#i have no problem with you being on my page

[always-just-red]

Hii! I've seen some Pregnancy scenario with LaD's men, but I have this HC-- personally for Sylus. That when fem!reader got pregnant, he didn't really understand how the Pregnancy hormones work, until he experienced one and he got confused how he should act or react because it's feels like he's walking on landime, one wrong move/word, she'd throwing tantrum or being sulky at him

I've heard from my Friend who got pregnant before, when she craving something and her Husband showing any form that he can't fulfill what she's craves, she felt her heart broken, and she'd sulk and acted as if he just cheated on her. The problem is, she always craved something that didn't even exist at that moment😂, she's craving certain type of Mango while it's not even that Mango season, so nobody selling it. He literally being desperate to negotiate with her cravings

So... Can I request a scenario smiliar like that? It doesn't have to be mango, or any foods. Just... how Pregnancy hormones or Cravings could make Sylus got frustated lol

Aaaaa anon this is adorable, thank you! We love making Sylus suffer in cute and harmless ways. He's always asking for trouble, so let's give him some! 😌💅

Something Sweet

Sylus x Reader 🩸

Summary: Sylus knows how to get what he wants. Getting what you want might be a little more tricky...

Genre: fluff!

Warnings/Additional tags: female!reader, IMPLIED pregnant!reader (pregnancy not actually mentioned or described- just hormones being hormones ✌), established relationship, canon pet names, a lil bit of roleplay because Sylus refuses to leave his Mystic Adventure era

| Word count: 2.1k | Masterlist |

Disclaimer: Characters belong to Love and Deepspace. All work is my own, so please don't repost or plagiarise!

“Sy, d’you know what I’m craving right now?”

“Always, sweetie.” Sylus doesn’t look up from his book. “Not now, though. I’m tired.”

Morning sunlight streams through the gaps in your living room curtains, casting pale yellow shapes over the floor. A shard of it has been inching over the sofa towards Sylus, the sharp edge now grazing the side of his face. He shifts, ever so slightly, away from its touch. His eyes are open but heavy.

“No,” you scold, leaning forwards to swat at him with your book. “That’s not what I meant, you narcissist.”

He chuckles with his usual low timbre— his gaze still not lifting— and the sound is deeper for how close he is to sleep. He wants to give in to it, you can tell. When he turns a page, the movement is languid, soft. You’re losing him.

“Sy,” you say again, then with more of a whine: “Sylus.”

His eyes flutter closed as he draws in a deep breath. His hand raises, his fingers stretching to pull his reading glasses from his face. They’re set down on the arm of the chair beside him, along with the book, and he turns to you with a smile. “What are you craving, sweetie?”

You rest your book on your stomach. Your legs are stretched out over Sylus’s lap, and his hand finds one of your feet, massaging an ache from it as you begin your speech. “Do you remember that café we used to go to? The one we found when it started raining in the park that day? We didn’t think it was open, but then the owner knocked on the window and said we could—”

“Yeah?” His hand moves to your other foot.

“Well, they make these—”

“Macarons.”

“You remember?”

His smile widens like he remembers vividly. “Kitten, how could I forget? I’m still jealous of that sweet little treat. You’ve never made that face for me, and believe me—” he wiggles one of your toes— “I’ve tried.”

That had been one of the only times you’d truly caught him off-guard, back when your feelings for one another were unnamed and uncharted. The rain had been drumming against the café window, and you’d heaved Sylus’s damp coat from your shoulders— giggled at the raised eyebrow and the sarcastic ‘…thanks’ he’d given in turn. One hot drink later, you were lifting a pastel pink macaron to your lips, taking a delicate bite and failing to stifle a tiny, almost euphoric moan.

You remember realising yourself: blushing profusely and expecting some remark, some ridicule, but none ever came. Sylus’s eyes were wide, dark, fixed upon your still parted mouth.

After a few of the longest seconds of your life, he’d dragged the plate with the rest of the macarons away from you and muttered something about how you had better not do that again.

“They’re still the sweetest things I’ve ever tasted,” you tease now, just as you’d wrestled him for that plate back then, set on eating every last macaron.

He makes a hmph as he idly runs a finger over the part of your foot he knows is ticklish. His expression is distinctly grumpy, but it falters as you laugh and try to writhe away from him.

You’re quickly out of breath. “Sylus?”

“Mmm?”

He glances up at you and you smile sweetly, head tilting. “Please?”

His coat on a rainy day. The entire plate of macarons in the end; he’s never been very good at denying you anything. For the first time since you’d stirred him from his book, however, he appears genuinely regretful. “You’re forgetting something, sweetie,” he murmurs gently. “Why did we stop going to that café, hmm?”

You shrug.

“It closed, kitten,” he sighs. “Months ago.”

“What?”

Not only did you already know that— you actually visited the café on its final day. The owner was telling you stories: he was moving somewhere warmer, closer to family, and he needed all the funds he could get. Sylus had snuck an obscene amount of money into the man’s tip jar whilst you acted as a distraction. You both had fond memories of that place; it was nice to make one more.   

It's all coming back to you and you’re struck by a wave of nostalgia. You want to go back there. You can’t go back there. It doesn’t exist anymore, and you’ll never taste sweetness like that again.

Your mouth has gone dry.

“Sweetie?” Sylus prompts, because he notices you’re far away. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” your voice wobbles, “I just really wanted… I mean, I really needed one of those—”

“… Macarons?” he finishes for you.

You burst into tears, and one day, you’ll tally this as another time you took the man by surprise. His face drops instantly— lost, for a moment— before he slides your legs from his lap, allowing him to lean closer. “No, no, no,” he coos, “don’t cry, kitten, please. I didn’t mean to… well, I didn’t realise…”

He doesn’t know what to say, and he always knows what to say. He set you off with a single word and now he’s stuttering like sentences are all possible landmines. He tries his luck again, putting a foot forward: “Listen to me. I’ll go to the store. Would that be alright? Or perhaps there’s another café that could—”

You explode: sobbing even more viscerally. Your whole body shakes with it.

Sylus has frozen. He watches on helplessly as you cry, blabbering about the macarons you can’t have and the café you can’t return to. Across the room, even Mephisto has hunched down on his perch, though he issues a few, spirited squawks, maybe in solidarity with your breakdown, or maybe in protest of it.

It’s like a catalyst. You cry more: burying your face in your hands because what the hell is wrong with you? It’s not a big deal. It’s not a big deal, so why do you feel sick? And then there’s Sylus— your Sylus, devoted and adoring— and here you are, punishing him for something beyond his control.

You look up from your hands, desperate to apologise, but he’s gone. More shards of sunlight paint his empty seat and catch all that’s left of him: a few crow feathers, glistening like onyx. Mephisto is gone too, and the room is quiet, save for you snivelling and feeling sorry for yourself.

“Sylus?” you call out into the empty morning.

It isn’t his fault, not really. You wouldn’t want to be around you, either.

…

Something brushes over your cheek, and your tired eyes open.

The sun has ebbed back behind the curtains and the ceiling light has taken its place, casting artificial highlights over everything in reach: the coffee table, the closed-up flowers at its centre and a mug of tea that’s gone cold. Sylus is in front of you too, backlit and soft like a daydream, and he—

He left you.

“Sy?” you whisper warily, because the context is coming back to you slowly, piece by piece.

“Hey,” he coaxes, voice as honeyed as whatever’s turned the air sweet.

You blink, rubbing sleep from your eyes and relishing the warmth of his hand on your face. Then you slap his shoulder. “Hey, really? That’s all you’ve got— hey?”

He’s kneeling for you— on the floor, beside the couch— so you can meet his eyes. He settles his chin thoughtfully on the edge of the seat, his nose almost touching yours. “What would you prefer, sweetie?” His lips are close to yours too. “Good evening, my beloved? Greetings, my queen?”

“How about sorry?” you snap, because he isn’t cute and he isn’t charming.

He pouts. “Why sorry?”

“Because you left, Sylus!�� You sit up straighter, and your phone tumbles out of your lap. Its screen is still lit-up from a few hours ago, showcasing a very one-sided conversation and a rant you never actually sent, because it’s still in the text box.

You vaguely recall writing it, so you try to snatch the phone from Sylus’s hand as he plucks it from the floor. He’s more alert than you. More co-ordinated. He keeps it out of your grasp as he reads the unsent message, an eyebrow raising.

It was a lot of things— colourful, creative— not entirely tasteful. “My, my, your highness,” he tuts, “so this is the treatment your valiant knight receives for undertaking your quest?”

“You’re not valiant,” you rebuke, and you manage to wrestle your phone from him. “You’re—”

“A heartless prick,” he finishes casually, quoting your message with a chuckle. He takes your free hand and kisses the back of it, refusing to let you pull away. “And whose fault is that, I wonder?”

“You can have your heart back.”

“Nope. You’re stuck with it, sweetie. With me, too. Now—” he sits back on his knees— “would you please ask me about my quest?”

The analogy is lost on you. You sit fully up, looking down at him. “What quest, oh valiant knight?”

His lips form a smirk; he just loves when you play along. “Close your eyes.”

You do— whether you’re queen or not. You hear him shifting aside, and then there’s a snap of his fingers. The air changes, warping like thick, liquid smoke, and you know he’s using his Evol. “Open,” he commands.

And there on the coffee table, freshly teleported, is a plate of macarons the colour of cherry blossoms. As if anticipating the comparison, Sylus pulls a handful of pink petals from his pocket and blows them up into the air so they can spiral down on the scene. He watches them. Then you. “Ta-da,” he proclaims, his tone dry but full of humour.

You’re prone to hyperbole nowadays, but this is without a doubt the best thing you have ever seen.

“Sylus,” you gasp in disbelief, “how did you—”

“It doesn’t matter,” he says; the story isn’t for today, and he’s very, very tired. A few weeks from now he’ll tell you about how he tracked down the contact information of the owner of the old café. How he spent an hour on the phone bargaining for a certain macaron recipe, and several more hours in the kitchen, trying to get them perfect. “Now, they might not be exactly the same, sweetie. But I did try to—”

You surge forwards, capturing his lips in a kiss. It’s so impulsive— so reckless— that you almost tumble down from the couch, but he catches you, steadies you, and your hand is gripping the soft of his hair as he kisses you back. Slowly, his mouth not leaving yours, he lifts you back into your seat.

“Easy, sweetie.” His voice is low as he pulls away, and though he turns his face from you, you can make out the blush on his cheeks. He settles back into his kneeling position on the floor. “I have one more surprise for you. Do try to control yourself.”

He retrieves a small, complete flower from his pocket, albeit one a little dreary from its journey. Sylus smiles triumphantly as he holds it out to you, and he was right; you do want to throw yourself at him. Instead, you take the flower and lean forwards, tucking it behind his ear before he can protest. He’d tilted closer to help you, and he sits back with an exasperated tsk when you’re done.

“It suits you,” you grin.

He yawns. “Everything does.”

