#Ill figure it out eventually I have some ideas

[sideprince]

I do know of one instance where Alan Rickman discussed his Snape costume, at a Times Talks event for the New York Times in 2012:

He says, "I was very involved in the costume and the look. ... I was very specific about it, I said the sleeves should be really tight, and there should be a lot of buttons. Because that helps me, the idea that he has to do [demonstrates doing up a lot of buttons] that. He's actually buttoned in. And you know, it's very different, if you've got a sleeve that finishes there [demonstrates with his sleeve around his wrist] that's very different to a sleeve that finishes there [demonstrates with his sleeve over part of his hand]. It was very important to me that that's where it finished, and then buttons were tight."

His language is a bit vague, so it's unclear if he just meant that the idea of him being buttoned in helped him, or if he actually asked wardrobe to make his costume with more buttons than they normally would have (ie. instead of hidden zippers, or maybe with shorter hidden zippers) so that he could get into character as he buttoned it up himself. He's also talked about feeling some degree of transformation once he put the costume on, but I can't remember where. Stiff fabrics and restrictive tailoring would certainly contribute to that. (As for wool in summer, I've been to the northern part of the Scottish Highlands in the middle of August, where Hogwarts is supposed to be set, and it's cold. The average temperature in Inverness in August is between 52F-65F, ie. a high of 18C. It's also a pet peeve of mine that the author doesn't take into account that she set her story in this location in numerous ways - the sun sets very late so far up north that time of year, so if it's dark by the time students arrive on Sept. 1 then it's at least 9pm, and by the time they're done with the sorting and the feast it's probably after 11pm yet they have classes first thing the next morning. But I digress.)

Snape's shirt collar and cravat have a lot of 19th century influences, which I find particularly fascinating because of their unintentional prescience. The stiff, high collar that creates a straight line along the neck is prevalent throughout the 19th century, and the shorter version that Snape wears is closer to a mid-late Victorian style than collars earlier in the century. Its visual language conveys the severity viewers would associate with period pieces like Jane Eyre or Charles Dickens films - conservative and stern, and thus imposing and no-nonsense. The cravat, however, hearkens to earlier in the century, since fashionable Victorians wore more of a necktie (this was when the cravat began to transform into what would eventually become the modern necktie). The cravat Snape wears in scenes like the one OP referenced is tied in more of an early 19th century style, at best mid-century:

You can see it throughout the films, though at times it's more or less subtle, likely due to the frequency of dark lighting.

As costume designer Jany Temime said: "I never changed Professor Snape... I used the Professor Snape costume and I remade it. I made another cape. I always kept Professor Snape [as he was], because I thought it was a great costume...Because, it was perfect. When something is perfect you cannot change it."

What's interesting to me about the choice of cravat is that while it serves to extend the dark colors of Snape's robes while also making him look restrained (very literally, that thing is tied way too tight), it also feels like a nod to early 19th century romantic leads a la Jane Austen. It's more subtle, because the cravat has no frills and is tucked in, but in a way that almost echoes one of Rickman's earlier performances as Colonel Brandon in Sense and Sensibility:

(Who, incidentally, wears mostly black throughout the film, but switches to wearing a white cravat after Marianne's illness.)

What's fascinating about this choice is that Snape turns out to be a romantic figure, driven by the need to repent and make up for his role in the death of his beloved childhood friend/love (depending on your reading). But when the costume was designed, this wasn't known to anyone except Alan Rickman. I'm curious if the cravat was his choice or Temime's - in retrospect it feels like a subtle nod to Snape's backstory and true motives. It's almost poetic - there, hiding in plain sight amidst all the rigid layers of his costume is a soft silk cravat, a quiet reference to the character's more vulnerable side and innermost secret, tied, with an unintentional prescience, around the neck he would eventually bleed out of as he dies (which I think even Rickman didn't know was coming). Chef's kiss wardrobe design, truly.

The Uniform Was Armour

An attire analysis of Severus Snape, as portrayed by Alan Rickman

What does it mean to wear forty buttons every day? To choose black not for fashion, but for function? To wrap yourself in discipline and precision while others wear colour and comfort?

I’ve been studying Severus Snape’s wardrobe across every film—and what began as curiosity quickly turned into full analytical obsession. Because beneath that iconic silhouette is an entire philosophy stitched in wool, linen, and silence.

Let’s talk about it.

👔 The Buttons, Layers, and Surprising Realism of Snape’s Wardrobe

Yes, I’ve zoomed in. Repeatedly. Across every film, from Philosopher’s Stone to Deathly Hallows, I’ve counted his buttons—frame by frame, button by button, layer by layer. Let’s just say—I’ve become very familiar with this frock coat’s construction.

And darling, here’s the breakdown:

3 unbuttoned at the collar

9 buttoned down the front

10 per sleeve

4 per leg

🧮 Total: 40 buttons.

Forty. Let that settle in your bones.

On set, most were decorative—Alan Rickman wasn’t fastening all forty by hand. Hidden zippers, snap closures—clever costume design. (This is based on standard film costuming practices—where elaborate garments are often modified for ease of dressing with hidden closures. No official quote confirms this for Snape's outfit specifically, but it aligns with how similar costumes are constructed.) But in-universe? If the real Severus Snape wore this...

It’s safe to assume he used a spell. Realistically, no one’s spending fifteen minutes every morning fastening forty buttons—not even Severus Snape. He had essays to mark, potions to brew, and a corridor presence to maintain.

And oh, that presence.

—

🧥 The Full Layer Breakdown (Based on Alan Rickman’s Film Costume and Button-by-Button Image Zooming)

1. White high-collared shirt – stiff, sharp, and always buttoned to the throat. Clean. Severe. Scholar-coded.

+ Black cravat or neckcloth – visible in several key scenes (notably when inspecting the cursed necklace and seated with the Dark Lord). Likely silk or satin. It adds formality and structure, anchoring the layers while communicating a quiet, old-world elegance.

2. Inner black buttoned layer – possibly a waistcoat or inset panel. Tailored close. Minimal.

3. Frock coat – double-breasted with 14 visible buttons. Structured. Commanding. The real statement piece.

4. Long open-front robe – that iconic swirl. When he enters a room, it follows like a shadow.

5. Straight black trousers – clean-cut, no nonsense.

6. Tall black boots – polished leather, confident heel.

7. (Possibly) sewn-in underlayer for structure – subtle but significant.

—

🪡 What Could the Fabrics Be?

Shirt: Cotton or stiff linen—light but architectural. Holds the collar high.

Inner layer/waistcoat: Lightweight wool or twill—close fit, breathable, efficient.

Frock coat: Wool blend or gabardine—thick, silent, unmistakable.

Robe: Wool or silk-blend—fluid with weight, designed for drama.

Trousers: Soft wool or worsted—no embellishments, just utility.

Boots: Black leather—lived-in, lacquered, ready to move.

The entire ensemble whispers: do not underestimate me.

—

🔥 How Did He Survive the Heat?

All black. All layered. All day. In July? (Or August, depending on the school calendar—but we’ll get to that heatstroke later.)

The answer is geography. He lived in the dungeons.

The Slytherin common room sits beneath the Black Lake—stone walls, filtered light, the occasional squid gliding past. Cold enough to preserve potions and secrets alike.

So yes—he wore forty buttons and never broke a sweat. Because the walls were colder than any seasonal breeze. And honestly? So was he.

—

🧼 How Many Did He Own?

We never see his wardrobe, but let’s be honest—he’d need more than one. You don’t brew over a cauldron daily without carrying the scent of asphodel and burnt fluxweed for hours. Add parchment ink, dust from centuries-old tomes, a hint of candle soot—and you’ve got a potion master’s signature scent.

And let’s not forget: Hermione Granger literally set fire to his robes in Philosopher’s Stone—whether it was the hem or that slightly fluffy bit at his ankle, the damage was real. There can’t have been just one. Not in a school full of reckless students and volatile substances.

These garments weren’t just iconic—they were functional. And surely duplicated.

Three, at minimum. Five, if he allowed himself the luxury. All identical. All immaculate. Possibly with a charm or two to keep the folds crisp and the fabric warded.

—

🧣 The One Exception—His Layer for Weather

Across eight films and countless scenes, Severus Snape’s uniform never truly wavered—except once, perhaps twice.

In Philosopher’s Stone, during the infamous Quidditch match where he counter-cursed Quirrell’s jinx, he wore something different:

A high black scarf

Fingerless black gloves

A heavier, textured outer cloak—draped and more tactical

It’s the only time we see his silhouette altered so clearly.

