#allow me to emphasize how DUMB they are and i love them for it

[just-trying-my-best-everyday]

Current Star Wars is very serious and that's okay, I guess? It works for shows like Andor and Mando, for sure. But you know what it won't work for? Ahsoka. And not to say that the show can't be overall serious, but the moment —and I really mean the very moment, the very millisecond— Ezra and Sabine reunite, the show HAS to become silly. I don't care if it gives you tonal whiplash. Rebels was a silly ass show and the Ahsoka series should honor that.

I mean, these were Commanders Ezra Bridger and Sabine Wren in their youth:

They are so fundamentally unserious. They do not have any functioning braincells. They must be silly or so help me, I will RIOT.

[guav]

Hiii!!! Can I request a girlfriend Rindou reader, where Tenjiku doesn't even know he has a girlfriend like Ran doesn't even know, and so she meets Tenjiku, and she can fight really really good and she's like PRETTY PRETTY and like how...? Did RINDOU EVEN GET HER? And she stars to catch other members eyes ;)

ᥫ᭡ for haitani rindou and tenjiku, WAREHOUSE ROMCOM.

in which you insist on meeting your boyfriend's current gang and fuck, you definitely just knocked out one of their captains.

𔘓 it's my first time writing for some of these guys so i'm sorry if they're ooc D: you used she/her and mentioned girlfriend so i'll be using those for this fic :] around 3.1k words of chaos.

“rin, how come i’ve never met any of your friends?” 

the timing doesn’t allow for a deep conversation. rindou’s too busy messing with his laptop, one earbud immersing him in whatever program was running. meanwhile, a catalog resting on your lap took half your attention.

as expected, the question is around the fifth priority in rindou’s head. “buncha smelly thugs, you wouldn’t like ‘em.”

“and you’re not in that demographic?” you idly munch on some snacks you scavenged from his pantry. 

“no, i’m not.” rindou scoffs like you just spat on his entire bloodline. “i’m your handsome boyfriend who you love very, very much.”

oh, this sweater has a really nice discount. “what about your brother? i've never seen him either, i’m starting to think you’re actually an only child.”

he’s gonna pretend like his comment going ignored didn’t sting a little. 

“you should be grateful, once you meet ran you’ll be cursed with a killer headache for the rest of your life.”

somehow it doesn’t seem as bad, nor does it deter you in the slightest. whine all he wants, rindou loves his brother. he knows it, and so do you.

“rinnie.” a vein could very well pop out his head at the dumb nickname. “are you embarrassed of me?”

(you know rindou would kiss the floor you walk on. still? good leverage).

his typing halts, left earbud joining the right to hang around his neck. a thousand times of the same coercion tactics should have prepared him better. should have. be as it may, rindou’s heartbeat stops for a minute.

you’re the one good thing he’s got going on, why would he ne embarrassed of you? no, never, he loves you too much.

not like he’d willingly admit to it, though. “a little” his typing resumes, this time a little more attentive to the situation. safety measures and all that.

seems he’s not budging. the playful banter turns into a bitter taste in your mouth. “rude.”

rindou doesn’t like your sudden silence. it cuts at his facade like the dullest of knives—painfully slow.

he can’t win against you. if there's one more thing he hates more than sweaty gym equipment is getting on your bad side.

“i’m not embarrassed, you’re just too pretty for them.��� it’s not a lie.

“flattery won’t save you from sleeping on the couch.”

he’s in his own home, it's his couch and bed. “if i take you to meet them once,” rindou emphasizes the word, “will you be pleased?”

you would, “a little.”

works for him.

rindou groans like the sore loser he is, yet hands you an earbud. “whatever, don’t come cryin’  when you realize they're actually lame."

secretly, he prays you don't like them better than him.

"they're your friends—or gang, i'm guessing—i would never think bad of them."

aren't you just a godsend? rindou breathes a chuckle, pressing play. whatever wrinkles remained on his face washed away when you bobbed your head to his mix. he forgives you for being a pain in his ass.

everything’s fair in love and war; you came and conquered with ease. as implicit as he fights to keep it, rindou's a big softie for you.

you lean over to kiss his temple, maybe you’ll buy that sweater you saw for this special occasion.

just this once, punctuality would be the death of you.

the only street light a couple meters away flickers every two minutes, you’ve got no service, and the run-down warehouse you’re leaning on is the shadiest spot rindou’s asked you to meet at. seriously, what’s his issue?

“little late for someone like you to be out alone, isn’t it?” couldn’t have said it better, voice you've never heard before.

..wait.

with a gulp, you turn to meet whoever was talking to you. it’s not the least comforting when you have to look up to see his face. tall, weird eyebrows, and overall menacing.

for once in your goddamn life, think!

“yeah—i mean, it must suck to be alone in the dead of night.” you laugh nervously, as if to quell the goosebumps rising in your arms. “not me though, nope.”

mochi squints his eyes. you can’t be serious, right? there’s no one else in the entire block. “‘s that so?”

one gulp to hush your anxiety. “yup, my boyfriend’s waiting for me, if i don’t show he’ll come looking,” great, now you’re shaking. 

he’s not gonna buy it. this is the end, death by two hands the size of your head. truly tragic.

“only a shitty boyfriend would leave you all alone like this,” he huffs. it’s true, part of him wants to wait and chew out whoever this man is. 

safe to say, you have to agree. rindou is a dead man as soon as he shows his face, and it won’t be at the hands of this monster of a guy.

blame it on your current hyperfocus on every little thing (something’s gotta make up for your obvious lack of fight or flight) you can’t help but notice he’s wearing all red—is that a gang uniform?

funny how hope goes out as quick as that.

rindou’s uniform is most definitely not red. the fight bound to unleash is already brewing inside your mind, you’re not even sure if rindou can take a hit from this guy. if he ever gets here, only one of these two would walk away. 

you have to act, fast.

“it’s not safe, what’s a thing like you gonna do if—”

he makes the mistake of looking into your eyes. they’re wide, like a deer caught in headlights; innocent.

mochizuki’s second mistake is not noticing the right hook you swing.

the light flickers again, and one of tenjiku’s heavenly kings falls unconscious.

it goes without saying you fucking panic.

“i didn't mean to—shit!” you’re kneeling beside his body, checking for pulse. of course there's still a pulse, there’s no way you could actually kill a guy like that. “i’m so, so sorry.”

he didn’t even try to hurt you. are you the monster here? 

initially, you were worried rindou would be the one to start a fight if he saw you cornered by the guy. never would you have thought the culprit would be none other than yourself.

quickly, your sweater becomes a makeshift pillow—the least you could do for knocking the living daylights out of him. though you do cringe when the brand-new fabric soaks up all the dirt on the ground.

it’s okay, surely once he wakes again you can explain you didn’t mean to hit him. you were aiming for… a fly? a mosquito? those can carry deadly diseases. sure, let’s go with that.

kakucho doesn’t know what he just walked into.

there’s a stranger kneeling beside mochi whispering in a fret to herself, something about the last recorded case of dengue fever in japan. right, he was also unconscious.

soon, you notice him too. particularly his red uniform.

there’s a brief pause in which you just stare at each other.

come to think of it, you’d probably kick the bucket in these clothes, and you wouldn’t mind. dying with these on would be something you can live with—or die, rather? idioms are dumb. point is, you picked a really nice outfit for your supposed date with rindou. 

rindou haitani, who somehow managed to be late enough to miss you picking a fight with another gang member.

the silence is deadly. 

“you’re… his friend, right?” cautiously, you’re the one to break it. “i figured he'd appreciate a pillow to enjoy his nap.”

so why was his cheek painted a raging red? god, that’s a nasty bruise.

kakucho blinks twice. then, he looks around, trying to discern any other lifeform in close vicinity. any possible culprit. anything to explain what the fuck is going on.

“are you alone?” the question is courtesy, he already knows the answer. 

“no.” maybe he didn’t know after all.

he narrows his eyes, and you rush to fix whatever mistake you made. “my boyfriend—and friends, so many friends, are waiting on me. they’ll know if i don’t show up.”

you’re nervous. kakucho steps closer, and you’re quick to jump on your feet. “you’re right, i should probably go—”

“did you do this?”

“do what?”

as if it wasn’t obvious, he waves his arm at his fallen friend. “this.”

it’s been a long night. you’re frustrated, terrified out of your goddamn mind, and you can’t help the panic tears that start to form.

“i’m so sorry!” you bow, trying to hold back from outright sobbing in front of the delinquent. “he—i was alone, and he came around and-and started talking to me and i just, i got scared!”

kakucho blinks, again. 

“i didn’t mean to hurt him, i’m sure he’s a great guy, i was just jumpy, and fuck i didn't mean to cause any trouble.”

tears run down your cheeks, mourning both your sweater as a breeze rolls by and your wasted last moments of youth. great, you’re making it awkward. 

sometimes instincts take over, and kakucho is unsure why he’s shrugging off his tenjiku coat. neither does he have an answer as to why he reached to drape it over your shoulders.

“c’mon, just breathe.”

you do. you take a deep, deep breath, and your problems start to lessen. not actually though, the other gang member is still very much on the ground. however, it's nice not feeling in immediate danger anymore.

kakucho settles down next to mochi, and pats the ground next to him. “sit.”

last thing he tasked you ended up helping, so you decide to listen once more. a respectable distance away from him, you sit.

he’s not sure where to start. there’s so many questions he needs the answer to.

(how did you take out mochi? how did you know the exact warehouse where the higher-ups were meeting tonight?)

but he keeps quiet. 

either way, any explanations coming from you would be interrupted by hiccuping, and he didn’t want to risk any more crying from you.

“am i in trouble?”

the answer should be obvious. kakucho knows you’re aware of the mess you’re in now. still, there must be something missing. “i can count with one hand the people who’ve been able to take mochi out.”

so that’s his name. your gaze lands on him, peacefully resting. it’s a nice name. 

“so i need you to be honest,” kakucho tries his best to speak gently. “did you do this?”

he takes in a sharp breath when you nod.

“...how?”

the strained chuckle that leaves your lips makes his heart skip a beat or two. “i just, y’know, hit him.”

“but, how?” the mere thought is baffling to him.

“i can show you if you want.” you bite back. it’s playful. now you can cross-out befriending a random delinquent from your bucket list.

“never thought i’d see kakucho flirting.” a new voice enters the array. “didn’t know he had it in him.”

white hair flows freely, unfazed by the unresponsive commander beside the two. his presence exudes commands without diction. explain, now.

kakucho’s posture stiffens, and he’s quick to get back on his feet. “i arrived and mochi was knocked out, seemingly by,” he pauses to look at you. “uh, what’s your name?”

you match his movements, standing up and completely ignoring his question. “i’m really sorry about that, i didn’t know he was—”

izana interrupts the meaningless spiel, “your name, what is it?"

shivers crawl up your spine. a phantom would be more merciful with the frighten. so you answer his question.

and just like that, poor mochi is forgotten. "i like your name, it's nice on the ears."

you know better than to grimace at the compliment (was it really?) "i should get going, i don't want to be in your hair any longer."

izana follows your every movement with violet eyes. not a word is uttered, just a plastered, quite unsettling smile on his face as acknowledgment. 

right, your idiot boyfriend. one quick glance at the no signal on your phone serves as a reminder you're stranded.

a jingle brings you back to reality. it's izana, tilting his head. "what's wrong?"

well, you're certain all trains back home stopped doing rounds about half an hour ago, and there’s no way you can catch a ride from either of these two.

(the guy with the scar would probably do it, he seems kind. the urge to squish his cheeks like a grandma would is intense.)

"actually," an awkward laugh makes up for the nerves rattling within. "i.. can't leave, not yet."

his patience is wearing thin, you presume. "is that so?"

from behind you, kakucho shifts. would they even go for a one on two? when you're the one wearing heels?

"i told kakucho—" you glance back to confirm you remembered his name correctly, biting back a smile when he looks surprised. "—i was waiting for my friends and boyfriend, specifically at this exact, dirty warehouse." 

izana doesn't look satisfied. 

"half of that was a lie, it's just my boyfriend i'm supposed to meet." this doesn't seem to be getting any better. 

he's thinking about something.

"i know i shouldn't have lied, but it's basic street smarts! can't blame me for that." 

he steps closer, seemingly having resolved whatever idea was brewing in his head.

you're close to going on another rant on street safety, or maybe going for another swing, but izana makes you stop dead in your tracks. "do you wanna be kakucho's girlfriend?"

smelly thugs was cutting it short, this guy was bizarre as fuck.

kakucho is grateful you don’t have eyes on the back of your head. tenjiku’s number two, overwhelmed with a barrage of embarrassment and murderous tendencies for his one and only king.

(was he that obvious? were his fleeting glances that easy to notice?)

izana on the other hand had only just begun his career as a salesman. “kakucho here is a great guy—the definition of a gentleman and a picture-perfect servant.” 

odd way of selling someone for a boyfriend. you’d have a few pointers and even additions to his pitch, except you literally have a boyfriend, and you’ve told him so.

you check for the hour. maybe you’ll consider his proposal if kakucho isn’t horrid with meeting on time. “go on.”

two heavenly kings have yet to show their faces, another is knocked out, and the last is close to digging himself an early grave.

“so you’ll date kakucho then?”

has he heard a single word you’ve spoken? “i have a boyfriend.”

“it’s a yes or no question, preferably yes or yes.”

it’s better if you ignore the vague implication of a threat behind his statement. “rain check?”

that seems to please him. “i’m izana,” he offers his hand for a handshake. “pleasure doing business with you.”

“cool.” you’re absolutely sure he’s missing a screw in his head, but it’s funny. 

“too late to join the roster?” to absolutely no one’s surprise, it’s a new voice joining this sick joke of a night. you’re amazed at the fact four men have managed to show up unannounced to your date, and none are the one you're actually going out with.

izana turns to meet the new addition, eyebrow raising at the fact it’s only half the duo. 

“he’s finding a spot to park, sent me to check on that one over there.” one hand points to you, the other toys with a dual-colored braid. 

he’s clad in a black uniform—just like rindou’s. everything's even more confusing now, hurray you!

kakucho, who’s more than grateful to leave the past conversation behind, begins to process the situation. “you know ran?”

“ran?” puzzle pieces are slowly coming together. “as in haitani? ran haitani?”

the man himself lets out a low whistle. “sorry man, only been here for at least half a minute and i’m already takin' the spotlight—nothing personal.”

that’s not how you meant it at all. “no-”

“kakucho gave her his jacket.” izana you are not helping. 

“that has nothing to do with this.” kakucho pleads to everything under the sun for his boss to just, shut up. just this once.

“ran, where’s ri-”

“see? already reeling back to me, i think i've got more game than you.” rindou was right, he’s a living headache. 

izana tugs at your blouse. “you already said yes on kakucho, no take backs.”

“that never happened.” kakucho, angel on earth, everyone.

something boils from within. "i have a boyfriend."

“you’re too pretty for him.” he blurts without an ounce of hesitation in his body. it’s amusing how ran said the same thing as rindou—they really are family. still, no. does he even know you're dating his brother? 

the situation is getting out of hand, your patience is being tested, and you just want to go home at this point. 

at this rate you’re sending ran home with half his braids in your fist, izana is getting his arm put in a cast if he utters another word, and kakucho is getting his jacket back and a pat on the head.

there are a few reasons you’re dating rindou haitani. among the perks lies the telepathic bond you two have—whatever you think, rindou is already doing. which is exactly why ran is suddenly getting his braid damn near ripped out by gloved hands.

