#or having people shit on me because i use li builds (even though i often perform better than meta builds because i pay attention)

[awkward-teabag]

There's a talk about how bad live service games are from a consumer standpoint between the predatory "micro" transactions and how it removes access to games consumers paid for (just check out the latest Ubisoft controversy where they'll straight up delete your account—including games you paid for—if you don't respond to an email in time) but something that gets talked about less is how it gives companies the ability to straight up change how characters/classes/weapons/etc function and how that can make it hard or impossible for people to keep playing.

There is an understood risk of playing, say, an MMO where your character(s) could be changed at any given balance patch but it's assumed that playability would stay in the same realm, or at least low-intensity builds (builds that have less buttons to push and more downtime) would be left alone since LI builds rarely are top-performers.

But with live service games being what they are, all it takes is a change of design lead or balance lead to decide that LI builds are bad actually and to change them with no warning. Then "git gud-ers" come out of the woodwork to defend the change that was never asked for, wasn't game-breaking, and never so much as hinted to be a problem until right that moment.

You can't "git gud" wrist issues.

You can't "git gud" slow reflexes.

You can't "git gud" missing fingers/limbs.

You can't "git gud" brain processing speed.

And so on.

But because of the nature of live service/always online games, there's no way to avoid it as you can't simply not update the game to avoid the changes, not unless you don't want to play at all.

Or you pirate it and have a private server to run said pirated version on.

Accessibility matters. A lot. But it's not taken seriously and there's still the pervasive idea that if anyone so much as mentions video game, accessibility they're just being lazy and need to "git gud". With the lack of physical ownership or being able to opt-out of drastic changes, all it takes is someone in a studio to ascribe to that idea who has the power to push changes and people who prefer/can only play with LI builds can find themself suddenly not being able to play whatsoever.

[johannestevans]

The Relief of a Queer Audience as a Fruity Stand-Up Comic

Explaining one’s existence takes up time.

On Medium / / On Patreon.

I’m a stand-up comedian.

Last week, I did some comedy at a queer-run, queer-centred open mic — suddenly, a twelve-minute set fit into six, because I was in a room full of queer people who knew exactly what I was talking about.

I didn’t have to take time to explain what bears, twinks, and otters are; I didn’t have to make sure everyone had a working understanding of what Grindr is; I could make puns and little quips that because of the sheer cultural gap, a cis straight audience just wouldn’t be equipped to understand.

In front of straight audiences, I often mention RuPaul’s Drag Race — in front of queer ones, I’ve never even thought about it.

There is an unfortunate rule in stand-up comedy that basically every marginalised stand-up comic has experience of, and knows that they often have to follow in rooms where they’re the minority, and even in many rooms where they’re not.

Comedy is the art of creating tension, and then breaking it. The essence of a good punchline lies in surprising the audience — they laugh because they didn’t see the joke’s culmination coming.

Because of the way marginalised people are treated in our society, when we are surrounded by those who are part of the majority of which we’re not a part, or when we are noticeably different in some way, our very existence creates tension.

As a gay man, and particularly as a gay man who’s very faggy and effete, who is most explicitly not interested in assimilating with cis-hetero society, I often find that my presence in some rooms can discomfort those around me. Straight men, particularly, often become nervous — people choose their words more carefully, or they clam up and don’t dare to speak at all.

Many of these people would say it comes from a fear of “offending” me, which is a polite way of saying they don’t know how to be normal when they talk to an obviously gay man. Either they’re ordinarily casually homophobic, or they say bizarre shit about gay people — and they feel quite comfortable saying things like that around other straight people, but when there’s a gay person right there?

Well, they might be called out on that shit.

They’re more comfortable with gay people when we exist in theory, and they can’t see one right in front of them.

Most people in 2023 do know other gay men and queer people, though, even if they don’t necessarily know one that’s as fruity as I am — as a trans man, though? That discomfort goes through the roof.

And I experience that as a white man who’s thin and isn’t visibly disabled most of the time. When I’m using my cane or wearing joint braces, it ramps up even further — friends of colour, especially people I know who are Black and darker skinned, especially who wear hijabs or other head coverings, or who have natural hair, experience all this discomfort a thousandfold, of people’s stares and discomfort, the questions that are building up on their tongues.

What does this have to do with stand-up comedy?

That discomfort that one feels when one walks into a room where one is outnumbered, where one is known to the room as Different, a Minority, and Marginalised… When you walk onto a stage, it becomes quite literally spotlit.

As I said, your existence creates tension.

People don’t often think of it like this, but stand-up comedy is a form of one-person theatre. You are in essence performing a monologue for your audience, and part of your performance is in making your monologue appear spontaneous.

As in any form of theatre, it’s important to engage with your audience. You don’t just practice in private, learn your work off-rote, and then do precisely the same thing in front of the crowd.

You listen for when they’re breathing. You pause when they need time to digest what you’ve said, or to let a particular line make its emotional impact. When they applaud, you might choose to hesitate a few moments before you go on, letting that applause dissipate — other times, you might shout over the noise.

Because the whole of the audience is fixed on you and your work on the stage, you control the room — you do this by creating a world, a narrative, that you are all sharing together.

When you start to tell a joke, you begin ramping up the tension. You are drawing your audience in, asking them to imagine the world you’re envisaging, to come along with you for the ride. The longer you talk for, the tighter you turn those screws, the more tension there is in the room, the more anticipant the audience is, the more they hold their breaths —

Then you tell the punchline, and that tension is broken as the audience (hopefully) laughs.

This process comes down to one’s theatrical skill. The audience needs to be able to understand what you’re saying and what you’re communicating, they need to trust that you’re leading them in a direction that will be funny, that you’re worth listening to, and worth laughing with.

Almost no comedian would start their set with a long joke that takes a lot of set-up to get to the punchline, because much of the audience wouldn’t listen to the set-up. They’d be irritated and impatient at all this babble that doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.

You tell a few shorter jokes at first — you break the initial tension between you, a stranger, and the audience. You let them learn who you are as a person, and trust that you’re funny, that you’re equipped to lead them on his journey and give them a few more laughs.

You might even hear comedians talking about rooms in terms of temperature, talking about a “warm” room or crowd, or a “cold” one, or an MC talking about warming an audience up — a warmer audience is more receptive; a colder audience is more shut down, disinterested. Even the funniest material won’t land if the audience is shut off and doesn’t want to hear it.

Sometimes an audience will shut themselves off consciously and purposely — for example, certain men might have a little tantrum when they see a woman comic walk on stage, and they might cross their arms over their chest and decide they won’t be laughing at anything she says, because they’ve already decided she’s not funny.

As a gay guy, I’ve absolutely experienced that from staunch homophobes in the audience, especially when I start making jokes about sex.

But some audiences become unreceptive not because they’re intentionally rejecting a relationship with the comedian — they’re distracted.

When I was performing as a comic before I passed as cisgender, I could often feel the audience telegraphing their “confusion” about who and what I was.

They weren’t listening to my jokes because they in their heads they were thinking, “So, is this a lesbian? Is it a man or a woman? Are they queer?”, and because they were so focused on that, they weren’t coming with me on the jokes I was actually telling.

If your identity requires any kind of “explanation,” you often try to address it in your opener, because until you break that initial tension, you can’t start building and breaking new tensions with your actual jokes.

If someone noticeably different, who’s a member of a marginalised community or is just from a background or community they’re not used to, walks on stage, a lot of the audience will wait for the punchline.

However subconsciously, the audience thinks of someone they consider different-looking — someone who looks very queer instead of straight, who’s a woman instead of a man, who’s Black or East Asian or Indigenous or otherwise not-white instead of white, who’s disabled instead of abled, and yeah, who looks like they might be trans — walking onto the stage as the set-up for a joke.

What’s unfortunate is that to get certain audiences on-side, they’ll stay shut down until in some way you assure them that you’re “one of the good ones” — if you’re gay, for example, they want to be told that you’re not one of those gay people.

(I’m not personally equipped to tell them that, because whatever negative connotations “one of those” has, I almost certainly deserve them.)

They want to be assured that you won’t say, for example, that the bigotry you’re treated with is bad — and if you must say that, you absolutely must not imply that the audience might have a hand in it, God forbid!

That’s the root of a lot of their discomfort. Audiences don’t want to be “preached” to, don’t want to hear about anything “woke”, don’t want to be called out.

Any marginalised person can tell you that a lot of the time you’re not doing any of those things — you’re just talking, and because the other person feels a lot of guilt about your existence, they interpret it as preaching or criticism. Sensitive sorts, these cishets.

Fuck me, the relief I feel when I’m in a queer comedy room, and I don’t have to explain anything.

Fuck explaining terms, or lingo, or the queer and trans cultural aspects that a straight audience might not be familiar with — in front of a queer audience, I don’t have to explain me. I don’t have to justify my existence, or footnote it, before I can get to the performance.

I can just tell the jokes I came on stage to tell, and enjoy the laughs that follow.

[yourtoradorasextendedwarranty]

Climate Manufacturing

So I've seen a lot of amazing posts on Climate Change and things alarmists have done to screw stuff up. Here is a video detailing the fact that this whole discussion is profit driven at its core.

And another reason to add to the pile of why I don't believe that 90% of young people need to be activists. Because they tend to be loud, abrasive, and they are the easiest group to manipulate in general. Anything you tell them with even superficial evidence and they just eat that shit up whole sail. They also are not a group that suffers legal consequences.

I take huge issue with that in general because it's a weaponization of the ignorant class. But here is a video detailing the fact that fossil fuels are a ethical to use until we go to a better source like Nuclear.

But I have to go into detail into this. And I'll use Texas as an example. When the huge winter storm happened Solar and Wind was useless. Not to mention, the material cost of solar and wind in general.

Never you mind the cost to people's freedoms. Which is another important detail we don't often look at. Solar panels take about 10-15 years to recoup the amount of emissions it took to make them. Wind is about this same though I think the high end on those is 20 years or more. And that's just for one. If you build 40 of those and it takes high end values to recoup all of that you are looking at 800 years.

So in our push for "Renewables" we are actually doing far more harm than good. Hell Germany CHEERED when they started getting rid of Nuclear. Except in doing so they started moving back to coal. Rather than natural gas which is more efficient and cleaner to use than coal.

If you can't see that there are people with vested interests in the world around you looking for a pay out, who legit do not care about the environment let me point you to this:

Trees of which, actually absorb CO2 emissions. So what I'm hearing is that we need to get rid of plantlife, specifically trees for the sake of "Climate Change". Biden in the US is trying to ban (or might have already) Incandescent light bulbs, gas burners, and is going after home generators next I believe that run on gas. All for "Climate Change".

Now here's the thing. I understand that Solar and Wind are not TERRIBLE. But they also kind of are. The wind does not always blow and the sun does not always shine. And with Battery technology at a near standstill, and the fact that Solar Panels are NON recyclable, with some of the cheaper end ones being actually pretty dangerous if they break at all because of the chemicals inside. Then you have the problem with wind farms that need MILES of trees cut down in order to make room for them. Meaning animal habitats are destroyed in the process, and they kill avian life as well.

I'm not saying climate change is not real. It clearly is. However the alarmism is meant to make you be afraid. That fear is profit for some company invested in coal, or renewables.

If you really want to make changes to the grid, start advocating for Nuclear. It's cleaner, lasts longer, is safer when managed correctly, and on top of that takes up less space in general. So long story short. If you see a person that's pushing "Renewables" over Nuclear, they are either ignorant, or they are lying to you. Might be time to actually start learning facts rather than being lied to, to fill someone else's wallet. Which IS what you are doing.

[chubphoe-linkclick]

A Defense of Li Tianchen

BECAUSE HE SUCKS BUT SO DOES HIS LIFE

At some point, I started thinking about how the twin's consciousnesses actually work when Li Tianchen possesses Li Tianxi, because it's implied that LTX is aware somehow when they're combining powers. And while LTC is doing the actions, it also kinda raises the question of how responsible LTX is for this since she is an accessory to a series of murders. Which lead to me remembering: she's 12.

But, like, they're twins.

They were both 12 at the same time when they were orphaned, an incredibly vulnerable point in their lives, and then pushed into this line of work by the very person who was charged with caring for them. We met LTC being the pos he is as an adult, but Qian Jin had been their parental figure, getting them to assassinate people from such an early age, likely deploying the emotionally manipulating even earlier with play pretend kindness that LTC had to resist against by himself. Like LTC's options were incredibly limited, I'm not gonna beef with the 12 y/o who's just trying his best here.

Especially after being asked to carry out the murder of the alleged adulterer, LTC realises that QJ is the type of person he despises the most: a woman-abusing husband that runs off his own paranoia. To LTC, he is garbage and stinky stinky doo doo, leaving LTC nor LTX with only each other to trust in the world. Only Xixi is in need of someone (LTC) to care for her due to her disability. And being mute, she's never able to provide LTC with the much needed emotional warmth to help his heart survive the dark road they're forced to walk, the road he's forced to navigate by himself.