You don’t want to get into trouble, so you shimmy to the very edge of your seat and carefully— showing tremendous restraint— reach out to take his face in your hands. “You’re amazing, Sy. Thank you for doing all of this for me, but…”

“But…?”

“I missed you. I like macarons, yeah,” you smile, “but I’d much rather have you.”

This time, he can’t hide his face and the way it goes pink, like the blossom behind his ear. His cheeks are warm beneath your palms. “You couldn’t have said that before I spent the whole day—”

His voice is strangled as you keel towards him— slow and deliberate— to thread your arms around him and pull him into a hug. He tenses for a moment, then wraps his arms around you too: holding you tightly, keeping you from falling any further. You can feel his hand stroking your back and he hums as you give him a gentle squeeze.

“Such a lovely moment, kitten,” he muses, your head on his shoulder. “I do hope it’s sincere, and not— say— an excuse for someone to get her paws on the macarons behind me.”

There’s another moment of quiet.

“Don’t be silly, Sy,” you retort, but your mouth is full, your cheeks are stuffed, and not a single word of it is intelligible.

[n0tamused]

Midnight thought that popped into my head… If you watched Spirited Away, do you remember a bunch of little black soot balls that carried coal around? What if the reader also works at the academy and has made herself a bunch of those little robots to fetch tools when she needs them? Imagine working on something with these little goofballs running around, making high-pitched robot noises and being useful at the same time, what a dream. The second part is, what if some of them started running to Xiangli Yao's office (and Academy too) to get tools (screwdrivers, hammers, etc.) because they couldn't find them in our office due to some errors (or some other reason)? Which led to a funny little investigation of missing items? Honestly saw it as already established relationship, but could be used as push-to-confession maybe? Can definitely see something like this: -My little babies would never steal! -Your… babies? -Erm, never mind…

Honestly, use this however you like if you do, the possibilities are endless and fun, no matter how you twist it, I have just come up with an example.

A/n: this was awfully sweet, but even with that I didn't imagine it would turn out this long. I do hope this is what you had in mind. I really enjoyed writing this. And hey, first Xiangli Yao fic! Yipeeee

Contents: Xiangli Yao x Reader, she/her pronouns, fluff

Words: 4221

Steel Hearts

Little pitter-patters of feet echo down the empty corridor, the sound accompanied by the low mechanical buzz that could be said to be a coo or a call. Xiangli Yao had yet to get used to the new tiny companions around the Academy, although they made for an endearing sight when they got together to work. Xiangli Yao steps to the side of the corridor, slowing down his step as he notices a few Aideroids rush past diligently, carrying a few empty petri dishes, box of gloves and some unlabeled material samples. He tilted his head as they passed by, clicking and clacking without paying him any mind, like a line of ants as they made it straight for their queen - you. It would seem that the confusion of the recent incidents at the Academy have rubbed off on the Aideroids as well, otherwise known as Assistive Intelligence Droids, judging by how scattered they seemed after your own office has been subjected to a little... disaster, to put it plainly. It has pushed you to share an office with your colleague until the renovations are done, and while you had adjusted well, the little droids would always stop by the old office or by his own next to yours before finding you at last.

Xiangli Yao admired them and once he had run into a droid in the corner of his office that had gone down due to battery problems. He had fixed it up for you then. The droids weren’t admirable by looks alone, but by their design as well with their creator behind them. Although they seemed to be a nuisance of a sight for Mortefi, even he commented on their usefulness. The only thing everyone was against was to make them capable of flight. You agreed that the sight of so many droids buzzing about wouldn’t be quite comfortable.

He continued on into his office, looking over the report he had yet to finish, one he was looking forward to writing out. The half done pages reeked of promise and satisfaction, as they would come to represent the best part of the job in Xiangli Yao’s eyes. The end, the fruits of his labor. He hummed something low in his throat as he glimpsed an error in his grammar, making a mental note to fix it up later as he swung the door open and closed it behind it, failing to notice that the door had been creaked open already. Muscle memory brings his feet to his desk, and as he goes to put his papers down he is greeted by several singular eyes looking up at him, all scattered on and around his desk. He blinks at them in surprise, and for a moment they mirror his confusion and shock in equal measure, but as no command or response comes from his mouth, they swiftly return to their ‘work’ at his tools. One Aideroid was carrying the rubik's cube he liked to keep in his office, oftentimes fidgeting with it when he came into a slump during work hours. The Aideroid chucked it over the edge of the desk with a ‘kahooo’ and another similar sound came from below, where another droid caught the cube. Another droid was already halfway to the door with screwdrivers and small container of oil he uses to treat his prosthetic arm - had the door been unlocked, the little droid would have managed to escape the office with Yao’s belongings. 

“Hey, hey, hey- now, little friend. It seems you have plans for my things-” he speaks to the droid with a light laugh in his tone as he manages to pluck back the oil and screwdrivers from its clasping hands before it could truly clasp down. “Has Miss. (L/N) been in such desperate need of oil that she sends you to take mine?” 

The droid looks up at him and the lenses of its eye narrow and zoom in on the towering figure of Xiangli Yao, yet, ever loyal and determined to assist you, the droid lets out a disgruntled beeping sound, almost like a little howl. Its arms stretched upward, waiting for the tools to be given back to its hold. 

“Ah, no, my friend. I’m afraid I cannot give you these back” he says and turns towards the desk just as the droid carrying his cube walks by, and Yao swiftly takes the cube back as well, and then the microscope from the next droid, and a few pencils from the next few. By the time he’s up to his desk again, he feels as if he went through an attempted robbery, his arms full of his things and behind him he hears several voices of dissatisfied and demanding droids. He holds onto his lighthearted demeanor, a gentle and amused smile plastered over his lips as he sets back his belongings on his desk and back onto the shelves. “Miss. (L/n) would not want you to rob her colleagues, would she now? I know you don’t like returning to her with empty arms, but I can’t be giving you my own research and tools so easily” he tells the droids as if they’re a bunch of kids and for a moment he expects to be greeted with more protests as the droids all but stare at him in grave silence. Thankfully they do not pose more verbal danger, and scatter to climb onto one another and skillfully open the door before moving out again. Xiangli Yao can only stare at the space they occupied, still trying to acknowledge what has just happened. He was about to shake the thoughts of before he remembered the droids he passed in the corridor, now realizing the tools and materials they carried were his.

______________________________________________________

Black bolded letters lined every page, and page after page you scanned the book for the chapter you needed to fuel your brain for power which you desperately needed for this experiment. You sigh in disappointment as you find the chapter of your favorite book ripped out, leaving the next chapter as some distant tale you were yet to understand. You close the book with a thump and push it aside, returning to another set of letters on your research paper and the propped up tubes and test tubes and cylinders before you. Testing biological matter and the effects of the Waveworn Phenomena on them came with its limitations, but for all of those you managed to achieve quite a few breakthroughs in the last few years. 

You found yourself just short of other achievements, it was just an arms reach away yet you were stuck. Not understanding where you began to go over the same papers again, going through numbers, chemical formulas and the hypothesis at the start, but the important puzzle piece was yet to be revealed to your mind. The sound of small feet do not alarm you as they buzz behind you and move about the office. They came and went the entire day, bringing you your torn book and some other less important things at the moment, yet you acknowledged their need to be of help- it was in their code. Just like animals which flee or fight naturally when confronted with danger, the Aideroids wanted to help when confronted with your frown and furrowed brows. They knew something was amiss, so by bringing you all the tools and materials you previously praised them for, their droids’ minds hoped to see and hear the praise once more to know their daily task had been fulfilled. Yet, the last few days have been filled with your stagnant moods with not a sweet word in sight. The loss of the comforts of your own office was palpable even with the adjustments you’ve made - nothing can beat having your own space to do with as you please.

Your head hands low over the papers, forehead resting on your clasped palms as you let your eyes close. Searching for the answer deep in your mind, you fail to see the way forward and your mind swiftly wanders to imagery of the open fields, summer days and your favorite food stalls. Aideroids made their way up the side of your desk, carrying the microscope between them in their strong little arms, and as they set it before you with a small thump, you looked up to see it, a look of confusion falling over your eyes. “Now, why have you brought me this, AIDE?” you ask the droid group who coo at you in unison. “I already have a functional microscope..” you added, sighing at their attempt to assist you with no success. But before you can reprimand them and ask whose microscope they’ve taken, you see more of the droids climb up the desk with a glove box and unmarked materials sealed in small boxes. At that you were a bit more alarmed. Sitting up straight in your chair you feel a wave of anxiety come over you as you’re made to guess whose research they just snagged up with no pardon. “AIDE, where did you get this?” you asked as you took one of the sample bags one of the droids offered you. You carefully unpacked it and took a quick look inside, a bit more relieved to find it was only dirt samples from god knows where. But the other baggies held materials you weren’t trying to mess with, judging by their looks alone through the translucent bag. 

The droids coo and click, and on your watch monitor you can see the transcribed text that they were trying to convey. 

‘Xiangli Yao’s office, Baizhi’s office’.

You had to physically stop yourself from face palming at the sentence. Your little helpful companions resorting to stealing from your fellow colleagues, one of them a renowned genius? You thank god that most of them have already left the Academy for the day, and others were on break.

“Please, give the rest of those to me… I’ll have to give you another code input, this can’t happen again - you can’t just take other people’s belongings” you gently scold while the many pairs of eye just look at you, mechanically blinking and adjusting their lenses as they try to comprehend why you didn’t like what they’ve done. You have already gathered the things they took, carefully cradling the items in your arms as you tell them to stay in the office while you go and return them - hoping to also clear your mind with this brisk walk.

You turn the corner from your current office, closing the door behind you and your mind is running, hoping your droids haven’t done any damage, even if you have put all the necessary codes into their system that avoided damaging things, but who's to say they can’t malfunction or accidentally push somethin or-

“Ah! Xiangli Yao!” you nearly squeal as you run into him when you turn to go down the corridor leaning to his office, and like a kid caught with their hand in the candy jaw, you flush with items that are obviously his in your arms. You take a few steps back to put a more professional and comfortable distance between the two of you. You swallow the lump in your throat, hoping the warmth you felt wasn’t as visible on your skin as you imagined it to be. 

“Ah, Miss (L/N), it is you, and with quite an interesting assortment of things in tow” Yao greeted back, his eyes quickly catching on to the items in your hold, a warm smile pulling on his lips. “I was just about to pay you a visit. It would seem your Aideroids have been up to some mischief as of recent”

“Mischief?” you countered almost instantly, and be it fatigue or the knowledge that the droids weren’t mischievous by their nature, you almost took it as an insult. “Oh, you misunderstand. They aren’t mischievous, Xiangli Yao. They just.. need some code tuning” you added with a stubborn shake of your head, holding the items closer to your torso. 

“Oh? And is that why they have resorted to taking my things without being given permission beforehand?” Yao retorted, his voice a warm honey. Was he teasing you? 