“wanna say that again?” rindou holds the hair tightly in a fist, he’s fuming. “c'mon, don’t pussy out now.”

the three of you gawk at the scene. kakucho and you in shock, izana in awe. the man of the hour arrived, and everything took a turn for the worse.

the youngest haitani has always followed his older brother like a best friend and inspiration. it’s a relationship based on respect for the other and no one else. sure, they have disagreements, but rindou admires no one more than ran. 

the haitani brothers, joined at the hip by crime and blood, now tearing each other apart in the pettiest of ways.

ran, tallest, oldest, arguably strongest, hisses in pain by the harsh tugging. “why dontcha rip it out while y’re fucking at it? whatever got into you?”

izana pokes a finger into your side for the second time. “you know rindou?”

your eyes are glued on the brothers. ran keeps whining, rindou is professing his undying and very much ongoing love for you. “yeah, we’re dating.”

a pause. a long one at that. 

“...why?” he sounds puzzled.

rindou screams insults at ran and soon drags his hair-stylist through the mud too, for some reason. “what do you mean by that?”

izana blinks at you like the answer is obvious. “is he like, forcing you or something?”

“what?”

kakucho, who’s been silently witnessing the convo fights to stifle his laughter. it’s of no use, not when you’re throwing his jacket back at his face to shush him. it’s a strong throw, sending him backwards a step or two.

izana thinks you’re funny, too. “you are too pretty for him.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀navi.⠀＆⠀m.list.⠀＆⠀send me an ask!

[augustinewrites]

[twenty-two minutes to midnight]

hange zoe is a special brand of stupid. 

at least that’s what levi thinks as his friend says, stupidly, “if neither of us are kissing anyone at midnight, i guess i’ll have to kiss you, levi.” 

levi ackerman makes it his special mission to be as far as possible from his friend before the clock strikes 12. when it comes to hange, his ever-scowling lips are for critical judgment and insults only. 

“pass,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes when they pout at him. 

“but what about all those times you asked me how to—”

“this conversation is over,” he deadpans, emphasizing his point by walking away. 

but levi has learned long ago that there’s no walking away from hange. they drags themselves up and away from the table to follow, throwing a heavy arm around his shoulders. “why not though? are you planning on kissing someone else tonight?”

their tone is teasing, but their eyes give them away. hange’s fishing for a specific answer. 

“no,” he answers much too quickly to be nonchalant.

his friend just smirks. “she’s here, you know. erwin said she just got back a few weeks ago.”

“i had no idea.” (he already knew.)

“she’s still single.”

“i don’t care.” (he might care.)

they hum thoughtfully. “so you wouldn’t mind if i kissed her instead?”

levi doesn’t answer this time, shoving his friend’s arm off his shoulder and trying to disappear into the party. 

erwin’s parties were always too big, in his opinion. he packed his penthouse apartment to the brim, and how anyone had this many friends, he had no idea. at least the sheer amount of people would allow him the opportunity to slip away, maybe hide in some quiet corner wearing a scowl that could repel the bravest souls.

(and if he hides, there’s no way he’ll run into you, right?)

[twelve minutes to midnight]

by merely thinking of you, levi’s mother would probably say he was tempting fate. his mother was almost always right, loathe as he was to admit it.

because, yeah, it’s barely twenty minutes later when he spots you across the room, sipping champagne while chatting with miche and hange. 

you have your back to him, but he knows that it’s you. it’s instinct— the way his eyes linger down the familiar shape of your body. he traces each curve draped in blue silk the way his hands once did.

levi could go over there. he could tell you that you look gorgeous in that dress. he could tell you that he misses you, needs you, loves you…

but then miche would make that face, and hange would fail to bite back that smile, and levi would have to block both their numbers and all their social media accounts again. 

he could tell you these things, but he’s never figured out how. levi likes to handle things on his own and refuses to show weakness to anyone. 

so he turns on his heel and heads in the opposite direction instead, towards the kitchen to look for a drink. he wasn’t really one for alcohol, but he needed it tonight. 

he’s frowning over the various bottles when erwin appears, a knowing grin on his face. he has a habit of materializing out of nowhere when levi’s at his weakest.

“looking for anything in particular?” the blond asks. 

“just a beer,” he mutters. 

erwin hums, contemplative, then lists various drinks. “let’s see. there are have craft brews, ipa, winter wheat—”

levi makes a face. when the fuck did beer get complicated? “what the hell is a winter wheat?”

“it’s beer, levi,” he chuckles, shooting him an amused look. it lasts a second too long, and is followed by, “you saw her, didn’t you?”

“what does that have to do—”

“are we talking about levi’s love life?”

“no, we’re not,” levi snaps, shooting miche a warning glare that his dumb friend chooses to ignore. 

“come on, we’ve known about your crush for years now,” the man continues, judging him slightly. “remember when you got drunk on hange’s birthday?”

“ah, yes,” erwin sighs, as if he’s recalling a particularly fond memory. “when you announced that you sorely missed—”

“oh my god. i hate my life,” levi mutters, turning on his heel and making his escape as the two grown men giggle like schoolgirls. he grabs the most expensive looking bottle of liquor, yanking the cork out and tossing it onto the counter. 

“maybe you’ll hate your life less if you get laid!”

levi flips them both off before slipping out onto the balcony, content to hide out here until the countdown is over. the door slowly slides shut behind him, muffling the mellow music and cheery laughter inside. 

he sets the bottle he’d swiped on the parapet, looking out at the twinkling city lights. these parties were much too suffocating, full of bright-eyed people that seemed keen on conversing with him no matter how reproachful his gaze. 

he doesn’t turn around when he hears the door slide open and shut behind. he already knows who’s followed him outside.

winter here provides a crisp cool, but levi doesn’t mind, slipping his suit jacket off and tossing it onto a patio chair. you don’t seem to mind it either, bare back pressed against the parapet as you smile over at him.

“you didn’t say hello,” you murmur, leaning towards him. levi steals a glance at you, eyes wandering down the column of your neck to the tempting plunge of your neckline. 

“hey,” he grunts, holding out the bottle he’d swiped in offering.

you accept it, taking a small sip. your face immediately pinches in displeasure, causing levi’s to crack with a small grin. 

“how’s your night?” you ask out of nowhere. 

“bored,” he answers stiffly, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the patio. “though i don’t suppose you actually care.”

you chuckle at that, your amusement barely audible over the breeze. you both know that’s not true. “just making conversation.”

“you’re pretty shit at it.”

the air between you both is suddenly hot, but levi shivers at the brush of your fingers against the corded muscle of his arm. your touch burns like fire across his skin as you murmur,

“shut me up then.”

his gaze falls to your mouth, pulse thundering in his ears as he leans forward and closes the distance. levi moves on instinct, locking a hand around your hip and pulling you closer. he swallows your surprised gasp with a kiss, but you don’t pull away.

he kisses you softly at first, each touch and movement of his mouth hesitant as he tests your boundaries. your hands move up his chest, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt collar and somehow pulling him closer, kissing him back with a fervor that makes him dizzy. your insistent mouth parts his lips, sending tremors through his nerves and awakening sensations he wants to feel again. it’s a good kiss. not bad for the first one you share in front of your friends (who are all gathered at the window) announcing your relationship as the clock the strikes midnight.

[diorcities]

angel tears

pairing haechan x afab!reader genre smut content possessiveness, slight bondage, mirror sex, overstim, degradation, cry kink, make up sex wc prbly 1.8k

you start to question everything you've done in the last two hours when haechan follows you to the bathroom.

he slams the door behind your back before you can realize he was behind you, and now you're locked with him and his rage. and you don't have to look to know how pissed he is. his heavy, audible breathing causes you to shrink into place and try to run away, but you're trapped. “you have to be kidding me, dove,” he says, “what the fuck was that?” the low tone of his voice, the way he pronounces every word slowly, how every one of them is full of venom, makes you shudder.

“what was what?” you ask, finally gathering the strength to look at him. the image you had visualized of him annoyed does not even come close to what your eyes see. with a tense jaw, twitching muscles, and a red face, his whole body screams anger and fury. oh, he's very upset. you can't help but feel fear as you remember that he is upset with you. “don't play fucking dumb right now, yn.” he shortens the distance from your bodies, but you drift away again by taking a few steps backward. “me talking with mark, you mean?” you pronounce.

haechan lets out a laugh, without grace. his hand caresses his jaw in a stimulus he uses to calm himself. “you talking with him ” he emphasizes the words. “do your fucking hands have to be touching him that way while you were chatting?” he asks, approaching you, until your back hits the wall. leaving you with no place to put distance between your bodies. “oh my god, haechan, we were just talking...” you try to reason with him, but he dodges it. “bet you love to know that he likes you,” he states, throwing blades at you with his piercing eyes. “what? n-no.”

he kisses you. the way your legs melt and your being becomes liquid. with teeth and rage. with passion and tongue. your senses become alert, your emotions in point while you return the kiss, fervent, airy, with the intensity of a thousand suns. so much that it hurts. so overwhelming that it takes your breath away. haechan's teeth drift away to your neck, biting, and marking your skin while claiming possession. groping your waist, and every flesh his hands can reach. touch. pinch. he wants you whole. bruised and saint. wicked and holy.

“it makes you nervous?” he coos, “know that he probably jerks off with your pictures?” he says, clenching his jaw. “would you like that type of attention from him?” with each question, his body gets closer to you, pinning you against the tile wall. “no,” you breathe. “bet you want to fuck him, by the way you were looking at him.” his hands rest on each side of your body, trapping you inside. you swallow when your mouth feels dry. he takes that as a yes. his lips let out a short, breathy laugh. “i'll break his jaw,” he sentences, getting closer to your face. their breaths mingle in the narrow space of your mouths, “you're. fucking. mine.”

“i should remind you who you belong to,” he says before putting his hand under your skirt and touching the clothed surface of your pussy. wet and longing for him. his cold rings send you shivers through your limbs when he starts rubbing your clit. your hands shoot up to his chest, but he pulls them away from his warmth with his available hand, restraining them behind your back. “no touching,” he declares, “you don't deserve it.” as he runs his digits down your folds, and inserts them inside you.

he uses his strength with you while his fingers do wonders. not allowing you to move while he fucks you without mercy. relentlessly twirling his fingers inside you, stimulating the right areas that make you hold your breath and feel a thousand stars explode in your stomach. “o-oh... s-shit.” he touches you so right, stimulating the right areas, shoving his fingers deep inside your cunt, feeling his rings every time he introduces his digits, that you become a bundle of gasps and trembling. “shit,” he says, feeling your walls throbbing and clenching, “only one minute, c'mon, dove,” he coos, watching you struggle to stand. “you can do better.”

he doesn't leave you time to respond when his fingers start moving again on the sensitive area. your mouth opens to let out a whimper because of the overwhelming sensation. “does it hurt? huh?” he wants to know, drinking the view of you, in a mess of babbling sounds. “j-just right,” you breathe. he lets go of your hands, adorned with pink bruises due to the force he used to keep them still. his pretty lips go to one of them, leaving a kiss before he moves them to your mouth.

you hold onto his broad shoulders, feeling again the sweet burn in your pussy, as haechan hits your spot repeatedly. your mind is flooded with the haze of desire, leaving you alone with the primitive instinct of violent lust, groaning and moaning his name. “look at you,” he mocks, “so pathetic.” his lips catch yours in a fiery kiss, stifling your moans in his mouth. you squirm when his pace increase in speed. “fuck.” a whine escape from your lips. your eyes fluttering as you feel your climax approaching. head tilting back, revealing the soft flesh that haechan marks with his mouth.

the floppy sounds of your wet pussy make him drunk and dazed. he catches every moan, hiss, and pant you make when you finally release on his fingers, walls pulsing around his digits, as he rides you to your high. body flowing in the sea of spasms that your orgasm leaves, feeling haechan's fingers finally pulling out. your walls clenched around nothing now, as you watch him bring up his fingers to his lips and licked your arousal.

your mouth wants to feel his lips. you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him fervently. hungry. violent. wanting to have everything from him. wanting to print your lips with his, until you run out of breath, until you feel that they hurt. haechan kisses you back, with the same intensity, pressing against him, tattooing his footprints on your skin. and you want him to mark you all. let him mark you as his own.

he drags you like nothing towards the mirror, and turns you on your axis with ease. his arm muscles tightening under his browned skin. hearing him struggle with the buckle of his pants while resting one hand on your thigh. lifting up the fabric so he can have access to your swollen pussy. he tosses your underwear to the side and aligns his cock soaked with his precum. the head pushes against your hole, starting to stretch you out to accommodate him. a strangled noise falls from your lips from how big he is. using his two hands on your waist while pushing himself in you, looking at his features contracted with pleasure as his mouth slips out a soft contended whine.

both of you stand there, still, drinking the sensation while a sweet burning invades you. he looks at you in the mirror, and smile, “too much for you?” as your expression change, eyes fluttering and teeth biting your lip. you whisper something under your breath, that he barely catches and makes you repeat it, “i can take it.” his cock twitches with your statement.

he bends you over the sink with a hand firmly on your shoulder, as his hips smash your ass. burying his length that releases waves of pleasure all over your limbs. your legs tremble when he pulls out and go back again. the wet sound of your pussy filling the air every time he shoves his dick in your cunt without compassion. the carousel of pleasure and sensations causes your eyes to close and your jaw to clench, drowning out moans in your throat.

“open your eyes and look,” he urges you, and you know you don't want him to repeat it, so you do, seeing stars floating in your vision. blurred. cloudy. “f-fuck!” you moan when he increases the pace of his rhythmic thrusts. jaw clenching and eyes flooded with tears. your reflection looks back at you. mascara ruined and mouth open letting out choppy sounds. at this moment, you don't really care if the music is too loud to muffle your screams or not. you know for sure that haechan doesn't even care, you can even say that he is passionate about others hearing you. eager to let mark hear you.

“so fucking tight, taking my cock so well.” he hasn't stopped looking at you through the mirror, a grunt escapes from his mouth at the sight of you crying due to the arousal. “bet mark won't fuck you like this.” your pussy clenches around his cock, feeling a sweet pain spreading right where he's hitting. “s-shit...” you feel stargazing, sensing this rare feeling that you're about to piss. “o-oh, god.”

your hands go to one of his veiny arms, feeling how hard he's grabbing you. your body shudders as a white noise fills your senses. the numbness seizes you, shutting your eyes while haechan takes you to the edge. body shutting down when you finally explode, sobbing in a high-pitched moan because haechan doesn't stop pounding you.

your body ends up being a mess of spasms and squirms until you feel haechan tenses behind you. cock twitching and pulsing while he empties his load into you. feeling the warm seed painting your walls, hearing his throaty whimpers while he milks his dick in your cunt. shoving it deeper as he gets closer to you. back pressing his chest.

his voice releases venom when he says “dare you to talk to mark again.” you know that it's better to listen to him, but little does he know that all this was a scheme of you to make him fuck you senseless.

so, of course, you'd do it again.

[brunette-crisis]

I’m going to start writing as a way to release energy. I don’t know how it will do or tags to use, but I hope you enjoy it and it turns you on.

Lately I fantasize about being made of shadow able to drift through solid objects and make myself part of the shadow at will. This is a short story inspired by that.

