#i am selfish in that i consider it a little inconvenient

[dog-girl-zezora]

The shit show of my life colliding with the shit show of a friends life makes the ultimate diarrhea circus

[blueepink07]

Yuno's birthday is today, so I decided that I wanted to post something for her! I quite struggled to find a topic to talk about, because there are already many analyses of her birthday art, so I decided to take a look at the interrogation questions, and found something really interesting!

(not sure if it's a tw, but I talk about some negative aspects of society and some more or less sad things that life has to offer!)

"How many years do you want to live?"

Considering that with every birthday you are aging up, I wanted to do a short character analysis for Yuno, and reasons for why her answer makes sense. (Also, I felt like this answer of hers was overlooked a little!)

1. Yuno is a realistic person: she stated it herself in the interrogation questions and actively shows this in the voice dramas

"A realistic person is someone who believes that the world has a certain way of working and is willing to accept it. Realists are the people who believe that the world is not perfect and that there will be problems. They are not idealistic and have few unrealistic expectations."

In the first VD, Yuno shows understanding of how the real world works, how people act in certain situations, judge their peers for their own selfishness, to feel better about themselves. Yuno, despite her young age, already grasped the negativity traits of the society and how themselves are the cause of the enclosure of their minds and specific features in order to fit to what is considered the norm and morally accepted.

However, she thinks different in comparison with the majority. Yuno lives for fun, she wants to experience exciting things! She wants to avoid boring activities or situations. Problems or any kind of inconvenience are considered bothersome.

And there are plenty examples for that!

Yuno second voice drama:

"Yuno: I said so at the start, didn’t I? That punishing people outside of the law is boundless. And so I had no interest in Milgram.

Es: Yes, I remember. You said that you would pay my judgment no mind and remain as you were.

Yuno: Oh! That’s right! I’m happy you remembered. But, you know, I didn’t exactly hate it, Milgram. It’s nothing but weird people but it was warmer than my day-to-day life.

Es: It did appear as though you were having fun.

Yuno: Yes, it was fun! They may be murderers, but they’re interesting people! It puts me at ease, in a way, that we’re all people lacking in something.

Es: You are saying that that changed and it’s my fault?

Yuno: Yep! This situation’s bothersome-ness has won out over the fun so I am extremely cooled off. That is all."

During first trial, Yuno felt accepted in a group where everyone was lacking something. They are all murderers, so they can't be considered the norm or morally accepted. It was a mutual understanding that they are all different, they did something unusual, and so, for Yuno the atmosphere felt nice, calming. She always felt excited, because Milgram was a nice change of place for her, different from the judgemental people from outside who were bounded by the rules.

That's why she is expressing her total distaste towards Es's actions. They are the same as the society: judging the prisoners constantly, enforcing rules and punishments which are constraining their lives in Milgram.

Moreover, because of the first trial results, the prison is no longer a safe place, because of the conflicts that arose between characters, for example: Kotoko's rampage, Amane and Shidou.

If during the first trial, they were all the same, some people stuck in a weird prison, due to their unusual actions, in second trial, they were divided into two groups: forgiven and guilty, resulting in having different treatment, creating an imbalance between them.

The forgiven prisoners, although they still lack a certain something or desire, with an innocent verdict, it diminished a little that feeling of emptiness, happy that there is someone who understands them.

Haruka second voice drama

Haruka: I wanted to thank you, Warden-san!

Es: Thank me?

Haruka: Because you forgave me, Warden-san!

Es: …

Haruka: Because you told me that what I did wasn’t wrong…! That’s what changed me! I was saved by you, Warden-san…

Muu second voice drama

Muu: Ah, it’s been a while, Warden-san. – Things have gotten tough, haven’t they… Everyone seems to be struggling and the whole atmosphere feels tense because everyone’s struggling, it’s really troublesome.

Es: Is that so?

Muu: But as for me, I think Milgram has become a lot more comfortable! I know now that I can get whatever I want if I ask for it, so I don’t need to be so on edge anymore.

Or it evoked a new purpose in their life, a new change in their mindset.

Shidou second voice drama

Shidou: I need to be punished… but I need to stay alive, or young lives will be lost. I… I don’t know what to wish for anymore. I’m starting to think… that I want to live. That I want to be forgiven. Despite being so riddled with sins…!

The guilty prisoners, however, if they lacked something before, now that feeling is amplified. Some of them lost confidence of their initial thoughts, are broken and injured.

For Yuno, this imbalance of treatment between prisoners is similar with how people are acting in the real world. Those who have it better tend to turn a blind eye towards the problems. They are aware of them, but most of the time, don't act to resolve them, because it isn't a concern, or there must be someone who can take care of it. Sometimes, people tend to judge those who have it worse, because there it always must be a reason for why they are in such a difficult situation, most probably it's their own fault.

Yuno, herself, doesn't really like to associate with bothersome situations and problems, but she knows when she needs to take responsibility and will do anything to assure that her family and friends are in good health. When Shidou is not around, Yuno is the one who keeps Mahiru company and makes sure that she is fine!

In a way, it makes sense why Yuno dislikes Haruka and Muu. Although they know about these problems in prison, they were never seen trying to help a little, always living in their own bubble! Muu's lack of concern in this situation annoys Yuno, as it easily resembles the way society is.

Muu: The ones who are suffering are the ones who have done bad things, right? You know, like, what goes around comes around.

Es: …

Muu: Besides, Kotoko hurt and was mean to the people who didn’t get forgiven by you, right?

Es: …Yeah.

Muu: Wouldn’t it be weird for me to have any thoughts on that, then? After all, I didn’t do anything wrong. You forgave me!

Moreover, Yuno is an expert at reading the atmosphere and changing the way she acts based on which person she is with or situation, something that Muu doesn't really bother with.

Muu and Yuno timeline post

"Mu: Hey~~~Isn’t everyone a bit gloomy lately? I get that this situation isn’t ideal, but you’re really bringing down the mood for my birthday.

Yuno: Haha, surely even you can tell now’s not really the time for something like that right. Nobody’s really in the mood, or rather nobody has time time to deal with something like that."

It gets quite long, so I'll get to the point! Explaining why Yuno hates the society, makes sense for why she answered like this! She gives herself enough time to experience adulthood, as she wants to have a job which would interest her and still wants to experience some fun along with it! But she doesn't see herself as spending so much time in a world like this. Because it's too serious, too complicated and at a certain point, she'll get completely bored of it!

"Do you have any dreams for the future?"

2. As the years pass, you grow older and such have more problems or struggles. Financial issues, stress at job, taking care of the house, maintaining relationships can be more harder, feeling of loneliness.

Moreover, 40 years old is in average almost half of the lifetime for humans. In the second half, you start to experience a decline in health, meaning more stress and pain.

Describing all these in such a negative light really looks like there is a lot of hassle...

As I stated before, Yuno would dislike all these problems, it deprives her from the fun time and from the warmth she is actively seeking for.

Also, this timeline conversation with Amane, let us see an interesting part of her character!

"Yuno: Sorry for barging in when you’re getting into your worldview thing. But Mahiru-san’s finally managed to get to sleep. Humour me with some small talk while I take a break.

By the way, Amane. Have you ever wished you were never born? I’ve thankfully lived a pretty fun life so far, so haven’t really. But you seem to be struggling with something. So I kinda wondered if you thought like that."

It's human nature to wish to escape from this world, every time you reach a difficult point in life.

It seems that Yuno quite thinks the same. Despite not experiencing this feeling, because, so far, she had lots of fun, she doesn't have much interest in living in a world where there are many problems. She doesn't want to struggle much, so adulthood, if she's unlucky and doesn't fulfil her wish of having an interesting job, would not be very exciting...

Also, she doesn't have a positive world view when it comes to hardships.

Yuno first voice drama

"Yuno: Hm~What's this? A lecture? Are you a believer in Seishinron? I hate them more than anything else, you know?"

She's realistic, this kind of belief is used to motivate people in order to work more. It's an idolized version of the world, in Yuno's opinion. Already having this mindset, means that she is aware that not every future problem can be solved. Health problems? It depends a lot of the circumstances, but unfortunately, not always they can be overcomed. Stress at job? Or it's just a temporary event, or it is the norm. The option would be to find something else, but that also means again stress and sometimes is very difficult to find.

Anyway, Yuno gives herself time to experience adulthood, but doesn't want to spend much time as an adult.

3. Old people are most of the time treated as nuisances by the society...

And the way they are depicted, is something that Yuno would never want to be referenced!

Weak, frail, feeble... Financially distressed.... It reminds me of a certain line...

"Yuno: I’m not pitiable. My family gets along super well. And I’m not particularly struggling for money. I decided, of my own free will, to do it because I felt that it was necessary for me."

People tend to remember relatives mostly by the last moments of their life, usually when they are old. Yuno doesn't want to be remembered as weak, old or fragile! She wants to be remembered as a strong person, smart and fun to engage with! That’s why she would rather live a shorter, healthy life, than to be considered something that she hates.

4. In most cases, when people reach adulthood, they see their parents growing old. They are struggling due to health issues and, as their child, it can be hard to watch something like this. Also, you have this anticipation that one day, you'll never see them again.

Despite 40 years old it's not the most predominant age when it comes to family loss, there are still many people that experience grieving at younger ages.

Yuno cares deeply about her family, as stated in interrogation questions and minigrams. For her, the idea of losing a family member will be very sad and painful, a concept that she doesn't want to think of!

Interrogation question examples:

"What do you think about your family?"

"Is there someone you want to see right now?"

"Imagine you receive 1.000.000 yen that you must spend right now: what would you use them for?"

"If you had one wish, what would you use it for?"

If I think about it, Yuno has the most interrogation questions in which she is talking about her family!

Also, the minigram in question in which is shown her wholesome bound with her brother!

40 years old would be the perfect age in order for Yuno to not see her family members being in pain or, worse, losing them...

I hope I gave a good insight of Yuno's character and explained why this answer makes so much sense!

Thank you for reading! ~ 🎂

[youcantdateosmosisjones]

"You were a wonderful experience"

"You were... everything"

except I'm a complete liar and that's not even remotely them, but listen anyways

-

Spreaver, except it's Sparrow who's in the mindset of "it physically pains me to admit how much I'm intrigued and tempted by the idea of chasing desire, but considering how I've devoted my entire life to saving Albion- and now that I've got 2 kids and a kingdom to carry the responsibility of- I could never disregard the sacrifices I've made in the name of the greater good. Especially to someone like you. As Theresa has said to me countless times, my destiny is to become something for the people. That is my burden to carry, and something that I will live by indefinitely. Me and you both understand that weight, despite how we refuse to acknowledge that. We are both heros, after all- And we are the only ones left of our little quartet. I do take such comfort in the knowledge that I am human, and that I can't always be my image- That even you, as deplorable as you are, can, too, be human (as imperfect and needlessly complicated as they come). It is something that's become unfamiliar to me as of late. I never regretted whatever it was we had, despite how little it actually meant in the moment. Typically as just another way to deal with your presence without just killing you right then and there- but nonetheless gave me the same level of emotional release. We were both equals, and knew the others limits, I suppose. How far to push- what spots were sore- and just which buttons to press. We both knew the game, and we played- and it was the most mindless, yet instinctive thing I did for quite a few years. It was one of the few things that still made me feel as though I was living a life I could've had... But that will never happen. The only way I know how to make up for the countless lives lost since that fateful day, is to repay them with my own. I still can't shake the feeling of selfishness in my actions in acknowledging you. A Hero- and especially a Monarch- should not be one to indulge, after all. For that, I could never choose a life like yours- nor you. You were never meant to be apart of this; not for long."