You couldn’t muster up a laugh, your lips pressing together in a tight line out of some nervousness for feeling so cornered. “Xiangli Yao..” you began, sighing as you nearly trailed off - he had his point, yet you couldn’t let your little droids be subjected to any form of insults, even in jest! “That doesn’t mean they’re mischievous. Although their objective is flawed in execution, something I’ll have to fix later, I assure you they did not mean to deprive you of your own ability to conduct your work. This is why I have come to return your belongings by myself and.. apologies on their behalf - although the fault is also mine own for not having foreseen such a thing happening with them” you told him, nearly rushing through the entire sentence. “AIDE has told me some of these materials are also from Baizhi. Do you mind taking back the ones that are yours?” 

Xiangli Yao looks on at you, letting you speak and he nods at the question. Did this make you so riled up, or was it him? He had to admit, he felt rather weak in his word arsenal now. This has in no way ruined his day, nor has he meant any offense to you with his quips. The interaction it all led to between the two of you felt sweet to his heart, as most encounters between the two of you during the day felt almost artificial, all work no soul chatter which he found himself craving to have with you. And both of you needed solo time to recharge, but now it felt like there was emotion behind it, there was a heart. Yao wasn’t about to simply let it go to waste. But what does he say to make you more at ease?

“Of course. Here, why don’t you come to my office, I’ll also help you sort the other items out that belong to Baizhi afterwards” he offered as he took back his things, and also some more to lighten your load as some seemed at the point of slipping past your fingers. “Your droids are quite skilled to unlock doors previously locked - have you taught them to pick at locks?” he asked, his tone genuine as well as he recalled an occasion where he overheard Mortefi complaining to you about AIDE ‘breaking into his office’. 

You sigh at the memory. “No. I have not taught them any of that. Their objectives and codes only revolve around listening to my orders and helping me work, I genuinely don’t know where they got it to pick locks..” you tell him as you walk side by side to his office. His presence felt as if he was pressed right against your side, even if there was comfortable space between you, or perhaps that was just you overthinking the situation. Xiangli Yao’s company was always welcome, you wished your paths crossed more often during work, but alas..

“Admirable, really” Yao comments, looking up ahead and hastening his step to open the door with his elbow, leaving it wide open for you. You walk in and you can already tell AIDEs has been through here. Xiangli Yao sets down the items he had in his arms, returning the ones that belonged to him to their right place.

“Have..have they damaged anything of yours?” You cautiously asked as you looked around, almost expecting to see broken glass or torn papers.

“Oh no, they've done no harm. They were quite adamant on taking my things, however” he chuckles. “The group that I encountered in my office even wished to scold me for not allowing them to take the items back to you. Kahooting at me and beeping, heh. They even picked up the oil for my prosthetic” he said as he turned back to look at you, noticing how your brows curled in a worried expression, the cogs and wheels turning so loud he could nearly hear them from where he stood.

You sigh for the nth time, your shoulders slumping as you shake your head. “I'm really sorry for this, they really aren't like this. I'm assuming that the loss of my office, which was coded as their own ‘HQ’  , impacted them more than I imagined. They wouldn't do any of this otherwise “ You adjust the few small items in your arms, the sample bags stacked on top. 

Xiangli Yao hums in acknowledgement. “I understand that. Thankfully, that is an easy fix until your office is done and ready for use again. I often see the little guys lingering in front of the locked doors of the office.. makes me think they’re rather sentimental about the place” he nodded thoughtfully, and as he talked he approached you again, taking the items from you even after you tried to give a word of protest. 

“Although, I also have a suspicion it is not just the loss of their ‘HQ’ that is making them behave like this” Yao added as he motioned towards the door again, having you walk out first. You did as he requested, but you closed the door behind him before he could try to. You look at him quizzically, brows furrowed in confusion. 

“What do you mean?”

“Well..the droids’ objective is to help you reach an end in your research or daily tasks, yes? Have you perhaps not been able to reach an end of your work that the droids' could physically see? This is just my hypothesis but..uhh..” he trails off as he notices the weight of your stare, his eyes going back to the path ahead, focusing on going to Baizhi’s office. Was he being too prodding? 

You couldn't deny that his words held some water, but a part of you wasn't ready to simply say what you thought. The AIDE were a bunch of robots you created, scraps of metals and wires, and giving them any form of sentimental intelligence aloud felt wrong. Even if you treated them kindly and softly like puppies and cats countless times, you weren't going to risk being seen as soft and fragile in your workspace, in front of Yao no less. He wasn’t cold in any way, or unkind to either robots, people or animals - but you felt silly in your treatment of your helpful companions.

“Are you saying that the droids may have a.. small flaw in their system? Their code could use some fine tuning, that's for sure…” you replied, trailing off as you thought about it, relieving him of your gaze in the meantime. 

“Yes, that is what seems most plausible, although I do not know their code as well as you do” 

You nod and just shrug, too tired to think of inputting more codes and numbers, but you knew the task was unavoidable. “Yeah…I'll take a look at the codes once I'm back. Uh, you know where Baizhi keeps her things?”

“Not exactly in the way she has her things organized…but, we can just leave them in an orderly place. I can explain the situation to her in the morning for you, no worries” Xiangli Yao is about to hasten his step again but you make it a point to beat him to it, opening the door for him and keeping it open. You hear a huff of a laugh behind you but you do not immediately turn around to face him and see his expression. Yet when you do take a look, your heart jumps in your throat as he passes by you, giving you another one of his warm smiles.

You feel stiff compared to him, he who seems so carefree and professional. 

“You don't have to do that on my behalf. I'll just talk to her myself” you slide in next to him above Baizhi’s desk. It looks rather empty with how well organized it looks. Papers piled neatly on one end next to the simple lamp, pens in their pen holder, a few other things carefully tucked over the desk but besides that, there was nothing else on the desk. Everything else had its place on the shelves or in the drawers. You have to hold back your awe at it, remembering how much of an ‘organized mess’ your desk is. 

“It wouldn't be an inconvenience, Baizhi and I have a task we have to do together tomorrow,” Yao said as he sat the sample bags down along with the little boxes. 

You find yourself not knowing what to say, and suddenly you feel as if you're standing too close for comfort, your neck feeling too warm and you decide to pace away, taking in the office - one you have probably visited before but that fact wasn't important right now. 

“Coohoo, clack?” 

You both turn around and see several eyes staring back at you around the doorframe. 

Xiangli Yao chuckles as he sees that the little droids have, once again, managed to snag something of his to bring to you - this time the Rubik's cube from before. They murmur among themselves when they see him, and one at the front almost hisses when he approaches. The others rush in with the Rubik's Cube in tow, rushing straight to you. 

“Ah- not again…” you grumble as you crouch down to welcome your rowdy robot children in, taking the cube away from them as they crowd around your feet and tug lightly at the tail of your coat.  “I'm really sorry, Xiangli-”

“No, no, please, no need to apologize. Now that I look at this, I have a feeling they're trying to lift your spirits. Surely, AIDE realizes a Rubik’s Cube has no other use but momentary play”

You look up at him, joining in the stare group made from your droids who all can't seem to take their eyes off of him. 

“That…could be it. Hah, a rather cute thought, isn't it? I should give these guys a bit more praise, I think..” you feel yourself cracking slowly, the exhaustion and the weight of your unreached goals making your mind a fuzzy place. You feel your cheeks go warm again and cast your eyes down swiftly to take a look at your droids again.

“Quite so. Do you need help with the coding?” He suddenly asked as you rose to your feet, taking a careful step over the grouped up droids. You stumble and feel Yao grab onto your elbow to stabilize you. “Careful-”

“Thanks.. here's your, uhm, cube” you mutter as you hastily hand him the Rubik's cube even before you get to stand back properly on your feet. 

The droids coo in unison, first in surprise and then in relief when you don't fall. 

“And no, actually, I should be fine with doing the coding on my own. It will only take a bit, but anyway- I'd rather not be in your way any more than I already am.” You said as you found your feet again, the droids already gathering around your feet again and looking up at you and Yao unblinking. 

“In my way? Miss (L/N), you’re not in my way. I am offering you my help of my own free will, not out of pity or anything similar” he assures you and soon joins you in looking down at your droids when you fail to respond. This time he can’t help but notice the flush on your cheeks, but he doesn’t comment on it for your sake.

“These little ones are.. quite something” you added as your eyes gazed over them all, listening to their lenses “blink” and observe.

The droids huddle closer, almost climbing up over the other to reach better heights to either of you. His words from before strike you once more in that moment, and you find yourself thinking deeper about the issue at hand - although can you really call it an issue? The droids have done nothing but try their best to be of use to you, and not only in your work but in your mood as well. Would it be so wrong to treat them with a little more humanity? The droids seemed to favor Xiangli Yao in some ways too, as most of the items they brought back to you were his.

“Xiangli Yao..”

“Hm?” He tips his head to the side, looking over at you as you still observe the little ones.

“Could you actually..help me with these guys a bit? I think I want to do more than just coding changes, I'd like to add some more features - and you have more experience in this field than I do”

Xiangli Yao feels his heart swell with something he can't quite describe coherently in that moment, but he knows it is making him feel fuzzy and energized. “Of course! I'd love to - spending some time with these droids is going to be a time well spent”.

Although he loved the droids on their own, he was more so looking towards spending time with you. And where the droids were is where you are.

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[creatingblackcharacters]

on the topic of fandom racism.. wanted to ask an outside opinion on this.

so without much detail bc i don't wanna get this person harassed or something, i'm in a fandom where most of the characters are japanese and look pretty similar, so the diversity is Not Great. recently i saw an artist, who is white, draw a character with slightly darker skin than the rest of the cast as Black, where he was ambiguously brown before. my problem with this as an outsider is that i think that plays into a ton more stereotypes than if he was just tan or something. this character is regarded to be misogynistic, overly sexual, and especially to his #fffff white japanese (girl) friend.

i, as a white person, would like to approach this artist and ask if that's really the message they wanna send, but god forbid i do not want to sound like those people that believe in "black-washing" or just hate to see more diversity in an anime lineup. would it be white knighting to point this out, or approach that, hey, maybe your only person of color in this cast shouldn't be the one that acts Like That...

Hm. I see what you're saying. I'd suggest a few things, which is really my go-to for everyone white fighting fandom racism:

1) first, look out for the voices of Black fans in that space and see what they're saying. If they are perturbed by what they see, then I would amplify their voices and support them first. Let them know they're not crazy. They're the ones experiencing the harm, let their voices be the ones prioritized. If no one Black has said anything, that could be a sign that this entire fandom isn't safe for that kind of feedback (which... Often.)

2) look at that person's page to see how they treat this character. Do they actually offer them depth? Are they a fan? Have they shared anyone's good perspective of him? Do they actually care about him, and think his being Black serves a better narrative? Or is it really just this character is a douchebag and now he's "Black" because they wanted some diversity points without thinking about it. Hell, does the original media do right by this ambiguously brown character lol? Because that can often be the larger issue too.

3) does this person positively interact with Black people at all? Like people, opinions, topics, politics, anything at all? Or is this their Token Black Blorbo Barbie™? Because that's a red red flag lmao.