This leaves LTC stuck in this weird situation where he just has to accept this life and the line of work QJ is giving to him despite detesting the bastard probably more than anything else. He can't really tell anyone because it sounds batshit insane. LTC also has benevolent reasons to stay with QJ and keep doing what he asks of them because QJ can guarantee LTX's wellbeing (e.g. access to a special school so she can finally get education and support). The only person who cares about him can't do anything to help because life is cruel. Like holy shit this tween isn't gonna have the balls to confront QJ about this even though he's sussed the rat bastard out. All the twins know are toxic, abusive adults that can’t be trusted; why would the next foster family be any different? “A familiar devil is better than an unfamiliar angel” is often a saying that rings painfully true for a lot of people in an abusive situation; more uncertainty and powerlessness is the last thing victims need in their lives. Even more so since QJ clearly has mafia connections. Especially so since LTC choosing to cooperate with QJ ensures that LTX will have the building blocks of good life. Safety, sheltered, food, and clothing can look like luxury when you’re use to so much less.

By the time LTC is big enough to have a chance of breaking free of his circumstances, he doesn't.

Why?

Because that's how it's always been. Because he and Xixi never talk about anything. Because they're both messed up kids on the inside that have no one to guide them and are still running on the same infantile survival mode that they have been before being orphaned. Because even if LTC does has the power to change things, how can he have any belief that his actions will ever be enough; enough to escape the grips of the darkness that he's forced to live with, enough to hope for happy and fulfilling lives, enough for the siblings to finally go back home.

LTC is ten types of awful and he should probably get the death penalty, but wow has his life been a special type of hell. I have so much beef when people don't give due sympathy when it's sorely needed, which imo I see a lot in the fandom with it's favouring of Xixi even when we only knew about the twins as children.

I don’t think he’s redeemable nor do I want him to be, but I do think he’s misunderstood as heck. But I will admit that the OTT characterisation season 2 decided to give him and QJ early on wasn’t doing him any damn favours.

[flownintothesun]

 ⋆ ✰ ⋆ ───    𝐈𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐬, 𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐬?

                            ⋆ ✰ ⋆ ─── 𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐞 ( @astremourante )

       𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐆𝐆𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐋𝐘 shippy themes in general? I am the biggest hopeless romantic and my strength in writing lies pretty heavily in character-building and I feel like romance really is an adaptive and immersive experience in getting to explore nuances of a character. That’s not to say that I’m ONLY up for shippy things by any means — but they do tend to catch my interest more often because the characters are kind of working through things together. My strengths in writing don’t tend to be high-action sequences, or worldbuilding (which is why I get nervous reaching out to plot — don’t want to seem disinterested when really it’s a 404 Orion not found). Often I do my best to worldbuild but my characters tend to lead me through writing not through ‘aha’ moments beforehand. As I get to know the dynamic, I start getting more thoughts!

     I enjoy a great many tropes — I am learning to love being self-indulgent in writing, and love when my writing partners are the same and aren’t dialing back. (One of my favorite things about people in general is them getting excited about things they’re passionate about). Some of my favorite writing tropes tend to be found family, idiots in love, hurt/comfort, lemons (not even ashamed), the falling in love bit (one day I will manage a slowburn without getting impatient), friends to lovers, enemies to lovers — I really love dynamics where the muses are breaking down walls, I love when things move in unexpected ways. I like complicated a hell of a lot — but I am also a sucker for happy endings (ngl I am not a fan of sad book endings AT ALL). I love when writing kind of encourages each partner to just immerse and create a well-rounded story with drama and intrigue and even action sometimes. I love learning about the nuances of other people’s characters while getting to explore mine. I love the trope of the character who thinks they are unlovable learning to be loved. Sometimes I like darker stuff, too. And some controversial stuff, as listed on my page. Almost anything ticks some kind of box for me as long as the plot is moving forward and there are opportunities for both muses to grow. I like things that aren’t like — predictable? Threads that I haven’t used as a premise 100 times before.

      Back when I used to write like 50 muses, most of whom were canons, I used to make the joke about trying to get the URL ‘onceuponaprince’ because I definitely had a type I’d tend to write. But I do think all kinds of muses have a little bit of cliche in them, yeah? Francis is the princely type with the fairytale cliche of not being able to be himself because of his parents. Westley is the bad boy with a heart of gold meets bratty little shit. Marin is the one who underneath it all just wants to learn how to be loved (and arguably people would probably say she’s the female character ‘too soft’ cliche even though I don’t think so and fuck a whole lot of people who say female muses can’t ever be soft), Luci is like...a villain arc trope waiting to happen. Mariano is the strong and silent type — the almost-villain with a redemption arc. But they’re all kind of just themselves, too.

[fedorahead]

if you look back at your younger self and cringe, you haven't learned all their lessons yet.

it always makes me uncomfortable when people have horribly mean things to say about their child, teen, young adult selves... that's the person who built the you of today.

i have so much respect for the teenager dealing with mood swings and trauma competing with each other for life ruining intensity. that kid had balls. running around downtown trying random doors to see if they were locked, climbing on rooftops, hiding from cops, drinking in parks, walking around hoping to run into people... my agoraphobia has me fucked up in adulthood but i know what i'll be capable of when i face it because i know what i have done.

that kid hanging out outside borders asking grown ass boomers if they were boys or girls, translating manic sugar high energy into shenanigans that outraged people mired in the status quo, that kid grew up to become someone who eschews gender norms and actively helps people acknowledge and accept their own complex selves.

the snarky asshole telling their grandma's friend that they have no idea where the soap is because they don't wash fuckin dishes, to be told as a woman they should know how to do such things even though they're heavily allergic to dishsoap? that kid still doesn't do fuckin dishes, and fights dumbass gender stereotypes for the next generation of kids getting fed toxic lies.

that kid who fought with breathing problems, digestive issues, eczema, mysterious exercise malaise and intolerance, and was told they were fine and normal and lazy toughed through a lot of shit i couldn't even imagine doing now that i know my health issues are real and can be minimized through avoidance of allergens and certain activities. they discovered the only exercise i can get without wanting to toaster bath has to be play, because i don't get endorphins from exercise itself. so now i fight with foam swords because that's full of endorphins.

this was a kid who started with 0 friends and a school full of enemies. who was in counseling from age 2. who got put in therapy groups every year in school with kids who had very different lives and problems. this is a kid who survived childhood undiagnosed and autistic, and managed to develop friendships (slowly, and later than everyone else), a passion for style and fashion (that had some very wild moments people still like to laugh at), a biting humour that hurt people as often as it made them laugh, a dedication to becoming excellent at every major struggle.... this kid set up everything it's my job to build and grow. and they gave me a bunch of shit i can be proud of for the rest of my life.

that kid was the one who kept getting spawnkilled so that i could have 22 years of sniping experience.

that kid was the one who wore mismatched converse and had panick attacks when people called them weird for it, so that i can dress like a goth ragdoll and beam with pride.

that kid wore the most uncomfortable clothing on earth every day so that i was forced to learn how to find clothing that i could look good in without wanting to die from discomfort.

that kid did everything that made the good parts of me, and that's the same kid who went through my trauma and worked on rounding out the rough edges along the way.

the person i used to be split their time between building me, and healing for me, so that i can do the same for the me that will come later.

idk, i can't imagine shitting on them and whispering their secrets to scandalize my friends. i'm a pretty big fan, honestly. teenage me was fucking awesome. i'm glad they never managed to stop me now from happening.

[tagalongifyoudare]

The Ending

Welp.....this turned out longer then I thought it would. That's just what this show does; once I start, I just can't stop 🤷🏽‍♀️. Onwards!

I honestly don't understand how some people don't like the ending of Season 1. It is one of my favorite things about YR. Every time it ends, I just go feral and want to immediately watch it all over again.

It is the epitome of why this show has my whole heart and soul. It should be sad, devastating, leaving me wanting nothing more to do with the show; it is not. It is so god damn passionate and hopeful.

No, they are not together. Yes, Simon is left knowing that Wille loves him, and that it is his decision to be apart. No, Wille did not hear it back, and he did not expect to. And yet, it ends with Fire ❤️‍🔥.

They will eventually get back together. Nothing anyone (except for Lisa Ambjorn) can say will change my mind. It may not be soon, or how any of us expect; but this is a love story, and I have complete faith it will have a happy ending.

Simon needed to hear that Wille loved him. We know how much (and for how ridiculously long) Wille has been in love with that boy, but it has all been out of sight for Simon. He did not see the pining, the Insta stalking, the panic attack from deleting his contact. From Simon's perspective, Wille took back their first kiss. He told Simon to delete their texts. Now, he has denied that he was in the video. From Simon's side it is possible, Wille meant something more to Simon, then Simon did to Wille. Let us not forget, "You’ve got to learn to keep your nerves in check. Most of your calculations are correct but many of your answers are not." We all know how nervous Wille makes Simon. Simon, who loves deeply, and has been hurt by it before needed the confirmation that it wasn't one sided. Both his calculations and his answers were correct. They were in it together, until outside pressures became too much for Wille. When all is said and done, Simon needed to know that Wille still loved him, even after everything.

Simon is resolute in his decision to value himself. This is so fucking important. I love that YR deals with a lot of really heavy, real world issues in a natural, and almost casual way. It isn't forced, or directly discussed (just as it often isn't in real life), just beautifully represented. So often media seems to blur the lines of compromise, and devaluing yourself. Simon values himself enough to not be hidden, and that is beautiful and should be celebrated. It is a bittersweet victory and Simon, Wille, and the audience all know this. It somehow makes Simon's decision all the more beautiful and poignant.

*Slightly off topic, but that's how I roll 😂. I think that Simon is going to have to also do some thinking, and evaluating if he wants to be with Wille for real (if Wille comes out, etc). Simon is obviously completely in love with Wille, his sweet, awkward boy; I don't think he loves Crown Prince Wilhelm. If they want to really build a life together (even for just a while) he will have to learn to love this part too. (Even if Wille were to abdicate, a part of him would still always be Crown Prince Wilhelm, even if an Ex were added to the front). I don't think he hates the Crown Prince part (he talks about the body guards, laughs when Malin knocks, interrupting them, etc); I don't think he loves this part though. We all know Simon is a little shit. He's been making fun of Wille since basically day 1. If he loved the Crown Prince part, I think we would see him being a total shit about it too. Constantly calling Wille "Your majesty" and bowing. He doesn't like this part, and neither does Wille; but therein lies the problem. Wille does not get a choice.

Wille needed to tell Simon he loved him; needed for Simon to know. Wille made his choice, but it was not because he didn't love Simon. He needed Simon to know that Simon was enough, it was just more complicated than Wille could handle at the moment. He also needed Simon to know that he is trying to be brave. He failed by denying the video, and he knows that he fucked up. He started that conversation by saying we just can’t be seen together. He needed to show Simon that he is trying to be brave, trying to go against his mother, trying to be true to himself. It may not be much, and it definitely isn't enough, but he will take the first step by hugging Simon here, in public, with all eyes on them.

Wille did not expect to hear it back. He knows that he is not able to give Simon what he has asked for yet. Wille needs to fight for Simon, out in the open, and he knows it. This was the first step. You can see it on his face when Simon says "You expect everything to be on your terms"; Wille realises in that moment he is asking the same thing of Simon that the Queen asked of Wille. As much as Wille wants to be with Simon, I think he wants to be nothing like the Queen. He really listens to Simon, and knows that he has to figure this out on his own. I also think on some level he knows how much it has already been hurting him having to keep Simon a secret; Wille knows this is best for both of them (for now). As much as you can see the hurt, you can also see the pride when it is not returned. The first time Wille smiled at him, during the song was because of how damn brave he is. The boy he loves takes shit from no one, not even the Crown Prince.

And then the fucking song, combined with the fourth wall break. The pure fire in Wille's eyes. Like, how does that not leave you just dying to watch him burn it all to the ground?

👑🫀🎶❤️‍🔥

[babyboibucky]

Charm

Pairing: TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky checks whether he still has his 1940′s charm.

Word Count: 1,613

Warnings: TFATWS spoilers! No warning, just a bit of fluff I guess???

A/N: Nothing really, just that Bucky deserves all the love in the world :’)

Charming (Part 2) || MAIN MASTERLIST

“You should date someone.”

Bucky groans at Yori’s suggestion. Again. The old guy had been pestering him about it ever since they started their little friendship. Introduced girls and forced him to take them out to dinner or bingo. He did try of course, but it always seemed too fast for him.

“I already did, haven’t I? You sort of forced me to go on one, remember?” Bucky asked before downing a glass of sake in one go.

Thank god they went to a different Japanese restaurant this time. His date with the girl at the other restaurant went pretty badly, with him walking out after a particularly sensitive topic and never returning. Bucky felt bad and as much as he wanted to go back there and apologize, he just doesn’t have the courage to show his face again.

“Yeah, well you messed up.” Yori said pointedly.

Bucky chortled, “Or maybe you messed up by forcing me. I told you, you gotta take it slow like a dance. I mean, you don’t just ask anyone to dance with you. You ask someone you’d like to dance with.”

Yori’s shoulders trembled as he tried to bite back his laughter. Bucky made a face when he realized he’d been talking a lot.

“Then go find someone you want to date. Or maybe you just don’t have it in you.” The older man teased.

Bucky couldn’t help but grin, “Sounds like a challenge.”

As Bucky poured himself another glass of sake, he began to wonder whether Yori was right. Maybe he really didn’t have it anymore, the confidence and charm he used to have back in his time.

Only one way to find out.

-

The club was a bad idea. A really bad idea.

Initially, Bucky thought that it would be the perfect place to find someone to date. Apparently not, because despite the presence of beautiful girls, they were pretty much throwing themselves at him. As much as Bucky was curious about the so called “hook-up” culture in the modern times, it just wasn’t for him.

