#but this entire argument surrounding it is one of the most ridiculous things I have ever seen

[neocentral]

rating: 18+. mdni.

content: implied noncon

jisung’s spoon fell from his fingers, the metal clanking against the ceramic bowl in front of him. his plump lips fell open, blood flowing to his puffy cheeks, “what?”

you repeated yourself, crossing your arms over your chest as discomfort settled in your chest. you suddenly felt ridiculous. the accusations suddenly sounded absurd even to your own ears.

jisung looked at you incredulously, panic and embarrassment painting his features. he looked like he wanted to leave, palms already flat on the table, eyes shifting around the small, enclosed dining room. a few long seconds passed before he finally spoke, “are you serious?”

jisung looked unsure, the rushing of his thoughts clear in his brown eyes. you would find his reaction suspicious if you didn’t know him. if his emotions weren’t so clear on his face. jisung’s aversion to confrontation was nothing new, most of your petty arguments stemmed from it. but there was something that made a nearly unnoticeable doubt creep into your mind.

you supposed the subject matter could also justify his strange actions. sex was never something jisung was comfortable with. after years of friendship you had yet to hear of a single sexual encounter involving them friend, not that you were particularly interested, but at the ripe age of twenty two, you couldn’t help but find it odd.

still, you felt foolish. jisung recoiled when you did something as simple as tap him on the shoulder. he would never dream of such a thing. between your legs was the last place jisung longed to be, it couldn’t have been him.

the entire night was unusual, an unsettling air loomed over you the second you stepped out of the door with jisung in tow. the feeling only growing more intense as the night progressed and jisung’s presence suddenly felt suffocating. he stuck to you like glue, likely seeking comfort from the overwhelming amount of people surrounding him. that was yet another reason why it could never have been jisung.

surely there was something you missed as the night came to an end. perhaps another man followed closely behind you, managing to evade an equally intoxicated jisung’s watchful eye. maybe another man had inconspicuously slipped through the door before jisung managed to lock it, finding your bedroom and lingering in the dark as he waited for your friend to tuck you in.

you hadn’t seen jisung leave, but then again, you were exhausted. your eyes fluttered shut before your head had even touched your pillow, your heavy body falling limp in jisung’s lean arms that held you like fragile glass.

the man that forced himself between your legs could never have jisung. the brutality your foggy brain is something you didn’t think jisung could be capable of. the sweet boy that stuck by your side year after year, the boy who refused to raise his voice, or shut the door too roughly.

the hips slamming against your thighs were ruthless, the hand curled around your mouth unrelenting, the hisses in your ear telling you to shut the fuck up remorseless. moans and groans replaced his words, vibrating through your throat as eager kisses were placed upon it, occasional aggressive bites leaving you to cry out louder than you already were. it was worse when he lifted his face, scanning the tears that rolled down the swells of your cheeks and the fearful expression shifting on your face as recognition. At least, you thought it was recognition. as much as the blurry eyes above you mirrored jisung’s, the emotion swimming within them was nothing short of unfamiliar.

jisung quickly stood, face fully covered in a bright red tint that raced down his neck and crept up his ears as he tugged one. “I can’t believe you would say something like that,” he said, stumbling over the words.

you stood unmoving, feeling conflicted as he walked closer. sudden unease made you take a step back, watching as the space between you and jisung grew even larger until he was gone.

#tw noncon #starring... jisung ! #screenplay… #jisung x reader #jisung smut #nct x reader #nct smut #dark!jisung #dark!nct #nct dream #nct #jisung

[communistkenobi]

Now that Succession is over I’ve been reflecting more and more on the fandom that sprung up around it. When I made this post I had Succession in mind, but it was too large of a sidebar to get into, so now I’m making a separate post.

And before I get into anything, both in anticipation of being yelled at and so I don’t have to constantly inserts caveats into every paragraph: this is not a universal or comprehensive description of how people interact with Succession in a fandom setting online, but rather my experience with it on tumblr and the experience of watching my friends interact with it. Additionally, this diagnosis of a narrow slice of the Succession fandom is not a moral or intellectual damnation of anyone who ships characters or whatever. I am talking to myself publicly on my own blog and this post is a sequel to the post I linked at the top, and so the primary focus of this is going to be about the “methods problem” within fandom that I outlined in that original post. If anything, this is an invitation to reflect on your own experiences and extend/adapt/critique the arguments I’m about to make to your own contexts, not a condemnation of those experiences and contexts. If you feel the urge to say things like “you’re trying to censor me” or “let people have fun” I would rather you not do that because I’ve heard those things hundreds of times already and those complaints are deeply uninteresting. anyway

I think one of Succession’s strengths as a show is that it is a drama about a modern corporate empire that is shown entirely through the eyes of the individual Roy family members. There is a particular, deliberate clash between the intensely intimate drama of Shiv and Tom’s marriage, Kendall’s addiction issues and estrangement from his family, Roman’s sexual and romantic problems, Connor’s loneliness manifesting in him “buying a girlfriend,” and the fact that they are wealthy beyond comprehension. They are so far above material need that the only arena of conflict is their personal lives. This comes to a head in S4, when their father dies and their family drama becomes the primary battleground over who will take the throne. Yes, they are fighting over acquisition deals and legal issues surrounding their father’s company, this is the “material” component that has a direct influence on their wealth, but that is still secondary to their conflict as a family. Kendall and Roman deliberately attempt to sabotage the sale of Waystar, both because of their personal desire to “be the boss” and the constantly-cited desire to “do what our father wanted.” Their primary concerns are always either an attempt to appease their dead dad or their desire to replace him with themselves.

This is the most intensified form of bourgeois interiority in fiction - all material concerns are made invisible, shoved to the side to focus solely on individual emotions and relationships, because the Roys are part of the ruling class. Their material needs will never be part of their problems. The individual landscapes of their emotions, desires, and traumas are the only real site of conflict. The army of servants and underlings beneath them, the public that is only ever at the periphery, are part of the massive social, political and financial scaffolding that allows them the time and freedom to act out these hyper-intense psychodramas with their lovers, friends and family. The character-centric focus of the show is itself a commentary on their wealth - they don’t have to work, they don’t have to worry about money, they don’t even have to interact with public infrastructure, and so they are free to focus entirely on interpersonal turmoil and pleasure. This intense, indulgent look into their personal lives is predicated on their wealth, and highlights how ridiculous and out of touch they are. This is an integral part of how the deeply uncomfortable, second-hand-embarrassment tone of the show is maintained.

But this nuance doesn’t get translated into fandom - or is only translated haphazardly - which is likewise deeply character-centric. As a fan of the show for many years I have largely avoided the Succession “fandom” because of its intense focus on shipping and rooting for your favourite characters to win. This is how you end up with people deeply invested in Roman’s character, running cover and damage control for him as he becomes increasingly openly racist, misogynistic and fascistic as the show goes on. In particular, the way that misogyny in fandom intersects with this character-centric method of engagement is that a lot of apologetic discourse about Shiv is reactive, excusing or rationalising her behaviour to an online crowd who finds fault with her behaviour not because she’s wealthy but because she’s a woman. It’s how you end up watching people online defend the actions of a fictional billionaire girlboss, because the dominant mode of discourse in fandom is focused so heavily on the actions of individual characters that said actions become free-floating, divorced from their context. Shiv is not being defended on the ground of her wealth and power (or not always, lol), nor even really being defended from the fact that those things make her an objectively horrible person, but that popular fandom perception of her boils down to “man what a huge bitch.” It’s not that (necessarily) people want to log onto tumblr to apologise for liking a fictional billionaire - although again, that does happen - it’s that fandom misogyny is so individualistic that Shiv’s actions are always discussed at the lowest rung possible, commonly expressed as “she’s a bitch” or “she’s being unreasonable”, and so that is the discursive arena that discussion about this character remains in, never moving beyond the individual. It reminds me of the backlash against Skylar from Breaking Bad - it was impossible to talk about anything else about her character aside from explaining why she’s not the devil incarnate. Yes there are also unironic fans who love the fact that Shiv is a vaguely progressive rich white woman, those people absolutely exist, but even when you want to approach the show from outside of that uncritical angle, I think you oftentimes get painted into this narrow discursive corner anyway because of how stupid fandom discussion tend to be.

And yes it’s all fictional, it’s not real, and people “blorbofying” a Roy sibling or shipping Kendall and Stewy together are not remotely good indicators of their beliefs about the ruling class in real life. I am not making claims about anyone’s beliefs or political convictions because they enjoy a show about billionaires. I also enjoy the show. But the rhetoric of fandom is so intensely individualistic that “shipping” characters in a show like Succession is seen as a regular thing to do. The easiest way to tell if you’re in a “fandom” on tumblr is to see if people are writing ship fic or drawing shipping fanart. I enjoy Succession a lot and talk about it with friends, but I am not “in the Succession fandom.”

And at least with the people I follow who do engage in Succession “fandom,” there is an intense self-irony on display - people making fancam edits of Gerri, someone who is general counsel to a fictional version of Fox News, or AMVs of Stewy, a hot ruthless venture capitalist. It’s funny precisely because of the dissonance between the use of fandom aesthetic forms (ie fancams) and the subject being fandomised. Embedded into these behaviours is an ironic self-distance, a performance of fandom with a wink to the audience that you don’t actually believe in this, that this is a self-ironic indulgence, a way of articulating sympathy for these fictional characters while maintaining the air of being in-the-know, being a good person who gets what the show is “really” about. And I enjoy that! Those posts rule lol. If anything I am in the meta-fandom, I stay on the periphery with friends to enjoy posts about how stressful shareholder meetings are, to celebrate the tomshiv scorpionmarriage win, to know what the phrase tomstar gregco endgame means.

But that self-irony is only possible to express because of the fact that “doing fandom stuff” with Succession necessarily involves an intense and constant form of apologetics for your favourite character or relationship - it is this assumed, unstated default that this self-irony is engaging with. If you were just talking about the plot of the show or its themes, if you disavowed any desire to ship characters together, if you never got into arguments with people about which Roy sibling “deserves” to be CEO, you would hardly be doing “fandom,” or at least you would be doing it in a fundamentally different way, and crucially you wouldn’t need to be employing that self-ironic tone of “alright now we all know billionaires are bad. But isn’t Roman such a cute little baby? Don’t you just want to hug him?”

I remember a popular sentiment being expressed around when Succession first got popular online, saying that Succession pioneered new ways for people to talk about their favourite characters on the internet. “He’s my Disney Princess” “I want to put him in a Pringles can and shake him” “she is a bug I need to study under a microscope” and so on. And I think this is partially a result of 1) absurdist internet humour in general, 2) a memetic mirroring of the show’s brand of humour specifically, and 3) people’s general political instincts running up against fandom engagement, the desire to engage with Succession as a fandom-text without experiencing intense cognitive dissonance, producing ways of expressing love and enjoyment for characters that are fundamentally, irredeemably bad people, people who are direct reflections of and parallels to the ruling class of modern America. It doesn’t even give you the benefit of historical distance the way a medieval fantasy would, where it’s easier to “stan” a king because it’s taken for granted that everyone here doesn’t support hereditary monarchy. Succession is a direct, immediate commentary on contemporary American life in a way that is impossible to ignore, and so to engage with it on fandom grounds requires a certain kind of additional effort, a way of simultaneously performing your real-world beliefs while also letting loose. I know Succession is not the first show to be like this, nor is it the only thing that has impacted the way fandom operates online, but it has enjoyed a five-year popularity whose digital omnipresence has reached far beyond its immediate audience. Most people on twitter remotely engaged in fandom have seen a Kendall Roy fan edit, for example.

So, all this to say: even when it feels like a text is deliberately choosing a character-centric focus to comment on its themes and structures, I think what happens is that this character-centric lens becomes easily and instantly adopted by fandom, but the commentary gets left behind. Which is again what I meant in that original post I linked at the top - character-centric lenses are not inherently bad, or inferior, or lesser to other lenses, but that fandom only ever engages in a very narrow and particular type of character-centrism, a lens that is so adaptable that you can easily import shipping discourse and “x-character-did-nothing-wrong” style apologetics into a show like Succession. If you engage with Succession primarily as a vector to ship characters together, or to “pick your favourite character,” I think you are falling into this fandom mode. Which I’m not saying is inherently bad, I have also done this with Succession by calling myself a romangirl or whatever, I’m just trying to articulate the whiplash I sometimes get when watching prestige drama television about billionaires being murderers and sex pests and fascists and then going online and seeing hundreds of people expressing a desire to wrap Roman Roy in a little blanket. A lot of people are engaging with the show’s themes and also doing this “fandom” thing with it, so you don’t have to choose one or the other, nor am I saying that there are necessarily “low” and “high” classes of artistic interpretation that people permanently slot themselves into, but I do think these modes of engagement are at some level mutually exclusive, because they require the adoption of fundamentally different interpretive lenses when approaching a text

#succ.txt #fandom discussion

[boleynecklace]

fuck it christian and satine headcanons (post-canon / satine lives!au adjacent) because i am silly and crazy and free

obviously they’re both on the same level of being ridiculously and helplessly affectionate with each other. their biggest love language besides words of affirmation is TOUCH. 

satine likes being an early riser, particularly because it gives her more time to spend with christian before they start going on with their day (him with the writing, her with the acting and dance rehearsals) 

but there are times where she’s knocked out a little longer than him and he wakes ahead of her and whenever it happens, he just gladly gazes at how beautiful she is even when she’s asleep and he’d try waking her up with kisses

their favourite non sexual activity, that isn’t holding each other or being in one’s arms would be reading or singing out lines to each other. or christian cracking up a corny joke (but satine still laughs at it anyway) although there have been instances in which this leads to more than one way or another…

she loves it when he takes her to sit on his lap everytime he’s sat with his typewriter trying to sort out the next scene in his story. sometimes it distracts him from getting work done but it pays off in the end as she’s a great and constant support for him.