And Reaver, who's currently like "You have been quite possibly one of the only conquests of mine that has made me feel alive in the past 200 or so years. There was always the knowledge with us that either one could end the other, which was a feeling I had not known from any other noticeable person (except Lucien, maybe). However, you still wouldn't actively turn your back on me whenever you had the chance. Why ever you did that, I found it of the utmost excitement. Whether it was your power; status; place in society; reputation; or some other grandiose factor that made you so alluring (as many other countless material items have been to me over my life), I still feel as though you were perhaps an equal to me. I'll admit how much potential I saw in utilizing that- I am an opportunist, after all- and yet I still didn't... why I let you become such an obstacle to me, I'll never know. I upped my typical antics in the hopes you'd take an issue with them- I did love our petty banter- but your refusal to respond beyond small petty gestures just made it more of a challenge. And even despite how you so unkindly usurped me, I still made an effort to prove that it meant nothing to me; that'd I was still as glorious as ever. I was Reaver; and no matter how much of a problem it posed to your kingdom, I'd still be right here; unscathed. You were an irritating- unpredictable- and such an unlikely source of such inconvenience to my plans. Perhaps that is why I was so prepared to see you fail... Perhaps that's why I still think of you from time to time, knowing that didn't happen. Not that I'll ever admit such a fact, knowing what you know about me. Still, in the wake of your passing, I feel as though it was all for nothing. That reoccurring thought, that all my countless endeavors somehow didn't make my sacrifices worth the life I gave up so much to live for, resurfaced, just then. I mean- if I couldn't even get back at you for having such an impact on me (my reputation, my empire, my house!! Need I even go on?), why did I ever spend that much effort on you in the first place? Why on earth I let you become something in my mind, I'll never forgive myself for. No... I'd never do that. I'll never forgive you. And for that crime, you will never be a name I bring up again; Stripped of any illusion of significance. In order to completely forget such troubling revelations, I've decided to once again indulge in the short-lived highs of excitement and exploits. In fact, I'll take advantage of this new era and make a name for myself- A proper one. The only way to drive those dreadful thoughts away is to prove them wrong, after all. Meaning: I'll build a new empire for myself. A far grander one. Perhaps, reaching the status you once possessed will finally erase you from such universal importance."

They're so toxic, they've started to rot my brain

I'm a 'petty, stubborn, shallow (masking his deep intellectualism and the torment) bitch' reaver x 'unbothered, "fuck it we ball" (deeply traumatized and not coping as well as they thought they were), throws chairs indiana jones style; sparrow' preacher

[deafwishesblog]

Navigating Unspoken Grief: The Journey That Followed Losing My Lovely Mum

"Hello readers, I've just started a blog as a means of processing and documenting my little life. I must say I am I am terrified to share! But I know I must. Here's my introduction & any support, especially on my WordPress site would be thoroughly appreciated. All my love, E x"

It has been almost three years since my mother closed her eyes during her birthday celebrations and never woke up. I won’t disclose her age as, even though I struggle to completely believe that she is still ‘with us’ I entirely trust in her supernatural ability to smite me down. I am now twenty-five and find it very affronting to think about, let alone speak of her passing. My life, like most, has already been very crowded and intricately unique. It has been so eventful that I often feel immensely overwhelmed to remember everything, as who else will? Other than my beloved grandmother and younger brother, I don’t have much in the way of my immediate family. My mother was orphaned in her early twenties; my father left in a selfish, narcissistic flurry when I was eight; my paternal grandfather moved abroad, divorced and remarried, returning once in fifteen years. I find it easy to dismiss these departures in the sense that life happens, and people change, but I inevitably, and often at my lowest, find myself asking why wasn’t I enough to stay.

No one can ever, truly, understand the utter void that comes from losing a parent, unless they too have. Everyone can empathize and reference ill-equipped grief literature, but they can never grasp that empty feeling that the lovely, vibrant being that brought you into this existence is no longer. It’s specific, looming and often very, very inconvenient. I feel a particular bond among those who have experienced this loss. It does not manifest as gravitation towards parentless people but more of a passing respect. A level of understanding of the pain that they too have endured. It is an unnervingly refreshing feeling that the playing fields are levelled.

I consider myself privileged in the sense that I knew my mother was dying at a young age. It wasn’t a shock, I never imagined her at my wedding or holding her grandchildren. I knew, from around age 14, that one day it’ll be just my brother, the dog and I. My mother did not shy away from the topic of death, it was very casually referenced in both calm and heated conversations. Of course, nothing could have ever prepared us for her passing, but I appreciate the lengths she went to make us comfortable. It is due to this comfort that I don’t often process how different my life experiences have been from that of my peers. I place myself in the race, intensely mourning my failures without taking a step back to acknowledge that I am at a disadvantage. When I failed to ask a training-related question during an intense Zoom call in my first week of work, I felt the familiar weight of imposter syndrome, haunted by the perceived judgement of my inattentive colleagues. In that moment, I yearned to type a chat message that would shatter the silence: ‘I’m so sorry, everyone. I was terribly distracted. The funeral home just called. I need to select an outfit for my mother’s cremation. How on earth do you choose something like that? Do I include a bra? Who would want to be cremated wearing one?’ But, as we all know, such words can’t be sent, can they? It is these unspoken thoughts that have compelled me to write this blog, a therapeutic outlet for the words I wish I could have uttered, all the while paying homage to the remarkable woman who raised me.

I am also motivated by the fact that no one ever asks. I completely understand why. It is uncomfortable, and they would like to preserve my happiness as best they can. For that, I love and adore those around me. I do, however, often feel an immense emptiness following interactions where I am unable to acknowledge my grief. I am undoubtedly too concerned with what others think of me. Out of sheer avoidance of inconveniencing them, I often remain silent and allow the weight on my chest to burrow deeper. This leaves most of my relationships feeling shallow and insincere. I want to grab the metaphorical mic and scream about how lucky they are, how hard it’s been and about trivial things like how much my mum just absolutely loved prawns. She loved them so much. We’d have to stop at Iceland every Christmas to get a comically large frozen wheel of them. You should have seen her when our Greek all-inclusive had a shellfish night. She was so utterly happy it was the most radiant I’ve ever seen her. Most likely due to the sheer amount of Omega-3 coursing through her veins. Anyway, this blog is to be my mic. I need to face what happened with transparency and accountability whilst sharing the relentlessly hilarious experiences and coincidences that have occurred along the way.

While I am excited to embark on this journey, I must admit to feeling incredibly nervous about sharing it. To those who have read this far, I hold an immense appreciation that words alone cannot adequately express. Thank you.

[forestryfae]

and its like. neat. those guys are friends. these people get along. theyll invite eachother. theyll add eachother on this and that specifically so they can talk to eachother in dms when theyre not in the same room. why the fuck cant i have that. noones talking to me cus they just fucking forget i exist and they dont want to remember.

like i know obviously and logically that people have their own lives and shit they do and work and chores and other friends and appointments and shit they gotta do but even the fucking people who are SUPPOSED to love me and make an effort cant do that and ive been taught im a nuisance at best so i cant even try to reach out to people.

like the other patients here cab just?? call or talk to or send messages to the people eorking here if somethings wrong?? i wasnt told i could do that. i didnt know that was even a thing. but everyone else has been doing that. meanwhile i get to sit in my room being sad as shit and knowing that its for stupid selfish reasons and i have no real reason to be upset and im just being selfish and expecting the world to revolve around me. as if i havent had to act like that for like two decades cus noone else is willing to spare a fucking milligram of sympathy for me. and i cant even send a text to say i sad cus i know noones gonna talk to me. i literally have to scream and get angry for people to take me seriously when im upset cus nothing is ever serious enough or worth being upset over.

and even then its my own fucking fault for being upset and i need to fix it cus i cant have feelings if its uncomfortable for other people. and theres nothing anyone else needs to do to rectify the situation, i just need to stop being angry at them and then we never have to alk about it again and im not allowed to bring it up and also i shouldve known automatically exactly who to talk to in order to fix this and its my fault for not knowing or doing that even though ive reached out in other ways.

oh noo im angry because someone did something wrong again. but its not ok that im screaming cus that hurts other peoples feelings and makes them uncomfortable, even tho my feelings very clearly were hurting more and much much deeper than just slight inconvenience or discomfort. and its a recurring issue. doesnt fucking matter how i feel or what would actually help here.

like. again. am not unfamiliar w the concept of different needs meaning you sometimes have to do something differently for different people. but itd be really nice if that extended to me as well. like i get the whole This One Person Needs A Little Extra Of A Certain Type Of Help. but i dont get why there are rules and specific ways of doing things and they can easily be bent to help other people but every fucking time i have a problem i need to adjust and fix myself. i cant have people who just do this one thing slightly different to make me not feel like im existing wrong and noone gives a shit about me, thats too hard for people, i need to stop being sad and make myself less fragile and i need to find a way to fix this without being upset or involving other people or needing any kind of validation or help. i always do everything wrong, why didnt i reach out despite that being the single worst thing you can do whenever something is wrong, its your own fault you didnt get help. as if it wouldve fucking mattered if id reached out, i absolutely wouldve just wound up being dismissed and ignored and told its my own fault eitherway.

like. idk. it kinda makes sense that im trying really hard to become independent and capable of taking care of shit on my own considering how little help i get in general and how much of a struggle it is just to be allowed to say im sad or i want to do something that will make me happy. esp w how i always want people to tell me whether im doing the correct choice. just for fucking dyeing my hair or trying to find new hobbies.

like idk i probably need to talk to a tgerapist but gid knows how long its gonna take to actually get one or get to talk to one. i dont get to talk to my primary either cus shes not here 24/7 and she has others shes supposed to be helping too. and even if i could talk to the other people working here its VERY hit or miss cus some dont get it and some just dont have the training and sometimes ill have to talk about the thing twice and thats. so hard. or ill have to explain what i mean cus apparently its not enough to just say whats wrong, i aldo have to explain why it makes me sad cus noone fucking gets it and then i have to justify it and still risk being dismissed.

but yeah no im totally valued and people totally like me. as if the people i work with gives a shit about me beyond how helpful or fast i am when i work, or the other patients give a shit beyond being bored and just barely tolerating me, or my family gives a shit outside of the three phonecalls i get every year and the one visit that isnt just them dropping me off. even when i make actual friends it does not take long for them to stop talking to me or start thinking im annoying, and its not like i can just try to keep contact either. if they dont wanna talk itd be selfish and awful to try to keep being friends, they might not want that anymore.

[mastrogepetto]

Fire ate my notes.

A wildfire broke out near where I'm serving my mandatory military service. They forced us to evacuate in the dead of the night, packing ourselves like mules and getting stuffed in the buses like thinner, sardine-like mules. A hectic process from beginning to end during which I had completely forgotten that I, certified genius that I am, keep my notebook under my pillow. Partially because I like to write when it's at its most quiet, partially because a notebook is actually more comfortable than the dogshit pillow we are charged with.

That's a fact I remembered only an hour ago, after three hours of searching and half an hour of wondering if there ever WAS a notebook in the first place, right after I had enough time and peace of mind to say to myself "Hey, I think I could use some me time and write a bit, you know, to get back into the swing of things".

A fact that was followed up immediately by the memory of me talking to a superior officer and telling me "Yeah, we HAD a base there. Now it's mostly charcoal." Apparently, a metal container with windows cut into the metal with an air-conditioner strapped to the side is about as fireproof as a thatch roof.

Four separate projects, one of which was an endeavor of three years, all went up in flames just like that, all because I prefer paper over MS Word.

