#and then vacuuming. and i think my brain is still in the place when i didnt have a good vacuum so it doesnt take it into account

[corvidaedream]

me, every time I have a week or so where im in too much pain/exhaustion to clean my room: god I've really done it this time, there's no coming back from this, im becoming my grandmother

me, as soon as i have energy again: oh that only took two hours. again.

[seilon]

okay so based on what the fuck Ive been doing the past 12 hours or so and the fact that it’s now 6am pretty sure a hypomanic episode has come on which. I can’t tell if that will potentially be beneficial or detrimental to getting finals work done overall. I guess we’ll just. wait and see

[godslino]

PIECE BY PIECE | minho first date series. friends to lovers.

pairing: minho x fem!reader word count: 6.2k genre: college au, mutual pining, fluff, angst warnings: drinking, referenced injury (very minor) summary: minho, on a drunken whim, asks you out on a date.

chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin · · · ♡ series masterlist · · · ♡ taglist · · · ♡

a/n: finally!! the minho part!! i’ve been sooo excited about this one since i first got the idea. i hope you guys enjoy! once again any and all feedback is appreciated, happy reading <3

“Dude, I think it’s clean.”

Minho looks up from where he’s scrubbing the counter, eyes narrowed. So what if it’s his third time going over every surface in the kitchen?

“Are you going to help me or are you just gonna sit there and make more crumbs?”

Jeongin’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. He holds up his hands in surrender, the bag of chips in his lap crinkling. “I’m just saying. You’re acting like she’s never seen the place before.”

That’s the problem. You’ve seen his place. Minho has to stop the shudder that threatens to overtake his body at the thought.

“So you’re not helping? Great. Get out.”

“I live here!” Jeongin whines. “Why do I have to get out? You can’t banish me like this.”

“I can and I will. Now leave. I have two hours to make sure everything is ready and I am not going to vacuum for a fourth time.”

“Yes mom,” Jeongin rolls his eyes as he unfolds his legs from underneath him.

He stops just short of the kitchen counter, points an accusatory finger at Minho’s disheveled figure still hunched over an imaginary stain.

“For the record, Chan hyung would never do this to me. He loves my crumbs.”

Minho throws the scrub daddy at him.

🏠

The night it happens, all it takes is approximately three shots and a pep talk from Hyunjin for Minho to finally find the nerve to ask you out.

“You’ve got this,” the younger boy says, words slurred, his hands steady on both Minho’s shoulders. The bass thumps loud in the other room, drowned out by the walls of the kitchen until it’s nothing but garbled nonsense going in one of his ears and out the other, vibrations low in his chest.

“I’ve got this.” Minho repeats, the thrum of alcohol already spreading to his fingertips. He feels warm, light on his feet. His limbs are starting to loosen up and his insides are turning to jelly. He might even be floating.

“You look hot.”

“I look hot.”

“She’s gonna say yes.”

“She’s gonna say yes.”

“You’re gonna venmo me twenty dollars.”

“I’m gonna venmo you twenty dollars.” Minho parrots before he can even process what he’s saying. Changbin, who’d been watching the entire thing unfold from where he stands with his back pressed against the sink, snorts.

“Wait, what the f—”

“Go get her!” Hyunjin screams, pushing him through the door of the kitchen with one last pat on the back, “And send me my money!”

Minho stumbles over himself, just barely able to stop in time before he goes crashing into a group of people. The living room is crowded: there’s furniture pushed up against the walls, bodies pressed front to back in the middle of the floor, a makeshift DJ stand in the corner where Chan is controlling the music from his laptop, drink in hand. Minho catches his eye from across the room, the glow of the LEDs reflecting off the toothy grin he shoots his way, dimples on full display.

“Hey!” Minho feels someone grab his arm, and he turns to find you staring up at him. “Where’d you go? You said you were gonna get a drink.”

Minho follows your eyes down to where you’re staring at his empty hands. “I—uh, well. I ran into Hyunjin and we took a few shots.”

The pout you give him does nothing but spur on the fluttering of his chest, his brain still hyper aware of the way your hand was resting on his elbow. “Shots? I want shots!” you whine, and Minho has to avert his gaze from staring at your lips when your pout only worsens.

“How much have you had?” he tries to ask over the music. There’s a shitty pop song playing, high pitched and wonky. If he remembers in the morning, he’ll make sure he berates Chan about his DJ-ing abilities.

“What?” you scream back, tiptoeing to bring your mouth closer to his ear.

Minho is only a man. A man who's been in love with you since the moment you accidentally spilled your coffee all over Hyunjin in the quad during freshman year. He remembers that day well, remembers the way your eyes went wide and your lips parted. He also remembers the way he wished it was him with the large wet stain on his shirt, that way it was him that was offered to have his lunch bought as an apology.

He’d never admit it, but sometimes really late at night, when the moon is high in the sky and he’s feeling oddly sentimental, he counts his lucky stars that Hyunjin had been in a relationship at the time. Minho doesn’t know what he would’ve done had he been forced to watch the two of you hit it off—some form of arson, presumably. Anything to take the edge off. But because of the fact that Hyunjin was not trying to have his head cut off by said girlfriend at the time, he invited Minho along as some sort of collateral damage. That’s when the two of you became friends. Kind of perfect if you ask him.

With the jumbled mess of butterflies in his stomach that he gets whenever you’re near him, and the threat of the alcohol slowly seeping through his skin, his brain short circuits the minute your breath grazes the shell of his ear. When your hand follows not long after, fingers gripping the nape of his neck to hold him in place, he almost passes out.

“Min? What’d you say?”

Minho is rendered completely useless by you. Absolutely ruined. Your existence has thrown his entire plan to woo you off course and now his mouth is opening and closing like a badly programmed robot. Pathetic. Nuts and bolts for brains.

By the grace of God (or some other higher being that Minho’s never bothered to believe in until this very moment) he finds his voice, but not before you’re pulling back with a confused look on your face.

“I asked how much you’ve had to drink,” he says, straining against the music.

A saccharine sweet grin that has him seeing stars spreads across your face, “Not enough!”

Minho is not an enabler. Never has been, never will be. There was one time, back in that fateful freshman year that also introduced the two of you, that he let Hyunjin get blackout drunk. A terrible decision on his end, if the earful he got from Chan the next morning was anything to go by. And as if that wasn’t enough, he was finding remnants of the resulting hacking session for the following week. So yeah, never again.

But while Minho isn’t an enabler, he is smitten, and the way your hand feels wrapped around his wrist as you drag him into the kitchen has his soul threatening to leave his body. He thinks that maybe he could do anything as long as you asked. He also hopes you can’t feel the way his pulse is rabbiting beneath his skin, right under the press of your thumb.

“There’s, like, nothing here.” you say as you rummage through the cupboard near the window, nose scrunched and a frown on your face.

Minho laughs, rounds the kitchen island to crouch down and open the cabinet under the sink. “That’s because you don’t know where to look,” he smirks, pulling out a fresh bottle of tequila. “Also, Chan hyung is greedy. He knows people like you will go scavenging his supply if he isn’t careful.”

“I resent that.” you frown, taking the bottle from him. “Besides, people like me deserve to have fun too.”

“Mhm, sure.” Minho says, grabbing a solo cup. He holds his hand out for the bottle, pours just the right amount before sliding it over and following it up with a can of coke.

“A man after my heart.” you joke, holding your cup up to him in a mock toast before downing it in one go. Minho watches with so much focus, fighting against the way his head spins. He doesn’t even know if it’s the alcohol anymore, it might just be the effect you have on him. Dizzying—you flip his entire world on its axis in the best way possible.

Minho’s gonna be seeing your exposed neck in his dreams later, he’s sure of it—it’s branded into his memory.

“That…is so fucking bad.” you giggle, holding your cup out. “Another one.”

Minho clicks his tongue. “I don’t know…”

“Pleaseeee Min,” the lilt in your voice sounds oddly familiar. Minho holds his breath just in case you—yup. There it is. There goes that pout again.

It’d be so easy for him to lean down and kiss it right off your lips. He could blame it on the alcohol, maybe, but then that takes away from how he actually means it.

He sighs instead. “It’s gonna cost you.”

“An arm and a leg?”

“What? No—I meant some water.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Three shots and a full bottle of water later, Minho knows you’ve hit your limit. Cheeks flushed pink, a dopey grin on your face, pupils blown wide. Even in this state, Minho is certain that you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Anotherrrr,” you slur, waving your cup in his face.

Minho shakes his head. “No can do. You’re cut off.”

“Please,” you whine, placing both hands on his shoulders, “I’ll do anything.”

Minho, completely taken back by the sudden closeness of your body to his, freezes.

“Anything?” he asks before he can stop himself.

This is stupid. You’re drunk. There’s no way you’re going to remember anything in the morning, much less within the next thirty minutes. He’s pretty sure that you’ll lose control of all your senses soon, which is why he’s already texted your roommate Jiwoo to unlock the door so he can carry you inside. Nothing he hasn’t done before.

“Anything,” you repeat, eyes going cross-eyed where they’re fixing on the mole he has at the tip of his nose.

This is stupid. But then again, so is Minho. A big, stupid fool that blames everything on the fact that he’s so in love with you it hurts. This might be the only chance he gets to shoot his shot.

Minho takes a deep breath, says something similar to a little prayer that’s more like Hey, if anyone’s listening, help a guy out, and hopes that the twenty bucks he sent Hyunjin works.

“Go on a date with me.” he says slowly, wincing when your eyes snap up to meet his gaze.

Well, there’s really no going back from that. The only thing that could possibly grant him redemption now is banking on the fact that you don’t remember anything in the morning.

Minho waits with bated breaths, watches as your eyes search his for a long while. He waits for the anger, the disgust, the visible repulsion that he starts to think might happen the longer the silence continues.

He’s about to backtrack, quickly conjuring up an excuse about how Oh, haha, gotcha! when your hands suddenly drop from his shoulders. You grab the cup, your chin tipped upwards, and hold it out for him to fill.

“Okay.”

“O…kay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Pour me another one.”

The next morning, when Minho all but drags himself into the kitchen in search of water and something to soothe the throbbing in his head, he nearly spits a mouthful at Jeongin, the poor guy too busy eating his cereal to realize he’s gotten a front row seat in the splash zone.

Y/N [10:34am]

so

when do you want to do that date?

🏠

Are candles too much?

Minho has options: clean linen, lavender breeze, ocean mist, warm vanilla. He really just needs something to get rid of the smell of cleaning spray.

He thought that having a night in for a first date would be ideal—less pressure, no unwanted attention, a bathroom that he can run into when he starts to hyperventilate if you smile at him for too long. But now that it’s happening, he’s convinced that every surface of his and Jeongin’s shared apartment will scare you away if anything so much as looks off-putting.

Minho is, to put it simply, freaking out. All the other times you’ve been over to his place were on a completely platonic level. Movie nights with all the other guys in tow, dropping off food that you felt generous enough to buy every once in a while, one time because you’d accidentally worn Minho’s jacket home from a party and needed to return it to him.

But this is different. This is a date. Minho’s not dreaming—he already pinched himself a dozen times in the bathroom mirror, tiny red marks on the inside of his forearm to prove it. He’s going to open the door, invite you in, cook for you, and then proceed to resist the urge to tell you how beautiful you are for however long the night continues on after that. He can practically hear Jeongin’s laugh in the back of his head, sneering at how pathetic his inner monologue sounds right now.

He needs to find another stain to scrub.

By the time you’re knocking on his door, Minho has changed his outfit seven times. Sweats were too casual, a button up was too fancy. Should he not have done his hair? No, that’s just lazy, the way his fringe is swept up and out of his forehead adds a nice touch that doesn’t scream Hey! I’m trying to woo you! You’ve never been the type to be impressed by grand gestures and shows of confidence anyways, he knows that well.

One time, when a guy from one of the frat houses hired the campus quartet to sing a song for you in the quad as he stood there with big beady eyes and a bouquet of roses in his hand, you’d all but ran from the scene, Minho following close behind as you called out to him over your shoulder. It’s one of his fondest memories. As soon as the two of you made it around the back of the science building, you’d doubled over in laughter, the both of you in disbelief at what had happened. Minho has had that information tucked into the deepest parts of his brain ever since, saved just in case he needed it.

(Later that night, in the safety of his own bed, he’d laughed maniacally at the situation. Something about watching you reject another guy filled him with a sense of joy he couldn’t explain. He just hoped he was never going to be on the receiving end of it.)

He does a quick once over of the kitchen: double checks that all the ingredients are out, blows a speck of dust off the glass stovetop, spins the tiny floral arrangement he bought so that it’s sitting at just the right angle. When the doorbell rings, the chime bouncing off the walls of the apartment, he visibly pales.

He has to reel it in, to remember that it’s just you. You might not even be here with any intentions other than to fulfill your end of the deal; one date in exchange for the extra three shots he poured you the other night. Minho takes a deep breath, grips the doorknob with conviction, and decides that he’s determined to show you the way you deserve to be treated. The opportunity is there, and he’s gonna take it.

As soon as the door swings open, every nerve that had somehow crept its way into his brain disappears, the sight of you standing on the other side immediately sending the anxiety scrambling and replacing it with fondness instead.

“Hi,” you smile, and Minho sees images of you coming home to his apartment flash across his mind. After class, after work, in the winter when it’s cold and your nose is tinted pink, on rainy days where the ends of your hair are damp and you have a wet umbrella in tow. He could get used to it. He’s so in love that it hurts.

“Hey,” he breathes out, stepping aside to make way for you, “Come in. Are you hungry?”

“Starving, actually. Been saving myself all day since I don’t always get to have your cooking.” You hop on to one of the stools, your attention momentarily stolen by the flower arrangement. One point for Minho.

I’d cook for you every day, he wants to say. But that’s weird, right? So instead, “Well then I guess today is your lucky day.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.” You say softly.

Minho can’t see you with the way his back is turned, hands moving to grab out the knife and cutting board, but if he could he’d see the way your eyes are staring softly at his back, the ghost of a smile on your lips.

Conversation flows easily after that, despite Minho’s original worries about it being awkward. You’re not necessarily treating it as a date, and he isn’t really either. It feels more like a glorified hangout, just the two of you spending time together with the added glances and smiles that normally wouldn’t be there.

Minho finds it easy to get lost in you. He finds himself craving to know more about your day, about the things that’ve been on your mind lately and the hobbies you’ve picked up. Most of the conversation is a continuation of stuff that’s fallen through the cracks during the times you see each other, but he doesn’t miss the way you ask about him too, your eyes shining with genuine interest. It makes his heart slam against his ribcage.

“How are your cats doing?”

Minho looks up from the cutting board, follows your gaze to where it’s fixed on the scattered pictures that litter his fridge. “They’re good,” he says, smiling down at a head of garlic, “My mom sends pictures all the time. She says they claw at the door to my room when they miss me.” He smashes the garlic under the knife’s blade by hitting it with the heel of his palm. “It’s cute.”

“You’re cute.”

Minho, in a very flashy demonstration of what it means to be cool, calm, and collected, slices his thumb mid-chop.

“Shit.” he mutters, dropping the knife.

It’s not that bad, just a little nick, the surprise was mostly what scared him. He probably doesn’t even need a bandaid. But despite how small it is, nothing stops you from hurriedly walking up to him and taking his hand in yours, his thumb held closely to your face for inspection.

“Are you okay?” You turn his hand over between your fingers, the soft pads of them against his calloused ones. Minho is dumbfounded, struggling to find the words to say.

“Yeah—um, it’s fine. My fault. I was distracted.” He stammers out, pulling his hand back and holding it up. He wiggles his fingers, making a show of bending and twisting his thumb that, at most, has just a small cut on the side. “See? Perfect.”

Your face relaxes, and then you’re laughing. Why are you laughing? Either Minho looks like a complete idiot or he’s suddenly the funniest person in the world for being clumsy and reckless and almost ruining the night by losing a finger. Whichever one it is, he doesn’t care, as long as he gets to hear that sound again.

“Let me help cook, please? I know you said you would do it all but clearly you’re a threat to the integrity of this meal.” You say, bumping your hip against his to move him away from the cutting board.

Minho scoffs. “I wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t catch me off guard.”

“So what? You admit that I make you flustered?”

Oh.

Minho wasn’t prepared for this. He wasn’t prepared for the—the flirting that’s clearly happening. You’re flirting with him, right? Why else would you have called him cute or given him that suspicious side eye after you asked that question?

