicable in the regency to men who thought that way. And in modern times I've seen sex workers say that when an 18/21yo is booked in by his family/friends to 'become a man' often they end up just talking and agree to lie about the encounter. After all, it’s not like every man wants casual sex, even if they aren’t demisexual or something in that vein. But, statistically speaking, the precedent of regency gentlemen would make Darcy not a virgin.

On the other hand, just how aware was Jane Austen, the very religious daughter of a country rector, of the commonness of this? There’s a huge difference between knowing affairs and sex workers existed (and no one who had seen a Georgian newspaper could be blind to this) and realising that the majority of wealthy men saw sex workers at some point even if they condemned the more public and profligate affairs. The literature for young ladies at the time paints extramarital sex - including the lust of men outside of marriage - as pretty universally bad and dangerous. This message is seen from 'Pamela' and other gothic fiction to non-fiction conduct books which Jane Austen would have encountered. Here's something I found in 'Letters to a Young Lady' by the reverend John Bennett which I found particularly interesting as it's in direct conversation with other opinions of the era:

"A reformed rake makes the best husband." Does he? It would be very extraordinary, if he should. Besides, are you very certain, that you have power to reform him? It is a matter, that requires some deliberation. This reformation, if it is to be accomplished, must take place before marriage. Then if ever, is the period of your power. But how will you be assured that he is reformed? If he appears so, is he not insidiously concealing his vices, to gain your affections? And when he knows, they are secured, may he not, gradually, throw off the mask, and be dissipated, as before? Profligacy of this kind is seldom eradicated. It resembles some cutaneous disorders, which appear to be healed, and yet are, continually, making themselves visible by fresh eruptions. A man, who has carried on a criminal intercourse with immoral women is not to be trusted, His opinion of all females is an insult to their delicacy. His attachment is to sex alone, under particular modifications.

The definition of a rake is more than a man who has seen a sex worker once, it's about appearance and general conduct too, but again, would that distinction be made to young ladies? Because they seem to simply be continuously taught 'lust when unmarried is bad and beware men who you know engage in extramarital sex.' As a side note, Jane Austen certainly knew at least something about the mechanics of sex: her letters and literature she read alludes to it, and she grew up around farm animals in the countryside which is an education in itself.

We can also see from this exert that the school of thought seems to be 'reformed rake' vs 'never a rake' in contention for the title of best husband, there's no debate over whether a current rake is unsuitable for a young lady. And, from Willoughby to Wickham to Crawford, I think we have a very clear idea of Jane Austen's ideas of how likely it is notably promiscuous men can reform. This does not preclude the possibility that her disparaging commentary around their lust is based more on over-indulgence or the class of women they seduce, but it's undoubtedly a condemnation of such men directly in line with the first part of what John Bennett says so it's no stretch to believe she saw merit in the follow-on conclusions of the second part as well. Whether she would view it with enough merit to consider celibacy the only respectable option for unmarried men is a bit unclearer.

I did consider that perhaps Jane Austen consciously treated this as a grey area where she couldn’t possibly know what young men did (the same reasoning is why we never see the men in the dining room after the ladies retire, etc) and so didn't hold an opinion on men's extramarital encounters with sex workers/lower-class women at all, but I think there actually are enough hints in her works that this isn’t the case. Though, unsurprisingly, given the delicacy of the subject, there’s no direct mention of sex workers or gentlemen having casual lovers from among the lower-classes in her texts.

That also prevents us from definitively knowing whether she thought extramarital sex was so common, and as unremarkable, as most gentlemen treated it. But we do see from her commentary around the consequences of Maria Bertram and Henry Crawford's elopement that she had criticism of the double standards men and women were held to when violating sexual virtue. Another indication that she perhaps expected good men to be capable of waiting until marriage in the way that she very clearly believed women should. At the very least, a man who often indulges in extramarital sex does not seem to be one who would be considered highly by Jane Austen.

She makes a point of saying, in regards to not liking his wife, that Mr Bennet “was not of a disposition to seek comfort for the disappointment which his own imprudence had brought on, in any of those pleasures which too often console the unfortunate for their folly or their vice.” This must include affairs, though cheating on a wife cannot be a 1:1 equivalent of single young men sleeping around before marriage. However, the latter is generally critically accepted to be one of the flaws that Darcy lays at Wickham’s door along with gambling when talking about their youth and his “vicious propensities" and "want of principle." Though this could be argued that it’s more the extent or publicity of it (but remembering that it couldn't be anything uncommon enough that it couldn't be hidden from Darcy Sr. or explained away) rather than the act itself, or maybe seductions instead of paying women offering those services. I also believe Persuasion mentioning Sunday travelling as proof of thoughtless/immoral activity supports the idea that Jane Austen might have been religious enough that she would never create a hero who had extramarital sex.

So, taken all together this would make Darcy potentially a virgin, or, since I couldn't find absolute evidence of her opinions, leave enough room that he isn’t but extramarital sex isn’t a regular (or perhaps recent) thing and he would never have had anything so established as a mistress.

I’ve also been wondering, if Darcy isn’t a virgin, who would he have slept with? I’ve been musing on arguments for and against each option for weeks at this point. No romantasy has ever made me think about a fictional man's sexual habits so much as the question of Darcy's sexual history. What is my life.

Sex workers are an obvious answer, and the visits wouldn’t have raised any eyebrows. Discretion was part of their job, it was a clean transaction with no further responsibilities towards them, and effective (and reusable, ew) condoms existed at this time so there was little risk of children and no ability to exactly determine the paternity even if there was an accident. It was a fairly ‘responsible’ choice if one wanted no strings attached. In opposition to this, syphilis was rampant at the time, and had been known to spread sexually for centuries. Sex workers were at greater risk of it than anyone else and so the more sensible and risk-averse someone is (and I think Mr Darcy would be careful) the less likely they would be to visit sex workers. Contracting something that was known as potentially deadly and capable of making a future wife infertile if it spread to her could make any intelligent and cautious man think twice.