And good god, the dancing? It’s not what it used to be; Bucky wasn’t even sure if he could call those movements “dance”.

Bucky called it a night and quickly headed to the exit. And that’s where he noticed you, fumbling with your phone and clicking your tongue from what seemed to be frustration. He slowed down in his steps, not wanting to interrupt your little moment as you mumbled a string of curses to yourself.

He eyed you from head to toe, noticing that you were wearing something too simple for a club: just a white shirt, some jeans and a pair of sneakers. With Bucky’s experience, he learned to be observant enough to read someone’s personality.

You were definitely not a frequent visitor to these clubs. And he was right about that because you were just forced to tag along to your officemates to celebrate a promotion.

“Ugh, fuck. Come on!” You unintentionally exclaimed out loud, stomping on the ground causing for Bucky to let out a chuckle.

Bucky’s eyes widened when you abruptly turned around, “Oh sorry. I didn’t meant to uhh...are you okay?” He asked timidly, slowly walking over to where you stood.

You huffed out, “I’m trying to book a ride, but the signal here sucks.” You explained. “And I’m not really comfortable to walk home at this hour.” You quickly added.

It was close to ten in the evening, it wasn’t that late yet but given the location and downsides of being a woman, you really didn’t want to risk your safety.

“Won’t your friends give you a ride home?” He asked.

You groaned, “They aren’t really my friends...I just work with them. They’re all shit-faced drunk and I didn’t even plan on coming here. Not a fan of clubs.” You admitted.

Bucky chuckled as he kicked the ground, “Guess that makes two of us.”

Your hum caught Bucky’s attention and when he looked up, you were looking at him suspiciously. For a moment he thought that you might have recognized him but you merely laughed and shook your head.

“You don’t seem like the type to hate clubs. Why are you here then?” You asked curiously.

Bucky shrugged, “Thought I’d find someone here that I can you know...take out on a date.”

You cackled out loud, it was the kind of laughter that made Bucky join in. You probably thought it was stupid for him to come looking for love at a club. And well, given his experience inside, you were correct.

“I know. It’s stupid. I haven’t been to clubs really, so I honestly didn’t know what to expect.” He admitted, rubbing the back of neck sheepishly.

You nodded, “How was your experience inside then?”

“You could say I was pretty shocked. And disoriented. The lights made me dizzy.” Bucky said, widening his eyes in emphasis.

Laughing, you nodded and agreed before introducing yourself so casually. Bucky repeated your name, he liked the way it sounded.

“I’m James.”

Bucky found himself easily opening up to you. The conversations flowed naturally, from something as basic as favorite food down to your mutual hatred for crowded places and everything in between. Bucky learned that you often volunteer at an orphanage and that you hate plums which happens to be his favorite. It resulted to a harmless debate that lasted ten minutes.

You asked him about his work, something that he had to lie his way around. As much as he wanted to be honest with you, he was afraid that revealing the truth might scare you off. You seemed to be really interested in him whenever he talked about his boring daily routine.

“Do you...do you like to talk somewhere else?” Bucky blurted out.

You offered a sad smile, one that broke Bucky’s heart because you were probably going to reject him. Understandable though, he was a stranger and it was late at night. It was hard to trust people nowadays.

“I have work tomorrow morning.” You apologetically said.

“But you can walk me home...if you’d like?” You asked. “I probably sound demanding but uhh, I don’t think I can really book a ride and I don’t want to walk home alone at this hour.”

Bucky heaved out a deep sigh of relief and laughed, “I thought you didn’t like talking to me.” He sheepishly admitted.

“No, I actually like talking to you. You’re fun. And interesting.” You smiled.

Bucky beamed and extended a hand, letting you lead the way before matching your pace. The more he talked to you, the more he realized that maybe, just maybe, you’d be the first person he’d willingly ask out on a date.

The walk lasted half an hour but to Bucky, it only felt like minutes. It was definitely not enough for him to get to know you more.

“Well, this is me.” You announced when you reached your apartment building.

“Thanks for walking me home, I really appreciate it.” You said.

Bucky placed his hands inside his pockets and nodded, “Call me old-fashioned, but I felt like any gentleman should do so.”

Bucky held your gaze and debated how he should ask you out. Should he just blurt out the question? Would that be too soon? Your number! Maybe he should ask for your number first, show his therapist that finally, there was a new number registered in his contacts.

“Well, I should head inside.” You said when Bucky remained silent and although Bucky didn’t want to assume, he thought he saw a look if disappointed in your eyes.

Yori is going to regret saying that he doesn’t have game.

“Wait,” Bucky called out before you could turn around. “Being old-fashioned and all, I know this might be too forward. Or too fast, even.” he trailed and cleared his throat.

“Would you like to go out on a date with me? This Saturday. We can go to the beach, get ice cream...” he suggested.

Wrong move! Out of all the places he could suggest, it just had to be the beach! It’s not like he could wear a long-sleeved top and his gloves without getting dirty looks from people. You were going to find out the truth about him, his arm, his past. And then you’d regret letting him walk you home because who knew what the Winter Soldier was capable of?

“I’d love to.” You replied with a grin but before Bucky could suggest another place, you had already walked up to the front door of your apartment building, pulling it open before suddenly stopping.

“Or we can just take a walk at the park if you want, if that’s more comfortable for you.” You suggested turning your head to look back at Bucky.

He furrowed his brows in confusion. Again, he was unable to say something because you beat him to it with a surprising revelation.

“I’ll wait for you to come pick me up on Saturday. And don’t worry about your arm, I don’t mind. Good night, Bucky.”

And with one final beautiful smile, you headed inside the building leaving Bucky with a confused look. You knew him all along but didn’t say anything. You opened up to him, held his arm when you laughed and still, it didn’t bother you. You didn’t call him out when he lied about working for a mechanic shop, didn’t get scared when he offered to walk you home.

It took a few seconds for Bucky’s brain to process everything. And then he found himself grinning like a fool when he proved something to himself. And well, Yori too.

“Guess I still got it.”

-

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[divinerulerluvr]

Smells Like Teen Spirit

Summary - As you panic about being closer and closer to adult life, you figure you should do something spontaneous.

Pre-death Tate Langdon x fem!reader

Warnings - smut, language, drugs (cocaine), alcohol, no condom sex.

Words - 1.4k

A/N - Let's ignore the logistics of pool sex for a minute here because i think it's hot and its fictional so ignore chlorine or, ya know, science and enjoy it, you horny bastard. Also, coke causes aggression so dont say this is ooc.

- - -

Sitting in my backyard, the only light source was the lights from the fancy pool my parents had installed earlier this summer. Beside me on the other lounge chair is Tate.

It’s late at night and my parents had gone off for a business trip. They’re both lawyers and they often leave me alone here. And since I’m an only child, I spend most of my time alone or with Tate.

I chug back the rest of my beer, this one being the fourth of the night. Tate’s favorite album of all time, Nevermind by Nirvana, plays softly. Today was my seventeenth birthday and I had been having panic attacks all day about how dreadfully close I am to being a legal adult.

“I never do anything fun. I’ve basically wasted my prime teenage years,” I vent to Tate, leaning over the small patio table and snorting a line of the cocaine I had chopped up. I let out a heavy exhale, rubbing my nose.

“You still have a full year, though,” Tate replies, taking the credit card from me and crushing up his own pill to snort. He leans over the table, doing what I had previously done. He leans back, a satisfied sigh leaving his lips.

“Yeah. Three hundred sixty-five days left of my supposed “best years” left,” I chuckle dryly, looking out at the illuminated pool. “You do a lot of fun shit,” Tate replies, his blonde hair covering his eyes just slightly.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“You drink, you do drugs, you party--”

“One party. One party and I hated it,” I interrupt. A smile spreads on Tate’s lips. “You’ve been to a party,” he corrects himself. “I mean, are you even a virgin?”

“No,” I reply almost hesitantly as I grab my fifth beer and start drinking it. “See? Your life isn’t boring. You just think it is because it isn’t like the movies,” Tate says, grabbing what I believe to be his fourth beer.

“I know,” I say with a sigh, my head falling back onto the seat I lay on. “It’s just that I feel so… unfulfilled. Like I need to do something dangerous or spontaneous,”

“Then do something spontaneous,” Tate shrugs, his jawline sharpening as he chugs his beer. He pulls the bottle from his lips, panting from how long he was chugging the drink. “This tastes like shit,” he comments under his breath.

I bite my lower lip, reflecting on what Tate said. Something spontaneous…

Standing from the lounge chair, I look down at Tate who looks up at me. “What’re you doing?” he asks me. A smile spreads on my lips as I shrug. “Something spontaneous,”

My hands go to the hem of my shirt and I pull it off, revealing the fact that I didn’t wear a bra. Tate’s eyes widen, clearly never having seen boobs outside of a porno magazine. He watches with intense attention as I pull off my pajama shorts and underwear.

His eyes rake my naked body, making me scoff softly. “Come on, you pervert. Let’s do something spontaneous,” I say, turning around and walking down the warm cement and walk into the pool. By the time I’m in the pool, Tate had already stripped and gotten in behind me.

Tate studies me for a moment, his dark eyes scanning my eyes and briefly my naked body under the water. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” I say, a grin on my lips. He shyly nods, a light red covering his cheeks. I wade through the water to get closer to him, closing our distance. “I lied. I am a virgin,” I confess.

He smiles, his hands running down my back under the cool temperature water. He grabs a handful of my ass, causing me to inhale sharply. We keep eye contact, the tension building higher than ever.

“Tate,” I say in a whisper, our bodies slowly getting closer and closer until our chests are touching. I wrap my arms around the back of his neck, his hands pulling me up so I can wrap my legs around his waist.

Our noses graze and he keeps this tension-filled eye contact with me. He was teasing and I knew it. I run my one hand down his chest, feeling his gently toned muscles. The intro to “Smells Like Teen Spirit” plays and I know how Tate gets when this song plays.

Without hesitation, he pulls me into a deep kiss.

His lips were warm and tasted of beer and nicotine. His hands stay hooked under my ass, his nails scratching my skin ever so slightly. I press my body tight against his, my arousal growing like crazy.

We pull apart, panting heavily as we look into each other’s eyes. “Fuck me, Tate,” I pant. He smiles, licking his lips. Our lips meet again, pure lust and ravenous passion filling the kiss. My nails drag down his back as I feel his hand slowly migrate to between my thighs.

My gasp was muffled by his lips on mine as his thumb grazed over my clit. I buck my hips into his hand, my chest heaving. He moves us over to the edge of the pool, pushing me against the paved wall of the pool.

He uses the hand between my legs to guide himself into me, his dick pushing roughly into me under the water. A weak moan leaves my lips, his hand running up my chest and to the curve of my neck where his hand spans over my jaw.

He breaks the kiss, his eyes meeting mine as he pulls his hips back and thrusts into me. My mouth falls open in a soft moan, my eyebrows furrowed as my walls clench around his dick. My hands grab onto his shoulders, my fingers digging into his pale skin.

My legs stay wrapped around his waist, keeping him as close to me as possible. His eyes study my face, his own lips parted as he pants softly. The water ripples around us, the lights in the pool casting a beautiful glow on his face.

“Tate...” I moan, my eyes falling shut as my head falls back. He picks up the pace of his thrusts, causing my eyes to snap open. The stars shine bright in the sky, adding something to the boring, black night sky.

His hand runs up my neck, his middle and ring finger sliding into my mouth through my parted lips. I suck on his fingers, my eyes meeting his lust-filled ones. The loud guitar and drums of the song plays, the more amped the song gets, the more libido Tate gets.

Clearly enjoying the way I suck on his fingers, Tate fucks me harder than I ever thought he could. He was really bringing his best game. My fingers entangle in Tate’s messy hair, tugging at it softly.

He groans, his head falling back slightly. His fingers pull from my mouth, his hand moving under the water and rubbing my clit. I bury my head in the crook of his shoulder, the fresh smell of his skin filling my senses.

His hips continue snapping ruthlessly in and out of me, his pace picking up the closer we both got to finishing. Tate’s lips find my shoulder, peppering soft kisses on my skin before biting and sucking at it to create hickeys.

My arms wrap around his back, holding him close to me as my legs quiver under the water that only reaches our chests. I knew I was close when the world began to spin. If this is what sex always felt like, I understand why people always do it.

It doesn’t take much longer for me to orgasm, either.

With a weak moan, I get sent into orgasmic overdrive. Shivers run through my body as my nerves catch on fire from the feeling of it. I bite onto the soft skin of Tate’s neck, feeling him cum inside of me.

He fucks me through my orgasm, overstimulating me as I finally fall down from the high. Both panting, I pull my head from his neck and look into his eyes. He smiles softly, his cheeks red from his orgasm.

Tate keeps his hold on me, still inside of me as we calm down from the sex. The song crescendos out and the next song begins. “I love it when you’re spontaneous,” he comments, making me laugh softly.

“Yeah. It’s not too bad,”

[fruitcoops]

i would love to read coops doing one of those lie detector youtube videos!!

This was such a fun fic to research! I highly recommend watching the Try Guys Lie Detector videos if you'd like some context. Coops credit goes to @lumosinlove!

“Why are there so many of these?” Remus muttered, shaking his hand around. A series of multicolored wires smacked the table and Marlene rolled her eyes as she passed. “Sorry.”