I understand it's a minor inconvenience considering that it's a fucking wildfire that's been wrecking our little corner of the world for ten days already, eating properties, livelihoods and people, all the while we firefight night and day alongside actual firefighters despite us being woefully untrained for such a situation, but it was the little cherry on top a pretty shit cake and I wanted to vent anywhere at all that wasn't within literal earshot of people who lost actually important things and not the little worlds I craft inside my head. Last thing I need is for people to figure out I'm a selfish bastard on top of being stuck in my own head.

[apricot-tarot]

Hi, thank you so much for the reading what would nourish your soul :)

I was instantly attracted to the 2nd image (yummy pasta!) the 2nd pile did resonate with me.

Do you have any advice for pile 2?

I do feel like being selfish and reckless. Holding back due to fear of failure or making the wrong decision and fool of myself + not wanting to inconvenience my family or friends has been a repeated theme in my life. This has infact led to me being completely stagnant since uni + not really being able to help my loved ones the way I want to.

Especially now, I wish I get the 'I don't give a what, I'm not doing anything wrong, I'm just going with my heart' attitude from some where. I've failed in many possible ways and at this point anything will be progress. I don't know where to go or what to do though. Maybe I should ask the universe for help and have an open mind enough to recognize when help comes by.

Hello there,

I am glad you enjoyed this PAC. It had been collecting dust in my drafts for quite a long time, and finally I set it free lol.

As for advice...

Well, technically I didn't ask about an advice or maybe a 'what you should know' for this reading. I do think you answered your own question in a way. You said anything will be progress and you want to do something, but have no idea what. And, you also said that maybe you should wait for signs and recognize when helps comes. I think right now, the best thing to do is to just talk with someone who you trust and whose opinion you consider. I also think that making change is not easy, which is why you should start with small steps. As you figure out the big things, start doing small things daily. For the big things, make a list on what you want to change and where do you want to progress in. Then, figure out how to make that happen. What would you need and what do you already have for 'those' things.

I am advising you as I would advise friend, but at the end you are the one to decide. Remember that. Pile 2 was like be selfish and reckless a little lol and start doing little things and try to get out of the stagnant mode. Don't overthink and live a little. Even if others get annoyed, so what?! They will forget about it after a while. Also, those close to you do know just like you know them. Would you think this way for your friends or family?! I don't think you would. You would be considerate and root for them. So, live a little. No one will judge you for living your life. And if anyone does then that's a 'them' problem.

I hope you figure it out, anon 🧡 Also, please don't be scared of failure and let the fear of it stop you from doing things. Not doing or trying something that you really wish for is worse than failing. Think of it like that. Give yourself a chance, you deserve that.

p.s don't do anything illegal lol

[sukuna-slut]

teacher’s pet - pt. 1

yan!sukuna x reader x yan!gojou

as you fall deeper into an unusual relationship with the king of curses, your favourite teacher becomes increasingly worried for your safety.

warnings

mild depictions of injury, abuse of power, infantilisation, noncon

rating - teen

word count - 1558

What was happening? As a Jujutsu sorcerer, you had lived by the affirmation that you would not regret death once it came upon you, but you never prepared for the possibility that death would sneak up on you when you least expected it. Before stupid Itadori crashed into your world like a bull in a china shop, you were Tokyo Jujutsu Technical High School’s most promising student. That freaky Okkotsu kid had that super-powerful Cursed Spirit living inside him which automatically made him Special Grade, but with your extraordinary natural talent for jujutsu, you were sure to one day reach his level if you just worked hard enough. Gojou-sensei had said it himself, you were a rare talent. You still had so much further to go, so much more to achieve, so why were you now bleeding out in some random alleyway with nothing to show for your sorry life but a few empty words of praise?

Your opponent let out a rumbling peal of laughter. ‘Oh yes, I love that one… you know, of all the expressions people show me before I kill them, anger is my favourite.’

Even with the tattoos crawling up his arms and extra eyes blinking on his face clearly marking him as Ryouma Sukuna, you couldn’t help but hate Itadori for once again ruining everything. Gritting your teeth, you ground your twitching palms into the cold asphalt in an attempt to push yourself up, but your elbows gave out, making Sukuna laugh even harder.

‘I’m not… done yet,’ you spat, blood spilling down your chin in direct betrayal to your words.

‘Yes, you are.’ 

Sukuna turned to leave and you attempted to will away the black spots clouding your vision. Despite your pride, you wondered when your life was going to flash before your eyes like it was supposed to.

‘Such a waste… you might’ve had a chance if you’d tried a little harder,’ he murmured with a slight chuckle. ‘A small chance, but who knows.’

Huh?

The shock you felt at his words momentarily numbed the pulsing pain in every muscle of your body, giving you the strength to prop yourself up on one elbow.

‘What… do you mean?’ you forced out.

‘Hm?’

He turned his head with a slight raise of his eyebrows, as if he hadn’t expected you to still be alive.

‘My technique was perfect,’ you insisted.

Itadori’s features morphed into a derisive smirk unbefitting of the cheerful boy.

‘Who told you that? That irritating teacher of yours, no doubt,’ Sukuna laughed. ‘So much untapped potential… if only they taught you how to really use your powers, you could even rival dear Itadori.’

Your eyes widened. You had potential to match Itadori, the vessel of the most powerful Cursed Spirit in existence? Sukuna was turning away again but you couldn’t let him leave, you had to stop him. Ignoring the screams of your body, you pushed your weight back until your butt rested on your heels, your arms stretched out in front of you in a deep bow.

‘Teach me!’ you begged with every bit of energy you had left.

Sukuna paused where he stood, turning to regard you with an expression of utter shock. It was only there for a moment though, melting as soon as it had appeared into raucous laughter.

‘You want me… to teach you?’ he managed between cackles. ‘Interesting! Maybe you’re worth keeping alive a little longer.’

He took slow steps towards you before crouching to lift your chin between his thumb and forefinger to gaze into your teary eyes, silently pleading for his help. You were barely holding onto life at this point, yet he seemed to be in no hurry, a grin stretched wide across Itadori’s face.

‘A teacher, huh?’

The last thing you saw before you blacked out was Sukuna’s extra eyes and tattoos melting back into his skin, his malicious expression replaced with your classmate frantically calling your name.

Gojou Satoru was livid. Staring at the swirling mahogany of his desk, he forced his bloodlust down to a simmer and fixed his face into a painful smile with which he regarded the snivelling boy before him.

‘You lost control,’ he accused, ‘a mistake which nearly caused the death of your classmate. What do you have to say for yourself?’

As Itadori began blubbering apologies, Gojou’s mind returned to the sight of you lying in a hospital bed, a mess of wires and bandages around the gaping wound in your stomach that nearly cost you your life. The image of you, his bratty little (YN) looking so defeated made his blood boil with the desire to tear whoever was responsible to shreds. Unfortunately, the perpetrator was the very student he had insisted on keeping alive. Was it worth the risk? What if losing you was the risk?

You came into his life bright-eyed and brimming with terrifying reserves of untapped potential. Whether or not you were aware of just how much power you possessed, you had an inexplicable desire to distinguish yourself which reminded Gojou of himself at your age. While others were irritated by your brashness, he found himself growing fond of his latest protege. He liked to think that he was the only one who truly understood you. When he informed you of exactly how exceptional you truly were, your face lit up with such fervent excitement, he couldn’t bring himself to be ashamed of the sudden increased blood flow to his nether regions in that moment. He ended up complimenting you whenever possible during his private sessions with you just to see that face again. He loved the way you lapped up his praise like a cute little dog, he loved how you treated his word like gospel… eventually, he came to terms with the realisation that he just loved you.

Even so, you scared him sometimes. At first he had lived to see you shine whenever you discovered a new ability with his help, but with every milestone, he felt you edging further and further away from him. At that rate, you would surely become a Grade One Sorcerer, and then… you’d have all these responsibilities, responsibilities he honestly wasn’t sure if you could handle with your weak constitution, responsibilities that would lead you away from him.

So he altered your training program a little. Taught you to unknowingly hinder your own abilities, just enough so you’d still need him by your side. Maybe it was underhanded, but you were the purest thing in his life and he wasn’t about to let you leave him so easily. But his selfishness had backfired. With your stoppered abilities, you were unable to defend yourself against Sukuna, and because of him…

Gojou buried his face in his hands.

‘Sensei?’ Itadori asked nervously.

He shook his head, donning a carefree smile.

‘You shouldn’t apologise, Itadori. After all, I’m the one who miscalculated when I assumed you would be able to sustain Sukuna’s growing power.’

‘Am I going to be executed?’ Itadori’s face turned sheet white.

Gojou had considered killing the boy himself when he first saw your beaten body. Itadori’s hold against the ancient Curse had been gradually slipping ever since he ate the fourth finger, but he had been so consumed with capturing Sukuna, that he failed to see the situation for the disaster it was.

However, logic soon overruled his desire to destroy anyone and anything that hurt you. The inconvenient truth was, they had no hope of stopping Sukuna without Itadori’s body. But in order to mitigate the risk…

‘No, you won’t be executed. But you will be detained, at least until we figure out a better solution. For the time being, your responsibility will be reduced to being a vessel for Sukuna, nothing more.’

Itadori hung his head but did not protest.

It had been a whole week since you were discharged from hospital, yet Gojou-sensei still refused to let you train. Before, when his presence had been fleeting due to his foremost duty as the strongest sorcerer calling him away every other day, you had craved his attention, but now you wished he’d just disappear.

‘(YN)-chan, you should be resting!’

You had barely taken seven steps down the hallway before he intercepted you and corralled you back to your room, gripping your upper arms firmly as if he were redirecting a wandering child.

‘I should be training!’ you protested, noticing with no small amount of irritation the way his lips drew tight. ‘I’m almost fully healed, the nurse said I could participate in moderate physical activity the day after I was discharged. It’s been a week, Gojou-sensei! When are you going to stop treating me like a- mmh!’

Suddenly, your lips were captured in a suffocating kiss. Gojou-sensei wasted no time pushing his tongue between your unprepared lips, the wet muscle surprising you with its coldness as it invaded your mouth. At some point, his hold on you had tightened to the point of being painful.

‘S-sensei!’ you exclaimed, shoving him back.

His blindfold prevented you from gauging the full extent of his emotions, your teacher raising a hand to his parted lips as if shocked by his own actions. Before he could regain his composure, you bolted down the hallway, your only goal to get as far away from your attacker as possible.

[c-is-for-circinate]

So I have finally caught up with CR as of today’s rebroadcast, and oh MAN what an episode to be caught up on.

Most of those feelings are about Fjord, at the moment, because holy shit but in such a compelling way, I love this character and hell yes Travis for playing him this way, specifically in the context of how different characters feel about sacrifice.

We know, we’ve known for a few episodes (and man am I sorry I haven’t been jotting down post-ep notes for the past few eps, I have gotten out of the habit and I need to get back in) that most of the M9 expects they might die here, to one degree or another.  There’s been an absolutely fascinating range of reactions and attitudes around that thus far, too. 

Caleb, full of guilt and the desire for redemption, holding onto every intention of dying for his friends and the absolute conviction that’s a thing he can control and enforce on the world.   Caduceus, raised around death but never quite so close to him or so far away from home as it is now, saying his goodbyes and trying to make peace with a thing that clearly frightens him.  Beau, who expected to be probably-dead or at least much more alone by this age anyway, only talking about the possibility of her own death as a possible logistical necessity as she focuses not on what comes after but only on getting through this fight.  Yasha, who’s outlived so many people, who can rage through unconsciousness, even into death as though it’s only an inconvenience, making jokes-that-aren’t-quite-jokes about how she’ll probably be fine and survive them all, knowing she probably can.  Jester, who always, always tries to be positive, to make light, to be joy and fun that hides the darkness under the bed where it can’t be seen, saying “what do I need money for, we’re going into the North to die”, another joke-that-isn’t-a-joke, another fear that she can’t face or admit or buckle under because how selfish would that be, right now.  Veth, who feels so much desperate guilt and torn duty and half-broken devotion to her family, determined to survive, still so scared she won’t for their sake.

