#it was in fact interesting to see what people thought but i think even before i made that poll i already knew what i was gonna draw

[madwcman]

hii what about Remus with shufflepuff! reader who's really good with animals but is made fun of by James? Sirius just playfully teases Remus about his not so secret crush but James is just outright mean to her...thx!

a/n: i hope i made james mean enough, thank you for requesting!! enjoy! ♡

pairing: remus lupin x hufflepuff! reader

“remus, isn’t that your girlfriend, over there!?” sirius jokes, grabbing remus softly by the shoulder. remus turns his head to see you out by a tree helping a small animal, he’s too far away to make out what it is. he can’t help but smile at your kindness.

“she’s not my girlfriend.” remus snips back, pushing sirius hand off his shoulder. rolling his eyes at his idiot friend. looking back to you with a new red tint added to his cheeks.

“oh yes, of course.” sirius shakes his head in mock sorrow. “so when are you going to ask her?”

before remus could tell sirius to mind his business, james scoffs. “i hope he never does.”

remus snaps his head towards james, with a scowl. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“she’s weird.” james answers, not really interested in the conversation.

remus scowl changes into a confused frown. what did that mean? you weren’t weird. different? yes. but remus liked that. you were shy, you didn’t have many friends. but, you were always kind to others. people, animals and even non-living things. you were soft spoken and so sweet. a true definition of a hufflepuff. remus always appreciated that about you.

“i think she’s sweet.” sirius helps remus out, defending you. sure sirius teased remus but, it was only because remus’ crush on you was so obvious. and he couldn’t help but tease his friend.

“she’s still crazy.” james shrugs, watching you pick up the small animal. “i mean she talks more to animals than to humans.” he waves his hand towards you, making a point.

“james-“ sirius tries to interpret, but james can’t help but provide more of his thoughts on you. “also, she has no friends.”

“yes, she does!” remus defends. as james continues to rant, remus can’t help but feel more agitated. “a total of three.” james speaks in a “duh” tone. he’s stating the facts.

“she’s shy-“ remus and sirius speak at the same time, surprised at how james is acting.

“one of them in hagrid!” james continues, raising his voice slightly more than needed. “the other two are pandora and xenophilius!” he continues on his rant. “and they’re more looney than her!”

“i’m her friend james,” remus snaps, angrily at james. his eyes now narrow and lips turned down. his body shaking from anger. “i think she’s the most loveliest thing.” remus voice is sharp, and stern as he moves from his friends. he cast james one more dirty look. “it’s a shame that you can’t see how lovely she is.” and then he walks off, joining you to help the small animal. remus would rather spend time with you, his sweet girl anyways.

[worldwithinworld]

Since we all have the time of Haymitch's games on our minds, I thought now would be a good time to bring up again my longstanding theory that Katniss's mother was disowned by her parents but not primarily (or even at all) because she married someone from the Seam. I think it's because she and Katniss's father were involved in rebellious activities.

Here are my clues:

She was Maysilee's friend. She got her canary after she died, inheriting the symbol of a warning in the form of a songbird.

Haymitch's victory frightened Show. If the Capitol's control was strong at the time, Haymitch's forcefield trick would have been just good tv. The fact that Snow came down so hard on Snow suggests there were threats of rebellion before Haymitch even went into the arena.

When Gale is whipped, Haymitch says they used to take people who got whipped to Katniss's mother. Specifically, he says, "She's the one we took them to," which seems to imply it was just her, not her whole family.

After treating Gale, she briefly speaks to Haymitch about "before." They understand each other so easily with just a few words despite us seeing hardly any interaction between them before. It feels like they have more of a shared history than what Katniss knows.

Speaking of what Katniss knows, she considers this interaction and wonders what they are talking about but decides she's too upset to ask right then. She never thinks about asking again, but the whole thing suggests that there is a lot more to the story of D12 in Haymitch and her parents' youth.

Katniss remembers her mom getting angry at her dad for teaching her "The Hanging Tree." Little Katniss had cried because her mom yelling was so out of the norm. Katniss assumes that her mom didn't like her little girl learning such a dark song, but we know better. Her dad sang a rebels' song, and her mom got scared of him teaching it to her daughter.

I think both of Katniss's parents were involved in rebellion to some degree when they were young. The Capitol came down hard on Haymitch and his whole district to snuff it out. It scared Katniss's maternal grandparents who maybe told her to cut ties with her Seam boy or else, or maybe they just cut her off for her own deeds irrespective of her romantic interest.

[creantzy]

Defying God - a parallel between Fyolai and Stavrovensky

The Demons brainrot is taking over, and you know what happens when I acquire a new interest: my brain WILL find a way to connect it to my other interests, whether I like it or not!! And this is essentially what it's about xD I've come here to present a parallel I found between Fyolai (Fyodor & Nikolai from BSD) and Stavrovensky (Verkhovensky & Stavrogin from "Demons" by Dostoevsky). Before I start I want to clarify a few things:

• I don't think these two pairings are similar, I just love picking up any crumbs of connections I can find between my interests, even if it'd count as reaching.

• This interpretation (in either character's case) is in no way "the only true way of looking at it". It's merely one interpretation out of many and I chose to focus on just a few aspects out of the many others there are to explore in these complex characters. 

• Feel free to add onto or disagree with anything I say! I'm interested in your thoughts :D

WARNING: There will be spoilers for Bungou Stray Dogs and Demons.

The reason Nikolai wants to kill Fyodor is because he feels affection for him. Emotions are a prison to him, and he basically seeks the opposite of what his emotions make him want to do. Thus, in the face of affection, which makes you want to be closer and wish the best for your friend, he does the opposite and decides to kill said friend, going directly against his feelings in an attempt to prove free will. But here I want to focus more on the "You want to defy God in order to lose sight of yourself" part, specifically the bit about God.

One part of my interpretation is that Nikolai associates God with control. If there is a God who controls all, how can there be a free will? He wants to go against Him and His creations (the human mind, morality, etc.) to prove that it's possible. But God is very abstract - the idea of God is influential but varies depending on cultures, etc. For this point, I'll use the example of the biblical God, or, more specifically, some attributes commonly assigned to the idea of God:

• omnipotence (all-powerful)

• omnipresence (all-present)

• omniscience (all-knowing)

What I am leading up to is the fact that these traits can, in one way or another, be applied to Fyodor. Fyodor's character represents everything Nikolai wants to defy. Nikolai hates control; he wants to fight the idea of God and prove the possibility of complete independence. Fyodor (though not in a "direct" way) could be seen as a symbol for God. He knows everything, he is always present (metaphorically and sometimes literally, the way he spawns sometimes I swear-), and he seems to control everything. Only few people actually see him, but he pulls the strings behind the scenes, and his power is felt everywhere. For Nikolai, to kill Fyodor is not just a protest against his feelings of affection, but can also be a symbolic act of defying "God", of killing "God", by killing Fyodor.

This is supposed to be very symbolic and not taken literally. I feel the need to repeat this because I personally dislike the notion of Fyodor as a literal God (and disagree with the idea of him having a God-complex), so this is merely about the God-like traits he possesses, like a "substitute" for the idea of God, and how it interacts with Nikolai's philosophy. (I've also exaggerated some points for the sake of simplification - for example, I don't actually believe Fyodor is in control of absolutely everything, etc.)

Moving onto Demons:

Pyotr Verkhovensky grew up religious and (assuming based on Stepan's description) with a fear of God.

Now he's an atheist and very anti-religious. He plans to overthrow society, and destroying religion + everything it preaches is part of that plan. But interestingly enough, he picks not himself as the official future "ruler", but someone else: Nikolai Stavrogin. He chooses Stavrogin to be the role of the leader in Verkhovensky's ideal society. But not exactly the "leader" in the traditional sense, because he wouldn't necessarily give Stavrogin all the power. He would simply use him as a "pawn" (for lack of a better word) while himself pulling the strings behind said society. With that, Verkhovensky puts someone else above himself, in a God-like position, but he wants to do it while still keeping full control over Stavrogin. By doing so, he would overcome his childhood fear of God because instead of being controlled by God, *he* will control God.

(Same case here, not the literal God, but the character who he assigns God-like traits to.)

I am undecided (with both Nikolai's and Verkhovensky's character) whether this could be read as a solely subconscious intention or if it would make sense as a conscious one as well. Given that both have a different "main" goal (Nikolai focuses on emotions and Verkhovensky on the revolution) I lean more towards thinking it's subconscious (if present at all - like I said, just interpretations!)

It doesn't help that Verkhovensky describes his vision of Stavrogin's leadership as "hidden": Everyone believes in him and his power, but only very few people are said to actually have laid their eyes upon him. When I first read this part, I was honestly reminded of Big Brother from Orwell's 1984, but eventually realised that similar things can be said about God as well.

While these are parallels, they don't come without differences. Nikolai needs Fyodor dead, Verkhovensky needs Stavrogin alive. Nikolai wants to kill Fyodor for a sense of freedom, Verkhovensky wants to keep Stavrogin for a sense of control. Yet both symbolic goals are bound to fail:

Fyodor turns out to be unkillable, and Stavrogin ends up dead.

At the end, "God" stays untouchable.

[superprofesh]

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 3

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The third time Colt Seavers almost kisses you — the one that hurts the most.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.4k

Tag List: @strangedeerconnoisseur, @icantwaittoliveandlearn, @moonlightandstarshimmer

Author’s Note: It's part 3! The tension is heating up, the emotional stakes are rising, and my obsession is only getting worse / better. Let me know what you think! :)

Part 1 // Part 2

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

You step into the darkened club at the height of the company’s weekend party, colorful lights flashing over the dozens of people dancing and chatting across the crowded room, but your eyes are sharpened on the lookout for just one person. Colt Seavers.

You can’t get him out of your head. You’ve spent the last three days doing everything in your power to avoid him on set, from locking yourself in the art trailer to conveniently arranging to work on the still-in-progress train station set. You had entertained the idea that if you could just keep from seeing him for a few days, you could stop replaying every moment of that night in your head.

But even when you’re knee-deep in epoxy or hyper-focused on scoring holes in iron beams, you’re envisioning the way the lamplight accentuated Colt’s features and reflected in his dark blue eyes that night. Try as you may, you can’t forget how absorbed he was in studying your face, or the way he wrapped his arm around your shoulders to escort you to your hotel, or the way he lingered at the doorway as if he wanted to say something.

And you especially can’t forget the way you thought he was going to kiss you.

But then, of course, you had to ruin it. You obviously came on too strong. You physically cringe every time you remember some of the things you said to Colt that night while you were so delirious you couldn’t even stand up straight.

“I bet the desk clerk thought I was drunk and bringing you home with me.”

“I couldn’t have made it without you.”

The fact that Colt has been avoiding you just as hard as you’ve been avoiding him only confirms your anxieties. In the past three days, you’ve only seen him twice, and both times he’s ducked away before you had to have a conversation. It’s not like anything shameful or immodest happened between you — it’s just that you made your crush on him so painfully obvious that you’re sure he’s trying to spare your feelings. The thought makes your heart ache, but it’s ultimately for the best. You’re not about to make a move when it’s so obvious that he’s not interested in anything serious with you.

However, the fact that you’ve been sleeping curled up with his jacket — the one that has his musky smell embedded into its very essence — has not helped matters in the slightest.

You shake your head as you glance around the dark room and wave at your friend Holly across the bar. You’re honestly an embarrassment to yourself. All your life, you’ve had an iron will that bends to your intelligence, not your emotions. Why does that have to change now, all of a sudden?

Holly makes her way around the bar, a drink in her hand and the evidence of more on her breath. You reach out a hand to steady her before she spills her drink all over herself, and she giggles uncontrollably. She’s a talented cinematographer and a dedicated weekend partier.

“Where have you been the last few days?” Holly asks dramatically, as if you’ve committed an atrocity against your friendship. “I haven’t seen you anywhere.”

“Just working on getting the sets perfect,” you shrug, trying not to give anything away. “Besides, I’ve never been one to hang around the cameras too much anyway. That’s your department.”

Holly gives you a mischievous smile and takes another sip of her drink, peering over the edge of the glass at you knowingly. “You certainly seemed to find ways to be near the cameras when a certain stuntman was on set.”

You stiffen immediately, doing your best to paint an unaffected smile on your face and failing miserably. “That’s all over, Hol. Not a thing anymore.”

Holly raises her eyebrows skeptically, and you know she sees right through you. “What a shame,” she grins. “He certainly only had eyes for you.”

That comment sends a stab of pain through your heart, but you ignore it. “It’s fine. Nothing weird, I’m just keeping my distance. Just trying to avoid a heartbreak, that’s all.” The words are technically true.

