#third wheeling

[nanamineedstherapy]

TikTok Warfare in the Polycule

F!Pregnant Reader x Gojo Satoru x Nanami Kento

Previous Oneshot Chapter [Tumblr/Ao3] | Main Series [Tumblr/Ao3]

A/N: Listen. Gojo would 100% weaponize TikTok algorithms to win an argument. Nanami would simply document the war crimes. Enjoy this descent into chaos. (No spoilers but someone does get pancake privileges revoked.)

Gojo was scrolling on his phone when the TikTok arrived. "If your baby daddy doesn’t instinctively protect your belly in public, you’re better off alone."

His eyes narrowed.

You walked by, adjusting a bag over your shoulder.

Gojo’s hand twitched.

Then: "Satoru."

He sat up. "Yeah, baby?"

"I need to go to the store."

Gojo’s pupils darkened. "You do?"

"Mm-hmm."

Five minutes later, he was pressed against your back in the middle of the grocery store, practically circling you like a guard dog.

His phone buzzed.

Group Chat: Dad Crimes 💀 (Anon)

Father Time: Did you just follow her to the store?

Daddy: Protecting the baby.

Father Time: Sure.

Daddy: She’s not mad anymore tho

Father Time: That’s what you think.

---

Operation: Keep the Pregnant Alive

Nanami knew something was wrong when Gojo smiled at him.

Not the usual lazy smirk. Not the smug, sunshine-drenched grin he used to get out of murder charges or speeding tickets. No. This one had teeth.

Gojo tossed his phone onto the coffee table, then sprawled across the couch, limbs wide open like a trap. His sunglasses had slipped halfway down his nose. His eyes glinted. “It’s time,” he said, voice too calm.

Nanami didn’t even look up from his newspaper. “For what?”

“Revenge.”

Nanami turned the page. “What did Haibara do now?”

“Ah! Not him. Baby.”

“What did our wife do now?”

“She fell asleep under the dining table.”

Nanami raised a brow in his direction, his grip tightening imperceptibly on the paper. “Again?”

“She took the video of me trying to wake her up from the home security footage, edited and posted it with an AI voiceover saying, ‘When your husband thinks you respect him but you’re actually a raccoon with a PLC.’”

Gojo’s eye twitched. “Ten million views and growing. I’m in a meme compilation.”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “She’s tired these days, Satoru.” The unspoken ‘She’s growing two whole humans with powers nothing like before, you idiot’ hung between them.

“She’s winning.” Gojo leaned forward. “We flip the script.”

Nanami stared. “You want to TikTok her back?”

“No.” Gojo grinned like the devil himself. “I want to psychologically dismantle her using excessive care until she implodes.”

Nanami sighed. “You’re stupid.”

Gojo’s grin widened. “So is she.”

Phase One: Comfort Is A Weapon

You were waiting for your coffee, scrolling on your phone, when your husband’s text came in:

Kento: Hope you're comfortable.

You: Why the hell would I not be?

Satoru: Because you’re not leaving that couch today.

You didn’t even have time to glare at your screen before Gojo waltzed in. Shirtless. Damp from a shower. Gray sweatpants. No shame.

He leaned on the doorway like he’d been cast in a thirst trap film.

Behind him, Nanami followed—sleeves rolled, jaw tense, that look he got when he was two seconds from calling Shoko for backup.

“What the hell is going on?” You asked, already suspicious.

“We’re taking care of you,” Gojo said sweetly.

Nanami unfolded a plush blanket with all the grace of a crime scene investigator. “Sit.”

You frowned. “No.”

Gojo tilted his head. “Do you want Shoko to get involved? Because I will FaceTime her right now.”

You narrowed your eyes, teeth gritted. “I will bite both of you.”

Gojo smirked. “Kinky.”

Nanami sighed. “Just sit.”

You plopped onto the couch like a petulant goblin, muttering the entire time. The warmth seeped into your aching back almost immediately. Traitors.