There’s so much focus from each of them on their own deaths, even as they try to protect their friends.  There’s Caleb and Beau explicitly willing to trade their own lives for the sake of the rest of the group if they have to, if they can; there’s Caduceus and Jester, less explicit about it but expecting to face one loss or another, resigned to it; there’s Yasha and Veth and expectations of survival already bound up in survivors’ guilt even before the question gets asked.

Or: the questions, plural, because there are two different questions being asked here: there's "am I willing to die to save my friends?", and there's, "am I willing to die to win this fight?", and they're all bound up in each other in slightly different degrees for each person. The consensus for most of the group seems very much to be that, yes, they're willing to die for the sake of this fight, that's what it means to be here in the first place; and as far as their friends go, well, if someone has to die during this fight, let it be me and not them. And that's beautiful and honorable and chest-aching in seven different unique ways for each party member, but the one I'm thinking about today is Fjord, who I did not mention on my list above, who has added one more question to his list.

Because while everybody else in the party is asking themselves what they're willing to trade their lives for for, Fjord has skipped over that step entirely (to save the world, to protect his friends, yes, yes, of course, obviously). The question he's asking, here and now, is "who else's life am I willing to trade for this fight?" And that is a question I find incredibly compelling.

Nobody else would've told the rangers to engage. I don't even think Matt as Essek expected Fjord to suggest they ought to engage, not directly; perhaps try to lay a false trail, perhaps try to implode the exit as previously mentioned, but not this. Fjord ordered half a dozen men into a massacre. He did it on purpose, to burn a few of his enemy's spell slots, to try and buy his team another hour of sleep. He didn't even have much expectation of victory. But he did it, because the math in his head said this would give the Nein a better chance in this fight, and winning this fight is more important than anyone's lives.

Even long before the Tombtakers showed up at Aeor, I kept thinking about that conversation with Beau about a fallback position for retreat. "There's no leaving this fight," Fjord said, "not for me, and not, I think, for you either." It's about the specifics, the logistics of not needing an escape plan because they don't plan to escape, but it's also very much a statement of intent. It's Fjord saying, I will buy this victory with my life, because victory is more important here than my survival. And it is, at least a little bit, Fjord saying, I will buy this victory with your life too, if that's what it costs. Because victory is more important here than anyone's survival. Because survival, at this point, is not even a consideration in the mathematical equation of tactics and necessity, except in that we can't win if we're dead. Our lives are worth nothing if we lose here, so we will spend whatever we have to in order to win.

It's a kind of ruthlessness I find incredibly interesting and appealing as a character choice, because there's little or no selfishness in the cold calculation of it. At no point is Fjord choosing or even contemplating anyone else's sacrifice for the sake of his own survival. He would die happily to save any of his friends, is more than willing to die in this fight himself, and would consider it a complete victory if doing so stopped Lucien in the process. It's just that Fjord also seems painfully aware that his own death isn't necessarily the price this victory is going to cost. If it's a choice between letting Yasha die and stopping this ritual, he already knows what he ought to choose. If it's a choice between cutting down Beau and Caleb to protect the part of the party that can still fight Lucien, or trying to save them, well, there's a reason he's the one Caleb asked to fulfill that promise. All else being equal, Fjord would save his teammates over himself, but that's never been how the throes of combat work, and all else is never equal. Fjord might be the only member of the group right now who would deliberately save himself at a teammate's expense specifically because he'd have the highest chance of stopping this mad city's return. And that is a lot.

All of which means I am incredibly excited to see what sorts of choices Fjord is faced with in the coming weeks. When it's more than just hypothetical, when it's Jester in danger instead of some nameless rangers on a mountainside, will he stick to his desperate pragmatism or will his love and protectiveness win out? How does he face himself after either version of that decision? What is he going to have to do? I cannot wait to find out.

[lucere-aeresta]

I am still salty about the retirement of Sherlock Holmes and his separation from Watson in his later years of life. The more I dig into it, the sadder it feels. I think I have to put my thoughts here. It is not my only interpretation of Holmes and his relationship with Watson I have, but I think it is a perspective worth taking into account.

Warning: very negative and pessimistic.

Some quick timeline:

June 1902, the story "The Adventure of the Three Garridebs" happened, at the time it was clear that they were still sharing the room in Baker Street.

However, in September 1902, Watson mentioned that he had moved out and lived in Queen Anne Street. At the moment, he did not say anything about a wife or potential marriage.

In 1903, January, Holmes mentioned Watson had been married. He solved a case on his own.

Based on Watson's account, Holmes had already retired in 1904, and since he was still active in 1903, it was likely that he retired the year 1904.

After retirement, they barely see each other. On some weekends they visit each other, but according to His Last Bow, they knew little about each other's life and hadn't been seeing each other for a long time.

Now let me dive further into the details.

First, it seems that the retirement of Sherlock Holmes was very likely influenced by Watson's s moving out and marriage. He was only 50 years old at that year. He was suffering from rheumatism and that was likely the reason why he chose to retire at such an early age, somehow I still find the timing weird.

About Watson's second marriage, there is a little detail worth mentioning: he commented it as "the only selfish action which I can recall in our association."

Holmes was not happy about Watson's first marriage either, but he didn't consider that being selfish. He spoke highly of Mary as well. There was no hard feeling between them.

But this time he said, "Watson deserved me for a wife" and deemed it to be "selfish". We can recall that after Watson's first marriage they paid visits to each other, and Watson continued assisting Holmes in solving some cases. He didn't "desert" Holmes during the first marriage, at least Holmes didn't feel this way.

In January 1903 Watson had already married, so it was likely to happen at the end of 1902. Later in 1903, in the case of Creeping Man, Holmes asked for Watson's help one last time (at least the last time it was recorded and published), and there was a very bizarre record:

"It was one Sunday evening early in September of the year 1903 I received one of Holmes’s laconic messages: Come at once if convenient–if inconvenient come all the same. S. H."

This sounds very inconsiderate and demanding to me, and I bet Watson felt it the same way. He said:

"The relations between us in those latter days were peculiar. He was a man of habits, narrow and concentrated habits, and I had become one of them. As an institution I was like the violin, the shag tobacco, the old black pipe, the index books, and others perhaps less excusable. When it was a case of active work and a comrade was needed upon whose nerve he could place some reliance, my rôle was obvious. But apart from this I had uses. I was a whetstone for his mind. I stimulated him. He liked to think aloud in my presence. His remarks could hardly be said to be made to me - many of them would have been as appropriately addressed to his bedstead - but none the less, having formed the habit, it had become in some way helpful that I should register and interject. If I irritated him by a certain methodical slowness in my mentality, that irritation served only to make his own flame-like intuitions and impressions flash up the more vividly and swiftly. Such was my humble rôle in our alliance."

Based on my limited knowledge of romance works, it is a very common thing that two characters break up and one will not the other go, and say something like "you are already a habit of mine" and keep trying to meet with them.

This paragraph gave exactly that kind of feeling.

Now look back and re-examine the "he deserted me for a wife" so he was "selfish" claim, does that sound like a breakup now?

They had a breakup, but Holmes did not want to let Watson go. There were only two cases that were recorded by Holmes that he solved alone, and only one was before his retirement--Not long after Watson's marriage, when he likely was still hurting, he did not ask for Watson's help. But months later he could not bear it and he had to see Watson again. He couldn't keep going on his own.

Now, Watson's second marriage felt very odd too--it was only mentioned by Holmes once, leaving out the name of the wife. Watson himself never even mentioned a second wife or any family life at all. Given how little they knew about each other's life after retirement, especially how little knowledge Holmes had about Watson, as he put it "at this period of my life the good Watson had passed almost beyond my ken. An occasional week-end visit was the most I ever saw of him", I doubt he knew for sure if Watson had a wife or not.

What if Watson did not get married? He broke up with Holmes and moved out, but Holmes did not want him to go, so he had to make up a wife to signal him that they were done for good and needed to keep their distance.

In the stories of the earlier years, Holmes' notes asking Watson for help were all polite and nice, just as what you would say when asking a friend for a favor. But this "if inconvenient come all the same" sounds more like making a demand to a lover, and maybe he had to say that because Watson had refused his invite many times for he was "inconvenient"? A wife was the best excuse for these convenient "inconveniences".

Watson's avoidance dispirited Holmes dramatically, on top of his declining health, finally, he decided to retire from detective work--it is very heartbreaking because it is the work he loved with heart and soul, and now it is the time to end it.

We all know Holmes had the will of iron. He could work without sleep or food for days until passing out. I doubt some physical pain would stop him from keeping his work if he made up his mind to continue.

But Watson had assisted him for seventeen years and it must have been so many memories of them working together. Going on detective work without Watson would seem so unbearable at this point, that he had to give up.

At this moment, he lost everything he had loved.

They seemed to keep a good term with each other, even worked together once more, but the relationship became superficial and distant, and they drifted away over the years. The reunion after ten years was on a brighter note, but the sad and gloomy undertone was still there--they didn't hold grudges or feel hurt for each other; they were still friends and happy to see each other, but nothing would be the same anymore.

As for what had happened to them, I don't know and I don't know what to think--it could be anything, love is a mystery that cannot be predicted or understood.

But if I have to give a theory, I think they are like those paradoxical couples --one has a thousand dollars worth of love and gives the other eight hundred, but the other only has one dollar and gives the one he loves all.

When reading the book sometimes I can tell that Watson was very upset about Holmes' ignorance of his feelings. Holmes was not a man with no emotions, but it was never his strong suit. Watson was such a sweetheart, very patient and caring, and would forgive Holmes for anything. His love for Holmes was real and profound, but he had a wider realm of interests, maybe a social circle as well. On the other hand, Holmes had made it clear that he had no interest in any human beings other than Watson, and he appeared to be so vulnerable, even fragile in front of him. Nevertheless, he sometimes hurt Watson, though not intended, the pain inevitably accumulated over time. He was rude and inconsiderate and even cruel to Watson sometimes, and those moments were disturbing even for the readers. His care for Watson was deep, no doubt, yet was shown mostly from the fear of losing, rather than every day's warm and tender feelings. His amount of love given and the way he showed his love simply could not match what Watson needed. It was but his very nature. He had struggled with emotions all his life; he tried to avoid them, he tried to accept them, he tried to hide and show them, he tried everything with the utmost inner battle, until the very end, he finally realized, it was but the heartbreaking failure of love that had been waiting for him all along.

[blu-joons]

Bump Cuddles ~ Bang Chan

He sighed as he laid himself down next to your side, laying his hand over your growing baby bump. You smiled down at the soft pout on his face as yet again he was pushed aside for your own comfort, left to cradle what was left of the pillow that he once loved to use.

His eyes closed for a few moments, “I can’t wait until you have this baby and then I can lay back against you again, I hardly think all of this is fair.”

“I can’t believe you make such a huge inconvenience of this,” you whispered down to him, brushing your fingers through the loose strands of his hair.

“I’m sorry, but I used to lay on your stomach and now I have to make room for the bump,” he frowned, shuffling even closer into your side. “I’ve tried laying basically everywhere, but nothing is as comfortable as laying on you is.”

“You can always go and sleep on the sofa,” you suggested as his brows knitted together in disapproval. “This is your child too, so half of the responsibility for this is on you.”

