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enwoso · 9 hours

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FORGOTTEN - alessia russo

*this has been sitting in my drafts forever, it’s a bit of a longer one, some angst but happy ending, also pls imagine arsenal were in the champions league knock stages for the sake of the plot🙏🏻*

as her front door opened the first thing you did was practically through yourself at her, arms around her neck as your mouth presses soft to hers and you being eager after not seeing the blonde for over a month which only came to haunt you hours later.

alessia had kissed you back with just as much enthusiasm, of course she did, it was knee jerk reactions but once you finally pulled away and met her gaze as she was stood frozen still with a blank look on her face - a picture of total confusion.

"what are you doing here? why didn't you tell me you were coming? i'd have picked you up from the train station." you thought she was joking when she first said it, waiting for a teasing smile to curl at the corner of her lips as she tapped her fingers under your chin and kisses your cheek, while mumbling a 'i'm kidding - i missed you'

but she didn't - her head instead cocked to the side a little.

her gaze catching a glimpse of the roses you were holding as her brow crinkled even more, "what are the flowers for?" she asked. you blinked at her slow and unsure.

still trying to figure out if she was teasing you or not but her face gave you the answer, her face was blank as her eyes took in your form.

you looked down at the roses before looking back at the blonde almost as if you had forgotten about the flowers you had bought mere minutes before knocking on her door.

a feeling of something similar to dread beginning to boil low in your stomach as a heat crept up your neck, a one that felt a lot like humiliation as you wondered if the joke had been lost on alessia and she actually wasn't interested in the stupid bunch of roses.

"you." pressing them into her chest as you watched closely as her fingers wrapped carefully around the stems.

"i mean,, i obviously didn't just get you flowers, your other gifts are in my suitcase but i was at the train station and as i was waiting for a taxi there was a little florist and i remembered you always teasing me about how your always the one to send me flowers and i never send them back to.. you" the last word coming almost out as a whisper from you as it happened so quickly.

a wave of realisation hit alessias face as your words registered to her as the pit that fell deep in your chest when you understood her expression. pulling your head back and letting your hand drop from where it was settled on her waist and swallowed through the lump that had settled in your throat

"you've forgotten haven't you." plain and simple.

alessia had forgotten about your two year anniversary, she had clearly forgotten your plans to spend the weekend together that you had planned months in advance which she ensured you she had made sure nothing was in her schedule that would disrupt said plans.

but here you were standing like an idiot in her doorway with a bunch of roses and gifts you had spent months perfecting.

tension was building in her hallway as alessia's blues eyes were soft with guilt and regret. her mouth tipped with your worried lines and the only motion you seemed to be able to find was shaking your head as well as a disbelieving huff of laughter breaking the thick silence like a knife.

"you forgot didn't you? that it was our anniversary? that i was coming?" you could feel the pressure which was building behind your eyes, the hot flush and the sting of fear as you dig your nails into your palms to keep them at bay, willing yourself not to cry.

it was silly really but you had spent the entire train ride from manchester to london as well as the short car ride from the station thinking about finally seeing her, finally being in the comfort of her arms again and she has t even been bothered to remember the date.

you hadn't thought to remind her, hell you didn't think you would need to. she had assured you so many times that the date was marked in her calendar and that she would make sure she didn't have anything booked for that day. but maybe you should have sent her a heads up text.

"i didn't, no-not on purpose" alessia swallowed, setting the roses down on the small table beside her front door and taking a step towards you. her hands over her face as she rubbed her jaw. "i knew when it was, fuck i know when our anniversary is!"

"oh really?"

"i had the plans, i was gonna book the restaurant that you like to go to when you come down and take you to the new museum that opened up in town cause i made sure i didn't go with the arsenal girls cause i wanted to take you there first as you and i bought your gifts-"

"and what after all that planning, it still just suddenly slipped your mind?" you say bluntly taking alessia by surprise by your sudden coldness towards her.

"no! it's not like-"

"how do you forget something like that?"

"i've been busy with-"

"you're not the only one who has a busy schedule alessia! i have a life too, for fuck sake i do the same job as you and i still managed to remember our anniversary!" there was a hitch in your voice as well as a tremble to match the wobble of your bottom lip and this time it was alessia shaking her head she reached out trying to cup your cheek. only wincing when you jerked away from her touch.

"i've just been so distracted with training and the barcelona match, we play on wednesday and my head just been a mess. we've been working non stop, ive not nearly had enough time to do anything - it's all ive been thinking about. there's so much pressure on the me and the team and it's just taken over my whole life this past week!"

her hand fell tucking it away inside of her jogger bottoms which were plastered with an arsenal logo and the number 23, a way to stop herself from reaching for you again.

you could see the clear tension in her shoulders, a clear apology and pain in the way she was looking at you but you weren't sure how to actually accept it, you didn't know how to stop the ache that was ever so present inside of your chest. "i'm sorry"

"i know how important this match is to you, and i know how much work and effort you out in and i'm so incredibly proud of you, you have no idea but.."

"but what?"

"i thought i was important to you"

"no, don't do that" alessia began shaking her head as a evident frown appeared as she watched you quickly swipe your fingers beneath your eyes. "don't make out that i don't care about you or that i care less about you then football - you know that's not true."

"you forgot our anniversary because of a match, alessia! that's says a lot."

"and i’ve said im sorry! i lost track of the days not of you! i got too in my head and didn't realise. this isn't- this has nothing to do with how i feel about you. i love you and that you're the most important thing in my life, you know that but i just-" her voice began to crack and she made a face, taking a step back from you when she realised you were on the other side of the door.

your suitcase knocked over from your earlier eagerness to wrap yourself around the blonde. "i made a mistake" the blonde admitted, it coming out as a whisper as she fiddled with the rings on her fingers.

"it's a pretty big mistake." your cheeks were now wet but you weren't sure when you'd actually began to cry or when your stomach began to feel funny, that feeling of being in a free fall with the sleeve of your hoodie. you wiped over you face as you let your gaze fall to point over alessia's shoulder.

"people don't just forget things as big as this because of their job. relationships aren't supposed to feel second best."

"i've said i was sorry, i can make it up to you. i'll make the dinner reservations now and we can go to the museum tomorrow - you know i didn't mean to forget, i wouldn't have forgotten something like this if everything going on wasn't so chaotic!" the blonde sighed, pulling out her phone, probably to make the reservation for the restaurant but you began to talk again stopping her in her tracks as she looked at you dead in the eyes.

"maybe that isn't enough" you needed her to stop looking at you - needing some space to cry so you could get rid of the hurt, anger and embarrassment that had crawled onto your skin.

wanting also nothing more than to push the roses into the bin in her kitchen because looking at them were making the tears build even quicker.

"c'mon love, please i'm sorry. you have to let me try-"

"i don't have to let you do anything."

you probably sounded childish and maybe your reaction was, she had apologised and explained and maybe deep down you did understand but in the moment all you felt was anger. she had hurt you, making you feel as though you and your relationship was easily forgettable.

there was a breakdown building inside of you and as stupid as it may sound - the last place you wanted it to happen was in front of her.

"y/n" she spoke softly, as you sniffed and turned a blank expression at her. "i don't want to talk about it anymore. you forgot, you're sorry, no biggy right?"

"that's not what i said and you know it, let me fix it.. please."

"it's whatever" you mumbled moving your way towards your suitcase, tugging it into the house as you awkwardly pushed the door closed and moved you way around alessia's body. the blonde reaching out for you arm but you tugged it away - throwing a look toward the flowers. "you can just throw them in the bin, t'was a stupid idea anyway."

"y/n, baby."

"don't-" the sigh that escaped your lips was watery, the tears starting to fall again now that you were no longer facing your girlfriend. "can you just leave me alone?"

you hadn't spoken since then, both of you annoyed. you were embarrassed and hurt and alessia was riddled with stomach sinking guilt which she was unsure of how to get rid of.

she was avoiding the bedroom and likewise you were avoiding the living room which was a hard task considering she needed to use the bathroom and you need to use the kitchen. but with each passing it was met with a awkward silence - neither of you clearly ready to talk.

it was unlike the two of you. you rarely every fought and even if you did it would be over something silly like who had missed the other the most and would be resolved within an hour being brushed away with many breathy i love yous and mumbling apologies.

but this was different and not something that was small or stupid and couldn't simply be forgotten about because alessia had made you laugh.

she had forgotten your two year anniversary, forgetting that you had been due to visit her after being apart for a little over a month - this being the only time you both had off since you were still playing at manchester united and she had left to join arsenal.

the hurt that had unfolded in your chest as the image of her blank look reappeared in your head was nauseating.

embarrassment taking over you as the moment replays over and over in your head. you felt ridiculous standing there on her front step, roses in your hand that you had bought for her as it had always been a very long going joke between the two of you that you never returned the favour, hanging limp at her side.

it now being a little after four am and you were yet to find any sleep, the soft hum of traffic on the streets of london as a small breeze hit your hands creating small goose bumps on your hands.

your gaze glued to the street lights and cars which drove slowly down the street - each one having their own story. only blinking when the coldness of the air hit your eyes making them water.

her bed felt uncomfortable and cold - hence why you were sat outside on the small balcony at four in the morning. the lack of the blondes warmth was very noticeable as you had spent the entire night tossing and turning - huffing in annoyance and readjusting your pillow at least 25 times.

you wondered if she was still awake, still mulling over the afternoons fight - if she was feeling as bad as you did going to sleep on an argument after spending the whole day not talking.

it was now almost morning and you were missing not being pressed up against her, missing the way her head would be resting against your chest as she kept your hand intertwined with hers. there was no point trying to go to sleep so with a huff you pulled yourself from the floor of the balcony and pulled a discarded hoodie from the floor over your head.

for a few seconds you simply pressed your nose against the fabric of the collar, her scent of strawberry shower gel and perfume still lingering. tickling your senses and making your tummy dip once again.

it was stupid how you could miss someone so much when you were only a few apart.

you were still mad, annoyed and hurt that something so important has slipped her mind but you did understand the pressure she was under while still trying to prove herself at arsenal. you wanting to forget that yesterday had happened and spent the weekend the way you'd originally planned.

but you were too stubborn and even more so when you were hurt and so instead of finding your blonde lover in the living room and cuddling yourself against her. you instead made your way to the kitchen, your sock covered feet barely making a sound.

the living room was dark beside the tv where the low hum of a film was making it difficult for you to hear if alessia was sleeping or not. but taking her lack of movement as a sign that she was, you carefully made your way past her. flicking the switch to turn the kitchen light in with a slight wince.

the first thing your eyes were drew to once they adjusted to the bright light was the roses, placed neatly in a vase on the kitchen counter - the protective wrapping gone and your throat suddenly went tight alongside a fresh set of tears prickling your eyes.

the flowers had been an impulse were an impulse buy, an inside joke which turned bitter when you realised it had gone over alessia's head but still she had set them out for everyone to see.

the second thing was that she had left your favourite mug beside the coffee machine, everything prepped and ready for you to use, a clear indication that despite your lack of communication the night before, she had clearly been thinking about you.

both were small gestures, meaningless really on a bigger scale but they had your heart squeezing tight with a small smile tipping at the corner of your lips - the first once since you had arrived.

while you were waiting for the coffee machine to heat up you rearranged the roses, an unnecessary task but was really just to keep your mind from wanting to alessia.

if you thought about her you'd probably begin to cry again, your emotions still getting the better of you but as if she knew you were subconsciously thinking of her she appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.

her pink silk pyjama bottoms were slung low on her hips, a black hoodie covering her top half - the strings different lengths and was something that drove you crazy and taking everything inside you not to go and fix the strings with careful fingers, to press your lips to her chin.

her blue eyes were rimmed with dark circles, tired and dull and no doubt a mirror image of your own appearance and an obvious indication she hadn't slept either.

her blue eyes darting between you and the rose petal you were rubbing between your fingers. "they weren't a stupid idea"

the coffee machine began to splutter behind you, hissing a little with age and without replying you spun to make your drink. alessia's gaze sticking to your back and you could feel it as you added a coffee pod to the machine and slotted your cup beneath the spout.

without realising you reached for alessia's own mug, it being a habit of muscle memory alone and took out a vanilla late pod from the box on the side.

"look i know it doesn't matter how many times i say sorry, i know it doesn't make it any better but i am forgetting was a shitty move and football isn't an excuse but you have to know that it wasn't because of you. i think about you constantly when your not down in london, everything i look at here reminds me of you but this has been the week from hell and I've let everything get on top of me, and i'm so incredibly sorry."

her voice was thick with emotion, a harsh scratch to her usually honey sweet voice that made your insides ache. you knew she was sorry and you knew she's try anything in her power to make up for it and you also knew that your silence was slowly eating her alive as the hours went on but you weren't exactly sure what to say.

you weren't sure if you could say anything without getting upset again. instead you settled for grabbing a spoon, keeping your gaze locked in your coffee.

"tesoro." alessia was only a few feet behind you. "you can't ignore me forever"

"i can try."

"yeah?" she settled against the counter at your side back pressed into the cupboard and regarded you with lowered lashes.

you didn't meet her gaze, only swapping the old coffee pod for her new one and slipped her mug where you'd had previously been, an action which didn't go unnoticed by alessia.

"what about when you need something off the top shelf?" she said trying her best to crack your silence, but the only noise being made was the tinkling of the spoon you were using against the sides of your mug.

alessia sighed, "hey, look at me." her fingers hesitantly found your face, unsure if you were just going to move out of her reach but you didn't. her soft touch against your jaw as she tilted your head up until your gaze finally found hers. her brows crinkling in concern.

"i'm sorry, okay? and i'll continue to say it as many times as i need to until you forgive me. i know this isn't something small and i know i’ve hurt you and i hate that, you know you always come first and above anything and anyone else and i'm sorry if i made you feel like that wasn't my intention"

her thumb brushed over the skin beneath your eye and it was impossible not to turn your cheek into her palm, seeking comfort in her touch. "it's not an excuse, but i've nearly had anything to do but train and it just slipped my mind what this weekend was - but that doesn't mean you or our relationship are ever second best. i love you so much, just-just please let me make it up to you"

the coffee machine beeped when alessia's coffee was finished but not one of you made a move to grab it, gazes locked in a heated stare, one that was unfurling a hundred different emotions inside of you.

she looked unsure, worried that you may turn away from her, that this weekend was going to be spent in silence and that you were going to leave on bad terms. the longer you stared at her the more her face seemed to relax.

"let me fix it please"

"it was a shitty thing to do and it hurts"

"i know and im-"

"but i don't want to fight, i’m no in way saying it's okay or that it doesn't feel any less like shit but i know the amount of pressure you put yourself under and i know that this match is important to you." you fianlly allowed your hand to rise to her shoulder and pull at the strings of her hoodie making them the same length, fingers grazing the warm skin of her neck.

knowing this relationship is important too.

"you're important to me me." alessia brought your fingers to her mouth, pressing a series of soft kisses over your knuckles. "i know it doesn't make up for it but i really did have everything planned"

"it's okay."

"it's not and you know it's not" she tipped your hand, palm up and skimmed her mouth over the centre her eyes locked on yours. "but i want to fix it, if you'll let me. i have the day fee - i can book the restaurant and we can go to the museum and do whatever you want, i know it won't be the same but.. please"

there was a note of desperation in her tone and it was only then that you realised how close she'd drawn you to her, your bodies almost pressed flush together. you knew the full ache in your chest wasn't going to disappear immediately but you also knew alesssia was sincere in her apologies and in her determination to things right and it was obvious that despite yesterdays anger you wanted to spend today with her.

"i'm still mad at you."

"i know, i deserve it."

"but i've missed you."

alessia gave you a little nod, slipping her hand around the back of your neck her thumb brushed back and forth over the skin beneath your hoodie.

"i've missed you too, i promise today will make up for it!" her breath fanned warm over your lips and you hadn't even realised you'd filled your mouth towards her. the hurt that had been wedged in your chest was beginning to lift and being replaced with a burning need to have her arms around you.

it had only been hours but you felt her absence like a lost limb, a need blooming deep inside your bones to be pressed flush against her.

"i think you can start by kissing me."

"that i can do!"

alessia smirked slightly, bending her head and using her hand that was already in your neck to pull you in and close her mouth over yours. the kiss was soft and slow, a gentle drag of her lips over yours. the sweet and languid stoke of her tongue when you opened your mouth and angled in closer.

the tips of her fingers grazed your jaw and then she was cupping your cheeks and pressing your back into the counter, tugging lightly at your bottom lip before returning to kissing you.

heat trickled thick like honey down your spine, your hands fisting the material of her black hoodie tugging her impossibly closer before you wound your arms around her waist.

you didn't want to stop kissing her. you wanted to stay in this moment forever wanted to keep swallowing the sound she was making low in her throat until you were dizzy off them but alessia had other ideas. pressing a few single kisses to you mouth, her blue orbs opening and licking to yours - a gaze a lot lighter then when she first walked into the kitchen.

"i bought you a gift. for yesterday, it's been in my drawer for months and i spent the whole night staring at it thinking i wasn't going to have the chance to give you it"

she kissed the corner of your mouth and then your forehead before letting her hands drop from your face, once of them reaching into the pocket of her hoodie.

"i got it made at this jewellers when we were in australia, i thought it would maybe be a small piece of me that you could have with you even if we are not together" she blinked, sending you a sheepish smile as she pulled a little box, holding it between you and the palm of her hand.

"it probably silly but i remember you saying while we were in australia that you wanted a new necklace, one that you could wear all the time so-"

"lessi." you cut through her rambling with a soft laugh, letting your gaze dart down towards the box.

"huh? oh- sorry, here open it" doing as she said, you took the small box from her. lifting the top and revealing a thin gold chain and a tiny dainty gold charm - the number 23 sat pretty in the box, no bigger than the size of your pinky nail. a rush of emotions shifting through you, a small smile breaking out across your face as you fingers grazed over it.

"thought it might be nicer than my initial"

"it's beautiful"

"i love you, and yesterday- yesterday was stupid and i loyalty fucked up but it wasn't because of my feelings for you" alessia swallowed thickly, the worried crinkle had returned back between her brows but you were quick in lifting your head and pressing a reassuring kiss to her mouth.

"i know - and not because of the necklace but because of everything else you do for me, yesterday was a mistake and i know you love me and i love you, so much. what happened wasn't going to change that" you smiled softly and with your free hand grazed your fingers across her jaw before settling your hand against the back of her neck, pulling her softly into another kiss.

you let the kiss speak for its self and say everything you hadn't already, putting all your love and adoration into it. making sure that alessia knew how you felt and that you weren't going to let yesterday become a roadblock on your relationship.

feeling her hands on your waist beneath your hoodie, her finger tips warm as she gripped you, pulling you closer. the necklace was still in the palm of your hand, alessia realising this when she felt the edge of the box jab her in her stomach. the blonde pulling back, settling her forehead against yours.

"i love you, la mia bella ragazza"

"i love you, lessi."

liked by ellatoone and 894,107 others

alessia one year down, forever left to go❤️ i love you tesoro

comments -

yourusername forever? i have to put up with your clumsiness forever!

49m 125 likes reply

-> alessia i’m not that bad!

ellatoone i see how it is, cutting me out of the first photo!

1h 140 likes reply

-> alessia that wasn’t me!

-> ellatoone yeah yeah🙄

millieturner my favourites🥹

1h 98 likes reply

-> yourusername we love you🩷

#woso #woso blurbs #woso community #woso imagine #woso x reader #arsenal women #awfc #arsenal wfc #awfc imagine #awfc x reader #alessia russo x y/n #alessia russo x reader #alessia russo #lionesses #enwoso #england wnt #england women #england

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asapeveryday · 9 hours

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SHOCK FACTOR★彡(1/?)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Rival!Reader

Warnings: swearing

Summary: After a close game and a couple bad decisions, the media has pitted you and Paige against each other. When you finally meet off the court you’re not sure what to expect…

A/n: got many requests for some sort of rival player type-thing!!! I combined some ideas to please the masses :) there will be more parts obv. This chap is pretty long so sorry for that!!

___________________________________________________________

“This question here is for Paige again. Now, is there anything you have to say about the little altercation near the end of the third quarter with number 3 on USC? it was quite a tense moment!”

The blonde smirks to herself, her hand rubbing her forehead. “There ain’t much to say. I went for the ball and obviously she did too. I’m not tryna give anything up, I jus personally think I got it first but that doesn’t matter anymore.” She shrugs. “Thas it.”

There’s a pause for a moment, before she opens her mouth again. “I will say though, ion have much patience for players who can’t control their language.”

Her teammates share looks at this comment, and the reporters attempt to press further but Geno ensures Paige doesn’t talk for the rest of the press conference.

“(Name) how many times have you watched this fuckin video.” JuJu comes up from behind you, scaring the shit out of you and snapping you back to reality.

“I haven’t watched it that much.” You roll your eyes. “I just…never mind.”

“It’s time to move on, shit like this happens. Jus gotta keep on that grind.” She says, sitting down beside you. Despite being a freshman, Juju was naturally mature. You and her had become a popular junior/freshman duo both on and off the court. You pushed her harder and she kept you on your toes.