and although they try the hardest to be professional when rehearsing for the shows, they still opt to sneak in between breaks just so they could have a talk for a minute (or let’s face it. so they could just kiss each other for that entire time) 

when it gets to a point where they can see a future with each other that involves marriage, christian gets quite nervous at first before he proposes. he never had a problem saying i love you to satine nearly 24/7 but for him to ask her if she would gladly spend their lives together and take the next step was something that felt nerve wrecking

he proposes on the night before they leave france. it happens after satine comes back from a last night out with zidler and the rest of their friends, she walks into his garrett with candle lights surrounding his room. little does she know he’s secretly found a way to get a ring for her, and it’s a small heart shaped diamond ring. satine bursts into tears when he asks her the question, immediately saying yes and they spend the entire night wrapped in each other’s arms, making love in between the sheets.

shortly after the success of spectacular spectacular, they set out a few more shows but they do leave paris to start anew and head off to london, and there christian takes a part time job as a book printer whilst meeting ends to continue his own work as a playwright / writer and satine sings at a local café whilst also trying to land acting gigs.

they also venture into england so christian could introduce satine to his family, as his fianceé. christian’s father not too long before they both arrive receives a letter from him, telling the entire story of his stay in paris, the moulin rouge, and satine. his father is adamant and intrigued at first, but eventually eases off his assumptions and reception towards satine and their relationship when he meets and gets to know her. 

christian’s got two teenage sisters, named emily and charlotte. like him they are both fond of writing and poetry, but lean more towards being musically inclined with the piano and violin. satine forms a great bond with the girls, as if they are the sisters she never had and they treat her as such too. 

christian and satine reside in one of his family’s estates, in a house not too far from central london. their home being a wedding gift from his father. 

their first big argument had to do with their wedding plans, some frustrations arose when trying to send out invitations to paris and where their friends could stay and satine worried about who will make it or not plus christian’s own deals in making proper amends with his father. they are able to get things over with and most often whenever bits of squabbling occur, it just leads them to getting entangled in the sheets with each other in the end. 

their wedding goes smoothly and in the way they want it to be, simple but stunning that’s intimate in the best way possible. satine wears the white dress from spectacular spectacular again, as a way to honor one of the greatest nights of their lives.

satine and christian adopt two cats as company in their home, also so satine’s little bird wouldn’t feel so alone, a white one named marié and a black one named louis.

satine finds out she’s pregnant two months into their marriage. she panics at first, thinking her illness had returned but suddenly realises the symptoms were drastic. when she tells christian the news that she’s with child he sweeps her off her feet and cries happily, as he never knew the day would come that he would get to have a family with someone he loved.

their firstborn is a girl, whom they name celine. she has satine’s red hair and the first few months of them being parents had them very hands on, but this stage of life gave christian even more inspiration for his writing, and satine the motivation to work harder in her acting. 

together they both become a force of a team. satine lands her first big acting showcase in a production of shakespeare’s richard iii, she plays anne neville in it and her performance is praised by many, while christian’s original play about a missing orphan who turns out to be a long lost princess gets picked up with rave reviews 

since they both have way too much fun in the bedroom loool, a year and a half after they have celine, satine falls pregnant again. her and christian are ecstatic to have one more addition in their family, and months later they have another healthy baby girl that they name theresé, this makes christian so delighted as she shares his dark haired features

when the two babies are a little older, satine and christian decide to visit paris again after a long time, and they do so on their 5th wedding anniversary. it's a first family outing for all of them outside of work duties and it's a very happy one <3

and because they really can’t stop at two, satine realises she’s with child for another time after they get back from the trip. pregnancy was something she didn’t thorougly enjoy as much, but being a mother was as much as work of love and devotion to her the way her career does. 

satine goes into labor while christian is at work for one of his plays and at the same time, finds out he’s been invited to hold a private show for the queen. such things happening all at once that he couldn’t believe the life he had looked for in paris all those years ago eventually lead to this.

they have a girl once again and christian is just so over the moon over it, and just like their eldest, the girl inherits her mother’s red hair. they name her margaret blanche after his mother and after satine’s mother. 

#don't mind me i was just dumping all this out from my brain to my notes #and felt like i had to share it here #more movie compliant bc i haven't seen the stage musical **YET** #i have a much longer list but this is all i shall post now #i can't stop talking abt them sorryy (not) #personal #maria rambles #my stuff #moulin rouge #moulin rouge 2001 #satine moulin rouge #christian moulin rouge #christian x satine #moulin rouge! #otp: come what may #ship headcanons #hcs

[ritterum]

As a Stupidist, I’ve found it useful to hold two (harmless and arbitrary) “beliefs”: one that can logically be argued to be true, and one which is both logically and intuitively absurd. These aren’t “beliefs” in the popularly understood sense of the word - certainly not actual philosophical positions to stand and die for! - Rather, think of pictures or sticky notes on one’s desk: reminders of the things or people closest to us.

Take as an example these two beliefs: (1) that technical understanding and mastery of the natural world translate into the ability to project indvidual/community will onto one’s surroundings; and (2) that the Gallic provinces consist entirely of cured pork bits. The second is obviously absurd - Gallia sit omnis divisa in partes tres, but those partes are geographical delineations of land, and land is clearly not made of processed pork. One could make the argument that this land could be, say, traded for barrels of pork; or that, like stardust, all pork eventually decays or is shat out and turned into soil. It may be that in some obscure medieval document, the entire region was declared to be made out of pork! In similar fashion, (1) appears to be self-evident: the development of the arts and sciences allowed e.g. Galileo to espy the moons of Jupiter, or Toby Fox to create Undertale. And yet certain animals and humans can do things effortlessly or instinctually that most people would struggle to do even with  training (consider hunting dogs bred solely for spotting/tracking/retrieving, or savants like Mozart and von Neumann who played with notes/numbers like they were Lego blocks).

I think this disparity handily illustrates the principle of caution: we are meatsacks who default to heuristics and pattern-matching, and it is easy to fall into generalizations or jump to conclusions. Perhaps we missed an angle, or forgot to drop a zero in the calculations - whatever the case, it is prudent to remember that we are but meatsacks, and approach truth-seeking with thoroughness and respect.

As meatsacks, we are inevitably going to mess this up somehow - maybe due to lack of caffeine, or lack of perspective! This brings us to the principle of compassion, which, put reductively, is: we’re trying to do the best we can with the best we’ve got, and as hunks of meat, that’s not a lot. But we can watch each other’s backs and pull each other up, which is a damn lot more useful than pissing on someone for not knowing how to pull themselves out of the mud. The keyword here is “growth mindset”. I’m a huge believer in the “lucky 10,000” concept popularized by Randall Munroe: at any given time, there are about 10,000 people in your continent of choice who aren’t aware of <common thing>. Why ridicule them for not knowing <common thing>, when you could celebrate them being the lucky 1 out of 10,000 to discover it!

And this brings us to the third leg of the Stupidist tripod: curiosity. What queer meatbags we are, that we have gained the ability to look upon our world and comprehend it. And how much there is to comprehend! The great temptation of adulthood is to pick a lane and stay in it; to affiliate oneself with tribal beliefs; to trade the promises of discovery for the secure stasis of prestige. All well and good, until the ever-changing world shifts under our feet, and we are forced to remember how to wonder, how to adapt.

I started out this essay wanting to talk about core conflicting beliefs, and ended up with a primer on Stupidism. I guess that’s just how the ball rolls! Feel free to adopt the conflicting beliefs above, which, since they’re quite lengthy, I’ll sum them up for you:

Knowledge is power.

France is bacon.

#stupidism #ritter writes unexpectedly long things

[causesciencethatswhy]

https://www.tumblr.com/causesciencethatswhy/742925680934862848/nothing-more-annoying-than-supposed-neutral-fans

this might be a bit late but it’s just so perplexing and interesting to me how tkers a) have an absurd level of influence on the entire fandom and b) are legitimately much more insane than most delusional shippers even larries

as someone who was a tween when shipping really started to become a thing on the internet its fascinating (and disturbing) to see how it has gone from a casual and harmless “wow they look good together and have chemistry i want to see more of that” to “here is an entire dissertation’s worth of bogus theory about a same-sex pairing despite me being ragingly homophobic and probably mysoginistic.”

how it went from an admiration of chemistry and attraction to actual clinical delusion in a matter of years needs to be studied.

anyhow, i was thinking about all of the discourse surrounding jimin, jk, and the buddy system and am shocked by a couple of things. first, the complete undermining of their friendship despite them being ridiculously close for years. whether you like their dynamic or not it’s literally impossible to deny that jk and jimin have been thick as thieves for (at least) the past 5 or 6 years. I became an army in 2019 so it has always been obvious to me that they are extremely close. sure, you can make the argument that they didn’t “hang out” as much during 2023 but there’s still a considerable amount of interactions between them, much more than most of the other members who no army second guesses how close they are (the biggest example being jimin and taehyung who we literally only saw interact towards the end of the year).

second is how people literally pretend taennie never happened. hell, i think more people believe the blurry jk apartment video than they believe th and jn we’re in a real relationship for almost 2 years. there’s actual pictures of him on her BED with her kitty (a literal one) and you’ll still see majority of armys act like it never happened. yes, their privacy was horribly invaded but everyone knows damn well that is not the reason why most armys choose to ignore that relationship and then go and gush about him and IU.

though these two things might seem unrelated, i think both of these narratives that have always been pushed by tkers and have successfully crossed over to supposedly non-shipper armys and demonstrate just how influential tker theory is on the fandom.

this is exactly why i won’t really sweat over whatever a tkker says. if taehyung was in a long-term relationship for years that is confirmed by DOZENS of personal pictures through different dates, months, and locations but they still want to deny it… there’s simply nothing to reason with there. its just a waste of time and space. there’s a chance jikook have not been or are not more than close friends but there’s no chance th was with anyone other than jennie for the past 2 years in what is looked like the most serious relationship he’s ever had.

i feel bad for him too even if i feel he sometimes stokes the flames of shippers. imagine breaking up w your most serious partner ever, grieving that relationship AND your normal life since you’ll soon be part of the military for 2 years and all the while your “fans” are picking apart and making up insane theories about you and your friend.

I agree with most of what you say anon.

Of course we can't know for sure what the nature of jkks relationship last year was but I'm way more inclined to believe that their bond is still going as strong as it was before not just because of the buddy system news but purely because the ease and doting nature of the interactions we saw last year has remained the same.

And you're right, nothing will ever convince tkkrs to really just see the truth for what it is. There's always an alternative explanation, an alternative enemy to set your eyes on, an alternative ploy by the company to break the tkkr spirit. It's quite ridiculous. I think the worst thing with the taennie situation was that the whole 'It's an edit!! It's an impersonator!! It's a PR move by Jen/nie!!" Was that it wasn't just tkkrs buying into this. It was a majority of armys. The general fandom now looks back on taennie as 'a conspiracy to defame tae (except armys and blinks were the only ones who thought that these two adult humans possibly dating would be defamatory to either of them).

I legit had a very close irl army friend, whose not a shipper but still a pretty dedicated fan get into an argument with me because I told her that ppls reaction to tae dating was ridiculous. She word to word reiterated all the bs tkkr theories I had seen floating around and was unwilling to consider the possibility of them being made up conspiracies. I was genuinely surprised because she is generally very chill about these discourses but I guess the need to believe he wasn't dating a BP member took precedent over what the reality really was ??

Either way, it'll be interesting to see how they behave post 2025. I doubt they're going to calm down anytime soon with the jikook travel show on it's way. It's going to feed their theories as much as it's going to entertain the rest of us I'm afraid.

#jikook

[raxistaicho]

“She started it!”

What better way to celebrate Engage’s release than with another Three Houses post?

So Emblemxeno a while back did a post that I found to be a really really useful springboard to tear into a defense I’ve seen bandied about by anti-Edelgard types for years. Some of you who’ve been with me for longer will partially recognize it from my “it was an accidental imperialism!” post from like last summer or so. Emblemxeno’s post was in reaction to the whole shitstorm that brewed over the ridiculous,

Tweet. I could make a whole post on this but it’s been argued to death already so there’s not much point.

Anyways,

That’s slander, sir!

Edelgard’s coup was bloodless. In Houses, at least. She just told Aegir what was what and the slimeball capitulated.

Aside from that you have the usual rap sheet I’ve talked about a dozen times. That said, nobody’s gonna deny she’s “directly violent” because uhh yeah, this be Fire Emblem, even Eirika and Corrin will be directly violent when they must.

As an aside, where’d this notion that Marth is a near-pacifist come from, anyways? Play Mystery of the Emblem sometime, Marth actually gets pretty fierce when it comes to it. Maybe it’s a Flanderization thing, New Mystery did soften him up considerably.

So yeah, notice how he put “you decided to attack first,” in italics? That emphasis is the crucial point around which his whole argument revolves. It only matters who starts the violence. Escalation isn’t a thing that exists, widening conflict doesn’t matter! With that pretty little meme at your side, you can easily rebuke the fact that recruiting enemies in Fire Emblem, in practice, often comes down to, “join us or we’ll have to kill you,” couched in flowery language.

And if you base you analysis of the morality of actions done during war with, “who started it,” as your starting point, you’re dead wrong and you’re opening the door to justifying pretty horrendous shit.

This is just to emphasize the point. Other Fire Emblem lords always act defensively so any counter-violence is fine in Emblemxeno’s eyes. That’s what makes them different from Edelgard for him.

Now in the case of Fire Emblem, villains are basically always so bankrupt of justification for what they do and the heroes tend to have such a spotless track record that it’s pretty easy to say, “well they started it!” Even the otherwise fairly-mature Tellius games have Daein in 9 and the Begnion Senate in 10 blatantly lacking any sympathetic qualities so the player never has to question their actions while they’re mowing down enemies for EXP.

Simple fact, the series just didn’t adequately prepare its core player base for gray morality, and the discourse surrounding Three Houses - the eternal effort to paint Edelgard black as pitch and Rhea and Dimitri white as the driven snow - is the result. Edea was wrong to categorize people that way in Bravely Default, people.

This part wasn’t very important, I just wanted to toss that in to remind everyone how many L’s Edelgard’s detractors collected when Hopes came out.

It’s cute how Emblemxeno tries to paint Edelgard, the one who most often offers her enemies terms of surrender, as the one who’s a hard-liner about her enemies surrendering.

Need I post, again, the whole “no quarter” line from Seteth during the Garreg Mach defense?

Need I post, again, that Count Bergliez had to offer up his own neck for his entire army to be granted quarter?

