#it’s been years and im still kind of rooting for him to be the first Major idol to be openly gay

[seilon]

im Really hoping taemin’s partly doing this to maybe gain more freedom in his concepts and such and what he’s Allowed to show or write or sing in his mvs and albums and all that. but i dont know enough about the new agency he’s bouncing to to say if they’re better or worse on that front

[pinkaditty]

Pervert (Obey Me! Shall we Date)

summary: You are suspecting that someone is stealing your underwear. It will go missing and randomly reappear like it was never gone. You pretend not to notice, but set a little trap for the culprit… And catch them red-handed.

content warning: fem!mc (listed undergarments are stolen, but Mc could be a crossdresser idk) and nsfw is all i think but please lmk if there's anything else here that i forgot to warn abt!

a/n: this is my first everrrr OM! blurb so idk i hope it does well! silent readers won't be blocked but psa that i do appreciate likes and comments <3 however ageless/minor blogs will be blocked thx!

psst! read part 2 here!

MINORS DNI. IM SO SRS. i promise waiting a few years sounds worse than it actually is. please respect my boundary <3

You had suspected someone had been doing it for a while. Your favorite pairs of bras or panties or even your matching sets would randomly disappear from your dirty clothes hamper while waiting to be washed. When you noticed they were missing, you didn't know how to bring up the issue. It wouldn't make any sense if the laundry was switched. As it kept happening, and the clothes kept randomly reappearing and disappearing, you began to feel suspicious. Could it have been possible that someone was stealing them?

When you breached this thought, the prospect nervously excited you. There are only so many reasons for stealing someone's used undergarments, and you were certain you could narrow it down. You did admittedly find it somewhat disturbing, but at the same time, you couldn't help but laugh. Why couldn't they just come to you and ask? It's not like your suitors to be shy. 

Then again, maybe you were overthinking it. Perhaps it was simple curiosity? Maybe someone is fascinated by humans and the clothes they wear or the way they smell? You weren't one to judge, but still. It felt strange regardless of whether it was pure curiosity or unbridled pervertedness.

You continued to put up with it for a while until one fateful day, you caught them. You had purposely left your dirty clothes hamper unattended after dragging it to the laundry room, leaving to grab some scent beads to freshen the wash. As you'd been coming back, you heard someone rooting around in your hamper. You could hear clothes being pushed to the side and frustrated sighs as the hamper teetered back and forth with their frustrated movements. You bit your lip, heart pounding in your chest. You gently turned your head around the doorway arch to peer at the culprit. Steeling yourself, you turned away and straightened up before walking in with a feigned surprised gasp slipping from your lips. It was just in time to see the culprit pick up your favorite pairs of lacy underwear. The culprit, hearing your gasp, quickly turns, color draining from their face before it is quickly replaced by a crimson blush.

Whatever excuses they attempt to stammer out, you don't hear. You simply stare at them, mouth agape, before your feigned surprise melts into a twisted smile. You put your hand over your mouth to stifle a chuckle, and look at them, mirth in your eyes.

"You… You pervert!"

---------------------------------------------

Lucifer:

To say Lucifer is beyond embarrassed is quite the understatement. He's utterly and undeniably humiliated. His glasses are crooked, his face a blotchy red, and his nose slightly wet from having buried it in the spoils of his efforts; your panties. He clears his throat hurriedly and desperately scrambles for any kind of excuse, including straightening up and attempting to intimidate you. But how could you be intimidated by a man who you'd just seen bury his nose in your panties, drunken look all over his face? You simply laugh at him and hold out your hand, a smirk on your face as you motion for him to hand the panties over, one eyebrow raised. He turns away ashamedly and gently places them in your hand, his shoulders trembling just slightly out of embarrassment.

With his eyes screwed shut and his lips pursed, he stiffly strode towards the exit, as if he could simply leave after all that has transpired here. You reach behind you and grab his vest, tugging him back beside you. In no position to argue, he does not resist. Once he is beside you, you begin to trail your hands across his stomach before going in a straight line up his chest. "You know… " you start, stifling a smirk and biting your lip. You turn to him, but he remains frozen, staring at the exit, as though desperate to escape. You simply continue to trail your hand up his chest, unphased. "Next time, you can just come to me and ask." Your fingers reach his neck, and he flinches, but shows no other movement. You trail your fingers up to his chin before grabbing it and turning his head so his gaze was on you. "There is more where this came from." You hold up your panties, the ones he was just so brazenly burying himself in moments before.

His blush deepened across his face, and he pulled away from you, stiffly making his exit. You only laugh and wonder how long it will take for him to release his pride and ask you for a pair… or two. 

Mammon:

Immediately he is blabbering out a multitude of excuses, excuses, and more excuses. "It's not what ya think, MC! I was just- ah, just um- just checking for my socks!" and "I swear ya've got it all wrong!" and "I'm yer first demon anyway! I should be 'llowed to-" and "Listen, don't ya dare tell Lucifer or Levi or anyone else!!" and more and more excuses and empty threats spilled from his lips, until he finally sank to his knees and quieted, as though asking for forgiveness. All you had to do was silently stare at him, smirking, hand still covering your mouth as you watched him slowly melt and grovel. His face is a deep red and his eyes are watery, lips wet from pressing them against your essence in the panties. He still gripped them in his hands and his fingers trembled as he held them.

Smirking wider, you walk forward to him and bend your knees to face him. "Look at me." You didn't even need to command him. He looks up, eyes still watery and his lips red from him worrying them between his teeth. His face was still a deep shade of crimson, and his heavy breathing made it clear it was a struggle for him to keep eye contact. You smile and hold out your hand, motioning for him to hand over what was rightfully yours. Defeatedly, he hands it over, and clenches his fists in his lap, still trembling. You would have thought he'd have more to say, but perhaps being caught like this was simply too humiliating.

"The Great Mammon is too embarrassed for words, huh? Poor thing." You tease him just a little bit, watching him continue to tremble. For a moment he opened his mouth to retort, but one look at you and he couldn't do it. His mouth closed and he looked down ashamedly.

You laugh at his demeanor, and reach out to gently take his chin in your hand and raise it so he could face you. "Awww, don't be shy. I understand, your first human is truly irresistible." You give him a challenging look, and he gulps nervously. "However, next time, Mammon… All you have to do is ask. I'd be happy to satisfy all your burning curiosities. Besides, there's plenty more of these in that hamper." You lift up your panties with one finger, dangling it in front of his eyes. He bites his lips and his eyes widen at your gesture. He begins to lean towards them, as though attempting to get another whiff. You smile and pull them away from him, laughing at his dejected expression.

"Come on, I have to wash these for now. How about you be good and go wait in your room? Perhaps I'll bring you the ones I'm wearing now." Your enticing offer immediately stifles whatever excuse he was about to shout about the unfairness of it all. He simply nods and scurries away, eager to receive a prize for being obedient. 

Levi:

Levi shrieks like a little girl, fumbling his grip on your panties and dropping them in the heap of other discarded clothes from his prior ransacking. "I… I-I-I… U-Um… I!!!" He stammers, desperately scrambling for an excuse, a way to escape from this embarrassing predicament. He lifts his arms in front of his eyes, shielding himself from your gaze. "I-I DIDN'T MEAN TO!!" He shouts, probably alerting the entire House of Lamentation. He slowly sinks into the corner of the room, curling into a ball as though you were hovering over him. His mumbled "I'm sorry"s and "I'm just a dirty otaku pervert"s are eventually lost to his hiccups and tearless sobs. Gosh, he's so dramatic. 

You just stand there, chuckling to yourself for a moment, before drawing closer, slowly taking short steps towards him. With every click of your shoes on the floor, the more he seemed to cave in on himself, even revealing his tail to curl it around him. His sobs were no longer audible, but he was still shaking, and muttering to himself about how he couldn't believe he'd let himself do that. You sank down to your knees and patted him on the back, partially soothing him and partially asking for his attention. After a few pats he looks up, the most comically distressed look on his face, and immediately hides behind his arms again to protect himself. Before you can say anything, genuine apologies spill from his lips, broken by extreme stammers. "I-I am SO sorry MC, I sh-should never have d-done that, I'll n-never look at you again-" and so on, so forth, each stammered promise more extreme than the last. 

You can only roll your eyes affectionately at his actions. You shake your head and gently tug on his arm, forcing him to peer over it at you. "Well, it's not exactly okay, but next time, please ask me." A mischievous grin spreads across your face as you say this, eager to gauge his reaction.

He blinks at you confusedly, before realization flickers across his face and a crimson blush spreads all over his features. "WH-WHA?!" He exclaims in surprise, jumping as soon as it hit him.

You simply smile and back away, picking up your discarded underwear that he held only moments ago. "Just ask. If you want some." You smirk at him, standing upright and gathering your clothes together to put them all back in the hamper. You glance back at him. "I don't have any except the ones I'm wearing now, so you'll have to wait." You smirk at him and turn away, focusing on the laundry before hearing him slither out of the room, his heavy breathing muffled. 

Satan:

Of all the brothers, to be honest, you least expected him. Even Lucifer wouldn't be much of a surprise, considering how he has no such outlet for being pent up. But Satan had books. And yet, despite all those books, some erotica and some educational, here he was, unsatisfied, seeking the real thing through going through your laundry. On second thought, maybe that was believable. 

He immediately froze, whipping himself around to face you and promptly dropping the panties on the pile of clothes in shock. He stared at you wide-eyed for a moment, before realizing he’d dropped his long-awaited bounty. He ripped his eyes away from you and set them on the panties instead, reaching down to pick them up again, and turning his face away, holding them out to you. He was flushed red, from the height of his cheekbones to the base of his neck. He probably knew that you never would have expected him, which was why being caught was so humiliating to him. You snicker into your hand, and he trembles in embarrassment at your laughter, still holding out the panties. You graciously reach forward and accept them, plucking them from the tips of his fingers. He quickly retracted his hand, still trembling and refusing to look at you.

You would have expected him to be shouting all sorts of profanities and curses alike, anything to deflect and avoid the situation at hand, because he is simply full of wrath. But he simply stood, trembling, and turned away, his eyebrows creased downwards in an unsurprisingly angered expression. Perhaps he was more angry at himself than the situation and that was why he was turned away? Regardless, you placed the underwear back in your hamper and moved to collect the rest of the clothes, and Satan wordlessly helped you, still blushing furiously and refusing to look at you. 

When the task was done and the hamper was full, he made to leave, but you commanded him to stay. Rooted to the spot and unable to move due to your pact, he stayed, but refused to turn to you. His neck was still very red. You approached him from behind and placed a hand on his back, making him jump. You simply chuckled in response and said “Please Satan, the next time those erotica books aren’t doing it for you, you just have to ask.” 

His breathing picked up and his flush grew redder and deeper. You could hear the slight wet sounds of his mouth opening and closing, as though he had something to say. You waited patiently for him to speak, but he eventually growled and stalked off, posture tight as a stitch. You knew he’d cave eventually.

Asmodeus:

Well, this guy’s shameless. The color did indeed drain from his face at first, but it was quickly replaced with a humble blush and a knowing smirk. He was still holding the panties rather close to his face. “Sorry, doll…” He drawls, gazing at you with lidded, suggestive eyes. “Couldn’t help myself.” He giggles after saying that, whisking the panties away from his face and hiding his hand behind his back. He leaned forward and put a finger to his lips, smiling devilishly. “You can keep a secret, right sweetheart? I don’t want my brothers to know about this…” He mock pouts, and you roll your eyes. You’d figured it was him because most of the ones that went missing were pink, and we all know who adores that color. 

You could also tell he knew you weren’t exactly uncomfortable with this, him stealing your intimates for his own personal desires. Of course you weren’t, he was your suitor. You sigh and shake your head. “Sure, Asmo. But, let’s be more polite and ask me next time, okay?”

He throws his head back and laughs, as though genuinely amused at your words. When he finishes laughing, he wipes a tear from his eyes and mutters “Politeness from a demon… Really…” He flips his hair over his shoulder and smiles at you. “If it is what you wish. However…” His voice turned sly and low, as he revealed his hand once again and dangled your panties from his hand. “I’ll be taking these for now, dear.”

You laugh at him, and he simply smiles wider in response. “Well, sure, but… wouldn’t you like a fresher pair?”

The words stop him in his tracks. His eyes widen and his mouth drops open as he realizes your offer. However, he is only shocked for mere moments before smirking again, another blush dusting his cheeks, a drunken look on his face. “Oh, dear!” He squeals, walking over to you and holding your face between his hands, bringing himself very close to you. “I would very much like a fresher pair~. You come to my room later, okay? I’ll be waiting~.” He taps your nose and begins moving away, blowing a kiss your way and winking as he drops the panties into your open palms. 

You wondered what the rest of the day would be like.

Beelzebub:

Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was doing this simply out of curiosity. You'd be willing to excuse it. Poor guy, didn't know how to approach you so instead resolved to innocently nick away your clothing for innocent, curious inspections. You were prepared to forgive him after giving him a slap on the wrist. 

You are surprised, however, when he starts profusely apologizing, clutching the panties in his hand, muttering about how he just couldn’t satiate his hunger. 

His face is red and his head is bowed forward, not making eye contact with you. Suffice to say this is not what you expected. You cock your head to the side, looking at him curiously. "Beel…" And he immediately looks up obediently. You don't even have to ask. "...What kind of hunger?"