“Welcome back to Lion Pride!” Sirius said as he turned to the camera with a smile. “I’m Sirius Black, and I’m here today with my husband, Remus Lupin, to get some answers.”

“We are also joined by Mark, who is an expert at reading polygraphs,” Remus added.

A middle-aged man in a blue shirt raised his hand in a slight wave. “Thanks for having me. Since you’re already hooked up, you’ll be going first. This machine measures your sweat, your heart rate, and a couple other common tells for liars. Do you lie often?”

Remus hesitated; Sirius hid a smile in his hand. “No, since I suck at lying, but I’ll do it if it makes somebody feel better. I think I’m pretty good at that.”

They stared at the polygraph for a moment before Mark nodded. “Checks out. Take it away, Sirius.”

Sirius cleared his throat and took a notecard from his stack. “Was going to college worth it?”

“Yes,” Remus answered almost immediately. “I don’t know what I would have done without getting my degree and staying close to hockey. Wouldn’t have met you, for one.”

“True,” Mark said without looking up.

“Do you like my playoff beard?”

“I do, yeah.” Mark raised his eyebrows and Remus pressed his lips together. “Okay, sometimes it’s a little much, but you’re pretty good about keeping things under control.”

“Alright,” Sirius said with playful skepticism. “Good to know. Who’s your favorite Lion?”

“Besides you? Talker.”

“Yeah, we don’t need a polygraph to know that,” Sirius laughed when Mark nodded. “Did you like my last haircut?”

“Oh, fuck,” Remus said under his breath, looking away.

“I knew it.”

“It wasn’t bad—”

“He’s lying,” Mark interrupted.

Remus turned to him with betrayal written all over his expression. “Dude!”

“You are.”

“Answer the question, Loops,” Sirius said, leaning back in his chair. “How did you feel about my last haircut?”

He bit his lower lip. “It was a little too short and really threw me off for a couple days. But you didn’t like it, either.”

“I didn’t,” Sirius agreed, grinning. “But I vividly remember several ‘no, honey, you look great’ conversations.”

“Next question,” Remus sighed.

“Ha! This one is self-explanatory. Have you ever lied to me?”

“Yes, but only when I knew it would make you feel better.”

“True,” Mark confirmed.

“Do you think you’re a better dog owner than me?”

Remus thought for a moment. “No.”

“True.”

“Do you think I’m a better dog owner than you?” Sirius asked.

“No. I think we balance each other well, and we wouldn’t be as good apart.”

“True again.”

“Interesting.” Sirius surveyed the cards. “Do you trust me?”

“A hundred percent,” Remus answered without hesitation. Mark nodded.

“Do you think I would be a good dad?”

He rested his chin on his hand, then smiled a little. “I do, yeah. I think you know what to do and what notto do, and you’re very protective without being controlling. So, yeah. You’d be a good dad.”

Mark glanced over. “He’s telling the truth.”

Sirius leaned across the table and kissed Remus on the cheek. “Merci. Oh, this’ll be fun. Is any of our relationship just for show, especially on Lion Pride?”

Remus narrowed his eyes with a hum. “Yes and no.”

“Pick one,” Mark said.

“In a general sense? Yeah, sure. We’re not perfect all the time, but we pretend to be. The specifics stay honest, though. None of our relationship is based on building clout. We keep the core genuine.”

The polygraph beeped for a moment. “He’s telling the truth.”

“This one is super morbid. Ready?” Sirius rested his elbows on the table. “You are Spiderman, and you’re holding two trolleys over a lake. One holds me, and one holds Jules. Which one do you drop?”

“I love you, but I would absolutely drop you,” Remus said after only a brief period of thought.

“Oh, thank god,” Sirius huffed. “I would be so upset if it was the other way around.”

“Right? I love you more than anything, but it’s Jules.”

Remus turned to Mark, who shrugged. “True.”

“Do you think we live together well?” Sirius asked.

“After a full year of it?” Remus laughed. “Yeah, I do.”

“True.”

Sirius checked the list and his eyebrows rose. “You’re going to hate this one.”

“Am I?”

“What do you really think about my parents?”

Remus’ smile turned thin and Sirius spread his hands in a see? motion. He was quiet for a few seconds, then ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I’m allowed to use those words on this channel. Um, I don’t like them.”

Mark snorted. “Very true.”

“Last one,” Sirius warned, though his eyes crinkled happily at the edges. “Do you know how much I love you?”

“That’s cute,” Remus said. “And…yeah. I think I do.”

“Wrong,” Sirius said before Mark could answer. “You have absolutely no idea.”

“Sap,” Remus scoffed. His cheeks were pink, and he pressed a quick kiss to Sirius’ temple while they swapped chairs.

“He was telling the truth,” Mark informed them as he helped Remus untangle his arm and hand, then transferred the devices to Sirius. “Though I am interested to see the flipside. Do you lie often?”

“Not anymore. I’m pretty good at it, though.”

“First one: have you ever had a crush on one of your teammates?”

“Oh, for sure,” Sirius said with a light laugh. “I never did anything about it, but I was the king of pining for a solid decade.”

“True,” Mark affirmed.

Remus cocked an eyebrow. “Who is the handsomest Lion?”

Sirius bit his lip, making a thoughtful noise. “That’s a tough one. I’m assuming a player other than you?”

“Yes.”

“In that case…I think Dumo is the classic definition of ‘handsome’ even though he is so not my type, but Kasey might be the most attractive.”

“Not Pots?” Remus teased. Sirius pulled a face and flicked him on the arm.

“He’s being honest,” Mark said.

“Do you think you’re the best player on the team?”

“…no.”

“He’s lying.”

“Shit.” Sirius sighed heavily as Remus looked at him over the edge of his notecard. “Look, it’s—it’s not an ego thing.”

“It’s the captain thing, isn’t it?” Remus sounded quite amused.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, defeated. “It’s stupid, I know.”

Mark nodded. “He’s telling the truth.”

“Oh, another parent one,” Remus remarked. “Did my parents scare you?”

“Not really.”

Mark furrowed his brows. “You’re right in the middle.”

“Huh.” He thought for a few seconds. “I think seeing you all together was a lot like meeting Dumo’s family the first time. You’re just so…normal. And you genuinely like each other. So I wasn’t scared, but it was definitely an adjustment.”

“He’s telling the truth.”

Remus nodded. “Yeah, they adore you. I’m glad we didn’t chase you off, though. Does it really bother you that I leave my socks around the house?”

Sirius pressed his lips together as several people off-screen began to laugh. “I can’t answer that.”

“See, that’s all the answer I need.”

“Fine. Yes, but only because I don’t know where you get them from. You don’t actually own that many socks, and I still find them every-fucking-where.”

“True,” Mark said.

“I’ll try to keep a better eye on things,” Remus assured him, smiling. “You are Spiderman, and you’re holding two trolleys over a lake. One holds me, and one holds James. Which one do you drop?”

“Goddammit,” Sirius muttered, tilting his head back. He thought for a long, long moment. “I can’t answer that.”

The polygraph buzzed. “False.”

Sirius shook his head. “Neither of you. I wouldn’t drop either.”

Mark raised his eyebrows. “True.”

“On a much lighter note,” Remus said with a cough. “Which of us is lazier?”

“Me.”

“True.”

“Really?” Remus gave him a baffled look. “You work so hard all the time.”

Sirius shrugged. “Agree to disagree?”

“Fine, but I hope you know taking time for yourself doesn’t mean you’re lazy.” He shuffled through the cards. “Oh, this’ll be very interesting. Do you think I talk too much?”

“No.”

“True.”

Remus sat back in his chair, a pleased blush coloring his cheeks. “Wasn’t expecting that. Good answer, I love you. Do you think we’ll get divorced someday?”

“Oh, god, no.” Sirius’ previous self-satisfaction turned to revulsion. “I don’t even want to think about that.”

“True,” Mark said again. “For someone who said he was good at lying, you’re very honest.”

“No point in lying with that thing around, is there?”

Remus shrugged. “Saves time, for sure. Have you kissed any of our friends?”

“Yeah,” he snorted.

To his credit, Mark didn’t even let a smile slip through. “True.”

“Do you enjoy getting stopped in public by fans?”

“Fans, yes. Ex-fans who take it upon themselves to explain why I shouldn’t be gay, no.” He paused, then shook his head with a smile. “I’m not good at talking to people, but I do like it when people say hello. It’s cool.”

“True.”

Remus raised his notecards. “Two left, and the first one is hella morbid.”

“Hella,” Sirius murmured, earning himself a teasing glare.

“Watch it. If I died, how long would you wait to get remarried?”

The playfulness dropped away. “What?”

“If I died, how long would you wait to get remarried?” Remus repeated.

Sirius looked horrified by the very thought. “I wouldn’t.”

“True,” Mark said, seemingly uncaring about the alarm on Sirius’ face.

“Even if it happened tomorrow?”

“First of all, thanks for my new nightmare. Second, no. I wouldn’t get married again.” He kissed Remus’ forehead gently. “Let’s not test that, though. Like ever.”

“Deal. Ready for the last one?”

“As long as nobody else is in danger of death.”

“I dunno, it’s a tough one.” Remus gave him a solemn look across the table. “I need you to be really honest with me on this one. Do you think you have better hair?”

Sirius blinked at him, then burst out laughing. Even Mark’s lips twitched into a suppressed smile. “Oh my god.”

“What’s so funny?” Remus asked, completely poker-faced. “This is important, honey. I’m really counting on you to be genuine with me here—”

“You can’t even—” Sirius broke off again and gestured to Remus’ face, which turned steadily pinker as he bit down a grin. “You can’t even keep a straight face.”

“My face is the only straight thing about me. You know this. Answer the question.”

“He’s trying so hard,” Sirius managed as he looked to the camera. “So hard, mon dieu.”

“Shit,” Remus muttered as he finally gave in and hid his laughter in the crook of his elbow. “We were doing so well until now! It’s the last question, just answer it!”

Sirius wiped a tear from the corner of his eye and nodded. “I do think I have better hair, but I love yours, too.”

Mark chuckled. “True.”

“It would help if you finally got a haircut that was different from the one you’ve had since you were thirteen.”

Remus closed his eyes, sighing. “Y’know, exposing my haircut choices for the entire internet to mock really wasn’t how I planned this day going.”

“Isn’t that the point of this whole video?”

“Mark, I’m not sure if we owe you an apology or not, but thank you for putting up with us.” Remus turned back to the camera with an easy smile. “Thanks for joining us today, everyone. Make sure to like and subscribe to Lion Pride for more videos like this!”

[saintshigaraki]

won’t you give me your cruelest smile

↳ DARK ACADEMIA TSUKISHIMA KEI 

pairing: tsukishima kei x gn!reader

word count: 1.4k

excerpt: 

He makes no move to get up as he watches you pack. “You really don’t like me, do you?” He sounds far too pleased for your liking.

“No one likes you,” you snap back, stuffing the last heavy tome in your bag and shouldering it. “You’re an ass.”

a/n: @yamagucji​​ said dark academia tsukki and my brain quite literally short circuited 

tags: enemies-ish to lovers (more like academic rivals to lovers), tsukki being an annoyingly smart condescending history major, reader goes through the five stages of grief when they realize they might actually li- 🤢 like him, a reference to the classic ‘ooooh you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid’ 

If there is a single, minuscule, barely visible silver lining in having Tsukishima as a partner for your quarter project it is that, without a doubt, he is smart. 

You have to admit, begrudgingly, that his intellect borders on genius-level which is something you use as silent proof to attest to your working theory that there is in fact, no god, or at the very least not a kind one, because if there was they wouldn’t be blessing gremlins like the one sitting across from you with a gift like that. 

He’s quiet now (after about an hour of telling you all the ways your interpretation was oh so very wrong) and content to stare at you lazily, his eyes half-lidded and filled with his specific brand of cruel amusement that leaves you wanting to do nothing more than smack his black-rimmed glasses right off his smug face. 

You take a deep breath and try desperately to quell the utterly unique type of rage he elicits in you, although as always, nothing you do ever quite manages to bring your boiling blood to a simmer. 

He’s twirling his expensive black pen between his stupidly long fingers. Every once in a while the light catches on the onyx stone of his pinky ring which somehow manages to flash directly in your eyes every time. He notices, of course. He notices everything. Which makes you think he’s doing it on purpose just to be an ass.

Which, admittedly, is perfectly in line with everything else he does so, you come to the frustrating conclusion that he most definitely is doing it on purpose. 

“You’re embarrassingly easy to rile up,” he says, interrupting your silent seething, his voice deep and smooth and absolutely dripping with condescending satisfaction. 

Your eyes flash up from the book you’d been only barely processing just to be met with his own golden-brown ones. He’s smirking down at you, of course. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him wear any other sort of expression. 

You want nothing more than to glare at him but that would just be proving his point so instead, you snap your book shut. It rings out loudly in the empty library. 

“It’s late. Let’s start this backup tomorrow.”

He makes no move to get up as he watches you pack. “You really don’t like me, do you?” he sounds far too pleased for your liking. 

“No one likes you,” you snap back, stuffing the last heavy tome in your bag and shouldering it. “You’re an ass.” 

He tilts his head back, exposing his long neck, and laughs. It’s so deep you feel it in your own chest. You just barely manage to suppress a shiver, which thank fuck, because he would’ve most definitely noticed it and you don’t think you’d be able to live that down. 