Servants and tenants of the estate are another simple and common answer. Less risk of stds, it can be based on actual attraction more than money (though money might still change hands), and is a bit more intimate. But Wickham’s called wicked for something very similar, when he dallies (whether he only got to serious flirting, kissing, or sleeping with them I don’t think we can conclusively say) with the common women of Meryton: “his intrigues, all honoured with the title of seduction, had been extended into every tradesman's family.” And it isn't as though Wickham had any personal duty towards those people beyond the claims of basic dignity. Darcy, who is shown to have such respect and understanding for his responsibilities towards the people of his estate and duties of a landlord, would keenly feel if any of his actions were leading his servants/tenants astray and down immoral paths. Servants, especially, were considered directly under the protection of the family whose house they worked in. I think it's undoubtable that Mrs Reynolds (whose was responsible for the wellbeing - both physically and spiritually - of the female servants) would not think so well of Mr Darcy if he had experimented with maids in his youth. It would reflect badly on her if a family entrusted their daughter to her care and she 'lost her virtue' under her watch. Daughters/widows of others living on the estate not under the roof of Pemberley House are a little more likely, but still, if he did have an affair with any of them I can only think it possible when he was much younger and did not feel his duties quite so strongly. Of course lots of real men didn't care about any of this, but Darcy is so far from being depicted as careless about his duties that the narrative makes a point of how exceptional his quality of care was. Frankly, it's undeniable that none of Jane Austen's heroes were flippant about their responsibilities towards those under their protection. I cannot serious entertain an interpretation that makes Darcy not, at his current age, at least, cognizant of the contemporary problems inherent in sleeping with servants or others on his estate.

A servant in a friend’s house would remove some of that personal responsibility, but transfer it to instead be leading his friend’s servants astray and in a manner which he is less able to know about if a child did result. That latter remains a problem even if we move the setting to his college, so not particularly likely for his character as we know it… though it wouldn’t be unusual for someone to be more unthinking and reckless in their teenage years than they are at twenty-eight so I don’t think having sex then can be ruled out. Kissing I can much more easily believe, especially when at Oxford or Cambridge, but every scenario of sleeping with a lower-class woman has some compelling arguments against it especially the closer we get to the time of the novel.

Men did of course also have affairs with women of ranks similar to their own, though given Jane Austen’s well-known feelings towards men who ‘ruined’ the virtue of young ladies we can safely say that Darcy never slept with an unwed middle- or upper-class woman. Any decent man would have married them out of duty if it got so far; but if he was the sort to let it get so far, I think it impossible Jane Austen would consider him respectable. Widows are a possibility, but again, the respectable thing to do would be to marry them. Perhaps a poorer merchant’s widow would be low enough that marriage is off the table but high enough that the ‘leading astray’ aspect loses its master-servant responsibilities (though the male-female ‘protect the gentler sex’ aspect remains) but his social circle didn’t facilitate meeting many ladies like that. Plus, an affair with a woman in society would remove many layers of privacy and anonymity that sex-workers and lower-class lovers provided by simply being unremarkable to the world at large. It carries a far greater risk of scandal and a heavier sense of immorality in the terms of respecting a woman’s purity which classism prevented from applying so heavily to lower-class women.

I think it’s important to note here that something that removes the need to think about duties of landlords towards the lower-classes or gentlemen towards gentlewomen is having affairs with other men of a similar rank. But, aside from the risk of scandal and what could be called the irresponsibility of engaging in illegal acts, it’s almost certain that Jane Austen would never have supported this. For a devout author in this era the way I’m calculating likelihoods makes it not even a possibility. But if you want to write a different fanfiction (and perhaps something like a break-up could explain why Darcy doesn’t seem to have any closer friend than someone whom he must have only met two or so years ago despite being in society for years before that) it does have that advantage over affairs with women of equal- and lower-classes. I support alternate interpretations entirely – it just isn’t how I’m deciding things in this instance.

I keep coming back to the conclusion that, at the very least, Darcy hasn’t had sex recently and it was never a common occurrence. It wouldn’t surprise me if Jane Austen felt he hadn’t done it ever. Kissing, as we can see from all the parlour games at the time, wasn’t viewed as harshly, so I think he’s likely made out with someone before. But in almost every situation it does seem that the responsible and religious thing to do (which Jane Austen values so highly) is for it to never have progressed to sex. I also don’t think it conflicts with his canon characterisation to say that he wouldn’t regard sexual experience as a crucial element of his life thus far, and his personality isn’t driven to pursue pleasure for himself, so it’s entirely possible that he would never go out of his way to seek it. So, I’m inclined to think that the authorial and textual evidence is in favour of Darcy being a virgin even if the real-world contemporary standard is the opposite. (Though both leave enough room for exceptions that I’m not going to argue with anyone who feels differently; and even if you agree with all my points, you might simply weight authorial intent/textual evidence/contemporary likelihoods differently than I do and come to a different conclusion).

Remember that even if Darcy is a virgin this wouldn’t necessarily equate to lack of knowledge, only experience. There were plenty of books and artwork focused on sex, and Darcy, studious man that he is, would no doubt pay attention to what knowledge his friends/male relatives shared. Though some of it (Looking especially at you, 'Fanny Hill, Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure') should NEVER be an example of appropriate practice for taking a woman's virginity. Darcy would almost certainly have been taught directly or learnt through exposure to other men talking to make sex good for a woman – it was a commonly held misconception (since Elizabethan England, I believe) that women had to orgasm to conceive. It would be in his interests as an empathetic husband, and head of a family, to know how to please his wife.

Basically, I’m convinced Darcy isn’t very experienced, if at all, and will be learning with Elizabeth. But he does have a lot of theoretical knowledge which he’s paid careful attention to and is eager to apply.

[sepublic]

            I realize I never did give my insight regarding the info Dana gave during the opening of her Gallery Nucleus, so after basically a month I may as well!

            Firstly, in the ORIGINAL idea of the show, Luz was going to Hell, but Dana clarified she wouldn’t have died to do so; She’d meet a witch and learn dark magic. Given the pitch bible is how the show was initially pitched to Disney, I presume that either Dana had a prior failed pitch of the show, or this was a draft she’d made before settling for the pitch bible, and then settling on the final version. Because W O W could you imagine that???

            I guess the cosmic order of this TOH’s universe would not be so cruel as to condemn an innocent teenager like that, but it does make me wonder if Dana would’ve delved into the whole concept of Christianity, if Hell WAS the fate of sinners, or if it was just its own independent place outside of any grand scheme, and it was humans who labelled it that way; Perhaps that’s the origin of the first episode’s line about how all human myths came from the isles.

            Dana confirmed that King was always going to be a Titan prior to the shortening, which I suspected; I mean, people were guessing it since the first episode just from his design alone, it was always there. But what really got me was the confirmation that the Collector WAS always intended to be part of the show pre-shortening, specifically Knock, Knock, Knockin’ on Hooty’s Door; And THEN their character was revised to be a child that King could get along with!

