#something so wrong with me for real. anyway

[hearts4hughes]

ex!bf rafe sleeping with reader on the same bed/ room as his sleeping new gf 🙈

warnings: explicit smut, cheating (rafe has a fling), voyeurism (she’s asleep in the same bed), degradation, possessiveness, obsessive behavior, toxic relationship themes, unhealthy coping mechanisms

you’re not sure how you ended up here—on his porch at 2am, mascara smudged, hoodie zipped halfway up, thighs bare and shaking with every gust of cold air. you could’ve been at home in a bubble bath, sipping rosé, and forgetting he ever existed.

but there was an ache. low and slow, like something smoldering. something shameful. something only he could ruin properly. you hate it—hate him—but you knock anyway. the porch light flickers above you like it’s judging. you cross your arms. shift your weight. tell yourself this is a mistake—but your body knows better. it remembers his filthy words and even filthier touch.

a minute passes and your leg bounces up and down. another minute passes and you’re checking your watch. he always answers. then the door creaks open. he’s shirtless. sweatpants hanging low. sleepy eyed and annoyed and still the most dangerously beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

his jaw ticks and his eyes widen. “what are you doing here?”

you exhale sharply. “don’t act surprised.”

he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over that smug, sculpted chest. “you drunk?”

“no.”

he exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “what’s wrong?” he melts in your gaze. the cold exterior that he can never keep up long around you crumbles like sand.

you swallow, eyes memorizing the crack in the tile. “i don’t,” you stutter, rubbing up and down your sweatshirt clad arms. “i just…” you look up to meet his eyes. “i need you.”

a beat passes. his lips part just enough that you can hear his breathing increase. a flicker of something vicious and victorious crosses his expression. he shakes his head. voice low. “you shouldn’t’ve come.”

ice flows through your veins. you raise your brows. he never turns you down. no matter what time, what place, he always falls into your trap.

“just,” your cheeks are pink and not in the way you wanted them to be, “just let me in, rafe.” you try to move past him, but his hand slams the wall. his heart races.

“baby, wait—”

“don’t call me that.” your mouth tastes like metal. “fuck this.” you shove past him anyway, shoulder catching his ribs, nails curled into your palm so tight they leave little crescent moons.

but then you see her. she’s curled up under his sheets, dead asleep in his bed, and something feral twists behind your ribs. freshly blown-out hair and sunkissed skin. the kind of effortless put-togetherness that doesn’t know what it’s like to sob into his shoulder, to throw things, or to scream until you’re hoarse. the kind of girl who doesn’t know what he looks like when he’s on his knees.

“oh.” your voice cuts the air. your throat constricts and your entire body feels itchy. “i see.”

rafe steps in behind you, and suddenly he’s not smug anymore. “she’s just staying over,” he mutters, like that makes it better. “it’s not—”

“not what?” you turn, teeth bared. “not serious? not real?”

his hand finds your waist like it still belongs there. like he doesn’t care if she wakes up or not. “i don’t want her like i want you,” he says quietly. “i only invited her over because she reminded me of you.” his forehead rests against your shoulder. he litters kisses along your skin.

you freeze because that’s it—despite everything, despite the history and the heartbreak and the shit he said when he thought it was over, you still want him too. even now—especially now. especially when he backs you into the wall and kisses you like she doesn’t exist.

his mouth is desperate, rough, and devouring. your fingers are already pulling his belt loose before your brain can catch up. “she’s right there,” you whisper against his lips.

“then stay quiet.” he shoves your sweatshirt up to your ribs, one hand dragging down your stomach, two fingers finding you slick and throbbing heat.

“fuck,” he breathes, “already dripping?”

“shut up.” you mutter, looking back to see her peaceful figure. she doesn’t have a clue in the world.

his eyes darken. he yanks your underwear down your thighs and sinks to his knees like it’s nothing. like worship and vengeance melted together. he doesn’t tease. he drags his tongue through you like he needs it. he’s starving and the girl in his bed didn’t suffice. he fucks his tongue in and out of you while his hookup sleeps ten feet away.

your back hits the wall and hand clutches his hair hard enough to make him moan. your legs shake so hard he has to hold them apart with both hands. he groans into you when you cum, relishing in all of it.

when he pulls back, you’re panting and wrecked. eyes blown wide and hair tousled. he kisses you again and you taste yourself on his tongue.

“get on the bed.” he mutters against your lips, hands kneading your ass.

you swallow, forehead creasing at the command. “rafe-”

“shh.” he presses his chest to your spine and dips his mouth to your ear. “you said you needed me.” his voice is low, breath hot. arousal pools in your core. “so be good and lie down.”

the mattress creaks beneath your weight. her breath doesn’t hitch—she’s still asleep. though, your pulse isn’t.

he slides between your thighs with a groan and kisses your inner knee like he’s sorry for what he’s about to do. but he’s not. not even close. his cock presses to your entrance—hot, hard, familiar. he pushes in slow, as if he’s trying to memorizing every ridge inside of you. you feel every agonizing inch of him.

your hand fists the sheets to keep from moaning. his teeth graze your shoulder. “quiet, baby.” you nod. your throat burns with pleasure. he starts to move. hips rolling smooth, deep, possessive. his hand finds your throat and squeezes just enough to make your lashes flutter. his lips at your ear again, “feel her breathing next to us?”

you turn your head to see her—still resting and at peace with the world. and somehow it makes everything worse. yet, you clench around his cock. he groans, deep and guttural, and begins fucking you harder, deeper, like he doesn’t care anymore. your face is buried in the pillow. the sheets smell like her conditioner. and you cum like it’s the last time you’ll ever be allowed to.

rafe doesn’t stop. he fucks you through it, hand over your mouth now, his body caging yours. when he cums—hot and possessive—he stays inside you, holds your hips still, and empties inside of your womb.

you both lie there for a moment. both a sweaty, shaking, and ruined. you look at the curve of her shoulder, the slow rise and fall of her chest. rafe presses a kiss to your spine. “you win,” he murmurs.

you don’t say anything. because you’re not sure who lost.

taglist ~ @ren-ni @bungurus @kayperrysinging @cupids-diner @mojitrvo @babygirlboeser @makiplan @ladyatwalmart @qversazex @favbrnette @nothingtosee333her @soft-starr @f10werfae @bibissparkles @brennanyay @grungefck @kravinoffswife @restinpaece @illumoria @meetmeintheemeraldpool @miaaaoa @imtalkinnonsense @strawberrymilk99 @angel06babysworld @rafesteddy @drewrry @urcoolgf @thegirlnextdoorssister @sydneysslove @dsfault @missabsey

[sorensolsikke]

i once had a dream where one day i woke up, and my name was euphrozina. and i was nine years old once again. and my clothes weren't familiar, and my school wasn't MY school, and my parents seemed a lot older.

i've spent (dream)days in confusion. did i just... dream that i was somebody else than euphrozina? where do my memories come from then? where is my life that i've grown used to??

soon enough, i figured it out: i, as i got to know myself previously, had died a decade ago, and my parents had euphrozina to get over their grief. she had a lot better upbringing than i did, and she was a rather happy child.

but right now, i am in her body, i can't leave her be, even if i wanted to. i don't know how to let go of her, or why have i returned from my death just to feel this enourmous grief and self-pity about losing my whole life. however, i figured that if i am here, i must have a purpose or something; so i decided to search up my friends from my previous life, as a start. i went straight up to them and told them that it's me, just reincarnated.

their reaction was confused, distant, terrified. i am not sure what else i was expecting. but one of them told me about a "psychic" that lives in a surrounding village who could maybe help me out; so i asked my mom to drive me there, and she did gave me a weird look, but i was euphrozina: mom gave everything she got left to her.

so there in the village we went. i told my story to the psychic witch, over some tea. she listened intently and then, suddenly, asked me if i liked snakes. i said i sure fucking like snakes.

she handed me two of them, entangled, trying to get free from eachother. they seemed to grow bigger in my hands. they also started talking to me. "Wrong path once again. Seems like you have never deserved a second chance." i can't remember more of their speech, and i can't find the paper i scribbled their words down on; but i am sure these were their last words to me.

then they bit me and i, notedly euphrozina, had died. i felt the cold jolt in my veins, i felt like i was falling and saw the vast blackness. and then i woke up, to the real life, as me and not euphrozina and had 6(six) existential crisises within a day.

anyways, i have DID

idk what traumatized or mentally ill person needs to hear this but dreams (especially the really disturbing ones you dont want to talk about to anybody) arent some deep peek into your psyche or a sign of your True Desires or whatever theyre quite literally your brain making fruit salad with whatever it can find on the shelf. just putting all that shit in a blender and hitting obliterate. its fine, youre fine, youre not a weirdo for it

[kxsagi]

Hi can I request Bllk boys with a karaoke enthusiast reader? They can go karaoke for 4 or 5 hours straight and know a variety of songs, and they can sing a whole song even if there’s a rap part in it :))

“𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐨𝐤𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐫”

a/n: mic snatcher gf is so me

header pic is actually mine from when i went to japan! i love karaoke there sm it's unhealthy 😭😭😭

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, bachira meguru, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae, karasu tabito, ness alexis

isagi yoichi

he thought karaoke would be a fun, relaxing break. he thought you’d sing a cute love song and shyly nudge him to sing one, too. what he didn’t expect was to be seated for five straight hours, watching you go from adele to eminem to high school musical duets with yourself. 

he tries to keep up and sings sugar by maroon 5, thinking it’ll impress you. it does, but mostly because you harmonize with him out of nowhere and hit the falsetto better than adam levine himself. he literally stops mid-line just to look at you like, “how are you real.” 

at some point he’s like, “do you wanna drink some water?” and you go, “no. i wanna do nicki minaj’s verse in monster.” 

and you do. flawlessly. 

isagi’s face is in full admiration mode, but also minor existential crisis because you just spat bars while staring him down and now he doesn’t know if you wanna kiss him or fight him. 

still claps like a proud husband after every song. always. 

itoshi rin

you dragged him here. literally. he said, “karaoke is loud and pointless.” and you said, “shut up emo boy, it’s bonding time.” 

rin didn’t even get to sit before you were already putting on ultraviolence by lana del rey. and not just singing it. performing it. like you were the ghost of a 1960s hollywood starlet with a tragic past. 

rin sits in the corner, arms crossed, absolutely stone-faced. except his ears are red. 

eventually you hand him the mic and go, “c’mon, sing with me. be the toxic man in this duet.” 

it’s promiscuous by nelly furtado and timbaland. he says no. you keep singing anyway and he caves halfway through, quietly mumbling the lines until he’s suddenly belting it with a vein in his forehead. 

after three hours, he finally mutters, “... you’re really good.” you wink. “i know. now let’s do a kpop dance.” rin dies a little inside. 

nagi seishiro

he thought it was a nap date. like, nap room or something. you said karaoke and he just blinked. “do i have to move?” 

you promised him he could sit the whole time. what you didn’t say was that he’d be emotionally wrecked from watching you sing usher’s confessions part II with so much passion, he started questioning who wronged you. 

nagi only sings when you let him do the lazy, talk-singing verses. like pitbull’s hotel room service. you both call him “mr. worldwide” for the next hour and he doesn’t even fight it. 

at one point he lies down across the seats and watches you do three rap songs in a row. he lazily throws a pillow at you and goes, “you’re scary good. like, villain origin story good.” 

you grin and ask for a duet. you pick kiss me thru the phone. nagi’s too lazy to hold the mic so you hold it for him. 

he falls asleep by hour four and you put sunglasses on him so he looks like he’s still vibing. 

mikage reo

you said “karaoke” and he showed up in a designer outfit like it was a concert. your concert. he brought you a bouquet and called you his pop star gf before you even sang a note. 

first song you perform? flawless by beyoncé. reo is on his feet. reo is clapping. reo is crying a little. 

“that’s my girlfriend!” he shouts in a karaoke room with no one else in it. 

when you let him pick a song, he chooses beauty and a beat and tries to be justin bieber. you destroy him by doing both jb and nicki’s parts. with choreography. 

he’s flailing like, “HELLO??? DID YOU JUST SUMMON NICKI MINAJ???” 

reo insists on matching outfits for karaoke now. like glittery couple shirts and sunglasses. you’re down for it. you look like a power duo from a drama. 

he records you singing and posts it with the caption, “my multitalented queen > your faves.” 

bachira meguru

soulmates. chaos. pure, unfiltered energy. you two turned the karaoke booth into a full-on music festival. 

he picks songs at random, doesn’t even care if he knows the lyrics. you freestyle the rap parts and scream the choruses together while doing jump squats on the seats. 

once you both did a duet of low by flo rida and you hit the apple bottom jeans line so hard he actually slipped on the floor. 

you call yourselves the “karaoke goblins.” 

every song is a competition but also a performance. when you sing lady gaga, he does backup choreo. when he sings the marias, you become his hypewoman. 

there’s a moment where you sing something super emotional and bachira just sits there quietly, then whispers, “yo, that was angelic. i think you healed my inner child.” you bow dramatically and say, “now i’m doing doja cat.” 