Need I post, again, Rhea saying she’d like to put the entire Adrestian army to the sword (which means executing them) herself (meaning personally) in Three Hopes?

It ain’t Edelgard who has issues with accepting surrender, Emblemxeno.

Now in regards to the Judith point, Judith was retreating, not offering surrender. They’re very very different things. Attacking an  enemy in retreat is justified under rules of war even to this day.

I also love how backed into a corner Edelgard’s detractors got over Seteth and Flayn now that it’s starting to become known that other units can non-lethally dispatch them. That Edelgard raises zero fuss over their survival, and in fact can let them retreat herself, certainly punches holes in the whole “she wants to genocide the Nabateans! D:” argument.

Finally, wow, three and a half years out and we’re still getting misinterpretations of her battle dialogue with Dimitri at Tailltean.

(Source)

Edelgard wasn’t going, “no you, you’re the one dragging this war out!” she was calling Dimitri out on the fact that if she fell, he would invade the Empire. She spent a few years in Faerghus with nothing to do, she’d have learned how Faerghus... uhh... reacts to misdeeds done to them. See what they did to Sreng. Twice.

Luckily, Fire Emblem as a series has gotten better about calling into question when the heroes begin to take defensive violence too far. Alm tries his damndest to avoid an invasion of Rigel and yet you’re still treated coldly by the commoners there unless you jump hoops and take out Nuibaba. In Three Hopes, the actions of Faerghus are frequently condemned once they actually invade Adrestia, and the player even ignorantly sabotages an effort by the western Adrestian Lords to rescue Edelgard from Aegir and Thales, which would have ended the war with much less bloodshed.

It’s almost as though the game was trying to convey that escalating the situation by bringing war to the Empire isn’t completely justified just because the Empire struck first. And then when this happened, Edelgard’s detractors threw a gigantic fit about it.

Something something “Edelgard can’t be cute and be serious at the same time.” “Why does Edelgard have no character development? Stop being a waifu.”

A male Edelgard exists: his name is Lelouch vi Britannia and I agreed with him too, Emblemxeno.

That’s because Conquest actually is naked imperialism, and of an intensely brutal sort, no less. Thankfully there’s no indication the Imperial army does anything even remotely close to Hans’s sacking of Cheve.

That’s because Micaiah was being coerced into assisting an out and out unabashed genocide attempt against the Laguz.

Sure feels like 2019 in here, seeing as how we’re back to deadass “why’s Edelgard going after the church? They didn’t do anything to her! D:”

There’s a reason Emblemxeno tends to lose arguments he gets into on Reddit. And then he flounces off for a couple months to fume about it.

And now we’re back to “Edelgard doesn’t know the true history(tm) of Fodlan!”

Now he’s just rapid-firing shitty anti-Edelgard arguments from ‘19 and ‘20 that got long debunked at us.

If only Rhea was just “creepy”.

So while we leave Emblemxeno impotently spewing out garbage points, let me make one more of my own.

So in Tactics Ogre, the game opens with two of the clans on the islands of Valeria, the Galgastani and the Walister, at war because the Galgastani have launched an out and out war of extermination against the Walister, whom they outnumber 7 to 1. Like an actual honest to god extermination campaign, with a forced labor camp and everything.

The protagonist, Denam, is fighting for the Walister resistance. At the end of chapter 1, their leader orders him to launch a false-flag operation against the Walister captives in a work camp and frame the Galgastani for it to unite the Walister and divide the Galgastani. Nearly everyone who learns of this becomes rightly outraged against Duke Ronwey.

Under this law of “who started it,” the Walister Resistance is a lot more justified in carrying out this kind of atrocity, since they’re only defending themselves against Galgastani “direct violence”.

That’s the peril in analyzing morality this way.

#Fire Emblem Three Houses #fire emblem three hopes #edelgard von hresvelg #edelgard discourse #edelgard positive #emblemxeno

[beepborpdoodledorp]

Alright, I’ve officially decided I’m never going to touch anything PokeMas-fandom related ever again. At least not Reddit related. I’m just going to get my datamine and then leave. 

The Pokemon fanbase has always been a cesspool, but considering how character-focused PokeMas is I honestly shouldn’t be surprised how batshit insane things get down there. 

I don’t understand how people get so goddamn heated over which character does or doesn’t get an alt. Sure, it’s a bit ridiculous that Brendan has 0 alts while May is likely getting her 4th soon. But Nate is my second favorite protagonist who hasn’t gotten a single alt since his arrival, and I just...hold out hope that he gets one. I don’t get why everyone needs to shit on every single goddamn alt that comes out that isn’t the character they wanted. And the campaigns for ‘Justice for Brendan’ ‘Justice for Korrina’ (which is still going on despite the fact she already got an alt) ‘Justice for Victor’ ‘Justice for Let’s Go’ is just getting so tiring and cluttering up the entire subreddit. It was cute when the first Justice for Kris campaign started, since it was new and the campaign was largely about hyping up Kris rather than shitting on new pairs. But now it’s just so goddamn formulaic and tedious. 

And the sheer amount of hypocrisy that’s present within the fanbase is off the charts, mainly when it has to do with the female characters. People will start complaining that DeNa doesn’t give male protagonists enough attention, yet once the discourse dies down that argument will immediately subside again and people will once again start talking about how much they’re crushing on the female protagonists and their alts (most of which are explicitly children and I’m never going to stop being pissed about how normalized this shit is within this fanbase). Like, gee, I wonder why the female protagonists are getting alts so much? And who does care about the male alts we do have right now? Furbert’s a non-entity right now, Red’s only talked about in relation to his Classic version, and the hype around SS Ethan started to die down. Hell, who cares about the male characters in general outside of the aforementioned ‘Justice for X’ campaigns? Who’s going to pull for these male protagonist alts if they finally come out?

DeNa is a corporation. DeNa is a corporation that wants money. They make their alts based on what sells (especially taking Japan into consideration). Cynthia sells, so they give her 3 alts. Lillie sells, so they give her 4 alts. N sells, so they give him 3 alts. Leon sells (at least in Japan), so they give him 3 alts. They do care about their fanbase a lot more than most companies do, but they’re still making this game to make money. And I’m not going to shame anyone who spends money on this game (God knows anyone who follows my main blog saw the biggest dumbfuck decision I made recently), but the point still stands. The characters who make money or will make money are going to get the most attention. 

This sounded a lot more pretentious than I intended it to be, I just needed to barf this out. I’m just so goddamn tired of this discourse surrounding a Pokemon gacha game of all things that most people only use as a timekiller. 

#pokemon #pokemon masters #pokemas #pokemon masters ex #rant #fandom #pokemon fandom #fandom discourse

[dorothea-jpg]

Bleeding Heart by jewellerytuna653

Characters Used/Mentioned:

Ghorza Nargol (Orc)

Koba Harkess (TV Head)

Nestrys Aja (Naga)

Advik Musa (Tiger Centaur)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been at least six months since Nestrys and Ghorza began dating. If he was being honest, Koba was shocked, especially after seeing how the two started out. He thought his brother would push the muscular girl out of a five-story building before he willingly dated her. He was happy though. He was delighted that his brother was finally putting himself out there and allowing himself to be content for once but... he was also devastated because that meant he lost the bet he had going on with his boyfriend of one year.

He almost felt bad for wanting poor Ghorza to be pushed out of a window.

Ghorza and Nestrys's dynamic was laughable, to be honest. It was like watching a dog cling onto a porcupine along with heart bubbles surrounding them. They were a healthy couple though, surprisingly there were barely any arguments and they both got along with the others families and friends (Which Nestrys didn't have a lot of).

While Ghorza did get along with Nestry's family, Koba was a bit distant when they first met. It definitely wasn't out of malice or anything, he was just terrible around new people, especially people who looked as intimidating as Ghorza. It was completely fine after Koba got to know Ghorza though, she looked like she could crush someone's head with her pinky but she was really just a big teddy bear.

Koba and Ghorza started hanging out and even found a lot of common interests.

But alas, not everything was perfect...

Koba made an offended beeping noise as Ghorza asked the most ridiculous question he had ever heard.

"What's a fanfiction?"

Koba genuinely had to question their entire friendship. 

'What do you mean!? What kind of question is that!?' Koba frantically signed with his hands. Ghorza just shrugged "What?" Koba shook his head and positioned his hands so that he could reply 'You've never heard of fanfiction before? Not even crackfics?' Ghorza shook her head in response.

The betrayal Koba felt was suffocating.

'Well, this just won't do! Come here, I'll show you' Ghorza innocently hopped off of Nestrys's bed and walked over to Koba's side of the bedroom, leaning over his lanky frame to stare at his computer screen. Ghorza watched as Koba clicked on this one website that looked way too complicated to use, it hurt Ghorza's brain to look at it. 

'I'm going to show you one of my favourite fanfics, It's called bleeding heart and it's written by jewllerytuna653. It's a childhood friends to lovers type thing but I will warn you now it is really angsty, I'm talking unrequited love and major character death which isn't that bad to some people but I'm soft so it really hurt to read' 

Ghorza nodded along with everything that Koba signed. She had no clue what he was saying but she nodded along nonetheless.

Koba suggested that before they read it, they build a pillow fort on Koba's bed and hoard some snacks from the kitchen, maybe even grab some tissues. Ghorza thought that this was a bit excessive but she wasn't going to argue with snacks and a pillow fort.

...

It was around 12:42 before Nestrys came back to the house after hanging out with Advik. He expected everyone except Koba to be asleep by that time.

He climbed up the carpeted stairs and entered his room.

Once he opened the door, he immediately sensed the strange atmosphere. The room was pitch black except for a small light coming from Koba's bed. To say that Nestrys was weirded out was an understatement but he wasn't surprised, this was a common occurrence. When he pulled back the fluffy blanket entrance, he expected to see Koba obsessively reading some crap fanfic but what he didn't expect was both his brother and his girlfriend surrounded by blankets and pillows, clinging onto each other while sobbing.

"What the hell" He deadpanned.

Ghorza's head snapped towards him and she immediately sported a pitifully relieved expression. Nestrys raised his eyebrows at the condition that the taller girl was in, her face was a darker shade of green and wet from the excessive crying, she had snot dripping from her nose and all while clutching onto a tissue.

"Baby, I'm so glad you're back!" Ghorza sobbed and detangled herself from Koba so that she could get to her boyfriend. She embraced him in a tight hug and lifted him off of the floor before he could say anything. 

"O-Oi, you're squeezing too much, you fool" Ghorza didn't let go and continued to cry but she loosened her grip, just slightly. Nestrys stared at her with furrowed eyebrows before hesitantly hugging her back protectively. He snapped his head up to glare at Koba, looking for an explanation from him.

Koba didn't sign anything this time, he just showed an emoji on his facial screen of a bleeding heart.

Nestrys rolled his eyes and proceeded to comfort his girlfriend.

#original content #original story #original fiction #original character #backstory #short stories #short story #short fiction

[palestinianliberator]

I’m not in the best state of mind to really get into this, but I can’t stand this whole discussion surrounding the term “zio”.

When I was a kid living in Palestine, my friends and I thought we were so clever for coming up with and using the phrase in 1999 & 2005. It wasn’t something we heard from others, it wasn’t a phrase that we’d read about anywhere.......it’s just taking the goddamn word “zionist” and chopping it in half, as kids tend to do when coming up with nicknames/new words. 

And of course, we weren’t clever...because it’s something so many others have done over the years.

Do I deny that David Duke has also used the word and allowed it to proliferate within his own racist/anti-semitic circles as well? Not at all. Do I deny that it is used by racists? Not at all.

Do I believe that everyone who uses the term must be racist or have any idea that it’s used by racists? Not at all.

The Zionist crowd has turned it into a “gotcha!” argument, that if someone happens to use the term Zio...they must be raging anti-semites who learned it from David Duke!!!

Personally, I don’t like the word. I think it sounds childish and very much like some ~entry-level activist~ term. And, frankly, those are the people I see using it most - kids and well-intentioned activists who have a long way to go when it comes to political development and maturity. 

It’s a word that has been used independent of David Duke and his disgusting cronies, a word that HE at some point picked up and began using himself. That his association/usage of the word has managed to taint its usage so thoroughly that people completely oblivious to it all are being called out as anti-semites/white supremacists is absolutely, thoroughly ridiculous and laughable.

It’s really indicative of the inability of the Zionist crowd to find something else to harp over than using the word “zionist” cut in half.

#I give this post like.........6 notes because I get an angry reblog or angry anon #I don't use the word and think it's incredibly lame #but this entire argument surrounding it is one of the most ridiculous things I have ever seen #Palestine #Israel

[hopelesshawks]

Misreflections Part 43- Happy

18+ Hawks x fem!reader

Summary: You cannot stand Keigo Takami. You hate his stupid friends, you hate the stupid fan girls that follow him around campus, and you hate his stupid golden eyes that keep watching you during the class you two share. You hate him. You’ve also never actually had a full conversation with him. What’s that thing they say about assumptions again?

Link to change (y/n) to your actual name (not mobile compatible)

Masterlist Kofi

“C’mon, c’mon this way!”

Your feet pound against the linoleum floor of the building as you take a sharp turn down another empty hallway of one of the academic buildings. Keigo’s hand is warm in yours as he drags you along, both your lungs working to get enough oxygen to maintain your current sprint. Your footsteps echo down the hall but you can still hear the crowd of your pursuers, one of them yelling about how they’re pretty sure they saw you dart down the hallway you’re currently sprinting down.

“In here!” Keigo says before promptly pulling you into a tight space and slamming the door shut.

It takes a moment to adjust but eventually you realize he’s pulled you into a supply closet, leaving almost no space for both of you to stand. You’re basically chest to chest, one of his hands still laced with yours as he listens intently for what’s going on outside the door. You can’t help but giggle a bit at the absurdity of the situation.

“Stop that,” Keigo hisses, covering your mouth with his free hand but you can tell he’s holding back laughter himself.

“That’s so weird I could’ve sworn I saw them come this way?” a girl’s voice whines from outside the door.

“They can’t be far, let’s stop here and brainstorm where to check next. Maybe we missed something,” another girl chimes in.

Keigo rolls his eyes and you find yourself chuckling again behind his hand.