You figured you knew what he meant, but couldn't resist a little teasing. He squirms under your gaze, bowing his head down again and clenching and unclenching his hands, panties still gripped in both. He purses his lips before explaining, "I'm not sure how to explain it, MC, but when I smell you, I get hungry." He is still avoiding your gaze, but you can tell he's being sincere. "And it's not hungry for food, it's more like… a strong, lustful hunger… And I've never felt that before, so I was curious." His head is still bowed shyly, and he's raised his hand to hold out the panties. "I'm sorry, MC. I won't do it again."

You smiled genuinely at his sincerity and apology, your heart swelling just slightly. "No worries, Beel." You take the panties from him and pile them into the hamper. "Will you help me put the clothes back?"

He nods and helps you pile your clothes back into the hamper, a light blush still on his cheeks. Once you're done, you turn to him, smiling mischievously. "Beel. The next time you want a pair, please don't be afraid to ask me, okay? I'll be happy to help you."

Beel bursts into a blush wordlessly, his eyes widening at your offer. Hesitantly, he nods, clenching his eyes shut before turning on his heel and walking away, probably off to the kitchen. He's a glutton, right? He'd be back. 

Belphegor:

Of all demons, the Avatar of Sloth is tirelessly rummaging around in your laundry? Of all types? He looks at you, color still drained from his face, before tiredly huffing and looking down at the spoils of his efforts, probably contemplating if it was all worth it. He sighs and looks up at you again, too tired to be embarrassed, and hands you the panties before collapsing into the pile of your clothes he'd created from his rummaging. He turns over like he's getting ready to sleep, and mutters a quick "Sorry. G'night."

You're tempted to laugh at his actions, and you almost do, but you decide to poke him back awake. He protests a little bit, rolling over back and forth and wiggling out of your reach, before huffing and whining. "Comfy. Smells like you. Tired. G'night." You roll your eyes and decide to use your pact to your advantage.

"Belphegor. Get up."

Suddenly overcome by the power of the pact, he finds it fit to rise off of the pile, taking his sweet time. He stretches, curving his back and whipping his tail around in annoyance. "What? What now?"

"I need to wash these, Belphie. I can't stuff you into the washing machine." You chuckle lightly, moving to gather the pile and place it in the wash.

Belphegor whines in protest. "What about me? Your smell helps me sleep…" He looks away, a light blush on his cheeks.

Your eyebrows rise in surprise. "And this is why you've been stealing my intimates?" He rolls his eyes and quietly mutters something about getting off but waves away his comment before you can respond.

"Doesn't matter." He quiets down and leans against the wall, waiting for you to finish. When you turn to him questioningly, he simply raises an eyebrow. "What? I fully intend to drag you to my room to sleep with me. If I can't have your panties then I'll just have you." He turns away and blushes furiously despite his words being quite direct. You simply laugh.

"Don't worry. I'll be done soon."

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a/n: waaaaaaaaah i hope u all enjoyed! it's a little cringe yea and i apologize if anyone was slightly ooc i did my best!! i don't have a masterlist or anything yet but if u liked this please lmk! i plan on writing one for the other dateables soon!

[artificial-transmutations]

Your stories and images are beyond incredible. My favorite blog on tumblr BY FAR. Truly incredible work. I guess it’s kind of selfish, so absolutely so absolutely no worries, at the very least I got to tell you how much I appreciate and love your content. But I’m a short, nerdy, thin, art student in college right now. I’m tired of being in the closet, I’m tired of being a push over, Im tired of being weak and submissive, I’m tired of being a virgin, and I wanna change. Maybe you could help with a story by turning me into one of those jaw dropping beautiful confident men that you make the pictures of, I would very much appreciate it. But no worries if you can’t, I just love your content!

Confidence

Nathaniel sighed quietly, as he came over his hairless stomach. Of course, he had to be quiet! The dorm walls were paper-thin, and he certainly didn't want the guys from the neighboring dorm rooms to hear him. He looked at the website once more, with the story and the hot buff men before he closed the incognito browser tab and proceeded to clean himself up.

When he looked into the bathroom mirror, he sighed again, but this time, it was a sigh of sadness. There really wasn't anything remotely impressive about him. He was thin and weak, and pathetic really. If it wasn't for his lack of boobs and his sorry excuse for a dick, he could very well pass as a woman. In fact, he had been mistakenly called "Madame" more than once, and one time, he had even been asked "how his transition was going".

No, Nathan was a cis man, just not a very impressive one. He was gay, of course, and loved to look at 'real' men while jerking his small cock. Most of the time, he fantasized about some hairy brute rough-handling him, pushing his face against the bed and fucking his tiny ass into submission. However, even though the thought was exciting to Nathan, he even more wished to *be* such a man. The rational part of Nathan knew that both fantasies would not happen anytime, though. It was physically impossible to just *become* a 'real man', and it was impossible for Nathan to even admit to anyone that he was gay. So, he would probably just stay a closeted virgin forever - doomed to masturbate to some kinky stories he was so embarrassed about that he only dared to look at them from an incognito browser tab.

He sighed a third time when he crawled into bed. Perhaps someday he would accept his fate.

Nathan was already almost asleep when he heard the firework starting outside. Right. It was New Year’s Eve. What a way to start the new year.

The next morning, Nathan was feeling a bit better. Of course, his deep-rooted unhappiness still lingered within him, but Nathan decided to try and enjoy the day. He liked new year’s days. Everyone usually was at home after having celebrated the whole night which meant that the world outside was very quiet. Not much happened on New Year’s Day.

Nathan decided to go to a nearby cafe. There, with a steaming mug of hot chocolate next to him, he got out his drawing utensils and looked around the place. There weren't too many people. An older couple sat together, the man reading a book, and the woman reading a magazine, while an elderly lady sat at the counter. She was probably the owner. However, there was one more guy, a young adult like Nathan, who sat on a nearby table all by himself and was playing on his phone. He had his chair tilted back a bit, stabilizing himself against the wall and rocking a bit. He had earphones in his ear, so he was probably listening to music while doing so.

Nathan's first instinct was to draw the old couple, but then he looked at the other young man again. He looked a bit like one of those men from the internet, the kind that Nathan would fantasize about. Just a bit. The other man wasn't burly and muscular and assertive, but instead he had a lean, fit build. Nathan was a bad judge of character, especially without having spoken to the person in question, but the young man didn't look particularly assertive or dominant either. So, all in all, not too much like the men Nathan longed for on the internet. But still, he had a certain charm to him. Nathan liked the fit, lean body and the aura of positivity the man seemed to exude and wanted to capture that on paper.

Nathan began sketching the man, while occasionally looking up, making sure the man wouldn't notice. However, it was hard to keep his eyes off the guy. Every now and then, he would laugh a bit or make a funny face when watching something on his phone, which Nathan couldn't help but find very attractive.

He was just working on drawing the man's hands, when Nathan suddenly heard someone address him.

"Hey, what are you drawing?" The voice didn't sound rude or unfriendly, but plainly interested. Still, Nathan flinched visibly. The attractive man on the other table had removed one earplug and turned towards Nathan.

"Uh, sorry?" stuttered Nathan, not quite sure how to react. The guy pointed at Nathan's drawing pad and smiled: "You're an artist?"

Nathan could feel the blood rushing to his face. The drawing pad was tilted towards Nathan, so his unvoluntary model could not have seen what exactly Nathan was drawing. He could - no, he should - just lie and tell him he was sketching something in the room. But he just couldn't think of anything and the time for a good answer was running out. Almost involuntarily, Nathan stuttered, with his head red like a tomato: "Uhm, yeah, kind of. I was sketching you, actually."

The guy laughed a short and friendly laugh: "Really? Cool! Can I see it?"

Nathan could feel his heartbeat quicken, and his face got even redder. This was so embarrassing! But he couldn't very well refuse now, could he? So, he placed the pad flat on the table, just as the guy came over and sat himself down on Nathan's table.

"Oh wow!", he sounded impressed. "You're really talented! It's like looking into a mirror."

"Thanks" - Nathan hated getting compliments. Not only didn't he know how to react to them, but he also found them mostly fake. He was an art student, but he wasn't that good really, at least in his own opinion. In the dictionary, there was probably a picture of Nathan right next to the entry for "Imposter Syndrome".

"But why are you drawing me?" Although Nathan had feared that this question might come up, he didn't have a good lie to answer it. It was almost as if his mouth was acting on its own, when Nathan heard himself stammer: "Uh, eh, it's because I... I find you quite handsome actually. Good-looking I mean."

Nathan wished for nothing more than to be swallowed by the earth here and now. But to his big surprise, the guy just laughed again and said: "You think so? Thanks! The name's Oliver by the way." Oliver had, apparently, much less of a problem taking a compliment.

"Nathan." said Nathan and started to relax a tiny bit. However, the situation suddenly got even worse, when Oliver continued, in the same light-hearted voice. "Nice to meet you, Nathan! Are you into guys?"

Nathan froze solid. He hadn't expected that. And even worse, the answer was, of course, yes. But there was no way he could say that, was there? So, instead, he just stared at Oliver with his eyes wide open and a deer-in-headlights look.

"I mean, I'm gay - are you as well?" Oliver explained. "With the whole drawing dudes and all."

Nathan's brain had stopped working properly, so he couldn't help but nod and mumble a faint "yes".

Oliver's smile broadened and he said: "Really? Cool!"

Nathan's mind was racing. He had just admitted his homosexuality. To a complete stranger. Out of the blue. He didn't plan to come out that way, it just... happened.

A moment of awkward silence radiated from Nathan, but, thankfully, Oliver salvaged the situation pretty elegantly.

"Listen Nathan, I'll have to run now. But are you free tomorrow around 2? We could grab a coffee and you could show me some of your drawings if you like."

A spark of bravery, completely foreign to him, awakened in Nathan and he answered: "Y-yes. I think I would like that."

Oliver smiled another of his broad smiles. "Awesome! Let's meet here then tomorrow!"

With that, Oliver nodded at Nathan and left the cafe, putting in his headphone again while humming happily.

Did that really just happen? Nathan looked from the unfinished drawing towards the cafe door. Did he really just... got invited to a date? With a handsome guy named Oliver? Nathan wasn't sure whether to be happy or not. On the one hand, it was a miracle, a once in a lifetime opportunity. A cute and hot guy was actually interested in him! But on the other hand, there was no way he could make a good impression. How desperate had that Oliver guy to be to actually ask *him* out?

A small voice in his head insisted that he could just not show up tomorrow and avoid the whole disappointment. But the spark of bravery was still there, and Nathan fought down the feeling. No, he was going to show. If it turned out to be a disaster, he could still flee the scene - it wasn't like Oliver knew literally anything about him.

Nathan quickly packed his things and returned to his dorm room. Once he arrived, he noticed that he was completely covered in sweat of fear. His shirt showed wet spots under his arms and felt cold to the touch. Disgusted, Nathan immediately went for a shower. Only there, standing under the hot steamy water, Nathan could appreciate what happened. He got *asked out*. On a *date*. With a *guy*. Yesterday he had been certain he would die alone and lonely but then, today, he got *asked out*. Was this really a thing? Did it really happen?

He wasn't sure. He had a hard time believing it. Perhaps the whole thing was just a weird dream? A figment of his imagination. But no. The half-finished drawing was proof enough that Oliver really existed.

When Nathan exited the shower cabin, the whole bathroom was covered in steam, blinding the mirrors. Perhaps this - or the spinning of his thoughts - was the reason that he didn't notice that his hair had changed. Instead of his usual medium length brown-ish hair, he now sported a much shorter hairstyle - in a much darker color, almost black. Be it as it may - Nathan had other things on mind than checking his hair. He spent the whole afternoon and even the evening researching on how to make a good impression on a first date.

The next morning, Nathan slept in, which was pretty unusual for him. His whole frame felt weird, when he crawled out of bed. It wasn't too late, either - he had a comfortable 3 hours until the date. When he passed the bathroom mirror on his morning routine, however, he stopped for a moment. Something was... off about his face. His hair. It looked kind of... different?

Nathan stared at his reflection for a few seconds, straining his mind. Somehow, the shape of his jawbone seemed unfamiliar. And was his hair always that dark, almost black?

Finally, he shook his head. No, he was just seeing things. Of course, that was as it always had been. After having finished his bathroom business, Nathan went for a shower and prepared himself.

An hour later, he stood in front of the mirror, trying out a bunch of outfits and felt slight panic rising inside of him. None of his clothes fit very well, it was like he was cursed! It wasn't that his shirts and pants were much too big or much too small, but for some reason none of his clothes really felt comfortable. Both his favorite shirt and his usual jeans felt somewhat constricting today. Finally, Nathan just put on an outfit, and left his room.

When he entered the cafe, Oliver was already sitting there, two coffee mugs in front of him. He smiled, waved and gestured for Nathan to join him.

"Hello, Nathan!"

"H-hi." said Nathan, his nervousness returning.

"Here, I bought you a coffee!" Oliver pushed one of the mugs over the table.

"Thanks." Nathan was somewhat distracted by the ill-fitting clothes, and he could pretty much feel the nervous sweat practically pouring out of his pores.

"No problem!", said Oliver. "I was early, anyway. How are you doing today?"

"Fine." said Nathan and took a sip of his coffee, trying to hide his nervousness. He vividly remembered all the good advice he had read yesterday, but all that felt just impossible to him.

"So, you're an artist? What do you do?" Oliver asked with genuine interest.

"Well, I study art, I guess. I want to be a concept artist, you know, for games or movies or so. But, eh, right now, I'm just a student, and I'm not really that good."