“OHMYGOHS BOSS MODE UNLOCKED.” 

kaiser michael

he was smug. too smug. “karaoke? you sure you can keep up with me, babe?” 

fast forward an hour later: kaiser is breathless after attempting usher’s yeah! while you’re on your sixth song with no break, flawlessly switching from kendrick lamar’s verse to a whistle note bridge. 

he starts fake coughing. “i need– i need vocal rest.” 

you go, “no, get up, you’re featuring on dangerous woman with me now.” 

he can’t believe you actually hit the ariana grande high notes. or how you memorized pitbull’s chaotic speech in timber. like you didn’t just sing it, you channeled him. 

kaiser is convinced you were a popstar in a past life. every time you do a rap verse, he turns into your manager, hyping you up from the sidelines. 

“THAT’S MY GIRL. WORLD DOMINATION. GLOBAL CHARTS.” 

by the end of the session, he’s lost his voice and you’re still bouncing, asking, “one more?” 

he wheezes, “who are you, and how do i propose?” 

shidou ryusei

chaos recognized chaos. when you walked into karaoke holding a playlist labeled “bangers only”, he fell in love. 

you did a full nicki minaj medley back-to-back: anaconda, starships, and super bass. 

shidou was standing on the table. shirt half off. screaming. 

he says things like “spit that fire, mama” and gets booed by staff. 

you two turn every song into a war. “who can be louder, crazier, and more dramatic?” the answer is always you, but shidou refuses to accept that. 

he once sang taylor swift’s you belong with me in a death metal voice just to compete as if nirvana didn’t exist. 

you countered with a slowed-down, haunting cover of hotline bling. he’s in awe. he’s in love. 

“marry me.” “this is the fifth time you’ve asked tonight.” “and it won’t be the last.” 

itoshi sae

he hates karaoke. he’s never said it, but the way he looks at the mic like it personally offended him gives it away. you invite him and he just sighs and goes, “do i look like someone who sings katy perry at 10 PM?” 

you reply, “no, but you look like the guy who’ll sit there judging me while i flawlessly execute seven different eras of taylor swift.” 

that’s exactly what happens. you sing dress and he’s sitting in the corner sipping a canned coffee like a bitter ex who just got exposed on live TV. 

except he’s secretly impressed. very impressed. especially when you rap. like, you're going bar for bar on kendrick’s DNA and he’s just blinking like, “since when can she breathe fire?” 

when you try to drag him into a duet, he only agrees if he can be the background guy in something chill. so you do best part by daniel caesar and he deadass sounds angelic. 

he leans over after and murmurs, “that was tolerable. but only because you carried.” 

later, he catches himself humming a song you sang. and then he shoves his hands in his pockets and mutters, “karaoke’s not that bad, i guess.” 

karasu tabito

bro thought it was a joke at first. like you were gonna sing a little, go off-key, giggle about it. 

NO. YOU WALKED IN. WARMED UP YOUR VOCALS. PICKED AGORA HILLS. AND DEMOLISHED IT LIKE YOU WERE BORN IN A STUDIO. 

karasu was frozen. slack-jawed. his soul briefly left his body during the “like fortnite i’mma need your skin” part. 

he’s the type to talk during your performances but only to hype you up. “YO SHE’S COOKING–” “BRO SHE’S GOT BREATH CONTROL.” “I’M SCARED, BUT I’M TURNED ON.” 

he asks you to do a duet with him and you’re like sure :) and he picks dilemma by nelly and kelly rowland. halfway through, he fake cries into the mic. 

“EVEN WHEN I’M WITH MY BOO, all i think about is you 😩” 

you do the dramatic eye-roll and keep singing with a straight face like a pro. 

he can’t keep up and it enrages him. “you’re not even sweating? how are you not sweating???” 

he forces you to take a break just so he can perform something. it ends up being sexyback by justin timberlake with far too much confidence and pelvic movement. 

you tell him to stop and he says, “you started this war, babe. you wanted the full karasu experience.” 

ness alexis

karaoke? oh he lives for it. you barely even get the sentence out before he’s like, “yes. when. what’s our setlist. do we match?” 

the karaoke room is decked out because he booked the fancy one. disco lights. tambourines. a mini fog machine. 

you do the entirety of telephone by lady gaga and beyoncé, and ness is filming it with the reverence of someone witnessing a religious experience. 

“YOU’RE A STAR. I’M TWEETING THIS.” 

he picks songs based on aesthetic. you’re doing mariah carey with soft lighting and moody poses. you’re doing britney spears with hair flips and sunglasses. 

he sings justin bieber and makes it a full fan service show. baby has never been performed with so much falsetto and finger hearts. 

when you do a rap song, he turns into your hype crew. he’s throwing fake money in the air. he’s pretending to pass out. 

“SHE’S RAPPING EMINEM! SHE’S DOING THE FAST PART!!OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH.” 

ness is also the one who plans “karaoke themes.” like, 2000s hits night. or boy band night. 

once said, “if we don’t duet mr. brightside with full choreography, are we even in love?” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[tetsubub]

Moments They Realize They're Falling In Love With You 彡

KUROO TETSURŌ

— When You Tease Him Back and Win

Kuroo lived to get under people’s skin. Smirks and pokes, smug retorts—especially when it came to you.

So when he nudged your shoulder and said, “Try not to miss me too much when I leave,” he fully expected a blush or a stammer.

But you just said, “I only miss you when you’re quiet. So… I guess I’ll be doing great.”

He choked on his sports drink.

You patted his back with a grin and walked away.

It wasn’t just the joke. It was the way you looked so pleased with yourself, so completely unshaken.

That was the moment. When his smirk melted into something slower, something warmer.

He wanted to keep losing to you like that for a long, long time.

BOKUTO KŌTARŌ

— When You Let Him Be Sad and Stay Anyway

He called you because he didn’t know who else to call.

He said he was fine. You didn’t believe him. You stayed on the line, silent and steady, until the words started tumbling out.

“I messed up. I ruined the rhythm. Everyone’s too polite to say it, but I know.”

You didn’t argue. You didn’t tell him he was wrong. You just listened.

And then you said, soft and certain, “You’re allowed to have bad days. You’re not less lovable when you’re off.”

That was it. No fireworks. Just a truth he hadn’t known he needed to hear.

He looked at his screen, your name glowing under the time stamp, and felt his heart do something new.

HINATA SHŌYŌ

— When You Cheer for Someone Else First

You weren’t wearing his team’s jersey. You weren’t jumping up and down for him.

You were sitting a few rows behind him, watching a different match, cheering like your life depended on it. For friends. For the game. For the sheer love of it.

He couldn’t look away from you. Not just because you were glowing with excitement—but because you got it. The way he felt about volleyball, the way his whole world shifted around it. You lived that feeling too.

And in that moment, with your voice hoarse from shouting and your hands clapping wildly for a point he hadn’t even scored, he realized something terrifying and exhilarating.

He wanted you to cheer for him like that.

He wanted to deserve it.

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

— When You Don’t Flinch at His Frustration

He’d just yelled. Not at you, but near you. Loud enough that you could’ve easily walked away.

His neck was flushed, fists clenched, and the muscle in his jaw was tight with strain.

You walked up to him with a bottle of water, handed it over like it was the most natural thing in the world, and said, “You good now, or do we need to go punch a tree together?”

He stared at you. You didn’t flinch. You didn’t fear his anger—you understood it. And more than that, you stayed.

That moment cracked something open in him.

He wasn’t used to people sticking around when he wasn’t calm.

You did. And he knew then—whatever this was between you, it was something real.

MIYA OSAMU

— When You Sit in His Kitchen Like You’ve Always Belonged There

You offered to help. He waved you off.

“Just talk to me,” he said, slicing scallions with ease.

So you did. You told him about your day, your bad boss, the weird guy on the train.

You were half-laughing, half-exhausted, curled up on the stool with a glass of iced barley tea.

He looked over once. Then again.

And in the middle of stirring miso into the broth, he suddenly realized: This feels like home.

Not the kitchen. Not the soup.

You.

MIYA ATSUMU

— When You Don’t Take the Bait, but Stay Anyway

He flirted. You rolled your eyes. He cracked a joke. You didn’t laugh—just smiled and said, “Try again when you’re being real.”

That stunned him.

Because people usually laughed. Or blushed. Or leaned in when he turned it on.

But you? You saw through it. And didn’t leave.

Later that night, he stared at the message you’d sent:

“I know you don’t always want to be ‘the fun one.’ You don’t have to be with me.”

He reread it three times.

And that’s when it hit him. You weren’t trying to win him.

You just wanted to know him.

And that was enough to make him yours before either of you even realized it.

SUNA RINTARŌ

— When You Read Him Without Asking

He didn’t text you after the game.

Didn’t post anything. Didn’t answer the group chat.

He just sat in his apartment alone, scrolling through highlight clips he didn’t want to watch and trying to ignore the fact that the team had lost, and that for once—maybe—it had been his mistake that turned the tide.

You showed up anyway.

Didn’t knock. Didn’t say hi. Just let yourself in with the spare key and dropped a bag of takeout on the table.

You didn’t tell him he played fine. You didn’t try to cheer him up. You just sat beside him on the couch, leaned into his shoulder, and pressed your cheek into the side of his arm like it was your favorite pillow.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

But the weight in his chest cracked just a little. Like you’d carved out space in it without needing permission. Like you knew he’d never ask for comfort—but needed it anyway.

After a while, you turned on a dumb cooking show and made some sarcastic comment about the host’s ridiculous hair.

And that was it. That was the moment.

Because you didn’t try to fix anything.

You just knew him.

And he couldn’t stop the thought that hit him like a punch to the ribs:

No one else would’ve known what I needed without me saying a word.

And no one else would’ve stayed this quietly, this completely, without needing anything back.

He looked at you. You looked at the screen.

He didn’t say a thing.

But he was in love. He just hadn’t told you yet.

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

— When You Made Him Laugh Without Trying

He doesn’t laugh easily.

People expect that from him—stoic, sharp, unsmiling unless it’s at someone else’s expense. He’s used to being misunderstood, and he doesn’t really mind. Keeps things simple.

But then there’s you.

Walking beside him after a long day, telling a story about some ridiculous thing your coworker said. You’re gesturing too much. Your bag keeps slipping off your shoulder. You’re slightly out of breath and completely unaware of how much space you take up in his head.

And then—just as you’re mimicking someone’s voice—you trip over nothing and catch yourself with a dramatic, sweeping save that you try to style off like it was on purpose.

He snorts. Actually snorts.

You pause mid-sentence, turning to stare at him. “Did you just laugh?”

“No.”

“You did!”

“It wasn’t—shut up.”

But he’s smiling. Teeth and all. Eyes crinkled. No sarcasm. Just… genuine amusement.

You beam at him like you’ve just won gold.

And in that moment—watching you shake your head and continue your story like nothing happened, completely unaffected by his usual chill—he feels it.

The shift. The click.

It’s not just that you made him laugh.

It’s that he wanted to. With you. Over and over.

And for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t want to go home alone.

[jedi-luca]

Head Over Feet: Chapter Six Midnight Rain

Summary: You didn’t know Dina before she came back to Jackson. She’s guarded, jaded, and carrying the weight of too many goodbyes. Now you can’t stop thinking about her. It’s a slow burn, and you’re patient… but will she ever let down her walls? Or will someone else reach your heart first?

Pairings: Dina x GN!Reader slowburn

warnings: spoilers if you haven’t played the game or seen the show

Previous Chapter

Maria didn’t look up when the knock came.

“Door’s open,” she called.

Dina stepped in, closing it softly behind her.

Maria was at her desk, reviewing a supply manifest, glasses halfway down her nose. She didn’t say anything at first. Just looked up once, clocked Dina’s face, and went back to her clipboard.

Dina stood still.

Too still.

Maria didn’t need much more than that.

“You look like someone kicked your dog.”

Dina let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Do you have a second?”

Maria put the clipboard down.

“For you? Always.”

Dina sat in the chair across from her, arms resting on her thighs, head hanging a little. She looked tired not just from patrols or poor sleep, but something deeper. That worn kind of ache that settles in the bones when regret digs its roots in.

“I tried to talk to them,” Dina said quietly.

Maria didn’t ask who. She just waited.

“I had it all planned. I even got that stupid ring.” Dina gave a bitter smile, shaking her head. “The one Kim helped me find.”

Maria leaned back in her chair, fingers steepled. “And?”

“They were kind. Like always. Patient. They let me say more than I deserved.” Her voice wavered. “But I didn’t get to finish. Before I could say the part that mattered, Lili showed up.”

Maria’s brows lifted slightly. “The Lili?”

Dina nodded.

“Well. Shit.”

“Yeah.” Dina rubbed her face. “They just… ran into each other. Literally. Like it was a movie.”

“What’d you do?”

“What could I do? I stood there like an idiot while she wrapped her arms around them like she’d been waiting her whole life. And Y/N…” Her voice broke a little. “I’ve never seen them smile like that. Not at me.”

Maria was quiet for a moment.