“You’re gonna get us caught,” Keigo whispers although he finally removes his hand from over your mouth.

“Ok but you have to admit this is so ridiculous it’s funny,” you whisper back, trying to contain your giggles so the baby birds outside don’t hear you.

“Not entirely wrong. Welcome to my world Dove,” he huffs although his voice is still amused.

“You have to do this a lot before?” you ask, voice softening.

“Nah, for the most part I used to suck it up and just let them surround me. Running usually just made me more anxious,” he shrugs, although when he notices your brow furrowing he immediately leans forward to press a kiss to the wrinkles there to soothe them.

“No frowning on me, you don’t have to worry about me Dove,” he soothes but you shake your head.

“If you want to just sit there and take it I don’t mind. A few invasive questions are worth keeping your anxiety in check,” you offer but Keigo shakes his head, albeit with the fondest expression.

“Tried that route already, remember? Had some pretty smart people explain to me why it doesn’t work very well.”

“I’m sorry there’s no good answer to them other than hoping they get a life.”

“Don’t be. I’ve got you now. Not even being trapped in a supply closet by my rabid fans can get me down.”

“I think you mean our rabid fans.”

“Right, of course, our rabid fans. Point is, as long as I’m with you I’m good.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“I love you, Bitch.”

“I love you too, Dove.”

The baby birds are persistent and you and Keigo end up camped out in the supply closet for a while but you actually don’t mind it. With Keigo applying for jobs and both your schedules being busy as the semester goes into full swing, you haven’t had much time just the two of you together. At first it had scared the shit out of you. It was a little too close to what had happened with Yukio and you found yourself shying away from arguments to try and avoid the mistakes of the past. Keigo noticed though and after calling you on it the two of you had managed to work out solid boundaries for both of you during fights so you could have them in a healthy way. You trust Keigo in a way you never really could Yukio and so even though alone time has been scarce, you’re still more than happy to take what you can get.

Keigo’s phone starts to vibrate in his pocket, both of you looking towards the source of the noise and then back up at each other.

“Well aren’t you gonna turn that off?” you ask with a raised brow, voice still hushed.

“I can’t reach it without banging my arm on the shelf. You grab it,” he insists.

You roll your eyes but oblige, brows furrowing in confusion when you don’t recognize the number.

“It’s an unknown number. Should I just hang up?”

“Wait no! Answer it that could be A.L.I. getting back to me.”

“What? You answer it! It’s your phone!”

“But if I speak up to talk to them the Baby Birds will recognize my voice!”

“Oh what, they won’t recognize mine?”

“Not your phone voice.”

“I don’t have a phone voice!”

“You totally have a phone voice.”

“Kei I swear to god–”

“Will you just answer the phone before they hang up!”

“Fine.”

You quickly answer the phone and bring it to your ear.

“Hello.”

“Oh sorry we must have the wrong number. This is A.L.I. technologies looking for Takami Keigo?” the woman over the phone says.

“No, no this is the correct number! I’m answering on his behalf,” you quickly explain, shooting Keigo a slightly panicked look asking for help on what to say.

“Oh, is everything alright?”

“Yes! Yes, Keigo is just uh…”

Somehow you didn’t think ‘hiding from fans in a supply closet’ was an appropriate response to give to a potential employer but Keigo just shrugged when you looked to him for a good lie. You roll your eyes before coming up with something quickly.

“He’s in lecture right now but is… just so excited about the prospect of working with you that he, uh, left his phone with me in case you called while he was busy,” you lie.

Keigo gives you a thumbs up and a grin but you just roll your eyes again. The things you do for him really are ridiculous sometimes.

“Oh well then should I call back another time?” the woman on the other line asks.

“No it’s alright! He said I can take a message and pass it on to him.”

“In that case, let him know that we’re very pleased to offer him a full time position on our staff. He’ll have a couple weeks to consider our offer before we need an answer. Alright?”

“Yes! Perfect! I’ll let him know!” you reply eagerly before getting off the phone with the woman.

“I got the job?” Keigo asks hopefully.

“You got the job!” you confirm.

You momentarily forget about your predicament as you tug Keigo towards you before moving your arms to loop around his shoulders. His hands find your waist, closing the rest of the distance between you both as he presses his lips to yours in an ecstatic kiss.

The moment is interrupted by the sound of the supply closet door opening, causing you and Keigo to quickly turn that direction. You expect to find a crowd of yelling girls but instead it’s just a very confused looking Shouto staring at you both.

“What the fuck are you two doing in a supply closet?” he asks.

“Uhh, hiding from baby birds?” Keigo explains sheepishly, although the way he says it makes it sound like it’s an excuse instead of the truth.

“There was no one out here,” Shouto says.

“What? No, there was a whole crowd of them!” you insist.

“Sure.”

“There were!”

“How’d you find us?” Keigo asks curiously.

“I heard (y/n)’s phone voice.”

“I do not have a phone voice!”

“You do,” Keigo and Shouto reply in tandem, eliciting an indignant noise out of you that goes ignored.

“You guys still coming to Izuku’s tonight?” Shouto asks, already moving on from the previous conversation.

“Yep! I’m still trying to convince Uraraka to get a tattoo,” Keigo grins.

“Please don’t. She’s terrified of needles,” you groan.

“Well then maybe you should get one instead.”

“I told you even if I did, I have no idea what I would get.”

“Rumi gave you tons of ideas!”

“Rumi said I should get a baby bird tattoo.”

“Yea for the irony.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Don’t you love me?”

“Of course I do!”

“Then you should get an ironic baby bird tattoo.”

“I would rather personally apologize to Arisu and offer her your hand in marriage than get an ‘ironic’ baby bird tattoo.”

“Oh? And what makes you think you have the authority to offer my hand in marriage?”

“Obviously how embarrassingly in love with you I am qualifies me.”

You grin, leaning forward to briefly kiss Keigo again.

“I’ll tell Rumi to come up with more ideas before we hang with her next weekend,” he chuckles.

“Perfect,” you reply.

“Ohh maybe Touya can tattoo you right then!”

“That sounds like a horrible idea.”

“Which is exactly why you should do it. Right Shouto?”

You both turn to look at your friend only to find yourselves alone in the hallway again. Shortly afterwards your phone buzzes with a text. You quickly swipe open the message only to snort when you see its contents.

“What is it?”

“Shouto says we’re gross so he left.”

“He’s not wrong,” Keigo grins, pulling you in close again, “you know we could close this supply closet door again and celebrate my new job offer.”

“Or,” you chuckle, “we could go back to your place and celebrate together there instead of in a supply closet like degenerates.”

“Fiiiine I guess I can be a gentleman. After you, my lady.”

You can’t help but laugh as Keigo makes a show of escorting you out of the supply closet and down the hallway towards the exit. The warm, settled feeling currently resting in your chest has become familiar now and when Keigo leans down to kiss you again as you both walk out of the academic building, it feels like home. It had been a long, hard semester and break for you, Keigo even moreso, but in its wake the two of you had emerged stronger, stupidly in love, and happy.

So incredibly happy.

You can’t ask for anything more.

A/N: Holy shit this series is done. I still can't believe it. I've really enjoyed writing this, it was my first series that was in a completely different universe from canon and I was so nervous about characterization and stuff while writing it so to be on this side of things is crazy. While this is the end of Keigo and reader's story, I will eventually be writing a different series in this same universe for Touya so I hope y'all stick around long enough to see it. Thank you so much for all the likes, reblogs, tags, comments, and asks. They've meant so much to me. Your love and support truly means the world. (Also quick fun fact before I go: A.L.I. technologies is actually a real aerospace company in Japan.)

Taglist: @moschinski @002opdestiny @quiet-coffee-fighter @nxthernlightsjpg @heroacadema @soft-nitro @marshmallow12435 @simpsfortodoroki @keigobby @nothingtoseehereeee @chims-kookies @supercalafagadocious116 @darlingely @pressedsoul @thewonderbeers @kaleidoscopekai @hitoshislut @sassyglassesbunny @casavafeared @andrastesmoth @fictionalsownme @plaggi @hallothankmas @youdoyou-andiwilldome @mirayasimpinghard

#hopelessmr #hawks x fem!reader #hawks x y/n #hawks x reader #keigo takami x fem!reader #keigo takami x y/n #keigo takami x reader

[machampsfirmbutt]

Is Drayden from the 8th gym of Pokémon Black and White Immortal?

Hey gang, I'm starting out strong here because I can't stop thinking about this, but before we start a few disclaimers:

1. Possible spoilers for Black and White, Black and White 2, X and Y and Legends Arceus

2. I recognise this is entirely implausible and almost guaranteed to not be canon, but hear me out.

With that in mind, I think Drayden may be immortal. Let's start with the fact that, from the sources I've found online, this man should be 50+.

I. Don't. Buy it.

Look at the guy, I'd say he looks to be in his forties at most. There is so little to indicate that this is an older man, but he states that he is, and we accept this on the grounds of one thing:

His white hair. We have come to associate white hair with old age, especially in the style of Pokémon, where no important NPC looks *that* old.

But I hear you; "yeah he's hot, what makes him immortal?"

When Drayden was a child, Pokeballs didn't exist.

It's a fact, he says it himself. States it outright. Now, disregarding the fact that this was probably just a single line of dialogue that later got retconned, we are presented with a few options:

1. Drayden is lying. This seems very implausible, as he is not the type to try to impress people by lying. He doesn't need to, he wrestles dragons.

2. Drayden grew up in Unova, and Unova didn't get Pokeballs when they were first invented. This is a shakey argument, as frankly it makes little sense that Unova would miss out on pokeballs for at least a hundred years after their creation. Frankly it's absurd. Plus, Drayden says that they didn't *exist*, not that he didn't have them. Surely if it were simply the case that Unova didn't have pokeballs at the time, Drayden would know that other regions *did* have pokeballs. The introduction of pokeballs is surely pretty common historic knowledge.

3. Drayden is over a hundred years old at *least.* I'm not entirely sure how far back PLA is, but the most common answer I've seen is 150+ years ago. No matter what, it definitely takes place over a century ago.

So is that it? Is that all I have to say on the matter? Fuck no, how dare you underestimate my ridiculousness.

I'd like to point you back towards the white hair:

(visual aid because I know you're probably bored of reading, very sorry for that)

As I've stated, we see Drayden as old because of his white hair. Whilst at the same time, he has very little wrinkles, or really any other indications of old age.

Who could we possibly compare this to? Who shares the features of:

- Having white hair, and

- Looking younger than they are

Readers, I present you:

King AZ.

In X and Y, we are introduced to AZ. Later, we find out that he is over 3000 years old; am immortal king, wondering the earth for his (equally immortal) Floette, who abandoned him after he used the Ultimate Weapon to revive it, killing many Pokémon in the process as well as turning the two of them immortal.

Both Unova and Kalos have pasts based on medieval-inspired kingdoms, with royalty, castles and the like.

Now, don't get me wrong, I am not saying that Drayden was exposed to the ultimate weapon in the same way as AZ. Nor am I making any claims along the lines of Unova being the region that was at war with Kalos, FRANKLY I don't know the lore and theories surrounding that issue well enough to make that claim.

But my point is that King AZ is also a relatively young-looking (though visibly exhausted) man with stark white hair. This is what immortality *looks* like in the Pokémon universe. And immortality *looks* very similar to Drayden.

This is really my main argument, at the end of the day I don't have a damn clue HOW Drayden would have turned immortal, but I would like to present some extra information before I move on:

1. In Japanese, Drayden has the title of Spartan Mayor. Whilst this is likely just a reference to him being a formidable, intimidating opponent, it is worth noting that the vagueness of Unova's Kingdom past does not make some form of Spartan-like military force an impossibility.

2. Drayden doesn't have any named family outside of Iris, his adopted daughter and apprentice (as far as I'm aware!) There are some NPC's upstairs in his house in Opelucid city, but it seems weird that Iris would be specifically stated as his adopted daughter, but these three would be given no official relation to him. As well as this, these three NPC's share the appearance of some generic NPC's found throughout the game, which would be an odd choice for any important family members. My theory in this regard is that Drayden does not have any biological family left. He outlived them. The people in his home are close friends, or a few of his many apprentices. He had no intentions of starting a family after his died, but took in Iris because he couldn't bare to let her be as lonely as he had been.

(disclaimer: you can think whatever you want about the NPC's in Drayden's house, admittedly them not being family is odd, but if they were it wouldn't harm the theory. Realistically, there's only one bed in the home, but since when has that mattered in Pokémon?)

Finally, we've reached the end! I recognise that this is anticlimactic, but frankly this theory doesn't really cover the possible thousands of years that Drayden has been alive. However, I would like to go over the main issue I could find with this theory (aside from it being batshit insane.)

Drayden doesn't seem to have any more information on the Legendary Dragons than others. This can be seen as a problem, because surely if he lived through the events of the royal feud and the splitting of the original dragon, he would have more knowledge on the subject matter than his limited, seemingly strictly historical knowledge. Whilst he does know more than the average person, this can be explained by him being a dragon trainer, and his knowledge does seem to be limited to what one could learn through books.

There are a few fixes for this issue:

1. How old was Drayden at the time? If he became immortal at the time, and was the age his body currently is, he would surely have more knowledge on the legendary dragons. However: he could well have become immortal long after these events had finished, meaning that he was a child at the time. How could a child absorb so much important details regarding the Big Scary Elemental Monsters that the royal family was fighting over?

2. Drayden was a commoner. Whilst we don't have much knowledge on Pokefuedalism, it would make enough sense that the legendary dragons' true nature was a well-kept secret from those outside of the royal family. Hell, at the time Drayden might not have cared enough to pay attention even if it wasn't. What business does he have with the princes?

3. Drayden is suffering from memory loss. I can already hear the Submas fandom frothing at the mouth for this one. Simply put: I *have* been assuming that Drayden is immortal, however his situation could be more lost-in-time related. Perhaps he is in a similar situation to Ingo in Legends Arceus. If not, and his immortality is more average and non-time-travel related, maybe having multiple millennia of memories under his belt has just taken a toll on the man. Do you remember the last time you jumped? Why would Drayden choose to remember something that he didn't think would be an issue again, such as the legendary dragons, as opposed to his past loved ones?

And that's it.