“I’m moved on.” You huff.

“No you’re not…look at yo hands gripping your phone.” She laughs and you roll your eyes.

The issue wasn’t the prolonged tussle for the ball when your team played UConn, it wasn’t Paige barely regarding you, or her shading the occasional curse you’d let slip during a game. These things all fuelled what really was bothering you. The way you responded.

TWO WEEKS EARLIER, POST UCONN GAME

“Where’s JuJu? Prolly eating or something she’s lowkey a big back.”

You laugh at your roommates response to the question. It had been a weird couple of days since USC faced UConn, usually there wasn’t a lot of buzz around women’s college games but this year was different. The media was all up on everyone, especially UConn since Paige returned in better health for her senior year. You decided to go live to have some fun and interact with your viewers, even though your mind was elsewhere.

“What were your thoughts on how you guys played Connecticut?” You read aloud from the chat. “Um, they’re great. I mean it was pretty close. Me and the girls did what we could and we’re gonna kill it next year, so.” You say, perfectly passive and normal. In your head you were furious at how close the game had been, but there was nothing you could do.

Near the end of the third quarter, you and Paige had a little tussle for possession of the ball. You could’ve sworn you’d gotten it before pale skinned hands darted out for the grab, almost stealing it from you before your instincts kicked in and managed your grip. You vividly remember the yells from teammates, coaches and the stands as you and Paige momentarily wrestled for the ball, her tongue sticking out between her lips and her eyes determined before number 3 on her team tore her away.

Grazing your hand against hers at the end of the game was humiliating, and she was undoubtedly looking forward to it; holding your fingers a moment too long before letting out the most agitating, self-fulfilled “good game” with a smile that would’ve warranted a punch to her teeth had you not been on camera.

You didn’t bother to smile back, but muttered a perfectly timed “bitch” just as her hand let go of yours. Nobody heard it except you and her, and the subtle change in expression from haughty to straight faced was a beautiful sight for sore eyes.

“They keep asking about the thing with Paige.” Your roomie reads, and you shove her. “Bro why’d you say that out loud…now I have to address it.” You whisper to her, annoyed. She wasn’t on the team, and didn’t think about things like that.

She shoots an apologetic look, and you decide to act like nothing happened. The damage is done though, because now all the comments are about Paige.

“You handled the press good after.”

“If I was you I would’ve taken it off the court ngl”

“You were wrong for that!”

“What happened with Paige???”

“The way she was looking at u after….mm”

“Did you see what she said on the panel?”

Scanning through the various questions you found it harder and harder to not think about it. Basketball is a contact sport, things like a fight for the ball weren’t rare. Sure it was a little aggressive, but nothing you weren’t ready for. Paige seemed ready herself, her hands gripping the already-in-your-grasp ball, her eyes shooting you the coldest look they could muster. You’d already seen edits of her all over social media, tousling with you for a moment before being dragged off by Aaliyah.

JuJu walks into your dorm and sits next to you, reading the comments as well. She slightly shakes her head at all the mentions of Paige, but greets the chat nevertheless.

Fuck it. It’s late night, you’ve been getting annoyed by all of this attention on Paige and you, and people weren’t gonna forget about it anytime soon. One comment won’t hurt.

“Did I see what Paige said on the panel?” You read out loud. JuJu shoots you a look. “Yeah…I did. ” You say, suspicious as possible. “Ion know…i jus don’t have much patience for that swiper no swiping shihhh…..stuff.” You mock Paige, then catch yourself before fully saying shit. Two digs at the blonde at UConn in one sentence, one for her statement and the other for her criticism on your swearing.

You, your roommate and JuJu all look at each other for what seems like an eternity before bursting into an explosion of laughter. You were just being petty, it didn’t seem like a big deal at the time.

It kinda was.

PRESENT TIME

You’ve always loved east-coast America. It has a different kind of feel, especially during spring. The weather was getting hotter and everyone is hyped for summer break, at least those without classes. You and some of your teammates were going on a little Big East road trip, and of course the east meant places like New York, Michigan, Boston, Rhode Island, Connecticut.

God, you weren’t ready for Connecticut. The media was really eating you and Paige’s (non-existent) beef up, and you wondered if it would translate into real life. What was worse was that you had a friend who went to UConn who you were seeing for sure.

“I am not coming to your school.” You said hastily over the phone.

“Chill.” Elaine, your friend responded. “Nobody wants you here anyways.”

“Shuttuppppp it’s not funny.” You whine, knowing she was joking but hoping there was no truth in the statement. You could handle the smoke of a mini rivalry, but confrontation was just awkward.

“Just be ready. The minute you’re in town let me know, we can go to my favourite bar.” She laughs.

“Got it.” You respond happily. You were gonna have a fun night out, things were gonna be chill. You’d maybe have a drink…maybe get hammered. It was gonna be good.

“You should go live.”

“No fucking way.” You shake your head. The bar was crowded, but nice. You understand why your friend wanted to take you.

“Are most of these people UConn kids?” You ask.

“Yeah.” Elaine responds, looking around. “This is like the Storrs hangout spot on a Friday night. Anyways, I’ve missed seeing your lives.”

“I know, I know.” You rub your head. “I literally can’t though. Like, I’m on a social media ban. Goddd, after that last live you don’t get how much shit I got.”

“I thought it was funny!” She says, and you smile. “Oh my god (Name), did you see her tweet after.”

“BYE.” you cover your face, laughing. A couple hours after the live, Paige had tweeted some sort of passive aggressive very targeted thing about how God has her back when people give her a hard time or something like that. You’d almost died when it showed on your TL.

“Have you seen all the edits comparing me n her.” You manage to get out between laughs. Sure, you didn’t have the spectacular reputation Paige did. The girl had started her college career stronger then literally everyone else, and she was top pick to begin with. Her return to the court was well anticipated, even by you.

Still despite that, you had a certain sparkle in game. You played flashy, but you could back it up. Your freshman year you were very much an underdog, a stark difference from Paige, but your sophomore year had been very different, and this year as a junior you were getting recognition that almost gave you whiplash. Your talent was undoubted.

“I think both of you guys are being extra careful on socials now.” Elaine says. “I mean Paige is pretty active, but when they go live the minute your name is brought up, which it always is, she like…mysteriously disappears from view. It’s actually funny.”

“Whatever.” You say, taking a swig of your drink. “As funny as it is, I’m tired of all this shit, it’s unnecessary. Let’s forget about her.”

Elaine lets out a cough, before covering her face. “Pfft. Um, yeah. Let’s forget about it.”

“What….what is it?” You say, raising an eyebrow. Your friends eyes are stuck behind you. When you turn on the barstool as conspicuously as possible, you feel your stomach physically lurch.

“You’re fucking kidding.”

“We have great luck.” Elaine muffles a laugh.

You spin back towards her, talking through bared teeth. “You brought me to Storrs’s most popular bar on a Friday night…Storrs…fuck. That’s their campus? Seriously??!”

“Don’t be mad.” She sheepishly smiles. “I don’t pay that much attention to them…I didn’t think it through.”

“Boo, you whore. Even I know they’re like, bar-fiends.” You grumble, putting your head down. “God, just put your head down, cover me, something. I’m not tryna do this right now.”

Covering your eyes and keeping your back to the group, you ask. “How many of them are here. Tell me exactly who.”

“Umm, I don’t know all of them.” She says.

“Bitch just tell me…I swear to god.” You sneer, casually attempting to turn, discreetly letting your eyes graze the masses before they meet a pair of blue ones.

Shit.

Her eyes hold yours for a moment too long. Her hair is down instead of her signature ponytail and braids. She’s dressed casually, and posed confidently. Her expression is one of surprise…then amusement…and then something you can’t quite recognize. When her friends start to follow her gaze, you finally turn away.

“Elaine, I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“Calm down, it’s fine. You always say you can handle the smoke, right?”

“Yeah when I’m in California I can…not when I’m in a UConn infested bar with Paige fucking Bueckers and her cult staring me down.”

“They’re really staring. Oh, KK just pointed at you.” Elaine says, looking at them obviously. You fix your posture and adjust your hair at this.

“Are they like…coming over?”

“Yep.” She murmurs under her breath, indicating they’re close.

“Umm, hey.” A voice says from behind you. It’s low, almost raspy. You remember it being way more strained and arrogant on the court. In the bar, it was almost attractive.

“Hey.” You say, as cool as possible. Turning to face Paige and her teammates usually wouldn’t have intimidated you, you could hold your ground and you were confident in yourself, but here? On their turf? With none of your own teammates? And a couple drinks in you? Your body was already tingling, and you were terrified you would say something to dig your hole deeper.

“Think I could get a picture?” Paige says. She sounds likes she’s severely forcing herself, arms crossed and drink already half empty despite just entering the bar. Azzi’s face breaks into an amused smirk beside her, and her other friends hang back with giggly expressions.

“A…picture?” You say, confused. The three of you stare at each other for an awkward moment before you break the silence. “Sorry…that was rude of me, my bad. I just wasn’t expecting that.” You laugh. “If you actually want a picture I can do that for you.”

“Thanks.” Paige smiles, but there’s no happiness behind it. When she poses by you, her hand just hovers above your waist. She can’t even bring herself to touch you. You give your best smile as Azzi takes the picture on Paige’s phone.

When she shows it to the two of you, you realize why Paige might’ve wanted that picture.

“You’re gonna really shock everyone when you post that.” You say, laughing. Paige’s face finally breaks to a more authentic smirk that sends shivers down your spine. It’s like the one she wore when you two were facing each other on the court. Proud, confident, ready for anything.

“Never let em’ know your next move.” She says, eyes piercing yours.

As the night goes on the bar gets more and more busy, you have to yell over the music for Elaine to hear you. You’re not exactly trying to talk to her though, because she’s mostly talking about Paige.

“You know she’s sort of a campus heart-throb right?”

“What??” You yell, although you’ve perfectly heard what she’s said.

“She’s. Hot. Maybe you should flirt with her a little.” Elaine says.

You just shake your head. “I’m gonna get another drink.”

Your luck is spectacular for the night, because there are no barstool seats left except one a little too close to Paige, who’s sitting alone and waiting for her drink. You silently curse, but are thankful her team isn’t there too. You sit by her as confidently as possible, avoiding her gaze.

She’s watching you indubitably, noting every move you make. Your posture as you sit, the Polaroid behind your clear phone case, the way your lips move when you ask the bartender for your favourite drink, these are all thinks she seemingly makes note of.

You can’t help but overhear her scoff at your drink choice, to which you finally turn and acknowledge her, raising your eyebrow.

“Out of everything you could’ve ordered you got that?” She says, haughty as ever.

“Not everyone is trying to get white-girl-wasted.” You respond curtly, eyeing her Dirty Shirley.

Paige scoffs. “You don’t talk as big as you do on your lives.”

Shrugging, you respond “Someone asked a question and I answered, simple as that.”

“Ion know bout that one.” She rolls her eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think you’re just feining for people to talk bout you.”

This bitch. You internally think, brows furrowed at her statement. “Wouldn’t have even been brought up if you hadn’t let your fatass ego get in the way of your media training during that press conference.” You sneer. “Now that is feining for people to talk..”

“Someone asked a question and I answered.” She smiles, sending a hot flash of anger throughout your body. “Simple as that.”

“You think you’re so smart.” You grumble out, turning your head from her. The sheer arrogance is radiating from her body, it’s annoying you to no end.

“I am.” She says, as if it’s common knowledge. “Plus, I’m not the one who started twisting words. That was you, remember?”

When your drink is finally set in front of you, you make a point to get up from the stool and grab it, sending Paige a steely look. “Good talk, Bueckers.”

“Aye, wait a sec.”

You’re already walking away, taking a big gulp of your drink when she slides off of her stool and catches up, walking beside you. You don’t miss how her eyes flick to your mouth when you wipe it clean, facing her begrudgingly.

“Why’re you even here?” She asks. “Visiting yo girlfriend?”

“Who, Elaine?” You laugh, Elaine being the straightest girl you know. “Why’re you so interested?”

“Wasn’t expecting to see some California girl in Storrs. You sure you weren’t plotting on seeing me?” Paige grins, taking a step towards you. She’s taller then you, and the way she tilts her head downwards when she speaks gives you an unrecognizable feeling that you’re planning to blame on the alcohol.

“I got up close and personal with you once, and it was enough.” You smile, holding her stare. She chews on the straw of her Shirley, her expression both amused and something else.

“Ion think so.” She mumbles.

“You don’t have to think.” You respond, looking her up and down for a moment. It feels like an eternity passes as you two challenge each other, the air gets thicker by the minute and you finally break away from her, walking as confidently as you can, far from where she can see you.

You don’t see Paige again after that, presumably because her and her friends went elsewhere. Laying in a hotel room next to your teammates, you can’t help but think about the blonde and how odd your interaction was. She had this way of looking at you like she knew exactly what you were thinking, even though you knew damn well she knew nothing except for how you were on the court. Still, despite how her voice made your skin itch and her mannerisms induced the need for violence, there was something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

As if reading your mind, your phone began to vibrate uncontrollably. You check your notifications to see a sea of messages and a couple more alien ones on Instagram.

paigebueckers started following you.

paigebueckers tagged you in their story.

jujubballin sent you a story.

jujubballin sent you a message.

kenzie_4bs sent you a story.

kenzie_4bs sent you a message.

You accept Paige’s request and view her story, which features the picture of you and Paige. You sitting and her standing, her hand just hovering above your waist, her face a curt close-mouthed smile and yours wide and genuine. It’s an interesting photo which she’s captioned “Cali meets Connecticut!”

You scoff at her version of being witty, and immediately cringe at the sheer amount of traction the post has gotten already, with at least 50 people in your inbox within the first 15 minutes of the post coming out. The messages range from “The crossover we needed!!” To “Ik you wanted to punch her white-ass” and frankly it was all too much for you. Social media, Connecticut, the messages, Paige.

She seemed to be the main article of stress in your life the past couple weeks and it seemed to smart to keep a distance from her from this point onward.

The girl really knows how to induce that shock factor.

#Spotify #fanfiction #fanfic #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #rpf #paige buckets #azzi fudd #storrs #usc wbb #usc #university of southern california #university of connecticut #paige bueckers x reader #x reader #paige x reader

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remlionheart · 3 days

Text

NSFW Alphabet: Chuuya Nakahara Edition ♡

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ MDNI. really needed a fun lil drabble to break up my writer's block and this was perfect. silly but super fun to write. lemme know whatcha think. luv u ♡ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Chuuya definitely gives you aftercare, it's just not always the most well thought out when he’s gotten back from a long night at work. He doesn't remember to have dinner ready or pajamas laid out, but he still holds you as you collapse onto his chest. Laughs with you while the two of you place the 4th doordash order of the week to his apartment since you're both too spent to even think about cooking. He runs light fingers through your hair and kisses your forehead, teasing you for how hard you came while also reminding you of how fuckin' gorgeous you looked bent over for him. The thought of it alone promptly brings his lips back to yours, nearly earning you a round 2 before the food arrives.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

It takes Chuuya a long time to admit it, even if it's fairly obvious, but he's self-conscious about his body. About the way he thinks it should look versus the way it actually does. He’s always praising you. Always so good about making you love parts of yourself that you didn't know you could, though he rarely gives himself the same respect. Your thighs get a lot of his attention. He touches them constantly without meaning to. His hand resting on them while he drives. His fingers mindlessly gliding across them while you watch TV before bed. His face buried between them any chance he gets. He loves 'em. You decide to challenge him one day after a shower, using his own words against him: "Chuuya, tell me one thing you love about yourself -" you shoot him a pointed look, not giving him the chance to deflect with his usual sarcasm, "and be serious. You have to mean it." He stares at himself in the mirror for a moment, apprehensively looking over his reflection before he lets out a sharp exhale. "Fine. My eyes." "What about them?" You press. "They're... nice."

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

One of Chuuya's favorite highs in life is being pussy-drunk. Being so completely enamored by your taste and scent that he can't physically think of anything else besides you. He loves the feeling of your cum dripping down his chin. The insanely beautiful fucked-out noises you make for him when you sit on his face and nearly drown him in your release. He gets a sick satisfaction in showing up to work, knowing that there are still remnants of the morning head he gave you clinging to the collar of his shirt. You're his girl and he takes making you cum very seriously.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Chuuya is a dominant people pleaser, which is a dangerous combination to begin with, but especially when it starts blending into his finances. Being a Port Mafia executive, he has more money than he knows what to do with and he fucking loves buying you stuff. Taking you on shopping trips and watching you fill bag after bag with frivolous, designer outfits that you’d never buy for yourself otherwise. Swiping his debit card for purses and necklaces and shoes that total out to nearly $10,000. There's something almost addicting about it, he revels in your reactions. The way you look so awestruck every time he drops a fat stack of cash on you, but also how good it makes him feel being able to spoil you as much as he does. Alexa, what does “findom” mean?

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Chuuya’s experienced, but a lot of his past hookups were one nightstands or meaningless flings. Drunken mishaps that held little to no weight in his mind. You've both learned a lot from each other by being comfortable enough to explore things you wouldn't have with previous partners. Communication is so strong with him. He always wants to know what you like and if there’s anything you want to try but haven’t yet. He wants to know everything about your body - wants it to only respond to him. He'd had sex in the past, but he realized that he'd never really properly fucked someone until he met you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

As much as Chuuya loves bending you over, he’s such a slut for you being on top. Holding your hips to help guide you and thrusting up into you when you’re not expecting it, going as deep as he can while you sink back onto him with a pretty glazed over expression. The way your eyes widen every time he does it. The duality of being in control while also letting you use him. The view of your tits bouncing so perfectly for him while the sound of your ass smacking against his thighs echoes across the room. He loves watching you struggle to take the whole thing. You're usually holding onto him for support, hands clasped around his neck, your stare locked intently with his while your cunt throbs around him. The pouty fucking look that takes over your face when he plunges into you. You become a whimpering mess, trying to tell him how close you are with broken words as if he can’t feel your walls clenching around him. "Chuuya - 'm, I'm gonna -" "I know baby, keep going. Keep fuckin’ going. Doin’ so good f’me.”

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Chuuya's form of flirting is witty banter. Sarcastic comments that the two of you volley back and forth between each other. He's generally more serious in the moment, but he will literally never pass up the chance to whisper a snarky little nothing in your ear to get you flustered, especially in public. He loves making you blush. Loves knowing that he's capable of getting you so worked up without even touching you. Loves seeing you squirm and swat him away with a feeble, "Chuuya! Not here!"