4) if you still feel strongly about it, send them a DM. I'd say make sure to be genuinely polite, not because you should be respected more because of it, but so that it's on record that you wanted to give them the space to amend ("Hello, I mean no harm, but I was worried that this may-") You're white too, so it'll be safer. DMs are really a kindness, a last chance for grace; sometimes people are just like "fuck it, that's a racist and imma treat them like it". And I don't begrudge them that, this shit is exhausting and enraging.

5) accept that you may very well approach with the best intentions, and this artist may very well act a complete asshole* about it. They may make excuses, the classic "I would never be racist", they may accuse you of all those things that you just said, try to cast you as the problem, and their friends may very well make you out to be the racist for pointing out the racism. Welcome to fighting antiblackness and racism in fandom 👍🏾 it's a minefield out here.

*keep in mind, even if they "respond sweetly", the whole "thanks 💕" schtick is still them being an asshole. Racism in sweet words is still racism.

6) if they do respond like an asshole, it is not a reflection of you, but of them. 👍🏾 They are now purposely choosing racism. Block them and move accordingly.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Why Writing Is So Lonely | Rin T.

Hello writers, and anyone else who uses Tumblr on a daily basis like me. (Although I’ve been inactive off and on.) It’s me, Rin, and I wanted to talk about something that I think a lot of us struggle with. Or at least anyone, and everyone who considers themselves writers.

The loneliness that can come with the writing life and being a writer. We spend so much of our time alone. It doesn’t matter if you're using your laptop or scribbling in notebooks. Or pacing around in your living room and muttering dialogue to yourself (which I'm completely guilty of.)

Writing is really a solitary passion, and it hasn't just recently been like that. I'm sure Jane Austen and Edgar Allen Poe dealt with similar feelings. And sometimes that isolation can take a real toll that many of us choose to ignore, both on our creativity, our passion, which I assume is writing in this case, and our mental health.

I’ve been writing for about 4 years now, mostly working on my own little passion projects that I plan on publishing and side hustles, not only for my writing project but also my blog (TheWrite AdviceForWriters). I’m currently knee-deep in 4 different novel drafts that I’m absolutely in love with. However, let me tell you. It can get Very lonely a lot of times. There are days when I feel like I’m the only person in the world who cares about these made-up characters and their fictional problems. The characters I create in my mind are so vivid that they seem like the only individuals who actually care about my passion. (They technically are, considering they are basically my passion.)

It’s so easy to start wondering whether anyone will ever want to read the stories I'm pouring my heart into. The self-doubt I get has been a big part of my writing journey, and sometimes it breaks my heart knowing that I may not please everyone who reads my stories. That I possibly could get the worst reviews out there on my book. If it's not perfect for society. For example, I have been reading and receiving news on Alex Aster and the amount of bad reviews she received for her LightLark novel, and she has had a few times where she’s stated she poured her heart into it. And it's not just Aster who deals with these as a published author; there are many others, and it sometimes scares me.

But you know what? I've come to realize that this loneliness is just part of the writer’s journey. And that it truly is going to be the process of every writer’s journey and career. It’s going to be one of the prominent challenges we have to face if we want to do this crazy, wonderful, painful thing we call writing. And I think it's important we talk about it, especially since I'm a blogger who owns a blog specifically for writers. The biggest reason I chose to create this blog was for this reason and the many other challenges of being a writer. 

I definitely will consider this blog post to be a discussion, and if anyone wants to reblog or reply to this blog post and start a conversation, please do so, just so we can support each other and figure out healthy ways to cope.

So, why is writing such a lonely pursit? Well, there are quite a few reasons, especially reasons for each individual writer; however, here are a few key reasons:

The Act Itself is Solitary.

At the end of the day, writing is something we have to do on our own. Sure, we can brainstorm with other writers and friends who write or get feedback from beta readers. Or even develop  and edit your manuscript with a professional book editor. But the actual act of putting words on the page is a solo endeavor. We’re the ones doing the typing, the (physical) writing, and the constant racking of our brains to find the perfect word or phrase to put down on paper or the blank page on a screen.

Even when we’re writing collaboratively, there’s still a certain level of isolation involved. I mean, after all, our individual writing process and creative visions have to align for the collaboration to work.

And let’s be real—aligning those things isn't always easy.

I’ve reached out to book editors, more so of developmental editors, which is an editor who guides the writer/author on the actual plot and outline of the novel itself. And they have mentioned the difficulties of needing to align with the creativity of the topic or novel. It isn't easy at all.

I know that for me, my most productive writing sessions happen when I'm alone. And I know for a fact I'm not alone on that.

Having no distractions when it's just me, my thoughts, and the blinking cursor on the screen with a Spotify playlist playing in the background. And while that can be deeply fulfilling and very productive, I will admit it can be incredibly lonely.

It's an Emotionally Draining Process.

Writing isn't just about stringing words together. It's about pouring our hearts and souls onto the page. Were digging into our deepest emotions, our biggest fear, our wildest dreams, our thoughts, our philosophy, I can go on. And that kind of vulnerability can be utterly exhausting.

When I'm in the process of drafting a new novel or the many current projects I'm working on. I often find myself emotionally drained at the end of the day. I've been living and breathing these characters, feeling their joys and pains as my own. describing the actions, words, and emotions these characters do and feel. And then after that, I have to close my laptop, put my pen and notebook away, and try to reenter the “real world"—a world that doesn’t always understand the weight I've been carrying. 

It can be so isolating, feeling like the only person who understands the emotional journey of your writing. Knowing what it feels like to create characters and their stories and emotions and personalities just as if they were real humans. Our non-writer friends and family members try their best to be supportive, but unless they experience it firsthand, they cannot fully grasp the depth of what we go through. I can tell when I explain my projects to others who aren't writers, it can sometimes feel like they don't care about what I'm saying to them. Or it can also feel like, my stories are just a synopsis for an underrated movie no one’s ever watched.

It's a Profession of Rejection

I think we all know, writing is a tough gig. It's a tough career and job. Even the most successful authors have had to face their fair share of rejection. The rejections can be received from agents, publishers, readers, or critics. (like I mentioned earlier), and that constant stream of “no’s” can really chip away at our confidence and sense of self-worth. And especially if you're an aspiring author and have not yet published your work. Knowing that rejection is a big part of the career of writing is frightening. Really.

I remember when one of my best friends, who is a writer, who is currently in the process of publishing her book, would send query after query only to receive endless rejections. She told me it felt like the entire world was telling her, “Your writing isn't good enough,” and that can be a pretty lonely and demoralizing place to be. It has made me anxious about getting to the querying phase, as I still haven't begun to query yet.

Even when we start to find some success, the fear of rejection never really goes away. Will readers love our next book as much as the last one? Will readers even like my debut novel? Will the critics tear it apart? I know when I first started writing my first novel project. I rewrote the first chapter. 13 times!! And that’s because of all the questions and doubts I had in mind. It’s enough to make any writer want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

And the thing is, as writers, we often don't have the same support system that people in other professions might have. We don't have coworkers to commiserate with or a boss to reassure us; it’s just us. Our doubts and the eerie silence of an empty inbox. For example, Ana Neu, one of my all-time favorite Author-Tuber's, has dealt with similar struggles. She’s mentioned several times how lonely she feels and how her family doesn't fully understand her love and passion for writing. And I completely agree with her. If you want to listen to more of her, please listen to her podcast and watch her videos on YouTube here.

So, now that I went over the key reasons as to why writing is so lonely, I didn't want to end this post on negativity, that’s why I wanted to list the main strategies that have helped me:

Build a Writer’s Community

One of the best ways to combat the isolation of writing is to surround yourself with other writers. That’s why I found social media to be a gift, not just for the other obvious reasons, but because we get to find writers around the world who enjoy the same things we like. Having that sense of community can be a game changer.

When I first started my Tumblr blog, TheWriteAdviceForwers, I was really hoping to create that kind of supportive space for writers. I wanted to create a space where anyone who enjoys writing—not just fiction writers, but anyone who finds writing to be a passion of theirs—can share their dreams and struggles with. It's been amazing to connect with so many incredible people who just “get” the unique challenges we face. Being able to share our achievements and share our compassions. It's been vital for my own mental health as a writer, and I hope that it can also be vital for all of you.

And of course, the community is not about venting or seeking validation from others; its about providing feedback, encouragement, and just being able to make friends. Having that makes the lonely parts of the writing process and journey feel a little less lonely.

Prioritize Self-care

It's so easy to get caught up in the work and neglect our well-being. There have been multiple times where I wouldn't take a break from my writing sessions and simply not eat and drink. I wouldn't give myself time to process everything I wrote, and I immediately after would criticize it.

However, I find that self-care is the most important part of combating the isolation that comes with being a writer. For me, that looks like making sure I get enough sleep. You can't process, learn, and remember anything when you don't have enough sleep. During my personal self-care, when I do 45-to 1-hour writing sessions, I usually take a short nap after. Eating nourishing meals and snacks is important, as is making time for the hobbies and activities that bring me joy. I usually like reading books, spending quality time with my family members, and very feisty (and sometimes scary) cat.

3. Cultivate Gratitude

When loneliness starts to creep in, it can be really helpful to shift our mindset and focus on what we are grateful for; this can be really productive and rewarding. Being a writer is a gift; we get to spend our days doing what we love, bringing our creative visions to life and sharing them with people who love literature. Readers are such a big part of being a writer, and they're huge motivations to me.

So, if you can, just take a moment to appreciate the joys of writing. For example, if you have any writing quirks, I personally have to wear bracelets on both of my wrists in order to produce some type of creativity when I write. I'm not sure why it's just something I noticed. I also really love writing my manuscripts physically. I tend to do this when I'm suffering from writer's block, and for some reason my writing style is a lot better.

And don't forget the many other joys of writing, like drafting, and the excitement of sharing your work with others. Having a new idea come to mind that fits perfectly in your plot. Or even a reader or beta reader sharing a comment on your work and giving you encouragement.

Also, please celebrate your wins; it makes writing all too fun, and it's a great way to integrate writing into the real world.

End Note

I wanted to write this post because I know a lot of us deal with feeling lonely; I’ve been feeling that way for quite some time, and I wanted to share it with Tumblr. I feel like each and every one of you all feel the same way. And that’s why I created my Tumblr community; that's the reason I created this blog, and that's the reason I strive to build this into an entire brand.

I want to bring more awareness to writers, we are the people behind the stories, movies, and media that we consume today, and we barely get any credit for our work. I want to make a brand where others who never thought writing to be their passion could actually for once consider “Is writing for me?”

I feel like it's such an underrated yet overrated passion. Yet it's not acknowledged as much. 

I hope this post can make you understand that writing is 90% lonely and you are not crazy for thinking so. But, we can use the resources we have today, like social media, to change that and make writing better for the present and the future. 

Thank you all for reading. And please, if you are considering joining a community if you haven't already, please join The Write Right Society. We recently met 100 members, and the community is continuing to grow.

[oliviablancmom]

"Enemies - Pablo Gavi (Part IV)"

Pairing: Pablo Gavi x OC!reader

A/N: And finally, we have the fourth part. I hope you enjoy it. It’s so hard to write them, but I feel so happy seeing the path they take. I hope you like it.