Thanks for reading this disjointed rambling, I had to get it out somewhere. As I said, I really don't see this being canon, but at the same time it's one of those things that I don't think has a definitive argument against it. I would like to address what I said with my final point: I don't like Drayden time travelling as much as him being immortal. I just don't, I think we should let Ingo have that one. But if you like how that sounds more, then you do you.

Seeya.

#pokemon #scarlet and violet #pokemon sv #pokémon #pokemon black and white #pokemon black and white 2 #pokemon bw #pokemon bw2 #pokemon xy #x and y #pokemon legends arceus #warden ingo #gym leader drayden #pokemon iris #emmet #king az #floette #zekrom #reshiram #kyurem #submas

[t-o-m-hollands]

Summary: Some months after the breakup you show up at Tom’s doorstep.  

Word count: 3k.

Warnings: A very messy relationship. Mentions of alcohol and drugs. Bit angsty but turns out alright. SMUT. Unprotected sex. +18

Inspiration: blink twice – joy oladokun  

We’ve been coming undone We broke the last thread Learning to pick my battles Or I’ll be the only one left

I only know you’re home when the door speaks  

Blink twice if you still love me

I’ll never know unless you tell me  

Did you ever really love me?

*

“‘ello?”

He doesn’t look at the caller ID as he answers. With his voice hoarse and eyes closed he presses the phone to his ear. Laying back against the soft pillows again he’s already one foot back in a dream where everything turns out alright at the end.  

“Tom”

His entire body freezes. Swiftly opening his eyes he’s at once fully aware of his surroundings (the large bed, the gentle but persistent sound of rain against the windows; the complete darkness outside revealing the lateness of the call) and perhaps even more painstakingly aware of his own body (the sudden tightness in his chest, skin unnervingly warm and prickly; heart beating like it’s trying to escape his chest).  

“Tommy, are you there?”

Your voice is so soft in his ear, gentle even, albeit slurred at the edges. It is as if you’re somehow unaware of the effect you have on him, the pain you cause. 

“What do you want?” He asks, and where your voice is like warm smoke his is hardened ice.  

Silence for several heartbeats then,

“Can you open the door, honey".

He wonders if you use the old familiar endearment deliberately to hurt him, or if the old pet name falls off your lips by old habit. 

“It’s raining Tommy, I don’t have a coat. Please open up”.

*

And so,

you’re on the floor in the man you love’s apartment. He hands you a glass of water, even though you asked for vodka, and he instructs you to drink up. He won’t look at you and you swallow down the water but the guilt stays stuck in your throat. You wonder what he feels for you in this precise moment, what it is that makes him turn away from you; as if looking at you hurts. If it is hate or love. 

Or maybe just lust.

You’re on the floor in your ex boyfriend’s apartment, and even you know you shouldn’t be here.  

He sits down in his armchair, leans back with his legs spread, and avoids your eyes; choosing instead to look at the ground in front of him. You know, because despite all that has happened between you two, you know him. You know that he’s trying to look relaxed, to hide his anxieties with an actor's expertise.

It’s raining, the sound of the raindrops crashing against the window loud like the beating of a drum, yet it’s somehow managing to make the silence between you two feel even more deafening. The only light between you two is a small side lamp by the TV, leaving most of the room in darkness.  

“So” you say in the end, and in contrast to him you divert your eyes, but look straight at him instead with uncompromising focus. “How have you been, honey?”

He sighs, and still looking down at the floor he drags a hand over his shaved head. “Fucking fantastic” he mutters.

"Wonderful” you say, and you don’t mean for it to sound sarcastic, honestly you don’t. Don’t want this to turn into another argument. You’re just not as good as feigning  nonchalance as he is.

“I was at Park Chinois last week” you begin, looking at him while he’s looking at his clasped hands. “Funny how that place never seems to change, like it’s stuck in time. Remember when we went there for Haz’s 21st? Remember the bathroom?”

His hands twitch, but it’s the only sign he gives that he’s even heard you.

“Remember how I went down on my knees for you? That was fun, wasn’t it? And then later that night when you fucked me into the mattress and you told me that you’d wanted to-”

“Why are you here?” he interrupts you, voice hard as steel. For the first time that night he looks directly at you, his warm brown eyes meets yours in a glare. He looks hurt.  

“It’s my birthday”  

Silence falls between you. Outside it keeps raining.  

“No, it's not,” he says in the end. “Your birthday was two weeks ago”

“How sweet of you to remember” you say with a sweet smile. "But the celebrations were tonight”.

He scoffs “and how did that go?”

“Well, I’m here aren’t I?”

“Yes” he says, sounding aggravated now. “Here you are. And why exactly is that, darling?”

You don’t answer, truth is - you don’t know.  

“How come” he continues, contained anger clear in his voice “how come you show up here, at 3 in the morning on the night of your birthday party, Champagne drunk and wearing,” but words seem to fail him here and so he just waves his hand at you, gesturing towards your barely-there sequin dress. “That”. He swallows, before looking away again.

It takes you a while to answer, but in the end you do.

“I feel like I’m drifting” you confess, and you sound small and frail, even to your own ears.Pathetic even. “I feel like everyone else is settling down and getting married or engaged or having babies and I’m just-” you hesitate off for a second. Tom’s looking at you intently now, eyes intense and fixed on your face. “And I’m just drifting, you know? From one thing to another; one place to another, without it adding any value to my life. And all the while my friends are so revoltingly happy with their spouses and their babies and I’m just doing coke in the bathroom at family gatherings and trying to drink until I forget why I’m sad and kissing strangers in nightclubs wishing they were you”

“I thought this was what you wanted” he says in a low voice, eyes not leaving your face now.

You had been the one to end the relationship seven months ago. It had, at the time, seemed like the best way out. The only way out. He’d spent months on end away filming and when you were together all you seemed to do was argue. 

And the awful thing was that sometimes you started arguing with him on purpose. That way it hurt less when he left you again for yet another project.

In the end it had felt intolerable, being without him, being with him. All the rumours about him dating co-stars kept swirling in your head each night and you kept doing stupid things like getting high with people you didn’t know in nightclubs – just to get his attention. 

You had found yourself in bed with him one morning, the day before he took off for several months of shooting, and you had thought to yourself that no, somethings gotta give. One of you had to be brave enough to break things off. You knew it wouldn’t be him, Tom has too much loyalty and tenderness in him to leave where he knows he was needed. And you, well you have too much pride and strength to stay when you know you are a burden or a duty. 

So you had swallowed your pain and you had told him that there wasn’t any need for him to come back to you when filming was done. .  

Yet here you are, on his floor, in a ridiculously revealing dress. Yet again trying to catch his attention.

“Maybe I shouldn’t always get what I want” you say in the end, voice hard and sweet like caramelised sugar.  

“No, maybe you shouldn’t” and his voice is just as hard, but a lot less sweet. “And I thought you liked drifting? It’s what you do, isn’t? Drift in and out of people’s lives. Leave, and then show up at their doorstep when you feel like it; when you want to feel loved or admired, or wanted or whatever the fuck it is that you want out of this”.

“And what do you want, Tommy?”  

He doesn’t answer, but averts his eyes from yours again.  

You stand up then, and walk over to him. In the dim light the sequins of your dress throw reflections all over the room. You place yourself in front of his armchair, in between his spread legs. Slowly you begin to remove the thin straps of the dress off your shoulders. Then you drop the flimsy material to the ground, leaving you completely naked - part from a minimal pair of thongs.  

A sharp intake of breath.

You move closer still until you straddle him, and then you’re on his lap, and he’s trying to look anywhere but at your nearly naked body. But he doesn’t try to push you off. You lean backward, and as if on instinct his big, warm hands move to your hips to hold you in place. You smile, because you had known that he wouldn’t have been able to help himself.

“Tommy, honey”  

He closes his eyes, and you wonder if he’s in pain.  

“Honey, look at me”.

A sigh deep from within escapes him and then, reluctantly, he opens his eyes again and he fully takes you in. You can feel the effect it has on him underneath your crotch. 

You smile, unkindly. “You never did know how to say no to me, did you?”

His fingers tighten around your hips, digging into your flesh and you move against his growing bulge. You move your face closer to his, lips mere centimetres apart.

“Are you hurting, honey?” you say in a quiet, sweet voice. Outside there’s lightning, and then thunder roars.  

He’s full on moving you backwards and forwards over his crotch now, making you dry hump him. Your flimsy thong creates hardly any barrier at all, and so his thin, dark sweats seem to be the only thing really separating you.  

“You are, aren’t you? You’re hurting. I hurt you”  

You don’t know why you’re trying to edge him on, trying to rile him up. Except that this controlled version of him that barely even looks at you feel so out of reach from you, so far removed, and you just want him – closer, The only way you know how to achieve that is by pushing all of his buttons.  

“Yeah” he admits, eventually, “yeah, you really fucking hurt me”.

You kiss his jaw, and you sense how hard his muscles are underneath you, how tense his jaw is - how tightly he’s holding himself together. In a low voice you ask, “want me to kiss it better?”

“Stop playing games with me” he says in a low voice, but he keeps grinding you over his erection

You circle your hips slightly and a low hiss escapes him. “I’m not” you say, lips just brushing against his. “I just offered to kiss it better”.

“Maybe you should kiss one of those strangers instead”.

“What’s the point? I always want them to be you. Besides” and you move against him harder, wondering if he can tell how wet you are. “You must have had your fair share of kisses as well since I-”.

But you don’t get to finish. One of his hands moves up to your face and cupping it he strokes your lips with his thumb as if to silence you in the gentlest way he knows.

“No” he says, and his voice is gentler now too. “There’s been no one else”.

You’re struck silent for a moment, freezing in your movements over his hips. It strikes you then, how you’ve been trying to push his buttons, but he’s the one that’s crept under your skin.

His face is so close to your own, but you don’t kiss him.

See, it all comes down to this. The first to kiss the other is the first to give in. And the first to give in is the loser in this game.  

“Do you still love me, Tommy” you say in the end; voice low and sickly sweet, your crotch moving against his again, his hand still cupping your face. “Blink twice if you do”.

Seemingly instinctively he does and it throws you both off-guard. Your breath catches in your throat and he stills underneath you. Suddenly you hear the rain crashing against the windows again, feel his heartbeat beating rapidly under your palm, the heat from his hand on your hips, the shape of him underneath you. Then -  

“Oh, fuck it”

And you’re mid-air, and he’s carrying you to the bedroom.  

*

Three months ago, when he got back from filming, he’d bought a new bed. The phantom smell of you still lingered in the old one, no matter how many times he washed the sheets with bleach. He could only take it for a week before he dragged Harry along to the store to buy a new one. Harry had convinced him to go for the biggest, most expensive one available. This, it turned out, had been a mistake. The bed was simply too large, too ostentatious, for one person. He’d find himself reaching for you in the middle of the night on more than one occasion, thinking that you’d just drifted away from him in the sea of tangled sheets but alas - he was alone.  

Now, as he lays down your beautiful nearly naked body on the white sheets, your hair spreading out around you and eyes dark with lust, he finds himself thinking that if whatever this is between you doesn’t work out, he’s going to have to get another bed again. Hell, he’s going to need a new apartment and a new city to live in to rid himself of reminders of you.

A new goddamn heart.  

He removes his sweats and t-shirts and any lingering reminder that this is a terrible idea and leaves it all on the floor before he joins you in bed. Seeing you like this, naked in his bed again, as if all that heartbreak had never happened, fills him with equal parts lust and love. There’s anger in there too. 

With a hand on either side of your face he traps you in place and lowers himself until you’re skin against skin, his erection pressing against your lower stomach. His body is warmer than yours.  

“Cold?” he asks in a low voice.

You nod, seemingly unable to tear your eyes from his lips. So he kisses you. It is slow but heated; teasing and tender in equal measures. Both your hands are feeling each other up, rediscovering familiar territories with eager touches. And god, your skin feels so soft, he can’t stop touching you. He kisses his way down your jaw, leaves your lips swollen and wet from spit. His hand makes it down toward your core and he slips a finger inside you,  hears your soft gasp in his ear. He can feel just how wet you are already. Tearing himself away from you he sits up and helps you remove your underwear. Tossing them aside he bends down, and with a wicked smile on his lips he kisses your clit, sucking on it gently.

“Fucking tease” you moan, and you’d pull his hair if it wasn’t so short at the moment. He smiles up at you before making his way up to meet you, to kiss your lips again. Kisses that leave you both breathless. His hand makes it down your cunt again.

“Fuck you’re wet darling” he says, voice rough, “guess grinding on my dick will do that to a girl”.

You want to tell him to fuck off, but two of his fingers are moving in and out of you now, curling just right, and you don’t want him to stop. He always knew how to touch you just right. Always knew how to handle you.

So, you literally bite your tongue to keep the words back. Instead you kiss him just below his ear, a soft spot that always made him lose focus. True enough he halters and a moan escapes him. “Fucking devious, you are” his says, voice even lower now, his pupils wide blown, his entire body affected by lust.

He removes his fingers from your cunt and kisses your lips when you protest. “Wanna be a good girl and actually listen for once?” he says as he lines himself up to you and then, he pushes himself inside you.  

The pleasure of it, of being inside you again, so intense it nearly hurts. You’re so warm and tight and he lets out a guttural and dragged out ‘fuuuck’. You try to buck up against him, but he’s forcing you to keep your hips still by holding them down, making sure you adjust yourself to him before he starts really fucking you. Intent on not hurting you, even if you’re intent on the opposite. 

“Easy, easy” he hushes in your ear as you moan in complaint, trying to wiggle up against him, wanting him to just take you already, fuck you as hard as he can against the mattress.  

And maybe it’s love, or maybe it’s spite, or perhaps a fair share of both, but he moves your legs until they are wrapped around him, and then he starts moving, as slowly and as gently as he possibly can. Deep and slow. Kissing that soft spot behind your ear that has you bucking up your hips to meet his. He knows you want it rough, so he gives it to you tenderly.  

“Know you only say those things to get a reaction out of me” he mumbles against your jaw, kissing you wherever he can. “Know why you do it”

And just as you’re about to answer he bucks his hips forward, hitting that spot deep inside you and even though you meant to answer something clever, quite possibly rude, all that comes out is a strangled moan.