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Chuuya never really understood the question, "does the carpet match the drapes?" and why it was such a hot topic when it came to redheads. It was wildly irritating growing up and getting asked that so often by his asshole friends. Of course they matched. Why wouldn't they? As an adult, Chuuya fully embraces this though. He takes pride in making sure he's well-groomed. If it were up to him, your lips would always be wrapped around his cock, so he makes sure to keep things as trimmed and polished as he can for you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Chuuya is the consent king, always making sure that you're just as into what's going on as he is. He finds subtle ways to check in on you while staying in the moment. "Tell me, baby. Tell me how it feels." He likes to make sure you're present, that you're not thinking about anything else besides the way he feels inside you. He would do anything to make you feel good. Anything. What he can't aways say with his words, he shows through his actions. He lets you know he loves you by stretching and filling you until you can’t see straight. He may act like he’s the one calling the shots, but you'll always cum before he does. He makes damn sure of it.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

His work schedule is demanding and doesn't always grant him the amount of time he'd like to have with you, so when he's stuck in his office after hours, Chuuya can't fucking help himself. The urge has been there all. day. and he's certain he'll die if he doesn't take care of it right now. He reaches into his coat pocket, dialing your number while he unzips pants and removes his glove with his teeth. His cellphone is wedged between his shoulder and his cheek when your voice finally spills out of the receiver. Before you can even ask how his night's going, you hear it. That desperate, heady tone that he only gets when he hasn't seen you in a few days. "Baby..." he groans, stroking himself upppp and dowwnn. He closes his eyes, imagining what you must look like lying in his bed. "I need you so fuckin' bad right now." "Yeah?" You tease, quietly slipping two fingers under the hem of your panties. "How bad?" It was only a matter of minutes before he was cleaning off his desk from the mess you'd helped him make.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Chuuya is the softest dom. As much as he likes to be in control, he folds so easily when it comes to you. Even when he’s “punishing” you, he’s doing it with things he knows you like. He loves putting collars on you or wrapping his belt around your neck and pulling at both ends until your pretty little pupils blossom into hearts while you struggle to moan out his name. Hearing you beg does something deranged to him that he can't quite put into words. He stays in control for as long as he can, but you always have the upperhand with how bad he wants to taste you. With how bad he wants to be buried inside of you. He'll tease and nip at you and try to drag it out for as long as he can, but at the end of the day, he's just as addicted to you as you are to him.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Chuuya will fuck you anywhere and when he says anywhere, he means it. His favorite guilty pleasure though is definitely bringing you into Port Mafia. Making everyone well-aware of your presence as he walks around with you on his arm like you're the shiniest, most expensive accessory he owns. Shoving all of his paperwork off of his desk and bending you over, pinning your hands behind your back and pressing your face against the handcrafted Mahogany. Hiking up your skirt and ramming himself into you, knowing damn well everyone can hear you crying out his name as you cum. His two favorite pastimes: pissing off Mori and fucking you.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Chuuya secretly loves the attention you get when the two of you go out, even if it drives him a bit crazy at times. He can't deny the way his cock twitches when he notices the bartender size you up and then immediately avert his eyes when he feels Chuuya's stare on him. Chuuya knows you're gorgeous, it's an absolute fact for him, but to see the other people reel in how pretty you are too fills him with a feral sense of pride. He would fuck you in front of the entire world if he could just to show them what they'll never have.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

There are very few things that Chuuya wouldn't do for you, but the one request he would struggle with if asked would be sharing. Even if it was a casual threesome with no strings attached, he’s a Taurus Sun, Scorpio moon - the man does not share and the thought of having to watch someone else touch you would most definitely send him into a murderous tailspin.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Chuuya loves both giving and receiving, for sure. But there's something about the way you taste that almost makes his brain short-circuit. He thinks about it while he's at work. Thinks about it while he's on missions. Thinks about it while he fucks himself when you're not around. He often finds himself daydreaming about his tongue swirling around your clit and the adorable, pitiful, fucked-out noises you make so easily for him. The way you whine and writhe against him. How he can always tell when you're close by the way your words start to break up. That cute little incoherent babble you let out as he plunges an extra finger into you and your eyes roll into the back of your head. He’s pretty sure that if he had to choose his own death, it would be drowning between your thighs.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Pacing all depends on the mood and setting for Chuuya. It's 1 am and you guys just stumbled back home from the bar? You're wearing the shortest black slip dress he's ever seen in his life, and he's had to restrain himself all night from not dragging you into the club bathroom and having his way with you? He's fucking you into oblivion the second you step inside his apartment. Hands tangling into your hair as he pins you against the wall of the entry way, pulling you up so that your legs are wrapped around his waist. It's going to be fast, rough, deep. You'll both wake up with bruises and love bites and well-deserved hangovers. But - it's 1 pm on a rainy Tuesday and you guys just got back home from the bookstore? You're wearing an oversized cardigan with a comfy pair of shorts, and he's been quietly admiring you all day, watching you dig through countless bookshelves until you finally found the one you wanted? He's fucking you so thoroughly. Taking his time as he helps you out of your sweater, smiling at your body with each layer of clothing that get tossed to the floor. He's kissing the crook of your neck, telling you how beautiful you are. He's fucking you with slow, sensual, affection. You'll end up drifting off to the sound of the thunderstorm afterward, the two of you wrapped up under a blanket on the couch while the rain taps against the window next to you.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Chuuya's a giver who loves a challenge so quickies are right up his alley, really. You'll stop by the apartment on your lunch break, warning him that you only have 15 minutes, but he’ll only roll his eyes in response before telling you to hop up on the counter. He locks in immediately, his concentration fully on you as he spreads you apart. Two fingers holding you open so that his tongue has complete access to your clit, the warmth of his mouth and the pressure of his strokes making your legs shake around his head already and he's just gotten started. He's precise. Calculated. Unrelenting. Even if he's only competing against the clock, he's still never lost.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As long as you're into it, so is Chuuya. He's very open when it comes to sex, especially when it comes to talking about it with you. You had a wet dream about him fucking you against the window in the sunroom so that the neighbors could see it? Lift that skirt up, angel, let's go give them a show. You read a book where the male lead lightly ran a blade across the main character’s throat while teasing her and you think you want to try it? His knife is already out of his pocket, his hand cradling your jawline. “Tell me how bad you want it, baby.” as he slices through the thin straps of your tank top, smirking at how hard your nipples are while it slips down to your waist. There a very few things he wouldn't be willing to at least try with you.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Chuuya can generally go a solid 2 rounds before he's completely spent, but if he's drunk, this number could be multiplied depending on his drink of choice that night. Chuuya's stamina is solid. He lasts awhile, but his entire objective while fucking is to make sure you're getting off. He's very in tune and aware of your body and tries to go with the flow of where you're at. If you can handle an hour or two, he'll gladly give it to you. He has no problem playing the long game, but if you're sleepy and only need twenty minutes to get there, he'll make sure he cums with you in that time. A truly adaptable king ˚₊‧ʚ♡ɞ‎‧₊˚

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

There's an armoire in Chuuya's bedroom that houses all of the obscenely expensive vibrators you'd asked him to buy you, not realizing he actually would at the time. He likes to keep them hidden for the most part - out of sight, out of mind. He'll be in the middle of fucking you. Stretching you out while your nails dig into his back. He'll feel your walls start to spasm around him. He'll watch your eyes flutter back. He'll feel how tight and snug your cunt is squeezing him. He'll know you're right there and that's when he'll pull out your favorite wand. Always when you're least expecting it. When you're already so cock-drunk and lost that you don't think you could possibly take anything more, he'll run it along your clit. Your body practically convulsing at the overstimulation. "Chuuya - ohmygod... I... I - can't. I can’t, I can’t -" "Look at me. You can take it, baby. I know you can. Gimme one more, okay? Just like that. There you go. Fuuuck, baby. Just - like... that."

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

The amount of sheer pleasure Chuuya derives from making you beg for him should be illegal. He’s constantly teasing you. Constantly trying to coax out desperate little cries from you. You're splayed out beneath him, legs spread beautifully, your cunt nearly dripping onto his sheets and he's still ghosting your lips with his. Wearing the most infuriating grin as he continues to rattle off depraved things like, "Baby, I wish I could, y'know? I really wanna give it to you, but I just don't believe that you want it." all while he's stroking himself just inches above you, making you watch the whole thing in agony but still not letting you touch him yet. "C'mon princess, show me how bad you want it. Let me see how you play with that pussy when I'm not here. Make me fuckin’ believe it.”

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Chuuya will groan and talk during sex, but he's not necessarily loud. He's way more concerned with the noises you're making anyway. As mentioned, his bedroom love language is taunting. "No? You can't take it anymore? Ohh, your pussy's just so sensitive, huh? That's so sad. My poor sweet girl." before slapping your clit and smirking at you as you whine beneath him. "Oh, look at that. Seems like you can take it after all.” He'll groan against you whenever he goes down on you, reveling in how fucking wet you are for him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Chuuya is secretly sentimental. He might not always admit it, but he doesn't just remember your anniversary - he remembers the outfit you were wearing the first time he met you and what the weather was like that day. He saves ticket stubs from your dates. Takes pictures of you when you're not looking just so he can keep the moment forever. He plans gifts for your birthday weeks in advance. Any time you list off a restaurant that you want to try or a vacation spot you want to visit one day, he secretly jots it down in his notes app. He listens to you, really listens to you when you talk and keeps every gift you give him, no matter how small or insignificant.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Chuuya is 5'3, (though he'll most definitely try to convince you that the measurements are off no matter how many times your scale reaches the the same conclusion). Slender. Nice arms and a slutty fucking waist. Hands, hands, hands. Usually covered by gloves but so fucking pretty and veiny when they're not. Speaking of veiny? Chuuya Nakahara is packing. Giiiiirth, babydoll, and a lot of it. Short men are ALWAYS stacked, you can't argue with science.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Chuuya's anger and sex drive mirror each other in the sense that they're both always on no matter what. Even when they're calmed down, even when they're not as noticeable - all it takes is one wrong (or right) move and he's right there, fully up and ready to go. You touch his leg under the table during dinner one night and he immediately finds an excuse to dismiss the two of you for a few minutes, dragging you to a secluded corner of the bar where he pins you against the wall. His leg wedged between yours, leaving urgent kisses along your collarbone as he creates friction against your clit. “This what you want? For me to fuck you right here?” You try to keep your resolve but it’s hard for him to take you seriously when your objections are all coming out in the form of moans. “My needy fuckin’ girl.”

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He'll lay with you and talk about your day, but Chuuya is struggling to keep his eyes open after he cums. The minute you nestle into his shoulder, and he feels the warmth of your skin against his, he's fighting for his life to stay awake. Poor baby is just so tired, especially after dealing with Port Mafia all week. He feels safe in your arms. The thought of coming home to you is what gets him through most days anyway so once he's finally actually tangled up in you, he can't help but drift off into the comfort of your scent and the sound of your heartbeat.

⠀𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅

#rem writes #chuuya smut #chuuya nakahara #chuuya headcanons #bsd chuuya #chuuya x reader #soukoku #bungou stray dogs chuuya #nakahara chuuya x reader #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs smut #bsd headcanons #chuuya hcs

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silverwhittlingknife · 13 hours

Note

How would you describe Tim's people skills? Especially when you compare them to Dick's?

Hi anon, this was a fun ask!! I picked out a few panels for each of them (comforting friends, a bit out of sync with friends, fighting with friends, and offering practical support to friends) just to get a quick look at their people skills in action, and then I rambled on about my thoughts on their strengths and their weaknesses.

(Caveat: I'm going to try to focus on my ideas about differences between the two of them, since we're comparing, but I do think they're socially more similar than not, so you might also want to check out @bitimdrake's post on Dick and Tim's similarities for the big picture!)

Short version: I think they've both got good people skills. Dick's are a bit better and more natural, whereas Tim's are more practiced and learned (in ways that sometimes show).

Let's start with Dick first, and then I'll get back to Tim.

Dick

Comforting friends in Titans Secret Files:

Dick: Will you go back in there and sit down? This is my house. You don't need to clean up after me! Donna: I know, I just... I just ... Dick: Hey, hey... what's the matter? Donna: Nothing. It's nothing. Dick (reaching out to supportively grip her shoulders): Donna, this is me here, remember?

A bit out of sync with friends (but still getting along well) in Titans 3:

Dick: The movie runs 98 minutes. So if we fast-forward past the coming attractions and watch only half the credits, I can still make it back to Blüdhaven in time to - Roy: Nightwing, chill. Team morale demands that you relax and enjoy yourself.

Fighting with friends in Titans 13:

Dick: We haven't used it much, Changeling. But that's gonna be different. Starting right now. Our performance against Tartarus and the HIVE was unacceptable. Each and every one of you should thank God you weren't killed. Kory: How dare you? How can you just stand there talking to us like we're a military detachment -

Giving support to relative strangers in Nightwing 87:

Neighbor 1: Oh, he - he's a true gentleman, you know? Always holds the door, or helps me up the stairs with my groceries if we both come in at the same time... Neighbor 2: ...used his motorcycle to jumpstart my car one morning and even got my brother-in-law a job with Wayne Enterprises when he got laid off... Neighbor 3: ...and he's very, very, very nice and doesn't talk down to me. Plus he lets me use his basketball.

Offering practical support (making dinner) in Prodigal:

Tim: I can't believe you can actually cook... Dick: I like to eat. Tim: So does Bruce - but he had to order Chinese last night. Dick: That's where I'm one up on him - I've lived on my own without an Alfred. Still miss him, though... He was good for a lot more than cooking and cleaning. Tim: Yeah. But at least we don't have to miss him on empty stomachs.

Strengths:

I think Dick's people skills are pretty simple: he has them! He's good at people! And I tend to think of Dick's people skills as so automatic they're mostly instinctive. It's not something he really has to think about because it's so ingrained in him. A combination of natural talent plus a childhood spent around sociable performers means Dick's just really highly attuned to the people around him.

And I don't think he's particularly obvious about it. So e.g. you could be having a conversation with Dick where he didn't seem like he was paying close attention, but if there was An Important Moment where you got anxious for a moment or let something important slip or let a bit of anger show through etc. - Dick will have picked up on it, even if it's unconsciously, and it'll stick with him and come back to him later.

And just generally - I think Dick has good instincts for who he can trust and who he shouldn't trust; when he's treading on conversational landmines he'll often pick up the unease even if he doesn't have the context to know why there's a problem; if he's trying to comfort and trusts his instincts he'll often do the right thing even if he can't justify in words why he felt like that was the right thing to do.

So I think for Dick, there's always the level of conscious awareness - the things he's aware he knows, if you will - and the level of unconscious awareness - things he senses, but maybe can't explain, or maybe doesn't want to know so he's suppressing the thoughts.

So he's good at leading, and he's good at comforting, and he's good at listening, and he's good at figuring out the right thing to say...

Like, he's good at all of it, so it's actually sort of difficult to elaborate because there's just not that much nuance? Given any particular interpersonal situation, Dick has an excellent chance of getting a quick read on some random guy he's just met and then getting the reaction he wants pretty fast, whether it's intimidating the guy or comforting him or getting him to cooperate or taunting him until he loses his temper, etc etc etc.

Obviously Dick's not a mind reader, and he can get things wrong, especially when he's in the throes of one of his own personal crises, but generally I think Dick's very very sure-footed with people, even with strangers.

Weaknesses:

This isn't a weakness precisely because Dick's usually doing it on purpose, but he'll sometimes have fights with his friends because they think he's acting overly professional/detached and he thinks they're not being professional enough. So e.g. in Titans 13, you can see Dick's set up the room almost like he's leading a business meeting, and he's the boss lecturing them, and they're reacting by getting mad at him. Part of this is basically a Traditional Bat Problem - Tim's friends also balk because they feel like Tim's keeping them at a distance - but Dick tends to lean especially hard on "I'm The Leader Here So Shut Up And Do What I Say" professionalism / distancing.

When things are going well, Dick's friends may grumble at his intense professionalism but basically appreciate it (this is basically how things go in their reunion in TT vol 2); when things are not going well, though, it becomes a point of tension. Generally, Dick gets extra-professional as a coping mechanism when under stress, as here in TT vol 2 12:

To the extent that Dick falters with social skills, it tends to be almost exclusively with people he knows well, not with strangers. Dick sometimes struggles with maintaining relationships, largely because he's often juggling multiple responsibilities; he'll sometimes get hyperfixated on something and deprioritize his more stable relationships (so e.g. when he gets fixated on trying to fix Blüdhaven and gets distracted from his relationship with Babs).

Somewhat relatedly, if things start going wrong in his own life, he tends to self-isolate out of shame and avoid everyone he thinks of as more put-together. So, for example, in the aftermath of Blockbuster, he's a self-destructive mess who's trying to dodge and/or drive away Clark and Roy and Tim (all people who care about him and would want to help), but Sophia Tevis and Rose are two messed-up young strangers in trouble and their obvious neediness trips his "urgency" meter, plus he may be a mess but they have no context to realize that so he doesn't feel so self-conscious, and he's able to be drive-by super-helpful to them and then dive right back into privately self-destructing.

Also not a weakness per se, but he tends to be a bit of an introvert in general - he and Wally are close, but they go long stretches of time without catching up; when he's spending time with friends, usually it's Donna / Wally / the Titans / Tim visiting Dick rather than the other way around; he's more likely to get cajoled into joining a team than the other way round - Wally talks him into rejoining the Titans and Roy talks him into joining the Outsiders. He likes people and likes spending time with friends, but he's usually not the one initiating a social gathering. He's self-aware about this; in Titans 9, he muses, "It's not the newness that's the problem. The problem is the old stuff. The ruts. You know someone long enough - well enough - and you fall into a rut with them... you completely take the relationship for granted..."

Relatedly, because Dick's pretty self-contained, he has a recurring problem where loved ones interpret him as distant or detached or indifferent even when he's still passionately attached - both Kory and Babs break up with Dick in part because they feel like he's not really that committed to them (also there are mmm Problematic Plotlines involved but I'm ignoring those for the purposes of this post), and in both cases IMO they're misreading him. He's deeply upset by both breakups and responds with big declarations of feeling and, uh, proposing marriage shortly afterward. (Okay, so he's not ALWAYS sure-footed sdfdsfs)

When Dick's getting something wrong, it's usually because he's upset and overcompensating - when things with Kory and Babs are tense, he tries to fix it with Big Gestures; when Vic's mad at him about spying, he missteps with an elaborate secret plan culminating in a big dramatic offering of a new body which Vic does want... but he's still understandably miffed at Dick for making a bunch of decisions behind his back instead of talking to him. Dick guesses right about something Vic will want, but because Dick when he's feeling guilty tends to slide into I-Am-The-Leader, I-Must-Fix-Everything-By-Myself, I-Am-Responsible-For-Everything mode, he forgets that the whole original problem is connected to not respecting Vic's autonomy / right to make decisions for himself, and that a better gesture would be asking Vic what he wants instead of once again making decisions on his behalf without consulting him. (I'm sympathetic to Dick's spying-on-Vic plan on account of how Vic did turn into an evil moon for a bit - comics are bonkers, you guys sdfdsfs - but I'm also very sympathetic to Vic feeling that he deserved fuller disclosure here.)

And you can see similar patterns in lower-key conflicts too: every time Dick gets accused of being just like Batman, it's usually because he's coming off as harsh or detached or uncaring (sometimes on purpose because he's pushing people away; sometimes just because Dick handles grief and fear by shutting down; sometimes because his the-buck-stops-here leadership style can come off as overly-detached), even though Dick actually cares SO SO MUCH, all the time, about everyone he knows.

But honestly... these weaknesses exist, but they're minor in comparison to his strengths?? Dick's a guy with a lot of very strong friendships for a reason. He's true as steel and once he cares about you, he cares about you forever. <3

OKAY! So that's Dick. Let's finally move on to...

Tim

Comforting friends in Joker's Last Laugh 3:

Tim: Babs? Is everything okay? (hugs her)

A bit out-of-sync with friends (but still getting along well) in Young Justice 7:

Cassie: A campout isn't a campout without a real fire. It's no fun at all. Tim: But the generator is far more efficient, Cassie. It's non-polluting, it poses no threat of forest fire, and it's... it's ... (taking in everybody else's expressions, sighing, reversing course) It's no fun at all. Impulse, can you...?

Fighting with friends in Adventure Comics 3 (stonewalling, avoidance, and lying!)

Conner: You weren't picking up. Tim: I didn't know it was you. Conner: I turned off my caller ID blocking. Tim: I was busy. I am busy. Conner: Too busy to talk to your best friend? Tim: Yes. No.

Giving emotional support to relative strangers in Robin 98 / 100 / 156:

Wesley: I just wanted to thank you. They tell us at the meetings that it's important to let people know how you feel. You did a lot for me - making me sober up. If you hadn't taken the time to notice - (Later) Tim: You're gonna stay strong, right? (Wesley: Right.) Tim: You're gonna stay sober, okay? (Wesley: Okay.) Tim: You're gonna do it 'cause - Wesley: 'Cause if I don't you'll come back and kick my butt all over campus. Tim: Uh huh.

(The redhaired guy was about to jump. Tim convinces him to sit down and talk first.) Tim: So, you're in college? Guy: Yeah, I'm a freshman. How'd you know? Tim: Just a hunch. I'm guessing you don't like it much. Guy: I always hated high school. Always felt like I was outside looking in, never part of any group or anything. I was on the diving team but even then I didn't feel like part of it. The only good thing was that was where I met Lori, my girlfriend.

Offering practical support (medical care and tea) in Batgirl 59:

Tim (treating her injury as she shares her traumatic past): Whoa. That's ... horrible. Cass: That's nothing. Stephanie and I used to laugh about - oh... uh... never mind. Wait, Tim. I... I'm so ... stupid, I don't - Tim: You're not stupid. Want some tea? Cass: I ... uh... yeah. Thank you.

Strengths:

Tim! I think Tim's also pretty decent at people - not as good as Dick, but hardly anyone is?

I tend to think of Dick as instinctively good at people, and Tim as more consciously good at people.

Tim spends a lot of time being intentionally watchful: observing, spying, psychoanalyzing people, paying careful attention to what they say, thinking about what makes them tick. (And Tim psychoanalyzes himself, too. Tim is studiously engaged in the study of Tim, and of Tim's friends, and of Tim's family. He's often playing a role, even when that role is "Tim Drake.")

So e.g. in Red Robin, at one point Tim has an elaborate domino-falling database where he's compiled a list of villains he wants to fight and how he wants to fight them, all leading up to a very careful takedown plan for Boomerang where he's thought through and anticipated Boomerang's every move ahead of time... and he's basically right! He gets it all right!

And this kind of intensely-studied logical chess-game of "he will do this for this reason, and then this for that reason, and the other people will respond in this way, like a series of dominos, and I've thought through all the possibilities" is Very Tim to me, and I feel like... this is just the sort of thing that Dick would never ever do?

And mostly Dick wouldn't do it because he wouldn't have to. When Dick's skeptical of James Gordon Jr., he goes to talk to the guy and feel him out, and he ethically feels obliged to give him the benefit of the doubt because there's no evidence against him, but he's got a bad feeling and doesn't trust him and secretly slaps a tracer on him because he's got an instinct he'll want it, and he's right: James Jr. is up to something, and that tracer is exactly the thing that Dick needs.

