#dumb unnecessary arguments

[solxamber]

Making Up After an Argument with: Overblot Gang + Rollo

part 2 with vice housewardens + kalim

on this day, i offer you some hurt/comfort

It’s been two days. Two long, awkward, and uncomfortable days of silent treatment between you and him. The argument had been petty—something so small that you can’t even remember what sparked it. But pride, stubbornness, and a little bit of frustration had taken over, and now, here you are, locked in a stalemate.

You’ve been tiptoeing around each other, avoiding eye contact, pretending not to care. But in reality, the silence feels like it’s stretching forever, and you hate it. You hate the feeling of distance between you, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air.

You miss him. Even with him just a walk away, it feels like miles.

The realization hits you hard as you sit there, staring at your phone, hoping for a sign—any sign—that he’s willing to break first. But of course, nothing comes. He’s just as stubborn as you are. Maybe even more.

You let out a long, dramatic sigh, slumping back in your seat. Ugh, fine. I’ll be the one to give in this time. It’s not the first time you’ve done it, but it doesn’t make it any easier. But deep down, you know you love him too much to let this go on. And you know he loves you too, even if neither of you will say it right now.

Riddle Rosehearts

You sigh dramatically, dragging your feet as you head towards Riddle’s dorm. The argument was dumb—you know that now. And if anyone could hold onto stubbornness like a grudge, it was Riddle Rosehearts. You, on the other hand, are way too tired of the silence, so it’s time for drastic measures.

As you approach his door, you pause, a silly idea forming in your mind. What’s the best way to apologize to someone like Riddle? With a flourish, of course. You rummage through your bag, pull out a red rose you happened to pick up earlier—totally coincidental, you promise yourself—and start plotting.

A few minutes later, you knock on his door, taking a deep breath. You hear footsteps, and then the door creaks open, revealing Riddle’s ever-serious face. His eyes flick up to you, then down to the rose in your hand, then back up again. He doesn’t say anything, though the faintest hint of curiosity flashes in his eyes.

Time to execute the plan.

You drop to one knee in an exaggerated, overly dramatic fashion, holding the rose high above your head like you’re a knight pledging allegiance to his queen. “My dearest Riddle, Queen of the Rose Garden, I come bearing an apology for my grievous offense. I’ve come to beg for your forgiveness,” you say, loud enough for the whole dorm to hear.

Riddle's eyes go wide, and for a moment, his face goes completely red—not from anger, but from pure, unfiltered embarrassment. He glances around, hoping no one else is witnessing this absolute spectacle you’re making.

"Please," you continue, voice wobbling as if you're on the verge of tears, "Grant me one more chance to bask in your presence! Your mercy, oh merciful ruler!" You bow dramatically, forehead almost touching the ground.

He sputters, clearly flustered beyond belief. "W-What are you doing? Get up! That's completely unnecessary—!"

"No!" You hold up the rose like a peace offering. "Not until you talk to me again! I will stay here on my knees if I must! Forever! Or until I get a cramp, whichever comes first!"

He’s torn between laughing at the ridiculousness of it and dying from second-hand embarrassment. “This is ridiculous! I—” He looks at the rose, then at you, eyes softening just a bit. “Fine, fine, just… stand up already.”

You spring to your feet, grinning triumphantly. “So, we’re good?”

Riddle sighs, rubbing his temples. "You're impossible."

“Does that mean yes?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him playfully.

“Yes. But stop being so dramatic. The whole dorm probably heard you…”

You don’t care. You throw your arms around him in a spontaneous hug, and for a second, Riddle freezes, stunned by the unexpected affection. Then, hesitantly, he returns the hug. He’s still embarrassed, but there’s a softness to his grip, a sign that he missed this closeness just as much as you did.

He pulls you into his room, and as soon as the door clicks shut, the embarrassment on his face fades, replaced with a quiet vulnerability. He avoids your eyes, walking over to his desk, his voice quieter now. “I… I was afraid,” he admits. “That maybe you were getting tired of me. I know I’m difficult sometimes, and—”

“Whoa, whoa,” you interrupt, stepping closer. “Where is this coming from?”

He sits down, staring at the floor. “You could be with someone more… easygoing. Less rigid. Someone who doesn’t argue over every little thing.”

You blink, surprised. “Riddle, I knew what I was getting into when I started dating you. I chose you, remember?”

He looks up at you, eyes filled with uncertainty, and you notice his hands trembling just slightly. “But what if I drive you away? What if one day you just… stop trying?”

Your heart aches at the vulnerability in his voice. Before you can think, you step forward, kneeling in front of him. Without hesitation, you cup his face in your hands, gently brushing your thumb against his cheek. “That’s not going to happen. Ever.”

His eyes glisten slightly, the tension of the past few days unraveling as he leans into your touch. “But—”

“No buts,” you insist softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his forehead. “I love you. Stubbornness, rules, and all. And honestly, I think the petty arguments are kinda fun. It keeps things… interesting.”

He lets out a shaky breath, and you feel a few tears slip down his cheeks. “You don’t know how hard it is for me,” he whispers. “To balance everything, to try and be perfect all the time… I don’t want to lose you because of my shortcomings.”

You smile gently, brushing away the tears with your thumb as you lean in and kiss his cheek softly. “You’re not going to lose me. You don’t have to be perfect, Riddle. I didn’t fall in love with perfection, I fell in love with you.”

He stares at you for a moment, tears still threatening to spill over, but his grip on your hand tightens as if he’s holding on to your words. “I… I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve the world,” you whisper, pulling him into a tight hug, cradling his head against your shoulder as he allows himself to cry softly into your neck. You run your fingers through his hair, gently whispering reassurances as he finally lets go of the weight he’s been carrying.

“I missed you,” he mumbles between sniffles, his voice fragile in a way you’ve rarely heard before.

“I missed you too,” you say, kissing the top of his head. “Let’s never do this silent treatment thing again, okay?”

He nods, still clinging to you, and you feel his lips press a soft kiss against your shoulder, a wordless promise.

Leona Kingscholar

It’s been two long days of silence. And if you know one thing about Leona Kingscholar, it’s that his stubbornness rivals your own. You’ve been circling around each other, neither one of you willing to be the first to admit defeat. But the silence is eating away at you, and, well… you miss him.

So, you hatch a plan. A very dramatic, ridiculous, and completely unnecessary plan.

Armed with a large bouquet of sunflowers—because roses are too obvious—you march into Savanaclaw with all the confidence of someone who is absolutely not going to be embarrassed by this. Nope. You pass by several confused students on your way to Leona’s room, each one giving you strange looks as you carry the huge bouquet.

You stop in front of his door, take a deep breath, and knock. No answer. You knock again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

Sighing, you decide to just barge in—because what’s a grand gesture without a bit of dramatic flair? Pushing open the door, you find Leona lounging on his bed, arms behind his head, eyes closed.

Perfect.

You march up to him and stand by his bed, holding the bouquet in front of you like a shield. “Leona Kingscholar, hear me out!” you declare, in a tone that’s probably more suited for a court jester than someone in an actual relationship.

One of his ears twitches, and his eyes crack open, glancing at you. You stand tall and proud, despite how ridiculous you feel, presenting the sunflowers like they’re some rare treasure. “I come bearing these humble sunflowers as an offering to ask for your forgiveness, O Great King of Beasts.”

He snorts. Actually snorts. “What are you on about, herbivore?”

You drop to one knee dramatically, holding the flowers up to him as if you’re a knight swearing fealty to his king. “Please, Leona! Forgive my transgressions! I was wrong to argue with you, and I cannot bear another moment without your esteemed company!”

Leona raises an eyebrow, staring at you with what can only be described as amusement. “You’re really going all out, huh?”

“I am but a humble servant, groveling for your mercy!” you continue, refusing to break character. “Please, take these sunflowers as a token of my undying affection and devotion!”

By now, Leona is fully awake, sitting up and resting his chin in his hand, clearly trying to hold back laughter. “Sunflowers, huh? How thoughtful of you.”

“Of course!” You stand up dramatically, thrusting the bouquet toward him. “They represent my radiant affection for you!”

Leona finally lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But do you forgive me?” you ask, batting your eyelashes at him.

He rolls his eyes, but the grin on his face betrays his amusement. “Yeah, yeah, you’re forgiven. Just stop with the theatrics, would ya?”

You grin, knowing you’ve won him over. But there’s something still lingering in the air, some tension that hasn’t quite disappeared yet. Leona might be laughing, but you can tell he’s still a bit on edge, still a little distant.

Setting the sunflowers aside, you walk over to the bed and sit next to him. “Leona, I know it was a dumb fight, but… you know you’re the only one for me, right?”

He glances at you, his smile fading slightly as he considers your words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say softly, scooting closer. “I mean it. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a moment, he’s quiet, and you can see the tension in his shoulders start to ease. Then, without a word, he shifts, pulling you down onto the bed with him, his body practically draping over yours like a big, heavy, warm blanket. His arms wrap around you, his tail curling possessively around your leg, anchoring you to him.

He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, letting out a low, contented sigh. “You better not,” he mumbles against your skin. “I don’t feel like dealing with anyone else’s nonsense.”

You smile softly, running your fingers through his hair, scratching gently behind his ears. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Leona presses closer, his body relaxing fully against yours as if he’s been waiting for this. His weight is comforting, and you can feel the way he melts into your embrace, his tail tightening just slightly around you as if to say, mine.

You wrap your arms around him, holding him as close as you can, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against yours. “You okay now?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah,” he mutters, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. “Just don’t pull that silent treatment crap again. Hate it.”

You chuckle softly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Deal.”

He grumbles something under his breath, but the way he snuggles even closer to you tells you that all is forgiven. You hold him tight, and in that moment, with him lying on top of you like a big, lazy cat, everything feels right again.

Azul Ashengrotto

It’s been two long, dreadful days of silence between you and Azul. And for someone like him—someone who thrives on words, on negotiation, on control—it’s been absolutely agonizing. But his pride won’t let him be the first to crack. He’s stubborn like that.

And you? Well, you’re not much better.

But enough is enough. The tension between you both is suffocating, and while you’re both great at the silent treatment, it’s clear this little game of emotional chicken has to end. You’ve had enough of this cold war, and after mulling over how to make amends, you come up with the most absurd, ridiculous plan that just might work.

You stand outside the Mostro Lounge, a grin on your face, feeling more than a little proud of yourself. In your arms is the biggest, gaudiest, most unnecessary floral arrangement imaginable—an explosion of blues and purples that makes it look like you’ve picked half of the Coral Sea to present to Azul. There are seashells, ribbons, and even a tiny fake octopus plush dangling from the bouquet, like the cherry on top of your ridiculous masterpiece.

You march into the Lounge, catching the attention of several customers, who stop to stare as you make your way toward Azul’s office. Ignoring their looks, you throw the door open dramatically, the bouquet nearly tipping you over with its weight.

“Azul Ashengrotto!” you declare, bursting into his office. He’s sitting at his desk, and the second he sees you and the monstrosity of flowers in your arms, his eyes go wide. “I have come to beg for your forgiveness!”

He blinks, clearly caught off guard by the sheer audacity of the display. “W-What…?”

You march up to him, practically dropping the bouquet on his desk with a flourish. “These flowers represent my sincere regret for my terrible behavior during our argument. As you can see, they are over-the-top and completely unnecessary, much like my stubbornness.”

Azul stares at the bouquet, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Y-You…” He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to compose himself, but there’s a telltale twitch at the corner of his lips that suggests he’s seconds away from laughing. “This is absurd.”

“I know,” you reply with a dramatic sigh, throwing a hand to your forehead like a tragic figure. “I have been plagued with guilt these past two days, Azul. I couldn’t bear another moment without your lovely company.”

He finally cracks, letting out a soft chuckle. “You’re insufferable.”

“Only for you, darling.” You lean over the desk, waggling your eyebrows, and he sighs, shaking his head. His laughter is light, but there’s a vulnerability in his eyes that pulls at your heartstrings. He may be smiling, but something’s still weighing on him.

With a small smile, Azul stands from his desk and walks around it until he’s standing right in front of you. He reaches for your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles before looking up at you with a much softer expression than before.

“I’ll admit… I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now. “But I—” He pauses, his gaze dropping to the floor, as if debating whether or not to say the next words. “Did you… only come back because you thought you had to? Or do you still… want me?”

His voice cracks, just a little, but it’s enough to make your heart break. You blink in surprise, your breath catching at the rawness in his question.

“Azul…” you say softly, stepping closer, cupping his face gently in your hands. His eyes dart to yours, filled with a mix of uncertainty and hope, and it almost shatters you. “Of course I want you. Always.”

He swallows hard, and you can see the tears welling up in his eyes, ones he’s desperately trying to hide. But you won’t let him. You pull him close, wrapping your arms around him tightly, holding him as if you could shield him from the insecurities swirling in his mind.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, pressing your lips to his temple. “I love you. I’ve always loved you since I met you, and I always will. No matter what.”

Azul clings to you, his arms wrapping around your waist, burying his face in your shoulder as his breath hitches. The tears come slowly, quietly, and you feel them soak into your shirt as he holds you like you’re his lifeline.

You kiss the top of his head, brushing your lips against his hair, then down to his tear-streaked cheeks. “I’m here,” you whisper between each kiss, your voice soft and soothing. “I’m right here. You’re not alone, Azul. You never were.”

He squeezes you tighter, as if afraid to let go, and you can feel the tension slowly leaving his body. You keep kissing away his tears, gentle and patient, letting him take all the time he needs. Eventually, his breathing steadies, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes red-rimmed but filled with so much affection it makes your heart swell.

“You’re ridiculous,” he murmurs again, though there’s no bite to his words. He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, his lips brushing yours in the lightest of touches.

“Ridiculous, but yours” you reply, grinning, and he huffs a quiet laugh.

“Yes… you are,” he whispers, and this time, when he kisses you, it’s slow and tender, his lips soft but firm against yours, filled with all the love and relief he’s been holding back. You kiss him back with just as much affection, your arms wrapping around him as you both lose yourselves in the moment.

When he finally pulls away, you rest your forehead against his once more, both of you breathing a little heavier but feeling lighter than you have in days.

“No more arguments, okay?” you murmur, smiling softly.

“No promises,” he teases, but there’s a warmth in his voice now, a comfort that reassures you everything will be just fine.

And as you hold him close, with his head resting against your shoulder, you know it too. Everything will be just fine.

Jamil Viper

After two long days of silence, the weight of the unresolved argument with Jamil has become unbearable. You’re done waiting for him to make the first move, especially knowing how he can be—cautious, calculating, always one step ahead but never one to make the first emotional leap. You miss him, and more importantly, you want to make things right, even if it means doing something absolutely ridiculous.

Which is how you find yourself standing outside his dorm, holding a tray of… pancakes. Not just any pancakes, though. These are heart shaped, perfectly arranged to spell out “I’M SORRY” in big, syrup-drenched letters. You’re not sure what possessed you to make pancakes an apology tool, but hey, everyone loves pancakes, right?