His hand moved up, so it rested over the centre of your bump, feeling around for any signs from your baby. As much as he liked to moan and groan about having to change the way he slept, he couldn’t wait for the two of you to have your first child together.

“In just a couple of months you’ll barely be able to get any sleep anyway, so just make the most of the piece and quiet,” you spoke down to him, tugging gently through the knots that were the results of his long day in the studio.

Since the first night you stayed with Chan in his old dorm, he had a habit for sleeping on you, during the first few months of your pregnancy he was pretty comfortable to carry on, but as your bump grew so did the difficulties with having him lay there.

“Exactly, I’m going to spend the rest of my life looking after this human so surely it can do me a little favour,” he continued to groan.

Your head shook at his complaining, trying to ease him into a sweet lull. Luckily for him, you knew he was only joking as he whined, you were the only one who’d really seen just how excited he was about all of this.

“So, if you think the baby should stop being so selfish, where exactly do you think I should carry it?” You asked, offering him a bit of a brain teaser.

The silence brought a smirk to your face as Chan struggled to find the answer. His eyes looked across your body, no part was as perfect as your tummy, no matter how hard he tried. He sighed defeatedly as you nudged his forehead.

“Alright, you’ve got me with that one, but still, this is the one little place that always makes me feel at ease,” he admitted, dancing the tips of his fingers against your exposed skin.

You felt your heart break in your chest as his bottom lip quivered. “Anywhere you are with me should be a safe space for you, there’s plenty more of me for you to cuddle than just my tummy. Why don’t you lay at head height for once?”

“Because I want to be close to the bump,” he responded, scattering several little kisses down the left side of your bump.

You couldn’t win no matter what you tried to suggest, he was always so stubborn and so demanding, but luckily for you that was all going to change once your baby arrived.

Below you Chan shuffled once again as he made it clear to you how uncomfortable he was with several groans and sighs. You were helpless for him as you laid out with your bump, making sure he didn’t disturb the bump, and not himself.

“Why do I have to wait two more months for this,” he muttered once he finally settled.

“You won’t be saying that in two months when we have a baby.”

His lips pursed together as he began to consider just how close everything was. The day he found out you were pregnant still felt like yesterday, but now here you were a little over six months down the line from the day you handed him the stick. He had no idea where the time was going, but each day became more and more daunting.

“I joke, but I am really excited to become mum and dad,” he whispered, sensing the agitation in you as your hand slipped away from the top of your head.

You nodded as he looked up at you through his lashes, “I know you’re excited, there’s going to be plenty of changes around here soon.”

Exactly, and where I lay at night really isn’t one of them,” he admitted, “I just miss it.”

You continued to smile down as it became evidently clear how tired he was becoming. “You’ll be able to lay back there soon.”

A part of him didn’t really want to lay over your tummy again, the moment your bump would go he knew that he missed it. Whilst you slept peacefully above him, he’d often lay awake and stare to see if there was any sign of movement, laying his hand over every spot that was kicked.

“Why don’t you rest Chan, I think I’ll be awake for a little while longer yet,” you proposed, placing your hand back through his hair.

His head shook, draping his arm back over your bump in response. “I want to lay up with you for a bit, it’s unfair that you have all these sleepless or disturbed nights and I get to just sleep without it. I could keep you company for a bit until the little one gives you a bit of peace.”

“But I also can sleep through the day which you can’t,” you reminded him, knowing how early he’d have to be up to head to the studio. “I’ll be alright here.”

“It’s practice,” he quickly argued to shut you up, “when the baby comes and we have all these night feeds and nappy changes I can’t just sleep and let you do it all, so I might as well lay here with you now and let my body start adjusting to the breaks in my sleep pattern.”

You were desperate to argue with him and encourage him to sleep, but you knew better than to argue with his stubbornness. However much you wanted him to sleep, he’d never do it until he was able to look up and see you sleeping peacefully.

“How strange does it feel to think that in a couple of months we will actually be parents? Sometimes I have to pinch myself that this really is happening.”

“Try carrying a baby bump then you won’t have to pinch yourself,” you joked, “it does feel strange though. Oddly, I think I’m actually going to miss the bump when it goes, I’ve got quite used to not being able to see my toes anymore.”

He chuckled lightly, “if it makes you feel any better, I think I’ve put on plenty of weight from eating all the things you do during your cravings.”

“It’s your decision to comfort eat with me, you can’t blame pregnancy on that. I’ve got an excuse for all of this, yours is just greed.”

“I do it to make you feel better,” he tried to protest.

Your head shook back at him, “if you carry on, you’ll be down to four abs, and then who will get in trouble?”

“You,” he grinned, “stop craving all these delicious foods and then I wouldn’t have to eat any of them.”

“Blame the baby, not me.”

---

Masterlist

[starkravinghazelnoots]

Bucky was not clingy.

Sam snorted. “Shut up. You are the literal human embodiment of a cat.”

Okay, maybe that wasn’t untrue, seeing as Bucky was currently sprawled across the sofa with his head in Sam’s lap. Sam was using the arm of the couch to balance his laptop and work on an email, every now and then pausing to run a hand through Bucky’s hair.

“Cats are the least clingy pet you could have,” Bucky protested, pretending his entire body hadn’t melted like butter as Sam gently scratched his scalp. Sheer bliss.

“No, cats are the clingiest animals in the world. They just act all aloof, like they don’t care about anyone and anything. Which is exactly what you do.”

Bucky scoffed. Bullshit. “My new therapist says I have gotten much better at communication.” He then proceeded to bite back a disgruntled hum as Sam pulled his hand away to continue typing on his laptop—notably, Bucky therefore failed to communicate his displeasure about the loss of Sam’s touch. So he was a hypocrite. Sue him. But he was not clingy.

“And you have gotten better!” Sam agreed. His brow furrowed, and he deleted something on his screen before he continued. “But you still have a tendency to lurk, staring at me all intently and hoping I’ll figure out what you want.” He gave Bucky a small smirk. “I mean, it helps that you’re easy as hell to read, but one day I’m not gonna know what you’re looking for unless you up and say it.”

Bucky could concede Sam had a point there. Unfortunately. Though he kept this conclusion to himself. “Okay, maybe, but what you’re describing is my so-called ‘staring problem.’” He used dramatic finger quotes to drive his sarcasm home. “Not clinginess.”

Sam tilted his head. “Touché.” He frowned as he rubbed a smudge from the edge of his screen. “But they go hand in hand. You struggle to say what you mean, and a byproduct of that issue is you end up following me around like a lost puppy—”

“What happened to your cat analogy?”

“—ha! Shut up, you know Sarah’s the one who studied literature.” Sam paused to add another few sentences to the email he was drafting. Bucky had always found it endearing, the way the tip of Sam’s tongue stuck out the corner of his mouth whenever he was concentrating. “Anyways. My point is that you are a little bit clingy. It’s not a bad thing.”

Bucky frowned. “You sure? Given the lecture you just afforded me, I was kind of under the impression it was.” Which was fine. Bucky considered himself open to constructive criticism, especially from Sam, since there was no one’s opinion he cared about more. But now he was getting mixed signals. Bucky didn’t know whether he needed to process Sam’s feedback as reason to change or not to change his behavior—behavior that, for the record, was not clingy.

“No, I think your clinginess is adorable.” Sam tapped the tip of Bucky’s nose with his pinky. “Case in point, lap cat.”

Mm. Bucky had no comeback for that one.

“But I do want you to be more direct about what you want from me,” Sam continued, returning his attention to his laptop. “Baby steps, of course. I don’t expect you to burst into a whole soliloquy at every minor inconvenience like—like your name is Hamlet or some shit. Just…” He shrugged. “Don’t be afraid to be a little selfish with me, I guess.” He winked at Bucky. “I mean, I am pretty irresistible.”

“Shut up,” Bucky grumbled, mostly because Sam had a point. Which Sam seemed perfectly aware of, at least based on the smirk that hadn’t left his lips even after he’d again returned to drafting his stupid email. SHIELD never gave Captain America a day off.

Still. Sam wanted Bucky to be more direct about his wants, did he?

Bucky could work with that.

He grabbed Sam’s left arm, ignoring Sam’s squawk of protest as he pressed a kiss to the inside of his partner’s wrist. “I want you to stop working,” Bucky instructed, punctuating each word with another kiss up Sam’s arm to his wrist and hand, “and I want you to pay attention to me.”

Aw, shit. Maybe he was a little clingy.

“Buck, I’m almost done with my response—”

Bucky most sincerely did not give a fuck. He sat up so he could shift his position on the couch and face Sam directly, pressing quick, feather-light kisses down Sam’s jawline that made his partner huff with laughter.

“You are a menace.”

Bucky grinned at him. “I’m your menace.”

“Clingy.”

“Fuck you.”

“Yeah, maybe once I finish this email—”

This time Bucky shut Sam up with a proper kiss, relishing in the warmth of Sam’s lips on his. Because Bucky wanted Sam to kiss him. He wanted that stupid email to wait for another few hours. He wanted to spend quality time with his boyfriend. And based on how Sam finally slammed his laptop shut in order to free both his hands and drop them to grip Bucky’s waist?

Yeah, seemed like Sam wanted those things, too.

[thefanficmonster]

Just Another One

Sequel to: ‘A Little Bit Of Honesty’

Corpse Husband x Actress!Reader (Female)

Warnings: Angst, Heartbreak, Mention of bad past relationships, Swearing

Genre: Angst, Romance, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: They keep proving each other right in the most wrong ways possible. They each want to be guarded even if that means the other will be hurt. Maybe that’s what they want - to hurt one another because they’ve already hurt each other once before.

Requested by the lovely readers who enjoyed the previous fic ‘A Little Bit Of Honesty’. Sorry for the large time gap between the posting of the two fics but I still hope you guys will take the time to read it and if so I hope you enjoy it! Love you all with all my heart, Vy ❤

When you go out of your way to avoid leaving the house your options of entertainment are severely limited and you can’t blame anyone or anything but yourself for it. Today, I wouldn’t have gone out of my apartment even if I was one of those people who frequent the outdoors seeing as how the sky is trying to flood the Earth with all this nonstop rain. It does set a mood for a perfect night in but when you spend all your nights in doing the same thing over and over again, the atmosphere is practically meaningless. And so I ‘ve decided to resort to channel surfing as though I’ll find something interesting on TV that I haven’t yet seen on one of my social media timelines.

I pass several cooking channels on my journey, making a mental note of their individual numbers in case I don’t stumble across anything capable of better distracting me from my boredom and loneliness that’s slowly starting to creep in. I pass by a few movie channels showing teenage romcoms as if to celebrate the start of summer so you can imagine how quickly I moved on from those. Then come the celebrity channels which can often get a laugh out of me because of how pathetic and unbelievably ridiculous they are. And so, I stick around one where there’s a broadcast on a movie showing that’s happening tonight in LA. Oddly enough, despite my anxiety, going to a movie showing has always been on my list of things I’d want to do. This can be considered living vicariously or rubbing salt into the wound that I’ll probably never go because my anxiety and fear of being recognized is too severe. Either way I stick around to watch it.

And man do I regret it now looking at several different angels of a couple of actors entering the venue where they are to be photographed and asked questions by the mob of paparazzi that’s gathered due to the massive event. That in and of itself doesn’t sound - and really isn’t - so bad. However, it’s important to note that the actress in this duo is Y/N. Y/N L/N. My Y/N....shit, sorry, I mean my FRIEND Y/N, her arm linked with whatever-the-fuck-his-name-is who is holding an umbrella above the both of them, shielding them from the downpour of rain that is also taking place in LA apparently.