And similarly if Dick wanted to goad James Jr. into doing something, I think he'd go off and meet him and goad him into doing it, and he'd have an instinct for what to say to make that happen - I think the whole elaborate domino plan that Tim comes up with for Boomerang would feel unnecessarily complex to Dick. Not that Dick doesn't make complicated plans, because he absolutely does, but Dick doesn't usually overthink people.

Similarly, if Dick had been the little kid in Lonely Place of Dying, he'd have gotten worried and gone straight to Bruce and talked to him, not gotten worried and taken photos of Bruce from a distance and then come up with an elaborately overthought plan to go to New York and track down his estranged son and fix him that way. And, like. Kid!Tim's not entirely wrong! He's correctly picked up on a very real and very strong connection between Bruce and Dick even though he doesn't know either of them! And given how little actual information Tim has, this is actually an impressive plan (it's a bad plan, because Tim doesn't know about their fights, but it's an impressively solid plan given that his entire information basis is "watched them from a distance and collected news reports"). But this isn't how Dick thinks about people.

Backing up to a more general point: Tim values people skills really really really highly. I think "uses interpersonal skills to help and comfort other people" is one of Tim's highest values and arguably the highest value - he imprinted on Dick because he was kind, and then imprinted on Batman because he was comforting Dick. And he has six million After-School-Special-style plotlines where he tries to comfort / advise / rescue / etc. people in various stages of emotional distress and who are using bad coping mechanisms. His very first outing as Robin involves talking down a semi-suicidal shooter; the big finale of YJ has Tim talking Secret down from her rampage; he's very gentle when he's comforting his girlfriend after she confides in him about a maybe-attempted-rape; he talks down a suicidal college student in Robin; plus there's the entire concept of "Batman needs Robin" in the first place; not to mention his obsession with the importance of friends; and so forth.

So it's something that he's good at because it's something he values and works at. His people skills are conscious and learned. He does a fair bit of amateur psychoanalysis of other people's problems, and he's generally good at identifying the problems, even if he's not always great at fixing them. And he's often playing a role, or imitating other people, rather than being himself; he invests a lot of time constructing alternate identities; he's often more comfortable wearing a mask. (It is just so typical of Tim that his civilian friendship group is the DCU version of D&D players.)

So his practiced-people-skills work decently well, because he's diligent and he cares a lot, and he's better at people when he's older than when he's younger. And he's extremely good at things he's had a lot of practice with, like meeting new schoolmates, or making small talk, and he's friendly and he likes people, and he's good at learning scripts and following them, and he only tends to misstep when he's distracted or unusually anxious or when he's in a situation where normal social norms don't help. (Of course, since he's a vigilante and not an ordinary person, distracted / unusually anxious / weird situation are all things that happen more often than you might think!)

I also think Tim has a few caretaker instincts that have become automatic - generally he's hyperaware of when people are upset and usually tries to reach out or fix it, and even when he's trying to keep himself at a distance he'll slide into caretaking sometimes - so e.g. there's that moment in Batgirl with Cass when Tim's kinda upset with her for siding with Batman (and distancing himself from other people in general), so he's not intending to get close to her, but also what we see him doing is treating her wounds and then getting her tea. And meanwhile Cass actually wants to reach out, and she's intensely observing him and worrying and wanting to help, but what she actually does is... drink the tea. That Tim got her. While she stays firmly on her side of the couch.

(I tend to think of Cass as slightly similar to Tim but at the very very very beginning of her learn-to-people journey here? Like Tim, she cares!! A lot!! And she's successfully understood that Tim's upset, and she knows when she's put her foot in her mouth. But she's not sure what to do yet.)

Weaknesses:

Tactless! This is a tricky word because I think people sometimes hear 'tactless' and misunderstand it as 'generically rude,' but that's not quite the issue - Tim's quite polite most of the time; his problem is that his default mental monologue is very detached / psychoanalyzing / analytical, including about himself and things he's emotional about. He'll often be analyzing his own emotions even in the process of having them (I also talk about this a little here, though it's mostly a post about Dick and anger), and Tim's also constantly analyzing other people.

This means that if he doesn't edit his brain-to-mouth filter, he can come off as too detached or professional or calculating.

This is obviously similar to Dick's problem of coming off as too detached / professional - again, they're both Bats - but it's not quite the same thing, and I think this distinction is most obvious if you look at the places where they're doing it on purpose and picking fights:

Dick's most likely to pick fights by pulling rank: "I'm the boss, you all fucked up this mission and you better not do it again, shape up or shut up." This is a kind of distancing that's about Dick-the-impassive-boss and you-the-subordinate.

By contrast, Tim's more likely to pick fights via hostile psychoanalysis: "I notice you're being snide about Cass again, but we both know you're actually just mad that Bruce cares about her more than he cares about you." When he's miffed, both his inner monologue and the things he says tend toward 'uncharitable analysis of your emotional weaknesses,' and this is something he periodically directs at Bruce / Jason / Damian. This is a kind of distancing that's about Tim-the-hostile-analyst and you-the-unfortunate-target-of-analysis.

(Caveats: I don't think Tim's above trying to pull rank if he can, but he rarely has the opportunity; Dick's not above jabs at other people's weaknesses when he's very defensive and feeling attacked - junkie, elevator - but IMO he's more likely to pull rank, whereas Tim's jabs are more likely to be wrapped up in insulting psychoanalysis, so e.g. Jason's insecurity is his problem. The Jan Brady of the Batfamily.)

You can see related similar-sounding-but-different issues if you look at some of their respective breakups. So e.g. Dick has a breakup with Babs in which she thinks he doesn't care about her, and Tim has a breakup with Cassie in which she thinks he doesn't care about her. And these breakups are different for six million reasons (among other things, Dick and Babs have a pretty intense romance, whereas, uh, Tim and Cassie have had one date and IMO she's very right that they're better off as friends).

But you also get some useful character notes:

Babs is wrongly anxious that Dick's mostly in love with nostalgia for their past rather than the person she is now (he 100% does love the person she is now!) and she's being unfairly bitchy about Catalina, but she's also correctly noted that he's gotten into the habit of deprioritizing their relationship in favor of vigilante busywork & that he's been a bit pushy in swooping in protectively rather than letting her fight her own battles, so when she's accusing him of being a control freak it's not completely coming from thin air; Dick responds by getting hurt, upset, and direct (he gets furious and punches something, but then makes a big sweet sincere emotional speech to her about how much he cares and values her, albeit one that's so caught up in his own emotions like wanting to "protect" her that he's not slowing down enough to take in her insecurities).

Cassie has correctly realized that dating Tim is a bad coping mechanism and she really needs to just deal with her grief over Conner; when she starts crying, at first Tim moves to comfort her, but when she actually clarifies the breakup, an upset Tim responds by aggressively de-emotionalizing the conversation and pretending he's being totally logical and not emotional about it - he first wonders aloud if he's a bad detective for not seeing it coming and then attempts a bonkers guilt-trip suggestion that it's their duty to date in order to uhhh avoid turning evil in the bad future (sdfsfdsfdsfds sure tim nice try)

This isn't because Tim literally doesn't have feelings, because of course he does! But often, the more upset he is, the worse he gets at clearly expressing those feelings, and the more he intellectualizes them or avoids discussing them.

(Caveat: The trouble with any distinction is that it's easy to exaggerate it in ways that are oversimplified, and I want to emphasize that this doesn't reduce to "Dick always expresses emotions, Tim is never emotional," or anything like that. Dick has a bunch of complicated feelings about the intensity of his emotions because he values control and detachment and often is trying to be more detached (I talk more about this in the context of anger here and here); Tim often retreats to faux-analytical detachment when he's actually very emotional; and these are tendencies rather than one-note 24/7 truths - Dick is completely capable of intellectualizing away his emotions; Tim is completely capable of just getting straightforwardly and directly upset. But if you're looking for broad distinctions, I think it's fair to say that Dick's usually better at directly using his words and expressing his emotions, even if he sometimes feels self-conscious shame about it later, whereas Tim tends to self-sabotage and deflect and hide by producing intellectualized faux-logic instead of just being direct about what he wants or what he's feeling.)

An unrelated issue is that Tim also tends to get intrusive when he's anxious, and it gets worse the more he cares about you. Tim really really really wants to know what's going on and has an intense Need To Help, which generally works out for him - this is the entire reason he pushes his way into the Batfamily! - but it's easy to imagine Tim running into people who might not appreciate his busybody sneakiness; so e.g. secretly stalking your friend because he has a bruise, or running your friend's DNA, etc., is... stuff that all comes from how much Tim cares, but also it involves a very fuzzy relationship with other people's privacy, so Tim's friendships that stick around tend to be with people who find this kind of intense observation to be caring rather than pushy. Relatedly, Tim's version of "be protective" can overlap with "be condescending," which means he tends to get along best with confident people like Bruce, who could punt him into a wall and who thus finds Tim's 'disapproving medic' shtick endearing instead of insulting.

Tim also struggles to connect to people for whom he doesn't have an obvious "script" or who don't respond to his usual scripts. So e.g. offering Gar a "you don't like me but let's be friends" handshake worked; offering Cass a "let's be friends" handshake worked; offering the same thing to Damian did not go over so well; and I think this kind of "it usually works so this is my habit now?" thing is very Tim, and I don't think it's the sort of mistake that Dick would make.

More broadly, because Tim's people skills are conscious and learned - the effort sometimes shows! He stares at people. He secretly spies on them. He pokes around in their secrets. Dick can be paying close attention to you and seem like he's not, so that his awareness seems effortless and less intrusive. I think Tim's awareness tends to be a bit more effortful.

That said, though, I don't think that Tim's intensely-observing-you shtick is necessarily obvious except to people who are fairly socially-skilled themselves. When I write fanfic, I generally write from Dick's POV, and I tend to write Dick being hyperaware of when, say, Tim's observing him, or trying to figure out what's going on with him. But I think of that as more "Dick's good at reading Tim and really aware of being watched, so every attempt at subtlety stands out in neon lighting," and I think to someone who's less good at reading people than Dick is, Tim is a lot subtler.

And I think for e.g. someone like Cass, who really struggles with people skills, Tim seems impossibly and naturally good at interactions in the same way that to Tim, Dick seems incredibly good at it.

#ask tag #dick grayson #tim drake #hi anon this is SO OLD i'm so sorry sdfdsfds #i am very slow & this is very long because i kept adding things to it but this was a very fun ask thank you <3

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c-nstantine · 2 days

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Hi! I know at the moment you aren't accepting requests, but I thought of something super cute and wanted to share! It came to me after I remembered something my dad told me when i was roughly 7 or 8 (I'm nearly 23 now)... My had asked my dad why he would do things with me (like let me put makeup on him and do his nails) that a lot of other dads don't do with their daughters. He picked me up and told me, "Because I want you to ALWAYS know your worth as a person, not just as a girl. You are worth more than any treasure in the world, and I NEVER want you to forget that. You can do anything, be anything you desire, and I will always be right there proudly cheering you on." Anyway... Imagine Bruce dancing with a child black batsis during a gala! Like she's standing on his shoes in a pretty dress and they are just having a cute father daughter dance and when the dance ends Bruce just takes a knee and kisses her hand like you see in movies and then gives her a thornless rose. And she just falls asleep in his arms on the car ride back to the manor. 🥰🥰🥰🥰

Wait, because that so cute. Bruce is definitely the reason Y/N doesn't settle. Ever since she was a little girl, he has been making sure that she knew her value and worth. I would also like to say Bruce didn't realize the amount of shit he would get for adopting a little black girl. People were always talking shit and he did what he could to end it expeditiously. Let someone try to talk about her in the magazines, Wayne Enterprises would buy them and shut them down. A little kid was mean to her, he's talking to the headmaster. Some blog talking shit, a cease and desist was sent.

A core memory for Black!batsis is her first daddy-daughter date. She remembers how Bruce let her pick out what ever dress she wanted to wear, had someone style her hair so she could feel like a princess. It was just her and Bruce for the whole day. The two of them did everything from shopping, going to the movies, to getting ice cream in the park. But what she remembers most about that day is how Bruce carried her into bed and tucked her in and told her how he would always love her.

#x black!reader #black!reader #x black reader #black reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x black!reader #bruce wayne x reader #black!batsis

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zoeyuniverse · 2 days

Text

🎀GRUMPY🎀

Part 1 : first meeting

Unconn campus, women's final years building 7:05 p.m.

-Are u sure u'll be all right? Maybe it's not a good idea to stay!

The brunette looks up with a sigh, her boyfriend starting to annoy her.

- Eddy, Brie's with me and it's just girls, it'll be okay. I've got a match tomorrow, so I know I have to be careful. We'll stay just long enough to get to know each other!

He resigned himself and kissed his girlfriend before leaving his new university room.

Suzy, or rather Susan Meredith de Ponthieu has just started university. She's only 18, but she's already won several tennis tournaments and has been named "Young tennis hopefuls" three years in a row.

But her life has changed radically in the last two years, not least because of bad company. That's why she's counting on her years at university to regain her parents' trust and get her career back on track.

Things were off to a good start until the university's accommodation fell into disrepair and the school was forced to relocate its students. While waiting for the renovations to be completed, the students found themselves scattered across the campuses of neighbouring universities. In the case of Susan and her best friend Brie, they find themselves at Uconn with the senior class.

And if Edward seems so worried, it's because he's caught wind of the little party the basketball players threw to welcome their new roommate.

The latter, a medical student, looks a lot like his in-laws. For him, parties are a no-no, and he always imagines his girlfriend in the worst possible state from drinking or taking drugs. Like his father-in-law, he believes that Susan should devote herself to her career and nothing else. Especially after the bad times she's been through the last two years.

The young student and her best friend didn't see it that way. Of course their studies are important - after all, they've done everything they can to get into this university - but they also want to have fun. What's more, there are only four of them from their university coming to this new hall of residence where they don't know anyone, so it's vital that they make new friends!

The evening had just begun and the four young students found themselves in the middle of the senior class.

212 by Azealia Banks echoed through each room as Susan awkwardly shimmied to relax her friend.

- Suzy, stop it - she laughs - we're here to make friends, not freak everyone out!

The brunette's only response was a tap on the shoulder.

After a tour of the common rooms, Susan followed Brie into an animated conversation with one of the residents. A tall, light-skinned brunette with a strong character. Nika something, Susan never remembers names.

Tired of their mundane conversation and feeling out of place, she went into the kitchen alone.

On the central island were a thousand packets of crisps, half-used jars of sauce and several bottles. Our girl went looking for a glass, but as all the cupboards seemed empty, she grabbed one that was lying around. She emptied the bottom into the sink and filled it with the drink of her choice.

- It's like... completely my glass says a voice that has just entered the room.

- Is that ? I don't see your name anywhere, Susan replies, turning around.

She finds herself face to face with a pale-eyed blonde whose height makes her uncomfortable, but she takes care not to show it.

- That's my spit, right there on the edge.

- Not anymore she says, finishing her drink.

The blonde laughs.

- You're a fan, aren't you?

- A fan? A fan of what?

- Um... of me!

Susan bursts out laughing.

- I know who you are, Paige Bueckers, but just because 13-year-olds make tiktoks about you doesn't mean everyone dreams of drinking from your glass!

- Oh, because you're over 13? the basketball player replies with a grin.

- You think you're funny? Does being 21 give you wings?

- Maybe, darling...

Susan leans against the kitchen island while Paige locks eyes with hers.

- My boyfriend wouldn't be happy to hear me called like that by anyone but him.

- I don't know your name, darling.

- Susan

It's the blonde's turn to burst out laughing.

- Like in Narnia? she exclaims.

- AH. AH. AH.

There's a pause, during which the youngest remains with her arms crossed and a stern expression on her face, while the eldest does her best to suppress her laughter.

- So, Grumpy's got a boyfriend? she replies.

- Yes, she does.

- I don't mind, you know.

- No, sorry, we don't do threesomes

- Who said I was interested in your boyfriend Grumpy?

Susan remained silent as her brain tried to process the information.

- Suzy? SUZY?

Finally, Brie's voice came to her rescue and she threw herself into the living room to join her.

- We should go to bed, Suzy.

- Yes.

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okay, this is just the beginning. Remember, I'm French, my English is not perfect! If you would like to give me advice, please do so kindly 🫶🏻🎀

#fanfic #paige bueckers #tennis #wlw #paige bueckers fanfiction #paige x reader #paige buckets #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x oc

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rinneverse · 2 days

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࿐ ♡ ˚ . 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞. — 𝒔𝒂𝒎𝒑𝒐 𝒌𝒐𝒔𝒌𝒊 ˒ ⊹

series synopsis. your friend, your pal, your fuck buddy—sampo koski seems to be getting closer and closer with every heated exchange. you wonder, briefly, if there’s something more lurking under the surface of it all. you have a strict rule set in place, though: don’t catch feelings.

[ prev chapter. | don't you trust me masterlist | next chapter. ]

syn. you wake up and are left to ponder the repercussions of staying over at sampo’s. bad decisions are made. (5.6k)

cw. fem reader / alcohol + drinking / food mentions (he makes u breakfast!) / petname usage (doll/dollface, darling, pretty girl, baby, my girl) / oral (f!receiving) / v!fingering / allusions to piv intercourse / reader has bad coping mechanisms i fear / reader goes to the cluurbbb / we also get angsty up in the clurb :3

love, oak! ༉‧₊˚. i... did not mean for this chapter to take so long to come out. and to think i hard part of it written when chapter one dropped. i fear chapter three may take three to five business years. regardless; lots of plot development in this one. i hope this lives up to everynyan's expectations :p

MINORS + AGELESS BLOGS DNI. NSFW UNDER THE CUT.

You wake to the pale light of dawn filtering in through the curtained window.

With a yawn, you clumsily push down your blanket, fingers curling over soft fabric. You begin to twist onto your other side when you realize that something is very wrong.

Very, very wrong, like the you are not in the safety of your home kind of wrong.

Your breath catches in your throat. You don’t dare open your eyes.

There’s a heavy weight slung across your waist and a warmth you’re curled up against that isn’t usually there. It takes you a few seconds of wracking your brain to remember that you never actually made it home last night—that it was Sampo’s bed that you had fallen asleep in, and that was Sampo himself you were currently entangled with. The tension that had seized you quickly dissipates—then it slams back into you with a ferocity as you realize that you and Sampo had fallen asleep curled up together.

That’s not normal. That is so very not normal, and it takes everything in you to not start freaking the fuck out.

Blinking the sleep from your eyes, the only movement you risk is tilting your head up a fraction. You find that Sampo is still sound asleep, chest rising and falling slowly against you with every breath he takes. The urge to run your fingers along the smooth skin of his cheek makes your fingers twitch once, twice. You hesitate.

Because for once, Sampo looked… at peace. No scheming, no stress, just… him. His face looked so gentle, so soft, that perhaps waking him up would be a heinous crime. Yet you hold your breath, inching a hand up, up, up, tracing the column of his neck, his strong jaw, the apple of his cheek—

Whatever was running through your head is swiftly cut off when Sampo starts to stir. You feel panic grip and squeeze your heart with clawed fingertips. Shutting your eyes and forcing yourself slow your breathing, you lower your hand to its original position. You didn’t want to be caught staring at him, let alone caught stroking your fingers along his face—the mere thought of that occurring alone was mortifying enough.

A heartbeat passes. Then two. You feel the blanket shifting around, hear how he sleepily mumbles and yawns, followed by the warmth of his body slowly slipping away. You suppress the shiver that wants to run down your spine at the cold that creeps in, resist the urge to pull the duvet tighter around yourself; instead continuing to pretend-sleep as you listen to Sampo move about.

You’re about to shed your façade when you feel the bed dip. There’s a warm breath that caresses your forehead—a forewarning before you feel his lips gently press against your forehead.

The world freezes entirely.

It takes a willpower of steel (and perhaps then some) to remain in place, to not even stir, to not snatch his wrist and ask him what the hell he’s doing when he slowly lifts his head. You wait for him to fully pull away but he lingers, his thumb coming up to sweep over the apple of your cheek, then lower to brush against your mouth, swiping gently at your lower lip before he’s truly moving out of your reach.

You’re nearly bursting with impatience when you finally hear the door creak open and click shut.

Shoving yourself up into a sitting position, your mouth drops open in shock as you touch where his lips had pressed against your skin. The feeling lingers, burning like a brand, a mark you felt you would carry with you until the end of time. The thought is enough to have you shaking your head violently.

Suddenly feeling very, very warm, you push the duvet to the side. You clutch your shirt in your hands, balling them into fists—or rather, it’s his shirt that you grasp tightly in fisted hands. His scent still curls around you, utterly maddening, only adding fuel to the fire that consumes you.

If you didn’t confirm it last night, you definitely confirm it then—you were perhaps in the deepest pit of shit known to mankind: having feelings for Sampo. Maybe the revelation of having feelings for the one person you’re not supposed to have feelings for has you imagining things. Maybe you were still asleep and this was just a dream.

You hiss quietly as you pinch yourself.

Nope. This was very much reality.

You sigh.

