#and I’m not going to get into the details

[125bluemachine125]

I have the need to read a Rom-com where Reader and Bruce have been raising the kids together but aren’t in a relationship. She is his assistant, a good friend if you stretch it, and the tension has been visible to everyone. Bruce knows that she knows he is Batman, but they’ve never acknowledged it. They are so committed to maintaining a good work dynamic that their feelings have remained unspoken.

The kids want them to be together, but both are so stuck in their dynamic that no plan works. Even the old ladies of society have bets on when himbo Brucie Wayne will realize he has a winner at his side. They absolutely take offense when manwhore Bruce Wayne invites another lady to a gala.

“I don't know how you keep up with him, sweetheart.”

Reader thinks they’re talking about work, but the ladies just keep glaring at Wayne (sometimes even Jason joins them. Bruce has a hate club? He's in).

Here’s where the K-drama plot twist comes in: she sends in her two weeks’ notice. Bruce is devastated, trying to throw money at the problem, and everyone thinks she’s quitting because she’s tired of cleaning up Bruce’s mess and waiting for a man who’s never told her he’s in love with her. But that’s not it; Reader has finally reached her money goal and is retiring 15 years ahead of schedule! She’s going to travel and drink so many daiquiris!

Even after she shares her plan, everyone insists she’s leaving because of heartbreak. But she’s fine! Yes, she loves her boss, but she never deceived herself into thinking they’d start a relationship. She loves him, but her life doesn’t revolve around that. She’s perfectly fine on her own.

So while she’s at her happiest, Bruce is at his lowest. Still, he does nothing, because he believes she’s better off without him.

What makes Bruce get his act together?

“Where are you going, kids? And in tuxedos?”

“God, you never listen!"

" To the wedding. Jason is walking Reader to the altar.”

Bruce? devastated.

The kids? confused by his reaction while Cassandra signs to hurry up.

It’s not a real wedding; it’s a school project, a short film for Damian’s art class. None of the other moms from his classmates wanted to be filmed, so of course he asked Reader. She has acted like their mom at school events for years.

While everyone enjoys the day filming, Bruce is spiraling, gripped by a fierce need to disrupt the wedding... but does Reader even love him? He knows he hasn’t been fair, dating other women and expecting Reader to always be there.

But this is nothing like the two weeks’ notice. He at least had the assurance she’d stay in his life through the kids. But a wedding? That’s it... if she marries is over, it’s really over.

Before he knows it, he’s running, takes his fastest car, and calls Barbara, begging for the kids’ location. (She’s so confused by the urgency; didn’t anyone tell him where the shoot was?)

So Bruce Thomas Wayne storms into the church barefoot, in sweatpants, a white T-shirt, messy hair, and screaming at the top of his lungs.

“I love you! I’ve always loved you! Please don’t leave me...”

A loud noise resounds. Reader’s wedding dress starts to turn red with blood, and Bruce loses it, screaming for someone to call 911. He gathers her in his arms, ugly crying, begging her to forgive him, to stay with him.

“Damn it, Father! You ruined the scene!”

They were filming a horror film.

“Please tell me you filmed everything!” hollers Jason. “The old crones are gonna love this!”

“Does this mean Bruce is a pick me girl?” asks Duke.

“Nah, this means he is an idiot,” answered Stephanie.

Cass just kept giggling quietly with a big smile.

“I waited years for this!” proclaimed Dick in tears.

Tim? He just sips his coffee, satisfied that Damian asked him to be his photography director, because sure as hell he got all the right angles.

So while Bruce is catching that all this is a production, Reader is laughing in his arms with delight.

“I love you too, Bruce.”

The kids know he is gonna forgive the humiliation, because the next thing the camera is filming is both of them kissing.

So while Reader doesn’t get to take her long trip, she ends up drinking daiquiris with Bruce on their honeymoon.

[floodpool]

I am very much trans, but I was also a sickly child. I won’t get into all the details but for example I have moderate severity asthma. At this point in my life I need to take medication twice every day for my asthma in order to breathe as well as someone who doesn’t have asthma. If I do not do this my blood oxygen level is around 90%-92% depending on the season and the air quality. This is comparable to someone who has COPD and might be at least part time on oxygen.

I was never treated for my asthma until I was almost an adult. The inciting event is that I was seventeen I got sick. Like. I caught a cold and then the flu and then another cold and so on. I was sick for something like four consecutive months. Just coughing, sneezing, achy, fatigued, and my throat was so sore I could barely talk. For four months. And then one day I had an asthma attack. It was bad. I couldn’t stand without almost blacking out. Even sitting down I couldn’t breathe and talk at the same time. Between breaks where I was gasping for breath, I explained to my mom what was happening to me. That I needed to go to the hospital. I needed to see someone NOW. It wasn’t something she could put off anymore, it was urgent. I was seventeen and suffocating in my own body, legitimately afraid I would die and too oxygen deprived to help myself. She said no. I threatened to call the ambulance myself. She grabbed my cellphone out of my hand. She told me I was making it up and that the doctor wouldn’t help. I would still have to drive myself to school and I needed to stop complaining.

It took me telling her that I had already informed multiple friends and they were threatening to both call an ambulance and report her to CPS for her to cave, and the entire time she was disparaging and criticizing me. I saw the doctor, I was diagnosed with asthma, I was prescribed an inhaler. Then, still gasping for breath, I had to fight to be allowed to go pick up that inhaler. It cost less than $20 with the insurance I was on, and I paid for it myself. It wasn’t about money. It had never been about money. I used that inhaler and took my first clear breath in months. I got better. I wasn’t sick anymore. She never apologized.

That was one of many medical neglect induced near-death experiences I have had, and every time I hear about “parents rights” I remember how many people I had who wanted to help me and couldn’t. Teachers, friends, trusted adults in extra curriculars, and parents of friends all had to sit and watch for months as I got sicker and sicker. Had to sit with the fact that every time I disappeared from school I may not come back because they knew that even on my deathbed I would never see the inside of a hospital. All because my mother’s right to choose for her child was more important than my right to live without suffering. So I’m a bit leery of parents rights over children’s rights.

in a world where a prominent branch of anti-trans activism focuses on fearmongering about "parents' rights," trans rights and youth rights become inextricable.

trans kids deserve to be called the right pronouns and the right name by schools and doctor's offices, regardless of "parental consent." trans kids deserve to undergo the right puberty at the same time as their cis peers, regardless of "parental consent."

the very concept of "parents' rights" is a smokescreen that enables the abuse and dehumanization of children by adults. this is bad for cis kids, too.

[john-get-the-salt]

Paper-Cuts & Sprains (w/Michael Robby Robinavitch)

Imagine: The first time you have to bring your daughter in to the ED for medical care

Contains: Dad!Robby cause he would be the best dad ever. References to reader being a mom

Warnings: None. Not proof read yet so excuse any typos/errors

Usually when you were entering Pittsburg Trauma Medical Center, it was because you were visiting your husband Robby and/or one of his co-workers.

Normally it wasn’t because you actually needed medical care, but that wasn’t the case today. Well-not entirely.

“It’s ok sweetheart,” you smoothed down your daughter’s hair as you carried her into the ED. Her arms were locked around your neck, tear tracks staining the face she kept buried in your neck.

You didn’t have to wait in line long, as soon as Lupe saw you she waved you back and unlocked the doors. You thanked her and walked the familiar route to the main nurses station.

You didn’t realize how tense you were until you spotted that familiar head of blonde hair. Your chest deflated as you took the first real breath since the accident. Dana was mid sentence to one of the residents when she turned and met your eyes. She stopped talking and jogged over.

“Hey-what‘s wrong? You look pale as death. What happened?”

You adjusted your daughter in your arms, causing her to whimper.

“We were at soccer practice and she twisted her ankle. I know she’s gonna be fine she’s just in a lot of pain and I know how important it is to get it set right and Robby is always saying-“

“Slow down, my love” Dana interrupted, not unkindly. You knew you were rambling, tears that you wouldn’t-couldn’t let fall pricking at the corners of your eyes. It had been so scary seeing her collapse on the field with a scream of pain.

“Have you told Robby?”

“No, I just drove us right over.”

“You did the right thing. How about you guys go make yourself at home in room 6 and I’ll go find your daddy yeah?”

Your daughter nodded, still unwilling to move away from you.

You thanked Dana and walked into room 6. You sat down on one of the seats and maneuvered your daughter so she was sitting on your lap. You gently brushed her cheeks with your thumb.

“How does it feel baby? Still hurting?”

She nodded, bottom lip sticking out.

“I’m sorry baby, daddy will come help you feel better okay?”

“Do you think I’ll get a sticker when we leave?”

“Have I ever let you leave here without one?”

Both you and your daughter looked up at the sound of Robby’s voice. He was standing in the doorway, looking as handsome and tired and loving as always.

“Daddy!” Your daughter cried and reached her arms out.

“Come here pumpkin,” he swooped her up, rocking her back and forth in his arms. She didn’t hesitate to burrow herself into her father like she did with you. You took that moment to wipe at your eyes and will the rest of the tears away for now.

Robby sat himself down beside you, grabbing one of your hands with his.

“What happened at soccer practice?”

“I tripped and hurt my foot.”

Robby glanced at you, knowing you could provide the detail he needed.

“They were playing a practice game and she was running to make a goal. There was a hole in the ground and she fell and twisted her ankle. It swelled up pretty quick and I drove her right over.”

“A goal? Were you gonna make it?”

“Of course I was daddy.” She moved her head away to give him a duh look. “I’m the fastest player on the team.”

You fought a grin. The amount of sass that the 6 year old contained never failed to amaze you.

“Well I’m sorry you didn’t make it. Does it still hurt?”

She nodded, sticking that big lip out again. Paired with her big watery eyes, you were certain in that moment Robby would give her anything in the entire world she asked for.

“I’m going to have to take a look at it, ok? Daddy will be really gentle, I promise.”

She nodded, reaching her hand out to you. “Mommy will you hold my hand?”

“Of course sweetheart. Whatever you needed.” You wrapped your hand around her much littler one and held on tight.

Robby did a full exam, ending with her foot. You diligently held onto her hand the entire time, wincing every time she cried out or moaned that it hurt. It hurt Robby as much as it hurt her, you could tell.

Once finished, Robby gave her a kiss on the forehead.

“You did great sweetheart. We’ll take some pictures of it just to be safe, but I think it’s just sprained. I’m gonna take you to Dana and she’s going to take you up herself to get the pictures while I talk to mommy okay?”

She nodded again. After from her parents, Dana was her most trusted adult. She babysat often when you and Robby needed a break.

You gave her kisses on both cheeks and promised to be right here waiting for her to come back. She said her goodbye and then Robby whisked her away. Once the door shut and you were left alone in the room you began to cry. The tears were a mix of relief and worry and a general feeling of being overwhelmed.

You sat crying quietly for a few minutes until the door opened again and Robby returned.

“She’s with Dana, who has already promised all the lollipops- honey?”