Phase Two: Pharmaceutical Warfare

Nanami brought over a vitamin packet like it was a weaponized dossier. “You’re iron-deficient,” he said flatly.

“I’m not,” you lied. “I had spinach.”

“When?” Nanami asked.

“...in college.”

Gojo appeared from behind with a smug look and a footstool. “Feet up.”

You resisted. He raised a brow. “Do you want to argue with a man in sweatpants?”

Reluctantly, you complied.

Gojo leaned in, dangerously close. “You’re sweating right now, aren’t you?”

You deadpanned. “No.”

He smiled. “You just twitched.”

You shoved his face away. “Shut up.”

Phase Three: TikTok Retaliation

The next day, a TikTok dropped, "If your girl isn’t drinking water, it’s your responsibility to hydrate her—by force if necessary."

You watched the video in horror. Nanami appeared in the kitchen doorway. Holding a glass. “Drink.”

“No.”

“Drink.”

“No.”

Gojo suddenly materialized behind you like a damn wraith. “Perhaps juice?”

“I want to be left alone.”

“Hydration first.” Then, with intense menace, Gojo whispered, “If you don’t drink this water, I will strap you to all the pregnancy pillows. Publicly.”

Nanami added, “We will post it.”

You grabbed the water and chugged it like it was vodka.

Gojo smirked, leaning dangerously close to your face. “Thirsty.”

You flipped him off.

Phase Four: The Food Trap

You woke up at 3AM to Nanami looming like a culinary ghost with a tray. “Breakfast,” he said. Toast. Yogurt. Fruit. Organized like he was seducing you via glycemic index.

“I didn’t ask—”

“You don’t ask. You survive.”

You reached for the toast while glaring.

Then chewed in righteous judgment. “When will you go back to work?”

Phase Five: Breakdown or Performance Art?

They cornered you in the kitchen.

Gojo grinned. “Admit it.”

“No.”

“You like it.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

You sniffed.

Nanami looked up.

Gojo panicked. “Oh no.”

“I hate you both!” You wailed. Tears streamed. Beautiful. Oscar-worthy.

Nanami’s tone softened. “What do you need?”

You hiccupped. “Pancakes. With the 85% dark chocolate-covered strawberries. And whipped cream.”

Silence.

Gojo blinked. “...You’re not even sad, are you.”

“I might be.”

“You’re faking this.”

“I’m hungry.”

Nanami sighed.

You leaned into Nanami. “I want him to make the pancakes, Kento. Make him.”

Gojo grinned. “You want me to cook shirtless?”

You rolled your eyes. “No, I want you to not burn the strawberries this time.”

“If you let me touch your boobs, I won’t.”

You walked away from Nanami’s arm and returned with his old blade and raised it to Gojo’s pecs. “You were saying?”

Final Score

You—4 (for lies, drama, violence, and thirst)

Nanami and Gojo—2 (for effort, execution, and forearms)

New TikTok: 🎵 "My husbands think they’re in control… until I start crying about pancakes."

Cut to Gojo flipping them. Shirtless. Nanami plating them with surgical precision.

Caption: "Wife: unwell. Husbands: worse."

---

A/N: If you laughed, screamed, or now fear Nanami’s vitamin distribution system, tell me in the comments. (Gojo’s ego needs the engagement.)

Previous Oneshot Chapter [Tumblr/Ao3] | Main Series [Tumblr/Ao3]

Next Chapter likely tomorrow.

All Works Masterlist

Beta - @blackrimmedrose

[muzsmocsing]

Just finished season one of tgcf. Do I know everyone's names? I don't. Or am I sure what that guy's deal was with the snake girl?? Not entirely. And why?

I couldn't hear the plot over the gaydar beeping nonstop.