With a deep breath, you knock on his door. After a moment, Jamil opens it, his expression neutral, but the second he spots the tray, his eyes narrow in confusion.

“What... is this?”

You grin sheepishly, lifting the tray up like a peace offering. “An apology. In pancake form.”

Jamil blinks at the sight, clearly trying to process this ridiculous gesture. “You… made pancakes to say sorry?”

“Yes. And they’re shaped like hearts. See? I even used syrup to write it out so there’s no confusion.” You point to the pancakes proudly. “You can’t stay mad at me after this, right?”

For a moment, Jamil just stares at the tray, his expression unreadable, before a slow, reluctant smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He lets out a quiet huff of laughter, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Maybe, but I’m yours.”

He shakes his head, but there’s no denying the amusement in his eyes. “You could have just apologized with words, you know.”

“I could have,” you agree, “but where’s the fun in that?” You give him your best hopeful grin, offering him a plate. “Come on, at least eat one. They’re good! I even made them heart-shaped.”

Jamil sighs, taking the plate from you with a resigned smile. He grabs one of the heart-shaped pancakes and bites into it, giving you a side glance. “I suppose I can’t stay mad after this.”

You watch him closely, noticing the faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. You know him well enough to see through his calm facade. Beneath it all, he’s still embarrassed—mostly about the argument, but also because he let his temper get the best of him. You can tell that’s what’s really bothering him, even now.

“You know,” you say softly, stepping closer, “it’s okay that we argued.”

Jamil looks at you, his brows furrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you don’t have to feel bad for losing your temper. You don’t always have to hold everything in around me. It’s okay to let it out, to be angry, to argue. We’re not always going to agree, and that’s fine.” You place your hand gently on his arm. “I’ll always come back and fix things, even if you feel like you can’t. That’s what we do, right?”

Jamil stares at you for a moment, his expression softening as your words sink in. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes, one that he rarely shows, and it breaks your heart just a little. Slowly, he sets the plate down and reaches for you, pulling you into his arms.

“You’re too forgiving,” he murmurs, resting his chin on top of your head.

“And you’re too hard on yourself,” you reply, wrapping your arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. “I meant it. You don’t have to be perfect with me, Jamil. You can be yourself, temper and all.”

He lets out a quiet sigh, his grip tightening slightly around you. “You’ll regret saying that one day.”

“I doubt it,” you tease, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “But if I do, I’ll make more food.”

That earns you a small, genuine laugh, and before you can say anything else, Jamil leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. His lips linger for a moment, and when he pulls back, his expression is softer than you’ve seen in days.

“You’re serious about that promise?” he asks quietly, his hand cupping your cheek. “That no matter what, you’ll always come back?”

You nod, holding his gaze. “Always. Even if we argue, even if things get tough, I’ll be right here. I’ll come back and fix it, even if you can’t.”

Jamil’s eyes flicker with emotion, and before you know it, he’s kissing you—soft and slow at first, but there’s a desperation behind it, a need for reassurance. You kiss him back with the same intensity, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him closer, trying to pour every bit of love and understanding into the kiss.

When you finally break apart, you’re both a little breathless, but the tension that had been there for the past two days is gone. He rests his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he exhales slowly.

“I’ll hold you to that promise,” he whispers, and you can hear the relief in his voice. “Just don’t make me wait this long next time.”

You smile, reaching up to brush your lips against his again. “Deal. But only if you agree to eat more pancakes.”

He chuckles, pulling you back into his arms. “Fine. But only because they’re heart-shaped.”

And just like that, everything feels right again.

Vil Schoenheit

After two days of tense silence between you and Vil, you know you need to go all out if you’re going to get him to forgive you. Apologies are one thing, but Vil is someone who values effort, refinement, and, of course, aesthetic appeal. You can’t just go in with flowers—no, you need to apologize in a way that matches his standards.

So naturally, you end up outside his dorm with a full-on spa set-up. A luxury at-home facial kit, to be precise, complete with rare, imported skincare masks and the finest essential oils. You may or may not have spent more on this than you’ve ever spent on yourself before, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

When Vil opens the door, his eyes immediately narrow at the sight of you holding a basket filled with beautifully arranged skincare products. “What… is this?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You smile, trying to play it cool. “An apology. In skincare form.” You thrust the basket toward him. “I thought maybe you’d like to, uh, pamper yourself and—look! I even got the organic lavender serum you were talking about last month!”

Vil stares at the basket, then at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. “You’re bribing me with skincare?”

“Technically, I’m apologizing with skincare,” you correct, flashing a sheepish grin. “I know I messed up, and I know you like to unwind with your beauty routine, so I thought this might help smooth things over. Literally and figuratively.”

For a long moment, he just stands there, gazing at you with an unreadable expression. You’re starting to think you might’ve miscalculated when, suddenly, a soft chuckle escapes him. “You are… absolutely ridiculous.”

You blink. “So… that’s a yes on the skincare?”

Vil shakes his head, but the faintest smile is playing on his lips. “You’re lucky you’re my sweet potato.”

Relief floods through you at his words. “I’ll take that as forgiveness, then.”

He sighs, taking the basket from you and setting it on the table. “Yes, I forgive you.” But even as he says it, there’s a hesitation in his eyes, a flicker of something deeper that makes you pause.

You step closer, gently reaching for his hand. “Are you still mad?”

Vil glances away for a moment, and you can see the tension in his posture. When he speaks, his voice is softer, more vulnerable than usual. “No, I’m not mad. But… I was afraid. So, so afraid that I’d pushed you away too. That I’d lost the one person who could tolerate me.”

Your heart clenches at his words. You can feel the weight of all the pressure he’s put on himself, the fear of losing someone important. Without thinking, you pull him into a tight embrace, wrapping your arms around him as if you could shield him from that fear. “Vil, listen to me. I’m not here because I tolerate you. I’m here because I love you.”

He stiffens in your arms for a moment, but slowly, he relaxes, his hands coming to rest on your back. “You say that now, but—”

You cut him off, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “No, I mean it. Loving someone isn’t about tolerating them. It’s about being with them because you can’t imagine being anywhere else.” You brush a strand of hair from his face, your thumb gently tracing his cheek. “I’m here because you’re everything to me, Vil. Even if you’re mean sometimes. Even if we argue. I’m not going anywhere.”

His eyes soften at your words, and for a moment, he just looks at you, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your face. Then, without a word, he leans in and presses a soft, tender kiss to your lips, his hands gently cradling your face. The kiss is slow, almost tentative, as if he’s still afraid you’ll disappear.

When he finally pulls away, you can see the unshed tears in his eyes, though he quickly blinks them away. “I don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You do,” you whisper back, kissing him again, softer this time, lingering against his lips. “And I’m staying. Forever, even if you’re a diva sometimes.”

Vil lets out a soft, breathy laugh, resting his forehead against yours. “Forever?” he repeats, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Forever,” you promise, pulling him closer until his arms wrap around you fully. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, holding him tight, and for the first time in two days, everything feels right again.

And as he hugs you back, his grip a little tighter than before, you know he believes you.

Idia Shroud

You stand outside of Idia’s room, holding a stack of video game cases in one hand and a ridiculously oversized plush of his favorite game character in the other. This might be the dumbest idea you’ve ever had, but it’s not like you could just waltz in and hand him a flower. Idia isn’t exactly the flowers-and-chocolates type. No, he needs something bigger. Geekier. Something so outrageous that it’ll leave him flustered beyond belief—something that only you would dare to pull off.

So here you are, wearing a custom-made cosplay of the main character from his favorite RPG. And if this doesn’t get him to forgive you, you don’t know what will.

You knock on his door, bracing yourself for what’s about to come next. At first, there’s no response, so you knock again, louder this time. After a few seconds, you hear shuffling inside and the telltale sound of something crashing to the floor—classic Idia. Finally, the door creaks open just enough for you to see a pair of glowing eyes peeking through the gap.

“What… are you wearing?” His voice is barely audible, and you can already tell he’s regretting opening the door.

With a dramatic flourish, you throw your arms wide and hold out the plush. “Oh, mighty Idia, Lord of the Underworld and Master of All Games, I come bearing offerings to beg for your forgiveness!” You strike a pose, holding the plush in front of you like it’s some kind of magical artifact.

Idia’s eyes go wide, and you swear his hair flares up a notch, turning into a bright pink. He blinks, clearly stunned, before his hand shoots out to yank you inside his room, slamming the door shut behind you.

“W-What are you doing?!” His voice cracks as he looks at you, then the plush, then the video games. His hair is now a brilliant shade of neon pink, a sign that he’s absolutely mortified. “Are you trying to kill me from embarrassment?!”

You can’t help but grin at how flustered he is. “Hey, I had to go big! You were ignoring me for two whole days!”

“I wasn’t ignoring you!” He fidgets, avoiding eye contact as his hair flickers pink. “I just… thought maybe you were tired of me or something…”

Your grin fades, replaced with surprise. “Tired of you? What are you talking about?”

Idia sinks into his gaming chair, nervously picking at the hem of his hoodie. “I just figured… you know, you’d realize you could do better. I mean, c’mon, I’m not exactly ‘catch of the year’ material. You’re always out there, living in the real world, and I’m… well, here. Playing games and… avoiding people.”

You take a deep breath, moving closer until you’re standing right in front of him. “Idia,” you say firmly, “if you seriously think I’d ever get tired of you, you’re out of your mind.”

He glances up at you, clearly unconvinced, so you kneel down, placing the plush in his lap before grabbing his hands. “You mean the world to me. I’d literally fight God in a 1v1 death match if it meant keeping you.”

His eyes go wide again, his hair flaring even brighter. “Y-You’d what?”

“I mean it,” you continue, squeezing his hands. “I love you, okay? Whether we’re sitting in here gaming or you’re talking to me about your latest game binge, or even when you’re convinced that you’re somehow not enough. You are enough, Idia. You’re more than enough.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, processing your words. Then, slowly, he leans forward, wrapping his arms around you in the most awkward, yet endearing hug imaginable. His face is buried in your shoulder, and you can feel the heat radiating from his hair as it flares even pinker. “You’re… too good for me,” he mumbles against your shoulder, his voice small.

You chuckle softly, wrapping your arms around him and holding him tight. “Nope. You’re stuck with me.”

He pulls back slightly, his eyes meeting yours, and you can see the vulnerability in them. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do.” You lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek, watching as his hair flickers with warmth. “I’m not going anywhere. Ever.”

Idia blinks a few times before he wraps his arms around you again, pulling you closer this time. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “But I guess… I forgive you. Not that I was really mad in the first place.”

You laugh, nuzzling into his neck. “Good. ‘Cause I missed you.”

His grip tightens around you, and for a moment, you both stay like that—wrapped up in each other, the tension of the past few days melting away. Finally, he pulls back, his eyes flicking toward his gaming setup. “So, uh… you wanna play something?”

You grin. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The two of you settle onto the floor, your back leaning against his chest as he hands you a controller. He wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, his hair still glowing a soft pink at the ends as the game starts up.

As you start playing, he presses a quick kiss to your temple. “Thanks. For, y’know… everything.”

You smile, leaning back into his warmth. “Anytime, Idia. Anytime.”

Malleus Draconia

The wind howls as you trudge across the campus, dragging a massive stone gargoyle behind you. It weighs approximately as much as a baby elephant, and if anyone else saw you right now, they’d think you’d completely lost it. But you know exactly what you’re doing. You know the storm swirling above Night Raven College is because of him, and if there’s one thing Malleus Draconia loves more than you (or so you like to tease), it’s a well-crafted gargoyle.

So here you are, yanking the poor stone creature across the wet grass like you’re on some kind of mission. Your arms ache, your back is screaming, and you’re about to regret this grand gesture entirely—until you finally see the towering spires of Diasomnia in the distance. Almost there.

You pause for a second to catch your breath, leaning on the gargoyle like it’s an old friend. “You’d better work,” you mutter to it, “because if I have to drag you all the way back, I swear—”

A gust of wind nearly knocks you over, reminding you why you’re out here in the first place. You shake off the rain, grit your teeth, and resume your march toward Diasomnia’s courtyard.

Once you arrive, you park the gargoyle right underneath Malleus’s window. Perfect placement. You could be a medieval decorator at this point.

You pick up a few rocks from the ground, size them up in your hand, and start tossing them at his window, each one making a soft thunk against the glass. After the third throw, the window creaks open, and Malleus leans out, looking down with a mixture of curiosity and confusion. His eyes land on the gargoyle first, then on you, soaked to the bone and holding a rock like you’re about to reenact some ancient ritual.

“Huh?” is all he says, blinking at the sight before him.

“Malleus!” you shout dramatically, “Come down! I brought you a peace offering!”

He stares at the gargoyle, then at you, before disappearing from the window in a blur. Within seconds, he’s outside, standing in front of you, his expression unreadable but his eyes glowing faintly with that magical storm swirling around them. The weather above you rumbles ominously, thunder echoing across the sky.

“Malleus, I—”

Before you can even finish, he pulls you into a tight hug, wrapping his arms around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. You freeze for a second, surprised, then feel his body trembling slightly against yours. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, his voice low and filled with regret. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. The storm… I didn’t know it would affect you too.”

You realize then that his hands are shaking, gripping onto you like you’re his lifeline. Your heart softens, and you return the hug, pressing your face into his neck. “No, I’m sorry,” you mumble into his skin. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I should’ve come sooner… with or without the gargoyle.”

He lets out a shaky breath, and you feel the tension begin to fade from his body. Slowly, the storm above you starts to calm—the wind softens, the rain turns into a light drizzle, and the ominous clouds roll back as if they were never there to begin with.

You pull back just enough to look at him, his glowing eyes now gentle as they meet yours. “So, uh… do you like the gargoyle?” you ask, grinning a little.

Malleus chuckles softly, his eyes flicking to the stone statue behind you. “It’s… impressive. Though you didn’t have to go through such lengths.”

You shrug. “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

He smiles, a genuine, relieved smile, and before you can say anything else, he tugs you back toward the castle. “Come inside,” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “You’re soaked, and you brought a guest. We should both dry off.”

The two of you (and your new gargoyle friend) make your way to his room, and as soon as the door closes behind you, Malleus pulls you onto his bed, wrapping himself around you like a possessive dragon hoarding his most precious treasure. His arms curl around your waist, and his body presses snugly against yours as he buries his face in your neck.

You stroke his hair gently, the warmth of his embrace chasing away the last bit of chill from the storm. “You know I love you, right?” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

“I know,” he replies quietly, his grip on you tightening slightly. “I just… sometimes, I worry.”

You pull back enough to kiss him properly, your lips brushing against his softly, reassuringly. “You don’t have to worry,” you murmur between kisses. “You mean everything to me. And if I have to drag a hundred gargoyles across campus to prove it, I will.”

Malleus chuckles against your lips, a low, warm sound that rumbles through his chest. “Please don’t. One is more than enough.”