“I don’t know what I expected,” Dina muttered. “It’s not like I hadn’t already blown it. I pushed them away. Repeatedly. And when they finally stopped waiting… I finally figured it out.”

“That’s how it works sometimes,” Maria said. Her voice wasn’t cruel. Just real. “The second you stop running, the door���s already closed.”

Dina looked up at her, eyes wet but not crying.

“Is it wrong that I want them anyway?”

Maria sighed, folding her arms. “No. It’s human. But wanting someone doesn’t mean you’re entitled to them. Not after everything.”

“I know that.”

Maria studied her a moment longer. “You’re not a bad person, Dina. You’re just late. And being late has consequences.”

“I thought maybe… if I showed them I’d changed…”

Maria’s gaze softened. “Maybe you have. But they don’t owe you anything. Especially not with someone else showing up who didn’t hesitate.”

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, Dina whispered, “I think I love them.”

“I know you do.”

Dina nodded once, more to herself than to Maria.

She stood.

“Thanks for letting me… talk.”

Maria gave a small nod. “You know where to find me.”

Dina reached the door then paused, hand on the knob.

“If they pick her,” she said, “I won’t get in the way.”

Maria looked at her, the way a mother might. Stern. Loving.

“You already did,” she said gently. “Now all you can do is step back… and mean it.”

Dina didn’t answer. Just nodded once, then slipped out, quiet as she came.

The door clicked softly shut behind her.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

Charlie was out like a light.

You brushed a hand gently through her curls, tucking the blanket around her small frame. She’d asked about Lili three separate times while brushing her teeth asking if she was your friend, if she was staying, if she used to be important.

You didn’t have the language to answer any of it.

So you told her Lili was someone from before. Someone who mattered. That seemed to be enough, for now.

The room was quiet now, her breathing slow and even.

You stayed in the doorway a little longer than you needed to, just to breathe.

Then you stepped outside, where Lili stood on the porch, leaning into the rail, her braid loose now, wind tugging at a few strands near her face. She turned at the sound of your boots on the step.

“She asleep?” she asked.

“Out cold,” you said, settling beside her.

“She’s amazing,” Lili said, voice low. “And so is this place.”

“It’s quiet most nights. We like it that way.”

She smiled at that. Then tilted her head, studying you.

You looked up at the stars. “I still can’t believe you’re here.”

“I am,” she said softly. “Still flesh and blood.”

“I’ve imagined this moment before,” you admitted. “So many times. You showing up. Telling me you looked. But then I’d wake up. And Charlie would cry. And it’d all just… vanish.”

Lili didn’t speak at first. She just let the air settle between you before asking, “What happened after your dad took you out of school?”

You took a slow breath. “My family had a cabin in the woods deep in Colorado. If you remember, my dad had just gotten home from his last tour.”

“Of course I remember.” Lili nodded, listening intently.

“Then you remember he came back… different.”

She nodded, taking your hand. She remembers when you told her your father died out there, and returned a different man. You were still young and wouldn't realize until you became a little older that he suffered from PTSD and paranoia.

“I never told you that he was planning for the end of the world. Like he knew it was going to happen. He was a huge prepper. Stockpiled supplies, set up traps around the perimeter even made us practice exit routes. We thought we were ready.”

Lili smiled faintly. “That sounds like him.”

“We stayed out there for years. Stayed off the radar. Until a raider group hit the cabin. They killed my brother and his wife. Charlie was still basically a toddler. My dad grabbed her and my mom then we just ran.”

You paused. Your hands curled into the railing. “We made it about half way. Tried to cut through this old lumber town. That’s where a bloater got my parents.”

Lili’s face fell. “Oh my god…”

“They bought us time,” you said, voice tight. “I didn’t look back. Just grabbed Charlie and ran. Kept running until we made it here. Dad always said Jackson was our safe haven. He met Maria and her ex husband through the radio years ago.”

Lili blinked back tears. “You didn’t just survive, Y/N. You raised someone. You kept going when anyone else would’ve given up.”

You gave her a quiet, tired smile. “She’s the reason I made it. I had to become someone worth staying alive for.”

A beat passed.

Then Lili’s voice, softer now: “Do you remember your birthday? That night before everything changed?”

You looked at her slowly. “I think about it more than I should.”

Her smile turned shy. “It was my first kiss.”

You swallowed. “Mine too.”

Lili’s fingers brushed yours. A pause gentle, and electric. Then she said, “I always wondered if we’d meant the same thing to each other.”

“We did,” you said.

Your hand slipped into hers like it belonged there.

A pause lingered between you. Then she stood.

“Well, for what it’s worth, you still make my stomach do weird things.”

“You should stay the night.”

Lili smirked in a soft way.

I never got to say goodbye back then,” you said, voice low. “So maybe I don’t want to say goodnight either.”

Her expression softened. There was no hesitation in the way she leaned in.

And then, with the kind of gravity you couldn’t fight even if you tried you kissed her.

It was gentle. Familiar. Not rushed or unsure, but full of history and softness and something that had never stopped lingering, even after all this time. Her hands found your waist. Yours found her cheek. It felt like a page finally turning.

When you pulled back, she rested her forehead to yours.

“I missed you, Y/N.” she whispered.

“I missed you too.” You reply, caressing her cheek.

But just down the path Dina was walking fast.

She’d rehearsed her words over and over. She hadn’t said everything at the gate. Hadn’t said the most important thing the part that mattered. The part that still burned in her chest.

Now she was finally ready.

She turned the corner and froze.

You were on the porch.

With Lili.

Kissing her like it still meant something.

Dina didn’t speak.

Didn’t breathe.

She just stood there, stunned in the shadows, heart thudding loud enough to drown everything else out.

Too late.

Again.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

She didn’t remember how she got home.

One minute, Dina was standing in the dark, heart cracked open on the gravel path, the sound of your laugh tangled up with someone else’s kiss.

The next she was inside her house, the door shut, her back pressed to it like it was the only thing holding her upright.

JJ’s toys were scattered across the rug.

Dinner plates were still in the sink.

The couch blanket was half on the floor.

Everything normal.

Everything wrong.

Dina pressed a fist to her chest, like maybe that would stop the ache from crawling up her throat. But it didn’t. It only made it worse.

She slid down the door and sat on the floor.

And then

She started to cry.

Not loud.

Not sharp.

Just silent, shaking sobs that came up from somewhere deep. The kind you can’t talk yourself out of. The kind that only come when you realize hope has slipped through your fingers and left you with nothing but timing and shame.

She buried her face in her knees, curling into herself. Her shoulders shook.

She hadn’t cried in front of anyone in years.

But now alone, in the dark, with nothing left to pretend about she couldn’t stop.

Because she knew what she saw.

It wasn’t just a kiss.

It was that look on your face. The way you smiled against Lili’s lips like you’d just been handed something precious. The softness in your voice. The ease in your body.

The kind of love she didn’t even let herself imagine you’d ever give her again.

And it was too late.

Again.

The ring box was still in her coat pocket.

She pulled it out and stared at it with blurry eyes. Opened it. Closed it. Opened it again.

It wasn’t even an engagement ring. Just a token. A promise she was finally brave enough to make.

But now?

Now it was nothing.

Just another thing she’d held onto too long.

She sat there for a while, quiet except for the hitch in her breath, the creak of the house, the hum of a place that didn’t know her heart had just shattered.

When JJ’s soft snoring came from the next room, Dina wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her hoodie, tried to get her breathing under control.

She had to pull herself together.

She always did.

But this?

This time it felt harder.

Like maybe she’d finally waited too long to deserve another chance.

🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄🍄

You were sanding down a busted chair when you heard the footsteps.

Slow. Hesitant.

You didn’t look up right away. Just ran the sandpaper over the edge once more and exhaled through your nose.

Then you said quietly, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Dina said.

You glanced up. Her hoodie was gone. She’d braided her curls back tight, probably to keep her hands busy that morning. But her eyes were tired. The kind of tired that came from feeling too much, not too little sleep.

She didn’t come closer. Just stood near the door of the barn, watching you work like she was building courage with every second.

You set the chair leg down and wiped your hands on a rag.

“I’m not here to make it weird,” she said finally. “I just… needed to see you.”

You nodded once, cautious. “Okay.”

She took a breath like she’d been holding it since last night.

“I was going to tell you something. Before the gate. I had it all planned. Rehearsed, even. You know me.” She laughed, quiet and self deprecating. “Words never come easy unless I’ve overthought them.”

You leaned against the workbench, saying nothing yet.

She swallowed. “I saw you. Last night. On the porch.”

You didn’t flinch. You just held her gaze and said gently, “I figured.”

She looked away, jaw clenched.

“I told myself I’d missed my chance a long time ago,” she continued. “But I kept hoping you’d… wait. Just a little longer. I thought maybe if I said it right if I said it better you’d still be open. Still be mine.”

She finally looked at you again. There wasn’t anger in her face. Just ache.

“I can’t blame you,” she said, voice shaking. “I really can’t. She’s someone you loved. Someone who didn’t shut the door in your face over and over.”

You stepped forward once not enough to close the space, just enough to let her know you weren’t running.

“I never asked you to be ready before you were,” you said gently.

“I know,” Dina whispered. “And that’s what makes it worse.”

You let that hang there. The honesty of it. The weight of everything she didn’t say last fall, last month, last night.

After a long beat, you said softly, “You should’ve told me how you felt before you saw someone else get there first.”

That hit her square in the chest. Her shoulders folded a little.

“I didn’t think I deserved to,” she said. “After how I treated you.”

You looked down at your hands. “Dina, I… I waited for a long time. Because I thought maybe you’d change your mind. Maybe you were just scared. And I could be patient, because I got that.”

You glanced back up at her. “But I couldn’t wait forever. Not without losing parts of myself along the way.”

Dina nodded, blinking fast.

“I don’t hate you,” you added. “I never could.”

Her lip trembled. “I wish that made this hurt less.”

“I know.”

Silence settled again. Softer this time.

Finally, she stepped back, gave you a nod, and turned toward the door.

But before she left, she said, “She’s lucky. To have you.”

You didn’t answer. Just watched her go.

And when the door shut behind her, you sat back down heart heavier than you expected.

Dina didn’t go home right away.

She wandered.

Past the mess hall. Past the greenhouses. Past the corner of the court where JJ liked to collect rocks.

She walked until her legs ached, like maybe she could outrun the way Y/N’s voice echoed in her chest.

You should’ve told me how you felt before you saw someone else get there first.

The words weren’t cruel. Y/N hadn’t meant them to be. But they carved something wide open inside her anyway. Because they were right. They’d always been right.

And she had always been just a little too late.

She ended up sitting on the bench outside the library. Not on purpose. Her feet just took her there, like memory knew the way. The spot where she and Ellie would talk for hours. She buried her face in her hands.

The bench creaked softly beside her.

She looked up and saw Kim settling in, a thermos in her hands.

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” Kim said softly. “Saw you from the corner.”

Dina gave a small smile, wiped quickly at her face. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Kim said, offering the thermos. “It’s that awful peach tea you used to hate.”

Dina took it anyway. “You remembered.”

“Muscle memory,” Kim said, then nudged her shoulder gently. “You okay?”

Dina didn’t answer right away.

Then, carefully: “No.”

Kim didn’t flinch. Just folded her hands in her lap and waited.

After a while, Dina said, “I keep messing it up. I push away the people I love and then wonder why no one stays. I thought if I just waited long enough, things would line up. That I’d be enough.”

Kim reached out, set her hand over Dina’s. Warm. Steady.

“You are enough,” she said. “You just don’t always believe it.”

Dina blinked hard. Looked down at their hands.

Joseph walked up a minute later, holding JJ on one hip and a bag of trail mix in the other. JJ spotted Dina and reached out without hesitation.

“Mama.”

Dina took him, her arms wrapping tight around his small frame. He laid his head against her shoulder instantly.

Joseph sat beside Kim, not speaking, just listening.

After a long silence, Dina murmured, “I saw Y/N with someone else. And I knew I was too late. But I still tried. And it still hurt.”

Joseph gave a quiet nod. “My grandmother used to say timing was the cruelest part of love. Not the loss. Not even the fear. Just the moments you don’t get back.”

Kim added, “But she also believed that some people come back around. Even if the road is messy.”

Dina rested her cheek against JJ’s hair. He smelled like crackers and dirt and sunshine.

“I don’t think Y/N hates me,” Dina whispered.

“They never did,” Kim said.

“I just don’t know if they can still love me. Not like before.”

“They don’t have to love you like before,” Joseph said. “They just have to know you’re still trying. That counts.”

Dina closed her eyes.

JJ stirred. “You sad?” he asked sleepily.

She nodded, lips pressed to his forehead. “A little.”

He stuck a goldfish cracker in her hand.

“For you.”

She smiled. “Thanks, bud.”

Kim leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “You don’t have to figure it all out today.”

“I don’t know how to let go.”

“You don’t have to,” Kim said. “You just have to let it change.”

A/N: Yes lili is lili reinhart lol

[tobiosbbyghorl]

ALMOST. MAYBE. NEVER | psh | p3

It had been three and a half months.