I'm sorry but how was I supposed to pay attention to anything when the wholeass time Hua Cheng was in the background, making heart eyes at Xie Lian??? Bro clocks into reality occasionally to check if there's any real danger or an opportunity to impress gege with some sick lore but otherwise? Just wondering how he likes his eggs in the morning and if it's possible to top AND bottom at the same time.

[xielianlover2]

Hua Cheng: It's pretty cold outside... let me take your hand, gege? We should stay close

Xie Lian, *blushing*: Okay

Mu Qing: It's fucking summer and he has no body warmth

[karihighman]

Lisseth third wheeling my favorite ships is the best thing to ever happen to The Rookie & Chicago PD 🤭😅 it’s too great!!

[farsight-the-char]

Steph and Cass, at the Gotham art gallery during the selfcare day: *doing some absolutely 'galpal' stuff* Duke, who has been third wheeling these dumb gays for the past several months, who really just wants to look at the paintings :

[scenearcee]

Hu Tao and Furina being friends is the best thing that has happened to me in a while actually. Like they’re canonically working together, so I reserve the right to say that they end up being best friends. Sorry not sorry!!!!!

They match each other’s energy so nicely, and Hu Tao would constantly be teasing Furina with scary/morbid shit just to get a reaction out of her. I feel like they’d visit each other a lot, Furina going to Liyue and Hu Tao going to Fontaine every now and again, and just crashing at each other’s places for a few days. When Furina has an episode (I hit her with the C-PTSD ray), Hu Tao will just cuddle her on the couch until she stops crying and she’s ready to talk. They’re super touchy, not in a romantic way but definitely in a very platonic “I can’t go anywhere with you if you’re not holding my hand” way, if that makes any sense. When together, they’re always really close, because they both know that the proximity is comforting for Furina, and Hu Tao is perfectly willing to offer her space to her mysteriously sad best friend.

Sometimes Furina has to third wheel on YanTao dates, but Yanfei doesn’t mind at all- they actually get along quite nicely, discussing the intricacies of legal systems together, and banding up to tell Hu Tao to stop saying odd shit in public.

[dabiloveln]

I JUST WOKE WHAT IS GOING ON

@dabis-things @no2-hero-hawks

are they you know… flirting? fighting? right in front of me :o

[theladydothtalktoomuch]

Draco: Okay! It’s a new year, my resolution will be to stop talking about Granger! Pansy: Is that so? Draco: Yes! And I will start doing it from now! Pansy: Okay Draco: … Draco: … Pansy: Five, four, three— Draco: So what do you think Granger’s resolution is?

[aroacebooknerd]

yo is anyone else intensely into the idea of third wheeling

like-

i'm not going to be going on these dates... so let me butt into yours

it just seems so appealing to be able to be that one annoying friend and just stare at them while they try to have a romantic moment with someone,

and i just sit there.... perfect

it would totally weird out their date and i am 100% here for that

i want their date to think of me as that one weird friend that they can never get rid of

i want to be that weird comic relief character in a sit com

like- you can pry this moment from my cold dead hands, your date means more to me than it does to you, fight me

Sincerely,

An Enthusiastic Aro Ace

[justplainlovely]

Instead of working on my main fic like a good egg, I’m distracting myself with the “inexperienced Maximus learns something” oneshot that I’m probably gonna finish soon 😶

sneak peek cuz you guys are cool

[nanamineedstherapy]

Tactical Crocs & Emotional Warfare

F!Reader x Gojo Satoru x Nanami Kento

Previous Oneshot Chapter [Tumblr/Ao3] | Main Series [Tumblr/Ao3]

A/N: When your security team costs more than a small country's GDP but the real threat is a raccoon with a Hermès addiction. Enjoy this slice of domestic terrorism (ft. Gojo’s tactical Crocs). No spoilers, but someone does get scolded via Chopin.

Int. Private Security Room—Night—14 Hours To Cameras Up

The koi pond feed flickers. A baby sock drifts across the surface. Nobody flinches.