Gavi realized he still hated the cameras, and the media side of football was something he had carried with him since he was just a kid. Yes, he was only 17 years old, and as he grew, people always said that his shyness around cameras would eventually pass, but it wasn’t. He still got embarrassed during interviews, felt equally uncomfortable in photo shoots, and, above all, it was still strange to see his name in newspapers and gossip pages. That’s why he had mentally cursed the person responsible for the chaos he had been dealing with in the past weeks.

Journalists kept speculating about the nature of his relationship with her, weeks after the confusion during El Clásico. He had hoped it would have blown over, but on the contrary, people loved talking and making things up. What comforted him was that maybe she was also suffering from the incident, as she had locked her Instagram account, which was previously public.

"What are you thinking about?" Pedri asked. Gavi looked up at his friend, who had an inquisitive look on his face. That was another thing he had to deal with—Pedri had been a little annoying lately, especially when the subject involved the Madrileña.

"Don't you think this should have blown over by now?" Gavi asked. "I’ve already made it clear that I was just helping her, and people keep making things up. It’s annoying," Gavi huffed.

"Well, it’s a hot topic—‘Barcelona’s son and Madrid’s daughter,’" Pedri said dramatically, referencing a magazine headline. Gavi's scowl was immediate as if the title itself had struck him. He hated the way those words sounded like they were trying to tie something between him and Florence. It was ridiculous and infuriating. Not just because it was a media invention, but because there was something uncomfortably real about how people insisted on placing him next to the girl. Gavi huffed, frustrated with himself.

"Why do I care so much about this?" he asked almost unconsciously. It was just a stupid phrase from a magazine, but his mind kept returning to his interactions with Florence as if trying to decipher something beyond his understanding.

"So, what’s your thing with her, anyway?" Pedri pressed.

"There’s no thing," Gavi said quickly.

"That’s not what it looks like. You get all worked up about her," Pedri pushed further.

"I don’t!" His voice came out louder than he intended, but he couldn’t let Pedri think he was right. Not when even he didn’t fully understand what was going on. The silence that followed made his stomach twist. He glanced at Pedri, who had raised his eyebrows.

"Your reaction proves my point," Pedri laughed, and Gavi rolled his eyes.

"Why are you being so annoying about this?" Gavi asked defensively.

"I’m just worried. You get too affected by what she says." Gavi abruptly stopped his workout, his mind flashing back to a similar accusation Florence herself had made.

He didn’t care that much about what she said; she was just... Boring, and someone had to tell her. Now that he knew who she was, she probably didn’t hear it enough. So, if the task fell to him, he would make sure she knew.

"If it were just a back-and-forth of insults, I wouldn’t be worried. But the problem is, it bothers you. I’m concerned it might start affecting your game," Pedri said with honest concern. Gavi swallowed hard. To him, Pedri’s worry was exaggerated. He didn’t care about what she said, quite the opposite, so he didn’t see how it could affect his performance. "I think you should ignore it if you want my advice."

Gavi thought about it and suppressed the urge to say he didn’t want the advice, but he didn’t want to be rude to Pedri. He understood his friend’s concern, but it was unwarranted. He wasn’t affected, and he wouldn’t let it impact his performance on the field.

"Yeah, I think I’ll just ignore it," Gavi said, avoiding Pedri's attentive gaze. Gavi remained silent for the rest of the training, lost in his thoughts.

******************************************

Florence used to love parties and gala dinners. Since she was a child, she was used to attending these events with her grandfather. They were her playground, where her favorite characters—football players from all over—were the main stars. She was always walking around, paying attention to conversations and taking photos.

But since her grandfather had turned it into a professional obligation, the events had become dull. Especially now, Florence felt he was still punishing her for the mess she had caused during the last El Clásico, which had drawn the kind of attention Florentino hated.

The King was hosting a special dinner for the Spanish national team, a sort of good luck in advance for the Nations League finals.

Florence was accompanying Carvajal, the Real Madrid player who had been called up. Both were greeting the royal family and had engaged in conversation. Florence listened carefully to what the princess was saying, but she wasn’t paying attention. There was something about her that got on her nerves, though she couldn’t explain what it was. That’s why she internally celebrated when others approached, allowing her to step aside.

"A little more of your visible irritation with the royal family, and I think we’d be kicked out," Carvajal whispered as they sat at their assigned table. "Princess rivalries," he joked, and Florence laughed.

"I’m not in the mood to be social tonight," Florence shrugged.

"Is your grandfather still making your life difficult?" He asked with concern, knowing well the expectations the man placed on his heir. Florence shrugged, choosing not to respond so the conversation would end quickly. She didn’t want to be there, and she didn’t want to talk about her grandfather.

Carvajal started a conversation with other players sitting at the same table, and Florence looked around the room, noticing a few important people. Her grandfather always said these events were about being noticed and building connections, and she was sure that when he saw her, he would ask for a summary, so that's why she walked gracefully around the room, greeting some important people.

But before she could venture further into the hall, she stopped as some speeches began, including one from the king. The man and his family loved sports and were always present when the Spanish national team was playing, so there was always a higher level of formality. Florence sighed in boredom; at other times, she would have loved all of this. As she watched the king’s speech intently, she felt an irritatingly familiar presence beside her and didn’t suppress the urge to roll her eyes. As if she had developed a sixth sense for noticing the player’s presence, she could use that to avoid running into him. After all, Florence was furious; because of him, she was at odds with her grandfather and had to deal with stupid, baseless rumors.

Gavi stopped next to the girl, and though she didn’t bother to look at him, the way she took a deep breath showed that she had noticed his presence.

"Is your mood bad because your team is doing poorly this season?" Gavi teased, and she finally looked at him.

"We’ll eventually find our way back, unlike you guys, who start well and then it’s a complete disaster." Gavi’s expression hardened, and a smile appeared on the girl’s face as he rolled his eyes and looked forward again.

"Have you figured it out yet?" Gavi looked at her again, his brows furrowed.

"What?" He asked, confused.

"The last time I saw you, you had that same confused look on your face. Have you figured out what it was?" She asked with a shrug, and Gavi’s mouth dropped in surprise at how well she had read him. Gavi quickly glanced back, seeing that Pedri had a watchful eye on him. Gavi gave a small smile to his friend and turned his attention back to the girl beside him, ignoring the memory of the conversation he had with Pedri.

"No," she concluded, turning to face forward with a smug smile.

"It wasn’t anything important." Gavi replied, trying not to lose face, and she looked at him, surprised.

"Are you sure? You seemed really bothered," she insisted.

"Oh, querida, is this concern for me?" Gavi joked, watching Florence grimace.

"Never," the girl quickly retorted. Gavi nodded with a smug smile, raising his glass to his mouth.

"Why aren’t you over there with your girlfriend?" Gavi choked on the liquid he was drinking, drawing attention from a few people, and felt his face heat up. He looked up at the girl in front of him, eyebrows raised and an amused smile on her face.

"What are you talking about?" Gavi asked, clearing his throat. Florence tilted her head in a direction, and Gavi followed it, seeing the king and his family in the distance. This time, Gavi's face twisted into a grimace.

"Your fans attacked me for days, claiming I was ruining their couple," Florence said humorously, remembering the numerous hateful messages she received after the confusion in the last El Clásico. Gavi had seen some fan pages sharing things along those lines—it was funny. The player looked at Florence, who remained focused on the royal family’s table, and then looked back at him.

"Would you leave your career for her?" Gavi resisted the urge to choke on his air.

"What are you talking about?" He asked indignantly.

"For you to date someone from the royal family, you wouldn’t be able to be a football player anymore. Because of all the rules they have to follow and everything," Florence explained. Gavi scanned the girl’s face for any sign of mockery, but she was serious. For the first time, they were having more than just teasing conversations, and it stirred an odd sensation deep in his stomach.

"I’m not going to stop being a football player," Gavi said impatiently, just thinking about it gave him a headache. Florence tilted her head, analyzing him.

"So how are you going to be with your princess?" Gavi rolled his eyes.

"Stop it," he said, feeling frustrated, his face heat up. A mocking smile appeared on Florence's face.

"Or, she’d have to stop being a princess to be with you, which honestly would be a mistake. Imagine, giving up being a princess for you." Florence looked him up and down, and the action deeply infuriates Gavi.

"Have you stopped being a disappointment to your grandfather?" Gavi asked all at once. The words flew out of his mouth so quickly that even he was surprised. Here's the thing: she pushed a nerve in him, something that drove him crazy, something he only felt at the height of adrenaline in a tight game. Gavi had seen that her grandfather’s approval was important to her, and the silent, hidden crying he had also witnessed, told him that he had hit a sensitive topic. The girl looked at him in shock, her eyes wide for a moment as if he had just struck an exposed nerve. Anger flashed across her face, hardening her expression. For a moment, her lips trembled as if she were about to say something, but the words failed to come out. Instead, Florence clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms, and with a sharp motion, she pushed Gavi. She spun on her heels, her legs rigid as she marched toward the exit, each step echoing on the floor like a relentless beat. Involuntarily, Gavi found himself following her.

"Leave me alone," Florence said over her shoulder, visible irritation in her voice.

"You’re losing your talent for insulting me," Gavi said, more annoyed than he wanted to admit. Florence turned to face him.

"Don’t worry about that. You’re an idiot, a terrible player, with a huge ego," Florence said all at once, and Gavi laughed.

"If I’m such a terrible player and I still beat your team, what does that make them?" Gavi asked humorously, and Florence rolled her eyes.

"You got lucky. You can’t rely on luck forever, Pablo," she said with a shrug, and Gavi was a bit shocked because up until then, she had never mentioned his name.

"Oh sure, when you lose it’s the other team’s luck, but when you win, you’re extraordinary, practically a Renaissance masterpiece," Florence furrowed her brows and let out a small laugh at the insult but quickly tried to hide it, turning away and continuing her escape from the hall. Gavi promptly continued following her to a distant area. On the way, they bumped into someone. An older man, accompanied by what was probably his family, looked familiar—some director of one of the leagues or something like that, Gavi couldn’t quite remember.

"Miss Perez, your grandfather hasn’t replied to my emails," the man said bluntly. Florence took a step back, bumping into Gavi, visibly uncomfortable.

"He’s busy," Florence said simply, ignoring the man’s outstretched hand, and then he turned his attention to the player.

"Gavi, you’re having a brilliant season."

"Thank you, sir," Gavi replied, returning the gesture. The player couldn’t see Florence’s expression clearly, but he was sure she was rolling her eyes.

"My daughter is a fan, Charlotte," the man turned to the shy girl behind him, who took a step forward. Gavi extended his hand to greet the girl, who blushed. Florence rolled her eyes—seriously, what was it with girls and their fascination with him? Florence impatiently poked him, and the player quickly turned, seeing a disapproving look on Florence’s face.