“The two were seen entering the venue earlier this evening, looking particularly cozy in each other’s presence if I do say so myself. The rain probably worked nicely in their favor.“ The first reporter says, her teasing tone of voice sending chills of anger down my spine as I glare at the screen, hands balled in fists, jaw clenched - all my body’s instinctive reactions to what is being shown to me. I know I technically have no right to behave or feel this way, in fact I should be fucking happy for Y/N and her successful career and the progress in her love life. But damn it how can I?! I was so damn close to kissing this girl! I was so fucking close to falling in another trap, tripping and landing in the embrace of another liar and user, another girl who switches partners more often than shoes. How could I’ve been so reckless to get so close to her even platonically? How did we become close enough for me to 1) show her my face; 2) start inviting her over to my apartment regularly; and how didn’t I notice the kind of messed up person she was all that time.

She was all sweet and flirting and shit a week or so ago and now she’s doing the exact same thing with him! The cameras are capturing them perfectly: every laugh, every exchange of a knowing look or nod, ever smack to his arm when he tells a joke. But what bothers me most is the many times he’s wrapped his arm around her to pull her closer. Not just for pictures, but just because the fucker felt like it! And Y/N doesn’t seem to mind it at all. 

“They have been the talk of the town recently, so while they could just be adding fuel to the fire, they could also have been caught by the flame and ‘caught feelings’ as they say. Regardless these two are a view we’d like to see more often.“ The other reporter says and that’s the final straw.

In one swift motion I turn the TV off and throw the remote across the room. It hits the wall and falls to the ground in several pieces, broken by the force of the impact. Just like I am broken by the force of the impact of these news. I don’t know which is worse: the fact that I fell for her and almost let her know it; the fact that she’s just another member of the club I don’t want anywhere near my life; or the fact that I can’t believe it.

Yeah that’s right - one foolish part of me refuses to believe that’s she’d do such a thing. I think that’s the same part which is still in awe of her so you can bet I ignore that part the majority of the time.

She is just another one. Not the one. Having been hurt before doesn’t mean she won’t hurt me or anyone else she’s gonna be with. Hurt people hurt people.

And damn has she hurt me, probably without knowing a damn thing. How selfish can you be, Y/N? How selfish can you really get? And how much am I going to allow you to hurt me?

                                                             *  *  *

“Thank you so much, Andrew. I would’ve died on the spot of anxiety if I was on my own.“ I say to my best friend who is currently sitting next to me on a park bench, in a tux, eating a cheeseburger. I too am still in my gown and am also gorging on a cheeseburger of my own.

“Don’t mention it. Us anxious people need to stick together.“ He bumps his shoulder against mine, stealing a small genuine smile from me, “Plus I couldn’t not come with you. You know how much I like a good rumor.“

I scoff, “Of course you do, but then again there was no need to add to what the media has already made a whole-ass ship out of.” I roll my eyes and take another bite. My appetite hasn’t been in its best condition so I’m only eating this under Andrew’s orders. I have no idea how people can ship us romantically, he’s the definition of an older - and very bossy - brother to me. I wish I could tell each and every single one of those girls who hate me because I’ve ‘stolen their man’ that I’d most likely be their sister in law rather than man snatcher, seeing as how my relationship with Andrew is so sibling-like.

That’s because we’re too alike, no one gets that. People play the ‘opposites attract’ car more often than I consider rational. But  then again when they see a couple like Andrew and I - who are basically the same person in different bodies - they suddenly think we’re super compatible. Trust me, we’re not. And everyone who’s been on set with us will tell you the same.

“What can I say...“ he shrugs, smirking at me, “I like the fun. I bet Becca doesn’t though.“

I can’t help but huff. Andrew is the only one I’ve ever openly expressed my frustrations with Rebecca to. He was super helpful on the subject, seeing as how he can relate - many partners of his have tried to use him, some of which even succeeded. He’s more than qualified to school me on the topic but it turned more into sharing bad experiences. One of which was that instance back at Corpse’s apartment.

“And neither does Corpse I suppose.“ As though he’s read my mind, he pokes the hurt spot, pouring salt in the wound causing me to visibly cringe as though the pain was physical - because it was, I felt it in my chest and in my gut, a sharp stab of guilt and regret. 

Why did I let it come to that? Why did I let us get so close? How did I not think of the consequences?

“I don’t care if he does or doesn’t.“ My hand automatically reaches for the pocket of the jeans I’m not even wearing in search of a cigarette. Not that I’d be able to light one even if I had them on me - Andrew would smack it out of my hand before I could even take a single puff.

He has the audacity to laugh, “You’re such a bad liar, Y/N.”

That’s all he needs to say really - that’s enough to make me feel seen and understood. Though that’s not always a good thing. I often times wish he couldn’t read me so well. Better said: I wish I didn’t let myself be so readable, you know. I’m just glad he’s the one who sees me because if it were anyone else they’d use this vulnerability of mine against me. I’m well aware that it’s a weakness, a really inconvenient one, but damn it I can’t get rid of it. I feel like I’ll be less human if I lose it. Everyone’s allowed to be vulnerable, some just are lucky enough to choose who they’ll be vulnerable around. I’m lucky enough to to have a choice, not so lucky in the people I choose to trust. Guess that’s not a luck thing, it’s just my inability to decipher whether a person is worth all the pain and torture of coming clean to them or not. So far many people have burnt me but two stick out in particular - Becca and Corpse. Corpse especially, which is the odd thing considering he hasn’t even wronged me in any way. At least not yet.

“Your phone’s vibrating.“ Andrew says, pulling me out of my overflowing head when he hands me my phone which I handed to him because of my dress’ lack of pockets.

“Thanks.“ I mutter through a sigh as I take it from him, checking the notification I’ve gotten.

My stomach drops: it’s a message from Corpse.

“Hey I saw you are in LA but we have a stream tomorrow, will you still be participating?“

Before I can reply, he sends me another message.

“I know you’re probably very busy but we get the most viewership on the streams when you’re in them so....“

I’ve probably been staring at my phone screen for longer than I thought since Andrew felt the need to make sure I was still breathing: “Hey, you ok? You look terribly pale.” I can barely hear him let alone reply. I can’t hear my own thoughts to know what to reply to him. “Y/N, you’re scaring me.”

I’m scaring myself too, Andrew. I’m scared too. I’m scared of how broken my picker has become. I almost kissed this guy! I almost entrusted all my thoughts, hopes, wishes and goals to him! What the fuck was I thinking?! Well, at least I know what he was thinking about - viewership. Likes, subs, views, publicity. The more eyes on the stream the better for him and everyone else. I genuinely want to applaud him, no one has been so direct about using me before. I was in a relationship with Becca for almost a year before I accidentally found out what she had been doing the whole time. No one’s ever smacked me in the face with this much honesty. It’s bittersweet really.

I want to laugh, I want to cry, slap myself across the face, slap him...I want to do so much, but all I can do now is sit in silence and think of how I could be so stupid.

He’s just another one, how did I not see that? How do I never see it until it’s too late? Why is one part of me still screaming: ‘He didn’t mean it like that!’

AND WHY THE FUCK DO I WANT TO BELIEVE IT?

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[tennessoui]

Pleaseeee do 43 or 46. I love your work btw

(insert months late panicked noises about how I thought 45 was 'falling in love with best friend's partner' and so wrote hold me fast for it, but actually 43 is 'falling in love with best friend's partner' very whoops very my b)

so i did 43 again anyway, but in a modern au and where the couple is actually in love (but it is an obikin happy ending because kit did write it)

(wife is unnamed the entire time so no character bashing it could literally be anyone ive been calling her rebecca in my head lmao)

43. Falling In Love With Best Friend's Partner (2.7k.......)

Obi-Wan’s kettle goes off with a whistle right as there’s a fierce banging on the door. He almost drops his favorite mug in surprise, which puts him in a bad mood from the get-go. But for the love of Christ, who would come call at his house at nine at night? It’s more than rude; it’s downright indecent.

He stalks through the house until he can unlock the door to give the person on his porch a piece of his mind, but then he sees who it is.

It’s Anakin, and he’s crying.

If there’s anything that can make Obi-Wan quiet his temper on a normal day, it’s Anakin Skywalker. A distressed Anakin Skywalker brings out every ounce of his compassion.

“Anakin?” He asks immediately, stepping forward to touch the man on his arm gently and guide him inside. He doesn’t even have to suppress a sigh when Anakin doesn’t remember to toe off his shoes in the entry way--that’s how worried he is at Anakin’s tears and the way they only increase in frequency and sound when Obi-Wan moves his hand to his back and pushes him further into his house, all the way to the dining table where he urges him to sit down.

Anakin still hasn’t said anything resembling actual words yet, so Obi-Wan goes to the kitchen to make them both a cup of tea. It’s either that or give into the temptation to thumb the tear tracks off of his cheeks and that’s a little more revealing than Obi-Wan likes.

He’s not that brave, for one.

For another, Anakin is a married man. A man married to one of Obi-Wan’s closest friends, a previous grad student turned co-author of at least seven publications, with more on the way. He can’t risk tenderly wiping away her husband’s tears because Obi-Wan Kenobi has been at least a little in love with him since they were introduced four years ago, when he’d swanned up to him holding two champagne glasses in one hand and stuck out the other to shake. “My wife talks about you nonstop, Professor,” he’d said. “I used to be so jealous until I sat in on one of your lectures when I was still in school. Made sense then.”

Obi-Wan had not known what to do with that, but had taken the proffered champagne glass and assured this strange man he had nothing to worry about.

After all, Obi-Wan wasn’t the sort of man to chase after former students or people in marriages.

Over the next few years, however, it became quite clear to him that there was a big addendum needed in his moral code: people in marriages to former students drew his eyes apparently the way no one else has ever managed to in his life.

Or perhaps it was just Anakin. Perhaps it’s always been just Anakin.

Coming to terms with the shameful, quiet love he carried for a man who flirts like it’s second nature and always has a warm touch or word to bestow on Obi-Wan had been difficult, to say the least.

Anakin’s wife had been one of Obi-Wan’s closest friends. His inconvenient and persistent feelings for Anakin had turned her into one thing only: his wife. They could not be friends when Obi-Wan spends half his nights wondering what it would be like to sleep with his arms around her husband. They could not be friends when the last dozen times the married couple had invited him over for dinner, he had paid more attention to her husband than to the food or to the other topics of conversation or to her.

And she has to know. She has to know why their latest paper has taken eight months to write. She has to have seen the way Obi-Wan perks up so obviously when Anakin brings his wife her lunch, the way he has to turn away from their chaste kisses, the way he listens keenly to any information she gives him on her husband, the way he had excused himself from the room when he heard her tell another colleague that they were trying for children.

In academia, you learn fairly quickly that it is useless to resent someone for having what you do not. It seems that Obi-Wan has to learn this lesson all over again when it comes to people. It’s hard. It’s selfish. He hates that he loves Anakin. He hates that he loves Anakin the way he does, that it’s been four years and he still loves him, that not even his happy marriage, his love for his wife, the fact that his wife is Obi-Wan’s friend, can change it.

Anakin considers them friends now, which is so much worse and yet still more than a pathetic old man like Obi-Wan deserves. Worse, because when Obi-Wan had started rejecting dinners at the Skywalker household, Anakin had pushed back with worry. When he’d noticed that Obi-Wan’s lunch most often consisted of whatever cold cut sandwich was on sale at the gas station next to campus, he’d started bringing Obi-Wan a lunch along with his wife. When Obi-Wan had stopped responding to his texts, he showed up to drag him to a night out.

Worse, because being Anakin’s friend is nothing like being his husband, and the differences make him ache as much as the acts of kindness make him want to weep.