You looked up at him, sniffly, and your husband’s face softened.

“Oh baby.” He squatted down in front of you, taking your hands in his.

“It’s okay, I got you.”

“I was so scared,” you felt it necessary to explain why you were so emotional. “She just dropped like a bag of bricks and started screaming. I wasn’t sure if she hit her head or-or-“

“Shhhh,” he pressed his lips to your head, smoothing down your hair not unlike you did to your daughter to calm her down.

“You did so good, baby. You took good care of her and she’s going to be okay. She’s lucky to have a mom who loves her as much as you do.”

“She’s lucky to have you as a dad.”

“She’s lucky to have both of us,” Robby concluded, pulling far enough way to make you look at him. “And we’re so lucky to have her. When I left she was telling Dana all about the idiots in her class who didn’t know what Tylenol was.”

You choked back a laugh. Your daughter was already so smart and so interested in anything medical. She’d also already declared she wanted to be a Doctor just like her daddy when she grew up.

“I’m ok now, really. It just freaked me out.”

“There’s no need to explain yourself to me, sweetheart. Remember when she got her first paper cut and I cried like a baby?”

This time you let the laugh out fully. You would never forget the day when your daughter caught her finger on a piece of paper just right and a single bead of blood rose to the surface. Robby nearly lost it at the sight.

“We’re a bit sensitive when it comes to her,” you agreed.

“But just think of how sensitive and kind and thoughtful she’s turning out to be. We’re doing a damn good job.”

You smiled, admiring the love in Robby’s eyes. “We are.” You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. He tucked some of your hair behind your ear as his lips moved seamlessly against yours.

You pulled apart after a few moments and his eyes were crinkled happily.

“I love you.”

“I love you too sweetheart. And I love our little family, through all the paper cuts and sprains.”

“You say that now, but wait until she starts high school and wants to do cheerleading or volleyball.”

Robby groaned. “Don’t remind me that our little girl won’t be little forever.”

“Don’t worry, she’ll always be a daddy’s girl.”

“And you’ll always be my girl.”

“You cheese ball,” you teased while your cheeks flushed. No matter how much time passed, Robby could still always make you swoon.

“Come on,” Robby kissed your cheek and helped you stand. “The crew will want to see you before you take off again. Especially Cassie, I think she really needs a mom’s night off.”

“Say less, whatever that woman needs she gets. Lead the way.”

He laughed, leading you out of the room. “Have i told you today how much I love you?”

“Yes, but it never hurts to tell me a million more times.”

“Well I love you.”

“Love you too, Doctor.”

[charmedreincarnation]

My success story (fucking finally)

I’ve been using your lucid dreaming challenge, and couple of days ago, I had another lucid dream. I used both the MOAB and SSILD methods you provided, and I also created my own subliminal using CapCut AI and YouTube modifier.

In the dream, I was being chased by a killer. That’s usual tbh, my dreams are usually nightmares. In the dream I was climbing buildings, even though I’m terrified of heights and not a climber at all. So I became lucid. I realized the whole thing was just a dream because I can’t climb lol and in that moment I had that awareness, I slipped and began to fall. Out of nowhere, this bird thing appeared. It caught me mid-air and saved me. I remember spinning in circles quickly on purpose, to stabilize myself so I wouldn’t wake up like you said. As I was spinning, I looked at the creature thing and said pls, take me to my guardian angel and it did.

It brought me to a woman who had long blonde hair, wings, and a godly presence. She was beautiful. Her name was Helena. I don’t know if she’s really my guardian angel or if I created her in the dream, but either way idgaf but she felt familiar. She told me she’s been watching over me. I asked her to make the dream more beautiful, and instantly, the entire scene changed. She created colors I’ve never seen before shades that don’t even exist in waking life. It looked like a rainbow field, but more cosmic and way more surreal.

Then I asked her to Please, help stop my suffering. Even if I don’t shift right now, please wake me up in a reality where I don’t feel this way anymore, so I can finally focus on my journey She said okay and right after that, I fell off the bird and woke up.

Then i had another false awakening. I knew immediately that I was still dreaming. It was a false awakening, and I could tell unlike the first few times this happened to me. In this dream version of my room, my mom had a lottery ticket. It was dated March 2025. In the dream, it was the winning ticket and then I remembered Neville Goddard’s story about dramatizing the wish fulfilled in a lucid dream and waking up holding the physical item from your dream. So in my false awakening, I decided to do the same. I held onto the ticket tightly and laid back down in the dream bed still holding it as if I were going to sleep with it in my hand so I could wake up with it in real life.

I still can’t believe it actually worked. I woke up with the lottery ticket in real fucking life. It was a real, physical ticket and not just any ticket, but one dated from March like in the dream. I showed it to my mom, and told her it was one of her old ones I forgot to check and she told me to go ahead and check it, just in case. Honestly, I didn’t think anything would come of it. It felt too wild to be real. But it was the winning ticket.

It was a large amount. I won’t say the exact number because I know you can trace things like that online, but just know it’s enough that I don’t have to work. At all. My parents even texted me that morning telling me to just go get my master’s degree, which is literally all I wanted. I didn’t want luxury or fame or anything wildI just wanted time. I wanted freedom. I wanted to not suffer and stress about surviving while trying to shift. the craziest part is that same night, I went to bed and woke up in my dream life. I didn’t even use a method. Just knowing I had money now was enough to trigger the shift I had been chasing for years. And when I say years, I mean it. I’ve been trying to shift since 2016, even before I knew what shifting actually was. I didn’t have the language back then, hut I knew I wanted to explore realities and be apart fk books and movies I’ve been watching and reading. I’ve been consciously trying since probably since 2022 and now, it finally happened.

I had a detailed list of everything I ever wanted down to the tiniest details and I’m still in shock because it all manifested and even more than I asked for. I revised my family dynamic, I revised my appearance, my mental state, my location, my lifestyle, my confidence, and my bank account. I copied Jay @heliosoll and I created my own WR to be my “home reality”and now it’s where I spawn anytime I die in places I will shift to. I manifested everything I wanted. It’s actually overwhelming in the best way. I’m not even going to list it all because it would take forever, but I no longer have anxiety. I no longer struggle with depression. My parents, who used to be strict, emotionally distant, and dismissive like a lot of traditional African parents are now revised to be loving, emotionally present, supportive, and woke. I’m so gorgeous now. And I have real friends and so many of the when before, I was just mid (and very insecure) and surrounded by fake people who only kept me around to feel better about themselves. They just wanted someone to compare themselves to, someone to use for easy validation.

Now I have hobbies, passions, and interests that actually make me happy. Before, my only “hobby” was honestly just surviving my depression. Now I will read, l paint, cook, Work out, journal, write, and travel. My house is clean, spacious, and beautiful. Before it was small, cluttered, and dark. honestly, I used to think it was haunted. I have pets now, even though I used to be allergic. I have so much money like real, life-changing money. Generational wealth level even more than the lottery and I’m already thinking of what kind of business I want to start. I’m leaning toward something luxurious maybe creating my own high-end purse line or maybe something more scalable and simple like e-commerce. I don’t know yet, but I finally have the time, resources, and peace of mind to explore it. Right now, I don’t want a boyfriend But when I am ready, I’ll be manifesting someone tall, rich, attractive, and deeply in love with me. A respectful simp with range, loyalty, and no ego issues. Someone emotionally intelligent and obsessed with me, in the healthiest way.

I even left a few things open-ended, just to let the universe surprise me. For example, I didn’t script a specific car model I just asked for something beautiful and rare. I ended up with a matte black Bentley Bentayga, fully wrapped in metallic lavender detailing with a custom interior from Mansory. It literally looks like a concept car. We also have a yatch and it’s a Sunseeker 100 Yacht I didn’t even know what that was 2 days ago!

But yea….First of all, I want to thank myself, you, and @gorgeouslypink even though, at one point, I genuinely thought you two were the same person. Sorry about that. And also, thank you to @sugarcoatedcherry . You guys really helped me stay focused and hopeful.

I wasn’t even going to post this because im not gonna lie I hate this app sometimes. The drama, the performative advice, the endless paragraphs of recycled nonsense… it made me want to log off for good. But I promised a few friends I’d share what actually worked for me, especially on here and Tumblr, because there were some genuinely helpful people who kept it real.

So here’s what I did one last timefor the girls and gays:

1. I made my own subliminal.

I used CapCut and layered my affirmations over this sound:

https://youtu.be/60o-pNwOmCE?si=KmE52FM6eb_hziL3

To create the affirmations, I took all my doubts and anxieties and put them into AI and asked it to reframe those fears into positive, subconscious-language affirmations. Then, I recorded them in my own voice, because your subconscious responds more deeply to your own tone and rhythm.

2. I used the MOAB sub in the morning and then I listened to my subliminal all day and night

3. I ordered galantamine.

It was supposed to arrive that day, but clearly… I didn’t even need it, LOL. That said, I did research it, and I’ve heard great things especially for lucid dream induction. It just takes forever to ship.

4. I went to bed with a clear intention and naturally woke up around 4 a.m. and did SSILD, super lazily.

5. I read @charmedreincarnation post about dream character control.

This was a game-changer for me. One of my biggest struggles used to be chaos in my dreams characters acting wild, not listening, or turning on me. That post explained how to keep dream characters in line and reminded me that it’s my reality. My rules. Keeping things emotionally stable in the dream really helped me shift with clarity.

Thats it, either way, I’m free. And so are you. I won’t be answering DMs. I’m not even planning to post on my account anymore. I’m choosing to finally leave and live my life now. I really believe that using my own voice for my subliminal was the key that changed everything for me.

My only advice is this a lot of people on here are stuck. They argue over methods, obsess over drama, and waste time fighting on Tumblr instead of actually shifting. Stay far away from that energy. Focus on your life lol. Focus on your self. And don’t fear the world. With shifting, you’re no longer bound by it. When your consciousness is aligned, nothing outside of you can control your experience. That’s the real freedom.

Hey sorry I just saw this but idk if it will post bc the format is too long but that dream sounds wild, and now I’m seriously intrigued by the Neville Goddard lucid dreaming method. I’ve never tried it before, but I’m definitely interested now. I’ve also used the Hemi-Sync theta waves and I 100% recommend it. It works incredibly . I’m so happy the lottery win ended up being a gateway to something even bigger: stepping into your dream life.

I’m so happy for you!!!you truly deserve all your success. The commitment and patience you showed throughout the process is such great part of every success story. It’s always inspiring to see someone stay dedicated and trust the timing. Wishing this and so much more to everyone on their own journey. Thank you for sharing all the details it was inspiring to say the least and I’m going to try some of these techniques myself!

[lostrologyy]

SPIDERMAN!JAMES!!!!! HES PERFECT FOR A SPIDERMAN AU

discovering your boyfriend is spiderman*. ⋆

cw: fluff. brief mention of blood. desperate james. reader is in danger (kinda, not really). not proofread!

cw: OMGG this concept is perfect!! let me know if you'd like to see more of him<3 as always, feedback is very much appreciated. remember english isn't my first language!