You make your way towards the front doors but not before he manages to slip on his wool coat and catch up to you, with ease of course, his long legs have become your number one enemy over the quarter because he always, always, catches up with you when you try to speed walk away from him. 

The autumn chill immediately settles into your bones, your skin prickles unpleasantly. You can see your breath in the night air. A shitty end to a shit day. 

You both head down the cobbled street in strangely comfortable silence. He’s close enough that you can feel the heat he radiates and you’re silently thankful for it. 

You get to the fork in the path where he takes his way back to his dorm and you take yours but instead of peeling off left like he usually does he sticks to your side. 

You stop immediately and eye him up warily. “What are you doing?”

He rolls his eyes. “Asking idiotic questions doesn’t really suit you, you know.” 

You say nothing, content to narrow your eyes. 

He rolls his eyes again and lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I’m walking you home, try not to be a brat about it.” 

“You never walk me home,” you point out, suspiciously. 

“You are rather good at pointing out the very obvious, aren’t you?” and before you can respond he already had turned on his heels and started walking. You have to half jog to catch up. 

You watch him out of the corner of your eye with the intent of trying to read his motive but you get stuck on the fact that his cheeks are flushed rather prettily from the cold. 

“You sure do love to stare, don’t you?” he asks rather conversationally. 

You’ve never wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole more in your entire life. Your cheeks burn hot even in the frigid cold. 

He notices. Of course he does. What does Tsukishima Kei not notice?

“No need to be embarrassed,” he needles cruelly. “Denial can be a brutal beast.”

You only barely manage to stop yourself from asking what exactly he means by that, what exactly he thinks you’re in denial about. 

But you know he wants nothing more than for you to ask so you take a sweet sort of satisfaction in not questioning him further, at least on that front. 

The rest of the walk back to your dorm is spent in less comfortable silence than before. There’s an odd sort of tension in the air, like a rope pulled so tight you can physically feel it starting to fray, getting ready to snap.

It comes to a head when, after getting to your building, instead of immediately going inside you find yourself looking down and shuffling your feet.

You know you should thank him, even if you didn’t ask him to walk you home. You guys never worked this late, you’d lost track of time (it’s scarily easy to lose track of time when arguing with Tsukishima) and you know it was nice of him to walk you home when he’d have to double back another 15 minutes in the freezing cold to get to his place. 

You know you should thank him. It’s the reasonable, polite thing to do. But it’s just so fucking hard to be reasonable and polite when Tsukishima Kei and his galaxy-sized ego are involved. No one in your entire life has been able to get under your skin as he has. It’s like he was perfectly crafted to be your own personal headache. 

You brave a glance up at him and find that he’s standing very, very close and staring, rather intensely, at you. A curiously amused gleam in his eye. 

Your mind stutters and then stops completely, going painfully blank. 

He’s so stupidly pretty. 

His skin is flawless, you’ve never once seen him with even a single pimple, his hair is the nicest pale-blond you’ve ever seen and it falls in perfect tufts against his forehead, but it’s his eyes that always make you shift from foot to foot. They’re such a unique shade of golden-brown, and now, shrouded in the dark and mere inches away from your own face, you’d swear on your life they were practically glowing.

“You’ve got something on your mind?” he asks, his tone anything but sweet. He’s so close you can smell the warm spice of his cologne and the ever-clinging scent of ancient books that seems to follow him wherever he goes. 

“I-” but you can’t seem to put together a coherent sentence. You don’t think you’ve ever hated someone so much in your life. 

Somehow, he’s managed to push in even closer. “You know what I think?”

No, you want to say, and I don’t want to know. Your heart is beating far too fast and you can’t explain why. 

(You know exactly why)

“I think you want to kiss me.”

And just like that the rope snaps and you’re viciously tugging him down by the collar of his too-nice coat so you can smash your lips against his. 

The kiss is brutal. Far too mean with too much teeth. At one point you taste the sting of iron and you can’t tell if the blood is his or yours. 

He backs you up against a wall without breaking the kiss. When he bites at your lip, no doubt cutting it open, you grab a fist full of his hair and tug cruelly and his responding groan tastes so sweet on your tongue. 

He doesn’t pull away until your lungs are screaming for air. 

He’s inches away from you, pupils blown wide, lips swollen (and a little bloody), and his hair is a mess. It’s the most out of sorts you’ve ever seen him. 

If you thought he was pretty before, he’s absolutely beautiful now. 

His smirk widens into a full blown smile and you understand now why he doesn’t show it often. It shows too many teeth, it’s downright wolfish. Predatory, even. 

You don’t really have time to think on it though before he pulls you into another bruising kiss. 

have some dark academia tsukishima headcanons while you’re here

he is without a doubt the most pretentious asshole you will ever meet and and you will HATE yourself for eventually finding him weirdly charming in any capacity

he is, of course, a history major which. if you have ever met pretentious male history majors you will know that this means he is a literal walking, talking, annoyingly tall headache

interrupts professors constantly. does it like he’s getting paid. will argue and argue and argue with them without that dumb condescending smirk ever, ever managing to slip off his face

(the worst part is, he’s honestly probably making a good point most of the time. but you’d quite literally rather die than admit that to him)

he is always walking around campus lazily flipping through leather bound books so old they’re cracked precariously at their spines, all on different ancient civilizations. you’d think that’d mean he’d be running into people but the student body collectively parts like the red sea for him which sets your teeth on edge.

he’s unbelievably arrogant and the worst part is its not baseless like you find yourself so desperately wishing it was

he IS smart, wickedly so. disgustingly, cruelly intelligent and he will use it to pick you apart piece by piece while that stupid fucking smirk stays glued on his face.

(you start to seriously question whether or not he’s even human because how can anyone keep the same, perfectly calculated expression for that long?)

always looks like he stepped straight out of some dark alternate universe vogue photoshoot with his constant rotation of black turtlenecks, long coats, and oxford loafers all tied together by the same 5 rings he’s never seen without, two of which are set with hefty onyx stones

you will be unlucky enough to be paired up with him for a project that will take all quarter long and multiple meet ups a week. when your professor announced your partner, you genuinely consider dropping the class and when you find out you wouldn’t be able to drop the class without switching majors, you genuinely consider switching majors

you don’t. and by the end of the quarter you’re really starting to question whether that was a good thing or not

[maletfsstories]

The International ("Soju 🇰🇷")

Requested By linxiaopei

"Newcastle"

-"You are here" Said Matt’s boss in a drunken tone as Matt walked towards the table his boss and some coworkers were seated in.

-"Jesus Christ how much have you guys drunk already" Said Matt as he sat down and observed a mountain of empty shots and beer mugs.

 

-"Not enough and you haven’t had any yet" One of Matt’s coworkers said as he continued drinking from his mug.

-"If you guys forgot I'm the one driving all of you home so I can't drink" Said Matt rather tired as he wanted to be at home instead of in a bar filled with drunk and obnoxious people.

-"Just buy yourself one and bring us another round of beers" Said Matt's boss as he passed him a coupon for a free drink.

 

Matt begrudgingly got up from his seat and walked towards a small area where a female bartender was passing a few drinks to a waiter.

-"Hello Sir how may I help you?" Asked the bartender as she pushed a menu in front of Matt.

Matt turned around and counted the number of people that were seated around his boss.

 

-"Could you give me four pints of beer please?" Said Matt as he looked back towards the bartender.

-"Sure" Said the bartender as she rapidly started to fill four large glass mugs with beer.

-"You seem a little stressed sir, are you alright?" Said the bartender once she noticed Matt's blatantly obvious impatient demeanor.

 

-"Sorry, the thing is that I shouldn't be here at all" Said Matt with a little bit of anger in his voice.

-"Same here, today is my first day on the job and I already want to call it quits" Said the bartender as she placed the first mug of beer in front of Matt.

-"Why haven't you?" Asked Matt

-“Even though I don't like large crowds and this bar is the worst I at least get more than the minimum wage” Said the bartender as she placed the second mug of beer in front of Matt.

 

-"So are you going to continue working here for the rest of your life?" Asked Matt

-"Not at all, I'm working here to pay for my studies, unlike the rest of my family I prefer to work for my stuff” said the bartender as she placed the third mug of beer in front of Matt.

-"Your family is rich?" asked Matt with little intrigue in his voice.

 

-"Yup, they are a bunch of snobbish idiots, my father doesn't work because he inherited a lot of money from our estate and my brother is an influencer who wins a lot of money by posting revealing images of his gym routines on his Instagram" Said the bartender as she stopped filling the last mug of beer and turned back to face Matt directly.

-“Wow, I can't imagine you see your family very often" Said Matt

-“No I don’t, my father lives in our family estate which I don’t normally visit and my brother is currently traveling around the world with his group of roided meatheads”. Said the bartender as she rolled her eyes.

 

-"It must be a fun life, kind of wish mine was like that" Said Matt with a little bit of melancholy in his voice

-"It does seem desirable but I frankly believe in working hard for one’s stuff" Said the bartender with a smile on her face.

-"What are you studying?" Asked Matt as he made himself comfortable in a small seat placed in front of the bartender's workstation.

 

-'' I'm studying accounting at Newcastle University" Said the bartender.

-"Well I'm an accountant ..." Said Matt with a small amount of surprise in his voice.

-"Really? How is the job? I mean I love the classes I'm seeing but I don't know anything about how to apply them in a real-life scenario" Said the bartender with a glee in her eyes.

 

-"Well I've been an accountant for the last five years and believe me when I say that the scenarios in class are way easier than the ones I've experienced in the job, it's hard and complicated but I still kind of like what I do" Said Matt in an attempt to reassure the bartender's career choice.

-"Why are you taking so much!"

Matt turned around and saw his drunk boss moving slowly towards him.

 

-"Sorry I was just speaking to the bartender," Said Matt as his boss leaned on the bar, meanwhile the bartender immediately completed filling the last mug of beer and placed it in front of Matt.

Matt's boss looked at the four beers and immediately frowned -"Where the hell is yours?" He asked.

-"Sir I can't drink I'm driving you and everyone else home" said Matt in an attempt to stop his boss's insistence.

-"Nonsense, just drink a small bit, that's all I'm asking from you" Matt's boss said as he moved closer towards him.

Matt momentarily looked at the bartender as she grabbed the smallest glass size possible, while she was doing that Matt looked at the menu that had been placed earlier in front of him.

In the meantime, Matt's boss rapidly drank his beer and walked away toward his table with the other three that were left.

-"Is this good?" Asked the Bartender as she showed Matt the small glass, Matt immediately looked up and nodded.

-"Do you have something that is similar to vodka but isn't that powerful?" Asked Matt as his boss approached him again.

-"Well, we do have Soju, it's from South Korea and it's in a way an exact match to Vodka, the only difference is that it's mildly less alcoholic, will that do?" Asked the bartender.

-"Please give me one in the small glass you showed me earlier" Said Matt as his boss was now standing next to him.

-"What did you order?" Asked Matt's boss.

-"I ordered some vodka" Lied Matt.

-"Wow Matt, I thought you didn't want to get drunk tonight" Said Matt's boss as he laughed like a clown.

In the meantime, the Bartender had poured Matt's drink from a small green bottle with Korean lettering onto a small transparent glass.

-"I hope you enjoy it sir" Said the Bartender as she placed the drink in front of Matt.

-"Here goes nothing" Though Matt as he swallowed every drop of Soju in an instant, because of this he immediately felt a burning sensation in his throat, luckily it wasn't as bad as the one produced by drinking vodka.

Matt then gave the empty glass to the Bartender and looked at his boss. -"Are you happy now?" Asked Matt with a little sarcasm in his voice.

-"Where is the fun in only one?" Asked Matt's boss.

-"You can't be serious, do you want me to get arrested" Said Matt in a raised tone of voice as he was tired of being pushed around by his middle age child of a boss.

-"Don't you dare to speak to me that way, I'm your boss, if you don't drink another shot I'll fucking fire you" Said Matt's boss in an aggressive tone.

Matt momentarily looked at the bartender who had a sad expression on her face while still having the green bottle of soju between her hands.

-"Another one please," said Matt as he finally relented to his boss's order.

The bartender immediately grabbed the empty glass and filled it with the crystalline liquid -"Here you are sir" said the bartender as she passed the drink to Matt.

As Matt grabbed the glass and drank its contents he wished he could end it all, to have a new life where he didn't have a boss or any type of responsibilities.

Once Matt placed the empty glass in front of him the bar where he was in seemed to disappear and was rapidly replaced by the interior of a luxury hotel room.

-"What the hell" Said Matt in a worried tone as he was about to get up from the bed he had suddenly materialized in, before Matt could completely get out of the bed a strange pain made his stop.

This pain was due to Matt's five feet nine stature increasing to six feet three, while that was happening Matt's slim build changed into a more muscular one. His flat chest developed a pair of juicy and muscled pecs, down below in Matt's stomach a few small tires of fat were rapidly removed out of existed which left him with a flat surface that was rapidly replaced by the growth of a six-pack.

Meanwhile, in Matt's skinny arms his biceps, triceps, and forearms grew as new muscle mass filled them, a few veins also appeared here and there, as that was happening Matt's back also became incredibly shredded.

While all the changes to Matt's upper body were occurring all the healthy patches of hair that covered the majority of his body disappeared leaving him completely waxed.