You laugh softly, nuzzling into his neck as you both settle into a comfortable silence, the storm outside completely gone now, leaving only peace and quiet—and a very satisfied, if slightly confused, gargoyle standing guard outside.

Rollo Flamme

The argument with Rollo had left a strange tension in the air, but knowing him, it was probably accompanied by a quiet storm of overthinking and guilt on his end. Rollo Flamme wasn’t one to voice his frustrations loudly, but his brooding could be as heavy as the weight of the world.

You figure it’s time to fix this, and, because you can’t just do anything the normal way, you decide on something special—something that’d be just the right mix of thoughtful and ridiculous to get his attention.

That’s why you find yourself in the Bell Tower, with a bundle of parchment paper in your arms. Not just any parchment, though—carefully selected handwritten notes of every philosophical thought, poetry piece, and historical fact you know Rollo’s obsessed with. You’ve even bound it like a book, with a dramatic title on the front: “An Ode to Perfection: Why Rollo is Always Right (Sometimes)”. It’s sarcastic enough to make him smile, but sincere enough to show you care.

Climbing the stairs of the bell tower is no small feat, but you’re determined. Once at the top, you glance out at the courtyard, where you know he’ll be, and with a deep breath, you shout, “ROLLO FLAMME, I HAVE CLIMBED THE HEIGHTS TO OFFER YOU THIS SYMBOL OF MY UNDYING RESPECT AND HUMILITY!”

Your voice echoes dramatically through the courtyard, and sure enough, you see Rollo down below, startled out of his brooding. He looks up, eyes widening at the sight of you, but it’s hard to tell if he’s more confused or horrified by the spectacle.

“I OFFER THIS—” you hold the makeshift book high, “—AS A PEACE TREATY BETWEEN US, THAT WE MAY NEVER AGAIN BE SEPARATED BY MERE MORTAL PETTINESS!”

Rollo stares for a long moment, before he suddenly breaks into a full-on sprint toward the tower. He’s halfway up the stairs before you know it, and when he reaches the top, his face is a mix of red embarrassment and panic.

“What are you doing?” he half-hisses, half-pleads, his cheeks flushed from both the running and the mortification of what you’ve just done in full view of the school. His voice lowers as he grabs your arm and tries to pull you away from the edge. “Are you insane? You could’ve fallen, and—”

“I wasn’t going to fall!” you grin, holding out the “book” triumphantly. “I came to apologize.”

He stares at the bundle of papers in your hand, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What… is this?”

“An apology. Written in beautiful calligraphy and filled with all the reasons why you’re wonderful, overthinking, but still somehow right most of the time.” You wiggle the book in front of his face. “It’s all for you.”

Rollo’s face, already red from exertion, turns an even deeper shade of crimson. His lips part, but no words come out for a second as he glares at the book, then at you. “You… climbed the bell tower. Yelled in front of everyone. And wrote a whole book to—”

“Get you to forgive me, yeah,” you finish for him, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I figured you’d appreciate the effort, Mr. Perfectionist.”

He looks at the book again, his hands shaky as he takes it from you, carefully cradling it as if it’s some kind of sacred artifact. His voice drops to a whisper. “You… didn’t have to go this far. I was never angry at you.”

You blink, surprised by his words. “What do you mean?”

Rollo glances down, his fingers curling tighter around the book. “I thought… maybe you’d realize you didn’t need someone like me. That you’d see how much of a burden I am.”

Your heart clenches at his words. Without hesitation, you step closer, reaching out to cup his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Rollo Flamme, if you think for a second that I’d leave you, you’re wrong. I’d get into a fistfight with God for you, and win.”

His eyes widen, and a nervous chuckle escapes his lips. “That’s… quite dramatic.”

“You inspire drama,” you reply with a grin, but then your tone softens, and you pull him into a tight hug. “You mean the world to me, Rollo. I don’t care about your overthinking, your brooding, or your perfectionism. I care about you.”

He tenses for a moment in your embrace, but then slowly, almost hesitantly, he wraps his arms around you in return. His hands still tremble slightly, but he buries his face in your shoulder, his grip tightening as if he’s afraid to let go. “I don’t deserve this,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I don’t deserve you.”

You shake your head, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his temple. “You deserve all of it. And more.”

For a moment, he just holds onto you, breathing deeply as if trying to calm his racing thoughts. Then, after a long silence, he pulls back slightly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears as he looks at you. “I… apologize as well. For doubting… for everything.”

You smile, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his face. “We’re both forgiven then.”

He nods, his face still flushed with embarrassment but now softened with relief. Without another word, he pulls you back into his room, where you spend the rest of the afternoon curled up together—Rollo resting his head against your shoulder, still clutching the book you made him, while you hold him close, reassuring him with soft kisses and whispered words of love.

The tower bells toll softly in the background, but for the two of you, there’s nothing but the warmth of each other’s presence.

Masterlist

[centrally-unplanned]

Look, I understand that I am complaining about clickbait here - I am the problem, "you are talking about it baby". I know, I know, I am a sinner.

But like can we stop doing that thing where when foreign people make jokes we pretend they aren't obviously jokes? Nakashima (writer of Kill la Kill) in a sit down with Imaishi told a funny joke about their heavy fanservice:

Nakashima: After all, what we're creating are commercial works, so we want people to see them. It's understandable if people say they don't get it, we don't want them to feel unnecessary discomfort. However, if we all create something completely sanitized, it lowers the collective immune system, and everyone ends up dying. So, there's also the idea that we deliberately take on a bad reputation and put out harmful things. Imaishi: Haha. Nakashima: We do it with the high ideal of "this is necessary for humanity's immune system." It's never understood, but we bear the bad reputation and perish for humanity's sake. There's that path of doing it with that kind of resolve (laughs). Imaishi: That being said, if possible, I don't want to perish (laughs).

This is cute, right? Like humanity's prudishness needs the vaccine of media fanservice to immunize it against the true sex. Its both, again, a joke, its not a real argument. But also its a cute way of saying that society needs a diversity of content, you gotta get the raw stuff sometimes so you are ready for it in life. Valid enough argument honestly, I agree that every teen should see some porn in their day to learn.

So can dumb dumb western media sources stop pretending that they don't know this is a cutesy metaphor? Did you read it?? Its not "bizarre", you are talking to the creators of Kill la Kill for fucks sake, what did you expect.

[mysoftboybensolo]

Things I Don't Understand of Audiences Reaction of Nosferatu 2024

Complaints of how this is a ripoff of Dracula, and I am like, of course it is! The original 1922 film is the most famous ripoff in the history of cinema, but it is also one of the best ripoffs ever. Maybe know your history just a bit.

Why are people saying that Ellen dying was stupid or unnecessary? Firstly, that has been the ending in the 1922 and the 1979 film, this wasn't just anything Eggers pulled from nowhere. Secondly, people don't seem to understand that the Gothic genre never not one that allows it's characters to walk away unscathed, whether it is physical damage or mental damage. Blood is demanded, and hardly a truly happy ending is found, at best a bittersweet ending or at worst an ending where everyone is unhappy. I think not only is it true to the films this one is based on, but also the only satisfying ending. Ellen wouldn't have been truly happy if she had survived, because she still will be a seer, she will still have darkness looming inside, and Thomas is either incapable or unwilling to accept it. He's belief that killing Orlok will bring a reset to everything, even bringing Ellen back to how she was before, but the Ellen she was before was still suffered. He brushes aside her nightmares without comfort, he doesn't take into account how she views their marriage (when she insists that she doesn't need material things but he acts as if he knows better), and when she tries to express her suffering, he would prefer her to suppress it. She would never be truly free, but to die doing a good thing, to have control over her death the way she didn't in life, it's an empowering end, if bittersweet.

People complaining about the pace of the film, saying it starts off fine but then drags in the middle? I think the film flowed wonderfully, there was never a moment when I was thinking how much longer to the end or felt it rushed in the story. I personally cannot wait until we get the extended version, but I am happy with how it came out.

Where are people getting "Orlok groomed Ellen" from? Grooming is when someone goes after a minor and gets them to be emotionally attached to them for a long period of time in order to achieve some sort of goal (often times sex). People have been saying Ellen was a "literal child", but we don't know that for certain. Yes, Ellen described herself as a child, but it seems that the term child is used more as a synonym of "inexperienced" or "young". Also, we are not sure how old any of these characters are. If we were to go by actors ages as guidelines, Lily-Rose Depp was 24 when filming this, and all we get in between the first scene to the present day is merely "years later". That can mean two years or ten, we cannot be sure. And while Lil-Rose Depp can look younger than her age, no one better try and say she was playing a 12 year old or whatever in that first scene, because there is no way you can convince me she is as young as that. Also, Ellen hadn't been emotionally attached to Orlok between the years to make it grooming. I can make a better argument of grooming in another famous Gothic movie the 2004 "Phantom of the Opera" then I could with "Nosferatu".

Listen, this movie won't be for everyone, that is fine, but what I have an issue with is saying people are dumb or evil for thinking Ellen x Orlok is interesting/has romantic elements to it. One person commented on another's post about saying that the cast are dumb for seeing this as a love triangle, especially Lily-Rose Depp for not seeing Ellen as a victim. The director, who also wrote it, wanted this version to play up the Death and the Maiden themes, that was their vision, and I don't think it's right or fair to say they are dumb because the original movie wasn't a love triangle. If we were to be really anal about it, so many pieces of media we have we wouldn't be able to enjoy because it's origins are not the same. Sorry Disney's Hunchback fans, you can't enjoy the happy ending because the original was a downer. Sorry Wicked fans, it's nothing like "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz", so it shouldn't be enjoyed. See how ridiculous it sounds? You can debate if whether or not they managed to achieve their goal, but you can't deny that was the intention and say people are dumb for picking up what they had intended.

I also feel that it's quite hypocritical of people to say that the relationship between Orlok and Ellen is evil and creepy, but then go off and say that the scenes where Friedrich has sex with Anna's corpse as "romantic" and Thomas' couch scene as "hot", when both deal with dubious/no consent at all. Just admit it, you are fine with dubious stuff so long as it's a hot guy doing it. The couch scene was quite uncomfortable for me, Ellen is clearly not in her right mind, even if not by some kind of possession, but emotionally, and it didn't sit right what Thomas did. I am not saying he raped her, but she wasn't in the right mind space to have this be a passionate moment. And he wasn't doing because of love or passion, he was doing it because he didn't like hearing Ellen say how he couldn't please her like the Count could. We had seen what they are like when they are in a good head space and the feeling mutual, as we saw in the den of the Harding's home. I feel like this scene wasn't meant to be a hot and sexy moment, but a incredibly distressing moment when two individuals are acting at their worst.

I don't understand how people feel that this film isn't a feminist film. I've seen people claim that the movie shames Ellen and that her not finding out how to stop Orlok is robbing her of her agency. Here's the thing, yes, many characters shame her for what she feels, but the narrative doesn't. As the audience, we feel sorry for her, feel bad for everything she is going through, and given the time period, of course there would be many people (mainly men) who will shame her passions or deny her darkness in favor for a more "womanly behavior". We are meant to see how the human world would never understand Ellen the way Orlok would understand her, why she would have called out a force that is inhuman, because humanity has turned her away. What's fascinating is that Ellen has control of Orlok, being able to call him, speak to him as an equal, and get him, a powerful centuries old being, to admit that she is his affliction, his weakness, and in the end, it's proven right. This mortal woman is able to defeat a supernatural being, all the while him loving her, how is that not awesome and feminist?

In regards to her finding the cure; true, in both the '22 and '79 film, Ellen figure out on her own what needs to be done to stop Orlok, but that doesn't mean '24 Ellen isn't smart or in charge of her own actions. We've seen Ellen say what the future holds multiple times, so it isn't crazy to believe that she would have seen what her fate would have been as it drew closer, and her need to talk to Von Franz read to me as her knowing the cure. When Ellen walks Von Franz to his home, she says that she knows what must be done, and they work together to make this happen, with him promising to keep Thomas away. Out of all the men, Von Franz had been the only one to take her feelings and thoughts seriously, and he does so here, including her in the plan (where Thomas had refused her to help), even giving her the chance to be stop Orlok without interruption. He isn't denying her agency, he's keeping others at bay so she can be the hero.

I like the moustache, just like a Romanian nobleman would have had, exactly what the director wanted. After leaving the theatre, my friend and I were discussing the film, and of course the design of Orlok was brought up, and she said "I liked it, especially the moustache, very Vlad the Impaler". She isn't a massive Dracula fan but she understood what was the inspiration behind it. Y'all are just uncultured swine.

In the end, I love this film, and wanted to just share my two cents.

[helluvapoison]

Adam x Reader imagine finding lyrics to a song adam wrote for you

[Name’s Song], he wrote at the top, an arrow pointing tot he scribble, that’s a fucking cliche

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

you've lost count of how long it's been since... whatever happened, happened. you didn't have clearance to know why or how. that made it all the harder to accept it but he's gone; he died. you weren't ignorant to what he does— did— for heaven. it was a secret (or supposed to be, anyways) but adam loved to boast and you were his favorite person to brag to. he loved the way you would halfheartedly clap and praise him upon his returns.

"don't i deserve a kiss for all my hard work, babe? protecting you ain't easy, y'know."

you would scoff, "oh, don't i know it. c'mere my big, strong savior."

maybe you didn't know. you thought you did. everything was confusing now. his absence was noticeable, an unavoidable topic.

you haven't been able to bring yourself to touch the keys to his place, much less go to it. which was dumb, right? everywhere in heaven was a reminder of him! why did his penthouse seem so frightening without him in it? you'd been there countless times before now.

having a key of her own, lute went there already. she doesn't talk to you anymore, she doesn't even look at you when you pass by on the street and try to wave, but there's an unspoken promise between you that neither of you would get rid of his shit. or touch it, it seems. adam's place is a disaster, the very same one you saw the last time you were here.

"clean this up for me before i get back, yeah?"

your breath hitches, fingers trembling looking for the light switch before you remembered he had those stupid clap-activated ones. darkness it is. you only needed a picture and he had the only one. it was the very first you took together at heaven's winter carnival, a photo booth slide of four funny faces that he demanded to have. damn near threw a tantrum over keeping it, actually.

pausing at the bedroom door, your eyes dance over the room while memories flash, a plethora of scenes you've lived in here. bringing him soup when he was stubborn and sick, falling asleep on his chest, tossing dirty clothes at each other in fits of laughter, arguments, break ups, make ups, movie marathons, video game tournaments. the time he thought you were asleep and whispered he might be scared of loving you.

with blurry eyes you forced yourself to his bedside table, pulling open the drawer with unnecessary force. not in there. you sighed as you dropped to your knees beside his bed, pushing the sheets away and blindly reaching under for the box you knew he kept under there. he wasn't terribly organized keeping all this abandoned songs in a shoe box under the bed but the picture was sitting on top in pristine condition.

then you saw it. your name in his handwriting-- multiple times along the page. you read all too quickly the heartfelt confession amongst the swears and notes that made it unequivocally adam's. he called you a storm, turning his life upside down and sideways in a way that could only be love in it's truest form.

and fuck, if that didn't make this all the harder.