Still black, still formal, but slightly more utilitarian. Weather-appropriate, perhaps? November in the high stands of the Quidditch pitch must’ve been brutal—wind cutting, robes whipping. Most students wore house scarves not just for pride, but to survive the chill.

So yes, that scarf and heavier cloak weren’t just stylistic flourishes. They were practical, protective, and quietly prepared.

Either way, it stood apart—and not just in costume. In that moment, he was cast as the villain, misunderstood and brooding in layers.

And I must wonder—where did that cloak go? At first glance, I assumed it had been lost to the flames of Hermione’s accidental sabotage in Philosopher’s Stone. A dramatic end to a singular garment.

But then—rewatching Goblet of Fire—there it was again. During the Hungarian Horntail trial, Snape sits beside McGonagall, and if you look closely: folded cuffs, denser weave, a broader drape over his shoulders. The silhouette is unmistakable.

The scarf and gloves are gone, but the cloak’s presence speaks volumes. Not flashy, but deliberate. A return not for spectacle, but for utility. Its weight, its shape, the quiet precision in its fit—nearly identical.

So no—it wasn’t destroyed. Not gone. Not forgotten. Simply reserved. Practical. Intentional.

Another glimpse into how even the rare deviations in his attire still follow a purpose. Nothing is ever random with Severus Snape.

Still all black, still stern—but there’s something in the added structure that reads more formal. Less dungeon-brewer, more event overseer. It’s functional, wind-resistant, and dignified in a cold, open-air setting.

Perhaps it was kept for outdoor events—or those requiring a touch more presence. It reminds us that even the most stoic wardrobe had its layers—and that nothing Severus Snape wore was ever without intent.

Even when the silhouette shifted slightly, the reasoning didn’t. Whether reserved for specific events or dictated by weather, every layer had purpose. He was always watching. Always calculating. Always protecting.

—

🖤 What the Uniform Meant: Endurance as Identity

The choice to wear such rigid attire wasn’t just style—it was declaration. It was discipline. It was Severus Snape, sealing himself into something he could control.

"It is endurance. Conditioning. Discipline—of body and mind. This attire is not meant for ease. It is meant for containment."

That’s how I imagine he would have spoken of it, if ever asked. With restraint. With precision. With the same measured control that shaped his every movement.

He didn’t wear black because he liked the colour. He wore it because black absorbs. It doesn’t reflect, doesn’t shine, doesn’t distract. It takes.

And if someone ever questioned the heat? The weight of so many layers?

"If I wear less… I feel more." "And for someone who has spent most of his life bearing what others cast off, that is… not always bearable."

It was never about temperature. It was about endurance as aesthetic. About turning vulnerability into fabric. A way of saying: I will bear what others shed.

To wear layers was to keep the world at a distance. To button forty buttons was to remind himself: control is chosen. Every day.

"There is a certain power in being the only one who does not wilt under pressure. Let them sweat. Let them squirm. I remain."

Snape didn’t need robes that breathed. He needed robes that held.

Because the man beneath them had spent a lifetime feeling too much. And hiding it all in plain sight.

And somehow, it worked.

He endured.

And never once did his silhouette flinch.

[foolishfoolsgold]

Love this animal. The T. Rex

[Start ID: colored and shaded digital drawing of Regulatory T Cell. She has her canon green suit and skirt, though the leggings are less yellow, or so-called “baby puke colored” now. Her membrane has light brown eyemask-like patterns, and her blonde hair/flagella are mostly canon as well, except her hair coils by her shoulders are twisted around each other like DNA strands. She also has plain shoes instead of high heels, and a discrete headset with an antenna by her left ear. She’s adjusting said headset with one arm, and her other is wrapped around an iPad. It’s noted that she has the same basic features as KTs and HTs, including pointed ears, a skinny tail with retractable stingers, brown markings, and the same quick-punch reflexes as KTs. Back to her stingers, the bigger one secretes purple perforin for apoptosis and the smaller one blue adenosine for temporary paralysis. In the bottom corner is a low-opacity meme of an enterocyte character with the sad SpongeBob face and Impact text that says “me when my wife gets arrested (she is a criminal and completely deserves it) and a watermark in the other corner. There is also a reference of RT’s canon design and notes about how “I do love the rest of her outfit fit though. We Stan green here.”End ID.]

[sharkbit3z]

triyng to get back to drawign.bitby bit

[ilovettrpgs]

rip Magnus Carter you would have loved causing problems for the general public and also not having mad cow syndrome

[phagodyke]

weekend melancholy is starting to kick in >~<

[antisphinx]

Its like, I want to make art that if I found in the wild would make ME crazy. The inverse rule of nicher common experience = stronger connection. So that's why I'm building MFTBI basically like a digital snuffle mat; discovery and digging to learn stuff and creating a deeper understanding of a world are things that I really value in works of art. The downside is that this is just structurally not compatible with super fast paced modern social media and I hate shilling my own work because I find most tiktok trends utterly debasing. And also I will be the first to admit there's not a lot of juice on the site yet. Setting the stage for a lot of stuff I have planned but not a lot to sink yyour teeth into. It's gonna build up slow and I have to remind myself that I've only been working on it for three years (compared to my last project that lasted like ten, and for those three years i have been in uni so no shit I haven't made a lot of work for it lol) so people don't have a lot to be invested in yet. Idk just trust me bro <3

[mortalityplays]

talking about impenetrable accents/dialect just reminded me. when I was in Milan a couple of years back I was staying in this little rathole hotel and I had the biggest fucking migraine, so I was like non c'è problema I'll just go buy painkillers. of course every pharmacy on the map in a three block radius was closed, so my stupid ass just starts wandering around trying to figure out on the fly if you can get OTC from supermarkets in italy.

I walk into this little everything store (to my foreign eyes the kind of place that back home could sell you a bunch of carrots, a 6-pack of beer, pantyhose, bleach and a screwdriver set) and I see some household basics in the back but not what I need. with the confidence of a person who is only in the city for 3 days because he got bored and packed a bag and booked the cheapest flight available the week before (<= MENTAL ILLNESS), I was like no worries I know some italian, I can just ask.

I grab a bottle of water, walk up to the counter, and I'm like Ciao, hai il paracetamolo? And the guy is like che, and I'm like paracetamolo. Per la mia testa. And he's like che?

This is where I would have said 'aspirina' except I can't take aspirin for medical reasons, or 'antidolorifico' except I don't know that word and I've got no phone data for google translate and also I'm stupid. So in my fucked up leith-glasgow-italian accent I'm like paaa-ra-cetta-mollll-ooo. He's like ohhh bene, bene, and he calls another guy out of the back and asks him to go get something. Other guy then walks out of the store into the street, and before I can be like hey, che la fuck, he comes back and hands me a huge bundle of herbs.

At this point I'm like okay this entire interaction has been a bust, but these guys have been very nice and patient and they're both smiling happily at me because they've been of service, so I'm like ahh perfetto, grazie, pay them a couple of euros and leave.

EVENTUALLY I find a pharmacy that's open, and my head is fucking killing me, and my phone still isn't connecting, and now I have this small shrubbery poking out of my coat pocket, so I don't even bother looking around the shelves. I just walk straight to the counter and I'm like uhh ciao, scusi. And hearing my nightmare of an accent the guy answers in english and I'm like thank christ, do you please have paracetamol. Not aspirin, I can't take aspirin. And he's like yeah yeah hold on, goes into the back, comes out with what I need.

Only when he comes out he gives me this look, and then he starts laughing. And then he pretends he's not laughing and rings me up and I pay, and as I'm leaving I can see him losing it. But I don't care, my head is going to explode, I'm going back to the rathole to close the blinds and fall comatose for four hours.

When I get back to my hotel room I take off my coat and remember the huge bouquet of herbs in my pocket. They smell amazing, and I'm like I'm pretty sure this is parsley in which case I can just get some tomatoes and mozzarella later and make it work. but since I have no idea what that interaction was, I want to make sure. I bring out my phone to get a visual reference of what parsley leaves look like, and because I was using it for google translate earlier I put 'parsley' in the wrong box like a dope and translate it to italian.

prezzemolo

I wish I could have been the pharmacist in the moment he looked at my tired pissed off anglophone ass, heard me say 'paracetamol' in my fucked up accent, and turned around saw what was in my pocket. I'd have lost my shit too.

[pressplay-if]

demo (prologue + ch.1 & 2, 118k words)

please mind the content warnings! asks are open, but please note that I am currently not accepting/answering RO scenario requests and questions concerning RO details, i.e. ROs' favorite color, height, etc. All relevant info regarding ROs can be taken from this post or the game itself.

cog forum post

You are one of the most famous yet mysterious characters of the 21st century rock scene. 