As the majority of Matt's upper body had gone through a certain amount of changes the next area to change was his lower body.

At first in Matt's pelvic area his equipment grew larger and larger. This made him immediately aroused as a moan escaped from his mouth, this moan however was very masculine and in a way, it sounded like that of a huge beast.

When Matt's dick reached the ten-inch mark his ass became the next target of the changes, it grew until what was left was a perfect round and bouncy bubble, then Matt's thighs and calves grew larger leaving him with a pair of powerful legs.

Because of the new growth in muscles around Matt's body, his clothes became extremely strained, as Matt suddenly moved his clothes finally gave in, they broke into small pieces which immediately disappeared, the larger pieces which were still attached to his body also disappeared leaving him completely naked.

A few seconds after Matt's clothes had disappeared a pair of black underwear and black swimming shorts now covered his private area while still leaving his upper body completely exposed.

-"Shit" Said Matt out loud as he noticed his new body and the weird clothing that had replaced his shirt and dress pants.

While Matt continued looking he felt a weird sensation as his face lots its Caucasian features which were replaced by more Eastern Asian ones

Matt's lips inflated only a small bit, his nose became fair and straight, his eyes became slightly slanted and his pupils became dark in coloration, the last thing to change was Matt's hair, it became coal black and his previously office neutral haircut was replaced by a more trendy one.

With the changes now complete Matt got up from the bed he was laying in and grabbed an ultra-modern Samsung phone that was placed on a sleeping table next to the bed.

Matt unlocked the phone with his new face and immediately opened the camera, he was obviously shocked and amazed at the beautiful young Asian face that was looking back at him.

-"너무 이상해" (This is so weird) Said Matt in fluent Korean with his new deep voice, the Adonis looking back at him through the camera shared nothing in common with his old nerdy self, the only thing that was the same was the pair of black glasses he was still wearing.

After exploring his new face with the camera for a little more Matt finally decided to look at Instagram for any info about his new self, Matt opened the personal profile which had the name "Gan Sangwook" displayed next to a picture of Matt's new self flexing with a dumb grin plastered on his face.

Matt after looking at the name and picture also noticed that the new him had a following of almost a million people and that his account was verified meaning that he was relatively famous and well known.

Matt then proceeded to scroll down, as he did he saw dozens of images of the new him working out in gyms surrounded by similarly muscled men, there were also some pictures of him in different locations from around the world and a few pictures were modeling and sponsor type posts.

As Matt continued looking at the pictures a new personality and identity became more dominant in his head, during the process of Matt's old life and memories being eliminated the door of his hotel room opened with a loud bang.

With the door now wide open a group of five heavily muscled Korean men entered the room, Matt remembered seeing some of these men in the Instagram profile but now he somehow recognized all of them and felt a deep personal connection with them.

-"이봐, 여기서 뭐해? 늦었 어. 해변에 가야 해" (Hey dude what are you doing here, it's late. We should be on the beach) Said the bigger of them as the others around him cheered with their deep dumb sounding voices.

-"해변 친구들을 위해 준비된 것 외에 제 인스 타 그램을보고 있었어요" (I was looking at my Instagram, other than that I'm ready for the beach dudes) Said Matt as he started flexing his muscles, the men he now recognized as his gym crew also started flexing their muscles.

-"그럼 가자!" (Then let's go!) Said another one of the muscled men as Matt got up from the bed and walked with the men through the large hallways of the most luxurious resort in Jeju Island.

After a short elevator ride, Matt or Gan Sangwook walked with his friends toward the private beach owned by the resort.

-"수영하러 가기 전에 여러분 사진을 제 인스 타 그램에 올려도 될까요?" (Dudes before we go swimming can I post a picture of all of you to my Instagram?) Asked Gan as he and his crew were a few feet away from the sea.

All of the men said yes and Gan got into position, once he took a few hundred pictures he posted the one he thought looked the best with the caption "해변 준비 😎💪🏻" (Ready for the beach)

After Gan took the picture he continued walking toward the sea, as he did the last vestiges of his old identity of a thirty-year-old British accountant were eliminated what was left was in its place was Gan Sangwook, a young and muscled South Korean jock whose only worry in the world was to keep his body in shape and his one million Instagram followers happy.

[dreamescapeswriting]

Under Pressure ~ HJS [Request]

WORD COUNT: 2.2K

GENRE:  Stressed reader, angst with a fluffy ending, establish-relationship, Sweet boyfriend Jisung

PAIRING: Jisung x Fem!Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy this sweetie! @crispy-chan

The moment Jisung walked into the cafe he knew there was something wrong with you, normally you would rush over to him with a smile across your face ready to greet him and get him sat down but today you were nowhere to be seen. You worked in a small cafe just around the corner from the JYP building so whenever Jisung had a break or some free time he would dress up in a cap, glasses and mask to come and meet you, it had been that way since the start of your relationship. It wasn't often that you got to spend time alone together so you took every opportunity you could to get together.

"Take a seat, I'll be with you in just a moment," A new worker said as he took Jisung over to a booth, Jisung kept glancing around the cafe. It wasn't that large so there weren't that many places that you could have been hiding from him, you couldn't have been on your break since it was a rush time in the cafe. The time was busiest since everyone wanted to have something to eat before heading to their offices for the rest of the afternoon.

"If you're looking for Y/n, she's in the back." The manager said as she caught Jisung looking around, of course, she knew who he was since he came into the cafe frequently enough. 

"Go back and see her, she looks tired though." Jisung knew you'd been a little more stressed than usual lately because you had assignments and exam's coming up but you were smart there was nothing you couldn't handle. 

"Thanks," He mumbled heading through the kitchen door and towards the small office you were cramped inside of with books surrounding you.

"This is where they keep the princess?" He chuckled sitting down beside you on one of the chairs and staring at the books that were in front of you. You must have been so lost in the words as you hadn't even noticed someone sitting next to you until Jisung touched your cheek. 

"Shit!" You screamed out jumping back on the seat and looking at him, your eyes were wide with fear and Jisung laughed softly. 

"You didn't hear me?" You shook your head, greeting him with a quick peck on the cheek before looking back down at your book. There were five exam's you were crunching for this week and not one of them was going to leave you enough time to also finish four assessments that you had to write up. Everything felt as though it was piling up on top of you, Jisung reached his hand out and touched yours instantly making you feel calmer with the smallest of touches. 

"Relax, you're ready for these exams." He whispered encouragingly to you as he began to rub your knuckles softly, he knew how hard you were on yourself about things but he didn't want you to start beating yourself up over anything.

"When was the last time you got some sleep? I mean real sleep, not what you and Chan call sleep," He mumbled as he watched you, your eyes had bags underneath them so he knew you hadn't slept well for days. 

"I slept last night," You lied. He knew you were lying since you wouldn't look at him and you scratched the base of your neck it was your give-away sign. 

"Want me to come around tomorrow? I'll cook us something to eat and we can study together...I'll ask you questions," You smiled at the thought of him helping you study despite having no idea what you had to do for those exams. 

"That would be great...But can you get-" He kissed your lips to stop you from asking if he could get the time off, if it was for you he would do anything in his power.

"Consider me already there, no go home and get some real sleep." He begged you as he looked at you, cupping your face in his hands while he rubbed his thumb under your eyes. You snuggled into his touch enjoying the feeling of his skin on yours, 

"I have another shift, I only had a two-hour break to cram some studying into. I'll go home after," You promised as he got up from the chair to walk him out, Jisung knew from the wording of your sentence that you would go home but that didn't mean you would rest.

"Just promise me you'll get rest," You nodded at him, quickly kissing him before heading over to the till to help your manager take orders and serve the customers that were inside. 

Jisung sighed to himself as he watched you plaster on a fake energetic smile for people and he headed out of the cafe wondering what he was going to have to do to get you to sleep.

The next day Jisung had text you non-stop to find out what you wanted him to cook and what time you wanted him to come around to the apartment but there had been no responses from you for the last four hours. 

"Maybe she's asleep or doing some studying," Chan tried to calm down Jisung's racing thoughts but he'd been worried about you since leaving the cafe yesterday. After seeing the state you were in he couldn't help but be filled with worry that you were going to end up crashing or passing out from exhaustion. 

"Babe, I got the ingredients for your favourite meal and Felix made brownies for us to share," Jisung announced as he unlocked the door to your apartment with his spare key but there was no response. He knew you were home because your favourite pair of shoes were by the door and your lights were all on, 

"Babe?" He called out, taking off his shoes and heading into the kitchen where he saw a cold pot of tea sitting on the side with some tablets that were open. Paracetamol and ibuprofen were sitting there with a half-drunken glass of water, he hated the thought of you having a headache as much as he hated the fact that you were staying awake so much.

"Y/N?" He whispered as he walked further into the apartment in case you were asleep somewhere you shouldn't have been and that was when he saw you. Fast asleep with your head laying on top of your textbooks, highlight in hand as you snored softly. He sighed to himself as he walked over to you, you were out cold.

"What am I going to do with you?" He chuckled to himself as he got closer to you, spotting that you had a sticky note pressed against your face and a bright coloured highlighter marker on your cheek. 

"Cute," He whispered making sure to snap a photo of the moment before he attempted to move you to your bedroom.

"Here we go," He grunted as he laid you down in the bed, carefully taking off your jeans so you wouldn't have to sleep in the horrible fabric, he pulled the sheets over your body before leaving a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

"Sleep well beautiful," He said before leaving the room to go and clean up your apartment. It was the least he could since it was in such a mess, you must not have had much time to clean between, work and studying and he didn't blame you. Beginning in the dining room where he had found you he started by collecting your notes together, sliding everything into the correct books before leaving to go and clean up the kitchen. 

Waking up to the smell of cooking you sat up in bed, holding your head as the headache still hadn't left yet.

"Fuck," You whispered to yourself as you kicked yourself out from the bed only to remember the last thing you had been doing was waiting for your tutor to call you on the laptop at the kitchen table and now you were in bed with no pants on.

"Shit!" You yelled out running into the hallway and into the kitchen to see Jisung standing over the over stirring something in a large pot, he jumped when he heard you running to your laptop that was now shut down and everything was cleared away. 

"Where are my notes?! Did my tutor call?! Why are you here?!" Your voice was hoarse as you panicked at Jisung but this only filled him with more worry as he thought you were getting sick. 

"I came in and you were asleep so I cleaned up for you, I figured it was no big deal-"

"No big deal?! Jisung I had a fucking meeting to be at! Did you not think about that when you moved me?!" You snapped as you began trying to load your laptop up as fast as you could,

 "No, I was too busy worrying my girlfriend had overworked himself," He answered snarkily as he poured some soup into a bowl and brought it over to the table for you but you didn't even thank him or glance away from your laptop. 

"Great! Just fucking great I missed my meeting and now I'm going to be behind on the studying!" As you yelled out in frustration you went to pull your legs into your chest, knocking the table ultimately knocking the soup over and spilling it over your books. 

"Fuck sake Jisung!" You screamed picking up the books and trying to clean them before the hot liquid ruined the notes and books that you desperately needed. 

"Y/n, calm down." Jisung tried to take the books from you to help but you let tears roll down your face as you saw everything that was inside was ruined, notes smudged over that was unreadable, pages were sticking together. Everything you had been working so hard on was gone within seconds. 

"This is your fault! Why should I calm down?! Why are you even here!?" You snapped once again, throwing the books down onto the table as you cried to yourself. The stress of your exams, working and your lack of sleep all finally hitting you at once as you broke down into a pool of tears, Jisung let out a breath as he saw you. He knew you weren't mad at him so he wasn't going to get upset over you yelling at him, 

"For this exact reason, you're too stressed...You haven't been sleeping Y/n...I came by to help," You shook your head as you stared at the ruined notes, 

"Everything is gone, I'm going to fail my exams." You whimpered as Jisung pulled you into his embrace and kissed the top of your head trying to remind you that it was going to be fine but you kept shaking your head and telling him that everything was gone. 

"You're so smart Y/n, you already know everything that was going to be in the exam." He whispered, kissing the top of your head as he tried to get you to calm down but nothing was going to work. The tiredness you were experiencing with the small cold you were getting was making you overreact to everything and right now it was the end of the world as you knew it.

"You don't get it because you never had to do this! Not all of us can just get out of school and just go on to be famous!" You snapped at him, trying to push him away as you sobbed into your hands but he wasn't going to let you go that easily.

When you woke up again you were curled up against Jisung in your bed, his arms were wrapped around you tightly as he snored and you whined feeling sweaty from being so close to him.

"You're finally awake?" You stared at Jisung confused as he questioned you, 

"What do you mean finally?" He sat you both up as he looked at you sighing, 

"You passed out after eating dinner with me and it's been a day since. You've been in and out of sleep since, waking up to pee and drink water." He looked at you with sad eyes, reaching up to feel how hot your skin was and smiling to himself as he realised you weren't as hot as you were the day before. 

"Your temperature's gone down so that's good." You looked at him with a frown and he kissed your forehead softly, 

"I'm sorry for yelling at you," You mumbled as you remember everything that had happened the day before, yelling at him for something you had done. 

"Don't worry about it. Your tutor called and I explained that you were sick, he's extending your assessments and allowing you to retake the exams when you're better." A wave of relief washed over you as you looked at Jisung, no idea how you were ever going to thank him for what he did. 