If you have suggestions for specific kinks/genders/dynamics that you would like represented let me know and I will feature it. The Shadow can fulfill your darkest and filthiest desires and I would love to use my energy to put them to the page for you. I used red to emphasize words as triggers for some kinks but also to help keep you reading (tik tok subway surfer ass generation) (don’t take it personally I literally do the same thing and listen to Reddit stories while I play video games and scroll.)

This is inspired by many of my own kinks for both receiving and taking. I tried to keep both charachters gender neutral and heavily open to interpretation so that you could insert yourself directly in. That being said it may not be perfect. Thank you for your time reading.

———————————————————————

The Shadow: Chapter 1

One night as you sleep, you awake feeling uncomfortable in your room. You aren’t really sure what’s going on. It’s your room. The safe place it’s always been. The doors are locked. The windows shut. Your noise machine hums softly. Just a dream you suppose. As you lazily close your eyes sleep starts to overtake you, you take a deep breath.

Just as you exhale arms shoots out from the darkness clamping down over your mouth and throat. You don’t even scream. What’s happening? This CAN’T happen. Not to your Not in this room. It’s safe. It always has been. Nobody can get in. Nothing can hurt you here.

The shadows growl at you to keep your mouth shut if you want to survive, tightening its grip to show its threats carry weight. You don’t know what’s happening or who is threatening you, but in that moment you realize this thing WILL kill you and finish with your corpse if it has to. You are nothing before it. Not a boy. Not a girl. An object. A thing to be used and discarded when it no longer serves.

Just as you begin to run out of air the shadows grips lesson, allowing you to desperately choke for air, only to have your throat and mouth stuffed by darkness and shadow. Your brain tells you it’s a cock, because that’s the only thing that has been forced in your dumb whore mouth before. But it isn’t really.

If you had the bravery to look upon your attacker, you would see no shaft pumping in and out. No balls slapping again your chin with every thrust. Only cold shadow. The absolute darkness of the void dripping, condensing, and congealing with your spit, dripping down your mouth.

You feel it thrust, but the darkness. It’s too much. It’s all encompassing. It forces and retreats from the depths of your throat with a steady and unyielding pace. Your mouth is completely stuffed with shadow, like a child trying to fit marshmallows in their mouth. You always did win at that game.

You don’t know how long it thrusts. Between the gasps of air through your nose, the ethereal tendrils of darkness lick up and down your body, leaving and soft warm trail that lingers briefly before dissolving into your body. If you could see in the absolute darkness. You could see these tendrils did not move randomly, but carefully tattooed strange patterns and designs across your chest, neck, shoulders, rear, and at the entrance of each of your holes.

The shadow lets loose a cry of approval, praising you for your obedience and submission, claiming no human has ever submitted so quickly and so completly to its touch. It taunts you, reveling in your loss of trust in your own space. You hear a beastial roar that somehow fulls only your ears and a wave of darkness fills you. Its warmth fills you just like any wave of seed, yet it extends to your entire body. Its warmth is so surprising you begin to weep. Nothing makes sense anymore and you can help but notice that you want this shadow more. You want its darkness touching every inch of your skin.

The joy of its warmth is replaced with the icy cold of normal. After its warmth pulses your skin returns to a regular temperature, yet is icy cold. With dread you wonder if you might ever feel the warmth again. This darkness has spoiled you. Little do you know just how many ways it has. From the darkness something whispers, “Do not worry my child. I will see you tomorrow. And the next night. And the next. There is no escape now.

———————————————————————-

I wrote this in bed while I couldn’t sleep, never sure what I wanted to write but just letting my fingers fly over the keyboard. Lots of potential story threads popped in my mind for future chapters.

If I learned anything it’s that I like to provide. I think I have at least decent writing skills and the imagination to create vast complex narratives. This is a creative writing experiment to explore that. I think?

[siriuslysatorusimping]

bro i promise u nobody else gaf about what currency people are using in FANFICS 💀 in nonfiction or like general books that are focused on real life sure.. but theres no way ur this upset over the use of "dollar" in a damn fanfic like move on. i guarantee you 99% of those people are using dollars for the simple fact that its easier.. no need to get "pissed off" over it 😟 !!

"U.SIFYING" i cant breathe LMAOOO

I'll be honest, I thought about not responding to this because it's likely childish of me to do so. However, I think it's important to emphasize that people are allowed to have opinions that are unpopular or over dumb little details, especially when they aren't hurting anyone. So, I'm responding as kindly as I can!

My autistic ass is upset over the fact that people don't take little things into consideration when they write. It's called a pet peeve for a reason 😊

I'm perfectly aware my opinions are likely not the popular ones, but I'm still allowed to have them, just like you're allowed to have yours! I'm also still allowed to post them, just like you're allowed to send yours telling me to get over it.

The fact that those people are using dollars because it's 'easier' is exactly the point. They use it because it's easier to be purposefully inconsistent, and that's lazy. I understand that it's fanfic, but that doesn't mean that details aren't important.

Again, I know my opinion likely isn't a popular one, but that's fine. I'm also aware that these are details I care about because I'm literally autistic and notice overly small details that don't matter to other people. It's nothing new. It's just part of who I am and how I read things. That doesn't mean there's anything inherently wrong with me or the writers who care about different things than I do! Everyone has their little details that matter, these just happen to be mine. 😊

Thank you for sharing your opinion! I hope you have a lovely rest of your day or night!

[calciumcryptid]

Calcium List of K-Pop Worth a Damn Pt.1

Hello, my beloved mutuals.

It is I, Calcium, who has consumed way too much K-Pop and has opinions on which songs (and by extension artists) are actually worth a damn.

This is part one because there is so much K-Pop to sort through, so this is going to cover female artists whether groups or soloists. These songs range from bubblegum pop to rock, so I do not expect you to enjoy every single one on this list.

In case this breaks containment: Just because a song or artist is not on this list does not mean I think the song or artist is bad. Also, understand this was made specifically for my mutuals and mutuals only.

Important Language Note: When Romanized, the word 'you' in Korean translates to 'nega' and the word 'I' in Korean translates to 'naega'. When said very fast it sounds like the n-word. I promise it is not the n-word, they are saying 'you' or 'I'.

Now, without further ado, my recommendations!

Girl Groups

Come Back Home by 2NE1

Fire by 2NE1

I Am the Best by 2NE1

OOMM (Out of My Mind) by 3YE

Crazy by 4Minute

Hate by 4Minute

Volume Up by 4Minute

Next Level by Aespa

Say My Name by ANS

Come See Me by AOA

%%(Eung Eung) by Apink

Dilemma by Apink

I'm So Sick by Apink

Lalalilala by April

Oh! My Mistake by April

GingaMingaYo by Billie

Ring x Ring by Billie

Crazy Over You by BlackPink

Lovesick Girls by BlackPink

Playing with Fire by BlackPink

Abracadabra by Brown Eyed Girls

Kill Bill by Brown Eyed Girls

Dramatic by Bvndit

Dumb by Bvndit

Devil by CLC

Me by CLC

Love so Sweet by Cherry Bullet

Fri. Sat. Sun. by Dalshabet

Jazz Bar by Dreamcatcher

Scream by Dreamcatcher

La Di Da by Everglow

L.I.E by Exid

Cupid by Fifty Fifty

Lovin' Me by Fifty Fifty

Uh-Oh by (G)I-dle

Nxde by (G)I-dle (Watch the MV, trust me)

Lil' Touch by Girls Generation

The Boys by Girls Generation

Not That Type by Gugudan

Drip by Hinapia

Whatta Man (Good Man) by I.O.I

Wannabe by Itzy

I Am by IVE

Love Dive by IVE

Antifragile by Le Sserafim

Eve, Psyche, and the Bluebeard's Wife by Le Sserafim

The Great Mermaid by Le Sserafim

Eye to Eye by Limelight

Wave by Limesoda

Butterfly by LOONA

So What by LOONA

Hip by Mamamoo

Décalcomaine by Mamamoo

Gogebebe by Mamamoo

Bad Girl Good Girl by Miss A

Hush by Miss A

Bboom Bboom by Momoland

Girls by Nature

Ditto by NewJeans

Hype Boy by NewJeans

Catallena by Orange Caramel

Poison by PinkFantasy

Get It by Pristin V

Nerdy by Purple Kiss

Zombie by Purple Kiss

Dr. Feel Good by Raina

Automatic by Red Velvet

Feel My Rhythm by Red Velvet

Psycho by Red Velvet

Bouncy by Rocket Punch

Touch My Body by Sistar

After School by Weekly

Picky Picky by Weki Meki

Female Soloists

Make Up Your Mind by Ailee

Kazino by BIBI (Watch the MV, trust me)

Vengeance by BIBI

Gotta Go by Chung Ha

Killing Me by Chung Ha

Rollercoaster by Chung Ha

Hello Bitches by CL

Twit by Hwasa

Maria by Hwasa

Picture by Hyo

Dally by Hyolyn

Lilac by IU

What Type of X by Jessi

Plant by KimSejeong

Glitch by Kwon Eunbi

Knock by Lee Chae Yeon

Alien by Lee Suhyun

Eclipse by Moon Byul

On the Ground by Rosé

Spit It Out by Solar

Villain by Stella Jang

Heroine by Sumni

Mr. Stranger by Sumni

Tail by Sumni (Watch the MV, especially my DC mutuals. Trust me, you are going to want to watch the MV.)

INVU by Taeyeon

Spark by Taeyeon

Perfume by Yubin

Overall Artist Recommendations + Explanations

Apink: South Korea's music industry has a problem allowing their female artists to mature over time, but APink has a good blend between the bubblegum pop sound and some of the most beautiful vocals you'll ever hear.

BlackPink: This is going to be controversial, but I found them to be a good (metaphorical) gateway drug. I recommend listening to their first album The Album, but whatever you do skip Ice Cream.

Chung Ha: I cannot emphasize how much I love her entire discography. Most of the soloist listings would have just been her and Sumni if I wasn't self-regulating myself.

Dreamcatcher: Dreamcatcher has come to be known as "The Face of Rock in K-pop", and they deserve the title with the bangers they put out. Not to flex, but I've been a fan since their debut in 2017 and I'm not letting go anytime soon.

NewJeans: This girl group is inspired by 1990s-2000s pop, and it shows in the way everything they make is criminally catchy. If you want to feel like the beginning of a teen movie, they are the go to group to go to.

Sumni: She is my favorite soloist, and most of the soloist listings would have just been her and Chungha if I wasn't self-regulating myself.

That is it for part one, even though I know I am going to be kicking myself later for leaving out some songs but I hope my mutuals appreciate my list.

The next part will be boy groups and soloists. :)

Now to figure out where to cut this.

@insomniac-jay @opalofoctober

[rubinee]

You mentioned in the tags how sph doesn’t interest you because smaller cocks are better in alot of ways, and I’m inclined to agree. Out of curiosity though, what do you think of (for lack of a better term) big penis humiliation? It’s been on my mind a long time because mine is bigger and I feel like there’s alot of space for that conceptually

Having a service top guided, whimpering but obedient, to stay still while being used as a dildo, only allowed to move at a certain pace to test their restraint. Having them only be allowed to touch themselves if they can’t look, whether by trained self discipline or by something blocking their view. Being teased for how *obvious* it is that they’re turned on, no matter what they’re wearing—or even having clothes chosen to emphasize that, like not getting underwear or having a cute skirt (which also gives easy access whenever that’s wanted)

—👁‍🗨

😳 well happy new year to you too

ngl the scenarios you sent had me daydreaming a bit 🤤 my personal favourite would also be playfully calling someone a bit dumb bc all bloods gone to the other brain hehe

so i totally agree there is potential there and I'd love for people to get more creative with it

but for me personally i don't know if i could enjoy this irl (not just as a fantasy) i still have some emotional hang-ups about my own.... limitations that i would need to work through first

[mothmanhamlet]

kiss me!

fandom: It (mainly the 2017/19 movies even though at my heart i am a miniseries believer)

pairing: reddie

word count: 12k

summary:

The thing that spawned inside of his stomach felt like both an explosion and a pit at the same time, the way that a supernova creates a black hole. He felt like there was one of those just underneath his ribcage as he realized two things in rapid succession.

One: he really wanted to kiss Eddie.

Two: he was, under no circumstances, allowed to kiss Eddie.

OR

five times richie almost kisses eddie and one time... something else happens

Its been 10 million years and i finally wrote a fic! read it on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45024529

preview under the cut

5 (age 6)

It was the first day of school and a kid was sitting by himself on the bench next to the swing. Which, obviously, made no sense to Richie.

He was at the top of the slide when he noticed, eyes catching him just before he could push himself down. He was small, even compared to Richie who was already short for his age. He looked tidier than any of the other kids, his bright blue shirt crisp and his khaki shorts unwrinkled. Richie’s mom would have loved him, she was always getting on his case about how dirty his clothes were.

The strangest part was that he wasn’t even crying or anything. Khaki-boy’s face was completely blank, unlike any of the other kids who had sobbed at the disappearance of their parents that morning. He could understand that. If he wasn’t so tough he maybe would have shed a tear himself.

It seemed stupid to Richie, as he sped down the hot metal slide. Why would you choose to be bored? Didn’t he have friends to be playing with?

It then occurred to Richie that he might not have friends to play with.

And, well, he wasn’t going to let that happen. His parents always told him that if a kid looked lonely, he should go up and talk to them and make friends. He hadn’t really ever had to make friends, seeing as his mom was friends with Stan’s mom and Bill came as a package deal with Stan once they started preschool. That was still two more friends than this kid seemed to have, which made him the expert. He figured he could probably wing it.

As confidently as he could, he walked up to the kid. He looked up, face scrunched in suspicion, as Richie approached. He held out his hand for a handshake, the polite way his dad always did.

“Do you want to play dinosaurs with me?”

The kid scoffed at him.

“No.”

Richie was incredibly offended.

“What? Why not?” The kid glared at him.

“Because you’re gross,” the kid explained, like Richie was a dumb two year old, “my mom said that all the other kids had nasty diseases and I should stay away from you.”

This was shocking. Richie had never been so slandered in his whole entire life.

“I am not gross!” Richie protested, folding his arms up, “Maybe all the other kids are, but I’m not! Bill and Stan aren’t gross either!”

“Are too,” the kid countered, “I saw you eating glue earlier.”

And, ok, he did eat glue. But he was a scientist! He had to know what it tasted like! For science! He decided then and there he had to get back at him. He couldn’t let this stand!

“Fine,” Richie said, hatching a devious little device, “you’re right. I do have a bunch of diseases. You know what I have? Cooties. And I am going to give them. All. To. You.”

Richie pointed his finger at the kid to emphasize his point. He looked confused but recoiled all the same.

“What are cooties?” The kid asked, sounding like Richie had just served him a huge plate of broccoli.

“I just told you! It’s a disease!” Richie inched closer to him, crowding him into the bench, “Do you wanna know how you get it?”

The kid looked disgusted, but now a little bit scared. He whipped his arm away from where Richie was almost touching it on the bench. Shakily, he nodded.

“Kissing!” Richie threatened gleefully. A look of utmost horror dawned on the kid’s face.

Richie leaned in and the kid screeched before he could even get close.

[spaceorphan18]

The Spaces In-Between: Chapter 7

TITLE: The Spaces In-Between RATING: M PAIRINGS: Eventually Kurt/Blaine, unrequited Kurt/Finn ADDITIONAL TAGS: All the tags! Mostly slowburn romance and friendship SUMMARY: The story of Kurt Hummel’s life in the spaces between what we saw on the show – goes through the entire series, and follows his adventures throughout, including falling in love with Blaine, his friendships with Mercedes and Rachel, and his relationship with his dad.