You and Minho have joked around like this before, but it was always empty with no real feelings attached—as far as he could tell. You’re a naturally friendly person, getting along with others comes easy to you. He’s seen the way you talk to the other guys and has always just assumed he was no different in your eyes than they were. Sure, there were moments where maybe your hand lingered on his arm for a little while after he made you laugh, or the two of you would steal glances across the room. Sometimes when Hyunjin said something stupid you’d both catch the other’s eye and make a face, just another funny way of proving that you were both on the same wavelength most of the time. It’s kind of why Minho is so taken with you—he’s never met anyone that gets him the same way.

Reluctantly, Minho puts his pride aside and allows you to help. And as it turns out, you’re actually really good at cooking. Minho doesn’t have to instruct you much, and before he knows it you’re both working like a well-oiled machine, scooting past one another as you switch places between the stove and the sink, reading each other’s minds without even having to ask.

“Taste this.” You say, holding the spoon up to his mouth. Minho leans forward, front teeth poking out, and brings the spoon into his mouth. You cup your hand under his chin to catch any droppings, watching in anticipation as he smacks his lips together.

His eyes light up, big and brown and twinkling under the light of the kitchen. “Perfect.” He smiles.

“Oh you have—uh,” you stop him with a hand on his forearm just as he’s about to turn back to the sink, your other hand hovering next to his face hesitantly, “It’s just, um, your—here.”

Minho’s eyes go wide when your thumb swipes against the corner of his mouth, your touch feather light. It’s so intimate, the only sound being the music playing low from the speaker on the counter. He’s half convinced that you’re able to hear his heartbeat, blood pumping loud in his ears.

“You had some sauce…on your face.” You say shyly, your palm still pressed to his cheek.

“…Oh.”

Minho’s never really looked into your eyes from this close up before. He’s always known they were beautiful, the shape of them soft, full of nothing but the world. He can see himself in them from here, and, selfishly, he hopes you can see yourself in his, too.

He might be imagining it when your gaze flicks down to his lips for just a fraction of a second, but there’s no time to unpack any of that when the sauce starts bubbling over the edge of the pot, spilling on to the burner as loud sizzling and smoke fills the kitchen.

It’s chaos. The bottom of the pot is burnt and there’s only so much of it that’s salvageable. He only bought the exact amount of ingredients too, because this is a self-proclaimed no-food-waste household (as explicitly stated in the napkin contract he has with Jeongin, much to his dismay). So, hooray for conscious consumption of goods!

At the end of it all, there’s no one to blame. You’re both guilty of…whatever that was.

Minho tries to reassure you that it’s okay as he dials the number for the pizza place just down the street, simultaneously shutting down all your attempts to pay as an apology. It doesn’t matter to him, he’d do anything as long as it means he gets to spend time with you. At the end of the day, it’s another memory that he’ll hold close to his heart.

“Listen,” you say, swallowing down a mouthful of pizza, the both of you seated on his couch with a half-eaten box of pizza open on the coffee table, “I know you wanted to cook and all—which, by the way, I’m still sorry—but this is so good. However I’m sure whatever you made would’ve been better.”

Minho chuckles. “Stop lying,” he wipes his hands on a napkin, “I can guarantee you that whatever I cooked wouldn’t be as good as this anyways.”

“Stop selling yourself short, Min. You’re good at everything you do.”

The words fall from your lips so easily, like it’s something you’ve convinced yourself of long ago. Minho’s never been the type to bounce around from one thing to another, always choosing to stick with it until he has it down to a science. Cooking is one of them. Jeongin can attest to all the times Minho has berated him with tasting his latest dishes, chasing him around the apartment with a spoon. The words tighten themselves around his heart.

“I’m not,” he rolls his eyes, “But nine times out of ten, grease and mozzarella cheese are gonna win. I know that for a fact.”

You laugh, and the conversation gradually diverts into a debate about the top ten best greasy foods in existence. You’re heated, half kneeling on the couch with a finger pointed at him as you plead your case for onion rings, when your eyes go past Minho’s head and settle on the shelf of games in the hallway.

“You have games?” you ask, suddenly giddy with excitement as you hurry over to inspect the selection.

Minho watches with fond eyes, collects the plates and napkins to throw away. “Yeah, most of them are Innie’s. We don’t really use them. Sometimes when we’re drunk, other times when we’re bored and decide to wager money for fun.”

You hum, not really paying attention. Monopoly, Chutes and Ladders, some decks of cards, Uno—you scan the shelf until your eyes light up at what you find hidden at the bottom.

“Min! Can we play Jenga?”

“Jenga?” Minho asks, re-entering the living room. The coffee table is clear now, and he sits between it and the couch, his back against the cushion. “Isn’t that kind of boring? We have other stuff there.”

“It’s only boring if you play it the way it’s supposed to be played.” You roll your eyes. Minho turns to you when you situate yourself on the floor beside him and only momentarily contemplates running to the bathroom when your knee knocks against his. He’s been holding it together pretty well so far, however The Sauce Incident had him ready to book it if anything had gone further.

“Well how else are we supposed to play it?” He frowns.

“We make up our own rules.”

The pieces scatter across the wood of the coffee table, clacking as you diligently begin putting them together. “This is a date, right?” You ask, stopping for a moment to turn and assess his response.

Minho stills. He genuinely forgot the grounds on which tonight had even happened in the first place. Spending time with you makes him forget everything else. And, despite his fears in the beginning, being on a date with you has felt so natural that it almost seems like you’ve done it a thousand times before.

Your eyes meet. For a moment, Minho lets himself wonder what it’d be like if he went for it right then and there. “Yeah,” he says slowly, unblinking, hoping you can see the sincerity on his face, “A date. One of the best ones I’ve ever been on, actually.”

He almost cries out in victory when your face flushes pink. “Now who’s a liar?” You ask quietly, going back to piecing together the game.

Minho has learned something new tonight: he really likes seeing you flustered.

“Why do you ask?” he decides to cut you the slack, “Or what does this being a date have to do with Jenga rules?”

He waits as you finish the stack, your tongue sticking out in concentration. You’re so cute. Minho mentally pockets that image for safe keeping.

“Sorry, okay, it’s done. But basically, if we pull out a block, we get to ask the other person a question.”

“And if the tower falls…?”

“Hmm,” you think for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip, “Oh! I know. If you lose you have to tell me why you asked me on a date.”

Minho’s stomach flips. “Okay. If you lose you have to tell me why you accepted the date.”

Something unreadable passes over your face, but it’s gone in an instant. You hold your hand out for a shake, and Minho wraps his fingers around it gently.

“Deal.”

“Why are you taking all of the middle pieces?” Minho pouts.

The two of you have gone through a couple turns by now, throwing out random questions for the better half of fifteen minutes. Favorite colors, childhood foods you wouldn’t eat, the best memory you have from high school. Minho’s learned a lot, has fallen for you a lot more. But that was always a given. It’s impossible not to when he can feel the warmth from your body where you’re seated next to him, your presence overtaking all of his senses.

“Because I’m trying to win,” you laugh, putting your freshly pulled piece at the top. Just a little crooked, too. To piss him off. “Favorite movie?”

“Ponyo. Easy. My turn.”

“Seriously? Why Ponyo?”

“One question at a time, princess.”

He means it as a joke, really. He doesn’t even realize what he’s said until after the fact, the nickname making your heart skip a beat. Minho notices, the corners of his lips tugging downwards as he suppresses a smile. He manages to flick one of the side pieces until it gives way.

“What’s one thing you regret?”

“Ooh, getting deep I see.” You laugh, taking a sip of your soda. There’s a long pause, and then, “I regret spilling my coffee on Hyunjin that day.”

Minho’s brow furrows. You…regret it? He runs through all the possible reasons in his head. Surely it can’t be because you regret becoming friends with them, friends with him, right?

“Why?” He chances.

“One question at a time, princess.” You echo, laughing at his shocked expression.

You remove the last middle piece. “On a scale of one to ten, how would you rate our first date?”

Minho’s brain is going a thousand miles a minute. “A ten. Wouldn’t trade it for the world.” He says it fast, wastes no time in moving forward to remove his own piece. He doesn’t even notice that your cheeks have gone pink again, too busy itching to ask his next question.

“Why do you regret spilling your coffee on Hyunjin?”

Minho watches you, lets his mind wander to the worst possible thing you could say in this situation, and mentally prepares to book it to the bathroom.

You take a deep breath, “I regret it because I wasn’t supposed to spill it on him. I was supposed to spill it on you.”

Wait, what?

Minho blinks. “What are you talking about?”

This is humiliating for you. A terrible thing to have to admit. Up until this moment, you’d thought that this information would follow you to your grave. You press the heel of your palms to your eyes, “This is so embarrassing,” you groan.

Minho pulls one hand away. He’s not really sure what to say, mostly because he’s confused, but, “You can tell me.”

“I had…” you start, looking up at him slowly, “A plan. With Jiwoo.” Minho nods for you to continue. “I’d seen you and Hyunjin walking through the quad a few times, and I thought that you were cute, but I didn't know how to approach you. So I did something stupid and decided that I would literally just crash into you. But I fucked it up.”

I thought that you were cute. The words echo in Minho’s ears like a bell. All this time, all those stolen glances and lingering touches, all the ways you would make hope spike in his chest that maybe you felt the same—they were real.

“So you, wait—” Minho shakes his head, “So you’re telling me that all this time…”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, Min, really. All this time.”

Minho’s never been skydiving, but he imagines that this is what it feels like. Free falling—his soul hurtling towards earth at a horrifying speed, slamming back into his body right here in his living room with a force so strong it would knock him off his feet if he wasn’t already sitting on the floor. You were interested in him first.

Wordlessly, you lean forward, pulling out a piece with practiced ease. Minho waits with bated breaths.

“Can I kiss you?”

Minho feels like he might pass out. “Am I dreaming right now?”

“You didn’t pull out a piece.”

He scrambles forward, clumsily nudging a piece on the side that ends up sending the entire tower toppling over. You smile at him, soft and sweet. “Looks like you have to pay up with an answer. You know, since you lost.”

Minho doesn’t care. “Because I like you,” he breathes out, “I asked you on a date because I like you. I like you so much, ever since I saw you that day. And, funnily enough, I’ve always wished you’d spilled that coffee on me instead, too.”

The confession feels like a weight lifted off his shoulders. He’s spent so long pining after you, laying awake at night thinking about how this would go down if he ever got the chance. He never expected for it to happen like this, much less for you to possibly feel the same.

Panic slowly starts to rise in his chest when you don’t respond. He watches as you reach an arm over, build a small tower out of a few pieces, and then knock it over. You turn to him with a small smile, “Oops, I lost too.”

Minho is so in love with you that it hurts.

“I accepted the date because I like you, Minho. I’ve just been waiting for you to ask.”

He doesn’t think twice before he’s surging forward, cupping your face with one hand and kissing you with a tenderness that has you melting into his touch.

There’s no fireworks behind his eyes, no big bang or grand display of whatever it is that happens in the movies. But there’s a warmth, it starts out small in the center of his chest and spreads throughout his entire body, lights his skin aflame and travels all the way to his fingertips. You’re like that. A gentle presence, someone who worms their way into the very essence of his being and burrows into the deepest parts of him, like it was never his to begin with. Kissing you is slow, and deep, and right. He wouldn’t want it any other way. Minho doesn’t ever want to stop.

He lets his other hand fall to your waist, pulls you closer until you’re practically straddling him with his back against the couch, your knees on either side of his hips. Minho lets out a long, drawn out groan when you tilt his head back farther, his lips parting and allowing you to lick inside of his mouth. It’s so good. So good. He can’t believe he ever lived without knowing what this felt like; lived without ever having you this close before.

After a while, Minho reluctantly pulls back, holding you by the shoulders. When he looks up, your eyes are half-lidded. You look utterly debauched, cheeks pink and lips swollen from how hard they’d been pressed against his own. “We should probably slow down.” He tries hard to convince himself, too. “Talk about it all, you know? I don’t—this isn’t a one time thing for me. I don’t want it to be. I like you. I want you to know that.” He says softly, reaching up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear.

You lean into his hand, smiling when he flattens his palm to let your head rest there. “You’re like, so perfect that I want to kiss you until you forget your own name.”

Minho’s ears go red, his head falling forward until it rests against your collarbone. The feeling of his breath against your skin makes you laugh and run a hand through his hair, rubbing at the back of his neck fondly.

“This is gonna be so bad now that you say stuff like that.”

“Bad? No, I think it’s cute. You’re cute.”

“Shut up,” he whines, but there’s no bite to it. Not when he can look up and press a kiss to your lips. A dream come true. The entire world in his hands, exactly where it was always meant to be.

🏠

In the morning, when Jeongin comes back home, one hand covering his eyes just in case, he calls out,

“Everyone better be dressed! Or else I’m ripping up that napkin and making a new one with No fornicating on the furniture added into the fine print.”

When he doesn’t get a response, he rounds the corner, and finds the two of you nestled into the couch. Minho’s back is pressed into the cushions, his arms wrapped tightly around you as you nuzzle your face into his neck.

Jeongin huffs out a laugh, sends a quick text to Hyunjin that reads: Negative. Clothes are still on. But they’re so cute it’s almost sickening.

He snaps a picture to send to the group chat, grabs a piece of cold pizza, and retreats to his room.

Yang Jeongin Fanclub

jeongin: [Attachment: 1 image]

chan: AWWWWWWW

jiwoo: i’m gonna cry

changbin: dude is that the good pizza from down the street?

hyunjin: FINALLY

hyunjin: wait

hyunjin: does this mean i have to send back his $20?

[tags: @palindrome969 @summergirlsmj @n1staytiny @strwbrrychannie ]

© all rights reserved. godslino 2024. please do not steal, translate, or re-upload.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i’ll relearn love at our kitchen table ; satoru gojo

synopsis; satoru doesn’t quite know what love is supposed to feel like. but if it means coming home to you, it can’t possibly be that much of a curse.

word count; 4.9k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, satoru gojo vs. the mortifying ordeal of being loved, fluff fluff fluff!!, a hint of angst if you reeeaallyyy squint, gojo’s pov, the babygirlification of satoru gojo, i just think being babied would fix him <33

a/n; i wanted to write something for suguru or shoko but this man is genuinely holding my brain hostage atp so more satoru fluff it is!! physically i could write gojo angst yes but emotionally? imagine the toll…

when satoru steps over the threshold to your apartment, he’s downright exhausted.

it’s a heavy kind of fatigue, a little sickening. the kind that seems to sneak its way into his bones, crawl its way under his skin. dragging him down, down, down.

a yawn slips from his lips.

the mission itself wasn’t too tough — anything is a breeze for satoru gojo, that fact needs no elaboration. this one was just a little more taxing than usual, slightly more important, which meant he had to deal with the technicalities of it all. had to listen to the elders go on and on about the importance of discretion, about finishing things swiftly and efficiently, and something else he didn’t stick around long enough to hear.

and the curse? a small fry, really. nothing worth fussing over. but it was annoying, with that irritatingly effective barrier technique. how long did he have to stay inside that goddamn veil before it let him get close enough to land a hit? 

satoru doesn’t want to think about it, can’t be bothered to figure it out when all he wants is to collapse into the warm comfort of a soft mattress. all he knows is that when it finally lifted, the night sky was the only thing he could see. a vacuum of stars — taunting in its perpetuity.

so, with all that being said; to say satoru feels a little worn out might be a bit of an understatement. 

hair slightly tousled, eyelids heavy with sleep-deprivation, he slumps against the wall and allows himself to simply breathe. a soft groan flows from his parted lips as he stretches idly, a small respite for his stiff and achy joints, his tired muscles. 

it’s been a long day. but satoru still finds it in him to exhale a relieved breath, to drag his blindfold down to his neck and kick off his shoes.

because it’s been a long, long day — but now he’s finally home.