It takes you several minutes to really process what had just happened—and that you didn’t just make it up in your head. You needed to get the fuck home so you could process it some fucking more. It feels like your entire perception of reality has been shattered with one simple moment of secretive intimacy.

In the distance, a faucet creaks on and begins running, followed by the faint clink of silverware clattering against plates. Whistling. Your crisis is momentarily forgotten as you realize Sampo is whistling your favorite song—it snaps you back into the moment, makes you remember just exactly where you are. This revelation could wait. Just a little bit more, and then you can go home and freak out in peace.

It’s only a matter of moments to gather yourself together and change back into your own clothing thanks to the earlier interaction waking you up entirely. You silently slip out of the bedroom and into the main living area, greeted by a sight that warms your heart.

There Sampo is, in all of his shirtless glory, swaying his hips to the little tune he’s humming as he whisks something together. Food sizzles on the stovetop, adding a quiet backtrack to his song. You lean against the archway that leads into the kitchen area, silent as you take a second to admire him, the portrait of domesticity. Your lips pull into a small, serene smile.

An image flashes before your eyes—a glimpse into the future, maybe—where you could have this sight every day. Sleepy good mornings and quiet embraces, shared laughter and lips pressing together—

The squeak you let out finally alerts Sampo to your presence. He’s quick to turn, whisk in hand and bits of what you assume is flour dusted on his hands, his face—“Doll! How long have you been standing there?”

You stammer dumbly, trying to reel in your head from the outrageous daydream that had barged its way into your thoughts. The outrageous daydream that you know you will never attain. “Um, ah…”

Sampo sighs dramatically, pressing a hand to his forehead as he continues, “And here I was, hoping I could surprise you with a little breakfast—I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon!”

He’s quick to set down the bowl and utensils he held as he approaches you. You tilt your head questioningly at him but he doesn’t give you any indication of what he’s up to until he’s a step away from you.

The devious glint in his eyes being your only warning, he’s suddenly twirling you into his arms and dipping you, a firm hand on your lower back as he grips your wrist with a gentle hand. His eyes crinkle with the smile he gives you.

“Sampo!” You gasp out. You’re so startled by the suddenness of his movements that your free hand grips his shoulder for dear life as you inhale sharply with alarm. Sampo laughs, so unlike his other laughs—the ones where he’s charming his way into scamming a stranger, or when it takes on that darker tinge as his schemes unfold just the way he likes—that you’re blinking in confusion, mouth parting with a question you don’t quite know how to ask on your lips.

“I had to surprise you somehow,” he says by way of explanation. He twirls you again, pulling you flush to his body, and sways you to the cheery tune he hums.

The pair of you dance around the kitchen, laughing and giggling together like there’s nothing else in the world—like it’s just you and him in this pretty little bubble.

Sampo dips you again, forcing your gaze to his. When you meet his eyes, there’s something glimmering there—something that you’d perhaps call… adoration, as delusional as it makes you feel. You pause there, chests heaving in sync as you stare at each other.

You see his eyes flick down briefly to your lips. There’s a question that lies in his gaze—something you can’t possibly answer.

It’s enough to have you scrambling out of his grip.

“Don’t forget the uhm,”—you clear your throat hastily—”the food on the stove. It’ll burn if you’re not careful.”

Sampo blinks, looking at you as if he were snapped out of a trance. “Right.” He pauses—abruptly laughing nervously, clasping his hands together. “I need to be careful.”

He nods his head. After a few moments of tense silence, he glides over to the stove, quietly returning to his task of making breakfast.

Flustered, you take a seat on one of the stools nestled by the island countertop and fold your hands in your lap. You bite your lip as you watch Sampo work. His broad back is turned to you, faint red lines streaking down the hard muscles that ripple as he moves around the kitchen. Your face heats up as you remember just exactly how he received those marks.

The silence lingers in the air, heavy and oppressive, a tension that pulls all of your nerves taut. You’ve never been the type to stay after a one night stand, let alone stay after a night with Sampo. This was entirely uncharted territory you were currently in.

If you’re honest? You’re terrified. You’re not equipped to navigate the unfamiliar feeling that burns bright in your chest. Actually, to take your own mental confession just a little bit further, you want to flee. Really bad. But something—you’re not quite sure what—keeps you tethered here, perhaps like a string wrapped around your pinkie finger that tugs and tugs and pleads with you to stay, just this once. It wants you to see where this goes. It wants you to take a risk, blindly jump into the unknown with nothing to shield your heart but the precarious walls you’ve painstakingly built up over the years. Walls that are swiftly crumbling with every moment spent with Sampo Koski.

Your train of thought is interrupted by the clinking sound of porcelain making contact with the countertop before you register the plate sliding towards you. The sight is mouthwatering—eggs cooked exactly how you prefer (how did he know that?), accompanied by a stack of pancakes that feature a smiling face made with blueberries.

You stifle a giggle, earning you a funny look from Sampo.

“What’s so funny, doll? You’re not laughin’ at Sampo’s hard work, are ya?” He pouts dramatically.

You press your lips together, but there’s no hiding the laughter that glimmers in your eyes. “N-No, I would never! It’s just… it’s so…” Your voice wobbles with the effort it takes to stamp down your giggles.

“It’s so what?” He squints.

“The pancakes are just so…” You shrug one shoulder, searching for the right word. “Adorable? I never would’ve expected that from you, that’s all.”

“I’m full of surprises darling, don’t you worry,” Sampo says with a wink. He sits down next to you with a plate of his own and the two of you dig in. The silence between you evolves into something more.. comfortable. Something normal.

You’d beg to differ (eating breakfast after a night with Sampo felt anything but normal), but you can’t deny that you’re enjoying yourself next to him. And you can admit he’s not the worst cook in the world.

The moment passes in what feels like merely a blink and perhaps too soon you’re already scooping up your empty plate, walking over to the sink to take care of the dishes. The moment Sampo realizes what you intend on doing he rushes over to your side and places a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry about it doll, let me take care of it.”

You look up at him and shake your head. “No, no, let me do it. It’s the polite thing to do.”

Sampo’s eyebrows furrow. “I insist—you shouldn’t have to even lift a finger.”

He moves to take the plate from your hands but you pull it out of reach. His eyes narrow as they meet yours—a challenge gleaming there that you refuse to back down from.

He takes a step towards you. You step back. A step forward. A step back. You continue this little dance until there’s a countertop behind you and nowhere else for you to go. He cages you into the corner with one broad arm.

Sampo’s lips curl up in a wolfish grin as you both realize that you’re trapped. “The plate, sweetheart.”

“You’re a real prick, you know that?”

Sampo’s grin widens. “Only for you, dollface.”

Head hanging in defeat, you hold the dish out to him. He takes it, none too smugly, and sets it to the side. His attention immediately returns to you.

You look up at him and tilt your head.

“You going to let me go now, or..?”

Sampo shrugs. “Why should I? I like you right where you are here.”

He’s so big. He crowds your space, enveloping your senses, mingling with the lingering scent of breakfast. It’s something deep and musky. Mouthwatering, if you dare to admit it.

There’s a smug lilt to his voice as he continues speaking, “In fact, I’m still a little famished. Think you can help me out, sweetheart?”

Your lips part slightly, but the question you were about to ask dies on the tip of your tongue as Sampo’s large hands grasp your hips, fingers digging into the supple fat as he lifts you onto the countertop. His eyes are heavily lidded as he sinks to his knees, looking up at you with hunger glimmering in his gaze.

“May I?” Sampo’s voice is darkened with lust, a sort of purr that sends a shiver racing down your spine. A flash of pink between his lips—his tongue darting out to wet them, leaving a thin sheen of saliva in its wake. The grin he shoots you has heat quickly pooling in your core.

You weakly nod your head, too breathless to speak. Sampo’s smile widens.

He makes quick work of your jeans, unbuttoning them and sliding them off of you in one smooth motion. Lithe fingers dip under the elastic of your panties, pulling it taut and snapping the band against your skin. You yelp softly as he snickers.

“So reactive,” Sampo murmurs, fingers dipping once again to slowly pull the fabric off of you. You lift your hips dutifully—you know where this is going. You feel your core tighten with desire.

He tucks your panties into the pocket of his sweats, shoulders rippling as he pulls you to the edge of the counter and slings your legs over them. He looks up at you through thick, dark lashes.

“Doin’ okay up there, pretty girl?” He asks, the deep baritone of his voice making your stomach flutter.

“Mhm,” you respond, biting your lip. You ball your hands up into fists, thighs twitching with the urge to press them together. Sampo seems to notice, because broad hands come up to grip your inner thighs, kneading at the supple flesh. He watches your expression for a moment longer before his eyes dip down to the prize in front of him.

“Thanks for dessert, dollface.”

Sampo’s words linger in the air, a promise of what was to come as he leans forward. His breath is hot as it fans across the apex of your thighs. He presses a kiss to your navel, then dips lower, tongue darting out to drag hotly along your weeping slit.

“Fuck,” you hiss at the contact. Your spine curves slightly, a silent plea for more. His chest rumbles with a dark chuckle as he makes another pass, letting his tongue linger at your clit, lazily lapping at it while your hips tremble.

God. He’s criminally good at this.

“Atta girl. Feeling good?” Sampo murmurs as he slips a finger into your tight heat. It draws a low moan from your lips, one that pulls his mouth into a smug smile before he wraps his lips around your clit. One of your hands grips the edge of the counter for dear life while the other entangles itself in Sampo’s hair as you tremble with just how good he’s making you feel. One tug has him groaning into you, a pleasant vibration that makes you throw your head back as you continue to card your fingers through soft blue locks.

“Feels great,” you murmur, exhaling shakily. Each drag of his finger is tortuously slow, the calloused pad crooking and prodding against your sensitive walls. You tug at his hair again, earning a pleasant moan from him.

You swallow thickly as he adds another finger. He takes it nice and slow with you, a teasing pace that makes you want to beg. You buck your hips slightly to urge him along, to give him the hint, but he’s relentless in his pursuit to drag this out as long as he possibly can.

“You want more, pretty girl?” Sampo purrs softly, pressing a chaste kiss to the apex of your thighs.

“Mhm,” you sigh. He makes a contemplative noise, and then…

He stops.

You let out a cry of outrage as he sits back on his haunches with a smug grin.

“Hey—!”

“You can use your words, can’t you?”

Your mouth drops open, and Sampo can’t help the chuckle that escapes him at your look of shock. He tilts his head as you lean back, chest heaving as you catch your breath.

Fuck, you were getting so close—for him to pull back like this…

“Please…” A quiet, desperate plea. He stares at you expectantly.

You gnaw on your lower lip as he watches you with sharp eyes, glimmering pools of emerald that track your every movement; the way your chest rises and falls with each labored breath, the way your hands press against the cool marble countertop beneath you, the way your eyes glimmer with wanton desire for him.

His grin widens.

“Sampo…” you start, your voice coming out in a shaky warble. You’re none too proud of it, but there’s no room for pride when he dangles your orgasm out in front of you so teasingly, so close and yet so far all at once.

Bait.

And you take it, because you know that Sampo can give you what you need with ease.

“Fuck—” your chin dips slightly as you look down at him, face heating with shame. “I need you, Sampo. Please.”

“Need me to what, baby?”

His voice has lowered an octave—and he crooks his fingers inside of you, giving you a preview of what you could have should you comply with his request.

That subtle nudge is enough to make your hips jump slightly. Your breath hitches in your throat.

You wanted it. You wanted him.

“Need you to fuck me,” you finally breathe. “Sampo, baby, fuck me.”

His resulting grin is feral, eyes glimmering with a wild desire that makes your core clench.

“Whatever my girl wants—”

He withdraws his fingers and stands to his full height. Your eyes rove over his figure, the various love bites littered across his fair skin. Marks you’ve left on him. It sends a sick sense of possession zipping through your veins, and paired with the way he says “my girl”, you wonder what it would be like if he truly was yours in that way. A dangerous train of thought.

You’re distracted, long enough for him to pull his leaking cock out from the confines of his sweats; you’re brought back to reality by his tip pressing to your slit, catching against your clit teasingly.

“—my girl gets, yeah?”

You find yourself in the bathroom again.

This time, you are in your own home.

The rush of water pouring from the faucet is near deafening as you stare at yourself in the mirror. The porcelain is cool against the tight grip you hold on your sink. You glance at the hickeys that litter the expanse of your neck, your shoulder, while you retrace your steps throughout the past week.

You had returned home a couple of hours ago. Only now have you brought yourself to start processing things. You’ve been dreading it, really: coming to terms with something you know will end. As things always do.

You can’t have him. It would never work out.

Sampo is sweet. Kind, even, despite the false benevolent demeanor he displays in order to con poor souls into giving him money. But he’s also as fleeting as a sweet nostalgic memory. The kind of person who comes and goes in your life as they please. You’ve quickly become accustomed to the way that Sampo will sometimes disappear for days, even weeks at a time, and then waltz right back into your life as if nothing happened.

And he does this without any qualms, because this is a casual thing to him. You constantly have to remind yourself that you had told him, “No strings attached. I don’t want feelings involved. This is purely physical.” And he had agreed without further thought, because you’re friends. Friends don’t fall in love with each other.

Friends also don’t eat you out until you’re seeing stars, or fuck you on the countertops so good that you’re babbling and crying, but that’s beside the point.

You think back to how easily the words “my girl” fell from his lips. It’s almost malicious, what that does to your psyche. The way it makes your head spin. The way your heart pounds against your ribs at the mere thought of it.

You frown deeply and shove your hands into the sink. The cold water shocks you momentarily, and the thought fades away, to be shoved in a box and locked away in the deepest recesses of your brain.

Then you scrub your face with the freezing water that pours from the tap. It’s refreshing against your balmy skin, not to mention it doubles as a wake up call for your lovestruck head. Whatever feelings you harbored for Sampo were doomed to die. You may as well just get over it now before it can do any real damage.

And the easiest way to get over things?

You give yourself an uneasy smile in the mirror after drying your face with a towel and shut off the faucet.

The bass thrums through your body as you enter the packed club.

You’ve decided on a rather obscenely short black dress for today—something flattering, something that makes you feel good. You would need some confidence with the goal you have in mind for today.

A goal that feels a little stupid, now that you’re physically here and you’ve sat with it for a little bit. It’s not like Sampo is aware of your inner turmoil; nor would he care that you’re planning on going home with someone that isn’t him. You never agreed on being exclusive when your little arrangement first started.

(Maybe there’s just some sick part of you that hopes that he would care—that it would make him jealous.)

You shake the thought from your head as you weave through sweaty bodies. Whatever kind of goal you set for yourself, it doesn’t matter. There’s truly only one thing that you absolutely need to make happen tonight:

You need to get over Sampo Koski.

And if that involves sleeping with some stranger, so be it. Or perhaps just getting so drunk you forget for a little while. Whatever works.

You steal a seat at the bar and order your usual. Your mind wanders as you wait patiently for your drink—gravitating towards how you felt almost… dramatic, childish even, for feeling so strongly about this.

You can’t help it. You’ve never truly let yourself indulge in romance before; you’re not even sure if this is what it was supposed to look like. If it was supposed to be this aggravating. If you’re supposed to feel as miserable as you do right now.

The clink of ice jostling around as a glass is set in front of you pulls you from your brooding. You swipe up the drink with a quiet “thank you”, turning in your seat to survey the room—and more importantly, the people—around you.

Your frequent spot is busy tonight—bodies upon bodies on the club floor, grinding and dancing salaciously to the bass heavy song that pounds through the speakers. The low lights that glimmer along the ceiling cast deep shadows across everything, making everything look much more dramatic than it really is.

You raise your glass to take a sip when suddenly there’s a hand clasping your shoulder.

“Wha—!” you jump, nearly spilling the liquid all over yourself. You turn to glare at whoever had the balls to just come up to you like that when you’re met with a none too pleasant surprise:

Sampo. Fucking. Koski.

“What are you doin’ here, doll? Especially without even inviting your dear old friend?”

His voice is a smug croon, hard to hear above the club music that envelops you in its embrace. You can hear the hint of surprise, though—and you spot the way his eyebrows are raised, eyes wide and shimmering with curiosity.

So much for escaping him tonight. You resign to your fate with a sigh, settling back into your seat and sipping on your drink properly. Sampo immediately takes to your side, invading your personal space with no regards for your feelings on the matter.

(Usually, you don’t mind. Tonight, it grates on your nerves.)

“I wanted to get out of the house n’ I didn’t wanna bother you. Simple as that.”

Your words are clipped, even if you know you don’t have any right to be upset with him. He hasn’t done anything wrong; you just happen to be in a sour mood.

That he caused.

Indirectly.

“You wound me, doll! I’d never say no to your pretty face, you know that.”

(You want to call him a liar.

You don’t. You smile, and you nod, and you clench your drink so tightly your hand starts to tremble.)

You shrug your shoulders, forcing your gaze back out to the dance floor. Your stomach feels heavy with a feeling you can’t quite put a name to.

All you know is that it does not feel good.

“Sorry, Sampo. I’ll invite you next time, ‘kay?”

Maybe he senses how off your energy is tonight, because typically he’d press the issue further. He doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Sounds good, pretty girl. Save me a seat, ‘kay? I’ll be right back.”

He pushes off the bar counter, making a direct beeline towards the restrooms. You let out a deep sigh, a breath you didn’t even know you were holding in the first place.

You turn towards the bartender and move to flag him down, but—

You only get a few moments of peace until a presence returns to your side. You can’t help but scoff, turning to say, “Sampo, what the hell do you—huh?”

You pause as you turn to a person that is very much not Sampo Koski.

Your face blanches.

The stranger offers you a nervy smile, the portrait of bashfulness.

How fucking horrifying—you can feel your face heat up with shame as you stare dumbly at him.

“Sorry if I’m bothering you. I just thought you were really pretty, so I was hoping you’d maybe let me buy you a drink?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck. His cheeks are stained a pretty red and his big brown eyes are wide with an eagerness that makes you shake off your mortification and force yourself to smile gently.

“Oh! Uhm—yeah, that would be nice,” you gesture to the open seat next to you. “Sit?”

He tells you his name, something you’re sure you’ll forget later, as you paste a pretty smile on your face and lean forward in your seat. You can see the way his flush deepens, hear the way he stumbles over his words—it’s endearing. He’s like a puppy.

You exchange small talk over drinks, and he’s true to his word: he puts your drink on his tab, and even offers to put the next few on him, too. He’s a little bit odd, but he makes good conversation, so you entertain him, idly stirring the straw that came with your drink.

You’re about to answer his next question (a question that was rather.. strange, you note to yourself), but your reply dies on your lips as Sampo returns.

And he looks none too happy.

“Doll!” Sampo exclaims loudly, pressing into your side. He slings an arm around your waist as he casts his glare upon the stranger you were just chatting up. “Who’s this, baby?”

This might be the worst possible outcome. Mortified, your shoulders hunch slightly as you try to grow smaller, cringing at the venom that coats Sampo’s usually honeyed tone.

“Sorry, you are..?” The stranger asks, bewildered.

“Her boyfriend. Who are you?”

You cringe even further, turning your gaze. The words falling from Sampo’s lips feels like a lead ball dropping in your stomach. You think you might be sick. So sick, in fact, that you tune out their ensuing conversation as your head spins.

Abruptly you stand, chair clattering loudly with the motion. Both men stop and turn to look at you.

“I—” you pause, inhaling sharply through your nose, “am going to go now. Bye.”

You turn on your heel and all but scramble out of the situation, heels clacking against tile flooring. Your heart is about to burst from beneath your ribs. Your face is hot—you feel like you might melt and never recover.

You burst through the door and the cold air immediately hits you. It’s refreshing and miserable all at once, cooling down your heated veins and making your skin prickle with goosebumps.

You’re about a couple feet down the sidewalk when hurried footsteps sound behind you. Your head whips over your shoulder, eyes wide as you stare down who approaches you.

What a joke. You know fully well Sampo can mask the sound of his footsteps—he’s letting them ring out for you.

The weight in your stomach increases exponentially. You turn forward and pick up your pace. You think your vision is swimming.

“Doll!” Sampo pleads, reaching out to grab your shoulder. You jerk away and swivel on your heel to face him.

“What? What is it now?” Your voice is downright venomous. It comes out much harsher than you intend, but the words are out now and it’s too late to take them back.

“Pretty girl…” He starts, and then shakes his head. There’s a moment of hesitation, and then:

Your name. Said so softly, falling like a prayer from his lips, and yet it’s an explosion of color in your world. Your eyes widen.

“Sampo,” you respond with equal softness, your voice trembling as you ball your hands into fists. Chest heaving, you stare at him, meeting deep pools of emerald green that look at you with such desperation it makes you want to crumble into pieces.

“I’m sorry if that was too much,” Sampo frowns, a dusty pink blush settling high on his cheeks. There’s genuine remorse in his eyes, so you listen, inclining your head as you wait for him to continue. “You just.. you looked uncomfortable, and you’re my friend. I was just tryin’ to give you an out.”

You’re my friend.

Friend.

Nausea claims you again, hitting you with the force of a freight train. But you force yourself to smile, and nod, and again your hands tremble with the effort of keeping them at your side.