“Got it,” Holly nods conspiratorially. She takes another sip of her drink and glances around the room. “Well, he didn’t show up here tonight, so you don’t have to worry about him. You can just have fun!”

The words have barely left Holly’s mouth before her eyes widen to a comical size at something behind you. Somehow, you already know who just walked in the door, and your heart gives another spectacular lurch.

Knowing you need to get this over with, you turn to face him, your heart in your throat. Sure enough, Colt slips through the club door, glancing around the room intently, as if he’s looking for something. Or someone, you can’t help thinking.

His eyes land on you, and he freezes in his tracks. A mixture of emotions — nervousness, embarrassment, surprise — crosses his face. You know it’s going to be awkward after all that’s happened, so you try to break the ice. “Hey, fall guy,” you greet him, instantly regretting it. Too flirtatious, stop it right now.

Colt smiles, something like relief crossing his tense features. “Hey, da Vinci,” he responds over the boom of the club’s music, closing the door behind him and taking a single step in your direction. He shoves his hands in his jeans pockets, and you suddenly notice that he’s not dressed for a company party.

“What brings you here?” you ask, trying to ignore the way Holly is pressing into your side and doing a horrible job of hiding her elbowing. “I thought you weren’t a fan of these company parties.”

Colt shrugs, looking past you into the crowd. “Yeah, not really. Just came to drop some stuff off with George for tomorrow’s session.” He swallows hard, as if he’s pondering something, then lets his eyes fall back on you. “What about you? I thought you didn’t like the company parties either.”

I don’t. I came to try to forget about you.

“Oh,” you say casually, “just dropping by. Holly asked me to come.” You squeeze Holly’s hand to signal her for backup, and, intoxicated as she is, she immediately jumps in to help.

“I did!” she exclaims, a little too enthusiastic. “We were actually just talking about — ah, we were just talking about…” Holly hesitates way too long, and you cringe inwardly. “Your stunt!” she recovers. “Your transfer truck stunt!”

“Your what?” Your curiosity is instantly piqued, along with your worry. “I don’t remember a transfer truck stunt in the script.”

Colt smiles a little, the first one you’ve seen since he walked in. “Gordon decided to try it out today. He thought it would spice up the car chase scene.”

Holly jumps in with gusto, clearly excited to have turned you onto a better topic. “Yeah! Gordon came up with it at the last minute. The stunt was originally supposed to just be VFX, but Colt said he could do it.”

“Do what?” you ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Colt shrugs. “Just a jump. One transfer truck to another.”

“The top of one transfer truck to another!” Holly adds for emphasis, sloshing a bit of drink over the edge of her cup. “At top speed, while the trucks are rounding a hairpin turn in the canyon!”

Your eyes widen, and you turn your shocked expression on Colt. “Tell me you’re joking,” you manage.

“It wasn’t that bad,” he amends, obviously embarrassed by Holly’s dramatic retelling. “It’s not like Gordon forced me to do anything. I volunteered and said I could do it.”

“You could have gotten killed!” You’re not sure why you feel so passionately about this; he is a stuntman, after all. But something about knowing that you’ve been avoiding him for three days while he’s been performing death-defying stunts rattles you in a way you can’t ignore. While you’re gathering fire for a rant, Holly backs away into the crowd, an impish smile on her face.

Colt’s smile comes more easily this time, and he takes another step closer to you, ducking his head to look more squarely into your eyes. “Hey, calm down,” he reassures you. “No major injuries. No brushes with death. Just a cool shot.”

You press your lips together, still bubbling over with an emotion you can’t name. “Risking your life for a cool shot isn’t something to laugh about,” you tell him, though there’s no real edge to your voice. You glance down at his hand that’s resting on the bar beside you. “What happened to your hands?” you demand.

Both Colt’s hands are wrapped in bandages that you hadn’t even noticed until he pulled them out of his pockets. His expression shifts again, this time to a kind of bemused concern. “Just a little friction burn, that’s all,” he assures you. He brings one of his hands up to rest on your right shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze that makes your stomach flip in response. “Don’t waste your worries on me, Picasso. I’m a stuntman, remember? Taking risks is what I do.”

Colt’s laid-back tone does calm you a little, and you fight the urge to shake your head at yourself again. What are you thinking? Why are you getting so emotional about this in front of him? Play it cool, explain it logically, don’t make the same mistake you did before.

“Yeah, I know,” you admit, shrugging. “It just seems like Gordon is pushing you harder than he was before. It’s like he’s getting too comfortable putting you in more and more danger for the sake of impressive shots.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” Colt tells you. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and he cocks his head as his gaze flits over your face. “And it’s no different than you going without sleep for three days to finish a setpiece.”

“It is not the same thing,” you begin, but he shakes his head, leaning one elbow on the bar to tilt his head closer to you. You despise yourself for weakening your resolve, but you can’t resist leaning closer to him, too — so close you can feel yourself getting lost in the dark blue of his eyes.

“Sure it is,” he said softly, his husky voice carrying over the short space between you even with the loud music playing in the background. “I do stunts because it’s what I love to do, even if they’re dangerous. You make the sets look amazing because it’s your passion, even when it means you have to go without sleep. I guess we’re both just too dedicated to our crafts, huh?”

You’re finding it difficult to think of a response, your eyes locked on his. All the resolve you’ve been building for the last three days melts under the heat of his gaze. Something like a magnet is pulling you even closer to him. Your mind unhelpfully flashes back to the night you were wrapped under his arm while walking to your hotel room, his warmth enveloping you.

“Well,” you murmur, trying desperately not to look at his lips, “my dedication won’t result in a broken neck.”

Colt lifts one eyebrow in response, leaning a hairsbreadth forward. “Neither will mine,” he whispers.

You mirror his quirked eyebrow, lowering your voice to match his. “How do you know?”

Colt keeps his eyes locked on yours, but one of his hands reaches up to the side of your face unnoticed. His palms are bandaged, but he uses his fingertips to twirl a strand of your hair. Your breath catches when he tucks the strand behind your ear, his touch searing your skin even in the brief contact, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Haven’t you heard? I’m the best in the business,” he tells you as he finally pulls his hand away from your temple.

You smile at his teasing tone. The distance between you keeps closing, a quarter of an inch at a time, and you can feel the burning heat of his skin the closer you get. His eyes don’t drift from yours, but the tension is so potent that you can barely take a breath.

“The best in the business,” you repeat, a coy smile edging the corners of your lips. “Haven’t you heard that pride comes before the fall?”

“Mmm hmm,” Colt hums, and you feel the sound reverberate in your very bones. Your faces are only a few inches apart now. Everything — the music, the crowd, the flashing lights — is forgotten, consumed by the fire blazing in his eyes. His gaze finally tears off your eyes and slowly, so slowly, steals down to your lips. His own lips part slightly, as if he’s finally about to lean forward and close the tantalizing distance between you.

Suddenly you couldn’t care less about all the reasons why you shouldn’t.

But then, your heart still hammering against your ribs, your skin prickling, your lungs strangled into stillness, Colt pulls away from you.

The abrupt distance feels like a cold bucket of water on your head after the heat of what you just shared. Colt seems to feel the shock too, rubbing both hands over his face and letting out a shaky breath before his casual smirk returns.

“Wow,” he half laughs, shaking out his arms and shoulders dramatically. “Nothing like a club’s vibe to muddy the waters, right?”

His careless comment stuns you even more than his quick withdrawal did. You suddenly realize how much every moment with him means to you, and the stinging pain of rejection is amplified a thousand times by his casual attitude.

He doesn’t care. He seriously doesn’t care at all.

You try to recover some dignity, but you know you’ve already blown that more times than you can count. All you can choke out is, “Yeah,” and then a listless, “See you around,” before you slip past his shoulder and head for the door. You can already feel the hot tears threatening to spill down your cheeks, and you’re not going to embarrass yourself further by letting him see you cry. You throw up a hand at Holly as you hurry out the club door into the chilly evening air, barely registering her questioning look.

What you don’t notice is the way Colt clenches his hands into fists against the pain of his burns, or the way he squeezes his eyes shut to block out the memory of your devastated expression.

All you know is the pain of the rejection, the bitterness of your tears, and the smell of his jacket as you fall asleep that night.

[chainera]

My Thoughts on Vercury + Doodles

To be honest, my relationship with this pairing is literally a love-hate one.

When I first heard about it, I’m not going to lie, I was super turned off. This was during SolarBall’s early episodes, where Mercury was shown constantly being bullied by Venus and I could not imagine being paired with my bully if I was in a similar situation. There was no chemistry between them, and even if there was, it wouldn’t be healthy. Especially during the whole Venus’ name arc, where Mercury constantly mocked him and got an asteroid to the face. Personally, the ship made no sense to me and sounded downright toxic. But of course, the more recent episodes came out. The atmosphere (even though there’s no atmosphere in space lol) between Mercury and Venus seemed… more neutral than hostile or tense. This is mostly because Mercury started to stand up for himself. Two scenes of note is the moment where Mercury laughed at Venus’ comment during the Rocky Planets episode and when Mercury snapped at Venus during the ‘Solar System by Size’ arc. What’s interesting is that after Mercury yells at him, Venus looked regretful, which was definitely new. Mercury didn’t shout at him about the consequences of him siding with the Sun or anything like that either, he simply said that he was fine with Venus hating him ‘for the sake of everyone else’. After that, Venus didn’t immediately change his mind but did try to explain his side of things, which was also new. As of right now I still don’t see anything happening between them, but I definitely do see the appeal in the ship and the potential for it to eventually happen.

From a settings standpoint- the potential is obvious. We don’t know what happened to cause Venus to pick on Mercury so much, we don’t know what their past was like, and with the answers to those questions revealed, Mercury and Venus might reconcile. Venus clearly has a lot of problems with his conditions as being called ‘a literal hell’ by the Earthlings, and Mercury also has his own insecurities and issues with the Sun. Mercury is already learning how to deal with these things, but Venus hasn’t quite figured it out yet. I’m quite interested on how Venus will be developed and how Mercury will play a role in this. I don’t think Venus downright despises Mercury, and vice versa, but they do have a ton of shit to sort out which may lead to a hopefully happy ending. Now, from a character standpoint there’s also a ton of potential. Venus and Mercury are kind of opposites, and yknow the saying… opposites attract. It would be really sweet if Mercury could calm Venus down when he was getting too ticked off, and Venus could treat Mercury nicely in his own way. Their personalities contrast really well. I didn’t like Vercury before because I felt if it actually happened Mercury would just allow Venus to treat him like crap, but now I feel like Mercury would know how to set proper boundaries and they would be equals. In a healthy relationship, there shouldn’t be a power imbalance, so with Mercury’s character development and Venus’ potential to change and be kinder (though not necessarily gentler) power imbalance shouldn’t be a problem. Another aspect is the fact that Venus and Mercury are both quite lonely. Earth and Mars are extremely close friends (or more haha), and while Mercury does have the Sun, he’s kind of forced to walk on eggshells in that relationship. They’re also neighbor planets, so there’s that. In all, I definitely agree with the concept of Vercury, but if it should happen, it should be after Venus and Mercury at least began to try and sort everything out. Here’s some (a bit spicy) doodles as a reward for listening to my rant again :D

As always, I’m open to other people’s opinions- especially on a topic as complex as this one. I just ask that you be respectful. Thank you.

[picnokinesis]

Thoughts on Different Types of Representation in Doctor Who (and how fandom responds to it)

So I watched Rogue last night and - okay first, oh my days, absolutely ADORED it, this is definitely my favourite episode of this season, it was just so much FUN and it hooked me right from the start. And then the queerness! I was actually thinking to myself whilst watching it how wonderful it was because it felt like a queer story in a way that wasn't like, showboating about how progressive it was? [editorial aside: this is not comparing it to anything in particular, just a general observation]. The characters were just queer, within this wild and wonderful sci-fi story, but also their queerness wasn't the Only Character Trait they had and their story didn't resolve around their queerness, but their queerness was crucial to the plot in a way that was just lovely to see - and as a writer myself, it's personally the way I love to see our stories being told.

But then I made the mistake of going into the tag - always a foolish thing to do, because for some reason everyone loves to praise this era by criticising the previous era (as if it hasn't been criticised enough...like we know most of y'all hate Chris Chibnall for committing no worse crimes than Moffat and RTD before him...we know). And I found a couple of folks talking about how this episode alone did more for queer representation than the entirety of thirteen's era, whiiiiich at first really Peeved Me Off - like didn't these people understand how important Yaz's arc (especially Eve of the Daleks) was to a LOT of people? But then I was like 'well actually this is interesting', right? Because I think there's two very different kinds of representation going on here - and they're both very important in different ways, but one tends to get lauded as brilliant rep and one always gets put down as not good enough, or even bad rep. And what's the main difference? Whether the characters have a gay kiss or not.