(not just a house, not just an apartment, but a home. a place of comfort and belonging. satoru didn’t think that was a luxury he would ever be able to afford.)

the moment he lets the door close behind him, a particular scent greets him. soothing in its familiarity, the only thing in his life that never seems to change; a blend between fresh laundry, and watered houseplants, and something that smells a bit like honey. maybe even sweeter than usual, though satoru chalks that up to his mind playing tricks on him. 

it’s nice. so nice. coming back to something warm and real, a respite from his hectic work. a safe haven, of sorts, one that hasn’t been taken from him just yet.

satoru likes to think of your front door as a threshold between realms, a gap between within and without. one is dark in its saturation, plagued by that never-fading smell of iron, while the other is simply warm. sacred in its normalcy. 

everything looks just as it should, the same as when he rushed out this morning; a fluffy blanket draped over the couch haphazardly, that soft golden light streaming out from the kitchen, your shoes by the front door.

satoru blinks, drowsily.

wait.

why is the kitchen light still on?

as if his eyes could ever deceive him, satoru rubs the skin under them groggily — blinking once, then twice. 

yep, it’s still there — that soft fluorescent glow. a sight he’s come to associate with breakfast and dinner and a mellow kind of love, laughter shared over warm meals made by human hands. food tastes better, satoru has come to realize, when you have someone to eat it with. 

ah, but it’s odd. did you forget to turn the lights off? that’s not very like you. 

as if possessed by a strange, irresistible longing, his feet carry him to the kitchen in question. undeniably groggy, his uncoordinated steps are riddled with fatigue, but the yearning in his chest compels him to move forward anyway — a kind of yearning he only fully understands when he enters the space, and sees you slumped over the table, a familiar flicker of cursed energy capturing his attention.

you’re asleep.

satoru stills, where he stands by the threshold between the kitchen and the living room.

everything looks the same as always — cookie jars placed on the highest shelf to give him an excuse to help you reach them, origami made from newspapers he never bothers to read anyway, a vase standing proudly on the kitchen counter, stuffed with fresh flowers he bought for you two days ago. 

the red roses still haven’t wilted, shining in the blue of the moonlight flickering in. good. they’re pretty, but maybe next time he should get you something more original. maybe some sunflowers, something that could rival the brightness of your smile. do they even sell sunflowers this time of year? if you were awake, satoru would ask you, even though you always tell him to just google it —

but you're not awake. you’re fast asleep, cheek squished against the kitchen table, snoring softly.

satoru feels his mood lift at the sight alone, and suddenly he doesn’t feel as tired anymore. something soft and almost otherworldly sprouts in his chest, as he takes you in, stepping closer. almost giddy, just to see you up close.

you look so peaceful and relaxed, so content. elbows resting on the table as soft little breaths fall from your parted lips; he spots a bit of drool on the corner of your bottom lip, gaze fond as he wipes it away with his thumb. he can’t resist the urge to poke your cheek, and it makes you stir ever so slightly — lips curling up into something akin to a sleepy smile.

satoru grins.

(you’re so cute.)

despite his fatigue, he hears himself chuckle, all soft and amused and a little bit lovesick. it comes to him so easily, when he’s with you; that upturn of his lips, the butterflies in his stomach.

satoru is still getting used to it. this cotton candy sweet, light as a feather kind of love. the kind that always feels like spring. but with every day that passes, the life he has with you becomes a little easier to digest. his future with you becomes a little easier to visualize.

yeah, he thinks. he could get used to this. coming home to you.

a soft smile, as he exhales a somewhat exasperated breath. you really shouldn’t be sleeping out here, though. silly.

satoru leans forward, inching closer to your pretty, sleeping face — he almost feels bad, waking you up like this. but he wants to hear your voice so badly.

so he cups your cheek, cold skin meeting warm, his hands still lingering with the bite of the midnight air. his fingertips tingle, buzzing with the body heat that trickles from your veins to his — one single touch is all it takes for him to soften.

the word that falls from his lips breaks the peaceful silence of the kitchen, breathing life into the moment. whispered into your ear, causing your brows to furrow as you gently slip from sleep’s embrace.

“baby…” 

satoru is smiling, when your eyelids flutter open. a sincere smile, reserved for you and his students. bathed in the mellow hue of the kitchen lamp’s illumination, a soft glow curls around the strands of his white hair, creating a halo of artificial light.

blinking sleepily, you gaze at him in silence. something shines in your eyes, something satoru tentatively recognizes as adoration. and he gazes right back at you, with heavy-lidded eyes and a lopsided smile. teasing, lighthearted. thumb smoothing over the apple of your cheek.

then he grins, hopelessly endeared. ”hey there, sleeping beauty.”

a yawn tumbles from your lips, and you lift yourself up. leaning into his touch. “toru…” you mumble, voice a little raspy but still oh so sweet.

satoru doesn’t say anything. he simply takes you into his arms, gently, touch so very delicate — as if you’re made of porcelain. and you just let yourself fall into his embrace, while he tucks you under his chin, safe and secure. 

it’s warm, he thinks. it feels right. complete, somehow.

and satoru thinks to himself that this must be what love feels like. what it’s supposed to feel like, anyhow, all sweet and light. all good and normal, something you never have to question. a cornerstone.

“you’re back…” you drawl, muffled into his uniform as your arms sneak around his thin waist. bringing him closer.

stroking the back of your head softly, satoru’s chest rumbles as he speaks, voice deep and a little raspy. soothing, a lullaby just for you. “yeah,” he hums. ”were you waiting?”

all you do is nuzzle further into his chest, cheek smooshed right over his heart; breathing out a sleepy little mhm that has him going weak at the knees, lips curling up helplessly.

“i wanted to…” you continue, stretching your arms a little to shrug away the remnants of sleep still clinging to your joints. “but i fell asleep.” 

satoru feels you move in his arms, until your jaw settles on top of his shoulder and you press a chaste kiss to his neck. an exhale leaves his lips, something tender in the way his breath wavers.

“welcome home,” is whispered, muffled against his skin. a sentence he never wants to go a single day without hearing. “did the mission go okay?”

he plants a kiss on top of your head, speaking in a low tilt, reassuring. “it did. just took a little longer than i thought.” a soft inhale, as he basks in the scent of your shampoo. “i wanted to text you, but the veil blocked my signal. sorry, sweetie.”

another soft yawn, and a shake of your head. “s’ fine, don’t worry,” you murmur. ”i’m just glad you’re okay.”

satoru chuckles. there’s a fondness to it, light. and then something else, something more heavy — it rumbles through his chest, almost like a purr, or a soothing thunderstorm. he can only hope it’s enough to comfort you.

“of course.” he says the words like they’re indisputable, like they’re written down in scriptures old and worn. cradling you in his strong arms, he pulls you closer to his chest. hoping you’ll feel his heartbeat against you, feel that he’s there. “i always am, aren’t i?”

no answer. only a tiny hum, absentminded.

and satoru knows, deep down, that his words don’t mean much. that a part of you is always going to worry over him, no matter how many times he tells you that there’s no need. that he’ll be fine.

the thought makes him feel a bit guilty. a little sick to his stomach, at the thought of being a source of your anxiety, the reason you can’t fall asleep at night — but he’d be lying if he said it didn’t also make him feel somewhat giddy. the thought tastes sweet, on his tongue, even though it probably shouldn’t.

having someone who worries for you is a luxury, satoru has come to realize. a luxury he has, now, one he hasn’t had since —

well. that’s neither here nor there.

(“be careful, satoru,” he recalls a kind boy saying.

but that was many, many springs ago.)

“oh, right.”

at the sound of your voice, satoru pulls away ever so slightly, gazing down at you. “hm?”

with a single step back, you look up at him. tilting your head. hands still resting securely on his waist, fingertips squeezing at his hips. lightly, affectionately. barely restrained fondness. ”have you had anything to eat yet?”

“yeah. got some takeout on my way back.”

satoru expects you to sigh in relief, at his instantaneous answer. you don’t like it when he skips meals, so these days he’s been trying not to do it as much. even though he doesn’t always have the time to eat properly, and even though the sweets he chews on between missions make him lose his appetite. but he makes an honest attempt, for you.

someone worries for him. someone wants him to eat well. that’s more than enough motivation for satoru gojo.

but you don’t exhale, and you don’t look very relieved, either. you look… disappointed. eyes suddenly glancing down at the floor, lips curled down into a barely noticeable frown. 

“oh,” you breathe. “okay. good.”

one second. then two. satoru tilts his head.

“why?” he stops to think. maybe… “did you make something?”

a certain recognition flickers in the depths of your eyes, and satoru thinks he must be right on the money. chewing at your bottom lip a little, you wait a moment before curling your fingers around his wrist — tugging him away from the kitchen table.

satoru follows, pliantly, until you’re standing in front of the fridge.

“well, um… here,” you mumble, somewhat sheepishly. fingers tapping at the handle before pulling it open. “take a look.”

satoru watches as the fridge door opens, slowly.

he blinks.

the first thing he sees is a single slice of strawberry shortcake. the strawberry looks fresh, glittering like a ruby on top of the softly whisked cream — and layers of sponge cake, that look like they’d melt in his mouth.

and that’s not all. there are a wide array of baked treats stuffed into the cramped space, protected by plastic wrapping and containers. everything from cupcakes with too much frosting — just the way he likes them — to chocolate chip cookies that crumble at the corners, satoru never seems to run out of things to look at. colourful treats, lovingly made and sitting right in front of him. it’s like he’s standing in a patisserie. they almost seem to sparkle, in the peripheral of his vision; glimmering softly, tantalizingly, like something out of a dream.

childish. that’s what nanami and shoko always call him, and he always protests, but —

maybe they have a point, after all. satoru certainly feels a little childish, when he realizes his eyes must be wide and bursting with child-like giddiness. a simple kind of joy, at seeing the ample selection in front of him. especially after that tedious mission prevented him from getting any sugar into his system.

”i did my best,” you mutter, sharing the sight with him as your eyes trail over a pretty bag of pink and green macarons. ”dunno if they turned out any good, but… i hope you’ll like them.”

satoru’s gaze flits over to you. 

he opens his mouth, and then closes it again.

”did you… make these?” a beat. ”for me?”

a blink. ”.. yeah?” who else would they be for?, your eyes seem to say. a little confused.

for a second, satoru can only stare at you. in complete silence, the tired cogs inside his head turning sluggishly as he thinks about the implications of that answer. and with a soft flutter, he feels his heartbeat pick up, warming him up from the inside out. 

you made them. with your own hands. you made all of these and you did it for him.

for some reason, satoru finds it oddly hard to speak, like someone stuffed a bunch of cupcakes down his throat. it’s weird — usually he can’t seem to stop talking, especially not when he’s with you, but… 

(something about this is just too tender.)

you must have been baking all day. no wonder the apartment smelled sweeter than usual, when he walked in.

as if itching to curl around one of the macarons, his fingers twitch, but satoru gulps and keeps them still. he wants to say something, anything, wants to thank you or ask why you’d spend so much of yourself on him, but satoru only stays silent.

and maybe it’s because he’s tired. maybe he’s just a little caught off guard. usually this wouldn’t be that hard to handle — he could just throw himself on you and shower you in kisses, show his appreciation with a flurry of dramatics and declarations of love. 

but right now there seems to be a disconnect, between satoru’s mind and body. maybe the mission drained him more than he realized. or maybe it’s more than that, maybe there’s nothing he can say or do; what words could he even begin to use to properly verbalize the emotions he’s feeling right now? how could his touch ever begin to measure up to the sweet sensation unfurling in his chest?

the silence doesn’t last long. as satoru stands there and spirals, you speak up, most likely chalking it up to him being too sleepy to react. 

”this mission was especially rough, right?” you begin, with a soft tilt of your head. a smile curls its way onto your lips, proud and sweet. sweeter than everything in the fridge combined.

one step, then two. you inch closer to him, until there’s almost no space between you — standing on your tiptoes, one hand on his shoulder and the other reaching for his head. smoothing down his tousled hair, fingers tangling themselves between the soft white strands and getting lost in them. and it’s gentle, the way you begin to pat his head, doting. 

then you speak. ”you did well.”

and it’s such a simple thing to say. three words, three syllables, but the words just tumble out from your mouth so earnestly that satoru can’t help but still. his breath hitches in his throat, softly, barely noticeable, but it’s there. that surprise.

he never knows how to act, when you get like this. patting his head and ruffling his hair like he’s something warm and sweet and worthy of love. something delicate, and not the strongest man on the planet. 

it’s so weird. you’re so weird.

(satoru leans into your touch without thinking, allowing his eyes to flutter shut.)

it’s perplexing, this feeling, and the fact that he can’t pinpoint why frustrates him to no end. isn’t this wrong? shouldn’t he be the one ruffling your hair, coddling you?

what formula is he supposed to follow here, exactly? should he tease you? pull away from your touch?

satoru wishes his six eyes could tell him the answer, but they don’t. they’ve never been very good with emotions, with things that aren’t directly tied to his suffering or imminent death.

(so ironic. all these eyes and nothing to see. they failed to see suguru’s silence, back then, and now they fail to see what reaction would please you the most. 

really, such a worthless ability to love people with.)

no answer comes to him. so satoru doesn’t tease you, and he doesn’t pull away.

it does feel slightly wrong, though. like this feeling isn’t something he’s supposed to have, there must be some mistake, he can’t possibly be allowed to feel so loved — can he? having you bake him all his favorite treats, run your fingers through his hair. praise him for working hard.

really. isn’t he being too coddled?

(… but it feels so nice.)

satoru suspects that there’s a lot to love he might not fully understand, just yet.

maybe tomorrow, when he’s a little less tired, he can try once again to give you the impression that he’s perfect. that he doesn’t need affection, that he doesn’t crave your support or your touch. that he’s above all that, the strongest, someone for you to depend on.

depend on him, while he depends on no one. that’s the kind of existence satoru gojo is. that’s how it should be, that’s all he knows, but…

— ah. it feels really nice when your nails scratch his scalp like that.

and suddenly, that’s all satoru can think. no more pesky what-ifs, or second guessing every good thing he gets. right now, it’s just you and him. your fingers in his hair, his footprints in your life.

satoru allows himself to melt under your touch, almost meekly. leaning down just a little further, to make it easier for you to smooth your hand over his head. he nuzzles into your palm with a happy little exhale, and for some reason he feels sort of bashful.

try as he might, he doesn’t manage to successfully shoo the emotion away, so all he can do is hope you don’t take note of it.

and you just continue your onslaught of affection, now ruffling his hair with both your hands, like he’s a big puppy getting cooed over. satoru has a nagging suspicion that you might be getting a little carried away, but he doesn’t stop you. greedy, in the way he wishes your hands would never leave his hair. the way he hopes you’ll never be too far away from him to reach.

”such a hard worker,” you coo, and he feels himself grow flustered. ”my baby deserves so much love.”

”woah there,” satoru chokes out, grinning, desperately hoping you won’t notice the red tint to his ears. ”are you flirting with me? i have a partner, you know.”

a giggle slips from your lips, sleepy and amused. ”oh, do you?” one of your hands goes to cup his cheek,  thumb caressing the edge of his jaw as you gaze at him fondly. ”lucky them.”

the grin you’re wearing is awfully bright. soft around the edges in a way that has him speechless, brain malfunctioning ever so slightly. satoru makes a mental note to scrap the sunflower idea — there has to be some brighter flower out there, one that can actually compete with your smile. sunflowers just won’t cut it.

but then you let go, and satoru gets broken out of his lovesick stupor.

when your hands leave his skin, his lips curl down into a soft pout. one he rushes to smooth away, before you can notice it.

you step back, failing to stifle a soft bout of laughter, but satoru knows it’s not because you saw it — he knows because your gaze is glued to his hair, and he internally winces when he thinks about how messy it must look, after your little bout of cuteness aggression. 

(you really are weird, finding him cute of all things.)

he expects you to tease him a little more, but you don’t, turning away and tapping your fingers on the kitchen counter. ”if i’d known you’d be home this late,” you speak, stealing one last glance at the pastries before closing the fridge. ”then i would’ve waited until tomorrow. so you could eat them fresh.”

an apology rests on satoru’s tongue, but as if sensing it, you rush to reassure him.

”ah, but this is fine too! they should still taste good!” you turn away, muttering. ”… hopefully.”

then you nod to yourself, crossing your arms absentmindedly. 

satoru looks at you for a second. 

then he steps forward, unable to resist the temptation — tapping at your wrist with the pads of his fingers, before gently curling them around it, coaxing you into turning your head towards him.

the kiss he presses to your lips is soft, delicate. his fingers trace along your jaw, cupping your cheek and tilting your face up slightly, just letting his warm lips rest against yours. sweet and chaste. he sighs into the kiss, content, and feels your pulse pick up.

then he moves down to your jaw, slow and methodical — lazy kisses, sleepy but so full of affection. and little pecks, scattered all over your lips, your cheek, the tip of your nose.

you seem to melt a little, against him, and satoru relishes in it; his ability to make you relax. far more valuable than the six eyes, he would argue.

when he pulls away from you, with what takes tremendous self-restraint, he’s smiling. his gaze meets yours, layered over with pure adoration, blue eyes crinkling as he looks at you. as if you’re his entire world. the kitchen light embraces him, cascading down the contours of his face; the bridge of his nose, the curve of his jaw, his barely noticeable dimples.

and there it is, again — that flicker of love in your eyes, that adoration. as if you’re looking at a painting, something too beautiful for words.

(satoru hopes you can see that very same adoration, reflected in his eyes as he looks at you.)

after a moment, he leans forward, to rest his jaw on the curve of your shoulder. you stumble a little under the weight, caged in as his arms hug your midriff.