It all started when you discovered your love for singing during an extended stay at a psychiatric hospital as a teen. Music became your motivator, and from then on, you knew the stage was where you belonged. You and your friends formed a band, and after years of practice in a garage and cheap gigs at dingy bars, your journey to the top begins abruptly when you team up with a skilled manager.

It’s a meteoric rise— until it isn’t. 

And now, a decade after your band has disappeared from the public eye, you’ve accepted an interview by the acclaimed Groove Magazine. You and your former band members have agreed to give them the truth, the whole truth; as ugly as that might be. 

Follow the story of your band’s rise to fame (and eventual fall from grace)

Play as a pop-rock vocalist

Name your band and customize your music and image

Handle the media, interactions with pushy fans and your own repressed thoughts and fears 

Romance your coolgirl-bassist, the childhood friend you cut out of your life, your absolutely insane guitarist, or your biggest fan/possibly stalker

Give one hell of an interview

Inspiration: Daisy Jones and The Six, Fleetwood Mac… and all sorts of music-related drama.

TW: themes of mental illness, unhealthy relationships, substance abuse, death, mentions of suicide, suicidal ideation, self-harm, SA-related trauma

ROs:

Stevie McLaughlin, bassist (f) — “I suppose I was the sanest one in that bunch.”

She’s one of your oldest friends, and if you follow the clanking chain of cause and effect all the way back to the beginning, it is her you have to thank for your entire career. The band was her idea, after all. She’s level-headed, composed, and always there to talk you down when you need her. Sometimes, she acts more as your retainer than anything else…

Stevie is tall and skinny with light brown skin and extremely long, curly black hair which she always wears in a wet look. She has big, dark brown eyes and a soft face.

Paul/Paulette Zima, lead singer & saxophonist (f/m selectable, trans) — “Trying to figure out where you know me from?”

Your band’s brand-new, second lead singer. Your manager says they’re going to give your music the kick it needs, that they’re the one missing ingredient to your success. You’re not entirely sure if you agree. Worse yet, you happen to know this person, and your time together didn’t end on a favorable note. They’re part of a past you would much rather forget.

Paul is very tall, broad-backed and thickly muscled with light skin, shoulder-length slicked back brown hair and bottle green eyes.

Paulette is of average height with an hourglass/slim thick figure. She has dark brown hair with parted bangs and light blonde strands dyed into it. Her eyes are bottle green.

Angel Monsanto, guitarist (m) — “I was always going to make it big, with or without those guys. Only, I… I really wanted it to be with them.”

Your crazy but good-hearted guitarist. His passion for music borders on obsession, and he will stop at nothing to make a name for your band. Sadly, he’s very much of the conviction that all publicity is good publicity, which has encouraged him to pull some very questionable stunts in the past. 

Angel is of average height and build with a warm beige complexion and long black hair. He has a square jaw with an occasional five o’clock shadow and brown eyes. 

Lincoln Saunders, groupie?? (f/m selectable) — “What can I say, I loved them.”

Calling Lincoln a fan would be an understatement. Fanatic is more like it. You remember seeing them at your very first show, and you’ve continued to spot them at every venue you’ve played at since. You don’t know anything about them, and perhaps changing that would be a very bad idea. But maybe you still want to.

Lincoln (m) is short and lean, with an angular face and wavy blond hair. His eyes are cobalt blue. 

Lincoln (f) is petite and tan, with a youthful, round face and chin-length blond beach waves. Her eyes are cobalt blue.

Others:

Maddox Wells (m), drummer

Another one of your oldest friends. You don’t much like to talk about what happened with him.

Fatima Shah (f), drummer — “I’m pretty sure they used to try to make me disappear with their fog machine.”

After things didn’t work out with your original drummer, Fatima saved the day. She’s a sweetheart to you, but from what you’ve heard, she can be kind of a terrible person. Maybe it’s best to stay a little wary of her.

Kalena Graham (f), manager — “The first time I saw them… well, they kind of sucked. But I knew, I just knew, that they had what it takes to suck on an international level.”

Your band’s manager. You can’t believe how lucky you were to have caught her attention. She’s experienced, driven, well-regarded in the industry and… kind of mean, to be honest.

Simon Young (m), reporter — “Start at the beginning. And then, don’t stop.”

The guy conducting the interview for Groove Magazine. He’s nice enough, if a little starstruck. It seems he has been waiting a long time for this.

Addendum: NSFW alphabet masterlist

Zima pt. 1 and pt. 2

Stevie

Lincoln

Angel

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

Please consider reblogging <3

[starkwlkr]

beautiful boy | cillian murphy

do I know anything about labor and the process? no 😭 pls remember this is fanfiction and idk anything about childbirth

barbenheimer series

The day Y/n began to feel ill, she had an idea of what was going on. Of course she did some math and realized her period was late. Cillian was still filming in the uk so she was alone in their cottage. A little family owned market was close by so she decided to walk there to buy a pregnancy test just to make sure. The owners already knew her and Cillian, they were nice people that brought great comfort to her.

While she was there, she figured she might as well get some groceries that she needed. As she browsed the aisles for spices and other items, she got a text from Cillian.

C ❤️

i should be done filming soon. i miss you.

She quickly replied.

Okay, I’ll pick you up from the airport. I love you more ❤️

After she payed for her items, Y/n walked back to her cottage. She put away her groceries rather than immediately take the test. She didn’t want to get her hopes up so she occupied her mind with something else.

It wasn’t until she thought about Cillian, that’s when she decided that it was time to take it. She grabbed the small box from the bag and walked to her bathroom. She read the instructions over and over again until she ripped open the box.

“It’s going to be fine, you’re going to be fine.” Y/n whispered to herself.

Y/n was early to the airport the day Cillian was scheduled to come back home. She couldn’t contain her excitement. It had been months since they last saw each other and she desperately wanted to feel him close to her.

She finally spotted him wearing sunglasses and a hat, his outfit reminded her of the crappy disguises superheroes wore when they were under cover.

“Well hello Tommy Shelby.” She said in a flirty voice.

“You’re hilarious.” Cillian replied. He placed his hands on her cheeks and kissed her on the lips. “Let’s go home, I’ve missed you too much.”

Cillian wanted to drive, but Y/n wouldn’t let him. After all he did come back from a long flights and months of filming, he needed the rest. Eventually Y/n and Cillian made it back home. He quickly took notice of the garden she had made while he was gone.

“You’ve been busy.” Cillian got out of the car. He opened the trunk and got his luggage out. “Are those red poppies?” He pointed out.

“Yeah. I also planted tulips and daisies.” Y/n pointed to the flowers that decorated her front porch.

Cillian then saw the light blue flowers next to the poppies. “Forget me nots, your favorite.” He smiled.

“You remember?” Y/n asked. She had told him about her favorite flower many dates ago.

“I never forgot.” Cillian replied. “Ha, forget me not, I never forgot.” He tried to joke.

“Funny.” Y/n chuckled lightly. “Come in, I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh?”

“It’s not what you think.” Y/n rolled her eyes playfully.

Cillian opened the door allowing Y/n to walk in first. He saw their home completely normal so it wasn’t something like a new furniture piece or art work that she had bought.

“Okay, wait here.” Y/n instructed. She walked to their shared bedroom and came back with something in her hands, Cillian wasn’t sure what it was. “I never told you I was feeling sick when you were away, I didn’t want you to worry and i most certainly didn’t want you to leave your work and fly back just for me. I had an idea of what was wrong with me so I went to the market and got a pregnancy test and it’s positive.” She nervously said. That’s when she showed Cillian the pregnancy test.

Cillian immediately pulled Y/n into a tight embrace, burying his face in her shoulder. “Oh, I love you so much.”

“We’re going to be parents.” Y/n whispered as her eyes filled with tears.

As they held each other, Cillian knew that his life would never be the same. But he also knew that with Y/n by his side, he was ready to embrace the journey of fatherhood.

MONTH 3

“People are starting to ask questions. What do I say to them?”

“Tell them you don’t know me.”

Her assistant, Joli, had been on the phone with her for the past hour. Y/n had finally told Joli about the pregnancy. Only a few people knew, obviously both of the parents’ families and close friends, but apart from them, no one knew that Cillian and Y/n were going to be parents and they liked it that way.

“You know I can’t do that. Listen, I love you and I’m happy for you and Cillian, but are you really going to step away for good?” Joli asked.

“Not entirely. I’ll just take a break.”

“Y/n, no one has seen you for a while.” Joli stated. “But when you decide to come back, I’ll be here. If you or Cillian ever need anything, let me know.”

“Thanks, Joli.” Y/n smiled. Joli was always her biggest supporter.