"Oh, so the rumors are true," the man pointed to the two of them. "I thought Florentino Perez would never allow it, but it’s good for the new generations to understand that rivalry is only on the field." Gavi frowned, trying to decipher the director’s words. Gavi turned his attention back to the man, visibly confused by the direction of the conversation. "A beautiful couple."

"Yes, we have to go," Florence quickly interrupted, grabbing Gavi’s arm and dragging him away from the conversation before he could process what was happening.

"What was that?" Gavi asked, his voice filled with irritation and confusion. "You just implied we’re together. Have you lost your mind?"

Florence gave him an impassive look. "He was going to ask for a picture, and believe me, you don’t want to be associated with that man. I did you a favor."

"Favor? You’re just making everything more complicated," Gavi shot back, his eyes fixed on Florence, searching for an explanation. There was something more behind that gesture, something he couldn’t quite grasp but that made him uncomfortable.

Before he could press her further, Pedri appeared beside them, a mischievous smile on his face. "Hey, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?" He asked, clearly curious about the tension between them.

Gavi averted his gaze from Florence, his blood boiling with frustration. "No, she’s leaving," he responded brusquely, his tone colder than he intended.

Florence raised an eyebrow, defiant. "I’m not. Nice to meet you, I’m Flo..." She extended her hand to Pedri, but before she could finish the introduction, Gavi grabbed her hand and dragged her away, his touch firm and decisive.

As they moved away from Pedri, Gavi led her to the table where a player from her club was sitting, but when they got there, he hesitated. There was a palpable tension in the air, a heavy silence that neither of them knew how to break. Florence looked at him, perplexed, her expression shifting between confusion and frustration.

Gavi abruptly let go of her hand, the warmth of the contact still pulsing on his skin. "Why do you feel the need to disrupt my life?" he muttered, more to himself than to her, but Florence heard him.

She took a step closer, narrowing the distance between them, her eyes shining with an intensity that made him hold his breath. "Isn't that what we both do?" she replied quietly, her voice laced with something deeper, something Gavi wasn’t ready to face. "Why are you so upset about this?" Her eyebrows furrowed in clear confusion.

Gavi stared at her for a long moment, lost in the intensity of that gaze. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words failed him. The strange sensation in his stomach that he had felt earlier was now almost unbearable. He knew he should say something, anything, but all he could do was shake his head and walk away, leaving Florence behind, unsure if he was running from her or himself.

Gavi walked away, the feeling of disorientation growing with each step. As he moved further, he realized that contrary to what he had imagined, Florence's presence still lingered in his mind, like a persistent echo. He tried to convince himself that the discomfort was just irritation, but the image of her intense gaze wouldn't leave his thoughts, her voice was imprinted deep in his mind. It was deafening and maddening, the space she had occupied in his head, and he couldn’t understand or control the effects she had on him.

**********************************************

Gavi walked quickly through the hallway leading to the box where his family was. For the past few weeks, he had been avoiding the people who knew him so well, especially his sister, who could read his mind with just one look. With the mess inside his head, he decided he didn’t want to face them, which is why he hadn’t been going to his family house. Instead, he hid away in his apartment in the city center, so he could be alone with his confusion without anyone asking him about it.

He hugged his family quickly and exchanged a few words, a slight discomfort hanging in the air. Then he said goodbye just as quickly, but not before his sister Aurora stepped in front of him and looked at him intently.

“What’s going on?” she asked directly. Gavi frowned and grimaced.

“Nothing, Aurorita.” Gavi forced a smile and saw the frown deepen on his sister’s face.

“You only call me that when you want something or are hiding something from me,” she concluded.

“I’m not hiding anything,” Gavi shrugged.

“But something is going on. You’ve been avoiding us, you look exhausted, and according to your friends, you’re more annoying than usual.” His sister looked at him with concern. Gavi swallowed hard, feeling the anger rising within him, but he knew it wasn’t fair to take it out on his own family.

“I swear, it’s not—” Gavi didn’t finish his sentence, because the voice he heard echoing from the hallway caught his attention. He looked back so fast he felt a strain in his neck, but there was no one there. Great, that damned voice was stuck in his head.

He turned his attention back to his sister, who was watching him curiously, but before he could continue speaking, the voice echoed again, this time louder. “I have to go,” he said quickly, kissing his sister on the cheek before pulling away.

He walked fast down the corridor, but his steps were cautious, once again that feeling that a monster might jump at him at any moment crept in. In an involuntary gesture, Gavi clenched his fists, a growing anger, a strange sensation burning in his chest. As he rounded the corner in the hallway, he saw the monster that had been haunting his mind.

She was leaning against the wall, her phone pressed to her ear, one hand on her hip. Florence’s eyes were closed as she listened attentively to the voice on the other end of the line. She seemed completely absorbed in the conversation, her face drawn in visible frustration. Gavi, leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway, watched the scene with a sick satisfaction. Seeing her suffer comforted him in a way he refused to admit. It was a relief to know that, like him, she was also under pressure.

“What do you want me to do?” she said in a louder tone, breaking the bubble of concentration she was in. Gavi narrowed his eyes, realizing she hadn’t yet noticed his presence. A sly smile formed on his lips as he impulsively decided he wanted to interrupt whatever was happening.

“You’re not at your home to be yelling like that,” he said casually, not caring if the person on the other end of the line could hear him. And there it was, big blue eyes, looking straight at him. Florence’s response was an eye roll as if his presence was insignificant.

“No, I’m not,” she said into the phone, completely ignoring Gavi, which instantly irritated him.

.“I can’t do that, and I won’t,” she continued, her eyes now fixed on his. He saw impatience growing in her, but he also noticed something deeper, something he rarely saw: her eyes began to shine with a repressed emotion. She was becoming emotional, and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

Without thinking twice, Gavi crossed the hallway with firm steps, snatching the phone from Florence’s hand and ending the call without ceremony. The gesture was brusque and impulsive, but seeing the surprise and anger in her eyes made him feel... Something.

“What did you do?” Florence practically shouted, her voice filled with disbelief. Gavi froze for a second, only then realizing what he had done. Her expression grew even more perplexed when, out of pure reflex, he covered her mouth with one hand.

“I already told you, you’re not at your home to be yelling like that,” he said quickly, trying to maintain control. She frowned, and with a swift movement, pushed his hands away, her blue eyes sparkling with fury. Gavi felt a current of electricity run through his body at the brief contact, and he hated how that kept happening. His eyes locked on hers for a second longer than necessary, and he found himself wondering if she felt it too.

“Have you gone mad? He’s going to be furious,” she muttered, more to herself than to him, which only increased the tension. Florence made a desperate attempt to retrieve her phone, but Gavi lifted it out of her reach.

She grunted, frustrated and visibly exhausted. “Can you stop being so annoying?” she asked, almost in exasperation. For a brief moment, Gavi let his eyes wander over her face, and suddenly he understood. The weight of the conversation. It was about her grandfather. Of course it was about him.

Florence rarely showed vulnerability, especially not in front of him. But whenever her grandfather was involved, it was like an invisible wall came crashing down around her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, her voice lower now, but still full of tension. Gavi frowned, confused.

“I don’t need your pity,” she snapped, crossing her arms in front of her body in a gesture of self-protection. Gavi noticed the movement. It was subtle but clear. A barrier. He knew that gesture; he had seen it many times. Maybe she wasn’t as impenetrable as she wanted to seem. And knowing that made him feel a mix of power and discomfort.

“I don’t pity you,” he replied, letting out a short laugh. She rolled her eyes again, but this time, without the same force. When she didn’t throw a quick retort, he decided to press her. “Quite the opposite... I’m just making sure you behave. Like I said, you’re not at home.”

“Thank God I’m not,” Florence shot back. “I’d be extremely upset if this were my house.”

Gavi narrowed his eyes. “Are you ready to lose?” he asked, his voice dripping with provocation.

“Vinicius is going to destroy you today,” she replied confidently, making Gavi laugh out loud.

“You wish, querida,” he said with disdain. At that moment, Florence’s phone vibrated in his hand, and without thinking, Gavi glanced at the screen. The sight of a photo of Florence with the other player, he felt anger someway...

“Of course...” he muttered to himself before tossing the phone back to her, his irritation now evident.

Florence caught it in the air and looked at him for a moment before shaking her head, clearly exhausted from the exchange. Gavi, on the other hand, felt something shift inside him. He was eager for the game, not just because it would be the last El Clásico at Camp Nou before the stadium renovations, but because, somehow, something else was consuming him from within. Something he couldn’t name.

When the ball started rolling, Gavi played with unmatched intensity. He was truly having the game of his life, but his teammates didn’t seem to keep up with his pace. Misplaced passes, missed goals—it all piled up. He was furious.

"You need to tone down your intensity, or you’ll end up getting sent off," Xavi warned during the halftime break.

Gavi let out a sarcastic chuckle. "If the rest of the team was playing, I wouldn’t have to," he muttered. The locker room fell silent for a brief moment. He waited for some reaction, but nothing came. Xavi kept talking, and everyone started getting ready for the second half.

As he put on his jersey, he felt Pedri’s gaze on his back, watching his every move.

“What?” Gavi asked, frustrated.

“I thought we agreed you’d ignore her,” said Pedri, reminding him of the last conversation they had. Gavi rolled his eyes.

“I am,” he replied, frowning.

“Then why did Aurora text me asking what you had with her?” Pedri turned his phone, showing a picture of Gavi and Florence in the hallway.

“Aurora are being nosy. And so are you,” Gavi said, his patience running thin. “And why are you so interested? Are you interested in her?”

Pedri laughed. “As if you’d let that happen.”

That phrase hit him in a way he hadn’t expected. It bothered him deeply. “Man, I’m not trying to push your buttons,” Pedri started, but Gavi cut him off.

“Then don’t,” he shot back, his voice cold. “You’re annoying me with this. Nothing is going on, so stop getting involved.”

Pedri raised his hands in surrender, stepping back. But Gavi was already at his limit. He stormed out of the locker room, bursting with pent-up energy.

In the second half, his intensity only grew. The frustration with Pedri, the confusion about Florence, the team’s mediocre performance—all of it boiled inside him. When Vinicius Jr. ran down the left side of the field. Gavi didn’t think. He slid in, taking the player down aggressively.

Chaos ensued. Real Madrid players rushed at him, and Gavi, of course, didn’t back down. He shoved Benzema, who was yelling in his face until the referee intervened. Vinicius got up with a mocking smile, and Gavi tried to go at him again, only to be held back by his teammates.

The red card was inevitable.

Laughing in disdain, he walked off the field. His eyes drifted toward the box seats as if trying to spot Florence. The anger boiled inside him. As he shrugged off Xavi, who was both trying to confront and reprimand him, he headed straight for the locker room, ignoring everything and everyone.

When he turned the corner, there she was, sitting on a bench. He huffed, frustrated.

He huffed, frustrated. "Not now, Florence. I’m not in the mood for your provocations." His words came out harsher than he intended, but it was the truth. Her presence stirred something in him that he didn’t know how to deal with. She slowly raised her gaze from her phone, with an expression he couldn’t read. The air between them suddenly felt heavier, as if something unspoken hung in the space between them.