            This is all deeply vindicating, and goes along with what I’ve speculated before; That the Collector was always planned as this cosmic entity that Belos got the draining spell from, but due to the shortening, the writers revised them into a much more reasonable, negotiable character, thereby making a resolution with him a lot more attainable within a truncated runtime; Otherwise, they’d have to figure out a way to defeat such a powerful being. And they might’ve!

            However, the Collector was reimagined for the sake of King’s arc, to give him a friend to accompany him throughout each other’s eternal lifespans! Given the shortening, this certainly makes up for a truncated version of King’s intended character arc, and gives him a less existential resolution by the end of the day.

            I’m not surprised that the Collector sequence in K3oHD was pre-shortening; Production takes a long while in advance, and this part was likely written into the script, which was done before the storyboarding and animation. And it’s not a brief still like the Grimwalker book, which could’ve been added last-minute into S2A’s production so the writers could save runtime on things besides setting up that concept; It was a whole scene!

            So this ‘Beta Collector’ as one could call it likely would’ve been a malicious entity, may or may not have been freed near the end of the show, or just remained that way as karma. Who can say for sure? Them and S2B-onwards Collector were different enough, due to having different intentions, that the writers retconned the Collector’s first appearance as a separate character, as it’s implied; More than likely one of their Archivist siblings! They were different characters on a meta level, so the writers took this to the natural conclusion by making them separate in canon.

            That adds to my theory that the Archivists were created specifically to account for this different characterization, but also be the actual murderers of the Titan genocide because let’s face it. If the whole point was to give King a friend who could grow with him, having that friend be the murderer of his species would’ve made their eventualy dynamic so nonsensical as to be impossible.

            Even if the writers went with the idea that this Beta Collector didn’t know about death, on King’s end, I don’t think he could find it in himself to ever forgive this character, or at the very least be friends, if that happened. And in the end, the Collector’s revision was for the sake of one of the core protagonists of the show, go figure! Thus, King’s needs were prioritized.

            I do wonder what the Song of Stars in the original Elsewhere and Elsewhen Storyboards was; Was it just a previous take on the draining spell, and would’ve involved Beta Collector doing some sort of twisted music? Would they have been the final villain of the show, remained trapped, been destroyed alongside Belos? Again I liken the three Archivists to the three petrification statues, but that would imply there was always supposed to be three Collectors.

            On a lighter note, Dana confirmed that bard instruments have their own magic in them? Yeah, that made a lot of sense, it tracks with Raine’s viola, although tbf Dana did confirm it also contained a transformed version of their Palisman Fiddlesticks. But otherwise, I imagine bard instruments, like healing/construction glyphs, training wands, or oracle orbs, are essentially potions but for other forms of magic; Someone else’s magic, but stored/enchanted to be used at later convenience.

            And outright confirmation that Oracle spirits are just that; Spirits, but not the deceased! I always suspected and operated as such, otherwise there’s a whole can of worms regarding which characters could come back as ghosts or not. Especially when the finale cemented so much the idea of death being permanent.

            So oracle spirits are intangible entities but not the dead, and I recall likening their situation to how Ghostbusters has some ghosts be just like that; Fittingly, there was a reference to TOH’s version of ‘Ghostbusters’ who handled an outbreak from the ghost dimension that Eda caused during her years at Hexside… We also hear mention of ‘Astral Planes’ at one point, you think they’re the same, the source of these spirits? Imagine if we’d gotten an episode delving into this other dimension (if that’s what it is), it could’ve tied into Luz’s attempts to get back home!

            There’s also one more question Dana answered, which I’ll answer as its own post.

[unhinged-transmasc]

Some insight as someone who knows JPN:

I'm not so sure as "yaru" or やる as the term. For one, it's a very general and versatile verb that means "to do" for a lot of different contexts, I feel like we should stay away from る ending in general cause it implicates verb, and it's just such a common verb at that. It feels like proposing the word "is" or "go" as a new term. (Another, it can have some negative or vulgar connotations like a euphemism for SA.)

Moreover, though they originated in Japan, the terms yaoi やおい or yuri 百合 are not used much as their counterparts BL or GL. (Which HL is for hetero, otherwise NL meaning normal love, but HL is being advocated over NL because of the connotation. NBL or XL might be potential nonbinary term, based on X-gender which is Japanese term for nonbinary or agender.)

Though in the West, particularly in fandom discussion, we've adopted yaoi & yuri as more common terms, so it makes sense we want a NB variant.

So what do I propose instead?

One common term I've seen floating around is simply "yaori" which combines the two terms, yaoi and yuri, so it's pretty easily communicable.

If I wanted to coin a term instead, my throughline of thought would be that it has to start with yo よ.

In Japanese, the ya や line of characters is ya や, yu ゆ, yo よ. We have yaoi begins with ya, we have yuri begins with yu. Thus it follows the new coined term could begin with yo.

I think a beautiful term could begin with kanji yo 夜 meaning "night."

Some proposals:

Yoha - よは - 夜派

Meaning "group of the night." As in, nonbinary is like the night, elusive and hidden.

It's possible to substitute the ha kanji 派 for other kanji with the same pronunciation to create a different meaning. Like 花 flower, 葉 leaf, 歯 teeth. I think 夜花 for "night flower" would be really pretty and cool.

I personally like this pronunciation/set of syllables the most.

Something to consider is it can probably also be pronounced as yowa よわ meaning "scary." This can be a good, neutral, or bad thing.

Yoa - よあ - 夜明

From 夜明け (yoake) meaning "dawn," but shortened.

Literally, the characters together mean "night" and "brightness." It can symbolize the night and the day meeting each other. Perhaps nonbinary love is like the space where day and night meet. It's not quite the moon or the sun, not quite night and day, but something in between those things.

I personally like this meaning the most.

In the case of yoa よあ, there's a possibility to append other kanji or syllables at the end making the term longer and different from yaoi & yuri, to emphasize the unexpected difference. (Also, this would mean it has the same amount of syllables/characters as yaoi.) For example, we could go with yoake 夜明け which just means dawn straight-up.

There's a lot more potential terms or readings we can try to workshop, but those are my strongest contenders. And besides, the よ requirement isn't totally strict, it's just my personal idea to do so. Terms starting with ya or yu could also be workshopped or proposed. Just depends on what meaning you can make from it. Hell, maybe it doesn't have to start with the ya や line at all.