Half the screens are silent surveillance footage: nursery, koi pond vault, her lower office, the terrarium room that used to be a guest bath. Takahashi (the raccoon, not the CFO) sleeps curled on a miniature futon in a separate window—one paw flung over a satin pillow like royalty.

The red alert blinks in the upper left corner: VOGUE JAPAN CREW ARRIVES. TO BE HELD IN GREEN ROOM.

Nanami Kento doesn’t look up. His pen glides over a set of architectural schematics—his third revision in as many hours. He’s in matte black tactical Kevlar (no one knows why at this hour), sleeves rolled to the forearms, sorcery glasses glinting under sterile lighting. There’s a faint ink smudge on his wrist. He’s furious about it.

Gojo Satoru sits across from him in a Hello Kitty hoodie and tactical Crocs, chewing lychee Pocky like he’s running hostage negotiations out of a Daiso. His wayfarers reflect the screen showing his stolen blindfold around Takahashi’s neck like he’s cosplaying “Bandit” in his sleep. The six-eyes wielder looks like the kind of genius whose brain can calculate missile trajectory mid-nap but will forget to refrigerate breast milk.

Around them, the highest-paid security personnel on the Pacific Rim. A blend of private military, cyberwarfare analysts, and cursed-artifact consultants. Some sip espresso from tactical thermoses. Others pretend they’re not being paid eight figures plus to protect a non-sorcerer pregnant woman, two war criminals, and a possibly sentient raccoon.

The Executive Protection Team (Core Security) had primarily been assembled by Megumi, and they relocated with you to Japan after your marriage, remaining fiercely loyal but now having an equal number of Nanami and Gojo’s people, ex-Jujutsu Teachers (sorcerers).

Former JSDF Special Forces Operatives (1st Airborne Brigade or Special Operations Group)  (¥60M+ each).

Japan's equivalent to Navy SEALs/Delta Force, trained in high-risk protection.

Ex-Metropolitan Police Department (MPD) Security Police (SP) Officer. (¥50M+ each).

SP protects Japanese VIPs (e.g., PM, royals). Only available if retired early. Know all police protocols to avoid legal issues.

Cursed Energy Security Specialists Team (for Sorcerer-Level Threats).

Ex-Jujutsu Tech Professors (Non-Gojo Clan, Independent) (¥100M+ each).

Detects/neutralizes curses without relying on Jujutsu High. 

Limitation: Hard to find; must be lured with extreme pay.

Cursed Artifact Security Consultant (¥80M+ each).

Prevents cursed objects from entering the home (e.g., "gifts" from enemies).

Background: Former curse-user turned private sector.

Cyber/Electronic Warfare Team (For Tech CEO Threats).

Ex-Unit 8200 (Israeli Cyber Intel) + NSA Hacker (¥120M+ each).

Best in the world for preventing corporate espionage/blackmail.

Loophole: Hired as a "consultant" to avoid gov restrictions.

Japanese Cyber Defense Force Veteran (¥60M+ each).

Knows domestic cyber laws inside out.

Perk: Can legally bug your own home (with consent).

Logistics & Emergency Extraction Team.

Private Military Contractor (PMC) Pilot (Ex-USAF/JSDF) (¥70M+ each).

On standby with a private jet/helicopter for emergency medevac (pregnancy risks).

Loophole: Based in international waters (Okinawa) to bypass Japanese airspace laws.

Medical Security Specialist (Ex-SAS Medic) (¥50M+ each).

Trauma Care + can extract during a curse attack.

Perk: Licensed to carry restricted meds (e.g., sorcerer-grade painkillers).

Most of them report to her.

The wife.

CEO.

Third trimester.

Currently asleep, head tilted into Nanami’s neck like a sleepy heat-seeking missile, his other arm absently braced around her to stop her from falling off the ergonomic stool she refuses to replace.

A hushed voice cut through the tension. “She’s got a bounty on her.”