No matter how much you wanted to reach out to him.

To touch him, to hold him.

You can’t.

“It’s okay.” You can’t help the way your voice strains, so you keep as quiet as possible, voice coming out in a mere whisper. “Don’t worry about it.”

“It doesn’t seem okay—”

“It’s fine.” You cut him off, shaking your head.

Sampo’s eyes search your face as you stare at him. You need to steel your resolve. So you say:

“I think we should take a break from seeing each other.”

It’s like you’ve dropped a bomb.

The way his face falls makes your stomach twist itself into knots. But this is for the better. Until you can get your shit together.

But fuck, he looks so sad, it makes your heart ache.

“Oh,” is all he says.

You gnaw on your lower lip. You taste a hint of metal on your tongue—you’ve broken skin. You nod your head slowly. You need to steel your fucking resolve. The decision is out there, and you cannot take it back.

“Mhm. Just for a little bit.”

He inhales slowly, and on the exhale he manages to mask the desperation he let you get a flash of. It’s too late, though: the feelings are out there, and he cannot hide it.

“For a little bit,” he echoes. His eyes have lost their spark. Your heart withers in your chest.

The pair of you cannot hide your true feelings from the other. Not for long. Not like you hoped you could. You pray to some long-forgotten Aeon that the space can give you the willpower you need to maintain your walls, at least for a little bit longer.

“For a little bit.” You confirm. “I’ll… see you later, okay?”

He’s silent. Then, he dips his chin. A silent farewell.

This time, his footsteps don’t make a single sound as he walks away.

please don't repost on other platforms. rbs and comments are super appreciated ♡ !!

#sampo koski x reader #sampo x reader #sampo smut #sampo koski smut #hsr smut #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail smut #sampo x you #sampo koski x you #☆ oakie writes #☆ series: don't you trust me?#dividers via cafekitsune :p #nereids' realm

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steviewashere · 2 days

Text

Balls in Laundry Baskets: An Apology

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Bitchy/Mean Steve Harrington, Mean Eddie Munson (Both Briefly and For Good Reason) Tags: Post Season 4, Post Canon, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Steve Harrington & Lucas Sinclair Friendship, Eddie Munson Gets Put in His Place, Lucas Sinclair is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Protective Steve Harrington, Emotionally Hurt Lucas Sinclair, Emotionally Hurt Steve Harrington, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Means Well He's Just Defensive, Hurt People Hurt Others

This is chapter one, which also includes the first two pages that I already posted. Please keep your expectations low, as I'm still working on the second and final chapter.

Read on AO3

🏀—————🏀 “So, you and Eddie, huh?”

Steve startles at the sound of a voice, deep and hushed, from where he’s been waiting in Hawkins High’s parking lot. Hellfire was supposed to be out by now—6:50pm if his watch is correct—it’s their first time back since March and it would be cordial. But it seems that only Lucas got that memo.

“Jesus Christ, Sinclair!” He yelps. Holds his right palm flat against his chest, trying his best to rescind the spike of panic that is crawling through him. “I thought I told you to quit doing that,” he harshly whispers, rubbing his palm against his shirt. The scratchy material of his polo a balm against his nerves.

“Sorry,” Lucas sheepishly murmurs. Speaking at a normal volume, he asks again, “So, you and Eddie?”

He rolls his eyes. “What about me and Eddie? Can’t I just hang out with the guy without being pestered?”

Lucas shrugs. “You can do whatever you want,” he states, but Steve can already tell there’s somehow more. “But I didn’t think you two would be…buddies. Considering how he feels about, y’know, sports and whatever.”

For a moment, Steve considers Lucas’s approach. His fidgeting hands and his slightly closed off eyes. The hunch to his shoulders and the general unease that accompanies talking about Eddie. Which, that’s particularly odd. Aren’t they buddies, Steve questions himself. Wrapped up in the Hellfire club, their mutual interest in Dungeons & Dragons, the ragtag group of nerds that they are—all of that is perfect for their oddball friendship, at least Steve thought so.

“What’s wrong with you and Eddie?” Steve asks, beating around the bush. He doesn’t do cryptic. And he especially doesn’t do it with somebody like Lucas, a kid already smarter than him by several margins.

There isn’t an answer right away. But Lucas’s shoulders drop. His eyes go from frustrated to…sad. “Remember my championship game?” He asks, though it seems a bit much of a topic change. What does this have to do with Eddie, Steve has to wonder.

“Well, yeah,” he answers instead, “I was there. Had a pathetic date with a girl I hardly enjoyed being around. Mocked Tammy Thompson with Robin. Watched you get that winning shot. It was a, genuinely, awesome championship game.” And that’s the truth. It’s the best one he’s ever witnessed. Which is saying something, considering he’d played several championship games. All of them, though, were major losses. He’ll take those to the grave with him, with how often his previous basketball teams teased him.

Lucas gives a harsh single nod, a small smile that whisks away as soon as it appears. “Right,” he mutters, “I remember.” He leans against the Beemer’s bumper, shoulder brushing with Steve’s. Looks forlorn towards the high school’s doors, where Eddie and the rest of the Hellfire bunch should be spilling out any moment now. Steve looks on with him. Listens as Lucas’s voice drops low, nearly angry, fully spiteful, “I begged Dustin and Mike to talk to Eddie about my game. To see if the Hellfire campaign—which would be happening the same night—could be moved. And I, look, I understand that D&D means a lot to all of them, it means something to me, too. But I was really hoping to see my friends there. If not my friends, then at least Erica.

“They didn’t move the campaign,” he states so bitter, Steve tastes the words on his own tongue, “apparently a game where you’re shooting ‘balls into laundry baskets’ is too…mainstream and norm-ie for Eddie. He refused to move his precious game. Then, get this, instead of getting some random kid to play, they egged Erica in.” Lucas drags his eyes away from the school, head turning slow to look at Steve. He follows suit, eyeing Lucas back. His stomach churns with the vitriol painting itself unsubtly across Lucas’s face. “Color me surprised, I guess, that he’s going out with a jock,” he states, voice carefully blank of anything.

Steve stares on at him. He didn’t know this was the case at all. Remembers getting the phone call about Dustin wanting him to play, but he figured that had something to do with him bugging Steve for the millionth time. Because that was something Dustin wanted. For Steve to play. And, granted, Steve refused because it was too nerdy—unimportant and embarrassing. Yet, now he’s looking into Lucas’s face. Where hurt etches itself like solid lines of chiseled marble. Being told, instead, that Eddie’s holding his own bias.

Maybe he hasn’t removed his biases towards high school nerds, not completely. But he’s coming undone from that mentality. Considering Nancy and Robin and Eddie—Dustin and Mike and Lucas—even Max, they’re all big nerds. They all have some sort of interest with Dungeons & Dragons or theater or video games and math. And he loves them all. Though, Steve’s never stopped to think about the opposite side of the coin. Tail-side, where balls in laundry baskets is considered taboo.

After a deep silence when Steve finally digests this information, his eyebrows furrow on their own accord. Mouth downturning into a harsh frown, one that he feels to the bottoms of his feet. He stops himself in time from balling his hands into fists, but the urge to do so snarls in him like a newly unmuzzled, wild dog. A dog, he thought, that he trained obedient away from his anger. But it seems like once the teeth are bared, they never truly hide away.

“That ass,” Steve snarks. “What—so I have to reconsider all my biases surrounding nerds, reconstruct how I view everybody around me, and realize how awesome it is. And—what—Eddie can just get away with that…bullshit? That’s…What the hell?” There’s a little bit more of a bite to his words than he had anticipated. But it really isn’t fair. The table turns and he’s better for it, sure, but Eddie just…That’s not fair. The dog growls louder, drool burbling in its chops, a bark forming in the back of its throat.

“That’s what I thought,” Lucas says, “and I know, I know, that Dustin and Mike tried everything in their power. And that Eddie was the one to, y’know, be the asshole. But I thought that maybe my friends would be on my side. That they’d skip the game, show Eddie up. Not get my little sister involved or have fun without me or…I don’t know.” And the way he says those last three words stings something acidic inside of Steve. Corrosion and battery acid hot and alive in his stomach. Anger reaching the surface of his skin, words crawling and resonating in his mouth.

The doors to the school open distantly and Lucas suddenly perks back up, blossoming from where he was wilted against Steve’s car. “Doesn’t matter,” he chirps, though it’s all fake, “at least I can play with them now, which is awesome.”

But before he can stride away, to where his bike is parked and locked up, Steve snakes a hand onto Lucas’s wrist. They lock eyes again. “I’ll talk to him,” Steve swears, “he’ll apologize.”

“Steve, you don’t—“

“You used sports as a means to fit in, right? Granted, popularity’s not all that cool and you know that especially now. But it was a…a—“ He snaps his fingers, searching for the word. “—A cover, something to find security in. And you had that. And that’s what the D&D game is to Eddie. Sports is my D&D, too.” He loosens his grip on Lucas’s arm. Neither make any sort of move. “Just because you were trying to find your people doesn’t mean you can be…” He chooses his next words carefully. “Ostracized or outcast by those who you found safety with before. Especially when those guys orbit around each other for the same reason. I’ll talk to him,” he urges, “and he will apologize, or else.”

Lucas gives him a softened look. “Thanks, Steve,” he mutters, “I wasn’t looking to start anything, but I appreciate you having my back. It really means a lot.” And then he shuffles away, towards his bicycle, small chat starting up with Mike and Dustin.

When Steve turns back towards the school, Eddie is sauntering towards him. Eyes wide. Smile big and easy. Yet, his soft features are all too nauseating to Steve’s chest right now. His heart aches. If Eddie thinks of Lucas’s interests that way, what does he think of mine?

He tamps down his annoyance and anger. Because Eddie takes his hand and is looking at him as if the world belongs to the two of them. But that hurt on Lucas’s face is like a dagger impaled in his brain when Eddie greets nice and low, “Hi, baby. Been thinking about you the entire time I was in there.”

Steve smiles, though it may come off as more of a grimace with how Eddie falters. “Been thinking about you, too,” he echoes. Though, thinking positively isn’t what he’s been doing, as far as anybody’s concerned. Beat around the bush, he tells himself. He takes a steadying breath, posture straightening, demeanor changing. Says with a sour tone, “I, uh, I think we need to have a little talk in the car, if that’s okay? It’s not a breakup thing, but it might make you…somebody might get mad and I don’t want to cage you in at my house.”

“Oh,” Eddie breathes. His eyes go distant very briefly. When he refocuses on Steve, something has hardened in his features. Steve’s throat goes tight. “It can’t wait until after our date night?” There’s a low amount of ire in his words already and Steve is momentarily caught in it. Until he lets his eyebrows scrunch down his face again, giving in to that tightness in his throat.

He sighs, annoyed already. “No, Eddie,” he bites without meaning to. “I need to talk to you now. I’m already upset about it and it’s not going to do me any good to just brush it off.” His hand releases from Eddie’s grip, falling heavy against his side. He turns towards his driver’s side door and stares back at where Eddie is rooted. “Come on,” he states lowly, “you were the one to tell me to talk about the shit that’s bothering me. Can’t ignore it just because it has to do with you.”

Bitchy is probably not the best approach to all of this, but Steve is already cornered out of options. He pulls his door open with more force than necessary. Slides into his seat, key into the ignition, and honks once at Eddie. Jarringly gestures at the passenger seat. Thankfully, there’s nobody else to witness the potential torrential fire that’s brewing in him. It’ll be just the two of them; though that realization stirs something sickly in Steve’s stomach.

Eddie gets in silently. Places his school bag in the footwell. And keeps his face pointed out the windshield. “What’s wrong?” He asks, though his voice is devoid and edging on irritated.

Steve rolls his eyes, though Eddie can’t see him. He sets his hands firmly on his steering wheel. Squeezes the leather for comfort, an instinct. And heaves a sigh, urging himself to be calmer about this. “I had a talk with Lucas,” he starts. “About, uh, about his championship game back in March.”

Next to him, Eddie immediately tenses.

He continues without acknowledgement. Keeps himself as leveled as possible. “He told me that you refused to move your game for his. That he was looking forward to having his friends, which I’m assuming includes you, watch him play. And I—I know how important that championship game was to him. Y’know, it’s one of the bigger—“

“Are you mad because I didn’t want to sit at some jock event?” Eddie interrupts, question clipped. Though there’s also mild amusement in his tone, as if Steve being upset is poposterous. He continues without any regard for Steve. “In a room full of, mind you, people who hate me?”

Steve tenses more than Eddie had. His shoulders hiking and his stomach knotting impossibly more. Finally lets the dog bark, gives in to whatever it wants. “You know what, Eddie?” He bitches back. “I am mad at you. In fact, I…I…I’m so fucking angry that you…you make this whole deal about ‘lost sheep’ and herding them in to play your game. You concern yourself with making a community for people who are lost to the crowd of cliques in that school. And it’s just—Lucas is one of those kids! He is, even if that means he wants to play basketball!”

The passenger seat squeaks. Clothes rustling as Eddie turns toward him. But Steve doesn’t rip his eyes from the windshield. If anything, he leans more towards the left, creating a deeper, larger space between them. His hands instinctively tighten on the steering wheel again.

“Yeah, I do pride myself on that,” Eddie spits. “I do. Which is why, honestly, it irks me that Lucas would pick a crowd full of assholes. A bunch of people who would never give him the time of day.”

Steve goes rigid at that. He was an asshole, too. He knows that. Eddie especially knows that. The Munson Doctrine wouldn’t exist without the inclusion of asshole jocks, Steve being near the top of the list. He tries to tell himself that Eddie doesn’t think of him that way, but it’s hard considering himself. Who he used to be. Instead, he takes another breath, this one longer and hopefully more steadying than the other ones have been.

“He went out for basketball for a sense of security,” Steve states slowly, verging on impatient. “To find somewhere to belong to. That’s all a freshman looks for—a group to be somebody with. And, you know, considering that he’s already sort of singled out for being one of a few black kids at the school…Belonging is kind of important to him.” He settles back into his seat, arms still stretched to their full length in front of him. His stomach is turning and his heart is racing. And why won’t Eddie just get this? “Even if the basketball team has a bunch of assholes, he still wanted to do it. He was celebrated for his skills, who he is—even if it was for a moment. Playing was, and probably still is, important to him. And you—“ Steve finally turns his head towards Eddie. Knows his eyes are shooting daggers, can see where they lodge themselves between Eddie’s ribs. He raises a finger and accuses, “—you made his game feel unimportant. None of his best friends came because they were toopreoccupied with your game.” His face grows unusually hot as his voice drags passionately. The words just tumbling, splattering between them. But he carries on like a fire fed, “They even got his little sister to play yourgame. And, you know what really hurt to hear? Lucas wanted at least Erica to watch. And she wasn’t there. She wasn’t there because of your game, Eddie. How do you think that looks to him?”

Eddie has the audacity to look cowed, appalled. His mouth agape and his eyes as two large craters on his face. And for the first time, probably ever, he is stunned into silence.

Steve looks away. Bitter. All that festers in him now is hurt, ache, sadness. He chews on his lip, inhales softly through his nose, and opens his mouth with a silent word. Finally, he murmurs, “When I came to the high school as a freshman, I did the exact same thing as Lucas did. I joined the basketball team. Not because I was good. Or because my dad forced me to, like everybody seems to think. It’s because I wanted to fit in.”

His eyes are stinging. Cheeks flushing even more with overwhelming, consuming emotion. Continues, “And, though I let the feeling eat away at me, it felt good to be protected by a camaraderie like that. Outside of the nerdy friend group I had in middle school, going into high school. It felt good. And—It’s not the same as why Lucas joined, I know that, but I can understand.

“On top of that, I never had friends or family members show up for me at my games. So, for me to know the hurt Lucas feels, that would be an understatement. What’s important to note, though, is that he had people in his life to be there for him and they didn’t show. They didn’t.”

The fight is draining out of him, but he has to solidify his point. Has to finish this or else. Thinks briefly that maybe he should quit while he’s ahead, but he can’t make himself do that. The ferocity engulfing him from the inside out all too much to ignore. He’s been beaten down before for Lucas, literally—oh so literally—but he’d do it again and again and again for that kid to find his footing. Including this…spat? One sided argument? This argument with his boyfriend.

“Even I was there,” he says, hollowly, “cheering him on. It just would’ve been nice, for him, to have more than just some washed up, ex-jock, nobody be there. Right? I’m sure you get where I’m coming from. You can understand what I’m saying.” He glances forlorn out his window. Can’t even muster the courage to look over at Eddie. He’s basically drained himself. Being vulnerable isn’t his forte, but he can be for the people around him. Even if it’s at the expense of his own well being. “Well, I thought you’d understand. Wanting to have a community, people to lean on, to make something of yourself. No matter the means. I just didn’t think you’d be part of the reason that Lucas feels so…so singular.”

He takes a deep breath, ignoring how nasally it is to his ears. And mutters, a final thing, “I didn’t think you viewed something that Lucas and I are into as so…nothing. I try my best to be better about what you like, but it seems that you don’t make that same effort. That’s not fair, Eddie. You should know that.”

Without much else to say and with Eddie’s eerie silence, he starts the car. Puts it into drive. And peels away into the silence of the long and stretching road.

Briefly, he thinks about turning on the radio or cranking down the window, but the air is too thick to move through. Even the slight turns of his steering wheel is enough to make him feel sick. He’s sick with how disgustingly to-the-point he had to be. Though, there’s no other way that Eddie would’ve listened. Not with how defensive he immediately got.

The original date night plan had been to go to his house, but he finds himself pulling into Forest Hills’ driveway. Past the dimly lit trailers and the striking quietness of Max’s home. He parks in the vacant spot next to Eddie’s van. Which, the van is broken down right now—the main reason Steve is even driving Eddie around. But, now what? Is Eddie mad at how mad Steve was? Is he going to realize that he doesn’t like Steve because of his interests, who he is? Is this it?

A gentle anxious thrum runs through Steve like the very blood he needs to exist.

He silences the car. And just sits with his hands in his lap. Looking blankly at Eddie’s front door.

“Your stop,” Steve murmurs.

Eddie takes a deep breath and sighs heavily through his nose. But he doesn’t make a move to open his door. To step out. To walk away from…all that Steve is and has been.

Steve turns to him, gestures loosely at the Munson’s. “Your stop,” he reiterates.

“I—“ Eddie musters, voice croaking and rough. “I didn’t realize that…I didn’t know Lucas was mad about that. I didn’t think it…mattered.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Steve bitterly states, “It’s not like you actually cared.”

“But I do,” Eddie insists, “I care so much about Lucas. And I care so much about you. I swear!” He finally moves, tossing himself in the seat to face Steve, flailing. His face a mournful thing, downturned and sad. Skin pale and his hands desperate and his voice urgent. “There’s no excuse, I know. But I just…The reason I look at jocks so awfully is because they’ve always turned on me, you know? They always downplay my interests and mock me and tease me for what I like. Which is why I have to show myself as the bigger guy, that I can take it. I just didn’t realize that I was doing it, too.”

Slowly, Steve crosses his arms over his chest. Fingers tightening over his biceps. “Real life and your friends are more important than biases, Eddie.”

“I see that now.”

“And I think that you…you love me? And that you like Lucas. But it’s just hard to feel that, for either of us, when you adamantly refuse to involve yourself in our interests. Even if it means attending some jock event. Even if it means sitting in a room full of people that hate you. Which, by the way, that isn’t true because Lucas and I both like you—I love you, even.” He faces Eddie again. His face a sure thing of great ache, based on Eddie’s own crestfallen eyes. “Maybe just…give us space for a couple days? Think about this. Apologize once you’ve given it some thought. I understand where the whole hating jocks thing comes from, but just think about how that hurts, too.”

Eddie takes a gasping breath. “But I’m sorry now, Stevie,” he swears, “I am. I’m so sorry.”

There’s part of those words that soothe Steve like aloe to a sunburn, but he can’t accept them. Knows that the sure sting of the burn will still be there if he lets Eddie do this now. So he collects himself, mulls the words, and defends himself—for once. “I’ll accept that when it doesn’t feel like you’re saying it just to make me feel better. I want you to mean it. And I want you to apologize to Lucas first.”

He watches Eddie nod fervently, sharply. His hands twisting together in his lap and his eyes wetting, shoved harshly to the side. “Yeah, okay,” his voice trembles, “okay, I’ll fix this.”

Carefully, Steve takes Eddie’s hands. Tugs them until Eddie looks at him. Involuntarily, he makes a soft, sympathetic noise. It’s clear in the wetness of Eddie’s eyes that he’s determined to change this, to make this better. It’s clear that he didn’t mean to hurt this severely. He presses deep into the back of Eddie’s hands, tethering himself down to the earth, away from the cloud of anger that threatens to swallow him whole.