“You’re going to be an amazing mom.”

MONTH 7

Y/n loved her quiet life. She was living in a cottage starting her family with the love of her life. What more could she want?

Her stomach was growing everyday and it amazed her every time. The gender was going to be a surprise so all the baby clothes and furniture was gender neutral. She even wrote down some gender neutral names that her and Cillian might like.

“Here,” Cillian came back from the kitchen with a glass of cold lemonade. “Let me know if you want a refill.”

Y/n and Cillian were enjoying some time in their garden. All this time at home, Y/n picked up a new hobby and in no time, the couple had their own garden.

“Thank you, my love.” Y/n replied as she grabbed the glass from Cillian’s hands. “I’ve been thinking about the name Rowan, cute or not?”

“Rowan, Rowan . . . Rowan Murphy-L/N.” Cillian tested it out. “Not sure. Can you imagine yourself yelling the name Rowan like what if our child is running and you have to yell their name for them to stop. Rowan! Hmm, I don’t know.”

Y/n began to laugh at Cillian’s words. “That’s how you decide if the name is good or not?”

“It’s a good way, just try it.” Cillian encouraged.

Y/n hesitated a bit, but cleared her throat. “Rowan! Rowannnn!”

“See? Now what’s the verdict?”

“The verdict is . . . We have to find another name.”

JULY 21ST, 2013

Cillian was thankful that he didn’t have to work that day. It was all going good. Y/n was in the final days of pregnancy and everything was ready for the arrival of baby murphy. Around 2PM was when Cillian’s driving skills were put to the test.

“Fuck! Fuck! I hate this! I’m never having kids again!” Y/n groaned. “Hey, did I ever tell you how much I love you?”

“Not recent-” Cillian said as he kept his eyes on the road. They were only two minutes from the hospital.

“I hate you right now! But I love you so so much, but I fucking hate you!”

“Love you too, baby.”

Soon, Y/n was being taken by nurses to labor and delivery. Cillian made sure to call both of the families to let them know that in a matter of minutes, he would be a father and Y/n would be a mother.

“Are you Mr. Murphy?” A nurse asked. “Your wife is calling for you.”

Wife. He loved the sound of that.

Cillian quickly ended the call with his mother and ran to Y/n’s room. “Hey, I’m here.” He grabbed her hand, placing gentle kisses on it.

“Do our parents know?” Y/n asked.

“I just got off the phone with them. They’re so happy for us.” He smiled.

Thankfully, a C-section wasn’t needed. Baby Murphy entered the world crying. He was perfect in the eyes of his parents.

“Congratulations, it’s a beautiful boy.” The nurse announced.

“A boy.” Cillian whispered to Y/n. “Our beautiful boy.”

“Alex. His name is Alexander or Alex. I like it.” Y/n said, completely out of breath.

“Alexander Murphy-L/N. That sounds perfect.” Cillian smiled.

TAGLIST

@leclercloml @butterfly-skinnylegend @rockerchick05 @equallyshaw @agustdpeach @celesteablack @hnybitches @ietss @probablypossesedbysatan @kittyrumbl3r @electrobutterfly @knpgituloh @butlersluvbot @captainwans @bellstwd @theekileypage @marti-su @multifans-things @ceruleanrainblues @litterallnobody @jackierose902109 @sinarainbows @cosniffee @thatgirlthatreadswattpad

[f1a1w1n]

Hey, helloou! I saw you write for Cal and I was wondering if you could write something abt him with a reader who doesn't like to cry, but she's actually kind of sensitive, so she cries easily?

Just think he'd be sweet to someone that tries to be strong for him and stuff.

hello! sorry its taken so long! I think this is such sweet idea.

Cal x f!reader

summary: sensitive reader x cal

basically two lovesick fools confess to eachother

word count: 1.8k

warnings: none except for kissing oooo!

an: request stuff or ill claw my eyes out

love ya!

~

“Bingo.” 

Cal rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “I told you so.” You say smugly. You and Cal stare up at the face of the canyon, deep flowy lines etched into the red rock. It had taken you roughly the whole day to walk here, in the early morning having had to ditch your speeders when you encountered thick jungle that you’d have to cut through. By hour six Cal had started to doubt your navigating skills, but you were sure of your surroundings. 

You and Cal had drifted these past few months, with Cal always going off and exploring some part of an abandoned temple, fighting stormtroopers, and you hunting some bail skipper. It was lonely work but you pretend to enjoy it when Cal asked. The only time you managed to spend with Cal was late night dinners together on the Mantis, but you could tell he was too tired, so you eventually just went to bed when you got to the ship, sparing Cal the trouble you thought. 

“Yep. Right as always.” Cal smiles.

A thick silence settles between the two of you. You felt a glob of burning pain creep up your throat. You smile half-heartedly and take a swig of water, hoping the tightness of your chest will loosen. “Uh, shall we?” Cal gestures towards the small crack in the rockface. 

You nod and make your way towards it. You wish you could talk to Cal, openly chat like you used to. But something stops you, a new unspoken boundary drawn between the two of you. You almost think you see Cal go to say something but he walks ahead. If only it was a year ago, when both of you talked with no hesitation, no concern of what the other thought. Complete and open communication. Now you couldn’t help but wonder what was going on inside his head.

You try to make small talk. “So what are we exactly looking for?”. Cal opens his bag and kneels at the base of the cave opening and fishes out his lightsaber.  

“Well, uh. I’m not exactly sure yet.” Cal pulls a flashlight out and tosses it to you. 

“What?” I say.

“Well I’d have to be near it to know.”. We walked for an entire day just for Cal to be unsure? You don’t say that though, a mangled ‘oh’ sounds parts your lips, unsure what to say next. Cal takes your silence as a cue to keep talking. That burning in your throat threatens to rise again.

He stands and steps back. “It’s a force thing.”. You nod again and walk behind Cal as you trek deeper into the cave. Cal’s lightsaber buzzes to life, bright blue light painting the cave walls. Your flashlight begins to glow a soft white the darker the rock hallway gets, puny compared to Cal’s light. Outlined by the light of his lightsaber, you can see the back of Cal’s head, clearly deep in thought. He leads you in and out of twisting hallways, one hand on the cool rock as he traces the swirling patterns. 

The deeper you go, the more constrictive the quiet becomes, broken only by the soft hum of Cal’s lightsaber and your own steady footsteps behind him. You train your eyes on the dusty floor, resisting the urge to stare into the back of Cal’s head, he’d probably notice, another freaky jedi thing you despised. 

That burning in your throat found its way sneaking into your mouth. You’re supposed to be used to this distance, the space that had grown between you two. You’d both chosen it, right? You clear your throat, though you keep your voice low. “Why do you need me here? Seems like you have it figured out.”

Cal glances back, his eyes bright, reflecting the blue of his lightsaber. For a second, you catch a flicker of something in Cal’s eyes. Hurt? Confusion? His gaze shifts quickly, back to the shadowed path ahead.

“Uh it’s kind of complicated….” He looks at you briefly, then away again, his brow furrowing as if he’s searching for the right words. 

“Complicated.” you repeat, not a question, an open ended statement. 

Cal shrugs. “It’s nice having your company, and uh, Cere wanted me to talk to you.”

Your chest tightens at that, though you hide it by turning your flashlight down, angling it at the uneven floor. “Talk to me about what?” you murmur, hoping the strain in your voice is masked by the dimness.

Cal shifts uncomfortably, his fingers flexing on the hilt of his lightsaber. He hesitates, glancing down at the ground. “I’m… not sure, exactly.” He lets out a quiet, almost sheepish laugh, and rubs the back of his neck. “You know how Cere is. She notices things.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, drawing blood. The metallic taste flooding your mouth, at least it distracts you from the burning that’s migrated down to your chest. “Right.”. You remain silent, waiting for Cal to continue. 

“Yeah. Well…” He trails off. “She just… she mentioned that maybe I’ve been too focused on other things lately. Missions. My training. I guess she’s noticed the same distance we have.” He frowns as if the realisation itself hurts, like he hadn’t allowed himself to fully think it through until now.

“Do you think we’re distant?,” you test.

Cal’s gaze flickers to you, eyes shadowed in the dim glow of his sabre, his face unreadable. “I don’t know,” he says softly. 

The words land heavier than you expect. You look away, blinking back the heat gathering in your eyes, refusing to let yourself break here, in front of him. Not now. But Cal notices anyway, he wants to say more, to reach out, but he hesitates, unsure.

“Look,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “I know things have been... tense. Different. We’re both busy people - and I didn’t want to push you if - if you needed space.”