And he hadn’t missed a Saturday.

Not even once.

Sunghoon showed up with a patience you didn’t know he was capable of.

He never rushed you. Never forced you to talk about before.

He didn’t push. He just stayed—on your doorstep, in your space, slowly, steadily slipping back into your life not as a shadow of the past, but as someone new.

And you were healing.

You were learning to smile at his texts again. To laugh over takeout.

You even caught yourself staring at him in quiet moments—the way his mouth moved when he read, the soft hum he did while washing dishes.

Once, he reached for your hand at a street crossing—and you didn’t pull away. You let your fingers fold into his like they belonged there.

It was fragile. But it was real.

You were beginning to believe again.

Then you saw her.

It was a Thursday.

Not even his day, you joked sometimes—Saturdays were his.

You were picking up flowers for your co-worker’s birthday. It had rained that morning, and the sidewalks were still damp. You were humming, actually, holding lavender stalks wrapped in kraft paper when you saw him across the street.

Sunghoon.

And… someone else.

She was beautiful in that forgettable, effortless way.

Hair long and curled. Gold hoops. A flowy blouse that said: “I don’t even try.”

She laughed at something he said and touched his arm.

His arm.

The same arm you held in movies. The same one that used to curl around you during thunderstorms.

He smiled. The smile.

The same one you hadn’t seen all week.

Something cracked inside your ribs, sharp and nauseating.

Your breath hitched before you could stop it.

And you remembered—

Three years ago.

You loved him first.

And watched him walk away anyway.

This was different.

He said this was different.

So why did it feel exactly the same?

You left the flowers on the cashier’s counter.

Didn’t pay. Didn’t explain.

Your legs moved before your heart could catch up.

That night, you sat on the floor of your room, still wearing your shoes. The bouquet Sunghoon gave you last Saturday was wilted on your windowsill. You stared at it, hollow.

How stupid could you be?

Believing in second chances. In consistency. In promises not even spoken aloud.

You had let him in again.

And now, you couldn’t breathe past the fear.

You didn’t cry.

Not until your chest tightened so hard it felt like your lungs were folding.

Because this wasn’t just about now.

It was about before.

The sleepless nights. The half-goodbyes. The ache of waiting for someone who never really came.

And this time, if you lost him again—

You weren’t sure you’d recover.

[Sunghoon<3 ]: Can you be home by 7? I want to bring you something :)

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

He came anyway.

Of course he did.

With a smile and a paper bag, wearing that hopeful look he always wore when he had something to give.

But the second he saw your face—

His expression faltered.

“Y/N?”

You said nothing.

“What’s wrong?”

Your voice was tired. Raw. Quiet. “I saw you.”

He blinked. “What?”

“This afternoon. With her.”

Realization flickered over his face. “Oh—Soojin.”

You let out a dry laugh. “I don’t care what her name is.”

“No—wait.” He stepped forward, hands raised. “She’s my cousin. From Jeju. I—God—Y/N, I asked her to help me with something for you—”

He abruptly stopped himself.

But it was too late. You’d already turned away.

He gently reached out, fingers ghosting your wrist.

“Please. Let me show you.”

You didn’t move.

So he slowly placed the box down on your table and backed away.

You hesitated. Then picked it up with trembling fingers.

Inside was a delicate silver bracelet—sunflower charm dangling at the center.

Below it was a folded Polaroid of you both, sitting on the gallery steps from your second Saturday together. You were mid-laugh. His face was turned toward you—not smiling at the camera, but at you.

He spoke, voice thick. “I had her design it because… I didn’t want to mess it up. It was supposed to be a surprise. For today.”

You stared at the bracelet.

Then at him.

His eyes were red now. Tired.

“I’m not that guy anymore,” he said. “I know what it looked like. But I need you to believe me when I say—I don’t make space for almosts anymore. I only make space for you.”

Silence stretched between you, heavy with all the versions of your heartbreak.

And then—

You sobbed.

You broke.

The tears came in a quiet rush, and your knees buckled onto the couch.

Sunghoon rushed to you without hesitation.

You didn’t push him away.

You let him hold you—tight, warm, apologetic, real.

Later, your head on his chest, you whispered, “I thought I was losing you again.”

“I’ll never let that happen,” he said, brushing your hair back. “Not again. Never again.”

You looked up, eyes swollen. “I’m still scared.”

He kissed your forehead. “Then I’ll stay until you aren’t.”

He didn’t ruin the surprise.

He saved it.

Because this time, it came with truth.

With love.

And with proof that even the ones who once broke your heart—can learn how to hold it right.

This time, it was different.

This time, he stayed.

This time—it was real.

The sun peeked through the blinds in golden lines, striping across the floor like brushstrokes.

It was quiet.

Not the fragile kind of quiet you had grown used to with Sunghoon—the kind filled with uncertainty and words unsaid.

This quiet was warm.

Safe.

Real.

Your cheek rested against his chest, your fingers curled lightly in the fabric of his shirt. He hadn’t changed out of it last night, hadn’t planned to stay. But when you fell apart in his arms, he simply held you tighter—and didn’t let go.

You didn’t ask him to stay.

He just did.

Not because it was easy. But because you needed him—and he knew that.

Now, his arms were still wrapped around you. His breathing was slow. Steady. Deep.

You shifted just slightly, blinking the sleep from your eyes. His shirt smelled like soap and something undeniably him. That faint citrusy-clean scent you used to bury your face into.

And for a brief second, you wondered how long you’d missed this.

Not the touch.

But the presence.

The knowing that when you woke up, he’d still be here.

He stirred gently as you moved.

“Mm,” he mumbled groggily, voice still thick with sleep. “You okay?”

You looked up, voice soft. “Yeah.”

His eyes barely opened, but he tilted his head to look down at you. “Nightmares?”

You shook your head. “No. Just… processing.”

He hummed again. One of his hands slipped up to cradle the back of your head, fingers weaving gently through your hair. “You scared me last night.”

You paused. “I scared myself.”

He opened his eyes fully then, the brown of them dark and sincere in the morning light.

“I meant it,” he said. “Every word. There’s no one else. There won’t be.”

You searched his expression. “It’s hard to believe sometimes.”

“I know.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “So I’ll keep showing you until it isn’t.”

You smiled faintly, and he smiled back. Not his charming one—the real one. The one that reached his eyes and lingered in the air like a promise.

“Is this the part,” you murmured, “where you go make coffee in your sleep shirt and pretend you’re domestic?”

He chuckled. “I’ll pretend anything you want if you keep smiling at me like that.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Gross.”

He leaned in and whispered, “You love it.”

You didn’t deny it.

He eventually got up—stumbling a little from stiff limbs and a couch that definitely wasn’t big enough for both of you. He tugged on your oversized cardigan and padded into your kitchen barefoot, hair a mess, eyes squinting against the light.

And for a long moment, you just sat on the couch and watched him move.

It was a picture you used to daydream about when he was gone.

Now it was real.

The bracelet sat on your wrist, cool against your skin.

You touched it with your thumb and whispered, “Stay.”

He turned around, holding two mugs, brows raised.

“I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Later, you sat on the floor, sipping coffee and eating leftover cookies from the night before. Your knees brushed under the table, and this time, he didn’t pull away. He leaned his head against yours, and you leaned back.

No questions.

No doubt.

Just warmth.

And the kind of love that finally stayed in the morning.

This was it.

Not a beginning.

Not a return.

But a becoming.

You looked at him, and you didn’t feel fear anymore.

You felt home.

The day passed with soft touches and warm glances.

You didn’t go out.

Didn’t need to.

It was the kind of day that felt stitched together by hands and silence and comfort. The kind of slow peace you hadn’t let yourself dream of since the first time you lost him.

Now, the city was quiet outside the window.

The glow from the lamp cast a soft amber halo across the room. You were lying side by side on your bed, limbs tangled under the blankets. Music hummed quietly from the corner speaker—low enough to feel rather than hear.

And for a while, neither of you spoke.

Until he broke the stillness.

“Can I ask you something?” Sunghoon’s voice was quiet. Careful.

You turned your head toward him, blinking in the warm light. “Yeah?”

He stared up at the ceiling like it had answers he didn’t. “What was the part that hurt the most? Back then.”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t know.

But because you did.

You let the words come slowly. “It wasn’t seeing you with someone else. It wasn’t even the leaving.”

He looked at you then.

“It was that you didn’t try.”

Your voice cracked.

“I kept giving you pieces of me. Little things—like my time, my patience, my trust. And every time I waited for you to meet me halfway, you just… stood there. Let me fill in all the space alone.”

He was quiet.

So you continued, “You could’ve just said, ‘I’m not ready.’ You could’ve told me the truth. But you let me believe I wasn’t enough. And that messed with me in ways I didn’t even realize until I started trying to love someone else.”

His eyes filled with something heavy.

“I didn’t know how to give you anything,” he said finally. “I didn’t even know who I was. I told myself it was safer to keep you close but not too close, because I thought if I never made it real, I couldn’t mess it up.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “That’s the thing, Sunghoon. You did make it real. Just not for you. For me.”

He turned to face you fully now, eyes shining. “I know. And I think that’s what I hate most about who I was. I kept you like a secret and loved you like a habit.”

Silence.

Then, softly, “I was so scared.”

You looked at him gently, still tired, still tender. “Of what?”

He didn’t blink. “That I’d never be enough for the way you looked at me.”

Your breath caught.

You reached for his hand under the covers and laced your fingers with his.

“I wasn’t asking you to be perfect,” you whispered. “I was asking you to show up.”

He nodded slowly.

“I’m here now,” he said. “And I won’t run again. Even if it gets hard. Especially when it gets hard.”

You squeezed his hand.

“I’m still scared too,” you admitted.

He didn’t flinch.

“Then we’ll be scared together,” he said. “But we’ll talk. We’ll stay. We’ll choose each other—every day.”

He leaned in, forehead pressed against yours.

And there, in the softest space between the hurt and the healing, he whispered, “I love you.”

You didn’t say it back.

Not yet.

But you looked him in the eyes and let him see it.

Because you didn’t need to say it for it to be real.

Not this time.

Some nights heal what years tried to erase.

This was one of them.

No more almosts.

No more maybe.

Just this. Just you. Just him.

Here.

Now.

Together.

tobiosbbyghorl 2025

final part next hehe

[suzukiblu]

istg youve awakened something in me w your jaykon agenda and im so here for it

Jaykon is an interesting pairing to me because if Jason had lived, he absolutely WOULD have been Kon's Robin, which, you know, could've gone either real bad or real WELL or real "oh god I regret ever even BREATHING near Metropolis" for Brucie Wayne, lbr. For one thing, Jason would've been . . . what, seventeen-ish when Kon dropped? Give or take. Which means he would likely NOT have been as "obedient" to his DAD as Tim was to his BOSS at FIFteen-ish, because from Jason's point of view that's his fucking DAD and his dad is just being goddamn paranoid and controlling and a total antisocial ASSHOLE again and ANYWAY he's like six months max from going to college and getting himself his own hero identity a la Dick getting Nightwing so fuck it, what's he care!!

( "I NEVER EVEN GOT TO BE A TITAN, B, YOU DON'T GET TO FUCK UP THIS YOUNG JUSTICE THING FOR ME, FUCK OFF. THEY'RE MINE NOW." )

And also, like, that's a very different Bruce, is the Bruce who didn't ever LOSE Jason. So hell, that version of Bruce literally might not've even TRIED to make Jason keep his name to himself in the same exclusively-just-on-HIS-terms "literally I will fucking NEVER let you tell them your name no matter WHAT" way he was acting with Tim, who he also would not let tell his LITERAL FUCKING GIRLFRIEND his name, but HE was totally fine telling her HIMSELF once it was convenient for him. Not even giving Tim PERMISSION to, just doing it HIMSELF without even telling Tim he was GOING to, Bruce Wayne you are the literal worrrrrst jfc--

ANYWAY OFF-TOPIC. Whatever that Bruce's opinion was, I can't help feeling that if JASON-Robin wasn't telling YJ his name or showing them his face at least after the first suicide pact or two, it'd be because HE didn't want to, and that is what he'd SAY to them. And I kinda think Kon would've taken that better than being told "we've been through all this shit together now and Batman is STILL more important than you" over and over and OVER every single time Tim found another excuse to hide his face or showed up in a new mask/disguise/set of glasses/goggles/whatever. Because like, that would be Jason choosing what he wants for himself, not Tim choosing Batman over literally every single member of Young Justice time and again and AGAIN and actually NEVER willingly telling them, they only found out in the end because of some dumb reality-getting-fucked shit selling his ID out accidentally.

I actually think Jason and Kon would have gotten along STUPID-well if they had met under those circumstances and it is SO rich an AU concept that I have literally never seen a single person even touch before. Though also in more canon-accurate land frankly the only understandable reason that I think Jason has Bizarro for his Super-buddy system is because Young Justice is just too insane about each other for Kon to have ever gotten put on a book like Outlaws, hah. Also, like, Kon is obviously not very murder-happy and Superboy has very different moral standards than Red Hood does, also that. But you absolutely COULD do some real interesting shit with Kon's character on a team like that, that's all imma say.