[swightops]

still holding the silence (3) - thunderbolts* (b.reynolds)

summary - your first training session with bob has you both finding comfort in one another warning(s) - typical thunderbolts warnings (depression, cannon violence, blood, etc.), a/n - IM SO SORRY THIS IS LATE IVE BEEN BUSY AND I FORGOT TO UPLOAD IT AHHHH PLEASE DONT HATE MEEEE! as an apology, I'll upload chapter 4 tomorrow and then 5 on our regular Wednesday 😇

09:37 AM

The Watchtower’s elevator doors part with a ding as you step into the marble foyer, your boots echoing faintly beneath the high, vaulted ceilings. You’re on one of the higher floors, one that was closed off the night of the gala. Your entrance into the Watchtower was thankfully not as eventful as you thought it’d be. You only saw essential personnel on your way up, and you mentally thank Bucky for ensuring no unnecessary people would be present when you arrived. You’re sure that your PR team would freak if they knew you were here. 

Bucky’s already waiting. Leaning against a support column with his arms crossed, face serious, but his eyes turn soft when they land on you. 

“Was half worried you weren’t going to come,” he says, voice low.

You pull your sleeve down. “Yeah, well, I said I’d come, so here I am.”

He nods his head for you to follow, and you do. The silence between the two of you is thick, heavy with things unsaid. Or maybe, heavy with the things you did say, especially last night. 

“You sure you're up to this?” Bucky asks, eyes peering over his shoulder to peek at you. You shrug. 

“No,” you admit, weirdly truthful all of a sudden. “But you are right that he needs someone who understands this Sentry/Void part of him. So, I can call a truce right now if you can.” 

Bucky chuckles, “I’d never win an argument with you anyway.”

You let yourself laugh at his words. 

A door hisses open as Bucky stops and lets you walk in first. The floor is matte black, lined with dampeners and sleek modular panels. A containment field hums faintly while lighting up the room. You follow the many electricity lines to the center of the room, and they land on Bob. He’s wearing dark brown sweatpants and a black crewneck, both looking oversized on him somehow. His hands pull at the sleeves of his sweater, and his hair falls forward as he nods to the person beside him. A head of blonde hair steps out from beside Bob, and you swallow. 

Yelena Belova.

Bucky leans in. “That’s Yelena. She’s been helping keep him grounded.”

“I know who she is,” you say, and Bucky just nods, feeling a little dumb for explaining who Yelena is. Yelena’s eyes met yours, and she smiles politely before she tugs Bob towards you. 

“Hi,” Yelena says. Not unkindly. Just…careful. Years in the Red Room taught her how to hide her emotions, yet you can still see the apprehension in her eyes. Bob shifts from behind her, his hand waving at you softly. He smiles awkwardly, and it almost makes you laugh at how he’s trying to hide behind Yelena and looking at you like a curious kid.

“Hey,” you nod. “It’s, uhh, nice to meet you.”

There's a pause. Tension hangs in the space between all of you. 

“I’ll take it from here,” you say, tugging your sleeve down again. 

Bucky hesitates. “You sure?”

“I think it’d be better if it were just the two of us,” you reason, looking at Bob, and when you see him squirm, you bite your lip. “Unless you’d feel more comfortable with them here. Or just Yelena?” 

Bob flinches before he shakes his head, “No, uhh, I’m fine with just us.” You nod before moving to a nearby chair and dragging it with you to the middle of the room. Bob follows without hesitation, and his eyes met yours—not scared. Just weary. Like he’s waiting for you to be disappointed in him.

Something in your chest tightens, and you peer over his shoulder to wave bye to Yelena and Bucky. They exchange a look, then quietly step out of the room.

“So, uh, you up for trying something?” you say quietly, looking back at the brunette before you. He flushes a little under your gaze before shrugging. 

“I don’t…I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“Good,” you say. “Me neither. Never taught before.”

That draws a faint smile from him before his face shifts. His lips part and then shut, and you chuckle lightly. “Is there something you want to ask?” His eyes widened slightly, embarrassed that you caught him before he looks at you. 

Then he blurts, “I heard what Valentina said. At the gala.” His fingers are tugging at the edge of his sleeve. “Super hearing. Can’t really turn it off.”

You suck in a quiet breath. “Oh.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice smaller now. “That…wasn’t right. What she did. And what she said.”

“She was making a show of it,” you reply, shrugging. “That’s what she’s good at.”

He looks at you now, eyes sorrowful, like he was the one who said all those nasty things to you. “Still…it felt wrong. You didn’t deserve that.”

You shrug again, but your jaw clenches. “Let’s get started.” You walk back from the chair and motion for him to do the same. He follows, and the two of you stare at the empty chair before you lift your hand. Shadows from the wall come tearing off towards the chair, forming a small ball. It slowly unravels, the shadows fade away, and all that is left is a small metallic pyramid paperweight. 

“Yo-You did that?” Bob asks, his voice a whisper. His eyes are wide with awe, and his lips are parted as he looks from the chair to the walls and then to you. You laugh and nod, your cheeks flushing a little. 

“I’m going to float this. Nothing big. Just…gentle.” You focus. The shadows from the floor rise in thin whisps and then wrap around the paperweight, tugging gently upward. The paperweight floats an inch, floating steadily before you let it down. “You try.”

He stares. “I don’t think I can-”

“It’s ok if you can’t. I just want you to try.”

He furrows his brow and reaches out a hand. His hand shakes for a few seconds, and you both stare. Nothing happens, and Bob deflates. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to use this power,” he apologizes, his shoulders falling in disappointment and embarrassment. 

“Bob,” you call quietly, voice soft. “I’m not expecting you to get it right away. From what Bucky told me, you haven’t had these powers long. Cut yourself some slack.” Your eyes meet his again, and he blinks a few times before trying again. 

And for the next ten minutes, the two of you continue the cycle of Bob trying, nothing happens, and you encouraging him. Biting your lip, you step closer to him, and he peers down at you, standing statue-esque still, curious about what you’re doing. Slowly, you raise your hand to mimic his, and just as your skin is about to touch, you stop.

“Do mind if I touch you?” you whisper. Your heart’s beating too fast, and you steal yourself under his gaze. Just like you, Bob’s sure his heart is beating so fast that you could probably hear it at this point. Swallowing and untrusting of his voice, he nods, and you let your fingers ghost over his. “If just trying to feel it is too hard, try visualizing it.” 

A thin shadow strand leaks ripples from your skin and towards the paperweight. Bob watches with quiet awe as it wraps itself around the object and lifts it lightly into the air. You let it float for a couple more seconds before the shadows drop it and dissolve. With a cough, you step back and nod towards the chair. “You try,” you smile gently, and Bob nods. His shoulders shift back, and his feet shift slightly before he squints. He tries to visualize the shadow that came from your hand, and something under his skin jolts.

You feel it before it happens—a pulse of something too big, too heavy. The paperweight rises barely a couple of centimeters before crashing back onto the chair. Bob’s hands drop from the air, just slightly, like he’s afraid of overreaching. The bolt of energy dissipates before it fully takes shape.

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly, voice strained. “I thought I had it—I—I felt it, but it slipped.”

You don’t say anything right away. You can see the way his shoulders tighten, the way he shrinks back as if preparing for scolding. As if he expects disappointment. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” you say quietly, stepping a little closer. “That was good, Bob. That was really good.”

He shakes his head. “You’re just saying that.”

“I don’t say anything I don’t mean.”

Bob swallows and looks down at his hands. “It’s always like this. One second I think I’m in control, and the next I’m not. It’s like trying to hold onto lightning. And when I lose it…people get hurt.” His voice cracks on the last word, barely above a whisper.

You remember the O.X.E. reports. The singular image with the people-shaped shadows on the wall. The phrase “a second presence.” You move closer—careful, slow, like approaching something wounded and wild. “You didn’t hurt anyone today. You’re learning. That’s what this is for.”

He lifts his eyes to yours, and it’s a vulnerable, almost childlike expression. “I don’t want to be dangerous.”

You could laugh, not because it’s funny, but because it’s like looking into a mirror. “No one does.”

Bob studies you. “But, you’re different. You’re Sunwraith, an Avenger. You saved the whole universe and Earth like three times.”

“There was a time when that name meant something else,” you admit, your voice dipping low, like the words still have teeth. Bob blinks, surprised, and you let the rest come out before you stop yourself. “When you see the twin suns,” you say quietly, your eyes meeting Bob’s sweet blue ones, “the shadow that follows will consume you.” He blinks for a second before he fully understands your words. The name isn’t beautiful, it’s an omen. A warning. A curse dressed in praise.

You continue before you can lose your nerve. “You’re afraid you’ll mess up. Hurt someone. Let the other part of you out.” You don’t say The Void, but you don’t have to because Bob knows what you mean. “I know what it’s like and I’ve spent a long time pretending I don’t hear the voice in the back of my head, waiting for me to mess up.”

His brow furrows, the emotion in his eyes shifting. “And you’re not scared of me?”

You pause. “I’m scared for you. That’s different.”

Bob’s gaze drops. He rubs a hand over his face like he’s trying to stop tears from falling. “…You’re nice,” he murmurs. “Even when you don’t want to be.”

“I know a couple of people who feel differently,” you joke, trying to lift the mood.

Bob swallows, his hands falling and trembling at his sides. “Yelena and the others…they’re great. They’re kind. They’re my friends. But they don’t get this. They don’t get him.”

You look at him—really look, taking in all of him. “I do.”

Bob looks at you, and something in his posture changes, like he’s breathing easier for the first time in a long while. “Okay,” he says, nodding slowly. “Okay. Let’s try again.”

You smile faintly and nod. “Ok.”

Bob exhales, and this time, the energy between his fingers is steadier. His eyes glow, a dim golden-white, but they don’t flicker out.

You don’t tell him he’s doing great, even though he is.

You let the silence say it for you.

The elevator closes behind you with a soft ding, and you're alone. Not in the way you used to be, raw and demoralizing, but in a way you chose to be. The kind of alone that lets your breath stretch out past your ribs and into the room.

You kick your shoes off and walk over to the couch before letting your body sink like it weighed a ton. You peer down at your hands, open palms. Your body still hums faintly with the echo of power, leftovers from training with Bob. You should feel drained, but you don’t. You feel…loose. Disarmed. Open.

You think of him again—a 6ft giant full of nerves, always talking softly as if his voice would hurt someone, blue eyes that were scared to meet yours at times, and still too gentle around the edges for someone carrying something so massive inside. 

The Sentry.

You laugh as you think about the name and the man it belonged to before you think back to how Bob looked at you with awe and softness. You let your eyes fall closed. The memory settles inside you, light and quiet. And it doesn’t leave for the rest of the night. 

[mooshs-crack-headcanons]

Fucking in their offices with the veteran trio please ☺️

Wow I'm getting a lot of requests asking for these three actually and I am NOT complaining lol.

Disclaimer: I use they/them pronouns for Hanji and since this request is NSFW in nature also AFAB language/terms will also be used for them. And tldr summary of this entire thing: poor Survey Corps desks, man... the true strongest soldiers ❤️‍🩹

(Gender neutral reader)

(NSFW contents under the cut)

Levi Ackerman

Takes issue with the idea at first, after all this is the place he works - important papers who knows been god-knows-where and shit get signed and handed off at that desk. To fuck on it would be unsanitary you know how many people have touched this thing? Plus it would leave an unnecessary mess, and not to mention the door leading to his connected bedroom is not even like... eleven steps away from it. With a bed. A bed he knows only the two have you have been in and with sheets that are cleaned everyday. Why not just fuck you there instead? It seems obvious. Until, that is, one day you're having a heated argument - one he looks back on as very dumb but he knows how stubborn he can be when not backing down on something, especially when it involves Erwin's equally as stubborn ass who tends to drag him into his messes and therefore creating this argument you had - and he doesn't exactly remember the turning point of when you started kissing each other with such tenacity or when you started ripping each other's clothes off but it's when you're pushed back on his desk, pushing all his neat stacked paperwork onto the floor sprawled back with your legs spread with that demanding "fuck me," glint in yours eyes.

Eh. It just clicked and now he's thinking with his dick.

His kisses are frantic. He bites all over the base of your throat and leaves marks he knows you're going to have trouble hiding the next day but that's honestly the further thing from his mind right now as he has three fingers shoved all the way to the knuckles inside you right now prying your hole practically wide open.

Your legs are anchored on his hips, your pants dangling one of them and the straps of your gear hanging loose off of them keep snapping into his ass to an annoying point where he completely rips them off and tosses them to the complete opposite side of the room.

Yank and pull on his hair. Do it and he'll let put a guttural groan and shove you down further on the desk where your back is completely on it and you have to physically strain to keep your head up from keeping it from hanging over the edge - to 'assist' you from having to do this he puts a hand in your hair in return, holding your head up and make you look as he fucks you with his nearly his entire hand now. It gets your eyes all glossy as you feel so overwhelmed, you feel so good.

"You're pitiful, you know that?" He tells you, picking up the pace as you squeeze around his fingers. "But that's just fine... preferable actually. I love seeing you this way and I'm not even properly fucking you yet."

When he enters you the desk finally creaks. It's a sound that itches his brain turns out, it gets his silver grays all wide that he pauses what he's doing for just a lingering moment - to your dismay as you're now flipped on your stomach on the surface with your ass out, grinding back onto him whimpering for him to move, which he gives a slight buck and there it is again. The creak. He needs to hear it again. Again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And again. And-

It's the combination of both your noises - all the moans, groans, curses, whimpers, and gritted calls of his name on your lips - and the wooden thudding, metalic complaining, the slight crackles that his desk, the one he's had since getting promoted to Captain and earning this office, that reeeeaallly gets his rocks off as he pounds you into it.

He thinks about just about how many boring exchanges he's had at his desk, all the meetings, the Cadet reprimantions, that fucking time that noble had the balls to come to his - at the time - brand new office and lecture him and newly appointed Commander Erwin who was visiting up and down how he still didn't approve of this "Gutter-rat thug," getting such a high position of military rank in barely over a year and had threatened to pull fundings. Now look at him. Captain 'Gutter-rat thug,' currently fucking you over it. Weirdly hot. Next time he has those boring exchanges he'll definitely have something nice to distract himself now.

He drapes himself over you from behind, continuing to mark up your neck and whisper in hushed tones all sort of both dirty things mixed with genuine praises of love and adoration - things only meant for you to hear, afterall he can still wreck you to the point of pleasured tears and still be all sappy, you know? It's not like anyone else is around. He likes doing it with one of your legs picked up from off the ground and holding it up in the crease of his arms - spreading you open wider for him to take and every creak and crackle of the desk underneath you is like a euphoric punctuation to ever single thrust he makes deep inside you that only grows louder, and louder, and louder, and louder, and louder, and louder until it almost sounds like thunder.