"That's not how I remember it!" smiled Oliver. "Can you show me more of your work?"

Nathan nodded as he got out his sketchbook. Talking about his art was something he was comfortable with and allowed him to warm up somewhat over the course of the conversation. Oliver appeared to be quite a nice guy and had a lot of questions about drawing, so, Nathan, in turn, started to relax and talk more freely. He found out that Oliver was a veterinary technician and had a part time job at a dog shelter. That, combined with the fact that he was, in general, a really nice and positive guy, made him incredibly appealing to Nathan.

After the two had talked for a while, Oliver suddenly remarked: "You know, I really like your stubble! It really suits you!"

Stubble? What was he talking about? Nathan rarely needed to shave, but he had done so this morning, so, it was absolutely impossible that he should have visible facial hair. And yet, as he felt his chin, his fingers met with bristly short hair, so dense and long that there was no way he could have missed it this morning. Nathan found it strange, to say the least, but didn't want to make a scene in this situation. His spark of courage was a small candle flame now, as he just smiled while he felt his chin and said "Thank you!"

The two continued to chat a bit. While doing so, Nathan tried not to think too much about the fact that his clothes were, somehow, tighter than before.

Finally, Oliver's phone buzzed, and he looked at the screen.

"Damn, it's that late already?"

"What is it?", asked Nathan.

"Oh, the dog shelter. I have a shift soon, I need to go!"

Nathan sighed inwardly. He was really enjoying the date and didn't want it to end. He was pulled out of his thoughts by the feeling of Olivers hand on his. It felt... good. Good and strange, like the texture of his own hand was somewhat wrong, somewhat rougher than before. When he looked up into Oliver's eyes, he found the other man smiling.

"I really enjoyed this. You are a wonderful person, Nathan. We should do this again."

Nathan nodded. He didn't trust his voice right now.

"How about... tomorrow?", Oliver continued. "There's an art exhibition in town, perhaps you would like to go there with me?"

Nathan's heart jumped a beat. He didn't have time or courage yet to go to the exhibition and the prospect of seeing Oliver again so soon was wonderful.

"I would very much like that", Nathan replied and smiled.

"Great! Let's meet there, say at 5?"

"Sure!"

Oliver smiled his beautiful, broad smile, and stood up, leaving some money for the coffees on the table. Nathan too got up, but before he could leave, Oliver stopped him with a warm expression in his eyes. "You know, I really think I like you a lot." He said, and his hand touched Nathan's somewhat bristly cheek. Almost automatically, both of their faces drew closer to each other, until their lips met with the slightest touch. It was a chaste, short kiss, but Nathan could feel Oliver's lips smile when they broke apart.

"See you tomorrow!", said Oliver and left the cafe.

Nathan's knees felt weak, and his heart was beating rapidly. There were a thousand feeling, all happening inside him at once and Nathan needed a moment to sort through them before he was able to move again. There was a part of him that couldn't quite believe what just happened, but the biggest part was just euphoric. He basically jogged back to his home, full of a never experienced energy.

When he arrived in his room, his body was feeling even weirder than before. All of his clothes were way too tight. It was not just that he felt constricted, no, the clothes actually were much too small. He quickly got rid of them, noticing that, again, he had sweated like a pig. As Nathan glanced down on himself, he could almost see that his body was somehow different. Fitter, healthier. It was probably just his imagination, though, caused by his ecstatic mood. He briefly considered taking another shower but postponed it to tomorrow. There would be plenty of time and Nathan felt really glad and tired for today.

Nathan woke up from two different feelings the next morning. First, he felt itchy and sweaty all over his body and was subconsciously scratching himself in his sleep. Second, and perhaps even more importantly, Nathan was experiencing a severe case of morning wood. His manhood was rigid and pulsating under his sheets and was begging for attention. Nathan had a hard time remembering when he last experienced such an urgent urge to jerk off. He wasn't sure, but the memories of their kissing yesterday came to his mind as soon as he woke up, so, he couldn't resist closing his hand around his hard cock and started pumping. His hand felt rough and big, and Nathan couldn't be sure, but both length and girth of his tool seemed increased, too. However, Nathan could hardly concentrate on that due to the waves of pleasure washing over him.

It didn't take very long for Nathan to shoot a big load onto his stomach, with a moan. It was a big and sticky load, too, mixing with the little dark hairs on his stomach and chest. Nathan blinked in post-nut clarity. Hairs? He didn't have body hair.

Nathan got up quickly and went to the bathroom. Something about his perspective was off, too. It was like the ceiling was closer than it was supposed to be, and the ground further away. Once Nathan had used some toilet paper to wipe away most of the cum, he took a look at himself in the mirror. There was no denying that he looked different. He was definitely somewhat taller and broader than before. He didn't have a scale, but he was sure that he had gained quite some weight as well - not only due to the increased height and broader shoulders but also because his previous stickman-like appearance had been altered quite somewhat. All over his frame, a lean definition was visible, hinting at muscles even. His chin was covered in visible stubble and there was a bit of body hair visible, mainly on his chest and stomach as well as peeking out under his armpit.

Speaking of which, as Nathan raised his arm to look at his pits, a certain smell reached his nose. A musky, manly, slightly sweaty odor that wasn't quite unpleasant but was certainly unfamiliar.

Nathan had a hard time wrapping his mind around what he was seeing. There was no denying he looked *good*. He just didn't look exactly like *himself*. And for some reason, this didn't bother Nathan quite as much as it probably should. He should be panicking or calling a doctor. People didn't just grow taller overnight or put on definition without working out. And yet, Nathan only felt a slight bit of curiosity and a weak impulse that he probably *should* work out then.

Nathan shook his head and went back to his bedroom. He didn't bother putting on clothing and tried to pass the time until afternoon. The only thing that he *really* regretted about his sudden changes was that his favorite shirt and jeans would definitely not fit anymore.

He ended up watching a bit of TV and browsing the internet, before he decided it was time to prepare himself. Finding clothes that would fit now proved to be quite a challenge, but in the end, he settled on a plain t-shirt and some cargo pants. He had bought both of them a number too big by mistake, which came in quite handy now.

Walking through the city was a strange experience. He felt good about himself and held his head high. Combined with the fact that Nathan's head was, indeed, higher than before, it was like seeing the city in a whole new perspective. Less looking at the ground and more looking straight ahead.

His new posture seemed to have another effect, too. Where before he had to avoid people, trying not to get in their way, now they seemed to be stepping aside for him, which was a foreign but not unpleasant experience.

Finally, he arrived at the exhibition and found Oliver already waiting for him. They greeted with a hug and a short kiss, both fully reciprocated by Nathan, and went inside. Although Oliver seemed to notice something was off about Nathan, he didn't mention it and apparently forgot about it quickly.

Today, Nathan found it much easier to talk to Oliver and brought up topics by himself.

The exhibition however was kind of a let-down for Nathan. Although he could judge on a rational level that the art presented here was really well-done and interesting, on a purely emotional level, Nathan found it mind-numbingly boring. The conversation steered away from the art quickly, and more towards personal matters, which was a relief. So, even though they didn't care much about the paintings around them, the two of them ended up wandering around the exhibition for hours, talking and having a good time.

During the date, however, Nathan was quickly experiencing an unfamiliar feeling. The company of Oliver was... exciting. Exciting on a sexual, primal level. Nathan's larger manhood grew semi-hard in his underwear quickly, so Nathan had to readjust himself more than once. At first, he was very self-conscious about it and tried to be as subtle as possible. However, with every push his cock needed in order not to be too obvious, Nathan actually cared less about who saw him readjust himself. He was a guy after all, and all big-dicked men had that particular problem from time to time.

Besides forming a bulge in his groin, however, his constantly semi-hard cock did one more thing: Nathan was leaking precum in his underwear. First, it was just a drop or two on an involuntary throb, but it quickly became more. His underwear was feeling damp before long, and a faint note of sexuality mixed into his still present smell.

After a while, Oliver even commented on it, in his usual upbeat way: "Hey, Nathan, I have to say, you smell pretty good. Are you using cologne?"

Nathan hadn't noticed his own smell too much. His first impulse was to apologize, but the burning campfire of courage inside of him quickly told him otherwise. Oliver didn't complain. In fact, he liked it.

So, Nathan answered with a grin: "Nope. That's just how I smell."

Oliver took another whiff of the mixture of sweat, dried cum and precum and smiled. "Well, I like it!"

Nathan wasn't quite sure how to react, and just said: "Thanks!"

The exhibition was closing down soon, and Nathan offered Oliver to accompany him to the train station, which he gladly accepted. When they parted, they kissed again. This time, it wasn't a small, timid kiss like before, but a long, sexual one that made Nathan's dick twitch like mad in the confines of his pants. Since their bodies were pressed closely together, Nathan could be sure that Oliver felt the movement against his own groin.

Only after they broke the kiss, Nathan noticed that he was now looking down on Oliver slightly. He could have sworn that Oliver had been slightly taller than him yesterday.

There was no telling on how the evening would have continued hadn't it been for Oliver's train to arrive just then. Before Oliver could board the train, however, Nathan grinned at him and said: "Dinner tomorrow? The Italian place downtown, at 6?"

"I would love that!"

They kissed again and Nathan watched as the train pulled out. Then, he went back to his dorm, whistling a happy tune. It didn't even occur to him that he had taken the initiative in asking Oliver out for a third date. The fire of confidence was burning bright inside of him.

When he came home, Nathan immediately stripped out of his clothes. Even the larger shirt had become somewhat tight. He took a short look at it. There was a wet patch under both arms from his constant sweating, and the t-shirt had adapted his smell. There was something else in the smell, though. At the chest region, there was a medium sized stain, machine oil from the smell of it. Nathan wondered briefly how he could have missed it this morning but then diverted his attention to more pressing matters. His cock was fully hard and was poking out from the waistband of his briefs. Nathan hadn't had an erection like that since puberty and, if he was honest with himself, the feeling was rather nice. Without hesitation, he closed his hand around his hard meat and gave it a few experimental pumps. A low growl escaped his mouth, and a shiver went through his body. He didn't want to go slow, he wanted to fuck. His mind was focused on the task at hand. He didn't even bother to close his curtains, as he went for it. Nathan was jacking himself off, fast and hard, growling and groaning, until he finally exploded all over his chest and face, shooting multiple loads of thick white cum everywhere.

As Nathan was catching his breath, the smell of cum was heavy in the room. God, he needed that. Ever since he met Oliver today. He wiped his face and chest with his discarded t-shirt and briefly considered if he wanted to take a shower. The smell emanating from him was rather strong now, but still, he didn't want to. Oliver seemed to like his body odor, and, if Nathan was being honest, he did so himself, too.

Nathan was woken by his alarm the next morning. As his mind came to focus, his hand reached for the smartphone automatically and dismissed the alarm. He yawned and stretched. He was really looking forward to today. Given, it was the last day before classes started again, but he was going to a third date with Oliver this evening!

When Nathan crawled out of bed and went for his bathroom, however, his body felt weird again. The muscles had become more defined over the course of the last two days and now, the whole body structure felt *strong*. The few hairs from before had become a small forest of body hair and the stubble had grown thicker. He still didn't feel the need for a shave, though.

Nathan wasn't quite sure about the whole situation. Of course, he was enjoying the change. On the other hand, ... No, fuck the other hand. This was great, plain and simple. He finished his morning business standing up while peeing, which he usually never did. But right now, it just felt *right*.

After that, he inspected his wardrobe. He had half-feared that he would need to go and buy new clothes, but apparently, overnight his wardrobe had changed as well. It was filled with sturdy cargos or work pants as well as simple shirts and the occasional overall. Good!

His underwear choice had also changed. Instead of briefs or boxers, the drawer was now filled with jockstraps. That made sense, of course - only a jockstrap would set his large dick in the right scene.

None of the clothes qualified as "clean". Sure, they had been washed before they went into the wardrobe, but permanent grease or oil stains had permeated the fabric just as Nathan's manly stink - both marks no washing machine could ever erase entirely.

Nathan grabbed one of the pants and smelled it. He couldn't help but smile. This was his smell. This was *his* smell. His manly, sweaty, dirty, horny smell. He even felt his ever-present dick twitch a bit at the smell. Nathan wasn't sure if he would ever get used to this new reality. Or if this even was the final reality.

The hours passed quickly. Nathan was keeping himself busy, playing games or listened to music. Not once did it occur to him to draw something or even look at his art. This new him wasn't particularly creative, it seemed.

Nathan's mind wandered back to the date this evening. He couldn't wait to see Oliver again. In fact, he couldn't wait for more than that. It was a third date and Nathan wanted to go all the way with Oliver. He wanted to take his ass and fuck it into oblivion.

At around 5 pm, Nathan stood in front of the Italian place, waiting for Oliver. When Oliver finally arrived, the two men greeted each other with a passionate kiss. Nathan could tell that the kiss was having an effect on Oliver, as his breathing was quicker than usual.

They went inside and sat down on a table. Almost automatically, Nathan's legs spread wide, taking up space, establishing presence and, most importantly, giving his equipment the necessary space. The *old* Nathan would have sat with his legs closed or even crossed, in order to not draw any attention to himself. However, the new Nathan didn't want to draw *less* attention.

The two chatted a bit, with the main topic of the conversation being the menu, before ordering. When he spoke, Nathan noted that his voice had dropped an octave, making his voice gravely and his laugh a low rumble. When Oliver had chosen, Nathan summoned the waiter and ordered for the both of them, his lower voice full of confidence. For Nathan, it was a large meat pizza and a beer.