It’s still more than Obi-Wan deserves. He knows that intimately, the way he knows that nothing can ever happen between the two of them because Anakin loves his wife. And his wife--

“She cheated on me,” Anakin gets out between uneven breaths.

Obi-Wan promptly drops his favorite mug and watches it shatter on the floor.

“Oh!” Anakin exclaims at the loud noise, peeking around the corner, and looking like he’s about to offer to help. Obi-Wan shoos him out of the kitchen, and grabs the remaining mug of tea to follow him. The mess can wait for a later time.

“What did you say?” he asks carefully, nudging the mug over to Anakin, who wraps his hands around it.

Anakin blinks up at him wetly. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Obi-Wan drags his chair closer and dares to lay a hand over Anakin’s arm, watching his face for any negative reaction. Anakin just looks at it though, as if he can’t even comprehend it.

“Please, tell me what happened,” he entreats softly.

Anakin blinks and takes a sip of the tea. It’s chamomile, which is the only tea blend Obi-Wan knows Anakin likes.

“I, um.” Anakin clears his throat and reaches up to wipe at his eyes. Obi-Wan thinks his breath leaves his body for a second when he sees the slighter lighter ring of skin around Anakin’s fourth finger. He never thought he’d see what that sliver of skin looks like.

“I came back early from a work trip, cause. Um. Cause we’ve been having problems,” he starts with a quick side glance at Obi-Wan. “Just some fighting. Going to bed angry. I guess stuff you’re never supposed to do.”

Obi-Wan tries to arrange his face in an expression meant to convey that he definitely knows what stuff one is supposed to do in a marriage.

“So I thought I could, you know. Surprise her. But when I got in, there was someone else in the house. In our bed, Obi-Wan, she fucked someone else in our bed. I--” Anakin starts crying dropping his head into his hands and dislodging Obi-Wan’s arm completely.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan murmurs, at a loss for what to say. He settles for kneeling down next to Anakin and rubbing his knee. This is platonic.This is fine. This isn’t taking advantage of Anakin in this state.

Obi-Wan has absolutely no desire to take advantage of Anakin in this state, not when he’s so hurt and sad and in need of comfort. Obi-Wan just wants to provide him with comfort, but it feels like a grievous violation to touch Anakin like this willingly. It breaks one of his most cardinal rules.

But it turns out he’d break a lot of rules for Anakin, apparently.

Especially when Anakin responds so well to his touch, practically throwing himself out of his own chair and into Obi-Wan’s arms, tea forgotten on the table.

“How am I supposed to go back there?” He sobs into Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “I thought...we were supposed to raise kids in that house and she...she’s been...she’s been cheating on me in our bed--”

Obi-Wan tentatively strokes through his hair, adding pressure when Anakin reacts positively. He hates seeing him like this, so torn up and aching. He’d loved his wife, it’s so clear to see.

But Anakin has always struck Obi-Wan as the sort of person to put loyalty over everything else. For his wife to break his trust so suddenly and quickly must spell the death of his love for her. That must be what Obi-Wan is witnessing now, with Anakin, sans wedding ring, sobbing into his arms like this. This must be how Anakin’s love dies.

“I’m so sorry, Anakin,” he murmurs into the man’s temple, pressing his nose there at his hairline and inhaling as softly as he can. He’s disgusted with himself. He can’t help himself. He--

“She said she loved him,” Anakin sniffles, seemingly unaware of anything but his own pain. Obi-Wan gathers him closer at these words and rubs at his back, offering silent comfort. To have Anakin close like this is agony, but to be an appropriate distance away from him as he fell apart would also be agony of a different sort.

And if the last four years have proven anything, Obi-Wan will choose the agony that causes Anakin any modicum of happiness he can give him.

“She said--” here Anakin pauses and takes several deep breaths against the cotton of Obi-Wan’s now damp sleepshirt. “She said she didn’t when they started, but then I--I didn’t notice and it--she said it just happened, but--”

He breaks off and freezes in Obi-Wan’s arms quite suddenly. Obi-Wan stills his own hands in response. “But?” he asks, barely more than an exhale.

“But she said she couldn’t feel sorry about it,” Anakin whispers back, pulling away so that he can look at Obi-Wan’s face.

Obi-Wan stares at him, uncomprehending. Anakin’s wife is the unapologetic sort of woman, yes, but to be caught cheating on her husband and then refuse to apologize for the betrayal? That’s something else entirely. “What?” he stutters out in a completely unflattering way.

Anakin’s eyes glisten, but he purses his lips and flexes his jaw before he speaks again. “She said she couldn’t feel sorry about falling in love with someone else because it’s quite clear I’ve done the same thing. And--and she may have physically cheated on me first, but I’ve...I’ve been emotionally unfaithful to her for years now.”

Obi-Wan blinks quite a bit and very fast, tightening his hold on Anakin before pulling away just as quickly. “That’s absurd,” he spits out, trying to calm his rushing heartbeat. “Anakin, you’re the most loyal person I know. You would never--”

“She was right,” Anakin cuts him off, breaking eye contact with him to look over his shoulder and then down at...at his lips. “I didn’t even realize she was right until she said it, but. But I’ve been in love with someone else for three years of my five year marriage. I--I’m not who we thought I was.”

And his eyes well up with tears again and Obi-Wan isn’t strong enough this time from stopping himself from reaching out and brushing one of his tears away with the pad of his thumb.

“Anakin, you’re not…” thinking straight, serious, in your right mind, in love with anyone but your wife. “You’re hurting, Anakin,” he settles on saying. “You need to...sleep. To rest.”

You need to stop saying things that will break my heart in a few days when you realize you don’t actually mean them.

But Anakin has always been stubborn, especially when it comes to Obi-Wan’s demands. “Obi-Wan,” he insists, shoving his face forward so that their heads connect with a thump. “Obi-Wan, it’s you. It’s been you. For. For longer than I knew. For three years at least. Maybe longer. It should have been you from the beginning. When--”

“Anakin, please,” he finds himself begging, scrambling up and off the floor and away from this troublesome man. “Do not say anything you cannot take back. You are in distress, you’re not thinking clearly.”

Anakin follows him to his feet. “I need to say this,” he says, voice breaking. “Please, Obi-Wan. Let me say this.”

Obi-Wan has never known how to say no to Anakin. He closes his mouth instead.

“Before we even started dating, that’s when I sat in on your lecture. When we were seniors. I just wanted to see. Wanted to know why she liked you so much, measure up my competition. But then I liked you, more than I’ve ever liked a guy before. And it only got worse after I met you again, at that party, I don’t know if you remember, but. The days after, I drove my wife insane asking questions about you and your work and your interests and your hobbies, and I didn’t even realize I was doing it.

“You were just...you were so amazing. But I loved her so much I didn’t even notice I had any love left in my heart to give to anyone else, but then there you were. There you were and every time I saw you it was like...coming up for air. Like I was living someone else’s life and then sometimes I just got to be myself and it was only ever when you were around and--I didn’t know it was love until my wife told me tonight that she fucked another man because she couldn’t stand that I fell in love with one first, and I knew immediately who she was talking about. It was you. It’s...Obi-Wan, it’s always been you.”

Anakin closes the distance between them slowly, as if he’s giving Obi-Wan a chance to run. Obi-Wan does consider it, he won’t lie, but he stands stock still as if frozen to the ground. Anakin reaches up gently and wipes at one of his tears. Obi-Wan hadn’t even realized he started crying.

“Please don’t cry,” Anakin whispers through his tears. “I understand if you--if you don’t feel the same way, but I couldn’t be quiet about it once I realized. I don’t know how to love quietly.”

Obi-Wan does. Obi-Wan’s spent four years loving Anakin quietly, and now he doesn’t have any words left in him to love him out loud.

Anakin’s hand falls away from his face at his continued silence and he looks, if possible, more heartbroken. “I...I understand,” he murmurs. “You don’t feel the way I do. I--yes. I get it. I...deserve it.”

At this, Obi-Wan has to say something because it’s been one of the tenets of his world for years now that Anakin Skywalker deserves all the love there is in the entire universe. “No,” he says roughly, dragging the words kicking and screaming from the pit of his stomach. “It’s not that. It’s--”

Anakin looks at him with wide, wet, blue eyes.

“It’s that if you...if I say it and then...tomorrow you decide you don’t mean it...darling you have to know there would be no recovering from that, for me. I’ve been so obvious.”

Anakin blinks as the words register in his brain, and Obi-Wan can tell the exact moment they do because he inches closer and clutches tightly onto his shirt. “You’ve not been obvious at all,” he murmurs, eyes still shining, even as he directs his entire attention to his lips.

“What would I need to do?” Obi-Wan breathes, aching to wrap his arms around his waist and terrified that doing so will startle Anakin away from him. “What would I need to do for you to understand how much I...how much I’ve loved you for all these years?”

“Kiss me,” Anakin whispers, leaning down as if drawn by some magnetic pull.

Obi-Wan knows he will hate himself in the morning for giving in when Anakin is so obviously grief-stricken and looking for no-strings-attached physical comfort. And yet, he meets him halfway anyway.

[weebsinstash]

We talkin' platonic yan hb? yandad Stolas so doting and sweet, yanmom Stella snatching you away from her husband in an angry huff (how selfish IS he to be imp fucking on the side AND feel deserving of your attention?! leave him and come snuggle with mummy instead), yansis Octavia sneaking into your room at night with tea and cookies, pulling the canopy bed closed like a fort while you watch stupid Youtube videos together before falling asleep.

Man I actually have a lot of ideas for HH and HB and admit, I gotta get over my own self shaming because I still get nice little shots of "bro that's cringe" in at myself and its totally anti-productive

But bruh I've thought about like, am entire scenario for this 🤣 Reader finding Octavia out by herself and helping escort her back home because she's, well, a 17 year old teenager in Hell which is full of creeps and weirdos. So then you're growing on Via, earning some brownie points when her father welcomes her home and invites you inside because he's oh so grateful his owlett is safe, and say you don't exactly have a place to stay because rent in Hell is the devil (ba dum tiss) so Stolas offers you a guest room in the castle. Which is pog but homie didn't ask his wife so eventually she finds you roaming the hallways and you have to turn up the charm and apologize because someone so lowly in status such as yourself just simply doesn't deserve to be in the presence of royalty, and you humble yourself and stall long enough that Stolas manages to come amd make some bullshit excuse that you're Octavia's attendant (slash lowkey adopted sibling) and Stella just huffs and acts like it's such an inconvenience but she mysteriously doesn't throw you out as previously threatened. Hell, Stolas only gave her one child after all; who knows, she probably has a lot more unfulfilled mom experiences considering she's an ancient demon, and now she can force gift some of these experiences onto you

I've also thought of like, when Reader eventually finds out "oh these people are WEIRD weird" that if Via has even the slightest inkling you want to leave, all that rebellious teenage spirit is gone and she's running straight to daddy to fix things because she doesn't really have that many friends and you're special so 👉👈

But like, one idea in especially fond of, is picturing the whole escorting Via back home deal, and combining thet with some of the ideas I've had for Valentino. You've got Reader fessing up that they rent from Val at his studio and of course Stolas can't be having that because Val is gross and doesn't respect anyone and clearly isn't a good influence on someone as sweet as you. I can just picture Stolas finding Reader crying one night and it turns out to be about all their daddy issues because "oh, you and via get along so well, where my dad was abusive" or so on so forth and how Valentino was lowkey taking advantage of that by complimenting you and giving you gifts to try and make you stay under his employment and of course that kicks Stolas into Maximum Dad Mode, finding out that you were abused by your real father and also that you have ties to Val.