When you two finally finish, both out of breath like you just ran a mile as all your love spills between you does Levi pull back to assess the mess that trickles in flooding globs that forms into large puddles onto the rocky wood that rationality sets back in him like a truck.

"M'gonna have to clean and disinfect that... fucking knows how I'm going to get the damn smell out before those snooping fuckin-"

You move without out saying anything, down on your wobbly knees but you still make eye contact as you perform your next sinful action: licking it all up, every single bit left behind on the hardwood.

Levi just blinks. Dumbfounded.

It doesn't matter how big or small you are, Levi has you picked up and tucked under his arm before he can even realize it - he takes those eleven steps to his and yours shared bedroom and tosses you on the bed and kicks the door behind him close. You two aren't done yet.

It's later the next day when Levi gets a knock at his office door, which he barely even has to let out permission to come in as he currently is reorganizing the some of your books on his shelf and cleaning around the general area as the door opens and comes in Erwin, stack of papers in his hand.

"Levi," He greets closing the door behind him and walking further into the office.

The Captain just hums, setting the current book in his hands down and moving to the next to carefully wipe down the cover and shaky off any gathered dust from the pages. Erwin then stands there awkwardly for a moment, rubbing back his pomade slick hair before speaking again.

"I think I should apologize for causing you and (Name) to argue yesterday at the meeting with Zackley, that wasn't my intention. Again, my apologies."

"I know. Tell them that."

"I will, I just thought I'd come here first. I have the documents you requested."

Levi hums again, with his rag he starts to scrubs down a stain mark on the shelf he hasn't noticed before. Meanwhile Erwin slowly trudges over to the Captain's desk, putting a careful eye on the documents in his hands before he shuffles around where he's facing away from desk and goes to sit down before Levi catches it at the last second from the corner of his eye and immediately goes to yell for him not to and then-

CRUNCH.

Erwin's wide eyed as he now sits on the floor, the desk now cracked into two pieces with him in the middle of it. It'd be funny, it really would, if it were anyone else's but his desk. The Commander looks honestly baffled as he looks at the current unexplainable predicament he's found himself in. Levi silently swallows and hurryingly thinks up the first excuse he can pull out of his ass.

...ass. He points at the blonde.

"Your ass fucking broke my desk."

Erwin blinks before looking back down at the broken wood pile he sits on, chuckle leaving his throat. "I do really do guess Mitras quality still isn't worth much, huh? Overpriced yet completely unstable. Just like the lot of them."

"Your ass broke my fucking desk."

"Yeah - I - I guess it did..."

When he stands up he brushes himself off, looking at the damage that Levi swallows and tries not to think on the truth on actually why it broke - Erwin's ass was just the damn straw that broke the titan's back or whatever the saying goes. He didn't even want to think about how much from the budget it'd take to get this shit replaced but Erwin insists on it, saying Mike's folks actually are good craftspeople, they should be able to build an actual stable one instead of expensive dull and weak Sina bought ones. But yet... Levi wasn't sure on the truth of how weak it was since he fucked your guts out on it... but of course he couldn't just voice that part out loud. So he just quietly nods his head and agrees.

From that point afterwards he swear to you no more desk fucking.... for a good couple weeks then he finds you two at it again - however, Erwin was right, the new desk from Mike's family was very stable, very strong, very capable of withstanding a good dicking between you two.

Let's just hope it doesn't need to get replaced any time soon.

Hanji Zoë

Quite literally will jump at the chance to. Like you could be at the side of their desk, pointing over and drawn together diagrams and other research papers as they sit in their chair with their eyes wide staring at you not paying attention to a single thing you're saying - it's rude, they know, but it's so damn hard when you're so attractive! You don't notice their staring, you keep on talking business and adding your thoughts and commentary about certain test results on the latest experiments done on the two captured titans behind base: Jimmy and Stanley, as Hanji has named them - you only stop talking and look over when you process how quiet they've become, a very unusual thing for your lover, and your about to question what's wrong or if something about the results is troubling to them before they immediately have their hand on your face, cupped between their palm, as pull you down to kiss them.

Titans are quite literally the farthest thing on their mind as they push everything - every single thing, from the research notes you were just going over, to other important pieces of paper, to the junk nit-nacks they've hoarded on their messy desk - all onto the floor as the jolt and push back their chair to stand and pick you up to set you down on the surface and yank off your boots and pants.

They kiss all over your legs, nipping and biting and sinking in your touch as your fingers find the back of their brunette head to encourage their actions. Their breath is so warm against your underwear as they proceed to kiss through the material - getting an approving hum from you - before tantalizingly pluck their fingers in the band to begin to pull them down your legs, revealing your aching-with-need sex to them. But they don't touch you where you want right away, you're going to have to earn it by begging. They remind you of that while tracing their tongue over the worn marks of ODM straps on your thighs then biting at them, deep in the flesh.

Once you've begged enough to their liking do they finally touch you, and they're so good with their fingers, giving you a nice good prep before replacing it with their just as good tongue they devour your sex with. Then with their unoccupied hands they reach and grab around your hips so you can't squirm away from them as they are crouched down at the foot of that desk and go to town with you in their mouth like there's no tomorrow.

Your come stains their face when they finally pull away gasping for air - hadn't pulled away a single time since they started. They smile big at you, with their hands on your hips they scoot you in closer and with a rough sudden movement rocks the desk where you falling slightly forward so they can kiss you, making damn sure you taste yourself on their lips.

You're both on top the desk now. Hanji's - their lower half completely bare - straddled one of your legs as your rearranged as much as you can on the surface space to tangle them together and they have you slightly pushed back to where both your sexes can kiss and grind against each other. With obnoxious squeaks you fuck each other on it like animals.

They talk to you in punched out whispers, their chest - fully exposed as you've ripped open their shirt and tugged off the bandaged to reveal their breasts from underneath and bounce with each movement to two of you make. They also have their glasses pushed up and rest on the top of their head, they bounce with each movement too.

"You like this? You like taking my pussy like this? Naughty little thing... you know, I've noticed you bending over or sitting my desk with your legs open tons of times. Did you want this? But to embarrassed to ask? Huh?"

They get so domineering worked up like this you feel too high to even speak, you nod before your pulling in to more kisses as they completely fuck you further sending you closer and closer to the edge until your light headed and your whole body is numb, you fall back with your bones turned to jelly until everything sudden tightens again and the numbness fazes into hyperawareness when that snap in your gut happens and your practically sob with your release.

When your both done you two keep sitting on there for awhile, you're not even sure how long but Hanji rests into you with a wide smile on their face and half asleep in the crook of your neck but they lazily keep you sitting up and not to fall off onto the floor. It's nice, really nice, your hands stumble as you go to pet at your lover's hair and further relax into them.

But your afterglow safe haven doesn't last long as there's a sudden banging on the office door.

"Squad Leader! Stanley just bit a Cadet's arm off!" Uh oh.

Hanji's eyes go wide and whatever sleep was present in them before completely evaporates as they pull themselves off you. Panic sets it.

"Shit!" They curse and hop off the desk to go immediately pull their clothes sloppily and haphazardly back on - their pants are on backwards. They turn back to you.

"Give me like - uh - twenty minutes! Be right back!"

Incidents like this if word travels fast enough could be used as ammunition against the Corps, not to mention the poor kid...

They give you one last kiss before quickly rushing out the door, slamming poor Moblit in the face with it without realizing it as the shoot down the hall.

"STANLEY!!!"

They sob in a way like a parent just lost their child, which in a weird way they kind of did, they really did like that one... and it's nape's probably already been split open by now.

You should probably get dressed and join them, comfort their 'mourning'... if your legs can unjelly that is.

Erwin Smith

Erwin Smith is the biggest workaholic you've ever met. He spends 80% of his time glued at that damn desk and he can be very stubborn about it so it can take quite a lot to pull him away from it... though, maybe with some slight convincing...

He'll remain focused, neatly writing down his formal documentations to be sent to the capitol along with other important matters gathering his attention, even when you're behind him with your arms around his shoulders and kissing along his neck begging him to take a break as he's been in at one spot for around twelve hours straight. It won't be easy getting him away from work, he'll reassure how important his current business is and will blab on and on about all the detailed variables but honestly you could care less when he looks like he could fall over from overworking himself to death. He at least needed a damn break and you know how you could provide.

Did I mention how stubborn this man is? He won't break, even if you maneuver around in front of him and the desk as he sits there with you dropped on your knees... but he won't exactly say no, so that's start. He'll continue to work, even as you work to start pulling and undoing his belt, he'll continue jotting down on whatever he's working on but he won't stop you - hell he won't even give you any input as the sounds sounds in the office are the jingling of his belt and zipper being undone and the scribbles of pen on paper.

"Do you think Zackley would approve if I were to ask for more horses? It's best we have extra for Expeditions and I think it'd be best if each squad were to bring a couple extra in case one of their horses gets killed on the field."

He asks you, you having his cock buried deep down your throat. Casual - no, business causal in that way Erwin tends to do... but the obscurity for him to ask you about supply horses... you nearly choke because of it and surprisingly Erwin's hand finds to the back of your head to ease and balance your head out but he doesn't completely pull you off if it, as if he's come to terms with the whole situation but still he doesn't pull himself from work. It's clear you're going to easy on him. You will make him take a break from work.

You suck, swallow, take everything he has. Your hands grip tight at his hips as you your your face on his dick in steady but frequent rhythm that does get his hips to slightly buck forward every once in a while but he always comes to pet at your head in apologies if he accidentally put you in discomfort in any way and he carries on - the scribbling on the desk up behind you becoming more grading by the second.

However, there's one ray of hope... his balls.

Erwin will immediately jump in his chair and drop his pen - ink undoubtedly spilling and staining important documents the moment your mouth pulls off his cock entirely and replace it with his balls in your mouth. Play with them. Suck them. Fucking bite them. Anything. Now you have his attention and will earn a loud guttural groan from out his lips that seals the deal you've just locked in your mission success.

He sits completely back in his chair - whatever business details he was going over completely disappear in the back of his mind as both of his large hands find themselves in your head and he vocally encourages you to keep going. His cock will drip pre all over your face as you rest just below it rolling your tongue over his sack and he'll throb so needily for you.

It's then becomes so easy to get lost in everything that you don't even realize you're being pushed back further underneath the desk until Erwin's chair suddenly scoots up to sit up to it proper.

"I got these." Mike.

Mike had walked in and you can hear - and slightly flinch at the loud sound of - a stack of papers being dropped above you on the desktop. You sit there on your knees, slightly uncomfortable at the crowded position underneath the desk, your mouth still attached to Erwin's crouch - but you don't pull away, just look up as much as you can to see your lover manage to keep up sudden appearances to his cadethood friend as best he can... strangely hot in a weird way. And Mike Zacharias was no idiot.

"You feelin' okay?"

"Yes, why wouldn't I be? Though, I do suppose I have quite the workload. I should finish soon."

Mike hums in response but you can't see his face, if you could you feel like it'd be more telling and revealing so, to save from embarrassment it's probably for the best.

Then the bastard sniffs and it sends fifty layers of fear and panic through your spine.

Silence.

"Hanji's holding a card game in their office, there's gonna be booze. I'll expect you not to work yourself to death and come. Bring (Name) too if you want. If you can find them, their squad has been looking for 'em for the past half hour."

Subtly, underneath the desk the Commander feels at your head with an affirming pat. "Will do, see you then, Mike."

You then carefully listen to the boots creak on the floor, you count up sixteen steps before the door opens and clicks close behind. Another beat passes in silence before suddenly the hand on your head tightens it's grip and pulls you forward as the Commander's chair scoots back and away from the desk before he makes your head tilt back and does he look down at you proper for the first time since the encounter started.

"Well," He addresses, voice low and dangerously smooth. "-looks like I'm done with my work, hm? You got what you wanted, you must be so proud."

"Erwin-"

"Pants off. On the desk. Legs spread. That's an order, (Surname)." He says with a crooked smile, the dirty one, the one that sometimes comes out during the most inappropriate of times. That one.

Well, it's your Commander's orders. You yourself grin as you get up to your feet. Who were you not to follow?

It's only a little bit awkward an hour later when the two of you finally step in Hanji's office (pigsty, as Levi calls it) cleaned up the best you could but still the two of you had that 'messed around' aura but no one really seems to question as Hanji jokes it's about time you two showed up before going on a tirade swearing up and down Mike's cheating - he simply raises his nose swearing he's not - before you sit down at the crowded trouble where Levi rolls his eyes and passes out cards for you both, muttering something under his breath you don't quite catch but Mike kicks him under the table for it, causing him to kick harder in return.

It's fun, having little moments of small non battle camaraderie like this, for just a small amount of time all of you get to not think about titans, the Walls, and certain death for once. It's especially nice looking over to Erwin, who is now enthralled in the card game and is a very deceptive cheat to the unexpected opponent and takes plenty of risky gambles as he's known to do - a good amount of people around this table can read him and no when he's lying but it is still rather difficult, his poker face is damn well good and practiced - but even still it's obvious he's having fun and is finally not focused to death on his work which makes you happy. Even if you should've definitely won that last hand.

If you like what you read please consider reblogging! It means the world for writers and artists!

[sgiandubh]

When Cait married Tony she said they would honeymoon in Italy when it, meaning OL, was over. Good way to get it paid for by OL related appearance next March. Too bad she has to put up with Sam for a couple of hours. Sam, who said many times how he hated S2 costumes and was teased much by Meril, because he didn't like the feminine look. Too much like his true nature. He will certainly bring one of his prostitutes over past 3 years, Ashley being the latest, if her unnecessary week in UK last week for for anything else. 4 trips to Scotland for her in a year. It's clear which business she's really in.

Dear Business She Is Really In Anon,

I think you should be ashamed of yourself, for writing plain libel with no other arguments than your own twisted, bitter and irrelevant world view. If you consider that Ashley Hearn is a prostitute, just because she traveled four times to Scotland since late May 2024, then you are nothing more than a sad, sad troll, who thinks thousands of other women who happen to work in the marketing and sales sectors, all over the world, are also whores, right? You know very well all her trips have been more than thoroughly documented and you also know they did have a tangible impact, as far as that company is concerned. You should also get your fucking timeline straight before you treat us to your word vomit, because even the hatred you gratuitously spread around must have, technically speaking, at least some modicum of plausibility. She did not start to work for SS one year ago, punk: she started to work for them on May 21st 2024, which is exactly six months.

When C married McGill there is no way for you to tell what she said. You weren't there, you are a damn Social Zero and you just rely on word-of-mouth and ridiculously contradictory press releases and interviews. A honeymoon takes a week-end perhaps only in your shanty town and making the ball's organizers 'pay for it' is beyond ridiculous, including as far as C herself might be concerned (what is she, a cheap profiteer?) - supposing that 'relationship' would be anything more than a mutually convenient arrangement of sorts, of course. Sorry, but not the case.