"You know, I have never seen you drink before", remarked Oliver.

"I don't usually", replied Nathan. "But I thought I'd have a beer today."

"You're not driving, are you?"

"Na, I'm here on foot."

Oliver smiled his usual smile. "I'm here by car, so if you like, I can give you a ride home afterwards."

There seemed to be some subtext to this offer, but it went over Nathan's head. Not that it was necessary, because he had the exact same plans, anyway.

"Sounds great!"

A couple of minutes later, their pizzas arrived, and the two dug in.

"I really like your style, Nathan." said Oliver after a while.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know, the way you dress. The way you talk. The way you act."

"Oh. Thanks."

Nathan thought for a moment before he added: "You know, I go by Nate these days."

"Nate, eh?", smiled Oliver.

"Yeah. Fits better, you know."

"I guess so. I like it a lot!"

"I like your style, too."

"What do you mean by that?", Oliver laughed.

"Just, the way you talk, the way you walk. Everything. You're cute, you know."

"Why, thank you!"

The conversation was definitely a lot more flirtatious than yesterday. When they had finished their meals, they didn't linger much longer in the restaurant but got into Oliver's car.

Nate proceeded to give Oliver directions to his home. However, at a certain crossing, he had to stop and think for a moment. He knew for a fact that his dorm was to the left. But he also knew for a fact that his *home* was to the right. Nate decided not to overthink it and directed Oliver to the right with a firm voice.

They didn't get very far from that point, when suddenly, the car stopped with a jerk.

"Damn, sorry!" said Oliver. "The engine is acting up again. It's probably too cold or something like that. I'll just try to start it up again."

When after the third try, the engine didn't start again, Nate laid a hand on Oliver's. "Let me try." he said with a confident voice and left the car. When he opened the hood, the problem became clear to him right away.

"The carburetor is a bit clogged, I'll unclog it real quick and we're ready to go."

While Oliver was staring at Nate in surprise, as the latter quickly and with trained skill removed a few parts and then, with a flex of his mighty arms, applied percussive maintenance to the part in question. After Nate had reassembled the engine, he cleaned his hands on his pants and got into the car again, filling out the passenger seat with his presence.

"It should work again for now, but I'll have to clean it thoroughly tomorrow. The thing is just old and worn down, it needs replacing soon. Just try starting the engine."

Oliver was still staring at Nate with a disbelieving look on his face. Finally, however, he tried starting the engine again, and the car did indeed start running smoothly.

"Wow, Nate, that was amazing! Where did you learn that?"

"What do you mean", grinned Nate. "That's what I do!"

Oliver stared at him for a moment. "Wait, you're a mechanic?"

"Yeah, sure, didn't I tell you when we met?"

Oliver seemed to think about it but then slowly nodded: "Yes, I... think so. Weird. I could have sworn..."

Nate shrugged and pointed down the road: "Shall we go?"

They arrived at Nate's place shortly after. He had a cheap apartment directly over the car garage where he worked. Nate did try to clean up a bit the afternoon, but the place still screamed "Manly bachelor" all over the place with the occasional beer can or jockstrap scattered around.

Neither of them had time to care, though. As soon as the door closed, the two kissed. It wasn't just a chaste, romantic kiss. This was a heated, passionate kiss, full of desire and lust. Nate took Oliver's body and pushed him against the wall, grinding their bodies together. Both were hard and their breathing was rapid. Nate's hands wandered up and down Oliver's body, squeezing and grabbing his body. His fingers were strong and forceful, and he squeezed the smaller man's buttocks and his dick with the same intensity. Oliver responded by moaning and pushing his groin against Nate's, humping him.

Suddenly, Nate broke the kiss. "Oliver, I... I want you. I want to fuck you."

Oliver didn't answer, but kissed Nate again, harder this time. Nate's tongue invaded his mouth, and the bigger man's hands were ripping Oliver's shirt and pants off him. Once Oliver's dick was free, it was enveloped by Nate's big calloused hand, and Oliver's breath hitched in his throat.

"Oh god, Nate, yes!" he moaned.

Nate had enough of foreplay, and he wanted to fuck, now. Without wasting any time, he quickly pushed his pants down and pressed his dick against Oliver's. It was massive, even compared to Oliver's not insignificant size. While Nate's balls were big and heavy, his cock was thick, long, and veiny, with a fat mushroom head. It was also rock hard, and the head was already drooling precum.

With one hand, Nate stroked the two cocks together, rubbing them and smearing the precum all over his dick and Oliver's. With the other hand, he pulled Oliver close and kissed him again, a long, sensual, passionate kiss, which made Oliver moan into his mouth.

The two stood like that for a while, but finally, Nate's need to fuck was stronger than anything else.

"Bedroom. Now!" he growled and dragged the smaller man with him. Once there, Nate simply tossed him onto the bed and followed quickly, his cock pointing up. He positioned himself on top of the other man and kissed him again, their tongues dancing in their mouths.

When the kiss broke, Oliver was panting.

"You really are a big boy, huh?"

"Damn right I am."

"Oh god, I need your big dick inside of me!"

"Yeah? You want me to fuck you?"

"Please! I've wanted to feel your huge meat in me for days."

"Fuck yeah. You're gonna get it."

Nate reached under his bed and produced a bottle of lube, which he applied liberally to his dick.

"You're ready?"

"Do it, big guy."

Nate placed the head of his massive cock against the tight pucker and started to push. Slowly but steadily, his dick invaded Oliver's ass.

"Oooooooooh god, Nate, yesssssss!" moaned Oliver.

The pressure around Nate's dick was unbelievable. Oliver was clearly tight, and the way his asshole was massaging his dick felt heavenly.

Finally, Nate's dick was balls-deep inside Oliver. Both were breathing heavily, and Oliver was moaning incoherently. Nate gave him a moment to adjust and then started moving his hips, first slowly, but increasing his pace quickly. Soon, he was slamming into Oliver's ass as hard as he could, pulling almost completely out and then thrusting back inside the smaller man.

"Fuck yeah! You like that? You like my huge dick pounding your tight little ass?"

"God, yes, Nate, fuck me, fuck meeee!"

Nate was groaning and growling, a sound that came deep from his chest and made Oliver moan even louder.

"Oh shit, Nate, I'm so close! Don't stop, please don't stop, don't st- ooooooooh gooooooood!"

Nate felt Oliver's muscles clamp down on his dick, and that sent him over the edge. He buried his dick as deep as he could and shot a big load of cum deep into Oliver's guts.

The two of them collapsed on each other, spent but happy.

A lot had changed for Nathan in this new year. He had gotten a new body, a new job, a new identity even. But most importantly, he had found love. Nate the manly mechanic sighed. If he were to describe his feelings, looking into the future, there was only one fitting word: Confidence.

I actually generated a ton (okay, 50) of images for this story. If you want to check out the alternate versions of the different stages of Nathan/Nate, check out my tip jar, where I posted them!

[krisdreaming]

hello! this is fr my first time requesting for a oneshot. i have this scenario that i CANT get out of my head and i really love how you articulate things so 😁😁😁

basically it is volleyball national match between japan and argentina where reader is a huge oikawa fan but is engaged to osamu. they went to check on atsumu before the game and reader BEGS atsumu to get them a pic with oikawa in which atsumu replies with; " 'samu are you hearing this?!" and osamu goes "theyre my fiancee. believe me, im more pissed than you are." both of the twins are half-jokingly upset that reader is more happy to see oikawa but reader made it clear that they are rooting for japan!

reader ends up getting a pic with oikawa, osamu being the one taking the pic with a scowl on his face.

i just thought it would be funny hehe

Hihi anon, I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to get to this one ;-; If you're reading this, you should know that it's been in the back of my mind ever since you first sent it. I've always been intending to write it, and I was just waiting for the perfect inspiration. And it finally hit me! It's Olympics time baby.

Pairing: Miya Osamu x gn!reader (but... it's not really the main focus?)

WC: 1k

"What did ya just ask me?" Osamu runs his fingers through his still-wet hair. He just stepped out of the bathroom, and you dropped a bomb on him.

"I said, do you think Atsumu can get me in to meet Oikawa Tooru tomorrow?" You bounce eagerly on the hotel bed.

"Ya do know Oikawa is on the opposite team, right?" Osamu asks slowly, and you flop back onto the bed with a groan.

"Of course, I'm not an idiot! It's just - you know I went to Aoba Johsai. I was a first year when Oikawa was a third year, so obviously I never actually met him, but my friends and I were kind of obsessed with him," You actually giggle. "Just imagine the looks on their faces when I get a photo with him!"

"It's like ya don't know my brother at all," Osamu sighs as he lifts the covers to crawl in bed. You scramble up and scoot in next to him. "Do ya know what it's gonna do to him if ya ask him that?"

"He's a big boy," You say breezily. "I think he can handle it."

Osamu just shakes his head, leaning over to turn off the lamp. "Just make sure he knows it was all your idea," He says pointedly, pulling the blanket up and settling back against his pillows.

"Just think," You sigh, snuggling your cheek against his bicep, "Tomorrow I'm going to meet the Oikawa Tooru."

"Yer already practically related to the Miya Atsumu. Isn't that enough?" He grumbles.

"He's old news," You chuckle, and Osamu huffs what could almost be considered a laugh through his nose.

"Whatever. Just get some sleep. Big day tomorrow." He presses a kiss to your lips. You settle in against his chest, but you aren't feeling very tired at all.

The next morning, Osamu grips your hand tight as you wind your way through the Olympic stadium. It's so full of people and sounds and lights, it almost makes you dizzy. Eventually, you hear Atsumu bellow your and Osamu's names.

"You're here!" He pulls you both into a bone crushing hug. "Ya all ready to cheer for me? I want ta hear ya yelling all the way on the court." He grins.

"Of course!" You say, completely sincere. "You're gonna kill it today, 'Tsumu." You sock him on the arm. He almost turns to go, but you stop him.

"Wait, 'Tsumu!" You say. "I've got a teeny, tiny favor to ask you." He narrows his eyes, and Osamu backs slightly away, as if denying any kind of association with you in this moment.

"What kinda favor?" He asks slowly. Your grin widens.

"Is there any way you can get me in to meet Oikawa Tooru?" You ask, clasping your hands in front of yourself and pasting on your best puppy dog look. Atsumu immediately swings around to glare at Osamu, who throws his hands up in defense.

"Are ya hearin' this?" He almost yells.

"I've been hearin' it for the last 24 hours," Osamu exaggerates drily. "And it wasn't my idea, 'Tsumu! Swear! Ya think I want my fiancée meetin' that pretty boy?"

Atsumu sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. "Yer lucky I love ya," He finally bites out, and you can't hold back your excited squeak.

"Seriously?! Thanks, 'Tsumu!" You throw your arms around him, and he huffs.

"Guess we gotta hurry," He grumbles, turning on his heel. You grab for Osamu and practically drag him along behind you. Before you know it, you're surrounded with the team Argentina colors.

"Hiya," Atsumu approaches one of the team's managers and gestures to you, "Is Oikawa-san around? Got somebody that'd like to meet him."

"Oh? Someone looking for me?" At the sound of his voice, you turn, suddenly feeling like you're back in high school again, and just a little bit star struck.

"Oikawa-san!" You blurt out, "I was such a huge fan of yours in high school!" You can hear Atsumu feign a gag behind you, but you ignore him.

"No way, really?" Oikawa laughs, delighted. "I don't always get to meet such dedicated fans." He turns and rattles off something in Spanish to someone behind him. She produces a glossy photograph, and he scribbles his signature across it.

"Oh, wow," You gush, carefully gripping the photo so as not to smudge the fresh autograph.

"Hey, you got your phone there? We can get a quick picture." You pull it from your pocket immediately, pulling up the camera with shaky hands. Your friends are going to lose their minds.

"Here," Oikawa hands your phone to the same manager who'd just handed him the photo, and she holds it up, ready to snap the photo. When you turn to pose with him, you catch a glimpse of Osamu, arms crossed over his chest. The frown crinkling his brow is absolutely adorable. Atsumu, meanwhile, is cradling his forehead in his palm.

Oikawa slides his arm around you, the two of you smile, and that quickly, the photo is snapped.

"Thank you so much!" You retrieve your phone. "My friends aren't gonna believe this. This was so great of you, Oikawa-san."

"No problem," He gives his hand a wave, "Can I count on you cheering for me?" He asks, flashing you one of his signature grins. You feel your smile falter.

"Sorry," You say, biting your lip, "That's one thing I can't do."

His eyes dart to the twins, and to your surprise, he barks out a laugh. "Guess I should have expected that! He's a lucky guy to have you cheering for him."

"My future brother-in-law," You explain quickly, feeling Osamu's eyes boring into you. Oikawa laughs again, delighted.

"Don't you worry. I'll give him hell just for you." He winks, and you can't help but laugh at that.

"Thanks again!" You say quickly.

"Anytime," He says amiably, turning back to his team.

The twins descend on you immediately. You proudly display the photo on your phone, but Atsumu reaches for the signed photo in your hand.

"What the hell did ya need ta get his autograph for?" Atsumu grumbles.

"Oi!" Osamu reaches for your phone and peers a little closer at the photo. "Is that his hand on yer hip?"

You link your arms through both of theirs appeasingly, grinning widely. Would you look at that? You've managed to make both Miya twins jealous at once.