“that’s for attacking my girlfriend, you idiot!”

the words slipped from his lips before he had time to rethink the situation.the anxiety quickly crawling up his chest after he realized what he’d just done. just the result of too much adrenaline coursing through his body along with the fear he’d felt as soon as he realized that drunk dickhead was following you.

and you, well, you hadn’t expected to see your boyfriend tonight, neither spiderman. and you had totally not expected to see them both. at the same time.

you’re still pressed against the wall of a random alley, your purse clutched to your chest and your heart hammering in your ribs, “jamie?”

you see how his body tenses when you say his name, barely hearing him murmur something that sounds a lot like “oh fuck”.

“james, is that you?”

defeated, he sighs and takes the mask off, turning around to face you. the faint light of a street lamp allowing you to see your boyfriend’s guilty face with that damn smirk that always makes your stomach flip no matter how mad you are. your eyes follow down to the rest of his body, covered in the familiar red and blue suit.

“hi baby” he says softly.

you blink, “you’re spiderman,” you stare at his body again, noticing his side slightly damp from what looks like blood. “what the fuck?”

“yeah… it’s a funny story.”

you stare at him in shock, breath slowly leaving your lungs while the gravity of what just happened finally hits you.

“you’re spiderman,” louder now. almost hysterical.

“i was gonna tell you, i swear,” he whines, “it’s just- i didn’t know how.”

“you didn’t know how to tell me you’re a freaking superhero?!”

he winces at your tone, your voice sounding more harsh that you’d wanted to.

he looks utterly miserable, his big brown eyes wide open in panic because he really doesn’t have a clue about what else to say.

you slowly walk up to him and put a hand on his cheek, and he instantly rubs against it like he always does when you try to pull him for a kiss.

“you’re an idiot,” you drag him by the face to put your forehead against his, his hands moving to rest on your hips, pulling you closer to him.

“you should’ve told me,”

“i know,” he mutters, “but it was like i could never find the right timing.”

“i don’t even think there's a good timing for news like this.” you insist.

“i guess, but showing up to your window after patrolling didn’t seem like a good way to surprise you either.”

you smack his shoulder. not hard, just enough to make you both laugh.

“you’re gonna tell me everything.”

“i will, baby” he gives in to kiss you but you turn your face to the side.

“i’m serious, james… you-”

“don’t call me that.” he whines, pouting at your denial.

“what? it’s your name!”

“but you always call me baby or jamie. james is only for when you’re really really mad at me.”

“that’s because i am!” despite all, your fingers brush away a few curls clinging to his sweaty forehead, his eyes closing at the gentle contact. “my boyfriend was out there fighting bad people and getting hurt and i had no idea.”

“i already said i was sorry, baby” he takes your hand fixing his hair and brings it to his mouth, kissing your knuckles.

“and you’re going to tell me everything. with details.” you repeat, the sensation of his warm lips on your skin sending shivers down your spine.

“whatever you want, baby. now c’mere. let me kiss you properly.

lostrologyy © 2025.

[idyllwave]

30 MILLION TO 1

yandere!phainon x fem!reader | part ii. ∄

you promised phainon you could handle things, and he let you go against his better judgement. next time though, he refuses to let you go alone. however, next time may never happen.

word count | ~2k

cw | angst , death , blood, yandere!phainon , low key stalker phainon , 30 million cycles , grammatical errors , etc.

taglist

@hoonobono

Unlike most people, Phainon starts his day a bit differently. The moment he wakes up he is already pulling you close to his chest so he could hug you as tight as he could. His actions always jostle you awake as you yawn and wrap your own arms around his waist and stuff your face into his chest. He knew that if you didn’t hug him back in the morning then something was obviously wrong.

“Morning, Phainon,” you mumbled, your voice being muffled by his chest as he hugged you impossibly closer. He didn’t know why, but he very much enjoyed squeezing you. Now that he thinks about it … he believes Hyacine calls it cuteness aggression.

And like always since you both started living together, you would be up first. Somehow managed to wrestle out of his grip and get out of bed, and he would, of course, be hot on your heels. He honestly couldn’t stand not being close to you and you never said anything about his clinginess. In fact, you enabled him more often than not.

“What do you have planned for today?”

That was another thing. After he gets done training and makes some random excuse to the other Chrysos Heirs, he would quickly find himself tailing you throughout the day. His eyes soaking up any detail that he has failed to notice before while also hoping you would slip about something you’ve been keeping secret (like where you really come from). But he couldn’t say that to you, he didn’t want to see you react negatively towards anything he does. Which is why he hides the fact that he threatens any man or woman who comes your way, why he hides his tailing habits, why he hides how he is utterly obsessed with everything about you.

“Just some training,” he said simply as he started to brush his teeth right next to you in front of the mirror, his elbow sometimes knocking into yours.

You hummed as you spit out your toothpaste, “well, I have my own business to attend to today.”

He spit out his own toothpaste, “like what?”

You turned on the sink and cleaned off any toothpaste residue from your mouth before gently doing the same for Phainon which he happily leaned into your touch for.

“Professor Anaxagoras has some info for me that I had asked him about awhile ago, and asked me to meet him this afternoon.”

Phainon huffed, “I should-“

“Stay here just in case an emergency pops up,” you finished.

“But what if you run into some trouble?”

“I can assure you that I am a capable fighter Phainon.”

He gave you that look that screamed ‘I’m not too sure about that’ as you lightly pushed him with a roll of your eyes, “you were too much Phainon, I swear that I’ll be fine.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

Against his better judgement, he did let you go alone. And later on through the day, he did get busy, so he didn’t even get the chance to see you off. Much to his dismay.

Meanwhile, when you had finally reached the Grove in the afternoon, Anaxa was already waiting for you. His eye already picking you out as he gestured for you to follow him.

“Leaving Amphoreus isn’t possible right now.”

You didn’t even have to ask as he already decided to hit you hard with the truth.

“I understand… so I’m stuck here.”

Anaxa looked at you as you closed the door to his office, and leaned against it as you hung your head – he never seen you look so defeated.

“Have you told Phainon?”

You shook your head, “no… I haven’t. I thought that if we could find a way to break through this place, then I could call for help, and then tell him everything, and maybe… ask him to come with me. However, it seems I will need to find a way out of this place before I tell him everything.”

“Wouldn’t it be simpler to tell the truth now?”

“He has the prophecy to worry about,” you said after a moment, “I don’t want to burden him with my own problems.”

“Then why bother getting close to him?”

You opened your mouth to say something, but ended up closing it. Why? You know you aren’t apart of this world, but you ended up getting close to Phainon anyway. It wasn’t like you planned to get trapped here and fall in love with him. In fact, this place wasn’t even where you were planning to go because someone or something pulled you here. Not to mention that Phainon didn’t make it easy. He was definitely persistent.

“Because I fell in love with him.”

“Foolish,” Anaxa muttered, “utterly foolish.”

You smiled a bit sheepishly. Anaxa reminded you a lot of Dr. Ratio, but luckily Anaxa was a bit more tolerable. (Especially when you were wrong about something he didn’t throw chalk at your head…)

“Anyway, Professor-“

You jumped as there was a knock on the door. And panicked voices were yelling from the outside.

You were quick to open it as a few people bursted in causing Anaxa to step forward as well, “what’s wrong?”

“It’s the black tide! It’s here!”

“Already,” you asked, “without any warning?”

You heard about the black tide, had your reservations about it, but decided to leave the problem to the chyrsos heirs while also offering your help here and there. You didn’t think that this would happen.

“We need to evacuate,” Anaxa said, “where-“

One of the students clutched her hands to her chest, “this is everyone, Professor. The others-,” she cut herself off with a choked sob. So another student spoke up, “the escape routes were blocked off. We’re basically stuck here!”

“Why weren’t the alarms set off?”

“Someone disabled them.”

You huffed, not really understanding why everything was falling apart so quickly, but it was fine. If this was all that was left, then you would just blaze a path for the survivors. As a nameless. It was your job to trailblaze a new path.

Phainon was the first to get the emergency. His footfalls were light even as he raced through Okhema. The other Chyrsos Heirs could only try to keep up, even Mydei couldn’t catch up to the Deliverer because the moment that it was said that the Grove was attacked he was already gone. And the sight that was left for him was –

His feet felt like lead as he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other. His eyes refusing to look down at the bodies he had to step over or move around.

“Phainon-“

He didn’t wait to listen to what his fellow Chyrsos Heirs had to say, and he didn’t want to ask Castorice if she could sense your soul. He had to find you for himself. Wherever you are.

Like a mantra, he chanted inside his head that you were fine. Probably fighting off the last remaining enemies.

And you were, you had been at least… but a sword had plunged into the upper left side of your chest, the jagged blade splitting your heart in two. Your weapon dropped to the floor as you raised your hands to grip the blade. Your eyes staring up at a figure dressed in black, his face masked behind metal plating.

“Not part of the cycle.”

In broken words, the masked figure spoke to you, his sword plunging in just a bit deeper as the students behind you huddled close together while also protecting a knocked out Anaxa.

“Cycle? What cycle?”

You coughed as blood dribbled from your mouth and seeped from your wound. Your vision was already darkening and your body started to feel cold where the wound was as a numbness started to form around your toes and fingertips which wanted to seep and spread into your very limbs. The cloaked figure raised it’s other hand, grabbed your neck for stability, before pulling the blade from your chest and dropping you to the floor.

“Core .. not here.”

You couldn’t manage to say anything as you lied there. You could feel everything going dark as you closed your eyes.

Is this where the trailblaze ends for you?

By the time Phainon and the others make it to where the survivors were, the cloaked figure was already gone. And even as the survivors cheered for their arrival, Phainon was only focused on you and your still body being cradled in one of the girl’s arms. His steps were slow as he walked over and knelt in front of the student who was holding you.

“What happened,” he managed to ask, his hand shakily reached out to touch your face, but you were already so cold. He moved his fingers to your neck. No pulse.

“A cloaked figure attacked us, but she stood in his way. They fought for a long time before that monster got the upper hand and stabbed her through the chest… We- we think she would have won if she didn’t get injured by protecting us from the black tide.”

He hated hearing the words “would have won” because that means these students were in the way of her victory. If she didn’t protect these selfish, ignorant, undeserving people then she would still be alive. Though, he also has the cloaked figure to blame as well… like a nightmare that monster seems to fester.

“Deliverer. You’re scaring them.”

He snapped out of his thoughts and noticed that he had ripped your body from the girl’s grasp and pulled you close to his chest. And the look on his face… just looking at the students he could tell that he had struck fear into them. And truthfully, he didn’t care.

He stood up and picked up your body as well. One arm was hooked under your knees while the other supported your back so that your head was resting against his chest.

“Good.”

After your death, the cycle continued as it always had and ended just like before with him resetting and starting the cycle anew.