Yeah, too bad she had to put up with S, against all odds, for eleven years, now. This is what really wrecks your pea brain, right? That, and being proven wrong and embarrassingly dumb, over and over again.

For your next endeavor, I suggest you'd turn your attention to your homeland telenovelas (you misspelled Maril Davis' name like a Brazilian and that is a dead giveaway).

Talvez Escrava Isaura seja uma substituição decente e mais acessível? Há reviravoltas baratas (gaslighting, veneno, delírio) o suficiente para mantê-la ocupada por um bom tempo.

You may wonder why I still answer your tragically ridiculous comments? Well, because it is time for someone to shame you and also show the true, dull and derisory colors of your stupid monomania.

[Later edit]: in no way did I want to imply anything negative about Brazil or its culture. I could have definitely better used one of the bajillion other Globo productions, dealing with Carioca intrigue and/or football wives. If I haven't, it is just because Escrava Isaura was a huge international success even in the Nineties, and remembered as such by many. While I am sensitive to the social and political inacceptable problem of slavery, I maintain that the 1976 adaptation of Guimarães's novel is simplistic and formulaic enough, hence more appropriate for Anon. I am sorry if my poor joke was construed differently and I apologize to all the people who might be offended. If you know me, you'd also know I am probably the last person to disrespect your country and culture.

[iwoulddieforher]

Pondering Temperature | Casey Novak//&Alex Cabot

Author's Note:

First post ... I have absolutely no clue how tumblr works or how the tumblr social interaction is supposed to be, however, I am so obsessive about these two dumb gay lawyers I had to show up anyway.

No warnings & this is also partially a character study experiment for Casey ... I wanted it to feel like it was vaguely possible a scene like this could exist in canon.

Summary: One dumb gay lawyer has a rough time of it and the other dumb gay lawyer takes her for coffee and then they proceed to have a casual conversation with very gay overtones.

4.4k words, I think?

//Images stolen from either here or Pinterest

Like a breeze that exasperates an already cold New York winter, Alex Cabot made Casey Novak uncomfortable. Not outright agitated or irritable, but just enough of a nuisance that she couldn't push it out of her mind, and if she managed, she would be inevitably reminded of it shortly as the wind picked back up again, scattering snowflakes across her face.

For around a month, she and Cabot had been “sharing” SVU. She had returned from suspension, and Cabot had returned from wherever the hell she was, and the precinct wanted both of them so they just kept sharing caseloads. It should have made her thrilled- another ADA meant she could be even more hands-on in the active cases, be able to study each argument until she could perform all of her movements flawlessly. But with Cabot, it just didn't work right.

They said less than fifty words to each other per day, and none of them were ever in sentences. A quick, “another case came in- mine, or yours?”, “Olivia needs a warrant filled, so I’m going to the courthouse- did you need anything from a judge?” “Warner asked to see you,” “Olivia asked to see you,” “Cragen’s looking for you,” God. People were always looking.

The person giving the curt notice would never expect a response- if anything, a nod or a short “Yeah, on it”, and then exit immediately.

It felt ridiculously awkward. Warmer than greeting a defense counsel, because at least they were fighting the same fight, but compared to the warmth of connection shared by the rest of the squad- yes, okay, bickering was constant, but they cared about each other on a level hard for any outsider to understand- it felt cold.

Cold reminded Casey immediately of the teasing nickname the squad referred to Cabot with- ‘Ice Queen'. It didn't help that for the first months of becoming the Special Victims counselor, Casey was constantly fighting to fill the shoes of Cabot in the squad member's eyes- and now, that legendary blonde was perched casually in the office somewhere near her’s, her annoyingly cooperative naturally blonde hair flowing down her annoyingly straight, always squared back shoulders.

Fighting the squad's fiery rejection with her own fire of determination, setting everything ablaze in a stupid, unnecessary, inefficient inferno that Alexandra Cabot would never struggle with. Amazing.

“Earth to Casey.” Olivia broke through her thoughts, piquing an eyebrow at her and settling down at the chair across from Casey’s desk. The ADA casually slid her eyes down to the detective’s face, having mastered the art of not startling when people try to snap her back to active consciousness.

“Casey’s on Earth,” She hummed, tapping her pen idly on the desk.

"Sure you are." The detective snorted, shaking her head. "If you still had that red hair, I'd make a joke about you being a homesick martian."

Casey didn't have red hair anymore. She had blonde hair, like Alex. Except Alex's hair was a toned, icy blonde, while her own remained stubbornly warm no matter how much toner she tried to use to mask her original dark copper- at some point she quit trying, settling for a blonde so dirty it could possibly pass as light brown. That thought made her internally sigh with the level of rumination over that woman.

"What do you need?"

Benson dropped a case file on her desk, a grimace that reads of determined resignation on her face. "Could you get a warrant?"

Casey's brain clicked back over to work mode, sliding her finger along the side of the case file out of habit before freeing the pages from the bounds of a paperclip and skimming over the words. "This seems straightforward.. oh."

She blinked, slowly, glancing up at Liv without breathing. The police officer doesn't seem to notice anything wrong with her- thank god, sometimes Liv can be very unobservant- although she's very observant where it counts, so perhaps that's a rude musing to make- so she doesn't move to cover her hesitation.

"So, you want to pop the shrink?" She says, tracing the word 'schizophrenic' with the pad of her index finger.

Olivia nods, stiffening her shoulders in the sort of half-shrug motion that thinned her lips that Casey had come to identify with her. "We want to know more about his delusions to see if that matches up with what happened to this woman, but the good doctor just doesn't want to talk. He's also suspicious as hell, so..."

Casey huffs, squinting at a page. "I'll see what I can do."

"Well, that's your job, isn't it?" Olivia snarks, feisty but not overtly mean, just.. Liv-like. The toll of being a detective, Casey supposed, was her sense of urgency overriding politeness. That's fine. That's what she's grown used to, anyway. It doesn't stop Casey from gritting her teeth with a twitched eyebrow as Olivia stalks off.

It takes her a bit longer than she would've liked to prepare to take this into the judge on rotation's chambers. The affidavit was written, and sat unassumingly on her desk, while she tried to steel her nerves. If she's honest, she wished Olivia had chosen to take this to Cabot instead of her. Donnelly's leering eyes as she squinted at Casey around any mention of mental illness in perps made her immensely thrilled said judge was not likely to be inside said court today.

The judge who was inside the building, however, was not very sympathetic to the issue.

In all honesty, Casey doesn't really even understand how the argument happened. One moment she was walking up the steps into the polished, posh building and then she was walking down them, barely contained fury in her eyes and in the way she clenched her jaw.

"But you have to understand," she replays her own voice in her mind, the schooled, smooth tone, "doctor-patient confidentiality does not extend this far. If this man is genuinely a danger to himself and everyone around him, there's no reason this psychiatrist should be permitted to without vital information-"

The way the judge had raised a finger in her face, silencing her as one might a little irritated kid, "If this doctor thought that there was a genuine concern, then of course he would have. But these cases are sensitive, and I will not stand for the usage of these very personal admissions as shock value-"

"I assure you, any information found using this warrant will not be abused, Your Honor, and the detectives-"

"You don't have enough on him to guarantee him as a prime suspect, and could easily lead to a misdirection in the investigation and therefore in this court. Granting this warrant right now would be premature and lead too-"

"I understand and acknowledge what you're wary of, but I can assure you-"

"I don't think you can assure me of anything with a case like this, Novak." The judge had snapped, just shy of a scoff- but they followed it up quickly so it didn't come off too much like a personal jab with a "I see no reason why this is necessary."

Casey internally flared in response, standing utterly still for a moment as it felt like an engine ignition fumbled in her stomach, before exhaling and nodding. "Thank you for your time, Your Honor." She replied as a rehearsed courtesy and nothing more, turning to leave the judge's chambers.

The judge had raised an almost withered looking finger, denying her exit. "Novak, I want you to know, I'm watching your movements on this case. It's not your job to carry out personal justice as you see fit. I don't want a repeat of-"

"I'm aware I've made mistakes in the past, Your Honor, but I assure you I will not repeat prior incidents." Her voice had cracked almost imperceptibly at the end, a motion neither had acknowledged- perhaps the judge hadn't noticed, but Casey had- a sound like a wooden block in a fireplace.

The judge stared at her for a moment, and she had stared back, disguising the fire behind her green eyes with the practiced blanket of professionalism. The judge had then nodded, looking away from her, and she was finally released from the interaction. The sharp, curt sound of her heels on the marble floors as she stalked away had been her tether, fixated on the sound while schooling herself away from obsessing over the blazing anger.

And that led her to the stairs again, on the way out, where she stopped and stood blankly for a moment, staring into the street without registering anything. She ground her teeth against each other, trying her best to wrangle in her fiery temper before she impulsively sunk her teeth into something she could control-

"Casey?"

She jerked her head to the side, where a composed if not a bit concerned Alex Cabot stood, her head tilted just the slightest. Her cold blue eyes bore into Casey's face in a way that strangely was not uncomfortable.

When she didn't immediately grant that with any real response, Cabot followed it up with, "You okay?"

The beast of adrenaline-filled fire in her stomach flared out of her control again, pouncing and writhing in her organs. She wasn't exactly sure what about Alex at this moment had her infuriated, but god, she was.

Her years of experience in court, especially her time with SVU where she'd needed to control her emotions with an iron fist if not to fumble her arguments out of anger and easily-placed personal attachment, had taught her enough to respond in a way that didn't indicate her fury.

To the average person.

Unfortunately, Alex Cabot was not an average person, and her own years of experience allowed her to see right through the younger attorney, which did absolutely nothing for Casey's misplaced anger.

"Peachy," Casey started, before realizing she didn't have anything to follow that up with, so she left it with a curt, overtly controlled nod.

"Sure you are." Alex smiled, jerking her eyebrows up to indicate her sarcasm that definitely didn't need to be further emphasized, and Casey felt like she could deck her. She briefly wondered what Alex would look like beneath her on her floor, pale skin on cold concrete, before deciding that's not exactly an appropriate pondering of her coworker.

Cabot clearly intended for her successor-turned-ally to elaborate on the source of her grievance, but Casey did not particularly feel like explaining herself, so she simply bit the corner of her lip out of habit and looked away from her, tucking her hands in her coat pockets and squaring her shoulders.

If she was honest to herself, she didn't really know what to explain, anyway. She knew that after returning from something as appalling as her Brady-violation-censure, she'd need to work five times as hard to regain the respect she had thus lost, and it was in no way surprising she had gained a reputation for being loose with cases that could relate to her more personally. Alex could understand that, but saying that out loud was not only pathetic but also did not accurately encompass the feeling swirling in the pit of her stomach. And part of her anger, now, was simply due to the presence of the other woman, which she definitely could not verbalize either.

Alex was cool, calm, composed, and her demeanor reminded Casey of the layer of ice built by cold weather on the surface of a lake. Glassy and honest, and in all ways beautiful, but in a way that concealed whatever lurked beneath all that. You could look through it, sure, see the color of the water, but until it melted what you were really standing above was something you could only wonder about.

Standing next to her made Casey feel rather inferior. She had always felt things more strongly than peers, always pictured her anger and her righteousness as altruistic flame, and in the beginning of her career this untethered drive to fight for justice had been a valuable asset, something that drove her to snarl at wrongdoers in white collar in a way other attorneys simply could not. But in special victims? Where everything was so personal, so connected, so intrinsically human? Every spark became an inferno, every morning harder to struggle to leash herself than the last. Once the wildfire was over, everything was laid bare and burnt on the floor of whatever hill Casey had so chosen to die on. And cold, ever-composed Alex Cabot knew nothing of that.

The roar of fire in Casey's heart had no similarity to the tranquility of ice displayed exclusively by Alex. Perhaps that's why Casey would never be able to live up to the legend Cabot was regarded as. It made her feel disgustingly human- something this job did not allow her room for.

"We're getting coffee," Alex says suddenly, snapping Casey out of her internal monologue to herself for the second time. The natural blonde's words were snipped but not unkind, but that didn't stop Casey from raising her eyebrows, trying to muster the icy attitude she just didn't really have in her.

Before she can retort with anything of sustenance, she feels Alex's slim fingers on the back of her coat, right on the curve of her shoulder blade, and the taller woman beginning to lead her in firm strides that she without thinking copied.

"Alex-"

"Are we going to a cafe- perhaps the one down the street, the one with all the monsteras in the windows, so we can sit down, or are we going to the coffee cart over there so we can continue this discussion in the office?"

"What are we continuing, exactly?" Casey bristled, shooting her a look, which Alex met without her proper smile faltering in the slightest.

"My vote," Cabot says casually, "is for the cafe. I like the atmosphere there."

Casey can feel her anger ebbing, but just for the sake of spiting her she indicated with her jaw towards the shape of the coffee cart a hundred meters or so down the street.

She internally groans when she reads through the lines of Alex's brisk side-smirk and behavior to realize the blonde had, in fact, also preferred the coffee cart and knew Casey was going to try to jab in like that- but Novak doesn't change her decision, nor does that realization add to any sort of negative emotion. The fire-monster in her heart growled a soft, "well played," before creeping back into a crevice in her ribcage.

They walk in an odd silence, Alex's hand on Casey's back never relenting despite her now willingness to follow the older woman's direction. Casey doesn't want to admit to herself how she's started easing into the touch.

She misses it just slightly when Alex finally does let her hand slide back to her own side as they approach the coffee cart salesman, but she focuses on reading and contemplating the menu, reaching for her purse before being rewarded with the feeling of Alex's finger brushing her wrist in a way that firmly dismissed the assumption Cabot was going to allow Casey to pay for herself. She raises her eyes in mild surprise, only to find Alex already looking at her, eyes showing a degree of knowingness that makes Casey's insides turn with mild discomfort. In an effort to resolve that, she resigns to allow Alex to cover her.

"I'll have an iced caffé mocha, please," Alex starts, then turning to Casey, who after a blank pause finishes with "and I'll take a cappuccino."

After Alex finds her wallet with a significant lack of fumbling that makes Casey again irritated at her inability to have the most basic human struggles, and after the salesman hands over two paper cups, Casey spins on her heel and begins back towards the DA's office.

"Iced coffee? Really? We live in New York, Alex, it's freezing already." She critiques, although more so simply because it's the only thing she can formulate to say. She finds that she doesn't regret starting with that, though, as Alex wrinkles the tip of her refined nose playfully.

"God knows with our job I need the sugar," Cabot takes a sip, then gestures at the steam rising from the mouthpiece of Casey's coffee's lid, "and I don't have the patience to wait for my coffee to cool enough for me to drink it."

Casey snorts. "You? Without patience? And I just sacrifice my throat."

With that, she takes a defiant sip, soothed in an odd way by the feeling of the too-hot coffee in her throat, although as she was already aware of from the feeling of it in her palm it wasn't really *that* hot. Alex responds with a furrowed brow.