Thanks to @lallagoglee​ for the wonderful cover art! <3

***

Chapter 7: Keep Holding On

“Move it, gay kid!  I have places to be.” Sue Sylvester shouts at Kurt.  His lunch tray comes dangerously close to bumping her as she is in the process of storming out of the cafeteria.  Kurt steadies his lunch and glares after her.  God, he hates that woman.  

Gay kid… The phrase makes Kurt’s blood boil.  He had been shocked when Ms. Sylvester had first called him that.  But now that it is the only thing she will call him has him rolling his eyes so hard at her.  He knows what she is doing - purposely equating them to a single trait and doing so in the most insensitive way imaginable.  That is how Ms. Sylvester rolls.  And if she hadn’t been any other teacher, Kurt would have thrown some snark her way. You did not mess with Ms. Sylvester, though.  He had seen the things she had done to Santana and Brittany -- to Mr. Schue.  Kurt is not dumb enough to get on her bad side.  Still…  

“She really needs to pick some new nicknames,” Kurt mutters as he sets his tray down next to Mercedes.  He nods over to where Ms. Sylvester is yelling at some poor kid for being in the wrong place at the wrong time and knocking into her.  

Mercedes shrugs her shoulders, as if it is no big deal, and pops a tater tot into her mouth.  “They could be worse.  They’re not as bad as they could be.”  

“Really?” Kurt is incredulous.  “And you would be fine if Ms. Sylvester started calling you ‘black girl’ every time you walked by?” 

Mercedes gives him a glare as she chews.  “Well, I am a black girl, and an awesome one at that.  I’m not about to let any terrible person use it against me.”  

Kurt smiles inwardly.  As much as he appreciates Mercedes’s calm approach to everything, it is nice when she gets indigent with him.  

“But even so,” Mercedes continues.  “Ms. Sylvester isn’t all bad.  She is letting us sing solos and as much as I appreciate Mr. Schue for everything he’s done for us.  You have to admit, he has been holding us back.” 

She is not wrong.  Their tiny group of minorities have all had their share of solos to sing in the past week.  And it totally beats having to harmonize behind Rachel as she gets free reign on singing every song from the Rodgers and Hammerstein playbook.  But, as much as he likes having a chance to change it up a bit, something about the whole arrangement feels… hollow. 

“I will be the first to admit, it feels nice to actually be able to sing,” Kurt says carefully.  “But what is the trade-off?  That we allow Ms. Sylvester to terrorize us? She only reinforces this notion that I’m only ‘the gay kid’.” He uses finger quotations to emphasize his point.  

“Well, then what do you want to be?” she says with an easy smile.  He grimaces at her deliberate refusal to get the point.  She reaches out a hand to him and puts it over her own.  “Kurt, we’re never going to escape these labels people put on us.  People are always going to judge us before they get to know the real people that we are.  And if I dare ask - is being ‘gay kid’ really any better or worse than ‘black girl’ or ‘wheels’ or ‘other Asian’?” 

He tilts his head to consider.  It is not fair to compare one minority’s suffering to another.  It is not fair that they are even put into this position in the first place.  And now that he is becoming more comfortable with the fact that he is, indeed, gay… and like, really gay… he is not sure if society labeling him as such feels better or worse.  

Mercedes changes the subject to new music they can sing in glee, and he can only admire her ability to adapt when she needs to.  He supposes she has had her whole life to adapt to a society that represses her.  Not that everyone who has ever met him already just stamps the word ‘gay’ on his forehead.  But Mercedes is so much better at dealing with it than he is.  Or at least she seems to be.

Ms. Sylvester’s words still echo in his ears, but he lets them go, and indulges in Mercedes’s company. 

***

Kurt is in the boy’s locker room, combing his hair in the mirror.  Today’s practice had been grueling for the team. Luckily, being the kicker, he does not have to partake much.  That is the nice thing about being on Coach Tanaka’s good side.  Being the only one to help win a game, he is left pretty much alone - and being solely the kicker means he does not have to run the same drills.  

Most of the time, everyone ignores him... And he’s fine with that. He practices a few kicks by himself, imagining the music swirling around him to do so. His record is unblemished, never missing a goal in practice either. The team hasn’t scored a single point since that fateful game but Kurt doesn’t really care either way. He only likes the way his dad gets excited when he says he’s gearing up for a game, or the way Finn gives him a reassuring smile as the game begins.

Kurt does not spend much time in the locker room after practice.  The stench alone would send people screaming but, mostly, he does not want to be around the other guys as they all change and shower.   It is not that he would look.  He knows what male genitalia looks like, and it’s not like there is much appeal in a bunch of dumb jock meatheads.  It is them who feel uncomfortable.  The way they wrap their towels around their waists just a little tighter.  The way they make sure he is not looking as they slip into the shower stalls.  It is as if he sees them, they automatically turn gay, too. 

Like it could ever work that way. 

Kurt takes off his pads and remains in the scrubby clothes he wears underneath them.  There is nothing fashionable about high school athletic wear but he will have to make do until he can get home.  He grabs his bag from the locker and, while everyone else is goofing off, he tries to sneak out.  

Normally, that works.  The guys all let him go without another thought.  But not apparently that day.  

Azimio and Karofsky block the door out, their arms firmly folded over their chests.  

“Look who’s trying to skip out on team bonding time,” Azimio laughs.  

“Like the two of you want to bond with the gay kid ,” Kurt snarls.  Funny enough, it is the first time he has ever referred to himself as such.  There is something about taking it back for himself.  “Let me through.” 

“Ooh, getting sassy, are we?” Karofsky taunts.  “What’s your hurry?  Need to get home to jack off to the mere thought of all us guys in here?” 

Kurt’s stomach turns.  “I can’t think of anything grosser.” He tries to push past them but they remain firmly in place.  

“Uh, did we say you could go?” Azimio says, putting a hand to his ear.  “I don’t think we’ve said anything about letting you leave.” 

“You know what, Azimio? I think maybe it’s time we reinstate the classic swirlie,” Karofsky throws his head back with a laugh.  “Haven’t done one of those in a lo-ong time.” 

He has never had a swirlie and he doesn’t intend to find out what one is like.  He thinks back to all the times when he had been thrown in the dumpster and how he had just willingly taken it. While in some ways this is worse - now that he has a firm label on his head rather than just being another loser - he is not going to be that kid anymore.  He just refuses to back down to these idiots.  

Azimio and Karofsky move in, but Kurt ia too quick for them, doubling back.  “You will not touch me,” he screeches, shrill enough to stun the entire room.  

“What?” Karofsky says.  “Anyone have a problem with us bonding with the gay kid ?” 

“You know - if you were smarter, maybe you’d know better than to pick on the one member of this team that’s actually won a game for you,” Kurt throws in his face.  

Everyone has eyes on Kurt, yet no one says a word.  Finn looks as though he wants to say something but is holding back.  Puck just scoffs.  Mike stays stiff.  Matt slowly shakes his head.  

“Or maybe I’ll just let Coach Tanaka know how bonding time is going with the most valuable player on the team, and he’ll have you sitting on the bench,” Kurt continues.  

Karofsky makes an undignified grunt as he lunges at Kurt.  Kurt easily steps out of the way as Karofsky trips over a knee pad and lands plainly on his face.  The entire room erupts in laughter.  Even Azimio lets out a chuckle as Karofsky fumbles his way back to standing.  

“You guys are pathetic,” Kurt says as he spins on his heel.  He darts out of there before anyone else can follow him.  He makes it out of the building before he leans against the wall to catch his breath.  His adrenaline is flowing. He is still a little scared that they may come after him but at least he did not back down.  For once - the gay kid stood up for himself.

[sparatus]

heyy

💋(or suitable turian alternative)🍦💖💞 (I think I know who but feel free to babble about them I'm all ears)

hell yeah thank u 💍

Fanfic Emoji Asks

💋 First kiss fics. Love em or hate em?

LOVE LOVE LOVE god i need to write more im so weak, especially for when it's two characters who've been friends a long time but haven't been able to bring themselves to admit their feelings until at some point everything comes to a head in an emotional moment and AUGH YES

🍦 What's the sweetest fic you've created so far?

i already answered this one here but let's be honest i've got a lot of soft sweet shit under my belt, lol. Where the Wind Rests definitely gets a shout-out, part of a series and has spoilers for the end of broken mirror but god tender reunions and marriage proposals my beloveds. i went looking through my desabrudas stuff to pick one out but honestly any of the stuff i wrote about them post-shanxi with kids is just pure cavity fodder, i need to write them more everything is oLD

💖 What made you start writing?

i used to be a semi-famous rper in the facebook rp community (back in. 2012. yes it was a thing fb used to be an easy haven for rp) for a. certain anime community i'm not going to mention you must be at least a level 3 friend to learn this fact. but that started it, and then i had a couple friends from that community who helped foster that and got me writing - i have an old twilight spitefic still up on ao3 (do not read it. cannot emphasize enough it's very old and i was mimicking smeyer's writing style and the characters have evolved since then) that was inspired by one of those friends!!

i got started writing mass effect specifically because my partner @lightspeedpowerpunk was writing a fic about our ocs, which eventually grew into Rise & Reign (we're rewriting it soon i prommy plans are in the works i miss my dumb stupid boys) and around chapter. idk, 10?? 12 or so?? i started contributing to writing it myself, and that just kinda kickstarted everything. everybody say thank you to the ogs axilus and thie'haasn for my [checks notes] jesus christ 84 mass effect works on ao3

💞 Who's your comfort character?

m. many,,,,, definitely cnclr sparatus, obviously, and also my oc for his wife, aediteia. the way i've written sparky has taken nearly the full 8 years i've been in this fandom to slowly build, and he's very near and dear to my heart. conversely, teia has also grown along with him, and their narratives both personal and together touch on a lot of things that are somewhat personal to me and my own growth as a person.

in the same vein, the arterius brothers also count - i can look back and see how the way i've written saren has changed over the years as i myself have grown. i write him less depressed now, he has a support system, in yes-reapers yes he's still having a Bad Time because sovereign is fucking him up and the reapers are tied to his brother's death but it's less. idk. gloom and doom emo sadboi 24/7, he's allowed to have moments of peace now. desolas in particular i've kinda realized is also reflecting a lot about myself, ESPECIALLY in no-reapers. his arc in my no-reapers au, and in fact a major theme of the entire series, is all about recovery from trauma and how our choices make us who we are; no-reapers desolas has been through a lot of shit, so much, 89 years of it, from his parents being killed to having to help his baby brother through his own trauma to his career to 314 and everything in-between, and he's been in a really bad place and learned really bad habits and attitudes, but after shanxi he makes the active choice to grow and move on, at first just because valis needs him but with therapy also comes to do it just for himself because he's tired of being sad and hurt and angry. and that's a very personal story for me, even tho i certainly didn't set out intending des of all assholes to be the one carrying most of my weight, lol.

nihlus and (valis) abrudas are also in the same boat, characters who've been through a lot of shit and got mad about it and have their own ways of dealing with it. something that's going to become apparent to shepard in itlog is that saren was nihlus's morality chain, not the other way around - saren played a large part in nihlus learning to heal from his father's death and move on as a person, and now that he's been hurt in this whole thing nihlus is starting to slide back into old habits. valis, on the other hand, is the lone sane man in the whole clan, trying to keep her head on straight and above water while her friends and loved ones are drowning, and i've had to be that friend myself and boy i really do appreciate that kind of character, especially for somebody like desolas who's been drowning so long he's forgotten what the surface looks like.

god i have so many emotions and thoughts about sparkyteia and the desabrudas/kryterius group (i like to call des + valis + saren the evolution trio, personally, as they're all in it, but nihlus makes a proper group name hard :lmfao:) they're all my comfort characters i come back to them every time when i get stuck in my head and start Thinking About Stuff i probably have others but this is already rEALLY LONG,

[writingwithcolor]

What Does Our "Motivations” PSA Mean?

@luminalalumini said:

I've been on your blog a lot and it has a lot of really insightful information, but I notice a theme with some of your answers where you ask the writer reaching out what their 'motivation for making a character a certain [race/religion/ethnicity/nationality] is' and it's discouraging to see, because it seems like you're automatically assigning the writer some sort of ulterior motive that must be sniffed out and identified before the writer can get any tips or guidance for their question. Can't the 'motive' simply be having/wanting to have diversity in one's work? Must there be an 'ulterior motive'? I can understand that there's a lot of stigma and stereotypes and bad influence that might lead to someone trynna add marginalized groups into their stories for wrong reasons, but people that have those bad intentions certainly won't be asking for advice on how to write good representation in the first place. Idk its just been something that seemed really discouraging to me to reach out myself, knowing i'll automatically be assigned ulterior motives that i don't have and will probably have to justify why i want to add diversity to my story as if i'm comitting some sort of crime. I don't expect you guys to change your blog or respond to this or even care all that much, I'm probably just ranting into a void. I'm just curious if theres any reason to this that I haven't realized exists I suppose. I don't want y'all to take this the wrong way because I do actually love and enjoy your blog's advice in spite of my dumb griping. Cheers :))

We assume this is in reference to the following PSA:

PSA to all of our users - Motivation Matters: This lack of clarity w/r to intent has been a general issue with many recent questions. Please remember that if you don’t explain your motivations and what you intend to communicate to your audience with your plot choices, character attributes, world-building etc., we cannot effectively advise you beyond the information you provide. We Are Not Mind Readers. If, when drafting these questions, you realize you can’t explain your motivations, that is likely a hint that you need to think more on the rationales for your narrative decisions. My recommendation is to read our archives and articles on similar topics for inspiration while you think. I will be attaching this PSA to all asks with similar issues until the volume of such questions declines. 

We have answered this in three parts.

1. Of Paved Roads and Good Intentions

Allow me to give you a personal story, in solidarity towards your feelings:

When I began writing in South Asia as an outsider, specifically in the Kashmir and Lahore areas, I was doing it out of respect for the cultures I had grown up around. I did kathak dance, I grew up on immigrant-cooked North Indian food, my babysitters were Indian. I loved Mughal society, and every detail of learning about it just made me want more. The minute you told me fantasy could be outside of Europe, I hopped into the Mughal world with two feet. I was 13. I am now 28.

And had you asked me, as a teenager, what my motives were in giving my characters’ love interests blue or green eyes, one of them blond hair, my MC having red-tinted brown hair that was very emphasized, and a whole bunch of paler skinned people, I would have told you my motives were “to represent the diversity of the region.” 

I’m sure readers of the blog will spot the really, really toxic and colourist tropes present in my choices. If you’re new here, then the summary is: giving brown people “unique” coloured eyes and hair that lines up with Eurocentric beauty standards is an orientalist trope that needs to be interrogated in your writing. And favouring pale skinned people is colourist, full stop.

Did that make me a bad person with super sneaky ulterior motives who wanted to write bad representation? No.

It made me an ignorant kid from the mostly-white suburbs who grew up with media that said brown people had to “look unique” (read: look as European as possible) to be considered valuable.

And this is where it is important to remember that motives can be pure as you want, but you were still taught all of the terrible stuff that is present in society. Which means you’re going to perpetuate it unless you stop and actually question what is under your conscious motive, and work to unlearn it. Work that will never be complete.

I know it sounds scary and judgemental (and it’s one of the reasons we allow people to ask to be anonymous, for people who are afraid). Honestly, I would’ve reacted much the same as a younger writer, had you told me I was perpetuating bad things. I was trying to do good and my motives were pure, after all! But after a few years, I realized that I had fallen short, and I had a lot more to learn in order for my motives to match my impact. Part of our job at WWC is to attempt to close that gap.