”god,” he sighs, breathless, heavy with giddy disbelief. almost whining when he continues, nuzzling into your neck as if to hide. ”why are you so perfect, huh? i don’t get it.”

at that, you huff out a laugh, an amused little breath. wrapping your arms around his neck and scratching softly at his nape. satoru shudders just a little, arms tightening around you.

”stealing my line…” you mutter, accusatory, smile laced over with a honeyed affection. 

another amused breath, this time from him. this is one battle he won’t let you win. ”nah,” he grins, tugging you closer. ”’s mine.”

this is warm, he thinks. this feels right. complete, in a way that satoru never understood before you.

he could probably stand there forever, just basking in it. soaking up your body heat and the smell of your shampoo. until your warmth is all he knows, until he can never get your scent off his skin.

and satoru thinks that he could get used to this. a cotton candy sweet, light as a feather kind of love, one that smells like spring and tastes like strawberry shortcakes and feels like tight hugs shared in kitchens.

your love makes him feel so human. and it’s scary, terrifying even, but it's also too good to pass up. it’s worth the risk. so worth everything.

a yawn leaves your lips, suddenly. satoru feels you soften in his embrace, nuzzling closer to him, stumbling just a tad; he doesn’t think it’s fair, for such a simple gesture to make him as happy as it does.

”sleepy?” he coos, smile giddy and fond. ”let’s go to bed, okay? no more sleeping on the kitchen table, silly.”

a disgruntled little huff resounds throughout the air, as you let your arms fall to your sides. ”that’s on you,” you declare, poking the plush of his chest with your finger. ”i only fell asleep because you took so long.”

a teasing glint flickers in satoru’s eyes.

”wanted to see me that badly, huh?” he coos. you roll your eyes, and he pulls your cheek. ”that’s cute.”

”so what if i did?”

satoru stills. you’re smiling, a little mischievous, but mostly sincere. and it really is very unfair of you, he thinks — to do this to him while his guard is down. 

but he manages to pull himself together, raising an amused eyebrow and booping your nose in a way that catches you off guard. blinking up at him, eyelashes fluttering. 

satoru clears his throat. ”well, that’s sweet.”

then he turns on his heel, suddenly, and strolls over to the fridge. ”but you know what’s even sweeter?” he chirps, fingers curling around the handle as he swiftly pulls it open. 

licking his lips, absentmindedly, his eyes trail over all the different pastries. so close yet so far, just out of reach; his fingers move forward, towards that mesmerizing slice of strawberry shortcake —

”— no.”

a hand settles on satoru’s waist, and tugs him away from his well-deserved prize. taking advantage of his momentary surprise, you close the fridge decisively, and give him an unimpressed raise of your eyebrow.

satoru whines, loud and grating. pouting sweetly, trying to make you feel bad. ”c’mon, just one bite —”

”no.”

”but they’re for me!”

”they’re for you to eat tomorrow. i was only gonna let you eat them tonight if you were on the brink of starvation, or something.”

”i am!”

”so the takeout was a lie?” you narrow your eyes at him, suddenly suspicious. ”have you been skipping meals, again?”

satoru pauses. weighing his options. ”well, no, but…”

”— then no.”

another soft whine. you turn away from him, when he tilts his head and gives you his best set of puppy dog eyes. in fear of giving in to them, satoru knows, as you have so many times before. ”please?” he tries, to no avail.

”you’re not eating sweets before bed, satoru,” you deadpan, and his smile falls further, exaggerated. ”and no, we are not having that conversation again.”

he can tell you’re trying to sound stern, but a giggle tumbles from your lips nonetheless, at the ridiculousness of the situation. keeping a grown man away from your fridge, knowing that he’ll wolf down every pastry he sees and get himself sick if you don’t. all while the man in question whines at you in protest, frowing so deeply, disappointment evident on his features.

(except satoru really isn’t very disappointed at all. like this, he gets to stare at your smile all he wants, after all; knowing you won’t notice it, too busy trying to keep yourself from giving in to his pleas.)

he tries again, one last time. just because he knows it’ll make you laugh. you do, a little exasperated, and satoru couldn’t be happier. 

and he thinks to himself that if this is what love is, if this is what it’s supposed to feel like, then it can’t possibly be that much of a curse. 

maybe he should revise the hypothesis, get a second opinion. he’ll have to ask you tomorrow, over pastries and coffee, and hear what you have to say.

as you both stumble to the bedroom, sleepy and a little delirious, satoru thinks that maybe this is enough; the lighthearted banter, the fond laughter. everything good and real and normal, within the space of your apartment, a home he never thought he’d have.

(and maybe, a second opinion isn’t necessary, after all. maybe it doesn’t really matter if love is a curse or not, as long as he gets to share it with you, like this.)

that night, satoru dreams. curled up with you beneath the blankets, limbs tangled together, as if he could never be close enough.

he dreams of kitchen lights, of sweet treats and warm hands. of spring breezes, and a love he’s finally beginning to accept for what it is:

good. wholly and thoroughly.

[twilghtkoo]

pairings. jungkook x reader (f)

genre. fluff, established relationship

warnings. mentions of the anime jujutsu kaisen, reader is a tease, one use of the word d3ad

notes. i’m still thinking about this live and i keep seeing clips of him on my fyp and i got an idea 💡 so enjoy this brain dump of vivian loving jungkooooook :3

[ masterlist ]

—

the sight you walked into was an amusing one, because why is your boyfriend in your kitchen vacuuming the air?

“what in the world are you doing?” you laugh out loud, startling him before he whips around and the loud noise of the appliance stops suddenly.

he relaxes once he sees it’s you, placing down the vacuum in its rightful spot.

“there was fruit flies in here, i told myself i’m not eating my lunch until all of them are gone.” he tells you, dragging his feet towards you to embrace you in his arms.

he dramatically drops his dead weight on you making you grunt. “oof- my big boy.” you coo, one hand is placed on his hip while the other is patting his head affectionately.

“always taking care of the critters in here, my hero!” you praise the man in your arms, knowing he thrives off it.

he giggles at that, releasing himself from you before sitting himself at the kitchen table. uncovering his plate of food that you assumed was to protect it from the annoying flies.

“you want some baby?” he generously asks you, his big doe eyes staring up at you patiently.

you hum, stepping towards him to peek at his food. “that does look yummy, can i just have a bite?”

jungkook scoots his chair back and widens his legs before patting his thigh for you to sit on.

you shake your head. “i just want a bite, i don’t want all of it.”

“i’m not giving you all my food dummy, i just want you to sit with me. please?” he pouts.

you roll your eyes but take a seat like he asked. he carefully picks up a ratio of each meat and rice before feeding you.

he doesn’t feast on his own til he sees that your satisfied with his creations, carefully gazing up at your eyes for any reactions.

“mmmm,” your eyes light up. “that’s delicious babe.”

he grins at that and eats a spoonful for himself. you throw your arm over his shoulders, rubbing his back and shoulders.

“we can start our anime today.” he says with his mouth full, something you always nag at him for because it’s gross. you don’t even have to say anything because you stare at him and he just quietly apologizes with his bunny teeth peeking out.

“oh yeah, jujutsu kaisen. we can watch that when you’re done, prepare snacks and everything and cuddle on the couch.” you clasp your hands together with excitement.

your eyes roam down to the silver chain dangling from his neck, a familiar silver ring hanging in the middle.

“oh you put it on a necklace,” you let out a small gasp, picking up the silver band from the chain with your thumb and pointer finger as you look closely at it.

the ring you gifted him on his birthday last year. not an engagement ring and not really a promise ring. but it does hold a lot of love from you to him.

“yeah, i didn’t really wanna wear rings today but i always wear this one so i decided to put it on one of my chains.”

you nod your head in a fond manner. “reminds me of yuta and rika.”

“except you’re not dead and i’m not cursed.” he points out.

you chuckle, “exactly.”

with the ring still between your fingers, you mindlessly loop your finger through it and lightly tug at it.

“baby, i’m trying to take a bite and you’re pulling me.”

you smirk, “give me a kiss and i’ll let you eat.”

you don’t have to tell him twice. he’d do anything to kiss you.

without a thought, he leans in and kisses you quickly, ending it with a loud ‘mwah’.

you scoff, tugging him with his necklace still looped around your finger. “what kind of kiss was that?”

“a jungkook one.”

you roll your eyes, tugging at the chain again to pull him closer towards you, both of you were so close that you just had to pucker your lips for yours to reach his. jungkook’s breath was wavering as he stared at your parted lips.

smirking, you slowly tilt your head and lean in watching as his eyes flutter shut and his lips parted, ready to kiss you the way you wanted to be kissed.

you gazed at him with a slick grin, enchanted by the look of lust on his face. when he kept leaning in, chasing for your lips until he couldn’t feel yours he pulls away frustratingly, opening his eyes.

he pouts, “what’re you doing? kiss me!” he whines out, poking your side making you jolt on his lap.

“okay, okay, sorry. you look cute before you kiss me by the way.” you grinned widely.

jungkook dead stares at you, growing impatient by the second.

“sorry baby,” you muttered before pulling him in for a hard kiss.

[anabdaniels]

How much does devotion weigh?

Paring: chubby!Agent Whiskey x Plus size female reader

Summary: Your thoughts about your husband's appearance end up on a good morning sex or Jack became chubby after retiring from Statesman and reader is obsessed with it.

Word counting: 1.5k

Rating: +18

Warnings: Fingering, unprotected sex, creampie, body worship (if you squint), retired chubby Jack (c'mon, it's too lovely to not be warned).

A/N: So, we all saw the Eddington BTS pics and we're collectively deceased. Not surprisingly, while everyone was like "OMG that's Javi" my Daniels-obsessed brain could only scream "THAT'S JACK AFTER RETIRE FROM STATESMAN AND GET HIS RANCH" so here we are.

Divider from: @saradika-graphics

Masterlist

You sighed as your husband’s breath tickled your nape, his warm chest pressed against your bare back. You’ve been awake for a good time, but with no intention to go anywhere, after all, you had no reason to do such a thing, nothing could compete with spending a cold morning snuggling in the comfortable arms of your cowboy.

Being that quiet and comfortable, your brain started to make you think way too much; you hated every minute of the period of your relationship you had to deal with Jack disappearing in whatever place Statesman needed him to, letting you completely clueless about when you would talk to him again, how long would take for him to come back home or even if he really would come back. Now that all those agonizing days were just a memory of a distant past, you sure still hated Statesman for having kept your man away from you all those times, but at that very moment, being so well snuggled in his arms, you surely would never forgive Statesman for have kept his comfortable shape away from your hands for so long.

Yes, even during his more fit period, Jack had that soft stomach you always went feral for, but since his retirement, he had converted to your real-life-sized teddy bear. His arms still were strong and muscular, which couldn’t be different with the amount of manual work he did daily around the ranch, but now they were chubbier and softer, like the rest of him. You couldn’t be more grateful for his taste in jeans, because, if those vacuum-packed pairs looked good before, now that they had to be a size bigger because Jack’s thighs, hips, and ass had grown, you were doing no better than a man when it came to having your eyes glued on his rear back while he did anything.

You smiled when you felt Jack moving on the bed, leaning his head forward and kissing your shoulder lazily as he woke up, tightening his embrace around you, which was more than enough to set fire to your whole body. You turned on the bed to face him, smiling at how handsome Jack could look with his eyes half-lidded and his recently awake lazy face; his estimated mustache, millimetrically trimmed as always, looked good like never on his now slightly rounded face. Without second thoughts, you leaned your hands on his cheeks, gently squeezing them while tucking yourself even more against Jack, hanging one of your legs around his hip.

“Are we well woke up, hum?” Jack teased and leaned to nibble your chin while moving one hand up and down your back, causing you to shiver all over since being a full-time ranch owner had made his hands rougher over time.

“Can you blame me for it? You have no idea how hard it is to wake up with such a hot thing on my bed every day.” You said completely shamelessly, moving one of your hands down his chest, sighing audibly with the merle feeling of his soft form under your palm.

“And here I was, thinking I should start to workout again.” He retorted with a chuckle.

“You wouldn’t dare.” You answered more quickly and worried than you planned to, but it was a genuine reaction. You felt your libido getting wilder at every pound he gained over time, you couldn’t bear the idea of him losing them.

“Wasn’t you that said that I was crazy for not being happy every time you planned to do some unnecessary diet?” he raised one eyebrow with a cocky smirk.

“Fine, I may have understood what you meant when you said that a couple of pounds more wouldn’t hurt anyone.” You admitted with a playful smile, unconsciously squeezing his soft stomach.

“Then is a no for the workout?” Jack questioned teasingly, pressing your body against his.

“Is a definitely obviously explicit unnegotiable no, Daniels.” You said emphatically, melting a bit with the feeling of his body glued on yours and leaning forward to kiss him.

Jack moved one hand up your back, sinking his fingers in your hair and pulling it softly as his other arm kept firmly rounding your waist. A popsicle in the sun would be more undamaged than you at that moment. You weren’t even consciously moving your hands while they groped every inch of Jack’s torso you could reach, especially when you squeezed his soft love handle; you never understood all the times Jack said how much he loved to grab your soft curves, especially your rounded stomach and abundant love handles, but now you were comprehending everything. You always saw a bit of weight gain as the end of the world when it was with you, but at moment Jack gained the first couple of pounds, you were about to climb up the walls wanting to grab every part of him.

And Jack was completely aware of that. He never doubted that you were deeply attracted to him, but when he realized that your libido seemed to magically have increased at the same pace that he became thicker, it felt like a breath of fresh air. Aside from his cocky and full-of-himself manner, for a moment Jack wondered if you would be okay with the body changes the retirement brought and couldn’t be more relieved with your little obsession towards his new form.

Having you so needy and melted between his arms, Jack couldn’t do more than move further, letting go of your waist to sneak one hand between your legs, smirking as he felt you already wet and pulsing on his fingers. With no flourishes, he started to rub your throbbing clit, taking a squeaky whimper from you as your nails sank into his chubby waist. Unable to hold his huge need, Jack slid inside you, smiling against your lips as you moaned and pulled him with your leg, getting even more turned on by the soothing feeling of his soft stomach pressing against yours.

Despite being drunk on pleasure you managed to open your eyes while resting your forehead on his, your hands still caressing and squeezing all over him as much as it was possible. Got on the moment as much as you, Jack grabbed your thick thigh that was on top of him, pulling you closer as he rolled slightly to the side, getting half on top of you and letting his body weight partially over yours, that being enough to send you to heaven; you always loved how you felt small under him, which gained a boost with his extra weight.

With one elbow resting on the mattress, Jack leaned to kiss you again, keeping his hold on your thigh as he intensively fucked you; the increasing of your libido had thrown his sex drive at the height too, especially after got rid of all his stress of working for Statesman.

You hung both of your arms around his neck as you melted under Jack, tightening your leg around his hip as that knot started to build on your lower stomach. Conscious of the effects he had on you, Jack slightly leaned his head back, letting go of your thigh and grabbing your jaw, staring deep into your eyes as he made sure to let his upper body brush against yours, causing you to whimper and contort, unwrapping your arms from his neck just to touch his shoulders and biceps, aware that you could cry if you thought too much about how handsome he was and how lucky you were for being married to him.

As your eyes started to roll back on their orbits and your eyelids fell closed, you felt Jack letting go of your jaw to move his hand between your legs but he didn’t get the chance to make it, once you fell apart on an orgasm even before his fingers reached the level of your stomach. You whined and sank your face into the curve of his neck, feeling your senses cloudy and your cunt pulsing around his cock. With a soothing caress on your nape, Jack kissed the top of your head, letting his face rest there and groaning quietly against your hair as he filled you up.

After a moment, Jack rested by your side, letting an arm around your torso and one leg between yours. You turned your head lazily to look at him when his fingers caressed your waist, smiling when you found him looking at you.

“Can I ask you something?” you whispered and he promptly nodded “Do you have any unavoidable plan for today?”

“Not actually.” Jack answered with a soft frown, curious about what you had in mind.

“Very good.” You said while tucking yourself against his chest “Because I have no intention of letting you get out of this bed so soon.”