When he walked through Okhema’s gates for the first time, he had immediately set out to find you. Though, throughout the years that he had lived there, day in and day out, you were never in sight. Even when he had become a Chyrsos Heir you had made no appearance. Before too long, he had went through one hundred different cycles but you hadn’t appeared again.

It was like you had never existed in the first place.

Meanwhile, you were resting a palm over your chest as you sat in the Astral Express infirmary. Your memories on what had happened being lost on your as Himeko told you that they found floating around in space with a massive wound in your chest. And you couldn’t even tell them nor remember how you got there. The last thing you remember was leaving to check a stellaron reading.

“Mannn, well, I guess it’s better than losing all my memories.”

“No kidding,” March said as she, Dan Heng, Welt, and a person you never met before entered the room.

And you learned that this person was named Stelle. A new member of the Astral Express. Also a person who currently housed a stellaron in their body…

“I feel like I missed so much.”

“You did. Thankfully, since we’re going to Penacony next, you can finally have some time to rest and relax.”

That was another thing you learned, you have been missing for about one to two years now. But that was alright, you were sure that you would get back into the swing of things eventually. And hey, maybe they were right. Penacony, as you had heard, was a lot like a fancy resort of some kind. So some fun and relaxation was definitely what you needed.

[kenzdolls]

JAX RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS .

⌗ pairing: (tadc) jax x gn! reader

⌗ warnings: lowercase intended, has spoilers of ep 5

⌗ a/n: idk i did this since I’m trying to reach out to other fandoms (yes i’m doing all the characters i have free will)..also since my inbox is dry, i’m asking…PLEASE SEND ME REQUESTS MY BRAIN IS FRYING FROM WRITERS BLOCK

FIRST TIME MEETING:

▹ jax literally does NOT care when you first arrive because he's seen too many newbies lose their minds within the first week (he's learned not to get attached too quickly after what happened with ribbit)

▹ probably pranks you on your literal first day because "welcome to hell, might as well get used to it now" but then feels weirdly guilty about it later??? like he'll leave a small apology gift outside your room (probably stolen from someone else's room tbh)

▹ gets annoyed when you don't immediately break down or start crying like most new people do - where's the entertainment in that??? you're just… adapting??? (this bothers him more than it should)

▹ starts paying attention to you when you either: 1) successfully prank him back, 2) don't rat him out when caine asks who put glitter in ragatha's hair, or 3) laugh at his jokes even when everyone else is giving him death glares

▹ definitely steals your room key within the first week just to see what you're hiding but then gets genuinely curious about your little personal space and the weird way you've arranged everything

▹ makes fun of whatever coping mechanism you've developed but secretly takes notes because holy shit you're actually handling this better than he did

▹ starts doing that thing where he "accidentally" bumps into you during adventures or walks just a little too close when caine isn't looking (personal space who???)

▹ probably gives you a stupid nickname based on either: something embarrassing that happened to you, your appearance, or just to annoy you (spoiler alert: he keeps using it even when you start dating)

▹ gets genuinely confused when you start talking to him like he's a actual person and not just the "funny mean rabbit" because??? people don't usually do that??? ribbit was the last person who really saw him as jax and not just comic relief

HIM CRUSHING ON YOU:

▹ this man is in DENIAL with a capital D - like he'll literally tell himself "i don't like them, i just think they're less annoying than the others" while actively going out of his way to spend time with you

▹ starts hoarding little things that remind him of you (a button that fell off your outfit, a drawing you doodled during a boring caine explanation, etc.) but will DIE before admitting it

▹ gets weirdly protective but tries to play it off as "you're MY entertainment, nobody else gets to mess with you" but really he's terrified of losing another person he cares about

▹ begins pranking you more but they're like… softer pranks??? like putting fake spiders in your bed (but making sure they're not the kind that actually scare you) or rearranging your room (but not actually breaking anything important)

▹ starts having those moments where he'll say something genuinely sweet/supportive but then IMMEDIATELY follow it up with an insult to maintain his image ("you're not completely terrible at this… for an idiot")

▹ catches himself staring at you during adventures and gets MAD about it - like why are you so distracting??? he has chaos to cause and you're just… existing??? attractively??? rude.

▹ probably has a minor crisis about his feelings because the last person he really cared about was ribbit and we all know how that ended (he's absolutely terrified of caring about someone again)

▹ gets jealous when other circus members get your attention but won't admit it - instead he'll just insert himself into conversations or create distractions to get focus back on him

▹ starts doing that thing where he remembers really specific details about you (your favorite corner to sit in, how you fidget when you're anxious, what makes you laugh) but acts like he doesn't pay attention to anyone

▹ has definitely had at least one dream about you and woke up SO MAD about it because feelings are WEAKNESS and he doesn't DO weakness

▹ begins testing the waters with more physical contact - "accidentally" grabbing your hand during adventures, leaning against you when he's "tired," finding excuses to be in your personal space

▹ gets genuinely upset when you're having a bad day but doesn't know how to help without compromising his reputation, so he'll just… be less mean to everyone that day (the others notice and are confused)

YOU DATING HIM:

▹ asking you out was probably the most awkward thing he's ever done because he had to drop the act for like 0.5 seconds to be genuine and he HATED every second of it (but your reaction made it worth it)

▹ your relationship is 70% banter and 30% genuine sweet moments when he thinks nobody is looking and 100% him being terrified you'll abstract and leave him like ribbit did

▹ still pranks you but now it's "couple pranks" - like putting fake love letters in your room signed from other circus members just to see you get flustered, or rearranging your stuff to spell out "I LOVE YOU" (but then denying he did it)

▹ gets SUPER jealous but tries to play it off as possessiveness - "that's MY idiot you're talking to" (he's not fooling anyone, he's just insecure)

▹ shows affection through: stealing things for you, letting you win at games sometimes, sharing his food, and most importantly - telling you his real thoughts instead of just sarcastic quips

▹ absolutely MELTS when you play with his ears but will threaten anyone who points it out (his ears do that little twitch thing when he's happy and you're the only one who gets to see it)

▹ has nightmares about you abstracting and will sometimes wake up and just… need to see you to make sure you're okay (he'll make up some excuse about being bored or wanting to prank someone)

▹ starts including you in his pranks as a partner rather than a target - you two become the WORST duo and everyone else suffers for it (but secretly they think it's cute that jax is happy)

▹ gets genuinely soft when you're upset about the whole "being trapped forever" thing because he KNOWS that feeling and doesn't want you to go through it alone like he did

▹ probably has a secret stash of things he's made/found for you that he's too embarrassed to give you directly, so he just leaves them places you'll find them

▹ learns your triggers and genuinely tries to avoid them in his pranks/jokes because making you laugh is good, making you hurt is NOT (growth!!!)

▹ gets scared when you're too quiet or seem distant because what if you're starting to abstract what if he's losing you what if what if what if so he'll just hover around you until you're acting normal again

▹ your first kiss was probably during a really dangerous adventure when he thought one of you might not make it out, and he just couldn't leave things unsaid (very dramatic, very him)

▹ now he's stuck between his fear of losing you and his genuine happiness at having you, so he's like… aggressively affectionate but also constantly worried (someone get this rabbit some therapy)

▹ starts planning little dates within the circus - like setting up movie nights in the common area or finding ways to get you both out of adventures so you can just hang out

▹ definitely practices saying "i love you" in his room before he actually says it to you (and when he finally does, it's probably during an argument where he just blurts it out and then gets embarrassed)

⌗ taglist: @idexmids @siriuslyginnychase @eleteo125 @st4r-dustx @corpsebridenightamare @boreaswrites [OPEN]

✦ REQUESTS ARE OPEN! ✦

© KENZDOLLS 2025 . do not copy, translate, or plagiarize my work in anyway including the use of ai onto any other social media platforms or it will permit an instant block on all platforms.

[crowleysgirl56]

CW: Discussions of Neil Gaiman.

TW: Neil Gaiman

Hello again Good Omens fandom and community. A gentle reminder as it’s now gone one year since the allegations against N*il G*iman were made public (how has it only been a year when it feels like a decade ago already?). As a fandom community I know we hold Good Omens and the characters close to our hearts, and this past year has been an extremely troubling and upsetting time. We are never going to please everyone with our condemnation of the author and our remaining in the fandom. I understand that. But I feel it’s important to remind everyone of what he is, what he did, and why we should still be talking about it. New people enter the fandom all the time and it’s important that they are aware of what he did so they don’t fall into idolisation and parasocial traps.

As I have said before I no longer support NG, his extended works, or his narrative. He has become a dark stain on what was once a beautiful community. We are still vibrant and beautiful and supportive of each other, but there will always remain a dark cloud now.

I know I continue to post enthusiastically my thoughts about the finale, meta analysis, headcanons, and sharing of other ideas and beautiful artwork. Because I still want this place to be the happy place it started off as before the whole entire world started going to shit.

But it’s important to remind everyone now and again of what happened and what he did so they remain informed. So for those of you new to the Good Omens community (and I’ve seen quite a few of you recently), please remember we do NOT stand with NG. He is an horrifically abusive and manipulative person and it is important that you do not revere, admire, idolise or respect him in any way. He has lost that privilege when he placed his hands on a woman without permission. He is nothing to us now. He has been cast out of this community and he will never be welcome back. Ever. He doesn’t get to play the waiting game and slink back in when he thinks the heat has died down. We will be waiting and we will tear him apart if he steps foot in any fandom community again. We will remember. We will not forget.

If you are brand new to Good Omens and you somehow have no idea what I’m talking about, or you have a vague idea but still don’t know the story, then I highly recommend watching Vera from Council of Geeks YouTube videos on the matter. She has made five videos and they’re all very thorough and informative without going into the specific and horrific details of the allegations. (I’ve linked the first video in the series).

I don’t expect everyone to made a comment about NG. I don’t think you should have to. But it’s still important to acknowledge what happened, what is continuing to happen and what you can do moving forward.

If you feel like you need to do something, then I highly recommend visiting the website Take Back The Night, which provides support to those affected by sexual violence.

https://takebackthenight.org

Always much love to this fandom, my followers and my mutuals. You make the internet a better place.

[aurorlia]

✷ ◟ ART HATES LONG DISTANCE, KEEP TALKING FOR HIM ! ৎ᠀

you spent most of your time on the phone with your boyfriend, long distance wasn’t easy especially for him but you both agreed that it was better than not being together at all.

you often ranted about how difficult your day was, he knew he wouldn’t get a proper chance to speak but when he did, it wasn’t much. He was more of a listener when it came to you especially now, you didn’t realize why he was always so quiet until one night.

you talked on and on how fast your day went and little details. “geez, are you even listening to me?” you groaned, a shaky sigh leaving art. “y—yep, just keep talking babe.” He mumbled but you went quiet, a small whine leaving his mouth. “ba—baby, come on..”