So I just thought I'd share some of my thoughts and feelings on this, and why I think both these kinds of rep are equally important! To be clear from the get-go though - this is definitely not me ragging on anyone who likes more about one than the other (in fact, I think everyone likes one more than the other). This is merely a personal essay about it and the frustrations that comes when people in general do lift one up over the other. I'm gonna put it under the cut though, because it might get a bit long!

So, back when Eve of the Daleks aired, I remember having a lot of conversations about the representation in that episode - in particular with a very good friend of mine, who is a lesbian. And we realised that when it came to rep, we both actually wanted pretty different things. I'm aroace and genderfluid, and so a lot of what I saw in how thirteen was written - especially in terms of her gender (or lack thereof), and also her apparent lack of attraction (at least, in how I read it) was just incredibly affirming to me. I've never EVER seen a character on screen that I could see myself in both in terms of sexuality and gender. Whereas my friend saw things quite differently - thirteen was a lesbian, and they wanted to see that kiss between these two characters, because for them too, it was so rare to see that, and, in their words, they wanted to have their cake and eat it too. And we both realised that the reason that queer representation can feel so intense and important is, simply, because there isn't enough of it. We're all desperately reaching for the same small portion - and none of it is ever going to please everyone, or resonate with everyone. The stakes are too high.

So then, when there wasn't this dramatic romantic ending to Yaz's story, when there was no queer kiss, I was very sad for my friend, who didn't get that representation, but so painfully relieved for myself - because I got mine. So then it sucked a lot to see a lot of people getting really angry that this wasn't queer representation, that this was even homophobic - I even had someone tell me that aromantic representation in this regard was always going to be homophobic, because no-one would ever write it to be aro rep, and would instead only ever write it to avoid writing a gay kiss. And the thing that got me the most was that, REGARDLESS of whether they kissed or not, regardless of how you read either of the characters, there was one thing that was certain:

Yaz was queer. In text. Her emotional plotline centred around her realising that she was attracted to the Doctor (who was presenting as a woman - although, again, I don't think she really identified as such). The fact that she and the Doctor didn't get together by the end does not erase that fact.

They didn't kiss - but so what? Are queer people only queer when they're kissing someone of the same gender, or having gay sex? Are queer people not queer in their day to day lives, when they're not doing any of those things? Are queer people not queer when they're not dating? Are queer people not queer when they're trans, when they're ace, when they're aro, when their queerness doesn't resolve around attraction to the same gender?

And, to be honest, I think a lot of my feelings around this stem from the sort of exclusionist rhetoric that we saw a LOT of towards the ace/aro community back in 2012 that we still see now, that we're seeing towards the trans community now, that we're still seeing towards bi people, for pete's sake. It's this in-community infighting, pushing each other down to try and get up to the top, to keep all the "resources" for "the people who really need it", and it causes a serious amount of harm - but the truth is (and to bring this back to doctor who) that it all comes back to what me and my friend were discussing. We're all scared, all desperate to be seen - and when we are seen, it's the most incredible experience and the idea of losing that (or having someone else undermine it) feels inexpressibly awful. Having the thirteenth doctor...I suddenly realised this is what all the straight cis white dudes get all the time. She was like me, and that was indescribable. And then losing her - and having RTD not even be able to have a man wear her clothes because he was too worried about what the tabloids would say to be able to show a gnc person on tv...and then constantly described her as The Woman Doctor for the next entire episode - that hurt. A lot.

I've spoken to other friends who felt so seen in the character of Yaz - those people who realised they were queer later in life, those who fall in love with people and it doesn't end up going anywhere, those who don't get the whirlwind queer romances that people often call 'good representation'. Myself and many of my aspec friends have felt so seen in thirteen's almost entirely romance-less arc, and myself and my trans/genderqueer friends felt very seen in the way that thirteen's character would have been exactly the same if she'd been a man - the only difference was how the other characters around her interacted with her. Gender was something that happened to her. And when I watch episodes like Rogue, even though I don't relate to that representation, I just feel overwhelmed with joy because I know how important it will be to others that I care about. I think my sadness then comes from the fact that the way Thirteen and Yaz were written are just as important to me and many people that I know, but because they didn't kiss, it's not considered queer enough. Am I not queer enough, then? Are my friends not queer enough?

We need more episodes like Rogue, like The Parting of Ways, like Praxeus, like The Doctor Falls, because they are unquestionably and unapologetically queer, in a way that can't be avoided. We also need more episodes like Eve of the Daleks, like The Haunting of the Villa Diodati, like the rest of thirteen's era where the representation is an undercurrent throughout the whole story - but also undeniable, in a way that Yaz's story arc is, even if it doesn't end in a kiss, even if it doesn't end neatly and happily. Personally, I definitely would love to see more stories focused on aromanticism and on transness (especially ones that are written by trans people for trans people, rather than by cis people for cis people), but that's probably going to be down to people like me and other writers that I know actually getting into the script writing industry - and that depends on the people who are already there letting us in. One thing that I've always appreciated about Chibnall is that, after leaving Doctor Who, he began a programme for training up new showrunners with ITV, because: "showrunners are the gatekeepers and too many of the gatekeepers look like me."

Anyway, I probably have more thoughts that I've forgotten, but that's generally the gist of it. I think the more we fight over whether rep is 'good' or 'bad', relating to whether we see ourselves in it or not (rather than 'is this genuinely harmful or unhelpful', which I think is a more crucial question) the more the waters get muddied. We have different needs and wants, and no single episode is going to represent every facet of our community. But each episode, each story like this is a step in the right direction - and even rep that isn't perfect (I have thoughts about The Star Beast, for example) is still extremely positive and important, and definitely something that should be celebrated, even as we keep looking to the future for what we would like to see done differently, done better. And some day, I hope, there'll be so much queer rep, it'll be so normal, that those stakes won't feel so high anymore. It won't feel like everything hangs on how a certain show or storyline or episode is written. We'll all be seen. And that will be absolutely fantastic.

[razorblade180]

Martial Practice 2

March:*planking*…….

Yanqing:Two more minutes.

March:You’re insane.

Yanqing:You said you were going to take this seriously, and I’m going to take this-

March:*plops to the ground*

Yanqing:Seriously!?

March:I’m trying! Although I don’t get how this helps swordplay!

Yanqing:Your arms will get tired swinging a sword a lot, but it’ll never feel worse than planking for five minutes. Honestly I thought you had it. You can help fight Phantylia but not endure a five minute plank.

March:Not even remotely close to begin the same thing! Ugh, this is frustrating.

Yanqing:Imagine my position. I see you make similar pacing errors I’ve done and can’t help but patiently wait for you to stop!

March:It’s not like I’m not listening. I just-

Yanqing:Think you can make use of an opening, so you take it. Believe me, I get it deeply! Now I get what the General means when he says “Don’t think you can make a strike. Know you can make a strike.”

March:Ahhh, so know different than archery. Don’t let the bowstring go unless you know have the shot.

Yangqing:I…actually never thought of it like that.

March:Yanqing, I really am taking this seriously and I don’t mean to sound ungrateful but Yunli’s approach in our practice is a little less…intense. *sits up*

Yanqing:Of course it is. After all, you’re representing the Loufu, not the Zhuming. Not to say she isn’t being earnest, but certain pressure isn’t going to fall on her if you make errors.

March:Oh…it’s that serious?

Yanqing:Yes and no. Sorta?

March:What happened to needing certainty!? You can be direct with a sword and not an explanation?

Yanqing:Hey! I’m trying to find the right phrasing! March, you are an outsider but you’re also an accomplished fighter. In all honesty, you’re picking up the sword really well. People all over will be interested to see your skills, but I wouldn’t say their expectations are unreasonable. Like I said, you’re not from here.

March:So the bar is great instead of excellence. Mistakes won’t be held too harshly against me but that doesn’t mean I can afford to cause a blunder.

Yanqing:It wouldn’t surprise me if most citizens would simply be happy seeing someone as charismatic as you take part in learning our customs. Mistakes are bound to happen; however, they’ll be directed at my inabilities as a teacher. Then by extension…they’ll say things like “what has the General been teaching his disciple?” That’s where I draw the line. I refuse to cause him any unnecessary trouble.

March:So that’s why you’re so stiff. I can see why, but Jing Yuan doesn’t seem like the type of person to put too much stock in opinions like that. He definitely wouldn’t blame you.

Yanqing:Doesn’t change the fact I would be causing unnecessary problems for him. I’d blame myself…

March:…(He’s quite the little adult. Between him, Bailu, and Dan Heng, I’m starting to wonder if any kid on the Loufu actually gets a childhood.) Looks like I gotta put in double the effort. But first…mind if we eat?

Yanqing:Alright. Despite what it might look like, I’m not trying to run you into the ground. I’ll buy of course. I’m sure there’s something on the ship you’re still dying to try.

The sudden and loud sound of his stomach growling makes his face turn a little red as March tried not to snicker. Yanqing simply starts walking, prompting her to get up.

Even after that little moment, March notices how the boy carries himself maturely and as a teacher. If she was being honest with herself, March remembered how eager she was to do right by Himeko and Welt when she was brought into the Express family. Sure she entered the Wardance out of curiosity, but the choice to train so admittedly was born from the desire to continue helping her newfound family. She could definitely relate to Yanqing’s ambitions and fears.

Without hesitation, March pulled out her camera and ran to catch up with him. The girl put her arm around his shoulders and smiled brightly before hitting the flash.

Yanqing:Agh! What the heck!?

March:Hehe, hmmm not a bad photo of me at least. You might need some work though.

She shows him an image of her smiling cutely while he’s completely caught unaware and a little startled. His stern face quickly shattered into pouting as all prior thoughts vanished.

Yanqing:I wasn’t ready! That’s not fair!

March:Oh so you want another one? Okay, better bring your best smile!

“Best smile.” Funny, the moment he thought about it, Yanqing immediately found it difficult. Teeth or no teeth? Was he looking too directly into the lens? Why was this so hard!? His gaze shifted left at March to see what smile she was making; only to notice the girl was sticking her tongue at him childishly. Yanqing didn’t think twice about returning the gesture as they began the dumbest stare down in history.

It wasn’t long before both of them broke out into laughter over their antics, giving March the perfect opportunity. Click! The perfect shot of just two fast friends being silly and full of life.

March:Aye, I knew you had it in you. I’ll be sure to send you a copy. That way you’ll never forget!

Yanqing:Yeah well…thanks. *smiles* Now then, let’s get some food already. I’m starving!

March:Don’t have to tell me twice!

[vodika-vibes]

Hello! Congratulations on the followers! I saw your asks for the event are open and was hoping to get a soulmate AU with Wrecker or Tech. Hurt/comfort if your up for it.

Lost

Summary: When you were a child, you never found any items that belonged to someone else in your things. Your parents reassured you to the best of their abilities, telling you that your soulmate was probably just very neat and didn’t lose things. But, by the time you reach your teenage years, you’ve accepted that while your soulmate might be yours, you’re not necessarily theirs.

Pairing: TBB Wrecker x F!Reader

Word Count: 2784

Warnings: Enough angst that I made myself weepy, but there's a happy ending. Reader is described as having hair and is referred to by the nickname Haze.

Prompt: Soulmate AU - when you lose an item, it ends up in your soul mates possession.

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So, you didn't specify which Soul mate AU you wanted, so I went through a list and picked one that I thought sounded interesting. I hope you don't mind!

“There you are,” You don’t look up from your computer screen at the familiar voice of Suture, the leader of this group of teenagers and young adults. “So, Haze,” you pause as he calls you by your assigned nickname, “What do you have for me?”

“Do you think that slicing is magic, Suture?” You ask, your fingers moving across the keyboard again, “If I’m not careful we’ll get caught. And we do not want to be caught.”

He drops down on one of the crates that line the wall behind you, “Yeah, yeah. I know. I’m just eager.”

You sigh and turn on your stool, “What do you even want this list for, Suture?”

“It’s a list of soulmates. Why do you think I want this list?”

You sigh once more and turn back to the computer, “I know you’re salty about not having a soulmate, Suture, but you really need to let it go.”

“And you’re not?”

“I’ve come to terms with the fact that my soulmate belongs to someone else. It doesn’t make me want to make other people as miserable as me.”

Suture laughs, “You say that, Haze, but you joined this group too. You’re just as bitter as me. You just haven’t admitted it yet.”

“Is there something you need or are you just here to make me hate you?” You ask sharply.