Just casually tagging some besties that might be interested on this (and to say hi after I disappeared for weeks): @missladym1981 @tuquoquebrute @iloveenya @sevillagrenada @pedroshotwifey

[cricketnationrise]

hello! :) THIS IS SO CUTE I CAN'T WAIT FOR A POSSIBLE CRICKET EXCLUSIVE!! because i am obsessed with u fr but that's common knowledge. <3

for the ficlet fest, if you'd like:

time stamp: 2:23am

location: brownstone

character: alex/henry

song: this is me trying by taylor swift (only if you want!!!!!!!)

rating: whatever you'd like

but like you can go any direction with this I'm just always projecting my adhd/anxiety/not good enough feelings onto alex on a regular basis :')

my ao3: firenati0n | Archive of Our Own (same as tumblr user)

THANK YOU SO MUCH! SENDING LOVE XOXO

your cricket exclusive is here! i actually went full on henry pov with this one bc my brain got stuck on the trying of it all. so have some first post-canon fight make up. this is actually the longest ficlet yet, but somehow i don't think that'll be a problem 😂 💜🦗

read the rest of the ficlets here!

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

2:32am, brownstone

The brownstone is quiet when he returns, which is completely reasonable for just after two-thirty in the bloody morning. 

It’s also immaculate, which is decidedly less so, especially considering the state of the place when Henry stomped out a few hours ago. 

The hallway is clear of trip hazards, shoes neatly in the rack. The kitchen gleams in the range hood light; counters clear and wiped down, small appliances lined up as precisely as Buckingham guards. Peeking his head in the for-once dark office reveals two tidy desks, chairs pushed in, and both of their laptops plugged in and charging. 

The den at the base of the stairs makes Henry pause. The stacks of books have been put away. The coasters on the coffee table have been relieved of their burdens of half-drunk tea cups and abandoned coffee mugs. In the dim light from the street lamps through the window, Henry can even see vacuum lines in the carpet. A second glance has Henry taking cautious steps inside.

There is one thing out of place after all. 

On the couch, propped on a few of the numerous throw pillows Pez insisted upon, and tucked into the quilt Ellen sent them, is Alex. Like an anchor to the ocean floor, Henry is drawn into the room, and to Alex’s side. 

He kneels between the coffee table and the couch near Alex’s head and just looks for a long moment. Alex clearly hasn’t been sleeping well. The couch is too short, even for Alex’s shorter frame, so his legs are tucked uncomfortably. His curls are more of a wild mess than normal, like he’s been tugging at them. Alex is gripping the quilt as tightly as he normally clutches Henry, and there’s deep furrows on his forehead. 

Henry should let him sleep, probably—neither of them have been sleeping all that well. Increased paparazzi presence as Alex’s first semester of law school starts and Henry takes a more active role in the shelter has been stressful. But Henry can’t help but reach out and try to smooth those lines on his forehead. Something churning and tense settles inside him when his gentle touch has Alex’s eyes blinking open, a small smile on his face when he recognizes Henry.. 

“You came back.”

“Of course I did, love.”

Alex exhales messily, blinking back tears now. “I wasn’t sure— After earlier—”

Henry shushes him with a hand on his cheek. “I will always come back to you. Promised I was done being an obtuse fuckin’ asshole, didn’t I?”

“You still left, though,” Alex says.

It’s Henry’s turn to fight back tears. “I could hear myself sounding more and more like Philip at his worst. It scared me. I didn’t want to subject you to that, to even inadvertently use my knowledge of you as a weapon. So I left before words I didn’t actually mean could find their mark.” He sways forward, resting his forehead on Alex’s, needing to be closer. “You deserve more than sharply aimed words, especially when you haven’t done a thing wrong.” 

“Hen…”

“I’m sorry Alex. I shouldn’t have— I knew it would be different once the paparazzi got wind of our plans, but I wasn’t prepared for how much more invasive they would feel. I’m having a hard time adjusting to life beyond Kensington’s thick walls and I started to take it out on you.”

Alex’s hand pulls on his shoulder. “C’mere.”

Henry climbs onto the couch and sprawls undignified on top of Alex, tucking his head into the crook of his neck. Alex’s hands, as ever, hold him steady, rubbing large circles across his back.

“There were two people in our fight, Henry. You aren’t the only one struggling. Or taking it out on the person he loves.” He presses a kiss to Henry’s temple. “I could hear echoes of my parents, but couldn’t figure out how to stop the word vomit. And that scared me—I never want you and I to be like them.”

Henry pulls his head back to meet his gaze fiercely. “Never.”

Alex smiles at his vehement tone, but it's got a rueful edge to it. “We’re gonna have to figure out how to talk about this stuff before it blows up in our faces again.” 

“Not tonight, though?”

“Nah, not tonight.” 

They’re quiet for a long moment, curled around each other on the couch, when a niggling thought finds its way past Henry’s lips. 

“Alex?”

“Hmm?”

“Why were you on the couch? Did you— Did you not want to be in our room?”

Alex holds him tighter. “I— You left and— So I was cleaning, and I did this room last, and when I was done there was no way stairs were happening, so I just collapsed here. I didn’t  actually think I'd fall asleep, I don't usually when you aren’t right next to me.”

“So it wasn’t because you wanted space from me?”

“Fucking hell, baby. No, I never want space. I want the opposite of space from you. If I could figure out a way to crawl into your rib cage every night I would.”

“Oh.” The last bit of tension leaves Henry’s body at that and he relaxes fully on top of Alex. 

“Yeah, oh.” Alex chuckles. “But, as nice as you feel on top of me, it’s late and this couch ain’t big enough for the two of us.” 

“You fit on it better than I do,” Henry can’t help but tease.

“First of all, rude. Second of all, I also have to pee so get up before I shove you off.” 

Reluctantly, Henry stands and reaches down to help Alex up after him. Henry folds the quilt and hangs it over the back of the couch, smoothing the last wrinkles with his hand. When he straightens up, Alex is only halfway up the stairwell. 

“Meet you in bed?” Alex whispers.

Henry climbs up to meet him. “Always, love.”

[thedragonsfate]

FHJY thoughts under the cut bc I gotta sort my brain and can't be succinct to save my life

I think there's something interesting in acknowledge like

of COURSE Kipperlily underestimated the bad kids.

She's hated these kids from day 1. I know a lot of people want to acknowledge that it's not unreasonable for Kipperlily and the rat grinders to think the school is run unfairly (and you're right! it's a fair conclusion)

-- but we also gotta consider that this is something that took root in her VERY EARLY. Before the bad kids got really very good. Two bad kids die on the first day of school, they spend a significant amount of their second semester freshman year just. In Prison.

Of course what follows I'm sure spurs that hatred, but she all but declared Riz to be her nemesis with Jawbone freshman year.

She's probably got some good ideas of how stuff should change, but also she saw this random Goblin boy with a briefcase in rogue class and decided she Hates Him, for a reason none of us can fathom when several of the other bad kids give off worst first impressiona

She's a teenager, a kid, with anger issues. As much as their can be important nuggets at the core of her motives, she's a teenager without emotional regulation skills. That combination is BUILT to breed resentment and feelings of entitlement. and it's built to actively ignore any evidence of a different perspective.

We talk about how she doesn't understand them, takes Kristen as entirely uncaring, doesn't expect the bad kids to do so well in the Last Stand

and OF COURSE she doesn't. some of this because she of course is not privy to all of the bad kids interactions that we are as an audience. but a lot of it is probably because she's a teenager who's decided she's being slighted and as a result is never going to take the bad kids actions on good faith. she's doubled down and while I have a feeling she's extremely perceptive, she's also in an emotional place that means she probably is ACTIVELY ignoring any evidence to the fact that maybe the bad kids are just ALSO working very hard, and that the school itself may also work against them sometimes.

Add to that a god corrupted into rage (negative in this case) and conquest, and a nefarious faculty member as a potentially directly manipulative adult in her life trying to make something big and destructive happen. Kipperlily strikes me as the kind of person who knows she's smart, and knows she's clever, but is so blinded by her emotion that she is probably missing some of whats clearly in front of her as far as all the Jace business goes. She certainly is about the bad kids.

Jawbone can only do so much to help her in her sessions if he's being actively worked against. Emotional regulation is hard to learn from zero AS AN ADULT and she's probably coming from the negatives if my impression is correct, and is doing so as a teenager.

I guess what I'm trying to say is like

In a vacuum? Sure augeforts comment about trying being stupid or whatever does seem like another slap in the face for Kipperlily, one that justifies some of her feelings.

But not about the bad kids. and not to the extent she has taken them.

And to take that at its word feels weird to me because. To anybody paying attention? The bad kids are and have been trying SO SO hard in class. Them having to take the last stand in the FIRST place is specifically because the school system is treating Kristen unfairly DESPITE her best, GOOD efforts. I'm certain the rat grinders are on some level aware of Gorgugs EXTREMELY uphill battle with schoolwork this season, even if it's just Maryann catching part of a convo with Porter or Ruben hearing about it from his uncle. I HIGHLY doubt that Oisin was oblivious to the way that Adaines academics were affected by her not having the money for the correct materials - she still was able to excel mostly but the effects of that roll being at disadvantage for so long are still THERE. Jawbone pinned down and mentioned to Riz his similarities to Kipperlily within maybe 2 seconds - there is 0% chance he hasn't brought something similar up in Kipperlilys sessions. She may not like it, she may not have the emotional intelligence to see it this way, but his efforts almost certainly mirror hers in a way that makes them equally hard workers, absolutely determined to keep themselves afloat despite it being an uphill battle. Something that she feels she deserves to be rewarded for, and to an extent implies that if just a few circumstances were different she would be able to see equal value in his work.

And sure you can say she may be able to see that and be angry that their work is rewarded and hers isn't, but we see time and time again that she and her party don't always put that same level of work in? Mary Ann at blood rush, absolutely uncaring but doing well specifically because she's got some magical enhancements. The suspicious circumstances of Kipperlily finding the Rogue teacher. Even just the natural advantage of Oisin having more than the funds he needs to excel in wizard class.

But even regardless of that, she seems to refuse to see that any scenario in which others are praised for the same thing she's done, while she is ignored etc, is the sole responsibility of the school here. the bad kids are not her enemies in that fight - augefort is. The bad kids are not going around being consistently given advantages from the school, they're earning the things they get and hitting their own academic road blocks, and they aren't acting better than other people in a way that goes beyond like. Teen stuff. And yet her sights are trained so unblinking on them.

I can see Fabian and Kristen's popularity and personalities coming off like it supports that they're being treated better or feel some superiority. And it's teen stuff to quietly hate those ppl at your school! it's p normal!

But it always brings me back to her SPECIFICALLY hating Riz. Bc Riz isn't a rich kid throwing parties that everyone loves. Hes not sniping out comebacks the way Kristen does, sometimes without even thinking. In a lot of ways he's the/one of the least abrasive of the group to an outsider. Which makes me SO much more inclined to call bullshit that this is truly, honestly rooted in an acknowledgement of any of the REAL problems that come up with their school system.

It's complex, but I feel like we can't exalt their perspective as a Truth of the world like it seems some folks do when these characters themselves do not play fairly. What is fair about the way they interfered with the exam. What is fair about what she did so easily to Buddy Dawn. What is fair about the murder of the couple that owned that farm. Depending on what happened - what is fair from them about Lucy's murder. Certainly what is fair about their hand in Yolandas.

This idea that things are unfair isn't untrue. But not in the ways she thinks, and shes moved so far beyond that notion at this point. Kipperlily probably DOES believe that she's uniquely a victim of this system, or at least that everyone but the bad kids is. But she's moved so far beyond that. Whatever divine rage magic is involved has ensured that, as well as probably some Adult manipulation, and severely underdeveloped emotional regulation skills. and for me that means like. obviously she is unjustified in her actions.

Augefort is absolutely unhinged. his school has never been run in a manner that rewards buckling down in the classroom and the classroom only. It's an adventuring school in truly the most chaotic and violence rewarding sense, and that information is given freely by Arthur augefort at maybe any turn

Saw something about the theoretical being just as important as the practical. and yes! absolutely! a very good point that I'm glad was brought up - going to the classes is important and I think this season has really emphasized the ways in which that's true at least in terms of Staying in School and Honing your Skills

I do think, in the same breath, that that STILL means that the practical is ALSO just as important as the theoretical. It CAN'T be one or the other, it HAS to be both.

and the bad kids are DOING both. regardless of what it may count for, the rat grinders xp leveling by continuing to do freshman level combat in order to excel more on paper ISN'T them really doing the practical part of what theyre learning in their higher level classes. And the bad kids do not get credit for their saving of the world REGARDLESS. Not on its own merit, and to get the credit they'd have to jump a hefty academic bar that sort of invalidates the point of practical efforts in the first place, not to mention works against students like Fig and Kristen.

The school is actively rewarding Kipperlily and her party's cheat code practical use of their skills, over the bad kids putting just as much if not more effort into their LITERALLY WORLD SAVING missions. whatever favoritism shes seeing, or that there may be occasionally, Kipperlily fundamentally takes the bad kids in bad faith. It's not ABOUT what is ACTUALLY unfair to her at this point.

from her perspective every accolade or accomplishment from them HAS to come from favoritism in order to fit how her view of whats actually unfair has been warped. for her it doesn't MATTER that they've been trying because they MUST not be trying as hard as she is. it doesn't matter that they visibly saved the world three times, one of which was livestreamed and included several party members dropping, successfully because surely it's a fluke, or they were given better opportunities than others for no reason, or they're being falsely worshipped for what MUST be a less dangerous quest than it seems (despite us seeing clearly on the first day of school that nobody is putting a pedestal up for their night yorb win)

What could have been a justified spark of frustration with a system has shifted into a vengeful sense of entitlement that to me? fully abandons the good of wanting to change a school system actively working against some (/all?) students.

idk maybe this all sounds like jibberish I just

Kipperlily in her current state is INCAPABLE of not underestimating the bad kids bc that would require some acknowledgement that they have worked and bled and died to reach the level they're at.

You cannot separate the girl who sneaks in to the Last Stand to sabotage another party's chances of passing, of staying at school, of continuing school, of one of them from potentially keeping their god alive, and of being brought back from what she assumes is certain death - from the slighted teenager running for class president to make things "more fair"

you cannot separate the girl who easily slits her own party clerics throat without second thought from the girl who thinks she's been slighted by an unjust system

What she means by unfair is inherently colored by her being that same person

Augefort can say whatever nonsense he wants, and it doesn't really justify her current frustrations at this point because her version of fair is fundamentally unfair now.

Shes a child who's become corrupted, just like Buddy. but unlike him - she's become genuinely nefarious and vengeful. Unlike buddy she is actively plotting. Harming others with full knowledge of it. We don't know how much of it comes from her on her own, or the rage baking underground, or Stardiamonds direct involvement - but I think this most recent episode should make it clear that like

Whatever truth there is to the school being run in a way that is unfair to its students, and regardless of what she says or thinks

Kipperlily Copperkettle is not operating from that grounded perspective. and I don't think she has been for a long time

[eoieopda]

Ooo yessss let’s go!!! Can I request a drabble for idol bf jungkook finding out his non idol but dancer gf is taking pole dancing classes and he goes to watch her for the first time and he is like mesmerized at how good she is? Thank youu 💜

sorry for the wait, sweet bean! there’s a wee bit of a departure in that she’s not in a class, per se, but she is practicing!

a/n: not smut, but definitely ✨sensual✨ because this photo has done something irreparable to my brain worms. also, i don’t know shit about fuck when it comes to pole dancing, so uhhhh, we’ll see how this goes 🤪

Lately, Jungkook’s favorite part of rehearsals is when they end. For whatever reason, he’s been incapable of keeping his head on straight these days; and the inspiration that used to power him seemingly left him, hung up to dry. It didn’t used to feel this vacant, moving to music he’d poured so much of himself into, but now his cup is empty. Now, Jungkook needs a muse.

Lucky for him, he hears Terpsichore’s sweet call from the practice space next to his, and shit does she sound like you.

This has to be a coincidence, he’s sure, because he can’t think of any reason to find you here tonight.

In a vacuum, your presence in this studio wouldn’t be a surprise — you had rehearsals of your own, classes to teach, and so on — but with how much time you spend under this roof as it is? There’s no reality Jungkook can imagine in which anyone would sacrifice an elusive night-off to this place.

But, then again, it’s you. Once that spark of creativity hits, you conduct it masterfully; and you don’t stop until there’s no power left to burn.

Too curious to stay and sweat on the hardwood floor, Jungkook groans as he clambers to his feet. He aches as he crosses to the door, even more so when he has to summon a single crumb of energy to push it open. Thankfully, he doesn’t have far to travel once he exits his practice room.

There are glass panels on either side of the door neighboring his. That glass fogs up when the heat of his body gets close, and he damn near has to press his nose to the glass to confirm his suspicion. Through the haze, his unprepared eyes land on you, talking to the camera you’re using to record for review purposes — and on the unfathomably high heels you’re slipping into.

Oh, shit.