“Hey,” he murmurs, “listen to me, baby. I know that you’re sorry. I know, okay? But Lucas won’t know that, he’ll probably think you’re saying it to get on his good side. And…maybe you are, a bit, but it’ll be better if you really mean it. Trust me.” He swipes his thumbs over Eddie’s knuckles, massages them to ease the tension. “I still love you. I’m still learning, too, to love your interests with my full heart. And I know that it’s hard to let go of stupid biases, but you’ll be better for it. You will, Eds, and you’ll find you actually feel good.” Steve runs his hands up Eddie’s arms, to his shoulders, the sides of his neck.

Gently, he cups Eddie’s face between his hands. Presses his thumbs underneath Eddie’s eyes.

Eddie softens, loosening. Breathes slowly onto Steve’s wrists. “I’ll make this right, Steve,” he promises quietly, “I want to love both of you guys right.”

“I believe you,” he whispers in turn, “you’re a good guy, Eddie. You’ve got a good soul and a good heart. But you just need to relearn some things, baby.” He leans in, softly pecks the soft tissue of Eddie’s facial scar, and pulls away. Reaches up and runs a hand through the wiry ends of Eddie’s curls. Finds that he does mean the softness in his words, even with the bitter edge in his chest. He murmurs, “Let’s cool off tonight, because I know we’re both upset. And we’ll reconvene in a couple days, after my shift. I’ll help you come up with a good apology, promise.”

“Okay,” Eddie mutters, sniffling.

“I love you,” he feels the need to remind.

“I love you, too, Stevie. And I mean that. I really do.”

🏀—————🏀

Taglist (Open For Chapter Two): @wonderland-girl143-blog @tinyplanet95 @sharingisntkaren @ghostquer @practicallybegging @croatoan-like-its-hot @reinedslys-central

#stranger things #Steve Harrington & Lucas Sinclair #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #lucas sinclair #angst and hurt/comfort #Eddie Munson & Lucas Sinclair

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yuri-is-online · 2 days

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I’d like to hear a little about Idia’s Yutu. I bet he was pretty startled to see his hair suddenly catch fire + any other physical changes associated with the curse. (Do you think the yellow eyes and shark teeth are even caused by the curse?)

Idia is a popular boy and I have a lot of thoughts about him in general; I feel like I gave him a lot to deal with in this particular au... Jade is probably having a worse time mentally but Idia has a bunch of work I know he wasn't asking for.

As for the talk about the curse, I kicked it around in my head a bit and I am going to say yes the teeth are caused by it but the eyes are just something Idia got from his parents. I know I talk about thinking there is something wrong with Trey, but I don't think that's because of a curse and his eyes are definitely yellow. Idia's do seem to glow a bit so if you want your Yutu to have different colored eyes I think it would make sense if they had a bit of a glow to them, but that's just me.

notes: they/them used for Yuu, for context on the fyuuture kid au can be found here and here. For this post, I would recommend reading this explanation of what happened to the boys as Idia has a pretty big role in the bad timeline, and his actions will be somewhat referenced here.

Idia has the benefit and the literal curse of being in charge of S.T.Y.X., meaning that when blot investigations are conducted he tends to be in the know. His Yuu and Yutu should have been safe from anything the Marshall's decided to do but they weren't. Unlike pretty much everyone else in this AU, Idia learns what happened to his family. He knows that Yuu was cursed, he knows they were sent back to their world. But that's about it, he tries to find some sort of way to make contact with your world so he can bring you home but then things go to shit and his progress is severely delayed. By the time he has to help bury Leona it's stopped completely. Ortho tries his best to help, but Idia doesn't really want him to. As much as he wants to see you again, he doesn't want you to have to suffer through any overblots again, nor does he want to raise a child in a dying world.

Sometimes when he is alone, energy drinks scattered around his desk he'll look over to the little digital photo frame he loaded up with pictures of you, from back at NRC all the way up to your wedding and wonders if he should just let you go. There's a chance you being forced to forget about him means you would have moved on, maybe met someone else and had other kids. Was his kid anything like him? He hopes they ended up looking mostly like you, and knowing there is no way for the Shroud curse to reach them does make it slightly easier to sleep at night. He tells himself when he comes back to work tomorrow, he'll put the frame in a drawer along with his wedding ring but he never does. In his mind, he is still your husband, just waiting for fall to come so you can try to be together again. Fall might be another life, but Idia surprisingly doesn't mind. He can wait for you.

Idia! Yutu was a massive crybaby when he was a baby. Very clingy to Yuu and very afraid of his own shadow let alone his teachers and peers. He grows out of the crying as he gets older but not the social anxiety. Yutu wants friends, he just sucks at making them and is extremely stressed out by being around people. I could see Yuu maybe getting an animal of some sort to help with the stress and anxiety their son was feeling. And just by typing that I have become attached to the concept: Ida! Yutu gets a dog Yuu feels inclined to name Cerberus. Yutu adores her and takes very good care of her without any fights about his chores.

Yuu remembers Idia as being more of a cat person, but they tell Yutu they think he really would have approved of Cerb. They remember him as being a socially awkward, but extremely passionate about his work and hobbies. His love of retro games causes a lot of Yuu's cursed pains, they know he liked those sorts of games but they can't for the life of them remember the titles. Yutu tries to reassure his parent it's just nice knowing a little bit about his dad and that he doesn't need the specifics. Hearing about his dad's interests motivates him to learn about emulators as he gets older, and he builds Yuu a nice family computer after scrounging for parts.

Yutu prefers single player or local co-op games, but makes an exception if Yuu has a long term MMO or something like a genshin account because he does like playing with Yuu. It helps soothe his social anxiety to talk to people while he knows his parent and Cerberus are near by, but when they aren't online he's essentially a solo gamer.

Unfortunately for Yutu's potential inner gremlin, Yuu also remembers Idia's shut in tendencies and is determined to get him outside from a very young age. Cerb does her best to help with that too, it's Yutu's job to walk her and he swears she keeps trying to introduce him to people. He's had so many awkward conversations with the people in his neighborhood because of her. His other chore used to be helping out in the little vegetable garden Yuu started to help cut down grocery costs, but that quickly ceased being a chore and became a full blown passion.

Idia! Yutu loves flowers. He fills his windowsills with plants that are safe to be around dogs and has Cerberus help him dig a flower bed around your home so he can plant more of them. Sure the veg garden is nice too, but he loves the significance of and variety that can be found in flowers. If you live in a place that can keep bees then he will absolutely bug you about wanting to get some.

Twisted Wonderland looks horrible to Yutu. It's dark and cold, he's been snapped into a room full of people in a place he doesn't recognize, and his parent has gone non responsive as he tries desperately to shake them awake. He tries snapping at the fancy looking man that comes to help and accidentally bites his tongue, and that's when he notices it.

Mostly because Cerberus tackles him and tries to put him out.

"Owowowowowowowwww-" Yutu tries to push Cerberus back but she keeps whining and trying to lick at his face. She yelps as Yutu catches his breath as he sees what she's trying to paw at. His hair is on fire, or to be more accurate his hair is fire. He can hold it, he can tug at it, it's warm and is not burning his clothes but his hair is on fucking fire-

"STAY." The voice is so commanding that both Cerb and Yutu freeze, the strange man from before with his dual colored hair looks oddly nostalgic at his little command, eyes obviously softening at the dog as he shakes his head. "Good girl, no need to worry. Your little master is ok, he isn't going to combust." Cerberus whines, but she relaxes and Yutu stands shakily. "Though full warning you might feel like you are once I am done explaining things to you."

Idia and Ortho are called to NRC for an emergency and debriefed on their way over. Yuu holds on to life just long enough to speak with Idia a little, the first time Yutu meets his dad the two of them are saying goodbye to a now comatose Yuu. The silence is awkward, but the hold Idia has on Yutu isn't. I like to think that Idia and Yuu had talked about what they would have wanted to name Yutu, and that memory had carried across the world so there was no awkward introduction phase between the two of them. The sort of fall into each others lives immediately, the want for the other to exist overriding anything else.

Cerberus helps too. Idia might be more of a cat person but cute doggies are good too. ESPECIALLY one with such an awesome name, she's the most spoiled girl in the entire apocalypse. She's an old dog at this point, so Idia takes her back to S.T.Y.X. where she becomes a sort of unofficial mascot for the research teams. Idia makes her a uniform and everything. He regularly sends pictures to Yutu while he's busy at school.

Because of Yutu's love of gardening trumping his interest in technology, he ends up in Heartslabyul instead of Ignihyde. He is very embarrassed about this at first (he really hates the uniform) but Idia reassures him that he doesn't care about that. His kid could probably kill someone in front of him and he would not care, especially not at this point. So long as he is able to talk to his child about manga and games he doesn't care what extra circulars they're into. I can't see him being super excited about having to go to sports games, but then again maybe he would just think about it like a sports anime to help psych himself up to go (his kid would obviously be his favorite character).

Bad timeline Idia is a lot calmer than his younger self. He still loses his temper and goes on smug rants, but in general he speaks exactly like he does in book six to the S.T.Y.X. employees. His true personality only really comes out when he's alone with Ortho and Yutu, but he tries to keep his more pessimistic side in check. He wants Yutu to have some hope for the future, but the more he runs the numbers the bleaker things look.

Ortho is beyond excited to have his nephew back. He always liked hanging out with Yuu because of the lack of data he had about them. Every conversation he had with them was unique, and he was really looking forward to having the same experience with Yutu. He was just as if not more distraught than Idia when you both disappeared, so having Yutu back brings a bit more spark to his soul. Yutu was so stressed out from all of the changes he was experiencing that meeting Orhto felt weirdly normal. What's weirder: having an artificial humanoid for an uncle, technically being part alien, having fire for hair, or having a spell that literally opens the gates of hell. Yutu is not taking option one that's for sure.

Ortho and Idia are the ones who propose going back in time, but when it's their Yutu who is making the journey the suggestion is extremely difficult to make. Idia doesn't like the idea of asking his son to do this, it feels selfish. But then, Idia also feels like bringing him into existence before he could break the family curse was selfish, no matter what Yutu was always going to be doomed. But that just means he should be the one taking responsibility for this... Ortho volunteers himself for the mission but Yutu points out that that would probably be even more dangerous than sending him. It's a tearful goodbye, everyone knows that if the missions succeeds this timeline will cease to exist and they will never get to see each other again. They have a little party at NRC and Idia takes Yutu aside to visit Yuu's grave, firstly so they can say goodbye and secondly because he has a confession to make

"I was mega cringe when I was at NRC." His dad can't even look him in the eyes, and Yutu swears he sees him shaking. He has to blink a few times to make sure he is seeing things right, this doesn't look like overworked dad, or stressed dad, or angry at something mundane dad. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he was-

"Well isn't everybody?" The tips of Idia's hair turn pink at the question and Yutu's quickly mirrors him from feeling like he's done something wrong. All he's done is repeat his dad's own advice back to him though. "You're always so cool and confident-" Idia wheezes and Yutu almost has to catch him. "I mean I'm sure you can't be bad as me-"

"Oh you are going to regret saying that." His dad can't really bring himself to elaborate further but the thousand yard stare does all the talking for him.

Idia! Yutu was given three very simple instructions by Uncle Ortho about going back in time:

1) don't try to lie to me about who you are, I will run scans and figure it out. Grandma and Grandpa finding out would probably be bad and just complicate things. Easy enough, having Uncle Ortho on his side makes the transition between future and past a lot easier. Current Ortho might be a lot more innocent? Naive? He isn't sure if those are the words he would use, but he is certainly less used to having a soul and being his own person than his Uncle is. Not that this makes him any less accepting of Yutu... if anything he is even more excited about him than he was in the future.

2) try to keep who you are a secret from Yuu, but get close to them. We need them to stay alive, even if we don't know why yet... Less easy than hanging out with Uncle Ortho, but still easy enough. I tend to write all Yutus as not fully realizing how much they missed or loved Yuu until they got to see the younger version of their parent... but out of all of them Idia! Yutu is certainly up there for just how hard it hits him. Mostly because of Rule 3:

3) I am so fucking sorry for what you're going to have to deal with please be patient with me!!! I promise I love you and your parent so much I'm just not going to know-

So that obviously came from Idia and not Ortho, but Yutu really disregarded that warning until he accidentally ran into his dad while trying to find Ortho and saw him take out a tablet? That he used to talk with and got very panicky about when he asked a very simple question about it. Uncle Ortho helpfully tells him later that Idia uses it to help him speak in public because of his anxiety, and is very pleased to learn Yutu has never seen him use it in the future. But that doesn't really change how things are now...

On the one hand, Yutu gets it. He has bad social anxiety himself, but because he had a very supportive parent who worked with him to challenge himself in healthy ways he never got to the point that Idia is. He also was a lot older when he had his first experience with a traumatic loss and had Idia (who is a bit too experienced) and Ortho (who is just so understanding) there to help him through it. He knew that was not the case for his dad, they talked about it a lot in the future because Idia felt like he had a right to know, but I don't think he fully comprehended how bad Idia's mental health was.

Because no matter how much he might get it, this guy is still his dad and Yutu really wants to interact with him. He wants to impress him and maybe finally beat his high score on Star Rogue, Yutu just knows there are a bunch of stories he never got to hear because his dad was too embarrassed to tell him and this is maybe his one chance to find all of them out. But his dad is such a shut in he barely even interacts with Yuu! Yutu was always way too embarrassed to ask him about how they got together and now he swears he'll never know because him being in Ramshackle seems to have scared his dad off.

That's only half true, Idia doesn't really see Yutu as a romantic rival... like Cater he assumes you are related in some way because of the similar appearances and tastes in manga. Even when the two of you deny it he shrugs it off, hey maybe Yutu is just you from a different reality? He thinks he read a manga like that once... either way not his monkey not his circus. But like. It could be, Ortho really does like to remind him that Yuu is much less judgemental than everyone else on campus so if he wanted to make some progress on his journey of self improvement talking to them might not be such a bad idea. wink wink nudge nudge! But going over there still means he has to interact with someone other than Yuu and Mr. Grim and that's stressful.

He doesn't think about it at all when Yutu keeps finding excuses to not be there when Ortho drags him to visit because of how relieved he is to not have to socialize with him, at first anyway. He notices when Ortho excuses himself too, they certainly seem to be buddy buddy which isn't something he's going to complain about but as Idia does get closer to Yuu and *ugh* admits to himself he's got some feelings he starts to feel like he should at least know something about the kid other than his name. He does not completely figure it out, but he notices all of the relevant data points before he's slapped in the face with who Yutu is.

Like Lilia! Yutu's reveal, I think Idia finds out about who Yutu is in the middle of a fight. Yuu gets injured by a really strange blot phatom Idia has never seen before and Yutu absolutely looses it. His hair flares up and for snaps his hood to cinders as he's roaring out spells and trying desperately to make sure that thing doesn't touch his parents. Something you both hear loud and clear.

At first this makes Idia beyond excited. He probably joins the little fit his son is throwing except in raw joy because he's fantasized so much about this! He even has a little sims save where Yuu and him are married and they've got a kid and a cat and wow just look at Yutu he looks even cooler in real life than he does in a life sim! Yuu look at him, you guys have a-

A kid. You have a kid. With him. One that's got his teeth and hair and your nose and is sobbing in his arms about how much he missed you both and doesn't want to watch you die again. The sheer worry eclipses his second hand embarrassment at his own smugness as he awkwardly holds on to the sobbing Yutu and looks towards you for help. He's never been good at this whole emotional comfort thing, pls assist. So you pick yourself up and join the group hug and all three of you just sort of sit there for a bit while Yutu tells his story. About growing up in your world, how he came to NRC and his friends in Heartslabyul (Idia is blaming that on you, as a joke ofc he doesn't care what house his kid is in), and the plan to go back in time because of how hopeless the future is. It's not a story Idia takes lightly, especially when Ortho confirms it and sends him all of the data he and Yutu have collected so far. Idia is a bit gloomy and prone to complaining, but if you are in a bad place there are few people more reliable. He is a lot like death in a way, he'll always be there in the end.

Idia is a bit awkward around Yuu for a bit after the reveal, I like to think of you as being newly together at this point so Idia hasn't really revealed just how... detailed some of his fantasies about you are just yet. There are a lot of them, he has uh. Maybe written some of them down, pleasedon'tmakehimreadthemoutloud and most of them are perfectly normal and respectable (lies). It stops when you tell him Yutu had to come from somewhere and he dies, buries himself under his covers, and rises again a changed man. Yeah that's right, his kid did come from somewhere NORMIES. He had se-

He's not super big into PDA but he is comfortable being clingy around Yutu and Ortho, though he tries not to be overly cheesy around Yutu. He hates seeing his parents be all lovey dovey with one another and he likes to keep his compliments quiet and for your ears only anyway. I do like the idea of Yuu being a tiny bit more outgoing and embarrassing him a bit around "the kids" (Grim and Yutu) so his hair is in a damn near permanent shade of pink any time he's around Ramshackle. It's one thing to have your younger brother think the world of you, but to have a kid think so highly of you that he travels back in time to save you from an apocalypse? Idia feels super unworthy, it fuels his determination to work out the "problem" Yutu has given him even if his natural pessimism makes him want to give up.

"... Just leave it to your dad." It's an echo of the only other promise he 100% intends to live up to. He really does mean it, Idia is not loosing this match. Just you wait and see...

#<3 asks #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #future kid au #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud x yuu #??? i hit a text limit on this???#girl what?#tumblr is shitting itself anyway sorry if the ending is abrupt #that's why

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vergess · 2 days

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A work friend of mine's daughter has recently developed (?) schizophrenia. He seems to like my advice in general, and in particular thinks I gave him helpful advice about handling traumatic experiences he's had, and so talks to me about this a lot. I've tried to give advice along the lines of prioritizing her comfort/well-being/calmness over her "connection to reality" (his words), like not picking arguments over things she says in pursuit of correcting her, similar to taking care of someone with dementia.

Do you have any points I can focus on or resources I can look up to support him and by extension his daughter better? I'm not very familiar with the subject but do know that in looking this up I'm wading through a lot of stuff that's not very supported or with the schizophrenic person's well being and agency in mind.

You're exactly right about the comparison to dementia. Although not nearly as severe an illness, schizophrenia is one of those "redirect not reinforce" conditions.

So, one of the big things you can suggest, especially while the person is in the early period of onset (which can happen over the course of a year at any age, but usually between 20 and 30), is try to help them make plans for the future. Which sounds big and scary, but it mostly consists of honestly going through with them to make lists of the things they enjoy, the things that stress them out, etc. Because there is going to come a time, and it's sooner than anyone wants, where remembering what she finds relaxing will become impossible on her own (at least, during periods of high stress; she may always be able to self regulate in normal conditions).

Schizophrenia often makes people feel deeply afraid and out of control of their own thoughts, which is really scary!!

But your friend's daughter is likely still able to remember what things she enjoyed before the onset of her illness. Whenever she gets too wound up in a fearful delusion, rather than trying to combat the delusion, I suggest redirecting her to one of the things she enjoys, whatever that may be. A hobby, a movie, etc.

It's important that the idea for the redirection initially come from the schizophrenic person themself. This way, you can honestly say, "hey, remember when you said you like X, why don't we try some X together," and it be something reaffirming to the person's sense of control rather than fighting it.

Of course, if the delusion isn't fearful/scary/stressful, the best thing to do is to accept that it is her genuine reality right now, and just work around that belief. No need to start a fight and make it stressful.

Another thing is, and this is MUCH more controversial in the west but I'll go ahead and say it. Another thing is, if the daughter's voices are friendly or kind, to support her engaging with them (if she so chooses). This way if/when her voices become mean she can choose to "disengage" with them as a conscious change. In practical terms, this means if his daughter is ever having conversations with her voices that seem to be in good spirits, to treat that more like she is talking on the phone with someone you don't know, than to treat it as a scary hallucination.

Then, if the voices ever get mean, she can "give them the silent treatment" to help establish a sense of control over them and help her feel like she doesn't have to listen to them.

In a way, it can be good to conceptualize her voices as "influential strangers" and just encourage her to listen to good influences and ignore bad ones.

Finally, depending on where the daughter lives and her support needs, it might be good to get her registered with the healthcare service in your area sooner than later. In the US, a young person with schizophrenia automatically qualifies for medicaid and can also qualify for disability. Both will need to be applied for, and the application process is a byzantine mess.

Especially regarding disability, it is best to hire a lawyer to make your application (they will be paid out of your benefits not your pocket).

As such, if your coworker's daughter is unlikely to be able to live entirely on her own, including job, hygiene, travel, etc it's a good idea to get there registrations started ASAP. That way if the coworker ever becomes sick or when he eventually dies, etc the daughter can be supported.

If the daughter has low support needs and is likely to be able to live on her own (which can and does happen sometimes!! Even with schizophrenia), one of the biggest challenges she's going to face in the long term is going to the doctor.

Not only are doctors deeply, deeply scary to the mentally ill in the west (for good reason!), which makes doctors a prime target for delusions of fear and abuse. But also delusional thinking can interfere with a person's ability to identify their own body sensations.

EG, it is very common for schizophrenics to "be really angry and not know why" and it turns out it's because they have a UTI but couldn't feel it due to delusions. In fact, it's so common that one of the first things we do at work when a client is very upset like that, is ask them if they have been peeing more often (the answer is usually 'yes').