“oh. you want me to keep talking?” you crooned, it didn’t take a genius to know what the hell he was doing but he couldn’t help it. He missed you too much and you could tell his pace was going faster.

yet another whimper left his lips, “oh my..fuck—“ he moaned into the phone, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. babbling was his thing so it didn’t surprise you when he started— “oh baby..baby! fuck, I can’t wait to see you again. oh my— I think I’m cumming!, I’m cumming!”

your sweet boy can’t wait to see you again !

taglist : @pittsick @nozhdyved @forgetmenotnympho @lov3lylxvender @museboos @cinnamongmm

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Romantasy Book Tropes Ranked By How Easy They Are to Make Interesting Again

okay so hear me out: i love romantasy. i am romantasy. but also? a lot of the tropes feel like they've been in a blender set to “medium aesthetic” and we all just nod and go “yes this is fine” while our souls leave our bodies.

so i ranked some of the top romantasy tropes by how EASILY they can be made good again, not which ones are the best, not which ones are ✨dead✨, but which ones are like, 2 rewrites away from being god-tier if you’re willing to do violence to them.

⚠️ this list is subjective. take it up with your protagonist’s tragic backstory.

🥇 1. The Cursed Prince / Beast / Exiled Royalty Difficulty: ★☆☆☆☆ Listen. This one is so easy to make interesting again it’s embarrassing when it’s bad. Just add one (1) real consequence. Is he cursed? Cool. Show me how that curse is actively wrecking his life. Exiled? Give me the betrayal scene in detail. Raised by wolves? Show me him eating raw meat like a weirdo. Don’t just make him Hot and Sad. Make him feral and complicated. Bonus points if he doesn’t want to be uncursed. Bonus bonus if the heroine agrees.

🥈 2. The Marriage Trial / Forced Proximity Setup Difficulty: ★★☆☆☆ You can spin this SO MANY WAYS. Make the trial political. Make the contestants unhinged. Make it morally messed up. It stops being boring the moment you stop writing it like a CW love triangle and start writing it like a dark social game. ex: Squid Game but hot. Don’t just have them accidentally touch hands. Have them make alliances and betray each other in the hallway at 3am. Be weird with it.

🥉 3. The Warrior Girl Who Has Never Known Love Difficulty: ★★☆☆☆ The trick is: don’t make her secretly soft. Make her correct. Love should feel like a threat to her survival, not a makeover montage. She doesn’t need to be taught softness, she needs to be loved as is. Give her a love interest who isn’t trying to “fix” her but sees her sharp edges and says “yeah that’ll do.” Instant slay.

👀 4. Enemies to Lovers Difficulty: ★★★☆☆ Controversial take but: most of you are doing rivals to lovers. Or “mild professional disagreement” to lovers. True enemies to lovers is hard because it requires two people to want to ruin each other, and then have to live with that. There needs to be blood on the floor. There needs to be regret. It’s not banter if they wouldn’t kill each other in Act 1. Go full feral or go home.

🔮 5. The Chosen One and the Dark Mentor Difficulty: ★★★★☆ this one is delicious BUT. the power imbalance. the age gap. the moral greyness. the betrayal baked into the bones. it needs to be handled with scary levels of intention. when it’s done right? peak feral epic gothic. when it’s not? feels like a Wattpad fic from 2012 where the teacher falls for the new girl in detention. tread wisely.

🪦 6. The Mysterious Assassin Love Interest Difficulty: ★★★★★ okay. i’m tired. i’ve seen this man too many times. he’s got a dark past, two daggers, and no personality. he exists only to appear at the edge of a ballroom and go “you shouldn’t be here.” if you want to make him interesting again, you need to get into his actual psyche. give him weird rituals. make him bad at normal things. give him a reason he’s choosing murder over healing. or better yet, retire him for a few years. we’ve earned a break.

💌 agree? disagree? reblog with YOUR favorite romantasy trope and how you’d resurrect it from the cliché graveyard. 🪦✨

[inseobts]

Map of Love

nami x fem!reader

a chaotic and heartfelt anniversary turns into a sweet treasure hunt of memories, gifts, and kisses—proving that love with nami is always a little messy, but always worth it.

a/n: happy bday my queen nami (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

words count: 2.8k

tags: romance, anniversary, light humor, fluff

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

You sit on the deck of the Sunny, swinging your legs and staring at the sea. One week until your first anniversary with Nami. One. Week. And you have no idea what to get her.

“A map?” you whisper to yourself “Too basic.”

A voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

“What are you muttering about?” Nami walks over, sipping orange juice, sun hitting her hair just right.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, then pause “Actually… Can I ask you something?”

Nami raises an eyebrow “You can. Will I like it? That’s a better question.”

You smile, nervous “If you could get anything for a special day, what would you want?”

“Ohhh?” She smirks “Are you asking because my birthday is coming up?”

“It’s not, though.”

“Right.” She taps her chin “Then… hmm. Anything? That’s a big question.”

You nod, pretending to look casual. Inside, you’re begging her to give you a clue.

“Well,” she starts, sitting next to you, “I’ve always wanted a sapphire pendant. Not too big, but it should sparkle when I move. Oh, and a sun hat! But not just any sun hat, one with a navy blue ribbon. Actually, I saw one in a shop last time we docked.”

You pull out your little notebook behind your back and start scribbling on a page titled Nami Likes.

“Oh, and a new pair of sandals. Mine squeak sometimes.”

You write sandals (no squeak).

“I’d love a book about rare weather patterns too. Not too long. With pictures. Ooh, and a picnic! A quiet one, somewhere green, with good wine.”

You glance at her, blinking “That’s… five things already.”

She keeps going like she didn’t hear you.

“Or maybe a dress? Something soft, that flows when I spin. Something I can dance in. Or, you know, a new weather staff… but Usopp makes that expensive. Or you could draw me! A cute picture of us!”

You let out a soft laugh, flipping the page again. You’re on Nami Likes #2 now.

“You’re lucky I love you” you mumble under your breath, still writing.

“What was that?” she grins, clearly hearing you.

“I said you’re lucky I love you.”

She leans against you “I know.”

You look down at her with a small smile “You know I can only give you one gift, right?”

Nami grins wider “Sure. But now you know all the options.”

You sigh, closing your notebook “This is gonna be hard.”

“But fun,” she says, giving your hand a squeeze “I trust your taste.”

You raise an eyebrow “Even though I once gave Luffy a broken fishing rod as a birthday gift?”

She bursts out laughing “Especially because of that. It was so you.”

You groan “Great.”

You spend the next few days watching Nami like a hawk.

Not in a creepy way. Just… careful observation.

She stretches in the sun, you write: likes warm spots.

She hums while cleaning her staff: takes care of staff = important.

She yells at Luffy for stealing tangerines: do NOT touch tangerines.

You’re building a Nami file in your head. A full-on database. Even if you already know all these things and details.

“You’re acting weird” Sanji says, sliding you a plate of food in the kitchen.

“I’m always weird” you say, chewing fast.

“No, this is different. You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing?”

He raises an eyebrow “The thing where your eyes go all serious and you mutter under your breath.”

You pause “Okay, maybe I’m doing that.”

Zoro walks by, yawning “She’s probably planning a surprise for Nami.”

You freeze “How did you—”

“Please. You’re not subtle.”

You look around “Is everyone onto me?”

Brook leans in from the window “Yes.”

You groan and drop your face into your hands.

Later that night, you catch Nami on the deck again, star-gazing.

She smiles as you sit beside her “Did you figure out your mystery question yet?”

“Still working on it,” you say “You keep adding things.”

“I can’t help it. I like many things.”

“I noticed.”

She giggles, then stretches her arms above her head “Want another idea?”

You blink “There’s more?”

“Always.” She turns her head and looks at you “What if… instead of a gift, we do something?”

You raise an eyebrow “Like…?”

She shrugs “An adventure. Something just for us. Not for treasure. Not for fighting. Not for the crew. Just us.”

You pause. This idea feels… different, better “What kind of adventure?”

She grins “I’ll leave that part to you.”

You stare at her for a moment, her orange hair glowing in the moonlight. She’s smiling like she knows she’s just made your job harder.

“You really are lucky I love you” you say again.

She smirks “Mmm. I’m starting to think you like saying that.”

You look at her, dead serious “No. I say it to survive.”

Nami laughs, throwing her head back “Poor thing.”

But even as you sigh, your mind is already working.

Something special. Something just the two of you.

You whisper to yourself “Okay… now I really have to figure this out.”

You’ve got one day left.

One.

You lie flat on your back in your room, staring at the ceiling like it owes you answers.

You’ve asked Nami a million questions.

You’ve watched her, followed her, written pages of notes.

And still… no gift.

You groan “She’s gonna pretend to be sweet when I give her nothing and then kill me later.”

Robin’s voice drifts from the hallway “Try thinking less.”

“I didn’t ask you, Robin!”

She chuckles “You’re welcome.”

You sit up “Ugh. What am I even doing?”

Then your eyes land on a rolled-up scroll near your shelf.

One of Nami’s old maps. She’d made it for Luffy as a joke, it led to a hidden meat stash.

You stare at the map.

Then you sit up straighter.

Then you jump to your feet.

“…Oh... Oh no. Oh yes.”

Later, you find Nami lying on the lounge chair, flipping through a magazine. Her sunglasses slide down her nose when she sees you.

“You’re doing the face again.” she says.

“What face?”

“The I-have-a-plan-but-I-won’t-tell-you face.”

You sit beside her “So. I need a favor.”

She closes the magazine, intrigued “Aha. Now we’re getting to it.”

“I want you to draw a map.”

Her eyebrows go up “You? Asking for a map?”

“Yes.”

“Of what?”

You hesitate “…The Sunny.”

Nami blinks “Our ship?”

You nod.

She leans forward “You already live here. Why do you need a map?”

“Secret reasons.”

“Mmhm.”

You try not to smile “Please?”

She squints at you, like she’s trying to read your thoughts.

Finally, she smirks “A kiss and I’ll do it.”

You laugh “That’s all it takes?”

“Today? Yeah.”

You lean in and kiss her softly, brushing your hand along her cheek. She melts into it a little before pulling away with a grin.

“Well, that was better than I expected.”

“Good. Now, will you do it?”

She stands up, stretching “Yeah, yeah. I’ll make it cute.”

“You always do” you say, following her.

As she walks away to get her tools, you whisper under your breath, heart pounding a little “…This might actually work.”

Nami hands you the map two hours later, eyebrows still raised.

“You’re acting like a criminal,” she says “What are you planning?”

You take the map, trying not to grin like an idiot “World domination.”

“Uh-huh.” She points at you “No burning the Sunny.”

“No promises.”

You run off before she can hit you.

The next morning Nami wakes up to a note on her bedside table.

A heart drawn in red ink.

A message below it: “Follow the map. Xs are for pirates. Hearts are for you.”

She blinks, then turns the map over.

You’ve marked little red hearts across the Sunny.

Each one at a place she knows. Places you’ve been. Together.

She sits up slowly, heart skipping.