Coining a term for "nonbinary yaoi/yuri" is difficult because we are trying to create a Western term adopted from Japanese etymology and queer fiction subculture. And NB love isn't necessarily a "genre" as much as yaoi/BL or yuri/GL is, unfortunately. And with how BL/GL terms are favored in Japan right now, it's highly unlikely we'll see the invention of a yaoi/yuri counterpart term coming directly from Japan. As aforementioned, that term would most likely be XL or NBL, not a term that matches closely with yaoi/yuri.

Right now, I still do see yaori as the best, most easily communicable term as a result of it evolving naturally out of yaoi & yuri, but I do agree it would be nice to have some term specific to NB at some point.

So we have Yaoi for MLM and Yuri for WLW, so what do we use for other relationships?

So I really like the yaoi/yuri memes but wasn't sure what to use for queer relationships like nblnb or nblm or nblw :(

So I looked into it and found that "yuri" means "lily" in japanese, so why not pick another flower for queer love?

I found that like sapphic there's a term for nonbinary/queer love called diamoric that uses a myrtle, since its sacred to aphrodite goddess of love...

The japanese myrtle tree is called "sarusuberi" so...saru? It's got the right number of letters, but what if it started with y like the other two?

so how about...

Yaru?

It even reads similar to yaoi/yuri!! It can even encompass the both of them, look!

Y - shared first letter A - yAoi R - yuRi U - something outside, unexpected from the other 2...just like how queer relationships break the norms of gender and love...

what do you think? personally, i'd love to see more representation of yaru love :)

[amazingdigitalheadcanons]

HOLD ON *dumps pieces of scrap paper on to a table* I GOT A WHOLE BUNCH

-Kinger taught Queenie how to shoot a gun with deadly accuracy

-Kinger and Queenie know how to dance

-Caine in the past would use other character’s lives in the circus as inspiration for his adventures, now he does it subconsciously

-Spudsy meat is made out of Dobby

-Caine’s existence is what’s keeping them trapped in the circus (the circus cannot exist without him, he is its heart and brain) (he’s not even aware of this)

-Adventures used to be once a week because Caine was still new to the whole ordeal (the NPCs sucked)

-In the early days, NPCs used to make a constant appearance in other adventures, but later on they took up too much space so now they’re all mannequins

-What makes up an abstraction is dead code trying to fix itself and failing

-Abstraction is incredibly painful, even afterwards the abstractions can “feel themselves rotting”

-If a player is still in the map while it’s deleted, a “forced abstraction” will occur (the only technically “true” way to die without abstracting the normal way)

-A “forced” abstractee is much different from a normal abstracted, mainly because they didn’t “go crazy” and abstracted (and therefore “kill” their own coding. Instead their code is mangled after falling into “the point of no return” and overcompensate by absorbing the game’s own code

Mini Theory Ahead‼️

-While Kinger did have role in his wife’s death, Caine was also to blame for her abstraction. But instead of taking the blame, he put everything on Kinger, even after when Kinger went insane he continued to fully blame him and even gaslit Kinger into believing he was fully responsible for Queenie’s death.

“Now, being in a position of power like this, you coooould offload the blame to one of your employees and avoid the dock on your score. What do you think?” -Caine to Gangle in Caine’s office, Episode 4 Fast Food Masquerade, 20:45

ACCORDING to Caine, using the backstory of Baron Theodore Mildenhall. What Kinger did to Queenie was comparable to SHOOTING YOUR OWN WIFE

HOWEVER

For someone who is a REAL PERSON, and had something comparable to BEING SHOT BY HER HUSBAND happen to her, Queenie, in the worst state of her life (mentally and physically). DID NOT attack Kinger in the pillowfort despite him “shooting her”, and even leaned into his hand when he touched her.

You could argue that the shooting was more of an “emotional bullet”, however that would not explain why she was so relaxed with him there IN THE WORST STATE OF HER LIFE

Which I would say that it’s more of how Kinger felt about the situation, that he essentially shot his own wife. Not literally, not anything that would equate to that, just the guilt he feels afterwards. Which was what I believed until that line with Caine in his office.

Caine is not a malevolent being, he does not want to cause harm to others. However, he is still an AI that doesn’t fully understand humans.

“W-Well, I don’t know what’s NORMAL to you people!” -Caine in response to Gangle asking for a more normal adventure, Episode 4, 2:50

The entire adventure in episode 3 was for Caine to make something Zooble would like

“Why did you think I would like that?” -Zooble after Pomni explained her and Kinger’s adventure, Episode 4, 2:06

I don’t need to explain the Zooble Therapy Session

There’s more quotes, however I’m going to be saving them for once I make this into a proper theory on my own blog AND this is supposed to be about headcanons not theories!

But the point I’m trying to make is there might be a little more to Queenie’s death that Caine might have more of a role in. Besides, Kinger never struck me as a guy who would hurt his own wife. At least not something comparable to shooting the poor woman. (It’s an emotional bullet, I know, but there’s just something off to me with Kinger being the sole reason why Queenie is dead ((only one shooter)))

Anyways, theory over‼️

-New arrivals aren’t quite linear as sometimes they appear right after someone abstractions, or several months after. Sometimes, they just get added onto the roster without anyone dying

-The Cellar is actually quite big, but they all like to hang around spots where Caine likes to open the cellar at in order to greet the new arrival

-Kinger has very bad survivor’s guilt and just knows instinctually when someone’s going down the spiral to abstraction

-Gangle spent weeks struggling to pick out a name until Jax came along and named her himself and everyone just went along with it

-The first to abstract the arguably the worst since nobody knew what to do or what it was, even Caine didn’t know

-The more violent the abstraction process, the more dangerous and destructive the abstraction

-Kaufmo is one of the weakest abstractions in the Cellar

-The reason why abstractions are so aggressive in light is due to overstimulation

-Despite what he wants people to believe, Jax isn’t actually good with guns

-It took a LOT of begging for Caine to allow them to have guns that didn’t suck

-If you speak in a language that The Amazing Digital Circus isn’t translated in, you can swear in that language

-Slowly players will naturally forget details of their old lives until they’re not sure why they put on the headset

-After seeing what happened with his loved ones after they abstracted, especially his wife, Kinger developed a fear of hurting anyone. Not quite in a pushover way but still in a very self-destructive I-would-sacrifice-my-own-sanity-to-keep-everyone-safe (and in a way he did, although it ended up hurting the others more to see him like that)

-Dobby’s favorite food was hotdogs and put the Spudsy suggestion in the box

-The suggestion box came after Queenie’s death to keep everyone’s mind off of things

-Kinger and Queenie used to make minor suggestions for Caine in his adventures, but after they were gone he made the suggestion box UNDER that premise of “keeping everyone’s mind off of things”. In reality, he wanted advice. But nobody really cared so he forgot about it

-Queenie used to hold her own hand when she was nervous or stressed (whenever Kinger noticed this he held her hand)

-Kinger now holds his own hand when he’s stressed or scared (the same hand where Queenie used to hold it when he got like that)

-The Moon is in love with Caine, and nobody knows who programmed her to be like that

Now that's a lot of headcanons (positive)

wHo GaVe KiNgEr a GuN?