[cleromancy]

im also fascinated by sheila in the knightmare because

the root of jasons fear in the knightmare has to do with his own monstrousness, his unlovability, so sheila being like this instead of how she really was in the immediate leadup to his death... the implication being, i think, that if she's sorry and the joker made her, then it's jasons fault if he still resents her, and it circles back around into him being the failure, the monster, rather than being the victim.

this is obviously a very prime earth jason story, with a jason who has been taking bruces crap for years in order to gain some level of conditional acceptance, so it doesn't surprise me that this is what his subconscious cooks up, or the idea that maybe he is almost as bad as the joker. sheila saying the joker made her in the context of his fear that bruce is right and he is just as bad makes it circle back around to blaming himself.

which is also why this is so...

i mean, this moment doesn't really have the oomph it would have if there had been any kind of buildup to it outside of the event. why does Tim fucking know about sheila!!!!! i like to think maybe jason dropped hints and tim pieced it together, but yknow this is 100% what frustrated me about reading it the first time through, it didn't feel actually earned. even the way they talk to each other its like porter couldn't decide what version of their history together so just chose, um. neither. HOWEVER, thats okay, i will just imagine the buildup, and brother when you do that!!!! its fucking njice i tell you what.

[em1e]

⠀ ⠀ ༝ i hate you for what you did, and i miss you like a little kid.

⠀ 一虎 // MOTION SICKNESS ⠀ ༝ ༝ kazutora hanemiya ⠀ ༝ ༝ 2.3k words ⠀ ⚠︎ angst + valhalla spoilers + IM SORRY ! ⠀ — he’s taller, now, hair bleached, but it’s still those same wide eyes that meet your own.

january 16, 2000 

baji and kazutora were constants in your life. 

being neighbors with baji left you trailing behind him like a puppy, and the idea of having someone as kind as you by his side made him happy - so despite his complaints and the bickering that always ensued between the two of you, he decided to keep you tucked away like a secret. 

and when he introduces you to kazutora, it’s another warm friendship melting easily with the first. 

and the three of you form an unbreakable bond, with the promise to always help each other when in need. kazutora would spend more time in your house than his own, and your parents take him in easily. it’s a taste of love he’s never felt, and when he lays on your bedroom floor next to a sleeping baji, he finds it hard to fall asleep with that feeling swelling deep in his chest and taking root under his heart. 

august 22, 2003 

it’s baji who comes to your door late one night. who else, when his other half is in juvie as he tells you. 

you break into a sob at the news, and it’s baji who holds you with apologies falling off of his lips as if somehow he’s to blame for it all. 

he holds you until you wear yourself out, and stays with you when you beg him to through tears. another promise it made there, to never leave one another behind, and it’s a promise you intend to hold kazutora to once he’s released. 

baji rubs your back until you’re asleep, and he wonders if there was something he could’ve done to avoid this heartache; from seeing his friend carted away in handcuffs, from seeing you cry. he wishes he could go back, just for a moment, to change this outcome. 

september 12, 2004

you wrote to kazutora when you could, but never received any replies. baji caught you once in the middle of you preparing a life update, snatching the paper from your desk and holding it above your head when you reached for it. 

“give it back, baji!” 

he stands on his toes to keep it out of your grasp, and chifuyu grumbles from your floor something about that not being the study sheet we’re working on. 

“what’s this, a love letter?” he snorts, squinting to read the letters, “‘happy birthday kazu! baji and i miss you lots, even if he won’t say it outloud-’.” 

you stomp on his foot and snatch the letter away when he slouches in pain, glaring at him, “you’re such a dick sometimes.” 

“he never writes you back, i don’t know why you keep sending those.” baji huffed out, sitting on the floor beside chifuyu, “he probably doesn’t even get them.” 

“what does it matter,” you roll your eyes, placing the paper in a folder and leaving it on your desk, exchanging it for the aforementioned study sheet, “s’not like it’s anything to do with you anyways.” 

“it does,” he argues, despite the glare you send him, “my name is very clearly mentioned.” 

“i just don’t want him to think we’ve forgotten about him or don’t care about him.” you say finally, and the way your gaze falls on him leaves him looking away with a small fine, whatever. 

the tension that remains bleeds from the air and crawls under your skin, but chifuyu clears his throat and flips through the first few pages of the worksheet with a hum, “what the fuck is hydrolysis?” and that is enough to clear the air.  

october 20, 2005

two years pass and not a single letter is returned. 

some days you wonder if you should call the center, ask if maybe there was something wrong with what you’re putting in them as if that could be the reason he isn’t getting them, but the fear of knowing that not being the reason he won’t reply frightens you beyond belief. you want to ask the post office if there’s any way all one-hundred and six letters could have been lost in the mail or sent to the wrong place, but you’re all-too aware of the return address being labeled as your home. 

instead, you settle with the unknown. there’s no getting hurt that way, no way of truly finding out if he was ignoring you for all of two years. 

it’s not until you bump shoulders with a stranger outside of the market that you get to piece things together. you’d recognize that tiger tattoo from anywhere. 

“‘tora?” 

the bags you’re holding almost slip from your grasp, scrambling to free a hand to grab at his elbow and turn him around. he’s taller, now, hair bleached, but it’s still those same wide eyes that meet your own. you swallow dryly. 

“when- when’d you get out?” 

he tilts his head at you, earring chiming from the movement, “last week. thought baji would’ve told you.” 

“me too . . .” you’re hurt by the admission, he can tell. you clear your throat, “the letters i sent - did you ever get them?” 

“i did.” 

the confession is enough to break what little resolve you have, frowning, “unable to reply, or . .?”

“didn’t see the need, “ he hums out, straightening with a smile when he looks behind you. a glance over your shoulder and you see baji, sharp toothed grin faltering when his eyes find you. 

“what a nice reunion,” baji settles for when he finds himself standing beside kazutora, patting your head before wrapping an arm around kazutora’s shoulders, “should’ve planned a picnic or somethin’.” 

you shove at baji’s shoulder half heartedly, “why didn't you tell me kazu was released, you asshole. and what happened to your knuckles?”

he jerks his hand from your grasp when you grab for it, ignoring the hurt you hold in the furrow of your brow at his reaction. 

“huh? must’ve slipped my mind,” he pulls on kazutora’s shoulder, forcing him to turn, “anyways, we gotta go! have plans we just can’t miss.” he gives a wave as he walks away, kazutora in tow. 

you come home that night to a message from baji. barely able to finish reading it through your tears, but you’re able to get the basic understanding. 

kazutora and i decided we’re on different paths in life, so we’re cutting you out. 

the promise to stay together breaks apart by the seams with each tear that falls down your cheeks. kazutora never replied to your letters, didn’t even bother to look for you after he got out, and baji’s being ripped from your grasp. it feels like every piece of yourself you’ve been holding onto for the past two years is being brutally torn away from you with each second that passes, and for the first time in your life, there is no one there to help you hold it all together. 

november 3, 2005

you’d been planning his birthday for weeks before the actual date. despite the message he sent to you previously, you’d continued to prepare for something, even if he wouldn’t show up. 

except, that’s not the reason he doesn’t come. 

it’s chifuyu now, who distributes the bad news to you with a frown, and you want to tear down each decoration you’ve put around your home as if that’d undo the words that have left his lips. 

and when you crumble to the floor, it’s chifuyu who comforts you in a way that’s all too familiar, but never the same as before. you’d never feel that comfort again, nor the warmth that'd surround baji like a fire. you have to pry the details out of him, beg for anything he’s willing to give. how did it happen. was it painless. did he suffer. did he cry. who started it.

he answers to the best of his ability through his own tears, explaining kazutora stabbed him first but baji delivered the final blow to himself, and those words leave you folding in on yourself even more.

“kazutora’s in jail now for that, will be for ten years.” 

it’s like each new addition to the story is you taking punch after punch, and chifuyu is glad that little bit of information is last on his list - unsure if you can take anymore hits. you’re practically gasping for air by the end of it, and with some effort, chifuyu is forcing you to sit up, forcing you to take a second and just breathe. 

he only goes home when the reality of it all has settled, leaving you hollow sitting on your bed. on numb legs, you stand and walk to your desk, ripping out a page from your notebook to hastily write. 

i hate you, kazutora. i want you and baji back and i hate you for taking him away from me. i hate you and i miss you and you’re the worst

the words blur together, ink bleeding into blobs as your tears fall onto the paper. you crumble up the page and throw it across the room with a sniff, unable to believe what you’ve written. 

july 05, 2015

your brows furrow at the sound of knocking on your door. chifuyu told you he’d be an hour late to your hangout, stuck organizing a shipment that came early he’d told you over the phone, but the sound of knocking again proves he’s a liar. 

“you don’t have to knock if i know you’re coming-” you start as you pull the door open, only to stop when it’s not chifuyu behind it. 

kazutora stares at you, and it’s still those same wide eyes as he takes you in. there’s no blonde left in his hair, you note dully, and he’s gotten taller. you’re practically frozen in place by his appearance on your doorstep. 

“hi.” he breathes out finally, offering a bouquet you hadn’t even realized he was holding, and his lip quivers when you hesitate to take it. 

you clear your throat, “when . . . when did you get out?” you look down at the flowers to avoid looking at him and god he could break down right here. the smell of your home comes off in waves, clawing at the deepest parts of him and settling with the reminder of childhood. he wants to bottle it up, breathe it in for the rest of his life to keep those memories forever. 

“few days ago. ‘fuyu picked me up.” 

you pull your lip between your teeth, a nasty habit he remembers when you were young, before you’re taking a step back so he can enter your home. he does so slowly, as if any sudden movement could startle you away from him. he’s almost certain it would. 

“was waiting on him,” you mumble out, finally looking at him, “‘fuyu.” you’re unsure why you clarify, but he nods nonetheless. 

“he told me.” 

silence fills the air again, neither of you wanting to break what fragility remains on your shoulders, until kazutora moves to dig through the bag he’s brought with him. you eye him warily, still very unsure of what to make of it all, when he pulls out a folder filled with stacks of papers. 

he offers it to you, and you take it with less hesitation than before, trading it with him for the bouquet so you can open it properly. 

august 30, 2003

dear kazutora, 

kazutora watches as your eyes widen while they dance across the paper, immediately beginning to flip through each of the worn pages as if the rest of the stack could be fake, before you meet his gaze. 

“are these . . ?” 

“i kept them all.” he explains softly, trying so so hard to read your expression. 

and when you throw yourself into his arms, almost crushing the flowers between the two of you, he’s stunned. 

he holds you when your knees buckle, and carefully eases the two of you to the ground. holds you when your tears stain his shirt, and holds you even tighter as apologies fall from his lips. for baji, for not caring enough, for not righting his wrong when he should’ve. for not writing you back. 

as he breathes you in, he realizes how familiar this feels, how familiar you are, and suddenly he’s back to being a stupid thirteen year old with an even stupider adoration for you. he’s scared he’s squeezing you too tight, but you’re holding him like he’s your last lifeline and it takes all of him not to do the same. 

“i don't want to be like baji and not tell you how much i missed you.” he whispers, and it has a small laugh leaving your lips. a sound he hasn’t heard in so fucking long, it’s all he want to hear for as long as he’s alive. 

“i forgive you,” you say softly, when the tears finally subside and your grip on one another lessens enough for you to be able to lean away and look at him, “forgive you for baji and not caring and not writing me back.” 

the remission is enough to have him fighting back his own tears, and when you brush a strand of hair from his face to cup his cheek softly, it breaks what little resolve he has left. then it’s you taking him back into your arms, holding him as gently as you can as the assurances pass your lips as something so sweet and soft and everything he has ever missed in the last twelve years sits cradled in his arms. 

there’s something so sickly sweet about it all that has chifuyu wishing he would’ve been a little more precarious while putting everything away at the shop - regrettably ruining the moment when he stumbles into your house with beers and yakisoba.

[stick-ball]

Serious question, but how do you think Andrew being taller-tall would affect plot and in what way. I always have hard time seeing him as this steady image of safety mainly because of his size.

I am an Andrew lover first and foremost so I accept him in every shape and size he may come in xd

Okay, but seriously now. I think him being taller would've definitely altered some points of the plot. The first thing that comes to mind is his relationship with Neil. Neil from the get-go makes us aware that due to his father's abuse, he is scared of not only older but taller men. They read as a threat. If Andrew was a big guy and had not the puppy dog personality of Matt, Neil would probably have a much harder time trusting him or opening up to him. Their relationship might've gone differently. All of Andrew's actions would've been interpreted with distrust, as they are anyway at the start, but the root would be in a much deeper fear.

I also think that's crucial for Andrews character. He is, as you said, seen by us as the image of safety - but that's Neil's opinion. that's how he sees him. Most people look down on him, only those who are keenly aware danger is not always about brute strenght don't make fun of the red flag he comes waving around in every situation. Neil or Riko aren't tall either, so they know what kind of things he can still be capable of without the proper moral limitations. Kevin, Jean and Renee will know that to, due to their experiences.

Still, most people don't see him as a threat, or as strong, the size is a point of ridicule but also a point of tactical advantage for him. If they don't take you seriously they don't see you coming for them, do they? Add the label of "psychotic" which is also thrown around in contempt, on the edge if being a slur by some characters and there you go. He's not seen as strong, he's seen as a train running of the tracks, about to crash in a nearby town.

There are only a few that know better, as it usually is in life, which, proper advantage. I would say the only reason Andrew was on parole with the requirement for medication after he almost killed those 4 guys who attacked Nicky before the first book happens - instead of being locked up for it instead - was due to his size. If he was a big guy he would be treated much more harshly, especially with his previous criminal record.