Like Kon is a dude who HAS and KNOWS that he has been convinced to be murder-happy a couple times/timelines before, is all--knows he's psychologically SUSPECTIBLE to being convinced of that--and THAT I think would be a much more interesting moral/ethical dilemma for his character development than "oh god I have Westfield/Luthor DNA so am I genetically DOOMED to be a bad guy??" No, you're not, and you are a grown-ass clone who KNOWS that!! But you are also a grown-ass clone who knows you have the CAPACITY to be a bad guy, and to actively CHOOSE to be a bad guy, to actively JUSTIFY being a bad guy to yourself, and who does NOT necessarily think Jason is wrong about dudes like the Joker never changing and the balance of that and the concept of fucking HARM reduction, if it comes down to it! Black Zero and future!Superman BOTH started out as good guys; that Superman in fact started out as HIS VERSION OF HIM EXACTLY, even! And then the two of them saw enough shit out in the world doing their superhero thing that they changed their minds ABOUT what being "good" even meant or entailed or if it was even possible at all, so if he's here and doing this, and doing this with someone like JASON who keeps KILLING people every time he takes his eyes off him, whether those people are unforgiveable bastards or not, is he gonna change his mind too? Is he gonna start thinking he's figured out what they "figured out"? Is this how "figuring out" that STARTS??

And Knockout saw SOMETHING in him, he knows, and he knows she wasn't wrong because he almost killed her. Because he WOULD'VE killed her, if she'd kept fighting when he'd held her under.

God I could do so, so much with Kon on the Outlaws and with JAYKON on the Outlaws. So, SO much.

But like, Tim Drake exists and I just cannot divorce Kon from his ride-or-die loyalty for his ride-or-die bestie so basically any time I wanna JayKon it up I gotta somehow make it Weird, hahaha.

. . . anyway, someone had something awakened in them or something??

[sunandflame]

hello hello! How are you? I hope you are okay. May i req a kuzan x reader? some angst since you love it.... maybe reader is angry at kuzan because he joined blackbeard plus kidnapped a 16 y o and attacksd garp. She may feel like she doesn't know him anymore and broke up with him 👀

Drift

Warnings: angst, breakup, post-canon (Blackbeard era), emotional fallout, betrayal, unspoken love, cold distance

Word Count: 860~

Pairing: Kuzan (Aokiji) x Reader

crossposted on AO3

You’d never expected to feel afraid of him.

Not him. Not Kuzan.

But the headlines hit like a cannon blast. And somewhere in the cracks of those ink-soaked words, in the shadows between names like Marshall D. Teach and Shiryu and Pizarro, sat his. Quiet. Present. Kuzan.

Your hands shook for an entire day.

At first, you tried to deny it. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe he was there to stop it. Maybe he was doing something bigger—something you couldn’t see. But those excuses wore thin fast. You knew him. You knew that silence wasn’t passive. It was calculated.

He used to tell you the hardest part of ice wasn’t the cold. It was the stillness. The way things died beneath it without ever making a sound.

He didn’t come home that night. Or the next. And you didn’t send a single message.

You waited. Eyes fixed on the door, the clock, the paper curling in your hand. Until finally, two days later, he strolled up to your little house on the bluff like nothing was wrong—his hands in his pockets, long coat trailing behind like some worn out memory.

He gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’re early,” he said lazily, like it was just another night.

Your throat went dry.

“I read what you did,” you said, low and flat, brittle as cracked sea-glass.

His brows barely lifted. Not with surprise. More like… weariness.

“It’s not that simple,” he said after a beat.

Your voice rose, sharp and cold. “She’s sixteen, Kuzan. Sixteen. A kid. And you just stood there—!”

“I didn’t touch her.”

“You didn’t stop them either!”

The silence that followed was worse than shouting.

You stared at him, heart racing, willing him to give you something. A reason. A lie. A justification. Anything. But his eyes—those heavy, half-lidded eyes—just watched you with something unreadable beneath them.

Your voice cracked as you tried again. “You stood by while they took Garp. Garp, who raised you. Who fought beside you. Who trusted you.”

Still, he said nothing.

And that was the moment your heart finally split in two.

You shook your head. “I don’t recognize you anymore.”

Something flickered in his expression. Regret, maybe. Shame. But not enough.

“Whatever you are now,” you whispered, “it’s not the man I—”

You stopped. The word was right there, aching in your mouth. Loved. But saying it would only make it real. Saying it would break you.

He must’ve heard it anyway.

“I never wanted you to see me like this,” he murmured.

You stared at him. The way his broad shoulders still slouched like a man who didn’t care what the world thought of him. The way frost still clung faintly to his boots, leaving pale smudges on your wooden floor. The way his hands, once gentle on your skin, now looked like weapons he didn’t bother to sheathe anymore.

“And yet here you are,” you breathed.

He looked away. The silence stretched so thin, so sharp, it nearly cut through your chest.

You wanted him to say something. Anything. That he had no choice. That it was undercover. That he was biding time, playing a role, protecting someone. That Garp ordered it. That the girl was safe. That this was all a part of some grand scheme he couldn’t tell you about.

But he didn’t.

He just stood there—taller, colder, and somehow smaller than he used to be.

You remembered the nights you used to fall asleep against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, lulled by the steady rise and fall of someone you thought was immovable.

Now… he felt like drift ice. Floating. Detached. Quietly dangerous.

“I loved you,” you said finally, the truth clawing out of your throat like it needed to bleed.

He didn’t flinch.

“I still do,” he replied, soft. Like it hurt to admit.

And maybe that made it worse. Because love wasn’t enough anymore. Not now. Not like this.

You stepped back. Just one pace. Enough to draw the line neither of you wanted to name.

“I can’t do this,” you said, voice shaking. “Not when I don’t know who you are. Not when you don’t know anymore, either.”

Kuzan didn’t chase you.

He never was the chasing type. He moved like glaciers—slow, steady, irreversible. He’d always let people come to him, and once, that had been comforting.

Now it just felt like surrender.

You watched him for a few more seconds, memorizing the curve of his face, the tired crease of his mouth. The deep sorrow in his eyes that he didn’t even try to explain.

You turned and left.

He didn’t call your name. Didn’t ask you to stay. Didn’t offer you the closure you needed.

Outside, snow began to fall—soft and silent. You hated how beautiful it was. How familiar.

Just like him.

You didn’t look back. But if you had, you might’ve seen the frost blooming along his boots again.  You might’ve seen the way he clenched his fists.  You might’ve heard the way he finally exhaled, long and broken, like something in him had just shattered too.

But he stayed silent. Still. 

Like ice.

tagging @witchy-scribblings because I know she enjoys the ice man as we do

[camficdiner]

Hi!! I love your writing skills, could I ask for this?

1.3, 2.4, 3.5, 4.2

tysm🫂

☕ Cam’s Fic Diner — Order 019

Thank you so much for your order at Cam’s Fic Diner

Hope Luke’s jealousy ruined you just right 💌

Your support means more than champagne on a fake date.

Come back soon for another dirty dance in the dark 🍒

ko-fi.com/camficdiner

💬 "Red Carpet, Black Lace"

✨description and prompts

Character: Luke Hughes

Prompt: Fake dating at a formal event (Play It Forward Gala)

Word count: ~1.9k

Type: Fake Dating • Jealousy • Possessive!Luke • Car Sex • Soft Aftermath

🛼✨🧁🍒

Working PR for the New Jersey Devils meant long hours, endless meetings, and a front-row seat to the most chaotic locker room in hockey.

You weren’t new — not exactly — but still new enough that most players only remembered your name when they needed a quote cleaned up or a crisis buried.

Except Dawson Mercer.

He remembered everything.

You’d dated briefly — enough to cause buzz, enough for people to notice. But it ended with a passive-aggressive shrug and a few ignored texts. You moved on. The team moved on. But Mercer? He still lingered. Especially when you wore heels.

So when the Play It Forward Gala rolled around, and your boss reminded you everyone needed a date for optics, you panicked.

Luke Hughes — tall, sweet, and just shy enough to be safe — overheard.

“Go with me,” he said, shrugging. “I need a fake date anyway.”

You blinked. “Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

A pause. A smirk.

“You clean up nice.”

He wasn’t wrong. You did clean up.

The dress was a deep cherry tone, silky, backless. Your hair curled just right. Your lips matched your heels. You looked expensive.

Luke looked… stunned.

“You’re gonna make people think I’m actually dating you,” he murmured as he helped you out of the car.

You smiled. “That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

You posed for photos. Drank champagne. Watched Jack make a speech that was surprisingly heartfelt. Luke stayed close — one hand low on your back, his body angled toward yours. It felt real. Almost too real.

Until you turned and saw Dawson watching.

He approached like nothing had ever happened — like he hadn’t ghosted you and then made a comment about your “public image” in the group chat three weeks later.

“You look incredible,” he said smoothly.

You smiled tightly. “Thanks.”

Luke stepped aside to grab drinks — mistake.

Mercer leaned in. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Or with him.”

You arched a brow. “He invited me.”

“Oh, I bet he did.”

Then — his hand brushed your arm. Light. Just a touch. But enough.

Luke returned just in time to see it.

You didn’t even register the way Luke’s jaw clenched — not until he handed you your drink and said, “Let’s go.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I said let’s go.”

You barely had time to process before he took your hand, guiding you out of the ballroom, past the press wall, through the valet circle — straight to the black SUV that brought you there.

He opened the door. You slid in.

The second it closed, his mouth was on yours.

“You let him touch you,” Luke growled between kisses. “You let him look at you like that.”

“I didn’t let—”

“He wanted what’s mine.”

You gasped as he pulled you onto his lap, your dress sliding up your thighs. His hands gripped your waist, steadying you over his lap, the firm line of him already pressing between your legs.

“We’re fake dating, remember?” you said breathlessly.

Luke’s eyes were wild. Dark. Desperate.

“I’m not faking this.”

He pushed your dress higher, bunching it around your hips. His fingers found your underwear, dragging it aside.

“So fucking wet,” he muttered. “Was that for him?”

“No,” you hissed. “You. Always you.”

That broke something.

He yanked his pants open, pulled himself free, and guided you down onto him in one thrust.

You cried out, bracing against his shoulders as he filled you — thick, deep, hot.

Luke buried his face in your neck. “No one else gets to touch you. No one.”

He moved hard and fast, hips thrusting up from the seat, making the car rock. Your nails dug into his suit jacket. The windows fogged. The world outside disappeared.

“You liked being paraded around, didn’t you?” he growled. “Like you weren’t already mine.”

You moaned. “I am—yours—Luke, please—”

“That’s right,” he groaned. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours. I’m yours. I’m—fuck—”

He reached between you, thumb rubbing your clit, and you came with a cry muffled into his shoulder. He followed seconds later, groaning your name like a prayer.

––

Silence.

The windows fogged. Your chest heaved. His hands stayed on your hips, holding you like you’d float away otherwise.

“I overreacted,” Luke whispered. “Didn’t mean to—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, forehead resting on his.

“It felt real,” he said.

You kissed him.

“It was.”

Outside, the gala kept going. Cameras flashed. Voices carried.

But in the car, everything else faded.

Luke traced a line down your thigh. “Next time… we don’t fake it.”

You smiled. “Next time?”

He looked at you. All flushed cheeks and honest eyes.

“Please.”

[strxn-2]

Fame or family? sturniolo triplets x younger sister

summary : a collab gone wrong

tw:angst , unresolved angst , suggestive anxiety , exclusion , loneliness , established name "madison" for younger sister , characters povs (1st person) and genreal povs! (3rd person) lmk if ive missed any

slightly proofread

word count: 2.5k

general

The kitchen was a disaster. That was the general vibe, anyway—flour dusted the air like it snowed sideways, and someone had taped googly eyes to the blender. 

Nick stood in front of the camera tripod, adjusting the focus. “Okay. Blind, deaf, mute but with a twist as we’ve got two blind idiots. We ready to start filming?” 

Chris waved a spatula like a sword. “Ready to humiliate myself.” 

Madison was already wearing the blindfold, giggling. “I can’t even find the mixing bowl. This is not going to end well.” 

Nick 

Sometimes I wondered if our fans truly grasped how much joy was tucked into these moments. The mess, the noise, the utter unpredictability. I panned the camera to Matt, who was desperately trying to put the eggs in Madison’s reach so she could grab them. 

“Matt, no helping!” I called, grinning. 

Matt shot a look. “She was about to touch the kettle, dude. Do you want this to become a hospital vlog?” 

Matt 

I handed her a bowl instead and leaned slightly out of frame to check the time on the oven. I’d triple-checked the filming schedule that morning. Something about having a plan helped me breathe easier. This video, though—it felt like a reset. Just us, laughing, no pressure to be perfect. 

I glanced at Nick, who gave me a nod. I let out a deep breathe i didn’t know i was holding. Yeah, we were good. This was going to be okay. 