When Jungkook woke up this morning, he didn’t think today would be his last. The sole consolation in dropping into his early grave would be in the last thing he sees: your hands gripping onto the bright silver pole in the center of the room; your exposed core muscles engaging as you take the weight of your body into your arms; and the subtle look of concentration on your face as you spin.

Pretty fuckin’ carousel, you are.

If Jungkook didn’t know exactly how much strength this sort of thing demanded, he would’ve accepted at face value just how easy you make it look. Apart from the dimple digging in at the corner of your pursed lips, there’s no proof at all that any of this requires effort. Not even when you fold damn near in half, not when your legs end up above your head, and not when the grip of your thighs takes over for that of your hands.

You’re dangling upside down — the world’s most stunning chandelier — when you see him losing his goddamn mind through the glass pane.

He panics for a moment; and it’s not due to being caught gawking or because there’s more than adoration throbbing on his side of the door. Before your surprise can drop you onto your head, your arms extend towards the floor until you’ve got both palms firmly rooted in hardwood. Within seconds, you’re back on your feet, still clutching the pole for balance from the top of your sky-high shoes.

“You could’ve come in and sat down,” you snicker. You lift your free hand to gesture over to a couch, which is shoved up against the far wall. Still smirking, you use that same hand to beckon him towards you with a curled finger.

As if he’d ever need prompted to run right to you.

This close, Jungkook sees the light sheen of sweat over your collarbones. He blinks fast in a feeble attempt to unscramble his brain. Finally rebooting, he leans in to kiss your flushed cheek.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” he breathes, then he glances at the pole before rapping his knuckles against it softly, “Definitely didn’t know you’d be here doing this.”

“Got casted for that concert in May,” You hum as you bend down to untie those goddamn boots. “They need some girls on pole, so I’m turning myself into one.”

Jungkook reaches down and catches your chin, prompting you to stop fidgeting with your double-knot and blink up at him.

“Oh, I’m gonna have to stop you right there, pretty,” Jungkook tuts. Face darkening over his wolfish grin, he wraps his arms around your unsuspecting waist. In a second, you’re folded over his shoulder, laughing breathlessly; and he’s carrying you off towards the changing room. “Those shoes are staying on.”

It’d arrived much differently than Jungkook was anticipating, but he certainly felt inspired now.

[cutegirlmayra]

Prompt: The latest battle with eggman send Amy and Sonic deep into the wilderness. Communicators broken, trackers busted, and Sonic breaks a leg leaving Amy to find them food, shelter and protect Sonic. While they rest Amy asks Sonic questions about their relationship that she's always wanted to know but too scared to ask. They talk but are discovered and Amy has to fend off the robot until Tails finds them. After they're saved Sonic has a new appreciation for Amy and is happy she's in his life.

Prompts are on shutdown EVERYWHERE, posting on my other writing sites DOES NOT mean you get your prompt done XD It’s only through here, on Tumblr, when the GRAND REOPENING is announced, which it is NOT. Thank you, lovely Cuties~ I’m sorry it’s taking so long, I’m trying to finish Fanfiction TAT

Prompt:

A spinning, spiky blue ball revs itself up in the air at a high-pitched frequency, dropping down almost with an intense sense of gracefulness as it tears seamlessly through Eggman’s latest doom’s day device.

“NOOOOOOOOO!!!” Eggman grips his head with both his massive, puffy gloves and reels his head back, “I won’t let you get away with this! Not this time, Hedgehog!” Stomping around his large ship, he slams his hand on a button which triggers a lever he pulls down, thus activating a flipping panel on the ground that looks like a car’s gas pedal which he stomps on, and in turn lowers a dangling line above his head with a triangular grip that is meant to be tugged.

Still fuming, grinding his teeth against each other, he growls and reaches up like a train conductor and pulls it, “Take this! You spiny little cretiiiinnn!!!”

With a howling roar, spit flying from his agape mouth, Eggman’s ship lowered the tip of its nose, making the haul of its stomach ‘chin-dip’ and slam down to the ground.

Sonic, still well-within the confines shredding through the ship’s interior, suddenly found his once-smooth aerial dive now wonkily swerving before turning horizontal.

As Eggman laughed, Sonic’s spin ball started creating heat and pressure… Sonic didn’t stop the rotation, but soon was slowly breaking through the hard metal one more and popped out of a hallway, moving now like a spinning-top on his side.

Eggman’s face dropped, “WHHHAATT???!!!” He slammed his hands down, looking with horror and shock at the cameras and following the image as he sweated in fear.

The Cameras zoomed in, and it showed Sonic using a single toe, perfectly placed on the tip of his foot, to keep himself spinning at such high speeds while turned on his side.

“Curse that infernal-!” Eggman smushed his face with gripping fingers, before a robot tugged on his coat and made him look down, “Hmm?” He saw the robot pull out a crowbar, and point to it.

Eggman blinked twice… before smirking wickedly to him…

When Sonic burst through the doors of the control room, balancing out his spinning top self and wobbling to try and locate what to shred into next, the tiny robot by the side of the doors, hiding from sight, swung and hit his spinning leg.

There was a crack and Sonic unspun with a dramatic pose of spiraling in the air, his eyes squinted shut in pain before Tails’s X-Tornado dived and shot through the window, making air burst into the space and–as most vacuums do–thrust Sonic out of the room and be dragged by the sky out into the open space.

“Grr… Trying to get away that easily, eh?” Thinking he had the upper hand now, even though he was kneeling on the ground and having a hand bring down his goggles from the rushing wind, Eggman still tried to sound cocky and confident.

“You there!” He pointed to the robot who was on the ground now, his hands under him, surprised that plan actually worked and jolted with a spark at being addressed, turning to his commander and sovereign Eggman. “Don’t just lay about!” He swiped his arm out, “Do something!!!”

Realizing the Doctor was putting everything onto his tiny computerized brain’s hand to hatch another genius but simple idea, the robot waddled over a bit awkwardly to the cabinet.

Delicately, he opened it and flinched at the door swinging open, then pulled tenderly out a bazooka.

“Oh, I forgot we had one of those…” Eggman’s face looked a little like a man having forgotten where he put his keys.

Cocking it, the little metal and cylinder soldier began to try and walk towards the window before the wind began to pull him out as well.

His tiny little tin legs wiggled vigorously, but his firm grip on the large firepower he was wielding didn’t budge while he spun slowly during the drop into the air.

“TINY TIMMM!!!!” Eggman cried out, holding a hand out to him, “YOU BETTER BLAST HIM WHILE YOU’RE OUT THEEERREEE!!! This isn’t a vacation, you know! You’re still on duty!!!” He gripped that hand into a fist, showing that he was giving an order, not a moment of compassion.

The Robot, having oily tears in their eyes, realized that Eggman just gave him a name.

Even though the irony of breaking Sonic’s leg, and the christmas season didn’t quite register with the robotic soldier, he took that as a sign of promotion into Eggman’s steely, black heart and was determined to not fail him.

He turned his body toward looking to the earth, and watching to see where Sonic landed…

“Soooniiiccc!!!” Tails cried out, turning around the plane but Eggman was sure to grab at the controls and fire at him, making Tails unable to pursue Sonic’s descent. “Err..!” He squinted an eye, having to pull up. “I can’t reach him!”

“What?” Knuckles, on his communicator, looked down at it as Amy covered her mouth in alarm. “What do you mean..?” His eyes shook a second and looked up with Amy, as they each scanned the skies…

Amy then gasped, “Look!” She pointed one hand out towards the flaming blue speck in the sky, falling towards the jungle-like forest, and another on Knuckles’s shoulder to gain his attention to the detail.

“Grr..!!! That lousy-!” Knuckles shook a fist, but pulled Amy up over his head.

“W-Wah-Whaaa!!!” Amy shook out her arms, “K-Knuckles!” She wasn’t sure what was about to happen, but suddenly feeling like he was going to throw her, she summoned her Piko-Piko Hammer.

“Grrr… I can’t fly to him in time! You’ll have to reach him on your owwwnnnn…!!!” Just as her instincts had foretold, he launched her through the air and she curled, her little red and white-trimmed dressing making it look like a badminton ball flapped wildly as she spun while still keeping her dress on.

Her hammer rotated so profusely, that as her own spinball hit against the trees, bounced off the ground, or slammed against rock, it kept her momentum moving and propelling her ever closer to the falling Sonic.

Finally, soaring up with one final, hard hit to the ground, she unspun and reached for Sonic… noticing the pain in his face and braving through the flames of his burning body to catch him before a deadly fate.

She landed on a tree’s branch, but it fell and they both started to fall painfully through scratching twigs and leaves.

When Amy woke up… snow had begun to fall in the forest, and her little nose wiggled a second before her mouth wound-up twice and sneezed, pushing the small flake off.

“Emm… S-Sonic?” She rubbed her head, slowly getting herself onto her rear and sitting somewhat more upright. “That was a rough landing…” She groaned through the aches, but then gasped when she remembered, “Sonic!!!” She started to grip and throw up the leaves below her, searching frantically for him.

A bead of sweat ran down the side of her face, gritting her teeth as her eyes shook in loving worry, ‘His leg was just dangling kinda weirdly in the air, just then… Was it injured?’ She kept calling his name… to no avail.

Her chest fell and rose with cold air quickly icing her resolve, stinging at her heart already pumping with the warm adrenaline to save the man she called hero… whom she loved, dearly.

“SOOONIIICC!!!” She finally let out a single, elongated note of his familiar name…

Silence… the snowy forest…

Her breaths clung to the air like hot mist, pocketing that space before disappearing as quickly as blowing a bubble to pop. Scrambling, she got up to locate her communicator.

Pieces of the broken device were pulled out and held up to her face, making her look down as though her heart had sucken to that cold ground as well…

“No… Did I not…” Her shoulders bounced, tears unable to remain corralled in the pools of her lower eyelids. “Did I not make it in time..?”

Her hand shook with that open thought, as the pieces of metal slipped through her fingers, falling to the light snowy patches below her feet.

“Sonic…” she gripped her fists and felt herself faltering in being able to remain upright, hunching over. “Sonic…” She felt she was at blame, and slunk to her knees, freezing her even further to what could be the harsh reality of the situation…

“No… I won’t believe it.” She wiped her eyes with the back of her arm. “I… I gotta keep looking for Sonic..!” She bit her words as though to hold them fast to her heart, “Sonic…” She muttered once more, “Soooniiiccc!!” She reared herself up and began to charge about the area, searching everywhere, leaving no square foot unmarked by her own shoe’s print.

She could hear the sky battle above her head, and looked to see that Tails was still engaged with the now, downwards angle of the Eggman fleet’s main air-cruiser.

Her eyes couldn’t help but tremble, her body leaning away before her hands flung up and tightened around each arm. “I can’t… I gotta keep looking for him.” Her lips felt chapped and the cold only reminded her of the drying of her tears… before she quickly aboutfaced to keep looking for him.

Walking up a hill, treading through its piles of snow, she looked up to see the sky was now blanketed in the smoke of Eggman’s senseless war. “Guess I can’t rely on Tails or Eggman as a point-marker now.” She blinked through the chill of the wind, and sighed as she tried to figure out where she hadn’t looked.

“Could he have really been tossed from me so far..? OFFPH!” Tripping over some blue grass, she had scraped her knee and got up, shaking her head from having snow blanket it for a moment-

Blue… Grass?

Her eyes widened and she lifted her leg to see the gentle sway of the blue quills, just the tip sticking out from beneath the snow.

“SOONIICC!!!” Her heart about leaped out through her flailing to get back up, tugging on the quill and realizing it was fully stuck under the snow. She began to dig like her life depended on it, and… to a degree, he was.

“Sonic, breath! Speak! Wiggle! Do… something!” She tried to speak out before finally getting an arm and exclaiming loudly in surprised triumphant that she had gotten to him.

She tugged and began to pull him out, but he felt like dead weight.

Panic lit up her senses and now, she couldn’t feel the cold, but hoisted him up onto her back and began to run down the hill, hurrying to where they had last been, finding an open tree’s roots there and finding it a good, hollow den to at least try and wake Sonic up in.

Using the fallen leaves, she constructed a small bed for him, laying him down as saw that one of his legs fully detached from the bone.

She covered her mouth, “Oh no…” The pain must have knocked him out… he was probably passed out from the wind blasting by him on his fall anyway…

She gently touched the burnt ends of his quills and fur… Her eyes bunching up as though unable to see him in such a state.

“Oh, Sonic…” She brought his head up and tried to warm him, blowing lightly warm air out of her throat to his face.

“Please, Sonic… You have to at least show me you’ll be alright…”

After a while, Sonic woke up to find his leg was perfectly straightened by two twigs, and someone had put it back in it’s socket… “Ah… Glad I was asleep for that.” He twitched at the pain but tried to move to turn around. However, it was too much for the poor hedgehog, having endured firepower beyond normal mortal means, he couldn’t possibly stand for the fiery pain of a severely broken leg.

“Gahh…” He tried to lean up, “Who… Where am I?” He noticed a fire was burning, and looked strangely at the comforting glow, realizing he wasn’t alone.

“Tails?” He first questioned the thought, ‘But then… he’d just take me back in the X-Tornado… I’d be having warm soup by now…’ He squinted one eye down and finally was sitting upright, being careful to not move the lame leg, “Knuckles?” It was reasonable, but that echidna wouldn’t be foraging for berries or anything. He’d imagine Knuckles would have sat by the fire, the earth too hard to dig through during the winter seasons…

So that meant…

“Amy?” He raised an eyebrow, as though second-guessing that before hearing a bright voice exclaim in joy at hearing her name being called.

“Oh! Sonic! You’re awake!”

Waiting a moment, he smiled as Amy came rushing in, holding more firewood that she quickly just dumped to the side, some catching fire but she didn’t care at the moment. “SOONIICC!!! I was so worried about you!” she hugged him which made him have to hold back a cry, his banded leg with two sticks keeping it from twisting and turning further only moved slightly from Amy’s tackling hug.

She was warm, though… and her voice filled him with ease.

He hugged her back, “Thank you.” He calmly stated, “But what happened?” He looked to her face, then outside to the rain of explosions that sounded in the blurry, clouded sky… “Is that… smoke?”

“Em.” Amy nodded, letting him go and tilting her body in the same direction as the sounds, “The communicator broke on our fall, I don’t know how long Tails has been fighting in the air, but I’m pretty sure Eggman and our friends have lost sight of where he landed.” She lowered her shoulders a bit, then rotated one around to stretch it. “Hoo…”

“Amy? You okay?” He noticed she looked a little worse for wear as well, “You’re stone cold to the touch.” He placed a glove to her arm before reflexing off of it, then placing it there again. “How long were you out there..?”

She smiled, glad he couldn’t recollect how close to death he was while in the cold of the soggy snow he was buried under moments before.

“It’s nothing~” She chimed, “I’m a tough girl, as well as cute, after all!” She put her hands to the sides of her cheeks, trying to get him to not worry about her so much.

“I think we should probably move when the smoke rolls out… or when the gunfire finally stops.” She admitted, looking to the skies again and dropping her hands to her knees.

Sonic later asked her about how she got to him, and she explained the whole story… eeexcept the part about him almost suffocating under snow.

They talked and ate some of the wild onion grass she had collected, finding not a scrap left on the trees or bushes, figuring the other little critters had stored up for the coming winter anyway.

Not really liking the taste of it, Sonic just tried to see if he could hop on one leg, but Amy refused to let him go out to fight again.

Reluctantly, Sonic decided it was only polite to thank his brave rescuer by waiting it out.

But all the while… they worried about their friends well-beings… as the canons kept going off relentlessly.

“... You think they’re winning?” Amy asked, “Or… Eggman is at least… missing?” She flinched as a large blast seemed to hit the ground a couple long miles away from them.

Sonic, with his hands behind his head, and a blade of onion grass sticking out of his mouth, took a frustrated breath in and sighed out just as quickly. “We can’t hide out here forever, Amy… My leg isn’t gonna heal that quickly.” He tried to reason with her, and she knew that was probably right… but…

“Just… a little longer… let’s believe in Tails and Knuckles… to solve this on their own, okay?” She looked back with a forced smile, her hand gripping her heart. “Seeing you like this… it makes me… unable to let you go… right now.” She admitted, lowering her head and not having the courage to look at him in shame.

He eyed her with a turn of his gaze, not moving his head, before closing his eyes and not saying anything more about it.

The wind howled… before a foot fall was heard and Amy perked up, her ears twitched and she rushed out from the intertwined roots, “Knuckles!?” She exclaimed, more than expecting to see he had found them… before…

“... Sonic! Roll! Now!” She threw herself back to him as he looked to see a large missile fired into the hole.