“See,” he continues, and even though his breaths are laboured his words come out even, albeit with a lot of emotion behind them. “It was never enough that I told you I love you. Anyone can say that, doesn’t mean anything, does it? Words come cheap”. Your hands are on his back, nails digging into and down his skin, egging him on to fuck you harder. He takes your hands and presses them down against the mattress instead. Grinding himself against your sweet spot over and over and over again, and you throw your head back, moaning continuously, unashamed.

“But anger” he moans, finding it more difficult to keep his voice even now as you clench around him. “You know anger is a real emotion and you trust it more than love. No one fakes anger. If I’m angry with you or worried about you because you do stupid shit you know you shouldn’t do then that means something. That means I care”  

He moves your hands over your head, and uses one of his to hold you down. He takes your legs wrapped around his hips he presses them wider apart, thus giving him access to fuck you even deeper.

“That’s why you always did stupid shit to piss me off, isn’t it?” and he starts fucking you harder now “and fucking worse, worrying me. You wanted to see if I would care”.

“Fuck Tom” you whimper, face pressed against the arm that’s holding onto your hands, back bent into an arch as pleasure shots through your spine.  

“Fucking love you, yeah?” he confesses in your ear, speeding up the pace of his hips. “Need you to trust me when I say that, can’t keep fighting with you just to convince you of that”. His words come out strained and hoarse. He knows that if he slows the pace down now, he could drag this out, but the sounds that leave your mouth are somewhere between moans and sobs and he can feel your need to come. Knows that this is almost too intense for you and you need release.

He takes his hand from your hip and takes it to your core. You’re so wet and slippery and he wants nothing more than to taste you but that will have to wait. He just hopes you’ll stay the night. That you won’t just leave once you've gotten what you came for. Finding your clit he rubs it in just the pace he knows will send you over the edge.  

“Honey” it’s a half-strangled endearment that falls from your lips just as you’re about to come, you clench around him and fuck if it doesn’t send him over the edge too.  

*

You’re lying beside him in bed, both your chests still heaving. You lean your head against his and the familiar scent of him, the comfort of just being near him. It all feels so achingly intimate.  

“Please still be here in the morning” he begs, though his voice is thick with sleep. You turn around so that he can spoon you and he drapes an arm around you, holding you in place. It hits you, as you listened to his slowing breaths, that it has stopped raining outside.

“I will” you tell him, and he sighs contentedly before drifting off to sleep, holding you in a firm grip.

#tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader

[yamalegacy]

prompt eleven with mirko 😳

i've already done 11 with midnight but idc, i love buff bunny too much not to do it! and well, considering how it aligns with the godly possessive!rumi hcs, it's way too tempting anyway! so here goes!

prompt: #11 from this list  “I bet you think you’re real cute letting them put their hands all over you. We’ll see how cute you look later when I get you home.”

pairing: mirko (usagiyama rumi) x gn!reader

cw: SMUT. afab reader. rumi is a possessive bunny. brat!reader. dom/sub dynamic. hair pulling, spanking, dirty talking, slight degradation & praise kink (yes, both at the same time, don’t underestimate rumi), fingering, strapon, slight anal fingering. oh boy this really is the filthiest thing i’ve written in a loooong time.

word count: about 3,7k words WOPS I GOT CARRIED AWAY

⚠️ MDNI reminder for minors to not interact with this post ⚠️

   Your phone buzzes exactly seven minutes after you started a conversation with Keigo— he insists you call him Keigo, because Hawks is too professional and Takami is too formal, his own words. Seven whole minutes (yes, you’ve been keeping an eye on the time during the whole conversation). It’s over six minutes later than you’d expected, really. It buzzes again almost immediately, and you make a point to ignore your phone for a bit as you glance at Rumi, on the other side of the bar, over the rim of your glass.

When she arcs an eyebrow at you, visibly losing her patience, you give all your attention to Keigo again and offer him a smile before pulling your phone out of the back pocket of your jeans to check the messages you’ve no doubt received from the Rabbit Hero.

fluffy butt 🐇🤍

i bet you think you’re real cute letting him put his hands all over you we’ll see how cute you look later when i get you home

It’s almost disappointing how predictable she is with these things. Almost. Rumi is way too hot when she gets jealous for it to actually be disappointing. You want to remind her that she is the one who invited you to that bar and who left you alone to get drinks, that she is the one who got distracted by a conversation with Ryukyu, but you decide to leave her on read and see what happens.

From where you stand, you can see Rumi’s internal struggle not to just abruptly cut Ryukyu in the middle of what she is saying so that she can get right between you and Keigo. It’s quite the amusing sight, from her flattened ears to her thumping foot, her attitude reeks of frustration. You can’t help but wonder what will tick her off so much that she will intervene — Keigo has only touched you shoulder and given your arm a light squeeze and Rumi is already seething, so it seems likely just about anything would set her off.

“I can hear her thump from here,” Keigo comments, a lazy smile adorning his lips. “I’m surprised she hasn’t tried to murder me yet.”

You chuckle at his words.

“I think she’s trying to see whether or not looks can kill.”

He leans closer to you (and you know it’s much too closer to Rumi’s standards because you can smell the minty alcohol on his breath), “I sure hope looks can kill. It’d be a lot less painful than her foot up my— well, wherever she fancies shoving it, I guess.”

You don’t even have time to give him a reaction that you can hear heavy footsteps approaching, so you lean away from Keigo just enough to properly look at your girlfriend as she marches over to you. It’s only now that she is right here that you notice she’s opened her leather jacket, revealing one of her favorite crop tops — black, sinfully tight and exposing just the right amount of cleavage and abs to make your mouth water. 

God, her skin always looks so tempting, you want to reach out, to put a hand on her waist, under her jacket, but she grabs you by the wrist before you can even try to move a muscle. Her eyes are fixed on you, and, to your surprise, she doesn’t even acknowledge Keigo.

“We’re leaving,” she says, her tone stern.

“Rumi... it’d be rude to leave so early,” you tell her, smiling at her with all the innocence you can muster (enough to fool anyone who doesn’t know you well), “and you are the one who wanted us to come here in the first pl—”

“We’re leaving. I remembered I have something to do.”

You want to push, to tease, to see how far she’ll go, so even if her tone leaves no room for argument, you open your mouth again.

“But you—”

“Now.”

She tugs are your arm and you follow as she takes a first few steps away from Keigo, only to turn around and face him.

“I hope you choke on your fucking feathers, birdy.”

“Always nice to talk to you, Usagiyama,” he simply smirks and gives her a small wave of his hand, “and I hope something,” he glances at you, “will enjoy getting done.”

Rumi doesn't give you any time to say goodbye to him, or to any of her hero friends, and she drags you out of the bar, heading straight for her car. She doesn't even let you register how forceful she is being that you've already been shoved in the passenger seat.

The ride home is short (too short; Rumi drives way too fast for a Pro Hero who is supposed to set an example for those around her) and awfully quiet. She didn't even look at you, didn't glance your way at least once like she usually does. Rumi's ears are still flattened in annoyance when she opens the door of her house to push you inside.

She kicks off her sneakers and takes off her leather jacket to leave it on the back of chair, then heads to the couch, sitting down nonchalantly, arms crossed under her chest in a way that pushes up her tits. All you can do is stare, unable to form a coherent thought as you settle down next to her.

“You had fun flirting with Big Bird, baby?” she asks, and the question would be innocent enough if you didn't know your girlfriend better.

You move so that you're facing Rumi on the couch, your knee bumping into a strong thigh — and maybe, for a moment, you get briefly distracted by the thought of these rippling muscles on either side of your head.

“Come on, Rumi, you know there was no actual flirting. We were just having fun.”

She leans closer to you, invading your personal space, face so close to yours that all you can see in the harsh coldness in her eyes. You barely have time to blink that one of her hands is at the back of your head, her grip on your hair surprisingly gentle.

“Oh, because you think I don’t know what little game you were playing with him there?” she is nearly snarling at you, and this time, her grip on your hair tightens, deliciously painful, and she tugs. “Why do you think I waited so long to grab you, uh?”

So, she knew? The whole time you spent talking with Keigo, flirting with him and allowing him to flirt to get a reaction from her, she knew? And it still didn't stop her from getting jealous and acting possessive in the middle of a bar, surrounded by numerous other Pro Heroes.

Her grip on your hair tightens once more and she brings you closer to her body.

"I just wanted to see how far you'd take your little game," she explains, words nearly spat through her gritted teeth. "But I couldn't take it anymore. You're mine, understood?" she asks, but the way she pulls at your hair clearly tells you that she expects no reply.

"I thought we agreed that I was my own person?" you smirk, even as she yet again tugs at your hair. "We said we don't own each other even if we're dating, didn't we?"

It is true, it's something you've talked about pretty early in your relationship together, after Rumi admitted that she could get jealous easily, but hated that she got jealous. It led to conversation about acting possessive during sex and marking, and you know that's what Rumi is going on about right now, and not some sort of ownership that she'd have over you because she is your girlfriend. But you can't help it, can't help wanting to push all her buttons and see what kind of punishment it earns you.

"You're playing smartass with me now, uh?"

She tugs at your hair again, forcing your head back slightly, but you hold eye contact, refusing to let her get the submission that she wants from you just now. You've already earned yourself a punishment, might as well make the most of it, right?

"I would never."

You smile innocently and bat your eyelashes at her, even if the pain tickling your scalp is starting to blur your sight.

She lets go of your hair without saying anything, and for just a second, you think she might be too annoyed with your act and drop the issue entirely to move on and do whatever she feels like doing for the rest of the night. But she wraps her strong fingers around your wrist and pulls, her free hand pressing harshly between your shoulder blades to push you down onto her lap, face into the couch cushion and ass up, perched over her thighs.

Well, shit.

The first spank comes unexpectedly fast and hard, you have no time to brace yourself for the impact, and your jeans do little to absorb the shock and the pain spreading through your cheek.

“Shit!” you groan through gritted teeth, trying your best not to get too loud, which is most likely exactly what Rumi wants right now.

“Got something to say, baby?” Rumi asks, and you can hear the smirk in her voice.

“Nope. All good,” you mumble.

A second slap comes, matching the first one in speed and strength, leaving your ass numb from the pain. If there’s one thing you can never expect from your girlfriend, it’s for her to go easy on you.

“All good, you said?”

“Yup,” you whimper pathetically, your voice having none of the bite you wish for. Two spanks, and Rumi already has you trembling over her lap, it’s ridiculous, but you should have seen it coming, really.

She spanks you again, twice, and takes the time to brush the palm of her hand over your sore cheeks, the gesture almost soothing. She repeats the movements again, and again, before stopping to give your ass a squeeze. With each spank, you pant, forcing yourself to swallow the moans that threaten to fall past your lips.

“You’re taking your punishment really well today, baby. Trying to be good for me?” she teases, her hand now comfortably lodged between your thighs, too close to your aching core and yet not nearly close enough.

“Or maybe you’re not hitting as hard as you think you are.”

You aren't sure why you said that, aren't sure what you're doing right now, all you know is that it's dangerous because you're just provoking Rumi — it's always a recipe for disaster in the end.

She doesn't spank you though, but she snakes a hand between her lap and your stomach, pressing her fingers into your skin and pushing up until you put your weight on your knees and lift yourself up enough for her to get access to the button of your pants. Rumi hooks her fingers at the hem of your jeans and tugs, dragging them down your thighs along with your underwear.

She doesn't give you time to adapt to the cool air against your exposed bottom, doesn't let you collect your thoughts or even take a breath, before she is spanking you again. She marks no pause between each strike, just spanks and spanks and spanks. Lost in the rapid fire of her assault on your sensitive ass, you can't stop yourself from moaning — and that's when she pauses.

“Did my baby just moan?”

You stubbornly refuse to respond, clenching your jaw. You know a spank is coming, but you still aren’t ready for the pain.

“It’s okay to admit that you’re just a slut, desperate for me to touch you,” she coos, her calloused fingers gently brushing the raw skin of your ass. “Even if I’m just spanking you, you want me to touch you, don’t you? Because you’re a needy little whore for me, uh?”

Her words cause a shiver to run down your spine, straight to your core, but you press your thighs together and bit your tongue. You’re well aware what she wants you to do, what she wants you to say, but you don’t want to give it to her today. You’ve decided to play, and you won’t back down just because she’s spanking your ass raw. At your stubborn silence, she all but growls in your ear, her annoyance obvious as she slaps your burning cheek once more.

“How long do you think you can resist, baby?” she asks as her fingers trace little patterns on your back, your shirt riding up as her hand slowly moves higher. “How long til you act like the good little slut you are for me?”

You muffle your whine in the cushion, which is starting to feel uncomfortably wet from your tears and drool under your cheek. You hate it, but you can’t give in now. Rumi would be too pleased.

“Just say you’re mine, baby, say you’re my perfect good little slut,” she says, her fingers trailing down your back to settle between your thighs, an inch from where you need her most, “just say it and I promise I’ll fuck your pretty cunt so good you won’t be able to walk.”

She runs a finger along your drenched fold, and you hear her hum in delight. You hate how wet she’s making you; you can’t deny that this is all for her, that it’s the effect she has one you. Met with only silence once again, Rumi harshly pinches your clit between her thumb and index finger.

“Aaah! Rumi—” you gasp, whole body quivering.

“Say it. Say you’re my slut. Beg me to fuck you.”

“Please,” you whimper weakly.

“Uh? What did you say? Didn’t hear you, baby. Stop hiding in the couch and gimme a proper sentence.”

You nearly sob as she tightens her grip on your clit before releasing it.

“I’m your slut! All yours!” you feel your whole face burning at your own word, at the desperation in your voice. “I need you to fuck me! Please... Mirko... please fuck me.”

She chuckles, all too amused to your liking.

“See? Ain’t so hard to be good, is it?”

Before you can register what’s happening, Rumi has hoisted you in her arms and thrown you over her shoulder and is making her way to your bedroom. Your pants still down the middle of your thighs and ass bared, it’s the most embarrassing ever but you can’t even find words to express it; you can feel your arousal dripping down your thighs, sticky and embarrassing.

She tosses onto the bed as soon as she is close enough to it.

“Be good and strip for me, baby. Take everything off.”