“Wann join me in bed?” Suture asks with a leer.

“I want you to leave me alone so I can focus.” You bite out in retort, “If you want someone in your bed, go and ask Diamond. She’s not busy.”

“You’ll join me eventually.”

“No. I won’t. I’m doing this one job, and then I’m moving on to a more reasonable cell.”

“Suit yourself. You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

You hear, more than see, him get up and stalk out of your workroom. And you exhale slowly before you focus your attention back on your work. As soon as you finish this, you’re gone.

There’s the sound of heavy footsteps behind you, and you release an explosive sigh, “I thought I said—” You whirl around to glare at Suture, only to pause and blink at the man standing behind you. “You’re not Suture.”

“Nope.” Spoiler, a Kiffar man, says with an easy grin. “I can go and get him if you’d like.”

“Please don’t.”

He laughs and pulls a small crate over to sit next to you, “He’s been harassing you again?”

“He seems to think that he’s charming enough to convince me to stay.” You reply as you look away from him and glance back at the computer, “He’s not.”

Spoiler laughs again, and leans on the table, “Hey, Haze?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you here?”

You pause and shoot him a confused look, “Like, in general, or—?”

He grins, “I mean, why’d you join this group?”

“That’s a dumb question, Spoiler. We both know that there isn’t anywhere else for someone like to me go.” You reply, “People without soulmates aren’t welcome. Anywhere.”

“You’re not like the rest of them, Haze.”

You continue typing, “If you’re not careful people are going to peg you for a narc, Jedi.”

“You had me pegged the moment you met me, didn’t you?”

“You weren’t trying all that hard to hide yourself from me.”

“True. You’re a decent person. Don’t have anything to do with any other the others. That’s why I’m so surprised that you’re here. That you’re helping.” 

You sigh softly, “What do you want from me, Spoiler?”

“I want you to be smart about this.” He hisses, “This, right here, it’s going to ruin your life. And not just your life, the lives of hundreds of children.”

You’re quiet for a moment, “...why should they get to be happy?”

Spoiler sighs, “You don’t believe that.”

“...no. I don’t.”

“May I make a suggestion?”

“Can I stop you?”

“No.”

You sigh, “Go ahead.”

Spoiler drops a handful of credits on the table, “Take your laptop and go and get a caf.”

You shoot him a bewildered look, “Sorry?”

“Haze, you don’t want to be here for the next couple of hours. Alright?”

You stare at him, your eyes wide. And then, slowly, you close your laptop and grab the handful of credits. “Alright.”

“Good girl.” Spoiler walks you to the exit, and, as nice as he can, shoves you out of the hide-out and slams the door behind you.

You stare at the closed door for a moment, before you turn on your heels and head towards your favorite cafe. It offers a free internet connection, so long as you buy something. 

It’s also a nice place to hear some juicy gossip.

But, most importantly, they sell your favorite sandwich and you’re starving. 

The cafe is small and out of the way, not the most popular of the cafes in the area, it’s also not the cheapest, but they offer the best firewalls and their meals are filling, so you take a single table in the back corner and open your computer to a blank email and stare at it for a moment.

It’s been months since you’ve contacted your mom.

You should message her more often.

Slowly, you type out the first sentence, ‘Hi mom, I know it’s been a while-” and then you stop. What are you supposed to say? What can you say?

You’re pulled from your spiraling thoughts when someone stops next to your table, “Can I ask what sandwich that is? It smells amazing.”

The man standing next to your table is massive, a veritable wall of muscle, though he has a kind smile on his face. 

“Oh, this is the Manager’s Special with extra veggies on naan bread. It’s not the cheapest on the menu, but it’s very filling.”

“Hm, I’ll have to give it a try. Thanks.”

“No problem.” You reply, absently, as you focus your attention back on the email. And, maybe if you had been paying more attention, you wouldn’t have noticed the bracelet wrapped around his wrist.

But you were only half paying attention. So, naturally, the simple bracelet jumps out at you. 

And you realize that you know that bracelet.

Your dad had it specially made for you for your sixteenth birthday. The inner band has a simple phrase, Your worth isn’t based on other people, while the outside was decorated with vines and flowers.

You loved it. 

It was meant to be a birthday and a “you’re enough as you are” present. But it vanished two months after you got it. 

Honestly, you thought your brother stole it and gave it to his soulmate. It was the major breaking point in your family. Especially since your brother never denied stealing it, and doubled down on taking it.

You open your mouth to say something to the stranger, but he’s already moved away from your table. So, instead, you watch. You watch as he joins a group of men, his brothers probably.

You watch as a woman, laughingly, smacks his shoulder, bumps him with hers, and then wraps her arms around him in a hug.

And your heart shatters.

Your gaze drops to your laptop, and the blinking cursor that seems to be taunting you. 

Of course. Of course, you’re not his soul mate. 

You knew this. You’ve known this for years.

You’re not good enough to have a soul mate.

Maybe you’re just like the others. Just as hopeless. Just as broken.

You switch tabs and stare at the hack you’ve been working on for days. All you have to do is hit enter, and Suture will have all of the information he needs for his attack.

You press enter, and hundreds of people will die.

You rest your fingers on the enter key and then pull your hand away from your computer.

You can’t do it.

You can’t sentence one hundred children to death, and one hundred others to a life of loneliness. 

Quickly, before you can think again, you delete all of your work, and close the program, ensuring that you won’t be able to recover it.

You stare at the blank screen for a moment, and then you close your laptop and slide it into your bag. 

You’ll get your bracelet back, and then you’ll leave. You know the cell on Alderaan is a lot more political than terroristic, maybe they require a slicer.

Quickly, you wrap up what’s left of your lunch and slide it into your bag as well, and then you stand and walk over to the large man.

“Excuse me.” You say, once you standing at that table.

“Can we help you?” The man with long hair asks.

You pull a small slip of paper out of your bag, the insurance claim for the bracelet. “My father had that bracelet,” You point to the bracelet around the large man’s wrist, “made for me when I was 16. Here’s the insurance claim for it. I’d like it back.”

The man picks up the paper, and looks at it, and then at the bracelet itself, before he nods, and pulls it off, “Here you go. I’ve been keeping it safe for you.” He says with a smile.

“Thanks.” You take the bracelet and the insurance claim back, “Sorry for bothering you.”

“You can join us, if you like?” The man with glasses offers, “There is plenty of room.”

You don’t meet his gaze, or anyone elses, “It’s better I don’t, I think. Sorry, again. I’ll be more careful with my stuff.”

“You don’t have—” The large man starts, but you flee before he can finish his sentence. It’s better this way.

You’re less likely to get hurt.

Wrecker stares at the place his soul mate was just standing, and then turns his helpless gaze to his brothers. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No, you didn’t.” Hunter replies, reassuringly, “But you should go after her.”

“Just be careful to not scare her.” Crosshair warns. 

“I’m not going to do it intentionally.” Wrecker bites out at his younger brother, before he gets to his feet and follows his soul mate out of the cafe. 

She’s easy enough to track, now that he knows what she looks like, and she’s not trying to avoid detection. 

He hopes she’s not just shy, he’d feel awful following her if she was running away because she was shy.

But, at the same time, Wrecker has been longing for this day since he was a cadet. Since the first time a piece of her clothing appeared in his bed. The day that bracelet appeared, mixed in with what few belongings he could lay claim to, he vowed that he would one day return it to her.

It was clear to him that someone loved her a lot.

Now he knows that it was a gift from her parents. 

Though he can’t help but wonder why she looked so sad when she took the bracelet back. Surely she should have been happy, right?

Although—

She might think that he’s not her soulmate. It’s not like he owns anything that he can afford to get lost. So if her stuff went missing, and she never found anything that wasn’t hers, it would make sense that she might think that he’s not her soulmate.

His heart aches at the thought. She must have been so lonely.

Plus, it’s not like people who don’t have soul mates are treated well. The treatment of the clones improved, a lot, as soon as people found out that they had soul mates too.

So, not only would she have felt alone…she would have been looked down on.

Poor thing. How is he supposed to apologize for that?

Wrecker trails after her, through the crowded streets, until she ducks down a much less busy street. He doesn’t mind if she knows that he’s following her, though he does slow down when an older man approaches her.

“Haze.”

“Suture.” Her voice is soft, but there’s steel underlying her voice.

Wrecker has never been more attracted to someone in his life.

“What happened? Did you finish the code?” Suture demands. 

“I finished it.”

“And?”

“I deleted it.”

There’s silence for a moment, and Wrecker moves closer, suddenly having a bad feeling as to this conversation. 

“You. You deleted it.” Suture repeats.

Haze’s eyes flicker to Wrecker, and then back to Suture, “I deleted it.”

“Why?” Suture asks through a laugh, “Why would you do that? This was our great equilizer. We were finally going to make them treat us the same—”

“It wouldn’t have worked. You’d be classified as a terrorist. And I don’t help terrorists.” Haze says strongly.

Suture lets out another disbelieving laugh, and he takes several steps away from her, before he spins and his fist collides with her cheek. Haze stumbles backwards, but Suture isn’t able to get off any more blows before Wrecker is between them.

“Maybe you should try beating up on someone a little bigger than her,” Wrecker growls, not the least bit afraid of using his size to intimidate the man who just attacked his soulmate.

Suture takes a step back, and then another one. And then he laughs, “You can’t protect her everywhere.” He threatens, “I will get my pound of flesh from her one way or another.”

The tension drains from Wrecker’s shoulders as Suture runs off, and he turns to look at Haze. She’s rubbing her rapidly bruising cheek, but she still won’t look at him. 

“Haze, right?” Wrecker ducks his head slightly to try and catch her eyes, “Are you alright?”

“Haze is fine. And I’m…fine. Just fine.” She pauses, “Sorry, again. You shouldn’t have had to get involved.”

“Of course I’m going to get involved. You’re my soul mate.” Wrecker says gently.

Her head snaps up, and Wrecker’s heart aches when he sees tears in her eyes, “That’s not right. I don’t have a soul mate.” The way she says it, as though the words are being ripped from her lips, makes him want to wrap her in his arms and promise that no one will ever hurt her again. 

“I don’t think that’s right,” Wrecker replies, gently reaching out to tuck a strand of hair off her face.

“It is right! There’s something wrong with me—”

“No.” Wrecker interrupts, “No, there isn’t.”

“How can you possibly know that?” She’s crying now, and this time Wrecker doesn’t stop from pulling her into his arms. Her hands curl into the thin material of his shirt, and Wrecker’s arms tighten around her.

“I’m a clone, Haze.” He whispers, “You never found anything of mine because I never had anything to lose.”

She shakes her head, as if she doesn’t believe him. 

“Hey, hey.” He brings his hands up to cup her face, “Look at me.” Her eyes are watery, and tears still roll down her face, and Wrecker still thinks she’s the most stunning woman he’s ever seen, “What does you’re heart tell you?”

She trembles under his hands, “That’s you’re my soul mate.” She admits.

“My heart tells me the same thing.” Gently, he wipes her tears off her face, “I’ve loved you since the first time you lost a shirt. It was black and red, and I turned it into a stuffed animal so I could keep it with me everywhere.”

A shaky laugh falls from her, “I remember that shirt. I thought mom threw it away because there was a massive hole in it.”

“There was a pretty big hole in it.” Wrecker admits, and then a small smile crosses his lips, “I still have them.”

“Them?”

“Everything you’ve ever lost. I keep them in a box under my bunk. Just waiting for the day that I’d meet you, so I could return them.”

She sniffles, “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that. It’s what soul mates do.” Wrecker ducks his head and lightly kisses a tear off her cheek, “So, how about we go back to the cafe? You can meet my brothers, and you can tell us about this Suture character?”

She shakes her head, “No, I need to leave. If he catches me alone, he’ll kill me.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

She stares at him, and then, slowly, a smile crosses her lips, “I guess, you are pretty big, aren’t you?”

“I’m gonna tell you a secret,” Wrecker leans in, “I’m also pretty protective.”

She looks surprised, and then a startled giggle falls from her lips. “Alright. I suppose I’d like to meet your brothers.”

Wrecker beams at her, “You’re going to be the happiest soul mate ever. You’ve had enough sadness for one lifetime.”

Haze ducks her head, “Yeah. I guess I have.”

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for never coming home or writing letters?

Why, hello everyone. So, I am not usually the type to talk about stuff like this, so please bear with me if this isn't as coherent or easy to read as other posts here. It's just that after a younger friend of mine told me about this forum I got interested. Y'know, went some pent of feelings, get some outside perspectives… Might be nice.