Crying out in pain, he rolled as the blast sent the two flying to the back of the hollow tree.

Amy picked up Sonic’s spiky spinball, “Don’t uncurl! Whatever you do!” She cried out, as Sonic also–through immense pain–called her name but she was already grabbing a stick from the fire, the rest of the roots on fire from the blast anyway, and charged out of the large space.

She gasped as she noticed a small Eggman Robot, cocking the bazooka which had smoke slithering out of its mouth.

“You…” Amy’s eyes narrowed, her anger giving her the needed heat throughout her body, ready to fight.

“He’s already injured! Leave us alone!” She shouted out, but Sonic couldn’t help and voice his concerns as well.

“Amy! Your back!” She could feel something cool drip down in different areas from her exposed back… but it was already frostbitten and she didn’t dare think about what he was referring to.

“I’m fine. You just stay put and in your ball, Sonic.” She breathed through the pain that was now burning from her back.

However… this sting was like when she first lost Sonic, it moved her forward, adrenaline coursing through her like Sonic moving through a winding course.

Amy set Sonic down, “Amy!” he cried out again, moving in wobbly attempts to ‘roll’ after her as she stepped up to bat.

“It’s okay, I’m your strength too, Sonic!” She pulled the hammer up behind her shoulders, “Ready…” she narrowed her eyes, skidding a foot forward as though truly a baseball pro up for bat.

Sonic tilted his rolled body against her other, back leg, “Amy…” He couldn’t argue with that.

“... Aren’t I..?”

Uncurling, Sonic groaned out as the leg–the wooden beams now snapped and bent–was forced back into a straight position. His own problems meant nothing to him right now, though.

He looked up at Amy, seeing the wavering belief in her eyes, remembering that for a moment… she may have been the ultimate end for Sonic The Hedgehog…

Her memory went back to having no sign of him… and that haunted her… Was she really able to be there for Sonic… the way he was always there for her?

A shadow rose to meet her own on the ground, lightly shaded, as the clouds of smog were starting to clear out.

She gasped, looking down to see Sonic’s silhouette was on one leg, his arms then trailing up to her own around her hammer.

She could feel the warm and comforting breath he spoke by her cheek, telling her to wait on his signal.

The robot fumbled a little getting the bazooka back in order, but then went to fire.

“... Now.” Sonic’s voice was light, but his grip held stronger around her hand.

She swung with everything she had while Sonic fell back to the ground, unable to hold himself up much longer due to the crippling pain.

The missile fired but Amy heard Sonic say, “Now let go!!!!” In a ripping sound that shredded through her heartstrings… realizing how much he was suffering, but how that simple act showed her that he did trust in his friends–especially her in this moment–to get through it.

She let the hammer go and balanced herself, her dress spinning to one side of her body before the hammer’s top plugged and jammed itself into the firing bazooka.

The Robot made computerized noises of horror before exploding along with the gun.

Sonic and Amy fell by each other’s side in the blast, and Amy gripped onto Sonic.

In the cold of falling snow… the two breathed through great pain…

Shared pain… as Sonic’s and Amy’s eyes looked up to each other’s… and a smile greater than pain emerged upon both their faces.

“We… erk… did it.” Amy’s back jerked from the tortuous mix of frost and burn mingling upon its bare skin…

“No, Amy.” Sonic also couldn’t keep both eyes opened, but squinted one. His charming smile never faded though, “You did it… You’ve always got my back.” He gritted his teeth, but tried to make it look like a bright smile. “Thank you… again… A-Amy…”

Knuckles soon found them, Tails flew them home, and they ended up resting on opposite couches from each other.

While she read the insisted book about King Arther, the one Sonic kept trying to convince her had happened to him being pulled into it, making him miss one of their planned dates, he also reached over and held her hand, pretending to fall asleep.

She smiled as she read more of the book… wondering all the while…

“... Sonic?”

She knew he wouldn’t answer.

“If I am your strength… why do I feel like… I’m not?” She put the book down over her chest, turning to the couch’s spine to avoid looking over to him. “If I was your strength… I wouldn’t have shut you into that tree hole den… I would have trusted that I could get you out of there… carry you to safety, and reunite with Tails and Knuckles again to save the day.”

While she spoke, Sonic pretended to be asleep, but listened closely.

“... Then… When you braved the pain of your leg to stand beside me..? I knew then… that while you were down, so was my strength.” She teared up, “But when you got up…” Her voice began to wane and take on a higher tune, as she wiped her eyes with the back of her glove. Her lips trembled, but she continued, “I… I need you more than I think you need me, Sonic… And that… That worries me.” She sniffled, “Cause… Cause what if I’m needy? What if… without you… I’m nothing short of a useless girl?”

Sonic made a loud snore, then. It cut her off as she said ‘useless’.

She turned to see his head straight up at the ceiling, his mouth open wide,... “Ammmy…” He lightly spoke, as though asleep. “Ammmyyy…” His hand acted as though reaching for her hand, but it was already there…

That’s when she noticed, her grip on his hand had slipped somewhat, and she held it tightly but gently once more.

Sonic’s breathing went back to normal… and Amy smiled till her cheeks hurt.

“Oh, Sonic…” She giggled through her light tears and wiped them all away this time. “Even if I don’t understand what strength I give you… Just knowing… that together, we’re stronger? That’s enough for me… Cause right now, you getting better is all I care about.” She sighed and went back to the book.

She gasped when she looked at her hand and saw Sonic had tugged it closer.

“A-ah… Ow, ow, Sonic!” He was dragging her off the other couch. “Sonic! Ow! I’ll fall!”

He started to turn, as though in his sleep, snoring again and making Amy stumble out of the couch as he wrapped her arm around his waist.

She pouted a cute blush, but then sighed, “I know you’re not asleep, silly… Your actual snore is totally different.” She gave in, moving her bandaged self to lift up his head and place him on her lap, patting his shoulder and humming a tune.

Sonic closed his mouth, the jig was up, and he just smiled as she tried to actually lull him to sleep.

Though he had to let go of her hand for her to do that, he reached under his body to get at the hand that was resting just by his neck… and she smiled at how sweet that was…

“... You are my strength, Sonic.” She leaned down, continuing to hum.

When she had actually fallen to sleep, Sonic placed her laying on the couch he was momentarily on, replacing her, and before hopping to the other one, placed a hand on her head and lightly whispered, “You’re more than my strength, Amy… You're my whole heart, entirely.”

In the morning, Amy woke up to find Tails in a tissy, worried sick as Sonic had somehow miraculous snuck out of his workshop home and was nowhere to be found.

A moment of panic did course through Amy, before thinking to herself, ‘... If he’s strong again, then I’ll be strong too.’ and went back to not worrying about him… resting… as she smiled at feeling secure again in that–as long as Sonic was up and about, she’d be pretty soon as well!

[iholli]

inhales fuck it, I had fun with this, you're all getting subjected to it. My singular braincell is unleashing Booigi like the plague upon Discord and my friends are happy to encourage me. thank u Holly for the galaxy brain dialogue that inspired this silly little drabble <3

King Boo × Luigi || flirt

It's been a hell of a long night in this hotel, and King Boo can't stand it any longer. Except he's really, really bad at communicating his feelings to a certain oblivious green plumber.

Takes place during the final boss fight of Luigi's Mansion 3, so you know, if you don't want to get spoilered or whatever <3

It's been hours. At least 10 of them. And the man is exhausted.

He's been through hell, awake all night, narrowly avoiding death at every turn, fighting for his life every step of the way. He's tired and afraid, damn it, and his night still isn't done.

So this battle promising to stretch for long minutes is not something he's excited for.

Honestly, he's almost disappointed when Polterpup crashes into him, accidentally knocking him out of the way as the painting falls.

Luigi sits up as the ghostly canine hops off him, scampering off to who knows where, and the poor little plumber is back on his feet just in time for the great spectre before him to turn a seething glare on him. It's all Luigi can do not to collapse under that enraged violet gaze.

"Luigi! What are you doing over there?!"

King Boo is also tired, and he is pissed. He's spent far more than the whole night with that disgustingly obsessive woman dogging his heels like a lost puppy, watching her useless staff be thrown around by Luigi-- though, of course, the king can't deny his admiration of the man's strength and quick thinking-- and in turn feeling the anger of his own Boos being sucked away into that damned vacuum. He's going to break that frustrating contraption, so help him.

And after all that, after all his carefully laid plans-- the countless romantic settings, the harmless spooks, his desperate attempts to flirt-- Luigi still hasn't realized it! Only that awful Hellen Gravely had been wooed by the candlelit dining room, the beautiful concert, the seaside view! King Boo has had all he can take. At least Luigi vacuumed Hellen out of the picture, what a relief that was, and satisfying to say the least. Oh, and who could ignore the way Luigi smiled and danced and cheered for himself every time he successfully captured a ghost...he's just too cute!

He couldn't possibly admit it aloud, but that little green plumber has the king of Boos absolutely wrapped around his gloved finger.

"UGH! That's it! I'm sick to double death of you!"

Sick to his heart of that cute little mustache, those soft shoes, those blue doe eyes, that adorable accented voice, that sheer obliviousness! How could King Boo possibly make his feelings any clearer?! Surely Luigi is just tormenting him, and he's sick of it!

"You want to fight me? FINE! Let's go, Luigi! This is the end for you, once and for all! HERE I COME!"

The Italian's teeth are chattering in fear, because of course he doesn't want to fight, and he's thoroughly convinced the Boo just wants him dead, or at least trapped forever as a decoration. Well, it's no fault of his, considering every attempt King Boo has made at flirting has nearly gotten him poisoned or skewered or whatever else-- it's been such a long night, Luigi barely remembers all the ways the hotel has tried to kill him. And the king of Boos is very, very intimidating, no thanks to his threatening dialogue.

Which, Luigi can't possibly admit aloud, is rather attractive, in an inexplicable way. That voice, and those eyes, and...

No, no, no time to think about that now. That "rather attractive" ghost is trying to destroy him!

King Boo cackles, nearly at the end of his rope, summoning lightning, showing off his tongue (very intentionally, that is), throwing fireballs and explosives, every time missing and angrily cursing before vanishing. That Luigi...too smart in all the wrong places! Like he knows every move the Boo is going to make! Yet he can't figure out King Boo's affection towards him?!

When Luigi throws an explosive back at him, sending King Boo reeling and coughing smoke until he collapses on the roof, he's feeling more frustrated than ever. The plumber and that strange, goopy green clone of his suck him up by the tongue and smash him back and forth against the roof until the Boo tumbles backwards.

Enough is enough.

King Boo rematerializes before Luigi, glaring daggers, his enormous maw closed in a deep frown. The man steels himself for another round of attacks...

...but they don't come.

Instead, King Boo snaps.

"You know what?! Enough of this! You're cute and I've been trying to tell you that for hours-- no, YEARS now!"

Luigi freezes, his whole body going still as a ghost hit with his Strobulb. He...what?

The Boo's mouth is open now in a snarl, his brows low, his eyes glowing bright with irritation. He looks so angry; surely Luigi misheard him! If looks could kill, the plumber would already be six feet under!

"There, I said it! Must you torture me further?!"

No, he heard right.

...

He heard right?

The nozzle of the Poltergust clatters on the now-cracked concrete, Luigi barely even realizing he's dropped his only protection. He stares, then blinks and starts sputtering.

"C...cute? A-ME?!"

Oh, the Boo is a goner when that heavy accent comes out. His face flushes royal blue as he drifts like a deflating balloon to the rooftop. "OF COURSE YOU! HOW have you not figured that out?!" King Boo tries to snap in his usual tone, but it comes out in more of a pathetic whine as his voice cracks in disbelief.

"You've been-a trying to kill me all-a night!" Luigi chokes out. He's so shocked, he sinks to his knees, taking off his cap as his other hand comes up to run through his hair, the Boo watching his every move-- has he ever seen the plumber without his hat? His hair looks as soft as his mustache...

"I-- I HAVE NOT!" King Boo retorts after a moment, equally stunned.

"What...what do you call all of-a that, then?!"

"I was trying to flirt with you!" The king frantically pinwheels his nubby arms in a desperate attempt to explain. "I know those idiots kept ruining everything, but I was trying! I had a nice dinner planned, a walk through the garden floor, a magic show--"

Luigi's hand drops to his lap and he stares again at the ghost. "You set up all that...as a date?"

King Boo stops his rambling. "...yes?"

The little Italian giggles breathily, then laughs harder and harder, until he's gasping, arms wrapped around himself and tears rolling down his cheeks. King Boo blushes furiously. "What-- stop that! Why are you laughing at me? What's so funny?!"

"Oh, scusa, bello," Luigi manages when he finally catches his breath, wiping his face with his shirt sleeves. "It's just-- you are-a terrible at flirting!"

The Boo puffs out his cheeks, impossibly blue as he crosses his nubs in offense. "Well-- well, you're terrible at noticing, then!" He grumbles, his mouth closing in a pout.

"Both people are-a supposed to be there for a date, you know." The man giggles once more. He can't help being amused at the adorable grumpy face before him, and he's giddy with relief, heart fluttering now that he realizes that the ghost wasn't actually trying to murder him all this time, that the little voice in his heart was a mutual feeling.

"I...knew that." Boo's violet eyes flick away-- he definitely didn't know that-- then snaps his eyes back to Luigi in sudden realization. "Wait, what did you call me?!"

Luigi just smirks, one eyebrow cocking up, a show of the confidence he's feeling now. "Maybe if you-a take me on a real date yourself, I'll-a tell you, tesoro."

"T-TES--" King Boo blows the rest of the word into a raspberry, flustered, not knowing if the Italian is taunting him or complimenting him.

"Wait...are you asking ME on a date?"

Luigi gets to his feet, shuffling across the roof to retrieve the frame lying all but forgotten on the concrete. He inspects it for a moment, then sets it upright along the wall of the roof, aiming the Poltergust's dark-light attachment at the image of his friends and brother.

The plumber glances back at King Boo before switching the light on, grinning once more at the uncertain though hopeful king watching him. "Yeah, I-a guess I am." The light activates, a beam of rainbow slowly coloring the painting.

Well, after he explains this to Mario, and gets the group comfortably settled in the hotel, that is. And maybe gets the Boos out of their respective containers, since he knows the king will be asking.

Luigi's heart flutters again. His night doesn't feel so long anymore.

[chronicbitchsyndrome]

i have a weird and fluctuating relationship to support needs labels because it's extremely situational as to whether my needs are considered "support needs" and whether they are considered high compared to the baseline or not.

like, in circles of abled people, i am considered basically nonfunctional without obscene levels of support that no person should ever be expected to give someone. i am considered a very high-maintenance person, and being roommates with me is something that people consider a sacrifice and a major burden.

in circles of disabled people, this is still sometimes true, and other times i am the most independent person in the room and am considered to have massive amounts of privilege because of my ability to do tasks independently.

it's really contextual! to a lot of people, the fact that i need someone else to drive me for any outings, i need someone else to cook for me and can only make basic no-chop no-heat things like sandwiches by myself, i cannot clean a bathtub, i cannot do dishes, i cannot buy groceries alone, i can't navigate without a live-tracking gps (i can't even read maps), i cannot work a job and need additional incomes in the household to maintain QOL, i can't do low-level executive functioning tasks like recognizing when i need to shower and understanding the steps to shower, and i cannot budget my own money and need someone else to help me with basic math, all mean that i'm high support needs.

to other people, the fact that i can dust and vacuum and scrub surfaces, i can speak verbally and am in fact hyperverbal, i do not use assistive tech or mobility aids, i can make basic no-cook meals like sandwiches, i am good at navigating government forms, i can do high-level executive function like recognizing and organizing my household's QOL needs, and i can exercise for short periods, "balance out" my shortcomings in other areas to the degree that i no longer have anything in common with other people who have mid-high-support-needs.

also i exist in a weird gap in some places where i am actively good at the high-level tasks, but completely incapable of the low-level tasks in a basic skill set (yes, even if i "work on it" and try to "learn how"). like executive functioning--i can recognize, track, and organize my entire household's needs, but i cannot break down the steps to making a meal in a way that allows me to even understand how cooking works mentally. like apart from the fact that i am not physically capable of chopping or using significant heat without injuring myself, i literally just do not understand the sequence of actions or how they relate to one another or what i am supposed to be thinking about or looking for, i don't understand how it fits together and why, and i don't comprehend it when people try to teach me. it slides off my brain like glass.

end of post, no wider point, i'm just musing about myself

[katnissmellarkkk]

Hi! I meant to get this out yesterday but my brain wouldn’t cooperate so it’s about 24 hours late but better late than never! I hope y’all like this chapter and this story. Again, I have most of it written so the wait shouldn’t be too long but nothing motivates ya girl like comments 😂.