We aren’t giving judgement, when we ask questions about why you want to do certain things. We are asking you to look at the structural underpinnings of your mind and question why those traits felt natural together, and, more specifically, why those traits felt natural to give to a protagonist or other major character.

I still have blond, blue-eyed characters with sandy coloured skin. I still have green-eyed characters. Because teenage me was right, that is part of the region. But by interrogating my motive, I was able to devalue those traits within the narrative, and I stopped making those traits shorthand for “this is the person you should root for.” 

It opened up room for me to be messier with my characters of colour, even the ones who my teenage self would have deemed “extra special.” Because the European-associated traits (pale hair, not-brown-eyes) stopped being special. After years of questioning, they started lining up with my motive of just being part of the diversity of the region.

Motive is important, both in the conscious and the subconscious. It’s not a judgement and it’s not assumed to be evil. It’s simply assumed to be unquestioned, so we ask that you question it and really examine your own biases.

~Mod Lesya

2. Motivations Aren't Always "Ulterior"

You can have a positive motivation or a neutral one or a negative one. Just wanting to have diversity only means your characters aren't all white and straight and cis and able-bodied -- it doesn't explain why you decided to make this specific character specifically bi and specifically Jewish (it me). Yes, sometimes it might be completely random! But it also might be "well, my crush is Costa Rican, so I gave the love interest the same background", or "I set it in X City where the predominant marginalized ethnicity is Y, so they are Y". Neither of these count as ulterior motives. But let's say for a second that you did accidentally catch yourself doing an "ulterior." Isn't that the point of the blog, to help you find those spots and clean them up?

Try thinking of it as “finding things that need adjusting” rather than “things that are bad” and it might get less scary to realize that we all do them, subconsciously. Representation that could use some work is often the product of subconscious bias, not deliberate misrepresentation, so there's every possibility that someone who wants to improve and do better didn't do it perfectly the first time. 

--Shira

3. Dress-Making as a Metaphor

I want to echo Lesya’s sentiments here but also provide a more logistical perspective. If you check the rubber stamp guide here and the “Motivation matters” PSA above, you’ll notice that concerns with respect to asker motivation are for the purposes of providing the most relevant answer possible.

It is a lot like if someone walks into a dressmaker’s shop and asks for a blue dress/ suit (Back when getting custom-made clothes was more of a thing) . The seamstress/ tailor is likely to ask a wide variety of questions:

What material do you want the outfit to be made of?

Where do you plan to wear it?

What do you want to highlight?

How do you want to feel when you wear it?

Let’s say our theoretical customer is in England during the 1920s. A tartan walking dress/ flannel suit for the winter is not the same as a periwinkle, beaded, organza ensemble/ navy pinstripe for formal dress in the summer. When we ask for motivations, we are often asking for exactly that: the specific reasons for your inquiry so we may pinpoint the most pertinent information.

The consistent problem for many of the askers who receive the PSA is they haven’t even done the level of research necessary to know what they want to ask of us. It would be like if our English customer in the 1920s responded, “IDK, some kind of blue thing.” Even worse,  WWC doesn’t have the luxury of the back-and-forth between a dressmaker and their clientele. If our asker doesn’t communicate all the information they need in mind at the time of submission, we can only say, “Well, I’m not sure if this is right, but here’s something. I hope it works, but if you had told us more, we could have done a more thorough job.”

Answering questions without context is hard, and asking for motivations, by which I mean the narratives, themes, character arcs and other literary devices that you are looking to incorporate, is the best way for us to help you, while also helping you to determine if your understanding of the problem will benefit from outside input. Because these asks are published with the goal of helping individuals with similar questions, the PSA also serves to prompt other users.

I note that asking questions is a skill, and we all start by asking the most basic questions (Not stupid questions, because to quote a dear professor, “There are no stupid questions.”). Unfortunately, WWC is not suited for the most basic questions. To this effect, we have a very helpful FAQ and archive as a starting point. Once you have used our website to answer the more basic questions, you are more ready to approach writing with diversity and decide when we can actually be of service. This is why we are so adamant that people read the FAQ. Yes, it helps us, but it also is there to save you time and spare you the ambiguity of not even knowing where to start.

The anxiety in your ask conveys to me a fear of being judged for asking questions. That fear is not something we can help you with, other than to wholeheartedly reassure you that we do not spend our unpaid, free time answering these questions in order to assume motives we can’t confirm or sit in judgment of our users who, as you say, are just trying to do better.

Yes, I am often frustrated when an asker’s question makes it clear they haven’t read the FAQ or archives. I’ve also been upset when uncivil commenters have indicated that my efforts and contributions are not worth their consideration. However, even the most tactless question has never made me think, “Ooh this person is such a naughty racist. Let me laugh at them for being a naughty racist. Let me shame them for being a naughty racist. Mwahaha.”

What kind of sad person has time for that?*

Racism is structural. It takes time to unlearn, especially if you’re in an environment that doesn’t facilitate that process to begin with. Our first priority is to help while also preserving our own boundaries and well-being. Though I am well aware of the levels of toxic gas-lighting and virtue signaling that can be found in various corners of online writing communities in the name of “progressivism*”, WWC is not that kind of space. This space is for discussions held in good faith: for us to understand each other better, rather than for one of us to “win” and another to “lose.”

Just as we have good faith that you are doing your best, we ask that you have faith that we are trying to do our best by you and the BIPOC communities we represent.

- Marika.

*If you are in any writing or social media circles that feed these anxieties or demonstrate these behaviors, I advise you to curtail your time with them and focus on your own growth. You will find, over time, that it is easier to think clearly when you are worrying less about trying to appease people who set the bar of approval so high just for the enjoyment of watching you jump. “Internet hygiene”, as I like to call it, begins with you and the boundaries you set with those you interact with online.

[miekasa]

break up with your boyfriend, i’m bored

+ pairings: um… armin x reader…. but, spotlight on jean—just... read it to understand, please

+ genres and warnings: college au what’s new, fluff… you’re just going to have to work with me and trust me on this one alright

+ notes: free colt he ain’t do nothing wrong i just needed someone outside of their immediate friend group to blame i am so sorry justice for my boy colt and falco too

+ more notes: longer levi fic still in progress, so have jean thee comedian in the meantime

“I think I have a crush on someone.”

Jean crosses his arms and makes it a point to huff even louder than before so that you can accurately assess his annoyance at moment; going so far as to slump back into your not so comfortable couch to really sell it.

“And that is why you manhandled me all the way to your apartment on a Tuesday afternoon?” he asks, voice flat and eyes hooded.

You groan and roll your eyes. Jean’s eyebrows are pinched together with more judgement than confusion at your current state of distress when you sit next to him on the sofa, a knee bent in his direction.

“Jeanie, I don’t think you’re understanding the severity of my issue.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” he drawls, “But, please, do enlighten me. It’s not like I have an essay to write or anything.”

“I have a crush,” you reiterate, hands mapping out every syllable in your sentence, “On someone who is not my boyfriend.”

“I see,” he nods, but his voice remains flat, “And, pray tell, what exactly is my role in all of this?”

“You’re supposed to use your philosophical psychoanalytical bullshit to tell me what’s wrong with me and how to fix it.”

“Philosophy and psychology are two different disciplines.”

“They sound the same to me.”

“That’s because you’re a single-celled chem major.”

“I think it takes more than a single cell to study chem.”

“Oh, is that what they tell you guys, now?”

“You’re not fucking helping.”

“Yes, I am,” he tuts, “It’s called talk therapy.”

“It sounds like you’re just taking shots at me.”

“Best friend talk therapy allows for a few digs here and there.”

“Jean,” you pinch his arm. He flinches, and yelps loudly, immediately raising the affected arm to counter with a flick to the center of your forehead. You glare, the palm of your left hand covering the sting on your skin, but concede, “Well played.”

“Thank you,” he nods, “I learned from the best.”

“Okay, now that you’ve gotten your ego boost for the day, can we worry about my problem, please.”

He shrugs, crossing resting his left ankle atop his right knee, “Sure.”

“Thank you.”

“What exactly is the problem, again?”

You sigh, and lean your head on Jean’s shoulder, “I have a boyfriend—”

“We’ve been over that.”

“—and the person I have a crush on is not my boyfriend.”

“Okay,” he pauses, “Are you going to do anything about this crush?”

“Well, I… no,” you ponder, “I don’t think so.”

“Okay,” he repeats, “So, then why are you so worked up about it?”

“Because!... Because… I don’t know, it’s… wrong? I’m in a relationship with someone else—isn’t this, like, emotional cheating?”

“Maybe,” he says, “I don’t know a whole lot about relationship psychology.”

“Come on, Jean.”

He sighs, “I’m serious, I don’t know, (_____).”

You whine, sounds muffled by the fabric of Jean’s sweater where your cheek lay pressed against his shoulder. “I’m a horrible person, aren’t I?”

“You’re not, stop it,” Jean answers firmly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, “You’re not horrible for having emotions that are difficult to work through.”

“Okay, then, I’m just a horrible girlfriend.”

“Maybe.”

“Jean.”

“Sorry,” he winces, patting your head for extra encouragement. It’s meant to be comforting, but it makes you feel like a patronized six-year-old, at best. It’s quiet for a while, with you mulling over Jean’s words, and him trying to pull you into the worst side hug in all of existence.

“Do you think,” you break the silence, “Maybe I should I break up with him?”

“Yes,” his answer comes too quickly, and much too enthusiastically.

You lift your head from his shoulder, unamused, but Jean doesn’t even try to hide the glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“You’re just saying that because you don’t like him.”

“No,” he pauses when he catches glimpse of the disbelief on your face, “Okay, yes, I don’t like him. At all.”

“Jean—”

“But maybe this is your subconscious telling you that you don’t like him either, and that you should, instead, go after your crush.”

“Oh, so now you want to use your psychobullshit on me?”

“If it means I don’t have to pretend to like Colt anymore, then yes,” he replies, a stupid, shit-eating grin on his lips.

You scoff, arms crossed against your chest, “You don’t even pretend to like him now.”

Jean shrugs, “I pretend to like him to his face.”

“No, you don’t,” you insist, “You’re probably the worst at it, in fact.”

“I’m not worse than Connie.”

“You called him an asshole. To his face.”

“Connie poured tequila on him.”

“Connie was drunk. You were completely sober.”

“Connie would have done it sober and you know it.”

You open your mouth to refuse, but the words fall silent in your throat. Connie probably would have done it sober. “Okay, fine, whatever, you don’t like him,” you wave away the subject, “Do you really think this crush is my subconscious telling me to break up with him, though? I mean—it’s just, crushes are kind of fleeting right?”

“Sure, but—”

“What if I break up with him, and then I get over my crush, and realize I made a mistake.”

“Then you learn and grow, and find a new crush.”

“I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he insists, “You’re beating yourself up pretty bad over this mystery guy—”

“—It could be a girl.”

“Is it a girl? Oh, is it Mikasa? Are you still hung up over her—you know I’m sure she’d make out with you asked. I think you both could relieve a lot of tension that way, actually.”

“You’re the worst person to walk this planet, you know that?” you sneer, annoyed by the smug grin on Jean’s face. So what if you had a tiny crush on Mikasa? Most people did, Jean included.

“Look,” Jean continues, “You and I both know you’re not a cheater, but you and I also know you’re just like Eren when it comes to things like this.”

“Just like Eren?”

“Falls too fast, too hard,” he clarifies, “I get the feeling you’ve had these feelings for a while, and that they’re not fleeting.”

You pout, and Jean knows that he’s right. “Okay, so say I do break up with Colt—”

“Which you should do, regardless.”

“—If we break up, then what? I still won’t know what to do with my left over grief. It’s not like I can just... go ask this guy out right away.”

“Yes, you can,” Jean presses, “In fact, you should.”

“No, I can’t,” you insist.

“Why not?”

“Well for one, I’ll look like a heartless whore.”

“You’re not a heartless whore for asking a guy out.”

“I am if I do it right after breaking up with my boyfriend.”

“Your internalized misogyny is showing,” he sing-songs, “Come on, you’re not a whore for doing what you want with a guy, you know that.”

“Okay, fine, not a whore, whatever,” you roll your eyes, “But I still couldn’t ask him out.”

“It’s the twenty first century, just because you’re a girl doesn’t mean you can’t ask him—”

“Not because of that, dumb goose,” you glare, “I meant because—it’s, well, it’d be really sudden and kind of… awkward?”

“It’s not like he’d know you just broke up with someone, unless that’s one of your conversation starters.”

You sigh, a hand on your forehead. “Yes, he would, Jean.”

“How could he possibly—oh.”

“Yeah, oh,” you mock, a heavy sigh leaving your chest as you resume your previous sulking position, head leaning against his shoulder with your right cheek squished against his sweater.

“(_____), I’m honored, but you’re not really my type. I’d be willing to help you get over him though.”

“It’s not you, you fucking long-necked pigeon, it’s Arm—,” you cut yourself short, hands clamped over your own mouth.

“Oh my god!” Jean all but screams, propelling his body away from you with just enough distance to extend his arm, finger pointing directly at your chest, “You like Armin!”

“Shut up!”

“You have a crush on Armin!”

“Shut up, Jean!”

“You have a big, fat crush on Armin!”

“Shut up! I said shut up, you pasty fucking giraffe looking ass bitch!”

“Oh my—okay, you have to break up with Colt, immediately,” Jean rushes, “I can’t believe this—if you think Armin wouldn’t go out with you, then you really do have the intelligence of a single celled organism.”

“What in the ever loving fuck are you talking about.”

“We’re talking about the same Armin, right? Armin Arlert, about this tall,” Jean raises his hand significantly lower than Armin’s actual height, “Studies astrophysics, follows you around like a lap dog—”

“He does not,” you scoff.

Jean guffaws, “Didn’t he take you on a tour of, like… the NASA museum for your birthday? With the super high-tech planetarium that people die to get into?”  

“Actually, it was their headquarters, but it’s only because he gets special privileges for being an intern.”

“Didn’t he name a star after you?”

“Anyone can name a star after anyone,” you roll your eyes, “It’s really not that hard.”

“People do not fucking go to NASA and ask for stars for just anyone!” Jean screeches, hands flailing wildly.

“Armin does!”

“Yeah, for you!” Jean emphasizes, “Come on, do you think if anybody else called him right now and asked him to get a star in their name, or even just fucking take them to headquarters of the most renowned space organization in the country, that he would actually do it?”

“I mean, maybe, if like… Eren asked.”

Jean opens his mouth to refute, but freezes half way with a head-tilt and pursed lips. “Okay, yeah, maybe—whatever, doesn’t matter. What matters is that you need to tell him.”

“I don’t need to tell him shit.”

“You’re seriously choosing Colt over Armin? Who willingly stays with some greasy prick with the world’s most annoying younger brother, over a handsome, straight-A astrophysics student with a penchant for marine biology, and, like, really clear skin.”

“Oh, wow. I didn’t know Bertholdt was studying astro.”

“I wasn’t talking about Bertholdt.”

“It sounded like you were talking about Bertholdt.”

“I mean, Bertholdt’s got great skin, but it’s no where near as clear as Armin’s. He glows.”

It’s quiet again, as you eye Jean with a raised brow that’s all too familiar. “Are we sure that you’re not the one with the crush on Armin?”