So, I (M, late teens) don't live with my family. In fact, I haven't been for years. When I was in middle-school I had a, let's call it, 'revelation' that I just didn't feel happy at home. See, I don't wanna brag, but I've always had a certain talent for sorcery, and my parents did value that. Just… Not in a way I felt comfortable with, I suppose. Thinking back, the attention and expectations they placed on me felt suffocating. I was expected to invest a lot of my time into studying the family craft, specifically dark magic, which never really was my "thing" to begin with. And when they didn't have me study, they would have me fight exhibition duels against the heirs of other clans as a show of power. For a while, it felt like I had no control over my life whatsoever. I tried to lock myself in the manor's kitchen or run off into the woods to relief some stress by baking or feeding the forest animals, but… doing that would always net me severe scolding punishment. I'd rather not go deeply into that part.

I suppose one day I just couldn't take it anymore. I took the advice of a child even younger than I was and left the manor, traveling the continent with nothing but the clothes on my back until I managed to get myself enrolled in a magic academy far away from my family home. And, I'll be honest, I never really regretted doing so. Ever since that day, I've felt so much more in control of my own life, so much more alive than I ever did when I lived under my parents' roof. I've been able to make a name for myself using my magic the way I want to and specializing in the things I like, and I feel I've really done well for myself. In all honesty,nothing I've done would bring my clan name into disrepute, quite the opposite, actually! But… I wouldn't know how my parents think about that.

I haven't been in contact with them since I've left. Not even once. I've thought of sending letters, but I wouldn't know what to write. After all, even know that I'm fairly well-known as a sorcerer in my own right, I still have no intentions of inheriting the family estate or carrying on the legacy of dark magic our clan is known for. So if I tried to contact them, what would they do? Would they ignore my letters? Would they reply with anger? Would they send an envoy to attempt to retrieve me and bring me back? Frankly, I'm scared. I could probably fight any hired sorcerers they send my way off easily enough, but… That's not what I want. I don't want to go back. There's nothing I want to do less than go back to the way things used to be before.

I guess what I'm trying to say is… I never meant to cause my family grief. But lately, I can't help but wonder if that is what I'm doing. I was the only heir, after all. I am happy with the path I've chosen in life, and I'm convinced it's what I needed to do for my own sake. But I also find myself wishing I could share the happiness I've found away from them with the people I had to leave behind… And I hate the thought that they might be hurt because of me. And sometimes I wonder if I'm not a little at fault for how things turned out after all, in a way.

So… What do you people think? Please, don't hold back. I expect your honest feedback.

~L.

[butterflysonnets]

yes i'm rooting for m*leven breakup because byler is neat but mostly? i'm rooting for m*leven breakup for the sake of el and mike.

to me, their romance was always a puppy love born out of a combination of social pressures, naïve curiosity, and a lack of true understanding regarding intimacy and romantic love and what it really is. it was real in that they do truly, deeply care about each other and they are close friends, maybe even shared an attraction, but a maturing romance is so much more than that. they've grown up and out of being boyfriend/girlfriend, and that's okay! i think television/film needs to show more often that most of us don't have definite "soulmates" or first childhood loves that we spend our whole lives with. it doesn't mean these relationships meant nothing and didn't impact us, it just means they've run their course and that something else is in the cards, and this is part of life!

i've always felt el was at her best and most confident self when broken up with mike, discovering who she was and what she liked alongside another girl her age instead of just relying on mike for mentorship on how to live in the real world. she deserves more of an opportunity to find herself, her autonomy, and her independence, and to love who she is, and she's made it clear she's felt insecure in the relationship with mike because she isn't being loved and understood the way she wants, needs, and deserves from someone who is her partner.

also, it's okay if mike doesn't love her in "the way he should". he is not obligated to love her romantically and stay in a relationship with her just because she's a girl, because she "needed someone", or because he cares about her a lot. he shouldn't be pressured into a romance if it's not truly coming from his heart. he deserves freedom to find out and honour who he is, too, instead of just staying in his non-functional first relationship — one he got into as a child, essentially — and defining himself that way because it's what's expected when a boy and a girl are close. he loves her in some way, yes, but it's okay if he doesn't feel comfortable or secure being her boyfriend anymore, for whatever reason that is. he's felt insecure too, and that's valid and it matters.

they are their own people and are steadily growing and changing every day. they need time to figure out who those people are, and it's become clear (at least in my opinion) that those people aren't meant to be a couple at this stage.

they deserve freedom. they deserve to grow up and be authentic to themselves and not feel like they need to lie for the sake of a relationship. they deserve to move on from this version of their relationship that isn't making them happy and rekindle the best part of their bond: their strong, beautiful friendship. they don't have to be a couple if it doesn't make them stronger and better and happier people.

i think it would be healthy and wonderful for a show, especially one consumed frequently by young adults, to show a relationship starting, progressing, and ending on good terms in this way. sometimes things don't work out, and that is okay.

[skitskatdacat63]

+ bonus :)

Thank you for all the votes on the poll :D unfortunately however I decided to follow my own destiny </3 also sorry if I forgot to include anyone! Was mostly going off mutuals who voted/are Fernando fans and others who reblogged the poll :)

[dutybcrne]

From a very young age, Kaeya held such a fondness for handholding. Whether it was his father clinging tightly to him to make sure he didn’t get lost, Adelinde’s gentle, grounding hand closed over his to comfort him whenever his nerves got the better of him, Crepus’s rough-palmed, firm yet comforting grip as he brought him back home, or, as it was most often of all, Diluc’s warm, yet at times uncomfortably tight hold as he dragged him anywhere, everywhere, determined to always keep Kaeya close and eagerly show him all there was to see, Kaeya treasured the gesture greatly.

Of course, being as shy as he was, initiating it himself was always the harder part. So much so, he would tend to hold pinkies, rather than outright take a person’s hand in his own. Eventually, it would become his most common way to go about the gesture of affection.

[miharuhebinata]

NEVER TRUST TV TROPES BTW TV TROPES IS A LYING FUCK.

[seonghwaddict]

save a horse, ride your best friend — song mingi

in which your best friend can’t believe you’ve never ridden a dick before, so he takes it upon himself to teach you.

best friend!song mingi x fem!reader. requested by anon. genre. slight fluff. smut. best friends to friends with benefits. warnings. explicit sexual content mdni, inexperienced!reader, thigh riding, fingering, use of a dildo, big dick!mingi, multiple orgasms, unprotected, creampie, swearing, nicknames (baby, angel, pretty). wc. 4k. rating. mature.

lilo’s notes. this was requested a while ago but i’ve been putting it off because… i’ve never written anything about toys being used so uh, i was worried about the pacing and stuff. i wasn’t sure if you meant for them to be in an established relationship, so i went for the fwb route. IMPORTANT!!!! i lost access to my google account bc of a stupid mistake, if you sent in a request through my google form and would still like me to see it, please send it as an ask <33 i remember a few of them, but do send yours in just in case!!

listening to. need to know, doja cat // if u think i’m pretty, artemas // moonlight, kali uchis

masterlist.

it was a regular saturday evening. you were on a video call with your best friend, mingi, talking about anything that came to mind as you each ate a bowl of ramen as if you were really in the same room. he really only lived a couple buildings away, a two minute walk at most, but actually joining you in your apartment didn’t cross his mind until something interesting was brought up.

you weren’t sure what led to the conversation, but somehow it steered into the direction of something less innocent as you found yourself talking about an embarrassing date you’d gone on a while ago. recounting the story, laughing together, soon turned into a conversation about what each of you like in bed.

“oh, it’s just amazing,” mingi laughed as he gulped down a mouthful of water, momentarily pausing his rambling about how much he loves it when someone rides his dick. he ran a his hand through his short, washed-out pink hair, “honestly, my favourite thing ever since it probably feels just as good for whoever is, y’know, riding.”

based on everything he’s said so far, you came to the conclusion that he was more into giving than receiving, that he got off on seeing all the pleasure he can give his partner. so, it made sense he’d choose to mention the fact that riding him would feel good. not that you would know.

“can i admit something?”

he looked up from his bowl, sharp eyes looking almost hopeful as he nodded.

you looked around your kitchen jokingly, pretending to make sure no one sense was listened as you leaned closer a whispered, your hand cupping the side of your mouth.

“i’ve never done that before.”

his jaw dropped at that, letting out a small laugh. “you’re kidding.”

“no, really,” you insisted, going back to eating casually as if you were having the most normal conversation in the world with your best friend, “i really haven’t done… much, so i can’t confirm or deny your theory.”

“huh.” he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he thought for a moment. his head tilted and it was then that you felt how warm your cheeks felt, how your thighs were pressed together under the counter. of course, he was well aware of the fact that you had much less experience than him, only knowing about two people you had slept with. but damn. he clicked his tongue and shook his head ever so slightly. “that won’t do.”

furrowing your eyebrows, you opened your mouth to ask him what he had meant by that. he beat you to it before you could get a word out.

“i can… teach you, if you want?”

you blinked at your screen, resting your wrist on your countertop and gripping your chopsticks a little too hard. a silence followed his offer, though it wasn’t awkward. in fact, he could see you genuinely considering it as you thought it over. eventually, you gave him a tiny nod.

“i mean,” you shrugged, shifting your eyes away shyly, “sure, i guess. why not?”

he grinned, trying to hide it as he shoved a mouthful of noodles into his mouth and shoved his bowl aside. he chewed, swallowed then got up and made sure to bring his phone with him. you recognised his hallways then bedroom as he walked through his apartment. “i’ll be there in like 15, i need to buy something on the way. just wait there, and where something comfortable and… um, accessible.”

you nodded, despite your confusion, and he hung up. accessible? you looked down at your clothing—or rather, lack thereof. since you were home and not expecting anyone, you’d settled on wearing just a shirt you stole from mingi that was too large for him and much larger for you, and panties. you lifted the hem of the worn shirt, assessing how much of your dignity you’d lose if he saw your pink hello kitty undergarments that you only wore if you were doing laundry.

you could already hear him giggling at the sight.

groaning and cursing under your breath, you dropped the shirt and sped to your bedroom to dig through your closet in hopes of finding something a little more appealing. after making a mess of one of your closet’s drawers, you finally pulled out a pair of less offensive panties. they were made of soft cotton; a muted light blue with thin white lace trim, the cut shaped more like a bikini than what you call your grandma underwear.

deciding they were flattering enough, you slipped off your hello kitty pair—ignoring the embarrassing amount of wetness creating a wet patch right where it was pressed against your core—and replaced it with the new pair. as you untwisted the waistband and adjusted it to fit properly, your doorbell rang and you froze on the spot before pulling yourself together and heading to open the door.

the walk to the door felt abnormally long as you stumbled over on wobbly knees. admittedly, you were a little nervous. sure, there have been times where you wanted to do some more than friendly activities with mingi, but you never actually thought it was happen. yet here you were, opening the door for him so he could come in and show you what being a cowgirl feels like.

“hey,” he greeted you softly, stepping into your home and closing the door behind him. you noticed a small plastic bag in his hand, eying it curiously as you watched him kick off his shoes and hang up his coat. once that was of the way, he took one of your hands in your free one and pulled you to where he knew your bedroom was.

once there, he set the bag down on your bedside table and dragged you to stand between his knees as he took a seat on the edge of your bed. he looked you over, lingering on the familiar t-shirt.

“so you’re the one that took this shirt, huh?” he quirked an eyebrow, glancing up at you as he released your hand and brought both of his to your hips. his thumbs caressed the curve of your waist over the shirt. “it was my favourite.”

you laughed softly, “clearly you didn’t care enough if i was able to keep it for three years without you noticing.”

“you little thief.” his nose scrunched as he glared at you jokingly, giving you a gentle squeeze.

“if you really want it back, you can always take it.”

“nah, it’s fine, keep it. it looks cuter on you anyway.” he took a breath and gave you another once over, humming appreciatively when he moved his hands up higher, dragging the shirt with it until he caught a glimpse of your panties. you tensed, caught off guard by how close he felt. “i need you to relax a little, how about i help you loosen up, yeah?”

you nodded, averting your gaze but returning it to him when you felt him pull you onto his lap. he slotted one of his legs between yours, easing you down to straddle his thigh. his hands ran up and down your sides and few times before resting on your bare thighs, your breath stuttered and he held back a smile.

“are you still okay with this?” he asked quietly, absentmindedly playing with the hem of his your shirt. “if i do anything that makes you uncomfortable, just tell me and i’ll stop immediately and we can just watch a movie or something, okay?” when you only nodded, he continued, “i need you to say it, please.”

“i’m okay with this,” you muttered in return, resting you hands on his biceps, “and i’ll let you know if i need you to stop.”