On a similar note, you all were so sweet with all the love you showed chapter one, it really meant a lot to me! Thank you all so much for taking the time and commenting, I know it’s not always easy to find the energy. I just wanted to say that if you do, I really really appreciate it.

Even if you don’t comment though, I hope you still like the story, and God bless all of you! Thank you so much for reading 🤍

-

summary : when a strange man comes to Twelve and begins to pop up unexpectedly wherever Katniss is, her and Peeta find themselves quickly in over their head with a stalker.

-

Hours passed by after that and I tried desperately to keep myself busy. I cleaned the house, doing the mopping, dusting and vacuuming I’d been putting off all week. I did my best to avoid standing directly in front of any windows, just in case the stalker decided to pay me another visit, but the curtains were still drawn and I took comfort in that fact alone.

I was in the kitchen, emptying my mop bucket, when I heard the familiar click of our front door unlocking.

Immediately, my heart began to race in my chest, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that it wasn’t Peeta coming home. The time was too random, it was too soon since he left for work, and most of all, the footsteps were far too quiet to be that of my husband. Peeta made so much noise coming home, tramping up the porch steps, stomping on the welcome mat — that I didn’t even want to put out in the first place. I never wanted people to feel welcome to come here and I think, if nothing else, this entire situation was my validation — and slamming the door behind him. Quiet has never been in Peeta’s vocabulary.

I heard the soft footsteps getting closer and closer to me. The Stalker had incredibly light feet for some reason. Their tread was sly, almost too sly, like they could sneak past a mouse if they really tried.

My heart drummed so loud in my ears I had no way of estimating how much time was left before the Stalker found me, alone with only a mop and some dirty water to defend myself.

At the last second, acting totally on impulse, I whirled around and grabbed the largest, easily accessible weapon in my vicinity.

My timing was almost immaculate. I had just grabbed a knife as my unexpected visitor came into view.

Read The Rest On AO3

[st-sainz]

First, Thank you @watercolor-hearts for tagging me! when i saw it i knew it wouldnt be an easy task (mostly because i love to talk a lot lmao) but i liked the concept and felt that it would be interesting way to dive more into the ships i am fond of.

Pairing/Shippy list!

Here are the rules:

1. List your top seven ships.

2. Put them all in order for your love for them; 7 to 1, 1 being your favourite.

3. Name the fandom.

4. Put a picture of the guys in question.

-

7. Ziam (Zayn/Liam Payne) (One Direction)

weird way to start this list, since its not f1 related, and i very much believe it's a dead ship now. But honestly they deserve this honorable mention for being the first ship i adopted, and i didnt even care about One Direction or their music around that time (in fact i cant remember even how i stumbled upon this ship lmao). These two together just had so much chemistry for me, either on stage, interviews, or anything really. also they were my introduction to this whole idea of "ship" (Larry was the absolute more popular one obviously, but it was Ziam that really SUCKED me in like a vacuum cleaner). Unfortunately, Liam's distasteful comments last year bursted my bubble about them (even though he has explained this year he wasn't in a good place, and i personally think they are okay with each other, even though still distant), but i still like to watch their compilation videos on youtube sometimes, it's quite bittersweet :')

6. Martian (Sebastian Vettel/Mark Webber) (Formula 1)

honestly i feel i just dont put these two higher because they feel somewhat new to me, like i need to dive into them more. I just think its such a fun ship in the sense that it has a looot of things going on at the same time, their very public rivalry and the famous multi 21, mark's angry face at that one press conference, it could be so so angsty but they just make me laugh (also, the making love on track quote is now burned into my brain so in no way they could be out of this list).

5. Christian horner/Toto wolff (Formula 1)

okay okay this is the part yall realize im actually crazy. but... they DO have chemistry when they are interacting, even in their non-amicable moments, and i do love myself some good enemies to lovers. Obviously it helps that i think they both are very actrattive, sexy middle aged men that have hunger for victory and i believe they hold so much respect and admiration for each other, considering they are the two most sucessfull TP's at this point. Also, HEIGHT DIFFERENCE.

4. Versainz (Max Verstappen/Carlos Sainz) (Formula 1)

(i wanted to find that ONE gif where he lifts carlos a little so bad but this one will do) Oh, this one really rocketed fast into my favorites. I just think they are just so wholesome. I always feel Max is warmer towards a certain number of drivers, and Carlos is one of them. And i dont even ship them in a ... kind of way, even tho it makes sense in my head the narrative that both were each others "first's" before going into bigger ships. Its just that it feels so special that both debuted together as teammates and, both took different trajectories in the way their career planned out, but theres still a genuine connection between them, at least in my view.

3. Maxiel (Max Verstappen/Daniel Ricciardo) (Formula 1)

I know its weird because i dont really post about them. But this falls into the same category as versainz for me, except that here there's a kind of dynamic that it makes me go "hmm... interesting". I always like to see max smiling and being happy because this boy went thru so much in his childhood, and oh how Daniel knows how to bring this side of Max. If Max can be warmer to certain drivers, for Daniel he has a whole SOFT SPOT, and i think that's very endearing. IMO, Daniel feels like the person that changed him in deeper ways we know, that one person that was indirectly a "life teacher" to him maybe, and thats special to me.

2. Brocedes (Lewis Hamilton/Nico Rosberg) (Formula 1)

Oh, the ANGSTY in this one. yes, this one deserves the ANGSTY in all caps because to me that's them. Oh to have lived through their divorce must have been heartbreaking but what a freaking cinematic ship this one is. I just can't ignore it. How it feels to me that Nico is the one who wears his heart on his sleeve, while Lewis has that chilling Capricorn control over his emotions is so. just so. And the fact that Nico's legacy is forever entangled in Lewis' name. If a movie screenwriter would come up with this, i'd think it would be overdramatic, but no, theyre actually this unhinged.

Charlos (Charles Leclerc/Carlos Sainz) (Formula 1)

how do i even start talking about these two idiots? Okay, so obviously i think they're both very attractive and that definetely helped me to ship them lmao. But thats kind of reductive, because these two have sooo much chemistry in my opinion, even before their ferrari days, there was so much potential waiting to bloom, and it did. I love their banter, their competitiveness, how they can get childlike around each other sometimes. How they are so physical, how they make each other laugh (let me not talk about their gazes to each other or i will not end this today). I love how Carlos doesn't hide he wants to compete with Charles (which brings him unnecessary hate sadly), and how both respect each other in this stance. There's a bit of angsty underneath this soft/fluffy surface too (more from Carlos' perspective imo - but lets not forget Charles and Silverstone 2022 too - this is my charlos angsty origin story), but they still find their way, and that kind of compels me even more into them. I just think theres so many layers, multitudes, in the way we can create, write and read about them. Absolute favorites.

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Tagging @schumiatspa and @sainzjpeg 😊

obviously, feel free to ignore if you dont want to play, no hard feelings around here ❤, and also 7 ships are quite a work! if you're not tagged but want to make your list, feel free to do it and consider yourself tagged by me 😘

[happyk44]

Was writing up a different thing but my thoughts kept stalling so I'm twisting it. I've seen posts before about how Demeter's children logically should've been part of the prophecy and child ban in PJO because she is also one of the eldest gods. And yeah, that's still true, Rick should've altered the wording or maybe made it more clear that "gods" in that context was specifically refering to god as a male term, but whatever.

Anyway, it got me thinking about her children. I never read TOA and don't intend to and I think? One of her kids is a major player in that one, but whatever. This is ignoring TOA because I don't have context (and I don't want to).

We know the Big Three are overtly powerful. We don't see much of Thalia's raw power (or Jason's really, but I already have my own separate thoughts on that), but ultimately we know that they are closer to the gods than other demigods. And I was thinking about Demeter's kids would factor into that and I realized.

Ah. They can't.

See: Zeus is god of the the sky, right? And the sky is often equated with air. Air is everywhere: the ocean, the earth, the sky, underground, everywhere. The only place there is no air is in a vacuum, and that's irrelevant because a vacuum has nothing in it, so no one would have power there and it's pointless to bring it up.

Anyway, Jason and Thalia might be slightly diminished in certain places, but ultimately their power can't die. Even underwater, there will be some kind of air they could manipulate if they just try. And, as I've mentioned elsewhere, lightning is just electricity. Electricity exists in the body in the form of our nervous system. If you look it up, you'll find that technically all biological cells are electrical. So plants, people, animals. Fucking computers too, probably, at this point, why the fuck not. Just sap all forms of electrical energy as a power-up.

Basically even the most basic form of their powers exists everywhere in nature: sky/air and lightning. And they can manipulate that however they choose.

Similarly, Hades, who is often equated with death (even though that's Thantos's business), exists everywhere as well. Death touches everything. It lingers. Darkness too. No matter what, the sun will always set and the dark will prevail. I mean darkness prevails regardless. If you walk into a room with no windows, there isn't light. You have to make that, you have to add it.

And when you factor in my theory that as god of the Underworld, Hades has a touch of specialty regarding the gods/spirits/etc who live in his domain, well you've added in even more for him to reach out to: sleep, dreams, rest and relaxation, and more probably my brain is stalling again.

But anyway, those things exist everywhere. They touch everything. So power is absolute - except maybe the sky. I don't think ghosts can linger in the sky. If you die, you fall to the ground. Even on planes, a corpse will eventually land. But it still graces the sky. A shot bird still dies in the clouds before it is touches the ground. So there's range there, and that's Nico and Hazel.

Poseidon in the ocean, yes, but people still equate him to all forms of water - and maybe that's more a modern thing these days, but I don't doubt that people way back when probably did too, maybe at a lesser degree because they were aware of other water-type gods for specific things and unless you've immersed yourself in Greek mythology/Hellenistic polytheism, you probably aren't and even then you might just default to the big guy anyway BUT I DIGRESS.

Water is everywhere. It is vapour in the air we breathe. Sits in our veins, our bodies. It soaks into the ground, nourishes the plants, drips from cave walls and sloshes in underground rivers. Everywhere, everywhere, everywhere. Even a desert, as dry as it might be, has to have water somewhere. Even if you have to claw your way into the sky and clouds and drag it down into a torrential pour of rain, there is water somewhere.

So there we go with Percy.

Then Demeter.

Earth is not part of the sky. Earth is not part of the ocean. It is part of the underground. But limited in spaces. It is a powerful thing to be reckoned with and I don't doubt that her demigod kids are more powerful than your standard demigod, but there is a difference. The earth cannot follow Jason into the sky, it will fall. The earth cannot follow Percy into the ocean, it will muddy and dissolve. The earth can follow Nico underground but he can combat it head on if he wanted to.

The earth is powerful and stubborn. But it is limited.

Not to mention, Demeter, while regarded as an earth goddess, is not technically the earth goddess - that's Gaea. Demeter is the harvest and agriculture, grain and crops. And as we know, some places, even surrounded by dirt and grass and trees, cannot create a functional harvest. You have to actively put in work to create a functional farm, to grow.

The other three will always exist no matter what. There is no active work into creating their domain. The ocean and water will always flow. Air will always be breathed. People and animals and plants will always die.

I think this would also fall for the other two, if they were to ever have demigod children. Hestia is the hearth and warmth. That has to be created. Hera is marriage and family. That has to be created.

So Demeter's children are probably pretty powerful. But not as powerful as their cousins. Because her domain is crafted out of creation, but the boys' domains exist regardless.

[jack-kellys]

west end question: i obviously love my brooklyn girls and would die for them all, but is it bad that it’s taken away the sprace dynamic for me? like i’m still 100% on board with a nowhere near canon ship and it shouldn’t affect me they’ve decided to have spot be a girl, but it lowkey has? and i feel kinda guilty about it? idk i love my proshot boys. but i am 100% here for all the uk newsies cast they are amazing and so talented and it’s definitely my favourite production by far!! idk if i’m making sense

ok part of me feels a litle baited actually because like. i feel like... im vocal abt mlm musical sprace not being a big vibe for me in the first place. so im a funny person to ask if you were looking for relief lmao. anyway here's my thesis below.

wait also if ur a white newsie fan a read-thru+rb of this would be much appreciated thank youuu (also yall have been eating up my character analyses anyway sooooo!)

TL;DR THESIS: if you're feeling genuinely let down that your ship did not see the light of day and a black girlsie spot conlon got to instead, then yes, you should reevaluate that.

followers, if you've been with me long enough, you know that i have quite strong opinions about how this show gets treated when it comes to interpretations and fandom/fanon. mostly, this is because i literally work in theater, and it's extremely backwards in my brain personally when shows get treated more like a movie or tv show than a performance piece.

im also one of the only ppl in this fandom that ever seems to dare speak on race (not the damn character smh). and anon, buddy, kiddo, this does have to do with race, gender, and sexuality.

firstly, what i think needs to be understood about newsies, is that it is theater, which means it is meant to be mutable. there is no one way. there should never be one way. it does not exist. secondly, theater does not exist in a fandom vacuum. its live every night, conceptually. theater is a live performance art.

interpretations change- it's the nature of theater. so i think asks like these really do illuminate the difference between fans of the show's content or fans of... i guess the show's culture's content.

this is a culture content ask.

one thing i really, truly, deeply need you all to understand: from an objective, script- and staging-based perspective, proshot sprace does not exist. they do not speak. they barely see each other. race does not even volunteer to go to brooklyn. the ship originates from the 1992 movie, where they do actually interact, which is why the ship has prevailed through the 90s to today. they're from the movie, not the musical.

of course, this doesn't bash the ship- it has history, and naturally fans want to create new history when they get a new source material (the musical). it's true for like every newsie ship lowkey (but also not lowkey because all the manhattan newsies do interact and sprace literally does not but thats a different post!!), which is something i do admire about the fandom- we do a lot of our own legwork here, we invent relationships and backgrounds from one-liners that could be given to tbh any frickin newsie. i respect the 30 years we have invented ships.

however.

when a huge, publicized, consistently sold out production comes along with spot conlon as not only a woman, but a woman of color (specifically black rn!) as the leader of the most feared group on stage, there becomes something much more important than a "sprace dynamic", which does not canonically exist in the musical anyway bro. you can't miss something that isn't there imo. often the story and casting within a story comes first, and goddamn if this isn't one of those times. lillie-pearl's spot brings bravado, swagger, confidence, and intimidation that is literally....fine maybe i'm being personal but it is slash gen incredible to see in technically a period piece! a black woman in leadership with that kind of assuredness! in such a popular musical! how is that not– automatically surpassing an often obsessed-over (yes i am. hinting at something here, straight girl fans) mlm ship?

and while i'm on the topic of the over-obsessiveness of mlm musical sprace, let me talk about uksies sprace. because what's also wack abt this ask is that sprace is not a hopeless case in this production- it literally has about as much 'evidence' as the proshot imo!!!!!

i got to hop over to 2nd row brooklyn seating for act 2 so i saw once and for all really close up, right. there's a moment when race is upstage letting the newsies in/down from the stairs. spot comes down and she does, in fact, share a look with him. race gives spot a nod and she keeps moving.

and like im gonna see the show again (every day i am counting my mf blessings fr), so if i'm wrong or they don't do it every time i'll correct myself, but that's what i saw with my own dang eyes on saturday. they do acknowledge each other in uksies.

and since they do, i really like. i have to ask. what is bothersome/unpopular abt uksies sprace, other than oh idk.... its not white/white mlm with a twink/manly bf trope? why can't race still love who spot is as a character, this strong and fearless ruler of brooklyn, in uksies? because tbh josh's racer...nahhhh because. this is such a side note now but they'd be so good together oh jesus am i gonna ship uk sprace. and it's not like they're 'taking away' from a queer ship because a) you can headcanon spot as a queer girl and race being trans is consistently popular and b) newsies has ten billion gayass ships bro we've been eatin for literal decades.

anon, i'm sure you didn't mean harm by this ask. i'm sure, honestly, that a lot of fans are feeling the same way as you and weren't quite sure how to put it in words. but, i'm also not surprised you sent an ask like this on anonymous specifically.

should you feel guilty about it? i don't think guilt is the right word. but i believe you should think more about how newsies is not.....static. it does not exist in one form, and it never will. if you're feeling genuinely let down that your ship did not see the light of day and a black girlsie spot conlon got to instead, then yes, you should reevaluate that. in theater, you should always question why something impacted you the way it did- a major point of theater is to discuss and think about it when you leave! i know this because ive spent three years literally studying it, to back up my thesis credentials.

thank you for reading this, newsies fandom. i do honestly say all this with love, and i hope it made u think !! ♥️