Another thing this point brings up is how I read a couple posts in the past, where people thought it improbable that Drake managed to get Andrew concussed and at his mercy so easily in the Thangsgiving scene, since Andrew is supposed to be so strong. (This isn't criticism, im just giving my own outview)

Be that as it may, size does matter. Andrew is strong and dangerous for many, and he could best probably most of the people reading this in a fight no sweat. But you know what's the reason for that? He's prepared. He actually knows how to fight. There are scenes in canon and ec If im not mistaken, that bring it up. I've been trained in martial arts since I was 4 years old (on G-d no cap) and I can, and did, manage to take down many guys twice my size and strenght because of that - but that's because I was smarter, or quicker, or my technique and endurance was better. Andrew spars, Andrew has training while most people don't. Just because a guy is twice his size doesn't mean he actually knows how to use his body weight to land a solid punch, doesn't mean he has the instinct and proper form to block a fist coming at his side thats gonna push all air out of his lungs. So yeah, against people less trained than him, he has a chance.

Tw: discussion of the thanksgiving scene, psychological trauma, ambush situations.

But Drake is a marine. He has extensive training, worse - he has the tactical advantage of surprising him, and worst of all - the force of trauma that comes with being suddenly attacked by one of your worst fkn horrors. It's a ambush and he has every single ace up his sleeve. I've been in a situation like that once, so I can imagine the complete and utter short-circuit Andrew's brain must have gone in in those precious seconds that would give him an even chance against Drake. But then, Drake is as much a physical as psychological horror, and it's no wonder the fear that brings make Andrew spiral into dissociation as a coping mechanism.

End of the triggering stuff!

In the end, though, safety in my opinion is about more than physical strenght. Sometimes it's just having someone by your side even if there's no chance of making it to the other side. That type of support can make anyone keep going. And I think that more than anything else is what Neil sees him as. He is, to make it cliché, the lighthouse bringing him to the safety of shore in a midnight storm. (I will shut up now bcs the fever must be getting worse if im saying shit like this).

thank you for this ask, I live to talk about andrew minyard ❤️❤️❤️

[grapejuicestyless]

Fix You.

Conrad Fisher x fem!reader

Summery: You and Conrad have been in a toxic relationship for as long as you can remember. As much as you want to fix him, it night not be possible.

Just a little blurb while I try to finish other requests <3

The deepness of his eyes hid the cool undertones of his glare. He was the embodiment of summer. Blonde hair, tanned skin. He had freckles from the sun and a blush like burn tinting his cheeks. His wild hair and charming smile was nothing like the man he was.

At first I could blame his casual cruelty on the passing of his mother. The affairs of his father and the distrust that Belly had placed on him after her endless chase for his heart ended with the her wrapped around his brother.

But soon the past faded further into the distance. Each summer seemed more and more dull, not in his eyes, but in the fiery kindness he radiated. He was no longer the gentle boy I had grown up with. Not the same kid who sat next to me in math, begging for help on fractions. Not the same teenager who helped me in calculus when numbers because letters and more buttons on the calculator were being used.

He wasn’t the same Conrad who begged Susannah to take me with them each summer because the thought of even spending a second without his best friend from Boston was too unbearable for his young heart.

This Conrad liked to yell. He liked to drink at parties, and he liked to lie.

Hickeys adorned his once beautifully pure neck and his lips stained a shade of red I never owned. I couldn’t afford to own. And with the smell of liquor on his breath, I let it slide like a hose on a slippery plastic summer. I reason, he wasn’t in the correct mindset. And in the morning he swears he believed it was me he was kissing. And I believe that it’s all better because he’s my Conrad, the same boy who pushed me on the swings and held my hand in the dark.

Yet, him confessing his infidelity meant nothing. His crying and begging building my trust only for him to ruin it again.

When would it be my turn to come home and pout about my mistakes. Ones that were supposed to be an accident that clearly were becoming more and more purposeful. When could I pull at my roots and sob into the shoulder of the man who swore to protect me?

It would never be and it could never be. The second my throat would close and my voice would betray me, he was as angry as I was. He had no reasons to be. But he was so good at convincing me otherwise.

“Have some self worth.” Belly had scolded me. But it was impossible to have some. Not when I’d spent it all on a boy who swore to pay it back and never did.

His friends all told him not to be surprised when I stopped showing up for him. A girl can only believe in change so much before the broken proves they are unfixable.

It took me until August, just days before our two year anniversary. A day that was once decorated with flowers and promises was littered with bear cans and scandals.

The night before I caught him finally. His second glass of wine half empty on the table. The same shade of red as the woman’s lips he was kissing tenderly.

I bet he would’ve like it, if I had made a scene. If I had yelled and cried. But I had already done all that. I had begged and pleaded for answers and he called me overdramatic, moody, angry. He had taken all the willpower out of me to do just what he wanted.

I stopped coming by after that summer. The old red door was chipped by the knocker, but it was never used anymore. And his phone was dry without the sound of my voice to remind him to enjoy the nice weather while it lasted.

The birds still sang and the children still played in the streets. But my driveway was empty and the houses were quiet.

I sat alone in my room, feet in front of me on the floor. Humming the tune of a song I know vaguely, I skip some lyrics in my head. Snow falls steadily by my window, and the chill seeps through my thin walls. My nose is red and fingers numb. Im combing through the twinkling fairy lights. I want to hang them up for the holidays. Each time I pull, no matter what I do, they always spring back into their previous curls and spirals. They twist and wrap around each other. The knot only reforms the farther I dig into the wires. I can try to change it, but it will always go back to where it was.

I was untangling string lights much longer than I thought.

[shinidamachu]

What did Neymar did? Sorry im not aware

Neymar is one of those stars who became very big, very young and very fast. The amount of fame and money he was exposed to as a teen made him believe he's some kind of God and it didn't help that his father – who is also his manager – is a greedy piece of shit and that Brazilian media naturalized Neymar's behavior at the beginning of his career because he was only a boy.

"We're creating a monster" said Atlético-GO's coach about Neymar in 2010, after the player refused to follow orders from his coach at the time, Dorival Jr.

Today, at 30 years old, Neymar's ego is way bigger than his football. Barca fans hate the blunt way in which he left the club and PSG fans still can't stand his entitled ass. He is criticized and made fun of world wide for falling all the time and for having the emotional intelligence of a 15 years old. He was recently tried for fraud and corruption surrounding his transfer to Barcelona – although found not guilty.

But what really did it for me was what happened last October. As you know, Brazilians just had the elections of our fucking lives. Neymar's political alignment has always been shady – most football players' are –, but he mostly just keeps quiet. And since 2022 is also a year of World Cup, the Brazilian players had an agreement not to talk about political stuff and focus solely on the competition.

Neymar broke the agreement by posting a TikTok dance openly supporting Bolsonaro's re-election. If you don't know who Bolsonaro is, I strongly suggest a quick Google search or BBC's documentary The Boys from Brazil: Rise of the Bolsonaros and you'll understand why Brazilians got so pissed. Especially because we're certain Neymar is only supporting him because he's a tax evader and Bolsonaro is more than ready to let it slide.

It's also important to point out that Bolsonaro supporters kidnapped national symbols like the Brazilian flag and our signature yellow jersey. Those things became deeply associated with them in a way that is almost irrevocable, so many of us have opted for using the blue, the white or the black jersey in a herculean effort to differentiate ourselves from them and still root for and support our national team.

Neymar was well aware of that during the campaign but still decided to participate in Bolsonaro's live, even saying that he'd dedicate the first goal he scores in the World Cup to Bolsonaro. I don't know if he's still going to do that, now that Bolsonaro lost, but it was still a shitty thing to say.

It's like he always wants to be the center of attention. Like he wants us to hate him. And honestly? He got his wish. It's really a shame, because he had the potential to be a truly Brazilian icon someday, but now all he'll ever be is an ass, even if he does bring us the cup somehow.

[ghostofwriting]

idk if im properly explaining this but like…as much as im rooting for y/n and rafe, if i was sofia and the man i am engaged to (and this engagement is public knowledge) is posting on his private about another girl claiming her as ‘the love of his life’ and being all angsty about not being with her AND all his friends are aware hes doing this and not telling me…oh i would be out the door in seconds🙏 SOFIA GIRL STAND UP AND LEAVE HIM🤷‍♀️

Yes!! Okay sooo Sofia will eventually find out of course but let me explain.

I think with Rafe he personally doesn’t see it as bad because he’s not actively going after yn. He talks so much about being better, growing from the past, and learning to not self sabotage but I think that Y/n is a sore subject for him because he knows he fumbled okay. Like that man is fully aware of what he could’ve had but because of who he was 1-3 years ago he fucked it all up. (I say 1-3 because the man’s engaged but I’m undecided lol) so he sees this as a way to get his feelings out but not hurt anyone. He loves sofia, he really does and he doesn’t want to do to her what he did to y/n but he can’t help but think of what could’ve been or what could be if he were brave enough. Basically he thinks it’s too late.

With Barry and Topper it’s not much different than why they chose Rafe the first time. They are absolutely rude or die for him. They love yn so much and had it been anyone else doing to her what Rafe was they would’ve told her and killed the guy. But it was rafe and selfishly they didn’t want to hurt the band. So they kept their mouths shut in hopes that Rafe would get his shit together and yn would never find out. With Sofia, they see it the same way rafe does. It’s just a way that he gets his feelings out and since he doesn’t act on it, what could the harm be? (Men)

As for JJ (because he’s seen interacting with Rafe’s priv) he doesn’t give a singular shit. That man has met sofia maybe one time and doesn’t care what rafe does or doesn’t do with her. He loves yn and he tolerates rafe but he’s not willing to get in the way of anything.

As for the rest of the pogues, much like JJ, they don’t care. They also don’t see a lot of it. They’re kind of just minding their own business, some of them barely go on their socials. They’re busy people so they don’t have time to see that Rafe very much is still invested in yn.

Kelce is in med school, that man has no time for Rafe’s shenanigans.

Ms Sarah. Well last time this happened Sarah got burned. How do you think y/n found out? Sarah doesn’t want to start anything with her brother. She’s worked hard to mend and nurture their relationship and as long as rafe isn’t acting on anything she won’t say anything. She calls him out here and there but she’s not going to tell Sofia for fear of damaging their relationship.

Y/n, well obviously yn doesn’t see any of this but if she did you know that Sofia would be getting anonymous screenshots. She doesn’t want anyone to go through what she went through so that’s not something she would keep to herself. Which is why no one tells her, and because whenever rafe is brought up she shuts down. The two that would tell her about this, Pope and Cleo, they don’t follow his priv so they’re clueless as well.

Buuuut as for ms Sofia, it’s karmic isn’t it? She knew about yn and Rafe’s complicated little thing when Rafe pursued her and she didn’t put a stop to it. And she lied to y/n’s face about it sooo. She’ll stand up, just not any time soon.

[eepyghost]

im putting it in a diff post just for easier access.

TITLE: what the ocean stole WORD COUNT: 1.7k DESCRIPTION: after finding arlin in the black sea, chip is forced to choose between saving him, or saving gillion. CW: major character death, the usual depictions of heart-wrenching grief that u see in j rune fics, strap in. credits to @lesbianchipbastard and @keysinthecouch for the pain they've caused /lh

Chip could see him. He’s everything he had remembered.

Arlin James stood before him like a personified memory, a body encapsulating everything warm, everything kind. His childhood memories had opened their arms to him, offering solace from a world that had been so cruel, and the solace came in the shape of a familiar Goliath. A Goliath that Chip had dreamt of seeing again since he was ten, since the ship he called home had been swallowed by the unforgiving mouth of the Black Sea. In a world that was barbaric, that was wretched, he still had the escape of imagining seeing Arlin again. 

It was selfish, he knew it, but there was always a deep-rooted part of him wondering why he was the only one on the ship without closure. Jay had Drey back. Gillion had lived to see his grandfather again. But Chip? He had a memory, a childhood figure that lingered in his memories like a spirit. 

But there Arlin stood, cloaked in darkness, but unmistakable.

His beard had grown out beyond a bit of whispy stubble, peppered in gray, but it was still Arlin.

His eyes, once lively and gentle, were painted with darkness from the lack of sleep. But it was still Arlin.

He’d changed. He’d grown. The years had gone by. But god dammit, it was still Arlin.

But it wasn’t that simple. 

Why could it never be so simple? Why had the world insisted on ripping everything kind from him?

Chip wondered, vaguely, if he was meant to be another ghost, lost to the ocean’s arms.

**

It’s like he’s waving in and out of consciousness. 

He tastes blood. He thinks it’s his own. When had he bitten down on his tongue? What words did he have to swallow back?

He hears it. A command. A bellow from a voice he does not recognize. Both Arlin and Gillion stood before him, grappled.

It’s your choice, pirate. Your past, or your present.

One must go. One will return to the surface.

Chip couldn’t feel his own face.

**

Chip had once dreamed of the world where Arlin would join them on the ship, a part of the crew. His crew. Their crew. The dream was so child-like in nature, like a piece of his younger self was still living in his ribcage, begging to be released one, final time. He would’ve showed Arlin everything. He would’ve told him every story, every adventure. I fought monsters. I defended my friends. Gillion tried to kill me once, too, can you believe that? I kissed him, too - Gods - I grew up, Arlin, but I carried you with me. The entire time. 