"I'll never stop thanking you," You snuggled into him, kissing his shoulder as he shook his head at you. 

"Just make sure you get enough rest, that's the only thanks I need." He told you as he held you closer to him.

Tagline: @taestannie​ @kneel-begyourpardon​ @acciocriativity​ @sw33tnight​ @that-anxious-bisexual​

[grxtsch]

lyin’ eyes

[jimmy page x reader]

summary: after relationship troubles, (y/n) decides to leave and hopefully forget all that’s happened. but when she reaches a place that holds many memories, a certain old friend who she shared those memories with was waiting for her to return.

notes: i don’t know what that summary is but i made it up on the spot so don’t even complain abt it :P

also i personally think that this is my best fic so far so yeah enjoy ig 😩🤚

edit: LMAO this was supposed to be based off of the song by the eagles but my brain had other ideas rip

warnings: cheating (idk if i need to warn u abt that but i’m being safe), swearing, fluff

“(y/n) please wait!” a voice sounded from behind you as you dragged a suitcase filled with your clothes and other possessions to the front door.

“no chris, i’ve waited long enough at the damn restaurant and where were you?” you said, throwing your free hand up in the air. “you were fucking this bitch in our— no, your house.” you seethed back at your now ex-boyfriend, who stood with an expression of grief.

“in fact, i don’t want to wait at anymore restaurants for your stupid ass.” his grief soon turned into anger as you spun around on your heels and walked out the front door.

you could hear him shouting some profanities out of the open door, but you managed to block out his voice and instead focus on the sound of your shoes on pavement as you walked with your suitcase to wherever your feet would lead you.

you were completely done with his bullshit. coming home late claiming he was “working”, flirting with other girls when you two were out shopping, and, just like this night, leaving you stranded at some restaurant for some other chick. it wasn’t even the first time he’s done that. you were ready to leave him before this day had even started; you had spent a few days secretly putting all of your possessions into your handy suitcase, only putting away a couple things at a time so he wouldn’t notice the lack of your items in the house.

before you knew it, you were standing in front of a bar that you used to always go to with one of your dearest friends. “maybe he still comes here.” you thought as you made your way through the bar door and straight to a small booth in the far corner of the building. the same small booth that your friend and yourself had always sat at when you both would come here.

his name was james page, which he preferred jimmy, but you just used james instead to pick some fun at him. the two of you were the closest of friends, ever since your childhood where you fell off of your bike and he ran over to check to see if you were okay. he even went with you to your house just to make sure that you weren’t hurt. even as you both had gotten older, you would both help each other out with homework, watch movies together, and he even taught you some guitar chords and tricks.

the downfall of your friendship happened a while after he joined one of his first bands; the yardbirds. he would always be traveling, performing at different concert venues around the country, and even the world. at first you would just call him or he would call you on these tours, which worked well for awhile, until he got so busy with the band that he didn’t have any time to return your many missed calls.

you missed him dearly, thinking of him from time to time during the day. you often wondered what he was doing at the time when you thought of him, whether it was playing his guitar or just relaxing at wherever he may call home.

you stood up to go grab a beer, hoping to wash your thoughts away, when a very familiar sound reached your ears. it was his laughter. the same sweet laughter you grew fond of whenever you’d be around him. you didn’t know how much you longed to hear that sound again until that very moment, it almost held you in a trance until the beautiful sound melted away and the song that the jukebox was playing had replaced it.

“i was probably just imagining it.” you thought. running a hand through your hair to try and focus back on reality, you continued to the bar, a fairly large opening right in front of you that you could get to quickly. when you reached the bar, you heard a familiar voice say, “(y/n)! long time no see!” you looked up to see the bartender, florence. she has been the same bartender since you and jimmy started coming to this bar, usually just to hang out and talk about different things. you were still surprised that she still worked here, she’s not as young as she used to be, but you were glad that she was here and not some other new bartender.

“hey flo! how’s everything been recently?” you smiled lightly, not really in the mood to talk a lot, but willing to make small conversation with your old friend. “quite good dear! it’s been boring without yourself and jimmy constantly making a ruckus in here though, i kind of miss having to tell the manager about how you two broke the jukebox again!” florence joked, causing you to let out a small laugh. “yeah, those were the good old days, weren’t they?” she smiled. “they really were. anyway! how about a drink for you aye?”

“whiskey. any kind will do.” you replied, which flo nodded and went off to get your drink, coming back in record time with a glass about half way filled with the golden-brown alcohol. you smiled and said a quick “thank you” and carefully took the glass, bidding flo a farewell and she returning it.

you walked back over to your seat, the chat with florence clearing your mind of the earlier events and bringing your mood up a bit. she always had that effect on people, making them crack even a slight smile when they’re feeling blue. right as you were about to sit down, the voice that you never thought you’d hear again called out, “(y/n)? is that you?”

you set your glass down, mentally preparing to see him for the first time in a long, long time. holding your breath, you turn around and see him, the jimmy page, your old best friend. “james?” his hair was longer, barely reaching to his shoulder, and it was slicked back slightly, showing his beautiful green eyes. his smile was still the same, and you swore your heart did a backflip when he smiled at you and said “oh (y/n) i knew it was you! i couldn’t miss that gorgeous hair of yours anywhere.”

you were pretty sure that your face was bright red as you smiled bashfully. “oh thank you jim. and i see you grew yours out hm?” he chuckled, running his hand through his hair softly and said “yeah, i just thought why the hell not you know?” “mhm! i like it a lot, it suits you.” you said back, nudging his shoulder with your knuckle.

he grins and mumbles a quick “thanks”. he then looks back up at you and says “wanna sit and chat for awhile? catch up on all the times we missed?” you nod, motioning for him to sit at the opposite side of where your drink is, and he sat, you following his actions and sitting down as well. you grabbed your glass of whiskey and took a long sip of it, leaving only a small amount left in the bottom of the cup. jimmy’s eyes followed your hand as you set it back on the table, then his eyes flicked back up to meet yours, his eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“is everything alright? i haven’t seen you drink like that in, well, i’ve never seen you drink like that.” you sighed, drawing your finger around the rim of the cup gently. “if i’m being honest, no. a year after we, y’know, stopped talking, i found a guy and we got along quite well and started dating.” you noticed jimmy’s hand clenched into a fist, so you continued.

“everything was fine between us, until recently. he started going after other girls, even with me around him. he even asked me on a date just so i would stay, because i told him that if he doesn’t get his shit together then i’m just going to leave. we were supposed to meet at a restaurant, but of course he didn’t show up even when he’s the one who wanted me to go with him and not the other way around. so i went back to our former shared house and found him fucking some random chick that i’ve seen him flirt with before.” you stared at your drink, before grabbing it and finishing it off. as soon as you set the glass back, jimmy’s hand softly reached for yours and held it, caressing his thumb over your knuckles.

you rose your eyes up to meet jimmy’s, his eyes holding a soft, caring look, the same look that you’ve longed to see for many years. “it’s fine though, really. it’s not like i really loved him anyway..” you lied, thinking of when you first met chris, how happy he made you. but you realized that a certain someone, perhaps the someone sitting across from you, had made you happier than chris could’ve.

“(y/n) love, your lying eyes really give away that you did love him at one point, and it’ll take a while to try and un-love him, trust me.” a soft hand came in contact with your cheek, gently wiping a stray tear away that you didn’t notice had fallen. looking back up at jimmy, you smiled at him and brought your hand that wasn’t occupied and rested it against his. “i know jimmy, but i think i’ve already moved on from that asshole.”

his eyes flashed with a glimmer of hope, and he softly nodded, a small smile painting his face. he paused, then cautiously asked; “i know we’ve only talked for a few minutes, and you can refuse this offer, but how about we ditch this bar and go somewhere else?” you brought jimmy’s hand down to rest on the table, holding them both with your warm hands and nodded. “yeah, i’d like that.” he stood up from the seat, pulling you up with him.

“well then, what are we waiting for?”

tag list: @rebel-without-a-zeppelin @asetcrowley @reincarnated70sbaby @thebeatlesuniverse @princesspagey @jonesyjonesyjonesy

[wisehq]

Mission Debrief: Chapter Forty-two

...It's all coming together.

I'm just going to come outright and say it; I had no idea what to write for this review- not because there wasn't anything to discuss, but rather this chapter gave us so much that I didn't know what to focus on first. Chapter forty-two has single-handedly thrown open the doors to a hundred different theories, and believe me when I say that after a whole night of redbull and theorizing I couldn't come up with any clear answers (the folks over at the Strix discord group can attest to that).

So here's what we're gonna do; I'm not going to focus on the chapter itself.

It was cute. Cardshark Anya is hilariously awesome. Damian is a little shit (whom I adore), and the chapters where the kids can just be kids are- in my opinion- the best.

That's all I'm going to say on the matter. For the rest of this review, I want to go over all the facts we know so far about the story and setting. All of the things Endo has been slowly building up in the background and the pieces that we can stitch together from them, starting with this chapter. Two key things stuck out to me.

In the entirety of the story up till this point, this is the first time we have heard mention of a royal anything- and not only that, but this chef is a former royal chef. This of course implies that a) said chef was fired (not likely given that Eden wouldn't likely associate with someone who was disgraced like that) or retired, or b) that there is no royalty anymore. Ostania is a totalitarian state and the main power of the government- from what we've seen- lies with the ruling political party, i.e the National Unity Party, a.k.a Desmond's party. Such a political structure would have no room for royalty in a governing capacity, and therein begs the question; is there still a royal/noble class- albeit in a non-governing sense- or was it abolished sometime in the recent past?

Classical language is not proper speaking and diction like I had originally thought. Classical language is a specific term typically used to describe a dead language or dialect (think Latin, or Hebrew before it was revived). I find this particularly interesting because under no circumstance would a child as young as Anya know anything about a dead language unless- as Loid points out- she was exposed to it as a toddler. It would have had to have been when she was very young, as she herself doesn't realize she knows this information. This would mean she likely learned it from her birth family; Anya was old enough to remember the lab and scientists, meaning she became Subject 007 later on in life- otherwise she would have remembered knowing classical language.

These two concepts are incredibly important to keep in mind, both now and later on as the story progresses. We now know that a royal class plays a factor in the political game that Twilight and everyone else is playing, and we know that Anya knows information that she shouldn't know otherwise (even with her mind-reading powers). So where does that leave us?

Honestly, for the first time...I'm kind of stumped?

Let's look back at the story and see what else we can piece together- maybe there's something in there we can extrapolate for our purposes. Another clue to point us in the direction that Endo is seemingly funneling us towards.

From chapter forty-one

Franklin Perkins was a man who believed in making his country a better place to live. In his eyes and from what he saw, Ostania wasn't going in the right direction- but why? He blames his lack of money for his mother's death, and we see him hold resentment towards the government over socialistic policies. Wealth is something to be shared with others, not hoarded for ones self. That seems to be where Ostania's moral compass is pointing towards, but is that really the case?

From chapter 39

Mr. Green mentions that people have been fleeing to Westalis; from the way he says this it sounds like this is happening currently- not in the past- and people are going so far as to travel through a third country just to get to Westalis. Such a journey isn't without its perils, so anyone attempting to crossover from Ostania would likely be taking a huge risk in doing so. Not only that, but most of what we've seen in the story is Ostanians loathing Westalins...so what would compel people to do this in the first place?

From chapter three As Anya reads the minds of people gathered at a politcal rally near the start of the manga, we see their disgruntled thoughts behind her. There's multiple mentions of losing jobs and not having enough money- some people are even hungry. Most of these people blame Westalis for their troubles, though not the leader of the rally, ironically.

Also from chapter 3

We find out (and often forget) early on that there are multiple political parties in Ostania. Donovan leads the National Unity Party, whereas the political rally we see here is hosted by the Nationalist Party. The latter preaches peace with the west, but many of the people gathered reject this outright. This is important; the N.U.P is the most successful political party in Ostania, which means a majority of the country's citizens approve of their platform. If we're to assume the Nationalist Party's platform is to advocate for peace with Westalis, then we must also assume that the N.U.P stands for the opposite; direct aggression with the west.

From chapter 31 The Zacharis Dossier, though ultimately a bust, hinted at rumors that have permeated East and West since the start of the cold war. We know for a fact that human experiments did indeed take place in Ostania, so it also stands to reason that there is at least a kernel of truth to the claims of P.O.W (prisoner of war) massacres conducted by the west. It's a heinous crime, and also one that leads to another question; why would any country go through with it in the first place? In addition, piggy-backing off the former point;

From chapter 19 While Loid details Project Apple, he uses the word 'regime' to describe the former Ostanian government. The literal definition of a regime is a government, especially an authoritarian one (Oxfrod Dictionary). I won't highlight all the specifics of what is and isn't authoritarianism, but essentially the point I'm trying to make here is that the current Ostanian administration is still very much a regime. Donovan acts as the authoritarian ruler (or would-be ruler; we don't know if he's actively in charge or is looking to usurp power for himself) and continues on the legacy of the former government. We know for a fact that this is the case because Anya is only at most 6 years old, likely even younger. That would mean the experiments being run on her had to have been recent, which fits with the time frame that we established at the beginning of this rabbit hole- it also aligns with what we know about what Donovan has been doing on the back end of things. Those who have kept up with my reviews know what I'm talking about; gloom pharmaceuticals, the truth serum, OSO-R, etc. All of that, which then leads us to...