Chris 

I’d snuck a second camera onto the counter, angled low to get the best outtakes. I knew our fans lived for the bloopers. Especially the unfiltered stuff—like the moment I accidentally flung flour everywhere trying to open the bag. I groan internally – please tell me i didn’t get it all over my brand-new hoodie. 

Madison 

I hadn’t thought about the numbers today. Not my own vlog stats, not any messages. Just the way my brothers laughed, the way the kitchen smelled like vanilla and energy, the way there wasn’t a single thought about anything else in the world – the way we were one little perfect family, sure we had our differences but we were perfect in our own way. 

This was the moments I enjoyed the most. 

I'm snapped out of thought when i finally remember. 

“Did anyone preheat the oven?” I asked, suddenly. 

Dead silence. 

Matt groaned. “We are so bad at this.” 

general

A couple of days later, they’d posted the video and were scrolling through the comments. 

Chris was the first one to notice. 

“Uh… guys?” he called out from the beanbag throne in the living room, phone held slightly aloft like it had just caught fire. “Anyone wanna tell me why half our comment section thinks we’re collabing with pepsi?” 

Matt looked up from the sofa, where he was scrolling through his socials “What?” 

“Look.” Chris turned his phone so the others could see. Post after post scrolled by: 

Wait… are y’all teaming up with PEPSI?? 👀 That can’t be real omg” 

“Bro if the Sturniolo chaos is getting a Pepsi collab I’m LIVING for it ” 

“Okay but if Madison gets her own flavour I will literally cry” 

“Matt trying to stay calm while Madison talks about Pepsi… 10/10 acting 😭” 

“Nick blinked at the camera like he was dropping Easter eggs. I see you.” 

“CHRIS FINALLY MANIFESTED THIS. Man drinks Pepsi like it's oxygen—if he doesn’t get his face on a can, what are we even doing?” 

Nick, peering over Chris’s shoulder, squinted. “What are they even talking about?” 

Madison flopped onto the couch beside him, eyes wide. “Oh my god. They think we’re getting a deal? Like with Pepsi?” 

“I hope so” Chris muttered before adding “But this is the first I’m hearing about it.” 

Nick pulled out his phone, already drafting a group text to their manager- Laura-. “Okay… either this is a weird rumour, or someone forgot to loop us in.” 

Matt didn’t say anything, just switched off his phone slowly and rubbed his palms together like something was about to shatter. “Why are people saying I looked ‘suspiciously nervous’ in the last video? I always look nervous.” 

Nick gave his shoulder a squeeze. “It’s a talent. Don’t worry.” 

“I’m worried.” 

Chris grinned. “Well, at least if we are getting a collab with pepsi, maybe we can finally get more pepsi.” 

“You literally drink 4 cans a day,” Nick pointed out. 

“Exactly.” 

They all stared at each other for a moment, before laughing loudly – a comfortable, familiar laugh, after a couple of moments they calm down and nick turns his attention back to the text he was sending to their manager. 

Then Nick exhaled and tapped send. “Right. Let’s find out what the internet knows that we don’t.” 

Laura (10 mins ago):  omg can’t believe the fans figured it out before you guys 😂  yes—it’s TRUE. Pepsi’s in. They've been planning it for months lol  just finalizing details now. can we hop on a quick call in 5? 

Nick 

Laura's name lit up my screen and I answered on speaker, already standing with my hands on my hips like I was prepping for a mission. 

“Hey, Laura—you’ve got the whole squad here.” 

Laura’s voice buzzed through. “Well, good, because I’ve got huge news. Pepsi is greenlit. Full campaign. Multi-platform. Merch potential. You’re officially brand darlings.” 

I let out a low whistle. “Wow. That’s… big.” 

I met Matt’s eyes across the room, both of us grinning now, wild energy building. I had worked for years to get them here. The long edits. The midnight emails. It was real. 

Matt 

I felt the nervous tension in my chest melt into excitement like someone had flipped a switch. 

“This is insane,” I said, laughing under my breath. “Pepsi? Like—actual Pepsi?” 

“Yup,” Laura confirmed. “You’ll be the face of their youth summer series. Think road trip vibes, vlogs, short-form spots… all your strengths.” 

I let out a stunned little laugh. I pictured the storyboard already—neon lights, chaos footage, bloopers and beach shots. It felt surreal. For once, the fame me and my siblings had didn’t feel like a source of stress. It felt like a gateway. 

Chris 

I was half-listening, half-already designing fake thumbnail ideas in my head. "Pepsi but we drink it wrong for 24 hours" was going to be iconic. 

“This is literally the peak,” I whispered to Madison. “Imagine the fridge. Fully stocked.” 

She giggled, covering her mouth. I turned my attention back to the call just in time to hear Laura say, “And there’s a launch party—yes, with an open soda bar, before you ask.” 

“Laura,” I said, deadly serious, “I’ve never loved you more.” 

Madison 

I could barely hear the rest of the call over the sound of my own heartbeat. I hadn’t stopped smiling since Laura said the words “full campaign.” 

This… this was it. The moment that felt like validation, like all the work I’d done to open up online actually meant something. I imagined herself standing at a launch party, my own vlog camera in hand, my brothers beaming beside me. The younger sister not just in the background. 

I glanced at them all—Nick doing that calm-nervous pacing, Matt beaming excitedly, Chris practically bouncing in his seat. My heart felt full. 

No one saw the storm coming 

general

The studio lobby buzzed with cool air and brighter lights than any of them expected. 

Nick stepped in first, holding the door for his brothers as the glass swung shut behind them. A massive digital screen near reception played a looping reel of youth-brand campaigns—surfboards, neon lighting, glitter-splashed sneakers—and in the corner, a slick mockup: a soda can with their channel name stamped across it. 

Matt let out an audible “Whoa,” before catching himself and trying to play it cool. 

Chris didn’t bother pretending. “That’s us. That is literally us. On a Pepsi can.” 

“Technically it’s a placeholder,” Nick said, but he was grinning too hard to convince anyone. 

Their footsteps echoed against the polished floor, sneakers squeaking faintly as they approached the front desk, glancing at each other with the kind of giddy disbelief you can’t fake. It was happening. This was real. The combination of late-night edits and impulsive video ideas, of vulnerable uploads and viral chaos. 

A moment that felt like arriving. 

Nothing could ruin this moment, right? 

    Madison 

I should’ve known something was off the second the receptionist blinked and tilted her head. 

“Could you repeat your name, sweetheart?” 

I already had. Twice. 

“Madison Sturniolo,” I said again, a little slower this time, like maybe it was my voice that didn’t sound real. 

The receptionist smiled that uncomfortable smile people do when they don’t know how to say you’re not invited. She tapped a few more keys. “I have Nicolas, Matthew, and Christopher. No Madison on the list. Sorry.” 

I laughed. Just a little. Just enough to give my brothers a way out. 

Chris shot me a look from beside the sign-in iPad. “Wait, what?” 

Nick leaned toward the desk. “She’s with us. This is a family campaign.” 

The receptionist offered another tight smile. “I’m just going by what’s been submitted. I’m afraid I can’t let her through.” 

It felt like someone had slipped a cold coin down the back of my hoodie. I glanced at my brothers. Chris already looked confused. Matt’s eyes darted like he was doing mental math. Nick stared at his phone, probably ready to text Laura. 

But none of them argued. Not really. Not the way they would’ve if they hadn’t been so full of excitement. So wrapped up in what was waiting behind that door. 

“You sure you’re okay?” Matt asked, barely meeting my eyes. “We can, like... figure this out after.” 

I nodded, because that’s what I always do when I don’t want to make things worse. 

“I’m good,” I said. “Go. You’ll be late.” 

And they did. 

To wrapped up in excitement to let their guilt take over. 

The glass doors clicked shut behind them, and I was left standing outside with the filtered sun hitting my shoes, wondering if this was the part they’d edit out later. 

I sat down on the cold stone planter by the entrance, flipping my phone in my hands. I opened Instagram. Closed it. Opened my messages. Nothing. Group chat was quiet too. 

I wasn’t supposed to be this bothered, right? 

I mean, it’s not like I was ever in the title of the channel. I was adjacent to the fame. A featured artist on their album of chaos. I always said I liked it that way. 

But now that I was literally outside the building, with my name not even on a clipboard? 

My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. I tapped a draft vlog caption -“the day my brothers forgot me (again lol)”—then deleted it. 

I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared up at the building. Pepsi-blue banners flapped against the glass. Somewhere in there, they were laughing. Joking. Posing with cans I hadn’t been handed. 

I hugged my knees and told myself it was fine. That it didn’t mean anything. 

But god, it felt like everything. 

A couple of days pass and by the third night, I stopped waiting to hear one of them knock on my door. 

They weren’t being cruel. That was the worst part. They were being happy. 

Dinner conversations were louder now. The boys started saying things like “our team” or “the PR schedule” and laughing about which of them would look most awkward in the brand shoot. My name was never mentioned. 

The first night, I told myself they just forgot. The second night, I told myself they didn’t want to upset me. But by the third... I just stopped telling myself anything. 

Late that evening, I lay curled on my side, scrolling through my own comment section. A fan had written: “So hyped to see you in the Pepsi campaign!! Your chaotic energy is gonna be iconic 😭” 

I stared at it for a long time. Not angry. Not sad. Just... hollow. 

I typed back: 

“guess we’ll see <3” 

And then muted the conversation. 

My brothers were still downstairs—probably planning outfits, arguing about color schemes, pretending they weren’t nervous. I could hear Nick pacing while Matt explained something from his planner. Chris let out a laugh that rattled the floorboards. 

No one noticed I hadn't come down for hours. 

I got up and crossed to my desk. My vlog camera sat untouched. I turned it on anyway. Maybe out of habit. Maybe out of spite. 

The red light blinked into the dark. 

“Hey,” I said, voice quiet and tight. “Just wanted to film something. I don’t know what yet.” 

I paused. Biting the inside of my cheek. Took a breath. 

“Today I learned I can be a part of everything… and still not be included.” 

My throat caught. I turned off the camera. 

Over the next couple of weeks , my life felt blank , i wasn’t in as many videos any more and half the time they forgot i even existed, one day i come downstairs – we were gonna go film a video together for the first time in weeks when i notice them already filming , already doing OUR thing without me. Without another word, i go to the kitchen and grab some cereal, silently eating it whilst watching them film – they didn’t even notice i was there, so i just stay numb and carry on, i wasn’t going to ruin this for them. 

That night i walk into nicks room to see him editing at his computer – he notices me for the first time 

“Hey, you okay mads? You didn’t film the video with us earlier, we ended up doing it ourselves, you know if you were too busy you could’ve just said” Nick says , sounding normal but the last sentence tinged with annoyance and sarcasm. 

“mhm sorry” i reply “just was too busy” i say knowing damn well i was ten feet away eating cereal, i wasn’t going to say that though, didn’t need an argument. 

The text comes a couple of days later, in the group it was just seven words, nothing else 

“You can’t be in videos anymore madison” 

I stare at the text blankly, first they leave me alone whilst they go to a meeting, then they ignore me for weeks, they film the one video we we’re supposed to film together by themselves and now this? They didn’t even call me mads or maddie no they called me madison and they didn't even have the decency to say it to my face – did they even care about me anymore? 

I know they probably didn't mean it like that, they probably didn’t even realise how much it hurt me  

But god, did it hurt. 

A/N - this took me so long but it was lowkey worth it

taglist : @bernardsbendystraws @eyesonmattyb @mattsturnsfavcrime @jacsismattswife @slut4christopherr @lvrsturniolo @grace-sturnz @abbystromboli @stvrnsslvts @chrxsprettygirl @matts-girlfriend @sturniolo-szn2 @sturnsflirt @mattsmoth @silverspringsstare @strnlslvr

lmk if you wanna be on the taglist / if you wanna get removed from the taglist

feedback is appreciated and encouraged

[rotationalsymmetry]

So, for the record, "that fictional relationship is toxic" does not mean "it's badly written" or "you're a bad person for enjoying the story" or even "you're a bad person if you find the relationship emotionally compelling." Toxic relationships can be excellent in fiction. It means, more or less, "if there was a real life relationship like this, it would suck to be in it due to the amount of control or violence or degree to which one person lacks a sense of self outside of the relationship or something along those lines." And yeah, it's just a work of fiction, who cares, except if you can't recognize signs of control and abuse in fiction, how are you going to recognize them in real life?

And more to the point, if you don't understand the relationship as being toxic, you're missing part of what makes the story so cool!

"Everything you have, everything you are you've got to give." "When you live for someone, you're prepared to die" -- great in fiction! Terrible in reality!