“Oh, you sneaky, romantic idiot” she whispers.

First Heart — The Crow’s Nest

A small envelope is taped to the wall.

Inside, a letter.

“You laughed so hard here that you snorted when Sanji slipped on soap. I laughed harder when you blushed. That was the first time I thought, ‘I could fall for her’.”

Taped below it: a box.

She opens it, a wide-brimmed sunhat with a navy blue ribbon.

She lets out a soft gasp.

Her fingers brush the ribbon.

She smiles.

Second Heart — The Lounge

Another letter.

“You kissed me here. You said it ‘didn’t count’ because it was during a drinking game. I pretended to believe you. My heart couldn’t tho.”

Inside the drawer: a folded summer dress, soft, flowy, the exact color she once pointed at in town.

Her hand presses over her chest “Okay, this is getting dangerous.”

Third Heart — Her Room

On her desk is a velvet box.

Inside: a small sapphire pendant.

It shines gently in the light, just like she described.

Another letter:

“You talked about stars here. You said you want to chart the sky one day. I don’t know much about stars, but I know you’re brighter than any of them.”

She’s quiet now. No teasing. Just silence.

The kind that comes when something hits you deep.

Final Heart — The Tangerine Tree

She follows the last red heart across the deck.

Her hands hold all the letters, gifts tucked safely in her satchel.

When she reaches the tangerine tree, her breath catches.

You’re there.

Blanket spread out under the branches.

Picnic basket open.

Two glasses of wine and lot of food, all her favorites.

You look up when she stops.

“Took you long enough.”

Nami walks slowly toward you, eyes shiny. She drops everything and sits beside you, quiet for a second.

Then “I don’t even care about the pendant.”

You smirk “I thought you liked shiny things.”

“I do.” She leans closer “But this? This was perfect.”

You offer her a glass.

“Happy anniversary, navigator.”

She clinks her glass to yours.

“Happy anniversary, romantic idiot.”

You grin “You’re lucky I love you.”

She laughs and pulls you into a kiss.

You’re both sitting under the tangerine tree, the wine almost gone, her head resting on your shoulder.

You think it can’t get better than this.

Until she suddenly sits up “Oh! Wait.”

She reaches into her bag.

“What?” you ask, watching her fumble with something wrapped in soft cloth and tied with a little gold string.

“My gift to you.” she says, holding it out.

You blink “What? You never asked anything to me, I thought… You didn’t have to…”

“Didn’t need to ask, and I wanted to.” She puts it in your hands “Open it.”

You slowly untie the string and unwrap the cloth.

Inside is a small, handmade leather journal. The cover has your initials carved into it… along with a little heart and a compass.

“Nami…”

She smiles “There’s something inside.”

You open it carefully and your breath catches.

It’s a letter. Written in her neat handwriting. Folded and slipped into the first page.

You pull it out, open it and you start reading.

“I never planned to fall in love. Not during adventures. Not during storms. Not during this crazy life.

But then you showed up. And made everything feel softer. Realer. Safer.

You remind me that love doesn’t have to be loud. It can be quiet and strong. Like the sea on a calm morning.

You made me believe in things I never let myself hope for.

So here’s my gift: my heart. All of it.

Happy anniversary, my love. You’ve already given me more than I ever thought I deserved.”

Your hands start to shake.

“Hey, are you okay?” Nami asks softly.

You nod, wiping your cheek “Yeah. I just… I didn’t know I could feel this happy.”

You throw your arms around her, heart full and face wet with happy tears “I love you so much.”

But in your rush, your elbow hits something… something soft.

Your arms and hers both slam into the anniversary cake.

You both freeze.

“…No…” you whisper, looking at the frosting on your sleeves.

Nami slowly looks down at her hand. Covered in chocolate.

You gasp “We ruined it! Sanji’s gonna kill us!”

Nami tilts her head “Kill us? You’re the one who threw me onto the cake!”

“It was an accident!”

You look at the mess and actually pout “It was so pretty…”

Nami blinks, then dips her finger into the frosting on her hand.

“Wasting?” she says “It’s still edible.”

Before you can stop her, she licks it off her finger “Mm. Tastes better now.”

You stare “You’re insane.”

She grins, grabs another glob of frosting from the smashed cake, and smears it gently on your face, right near your lips.

“There” she says softly, leaning in.

Then she kisses it off your skin, slow and warm.

You go still “…You’re actually dangerous.”

She giggles “Then why do you look like you want to kiss me more?”

“Because I do. Of course I do.” you say, and kiss her again, messy frosting and all.

You’re still kissing her, sweet and slow, when she starts to laugh against your lips.

You pull back, smiling “What’s so funny?”

She laughs harder, tossing her head back.

“Oh god,” you say, watching her “I love that sound.”

She wipes a bit of cake from your nose “You’re a sap.”

“I am. It’s horrible.”

Then she pauses. Her brows furrow “Wait a second…”

You blink “Uh-oh. What?”

“…It’s too quiet.”

You tilt your head.

She looks around “Where’s everyone?”

“Oh. I asked them to leave us alone.”

She stares at you.

You try to look innocent “What? I just told them not to interrupt. Respectfully.”

Nami folds her arms “That worked?”

You sigh “No. Not even a little.”

She smirks “Explain.”

You take a deep breath, dramatic.

“So. Luffy thought it was the greatest thing ever. Said ‘ROMANTIC TIME??? I’M ON IT!’ and made it his personal mission to keep everyone in one room.”

Nami’s eyes widen “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Except Sanji exposed himself.”

“What?”

“Not like that! He talked to me about the food... in front of Luffy.”

“Oh god.”

“Exactly. Luffy heard the word ‘food’ and instantly forgot about ‘romantic’ anything. His new mission became: ‘GET OUT AND FIND THE CAKE’.”

Nami bursts into laughter again.

“Sanji, of course,” you continue, “tried to spin it around and said he wanted to join us for a lovely threesome.”

She snorts “No. He didn’t.”

“Oh, he did. With flowers in his hands.”

Nami’s jaw drops as she laughs harder, grabbing her stomach.

“Chopper got scared and said we might choke while eating alone and started packing medical gear.”

She groans into your shoulder “Please stop. I’m going to pee.”

“Brook said he wanted to ‘set the mood with some romantic music’ which sounded okay… until he said, and I quote: ‘and maybe if you’re sitting low enough, I can see your panties, yohohoho~’...”

Nami gasps “I knew he’d say something like that!”

“Franky was crying. Like full tears. Said this was ‘SUPER BEAUTIFUL’ and that true love was alive.”

She wipes her eyes, breathless from laughter “What about Zoro?”

“Didn’t care. I think he’s asleep on the kitchen floor.”

“Classic.”

You smile “Robin and Jinbe are the only ones actually keeping them locked in a room.”

Nami blinks “Seriously?”

“She’s using her powers to make sure no one leaves, and Jinbe’s guarding the door like a bouncer.”

Nami falls back onto the blanket, laughing “Our crew is insane.”

You lie down beside her “We love them, though.”

“We do.”

There’s a quiet pause.

Then she turns her head, gazes at you with a smile “But right now, I just want you.”

You smile back, softly “Good. Because you’ve got me.”

The wind is soft.

The waves rock the Sunny gently.

And for once… there’s no yelling. No chaos. No one flying through walls.

Just the two of you, under the tangerine tree, the sky painted in sunset orange, almost the same shade as her hair.

You lie beside her, warm and full, with cake still on your sleeves and crumbs in your lap.

“I still can’t believe you planned all of this” Nami says softly.

“I still can’t believe you love me enough to eat floor cake...” you tease.

She grins “True love is messy.”

You lean in, nose brushing hers “Lucky me.”

This time, the kiss is slow and quiet.

No more laughter, no jokes.

Just warmth.

The kind that settles in your chest and makes your fingertips tingle.

Her hand finds yours and you both lace your fingers together.

She pulls back slightly “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“I think this is my favorite day.”

Your heart squeezes a little “Mine too.”

You rest your head on her shoulder, and she pulls your arm around her waist.

The two of you lie there, tangled together, while the sun dips lower.

And even though you know the crew will eventually escape…

Even though Luffy will come charging for the crumbs…

Even though Sanji will cry over the cake and Zoro will blame you for something you didn’t do...

But right now you’re here, wrapped up in her.

Warm. Loved. Home.

[sevsevteen]

I ADORE hurt/comfort but what about a reverse comfort where the 14th member catches someone after practice obviously exhausted or stressed about tour. Maybe scoups or dk?

i miss miss miss svt sm these days & i blame it all on nanabnb !! i avoided the us, again part bc i knew i would bawl my eyes out (and i did) so this is dedicated to our general leader 최승철 ❤️

-- જ⁀➴°⋆

The dorm lights were dimmed, the living room nearly silent except for the low hum of the air purifier and the occasional shuffle of papers on the dining table.

It was nearly 2am.

You padded out of your room in search of water when you noticed a familiar silhouette hunched over the table. The glow of his laptop cast sharp shadows across his face - brows furrowed, fingers running endlessly through his hair.

“Cheol?” You called softly, voice careful not to startle him.

He didn’t even look up. “Yeah. Go back to sleep. I’m just finishing something.”

You frowned. “Still working?”

“Mmm. Tour logistics. Final revisions for the medical team, travel schedules…that kind of thing.”

Your eyes scanned the clutter - notes, tabs, forms. You saw the highlighted sections for members with chronic issues, the careful scheduling of rest days, the meticulous notes about stage conditions. He wasn't just managing the tour; he was meticulously planning for every potential discomfort, every possible injury, especially after Hoshi's arm sprained recently.

He was carrying everyone's worries.

One glance at the dark circles under his eyes, and you knew this wasn’t his first late night.

“…When was the last time you slept properly?”

He exhaled, chuckling as he finally leaned back in his chair. “Don’t remember.”

“You’ve been doing too much.”

“It’s my job,” he replied, with a tired smile. “I’m the leader. I’m supposed to make sure everyone’s taken care of. Seungkwan’s been having sore throats, Joshua’s back is hurting again, Hoshi’s arm– every detail needs to be right for the kids.”

You stepped closer, watching him carefully. “And what about you, Cheol-ie?”

His smile faltered.

You reached for the laptop and gently pulled the screen shut. “You’re the reason this team moves forward. But it’s not your job to carry the whole weight alone.”

He stared at you, visibly worn.

You pulled the chair beside him and sat. “You’ve been the backbone for all of us for years. But…it’s okay to lean back, too. Let someone else hold you up for once.”

He didn’t speak for a while. His hand, still tensed from hours of typing and highlighting, slowly relaxed against the table.

“…I just want the tour to go smoothly. For everyone.”

“I know,” you said softly. “And we all feel that. You’ve protected us so fiercely, that you forget you need protection too.”

Your voice dropped into a whisper. “I know I’m not the one who can do much. Not like you. But I’m here. And I’ll always be here.”