Nanami slammed a folder onto the table hard enough to rattle the coffee cups, his sleeves rolled up to expose forearms corded with muscle. “If we die, Protocol A-47 activates. She goes to the koi pond vault. No exceptions. Tranquilize her if necessary.”

The ex-fighter pilot—a woman with a scar bisecting her eyebrow—leaned back in her chair, flicking a toothpick between her teeth. “We have tranquilizers because she once roundhouse-kicked a logistics officer during a VR Mortal Kombat session. Broke his nose.”

Gojo licked sugar from his thumb and added, “Double-layer barrier on the nursery and Takahashi. If something happens to that raccoon, I’m flattening a country. I won’t say which. It’ll be a surprise.”

The NSA hacker, a twitchy man with dark circles under his eyes, flinched when the raccoon sneezed. “Why does the raccoon have his own panic room?”

Keji—sleek in his silk shirt, biceps straining the fabric as he crossed his arms—didn’t blink. “He has three. One is lined with titanium. One is wallpapered with Gojo-san’s baby photos. We do not enter it.”

Nanami’s pen paused mid-note, his gold wedding band glinting. “She’s not a combatant. She can’t defend herself against c-users.”

Gojo’s smirk vanished, his voice dropping to something darker. “And now, her bounty matches mine.”

The silence in the room was palpable, a live wire. Takahashi, curled in his heated pet bed, let out a tiny snore.

The SAS medic—a woman with a coiled braid and a grip that could crush tracheas—rubbed her temples. “We’re glorified nannies. Emotional support detail. Decoys.”

Nanami didn’t look up. “In case both of us die, Keji initiates the escape route. She doesn’t know about it. She already has insomnia. And stop calling it Project: Dead Dads.”

A former JSDF SOG operative, a wiry man who looked like he hadn’t slept in days, swallowed audibly. “Do we evacuate Takahashi?”

Gojo’s fingers stilled on his watermelon lollipop wrapper, the crinkle deafening. “What did I just say.”

Keji turned toward the security feeds, his profile sharp enough to draw blood. “He has a private jet. Smaller than Madame’s. Faster. I’m not authorized to speak why.”

Nanami’s glasses caught the light as he flipped a page. “There are four exit tunnels. One goes through a matcha café. Another leads under the koi pond, keyed to her retinal scan and Takahashi’s scent profile.”

The ex-jujutsu sorcerer—an older woman with ink-black nails and a lazy, lethal posture—stretched like a cat. “I taught metaphysics at Yale.”

Gojo’s grin returned, wider. “Now you guard a raccoon with a Hermès sponsorship and a platinum AmEx. Life’s a ride.”

An ex-MPD VIP guard, a hulking man with a baby face, muttered into his comms. “I used to run fintech. Now I sterilize breast pumps and sleep beneath a floating shikigami terrarium.”

Ignoring him, Nanami’s thumb brushed the edge of his wedding ring. “In an active threat, she and Takahashi go in the bunker. Keji, you emotionally stabilize her. Feed the raccoon his lavender sardine paste.”

Keji’s jaw tightened, leather gloves creaking. “It’s handmade. Infused with omega-3 and respect. I recite Edith Piaf while preparing it.”

Gojo twirled his sunglasses. “He even sings La Vie en Rose during thunderstorms.”

The lights flickered. No one moved.

Takahashi’s screech echoed down the hall—a sound like an opera-trained kettle being murdered.

Nanami didn’t react. “Seventy-five minutes. That’s all they’re allowed in the residence. Treat this as a red-tier civilian intrusion. Assume bugs, surveillance, and attempted breaches.”

Gojo licked his lollipop slowly. “And no touching the raccoon. She said she’ll cancel the shoot if they mess with his whiskers.”

Every head nodded. No one questioned it.

The upgraded chief logistics officer—a woman with a steel-gray bob and a sniper’s stillness—tapped her tablet. “We’ve staged all bathrooms, prepped diversionary designer fragrances, and disabled motion sensor lighting in the koi corridor. It made the raccoon look too... strategic.”