“Shut up, you’re avoiding the point.”

“What’s the point, exactly?”

“That you’re in love with Armin, who is miles better than your current boy toy, so you should ask him out immediately.”

“I have a boyfriend, not a boy toy.”

“Ah ha!” he yells, “You didn’t deny that you’re in love with him—oh my god, you’re in love with Armin!”

He’s standing now, practically bouncing off the the walls at the revelation. You take to smacking him with the nearest pillow. “I’m not in love with him! I just—just really like him, okay!”

“Very convincing.”

“Shut the hell up, you’ve been pining after you know who for seven eons at this point.”

“You bitch,” he growls, “We’re not supposed to bring him up.”

“Well, you keep bringing up Armin!”

“We never established that Armin was on the list of he’s who shall not be named.”

“Well I vote that he should be.”

“Your vote has been vetoed,” he grins, “Look, I’m completely serious when I say that Armin is just as in love with you as you deny you are with him.”

“That sentence hurt my head,” you pout, resuming your signature brooding position.

“It’s okay, your single brain cell has been through a lot in the past fifteen minutes,” he pats your head again, earning him a glare that he simply chuckles at, “All it means is that you love Armin, and I assure you that he’s equally, if not more, in love with you.”

“You really think so?”

“I know so. Now, up, up, up,” he tuts, pulling at your biceps until you’re standing, only to immediately start ushering you to the door, “You have a shitty boyfriend to go break up with.”

“What—Jean, come on, I didn’t mean right now!” you exclaim; but he’s stronger than he looks, and continues to propel your body out of the open door.

“No time to waste!” he insists, “Every hour you stay with Colt you lose another brain cell.”

“I thought I only had one to begin with,” you say, sarcasm evident in your tone.

It makes Jean’s grin triple, “Exactly, so go, not another hour to waste!”

“Jean, wait, I—,” you begin, only to be silenced by the silver door shutting in your face. The lock clicks soon after, and it’s only then you realized what he’s done.

“You knobby kneed bitch, this is my apartment!”

[fortuositywritings]

I Said No (Wanda x R): Pt 4

Pt 1, Pt 2, Pt 3

Summary: You try to be friends with Wanda. Frankly, you could try a little harder. (Ice cream date, but it’s not really a date, but like it is but it’s not)

PS: There are like three swear words, mentions of exercise, and you eat a lot of pancakes but that’s cause you’re hungry. It’s not a problem. Also, if you are actually athletic, are fit, or like to exercise, you aren’t and you don’t. Not in this house.

You wake up the next morning with a sore neck. As you sit up, you see Nat standing beside the couch looking at you over her coffee cup scaring the life out of you. 

“So, how’d you sleep?” she asks.

“Like a princess,” you sarcastically reply. Stretching, you hear your body popping in all different places. Maybe you will take Pietro up on his offer.

“I know what will help. Some exercise. Get ready. We’re going on a hike.”

You finally take in Nat’s appearance and see her sporting the attire for a hike. 

You groan. “You say hike, but I know you really mean running at an incline.”

“Come on. Don’t be a baby. Exercise is good for you. When’s the last time you got any?”

You want to make a joke because of how she worded it, but your mischievous smile gives you away.

“Exercise, Y/N. When’s the last time you got any exercise,” she clarifies.

“The last time you asked me that.”

“A year ago?” 

“And my body is still sore. Ask me again in a few months,” you go to lie down again but she throws a couch cushion at your head. “Okay, okay. Jeez, woman. I’m up.”

When you return from your hike, you are heaving. You don’t ever really think about how unfit you are, which makes sense when you don’t spare 5 minutes to do any kind of exercise, but a hike with Nat will surely remind you. You are sweating buckets and just want to pass out when you enter the house. Everyone is awake presumably having breakfast. You can smell the pancakes from the living room. Your stomach growls. You want to eat but even chewing sounds like too exhausting at the moment. You just want to knock out. You head over to your sleeping quarters for the week, but before you collapse on the couch, your cousin says, “I don’t want any sweat on my couch, Y/N.”

“Ugh,” you complain but comply and go to take a shower. There is no warm water. You assume all the guests had probably had their turn while you were out. You don’t mind it too much. The cold water wakes you up and you feel refreshed. Soon you are sitting with everyone else making plans for the day, but unlike everyone else at the table you are scarfing down pancake after pancake, hardly chewing between each swallow. The conversation dies down as everyone starts to look your way. You’d be embarrassed at your table manners but honestly you’re too famished to care. 

“Woah, slow your roll there, Y/N. Where was this energy on our hike?” You hear Nat’s voice come up behind you. You don’t bother looking at her, showing her the middle finger behind your back so the kids won’t see. She chuckles as she sits on the empty seat beside you. 

“You might be faster than me,” Pietro comments.

“You know it’s not gentleman-like commenting on the way a woman eats,” you answer, mouth full and all. 

“It’s also not lady-like to speak with your mouth full of food,” Laura reprimands you.

“Cooper doesn’t care. Right, Cooper?” you turn to the kid in question still chewing on your food.

He answers you with a mouth full of food as well, “Right!”

Your cousin sighs as you reach over to give Cooper a fist bump. Wanda laughs at the interaction from beside Cooper. You give her a quick wink before settling back in your seat. She just rolls her eyes.

They all go back to their conversation and you go back to eating your delicious pancakes in peace. Once you are satisfied, you sink back in your chair letting out a happy sigh.

“Are you sure you don’t want another one? You hardly ate anything, Y/N,” Nat sarcastically says.

You roll your eyes in good nature. “Honestly, I do want another one but my stomach might explode. I’m going to be dreaming of these pancakes tonight. I’d wed whoever made these bad boys but sorry, cousin,” you turn to Laura, “you’ve got a husband and kids, and I just can’t tear a family apart.”

“Also, she’s your cousin,” Nat emphasizes.

“Obviously that was implied, Natasha,” you say her full name obnoxiously.

“I’d love to take all the credit, but Wanda actually made breakfast. So if you’re marrying anyone for the pancakes, it’s Wanda,” Laura says. 

“You hear that, Wanda? I’m going to make an honest woman out of you.” You wiggled your eyebrows her way.

“If anything, it’s the other way around, Y/N,” your cousin teases.

“Don’t egg Y/N on, Laura,” Clint quips.

“But then who is going to make me pancakes like these, Barton?” You pout.

“I can,” Pietro pipes up. “I’ll even bring them to you for breakfast in bed.” He winks as Nat and Clint wrinkle their noses in distaste and Wanda stifles a laugh.

“What?” Pietro asks his sister.

“Pietro, you can’t boil an egg.”

“Yes, I can. I can make many things. I even helped you with this breakfast,” Pietro insists.

Everyone watches the siblings squabble in amusement, especially when Wanda turns to you to stage whisper, “He burnt two pancakes.”

“I did not!”

“Ask Peter. He had one,” Wanda says in turn. Peter shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“It was a little crunchy,” Peter says after much hesitation. Sam pats his shoulder, shaking his head. “Poor kid. No one should have to eat crunchy pancakes.”

After breakfast the kids decide they want to play basketball with the hoop Clint had placed over the barn doors. You break into teams of 3. It’s you, Lila, and Peter versus Sam, Cooper, and Pietro. Nat and Wanda sit on the sidelines watching and cheering. Your team is not doing so great. If it wasn’t for Peter pulling the team, you would cry in embarrassment. The guys on the opposing team start to get cocky. Sam rubbing the score in your team’s face, Cooper repeating whatever Sam says, and Pietro begins making flirty remarks about teaching you one on one and so on. You want to ignore his remarks but you kind of also want to wipe the smirk off his face. You do just that a few minutes later when you finally make a shot after Peter screens him allowing you to shoot. You look to see if Wanda saw but frown when you notice she’s not there anymore. You play for a few more minutes but you are quickly getting tired.

Laura comes up beside Nat and yells over to you, “Y/N, I need you to run to the store for me.”

“Oh, thank god.” You sigh in relief as you go over to your cousin and take the list she holds out to you. “Nat, sub me in?”

“Gladly.” She walks confidently over to take your place. You hear Sam and Pietro whine behind you when they realize Nat is playing in your place.

You chuckle as you read the list. “Are we having hamburgers tonight?”

“Gosh, you really were not paying attention while eating those pancakes. Clint wants to grill tonight.”

“Can you blame me? I’m getting that pancake recipe,” you say with complete determination. “Speaking of, have you seen Wanda?”

“Y/N.” Your cousin gives you a look.

“What?” You say innocently, knowing exactly what that look means.

“Clint told me about that little talk he and Nat had with you.”

“So, what now? I can’t be her friend?” you scoff.

“Friend. Mhmm, sure,” she laughs in disbelief and shakes her head. Why does no one in this damn house believe you?

“Mhmm,” you repeat as you are walking back to the house.

“Check the guest room,” Laura says last minute. Well, at least your cousin’s got your back. You give her a thumbs up in thanks.

Sure enough, Wanda is in the guest bedroom. She’s sitting in bed with a book in her hand. You softly knock on the door. She looks up, notices it’s you, frowns, and goes back to reading. You tilt your head wondering what has her in a mood. Is she back to thinking about her ex? Maybe you can help distract her as a good friend would do.

You walk over to the bed before deciding to sit in front of her cross-legged, elbows on knees, chin on the palm of one hand. “Whatcha got there?”

“A book. Ever heard of one?” she replies without bothering to look up.

Sheesh. “Oh, my god. Is it real? Can I, like, touch it? I’ve always heard about books but I’ve never seen one in person,” you say sarcastically, hoping to get some positive reaction from her. You see a slight upturn on the corner of her lips before it disappears. Though it was miniscule, it was a step forward no less. You sit there for a minute staring at her and thinking of how to proceed. You don’t want to worsen her mood with one of your dumb jokes.

Wanda can feel your eyes searching for some kind of sign from her. She gives up trying to read her book, having been repeating the same paragraph over and over again. She puts the book down and huffs. “Can I help you?” 

“Actually, you can,” you say. “I’m going into town to get some stuff for the hamburgers and I was wondering if you wanted to come?”

Maybe you are simply confusing Wanda’s boredom for an unpleasant attitude. 

“Didn’t you ask Piet? There’s no way he refused going with you.”

 Or not. 

Her sardonic tone is not lost on you. So, it’s about the brother and not the ex. You want to scream. This is why you have the twin rule. Though you want to bang your head on a wall for not listening to your own rules, you keep your composure as you stand to leave the room. Before you go, you tell Wanda, “I haven’t asked Pietro. I thought of you first, but if you’re not feeling it, I’m sure he would say yes like you say.”

You turn and head out to the hallway dejectedly, but you perk up when you hear Wanda stop you. “Wait! Let me put on my shoes.”

You wait for her in the hallway, smiling to yourself in part because you would not have to spend hours with Pietro’s constant advances but mostly because you got to spend time with Wanda without supervision. You are a grown ass adult, eh, not really, but legally you were an adult. You don’t need to be supervised. It’s not like you needed someone to watch you else you throw yourself at Wanda. Sure, you like to tease here and there but it’s not bothersome. Is it? Oh, god, were you annoying Wanda?

Those thoughts are quickly dispelled when Wanda meets you with a smile. “Ready.”

No, Wanda wouldn’t have agreed to go with you if you were really a bother. You’re sure of it.

It’s a 20 minute ride into town. With Wanda’s mood having done a full 180, you find yourself enjoying your time with her as she recounts a slight hiccup on Steve’s behalf on a mission. Soon enough you are driving up the main street looking for a parking spot. Luckily you find a spot not too far from the store. You head inside and grab a cart. You and Wanda wander around the aisles looking for what you need. Wanda takes over cart duty when you keep bumping into things because you’re distracted with either looking over the list or looking over at her. You say a quick hello to a few people you recognize.

“Well aren’t you popular,” Wanda comments as you both turn into the frozen food aisle to look for hamburger patties. 

“Yeah, that’s not always a good thing,” you say when you spot a woman you know in the same aisle. You move to walk real close behind Wanda, trying to hide your face. 

“What are you doing?” Wanda asks when she feels your forehead resting between her shoulder blades.

“Shhh, just keep walking,” you command without any explanation. Your really sad attempt at hiding was all for naught when you hear your name.

“Y/N? Is that you?” 

You take a deep breath, plaster a fake smile, and leave Wanda’s space. “Hi, Mrs. Townsend. How’s it going?”

“I thought that was you. You can’t hide from me, you know. Not that you were ever any good at it,” she says knowingly. You cringe at the memory of her finding you in her daughter’s closet. This woman disliked you from start to finish, which made sense given that her daughter had broken up with her boyfriend for you only for you to break things off a few weeks later.

“Yeah, I know,” you smile sheepishly. She looks over your shoulder at Wanda. She looks curious but not in the best way.  “And who is this?”

Wanda introduces herself with a polite smile. “Hello, I’m Wanda. Pleasure to meet you.”

“You look familiar. Have we met before?” Mrs. Townsend asks.

“No, I guess I just have that face,” Wanda responds with no hesitation having practiced that line so many times on missions. Mrs. Townsend’s stare weighs heavy and Wanda begins to feel uncomfortable.

“A very pretty one at that. Y/N sure knows how to pick them. Is that an accent I hear? Where are you from, dear?” Mrs. Townsend asks, with faux intrigue. Now you’re uncomfortable too. 

You know you shouldn’t speak for Wanda but you don’t want to subject her to be in this woman’s presence any longer. “Actually, she’s just a friend visiting from New York. She and a few others are staying with Laura. And actually, she’s expecting us to return soon. So, have a good day, Mrs. Townsend. Come on, Wanda. Let’s go.”

You lead Wanda away by pulling the cart behind you. When you’re nearly clear of the aisle, Wanda stops and reminds you that you never got the patties. You tell her to go ahead and get in line to pay while you go back for the patties, them being the last thing to get from the list. Mrs. Townsend is still in the aisle now talking on the phone very displeased. “Yes, she was right here and with another girl-” she cuts herself off when you’re in her vision reaching to get what you need. 

You give her a sarcastic smile. As you pass by her for the last time, you smirk and lean in to say, “Tell Abby I say hi.” Then you wink, leaving Mrs. Townsend very angry, and head over to the checkout area where Wanda is waiting. Wanda doesn’t say anything other than “Well, she was lovely” to which you laughed. Apart from that, she stays quiet at the checkout and as you put the items in the car. Before she has a chance to open the door to get in the passenger seat, you stand in front of the door blocking the handle. 

“Hey,” you begin, but Wanda is looking at her shoes, her hands fiddling with the rings on her fingers. You take her hand to shake her arm in an attempt to get her to look up. “Look at me.” 

You wish you hadn’t asked that of her because when she does look at you, it tears you apart. If you did not think your presence was needed more here, you could storm right back into that store and give Mrs. Townsend a piece of your mind. 

“Mrs. Townsend is an asshole. You should never take what an asshole says to heart cause it’s all shit,” you say in all seriousness. Wanda giggles and raises her free hand to rub her face. You pull it away from her face. Holding both her hands you continue, “She’s just a grumpy lady holding a grudge over something I did like two years ago. It’s nothing to do with you and all to do with me. So don’t listen to anything she says, okay?”

It takes a moment but she finally nods. “There we are.” You pull her into a hug, one she accepts easily, hoping to give further comfort. You can’t help but think how nice it is to hold her, moreso, when she hugs you tighter. 

“So, she was lying when she said I was pretty?” Wanda tries to joke, adopting your method of lightening the mood.