I absolutely love all of these headcanons!

[tangotekked]

I think I need redscape ovi…

Vex mating season rolls around and Scar is feeling different than usual. More hot under the collar, more snappy and territorial, and more possessive over Mumbo than either of them ever expect him to be. It’s Scar’s first rut since really marking Mumbo as his partner, and his instincts are running out of control. His aggression gets to the point where Scar’s not allowed to go out with Mumbo for a bit, after nearly attacking others for being beside his partner. And Scar is just feeling worse and worse, pain in his gut as he gets hotter and hotter. 

Obviously, Mumbo is going to help Scar through it. He stays by his side, making sure he still takes care of himself until Scar needs him for more- which he’s happy to help with too! Scar gets increasingly clingy and whiny, starting to rut against Mumbo whenever he can and nip at his skin. It only worsens until it’s too much and Scar needs release- snapping and taking Mumbo without warning. Mumbo happily whines and moans, taking Scar’s slightly barbed cock and letting his partner breed him to his hearts content. 

Then something else starts to happen. Mumbo isn’t sure what it is at first- Scar’s cock pulsing inside him in a strange new way. Feels good though, so he doesn’t mind. Scar grunts and moans, basically chewing Mumbo’s shoulders like a dog toy the whole time. Something firm starts to press at Mumbo’s rim, Scar shallowly trying to fuck it into him. Mumbo’s heart spikes when something stretches past, wide and round, and pops into his hole. It pushes deeper, through Scar’s cock while the vex whines and growls as he thrusts it in. The mass pressing into his sweet spot has Mumbo’s spent cock dribbling more cum weakly, his breaths ragged. It finally slips out of Scar’s cock, the round object settling deep inside Mumbo- who finally processes its an egg. 

Mumbo had no idea vexes laid eggs-! Did Scar even know? He surely would’ve told him if he did. It’s hard to keep questioning it when a second egg presses into his rim, stretching him even further. Scar’s teeth are sunk into his skin, his hips fucking his eggs deep. Mumbo whimpers and moans, slowly getting stuffed with vex eggs until his stomach distends just a bit. Scar fills him with cum one last time before pulling out and gathering Mumbo close, cooing over him and rubbing his swollen tummy. 

Eventually Mumbo has to lay the eggs- they’re not compatible with his body, after all. Scar has more or less started returning to normal, though still possessive and clingy. He coddles Mumbo, helping him lay their clutch. Mumbo whines and moans, each thick egg grinding against his prostate when he pushes them lower. The first silver-blue shell crowns against him rim and plops out, thick strings of old cum and fluid sticking to it. By the time every egg is out, Mumbo is crying from overstimulation, his hole gaping and fluttering. 

Neither of them can wait for next mating season

[helpwhatsthis]

Keeping Your Heart Safe?

Part One of Lost In The Fire- J.S. X Reader

Looking for another chapter? Check out the series navigation!

Chapter Summary: Johnny doesn't like crowds, which can be difficult at parties. His anxiety at his birthday party is only worsened by what his life may become after the space launch project.

Warnings: lowkey it’s kind of a Johnny Storm character study (that will eventually lead to smut), reader has regenerative healing, angst, mentions of Johnny and Sue's parents death, these little shits are angsty asf dude idk

It's safe to say that most people probably would have given up under your circumstances already. You'd spent your entire life into your twenties looking for another person like you. Day and night, hours upon hours, leaving people behind and putting yourself (and sometimes others) in harms way for the slim chance that you might find another one. A mutant. Maybe that's just your luck? Some cruel joke played on you by the universe that you would be the only person among billions with... well, with what? Superpowers? Inhumane abilities? Yeah, that figures.

That's how Reed found you though, and you were thankful for that at least. Of course the always intuitive Reed Richards would notice the one person that just seemed a little too interested in the exhibit on genetic mutations at the science expo; and for every bit of intuition Reed has, his kindness and determination always seem to match it. Did he really need to pull you out of the crowd and confirm what exactly was different about you? No. Did he need to hire you on as his assistant just so that he could keep and eye on you? Again, no. Most of all, Reed definitely didn't need to move you off of the streets and into the Baxter building or try to start integrating you into his little family; but he did because that's just the kind of person he is.

Did you really need to grit your teeth and act annoyed the whole way through it even though you were fully aware that Reed may have saved your life in the process? No, but that's just the kind of person you are. Mostly because you've never really felt stable since the incident, you might just need to leave one day and it would be a whole lot easier if you didn't let yourself pretend like you were one of them. Like you were normal.

You'd like to think you were doing a pretty good job too, if it weren't for Johnny of course. Sickeningly Sweet and enragingly gentle Johnny. Not one little bit scared pf what you can do and definitely not eager to point out your differences or mistakes. It's amazing really, how he can be so indifferent about all of it. When Ben had told him that you were something akin to superhuman, he acted as if he'd been told something as mundane as your eye color.

"Correct me of I'm wrong, but isn't the birthday boy supposed to actually attend his own party?" You him, leaning against the door frame of the terrace. Johnny's head snaps around in surprise that he's been caught. He's been expecting his sister to come and find him for that past forty-five minutes and try to convince him to come back to the party; but he grins when he sees your own soft smile and eyebrows raised in question.

"Well shouldn’t the assistant be making sure that nothing goes horribly wrong at said party?” He laughs as you make your way to the edge of the balcony, sitting down carefully beside him. His hand immediately finds your shoulder when he sees you shiver at the sight below you, he doesn’t know the exact reason but he does know that you’re not a huge fan of heights. He supposes it’s got something to do with bad memories like most things you don’t like; which is, well… most things.