The admission makes something clench inside you, the ache you’d buried threatening to spill over. But you force yourself to respond with a casual shrug. “Space is good, I guess,” you say, though it sounds empty even to your own ears. “Priorities and all that.”

The silence stretches out, thick and stifling, until finally, Cal turns and begins walking deeper into the cave, leaving you to follow. And for the rest of the trek, neither of you say anything more.

~

Later, back on the Mantis, the quiet surrounding you settle into the small corner bunk that has become your refuge, pressing the small of your back into the ship's cold walls. You’re alone, listening to the gentle hum of the ship as it drifts through hyperspace. You’d expected to feel relieved, finally back in the comfort of the Mantis. But instead, you feel raw, grated over like a freshly scraped knee that keeps getting reopened, every emotion you’d tried so hard to contain is now dangerously close to the surface.

Footsteps sound from the hall, Cal appears in the doorway. His expression softens when he sees you, but he hesitates, glancing away as if he’s still unsure of his place. It's ironic really, seeing as he usually sleeps in the bunk opposite yours, but as of late he’s taken to sleeping in the co-pilot's chair. 

“We were gonna get food at one of the outer rim planets if you wanted to join us,” he says tentatively. 

You try to force a smile, but it falters, and before you can stop yourself, you look down, your voice tight. “I’m fine. Not really hungry.”

He nods slowly, but there’s a look in his eyes that tells you he doesn’t believe you. He goes to leave but something boils over. “Look, if there’s something you need to tell me just tell me alright? I’m sick of this weird back and forth we’re having.” You feel the tears prick at your eyes, a dull ache in your chest as you struggle to keep it together. “I miss you, and I don’t know what I did but just talk to me.”

But the weight of it all, the loneliness, the unspoken feelings, finally breaks through. “You don’t talk to me,” you whisper, the words barely audible. 

Cal’s face falls, and he steps further into the room, looking at you with something between frustration and guilt. “I do talk to you,” he insists, voice tense. “But every time, it’s just… it’s like you’re not there.”

You fling yourself up. “I barely say anything? All you ever say to me is—‘hi,’ ‘bye,’ and ‘goodnight.’ That’s it. That’s all I get now!”

Cal steps forward, his jaw clenching. “That’s not fair, and you know it. I’ve been busy, but I just thought… I thought you just needed space!”

“I didn’t need space, Cal; I needed you,” you shoot back, your voice cracking. The tears are hot and sticky staining your cheek, you look away, unable to bear the way he’s looking at you—like a beautiful puppy. “I’m just—just here, waiting for scraps of your attention.”

“You think I don’t feel this too? That I don’t notice the distance?” His voice raises, rawer. “You think I don’t notice you slipping off and going to bed whenever I come home? Or - or you smiling and talking to everyone else on this goddamn ship except for me? You think I   like feeling like I’m losing you?”

His words hit you like a blow, raw and passionate, the pure emotion in his eyes, and for a moment, you can’t find anything to say. You swallow hard, turning away, you wipe at your cheeks, hating that you’re crying, hating that you can’t seem to hold it together in front of him. “You do that too.” Your voice trembles. “You do that too.” You repeat. 

Cal’s face twists with an emotion you can’t read, and he looks away, like he’s trying to gather himself. “I can’t lose you,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear him. His gaze flicks back to you, and in his eyes, you see the same hurt, the same longing that’s been eating away at you. “It’ll kill me.”

Before you can respond, he steps forward and pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around you in a fierce, almost desperate embrace. The distance between you vanishes, and you feel his warmth, the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours, the solid, grounding presence of him surrounding you. 

His lips find yours, first a tentative kiss, then filled with a desperate kind of need, and you melt into it, your hands gripping his arms as if you’re afraid he might let go. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. He strokes your hair. He pulls away and wipes the tears from your face. “I’m so sorry.”

“Just kiss me.” you say.

Masterlist

If you want to be tagged, or recommend anything, fill this out. 

@kingtwhiddleston @lovepeaceorelse @hunitweet @spderm4n @angie2274 @coffeesimp @capedcods@kurtsmellsliketeenspiritt @just3rowsing @nuwanda-greaser  @nightmonkeysstuff @Jeong-uwu

[girlfromthecrypt]

Note: This is merely a pitch introduction post. My main project remains Such Happy Campers. I have no title in mind for this IF (suggestions are welcome), although I am very passionate about the idea and will work on it on the side while I write SHC.

You are... or were one of the most famous yet mysterious characters in the 21st century pop-rock scene. 

It all started when you discovered your love for singing during an extended stay at a psychiatric hospital as a teen. Music became your motivator, and from then on, you knew the stage was where you belonged. Your friends agreed… and that is how your band came to be. After years of practice in your friend’s mother’s garage and cheap gigs at dingy bars, your journey to the top begins abruptly when you team up with a skilled manager.

It's a meteoric rise— until it isn’t. 

And now, a decade after your band has withdrawn from the public eye, you’ve accepted an interview by the acclaimed Groove Magazine. You and your former band members have agreed to give them the truth, the whole truth; as ugly as that might be. 

Follow the story of your band’s rise to fame (and eventual fall from grace)

Play as a pop-rock vocalist

Name your band and customize your music, lyrics and image

Handle the media, interactions with pushy fans and your own repressed thoughts and fears 

Romance your coolgirl-bassist, the childhood friend you cut out of your life, your absolutely insane guitarist, or your biggest fan/stalker

Give one hell of an interview

Inspiration: Daisy Jones and The Six, Fleetwood Mac

TW: themes of mental illness, substance abuse, death, mentions of suicide, suicidal ideation and self-harm, unhealthy relationship dynamics

ROs:

Stevie McLaughlin, bassist (f) — “I suppose I was the sanest one in that bunch.”

She’s one of your oldest friends, and if you follow the clanking chain of cause and effect all the way back to the beginning, it is her you have to thank for your entire career. The band was her idea, after all. She’s level-headed, composed, and always there to talk you down when you need her. Sometimes, she acts more as your retainer than anything else…

Paul/Paulette Zima, lead singer & saxophonist (f/m selectable, trans) — “Trying to figure out where you know me from?”

Your band’s brand-new, second lead singer. Your manager says they’re going to give your music the kick it needs, that they’re the one missing ingredient to your success. You’re not entirely sure if you agree. Worse yet, you happen to know this person, and your time together didn’t end on a favorable note. They’re part of a past you would much rather forget. 

Angel Monsanto, guitarist (m) — “I was always going to make it big, with or without those guys. Only, I… I really wanted it to be with them.”

Your crazy but good-hearted guitarist. His passion for music borders on obsession, and he will stop at nothing to make a name for your band. Sadly, he’s very much of the conviction that all publicity is good publicity, which has encouraged him to pull some very questionable stunts in the past. 

Lincoln Saunders, groupie?? (f/m selectable) — “What can I say, I loved them. When they first walked out onto that stage, it felt like my heart was going to explode.”

Calling Lincoln a fan would be an understatement. Fanatic is more like it. You remember seeing them at your very first show, and you’ve continued to spot them at every venue you’ve played at since. You don’t know anything about them, and perhaps changing that would be a very bad idea. But maybe you still want to.

Others:

Fatima Shah (f), drummer — “I’m pretty sure they tried to make me disappear with their fog machine.”

After things didn’t work out with your original drummer, Fatima saved the day. She’s a sweetheart to you, but from what you’ve heard, she can be kind of a terrible person. Maybe it’s best to stay a little wary of her.

Kalena Graham (f), manager — “The first time I saw them… well, they kind of sucked. But I knew, I just knew, that they had what it takes to suck on an international level.”

Your band’s manager. You can’t believe how lucky you were to have caught her attention. She’s experienced, driven, well-regarded in the industry and… kind of mean.

Simon Young (m), reporter — “Start at the beginning. And then, don’t stop.”

The guy conducting the interview for Groove Magazine. He’s nice enough, if a little starstruck. It seems he has been waiting a long time for this.

[dividers by @thecutestgrotto]

Please consider reblogging if you like my work!

[ryozakidesu]

diary of the heartbreakers;

00z series

╰┈➤ Diary of the Heartbreakers; 00z series

➸ ♡ They used to be the ones breaking hearts, but when karma comes around, suddenly the don't know what to do. Navigate through college life with your favorite idiots, and read through the Diary of the Heartbreakers.

GENRES: College AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Humour

WARNINGS: Minors DNI, Explicit sexual content, drug abuse, Infidelity, Toxic relationships/characters, Heavy topics discussed, player!00z, Language and Violence.

AUTHOR's NOTE: I thought long and hard about making this a series, because of my commitment issues and I don't trust myself to commit to a writing project like this TT, But since I have story ideas for these characters, (00z) I just linked all of them together. SLOW UPDATE. Also my first time doing a series, how about that?!? I hope you guys like it!