Seungcheol’s shoulders trembled, barely noticeable ‐ a crack in the armor. And when you gently reached over to cover his hand with yours, his grip turned soft and tight all at once.

“Alright, I get it,” he whispered, voice low, raw.

You leaned your head against his arm, offering a quiet presence. Not as a member this time, or a responsibility he had to carry - but just someone who would stay. Always.

And for the first time that week, Seungcheol let himself close his eyes - letting someone else take the weight, if only for a moment.

.

When morning came, the dorm kitchen buzzed with the usual sleepy chaos: cereal being poured too loudly, hairbrushes being passed around like currency, and a very groggy Dino trying to figure out which pair of socks were his.

It was Mingyu who noticed Seungcheol first. He paused mid-bite, squinting suspiciously.

“…Why do you look like you slept before midnight for once?”

Cheol blinked. “I did.”

The entire room stilled for a second.

“HUH?” Seungkwan’s spoon clattered into his bowl. “You? Slept? Before midnight??”

You emerged from your room right then, hair tied up lazily, already heading for a cup of iced coffee.

“Morning,” you greeted, barely awake.

“Morning!” a few chorused back.

But your eyes naturally drifted toward the figure at the end of the table - Seungcheol, coffee in hand, looking…well.

Not dead-tired. Not hunched with stress. Just quietly sipping while he scrolled through his phone, shoulders a little less tense, a lightness to his eyes.

Joshua turned from the fridge, visibly stunned. “You never even left your laptop this past week.”

Jeonghan narrowed his eyes, immediately catching on. “Wait…someone was also up late last night, right?”

You froze mid-sip, turning to look at the pair of eyes on you. “What do I have to do with anything?”

“Oh, everything,” Woozi murmured, now smirking into his mug as he sipped.

Dino gasped. “Wait, wait, wait– did something happen last night?* Is that why you finally slept?”

“No! What are you thinking of?” You were fully awake now.

“She did, didn’t she?” Hoshi grinned, elbowing Seungcheol from the side. “Hyung, you’re glowing. It’s suspicious.”

Seungcheol rubbed the back of his neck, ears tinting red. “Can’t I just be well-rested without being interrogated?”

“No no,” Vernon deadpanned.

Seungkwan pointed dramatically. “We’ve been trying to get you to rest for weeks. Suddenly she spends one night talking to you, and now you’re a new man?”

Mingyu gave you a teasing thumbs-up. “You’ve done what the rest of us couldn’t. Leader whisperer.”

You rolled your eyes, hiding the fluster behind your cup. “I just told him to go to sleep.”

Seungcheol let out a soft chuckle. “More like reminded me I’m human.”

The teasing paused for a second. The rest of the members exchanged small looks - quiet, knowing ones - before Hoshi broke the silence again.

“Well,” he declared, “if you’re in charge of leader maintenance now, I fully support this new development.”

“Seconded,” Seungkwan chipped in.

You laughed despite yourself, cheeks warm. “You’re all ridiculous.”

“Just accept it,” Jeonghan added, “this is a huge honour for you, going forward.”

You opened your mouth to protest.

Then glanced at Seungcheol.

And found him already watching you - with a look you’d never seen before. Soft. Grateful.

Your smile faltered, just a little, as you looked away. ���...Then I'll accept it with open arms.”

And for once, the teasing stopped.

Because they all understood - some people had powers for people others didn't, and for you? It was Seungcheol.

--

[blulowy]

Okay, this post allows me to yap about all the technical details and things behind the creation. Warning, I’m lacking sleep and not English speaking, so some things might be phrased weirdly.

Let’s go page to page and the first page is definitely my favourite(let me draw violence pllssss, Calam give me gore to draw in this fic and my life is yours). There’s no words, just two panics for different reasons. Ringmaster is in fight or flight mode. He doesn’t see his friend he sees potential danger and he treats his as one. His hold is tight to be close to actually hurt. But subconsciously he knows that it might be Grian. That he needs to be careful. And Grian is panicked because he is worried for his friend. Not his life. His friend’s condition.

Ringmaster looks intimidating, feral, both because he is thinking as a villain and because he can’t think straight due to the adrenaline rush.

Second page. I think the most interesting and not obvious part is the soft orange glow at the Grian touching Scar. Because if you haven’t seen my redraw of the scene with the name drop, you won’t know that the physical contact there was going with warm orange glow to symbolise the fact that Grian, even if not showing it, focuses on the touch. Focuses on the warmth that he feels. And the cause of that warmth is Scar. It’s just a callback to that scene.

Third page. Ringmaster’s speech bubbles. They are with little digitalisation of green blobs of distortion of the voice modulator. You can see that in the conversation when Grian turned away this distortion gradually disappeared, indicating that mask is no longer there.

And of course Grian’s perspective on examining Ringmaster’s state. Originally it was just him nodding, but I decided to jump into full Grian’s pov for this panel.

Fourth page. Our face reveal. Obviously orange soft light because Grian does focus on it, he does feel warmer, but doesn’t acknowledge it.

Grian clearly saw the face. Reader did not, for reader it’s blocked by Scar’s hand. When Grian apologises to Scar, he tries to block the memory of his face. And I decided to take it literally by blocking Scar’s face with Grian’s own words.

Fifth page. That’s the fan favourite I see and it has a lot to talk about.

Firstly, detail that you pointed out in the tags and a lot of people missed: eyes. Scar’s eyes not just have more details, but also their highlights are soft, warm, pastel green. Ringmaster’s eyes have a cold, bring, neon toxic green. In every shot that has highlights they depend on what outfit he has. Even more, the general shape of Ringmaster is sharper. Shoulders, hair, shape of eyes.

But that’s not the reason this page became y’all favourite, is it? It’s the symbolics. Because right now they are in a trap, in a trouble, in a potential danger because of Ringmaster. Not Scar. Scar is fine. Scar would’ve been fine. Grian would’ve been fine. The thing that put them in this predicament is Ringmaster. It’s what holding Scar from just calmly walking out of this bathroom. It’s what holding Grian from seeing his friend’s face. And I made it literal. Ringmaster is not just there. He is putting his weight on Scar’s shoulders. He is holding, hiding his face.

The next two pages are interesting in a way that reader is still not allowed to see Scar’s face. Something always stops it. Perspective or speech bubbles. Why? Because the entire fic is from Grian’s pov. And Grian doesn’t want to remember Scar’s face. It’s there. It should be seen. But he refuses to see it, which denies readers ability to see.

And the last page. The orange light because a repetitive theme in my drawings when those two get closer, feel warmer due to each other’s actions. Of course the light would be there. But fan fact, on last page, Grian’s name tag says gay.

That’s all for my analysis, have rough layout for the pages.

This is the longest redraw for this fic so far. I hope it will stay like that, otherwise I will start charging you guys to look at it.

From: Midnight Strangers on AO3 by @seriouslycalamitous

[marauroon]

Hello there! I hope you're having a great day/night, I'd like to request a SiriusxFem!Reader in an AU where the Marauders are in a band based on the song "English Love Affair" by 5 seconds of summer?

── .✦ 𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫. (𝐬.𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤)

sirius can’t get over his short-lived university love affair.

rockstar!sirius x fem!reader 9.0k masterlist. 18+ for non detailed NSFW mentions

AN | rockstar!sirius anyone??? also side note: 5sos actually bangs

The late summer air was thick with heat, sound, and the unmistakable scent of beer and sweat. The main stage of the Fawley Fields Music Festival was lit like a warzone—bright white strobes slicing through the haze, catching glimmers off sequinned tops and raised cans. Thousands of people were packed into the field, bodies crushed together, limbs raised, voices raw from screaming. And at the centre of it all, silhouetted against the glare, stood The Marauders.

Sirius tipped his head back, the tail end of his black button-down sticking to his sweat-slicked chest. The band had just nailed their penultimate track, a thunderous, guitar-heavy number that had the mosh pit in full chaos. The final chords echoed into the dusky sky, and the crowd roared with it, feeding on the energy like addicts. A chant began that rolled over the sea of people, a chant for more, louder, always louder.

Sirius gave it a second, basking in it. Not out of arrogance—well, maybe a little—but because he’d worked his arse off for this. From the dingy pub stages in East London to this: a sunset slot on the main stage, a crowd 10,000 strong, and the press already calling them the “next big thing in alt rock.” He deserved this moment.

He reached for the mic, fingers adorned in silver rings, and grinned beneath the curtain of sweat-dampened hair falling over his face.

“Alright,” he said, voice cracking from overuse, low and melodic with that accent that made interviewers go stupid. “This one’s a bit different,”

The crowd stilled just enough for his voice to carry, a ripple of anticipation moving through it.

“Normally we’d end on Lily’s Lullaby or something with a filthy breakdown—”

A cheer from the crowd.

“—but I’m gonna be selfish, yeah?”

He shifted his guitar strap slightly, fingers brushing the strings absently.

“This next one—it’s not on any of our albums. Never played it live before,”

More noise, wilder this time. The crowd lived for unreleased content. That, and the enigma of Sirius Black doing anything unpredictable. He was the heartbreaker, the rebel, the beautiful bastard who wrote anthems about one-night stands and sleepless nights.

“This one’s not for the radio,” Sirius continued, a little softer now. “Wrote it back in uni. About a girl,”

He pauses.

“Someone I’ve never really stopped thinking about,”

The scream that tore through the crowd was feral. Phones shot into the air like missiles, filming, snapping, documenting. It was like someone had dropped a match in petrol.

Because Sirius Black—Mr. I-don’t-do-feelings, Mr. Probably-shagged-your-favourite-actress, Mr. Writes-a-new-love-song-every-week—was standing in front of thousands, half-smiling, admitting to being hung up on someone from his past.

A million TikTok theories were born on the spot.

Sirius just laughed, a bit self-conscious, scratching the back of his neck. “Anyway,” he said. “This one’s called English Love Affair. Hope she’s listening,”

He looked out across the crowd—not really expecting to find who he was looking for, of course, but somehow hoping the universe might oblige. Then, fingers deft on the strings, he struck the first chord.

It started on a weekend in May

I was looking for attention

Needed intervention

Felt somebody looking at me

The library at Hogwarts University smelled like stress, highlighters, and the slow decay of hope. It was the last few weeks before final exams, and the building was packed wall to wall with students muttering formulas under their breath and flipping through textbooks like salvation could be found between the pages of Financial Accounting and Corporate Strategy: Vol. II.

Sirius was not one of them.

He sat in a corner near the back, long legs stretched under the table, black hoodie rucked up to his elbows, a biro tucked behind his ear. His textbook lay open in front of him, unread and unhighlighted, the margins empty, the pages pristine—unlike everyone else’s, which were cluttered with notes, frantic underlines, and colour-coded tabs.

He hadn’t turned a page in half an hour.

Not because he was clever enough not to need to revise—although he could bullshit his way through most subjects if he had to—but because, frankly, he just did not care.

Finance. Fucking finance.