You hurry to obey, pushing your pants further down and kicking them off your feet before you start working on taking off your shirt. Rumi’s disappeared into the bathroom, so you sit patiently to wait for her, back leaning against the headboard.

When she comes back, Rumi is dressed, and you take the time to admire her beauty. The size of her strong arms obvious through the thin material of her long-sleeved crop top, the delicious expanse of tan skin of her stomach, her tight abs, the curve of her hips— you notice it only now, the thick bulge hidden under her jeans. You look up at her face, surprise written all over your features, and the smile she gives you is playful, she even wiggles her eyebrows at you.

Rumi unbuttons and unzips her pants, freeing the thickness of her strapon from them before climbing on the bed. She sits, legs spread, and beckons you closer with the simple movement of a finger.

“Suck it,” she demands, “get my cock nice and ready to fuck your cunt.”

You crawl over to her and wrap a hand around the hard silicone as soon as it’s within reach, your lips closing around its head. You circle it with your tongue, lick it, and look up at Rumi’s face, the dildo snug in your mouth. She can’t feel it, but she always enjoys when you put on a show for her.

Long gone is your little rebellious act from earlier. All you want is for Rumi to take you here and now, to have her fuck you until you pass out.

As you take more of the silicone cock into your mouth, she puts a hand on your head, and soon enough, you can feel her tight grip in your hair. You’re almost halfway when she tugs and pulls you away from her cock.

“Ass up. Face down. Now.”

You do as she orders, resisting the temptation to look up when you feel the bed dip next to you. You hear her open the drawer of the nightstand, then the sound of the lube bottle being opened. From the loud clang that follows, you know she’s thrown the bottle back in the drawer rather than bother putting it down.

Her fingers are cold when they press against your entrance, slick with thick lube that she spreads over your folds, over your clit, before pushing two fingers inside you. You grip at the sheets, low moan leaving your lips.

“Look at you, being all good for me now,” she comments, her tone teasing. “Taking my fingers so well.” This time, her voice comes from much closer, and you feel her chest pressing against your back. She kisses your neck and shoulders as she starts moving her fingers, slow and deliberate. “You want my cock, baby?”

You whimper at a particularly harsh thrust of her fingers and tighten your grip on the sheet to try and keep yourself anchored, balanced.

“Yes, please! I want your cock in me!”

She pulls out her fingers, and your cunt clenches around the emptiness. You can’t help but moan miserably. She coos above you, amused by your desperation, of course.

She pushes the thick head of the strapon against your hole, but instead of pushing further into you, she guides it up and down your folds, several time, painfully slow, spreading the slickness of your arousal mixed with the lube. You whine and push your hips back, seeking what she is refusing you. A big mistake, and you know it even before both her hands hit your ass, still raw from the spanking she gave you.

“Don’t try that again, baby,” she warns, squeezing the flesh of your in her hands as she presses the dildo against your entrance again. “You gonna be good for me now?”

“I promise I’ll be good! So, please, please fuck me!”

She pushes into you slowly, just the head, then pulls out and repeats the movement, carefully stretching you. She eases more of the strapon inside you with each move, and while you are grateful for how careful she is being, you wish she would just fuck you into the mattress already.

Finally, you feel her hips against your ass, and she pauses for a moment as her hands rest on your waist.

“You ready, baby?”

“I am.”

The pace she sets is fast, the movements of her hips quick, precise and harsh, almost unforgiving. The material of her pants feels rough against the sensitive skin of your ass, and you suspect Rumi of having kept her pants on merely to torture you that way.

Within seconds, Rumi has you panting and moaning.

“So good for me, taking my cock so well.”

She slows her quick pace to focus on deeper, more forceful thrusts. You can’t even form a coherent sentence, or even words, to respond. And when one of her hands leaves your waist, you clench your teeth and brace yourself for an impact that doesn’t come. Instead of spanking you, she is gentle as she places her hand on your ass. She doesn’t leave you time to consider asking her what she is doing that her thumb is pushing against your hole, and she keeps it set firmly in your ass as she quickens the pace again, fucking into your cunt ruthlessly, her hips slapping your ass with each thrust.

“Fuck! Mirko! Please!”

You’re babbling, unsure if the sounds that come out of your mouth are even the ones in your mind, but you can’t bring yourself to care when all you can feel is your girlfriend fucking you like your lives depends on it. And with each thrust bringing you closer to the edge, you moan, you mewl, you pant, you aren’t sure which, the lewd, wet noises of your pussy overwhelming your senses.

“Look at you, baby,” she croons, “being such a good slut for me, making such pretty noises just for me. So pretty and perfect. And all mine.”

“I’m so close! Please! I wanna come!”

She stills her hips, “then do,” she simply says, punctuating the short sentence with a strong thrust before resuming her quick pace.

It only takes a few more thrusts of her cock and her thumb pushing a little further into your ass for your muscles to clench desperately around her strap as waves of pleasure crash through your body, your limbs quivering from the unadulterated bliss clouding your mind. 

She is gentle as she pulls out, kisses your back as she eases you down onto the mattress and lies down next to you.

You turn your head to look at her, and she is grinning at you as you lay limply on the bed. She caresses your cheek, soft and loving, and shifts closer to kiss you on the nose.

“You did so good, babe,” she whispers, her smile only broadening, “I’m so proud of you.”

Feeling the exhaustion invade your body, you close your eye and focus on enjoying her gentle touch as she runs her fingers along your back and shoulders.

“Let’s get you in the shower in a few minutes, yeah? I’ll have to take care of your ass. I really got carried, sorry ‘bout that.”

You chuckle sleepily at her apology.

“Don’t be sorry, you know I liked it.”

“I do know. I mean, you fucking dripped on my pants, there’s still a spot on my thigh.”

You groan in embarrassment, and you would cover your face with your hands if your muscles weren’t still twitching from your orgasm.

“Just carry my lifeless body to the bathroom.”

“Gimme a break, I’m tired too. I fucking wrecked my hands spanking you so hard, ya know?”

“You really want to compare the state of your hands to my ass?” you mutter, frowning, eyes barely opening.

It’s her turn to chuckle.

“Yeah, okay, no. Just, lemme take a breathe and I’ll take care of my baby.”

#mirko x reader #mha x reader #mha x you #mha smut #bnha x reader #bnha x you #bnha smut #🐇 usagiyama rumi ( mirko ) #⚠️ mdni ⚠️ #🍌 drabbles & oneshots #i need to cleanse my soul and wash off my sins #at least i didn't write mommy!mirko #which is nothing short of a miracle tbh

[n0bamak1s]

drive you crazy - mai zenin x reader

request: “could you do mai’s reaction to silent treatment? can the read be gender neutral also?” - @hitchsimp

summary: after having to carry mai to the infirmary following the goodwill exchange event, reader finds themself in an argument over mais carelessness. this leads to mai wondering just why she’s so upset over being ignored like this. (genre: enemies to lovers, angst-ish to fluff, oblivious pining)

warnings: mentions of violence, some angst, swearing

word count: 2.2k

a/n: sorry i’ve been kind of slow with writing lately everyone! exams have me pretty busy atm but hopefully i’ll be in less of a slump after i’m done with that. i hope you guys enjoy this in the mean time! also criticism is greatly appreciated bc i’m still kind of a beginner on writing arguments and stuff like that ^_^

mai decided that she hated being ignored.

not that you two were anywhere near best friends or anything, in fact most of the time you guys were at each others throats over something trivial. at least when you guys argued, though, you still acknowledged her presence. she knew you couldn’t stay silent towards her forever, you guys would have to work together eventually, you were teammates of sorts after all.

you had started giving her the cold shoulder not long after the goodwill event. utahime had called you to inform you mai was out of the game, and you had to go retrieve her. you groaned at the idea of having to be her knight in shining armor, but reluctantly began to make your way to the forest that the group had split up in.

by the time you found her lying on the grass, unconscious, you were already irritated as you cursed whoever made these uniforms so stiff to run in. you crouched down to get closer to her level, lightly shaking her shoulder in hopes you would stir her awake. when that didn’t work, you rolled your eyes and picked her up, one hand supporting her upper back and the other tucked under her knees.

at first glance to anyone else who may have seen how you carried her, it would almost seem romantic. thought, their opinions would probably change pretty quickly if they saw how you lectured her when she woke up.

she stirred awake and blinked a couple times to adjust to her surroundings before turning to see your very tired and very annoyed face.

“you could’ve just stuck to the plan, you know.” despite the anger clear in your face as you stated at your lap, your voice had a quality of softness to it mai had never heard. before she could get any words out, you interrupted her train of thought and continued talking. “we made that plan for a reason. you knew you weren’t ready to take on maki, so why would you put yourself in danger like that?” you looked up to make eye contact with her, and she noted the subtle hint of gentleness in your eyes, but not before she jumped to defensiveness.

“what the hell makes you think you know why i wanted to fight maki?” she resented your concern in favor of starting an argument with you.

“have you ever considered that maybe you need to think about how your little revenge fantasy ruins our chances of winning this thing.” the warmth in your voice was now gone, replaced with a tone far from sympathetic. “we’ve all worked hard to get a chance to make it somewhere as jujutsu sorcerer, so it would be nice if you at least tried to care.”

for a moment, mai found it hard to come up with some kind of response. of course she knew how hard you worked to get here, not that she’d admit it. so why did she suddenly feel a twang of sympathy at how betrayed your words sounded?

before she could even think of how to counter what you said, you got up from the seat you had been in and strolled out, not even giving her the satisfaction of some kind of goodbye.

you guys weren’t even friends. she thought you were too irritable and you thought she was too full of herself. she shouldn’t care this much about whether or not she had hurt you. this feeling would probably wash over by morning, and you guys would go back to your usual bickering.

it only took one glance at you the next morning to see that, no, the feeling had not washed over.

for one thing, you had completely ignored her when utahime announced you would choose partners for sparring. normally, you would nod to mai wordlessly and stalk off in her direction so you two would spar together. it was the one thing you guys were good at doing together, maybe just because it was a way for you to get your anger out on each other from all the snide comments and annoyed glares you guys exchanges on the daily.

today, however, you turned to noritoshi and asked him if he would be your partner. when mai glanced in your direction, she couldn’t help but notice the soft smile that graced your face when you asked him, nothing like the stoic one you usually had when you guys partnered up.

why should she care about that? you and noritoshi were a couple of hard asses anyway, so why did it bother her so much if you chose to spar him instead?

she was currently paired with miwa, who seemed to quickly catch on to the quick looks she sent in your direction in between the punches thrown.

“did you get in a fight with them or something?” mai didn’t need to hear your name to know who miwa was asking about.

“something like that.” she caught her breath after dodging a kick at her legs. “apparently i’m too ‘careless’” miwa noted how her punches came with more force when talking about it.

“they probably just want you to stop putting yourself in danger, you know?” as much as miwa loved you guys, it was kind of ridiculous how much obvious stuff she had to say just to egg you guys on to make you realize how in denial you were about your care for each other.

“then they could just tell me that. maybe they should follow their own advice about caring.” she huffed annoyedly, eyes wandering back over to you sparring with noritoshi, seeing how you smiled so kindly at him as you helped him up. her eyes lingered on you for just a moment too long, studying the way all the tension in your face seemed to release, with your eyes growing shinier and the corners of your mouth quirking up without a care in the world.

why didn’t you ever smile at her like that?

your ignoring of her continued for the next few days. mai felt herself grow annoyed, because she had no idea how to get under your skin. she didn’t want to admit that she was bored without the pointless arguments, or baseless insults that you guys shared. now, when she joined you with the rest of your classmates for lunch, it was like she was invisible. instead of criticizing her aim during target practice, you would turn to momo and ask her about the new show she was watching, and it was like mai didn’t even cross your mind.

you couldn’t keep this up forever, surely. even when you weren’t trading insults with each other, it was obvious to anyone else how you would bite back calling out her name in concern when she took a particularly hard hit in training. regardless, you were still far too stubborn to admit how you missed talking to her, even if it was just to lecture her about paying more attention to her surroundings while she rolled her eyes about how you had stopped by the infirmary so late just to say that.

why were you so insistent on preaching to her whenever she went and got herself hurt?

it became rather monotonous for your classmates, watching the both of you glance at the other one with soft eyes when you thought no one else was looking. it was exhausting seeing how you guys grew tense at the mention of the other’s name, trying to pass off your embarrassment for anger.

it had been a few days more of dealing with your stubbornness before you finally managed a break from one another with mai and todo going out for a mission together. you knew them to be somewhat of a chaotic duo together, so you hoped this would work to your advantage in giving you a day of rest from all this pointless drama. you knew it was childish, sulking over problems you had caused entirely on your own, but with the time apart, you couldn’t help but become just a little bit self pitying. it was only natural when you had messed up your chances with the girl you liked because you were too scared to admit your feelings to yourself.

wait, what?

you probably would have sat and soaked up your startling revelation (well, startling to you at least) before you were abruptly interrupted by a knock on the door of your dorm room, followed immediately by a call of your name by miwa. she said something about needing help patching up mai, and you hated yourself for how quickly you sprung up from the spot you had been lounging on your bed. ignoring the strangely knowing look miwa gave you, you picked up your pace to the infirmary, feeling much more limber in your lounge clothes. it was hard not to notice the contrast between the last time you spoke in the infirmary when you swung open the door without even a knock, your eyes flooded with concern.

before mai even had a chance to process your disheveled state from running all the way to the infirmary, you spoke to her for the first time in a week.

“i’m sorry.” your voice was breathless as you leaned against the doorframe.

instead of pointing out the obvious fact that you had suddenly decided to speak to her again, she just adjusted herself so she sat up in the stiff infirmary bed, choosing to point out another obvious fact. “you know it wasn’t your fault i got hurt.” her words made you feel like a dunce, but her tone was earnest, genuine.

“but maybe if i hadn’t been ignoring you i could’ve been there to help you out.” made your way towards her so you sat at the edge of the bed, grabbing a small roll of bandages and leaning down slightly to observe where any injuries remained. “i should’ve been there to help you out.”

she raised an eyebrow. “i don’t need you to protect me.”