Well no more! Now you're in the owl house (pfff) and they've decided to adopt your ass so, that's what's gonna happen! It's not like you can really say no when your new "parents" are magical grimoire-wielding demons and your "sister" isn't afraid of abandoning her pride to run off to Daddy for help (though I bet she has some powers of her own).

At this point it's like, flip a coin. Heads you get adopted by IMP, tails you get adopted by the Ars Goetia. And then the coin lands straight on its side because. Why not both? 😳

[the-widow-sisters]

Deserving

Summary: Natasha wakes up from a nightmare, and all she can think about is how she has to see her sister and make sure that she is okay. Fortunately, the girl is just over in the next room, and Natasha goes to take a look. But when one creaky floorboard sounds off, Natasha's quiet plan is foiled, and Yelena awakens. Yelena is determined to get to the bottom of her sister's actions.

Word Count: 2196

  Natasha awoke with a jerk, sitting up straight in bed with sweat dripping down her. She was breathing hard, and all she could think of was the past and all of the things that had happened. She looked around her, trying to ground herself and keep in mind where she was now and how she was far from all of it.

  She shivered a bit, finding herself quite cold. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to get rid of the memories flashing before her very eyes.

  She suddenly heard a small snore from the other room, and her eyes snapped open as her gaze shifted quickly to the wall where the noise had originated. It was then that she painfully remembered more of the dream. She grabbed onto the blankets as the flash of the death of her sister went through her.

  It knocked the breath from her, and even thought she could hear Yelena just in the other room, making an occasional snore she could not get any comfort. She had to see for herself and have concrete proof that her sister was alive and well.

  Almost autonomously, she got up from the bed and started heading to the door of her room. She reached out to the doorknob, and stopped, wondering if she should actually check on her sister.

  However, she quickly convinced herself it would be alright. After all, she was not going to awaken the other girl. She was as quiet as could be and Yelena would never know she was in there despite her heightened senses.

  Natasha quietly entered the hall and opened Yelena’s door nearby her own. She slid in, leaving the door itself ajar so she could escape quietly without any additional noise disrupting the atmosphere.

  To her pure relief, Yelena was lying there on the bed, her eyes closed and her shiny blonde hair sprawled out over the pillow as drool dripped just barely from her opened mouth. It was quite an adorable scene, and Natasha might would have chuckled a bit if it were not for her overwhelming emotions from her nightmare overcoming her.

  Natasha hesitantly stepped closer to the figure on the bed, her eyes caressing the contours of the younger girl’s face. She was so peaceful in sleep, and her chest rose and fell in a wonderful, hypnotic manner that brought such happiness and calm to Natasha because it signified that Yelena was alive, well, and content.

  She stepped a bit closer to the bed, almost wanting to touch the girl but knowing it would wake her up. However, as she made her next move, she just so happened to step on the infamous floorboard. It was the one floorboard in Yelena’s room that creaked, and when she stepped, it had very loudly made its favorite noise.

  As soon as it made the sound, Yelena jumped from her peaceful position, tensed all over, and her eyes wide awake as her gaze shifted distrustfully and dangerously in the direction that the noise had come from. Her hand was already reaching out to her nightstand where a gun was well-placed.

  Natasha froze in the moonlight illuminating the room, and they stared at each other for a long moment.

  Finally, Yelena furrowed her brow, confusion in her eyes as she just gaped at the redhead.

  “What are you doing?” Yelena questioned, completely disoriented and her voice deeper from her state of sleep just moments before, and her eyes a little wide as she gaped at Natasha. As the tension dispelled with Yelena’s words, all Natasha could do was look down with shame, not wanting to meet the younger woman’s eyes. It was not exactly easy for her to admit that she had been watching the other girl sleep just for reassurance that she was actually alive.

  Natasha was quiet for a moment, and Yelena studied her carefully. Natasha could feel her eyes boring holes in her and trying to catch her own gaze. Natasha swallowed after a moment, forcing a small glance in the general direction of Yelena’s deep greens.

  “Nothing… Just checking on you,” Natasha finally settled for answering, forcing a more casual tone to her voice than was actually within her. Yelena just watched her strangely for a moment, and Natasha offered a tight smile before starting to head out the door.

  “Goodnight—”

  “Hey, wait,” Yelena spoke, and Natasha hesitantly paused, looking behind her worriedly. Her stomach was in a knot. She knew Yelena had noticed something was not right, and it made Natasha feel exceedingly uncomfortable and wary of the whole situation.

  She was supposed to be the older sister and the voice of comfort, reason, and protection. Natasha owed all of those things and more to Yelena, and the blonde should never have to play that role for her. Natasha did not deserve it after leaving Yelena behind like she had.

  “Stay?” Yelena suggested, her gaze shifting to the empty side of the bed in a gesture of invitation. Natasha really wanted to, but she so hated to intrude and to inconvenience the girl all for her own selfish problems.

  “Are you sure?” Natasha asked, and Yelena nodded quickly.

  “What better way to stay warm? It gets cold in here with just me, myself, and I,” Yelena informed her with a slightly mischievous look in her eyes but nevertheless, concern and care ringing in the undertones.

  “Seriously… You should see my skin right now. I’ve got the turkey bumps,” Yelena told her, and Natasha just looked at her oddly.

  “Goosebumps,” Natasha absently corrected her, still considering the younger girl’s offer.

  “Turkey, goose, same difference,” Yelena shrugged, trying to be funny as she smirked a bit. Natasha just gazed at Yelena for a painfully long moment from her place in the doorway. She could see the pleading in her Yelena’s eyes.

  After several beats, she finally headed over to her little sister.

  Yelena pulled the blankets back, letting Natasha hesitantly slip in bed with her. Natasha just laid there, Yelena casting the blankets over her and resting her body next to her as she just looked her older sister in the face.

  “Do you want to talk?” Yelena offered after a long silence, and Natasha almost shyly brought her gaze up to meet Yelena’s eyes. She quickly averted her greens and looked away from the younger woman.

  “It’s nothing,” she muttered.

  “I think you’re full of it,” Yelena shot back just as soon as Natasha had finished her sentence. Natasha sighed deeply, not saying anything as she just dejectedly looked down. She did not want her sister to have to bear any burdens, and she definitely did not want the girl to bear Natasha’s own burdens.

  Before Natasha knew what was happening, Yelena slid nearer to the older woman, pushing her head underneath Natasha’s chin, and snuggling close, her nose buried in Natasha’s neck. Natasha hesitantly brought her arms around the younger girl, feeling her heart ache and her lips quiver a little. She quickly pulled them tightly together in an attempt to keep from exposing even the slightest of signs of her pain.

  It was just so nice to physically feel her sister in her arms. Especially after having such a terrifying dream and so clearly seeing the girl die before her very eyes. Natasha’s arms tightened around Yelena incrementally, her grip growing protective as the flashes began to return to the forefront of her mind.

  “I am here, Natashka,” Yelena muttered, love evident in her every word. It was more than Natasha could take, and the tears started to hotly pool in Natasha’s eyes. She did not deserve this from her sister. She did not deserve for Yelena to comfort her.

  After a moment, she started to shiver a bit, the emotion purely overcoming her and the sweat from earlier still permeating her clothing a bit. Yelena seemed to notice her feelings, and she moved even closer to her older sister, tangling her legs with Natasha’s. Natasha sniffed a bit, and to most, it would have sounded like a stopped-up nose, but Natasha knew that Yelena knew exactly what it was.

  “I’m here,” Yelena murmured, moving her hands up Natasha’s back. Natasha silently cried, her tears soaking the pillow that her head was resting on. After several long moments of this, Natasha found just enough strength to speak and admit what she had so desperately wanted to avoid. Of course, at this point, she knew it was much too late to try to avoid it.

  “You died,” Natasha admitted, her voice hoarse, and Yelena paused in her soothing rubs and stroking of Natasha’s back, and Natasha knew she was putting her full attentions on listening to Natasha’s words.

  “I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t,” Natasha was choked up a little at that point, and so she resolved to be completely silent for a long moment in an attempt to recollect her composure.

  “You have saved me. I’m here today because of you. You saved me,” Yelena assured, and Natasha shook her head.

  “I couldn’t save you.”

  “It was a dream, it’s okay,” Yelena tried to continue in her confidence, but Natasha’s lips tightened and she shook her head.

  “I can never save you… In a dream or in real life,” Natasha heartbrokenly admitted, and her voice cracked against her best efforts to maintain strength.

  “Don’t say that. You’ve saved me many times,” Yelena spoke quietly, her voice ringing with level-headedness and that blind love and certainty that she always held within her when she spoke about Natasha. Natasha shook her head insistently.

  “I didn’t save you when it counted,” Natasha told her firmly, wholehearted guilt wracking her tone, and Yelena quieted. Both of them shared a silence as they laid there together.

  “And here I am taking advantage of you and your comfort and your forgiveness, and ya ne zasluzhivayu nichego iz etogo,” Natasha muttered, switching to Russian as she admitted the tender words. They hurt so much but they were the truth. She honestly would not even blame Yelena if she pushed her away at this point. That was the one thing that Natasha did deserve.

  However, to her complete and utter shock, Yelena just held her even tighter than she had just a few minutes ago, her arms wrapping around Natasha firmly and her face squishing steadily against Natasha’s neck as she inhaled deeply. After a moment of this, she pulled away to raise up and press her forehead to Natasha’s as their green eyes met.

  “Listen carefully, because I will only say this once,” Yelena spoke and despite the intense warm and love in her voice, there was a definitive warning. Natasha froze a bit, her senses heightened as she anxiously both dreaded and anticipated the words Yelena would utter.

  “You have saved me. You didn’t refuse to come for me. You just didn’t know that I needed you. And most importantly, you deserve everything. You are my sister. Mine. And I’m the only one who says what you deserve or not,” Yelena stubbornly spoke with fierceness and determination in every word, her eyes just as hardened and full of meaning as the things she just said. Natasha looked away from her sister before returning her pained gaze to her.

  “How can you say that? I know you had to have been so mad—”

  “I was. But you’re here now, and none of it matters. I’m not mad anymore,” Yelena informed her, the words full of a sincerity and earnestness that Yelena always had when she admitted feelings to Natasha. Her eyes were practically glowing with

  “Chto ya sdelal, chtoby vernut' tebya v svoyu zhizn'?” Natasha questioned under her breath, the words gentle, tender, and full of love as she incredulously took in the pure magnitude of Yelena’s seemingly endless love for her.

  “You’ll always have me, sestra,” Yelena told her quietly, and Natasha sniffed again, starting to pull away from her sister to try to regain composure so she was not blatantly crying under the girl’s gaze.

 However, before she could do this, Yelena just held her tightly with one arm and brought up the other so she could wipe away her big sister’s tears gently. Natasha just looked at her, unashamed adoration radiating through her at the younger one’s attentions. When she was through, Natasha moved her hands up to cup Yelena’s face and kiss her face just between her eyebrows where her nose started to slope down her face.

  Natasha quickly noticed the huge smile on Yelena’s face that she quickly tried to hide as she ducked her head underneath Natasha’s neck.

  “I saw the smile. Don’t even try to hide it,” Natasha informed her, trying to pull together some semblance of her usual fond teasing that they shared.

  “Bah… You didn’t see anything, poser,” Yelena told her, but the nickname was not even filled with the typical mischief as usual. It was only full of the most tender and loving emotion. Natasha smiled in spite of herself, closing her eyes in contentment.

  And with every breath that Yelena exhaled against her skin that night, she could felt her heart coming back together and healing.

A/N: “Ya ne zasluzhivayu nichego iz etogo” means “I don’t deserve any of it,” and “Chto ya sdelal, chtoby vernut' tebya v svoyu zhizn'” means “What did I do to get you back in my life?”