Keji, adjusting his gloves, coolly added, “Takahashi is sentient. And emotionally fragile.”

Nanami’s voice was sharp as a blade. “Staff wears navy. Press wears tags. Anyone untagged after the 42-minute mark: detain.”

The ex-Metropolitan Police officer, a woman built like a brick wall with a matching smirk, raised a brow. “If questioned?”

Gojo’s teeth flashed in a grin. “Blame jet lag. Or say they threatened the raccoon and his wildlife habitat.”

Another nod followed, deadly serious.

Nanami’s watch gleamed as he switched tabs. “Lighting rig pathways are pre-approved. No one enters the nursery, gaming room, or her lower office. Those are closed sets. If they insist—deny with polite aggression.”

Gojo pointed at the NSA tech, who shrank in his chair. “If they get pushy, hand them the fake NDA. The one with clause 14 about raccoon-based defamation lawsuits.”

The tech, a freckled kid who looked barely old enough to be here, stammered, “We scrubbed her images from the mob lynch incident off the internet. All reverse image searches redirect to a red fox in a Dior scarf.”

Keji’s mouth curled into a smirk. “We paid extra for that one. The fox is a union.”

The medical lead—a woman with biceps that could crack walnuts and a glare to match—slapped her protocol sheet down. “She’s on four prescriptions. None are to be mentioned. If she starts to spiral—”

Keji’s smile was all edges, his gloved fingers tapping once against his biceps. “I’ll realign her using the 'accidental' footage of Nanami-san cooking shirtless last week. It’s preloaded. Subtitled. And scored with Chopin.”

Nanami’s pen froze mid-air. “That wasn’t for anyone.”

Gojo, sprawled across two chairs, licked his lollipop with deliberate slowness. “It was for me. Obviously.”

An ex-JSDF pilot—a woman in her 50s with salt-and-pepper hair and a posture that screamed combat-ready—adjusted her earpiece. “Chopper’s on standby. Six-minute extraction from Okinawa. The vault opens in two. If she won’t move, the fetal monitor’s embedded in her gaming chair.”

Nanami's wedding band caught the light as he massaged his temple. “She won’t move. Not if they bring up Gojo’s hair again.”

Gojo’s sunglasses slid down as he jerked upright, voice dripping with offense. “My hair is real. Shut up.”

The cybersecurity lead asked, “Do we allow footage of the nursery?”

Nanami didn’t hesitate, his voice a steel door slamming shut. “No. The twins will not be monetized.”

Gojo twirled his sunglasses, his grin razor-thin. “Also, the wallpaper isn’t finished, and she’ll have a hormonal breakdown.”

The MPD veteran, a barrel-chested man with a voice like gravel, scratched his stubble. “What if they film the raccoon singing? The sound’s been... described as ‘emotional.’”

Keji turned to the camera, his smirk all quiet arrogance. “He sings behind silk. You hear him only if he allows it.”

Nanami’s finger traced the exit tunnel diagram, his glasses glinting like a warning. “Only Keji knows all exit codes. If she starts crying—”

Another SAS medic—a woman with a shaved head and a stare that could curdle milk—didn’t blink. “We sedate her and blame prenatal yoga. Like last time.”

The mood in the room remained tense.

Nanami’s knuckles went white around his folder. “We protect her. We protect the twins. You protect that damn raccoon like he’s the crown prince of France. If she stubs her toe and Vogue sees it—this entire household is done.”

Another NSA hacker, a young woman fixing her gloss, muttered under her breath. “She has three degrees, and one of them is in an unknown field. So I’m pretty sure she could crush this whole network if she wanted to.”

Keji leaned back, satisfaction rolling off him in waves. “She has. Twice.”

Gojo chewed the last of his lollipop. “Accidentally.”

The lights flickered—once.