“i know that,” until then, you had your eyes trained on the papery sheets adorning the bed, but when you met her eyes, she could see the heartfelt look in your eyes “, but i want you to be able to rely on me.”

you broke eye contact momentarily, reaching for her slightly bloodied hand to wrap, resting it loosely in yours. your fingers settled around her palm so gently as you wrapped the bandages, she noted. it became difficult for you to stay focused with how her eyes watched you so intently.

was she smiling?

“quit beating yourself up over stuff like that.” her voice was hardly above a whisper as she leaned forward, using her good hand to brush away some stray hairs that had fallen in your face. “whenever you’re not there to protect me, you’re always the first one to ask what happened, the first one to come running with bandages, the first one to tell me to take care of myself.”

then she gave you that knowing look. the same one miwa had given you when you rushed to the infirmary, the one noritoshi had given you when you glanced her way during sparring, hell now that you thought of it, the same one todo had given you when he and mai had been paired up for a mission. the once small and nearly undetectable smile gracing her features grew into what was the closest thing you had ever seen to a grin from her. had her face been this close to yours the whole time?

“because i just drive you crazy, don’t i?” her eyes were half lidded as they stared deeply into yours. you couldn’t even be brought to deny her teasing, just nodding meekly at her announcement.

she leaned in close to you, if she just tilted her head, you guys could’ve been kissing.

“that’s good you know.” her voice was so quiet that you were sure had you been any further away, you’d never have heard it. “since i’d be lying if i said i didn’t miss you and that stick up your ass when you were avoiding me.”

you chuckled quietly, tilting your head down so it rested on her shoulder as you did, causing her to let out a soft laugh herself.

“you kind of scare the shit out of me sometimes mai.” you lift your head back up to look her straight in the eye. “but i think i’d lose it if i spent any longer pretending to hate you.”

it’s just for a split second, but in that split second you felt as if you two are the only people in the world. you barely even had to move before your lips brushed up against hers. it’s almost timid, the way you kiss her, as if she’s made of glass. despite your delicacy with her, she’s quick to lean in, as if she’s chasing the feeling of your lips on hers. her bandaged hand that still rests in yours squeezes your hand tightly in reassurance. when she pulls away breathlessly, her cheeks are flushed pink and her face is painted with a smile that you can’t help but swell with pride from knowing you’re the reason it happened.

that same knowing look is back on your classmates’ faces later that same day as they note you and mai exchanging wide smiles they had never seen from either of you as you made your way through the halls of school.

#zenin mai x reader #mai zenin x reader #mai zenin #zenin mai #mai zenin x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk headcanons #jjk imagines #mai zenin imagine

[aprilsrant]

Start Over | Oliver Wood x Slytherin!Fem!Reader.

SUMMARY: (Y/N) has anger issues and a bad reputation that follows. Oliver seems to be the only one who hasn’t been on the receiving end of her outbursts and there might be a hidden reason for it.

WORD COUNT: 2,3k.

WARNINGS: Marcus Flint being an idiot and a missoginy brat, it’s kind of angsty towards the end. Maybe a curse word or two. There is a fight and a duel too. (If I miss any, let me know!)

REQUEST: can’t find it, but yes, this was requested.

A/N: This took me so long and I’m so sorry, but for some reason I couldn’t get this finished. Hope you enjoy it! Like, reblog or leave comment if you like, feedback is always appreciated!!

Also, I made the reader have a holly wand because details are important sometimes.

English is not my first language, there could be mistakes!

Gif is not mine!!

MASTERLIST.

For whatever stupid, possibly misogynist, reason, Marcus Flint never allowed girls to tryout for the Slytherin Quidditch Team, not even when he, and everyone else present, knew of their talent and how much it would benefit them. Now more than ever, with that Harry Potter kid catching every single Snitch flying round him, Flint’s team needed new members. And members that actually knew how to play and not those who would pay their way in. 

Once again, (Y/N) was waiting in the stands for the Slytherin Captain and the whole group attempting to grab themselves a spot. Arriving before them gave her an “advantage” and that was not being completely disregarded the minute Flint saw her in the midst of the line up following him like some kind of lost puppys. 

With nothing else to do than just stand round the edge of the Quidditch Pitch, (Y/N) looked up and watched as a few Gryffindors threw the Quaffle towards one of the three hoops. She didn’t even know why people kept trying out to be a Chaser in Wood’s team when the current three were the best they had. And they were all women. Who would have thought that girls could play that well, right? 

(Y/N) didn’t know why she continued to insist when she was aware that Flint would never let her be on the team. Maybe because it was her last year, or because she had a tiny spark of hope inside of her that something, pretty much a miracle, would happen and the boy’d change his mind, finally acknowledging that (Y/N) was better than the two Slytherin beaters together. 

“What are you doing here, (Y/L/N)?,” the voice of the Slytherin Captain brought her back from the train of thoughts. Glancing towards the Pitch, she realised that it was empty, the only Gryffindor there was Oliver Wood, seating in the opposite set of stands with a notebook and a pencil in his hand. Upon seeing Flint and the trail of Slytherins behind him, he rolled his eyes and quickly left his spot, steps faltering after hearing Marcus’s irritated tone. “I told you, multiple times may I remind you, that I don’t want girls in my team, and especially not those who want to be beaters.”

This was something she saw coming, of course, and she’d tried to assume it for the last couple of days every time the image of being rejected, again, would pop into her head, replaying the times were she had actually been rejected as if her own mind was trying to torture her.

She had also seen the other part coming, and she had tried to stop it. But in her defense, when Professor Snape interrogated her an hour later, Marcus Flint kind of deserved it. 

“Why not, Flint? I’ve been trying to get in the team ever since you became Captain and decided I wasn’t good enough after our fourth year,” (Y/N) had said, voice raising after more words left her mouth. With her broomstick in hand, she stepped down the stands and marched towards him. 

“You said it yourself, (Y/N), you weren’t, and still aren’t, good enough,” Marcus responded while shrugging his shoulders arrogantly and walking past her. 

“I was good enough, you prick, I was better than just good enough and you fucking know it.” All of the group that had gathered to try out turned their heads in her direction when she started to scream, whispers and shared glances expectant of the outcome of the argument. Pushing a third year in front of her out of her way, she kept walking, stopping only after she was face to face with Marcus. “And how can you be so sure I’m not adequate? You haven’t even let me fly around the Pitch for the last two years.”

Ignoring her, Flint commanded the two boys carrying the box full of equipment to leave it on the floor and start to warm up. 

“Can you… Can you, please, let me try this one time?,” (Y/N) whispered, burying her pride and dignity in the same coffin after the word please escaped from her mouth. 

“Now you’re begging, you are pathetic, (Y/L/N), and they say you’re supposed to be dangerous” the boy exclaimed, clearly enjoying seeing her so desperate. He walked towards her, his taller figure towering over the girl. “Let me tell you something. Both of us were on the team, right now one is the Captain and the other one… Well, I’m pretty sure you know your exact position in this whole thing. And that’s why you are not in my place, because you are not good enough.”

Her teeth, jaw and fists clenched at the same time, the rest of her body shaking slightly, lighting up on fire with every sentence Marcus sneered at her. 

From a young age she had people question her, her interests and her decisions, even her place in the House of ambition, many believing the girl to be “too soft” at first. That had changed after the start of her second year. If they wanted her to be violent, rash and reckless, that’s what they got. Now, every time her name was mentioned around Hogwarts, whispers and rumours would be shortly behind. Most of the things people said about her were incorrect, not even close to the truth, but she accepted them anyways. She took each one of the rumours and turned them into her truth.

For some (Y/N) (Y/L/N) was on the right path to become a Dark Witch, a pureblood longing to take on Lord Voldemort’s place and rule over the Wizarding World, torturing muggleborns and blood traitors. To others, she was the Devil’s offspring in the flesh, waiting for the right moment to raise the forces of hell upon Hogwarts. And they were the ones speaking of her mental state while coming up with ridiculous theories. Nonetheless, she had to admit it was a new kind of entertainment seeing the first years getting warned about her, bombarding them with false information and stupid allegations. But the laughs she would have from it on her own company didn’t erase the loneliness and the solemn feeling of having no one. 

Like the symbol of her house, (Y/N) was a creature of instinct. And like what people murmured about her, (Y/N) was also a creature of violence.

As only one can imagine, no one was shocked from the response Marcus Flint got. Not in words, or insults, which were regular, but in the form of a fist connecting with his cheek (although she had intended to hit the nose). 

One would think anger makes people a better fighter, all that pent up rage coming from nowhere and lashing out against your opponent it’s more damaging to you than the person you are fighting. Now, this was not (Y/N)’s first fist fight but that didn’t mean she knew what she was doing. Every time she had punched someone it had happened in the midst of uncontrollable wrath growing, attaching itself to the girl’s body, controlling her limbs, numbing her mind.

For a moment she closes her eyes, one thought in her mind, vanishing as quickly as it appeared, — I did it. Again —. When (Y/N) opens them, she notices the change of scenario, or positions. She is no longer standing on her feet, she is several metres away from her housemate, the back of her body on the receiving end of the harsh floor; the loud beating of her heart thundering in her ears, almost giving her a headache, swallowing the spell Flint had used on her. 

After rising from the grass, (Y/N) marches towards him, holly wand in her hand shooting hexes, barely missing its target. She’s about to whisper the Stunning Spell when someone from behind grabs her wrist, holding her back from trying to curse Marcus, whose responses are getting slower and scarcely protecting him. An arm sneaks around (Y/N)’s figure, distancing her from the Slytherin Quidditch Captain. 

Her elbow moves almost instinctively and hits the person behind her in the stomach, the arm around her waist retreating fast enough for (Y/N) to cast a protection charm and petrify Marcus Flint. 

Turning around, she sees none other than Oliver Wood, bending over his stomach with a hand clenching his right knee and gasping for air.

“What the bloody hell was that, Wood?”

“I was trying to help you!,” he manages to say while looking up at her.

“Help me? You were trying to stop me, you twat.”

“Exactly!,” Oliver shouts, making her move backwards, “Do you want to get yourself expelled, (Y/L/N)? Because if that’s what you want, you are doing an excellent job.”

She should have hexed him right there, no one else was on the Quidditch Pitch with them, except the handful of Slytherins and those weren’t the snitching types, but she didn't, surprising herself and everyone else watching them.

||| 

Later that night, after finishing the horrendous detention Snape had put her in —reorganizing his entire cabinet claimed by suspicious ingredients and potions with terrible smells, making the small space smell like rotten eggs and the Gryffindor Quidditch robes after a rough match—, looking at the moon and the landscape surrounding Hogwarts from the Astronomy Tower, she thought about the reasons to why she hadn’t raised her wand, or fist, to face Oliver. 

He wasn’t special. Yes, he was a great wizard, with problems in Potions and History of Magic, still quite good at Defensive spells but not that good to beat her if she was fully focused, he would be easy to defeat especially after Quidditch tryouts. So, why? Why did she just walk away?

“I knew I could find you here.”

(Y/N) turned around, quickly taking hold of her holly wand and raising it towards the tower’s entrance. The thundering in her chest calming, her breathing going back to its normal pace when she realised it wasn’t Sirius Black, the murderer that had escaped Azkaban and was said to have roamed through the castle. 

“What are you doing here, Oliver?”, she addressed him once the moonlight illuminated his tall figure.

“I wanted to apologise,” the boy admitted, his voice faltered just like his approach, as if he was trying to make peace with a beast; as if he was telling a snake that his feet would not come close to its head, “for what I said earlier. It wasn’t fair because I know how you…”

“How I what? How I tend to react when I’m angry?,” (Y/N) interrupted, the hand holding her wand still facing Oliver, “don’t try to act like you know me.”

“But I used to,” he murmured.

Neither of them said anything, both of their minds desperately trying to find the right words, one to plead for forgiveness once again and the other to accept it if the plea ever escaped his mouth.

The distant sound of creatures soaring through the night sky and the flip of their wings was all they heard for minutes, minutes that had felt like hours; she would dare to say days if the sky wasn’t still dark, filled with bright stars circling a full moon. 

“Why don’t we get to know each other all over again? We can start over, please.”

There it was.

And then it came.

“That’s such a great idea, Oliver!,” (Y/N) answered with a big smile on her face, the quick change of demeanour unsettling Oliver. They hadn’t talked in years but he was still amazed at how much he remembered of her, and how this didn’t mean any good. “We can get to know each other like all those years ago and then, you can abandon me like all those years ago”. The grin on her lips transforming into a scowl right after she pronounced the last part of her sentence.

“Why are you even here, Wood? You felt guilty and now you’re trying to make it go away? Or is it charity?,” the Slytherin kept ranting,” or better yet, someone challenged you to do this? I’m putting all my money on the Weasley Twins. 

“N-No, no, it’s nothing like that,” Oliver explained while moving his hands and walking the final steps leading him to (Y/N),“ I just- I never- I, I never wanted this, I never expected it but everyone was talking about you and-and they were saying horrible things and…”

“And you believed them,” (Y/N) stated, turning around to stop facing him and his hurt expression,” I don’t blame you for doing it. It’s quite funny if you think about it.”

“What’s quite funny?,” his gaze still on her when he asked.

“Most of the things you and the rest of the school heard were invented by me, so people would just stop bothering me,” she pretended to confess only to the stars, for if she didn’t, she would never admit it to him,” you can say I planned my entire doom. And it’s quite funny because, in the end, you still believed me.”

“You could have told me, (Y/N). Why didn’t you?”

“You believed the rumours, I’m sure not the craziest ones though, but that tells me that you thought I was capable of actually doing all the terrible things I said about myself.”

“I’m sorry, I am, (Y/N), truly.”

“Sorry doesn’t mend it,” she murmured, now forcing herself to look him in the eyes and act as if the pain never happened; as if she hadn’t missed his company and his random, permanently out of place Quidditch facts.

“I know, but it’s everything I have right now and I hope you can forgive me one day.”

“I have already forgiven you, Oliver, but I was too proud to reach you.”

“Typical you, (Y/N). I should have expected it.”

A small smile formed in her lips and for a moment she forgot their broken friendship, the reputation that had become her shadow and the future awaiting after Hogwarts. It was only them, (Y/N) and Oliver, with the moon glowing down on their faces and the feeling of being eleven year olds settling over their minds.

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