“Oh, absolutely,” you answer. She quickly pulls back from your hold but you don’t let her go too far, holding onto her elbows. “Cause you are breathtakingly gorgeous,” you finish.

She smiles and a blush takes over her face. You decide to add, “In fact, I can’t even breathe right now standing so close to your beauty.” You dramatically gasp for air making Wanda laugh and smack you. 

“Ow, if this is how you Avenger women treat your adoring fans, I’d hate to see how you take down the bad guys.”

“Oh, so you’re a fan?” Wanda asks adorning a sly smile.

“Mhmm, since day one.”

“Is that so? Because from what I remember you called me Crimson Witch just yesterday,” she teases you.

“And I stand by what I said,” you respond. You cut her off when she opens her mouth to argue. “But if I have offended you, let me make it up to you.”

She narrows her eyes, looking at you skeptically as if you were up to no good making you want to laugh. “How?” She asks warily.

You lean into her space once more to say, “I know a place.” You wink and without allowing her to respond, you take her hand dragging her along behind you. “Come on.” 

Your destination is just two blocks away. Wanda speeds up to walk beside you but she never lets your hand go. Not that you mind it in the least. You stop her when you arrive and reluctantly let her hand go to make a grandiose gesture with your arms. “Ta-Da!”

“An ice-cream shop?” she asks you, clearly unimpressed.

“Not just any ice-cream shop. The Ice Cream Shop!” You can’t help but say enthusiastically. Wanda on the other hand does not look enthused. You can’t believe she’s not excited for ice cream. “Oh, come on, Wanda. Don’t tell me you don’t like ice cream. The only excuse I’ll take is that you’re lactose intolerant or vegan. Just don’t tell me you prefer frozen yogurt. Oh, god. You do, don’t you?” You gasp dramatically, your hand clutching your chest. 

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes in a light hearted manner at your antics. “You’ve made your point. Just open the door.”

“Bossy,” you laugh, but do as she wishes though you make a show out of opening the door. You bow and motion for her to enter as you hold the door open. “After you, m’lady.”

She sighs. Passing through the door, she mumbles, “I could be in bed reading right now.”

“Ah, but then you would’ve missed the opportunity to hang out with someone as cool as me,” you say as you and Wanda go to stand behind the group of teenage girls ordering their ice cream.

“Oh, are they meeting us after? Do you think they’ll buy me frozen yogurt?” she retorts, amusement shining through her eyes. You generally find quick witted remarks annoying. Mostly because you’ve always been surrounded by smart-alecks all your life. Your cousin is one. Then she married one who had one as a best friend. Somehow, you find the same quality in Wanda kind of attractive. Oh god. This can’t be happening.

“Quit being so grumpy. You’re gonna thank me when you try it. It’s only the best there is.”

“You should listen to her, but hey, I may be a little biased,” the woman working at the counter backs you up. The teenage girls are long gone.

“Thank you, Tanya,” you reply, stepping forward to the middle aged woman you know to be the owner of the shop. She was actually the one to give you your first job at this very same ice cream shop. Maybe you were also a little biased. 

“I wasn’t expecting you to be in town so early, Y/N.”

“Well, I just missed you so much, I couldn’t wait to get here,” you explain.

“Uh, huh. I’m sure that’s it.” Her voice is full of disbelief. You laugh.

“Actually, I got here yesterday. I wanted to come earlier to help out Laura now that she’s phwwt,” you whistle and make a belly bump gesture like it’s a scandalous secret.

“She’s married and this is baby number three, Y/N. You can say pregnant,” your old boss laughs.

“But that’s no fun,” you pout.

“And who is this little thing?” She turns to Wanda, who timidly smiles still two steps behind you.

“Come on, I don’t bite, hun.” Tanya gives her a sincere smile, one much different from Mrs. Townsend’s. Wanda slowly approaches after you wave her over encouragingly. When she is close enough, you hold her forearm to introduce her to Tanya, trying to ease her nerves. It seems to work. You feel her relax and lean into your side as she says, “Hi, I’m Wanda.” 

“Pleasure to meet you dear. I’m Tanya. See, no need to be shy.”

“She’s not usually like this as far as I can tell. She’s actually quite chatty. Sometimes I don’t know how to get her to stop talking,” you joke. Wanda scoffs and bumps your hip with hers.

“Whenever Y/N begins to annoy you, just put on some earphones and hide them with your hair. It works wonders. She can talk to herself for hours,” your old boss advises Wanda.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“Hey!” You interject. “Tanya, where is your loyalty? So quick to team up against me.”

Wanda giggles beside you. You turn your head to playfully glare at her, missing the way Tanya smiles at the interaction in front of her. 

“So how’d you two meet? I don’t think I’ve seen you in town before, Wanda.”

“She’s a friend and um, coworker of Clint and Natasha. She’s here for the week.” You hope Tanya didn’t catch your little hiccup there. However, you miss the implication of her question. Tanya tries to remember who Nat is.

“Natasha. Is she the intimidating red head always wearing tight jeans?” You and Wanda laugh. You affirm with a finger to your nose. “Didn’t you date her sister?”

You let go of Wanda’s arm to throw your head into your hands. “Ugh, how could you possibly know that?”

“Small town. Word gets around fast. People are probably already talking about you two, especially when you’ve got someone as beautiful as Wanda with you.”

Wanda blushes at the insinuation. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you tell Tanya. 

Tanya raises an eyebrow, “You mean, you’re not dating?”

“Please, Wanda here is way out of my league. I mean, funny, polite, pleasant, and gorgeous. Maybe even a little pretentious. I caught her reading a book… for fun. Who does that? Ow!” Wanda smacks your arm and Tanya laughs. “Did I mention violent?”

The bell above the entrance door chimes informing you three that other customers are coming in. “Okay, so what can I get you?” Tanya asks, moving this along.

“I’d like two scoops of rainbow sherbert on a cone, please.”

“And for you, hun?” Tanya asks Wanda after handing you your cone. 

“Um, may I have two scoops of strawberry, please?”

“Of course, you’d get red,” you taunt.

“Here you are.” Tanya hands Wanda her cone. You take out a ten dollar bill from your pocket to pay but Tanya won’t have it. “My treat, ladies.” 

“But this is sort of an apology cone I promised Wanda,” you try again.

“Y/N! Apologizing with a three dollar ice cream cone is not a real apology. You can do better.”

“It’s like you read my mind, Tanya,” Wanda says. You want to laugh at the irony.

“It wasn’t for anything serious,” you try to argue.

“Whatever it was, you can treat her to something nicer,” Tanya reprimands you.

“Well, what am I supposed to do?”

“The fair is in town. Take her to that. Now shoo, I’ve got customers waiting. Nice meeting you, Wanda,” she says.

“You too. Thanks.”

You exit first, holding the door open for Wanda without thinking about it. She smiles and loops her arm through yours as you both head back to the car at a leisurely pace. You look to see if Wanda likes her ice cream. There is no doubt about it as she begins to hum in happiness. You want to say something like “ I told you so” but she warns you before you have the chance to open your mouth. “Don’t.”

You smirk and turn to your ice cream. You try to savour it, but you demolish that ice cream. You pout when you see it all gone. Wanda still has half of hers.

“Quit being so grumpy,” she says, throwing your words from earlier back at your face. “Here, you can have some of mine.”

She lifts her cone to your mouth. You happily go to take a bite when Wanda shoves the rest of her cone in your face. It wasn’t much but you can smell the damn strawberry ice cream as it drips from your nose. You’re too shocked to move for a minute. She laughs as you try to process what just happened. You hear the shutter noise of a camera. You see Wanda holding her phone up. That snaps you out of your daze. Wanda takes off running the second she sees the look that settles on your face. She doesn’t have to be a telepath to know what that look means. You chase after her. 

She gets to the car before you but can’t open the door. She turns around, hands out in front of her body which is shaking from nervous laughter. “Wait, Y/N. I’m sor-”

You pull her into a hug and shove your ice cream riddled nose to her neck smearing the strawberry flavored dessert on her. “Stop, okay. I’m sorry. Stop, that tickles!” She bursts out laughing. You take pity and let her go, but your feet stay planted where they are. You both quickly sober up when you see how close you are. You feel the tension from yesterday return. You know what you want to do but you know you shouldn’t. Wanda is not making it easy looking at you the same way. Before either of you make a decision, your phone rings ruining whatever that was. You awkwardly clear your throat and back away. You give Wanda a smile before reaching for your phone. You answer it without looking at the name of whoever is calling. It’s Laura asking if you are on your way. You tell her you’ll be there soon. 

You unlock the car and open the passenger door for Wanda. She gives you a quiet thanks. The drive to the house is awkward to say the least, a total contrast to the ride into town. The music in the background does nothing to alleviate your discomfort. In fact, you think it might have made it worse. 

You let out a little sigh of relief once the barn enters your line of sight. Wanda on the other hand can’t take it anymore. She turns off the radio and turns to you expectantly. You take a deep breath knowing what was coming. Having a feeling this conversation could get loud, you slow down the car to a stop before you could pull up to the barn. You’d rather not let anyone overhear knowing how nosy they all are.

“What was that back there?”

“You started it, shoving the ice cream in my face.” You play naive.

“Don’t do that.”

You don’t know why you thought you could get away with lying to her when you know she can literally read minds.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to. I did. I do.”

“Well, I do too,” Wanda says.

“You do?” you ask. You don’t know why you sound so shocked. You had a gut feeling already, but it surprises you hearing her say it aloud anyway.

“You know I do. So what’s the problem?”

The problem is you can’t. The problem is you promised Nat, Clint, and yourself you wouldn’t. The problem is what Nat said at dinner struck a chord with you. Sure she could have been a little nicer about it and maybe not say it in front of everybody, but she was right nonetheless. The problem is your habit of touch and go, the one you never wanted to admit you had, only hurts people. You are the problem and you‘ve decided to fix it, starting with Wanda. You won’t allow yourself the chance to break Wanda’s heart. You don’t think she deserves that.

“You don’t get to decide what I deserve. Neither does Nat. Neither does Clint. I get to make that decision for myself. If I put it all on the line and end up heartbroken, then that’s on me. I make that choice.”

You nod, “You’re right. That is your choice and I can respect that. But it’s also my choice to decide I can’t be the one to break your heart. Can you respect that?”

A heavy silence settles in the car, but you have said all you needed to say so you wait for Wanda to respond. When she realizes your mind is set, she nods. After another minute of silence, she asks, “What now, then?”

“Cliché, but friends?” you suggest. When Wanda scoffs in disbelief, you have to ask, “What?”

“You and me?” Wanda asks as if for clarification.

“Well, I don’t see anyone else in the car. Yes, Wanda. You and me.”

“Have you ever been just friends with anyone before?” Wanda asks, placing no kind of faith in your ability to maintain platonic relationships.

“Are you asking if I can keep it in my pants? Not to bruise your ego, but I can be in a room with you without wanting to jump your bones, Maximoff. I have plenty of strictly platonic friends. Like... Nat.”

She laughs at the choice you made for an example. “That’s only because Natasha doesn’t want to sleep with you.”

“So, what you’re saying is this friendship won’t work because you can’t keep it in your pants?” you counter and watch with amusement Wanda’s face flush and her try to defend herself.

“N-no,” she stutters weakly.

“Great,” you say cheerily. “It’s settled then. We can be friends.”

“There are rules though,” Wanda warns you as you start driving toward the house again.

“Already? Had I known this friendship came with terms and conditions, I might have never suggested it. Fine, lay them on me.”

“No more flirting with my brother.”

“I have never flirted with your-” you start to deny, but when she gives you a knowing look you quickly agree. “Okay, but if he’s putting in all the work, who am I to keep him from living out his dreams?” You jest. She punches your arm.

“Alright, new rule! No more hitting me.”

“No.”

“Okay.”

You were beginning to see the rules to this friendship were not going to be in your favor.

_____________________________________________________________________

So, I lied when I said this was going to be most likely 5 chapters. It turns out I really like dialogue. I'm hoping max is 8 chapters.

Your assignment in preparation for the next chapter: pick a nice outfit cause you're going to the county fair.

Extra Credit: Name the county. (I'm prob going to pick one from the comments)

taglist: @madamevirgo @marvels-writings @gayarchnemessis @myperfectlovepoem @purplemeetsblue @magicallymaximoff @b0mbdotc0m @helloalycia @ironscarletwidowsoilder

[rocorambles]

ayoo let me get fucked by akaashi and kuroo at the same time :3

HAHAHAHA omg what I love about this pairing is that you just know Kuroo will be like a hyperactive kitten while Akaashi is just there wondering what the hell he’s gotten himself into regretting all his life decisions. BUT the fact that he still gets a taste of you makes it all worth it even if Kuroo does annoy the shit out of him.

Warnings: NSFW, Degradation, Dirty Talk

You giggle and squeal as Kuroo suddenly hoists you up and throws you over his shoulder, playfully slapping your ass as you lightly make a show of pounding your fists on his back before extending your arms and making grabby hands at Akaashi. The editor sighs, staring at your childish antics with a deadpanned expression, but he’s always been weak for you and he lets you excitedly grab his hand and allows himself to be dragged along after the two of you. 

Kuroo throws you on the mattress so hard you bounce back and you wildly flail, only to let out a quiet grunt as a tall lean body pounces on you none too gently, letting his body slump and go limp on top of you, jokingly suffocating you and playing dead as you laugh and attempt to shove him off to no avail. But luckily your savior with blue eyes is there to rescue you and you smugly smirk at a confused Kuroo who’s now staring wide eyed at the two of you from his new position on the floor, courtesy of a hard shove from the ex-setter. 

You loudly moan, emphasizing your hand motions and the arch of your body as you pull Akaashi into a kiss, sighing blissfully as your lips lock, letting him take control as he sensually explores your mouth, hands gently running and caressing every inch of your body as he carefully helps you remove your clothes. And Kuroo pouts, feeling left out and forgotten, only to open his mouth in disbelief when you briefly turn to look his way and stick your tongue teasingly out at him before turning your attention back to the man currently holding you. 

But both of you startle when there’s a sudden additional weight on the bed and you whimper as a hot wet tongue licks and bites down the side of your neck, calloused hands punishingly pinching your nipples. 

“That wasn’t very nice of either of you.”

Akaashi scoffs, half a mind to say something snarky right back at the messy haired man, but he’s distracted, attention focused solely on you once again as Kuroo wrangles more and more pained and pleasured moans from you as he continues to mark up your skin, and he coos, tenderly kissing your slack open mouth.  

“Is Kuroo being mean? Want me to make you feel better?”

He doesn’t wait for a response, fingers already drifting down to your inner thighs and you clutch at Akaashi’s shoulders, eyes rolling and head falling back on Kuroo as the editor gently circles and rubs your clit. It’s so much, the delicious fire burning in your stomach from the stimulation of both your clit and nipples mixed with the electrifying jolts from every nip and harsh tweak Kuroo laces his touches with. But it’s not enough and before you know it, you’re pleading for more. 

And how could Akaashi deny the hazy lust in your eyes, the way you’re desperately humping down on his hand, the slick pooling between your thighs? 

It’s embarrassingly easy for him to slide a finger inside of him and he smirks as he quickly adds a second finger, curling his fingers leisurely as he takes in how overwhelmed you look from just a couple of digits, drool beginning to trickle from the corner of your pretty mouth, your pussy tightening around him with every filthy word Kuroo growls in your ear. 