...right back where we started. So...what then? What can we conclude from all this? At least a few things;

Anya is tied to Desmond- either directly or indirectly.

Anya's past is also Ostania's past; she's familiar with a dead language that's no longer spoken, and there's definitely a reason why no one speaks it anymore.

Ostania is in a period of political and economic turmoil. This also comes on the heels of a (possible) former monarchy, and the struggle of a country willing to embrace authoritarianism so long as it means staying alive.

WISE and Westalis are not innocent in this game of chess with Ostania and the SSS, and more than likely have committed atrocities that may or may not be directly tied to Ostania and- possibly- Anya's past.

And...this is as far as I can go. I've hit a wall, as have other people I've talked to. We're still missing pieces to the puzzle. Endo will of course provide us with more clues and theory fodder as the weeks and months progress, but for now this is as far as I can go on my own. On the one hand I feel defeated because I can't come up with a meaningful explanation for everything and present it in a neat little bundle for you all to read, but on the other hand I'm thoroughly enjoying this. I'm more engaged with this manga and story than any other I've read before; I'm at the edge of my seat every week, and I'm sure most of you are, too. For now, I'll leave the review here. I find it fitting to leave it open ended, just as Endo did with Loid's self-imposed question. Hopefully, like him, we can find answers in the near future.

Also, BONUS...

...No fun panel with a snappy comment this time. Instead, I’m going to humbly ask for your help.

If you have any ideas about where you think the story is going, theories as to how everything fits together, or just really want to discuss the manga with other fans- please check out our forum and share with us. We’d love to hear what you all think; not only that, but a lot more heads makes theorizing both more productive and a whole lot more fun. Check it out if you have the time, or- if you don’t feel like clicking on any links- you can always leave a comment either on this post or send us an ask or message. Anytime, any reason, we’d love to talk SxF.

Again, thanks for reading, and we’ll see you all next chapter!

[get-shiggy-with-it]

Scream Therapy

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x gender neutral!reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: extremely vague allusions to mental illness, metaphors about wounds, angst with a relieving ending, let me know if i’ve missed something

AO3 mirror

So you know those tiktoks where people go out into the woods and scream? Just like expel all the shit that’s been holding them down into an open field and let the earth reclaim all their dark, restless energy? Reveal the burdens that have been creaking in their joints and trapped in the prison of their ribs for the trees to swallow?

I’ve been thinking about that and Shigaraki a lot. 

Like the rest of the league too, but mostly Shigs. 

Just imagine: 

It’s late, it always is when shit is going down at the hideout. The League of Villains is practically nocturnal at this point. Shigaraki’s mind is a loud place—lot’s of rabid, train tearing down the track lines of thought that clatter and roar and gush toxic coal smoke.

So as annoyed as he makes himself out to be, he doesn’t actually mind the din of the bar all that much. Twice and Toga chattering in the corner, random bits of too loud laughter and the clink of Kurogiri polishing glasses as he tells off Dabi for the umpteenth time about smoking inside—hell, even Compress rambling about the health benefits of high quality wine to nobody in particular is somewhat...comforting?

That’s not quite the right word, but their noise settles around him a bit like a thick quilt and dampens the rampage inside his head for a while.

He thinks about a lot of things.

Some good, most bad, all obsessive. He’ll get stuck in these loops sometimes, small questions evolve into bigger, more complicated webs, and suddenly it’s been four hours and he’s done nothing but stare at the same spot on the wall just left of his desktop monitor.

Sleep is a terrifying venture for much the same reason. Once he gets caught in that cycling it’s so hard to break out, and that’s when he’ll stumble down the stairs and sequester himself away at the end of the bar.

There he will sit and listen to the incessant white noise of his team—which is frustrating too but infinitely better than whatever anxiety coated sludge his brain will come up with if left to its own devices, so he bears it.

And then there’s you.

Who you are isn’t entirely important.

Maybe you’re just another member of the League, dedicated to helping your boss spread villainy across the city. Maybe you’re a morally ambiguous civilian who just stumbled in much like a stray cat into a depressed college student’s apartment and simply never left.

Whatever the circumstances, where you came from doesn’t matter.

To him, your contributions to the din are just another layer of insulation against the storm. He couldn’t really care less what you do, or where you go when you weren’t there. As long as your voice could offer a different type of grating against his ears than the silent throbbing of his head when he is alone, then your presence is justified.

Shigaraki only takes notice of you when you leave, when your voice is no longer adding to the uproar drowning out whatever new thought spiral he was trying to claw his way out of.

It’s very late then. That odd, in between time when it’s closer to the sunrise than to it’s setting but somehow also the darkest portion of the night. Of course, it’s never totally dark—not with all the light pollution laying an ever present, glowing haze across the horizon—but it’s as close as it gets out here to pitch black.

He catches the tail end of your coat, a glimpse of your shoe soles as you slip up the stairs and climb the wrought iron ladder that leads to the roof. Shigaraki often catches himself wondering how you figured out exactly how to avoid each board that creaked. He thinks sometimes it’s because you like going unnoticed, that too much attention makes you feel just as shaky as he gets when he’s been inside his head too long. Or possibly you just don’t want to wake anyone up in the rare moments that some League members are actually asleep.

Regardless, he watches you go and feels strangely...compelled to follow and because he rarely feels compelled to do anything unless it’s furthering the downfall of hero society, he does.

He takes an unsteady step, then another until the brisk, cusp-of-summer air is washing over him. It bites through his thin black top and the worn holes in his jeans, but the sting feel likes something.

And since he almost always feels nothing at all, it’s good.

You’re stood a few feet from the edge of the building, where the ledge has begun to crumble away from age and poor maintenance. The wind is strong enough that it makes your limp arms sway by your sides. Shigaraki is so thin now, he’s almost afraid for a moment it might blow him away. He’s found himself feeling so insubstantial as of late, it’s shocking when his feet don’t lift off from the roof entirely. He crosses the distance towards you slowly. 

If you hear him approaching, you don’t show it.

Normally he wouldn’t start a conversation of his own volition but he did follow you up here and the silence is getting a bit deafening, even with the breeze.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

It’s simple, but it’s all he can think to say. Funny, with how many words that run through his head, he can never find the right ones when he wants them.

You turn then, and your face is...well it’s a face. He tends not to look at people’s faces much—doesn’t want to see their expressions when they look at him, but from what he can tell you aren’t upset that he’s here at least.

“I love the city at night.”

That’s all you offer in response and he knows somehow that you’ll keep talking even if he doesn’t answer. That you know how much he hates the quiet but can’t ever fill it himself.

“When you’re up high enough, you can pretend the streetlights are stars,” you divulge, as if it’s some sort of great, long kept secret.

Maybe it is.

Maybe you have a lot of secrets. You seem to him like the type of person who would. Who keeps life changing truths tucked under your tongue to drop suddenly over convenience store dinners and cheap beer.

He thinks that maybe he’d like to know them.

“It’s always so alive during the day, the streets I mean,” you continue, eyes trained out on the buildings below, tracing constellations from block to block. “But I can’t shake the feeling that it’s rotting too like….”

You trail off and don’t finish the thought, but you don’t have to. He knows what you mean: like the city is a wound that’s festering. That all the people and the heroes that corral them like cattle are just an infection waiting to spread.

“What are you doing here?” he asks again, because he hasn’t been able to come up with anything else.

Your gaze flits over his face this time, and Shigaraki almost misses the small smile that plays at your lips. He’s close enough now that you could touch him, and you almost do, shoulders just inches away from brushing. But you don’t close the gap.

You touch the others, a lot actually, though he gets the sense you’re the type to ask first. And with his mind running on overdrive every waking second, he gets overstimulated easily. He should probably be thankful you aren’t as familiar with him. That you bother to notice the distance he keeps even when he rarely pays you any mind.

Maybe you’re thankful for that too.

“You know, scream therapy is a very effective and cheap alternative to professional intervention,” you say matter of factly in response.

He waits for you to continue and you do.

“There’s no one out this late but heroes on patrols and they won’t come to help us, so this is a perfect opportunity to give it a try.”

He can feel his brow knitting together and you raise your hand for a second as if to smooth your thumb over the wrinkled skin. Shigaraki doesn’t move, but watches your fingers pause in mid motion and drop back down.

There’s a strange charge in the air between you—a spark he distantly wishes would ignite if only so he could stop churning in his gut.

“How do you do it?”

He’s never asked so many questions of anyone in his life. But he finds he truly wants to know.

And you’re the one that can show him.

You breathe deeply beside him, letting your eyes drift shut and taking a step towards the ledge. With hands balled into righteous little fists, you bend a bit at the waist and you...scream.

Shigaraki isn’t quite sure what he’d expected, but for some reason it wasn’t that.

He’s heard shouts before, cries for help or out of fear, but nothing like this. The sound seems to bubble up from some deep, dank pit inside you and bursts forth from your mouth like a geyser spewing boiling water from the earth. It’s long and low and loudloudloud. It isn’t a sound he could ever imagine you making, but it rumbles in his chest as if it’s his own.

Just watching has a weight lifting from his shoulders.

You keep going even when he knows you should have run out of air. But you aren’t really making the noise, you’re just letting it escape. He’s not sure how he knows that but he does.

Your voice cracks and snaps and rages forth and you scream in a way he feels in his very bones. The garbled, awful sound is so clearly understandable despite the wind that carries it away.

It says: I am free and young and can feel none of it.

And then it’s words. Words that tumble from you in a torrent.

About your family, about what’s been done to you, what you’ve done to yourself.

About the lies and the injustice of it all.

You’re heaving by the end, deflated as though all the screams had left behind an empty space—an abscess drained and ready to heal over or fill back up.

“It’s your turn.”

Shigaraki stares at you, silhouetted by the dull, silver glow of the city and panting. You both look at each other for a moment, reveling in the odd connection that sometimes forms between strangers who know far too much about each other.

He doesn’t think he could top that, but the energy you’ve created is invigorating and he’s determined to ride the wave while he has it.

Taking a step, he joins you by the ledge again, and you back up as if allowing him into the spotlight. The wind will swallow whatever he says, it will eat the words like a starving behemoth and he finds himself ready to feed the beast.

He has to dig deep, scratch at old sores to make them bleed again, tear at scabs so he can let the contaminating thoughts leak out. Once he feels like he’s breached far enough, Shigaraki takes a breath.

And he screams.

His body doubles over with the strength of it, foot slamming down onto the roofing and four fingers fisted in the hem of his shirt.

It hurts coming out, rips at his vocal chords and has his throat raw to bleeding after just the first few seconds but he pushes past it.

He wonders if this is what a runner's high feels like, when you’ve pushed beyond the side stitches and knee aches and your blood finally rushes with all those elusive feel good chemicals he never has enough of.

Whatever it is, the feeling is addicting.

Shigaraki is dimly aware of you in his peripheral, encouraging the tsunami thoughts in his head to be thrust out into the uncaring arms of the city skyline.

Surprisingly, he doesn’t have to search for the words. They simply come. All his frustrations, some he wasn’t even conscious of, spill fresh and steaming like blood. Physically, his body remains but somewhere in the depths of his mind he is younger and hurt and alone and trying desperately to scream.

“I destroy everything I touch!” he roars at the apathetic, grey sidewalk below.

After the last word leaves him, he feels the same weightlessness he’d seen in the sag of your shoulders. The same snapping of the coil slack in his spine.

And suddenly, with this glorious, awful sense of revelation, Shigaraki realizes that everything in his head has gone quiet.

He’s over taken by a silence that requires no filling, a peace that he’d imagined only existed at the bottom of abandoned wells, far away from any chubby child’s hands that may toss foolish wishes down them.

He thinks about kissing you then.

And he knows now that this thought has always been there, but it was drowned like a subway rat in the aftermath of the hurricane brewing in his brainstem. He has always noticed you no matter how hard you try to blend into the background. Your voice has always been a bit better at shutting out the unending, worthless choir in his head.

He wouldn’t have followed anyone else up here—not Dabi, not Spinner, not Compress or even Kurogiri.

He can see that now. In this new enlightened state, everything is so much clearer. Though he is quickly thrust back into the present, into his body once again, as another kind of soft weight settles on his shoulders. Your coat is skin warmed and smells like you and everything he’s ever loved in his own screwy little way. He realizes then that you’ve been trying to talk to him this whole time.

“Shigs,” you call again and tuck the coat tighter around his shoulders, “you were shaking.”

Shigaraki nods, feeling relief from the cold he hadn’t quite been aware of till now. He’s not sure if you’ve ever addressed him so informally before, but he decides he likes the nickname.

It feels a bit like a gift.

“Better, yeah?”

He’s not really sure if it’s better, but it is different and it’s been impossibly long since anything has been different, so he thinks it must be good.

“Yes,” he says.

It’s a general yes, both to your question and to you, whatever that might mean. He doesn’t say anything more because he’s done enough talking and you nod like you understand.

Neither of you moves to leave the roof, but you do inch closer to him this time, closing the gap and tucking him into your side. Your arm is slung gently across his shoulders and he finds the weight of it relieving.

That seems like it shouldn’t make since but it does—a paradox of sorts, weight being a comfort.

Then the sun begins to rise and it’s as if he’s seeing you in a new light.

Your profile outlined by the stark daybreak rays, so horribly strong despite the scream he knows is forming again under the surface.

And Shigaraki wonders if you see him that way too.