"Not everything I do is about you, querido." Florence shot back, but this time, there was no teasing. The absence of mockery in her tone threw him off. It was rare to see her like this, without her usual wall of sarcasm. And for a second, he felt an opening, a crack in the wall she kept so high. "But if you want some advice..."

"I don’t," Gavi said sharply. What was it with the people close to him today wanting to give him advice and tell him what to do? Florence stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and Gavi felt his throat go dry at the sudden closeness. His eyes ran over her face—there was no sign of irony, no sign of irritation, but still, Gavi could see that lingering glimmer in her eyes, the one he had promised himself he would strip away so he could see it more clearly.

"Your intensity and provocation on the field will be appreciated up to a certain point. But at some point, it’s going to get annoying, to the point where even your fans will start to hate it," she said in a surprisingly calm tone. That caught him off guard. Florence rarely spoke with such gentleness. She looked him straight in the eyes, and Gavi felt a discomfort growing in his chest.

That was new, and he didn’t know how to handle it. His mind immediately went back to when he saw her at the gala dinner hosted by the king, and she stopped him from taking pictures with a guest, someone Gavi later realized wouldn’t have been a good association. He looked at her, confused.

Florence raised her eyebrows, waiting for a response. He wanted to speak, but he didn’t know what to say. Could she be right? The doubt appeared quickly and annoyingly, but he pushed it away. No. He was playing well, and giving it his all. There was nothing wrong with that. Still, the uneasiness grew.

Ignoring how he felt, he turned his back on her and headed for the locker room. But no matter how hard he tried, her words echoed in his head. The discomfort increased. Why was this bothering him so much? Maybe she wasn’t wrong. Maybe he was so surprised by the calm and honest tone that he didn’t know how to react. That wasn’t her, that wasn’t them. The player stopped on his heel and turned back. Immediately, a smirk appeared on the girl's face.

"You know what, I don’t need your advice. You can’t just sit on your pedestal and think you have any superiority to talk to me." Gavi snapped, completely annoyed.

“Okay...” she replied with amusement. “I told you I wasn’t your good luck charm.” She raised her brows. Gavi furrowed his, confused, and then his mind recalled when he had made that connection. There it was—the provocation, the irony. That he could handle, that he could push back against. Gavi chose not to respond, so he turned and continued on his way without saying another word.

Gavi had declined his usual ride with Pedri, still embarrassed by the way he had treated his friend. He also didn’t want to go with his family because they would ask questions about his mood and his expulsion, especially his sister, who would bombard him with comments, and the last thing he wanted was to be rude to yet another person that night.

So now he was with his friend Chris, about to enter his friend’s girlfriend’s house. It was funny how Chris had a key to her parents’ house and everything, for someone who swore the relationship wasn’t serious, it was at quite an advanced stage.

“Baby,” Danielle said as soon as Chris walked in, kissing and hugging him. Gavi quickly looked away from the scene, feeling awkward for a few minutes. “Oh, you brought company,” Danielle said, stepping away from her boyfriend and greeting Gavi with a quick hug.

“You're okay with it, right?” Chris asked, and Gavi wanted to kill him because he had sworn he had already talked to her.

“Yeah, it’s just... well, I had to bring someone too,” Danielle said, somewhat hesitant.

“Oh, it’s fine, it’s not like we’re short on rooms. If it’s a cute girl, they could even share a room, and Gavi could finally get out of his rut.” Gavi flipped his friend off while Danielle let out an overly loud and awkward laugh. Chris looked at her, confused.

“They’d kill each other before that happens...” she muttered under her breath, but Gavi heard it, which confused him until he heard footsteps coming from the stairs and a familiar voice that had been haunting him everywhere.

“Dani, are these the only towels you have?” Silence fell when the figure appeared at the top of the stairs, distracted by something on her phone, not even bothering to look up. Danielle quickly glanced between her boyfriend and Gavi.

“Florence, darling, I told you we don’t have 500-thread Egyptian cotton towels or anything like that. We’re mere mortals. My mom was hoping you’d bring some so she could steal them from you,” Danielle said, walking toward what Gavi now realized was her friend. The girl finally lifted her eyes to her friend and then noticed there were more people there.

“Oh, hi, Chris...” She came down the last step and then got a full view of Gavi. “You’ve got to be kidding me...” she said, shocked. Gavi rolled his eyes.

“Oh, right,” Chris said, finally catching on. “You guys are enemies and all that,” he said, moving to stand next to his girlfriend. Gavi was in his bubble of shock. He quickly glanced around and realized that Danielle’s house was the same one where Chris had hosted his last party, where he had also ended up running into Florence. Gavi had always wanted to ask how his friend knew Florence but had never had the chance—or needed to.

Florence crossed her arms in front of her body and raised an eyebrow at Gavi. If she expected him to greet her, she could keep waiting. All he wanted was to end the night in peace; she had already disturbed his life enough that day. He must have seriously offended the universe with how it was playing tricks on him. With the distance between Madrid and Barcelona, and considering the teams only had four Clásicos that year, their encounters were becoming strangely frequent.

It was almost as if his hatred for her had the power to transport her directly into his reality.

Gavi looked at his friend and saw him whispering something to Danielle, who was watching the scene, concerned. Before anyone could say anything, the doorbell rang.

“Thank God...” Danielle exhaled. “It must be the pizza.” She laughed awkwardly and walked past everyone to the door. Before Gavi could see who it was, he noticed Florence’s eyes widen, her mouth dropping open in shock, which made him turn quickly, seeing a tall man dressed in a suit.

“I’m not going back,” she said, her voice rising, with something Gavi couldn’t identify as anger or disappointment.

“Come on, Florence, your grandfather told me not to leave here without you. And if necessary, to carry you.” The man sounded impatient. Gavi looked back at Florence; her eyes were bright, and her face was turning red. That strange feeling inside Gavi returned.

“Well, tell him you didn’t find me,” Florence said simply.

“Your grandfather knows this is the only place you’d come. He asked me to remind you that you’re still a minor, and he’s responsible for you when your parents aren’t around.” The man continued. Florence let out a bitter laugh.

“Well, you’ll have to carry me then because I’m not going voluntarily,” Florence retorted, defiant. Gavi glanced at the man by the door. Despite his cold posture, Gavi could sense worry and hesitation in his face.

“He said if you don’t come with me, he’ll disinherit you, and you’re fired from your club duties.” Silence fell over the room to the point where even breathing could no longer be heard. Gavi lowered his eyes to the floor, somewhat shocked by the direction the conversation had taken, and also refused to look at Florence because he knew if he did, that strange feeling inside him would return to haunt him.

“Incredible,” she said with a shaky breath, and it was impossible not to look at her. She swallowed hard, her eyes briefly falling on Gavi’s, and he saw her face turn red again. Gavi wanted to make some sarcastic comment, maybe smirk at the situation, but he just couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to; he just kept his eyes on hers.

“Florence, your grandfather will disinherit you when he finds out about this,” the man said more firmly, noticing the exchange of looks between the two. Gavi looked at him, confused about what he was referring to. Florence sighed heavily and walked past everyone, grabbing the bag that was on the couch. She quickly hugged Danielle.

“I’ll see you in Madrid,” she said, kissing her friend on the cheek and heading out the door, bumping into the driver.

Danielle quickly closed the door and then turned to Gavi.

“I know you love provoking her, but if you tell anyone about this or use it against her, I’ll kill you myself,” she said firmly to Gavi, who widened his eyes. He didn’t know if he was more shocked by the way she had spoken to him or by the fact that Florence had talked about him with someone and even blamed him for their situation. If it was her who provoked him, ironically, Danielle’s words had no effect, as Gavi couldn’t suppress the internal laugh at the thought that he now had something to continue his exchange with Florence.

**********************************************

a/n: I hope you guys have like this one, let me know... We probably won't have the same scheme as it was with pedriii, with three chapters, and bonus ones.

[autumnmobile12]

My Hero Academia AU: What Happened on Friday

An Ambush Simulation comic.

Fair warning, this is not one of my usual lighthearted ones. If you’ve read the fic, you’ll know the scene, but if you haven’t, be warned there is brief domestic violence and some blood. Nothing more serious than what's already in My Hero's canon.

Read right-to-left.

Ah, yes. The inciting moment for The Summer Camp Ambush Simulation.

Addressing the reason why things escalated so quickly, since the answer is not really given in the accompanying fic either, we need to look at Endeavor’s point of view. He’s invested twenty-three years into his goal of trying to complete his perfect successor. He has almost succeeded with Shouto, except the events of Hosu City nearly jeopardized that beyond repair. Shouto is his last chance. He can’t have another kid, it’s unlikely he can train a grandchild to succeed him. (You can’t tell me he didn’t consider that.) Shouto being charged with vigilantism and having that black mark could have ruined everything he’s worked so hard for.

And now Touya, his past failure and current problem child who has been charged repeatedly with vigilantism, is stepping between him and Shouto and mouthing off. He’s interfering, just like his mother did.

Old 'habits' die hard.

...

I thought about cutting the comic short with the brothers heading to the bathroom, but I thought it was important to also include Touya's toxic behavior. Yeah, he has PTSD, abandonment trauma, and who knows what else, but acting like this isn't healthy either.

In Chapter 2, Touya fixates on the fact that Endeavor hit him. He barely pays attention to the fact Shouto was there.

In Chapter 3, Shouto is the one whose pov provides the whole picture. He was being scolded and then Touya stood up for him. Touya has never stood up for him, nor does he really understand why he did it. During the confrontation, Endeavor hits Touya. Endeavor has never done that before. Two of Shouto's 'normals' got overturned in the span of two minutes. He's confused, but he still tries to do the right thing by his hostile sibling.

And rather than accept his help, Touya lashes out at him again once the shock wears off. As he is in canon, he is still spiteful, self-destructive, and a bit self-pitying and returning home after the coma in this AU did little to change that because the core issue is Endeavor being a bad parent.

...

And if there's any confusion as to why Shouto sees Rei briefly after Touya is knocked to the floor, this is a bit of dialogue from the fic it's from:

"I spent my entire childhood listening to my mother crying because you hurt her over and over.  I refuse to live through that again with my brother."

...

Fun fact: I did not draw these pages in order.

Through the whole bathroom scene, all I could think was, "Shouto...baby...gloves."

...

Further comics for this AU, click here.