“One lipstick smear on the marble. One wrong tote bag. One smug remark about ‘modern poly households’—I will end this.” Nanami’s final note was a scalpel to the throat, but his gaze softened as he glanced at his wife dozing on his shoulder, her cheek smooshed against the Kevlar vest.

Gojo rose, stretching with all his lazy grace, kissed Nanami's temple just to annoy him before scooping their wife into his arms like she still weighed nothing. Her sleepy “mmf?” earned a chuckle as he adjusted the hem of her shirt over her bump as she put her arms around him. “Smile for the cameras tomorrow, people,” he purred to the team, but his wedding ring-adorned finger brushed her knee—a silent you’re safe—as he carried her toward the bed, her breathing already muffled against his shoulder.

The private feed cut.

The koi pond glowed an eerie blue.

The single baby sock is still floating over it.

Video Title Card: The Pregnant CEO, The Two Husbands, and The Raccoon With Executive Privilege.

---

A/N: If you laughed, cried, or now fear Nanami’s spreadsheet skills, scream at me in the comments. (Gojo’s ego needs the validation. Takahashi demands tribute in lychee Pocky.)

Previous Oneshot Chapter [Tumblr/Ao3] | Main Series [Tumblr/Ao3]

Next Chapter likely tomorrow.

All Works Masterlist

Beta - @blackrimmedrose

[bealzebubs-blog]

Cryptic ass picture from me third wheeling my sister and her boyfriend on vrchat yesterday

[purplereadingenthusiast]

Yknow what? I’m getting really tired of Gus being treated as a throwaway character who just third- or fifth- or seventh-wheels for his friends. It’s really upsetting, especially as an aroace, when people make jokes about him being “forever alone” or whatever, because it’s just not true.

First of all, yes, he isn’t in a romantic relationship, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have someone who appreciates him and loves him for who he is. And secondly, his friends already are those people! They care about him!! Sure, they have romantic interests as well, but that doesn’t mean they love him any less. Luz, Amity, Willow and Hunter aren’t going to abandon or ignore him just because they’re in romantic relationships with each other. Sure, they’ll want to spend some alone time together, I’m not denying that, but it doesn’t mean they’ll all go out as a group and then turn it into a double date where Gus is the odd one out like some of you are suggesting.

it’s also pretty disheartening when people respond to Gus’ third-wheeling with something like “that’s what Matt is for!” Sure, Matt could be a solution if Gus was feeling lonely, but he isn’t necessarily feeling that way just from the basis of him third-wheeling. And even if he was, the assumption that a character just needs a romantic interest to be happy is glaringly amatonormative, especially when it’s paired with the assumption that it would “make up” for his friends ignoring him.

in conclusion, let Gus be happy with his friends, please. If you want to make fanart of the group doing something together with Lumity and Huntlow themes, no one’s stopping you, but some of the jokes about him being a third wheel are hurtful to people like aromantics or others who don’t want a romantic relationship. Gus isn’t just a silly side character there for comedic relief. Don’t treat him like one.

[dragzo]

Thank you to everyone who gave my fic a chance. I just wanted to take a moment to thank you for 100 comments, over 250 kudos, 38 bookmarks and over 4000 hits! It’s crazy to me that my fic gained so much traction and love. I know I was regularly posting updates but it’s still a really nice achievement.

If you enjoyed my writing in that fic, I’d highly recommend checking out the new fic I’m working on: Prank Gone Wrong. Another spicynoodles fic, it centres on Mei and her experience as an aromantic third wheel. It’s a comedy with light angst undertones and a lot of fluff. Updates won’t be as scheduled as the last fic, but I promise I’ll keep them regular. Chapter 2 will be up on Saturday :]

[farsight-the-char]

EXCEPTIONAL X-MEN #11

VARIANT COVER BY JUNGGEUN YOON

...

Mind the hand, Kathrine.

[karihighman]

FAVORITE TRIO FROM THE ROOKIE RN ✌️👍