(Also terrible in reality: being forced to keep really important secrets regardless of your own judgement of whether you should share said secrets or not.) (Also terrible in reality: the way pearls in Homeworld society are made to serve higher status gems, literally created to be servants, decorative and obedient. And this part is complicated, because Pearl would still be someone's decorative, obedient servant if Rose hadn't made the decisions she made -- but she didn't set Pearl entirely free to make her own choices either. Rose chose to be a Crystal Gem, Garnet and Bismuth chose to be Crystal Gems. I don't think Pearl ever had a choice. "I will fight in the name of Rose Quartz, and everything that she believed in" -- Pearl at that point doesn't have her own reason to fight, other than personal loyalty, a personal loyalty that is not voluntary any more than Spinel waiting for Pink for thousands of years was voluntary. It's not obvious in the moment, but Pearl's line there is every bit as wrong as Steven's "I will fight to be everything that everybody wants me to be when I'm grown" -- note that doesn't stay Steven's motivation.)

(Note that Connie and Steven reject that way of doing things pretty quickly! Connie is picking some stuff up in the song, but she doesn't hold onto it. And Steven pretty clearly doesn't want it at any point.)

Anyways, I get having kind of a kneejerk reaction to disagreement around Steven Universe given that parts of tumblr can be very weird about it, but I think Steven Universe is an excellent show! And also that Pearl and Rose's relationship is super toxic! It's supposed to be toxic! It's written that way! Pearl moving on from being hung up on Rose and meeting new people -- as friends, as potential romantic interests -- and figuring out who she IS without Rose is part of the show! The toxicity is on purpose, you're supposed to see the relationship as toxic. It is written that way.

There's a wide variety of relationships (romantic and otherwise) in the show and a lot of them are fucked up to some degree. (Generally not quite as much as Rose and Pearl's.) Relationships, romantic and otherwise, are a central theme of the show and the show has a lot to say about them.

[baldieboi]

That's a good thing, do what you enjoy. I also find myself sucked in with many things work (negative), story brainstorming (positive), occasionally drawing (positive).

I feel like the Primarchs just couldn't imagine having their Mother one day passing and they didn't understand the importance of spending time with her while they have the chance. Unfortunately, this is something many learn too late even in real life.

The Mother's death is exactly what you said. Passed peacefully in death. I didn't want to cause more pain to the Primarchs (I swear it feels so wrong making them sad, no matter they are fictional characters, the feeling remains). And there's something poetic in passing peacefully. They were offered peace by the Mother and in death she had peace as well.

I gotta say, originally I had a... quite different story idea. Mother passing remains the same as it is here but, and here comes the part that's different, it was not the reader passing.

The Emperor chose another to be the Mother/High Consort (for political and symbolic reasons, so he can show himself as more of a humane figure for the masses) and that's who the reader was to be. Here, the reader would have need to ease the Primarchs grief, to earn their trust so they see the reader more than someone who wants to replace their precious mother. The story would have ended up with them accepting the reader and while they never would have seen the reader the same as the first Mother... it would have been still a nice, perhaps angsty-wholesome story. At least according to the original plans.

But... frankly, I can't. I can't find it in myself to write this, not just because of having a job takes away almost all my free time... but simply because I can't.

This version is already sad enough and I am not sure I could manage writing the Primarchs slowly overcoming the grief and accepting the loss.

But who knows? Maybe one day I will reconsider. Or not. Time will tell.

I haven't considered the tagging being possibly interpreted in the wrong way by anyone but actually it makes a lot of sense. Just because I don't think of the wrong thing... who is to say nobody else does? It's pretty common with me. I think of the most normal (perhaps most innocent) things and people are absolutely not. I had some very uncomfortable and sometimes hilarious misunderstandings with it.

Thanks for for bringing this to my attention. I will edit the tags (but from what I have seen people didn't misunderstand, is that a good sign? anyway, I will change the tags)

The warhammer x reader part can remain, right? I will keep it as that in itself shouldn't be under the same problematic possible misinterpretation like the primarch x reader tag.

When I will write and post the next part (I plan to make it have exactly 3 parts, no more, no less) I will post it with this in mind.

Mother

Part 1

You died. To the Primarchs you were like a mother. They came to say their last goodbyes to you. Angst.

@ghrgrsfdesfrfg @w-40-k

Lion El'Jonson

The Lion knelt besides you with perfect knightly grace, his head bowed in respect. His hands, those weapons of war, trembled as he reached out to touch your folded fingers.

"Mother" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I came as soon as I could. I know... I know I'm too late but I had to tell you."

He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

"I brought you something. A flower from Caliban, from the grove where you said you wanted to walk someday. I know it's just a simple thing but you always said the simplest gifts carried the most love."

He placed the white bloom in your other hand, his fingers lingering on yours.

"I was your knight, Mother. I was supposed to protect you, to come when you called. I was too far away, fighting battles that don't matter now. Forgive me. Please forgive your failed knight."

A single tear fell onto your joined hands.

"I love you, Mother. I should have said it more. I should have said it every day."

Fulgrim

Fulgrim approached with a canvas in his hands, his features streaked with tears he made no attempt to hide.

"I finished it" he said, holding up the painting, your portrait, now complete despite the scar his chisel had left which fell from his hands when he heard the news of your death. "I know it's not perfect but you always said my imperfections made my art more beautiful."

He set the painting where you could see it... if you could still see.

"You were my muse, Mother. Every beautiful thing I ever created was because I was trying to capture even a fraction of the beauty I saw in you. Not just your face, though you were lovely, but your soul. The way you saw wonder in everything."

His voice broke.

"I wanted to paint you forever. I wanted to spend eternity trying to show the galaxy what real beauty looked like. But I can't... I can't paint you anymore. How do I create beauty in a world that doesn't have you in it?"

He touched your cheek with infinite gentleness.

"Thank you for teaching me that love was the greatest art of all. I'll try to remember that even when the world feels ugly without you."

Perturabo

Perturabo stood besides you with his hands full of blueprints, dozens of them, architectural plans that represented years of work.

"I brought you the designs" he said, his voice rough with emotion. "All of them. The gardens you wanted to see, the palaces I designed with rooms full of light, the cities where children could play safely in the streets."

He spread them out around you, a paper ocean of dreams made manifest.

"You were the only one who understood what I was trying to build. Everyone else saw weapons and fortifications but you... you saw homes. You saw beauty. You saw the future I was trying to create."

His massive hands clenched into fists.

"I wanted to build you a garden, Mother. A place where you could walk among growing things and know that they were protected by walls that would never fall. I wanted to give you peace made manifest in stone and steel."

He knelt besides you, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"I don't know how to build without you to build for. What's the point of creating something beautiful if the most beautiful thing in the galaxy is gone?"

He pressed his forehead to your hand.

"I love you, Mother. You made me feel like an architect instead of just a destroyer. Thank you for seeing the dreams in my blueprints."

Jaghatai Khan

The Khan came to your side with wind-tousled hair and dust on his boots as if he had ridden hard to reach you.

"I'm sorry I'm late" he said, sinking to one knee beside hs you. "I was riding when the news came and I... I couldn't stop. I rode for three days straight, hoping that if I was fast enough I could somehow outrun this reality."

He took your hand in both of his.

"You understood why I had to ride, didn't you? You never asked me to stay, never tried to cage me like the others did. You knew that the hunt was part of who I was and you loved me anyway."

His voice grew thick with emotion.

"But I should have stayed more often. I should have sat with you in the gardens and let you braid flowers in my hair. I should have told you about the sunsets I saw on distant worlds, should have brought you stories from the wind roads."

He lifted your hand to his cheek.

"You were my anchor, Mother. The fixed point that let me range so far because I always knew I could return. Now I'm lost in a way I've never been before and I don't know how to find my way home."

He took a shuddering breath.

"Ride with me in spirit, Mother. When I race across distant worlds be the wind at my back. That's how I'll carry you with me, in the freedom you gave me to be who I was meant to be."

Leman Russ

Russ approached with something clutched in his massive fist. When he opened it, it revealed a small carved wolf, no bigger than his thumb, crude but heartfelt.

"I made this for you" he said, his voice gruff with suppressed emotion. "I know it's not much. I'm not... I'm not good with the gentle things like Fulgrim or Vulkan. But I wanted you to have something."

He placed the tiny wolf in your palm, closing your fingers around it.

"You were the only one who wasn't afraid of me, Mother. When I was young and the wolf was strong, when I could barely control the beast in my blood, you would run your fingers through my hair and tell me stories until I was calm again."

His voice broke.

"You called me your wolf-son and you meant it as a loving thing. Not as something to be ashamed of but as something precious. You made me feel like the wolf and the man could exist together, that I didn't have to choose."

He rested his forehead against the edge of your bier.

"I howled for you, Mother. All the way from Fenris to Terra, I howled. And for the first time in my life the howl felt empty because you weren't there to answer."

His tears fell freely now.

"Pack bonds are forever, Mother. Death doesn't break them. You'll always be part of my pack, the heart of it. I love you. My pack loves you. Forever."

[soulfulazrael]

I noticed something... concerning growing in Deltarune community

And it relates to my previous post about a certain theory I had because the more I delve into this community after thinking about it the more I am concerned. And big part of that is this piece of art by sanbel780308

Just so you all know though. I throw NO shade at the artist. They are REALLY good and I hope none of you go after them or insult them or anything. This piece of art or rather that post is something that made me realize something about DR community overall.

There is some weird... hero/savior complex going on... or something... incel like. I dunno. It just feels weird. It is mainly centered on the mentality people have around Kris and Susie. Where there is a very big theory where once Susie knows about Kris and us being separate she will ditch Kris and realize WE were her real friend all this time and that will create sad conflict.

And I honestly at this point think it's just fucking weird. Like the more I think on this theory and what mentality some people who believe it have, the more gross it feels and the more I dread if it becomes a reality.

Because this is pretty much an idea where YOU are the only reason Susie likes Kris at all and without you Kris is NOTHING and they would be nothing if not just evil. Where you are the one who does everything right. Where YOU are the one who deserves to be Susie's friend and Kris NEEDS you to be her and everyone else's friend and...

Can you tell already all the things that are just... wrong with this? It's genuinely creepy mentality. Like imagine you have a friend who helps you out with talking to a girl (or a boy or other, I don't judge). They give you some hints, they help you out being more confident and you are able to also spend more time with her, being able to have fun with her and do things with her on your own.

But then you introduce her to him (or her... or other... either way I would judge, you'll see why), you explain how they helped you. And then this person goes "Yeah. I did all the work for them. Pretty much everything they said and did was from ME! So you should be with ME! Not them! Without me they suck!".

This is pretty much what this sounds like to me. I think this comic by valentinemesis I think REALLY well shows what I mean here

Honestly. This comic nails on the head what I think is genuinely growing in this community. And the more I see it the more I hope that my idea where Susie is able to quickly get over what Kris does and is and is more angry and distrustful against US to be a reality. Because honestly... this fanbase kind of needs it I say.

This kind of cold shower where you have to wake some people up to reality where this kind of mentality REALLY should not fester. Because I genuinely something just awful would come from it. And I think Toby is smarter than let something of this sort brew in his community like this. Especially with how it feels close to what "Chara did all the bad things" was for Undertale. I feel like he knows better now.

Especially with how many of them also ignore how Kris DOES in fact do things with Susie without our input. If not most of them at this point. And to act as if they have no say, or relationship with Susie is genuinely gross.

Or maybe I am just paranoid, self hating weirdo, but to me... I just feel off about all this. And I genuinely hope this wont turn into something awful.

Anyway. Hope you all who read this check out those artists I mentioned. Support them or whatever. Do not harass any of them (as if I have enough reach to cause this). And... I hope you do not think of future events in Delatrune like this because... you gotta admit. It's fucking weird.

[justcallmemrslupin]

Being a Lupin Lover in 2025: a Shock!

I've always been a huge Potterhead and Lupin Lover. I wrote fanfiction about Remus Lupin before it was cool. The books were still coming out.

I spent years hating "Harry Potter", because Remus died in the last book. He was the soul of it for me, and losing him felt personal.

When I came back to the fandom, everything had changed.

Fanfiction had become mainstream... and not always in a good way.

Suddenly there were subfandoms like "the Slytherin Boys" and "the Marauders" (who exist in aesthetic moodboards more than they ever did in canon).

There were people treating fanon as gospel, and entire ships that rewrote core characters to fit trends.

And then... there was The Ship Which Must Not Be Named (Remus and Sirius 🤫🤐)

Let me be clear: the W*lfstar phenomenon didn’t just make me uncomfortable. It broke something in me. Because it erased everything I found validating in Remus.

As someone who is grey aroace, Remus was a quiet, deeply personal symbol: of restrained affection, of non-normative love, of choosing kindness over chaos.

And now that version of him (my version of him, the one the author actually wrote) is being replaced by a manic-pixie dream-werewolf who makes out with Sirius every ten seconds and never emotionally matured past age 17. And if I say anything? If I gently point out canon People go mental.

They flood official HP accounts. They spam David Thewlis’ Instagram. A literal reporter asked him about the ship.

Even Pinterest can’t post a Remus, Remadora (God forbid someone actually ships Remus with his Canon wife and only love!) or even just Tonks photo without being swarmed.

Let’s call it what it is: harassment. Or, if you're feeling mild: an absolute lack of fandom etiquette.