“I’d say the guest of honor disappearing is pretty wrong.” He smiles at your attempt to keep up the banter, but your eyes haven’t left the lights of the city beneath your feet. You look nervous and Johnny hates that. Finally, you gulp and pull your eyes up to him. “So why exactly are you out here?”

“You know how I feel about crowds…” He shrugs, trying to play it off like this is any normal event; but it’s different tonight. He’s different tonight.

“We start prepping for the space launch tomorrow.” He sighs, shoulders sinking in more. His words cause more confusion than clarity. Sure, Johnny was always shy and nervous. He’s better alone than in a crowd and he’s defiantly better with silence than small talk, but this wasn’t like him at all. He loved things like this. Johnny Storm is the epitome of an adrenaline junkie disguised as a puppy.

“Yeah… and that’s cool right? You get to go to space!” You force a smile, trying to lean forward into his line of view. “I mean even though your brother-in-law is a genius this still seems like a once in a lifetime opput-”

“I think Reed and Sue are going to try to have a baby when the project is over.” 

Oh?

“I know it’s unfair and I know I should be happy; I mean I’m going to be an uncle and that’s amazing…” He trails off, trying to blink the welling tears out of his eyes. “-but everything is going to be different after that. No more messing around in the lab in the middle of the night. No more dangerous experiments. Even Ben is starting to spend more time with that girl Alicia-” His voice cracks, head dropping as the dame breaks. “Life has always been the same since mom and dad died, it’s always been me and my sister and her husband and his best friend. I wanna be happy for them but I’m just scared because my family is changing again. ”

“Jesus, Johnny.” You sigh, pulling his body into a hug. It’s strange, you can’t remember the last time you were this careless in your closeness with someone but it just feels so good when he curls his body into you. It feels so good that Johnny feel safe with you. “It’s gonna be okay, J.” You promise, rubbing his back softly. “You’ve got the best big sister in the whole world. Things are going to be different but it’s not like you’re lives are just going to stop if they have a baby. You’ll still be just as important to your family even if there are a few new members.” You smile when he laughs a little.

He peaks his head out of its hiding place in your chest. “You know their your family too, right?” He asks softly. A sudden abundance of heat fills your chest.  You both sit in silence, just taking one another in with sad smiles on your faces. His hands start to inch up, slowly moving towards your jaw. It would be so easy to just lean into him-

“There you guys are!” Your head snaps to the doorway. “Come on, guys. Sue is gonna rip me a new one if you aren’t there for cake, man.” Ben laughs, eyeing you both with a stupid smirk on his face. 

Reluctantly, you follow him back into the penthouse. It’s a good thing too, you think. You can’t stop cursing yourself the rest of the night for how utterly stupid you almost were, even when Johnny’s eyes don’t leave you as he blows out the flames of his candles.

What to be added to my taglist? Send me a message!

[m4iya]

──★ ˙🧷 Anon has chosen to study English, 1 hour a day for 2 weeks with Yamaguchi! He’s seems pretty prepared for this exam! Let’s see how they go..

Yamaguchi, who was still nervous for the upcoming English exam despite scoring relatively high in all the recent quizzes and projects. Despite that, he insists that he's prepared for it, his notes serving as proof.

You, who sits next to him in class, often working together on joint projects, or sharing materials with each other. He was always smiling, ready to help whenever you asked—as though he was waiting for you to do so.

Yamaguchi, who you asked to study with despite being more than thoroughly prepared yourself. You were just solidifying what you already knew—it definitely had nothing to do with him as a person, right?

Yamaguchi, whose pen strokes were smooth and swift. His notebook was organised, neat and well kept together. Whenever you'd mention it, he'd chuckle, light pink dusting his freckles.

You, who always seemed to become carried away in conversation with him. Leant over your open notebooks and textbooks, you'd fiddle with the cap of your pen as he sat, arms folded over the table—the two of you quietly giggling over a mispronunciation he'd made. Despite being careful not to make too much noise, hushed giggles escaped the pair of you every now and then.

Yamaguchi, who made sure not to pressure you too much, taking care to constantly ask you how you were feeling. He'd bring your favourite sweet to each study session, waiting to see the way your expression shifted into a smile when he handed it to you.

Yamaguchi, who often had to remind himself that he was supposed to be studying, his gaze scurrying away whenever he noticed he'd been starting for too long.

You and Him, who'd quiz each other on different English words, with him making a vocabulary list with probable exam questions to choose from. His accent wasn't too thick, words flowing through efficiently as he spoke. He'd even help you refine your own accent, which was already well formed.

Yamaguchi, who would borrow English novels from the library, using them a study tools for the both of you. He'd use the words within them to construct a few practice questions, making sure to give them to you as well.

You, who'd began to feel slightly more confident in your writing and speaking skills ever since you'd both began studying together.

You, who insisted that his notes were some of the only pieces of material that helped you study efficiently. With their organisation, neatness, and wording, you found yourself understanding concepts that previously puzzled you.

Yamaguchi, who in turn, suggested that having you beside him when studying motivated him to try harder than he already was. He doubled down, claiming that you gave him confidence whenever the two of you were together, and that these study sessions you'd both hold helped him immensely.

Yamaguchi, whose cheeks were painted a deep red hue as he realised he'd gotten carried away.

You and Him, who, at this point, had completely forgotten about anything to do with studying, minds occupied with thoughts of each other.

From my exam season event ✩ other works

[jassy2uall]

– Heart Like A Habit 🧡 (pt. 3)

Highschool!Billie Eilish x black fem!reader

“You're the new girl—just trying to survive another school year in a place where you know no one. But then there’s her—Billie Eilish, the infamous heartbreaker and rising star who somehow has you completely hooked, whether you like it or not.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alycia clenched her jaw. She had played volleyball before, but never had she been in a game like this—one fueled by sheer chaos and, frankly, a little too much aggression. Eight people were already out, and the game had barely begun. And at least half of those eliminations? Courtesy of Billie.

It was almost unsettling how effortlessly Billie moved. Every throw was sharp, precise—like she wasn't just playing a game but proving a point. And if the reactions around them were anything to go by, this wasn't unusual.

Some of the eliminated players groaned in frustration, while others straight-up sulked, sitting on the bleachers with crossed arms and deep sighs. One kid even looked on the verge of tears, mumbling something about how unfair the game was.

It was madness.

And it only got worse.

Alycia flinched as Quen knocked out a girl who barely looked to be 4'8". The impact was rough—the ball striking her hard enough to send her glasses flying to the ground before she collapsed beside them.