DISCLAIMER: This story is purely fanfiction. Only the names of the Idols are used, and does not reflect on them in real life. There's no way in any shape of form that they are like this in person, because I MADE IT UP. I don't personally know them. DO NOT STEAL / TRANSLATE / MODIFY. This is my work and I don't appreciate people stealing it. Thank you.

╰┈➤ After You

➸ ♡ Na Jaemin had it easy. Loved by everybody, the man of everyone's dream. He's a perfect mix of a charmer and a player. Girls begged to be his, and he loved every part of it. Life used to be so fucking perfect for him. Then comes you. You're like an old book, ink fading, cover tearing, but he swears you're worth the read. Before you, life was easy. After you? He wasn't so sure.

"Break my heart, and you'll find yourself inside."

GENRE: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Mature themes

WARNINGS: Minors DNI, Explicit sexual content, Language, Mental Illness, Drugs/Alcohol usage, toxic!reader, fuckboy!Jaemin (but still a sweetheart)

AUTHOR's NOTE: Oh, this one's heavy. Much serious than the other stories and quite one that's holds some sensitive topics. If I get some things wrong about certain topics, please do tell me and I'll quickly correct it. Enjoy reading!

Expected WC: 15k

STATUS: published

╰┈➤ Yours, Inevitably

➸ ♡ To say that Lee Jeno is pretty would be an understatement. The man's gorgeous. One thing he uses to his advantage, going through college getting girls he spots his eyes on. But there's one he just couldn't get. His brother's bestfriend. You can continue and avoid your feelings for each other, but eventually, it'll happen. You were someone that stayed, a constant in his life. You might not know it, but for the years you've known Lee Jeno, he slowly became yours, inevitably.

"I should've known that it was you, because no one else made sense."

GENRE: Fluff, Angst, Humour, Smut

WARNINGS: Minors DNI, Explicit sexual content, Language, Alcohol usage, Mentions of Drugs, fuckboy!Jeno, brothersbsf!reader

AUTHOR's NOTE: This story was collecting dust on my drafts for so longg! Originally I was gonna post it as a stand-alone but figured it made sense to be a part of this series. One of my faves. Also lots of other members of nct mentioned. Enjoy reading!

Expected WC: 13k - 15k

STATUS: published

╰┈➤ The Fine Art of Rejection

➸ ♡ Huang Renjun, the sweetie of the year, is one hard star to catch. Not as easy as his other friends, he's quite difficult to have. Although he has a fair share of affairs with girls, it is considered to be a rare occurence. But you? Oh boy were you something. You were quite head over heels over him. His friends could never understand, but you were persistent to get the boy. No matter how much he refuses your advances, Its like you found art in rejection. But to what degree can you hold it out?

"I can be everything I want, but fuck, I only wanted to be yours. Even though you couldn't be mine."

GENRE: Unrequited love, Humour, Fluff, Angst, Smut

WARNINGS: Minors DNI, Language, Explicit sexual content, Alcohol Usage, cheerleader!reader, Renjun is sometimes rude lol

AUTHOR's NOTE: Actually, I wanted to write something pure fluffy for Renjun, but I figured I need to put a sprinkle (more than that actually lmao) of angst. Also my favorite plot to write. Enjoy reading!

Expected WC: 13k

STATUS: published

╰┈➤ Illicit Affairs

➸ ♡ Infamous for being every girl's guilty pleasure, Lee Haechan strutted through his life shamelessly. But recently, the new girl caught his eye. Im Hayeon, who he believes that would finally tame his wreckless heart. He was confident he could get the girl. And when he did, he never expected her to have baggages. For example, you, Im Hayeon's best friend. Who suddenly, sparked an idea on his pretty little head. You're trouble-- and you're making Haechan commit Illicit Affairs.

"You're making me do bad things, very, bad things. But then again, I'm no stranger in being the bad guy."

GENRE: Fluff, Angst, Humour, Smut

WARNINGS: Minors DNI, Language, Explicit sexual content, Alcohol Usage, Infidelity, Haechan and reader is kind of an asshole

AUTHOR's NOTE: okay, for one, i don't condone cheating. its just for the story! also i won't tackle on it too much-- literally just for the plot. Enjoy reading!

Expected WC: 13k

STATUS: published

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

© ryozaki21 2023

[azialways]

Wrong Hit

in which the Butcher chose the wrong animal to slaughter.

cw: mentions of future sex, sexual ideas, attempted murder, suggestive dialogue, cigarettes

It was another dull day for Ronin, not much drama on the server, nor in life. Work was mid, he did get to fix this cool looking motorcycle though. Besides that, a whole lot of nothing happened. Good news, it was slash season…meaning he could go kill as much as he pleased. He got on the server, asking the people what their thoughts were.

<goreboy>

yo Guys

feeling bored. should I go Kill someone?

find some unsuspecting passerby?

<hitmeuppp>

for SURE!

i mean find someone who seems boring or something

don’t go killing a baddie or somethin

or do, if they look snobby, i fucking hate snobby people

they’re always so annoying and uptight, that’s why people pay me to kill em

aaaaa i’m ranting again

<V>

I think it is inappropriate.

Do not go killing random strangers unless they have done wrong.

<hitmeuppp>

V SIGHTING! I REPEAT! V SIGHTING

<goreboy>

i think ill Agree with Misaki on this One.

i’ll send Pics

He then shuts off his PC and finds his killing clothes, which were to nobody’s surprise, on his dresser. He used them way too frequently this time of year, but luckily he had actually cleaned them. He threw them on, his favorite killing hoodie as well, then his gloves. Obviously couldn’t forget those, what type of serial killer would he be if he left evidence? Well, a fried one. He didn’t like the idea of the electric chair, because that meant getting caught and having no fun killing around, and instead spending time in a metal and stone cage. He then grabbed his crowbar, putting it in his instrument case He then grabbed his smaller knife, sheathing it then shoving it in his pocket. He double checked his beanie, then put the hood up. Last thing he needed was to leave any hair behind. But damn, he looked good to go. And hot. Maybe he’d go pick some girl up who thought he was hot, or maybe just drag someone into Purgatory, he’d figure it out. But first, he had to get out of the house, so he fed his pets, then walked out. At first, he strolled about, finding his way to the side entrance that led to Purgatory, maybe he’d light a cigarette and see if anyone joined him. That sounds good, dragging an innocent smoker trying to ease themselves in the alley.

He eventually stood there, putting his crowbar case down and took a pack out of his pocket, and then his lighter. He lit the cigarette, taking a long drag before tapping some of the ash onto the floor. He stood there alone for a while, leaving him to ponder his murder. He was thinking: wait til someone comes into the alley, chat them up a bit, then hold 'em at knifepoint, play with them for a little, then kill. He was feeling mean tonight, he was too bored to play quick and easy, no, he wanted to draw it out. He wanted to cut their voice box and hear their feeble attempts at screaming, slowly ripping them open and apart, falling into his signature. And as if the universe heard him, a person stepped into the alleyway. They looked at him for a second, acknowledging his presence before taking a cigarette out and lighting it; well, trying. Their lighter didn’t seem to work, and he heard a gentle “fuck.” It was the perfect opportunity.

“Wanna use mine?” He offered, holding it out to them.

“Could I? Sorry, mine died.” They muttered, lighting their cigarette with his lighter, and it lit. They inhaled, then exhaled. They then handed his lighter back, muttering a “thanks.”

“So. What’s a gorgeous individual like yourself doing in an alleyway smoking at 10pm on a Tuesday night?” He asked casually

“Got off my shift, needed a break. Was kinda a shitshow tonight.” They laughed softly, putting the cigarette to their lips.

“Where do you work?” Ronin asked nonchalantly, keeping the friendly appearance up.

“Vauhn’s on Orchard.” They responded, it was a club and restaurant nearby, and from the looks of the uniform, he’d guess the bartender.

“You look like a bartender.”

“You are correct. I legally poison people for a living.” They joked

He chuckled at that, the way they put it was unique. Ironic for the situation they were about to be in. He walked closer to them, bringing his cigarette to theirs before relighting. “They were going out, stupid rain.” He explained, but the pink on their cheeks showed he did exactly what he intended. He was ready to hit, he chatted, he charmed, now it was time to attack. They were charming, he’d admit. Maybe too much so, they had to die. Once they had their back turned, he snuck behind and wrapped his arm around their neck, holding the knife firm.

“Scream and you’re dead.” He warned, his tone much colder than before.