“Look at you, kitten. You already look like a dumb broken slut from a couple of fingers. How are you going to take both our cocks?”

Your breath hitches and Akaashi groans as you clamp down on his fingers at those words, pussy growing even wetter and he nudges a third finger inside of you. 

“Yeah, you like the thought of that? Want to be stuffed full of cock? Of course you love that, you little whore. Our little whore.” 

And that’s all it takes for you to come undone and both men groan as your body convulses and thrashes between them, Akaashi continuing his stimulation of both your drenched pussy and your clit, Kuroo tenderly kissing the back of your neck as he continues rolling his nipples between your fingers. 

You let them help you ride out the waves, letting yourself get lost in the sensations until you’re trembling, whimpering as it borders too much. And you give both of them a loopy grin as they smile fondly down at you. 

“There’s our silly slut. Welcome back, sweetheart. Ready to keep on going?”

Keep on going? 

You gasp as something hard nudges at your sopping wet pussy, your nails digging into Akaashi’s shoulders as he slowly bottoms out inside of you, sinking into the sweet kisses and encouragements Kuroo peppers you with. You’re so full, deliciously full, and as you adjust to the cock inside of you, you can feel arousal flaring up inside of you once again. 

“Kei-Keiji, please fuck me, please fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, FUCK!”

You scream as the normally reserved man seemingly snaps, and suddenly it’s all you can do to hang on as blinding pleasure drowns you with every thrust of Akaashi’s hips, sobbing in pleasure and surprise at the feral pace he sets. But a foreign touch reaches you through the fog and you weakly turn your head, whimpering when Kuroo catches your lips in a kiss as he continues to trace the rim of your puckered hole with lube covered fingers. 

“You’re going to be good and take both of us together, right?” 

And you barely get a chance to nod before he pushes one knuckle inside of your tight hole, chuckling at how your mouth opens impossibly wide as you gasp and silently scream. 

He takes his time, almost painstakingly so, and you’re a writhing, desperate mess as you cry and beg him to hurry up, sniffling when all he does is just scissor his fingers inside of you, adding an obscene amount of lube. But he slyly grins when he finally hears what he’s waiting for, hears you lewdly and explicitly begging for his cock. 

“What a fucking cock slut.” 

You don’t even feel embarrassed at his words, just giddy and deliriously happy and relieved when he finally slides his cock inside of you and both men groan, cocks twitching at how you wantonly smile, looking like debauchery itself, and they swear they can see your brain melting in the mix of drool and tears leaking down your face. 

And you wouldn’t be surprised if your mind was broken, it certainly feels like it as both cocks plunge in and out of you, Kuroo matching Akaashi’s break necking pace. 

Your breasts bounce from the force of their thrusts and you’re so close, stumbling on the edge once again, unable to think of anything else except cocks and cumming, incoherent slurred words and sounds slipping past your lips. All it takes is Akaashi once again reaching down between your legs and Kuroo biting down hard on your shoulder to have you crashing and you wail as you fall apart, dragging both men with you as your walls clench and milk them dry. 

You feel like jelly as your trembling body is gently laid down, still drowning in post-coital bliss, and your heavy eyelids flutter as your body tries to sink into slumber. But you blearily blink your eyes, a questioning hum as something swipes down your leg and your face heats in shame when Kuroo grins at you, cum on his fingertip and suddenly you’re all too aware of how sticky your inner thighs and pussy feel, obediently and shyly letting him stick his finger in your mouth and sucking it clean. 

“Get some rest while you can, kitten. Because we’re doing this all over again as soon as you wake up. You have two other holes I want to test out.”

Kuroo yelps when he’s roughly shoved out of your line of vision and suddenly blue eyes are kindly gazing at you. 

“Ignore the idiot. Get as much rest as you need.” 

And you’re quick to listen, eyes almost instantly closing and dozing off as the two men quietly bicker in the background while cleaning you up and tucking you in bed. 

[impalementation]

spike, angel, buffy & romanticism: part 3

part 1: “When you kiss me I want to die”: Angel and the high school seasons

part 2: “Love isn’t brains, children”: Enter Spike as the id

* 

“Something effulgent”: Season five and the construction of Spike the romantic

Prior to becoming a romantic interest, Spike is everything I discussed in the last section. He is an id and a mirror for Buffy, he’s prone to both romantic exaggeration and cutting realism, and his liminality suggests ambiguity. But outside of “Lovers Walk”, the writing doesn’t actually delve too deeply into Spike’s nature as a romantic. If you stopped the canon at “Restless”, you’d probably think that Spike’s love for Drusilla was intriguing, but that the show hadn’t really gone anywhere with the implications of it, and for all you knew, that might not be an important part of his character anymore. So one of the most interesting things about season five to me, is that in this season in which the writers first consciously, deliberately decide to explore the sexual and romantic tension between Spike and Buffy, they also emphasize Spike’s romanticism more than ever. The choice to define Spike by his romanticism is a choice that follows naturally from everything established about his character, but it was also not an inevitable choice. Therefore, it’s a choice worth looking at in some detail.

Consider everything that “Fool For Love” establishes about Spike, especially the things that contradict what was supposedly canon at the time. It makes Drusilla his sire instead of Angel, meaning that he is sired by a romantic connection, and as a direct result of heartbreak. It makes him a poet living in the middle of the Victorian era, an age at odds with his previous ages of “barely 200” and “126”. Meaning that the writing specifically decides to ignore its canon in order to associate him with an era in which passions would have been repressed (rather than the Romantic era of the early 1800’s or the modern energy of the early 1900’s). Moreover, the episode reveals his entire aesthetic and personality to essentially be a construct. But most tellingly of all, it reveals him to be an idealist. Spike is not just a performance artist; he yearns for the “effulgent”, for something “glowing and glistening” that the “vulgarians” of the world don’t understand. In other words, he yearns for something bigger and more beautiful than life: something romantic. Later, he chases after “death, glory, and sod all else.” Spike may be a “fool for love”, who has a romantic view of romantic love specifically, but the episode is very clear about the fact that he is also a romantic more generally. When Drusilla turns him, she doesn’t tempt him by telling him she’ll love him forever. She tempts him by offering him “something…effulgent”. (Which, in typical Spike form, the episode immediately undercuts by having him say “ow” instead of swooning romantically). The fact that “Fool For Love”, Spike’s major backstory episode, is so determined to paint him as a romantic--and in particular, a disappointed, frustrated romantic--that it is willing to contradict canon to do so, tells you that this choice was important for framing Spike and his new, ongoing thematic role.

I’ve talked in the past about how season five is all about the tension between the mythical and the mortal--between big, grand, sweeping narratives, and the reality of being human. Buffy is the Slayer, but she’s also just a girl who loses her mother. Dawn is the key, but she’s also just a confused and hormonal fourteen-year-old. Willow is a powerful witch, but she also just wants her girlfriend to be okay. Glory is a god, but she’s also a human man named Ben, and finds herself increasingly weakened by his emotions. And Spike embodies this tension perfectly. He’s a soulless vampire with a lifetime of bloodshed behind him, but he’s also this silly, human man who wants to love and be loved. He wants big, grand things, but every time they are frustrated by a Victorian society, a rejection, a chip, a pratfall, or dying with an “ow”. Furthermore, his season five storyline is all about the tension between loving in an exalted, yet often selfish way, versus loving in a “real” or selfless way. 

There was a fascinating piece a ways back that discussed how Spike’s attempts to woo Buffy in season five almost perfectly match the romantic narratives of Courtly Love. In the words of the author:

The term "Courtly Love" is used to describe a certain kind of relationship common in romantic medieval literature. The Knight/Lover finds himself desperately and piteously enamored of a divinely beautiful but unobtainable woman. After a period of distressed introspection, he offers himself as her faithful servant and goes forth to perform brave deeds in her honor. His desire to impress her and to be found worthy of her gradually transforms and ennobles him; his sufferings -- inner turmoil, doubts as to the lady's care of him, as well as physical travails -- ultimately lends him wisdom, patience, and virtue and his acts themselves worldly renown.

You can see for yourself how well that description fits Spike’s arc. He fixates on the torturous, abject nature of his love, and has it in his head that he can perform deeds and demonstrate virtue, and this will prove to Buffy that he is worthy of her. But despite Spike’s gradual ennobling over the course of the season, I think it would be a mistake to see the season as using the Courtly Love narrative uncritically, or even just ironically. The same way it would be a mistake to see season two as using the Gothic uncritically. Spike is as much Don Quixote as he is Lancelot. He is a character that deliberately tries to act out romantic tropes, giving the writing an opportunity to satirize those tropes, including the tropes of chivalric romance. In particular, the writing criticizes Spike’s (very chivalric) fixation on love as a personal agony, something that is more about pain--and specifically, his pain--than building a real relationship. Over and over in season five, he is forced to abandon these sorts of flattering romantic mindsets in favor of a more complicated reality. 

So at first, Spike’s “deeds” tend to be shallow and vaguely transactional. He tries to help Buffy in “Checkpoint” even though she doesn’t want it (and insults her when she doesn’t appreciate it), he asks “what the hell does it take?” when Buffy is unimpressed by him not feeding on “bleeding disaster victims” in “Triangle”, he rants bitterly at a mannequin when Buffy fails to be grateful to him for taking her to Riley in “Into the Woods”, and he is angry and confused when Buffy is unmoved by his offer to stake Drusilla in “Crush”. While these attempts to symbolically reject his evilness are startling for a soulless vampire, and although Spike certainly feels like he is fundamentally altering himself for Buffy’s sake, none of it is based on understanding or supporting Buffy in a way that she would actually find substantial. Moreover, he lashes out when his gestures fail to win her attention or affection. He has an idea in his head of how their romantic scenes should play out, and reacts petulantly when reality fails to live up to it. 

But these incidents of self-interested narrativizing are also continuously contrasted with scenes in which Spike reacts with real generosity, or is surprised when he realizes he’s touched something emotionally genuine. When Buffy seeks him out in “Checkpoint”, his mannerisms instantly change when he realizes she actually needs real help (“You’re the only one strong enough to protect them”), rather than the performed help he offered at the beginning of the episode. At the end of “Fool For Love” he’s struck dumb by Buffy’s grief, and his antagonistic posturing all evening melts away. He abandons his romantic vision of their erotic, life-and-death rivalry in favor of real, awkward emotional intimacy. In “Forever” he tries to anonymously leave flowers for Joyce, and reacts angrily when he’s denied—but this time not because he wanted something from Buffy. Simply because he wanted to do something meaningful. 

This contradictory behavior comes to a head in “Intervention”, the episode in which Spike finally begins to understand the difference between real and transactional generosity. Up until that point, Spike has been reacting both selfishly and unselfishly, but he hasn’t been able to truly distinguish between them, which is why he keeps repeating the same mistakes. Although he touches something real at the end of “Fool For Love”, for instance, he goes on to rifle through Buffy’s intimates in the very next episode. And so “Intervention” has Spike go to extremes of fakeness and reality. He gives up on having the real Buffy, and seeks out an artificial substitute that lets him live out his cheesiest romance novel scripts. It’s important that the Buffybot isn’t just a sexbot, even if he does have sex with her. She’s a bot he plays out romantic scenarios with the way he played them with Harmony in “Crush”, allowing him to almost literally live within a fiction. But then he “gives up” on having Buffy in a way that’s actually real, by offering up his life. He lets himself be tortured, and potentially killed, for no other reason than that to do otherwise would cause Buffy pain. The focus is on her pain, not his. For the first time, he acts like the Knight he’s been trying to be all along. He performs a grand, heroic deed that causes the object of his affection to see him in a different light, and even grant him a kiss. Yet ironically, as part of learning the difference between real and fake, he ceases to press for Buffy’s reciprocation. Through the end of season five, Spike continues to act the selfless Knight, assisting Buffy in her heroism without asking for anything in return. Which culminates in his declaration that he knows Buffy “will never love him”, even after he’s promised her the deed of protecting Dawn, and even though she allows a kind of intimacy by letting him back in her house. He proves that he sees those gestures for what they are, rather than in a transactional light. The irony of the way Spike fulfills the narrative of chivalric romance, is that his ennobling involves letting aspects of that narrative go. 

In a Courtly Love narrative, the object of the Knight’s affection is fundamentally pedestalized. The Knight himself might be flawed, but the woman he pines after is not. She is “divinely beautiful” and “unobtainable”, something above him and almost more than human. This is why it’s so comic that in Don Quixote, which was a direct satire of chivalric romance, Alonso Quixano’s “lady love” is a vulgar peasant farmgirl who has no idea who he is. (Think of the way Spike asks if Buffy is tough in “School Hard” or threatens to “take her apart” despite “how brilliant she is” in “The Initiative”, followed by scenes where Buffy is acting like the teenage girl she is. Or how Giles in “Checkpoint” says that Buffy has “acquired a remarkable focus” before cutting to Buffy yawning.). Although it’s true that Buffy is beautiful, and supernatural, and profoundly moral, she is also very human, and the writing is very concerned with that humanity. Season five in particular, as I’ve mentioned, is preoccupied with the duality of Buffy’s mythic and mortal nature. Thus it becomes significant that Buffy is assigned such a heightened role in Spike’s chivalric narrative. Just Spike is at once Lancelot and Don Quixote, Buffy is at once Achilles, Dulcinea, and a coming-of-age protagonist. 

And part of the “lesson” of Spike’s arc is for him to see both sides of the roles they embody. One of my favorite things about the scene in Buffy’s house in “The Gift” is how adroitly it conveys the dualities of both Buffy and Spike with simple, but poetic imagery and language. Buffy stands above Spike on her steps, conveying her elevated role, and Spike honors the way her heroic status has inspired him by physically looking up to her as he explains that he expects nothing from her. But by expecting nothing from her, and promising to protect her sister, he also honors the fact that she is a real person with no obligation to him, and a younger sister she cares about more than anything. He also honors his own duality by at once making Knightly promises, and acknowledging that he sees through his former delusions: “I know that I’m a monster, but you treat me like a man.” In “Fool For Love” he tried to acknowledge the same duality of realism and romance, by declaring to Cecily that “I know I’m a bad poet, but I’m a good man.” But at the time, he was an innocent, whose desire to be seen, and whose romantic avoidance of “dark, ugly things”, left him unprepared to understand how Cecily really saw him (similar to Spike’s insistence in “Crush” that what he and Buffy have “isn’t pretty, but it’s real” just before Buffy locks him out). Spike is a character defined simultaneously by continuous disillusionment and dogged aspiration, which is why he makes perfect sense as a character to embody a season torn between the pain of being human, and the wonder of the gift of love.

Fittingly, the season ends with Spike’s most devastating loss of innocence of all. He fails to be the hero for Buffy or Dawn (note that Knightly language he uses on the tower: “I made a promise to a lady”), and he loses the woman he loves. He may have become more virtuous, but unlike in a chivalric romance, that virtue wins him neither Buffy, nor something flattering like “world reknown.” The climax of the “The Gift” is full of romance—a god, a troll hammer, a damsel on a tower, a heroic self-sacrifice, a vampire transformed into a Knight—but the end result is that Buffy is dead, in part because he wasn’t good enough, and all that he and the Scoobies can do is grieve. Stories got Spike nothing, even when reality finally lived up to them. It is a swan song to the myths of childhood, and on the other side of Glory’s portal, Spike and the other characters will have to confront a world where those myths have been left behind.

part 4: “But I can’t fool myself. Or Spike, for some reason.”: Buffy and Spike as a blended self