And the worst part? The people who love the real Remus (the layered, flawed, deeply human man JKR cried while writing) are made to feel like we’re wrong for still loving him. For missing him. For recognizing him.

Ship what you like. Headcanon freely. That’s what fandom is for.

But don’t gaslight those of us who remember the books.

Don’t call it “interpretation” — much less "representation"! — when it’s actually erasure.

I knew who he was before all the edits. And I’ll still be here, loving the real Remus Lupin (tired, polite, traumatised, quietly heroic) when the trends pass.

So… I came back to the Harry Potter fandom after years away. I was excited. A little wistful. And then I saw him. Remus Lupin. Everywhere.

I thought: "Wow. They remember him. They love him too. How cool is that?"😍

And then… I read the posts and realized: "Oh. They don’t love Remus. They love some kind of golden/amber eyes and sweater-wearing chaos gremlin with commitment issues, a nicotine addiction, and a soundtrack by The Smiths. Oh, and a teenager.

Let’s get one thing straight: Remus John Lupin was a gentle, wounded, kind-hearted man with enormous self-control, a dry sense of humor, and the moral backbone of a thousand wizards.

He loved once. He taught with empathy. He aknowledged when he was wrong. He thought he was unworthy of love, but he gave it anyway.

He died trying to make the world safer for his son, even when he was terrified of becoming a father.

But somewhere along the way, fandom shoved him into a grungy little Marauders-era box, slapped on a cigarette, erased half his personality, made him weirdly passive-aggressive, and said: "Yes. This is the one.” 🥸🤓👽

Honestly? As a neurospicy woman who always had Remus Lupin as a comfort character and wrote fanfiction where I was always worried about keeping him — and everyone else — on character... it hurts.

Because the Remus I love, the one who quietly shaped lives, who held so much sorrow and still chose kindness, is barely recognizable in today’s fandom.

Because apparently nuance isn’t aesthetic enough for TikTok edits.

And the worst part? When I do speak up about canon, I’m called a “purist” or “boring” or “not fun.”

Listen, I’m neurodivergent. I’m grey aroace. I am the soft-spoken weirdo who over-apologizes and masks until I break.

Remus isn’t just a character to me: he’s validation. He’s the first time I saw someone like me in a story that mattered. So yeah. I’m a little protective.

If you love the Ship Which Must Not Be Named, fine. Ship what you like. But don’t pretend it's Canon and don't rewrite Remus’s soul and tell me I’m wrong for missing him. I know who he is. I’ve always known.

And if anyone needs me, I’ll be in the library, drinking tea, quietly judging, and crying into "Hogwarts: A History."

Your Fandom Auntie, too old for fandom drama, still here anyway.

[blaithnne]

Hey, so, this might sound weird, but your post about Ragatha tadc is seriously fucking me up. But thank you for writing it! I've had to face a lot of hard truths over the past few hours lol. I hope it's ok that I talk a little about what I mean.

I have known that I'm autistic for years, but I've never once considered that I mask in public, let alone mask at all. I've always struggled with making friends, and even when I did, I never felt like I was close to anyone. I never understood what I was doing wrong. I'm kind and cheerful, and I try to see the bright side of things and help people where I can. I always thought that was my genuine personality, and I think I am, but now I think I'm realizing I put on an act for people.

The latest episode of tadc stuck with me right after I watched it. I connected with Ragatha in a way I hadn't before, but it wasn't until I read your post that I understood why and realized all of this. She's the first character in a long time where I can say, "Oh. She's me. Literally me."

I don't even know who I really am anymore. I've spent so long sanding down my edges and trying to fit in, and never be annoying or considered uncool, that I don't think there's anything underneath my mask.

Anyway, I'm sorry for venting all of this unprompted. I just wanted to thank you again for making that post. It really meant a lot to me. I hope you have a wonderful day.

Oh dude, thank you so much for sending this in because you are REAL ASF!!

I think the best part about my Ragatha post getting so much traction is the amount of people who have opened up about relating to it. I mentioned briefly in the tags of that post that I wasn’t actually sure if what I was talking about was a common autistic experience or if it was really just a me thing, it’s something I had chalked up to autism after some personal introspection but not something I’d ever seen anyone discuss. I made the post in the first place because it was an angle I hadn’t seen anyone highlight. So it’s been really comforting to find out that I’m not alone in this struggle, and if this post has helped you figure out something new about yourself then that’s truly an honour.

Masking is weird. Autism is weird! We as autistic people tend to take things very literally, which extends to the definitions of our symptoms. We’ll be asked whether or not we take everything literally, and we’ll think “well no, I don’t take every single thing I hear literally, so I don’t do that”, without realising that we’re doing it right there and then! I think it’s the same with masking, or at least it was with me. I always thought masking was more intentional, a choice one makes — a mask you can take on and off at will, but it isn’t, and that’s what makes it so hard to deal with.

Masking is something you learn to do from a young age, it’s a learned behaviour which become almost instinctual. This makes it really fucking difficult to unlearn, because by the time you realise you have to, you’ve already built your identity around the walls you’ve put up, and now it’s up to you to figure out what’s real and what’s fake, what you need to keep in order to survive in this world, and what you need to discard for the very same reason.

I spent years of my life terrified of being disliked, because for a very long time I was. So I learned how not to be, I learned to be polite and quiet and funny and I built my identity around being those things. I learned what everyone in my life liked, what different social groups valued, and I became a copy of whoever I was talking to. Every friend I made would talk about how we had the exact same sense of humour, because I only laughed when they did. I have forever sworn off playing Cards Against Humanity, because I realised that when you build your identity and value your self worth around the idea that you’re the funny one, putting yourself in a situation where your ability to make others laugh is judged and ranked is ridiculously stressful. It’s funny the things that prompt realisations about yourself.

Eventually I realised that in making myself a perfect copy of everyone I interacted with, I had robbed the people around me of the chance to get to know me. What would people think of when I was gone, what would they miss? How can you miss someone who only mimics you, who’s just sort of generally nice and not really much else. I had no unique identity, no personality for people to latch onto. I used to take pride in the fact that even those who were notorious for disliking others still liked me, until I realised it was only because I had provided them with no unique identity to dislike. I realised that at least if I was hated, I was thought of, I was known for who I was and not for what I did. I was appreciated when I was around but not missed when I was gone and that realisation absolutely killed me. But I also think it sort of saved me.

Realising you’re masking is the first step to unlearning how to do it. It’s a long process, it’s one I’m still undergoing, but it’s so worth it. Finding your voice and your identity is absolutely a worthwhile endeavour, but that doesn’t make it easy. The hardest part for me was finding the courage to be disliked, accepting that not only was it inevitable that some people would dislike me, it was actually a good thing! Those things that some people will hate about you — maybe you talk too much, or you’re often quite grumpy — are the very same things which others will love about you. You have to give people a person for them to get to know, to be drawn to, not a perfect copy of themselves who can satisfy their every desire and laugh at all their jokes.

You don’t need to be perfect, nobody really wants you to be. You have to be you. You have to figure out who that is. You have to allow yourself the space to be messy and ugly and weird and unique, you have to learn not to care what people think about you, and oh my god that’s the hardest thing in the world. I’m talking here with a lot of authority and like I know all the answers, but I only came to this realisation within the past two years, after I graduated high school and moved away from everyone I’d ever known growing up, and finally got my diagnosis. I’m still bad at remembering this stuff, I still automatically put on a front when I talk to people, because I still don’t know exactly who I really am without the mask. And even the parts of me I do know, I struggle to figure out how to show them in a socially acceptable manner. I struggle to approach conversations in a way that’s not methodical and quite calculated, because I don’t know how else to.

But I’m also getting better, bit by bit. I’m learning to work with my autism and not against it, accepting that I will interact with the world differently from others, and some people might not like that, and that’s okay. I’m learning to uncover who I am, the hints of my true identity peaking through the mask. Maybe it’s okay to approach conversations a little methodically — I recently learned that when people start up small talk by asking about the weather or some such thing, it’s usually not actually because they care about the weather, it’s because they want to talk to you! They’re just looking for a way to start a conversation, they’re saying “I don’t know what to say to you right now, but I want to talk to you, so I’ll start with this.” Isn’t that so sweet? All these things that neurotypical people know instinctively, I’ve had to learn manually, and it’s given me a greater understanding and appreciation for the people around me.

I have a terrible memory, but I’ve learned to memorise almost everything when it comes to my friends and what makes them comfortable and happy and what their lives are like, and that’s not bad information to have in the slightest. What’s important is that you don’t build your identity around that information, you allow yourself to use the knowledge youve acquired over the years you’ve spent masking without it consuming you, use it to help you but not to define you. All this stuff is just tools to give people a bridge to get to know the real you, so make sure there is a real you for them to get to know. You’re beautiful and unique, there is somebody absolutely wonderful underneath that mask of yours, and it’s your job to give people the honour of getting to find out who that is. If someone doesn’t like what they find, that means you’re doing a good job. You’ve shown them what you’ve got and they’ve made their decision, and now you’re one step closer to finding someone who’ll appreciate you. If you hadn’t shown them the real you, you might’ve spent years following that person around and let them befriend your mask, only making it harder for you to open up to them after you’ve gotten to know them better.

You know another thing I’ve learned about myself lately? I ramble a lot! I go on and on and on and my big long paragraphs will surely annoy some people, but if just one person reads this and it helps them, then it’s worth it. Besides, it helped me quite a bit to write it all down. Thank you for sending this ask in anon, I hope life treats you well, and I wish you the absolute best of luck in finding your identity. I have a feeling you’re going to like what you find!

[canisbrutus]

Could you... Make some headcanons...... about.... Hal/Justin ?..... Pleaseeeeeeee.... Love u. (⁠o⁠´⁠･⁠_⁠･⁠)⁠っ⊂⁠(⁠･⁠ω⁠･⁠*⁠⊂⁠)

lol ok so these two are not a whole romantic ship in my lore. But: they do have their own little 'relationship' to say the least (and maybe justin has a little unrequited crush lol). anyway:

song blast rq - x

Hal & Justin 🔩🥚

The Basics

'rivals' first, business partners second.

looking at the bigger picture for a sec- as with all greaser/prep interactions, the preps scorn their slummish lifestyle and 'degeneracy' whenever possible.

however: they often hire their services whenever they dont want to dirty their own hands with something especially dicey.

and annoyingly, the preps make for nice, high paying clientele.

much like the actual mafia and corrupt upper class, these two cliques are entwined together in a way that's hard to separate.

as far as Hal and Justin go, however?

Justin isnt all that loyal to his business partners, typically.

but he can admire one's... strengths.

Hal, meanwhile, can see a cash cow from a mile away.

and Justin isn't all that hard to play like a fiddle, even without beating him to a pulp.

Expanded Lores

allow me to paint a picture for you.

Hattrick's been preoccupied with Galloway, and by doing so, he's holding out on supplying test answers to Justin for his side gig.

This won't do.

but Justin can't make any direct moves against a teacher, no no.

instead he slinks off into the alleys of new coventry, arms crossed behind his back and his chin held high.

Hal seems to be the easiest to 'bribe,' he thinks, largely due to his weight and associated stereotypes.

he was wrong. but it got his foot in the door for a Deal anyway.

in an attempt to deescalate the situation he held up a crisp $20 between his fingers, promising more where that came from, if he was just willing to do him a small favor.

Hal, of course, was a bit of a shark. He asked for $120.

he got it.

the next day Hattrick's car broke down and he wound up in the hospital with a broken femur.

future deals would be made in diner and deli booths alike (with Justin paying every time, of course).

generally they kept their deals 1-1. "man to man." Justin didn't want to pay any more greasers when Hal's proven himself to be capable, and Hal probably wasn't about to share his cut either.

had to stay strictly confidential anyway, you know?

none of the other preps needed to know Justin was cozying up to that Pig.

who's to say Hal didn't laugh at how hard he was milking this egg-eating snake with the rest of his boys, though?

admittedly Justin wasn't too pushy with haggling down his prices.

would make a counter-offer, sometimes, but usually Hal got what he wanted because Justin didn't wanna go through the hoops of trying to appease another greaser into not kicking his ass on sight on top of working for him.

that, and... well. it's obvious Justin has a type for the big strong and crass. Hal ticks all those boxes, even if he is notably more rough around the edges.

Justin however is nowhere near Hal's type. but that doesn't stop him from flexing a bit for emphasis on something.

it's funny trying to see that prep struggle to stay composed while pinned against the wall.

he often makes fun of him for a quick laugh anyhow.

always gets his heritage wrong. calls him German Boy.

Justin gets real haughty about that. claiming to be Flemish.

Belgian, German, Dutch; they're all the same to Hal. it drives the prep nuts.

they're not always completely antagonistic with eachother though, really.

Hal frequently offered him a cig for the hell of it (as he Always has Too Many). most of the time Justin would turn him down, but sometimes. sometimes. he'd take one if he had a headache for whatever reason.

Hal got a real kick outta loosening up this fool.

weird ass situationship.

somebody tell me why i have NOW'S YOUR CHANCE TO BE A stuck in my head now.

[writing masterpost]