“good, now…” without waiting any longer, he leaned forward to attach his lips to your neck, his hands slowly beginning to rock you back and forth on his lap.

you sucked in a sharp breath and clung into his arms a little tighter, your stomach fluttering at the feeling of your clothed cunt on his firm thigh, your panties dragging against your clit with ease thanks to how wet you already were. he lifted you slightly as he pulled you towards him, pushing you down as he pushed, the varying pressure making your lips part in a soft whimper. he nearly groaned at the sound, moving his lips right below your ear.

“you know,” he rasped between the licks and kisses, “i can’t deny that i’ve wanted to fuck you for a long, long time now.”

“r-really?”

mingi chuckled as he pulled back to look at your face, half surprised and half needy. he noticed that if he relaxed his hands, you’d continue grinding against his thigh.

“yeah, really. i mean, look at you,” he glanced down, one of his hands lifting the hem of your shirt to watch you ride his thigh slowly, a dark wet patch forming right where your leaking pussy sat. he bit his lip, “you look so perfect… and i bet you’d feel perfect, too.”

you nearly whined at that, fucking yourself on his thigh just a little faster as he sucked a dark mark right above your collarbone before returning to mutter dirty words into your ear.

“i know practically everything about you and your cute little body, you know. better than anyone else,” one of his hands inched it’s way up your thighs, brushing against the edge of your panties, “i’ll make you feel so good, angel, i promise.”

“mingi?” you whimpered, prompting him to lean back a little to look at you with a curious tilt of his head and a raised brow. “if you don’t shut up and kiss me right now, i might lose my mind so… please.”

his beautifully plump lips stretched into a smile as he wasted no time in practically pouncing forward and smashing his lips against yours. it started a little slow as you got acquainted with each other, despite the fact you could feel a nearing orgasm as a knot in your stomach drew tighter with each roll of your hips, but soon the kiss turned hungry.

he groaned into your mouth as you let his tongue explore, making you let out a quiet moan. mingi knew he wouldn’t be able to kiss anyone ever again. you, his best friend of all people, had the most inviting lips he’s ever felt. so inviting, so perfect and so soft. he thought everything about was soft. his hand slipped just under the edge of your panties as his other one made your grinds slow down.

you didn’t mind the slow pace, knowing just a few more rocks of your hips would have you tipping over the edge. but he evidently had other plans as he finally made your hips still completely. you pulled away from his lips with a pout. if you were trying to make him feel bad, it backfired terribly.

all he could think of as he looks at your swollen, red, wet, pouty lips is how much prettier they’d look wrapped around his cock. but he could save that for another time.

“there’s no need to rush, baby,” he chuckled, wiping some saliva away from your bottom lip.

eventually, when he was sure you had calmed down enough, he lifted you off his lap a little and turned to lay you down on your back, pressed against the comfortable mattress as he kneeled on the edge. he gripped your knees and bent them, pushing them closer to your chest with his eyes zeroed in on where your slick was leaking through your panties.

with one hand keeping your knees together and elevated, he ran his other over the fabric, pressing down on where he knew your clot would be and elicit a sweet little moan as you squirmed beneath him. he thought you were so cute like this, you looked so flustered as he gave you nothing but featherlight touches where you needed him most. for now.

“don’t get all shy on me now,” he cooed as he glanced up and noticed you covering your face with your hands, “let me see you, pretty.”

he didn’t continue his touches until you finally removed your hands, giving him a nice view of your abused lips and round eyes, pupils blown wide with lust in a way that had something stirring in his abdomen. and his pants.

he let down your knees for a moment so both of his hands could slip under the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs. he actually moaned when he saw the strings of arousal clutching onto the fabric as he dragged it away, snapping when he got too far.

“you’re so pretty, baby,” he murmured, watching your entrance squeeze around nothing, making more slick drip out.

after tossing it aside, he wasted no time in getting your knees back to the previous position and running his fingers through your folds.

“oh, fuck,” he groaned, eyes squeezing shut for a moment as you let out a moan when he tapped against your clit, “you’re soaked.”

he glanced up at you, wanting to see your face as he slowly pushed in too fingers and catching a glimpse of your hard nipples poking through your shirt. your face contorted for s fraction of s second before relaxing, your head tipping back against the mattress as you let out a whine.

he choked back a moan at the tight walls around his middle and ring fingers, the fingers of his other hand digging into your thighs. “sh-shit… you’re so tight. i’m gonna have to stretch you out first, okay?”

you nodded mindlessly, too distracted by his fingers prodding at your sweet spot to care about any words he may have said. but you furrowed your eyebrows and lifted your head when you felt both his hands leave you, finding him reaching for the bag. your curiosity outweighed your disappointment as he pulled something out.

it was a dildo. about as thick and long as the biggest person you had before, and made of what looked to be transparent silicon. your insides tightened at the sight, somehow the thought of him seemingly buying this just for you turning you on even more.

he returned to kneeling at the edge of your bed, leaning down to loop his arm around your waist and lift you up to place a pillow under your hips before letting lay back down.

“couldn’t find one my size, but this should be fine,” he held the dildo and ran the tip through your pussy, collecting wetness as you shuddered, “my cock will just have to stretch you the rest of the way.”

you breath hitched at the implication of his words. so he was bigger than that? your thighs pressed together at the thought of being completely stuffed by him. he chuckled, separating your knees enough for him to have a clear view of your pussy, pulsing and dripping and begging for his attention.

he began slipping the toy into you, filling you up inch by inch and watching your needy hole stretch around it and swallow it up. the sight had him choking back a moan, biting down on his bottom lip.

the stretch had your back arching and pushing yourself against it desperately, feeling like that alone could get you to finish. it only took a few deep strokes for your pussy to get used to the size, squeezing and writhing around it until you couldn’t handle it anymore. your arousal coated it quickly and seeped out with each stroke, squelching sounds filling the room that shot straight to his dick.

when you finally came, your toes curled and your body twitched as you let out a string of and whines and moans, little curses slipping between. he watched with fascination as you came undone right beneath him, not wanting to wait any longer to be inside you. he shoved the toy deep inside you, leaving it there as he leaned back for a moment to discard his clothes, slipping his hoodie and sweatpants off.

when you were brought back to your senses, you found yourself on his lap again, straddling his hips this time as he sat with his back against your headboard. you felt his erectile straining against his boxers and pressing against your core. you couldn’t help but rock your hips against his slowly.

“do you ever ride your pillow?” he asked suddenly, voice dropped what felt like two octaves lower than his regular tone. your eyes widened at the question but you nodded. he nodded too, his hands finding your ass and helping you grind against his clothes length. “this is a lot like that, except you have something in you… and it’s more of an up and down movement… and i’m obviously not a pillow… still, there’s really no right way to do it, just go slow and you’ll figure out what works and what doesn’t. plus, i’m here to guide you.”

he gave your ass a squeeze as if to punctuate his sentence, massaging the soft flesh in his palms. when you felt ready, you dropped your hands from his shoulders to his boxers, palming his length a few times before hooking your fingers into the fabric and dragging it down until his cock sprung out.

he definitely wasn’t lying when he said it would stretch you more than the already-big dildo. he was definitely a lot bigger than anyone else you’ve been with, well over average. you nearly dropped at the sight, wrapping your hand around him and jerking him off, eyes fixated on the angry red tip leaking precum as you passed your thumb over it.

the muscles of his abs rippled and squeezed as your worked your hands on his cock, his head thrown back against the headboard and letting out stuttering moans. all the sounds he made encourage you to sit up on your knees, guiding him through your folds and whimpering as you finally sank down on him carefully.

the two of you moaned at the same time, him at how well you squeezed around him and you at how well he stretched you. you stopped when you reached just halfway, unsure whether or not you’d be able to fit more. his hips jerked slightly as his hands squeezed your hips.

“come on, baby,” he moaned softly, looking up at you with encouraging eyes, “just a little more… we can make it fit, right? just breathe.”

you nodded and as you took a deep breath, he used his hold on your to sink you further down until he finally bottomed out. he cursed silently, the back of his head finding the headboard again as you whined and dropped yours onto his shoulder.

you felt his tip pushing against your cervix, the new feeling making a lump form in your throat as you blinked back tears. this time it took a while to get used to the stretch before you tried grinding back and forth. it was slow, almost painfully so. he was amazed that despite stretching you with two different things, you were still so unbelievably tight, hugging him in a death grip as your raised your hips an inch before dropping down again.

your soft noises were muffled by his shoulder as your hands rested on his biceps, panting and squeezing gently as every inch of him dragged against the sensitive spongy patch in your walls every time you grinded on him. soon enough you were able to lift yourself to his tip and drop all the way down, your wetness letting him slip in and out with ease.

still, you kept the pace torturously slow, savouring each bounce and grind. his hands had left your hips at some point, exploring your body under your shirt, massaging your breasts and tweaking your nipples. he lifted the fabric but kept it on your as he watched your tits bounce temptingly, your puffy pink nipples making his mouth water as he pushed himself forward to take one into his mouth.

your hips stuttered as he sucked and nibbled at your nipples, throwing your head back and arching into his touch as your grinds grew sloppy. he felt your decreasing pace, using the hand that wasn’t teasing your other breast to guide your hips once more. he angled you slightly differently in a way that made your clit press against his pelvis each time he bottomed out, the speed of your grinds picking up quickly as his hips bucked up to meet yours.

his lips detached from your bruised breasts with a popping sound as he leaned up to capture your lips in his once again. it wasn’t much of a kiss, more teeth and tongue and moans and groans than anything else as you swallowed each other’s sounds.

you finished first, pushing yourself down hard and stilling, filling yourself with his throbbing cock and pressing your clit against him. he held you tightly, burying his face in your neck to suck at all the spot he knew would get your to writhe. many tickling fights contributed to his knowledge on all your sensitive spots.

your body twitched as you returned to bouncing on his length, your juices looking at his base. the overstimulation burned a little, making your thighs and knees quiver, but you were determined to get him to finish too. and by the looks of it, it shouldn’t take much longer.

“shit, baby,” he said, halfway between a whimper and a moan, fingertips digging into your hips as he threw his head back in bliss, “‘m so close— fuck, you feel s-so good.”

his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, bottom lip caught between his teeth. his cheeks and the tip of his ears flushed a deep red, his plush lips a few shades darker and coated in your mixed saliva from your kisses. as you adjusted the angle of your hips, something in him snapped, grabbing your hips tighter and taking over. he took over your movements, thrusting his hips up desperately as you fell forward onto his chest with the sudden change in intensity. his tip pushed itself against your g-spot continually, another knot tightening in your stomach.

the wet sounds of your cunt and your skin slapping against his egged him on until finally he felt like he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“baby, p-please— fuck— please, can i cum i-inside you?” he begged through a groan, “i— please, angel, i-i can’t wait any longer.”

you nodded against his chest with a whine, you were on the pill anyway. not a second later, he released into you, filling you up with stuttering hips. he pulled you down, flush against him and keeping you there as he emptied himself with softly muttered curses, his head dropping to press open-mouthed kisses to your shoulder.

it felt new to you, the warmth making you squirm until you came again without warning. it was much weaker this time but still enough to make you shake in his arms, panting softly after letting out a strangled moan against his skin.

after a few long moments of trying to recover from the shared orgasm, he lifted his head, one of his hands cupping your chin to tilt your head to look at him.

“so,” he started, lips stretched into a smile, “how’d that feel?”

“fucking amazing.” you rolled your eyes at how smug he looked after your confession, not protesting as he leaned forward to kiss you.

this one was much softer than the previous kisses you shared, much more tender. it was a lot shorter too, he pulled away first to rest his forehead against yours.

“yeah?” he whispered, kissing the corner of your lips, “just wait until i hit it from the back.”

networks. @cromernet @wonderlandnet @cultofdionysusnet @pirateeznet

permanent taglist. @ad0rechuu @sankatchu @mlink64 @yeosangsbb @seonghwasbbgirl @likexaxdaydream @dreamingofyeo @yalyallic @yunhoswrldddd @coffee-addict-kitten @thunderous-wolf @chngbnwf

[supercutszns]

Hi!! Just had to drop in and say I LOVED your Luke fic and I can’t wait for more. I would love protective Luke with hurt/comfort, if that sounds interesting at all. Thanks for sharing your writing!!! 🌸

fighting chance; luke castellan

wc + pairing: 4.2k, luke castellan x daughter of ares! reader

synopsis: when an enemy takes advantage of your kindness during capture the flag, luke intervenes with a sword in hand.

warnings: a creepy boy👎, threats/harm to reader, she’s going through it, blood/injuries (nothing major), angry ANGRY luke, violence, lots of fluff/reassurance at the end<3

notes: thank you SO much for your kind words & your request!! hurt/comfort is my bread and butter my favourite fic genre of all time i think. & protective luke is just a bonus bc he’s already crazy so it can go as far as i want🤭 i’m not exactly sure what this turned into but if i fix it any more i'm going to go insane so hope you like it!