Everyone’s waiting for you, do you know that?

I was waiting for you.

He didn’t want to think of a world apart from Arlin ever again.

Gillion and Arlin were barely ten feet away, but they felt miles apart. Chip could taste the bitterness of their distance. He wants to reach forward. To touch. To prove.

He can’t.

**

If you had asked him this same question years ago - Gillion or Arlin? - he would’ve said Arlin without a moment’s hesitation. Before he’d ever thought of pulling the triton onto the ship. 

How long ago had that been? Chip could barely remember. The memory came in flashes of color, of feeling. The color of Gillion’s sea-kissed skin hitting the light of the afternoon sun. The sensation of his cool fingers intertwining with Chip’s. The moment of their eyes first meeting, deep brown meeting cerulean, the sea crashing into the shore. 

Jay had been so insistant on letting him go. He’d felt like a child, begging his mother to let him keep a stray cat he’d found, but both of them knew it was meant to be more than that. Gillion Tidestrider had left his mark on that ship the day he’d first set foot on the deck.

He would’ve been alright, living in a world where it was just the three of them. 

He would never be so lucky.

**

The past or the present.

One will remain.

Chip could practically taste the guilt that rose in his throat like burning hot bile. It rises from his chest, fogs up his mind, blurs his eyes with unshed tears. A captain doesn’t cry in front of his crew, but Chip wasn’t confident that he wasn’t about to shatter. 

Past or present.

He’s meant to choose.

Instead, with a broken, trembling whisper, Chip shakes his head.

With his eyes squeezed shut, he hears Jay screaming. He wishes he had the voice to apologize to her.

I’m sorry, Sureshot. I know you’ll be more of a captain than I could’ve been.

I know you’ll rip this ocean the fuck apart. I know you’ll lead with the same fire you live with. I know you’ll be the most revered pirate this side of the Black Sea.

And I hope you forget about me. For your sake. For their sake.

For my sake. If you’ll let me be selfish, one last time.

**

When Chip came to again, he’s left to the mercy of the darkness.

There’s a body beside him. Breathing shallow. Hitching, desperate tears. Teal skin. Webbed fingers, holding onto his legs, curled up like a frightened child.

He recognized the sound, and found himself reaching forward, skin meeting skin. Gillion sat beside him. 

“Gillion-?”

No. No. It wasn’t meant to be like this. He’d given up his own life for two others. Gillion was meant to go and do what he always did - fight. Live. Thrive. He was meant to live decades on. But he sat beside Chip in a trembling heap.

It clicks all at once. 

Chip wants to throw up.

“No, no, no-” he hurries to his knees, reaching for Gillion, blindly groping towards a shadow. “You aren’t supposed to be here - where’s Jay? You need to be with Jay, what the fuck are you thinking? I made my choice!”

There’s a piece of him that wishes he had the ability to ignite that same anger from months ago, the same anger that drove Gillion to press a sword against his throat, surrounded by an arena of ice. That anger would be strong enough to separate them. That anger would be enough to taint Gillion’s memory of Chip, to keep the grief from soaking into his bones.

Gillion inhaled. His breath shook. Chip no longer knew if it was from the pain or from tears - he couldn’t see.

“And I made my choice alongside you,” he replied. “I would rather die beside you than simply die knowing you.”

“But-”

“No.” He speaks with such certainty. A martyr, dying the way he was meant to. 

“You could have lived, you could’ve done so much-”

“Not without you by my side.”

“-you could’ve settled down when you were older, you could’ve forgotten about me-”

“Forgotten about you?” It’s the one phrase that shakes Gillion to his core. “You think I could have forgotten about you?”

There’s no filter left for him to use. He spills it all like he’s bleeding himself dry.

“I was already dead,” he says, “I - I was just another captain, you and Jay - fuck, you would’ve been so much better off without me. What the fuck was I going to do in a few years? I don’t have anything-”

If he could see Gillion’s face, he’d see the budding tears. The tightness of his jaw. Shedding the same tears that flowed heavy down Chip’s face. Chip heaved a sob. The air felt too thick for him to properly choke down.

If he could see Gillion’s face, he’d see the way he watched Chip with solumness. Heartbreak.

But never pity.

“You were everything, Chip,” Gillion said, as he reached a hand out and intertwined their fingers together in the dark. “And I will die blessed to know you and to love you.”

Chip doesn’t know which word lingers longer. Was seemed to leave the same handprint on his soul that Love did.

Like he was already gone. Like the love they shared was already in the distant past.

Perhaps he was made to rot the same way he lived; lingering with overwhelming, soul-encapsulating love.

**

Jay Ferin would spend her life in the open sea, leading a crew all older than her. In the back of her mind, there would always be the need to find the final resting place of her two closest companions. Two bodies lost to time, lost to the sea. She hopes death is merciful. That the afterlife, if there may be one, is kinder than the world they once resided in.

She doesn’t have the same hope that Chip once did for Arlin. 

Arlin. 

She’s so certain he would’ve been such a kindhearted man, a joy to be around, if she’d met him under different circumstances. He’d lived his life wracked with guilt, stuck in a memory of a son he never truly got to reunite with.

If the crew ever returned to Zero, if they ever met Ollie again, she knew he would ask where the other two were. He’d ask in the same, gentle way that he always had. Miss Jay, where did the others go? Are Chip and Gillion coming over on a different boat? That’s so cool!

She wouldn’t know how to tell him otherwise.

And lord - Lizzie. The way her face had fallen so knowingly when she’d seen them. A crew with two missing. Perhaps working with Chip had given her some semblance of hope, and death had done what it always did: ripped it away.

She didn’t even want to think about meeting Edyn again. That day would come. She’d see the empty space where Gillion Tidestrider had once been, and she would see the ghost of a martyr.

She’d sleep beside Chip’s old jacket and Gillion’s sword until then. And she’d whisper to the stars, as if they were there to respond to her. As if they were standing beside Ava in the night sky. As if they were all drinking on the deck again, dreaming of another world. Another adventure. Another Riptide Pirate’s promise.

She’d fuck shit up for as long as she could. But it wasn’t with them.

[monstersandmaw]

I am unreasonably excited for this stardew fic im hearing about 👀 (also seb, my love- i always end up romancing him)

Thank you! In all my playthroughs (maybe five before this one, lol) I've never romanced anyone. This one (which inspired this story) I decided to romance and marry Seb :).

The story is gonna feature a lot of the game and setting as inspiration, but I'm going to edit the mechanics a bit so it's less contrived, and there are gonna be more supernatural elements and folks at play... :). And an affectionate, fwb situation with Elliott before the end-game Sebastian romance, just a heads up.

Since you were kind enough to reach out about it, here's a 1400 word WIP sneak peek of Rowan, my gruff, buff werewoof farmer:

(CW: standoffish, loner character with scars on his neck from a werewolf bite, passing mention of a werewolf attack at night that nearly killed him)

This run-down, wild farm, with its endless tangle of fairytale brambles arcing around the roots of maple and oak trees, and its overgrown ponds full of frogs and flowering water weeds, was beyond perfect.

Of course, Rowan knew next to nothing about organic vegetable farming, but that was a problem for another day.

Mayor Lewis dithered on the top step a moment longer before taking his leave with Robin and heading back up the rutted path towards the town. Apparently Rowan had been taciturn enough to drive the chatty old man away, and something about him had evidently unnerved Robin a little. Maybe it was the mess of scars on his throat. He didn’t much care. If it meant they left him alone, so much the better. He wasn’t sure that anyone but Robin in her off-road pickup could make it comfortably along the winding drive to the farm anyway, and it was a miracle that the old man hadn’t toppled into a pothole or a ditch on his way over.

Rowan watched them leave together, deliberately ignoring their nattering gossip about him, which carried easily enough on the spring air to his sharp ears, and he felt something new prickle down his spine. It wasn’t even close to the full moon — he’d made damned sure of that before booking his one-way ticket to the sleepy little valley — but something about this place set the wolf in him prowling. He realised with a jolt that his wolf liked this new territory, with its fresh air and cacophonous birdsong. Where he’d been fractious and aggressive in the city, prone to lashing out when he felt the least bit cornered or trapped, now his wolf was practically bounding on the spot to explore his new territory and claim it as his own, and Rowan recoiled from the idea.

“I am not an animal,” he snarled at himself.

He thought that after bearing the curse for a year, he should have been far more accustomed to the feeling of there being a whole new part of himself inside his own head, or in his heart. And yet, noticing that the way he was feeling was largely because of the wolf, and not his human side, still freaked him the fuck out.

He turned back to the front door of the tumbledown cabin where his grandfather had lived until he’d had to go into care five years earlier, and immediately put his boot through the rotten boards of the veranda with a curse and another snarl. A small family of mice skittered away beneath the house, their pungent smell rising through the new hole to his sensitive nose, and he sighed. “Still not alone, even out here.”

Although the moon was only halfway to full, and against his better judgement, Rowan did let the shift sweep over him a few nights later, and as he sloughed off the complex trappings of his human life and sank his claws delightfully into the velvet-soft dirt, he patrolled the perimeter of the farm where his human self had spent his first week in Stardew Valley clearing weeds and setting up his first organic vegetable beds.

His wolf didn’t think about the uppity shopkeeper in the general store or the awkward blacksmith who’d smelled of a nauseous cocktail of discomfort, anxiety and axle grease, or the harried-looking man in a tweed jacket who’d smelled of coffee and antiseptic. His wolf lowered its head to the ground and inhaled the scents of rabbit and squirrel. It couldn’t decide if it was relieved or saddened to find no trace of wolves — shifter or otherwise — in the area, but seemed to settle for relieved as he slunk like a deeper shred of shadow from the porch of the farmhouse and bounded off into the dark to explore the place with the new, golden eyes of a wolf in place of the slightly blurry, hazel eyes of a human.

A rockfall in the cliffs behind the wreckage of the greenhouse had exposed a damp cave some years ago, though it smelled of bat guano and little else to interest a wolf. He let it be. Trotting eagerly on, the wolf relished the decadent flex and stretch of its powerful muscles, and the bliss of being able to shift whenever the fancy took him was enough to make him tilt his head to the sky and howl his ecstasy at the silent stars.

Rowan knew that being bitten and turned, and dumped unknowingly into the secret world of the supernatural, had taken its toll on him.

His sanity had been right on the ragged edge when he’d come across that forgotten letter from his grandfather in a desk drawer. After a year of trying to hold the remnants of his miserable life in the city together, of slinking down into an old storm drain on the edge of an abandoned industrial estate every full moon, to cage and contain his frustrated, furious wolf, Rowan had known he had to get out of the city. Permanently. It was messing with his wolf and he was losing more of his awareness to it with each passing full moon. He’d also started zoning out at his desk at work and coming-to with claws out and the wolf prowling right beneath his yellow-eyed facade of calm, even halfway through the cycle. The constant clacking of keyboards, the shrill, metallic ringing of office telephones, and the stink of leftover lunches from the cubicle next door to his was going to make him snap. Violently.

Part problem and part gift, his wolf existed purely in the ‘now’. There was no painful past; no human lying abandoned and bleeding and irrevocably changed on the rain-soaked tarmac of a grotty bus station; no human who’d drifted out of touch with his one surviving family member; no bills overdue and no landlord to keep happy. There was only the scent of moss and emerging spring grass and last year’s fallen pine cones, and the echo of a fox’s passing trail across the land which was now his territory.

Rowan’s wolf followed its nose down to the lower pond and lapped luxuriantly at the rich, cool water. His ears drew back and another thrill of delight ran down the length of his body as the sweet, wholesome taste of the water exploded across his tongue; he could detect none of the pollution and chemicals of the city water, just fresh spring that bubbled up from the depths of the earth, carrying with it the minerals and magic of the place.

Yes, this place had magic in abundance.

His grandfather had married a witch, so magic had been in Rowan’s blood already before he’d been mutilated by a lone werewolf at three in the morning in a filthy, city bus station. Perhaps that had been why a bite that messy had taken when it would have killed most people. He prayed he never met his monstrous sire, because he knew he’d rip his fucking head off for ruining his life and turning him into a slathering, near-mindless monster once a month. It was probably only by sheer, dumb luck that he hadn’t been killed by hunters, or killed someone himself by accident, and it had only been by the grace and patience of a blue-haired witch named Mercury that he’d even known what was happening to him in the first place. He shuddered to think where he’d have been without her.

A figure moved in the darkness at the edge of the trees on the southern-most reaches of his property and his lips drew back into a snarl.

“Easy, Rowan,” came a resonant, bass voice, and he froze, tilting his head, ears pricked. He recognised that voice, but couldn’t place it. For answer, he just growled a warning. “Easy,” came the voice a second time. “Rowan MacTavish, I am not here to hurt you. It is I, Rasmodius.”

At the sound of his full name on the still night air, Rowan’s whole body shivered, but the wolf let go of his mind a little. Thought came to him just a little easier. Rasmodius. That was the name of the wizard in the tower. Rowan blinked his golden eyes and sat back on his haunches.

“May I approach?”

He whined and ended the sound in a soft sneeze. Close enough to a petulant ‘fine’, he supposed.

___

(more soon, hopefully, if there's interest :3)

[verrescent]

"Regulus has the more gorgeous curls ever!" AND YOU WANNA KNOW WHY

becsuse.

for the longest time he just left his hair slicked back or combed over. (yes im pushing my choir boy reg agenda WHAT ABT IT) like he didnt even know he had curls till he was too lazy to comb it over one lazy morning and all of a sudden his head was a frizzy curled mess. (picture a horrible perm) he didnt even know until a slytherin first year who was jumping through hoops for his favor offered to teach him a bird repelling spell. after asking why, he was horrified and the first year apologized.