"I'm- I'm not quite sure you should do that, Casey."

"I'm not sure you're in a position to question what I do, Cabot," she snarked, riled up again, before catching herself with a huff and then a slightly shameful, "Sorry."

"It's okay-" Alex starts, and then immediately echoes at Casey's scoff, "no, seriously, it's okay. I snapped at you when I was literally your client, back when you prosecuted my case- remember? So I'll let that one go now. And besides, I do sometimes question what you do, so that's not unfair regardless."

Casey turns her head briskly, an indignant almost-glare of confusion on her face, which Alex responds to with a puff of air that almost sounds like a giggle.

"Not in the way you're thinking, Casey."

The younger woman pauses in her steps, and Alex looks up in mild surprise to realize they've already reached the DA's office. A twinge of fear signals in her heart at Casey's silence, especially because the woman is facing straight and thus Alex could not read her expression, but then Novak briskly says,

"Well, lucky for you, you actually have started a discussion I want to continue. So as per your previous suggestions, we can take this to my office if that-" she turns, and Alex is met with an unreadable expression that doesn't exactly soothe her nerves yet replaces said anxiety with the momentary stun that comes from meeting the eyes of someone beautiful, "is still acceptable with you."

Alex takes an extra millisecond to respond which causes a small crease to appear between Casey's eyebrows, but when she hears the older woman's, "gladly", she visibly relaxes and continues on her path.

They remain in silence, Alex allowing Casey to pave the way ahead of her despite knowing where her office was, until the door had clicked behind both attorneys and Casey was seated on the couch in her office with Alex perched across from her, mirroring the way they had composed themselves years ago when Casey was preparing Alex for trial.

"You said you question me," Casey began bluntly, prodding, "what did you mean by that?"

The younger attorney leans forward, elbow on her knee, short of entering Alex's space but enough that Alex's spine leans automatically backwards.

Alex clears her throat, rather enjoying the way Casey approached the given situation like a courtroom exchange, crossing one lithe leg over the other. Casey pretends like she didn't trace the motion over in her mind, keeping her eyes schooled on Alex's face.

"When you hear about the details of a case, your eyes light up. And I don't mean in the normal expression of, say, 'her eyes lit up in excitement', but your eyes look like a spark ignite behind them and it doesn't go away until you hear that guilty verdict."

"Alright, smooth-talker, that doesn't answer my question-"

"And I question that," Alex cuts in with a tilt of her head, "in the sense that I question how one can be that driven."

With that, the dynamic is suddenly shifted, Alex leaning forward intently while Casey, who is momentarily caught off guard, leans in the opposite direction, her back pressed against the couch, sharp eyes studying Alex's face.

"You sink your teeth into every case you prosecute like a lioness holding out for her own and there's something gorgeous about watching you pace in that courtroom landing blow after blow, until the jury is so sure of your own authenticity it makes every defense counsel seem subpar." Alex continues seamlessly, encouraged by the faintest flush on Casey's cheekbones.

Cabot lets out a sigh, then, "When I go out with the detectives to celebrate a case, I see something similar in their faces- that sort of fierceness, that... that fire. And if I'm honest, I.. I just don't relate."

Casey blinks blankly at her, and Alex shakes her head with a twitched eyebrow. "I'm driven to succeed, obviously. I'm not selling myself short, I really will do everything possible to ensure justice is served. But we're not only prosecutors, we also need to be politicians, and I know that especially because of my uncle being a judge- I ended up working in SVU as a strategic decision. I learned to love working here, to get invested on a deeper level that matters, but... somehow, in maintaining all of that in my head, I just- that personal enrapture with each case you have, I wish I had that. I question that- how you have that, when I can't. I think it makes you an exceptional prosecutor."

The younger ADA's jaw opened as if to respond, but then she bit down on empty air, eyes narrowing as she processed Alex's almost random confession.

"And, to my understanding," Alex started again, "in the beginning, you didn't even want this job. And yet you devour every hardship you encounter now regardless. So I watch you, what you do, how you approach things, and I question that, because I really want to understand."

They sit in silence for a short moment, Casey's eyes so harsh that anyone else would prickle, uncomfortable with the examination, but Alex barely shifts, still leaning forward.

"Jesus, Alex." Casey huffs, finally. "Here I was, jealous as hell of your ability to seem so... unfazed. Nonchalant, even."

Alex offers a small, apologetic smile. "Unfortunately that couldn't be further from the truth. I am very chalant- well, not as much as you, but I wish that I was. That I could be. Lose myself in the case and forget all about the facade."

"The fact that you don't," Novak murmurs, "is what makes you so admirable to me, though." Casey bites the corner of her lip, her eyes dropping to somewhere near Alex's knee, although it's obvious she's neglecting her sense of sight to focus on the mental weight of the conversation. Her voice, normally either curt or rough, sounds like a low hum that Alex decides she wouldn't mind hearing a lot more of.

Casey has the odd urge to divulge her struggles now onto Alex. Tell her about the constant comparison between them she had been faced with, tell her about the way exactly what Alex found interesting in her was what made her be known as a liability or a hazard, whine and ramble and lay herself bare. The last of the indulgent flames flickered to an end as she eased, the air she breathed out heavier as she felt tension leave her spine.

She doesn't really want to verbalize all that, though. And thankfully she doesn't have too, because stupidly attractive Alex Cabot is so perceptive that it's apparent to Casey the older woman had sensed not only the original stress but also the release of it, and Alex's demeanour shifted just slightly to reveal her own satisfaction with eliciting such a reaction from her compliments alone. It's enough, for Casey, though, to know now that perhaps her own scrutinizing comparisons may be more self critical than necessary- or, at least, that Alex seems to believe in her.

They sit there, in silence, for a bit longer than they could ever explain to anyone else, Casey still staring blankly off into space but in the direction of Alex while the latter woman stares very bluntly at Casey.

"So, the next time you get all fired up," Alex says slowly, watching Casey's eyes as they faze back into focus, "I hope you know that's something I appreciate about you. And if you wish, you can come find me, and we'll get coffee again."

"I'll pay, next time," Casey says hurriedly, glancing towards the coffee cups that had been more or less completely forgotten about on her side table. She hesitates, squinting as she tries to figure out which one of them had contained her's.

Alex picks up on the confusion and then becomes similarly conflicted on the coffee cup ownership, tentatively picking up the one closest to her and taking a sip before quickly shaking her head and putting it back down. "Sorry- the cup felt cold, so I thought it was mine. This one's yours, it must have just cooled while we were talking."

She slides it on the table towards Casey, who accepts it, taking a swig. Alex is right- her's had cooled down till it was room temperature, while Alex's had warmed up to meet it.

"You did that." Casey says softly, almost accusingly, using the coffee as an allegory for herself that Alex apparently does not understand based on the furrowed brow she got in response.

Novak waves her hand vaguely, and Alex shrugs to herself, choosing to resign herself from the confusion and instead internally celebrate the fact Casey had just agreed on a 'next time'.

"I've got arraignment, soon," Alex breathed, although something in her itched to stay just the slightest bit longer, to watch Casey's features for just an extra couple seconds, "but I'm glad we had this talk."

"It's given me a lot to think about," Casey responded smoothly, standing with a nod to herself. "Alex... thank you."

A small hint of rosy color graced Alex's smooth skin, and she smiled warmly in a way Casey would have previously doubted she was capable of. The older woman followed Casey to her feet, her hand finding Casey's shoulder again briefly as a goodbye, before Alex nodded kindly and turned to disappear out into the world once more, collecting her coffee cup before she left.

Casey watched her leave, green eyes studying her lithe figure for as long as possible before she really did vanish entirely.

In the back of her mind, she vaguely hoped that this arrangement would continue 'till the summer, because she could bet the cold breeze she had come to associate with Alex Cabot would feel wonderful in warmer weather.

And for now, apparently, she could count on her gorgeous coworker to warm up her day's experience with coffee.

[crushedsweets]

How does tim react if Toby does something stupid, like really stupid but not killing level stupid. (Oh em gee)

depends!

if it's something like leaving the stove on, tim just goes on about "holy fuck are you trying to burn this fuckin cabin down toby where are you gonna go if it burns huh. you need to remember this shit you are an adult toby act like one"

if it's something like getting into an unnecessary fight, getting really hurt, and needing to get stitches and be on bedrest, tims really agitated and keeps telling him "You have got to stop doing this. What are you trying to prove? I don't want to see you get yourself killed. Your body is gonna stop functioning before you hit 30. Just work with me here Toby" . tobys just exhausted from blood loss and nodding along like ok whatever old man

if its something stupid like getting into a dumb argument with nina/clocky, i think tim would just kinda laugh about it. watch toby storm out and go hack down a tree cuz he needs to get the anger out. come stand and watch him, driving a beer and offering one up to toby. "you're really bad with women you know" "holy shit can you mind your own" "im just saying. why are you always fighting with those two? theyre good kids" "because they- its- they just- i dont fucking know man!" . talk some sense into him

if its stupid like toby pulling a prank and dunking glitter all over tim. he's dragging toby by the scruff of his neck and spraying him with the hose

[oscconfessions]

id really wish for the object show community to quit being hostile over fans/haters of a character, by this i mean when people say "i hate ___ fans," "i hate ___ haters," "dni if you love/hate___," etc. i believe it hinders our ability to get along as a community for a really unnecessary and trivial reason. ive never seen a true instance of in which someone liking/hating a character affects how you must view that person. we should value each other further than up to just our mere opinions on the characters because its a really dumb way we keep getting into conflicts and high-scale arguments.

literally, one of my best friends in the whole universe loves fries from bfdia, while i hate his guts (in that specific season, for clarification). she hates eggy, yet she is one of my favorites. yet we remain friends for years.

i understand that for many neurodivergent people (99% of the osc), its difficult to see past your interests and our interests is how we make friends with people in the first place. i get this, it affects me too. but we cannot keep letting our opinions make us hostile towards one another, especially since someone's opinion on a character is not a gauge of morality. its not. someone enjoying a character who is morrally wrong (or even grey), someone disliking a character who is actually an angel, i just dont get it..............

ooookay okay okay, unfortunately i  have to mention that the only and ONLY exception in my case is pin from bfdi, because we are the exact same person and being /gen. everythingg and anything, whether positive or negative, that is said about her anywhere applies to me as if the people are saying these things about me. so if someone were to refuse to understand pin, treat her harshly and insult her for being herself, all in front of me, well obviously my brain would register that person refusing to understand me and insulting me, so that is why it would be impossible for us to be friends, let alone on good terms. :[

(p.s.: as you would expect, yes my self-esteem skyrocketed after bfdia 18 came out to the point where i organized a very personally healing character analysis video essay on her, but the second i discovered what many others were saying about her my self-esteem plummeted way harder and i felt horrible for a long time. and if anyone mentions the first few minutes of tpot 16 my mind begins to spiral.)

that is it send ask 3/26/2025

.

[literallypyro]

hi im nervy about this errr do you have tf2 hcs drabbles anything for mercs (specifically medic and scout and Maybe sniper .... if you feel up to it) finding out their coworker merc reader has a major thing for being tickled and is insanely embarrassed to admit they like it 😭😭 AAHH like nooo aha dont tell me to hold my arms up while you slooowly spider your fingers along my ribs while teasing me for being so ticklish 😵‍💫 sorry theres just no merc x reader tf2 tickle fics anywhere and its driving me silly .........

Okay, I'll admit... I'm one of the worst people to ask this 😅 I hate being tickled.... I'll still try to give you what you want, but I can't promise any amount of quality

Also, thank you for clarifying a few! It would've taken way longer for me to get to this if not. I'm sorry the wait has already been long 😖

Anyway, I still hope you enjoy!

Childlike joys

Scout:

-He's actually kinda happy you like to be tickled. Y'know those moments some couples have when they tickle fight ? That's what he's imagining

-He'll do it randomly sometimes, but his favorite time to tickle you is when you disagree over something small. He uses it to avoid small, unnecessary arguments, and he gets to see you giggle and squirm as a bonus

-I dunno if you know how some people are ticklish when people squeeze a specific part of their knee, but if you're like that, he does it at completely random times. He acts like nothing happened, too. He doesn't even look up from what he's doing

-He would most likely tease you about liking it, but he knows when to stop. He doesn't wanna make you mad

-If you asked him to stop the teasing, he would. He might slip a couple times, but immediately apologize after he realized what he did

Medic:

-He was intrigued when he figured out you liked being tickled

-The most common instances that he would tickle you is when you aren't expecting it. Times such as when he's walking past you on his way to another spot, when you're watching him work, when you're wrapped up in a hobby, etc.

-I think he would also tickle you a tiny bit when he's trying not to get mad. Such as when you might hover in a spot that's in his way, when you ask questions he personally finds annoying, and other small things he knows aren't worth getting snippy about. Your laugh is enough to dissipate that small negative emotion

-He's a lot more low-key about it than you would think

-He wouldn't tease you much. He might make a small comment about it during banter, but that's about it

Sniper:

-Haha, silly partner likes silly thing

-He finds it really amusing, to be quite honest. If he's in a kinda shitty mood, literally all he has to do is tickle you and make you laugh, and he's immediately feeling better

-Yknow how couples have lighthearted arguments? Like what song is better and stuff like that? Yeah, he's tickling you so he can win every single time. You can't form a strong argument if you're too busy laughing and writhing around

-He would also use your ticklishness to cheer you up, too. The smallest frown will have his hands practically attacking your sides and other weak points

-Let's be SO FR for a second. He is most definitely mischievous sometimes. He would subtly tickle you when the team is in the room to mess with you a little

-Also plays dumb if you try to call him out for it

[paintbrushnebula]

Ghostflower Headcanons Pt 2

Gwen is forgetful when it comes to practicing self care/attending doctors appointments, picking up prescription medicine, booking doctors appointments. She complains how unnecessary it is because she's a spider person but Miles nags her a lot for her to take care of her health regardless. He's really on top of her practicing self care.

Miles and Gwen's first kiss happens like, when they're late 16 (Miles) and 17 (Gwen) yrs old. It happened when they were bidding each other goodbye for the night after a long fight or smth, Gwen was leaving out Miles' window via wall crawling in costume. Then Miles called her back to say something, forgot what he was gonna say, they then kinda just linger there making small talk that turns into really touching words shared between them. before either of them know it they're like. an inch away from a kiss when Gwen chickens out and insists that Miles ask Rio for permission for her to kiss him. He relents and texts Rio for permission. She says it's fine. Then they kiss. Gwen always leaves out the whole "asking for permission" part whenever they tell the story of their first kiss.