“Alright alright, chill bud. I don’t plan on screaming.” They raised their hands in surrender, a half laugh escaping from their lips.

“How many inches is that?”

Ronin choked on air as he heard the words escaping their lips, sure the friction got him a little hard, but not nearly enough to warrant the question.

“Excuse me?”

“The knife genius, not your dick.”

“Oh, shit uh.”

“7?” They guessed, and right they were.

“Yeah, how’d you know.” He asked, a little confused on how they guessed it so easily.

“I got one myself…right here.” They spun, shoving him against the wall with the knife to his throat. They pressed hard, not gentle at all, he winced slightly.

“Try anything funny and i’ll slice your goddamn head off.”

“Damn, alright, you got me, sweetheart.” He teased, putting the knife away.

“Who are you?” They asked.

“The devil, baby.” He responded, chuckling slightly. Then, he shut up as they pressed harder.

“You don’t know who I am, or what i’ve done. You made the wrong pick to hit out on, bud.”

“Yeah, who are you then?”

“Y'know that killer whose been on the rise?”

“Nah, no way.”

“And you’re The Butcher, huh? Crowbar case, lurking in Purgatory?”

“Only I call it that. How do you know that?”

“Misaki. I'm sure you know ‘em.” They responded.

“Fuck. Damnit Misaki.”

“Don’t worry baby, i’m not gonna kill you…you’re too pretty and important to die.” They cooed, and he hated it.

“Don’t baby me. And if you aren’t gonna kill me, get off.” He growled angrily, this brat was starting to get on his nerves.

“Or what, Ronin?” They sneered.

“Misaki told you my name too, huh? Who are you?”

“Y/N. And i’ll get off, but from the way your body is reacting, it seems you don’t want me to. I can see your hand reaching out to touch me.” Fuck, they were observant, maybe too observant.

“Fuck off, just because you give me a bit of a boner doesn’t mean shit.” He grumbled embarrassedly.

“Mhm, sure. I see they way you looked at me back there…you wanted to eat me alive.” They ran their finger up his chest.

“Flirting with the devil…it’s like you wanna end up in hell.” He scowled.

“I’m ending up there either way, why not have fun before I do?”

“just shut up before I do something stupid.” He responded, grabbing their shirt and pulling them closer. His eyes dropped to their lips…fuck they looked so pretty and plump…he could ruin them with his teeth. Their neck too, another thing he could ruin. He could ruin them and their entire being then build it up from fucking scratch. He wanted to, they were hot, feisty, not afraid…he liked that.

“Like what? You gonna kill me? or are you going to kiss me?” They sneered, their hand on his jaw.

“Little bit of A, little bit of B…I could fucking ruin you.” He caved.

“Why don’t you, hm? You're scared?”

“Oh you little…” He pulled them in for a kiss, pushing them against the wall. It was messy and needy, deep and full of desire. He bit their lip, licking up the blood and swallowing their moans. He didn’t know how much he needed this til he had it, and now he never wanted to be without it. Without this annoying, but so attractive individual. His mind raced with the filthiest thoughts that just made him as hard as his back alley dick could be, it made him moan softly into the kiss, and when they realized, they grinded into him until he wanted to just cum in his pants like a teenager. The things this person did to him were wrong, so so wrong and so stupid, he wasn’t one for love or sex, no he was just a mechanic and a killing machine by night, not some sexy loverboy. But for them, he might just be. Or maybe just a one time stand, or a frequent hookup, he’d never know unless he let himself indulge in this fantasy just once. Truth is, they were as crazy as he was, who knew how they were in bed? Only one way to find out.

[hotheadedhero]

Not sure if you're taking requests so feel free to ignore this, but I was wondering how the 2012 turtles would react to an S/O that swears a lot 🤣

My first ever request! And an absolutely hilarious one at that 😂 I love this so much, thank you! This is right up my street!

S/O that swears... a lot

Warnings: bad language but you coulda guessed that :]

2012 Turtles x Reader

Leonardo

He loves you but he wishes you didn't have such a vulgar tongue. This poor guy has no idea what to do, in all honesty. Leo isn't even sure if there's anything he can do. You swear when you're happy just as much as when you're upset.

There's nothing malicious in the way you go about it. He knows this and he knows you harbour no ill intent but he will try to coerce you into at least swearing less. Unfortunately, he realises that this is a futile attempt given it's practically your second language.

Eventually, he learns to suck it up and gets used to it because, gosh darn, he just loves you that much.

Raphael

Doesn't even bat an eye considering his family has to interrupt him before he speaks crudely. He doesn't get why. They're just words with negative associations, after all. The two of you are a massively bad influence on each other, unintentionally encouraging the other to exercise their foul mouth.

It certainly makes banter very interesting, to which the rest of the Hamato family are made either uncomfortable or concerned. Raph has no idea what the problem is. Minus their father, they all grew up in New York, for crying out loud!

At least you two get each other in that respect.

Donatello

May occasionally flinch with the odd swear here and there but doesn't seem to mind too much overall. Even he has some colourful expressions of his own. Sure, his own versions of obscenities are very much more family-friendly but he kind of gets it. "By Darwin's beard" is a prime example.

Donnie isn't one to frequently budge at your choice of vocabulary but he'd be lying if he said he isn't impressed with your creativity.

"What the fuck?! Pavlov's dog could figure this shit out!"

As crass as it is, that might be a personal favourite that often has him humoured.

Michelangelo

Incredibly shocked at first but he doesn't think any differently of you. This guy does not care one bit. You could have two heads and that wouldn't change a thing. At the end of the day, he loves you no matter what.

Someone may need to keep an eye on things, however. Don't forget - Mikey is impressionable when it comes to phrases, let alone the profanities that carelessly fall past your lips. If he's to accidentally repeat one of these words, it's not just his brothers you'll need to worry about getting an earful from.

Splinter will be all up in your case, so be mindful if you want to avoid a stern lesson in the dojo.

Also, just to put it out there, I'm happy to take requests! Just headcanons for now, however. I have so many stories to write and want to get them out before taking on ideas from all you lovelies :)

[wolfislost]

Werewolves & Chronic Illness

Let's talk about chronic illness, and how it relates to my experience of being alterhuman.

I was born defective. I won't specify what conditions I have exactly, for privacy purposes, but they primarily cause pain and fatigue. I have had them for my entire life, and will likely have them until I die. I had them when I first started exhibiting alterhuman behaviours as a child. I had them still when I figured out what I was 2 years ago.

The way I view my identity as a werewolf has been deeply shaped by my relationship to chronic illness. The depictions of being a werewolf that I am most drawn to, and the ones that I myself write, are characterised by pain and body horror. Where the transformation takes some kind of toll on the body.

My relationship to this body I inhabit has been ruled by pain and limitation. The idea of a seamless and easy physical transformation is unthinkable to me. When life within flesh has always meant compromise, why would this be any different?

When I was young, I saw the film “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban”. The werewolf in this film is effectively chronically ill BECAUSE of lycanthropy. Their symptoms worsen around the full moon. Their transformation near the end of the film has stayed with me forever. The creative team chose to depict a gaunt, almost miserable looking creature so far from any depiction of a werewolf I had seen before or since. It was the first time I truly saw myself in a creature like that.

I took one look at that dishevelled, long limbed, scarred creature, and instantly felt a connection.

My condition requires regular hospital treatment. Without it, my body would eventually destroy itself. The timeframe for this treatment? Roughly once a month. Sometimes lining up as the week before the full moon. Another parallel between the cycles of being a werewolf, and the cycle of being chronically ill. Just like my bestial instincts, my physical health waxes and wanes. Too much stress or physical activity, and my body has to rest. Or hibernate.

Which brings me to my other point. My existence as a werewolf, and as a chronically ill human, don't just mirror each other. They overlap at times. Am I emotionally riled up because of the full moon approaching, or because my condition is due for treatment? Is the pain I feel in my bones a need to get down on all fours and stretch, or the side effect of my body's dysfunction? My illness and my alterhumanity sometimes speak the same language. Given the choice, I prefer to see them as complementary.

Two sides of the same coin.

If I was born chronically ill, then perhaps I was also born a werewolf. In the battle of nature versus nurture, perhaps alterhumanity was simply my destiny.

[lets-try-some-writing]

I had an ANGSTY idea

I imagine a scene where it's just a normal day at the base where the children are just hanging out and talking with their guardians (optimus and ratchet are over seeing decepticon activity)

somehow the topic of how long humans lives are comes up. The kids are oblivious to what they just revealed to the bots and seconds after this fact is shared all the bots freeze with realization and horror dawns on them.