You’re not much of a fighter.

That alone is a normal thing to admit—plenty of people don’t like violence, the frisson of a challenge, the bruises that come with them. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.

Unless you’re a child of Ares.

People at camp often ridicule your gentle nature when they see you with your half-siblings. They’re all gritted teeth and sharp edges, born warriors that take up all the space they can get. You, on the other hand, are lousy with weapons and even lousier with your fists. You’re quiet, attentive. While your siblings charge into battle without second thought you stay back, flitting around to adjust armour, change out weapons, oversee the terrain. Planning isn’t Ares’ style so you’re pretty much useless but nobody wants to admit it. You’re usually mistaken as a child of Hephaestus or Athena.

Unfortunately, you are a child of Ares, through and through—just in none of the ways that matter.

There are rare times your father’s influence peeks through. Not with bursts of rage or fists flying, but with thoughts. And sometimes those thoughts turn into words. Well, not sometimes. One time. This one.

The evening before the camp’s Capture the Flag game, every cabin gathered around the bonfire past dinner. To burn offerings, to chat, or in Luke Castellan’s case, to admire.

He watches you laugh with Clarisse from a distance. The Ares cabin leader always had a certain fondness for you. When Luke first started dating you he had to ask Clarisse for her blessing beforehand just to be sure she wouldn’t kill him. He’d do it a million times over just for the moment you look back, your face warming when you catch his stare. He rolls his eyes at you to lessen his smile, but he’s not sure it works. You giggle and turn back to your friend.

He’s always loved your softness; your capacity to defend and not attack. Your body rejects any skill you could possibly develop for violence. Believe him, he’s tried to teach you sword fighting, but the last time he gave you a lesson you nearly impaled yourself thirty seconds in. He loves your wit and your tenderness, your proficiency at preventing conflict, your refusal to argue. But a selfish part of him loves the fact that he’s your protector even more.

The night wears on with the flickers of fire and friendly banter. One of the times Luke looks back at you, his brows wrinkle. There’s a guy talking to you. A group of them, actually, but there’s one clearly leading the pack. Some Aphrodite kid. Luke’s jaw twitches.

“Hey, princess,” the voice makes you pull away from your talk with Clarisse, but you’re confused. Luke is the only one that calls you that.

“Um, me?” You ask when you see the boy in front of you. He’s tall, chest puffed out. It’s not an endearing silhouette. “What’s up?”

“You wanna be on my team for Capture the Flag tomorrow?” He asks nonchalantly.

You laugh politely, “Sorry, but I don’t think we’re allied with Aphrodite tomorrow. That’s your cabin, isn’t it?” You feel bad that you can’t remember—his face is so … plain.

He chuckles back, but it’s a lot less nice. “No, doll, that’s not what I mean.” He steps a little too close, and even though you know Clarisse is behind you it feels like she’s a thousand miles away. “Well,” he drawls, a smirk drawn out, “you meet me in the forest after we start, and then we can … you know. Confer.”

“Confer?”

“Yeah. You get what I mean, pretty girl, don’t play dumb.”

A revulsion coats your gut. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me that,” you say as firmly as you can.

“What, pretty or dumb? Why not both?”

It’s demeaning, the way he says it, and it stirs a temper in your stomach you know you inherited from your father. You’re not big on confrontation. Or embarrassment. But this weirdo is talking to you out in the open and people are starting to stare. He wouldn’t dish it out if he can’t take it, right?

“I’ll pass on your offer. I have a boyfriend and I’m actually on his team tomorrow, so I’d rather confer with him, sorry.” Your hands wring together but you do your best to quell them, imagining it’s the string of Luke’s camp necklace, threaded between your fingers. You try to look for him out of the corner of your eye.

He snickers, even though it’s common knowledge you and Luke have been together for months now. “So you are dumb, huh?” He tries to smirk and you assume is supposed to be sexy, but it’s just gross. His hand tries to slide around your waist.

“Don’t touch me, please,” you hit his hand away. Your skin is crawling and the knot inside you tightens.“Just leave me alone. People are looking, you know.”

“We could go somewhere where nobody looks,” he sneers, and the grin on his face is so sleazy that you just can’t stand it anymore.

You pray to your father for strength. And to yourself for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, are you stupid or something? I told you, no.” You snap. “Maybe you’re the pretty dumb one, but for a child of Aphrodite it’s shocking how little the first one applies.”

His eyes are wide, and the posse he’d assembled behind him has attracted quite the view. You almost feel like crying, all these eyes on you, but you’re so sick of people thinking they can walk all over you just because you’re not like your siblings.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? I’m just trying to be nice—” He grabs your wrist as you leave but you yank it hard.

“Don’t. Touch me.” People are staring at you now, but the only one you care about is Luke, who looks equally ticked and equally proud, and all you want to do is kiss him. “Hope the only time we confer tomorrow is if somebody’s sword is at your throat.”

It’s the last thing you say to him. He starts to go after you but Luke is already at your heels. “Back off, man.” You can spot how all his muscles are already rearing themselves for a fight. You wrap a hand around his wrist, and he meets your eyes. Not now.

The altercation is lost the second the two of you leave the bonfire. Nothing matters when Luke has you in his arms, kissing you outside of your cabin, telling you how damn beautiful you looked.

You’re fixing a new Ares boy’s armour when Luke finds you. “Hey, angel,” he says, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek. He relishes in the way your face heats up. “You ready for battle?”

You smile, “Always.” You pat the kid on the cheek and send him on his way. He gnashes his teeth and roars, joining his siblings at the front. Luke catches the longing in your expression.

“All good?” He asks gently.

It takes you a second for your eyes to meet his. “Mmhm,” you swallow. “Just hope his armour doesn’t fall off.”

Luke sighs for a moment, then wraps his arms around you. “He’ll be fine, sweetheart. Be safe, okay? Stay close.” He kisses your temple, rubbing circles on the nape of your neck.

“Yes sir,” you reply against his chest. His insides flutter.

He pulls your face up to his and kisses you, tender and wanting. “Let’s show these hooligans who’s boss,” he quips.

“You’ll show them. I’ll hide in the woods until some idiot comes along and tries to ambush you.”

Your dulcet tone has him wrapped around your finger, and you don’t even know it. “You’ve always got my back,” he croons, kissing your brow.

“And you’ve always got our flag.”

You kiss him again and he lets you slip out of his arms no matter how badly he wants to keep you there forever. He watches you vanish into the trees, and his heart goes with you.

He gears up with his team and the horn sounds. Game on.

There’s yelling, sweat, adrenaline, and Luke embraces it all like a man starved. This is his chance to be ruthless, to let all his untapped rage cycle through him. This is why he’s unstoppable. This is why he’s the best.

Clarisse is unusually cooperative today, but competent as always, and whenever someone’s weapon breaks or they lose their team she just barks at them to go find you. You, the smartest person in Ares, who can mend a weapon with nothing but blades of grass and determination. Luke is pretty sure your cabin would be lost without you. He wonders if you know.

The groove of the game has fully enthralled him. He’s alert, his wrist nimble, his sword a living, breathing part of him. There’s almost nothing that can take him out of his victory path until he hears one of the younger campers tell Clarisse he can’t find you anymore.

Whatever nincompoop he’s dealing with is left groaning on the floor. “What?” He barks, hand flexing around his sword. “Where is she?”

“Probably just moved,” Clarisse grunts as she kicks back an opposing camper. “She knows where everything is. Maybe she’s—oof—safer.”

“But how am I supposed to fix my spear?” The kid frowns.

Luke runs his tongue along the roof of his mouth, dry and laden with salt. He told you to stay close. Where would you go? “I’ll find her,” he decides, already sheathing his sword to walk towards the trees.

“Luke—”

“I’ll find her!”

He barely pays attention to the calamity going on around him. With a flick of his wrist he knows he can take out any person he wants. The second he gets to the trees, where the air is cooler, it’s startling how much quieter it is. No wonder this is your preferred hiding spot.

He thanks the quiet a thousand times over because if it had been any louder he wouldn’t have heard you scream.

It’s so short it’s almost indiscernible, but he knows it’s you based on how his body movies before his brain does. It snaps something in him, the adrenaline transformed into something acerbic, determined.

“Don’t fucking scream again.” A cluster of boys are stationed around you. You’re leaning back in the dirt. You barely feel the earth sticking to your skin. Just your heart jostling madly, your fingertips shaking in the ground beside you. “Okay, I won’t, just put the sword down—”

The snarling Aphrodite boy from last night takes a swing at you, and you scramble back just enough to avoid it. “No can do, doll.” His face is twisted with rage. The lackeys he had when you told him off are there too, cornering you against a cluster of trees like you’re some caged animal. There’s a dagger clenched in one of your dirt-ridden fists but you know it won’t do you any good. You can’t fight; you don’t have it in you. But these boys do. And they’re angry.

“Tell me where the flag is,” he orders. The tip of his blade comes under your chin, fogging up with the labours of your breath, your head pressed against the trunk of a tree.

You stutter, “You’re not—You’re not supposed to threaten like this—”

“You embarrassed me in front of all those people yesterday,” he cuts you off. “Thinking you’re so fucking smart. I didn’t even say anything that big a deal but you run your mouth to the entire camp and make me look like the idiot. I thought you were nice.”

The words are laced with poison. You know from the wild look in his eyes that this isn’t about the flag at all.

Tears sting your eyes and the sword grazes your throat. Of course this is happening to you. The one time you feel your father’s rage, when you exemplify the thing you’re told to be, you are punished.

You are never going to be the right kind of daughter.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” you try to say it evenly, but your breath is so ragged it’s barely audible. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said all that.” You mean it, but they won’t care.

The boy’s face looks pleased at your tears. It makes you inexorably ashamed. “Some fucking Ares kid,” he snorts. “Can’t even fight, can you? Can’t even pretend to.” His sword leaves your throat and travels up to your quivering jaw. You’re wordless, white-knuckling the dagger at your side, praying that Luke is somewhere nearby.

“No wonder they stash you back here. You’re useless.” His eyes scan every part of you, and the idea of him knowing what you look like forever is so revolting it makes you want to vanish. “Too bad you’re alone, though. Nobody’s gonna know I was here because nobody’s gonna hear you.”

Your eyes get wide, and something in your mind rumbles through you like an engine. An urge buried in your blood.

Your dagger tears into his leg just as his sword dashes your arm. The pain is sharp, stinging, but the boy winces and you know you hurt him too. It gives you just enough time to roll out of the way as he lurches forward. “The fuck is wrong with you?” He swears.

Blood drips onto your shorts, splotched with tears. You know you can’t go anywhere because his friends are here and you’re almost certain you’ll be maimed, but you tried. At least you tried.

The Aphrodite boy picks his sword back up, stalks towards you, and then freezes.

Because Luke has just spotted you. And he’s spotted the boy that has you on the ground.

And he’s the best fucking swordsman Camp Half-Blood has seen in three hundred years.

“If you don’t get away from her right now I’m putting this through your skull.” He emerges from the foliage, his sword raised, sweat dripping down his face. You have never seen anyone look angrier. He has never felt angrier.

The boy blanches, and Luke sees how easily his lapdog friends shrink in his presence. Good.

“Woah, easy,” the boy holds his hands up in mock surrender and tries to flash a smile but it’s just fucking pathetic. His arms are shaking and his throat bobs about a million times. “We’re just playing the game.”

“Like hell you are,” Luke spits. “You gang up on my girlfriend and you expect me to believe this is fair play? Want me to tie you all together and push one of you off a cliff to keep the spirit going?”

“Didn’t know she was yours,” the boy tries to shrug but again, it’s a miserable attempt that only makes Luke feel stronger.

“Not that it matters but yes, you do,” Luke chuckles thickly. “I beat your ass in sword training last week. You know exactly who I am. And I’m sure you know who you are, so it’s obvious you’re playing out of your league here.”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees you still cowering, blood dribbling down your arm. He wants to tear the world apart. “Apologize and maybe I don’t send you to the infirmary.”

“We just want the flag, man,” the boy swallows.

“And I want your head on a stick. Want to see who gets what first?”

It’s too provocative an insult for a moron like this to ignore, so soon Luke has the pleasure of disarming five bitter boys that have clearly never been good at a single thing in their life. He tears through them like sheets of paper, knocking them to the dirt, ripping their clothes. He thinks of you, just you, your honest heart and patient hands, and it’s enough to fuel him for a millennia.