[xdinaryvamp]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 🩷 ` teasan "never seen before"!!

where a mysterious stranger starts leaving notes in the books you read, hoping you'll write to him at the number he gave you.

genre : fluff, "secret" ( non so much ) admirer, gn reader.

pairings : bookwarm!taesan × bookwarm!reader.

if there was one thing you loved with all of your being it was reading.

you loved getting lost in the pages, traveling on ink and imagining worlds. you loved that fictional world much more than the real world, and you took refuge in it whenever you could.

books had made you know thousands of things, allowed you to experience emotions you had never felt before and created a corner that was just yours. the problem? they had also made you a hopeless romantic.

the characters in the stories were very different from the people who populated your daily reality, yet so plausible that you confused them with something possible in your everyday life. but it wasn't like that.

real people were much less predictable, more selfish, and less intelligent. not to mention the fact that you couldn't form an opinion of them at the end of the book, you had to get hurt to really get to know them, and you didn't want to suffer.

yet, even though you were aware of this rift between your two worlds, you continued to hope for that love similar to the fiction you read.

that's why that afternoon you had to do your best not to start laughing like an idiot all by yourself.

it was a day like any other, and taking advantage of the free time you took refuge in the library. not that you didn't like reading on your own at home, but there was an atmosphere in that building that made you feel at ease, so you went there as much as possible, even several times a week.

that particular day, you had to go to the bathroom, so you momentarily left the book you were reading on the table that was in front of you.

upon returning, inside the book you found a note, folded in two and hidden inside the page you were reading.

----- ☆

“i certainly have not the talent which some people possess, of conversing easily with those i have never seen before.”

i've seen you reading ‘pride and prejudice” two times this month, so i read it too, it was beautiful. you intrigue me, but i don't like starting conversations with people ( the quote should already be explanatory of this ). would you like to write to me first? i want to know more about you, besides your pretty face.

my number: ××× ××× ××××.

----- ☆

on average you wouldn't have done it, but the note in the book was too cliché that it didn't make you smile, and besides it made you curious.

you wrote to him. he had a photo of kurt cobain as his profile picture, so you had no idea what his face looked like. but you didn't care, you wanted him to remain a mystery.

you talked all day about books and music, and you were fascinated by his calm manner which was even noticeable in the messages. he would ask you what your favorite books were, and then he would read them. he would send you his playlists, and you would listen to them until you fell asleep.

he also complimented you from time to time; “you look beautiful”, “i loved the way your hair were styled today”, “i couldn't read anything, you were too distracting”.

you, on your side, never turned to see who those messages were from. you had an image of him, and you didn't want to ruin it.

teasan -that was his name- was your personal fictional boy, the crush you always wanted to have. what if meeting him ruined everything? you would have been destroyed by this.

you continued to talk to him for months, finding, those few times you left your seat, little notes and pieces of poetry in the book you were reading. they were never too romantic, but they still made your heart beat.

you always had to try your best not to react too much to these small gestures, especially when there were people around you.

like that morning, where the seat next to you was occupied by a beautiful boy busy reading a book by murakami. he looked like one of the male leads of a fantasy romance, with his soft black hair and a serious expression. in another circumstance you would have paid more attention to his appearance, but not that day, because in the moment in which you went to get a coffee from the coffee machine, another piece of poem had been inserted into your book.

----- ☆

[ . . . ] those rare strangers

who make me

catch my breath

the first time we meet.

[ . . . ] i am drawn to them

but do they see me?

or am i just part of

the wallpaper of their life?

susan ash. “first encounters”

----- ☆

you did your best to except smile as you placed the piece of paper in the pocket of your jeans. you had saved them all, and kept them in a box in your bedroom.

“i certainly have not the talent which some people possess, of conversing easily with those i have never seen before.” the boy next to you spoke, without moving his eyes away from the book he was reading.

your heartbeat lost a beat recognizing that words. “i'm sorry, what?”

he looked up from the book, and you were enchanted by the beauty of his eyes. you wanted to believe that he was the notes boy, that he was taesan, the guy you had a crush on, but you didn't want to disappoint yourself.

he smiled, and then he closed the book he was reading. “i don't want to be just the wallpaper of your life anymore, y/n.” he said, and you convinced yourself that it was really him.

“i would like to be a more tangible part of your life, if you'll let me.”

and of course you agreed. you were already in love with him, and by now the fear of the first meeting had vanished. there was nothing that could stop you from living your real fictional story with him.

[bloopitynoot]

Reading SVSSS: Chapter 12

For those who don't know, I am reading SVSSS for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag bloopitynoot reads SVSSS. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read.

Heading into chapter 12!

It's been an absolute day at work, but I got to do a lovely walk with a friend afterwards AND Charlie decided to grace us with his presence (very briefly for head pats).

Tea today is peppermint! Dinner break midway through this little chapter was congee and I was very pleased with it- photo further down lol.

Let's get into it!

OMG I knew that the Dew Lake snake man would be back! I did not think they'd be here as a "handsome young man" though. I fear that Shen Qingqiu is absolutely fucked LOL. p265

oof. and now I feel like we are entering the territory for daddy issues. We have Luo Binghe's father's right hand man introduced pp266-267

Well. at least if he is likely going to suffer, the plot holes will be filled. thank you system for the points. p267

wait. Could Zhuzhi-lang be an ally? or will this guy brutally die later? (do not actually tell me this, I'm just planting my speculations). my thoughts are he could be an ally because SQQ DID save him and give him an unexpected boon by mushroom bod. but also, if Luo Binghe see's SQQ being close to another demon that man will surely murder the other demon. p268

WHY SO MANY SNAKES??? I hate that so much! p270

All I'm seeing from SQQ is kink shaming. This guy has got to stop yucking other's yums. First with the necrophilia now he's anti demons fucking snakes. it's the panicked "way too fucking hardcore" for me p271

SQQ: can you handle the snakes pls? Zhuzhi-Lang: nah they like you. p272

okay, but why is he asking for women? is it to do with the snakes? or is it because he is having a sexual crisis and needs to reassure himself?? p273

they're really going to this brothel? p274

LOL even the brothel ladies sing (very uncomfortable but I guess they enjoy it) love songs about Luo Binghe and SQQ's tragic love story p276

AHAHAHAHA SQQ's "summary" of their story on page 277 has me absolutely dying XD

Ah! that's why the women and the brothel -> the wine! p278

Cultivation wise I do really love that SQQ can just pick up any fan and start cultivating. that is honestly the coolest part of his cultivation. I love it so much. p279

LOL he really just made the snake pass out, rented a sword (idfk WHEN but he did) and dipped from the entire situation. p281

SQQ: this is a later problem, byyyyeeeeeeee.

I stated I would have congee pic earlier and here is me delivering on that. It's pork congee with eggs, tofu, pork, green onions and an ungodly amount of chili crisp.

I'm slowly turning this chapter-by-chapter read into a stay at home mom's recipe blog. I am not sorry.

That's a wrap for chapter 12!

Okay so thankfully nothing terribly tragic happened this chapter. It does feel like a big set up though so I am a little nervous about that.

AND. He still has all of this demon blood in him so he really is fucked. He may have escaped for the moment but I see all of the demons coming back for him.

We'll see what happens next chapter!

[darling-zain]

(I'm 14) guy on bus tells me I look old enough

That's all he said???

"You look old enough"

CREEP CREEP CREEPY CREEP WHAT THE FFFUUCCKKKKKK

that's so EW

that's so GROSS

you're literally a CHILD what the FUCK

get as far away from him as you can kiddo just do not even look at him

[gibbearish]

love when ppl defend the aggressive monetization of the internet with "what, do you just expect it to be free and them not make a profit???" like. yeah that would be really nice actually i would love that:)! thanks for asking

[cozylittleartblog]

Columbo and the Knight (1984)

put me in the universe where Columbo ran through the 1980s and had a crossover episode with Knight Rider. I think they deserved it, and I am not just saying that because they're my two favorite Old Shows. @telebeast wrote a little fanfic blurb about it and I HAD to visualize it into a comic (which is also the longest comic I have finished thus far at five pages...), so writing credit goes to them.

Autism W!

[creekfiend]

I used to get an arguments on facebook and it bit me in the ass enormously because it turns out that when you get an arguments on facebook habitually, you'll be interacting with a lot of other people who get an arguments on facebook habitually, and most of these people are deeply unpleasant and they will be super mean to you in really fucked up ways. so for a couple of years I just sort of dropped off ever interacting with anyone who said things that I did not agree with. I would just scroll past stuff or I would get upset about it privately and move on. I did not ever engage. and the last couple of weeks I've started being able to say things in response to things I don't agree with in ways that I feel lay out what my perspective is but do not get overly invested in "winning" or "proving" anything -- I will say my piece generally for the benefit of other people who might be reading the conversation and need to hear what I have to say. and then I will turn notifications off and go do something else.

anyway. wow. y'all heard about this? pretty cool shit.

[mio-nika]

disgusting

part 2: agoraphobia

[coquelicoq]

I KEEP FORGETTING TO SAY THIS but my ideal au is always, ALWAYS a three men and a baby au. doesn't have to be men just yknow three adults and a baby. i know i have said this before but it was only the one time and it bears repeating, it bears so much repeating because i need it so bad for everything forever.

[jacquiarno]

It’s Bisexuality Visibility Month (also Suicide Awareness Month), and the biphobia has been constant and intense, even in our own bi spaces, mostly from fellow LGBTQIA+ people.

Bi women have been told they are tainted for being with men, that we are dirty and dick obsessed. We’ve been told we are perverted fetishists by both cis and trans lesbians, with even gay men joining in on the insults, with one even threatening violence towards bi women if they come near lesbians. We even got told we deserve to be abused, raped, and murdered by our male partners because that’s what we deserve for dating men.

Bi men are being accused again for being HIV carriers, with gay men saying they are only good for sex because they will end up leaving them for women. One trans man said he would kill himself if a man started dating a woman after him, not leave him for one but just start dating again and that person being a woman.

I haven’t seen insults directly about non-binary bisexuals, but I’m sure there would be and a lot of hate lumps us all together. All this hates stings me but I can’t imagine the pain of all this for non-binary, trans women, and trans men dealing with it all, and it makes me so disappointed and angry that fellow trans people in this community are hurting them.

Pride Month a lesbian wrote “I wish god would eradicate all the bisexuals” while another wrote “For Pride Month let all the bi people disappear” with both having thousands of likes and comments agreeing. Now during Bi Visibility Month, a non-binary lesbian with feminist in their profile posted “Happy bi visibility month, I hope they find a cure soon 💖”. While continuing to mock us after.

Our allies and so-called LGBTQIA+ advocates have been silent and have even participated in bierasure, laughing at us when we point it out, saying “It’s not that serious.” “Lol the bis are getting upset over nothing again”. Only the bisexual advocates and pages have spoken out against the hate.

The B in LGBTQIA+ is suppose to be for bisexual but this community says and treats us as awfully as the bigots do to all of us. Bisexual is the sexuality that is attracted to two or more genders, that we have the ability to love anyone regardless of their gender. But we’re treated as greedy, perverted, hyper sexual, unfaithful, which from bigots you understand and usually brush off, but from those within the community who go through similar prejudice and should understand, sharing the same ignorant mindset.

These spaces are suppose to be our safe havens as well, but are just as dangerous. We try making our own spaces and even that is invaded by these people, we are beyond exhausted. We need the other members of the community that aren’t biphobic to speak out more and shut these people and this hate down. Because the lack of empathy from this community is frightening and all this in-fighting will allow the bigots to pick us a part more easily.

[evilmagician430]

who up sinning their fest