Now whenever the bots are with the kids they act more happier and more willing to do what the kids want (and alot more protective) but under the facade is nothing but depression and sadness (the kids still oblivious)

Oh and optimus has a breakdown since he sees them as his own sparklings

Angst my old friend. I love this concept.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

It was not exactly a secret when it came to the short lives of organics compared to Cybertronians. The team were well aware that most organics tended to only live as long as a few centuries at best and possibly a millennia or two with technological adaptations. For them the lives of organics were still but a passing wind, but at least with a few centuries there was time for Cybertronians to grow close to their organic comrades. The team had each met other organics before and during the war, they knew how the organics near Cybertron worked for the most part. Thus they were not particularly concerned with the humans, although they did wonder why they grew so quickly and seemed to deteriorate with such swiftness when they had centuries left ahead of them.

The team largely did not think too much on the biological functioning of the humans and instead focused on their work. Despite that, eventually one particular Prime found himself uncertain.

Optimus found it particularly confusing how humans seemed to die so young all the time. In his free time he took joy in reading documents from Earth and learning their history. It seemed all of Earth's influential people died young. Julius Caesar, Mark Antony, Plato, Socrates, Sun Tzu, George Washington, and so many other influential figures, all dead before their second century of life. It concerned the Prime greatly, especially upon noting how involved the children, June, and Fowler were becoming in their activities. If there was some sort of genetic issue or other ailment that killed off those with influence, he needed to know immediately.

He brought his concerns to Ratchet who in turn gathered the attention of the team. This concern quickly spread and so as one unit the team researched human lives and reasons for offlinement. Before too long they came to the startling conclusion that almost every recorded human life ended when the human in question was around a century old. Some older religious and mythological records indicated that once upon a time humanity could indeed live for centuries, but that seemed to no longer be the case. Seeing this, fear for their charges wormed its way into the sparks of the team. Why were the humans dying so young? What happened to humanity to shorten their lives so drastically? Were their young charges doomed to die in the same manner?

Those questions haunted the team and in the end they decided to simply ask the children to see if there was some form of cultural misunderstanding causing them distress. The children were of course a little confused and it ended up being June who had to explain as the team huddled around, eager to understand and see if there was any way to stop the impending deaths of their wards.

Optimus: I have studied your history and it seems in the last few millennia humanity has failed to live longer than a century at most. Why is that?

June: We only live so long Optimus. We aren't big metal aliens from space like you.

Ratchet: That is true, but we have met organics before. Those that interacted with Cybertron before the war generally lived at least two centuries.

June: I-

Bulkhead: Is there some sort of illness killing you off?

Arcee: Maybe a conspiracy? I've heard of some organic civilizations killing off the older members of their population.

Bumblebee: *Is someone hurting you? We will stop them in that case!*

Optimus: Bumblebee is correct. If your race is under threat, we will gladly assist in stopping the needless death.

June: What? No. What you read are old myths, stories made up by humanity during various ages. They aren't real, we don't live much longer than a century and we never have.

Ratchet: What? But your historical records-!

June: Stories Ratchet. Just stories. Humans usually live around ninety years before we die. That is just the way of things.

Bulkhead: Then the kids-

June: Just like every human before them, they will grow old, and then when their time is up, they will die.

Not a word was uttered at the team slowly scattered, each considering what had been revealed to them. Suddenly a great deal had changed, and not a spark could change things.

Arcee had lost plenty of partners over her long life, but a human? And to old age of all things? She was terrified of that end. She would have to watch as he deteriorated and his frame failed him. How could she look at Jack and not imagine the way his skin would gain wrinkles and how his youthful energy would fade away into the bone deep weariness she observed in the elder humans she noted from a distance. A century was not long, it was hardly the Cybertronian equivalent of a year. Her boy was going to perish before she knew it, and there was not a thing she could do to stop it. Tears were useless, and yet in the quiet of her quarters she wept until she steeled herself. She would give her boy all the affection and care she could over his lifetime, and hopefully in doing so, she could ease the ache of loss that was to come.

Bulkhead was left not as grieved and more saddened above all else. It was easier for him to handle the concept of youthful deaths in organics due to his long service with the wreckers and their allies. He was not upset at Miko dying long before him. No, what saddened him was that she would never have the chance to be a wrecker on a restored Cybertron. By the time their world was restored and things put into motion, he small body would have deteriorated enough to make being a wrecker near impossible for her, at least if she wished to be active. That chance was going to be denied to her because of her fleshy frame, and that above all else had him offering as much opportunity to let her be a wrecker as possible. She would not see the height of Cybertronian military and rescue efforts, but she would have a taste of it, that was his promise.

Bumblebee for his part panicked. He knew organics didn't live long, but he had not expected Rafael's life to come to an end so soon. If Rafael lived according to human standards, he would be dead before Bumblebee's next forging day. He had grown to care deeply for the child, and so while he was no fool and well used to death and the concept of it, his spark still panged with loss. Not knowing what else to do, he threw himself into spending time with Rafael as much as he could outside of patrols and battles. If his friend was going to die so soon, Bumblebee was going to try and be there as a comfort for as long as possible. He tried not to think about the fact that his human companion would perish and silenced any discussion of it when he could. He knew Rafael and every other living being would die eventually, he saw death, he was well acquainted with it, and yet still he was not fond of inviting it by considering it too deeply.

Ratchet was neither particularly shocked or upset, but he was somewhat saddened as he looked over June and the children. He was old, very old. He had been around far longer than even Optimus. Death was not a stranger to him, and he merely found himself nodding along when June spoke the truth. There was nothing to be done and he doubted the children would care for augmentations to extend their lives when all their peers would perish long before they would in that situation. He merely sighed and came to be more gentle with the children. They were incredibly young, even by the standards of their own species. They would not live to see their star go out, and that was likely for the best. To him it was best to let them live a life not burdened by the concept of eternity.

Optimus was quiet after the revelation. He kept to himself for a time, thinking, contemplating, and considering. He knew that his organic charges were not to last, but he had not expected their lives to be so short. His spark cried within him, saddened at what was in his mind, the imminent deaths of several sparklings. He knew of cases where sparklings came from the Well too weak to last. In those situations they were tended to with love and care until at last their small frames failed them and they returned to Primus. It was not the same since the humans would be able to live up to their full potential by their species' standards long before death came for them. But to a Cybertronian? They would not last longer than a Cybertronian year, and that brought him grief. There had been no young for so long, and now those he had come to care for were going to perish so soon? He did not like to consider it and so locked the sorrow away and followed Ratchet's lead, tending to the humans with gentleness and grace.

In response to the team's conflicting emotions, the children found themselves treated with far more kindness than before. Jack was given rights to ride with Arcee far more often and no longer did she try to dismiss him as much. Bulkhead, and later Wheeljack once he understood the situation, took every care to train Miko as a true wrecker, giving her weapons and opportunity she would never have otherwise. Bumblebee went out of his way to speak with Rafael, to tell him stories, and to otherwise speak of all he had seen in order to give his human ward a vision of that which he would never experience due to his short life. Ratchet did not change his behavior much, but he was less hasty in his wrath and spoke to June, more willing to learn human medicine and customs. Optimus fell to offering gifts and wisdom to the humans under his care. He could not be there for them as he would with normal sparklings, but he could show them wonders and offer the wisdom of ages long gone by.

The children found it strange but did not object to the additional attention until it started to grow somewhat suffocating. Only then did they ask why.

Jack: Look, as much as I like being able to go for rides whenever I want, why are you being so nice?

Miko: Yeah, and why are you being so... sad about everything?

Rafael: Is something wrong?

Arcee: Its nothing like that we just-

Ratchet, glaring at the rest of the team: You humans do not live long, at least not compared to us. You lives hardly make up one of our years. They are trying to treat you gently because they are upset about it.

Bulkhead: Well that's a bit of an exaggeration-

Ratchet: No its not.

Jack: Wait, so you mean that since we are going to die eventually, you are being nice to us?

Rafael: We are only teenagers, we aren't going to die anytime soon. There's no need to be sad.

Bumblebee, close to tears: *But there is! You are going to be dead in just over a year for us! And we can't do anything to stop it!*

Miko: Oh, so you are upset because we won't live as long as you.

Optimus: That would be correct... We have not had young of our own since Cybertron fell, and that was many vorns ago. To have you children in our lives has given us hope, and to now know you will not linger with us... we are sorrowful.

Ratchet: Don't stress yourselves over it.

There was little else to say after that revelation, but the children did what they could to comfort their functionally immortal guardians. It wasn't much, but a smile and a thank you every now and then eased the sorrow the team were blanketed in. The humans would die within the blink of an eye for a race from beyond the stars. But that did not stop them from enjoying what time they had.