Quen barely even blinked. "Sorry," she laughed, already turning her attention to her next target.

Alycia felt something burn in her chest.

This wasn't just a game to them—it was an opportunity to humiliate people, to assert dominance, to make sure everyone knew their place. She hated it.

She stole another glance at Billie.

Even though she had knocked out a handful of players already, Billie wasn't laughing like Quen or Odessa. She wasn't out here just to be cruel. No, Billie was focused—laser-focused. And as Alycia watched her dodge another incoming ball with an almost effortless slide to the side, she realized something.

Billie wasn't just playing.

She was enjoying this.

And for some reason, that made Alycia's pulse quicken all over again.

Ava had also managed to eliminate at least two players of their team, which made Alycia want to start actually throwing the ball.

Alycia felt a small surge of pride bubbling up in her chest. She had no idea how she managed to hit two people at once—beginners' luck, maybe—but the shocked expressions around her made it worth it.

Billie, of all people, actually looked impressed.

"Okay, new girl!" Billie called out, grinning as she dodged a throw with ease. The praise sent a rush of warmth through Alycia, but before she could process it, Billie eliminated the girl standing beside her with a ruthless, well-aimed shot.

Odessa scoffed loudly, rolling her eyes.

Ava, still on Alycia's team, didn't even try to hide her annoyance, arms crossed as she muttered something under her breath.

Alycia swallowed hard, shifting on her feet. It was weird. One second, she was invisible, just trying to survive the day. The next, Billie was acknowledging her in front of everyone.

And that alone seemed to stir up an entirely different kind of tension.

Alycia tightened her grip on the dodgeball in her hands, her pulse quickening. The tension in the gym was thick, the sounds of sneakers squeaking against the polished floor and the occasional smack of rubber against skin filling the air.

On her team: her, Ava, and two guys—one lanky and nervous-looking, the other more solid but clearly exhausted.

On Billie's team: Odessa, Quen, and a tall guy who looked like he could take out their entire team with a single throw.

It was clear who had the upper hand.

"Take it easy on me, Bills," Ava cooed, tossing her hair back.

Billie grinned, spinning a dodgeball in her hands. "Sorry, pretty, no can do," she teased, cocking her arm back.

Alycia felt her stomach twist, but she had no time to dwell on it.

Odessa and Quen were both staring her down, dodgeballs in hand, and from the way they smirked, it was obvious—they wanted her out.

Quen was the first to move, launching her ball at full force. Alycia barely had time to react, ducking just in time for the ball to whip past her ear.

Too close.

Before she could straighten up, Odessa had already thrown hers. Alycia twisted her body, her reflexes kicking in, and—by some miracle—managed to catch the ball mid-air.

A loud gasp rippled through the gym.

"You're out," Alycia said, breathing heavily, her eyes locked on Odessa.

Odessa's smirk faltered for just a second before she scoffed and rolled her eyes, walking off the court.

Billie let out a low whistle. "Damn, new girl's got hands."

Alycia's cheeks flushed, but she quickly shook it off. This game wasn't over yet.

Quen groaned in frustration, trying her luck to get her out. "Damn, just get out already."

Alycia clenched her jaw. She wasn't about to let her take her down that easily.

Meanwhile, Billie had already thrown her ball, aiming directly for one of the guys on Alycia's team. He tried to dodge, but it was useless—Billie's aim was too sharp. The ball smacked into his side, sending him out of the game.

"Damn, Billie, chill!" he groaned, walking off the court.

Billie just smirked, tossing another ball up and catching it effortlessly. "Can't. I play to win."

Ava, who had been watching Billie like a hawk, narrowed her eyes and threw a ball of her own. Billie dodged it easily, laughing.

"That all you got?" she teased.

Ava huffed, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "You're so annoying."

Billie just winked. "You love it."

Alycia, still gripping her dodgeball, felt an odd wave of irritation settle in her chest. She didn't understand why, but seeing them flirt so shamelessly was getting under her skin.

The whistle blew again.

It was just Billie left.

The entire gym seemed to hold its breath.

Billie tossed the ball between her hands, eyes locking onto Alycia's. A slow, lazy smirk spread across her lips. "Think you can take me out, new girl?"

Alycia set her stance, fingers tightening around the dodgeball. "Guess we'll find out."

Billie chuckled, cocking her arm back. "Alright then. Let's see what you got."

The female gym teacher's voice rang out. "Final round!" The whistle shrieked.

This was it.

They both ran and grabbed their dodgeballs.

"Are you nervous?" Billie teased, waiting for her moment.

"A little," Alycia confessed, but she didn't break focus, her arm ready. "You're way too determined to get me out."

"I mean, that's the game, mama," Billie smiled.

There it was again—the pet names. And something about the way Billie said "mama" made Alycia's body tingle in a way she didn't want to admit.

She had to focus.

But before she could throw, Billie struck first.

Alycia dodged, but she wasn't quick enough. The ball grazed her arm.

The whistle blew.

"You're out!" the gym teacher called.

The gym erupted into noise—cheers, groans, laughter.

Alycia was still catching her breath when she felt a presence beside her. Billie.

Grinning, Billie leaned in slightly, her voice low. "Good game, new girl. You actually had me nervous for a second."

Alycia rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the way her pulse skipped. "Yeah, yeah. Enjoy the win while it lasts."

Billie's smirk deepened. "Oh, I am. But don't worry, mama. I'll make it up to you."

Before Alycia could even process that, Billie was already walking off.

What the hell did that mean?

End of pt. 3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note: Pt. 4, 5, and 6 coming soon as well with pt.3 of I’d Never Forget Our Anniversary as soon as I figure out how to create a masterlist and link it… any help would be nice 🙏🏽😂

[ghostieblr]

Unnoticed, Not Unfounded

He follows the laughter down the hallway, feet quiet, a smile blooming on his face. The coffee in his hand is hot. A monstrosity is what it is, really, too bitter to taste anything like sewage water to him, but it's not for him.

He'll be drenched in world's worst sewage water if that's what it takes for him to be in Derek's life forever. But that's a devotion not yet ready to burst out of his heart, unlike the wheezing, red-faced, voluminous laughter he can hear coming from the library towards the corner-most area of the ground floor.