He tried potions and spells and chants and stones yet nothing seemed to help calm his hair... and he couldn't very well ask Sirius for help since his hair was much less coiled than Regulus's. After about a month of tireless effect (anger filled quidditch practices when he cursed every great wizard for keeping the one muggle custom of hating anything that isn't straight) he finally caved and called in reinforcements.

You know where I'm going with this, right?

HE CALLED LILY, JAMES AND REMUS!

Listening carefully, while James nodded without actually listening (occasionally saying things like 'mhm mhm yes sir you make a fine point.' to impress or bother lily enough that she'll like him ...she'll never admit it but she giggled a little internally) operation make 'regulus handsome again!' was forced in motion.

James tried a natural salve that his dad made that 'enhanced your roots and made your strands shine!' It sort of worked, except they found out that Regulus is allergic to unicorn horn dust and sapflowers.

Lily tried massaging oils that she'd seen her mom use occasionally (and Mrs Evans had the prettiest curls ever!) but it weighed down the strands too much since she applied enough for three people so regulus kind of just looked like Snape. (After regulus saw his reflection, he looked like he'd braved a fight with a dementor)

Remus, who'd been the last one to try anything, and who did the least for his curls (yet they still looking impeccable! fking lupin genes 😒) decided to lend Regulus some of his self made soaps and conditioners that never really worked for him. Regulus did, reluctantly, and found that the frizz was almost gone, and that it smelled very reminiscent of citrus and eucalyptus. In fact, they looked so good that not only did lily ask for the recipe and James berated Remus for never hooking him up with his idiotic talent for accidentally making things that work wonderfully, he was able to convince his mother to left him open his own gringotts vault (of which he planned to use to finally rid his surroundings of those horrid walls of horrid memories.) the end!!!!!! Idk when I wanted this to go but it went somewhere I think

[moody4world]

I win you lose

A/N: a little something I thought of after the game from yesterday.

Everyone was aware that Jack was kind of big on sports. You, not at all but every four years during the world cup you suddenly become a football fanatic. You’ve been dating Jack for three years now and this year happened to be the 22nd edition of the World Cup. When the last one took place im 2018 you hadn’t even met jack yet so this would be the first time you two spend the FIFA weeks together.

You were a big supporter of the Netherlands team and Jack was obviously rooting for USA.

Both The Netherlands and USA had done very well on their first games leading to the knockout rounds where they were set to go against the each other. The minute that this match was confirmed you and Jack have been betting on who was going to win.

He would mock you all week saying how you were going to lose and you would do the same back. The day of the match comes and you were both rocking your representative team’s jerseys, anxiously waiting to see how the game would go.

It’s been two minutes in and USA had almost scored a goal if it wasn’t for the keeper’s quick reaction. “COME ONNNN” Jack was frustrated and the game barely started. You, however were very relieved that they didn’t make the goal. “HAAAA you are going doooowwwnnn Jackman mark my words.” You teased him. “You don’t even like football.” “Well I do like the world cup so don’t be a sore loser” “DoNt bE a SoRe lOsEr” Jack mocked you.

“GO GO GO YEEEEESSSS” Nine minutes and thirty seconds into the game, Netherlands had scored their first goal and you were over the moon. “Oh yeah, we scored, uh huh that’s right” you danced around Jack as you sang terribly. He was a bit upset but he couldn’t help but think how cute it was to see you so interested in sports for once. “Memphis Depay is so fine.” That made Jack raise an eyebrow. “So you’re just gonna thirst over a soccer player right infront of me?””It’s not like I have a chance with him. If I did I wouldn’t be sitting here baby.” Jack pouted and you gave him a kiss reassuring him that you were only joking. The silly rivalry between the two of you went on until the last twenty minutes of the game. It was now 2-0 and you were convinced that there was no way you could lose anymore but Jack still carried some hope.

At 75 minutes USA scored their first goal of the match and Jack was ecstatic to say the least. He screamed super loud and ran from the living room to the kitchen and back while you shook your head and rolled your eyes at his dramatics. “You’re still losing anyway.” “A lot can happen in the next few minutes baby, don’t be too sure of yourself.” You knew that was true so it did make you anxious all over again. But less than five minutes later the 2-1 score changed to 3-1 and there was only 10minutes left. Once the referee blew his whistle and the timer was over 90minutes you knew that you had officially won.

“YEEEEEEESSSS I TOLD YOUUU” you screamed all happily while Jack felt defeated. “Yeah yeah whatever. Argentina’s probably winning later so good luck getting past them on friday.” “I can worry about that later but right now I get to rub it in your face that I won and you lost.” “Is this how you feel when I win all our other bets?” “Well it depends. How do you feel baby?” “I feel defeated, destroyed. 3-1 is disrespectful.” “Then yes, that’s exactly how I feel.” Jack sighed. “Since you won what’s your wish?” You suddenly got shy. The deal was that whoever wins gets to have one wish that the other must fulfill without any complaints.

“Don’t get all shy now, you had the biggest mouth just then.” “Okay okay, remember that thing I suggested we try last time and you said no because you were scared it would hurt me even though I insisted we try it anyway?” Jack was confused on what you were talking about until it all came back to him. “Of course you would choose that as your wish you dirty slut.” His voice became low and his bright blue eyes darkened with lust. Jack grabbed your cheeks with his big hand pulling you in and all you could do was giggle like a mess. “Go upstairs and get ready, i’ll be right there okay?”

“Yes sir”

[pariskim]

hi. kicks the ground a little. maybe even roots my foot through some dirt like a horse

resident macman here.

joymac early teenage years. thinking about it. okay?

how early on do you think joyces sisters were harassing them for being fags? how do you think they coped? what about school stuff? when does mac learn shame about loving his best friend so much. how does it affect joyce immediately+long term?

and i also want your thoughts about dennis joining the group and how it affected joymac (mostly joyce.) growing up n stuff

sorry. these r things ive been wanting to ask you for a while. take your time to respond to this one, no pressure. im just eager to hear ur thoughts on so much of this ...... feel free to link other posts instead ill read those up too

GRABS YOU LIKE THIS.

you'll never guess what I've been thinking about crazily for the last week. Thank you so much for letting me talk about this. Putting this under readmore because it got. Ridiculously long. Im so sorry

if i think too hard about early highschool years joyce i get so sad and insane. theres just something so tragic about that space in between childhood and the loss of that innocence.

the kelly sisters are probably around half the age of joyce so i think their maturity hitting right as joyce was going into highschool was kind of the perfect storm in a really awful way. i dont think they were ever close with joyce, and its not like they had family dinners or anything but i dont think they were always quite so malicious? i think they messed with her but weren't quite so. much. before their tween/teenager years, mostly just leaving her out of activities and such.

i think middle school was Bad for joymac. realllll bad. it's always the worst for everyone but it's sort of that age in 7-8th grade when you're not supposed to be that close to people you arent dating, and romance becomes important. i think for a long time mac still protected her and stuck hip to hip with her, and she never really cared about what people thought but she still could tell people judged them and didnt like it, but didnt fully internalize it like mac did.

going into highschool i think was a turning point for their friendship, a kind of dynamic switch as mac tries to add being Cool into his personality separating himself from her in that way. he's hitting that point where he's really free falling into his internalized homophobia and it's affecting his relationships. he's still close and touchy and dependent with her in private but its much harder for him to do in public, which I'd think makes her pull away in turn because that hurts y'know? people being ashamed to be her friend when she's already dealing with straight up bullying in school just feels like punching down when she's already stuck.

dennis joining their friend group is Awkward at first. its weird. i think he first meets them awkwardly trying to get weed or running into them somehow, and slowly weaves his way into their lives and it's hard for all of them in different ways? mac is overjoyed theres a cooler person in their friend group but is still closed off in a way that kind of pisses dennis off, but joyce is so open and non judgemental that dennis doesnt know what to Do with it. i think undeniably joyce is jealous as hell because in his attempt to be badass he just switches his codependency from joyce to dennis and doesn't recognize it. slowly the three of them become less of joymac or macden and just the gang, ronnie the rat dirtgrug and the golden god smoking awful weed under the bleachers but it takes work to get there. where joymac are soulmates in some way whether they want to or not, macden are connected in some fucked up way with secret whispers and linked fingers in the dark, and joyden are purposeful connection - putting effort into being kind to one another in a way neither of them normally do.

i think joyce doesn't know what to do with herself in highschool, kind of floating aimlessly during the day, eating whatever spider adriano hands her, waiting til the sun sets to hold macs hand and have him help with the homework she can't figure out how to read. in that space i think she latches onto the reynolds twins in a weird way none of them know exactly what to do with. dee and him chat awkwardly while macden are in the room alone talking in hushed tones and blushing, they sit together a kind of weird girls connection neither of them ever particularly wanted, but a connection both of them needed if that makes sense? they arent Best Friends like the others but they have some sort of understanding of their mutual ostracization from the world. mac was always there for joyce no matter what but i dont think he particularly understood some of what was happening? he knew it was bad but they were little kids with terrible guardians, but i think dennis was the first person to recognize what was really happening with joyce and uncle jack and have a like. genuine connection over that trauma no one else fully Gets, mirrors of each other in an awful way.

i think over time long term mac gets over some of his hangups, especially after graduation when the twins leave for college and its just joymac against the world again but joyce never quite is as open as when they were kids until later on. i think it takes a while to build back up the comfort levels but no matter what mac is always joyces best friend, she's just not sure she's his for a long time in those growing years and she harbors, not resentment because she could never ever hate him, but a sort of deep sadness over it. in my mind especially post him coming out and Especially her coming out they're more comfortable holding hands in public and laying on one bed together again but for a long time i think theres a sort of mutual sadness of them not being able to have what they had as little kids with no one judging them

[marimbles]

I know this is super random and like a year late, but as the consummate marichat fan, what were your thoughts on Elation?

first of all, apparently there are two definitions of the word “consummate” and until now i only knew the first one. HDNSND

second, i have many thoughts about elation but they are honestly kind of mixed and jumbled!!! On one hand, WHAT AN EPISODE!!!!! it still feels like a fever dream lmao. marichat fell in love and went on a cute little date and he took her up way in the sky with his baton carrying her princess style and then they tango’d over to andre’s and wanted to get Love ice cream and then they had the CUTEST KISS EVER!!!!! nose kiss cheek kiss lip kiss combo are you kidding. Are you KIDDING me. then he was trying to be respectful and not take advantage??? 😭 and she got AKUMATIZED bc she wanted to keep kissing him so bad??? HDJDJD and then the angsty second kiss to break her free omfggggggg people died (im people). the little moment at the end too when they agree to go their separate ways but hug like good friends who are in love. Waaaaa my heart. It was all really really good. I loved it. When I first watched it I kept having to pause and pace around like a madman fhsndn

On the other hand, it was so different from my personal vision of marichat that I wasn’t totally sure how to feel! The essence Marichat to me has always been a friends-to-lovers slowburn, so “sin ship” stuff or fics where they very quickly fall into a relationship against their better judgment have never been my cup of tea. And this episode felt like sort of a tamer, canon-appropriate version of that? It came on so fast and was over just as quickly. marichat ended up being just a one-night fling, basically. which is fine because I i always figured it wouldn’t play a big role in the plot—we got wayyyy more marichat than I ever expected to get! So I’m grateful! I don’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth haha. But at the same time I couldn’t help but feel sort of disappointed in how it all played out. because while I’ve always been rooting for reverse crush development, I never truly wanted a “love square flip” in the sense of them completely switching love interests from ladrien to marichat. That idea never felt super authentic to the characters to me. I feel like OG crush is so baked in to the love square, you know? This probably sounds rich coming from such a loud annoying marichat stan lmao but I always think of them as still being partly in love with OG crush underneath it all, even if marichat are together.

Anyway, i guess I just had a hard time processing it at all because I had a very specific vision/preference for how I wanted the love square to play out—which was basically, reverse crush develops simultaneously with OG crush and they have to figure out how to deal with being in love with two people at once, and then at the reveal they get the relief of knowing it was always the same person all along, and of course they fell for them twice. Idk to me that would be the most satisfying culmination of the love square—one of the most interesting romantic plot elements I’ve ever seen! And that’s not how the show writers decided to go. Which is OK. We got so much good love square and there will be more to come. I really have been trying to let go of what was always just my personal preference for the LS. But at the time I couldn’t help but feel it was sort of wasting a lot of potential by going in this direction. And that did kind of sour my experience watching elation. marichat was set up and discarded so quickly, as if to both satisfy the fans and also shut them up lol. like “here, you got your marichat, you animals. and now that door is permanently closed bc we just proved how it would never work.” Hahaha. And tbh maybe that was a necessity! Like the closure of that possibility.

All in all elation was an amazing episode. It just made me sort of sad at the end, watching marichat die within minutes of becoming canon. also at the time there were a bunch of marichat stans being kind of obnoxious and salting on ladrien which also dampened the mood a lot for me. So I felt weirdly sad for a while after watching it, even tho it was such an exciting ride that I’d been looking forward to. I guess I just keep thinking “yes this is what I wanted!! …except not like this tbh”

lol I’m so entitled Im sorry….we ate SO good. Elation will always be iconic. Weredad is still my all-time favorite episode though! :)