The last boy, the leader, is at Luke’s mercy, and he has none to give. The flat of Luke’s blade is pressed horizontally against the boy’s neck, an angering similarity to the position he had you in earlier. “If you ever do this again, I’m going to kill you.”

“You’re—fucking—crazy—” The boy wheezes, the length of the blade squeezing his throat against a tree trunk. “I’ll—I‘ll tell Chiron.”

Luke has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep him from doing something he regrets. “Oh yeah? You want me to tell Chiron how you harassed and terrorised a girl in the middle of the forest all in the name of play? Want me to tell him what you said to her last night at the campfire? Because I’m sure it won’t take much for him to get rid of your ugly face as it is, and I’m a camp counsellor.”

He knows it’s not the most morally correct use of his title. He knows he might be stepping over the line. But he also knows you’re always being ignored or trampled over and he’s tired of pretending like he doesn’t give a damn. He’s tired of people trying to force you into something you’re not. Of you crying in his bed at night because they’re trying to drag a violence out of you that isn’t there. Always in the name of fucking play.

Luke takes the sword off the boy’s neck and shoves him backwards. His calf is bleeding, not a deep wound, but a wound nonetheless, and Luke is full of pride when he realizes you did that. The boy’s bad leg makes him wobble and fall at the force of the push. Luke enjoys watching the scramble. “I—I was just trying to be nice, it’s not my fault she took it the wrong way!” The boy flails his hands in the air, rising to his feet again, and Luke shoves him down twice as hard. A piece of his shirt tears off in Luke’s hand.

“You’ve gotta stop talking or I really am going to kill you,” he seethes. “Don’t touch her ever again. Go.”

Luke is sure he looks homicidal right now because the guy finally tumbles his way down the hill. His body fades into the distance, swallowed up by shrubbery and sweat.

The second he’s gone Luke tosses his sword and armour and gets back to you. “Shit,” he mutters, kneeling down. You’re still shaking, your head in your arms, and all his hatred morphs into a love so desperate it terrifies him. “Angel, come here. Let me see.” He lifts your face with his hands and scans you rapidly. “Did he hurt you anywhere else? Anywhere?”

“Just my arm,” you whimper. “My arm.”

He knows it’s not the cut that’s hurting you; it’s long, but thin, and it’s not bleeding too thickly. He takes the cloth from the Aphrodite boy’s shirt and wraps it around your arm, knotting it at the end. “All right, that should be better.”

You look at him with watery eyes, and he knows all you need is for him to hold you. He folds you in his arms and leans against a stump. You can’t get close to him fast enough. The tip of your nose buries itself in his neck and he feels the dampness of your cheeks on his skin. “It’s okay, sweetheart, you’re safe,” he soothes, pressing a kiss to your hair. “I’m so sorry.”

Guilt swaths over him for a brief moment; he wonders if he shouldn’t have done all that, if he should’ve been more sensible. Then your lips form a ‘thank you’ against his skin and all is forgotten.

You feel so small. The shock is still running its course, so all you can do is cry it out. Your hands still shake when you thread your fingers through Luke’s necklace to steady them. He soothes you the best he can, running his hand along your spine, all the sharpness of his voice softened just for you. “You’re all right, angel. I’m not going anywhere.”

You stay like that for a while. The sounds of the forest return to you; leaves in the wind, birds chirping, Luke’s breath tickling your hair. You crane your head up to nuzzle your nose against the faint stubble of his jaw. “My hero,” you murmur, and feel his skin shift as he smiles.

“Couldn’t have done it without you. Saw the cut you gave him on his leg.” He kisses your temple. “I hope it gets infected.”

You giggle weakly no matter how you try smothering it in his chest. “Gods, you’re awful.”

“He deserves it! I probably should have killed him!”

“You came pretty close, didn’t you?” You mumble. Luke’s expression is wary, but you smile to yourself and it dispels everything. “I was hoping you’d come.”

“Good. Serves them right, messing with you like that. Fucking idiots.” He kisses your face again for good measure, “You sure they didn’t get you anywhere else, princess?”

You nod but you know you look wounded. You nudge into the crook of Luke’s neck again. “They … you know, it’s just … the usual stuff.” Every word weighs a pound as it comes out. Your heart feels sore.

Luke tenses again instantly. “What usual stuff?”

“Um, just—” The shame gets caught in your throat. “They all think I’m useless, Luke. Why can’t I do this right?”

You start to cry again, but he just holds you closer. Sometimes it surprises you how much patience he has. He prides himself as the harsher one between the two of you, but you don’t know who he’s fooling with the way he always knows how to comfort people.

“I don’t know what to do,” you continue, blinking back tears, “I’m not—I’m just not good at this, I don’t know why I’m in Ares, I don’t know why I can’t … be that. Why is he my father? I’m no good at being angry. I want to be angry.”

Luke’s quiet for a moment. Nothing changes except his hand rubbing circles on the nape of your neck again. Then he sighs deeply and says, “You don’t owe your father a damn thing. You don’t owe anyone anything.” He’s resolute, firm, a sharp contrast to his gentle kiss on your hairline. “You’re the smartest, most generous person I know. You need those people in battle. You’ll lose if you don’t.”

The warmth of his skin prompts you to look up at him. He looks different so often, the way he can shift between so tough and so gentle. Sometimes, like now, he’s caught in the middle, the remains of a furious sweat hardening his face, but his eyes are nothing but tender. You think it’s how you like him best.

“Besides, we’re not our parents, right? Who cares about Ares anyway?” Luke shrugs.

“Luke! Don’t say that!” your tears turn into a giggle. “The Gods might punish you!”

“I’ll handle it. There’s enough fight in me for the both of us.”

“Okay, tough guy,” you mutter with a weak smile.

You’re still sniffling. He runs his thumbs across your cheeks, and his gaze softens. “You’re an Ares kid because you are a fighter, angel. You just fight a hell of a lot smarter than the rest of us. Best one I know. Well, other than me.”

It makes you smile. “So second-best?”

“Tied for first.”

He kisses you with that stupid roguish smile. It’s salty with tears and sweat, but it mends your heart anyway. There is nowhere in the world you’d feel safer.

“I love you,” he says against your cheek. “Be as sweet as you want. If anyone has anything to say about it I’ll mess ‘em up good.” Your face warms as his voice drops to your ear, “And I know you’re an Ares kid because you’ll encourage it every time. You might not have a violent bone in your body, but you sure don’t have a problem with me using mine.”

“Diplomatically, Luke. Diplomatically.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you want.”

You can’t help but kiss him again. You’re not entirely sure why he loves you so much, why you love him so much, but you never feel quite as secure as when you’re with him.

Cheers boom from the other side of camp. Luke’s head perks up like a dog, and you turn back to search for spots of red or blue. “Did we win?” You ask, craning your head to get a better view.

“Don’t care,” Luke says.

You look back at him. His anxious face says it all. “Yes, you do.”

“Okay yes, I do, and I need to see if those douches found our flag so I can choke them out with it.”

You laugh, standing so Luke can jog off to see the state of your team. But before he goes, he picks you up and smothers you in kisses, holding you like you’re his prize.

You are not a fighter, but your boyfriend sure is. And you’re perfectly okay with that.

[pomefioredove]

having a crush on you

summary: how they would act having a crush on you type of post: headcanons characters: pomefiore (vil, rook, epel) additional info: reader is yuu, reader is gender neutral, rook is rook, not proofread, hi I'm insane and I love pining, I NEED to write another fic but with rook. might write this same prompt with other dorms

𝐕𝐢𝐥 𝐒𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐭

don't take his calm and collected facade as apathy

he's slowly losing his mind about this

"pacing back and forth, mumbling to himself, falling asleep thinking about you" kind of losing his mind

it's my personal belief that Vil hasn't been in love before this

hasn't even really thought about it

so when you enter the picture it kinda throws him off balance

and with the exception of Rook, no one can even tell

he is an actor, after all, he can play the part of "totally platonic friends with room for Jesus"

(maybe a little too well)

but Vil isn't entirely emotionally repressed

he keeps things to himself, yes, but he's quite conscious of his own wants and needs

so when he realizes he's been craving your presence more than usual he does acknowledge it

in his head

and then does nothing about it for months

...what? he's busy

things like this can wait for him, and he doesn't want to put a rift between you two in case it might be a passing feeling

well... it doesn't pass

he becomes keenly aware of how much he wants you around him, how much he thinks about you, how much your very presence is enough to make him happier than he's ever... really felt

and you know what?

he is totally cool about it.

just kidding. he drives himself insane trying to think of the perfect way to confess, something that will impress you and meet his standards

he's dropping hints left and right and you don't seem to be picking any of them up

which again, just makes him crazy

(some days he really wants to ask you how oblivious one person can be, but he restrains himself)

I mean, how many times can he send you red tulips before you finally get the hint? he's practically spelling it out for you!

there is... a tiny, little part of him that worries you don't reciprocate

is he not your type? are you interested in someone else? perhaps he'd been too harsh on you, after all...

the fact that one little potato can make him so worried absolutely drives him mad

he is the vision of poise and grace and you are ruining him

and this sort of mood comes and goes in waves

just when he thinks he's pulled himself back together, you'll smile at him or say something cute and suddenly he's back to square one

(you're so adorable it's annoying -_-)

while he's sorting out a good way to express his feelings properly, he'll be spending all his free time with you

you need some new things? he'll be glad to take you shopping

you came over to see Epel? oh, well, he's not here, but you should stay for some tea, anyway!

your afternoon is free? he has some new lip gloss he's been dying to test out...

𝐑𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭

contrary to popular belief, I don't think Rook would be so open about it

he still compliments you, of course, and sings praises of your beauty and elegance, and has little regard for personal space, as always

but he's like that with a lot of people, so it's hard to really tell when he likes someone

the truth of the matter is that Rook Hunt can be just as reserved with his feelings as anyone else

when he really, really likes someone, he keeps it to himself

why?

he's hunting you he's learning more about you before making his true feelings known

he feels it's necessary to have an adequate amount of information on his target before making a move, after all

for reference: you catch his eye at orientation, and do not have a single conversation with him until after winter break

(of course, after that, you start mysteriously running into him everywhere)

is he kinda weird about it? uh. yeah.

this is Rook we're talking about

on the other hand, he's completely lovesick about you and it's almost cute

he's definitely the type to write your initials in a journal with a glitter pen while kicking his feet back and forth and giggling

seeing if you would sound better with his last name or he with yours...

definitely has a very weird photo collection of you somewhere in his room

along with stacks of poems, pressed flowers, and little gifts he intends to give you once he's won you over

(when, not if. Rook is nothing if not patient)

you may find a rose left outside Ramshackle every so often

or a few cans of tuna for Grim

all while acting like the same old eccentric Rook, no discernable difference

except when you can feel his eyes on you at random places in the middle of the day

Ace and Deuce call you paranoid but you can't shake the feeling

though, every once in a while he'll get a little grumpy

Rook is easily jealous, and while that sort of possessiveness never extended to untouchable idols like Vil and Neige, he's already decided that you're his prey

and he'd kindly ask everyone else to find their own, thank you

he hasn't exactly planned the confession yet, but just know it's probably going to be the sweetest and craziest you've ever heard

𝐄𝐩𝐞𝐥 𝐅𝐞𝐥𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐫

first of all he's going to fight you for making him like you so much

second of all he's going to beg for a chance

maybe not in that exact order

Epel is constantly at war with his own emotions and having romance thrown in the mix is. uh. not optimal

not only does it ruin the stoic, strong male persona he's been trying to build, but it's also making him feel all soft and gushy

suddenly he cares about looking nice

(much to Vil's approval)

and now he wants to do nice things for you?

he's gonna bite you

how dare you make him think about kissing and holding hands!

don't you know he's supposed to be above all this romantic stuff? what is he, Rook?!

then, after his initial temper tantrum, he starts coping. hard.

he might be able to stomach the idea of being an item if he gets to wear the pants in the relationship

...yeah, right? right.

if you let him be the man, if you let him protect you...

he might be okay with it!

obviously he starts trying to show off his manly strength (seriously) every time he sees you

starts making comments about how tough practice was on him

will literally never let anyone else carry anything for you ever again

he even provides for you (in payments of apple juice)

obviously this backfires 'cause the second you do something that gives him butterflies he's back to giggling

(you'll have to ease him into the idea of being soft and romantic together, but he'll get there)

but, to his credit, he'd be the first out of all the above to confess

super suddenly and out of nowhere (and he ends up shouting it cause he didn't want to sound chicken) but it's sweet in its own way