His presence goes unnoticed for the moment, body hidden beside the slightly ajar door, eyes peeking in. Little Lyle is sitting on his favorite-deemed blue beanbag, and in front of him are a couple of books, all children's, all open to pictures of particularly grumpy looking old men. Beside a very confused, mostly laughing (copying his elders, though this elder is a questionable one) Lyle is Stiles, both hands clutching his stomach, his long body spread half-and-half across his own green beanbag and the marble flooring.

Derek drinks the moment in, breathes in the scent of utter joy. Revels in it. Joy has the sweetest scent, crisp with meaning, and somehow, Stiles' is the crispiest, like a perfectly stolen moment in time. It's only when he thinks Stiles just might die by laughter — still intensely brimming with it, soft giggles breaking through — that he steps inside the library.

Lyle sees him first, all enthusiasm and energy. "Unca Der!"

"My favorite nephew," he says back, matches the tone of the little boy. Barely two and already larger than life. Lyle leaves his beanbag for a sprint across the short distance, jumps up in his arms. It's only his quick reflexes that saves the cup of coffee, diligently put on a nearby shelf, carefully away from the books themselves — Peter likes to keep the books a little bit pushed in, the massive shelf-space large enough to fit two books over that way — and captures the little boy against his body.

"Da only nephew!"

Derek laughs, too. "Yes." It is true. Laura only has one kid, and he might just be the only one for now.

"I've got something to show you!" Stiles' voice is high-pitched now, the hard laughter drowned to softer giggles, and as Derek positions themselves towards him, Lyle taps his chest, makes him look back at him, wide blue eyes as big as Camden's.

"Lilly Liles," he says, pointing at Stiles.

"When isn't Stiles silly?"

"Har har," the sarcasm is lost in the throes of the giggles, and Derek knows Stiles knows it. Still, Derek lets Stiles guide him towards Lyle's previously occupied beanbag. Lyle himself seems ready to bolt, now all done with Liles being lilly, and running around the house is infinitely better than being cuddled up in arms. He squirms, so Derek kisses him on his little forehead and loosens the hold, lets the boy get down and leave the library. Laura's still out with their mom, Pack business that didn't require the Left-Hand or the upcoming Left-Hand, but Camden is home. Derek still keeps an ear out for Lyle, the little troublemaker that he is. Definitely Laura's kid — Camden was never this rowdy as a child.

"I brought you coffee."

As soon as the words are out, the cup is floating towards Stiles' waiting hand. Instead of saying "Thank you," like anyone else, Stiles says, "Your nephew is my favorite Hale now. His humor? Oh my god, Der, you gotta learn comedic timing from him!" He takes one whole sip before continuing, "Like, we were just reading some books, and I wanted to teach him about different type of animals—" Derek pointedly looks at the open kid's books, which are decidedly not about animals at all, and raises his eyebrow. Stiles elects to flap his hands at him and spill a bit of coffee on the floor before using his magic for mopping it up. "All clean. Anyways, yes, I see what you see. Where are the animals, Stiles? All I see are grumpy men here. Arrgh."

"Your me impression has never gotten better. I don't even know why you try."

"Your eyes sparkle when I do." Shit. This shit's the kind of stuff Stiles says without realizing, most times, and every time Derek's heart chooses to jump and twirl around in his heart. "Lyle is literally a comedic genius. We were looking at wolves, and then we were done with that book, so I told Lyle to identify and bring me more. Guess what he brought. Guess guess guess!"

Derek points to one of the books lying about. "Old grumpy men?"

"Old grumpy men! Ask me why Derek. Ask me ask me ask me."

"Sometimes I wonder who is the kid."

"Derek."

"Stiles."

Their eyes meet, like they always do, and it's a challenge. For Stiles, it's a staring contest. For Derek, it's a lesson how not to drown in those honey-sweet amber eyes.

Derek cracks first, because how could he not?

He rolls his eyes theatrically, hoping the intensity of his sigh will bury the thump-thump-thump of his heart. "Why."

Stiles grins. "Good enough, but we need to work on that. Now, as for why, Derek? See, Lyle is a baby, the cutest lil baby I just wanna gobble-up—"

"You're not a chicken, and my nephew is not a piece of grain."

"You just don't know what cutness aggression is, you heathen."

"You're the one threatening cannibalism and I'm the heathen? How many times have you hit your head today?"

"How is Lyle even related to you. You have like, no funny bone in your body, dude."

Derek resists the urge to say, "Don't call me dude." Or even, "I have a funny bone in my body. It's the one which has fallen for my best friend and pack's future emissary, alongwith my heart." Except, you know, he doesn't.

So Stiles continues. "Anyways, as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me. Lyle is the cutest baby ever, and I was teaching him about different types of animals, so I thought hey, let's start with wolves! So I got him a couple of wolfie books, with pictures of wolves. Lyle is a very good student, by the way. Took the information like a champ. Even pointed to himself every single I said "Werewolf" and the pictures when I only said "Wolf." Smart kid. Then I told him to bring more books, so he brought the old grumpy men ones, which, I don't even know why those are there? Seems like emotions books to me but fish sticks if I know."

Derek snorts. "Fish sticks?"

"You have no say, Mr. Apple Bottom."

"Kid's soap are the best for your skin, you should try it." Not that Stiles really needs to. His skin is already nice. The nicest. "And I like the scent of apples, sue me."

"Oh, Lyle is gonna. He keeps saying you steal, by the way. Wonder what's that about." Derek shrugs. Kid says a lot of things. Not all of it makes sense. "Steal with an f too. Sorta sounds like feel."

"Must be something Laura's teaching him."

"Could be. Now! Back to my thing. Stop interrupting me, Der, that's not nice." Stiles claps his hands and takes a swig out of the still floating cup of coffee. "Lyle brings all these, and I'm like, these aren't wolves. And he's like, no, they're werewolves. So I go nuh-uh, Lyle, these are just men." Here, the laughter comes back, and who knows why Derek knows Stiles to this extent, but he knows the incoming joke. Knows it before Stiles even tries finally explain it to him, but he waits, still listens with an air of shock. "He says... this is so funny... he says the grumpy men are Unca Der and he's a werewolf so these men are therefore also wolves! Obviously not in these exact words but..."

And there he goes again, laughing like the maniac Derek has always loved. Derek laughs, too, but only because Stiles' joy is infectious, and he's greedy to soak it all in.

Maybe one day he'll tell Stiles. One day he'll risk the current safety net for something better — a chance, to be Stiles', in more than just friendship. But for today, Stiles laughs at Derek's expense, and Derek laughs alongwith him.