Miles is a really big gift-giver. He loves loves LOVES gifting Gwen all these little things like this studded plaid bag that reminded him of her, or a cool gothic choker, stuff he knows that's her style of wear. Also like these random dumb things every once in a while like a home-made keychain of Moo Dang or. or this thing--

Gwen started calling Miles "stringbean" at some point and he hates it

Gwen isn't allowed to call Miles her special "Bambi" nickname for him in front of Hobie

They're both very touchy-feely people but Gwen got very apprehensive about being touchy with Miles in front of his parents when they first started dating, fearing making Rio and Jeff upset or uncomfortable if she was touchy with him in front of them. Like, she wouldn't hold his hand or hug him or anything if Jeff and Rio were around. Miles wouldn't take well to the sudden lack of physical affection, like he notices something's off but doesn't know what it is, and would respond by getting touchy himself, like trying to hold her hand or cuddle, and she wouldn't pull away from the touch, but he knows she's uncomfortable for some reason, and decides to cut it out so as not to make her uncomfortable. So it's get to the point where Miles would start wondering if Gwen was acting this way because she was upset with him. Now, this doesn't end up getting dramatic or blowing up into an argument or anything, it'd just be that eventually he'd ask her what's up and she'd come clean about her concerns and they'd resolve things. Like emotionally intelligent people. Simple ^_^

Gwen often shortens her "Bambi" nickname for Miles to "Bambz."

Miles leaves secret little grafiti messages of love around New York in Gwen's dimension--like a heart with "M + G" in it with a Cupid arrow through it on a lamp post, or some other lovey dovey message in a random alley.

Miles has had a lot of trouble sleeping for a long time now as evidenced in canon, but is out like a light whenever he sleeps next to Gwen. Whenever they cuddle he always falls asleep first.

[flipfliqyaoi]

Can you please yap about Flippy and Lumpy's relationship? They seem pretty close

OK THEY'RE PRETTY INTERESTING and I can see why they're a popular-ish duo! From the little times we see Flippy interacting with Lumpy HE GENERALY DOES TRUST THIS GUY. Trusted enough that he's willing to get therapy help from him, which means being vulnerable with him, which means opening up about parts of his trauma and his disorders where I'm sure no one else would've ever known. That's a huge deal imo. Lumpy is very close with Flippy and I feel a lot of ppl miss that and brush him off as just "some dumb guy" which is just surface level canon portrayal, but he's definitely much more than that.

I believe that in the Double Whammy episode, Lumpy is the one who suggested exposure therapy AFTER Flippy tried to OD and failed, and THEN we see that whole metaphorical battle between Flippy and Fliq. Because I guess it just makes more sense in my head (even if canon doesn't show it, IDC !!!!). Guy tries to end himself and then come back to his friend after realizing what he just did and reaches out for help bc he's terrified out of his mind of his attempt working one day. Scared of things getting worse than it is. He doesn't even know why he did it. God knows how mad Fliq is after managing to keep the body alive for so long just for the Host to do an attempt.

What I'm trying to get at here is that Lumpy, this guy has been through thick and thin with Flippy, in a way no other people have for him, changed his life for the better, hey! He doesn't get triggered from sudden noises anymore. Thanks to Lumpy's help on guiding him through this hard journey he's been able to genuinely heal and live a liveable life. I think Flippy can't thank him enough for it, for being there when no one else knew how to help. Oh they're also neighbors according to that one Still Alive episode so I do headcanon they visit eachother's houses a lot to hangout and do literally anything ever. Tea party? Board games? FPS games for Fliq lmao? Lumpy would love to do all that with him.

Fliq LOOOVES sports and I feel like these two would play basketball together late out (I NEED TO DRAW THAT... I have a vision), AND. AND THEY WORKOUT TOGETHER OH MY GOODNESS I LOVE THE IDEA OF THEM BEING WORKOUT BUDDIES. Hmm also sometimes Fliq gets impulsive and Lumpy is there to be like bro... BAD idea bro. He also breaks off or stops unnecessary fights from happening because I think Fliq is quite argumentative whenever anyone tries to mess with him lol,, like. "Oh you tryna pick a fight with me? I'LL SHOW YOU WHO YOU'RE FUCKIN' WITH!!!" n Lumpy goes to defuse the situation BAHAH. Definitely needs to work on Fliqs anger management. Besides that I personally think these two are much closer and have a lot more chemistry than like, Flippy and Flaky. NO HATE TO THE FLIPPY FLAKY LOVERS i see the appeal of the duo !!! Hell I'm pretty sure I got a yap session of those two somewhere in my blog lol... But yeah those are my thoughts !! :3

[maoam]

https://www.tumblr.com/maoam/778200752587980800/do-you-think-sakura-canonly-ugly-tho-and-do-you

Is it just me or does anyone else not get the some antis insistence on their most disliked character being “ugly” ? I mean I understand why Stans do it. H & S stans always call the other character ugly for self validation and to be catty. That’s just annoying internalized mean girl misogyny. (Yes, I am under the belief that H & S females standoms tend to be filled with female misogynists as they say some of the most degrading stuff about women, I think theyre only secondary to gross incel dudebros.) They need to insult their “competition” because their self insert must be the only pretty girl in the series. Hence as to why you will see them making posts saying all the fans of the other girl are ‘fat and unattractive.’

But for Sns and just none self insert fans… I don’t get why they need to insist S or whichever other character is “ugly.”

Because she’s not… she’s average. I think her pink her is what makes it -seem- like her beauty is extraordinary since she’s literally the only character with that hair color but she’s not more physically appealing than say, Haku or Konan imho. Sai called her ugly but, he isn’t interested in women at all. He thinks ino is ugly as well. Most agree she’s pretty but the fact Sai finds her ugly is often ignored for whatever reason. Probably because she’s not a hateable as S.

Of course people will show a panel where S or H look bad to go “see!! See!! She’s ugly!!” But.. for every bad panel you can find a panel where they’re drawn in a fine manner. It’s just such a dumb debate… like it’s a fictional character… S is as attractive as she’s drawn in that given moment.

Why not focus on some real criticisms of their characters? I think the notion that someone has to be “ugly” to be bad is a very bad mindset.. like S could be as gorgeous as her fans say she is but she’s still a bad person. And that’s okay. Conveniently attractive people can be bad people. Being pretty doesn’t negate bad actions.

Also the “canonically ugly” argument for S is weird cause like you said, a bunch of characters called her pretty. Even then… rock Lee is considered ugly, I think he’s cute. Jiraya is considered ugly….. he is imo but people find him very hot for whatever reason. Even if S was canonically the ugliest creature in the entire universe of Naruto… she would still appear average to us the audience lol.

Sorry for this terribly long question. I respect your opinions and think you’re a very enlightened individual and was just wondering if you had any idea why this happened ? :) if you’re just as confused as me or find this ask annoying, I will have no hard feelings if you choose to ignore it. I hope you have a nice day 👍 sns forever.

Completely agree with what you said. I find the whole debate on Sakura's looks unnecessary and uninteresting.

Another thing I dislike is when people hate on Hinata for her "fashion". Yes, she's a homely girl. But so what, no one is hating on Chouji or Rock Lee for their choice of fashion. I'd say it's just misogyny, women are judged by how much they appeal to men (aka how sexy they are). God forbid a girl wants to dress boring and comfortable, kill her.

[readingwiththestars]

₊˚⊹♡ NOTHING LIKE THE MOVIES

["Trust me, Lib," I said, picturing her lips. "In a crowd of million ski masks, I'd still be able to find you."]

| ✮ 3 stars |

ᝰ.ᐟ ⊹ arc review thank you to netgalley + simon and schuster for providing me with an e-arc in exchange for an honest review

THOUGHTS ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . [minor spoilers]

ok. i put this review off for a couple days cause i knew this was gonna be harder to write because i love lynn painter books, really. buuttt i was horribly disappointed with this one. i'm the biggest wesliz fan but... like yeah i cant even form coherent thoughts about it. like this was unnecessary there was no point in shattering their relationship to write this.

like it was good to see wes's pov and everything but it felt so... idk yeah. (see im still struggling so bad to find words.)

one thing i would formally like to invite lynn to STOP doing though is shoving every taylor/ pop culture reference on the planet into the book. like holy shit woman. i few is okay BUT NOT THAT MANY COME ON!!!! they were in the middle of a fucking argument and wes is quoting illicit affairs or some bullshit. usually i love finding little references on page but this felt like too much.

i feel like she's whipped out her computer and gone straight to some dog fanpage or just plainly scrolled through edits seeing people saying "this song is so wesliz coded" and shoved those songs into the book. there is an on page reference to in between reference saying its their montage song.

also um this shit: ”little liz can’t come to the phone right now. why? oh. because she’s dead.” and somehow when jack antonoff was randomly brought up??? like some people are good at weaving taylor swift lyrics into books. lynn you are not.

also lynn take this a plea to never use the word "growl" or "growled" in a sentence ever again when describing your male characters. and to never write this sentence “she’s one of the guys you know? she’s just… different,” EVER AGAIN. PLEASE.

WHAT I DID LIKE THO WAS THE TINY TINY CRUMBS OF BAILEYCHARLIE AND NICKEMELIE (even tho nick was only mentioned and i dont think emelie was even there but eh)

CHARACTERS ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

liz - ok so weirdly enough she was the most tolerable and still intolerable at the same time. like she was so different from the liz in bttm the sunshiney, wearing dresses of all different colours and her love of romcoms. she was described as anti-love and was practically a full on different character seriously. if you liked the first book maybe dont have high expectations for nltm. like i do understand she had her heart broken and so obviously that makes sense for some of the change but it had been two years and as liz likes to say SO FUCKING MUCH "she's moved on, she's moved past it, its in the past" well for someone who's moved on you sure like to avoid the past a lot. also idk who tf she was trying to fool with that whole "i don't like wes, im over him." shit like gurl- you were literally kissing 2.5 seconds ago whats with the switching sides. and there was SO much about her leaving "little liz" behind. like what was so wrong with liking flowers and romcoms? and being a hopeless romantic and wearing bright colours?

wes - okay so it was quiet heartbreaking to hear abt wes's side of this book (except for the whole pursuing liz part) and i did feel sorry for him. but like what happened to the sweet, caring wes in the first book. and tell me why i had to read THIS sentence “climb on me like a good girl,” LIKE MY EYES LYNN WTF????? i did not sign up for this wes, like no stop telling me how obsessed you are with liz's lips or how she's a mythological sex goddess- boy sit ur ass down. and don't even get me started on the beginning of the book. WHAT WAS THAT SHIT? why was wes acting like a 7yr old excited for school and talking (so much) abt his love for scootering? SCOOTERING. LYNN PAINTER WHAT THE EVER LOVING HELL? SCOOTERING. DO YOU HAVE SOME OBSESSION WITH THEM OR SOMETHING? WHY DID THOSE DUMB THINGS KEEP SHOWING UP?? like tell me why i needed to read this shit: "i fucking loved the scooters ..... wes + scooters = HEA" ..... lynn.

QUOTES ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

im not going to bother to find any of these, see: im too lazy

all in all i still liked some points when both of them were acting normal. which is why its a 3. but i feel like this is leaning towards a hate review but yeah idk i cant actually pin point parts that i remember liking- also the ending??? what was that? it made no sense to me.

[hilacopter]

You say ur a zionist depending on the definition but you believe jews are indigenous to the levant? That is the definition why don't you just call urself a zionist

see the thing is I genuinely think a lot of the whole zionism controversy mostly stems from a giant stupid misunderstanding and people not being properly informed. me telling someone I'm a zionist can either give them the right idea or the completely wrong idea.

let me paint a picture for you: a self-identified zionist and a self-identified anti-zionist walk into a bar. the zionist thinks the definition of zionism is wanting a Jewish state in the Levant, they want peace and a two-state solution. the anti-zionist thinks zionism is kahanism, they want peace and a two-state solution. "are you a zionist?" the anti-zionist asks, "yes" the zionist answers, and they immediately get into an argument. "anti-zionism is antisemitism!" the zionist shouts, "zionists are fascists!" the anti-zionist yells. of course this could all have blown over peacefully if they had asked eachother what zionism is, but why would they need to? what else could the word possibly mean?

I respect people on this site who identify as zionists, providing of course their meaning is wanting Jewish self-determination and not denying the right to Palestinian life and self-determination alongside us (remember I'm literally saying all this as an Israeli, if anyone wants Jewish self-determination in Israel it's me because my life quite literally depends on it). but I feel like they create a lot of unnecessary conflict for themselves by identifying as such and in most cases not explicitly stating what they mean by zionism. I know there's the desire to make dumb people understand the actual definition of the word, but with how much the misconceptions have already been set in stone I think it's a battle we cannot win.

there's more to all this though, buckle up for a pretty long post because I have a lot to say which I won't religate to the tags for once. first of all, I genuinely think a lot of anti-zionists, especially on the younger side (saying this as a minor myself), do not even have a solid definition of zionism in their head. they just see all of their peers shitting on it and follow along, making up whatever zionism means in their head along the way. since in leftist spaces it's not very acceptable to actually ask about the cause, why everyone is doing what they're doing. you have to take everything for granted, after all you wouldn't want to look uneducated by not knowing what zionism is! (this aspect of leftism 100% comes from cultural christianity btw)

there are also many anti-zionists who, at least to some extent, do know zionism means self-determination of Jews in the Levant and wanting Israel to exist. a lot of which think Israel is a white colonizer state, unaware of the history of the region, how more than there are ashkenazi Jews in Israel there are mizrachi Jews expelled from Arab nations, and are unaware of Jewish indigeneity to the Levant. how this land was originally Judea, only renamed Syria-Palaestina after being conquered from us and having most of us expelled. unfortunately the vast majority of pro-pal activists are very much simply jumping on the trendy train, not bothering to actually do their own research about the history of this insanely complex conflict and simply know everything by word of mouth from other equally uneducated leftists. I do think a lot of these people genuinely just don't know and aren't actively denying Jewish history on purpose, I've had like two cases happen where I told anti-zionists of this sort about Jewish indigeneity to the Levant and they just went "really? I had no idea". but of course for every person like that, there will be a person who will double down and dismiss it as propaganda, a myth and a fairytale. those people can go fuck themselves, clinging desperately to their half-assed worldview rather than willing to own up to being wrong and better themselves. denying Jewish history. or in a rare case of exceptional shittiness an anti-zionist can view zionism as wanting Jewish self-determination in the Levant and know that Jews are indigenous, yet still choose to identify as an anti-zionist by that definition for what can be a myriad of horrible reasons, usually complete tride and true antisemitism.

so in conclusion, I don't identify as a zionist outright until I know what kind of anti-zionist is asking me the question. is it an anti-zionist who just wants peace as much as I do, or is it an anti-zionist who wants me and my family dead? I've had people call me a zionist, non-zionist, anti-zionist and I don't really know what to expect each time. I feel like this approach leaves the most room for me to open good faith discussions with people and educate them on the subject as someone who actually knows xir shit, more than the average pro-pal at least, rather than having them immediately dismiss me as whatever definition of a zionist they have. not that good faith discussions are easy to have with people on tumblr dot com, and really online in general, but I'd rather have the option in the rare case of an actual open-minded individual who is willing to listen to Jews and better themself.