A huge part of the reason people with schizophrenia die young is the inability to tell when they are sick, followed by feeling unsafe going to the doctor.

Ultimately, the biggest thing to remember is that no matter how stressed or scared you are as a carer, the person with the illness is just as of more stressed. They aren't fighting you, they're fighting terror. Remembering that can make the intense demands of caring for someone with higher support needs less draining.

The second biggest thing is to remember to take time for yourself, because if you burn out as a carer, then you've left your kid without support for potentially months or years, and that's pretty bad compared to having them go to a fun adult program like a summer camp every day for a month while you recover.

Finally: there are more programs for schizophrenia support than you think. Even in my rural bumfuck town of 3000, we have two (2) different programs, including a year round day program that operates 5 days a week and takes walk ins.

Your coworker does not have to take care of his daughter alone. Support exists.

#Asks #Answered asks #arctangential

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aziraphales-library · 11 hours

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Hii im looking for fic that looks at Crowley/aziraphale from an outside perspective for example the other whickber street traders being confused about where Aziraphale has gone and asking Crowley or other civilians noticing aziraphale and Crowley in general. Not looking for a particular fanfiction.

I do love a good #outsider POV fic...

Eavesdropping by IneffableDoll (G)

A patron of the pub overhears a bewildering conversation between a grey suit (Gabriel) and a beige suit (Aziraphale) in which their adoring descriptions of their respective goth partners are extremely…concerning.

The Mystery of the Missing Mr. Fell by treatsnsweets (G)

"Aren't you investigating? Keep the rant about the confusing relationship with Sunglasses in a separate thing." Phyllis spoke out loud, reading the notebook. "Hey! I'm not done with that yet. It's still my first draft and I needed more evidence." Trixie huffed as they grabbed her notebook back. Or Two teens decided to investigate why "Mr. Fell" has disappeared after the events of season 2.

Sanctuary by Scheissemann (M)

Days were hard for the shopkeepers on Whickber Street, Crowley was drinking, and Mrs. Sandwich just wanted to have a cigarette undisturbed.

What You've Lost But Never Had by BlackUnicorn (NR)

Mr. Fell, for that was all everyone knew to call him, was a peculiar man. He owned the bookshop next to Frank's record shop – A. Z. Fell & Co. it was called – and it had been there for as long as anyone could remember. Why, if Frank's mother, may she rest in peace, was to be believed, the Mr. Fell who had been around when she'd opened her own establishment was the very same that was still around now, over 70 years ago. That couldn't possibly be true, of course, and yet sometimes Frank wondered. He remembered Mr. Fell, of course, from his own childhood, his own youth, the kind man living next door, a little reclusive, perhaps, but always willing to offer a cup of tea and some nice biscuits to anyone in need of a cheer-up.

A Table For One by WaitingToBeBroken (T)

There is a couple that has been coming to Justine's restaurant every third Wednesday of the month for more than a decade. Now, they are suddenly gone. Justine decides to ask around the neighbourhood about them. Everyone has a different theory.

amaranthus cruentus by jilliancares (G)

“It’s not my plant.” “Okay,” says Nina. “I mean, it wasn’t my plant. It was given to me. I didn’t pick it out.” “Right.” “I don’t even like flowers,” Crowley continues. “I like leafy plants. Leafy plants make sense.”

Or: Crowley and Aziraphale navigating their break-up, through the eyes of everyone else. Or: 5 times Crowley and Aziraphale deal with their heartbreak, plus 1 time they actually do something about it.

All of This is Completely Normal Here by TogetherAgain (G)

The events of an entirely ordinary day for one particular police station in London towards the beginning of summer in 2019. ~ ~ ~ Lonnie Clarke was talking to a lunatic. To be fair, that wasn’t really unusual. It was a standard part of police work. This particular lunatic was a special sort of insane, though. Crazy like a fox, this Mr. Fell. Or, just absurdly lucky. Clarke was just finishing up with him — confirming his contact information, thanking him for his time, and so on — when an entirely different and more familiar lunatic came swaggering in with their hands cuffed in front of them. “OI! Who sent a rookie to pick me up all by herself? That’s hazing, ‘s what that is. Thought you lot were above all that.” Ladies and gentlemen, A.J. Crowley was in the building.

the best of the world in the palm of our hands by middyblue (T)

Crowley seems to be going through a bad breakup and Maggie just wants to help. Apparently, the world is also ending.

- Mod D

#good omens #good omens s2 #ineffable husbands #outsider pov #mod d

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thewatcher727 · 1 day

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Writing Tip: Identifying Your Unique Style

When it comes to writing styles, understand what works for others might not work for you and vice versa. Now, when it comes to writing, the first thing we want to do is get the basics down. That's crucial. But once you have that, you might be wondering how far you have to go when it comes to your style of writing? Now, we've talked about always striving to do better, but another thing to understand is remember to find a style you are comfortable with.

I write very descriptive, I like to use metaphors and similes a lot. Does that mean you need to as well? Not at all. It's my style of writing, it's what works for me. Don't look at other writers' material and feel like you need to replicate their standards. Find a style you are comfortable with. Find what works for you. This isn't just something to remember in writing but in life itself.

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flightyalrighty · 3 days

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(sorry if you've gotten this before or if this is not the right kind of question for the blog)

Do you have any advice on HOW to make a comic series? From what I've seen your work is fantastic, well made and written! (Cool concepts, story, and character dynamics etc)

How did you start? How DO you start?? How do you comic lol

I'm glad you enjoy my work! I'll do my best to answer this question!

I could give the ol' "Just jump in! Get started!" But I don't think that's the answer you're looking for, here. Even if it's technically the correct one.

"How do you make a comic series" Is one of those questions where the answer is kinda difficult to summarize in a single ask, because there's a whole lot that goes into it, y'know? I'll give you a brief run-down of my process.

I figure an idea for a story. In the case of Infested, the whole story was written before I even got started on the script. This is an outlier in my usual process and I don't normally do this and definitely don't recommend it.

Figure the plot like how you would figure a regular story's plot; The beats you wanna hit, the way the characters develop, the beginning, the middle, the end. What's the point of the story? What, exactly, are you trying to convey here? Who's the target audience? All that stuff ought to be figured out before even picking up a [MEDIUM OF ARTIST'S CHOICE].

Script the story. If you've seen a movie script, these things look a bit like that. You wanna not skip this step because this is where you determine the visual language of each page. Comic script writing is a whole thing and a half but I do have some random tips regarding it. -> When writing the beginning of a new scene, write down the time of day, the weather, and any important details about your setting (this is most important if you're working in a team). -> Using storyboard/film language when trying to figure out a scene is very helpful. You're not gonna remember exactly how that scene looked in your head when you finally get around to penciling it. Trust me. Write it down. Or thumbnail it! Thumbnails are also very helpful! -> Remember that you have very limited space for dialogue. Write with that in mind.

Figure the paneling on a page. I work at 11x17 and do my panel layouts based on those dimensions. I tend to make more important panels, or panels with PUNCH or SHOCK bigger than the others. Each panel is an individual illustration, but together they make a whole piece. You gotta treat it like that, y'know? Find the focal point on a page, find the most important element of it, and make that your focal point. Don't be afraid to get a lil wacky with panel shapes, either. They don't HAVE to be squares and rectangles. Check out what other cartoonists do! Get inspired! Paneling is an art-form within itself!

Page from "Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name" By Tess Stone

5. Penciling time! Get the perspective figured out, then draw the background, then draw the characters. Do it in that order. Trust me. With a background already set up, characters can be drawn more like they exist within that space, instead of floating in front of it. Also? Be aware that comic artists need to be ready to draw ANYTHING. You may have a great idea that you GOTTA put out into the world, but you have no idea how to draw, say, a car. Or debris. Or jungle foliage. There's no shame in using references, tutorials, or even doing a bit of tracing if something's outside your wheelhouse. Here's a bazillion tutorials from two guys who REALLY know their stuff.

6. Speech Balloons! Yes, really. In fact, you may want to do this and penciling at the same time. I certainly do. It's better to figure this out immediately so it doesn't hurt you later when it comes to getting your balloons to share a space with your art. Here's some great advice on the whole subject from a master of the craft

7. Inks! Line weight variation is key. Closer to the "camera" means thicker lines. If a part of a character is in shadow, that part is gonna get thicker lines, too. Personally, I make my background line art thinner than character line art. It helps the characters pop out!

8. Flats! Or flat colors if you wanna get specific about terminology. It's exactly what it sounds like -- Coloring the characters and backgrounds with the bare bones basic colors. I highly recommend keeping the character flats and bg flats on separate layers if you're working digitally.

9. Rendering! There's no hard and fast rule as to how a cartoonist ought to render their comic -- If they want to do that at all, even. Go with what you believe looks good AND is something you can do quickly. The "quickly" part is important. Heed my warning. Don't be like me.

And then I'd schedule the comic to be uploaded on whatever day suits me -- Thursday (usually) in Infested's case.

Of course, I kinda suck at relaying my process, so the final thing I can do for you is direct you to an extremely helpful book that really breaks it down in a way that may click with you as it did with me.

I hope this was in any way helpful to you!

#Anonymous #asks #comic advice

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awildeternity · 1 day

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Kendrick Lamar vs Drake, my own little rant

FIRST OFF, THIS HAS CREATED SOME OF THE MOST IMMACULATE MUSIC I'VE EVER LISTENED TO. I AM VIBRATING AND NOT MANAGING TO CALM DOWN, SO I'M GOING TO RANT ABOUT IT. There's so much background to this. Drake was the one to originally put Kendrick on the world stage. Kendrick was literally an opener for one of Drake's tours back in 2012. That was before Section.80, which was Kendrick's first real studio album, and even then it was more of a mixtape at the time. So, Drake and K-dot were always basically involved with one another. However, while I don't know all of the background to it, I'm pretty sure Drake has been taking shots at literally like half of the rap game for the past few years. Future, A$AP Rocky, Kanye, and obviously Kendrick a couple of times. Saying that his first big hit was basically because of Drake, and that he kept doing features with big artists like Rihanna (LOYALTY.) and SZA (All the Stars). This all leads to a lot of bullshit recently. I'm not EXACTLY sure on the timeline (Feel free to correct me if there is anything wrong), but there are a couple of notable events, notably Drake using a *AI VOICE OF TUPAC* in a song (which led to him getting a cease and desist and a LOT of heat because, well, obviously.) Kendrick accuses him of being a culture vulture, basically trying to appropriate the Black US culture that he did not grow up with. LET'S REMEMBER DRAKE WAS ORIGINALLY BORN IN A GATED COMMUNITY FOR WHITE PEOPLE IN TORONTO. HE HAS NEVER BEEN "HOOD", NEVER LIVED THROUGH GANG VIOLENCE OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT. HE STEALS ACCENTS TO SEEM LIKE HE BELONGS AND BASICALLY APPROPRIATES THE CULTURE LIKE A BITCH. I'm pretty sure J.Cole also dropped a song that called himself, Drake and Kendrick the "Big 3" of the Rap Game, to which Kendrick responded in Like That by saying "Fuck the Big 3, [] it's just big me." which obviously means that he considers himself a step above both of them. That's basically when we get to the most recent stuff, and the MEAT of the topic. Drake drops Push Ups. It is some tame shit, let's be honest with ourselves. That song calls out the fact that Drake "handed" Kendrick his first number one hit, which, yeah, he kind of did, but whatever. There's picks at Kendrick's height, his foot size, the fact that his label TOP DOG takes 50% (Hence the lyrics "drop and give me 50" and the push ups title, dropping a song and giving TPE 50% of the profits) Also calling K-dot "wiped down" by more popular artists like SZA, Travis Scott and 21 Savage. Also weirdly enough taking a shot at Metro, a producer that had worked with Kendrick on Like That, but like, why??? AND THEN. FOR A FEW WEEKS, KENDRICK SAYS NOTHING. ON TUESDAY OF THIS WEEK, THOUGH, HE DROPS THE ABSOLUTE BOMB THAT IS EUPHORIA. Euphoria is the title of Drake's show he co-produced that got a bunch of heat for having some weird sexualisation of teenage girls, which is already a pretty good hit, but the LYRICS THEMSELVES. KENDRICK LITERALLY CALLS OUT DRAKE ON SO MANY THINGS. Talking about how he's not a rap artist but a scam artist that wants to be accepted (culture vulture, again), talking about the Tupac shit with "I'd rather do that than let a Canadian [] make Pac turn in his grave", once again calling out Drake being fucking CANADIAN and trying to appropriate the culture. Also making a reference to YMW Kelly and calling Drake and J.Cole his "friends" (YMW Kelly murdered two of his friends, hence why that is a diss and not a compliment.) I have to comment on the absolute HATE FEST too. "I hate the way that you walk, the way that you talk, I hate the way that you dress I hate the way that you sneak diss, if I catch flight, it's gon' be direct We hate the bitches you fuck 'cause they confuse themself with real women And notice, I said "we," it's not just me, I'm what the culture feelin'"

#kendrick vs drake #kendrick lamar #kdot #drake

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kiwi-cult · 2 days

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PARSELSCRIPT!!

Hi. This is mostly for the people from Discord but tadah! I'm finally making that Tumblr post I've been talking about for months.

(Warning this will probably be very chaotic)

To anyone new who sees this: me and some friends made an alphabet for Parseltongue from Harry Potter, aka Parselscript. I'll take you on a little journey to explain my process and give you some tips, should you want to start writing it.

Disclaimer: I wanted to make this script usable for the writer I made it for (Isalise loml) so it's less of an actual language and more just some characters to represent the Latin letters. It is not realistic. If I made this realistic I'd have to add all sorts of things to indicate body language and smell etc and also have to figure out what sounds Parseltongue actually has etcetera etcetera. No.

Alright.

It all started when we started talking about Parselscript in a Discord server and I asked my friend Ava to visualise the script because she seemed to have a clear vision of it, so I could use it to go from there.

That's how we got this.

I think we all wanted to go with something flowery for some reason, so we did.

After this I just messed around with brushes and shapes in Procreate for a while, tweaking things and trying to make it more writeable. I ended up with something like this (still a rough draft).

It may look a bit like random squiggles at first, and it kinda was at this point. As you can see there's also a lot of added dots and lines, which can be a bit hard to remember and I see you wondering what it looks like without them.

Well here it is.

I showed this to the people I brainstormed with in Discord and we decided to go with the more complicated version because it looks better lol.

This is one of the final versions.

It says: "Hello, my name is Kiwi Cult. I made this script after reading a fanfic called Terrible, But Great written by Isalise the loml on Archive Of Our Own."

Now, to talk about some of the (boring) logistics.

It is read from left to right, top to bottom.

Every separate combination of squiggles you see above is a separate word. Every word is made up of a starting character, one or more letter characters and an ending character.

The very first character you see in the top left corner, with the three petal looking thingies, is a silent starting character that indicates the start of a sentence. Not word: sentence. The end of the character, that little circle thingy, is a comma. So, the first character says: "Hello,".

Then, the second combination starts with a kind of hook going down and right. This is also a silent character and more meant as an interpunction, that's why you don't pronounce it. It's kind of just a way to start the word when there isn't anything special about it (aka it's not the start of a sentence, a name, an exclamation or a question. But every character is special in its own right🥲). The same kind of hook can be found at the bottom of the combination, except going up. It has the same use, basically just a way to end the word when there isn't anything special about it. Now, you might ask: why does it go right and not left?

We talked about this a while, because I wanted the direction to have some kind of meaning. We wondered about gender, tone, blah blah all kinds of complicated things but in the end I just wanted this script to be writable so I chose to have proficient writers in Parseltongue make their hooks go left and beginners have their hooks go right.

Now, you might notice that I end my words with a hook going right. That is because I don't see myself as a pro in writing in Parselscript okay? It's hard!😭💀

Now, other than the character indicating the start of a sentence, the circle, and the simple hook, there are a few other characters to start or end a combination (don't worry I'll show them all to you at the end, you won't have to use your imagination for long).

We have a character to indicate a name. Now, the rule is: name indicator over start of sentence indicator. So, if you start a sentence with a name, you'll use the symbol to indicate a name, NOT BOTH. (That's not even possible but I don't even want to see you try and butcher my child).

There is a character to indicate a sentence that would usually be followed by an exclamation mark (!), but at the start of the sentence. So unlike in the Latin alphabet (the 'English' one for the people who don't know what I mean by Latin alphabet), an exclamation mark wouldn't necessarily be followed by a capital letter because you can just end the combination with a hook and continue on your merry way. (God this is vague but I hope it makes sense)

The same goes for a question mark (?): put it at the start of a question, not the end. Again, it wouldn't even be possible to use it at the end of a combination but I DON'T EVEN WANNA SEE YOU TRY.

Finally we have a period (.), which looks a bit like a flower with four petals. You do use this one at the end of a word, and it is always followed by a start of sentence indicator or a name indicator. I know people are rejecting capitals these days in their typing but I don't wanna see it. If you start a word after a period with a hook I will find you.

So, to put it all next to each other, the symbols we have are: -start of sentence indicator -name indicator -exclamation mark (!) -question mark (?) -period (.) -hook (direction depends on efficiency) -comma (,) (direction depends on efficiency)

I didn't make adjusted characters to indicate a capital letter like we do in the Latin alphabet, meaning that the only things you can kind of 'capitalise' are the start of a sentence and the start of a name.

It is also slightly phonetic. Emphasis on slightly. I made separate characters for almost all characters in the Latin alphabet, so you can just write your word normally with Parselscript characters. The only difference is that I made only one character for the 'f/v' sounds and that there is no 'c' character. If a word has a 'c' in it, you'll have to use the character for a 'k' or an 's'.

A few examples: -character=karakter -parselscript=parselskript -crazy=krazy -science=siense

I know it looks a bit confusing, but I trust you guys' ability to read context clues and figure out what someone means when you try to decipher Parselscript.

Now, for a word like 'phonetic' or 'decipher' I don't really care whether you use the separate characters for 'p' and 'h' or just the one for the 'f/v' sound. You do you.

I also don’t use any double letters because they basically sound the same and it looks ugly but if you want to use double symbols feel free.

I also made some numbers that do not look like they fit with the rest of the script but I promise you that's just because you're not used to it yet. Our own numbers don't belong with our alphabet either because we nicked them from the Arabs (I think, don't quote me on this) but we don’t notice that either.

Tadah. (Yes I know it’s out of order I told you this was gonna be chaotic af)

Other than that, feel free to ask me questions if I've forgotten anything or if you're wondering about anything. I can't guarantee that I have a good answer because I might not even have thought about it myself, but I can always try to come up with something. I am one person, I'm afraid I haven't been able to take everything about a script into consideration.

Now, without further ado; here is the key.

No, your eyes didn't deceive you: there are two versions. The first has a bit more loose squiggles than the second one. I realised that when I was writing physically, the second version was much nicer to write, so it is kind of like Simplified Parselscript. I haven't decided yet if I'm gonna put some lore behind it or not yet. But I included the og one if you're a tryhard and wanna take it on.

Now, if you're gonna start writing it yourself, here is the stroke order.

I tried to make it as clear as possible but please ask me if you're confused on anything. (Also ignore that random dot thingy in the middle I just noticed it and I'm too lazy to change it now).

Red is the starting point of the whole symbol, the arrows indicate the direction to go in, x marks the start of the small extra's.

Now, I'd also recommend writing on some type of paper with vertical lines like this if you're gonna do it physically.

You can just turn a paper with normal, horizontal lines a quarter to get vertical lines. Also, do NOT write in between the lines. They are meant to help you keep the start and ending on the same line so you don't start going into crazy directions while writing. So, start your sentence symbol or hook or whatever in the middle of the line and try to keep coming back to that vertical line after every letter. As you gain more proficiency you'll probably go straight into the next letter without going back to the line all the time but I think this is a good starting point.

I also recommend writing with a fountain pen or something else that flows well because it’s easier to write that way.

Here is another rough draft I made on physical paper to get a feel for it. As you can see this draft had a lot more different starting characters and ending characters so just ignore that. Hope this motivates you a bit or smth.

Lmk if you want me to post a video of me writing in this Parselscript.

Also please let me know if you know of someone else who's also made a Parselscript because I tried to look for it on Tumblr and Twitter etc but I couldn't find anything.

I also feel like there’s a big mistake I made that I realised the last time I worked on this script but I’ve forgotten it now so if you find out please comment or dm or anything💀

Also feel free to use in your own fic, tho a little tiny shoutout in the a/n would be nice :)

Credits:

@natis-balamnimaja @asterialvia and @/zee (who unfortunately left the server and I don't know the Tumblr @ of) for brainstorming with me and @isalisewrites for inspiring us and making the server we discussed this in. Check out her profile and her Tomarry time travel fic if you have taste.

Okay bye :) tell me if I forgot anything.

🥝

#fanfiction #isalise #parselscript #parseltongue #hogwarts #harry potter #language stuff #alphabet #script #tom riddle #worldbuilding #ao3

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