He hated the word. Hated the suits, hated the spreadsheets, hated the suffocating inevitability of it all. He only chose this degree because his mother nearly had an aneurysm when he said he wanted to study music. Now here he was, slogging through a degree in numbers and company law, just so she could parade him around at family dinners like some stock option.

And still, none of it meant anything to him.

The only reason he was even in the library was because James had confiscated his guitar that morning and told him to “go fail somewhere quiet,”

So he was here. Not failing exactly, but definitely not succeeding.

He sighed and let his head drop forward, forehead thunking softly against the open page.

“Kill me,” he muttered into the textbook. “Just… kill me and tell my parents I died doing something noble,”

He sat there a moment longer, pretending to care, then lifted his head.

And that’s when he saw you.

You were sitting two tables over. Hair pulled back, earbuds in, laptop open. You looked like the sort of person who had colour-coded tabs and knew how to use them. The sort of person who had probably made a revision schedule and stuck to it. The sort of person Sirius’ mother would call “sensible,” which, in Sirius’ world, meant “soulless.”

But you didn’t look soulless. You looked… distracted.

Because you’d just glanced at him. And then, when you thought he hadn’t noticed, you glanced again.

He smirked, straightening slightly. A distraction. Just what the day needed.

He watched you for a second—long enough to realise you were pretending to type while your eyes flicked back to him every few sentences. Something about it made his stomach twist, in a way that was more exciting than it should have been.

He gave it two more seconds.

Then he stood.

You saw him coming out of the corner of your eye and quickly looked back at your screen, like the spreadsheet on your screen had suddenly become the most fascinating thing on earth.

“Alright?” he said, stopping by your table. Voice low. Lazy.

You pulled out one earbud and looked up at him.

“Hi,” you replied cautiously. He was standing very close.

Sirius smiled. “You keep looking at me,”

You blinked. “Do I?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Not that I blame you. I’m devastatingly handsome and tragically bored,”

You snorted. “Bit full of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Just self-aware,” He grinned, and you hated that it made him even more attractive. You looked back at your screen, but the smirk tugging at your lips gave you away.

“Well, if you’re so bored, shouldn’t you be studying?”

He leaned one elbow on the table, peering at your notes.

“I’ve been staring at the same page for an hour. Thought I might die from the lack of stimulation. Then you started looking over,”

You raised a brow. “And that was enough stimulation?”

“Debatable,” he said, “but worth investigating. What’s your name?”

You tilted your head. “You don’t remember me, do you?”

He frowned. “Should I?”

You closed your laptop with a little snap and turned to face him properly. “We’ve been in the same lecture for Corporate Markets and Investment Policy all year.”

There was a long pause. Sirius blinked, visibly scrambling to remember. “...Seriously?”

You nodded. “Seriously,”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, shit. In my defence, I don’t actually attend most of those. I just... exist in proximity,”

You laughed, properly this time. “Yeah, I know,”

His hand dropped to his side, and he gave you a sheepish smile. “Alright, that was rude of me. Let’s try again,” He held out a hand. “Hi. I’m Sirius Black. Chronic underachiever and part-time nuisance,”

You raised an eyebrow but shook his hand anyway. “Yeah, I know who you are.”

He grinned, pleased. “Reputation precedes me?”

“Something like that,” you said.

He laughed—loud enough that someone nearby glared over their textbook.

You didn’t apologise.

Sirius sat down in the chair across from you without asking, stretching out like he belonged there.

“So,” he said. “You clearly know everything about me, and I’ve got absolutely nothing on you,” he muttered, leaning forward to rest his arms on the table. “Give me something to work with,”

You looked at him, considering. You didn’t really have time for this—you had an entire section on financial derivatives to memorise—but the prospect of watching Sirius self-destruct over economic theory was weirdly entertaining.

And maybe... a bit flattering. The hottest boy in your course—maybe in the whole uni—had noticed you. And now he was sitting across from you, eyes warm, grin easy, pretending like this wasn’t completely out of the blue.

You introduce yourself, and he smiles.

“Suits you, your name,” he tosses you a wink and you roll your eyes.

“Charming,” You leaned back slightly. “Alright. Lets get revising,”

Sirius blinked. “What?”

You gestured at your notes. “Revising? For the exams? I’ll help you,”

He blinked again, visibly confused. “You will?”

You nodded. “On one condition,”

A pause.

“You buy me a drink after,”

Sirius stared. Then laughed, a little too loud. “That’s it? Just a drink?”

You shrugged. “My standards are low. Plus, it’ll be fun to watch you fail in real-time,”

He clutched his chest dramatically. “Ruthless,”

“You love it,”

“I do,” he agreed, leaning in again. “You’ve got this terrifying no-nonsense thing going. It’s very—” His eyes flicked to your collar, then back to your face. “—compelling,”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t quite stop the smile creeping across your face. “Eyes on the prize, Black.” You tap the textbook on the table with your finger. “This is your last chance to not flunk out,”

He sighed. “Fine. But I reserve the right to flirt with you shamelessly through every single concept,”

“Deal,” you said. “But if you ask me what ‘liquidity ratio’ means, I will hit you,”

Sirius smiled like he’d just won something. “Bring it on, sweetheart,”

—

Over the next hour, the two of you settled into a rhythm. You explained things with more patience than you thought you had, and Sirius surprised you by actually listening. He wasn’t as clueless as he made out—he just hadn’t bothered to try. But with you, he leaned forward, asked questions, made jokes that were half-clever and half-chaotic.

And every time you laughed, he looked pleased with himself.

The library didn’t feel as heavy anymore. The air around your little corner was warmer, brighter, tangled up in whispered banter and the scratch of your pens.

At one point, you reached over to show him something in his notes, and your hands brushed. It was stupid. Brief. But it sent a flicker of something down your spine.

Sirius glanced up at you, and you knew he felt it too.

He didn’t say anything. Neither did you.

But when he caught you watching him a few minutes later, he didn’t look away.

—

By the time the clock ticked past five, your brain was fried, your stomach was grumbling, and Sirius looked genuinely shocked to have filled an entire page with actual revision.

“Well,” he said, stretching, arms over his head. “That was productive,”

You nodded, packing your things away. “Told you I’m good,”

“You are. Absolutely,”

He stood with you, grabbing his bag, then hesitated.

“So. That drink?”

You slung your backpack over your shoulder. “You buying?”

“Obviously,” he said, throwing you a grin. “Consider it payment for saving my academic life,”

You paused, then leaned in, voice low. “If you actually pass, I might let you buy me a second one,”

He looked delighted. “Motivation. I like it,”

You nudged his shoulder. “See you at nine,”

Every single step had me waiting for the next

Before I knew it, it was serious

Dragged me out of the bar

To the backseat of her car

The bar was packed, noisy, and swimming in neon. It smelled like vodka, cheap perfume, and the burnt citrus of a bad cocktail. A proper student haunt—threadbare booths, sticky tables, and drinks so discounted they might as well have been charity. It was the kind of place people ended up when deadlines were done and mistakes were begging to be made.

And tonight, you were absolutely here for the mistake.

You walked in just before nine, wearing a dress that left little to the imagination and a lipstick shade that promised trouble. You didn’t do it for him—not entirely—but you did want to look good.

You spotted him before he saw you. Slouched at the end of the bar, drink in hand, legs stretched out like he owned the place. He’d dressed up, sort of—fitted black shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, rings flashing on his fingers, and a ridiculous silk tie hanging loose around his neck. Burgundy, patterned, completely unnecessary.

He looked infuriatingly good.

When his eyes finally met yours, it was immediate—like a live wire connecting across the room. His mouth tugged into a slow, deliberate grin. And then he stood.

“Bloody hell,” he said when you reached him, voice low in your ear. “You clean up terrifyingly well,”

You gave him a smirk. “So do you. What’s with the tie?”

“Statement piece,” he said, tugging it dramatically. “Makes me look respectable. Like I haven’t just failed two modules,”

You laughed, and he motioned to the bar. “What’s your poison?”

“What’s the most expensive drink on the menu?” you asked sarcastically, leaning on the counter.

He raised a brow. “Brutal. I like it,”

And then the night began.

He bought you drinks. You made fun of his posh voice and the fact he’d never once brought a pen to class. He pretended to be offended when you called him a trust fund degenerate, and you pretended not to notice the way his eyes kept dropping to your mouth when you sipped your drink.

You talked for nearly two hours, and not a single thing either of you said truly mattered. It was all smoke and mirrors, banter and bravado. He told you about some summer internship he was meant to be doing in London. You told him about your part-time job at a bookshop, about your roommate who kept hogging the shower.

He laughed at everything you said. You rolled your eyes at everything he said. And yet—your knees brushed. His hand lingered too long when he passed you your drink. And the air between you got heavier with every sip.

By the third round, you were tipsy. Loose-limbed. Bolder.

“You’ve got a tell, you know,” you said, swirling your drink.

Sirius leaned in. “Oh?”

“You stare,” you said, eyes meeting his. “Like, a lot,”

He didn’t flinch. “So what?”

The silence after that was thick and deliberate. He looked at you like he knew what you were thinking. Like he’d been waiting for the moment you stopped pretending.

So you stood. Downed the last of your gin.

And said, very casually, “Come with me,”

He blinked. “What?”

You reached down, grabbed the end of that ridiculous tie, and gave it a tug. Not hard. Just enough.

He stumbled forward, grin spreading.

And then you dragged him out the back entrance of the bar.

—

The car park was half-empty, dark but not quite silent. Your little hatchback was parked in a corner, under a flickering lamp. You fumbled with your keys, laughing under your breath, and Sirius followed like a moth to flame.

The second the doors were shut, it was chaos.

You were in the backseat, lips on his, hands everywhere—his hair, his jaw, his shoulders. He was kissing you like he’d been waiting all term, like the world might end if he didn’t get another taste. His hands were on your waist, under your dress, against your thighs, and his mouth was hot and hungry against yours.

It was rushed. Clumsy. Perfect.

Clothes were pulled aside, not off. Your dress rucked up. His belt undone. Breathless laughter between kisses. The car fogged up quick, your back pressed to the front seat, knees hitched around his hips. The phone in his pocket dug into your thigh. Neither of you cared.

You moaned into his mouth, fingers tangled in his stupid hair, and he groaned like it physically hurt to hold back.

—

He thought about that night.

A lot more than he meant to.

It was supposed to be a one-time thing. A stress relief. An impulsive decision wrapped in gin and flirtation. You’d both gone home that night in your separate directions—him to his flat, you to yours. No promises made. No numbers exchanged.

But Sirius didn’t stop thinking about you.

He tried to laugh it off, at first. Made a joke to James the next morning about the perils of student bars and the danger of sharp women with sharper tongues. But then he couldn’t stop hearing your voice. Couldn’t stop remembering the exact shade of your lipstick or the way you’d yanked him by his tie like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And when he couldn’t sleep, which was often, he played his guitar.

Loudly.

At three in the morning.

“Mate,” James groaned one night, pillow over his head. “You are killing me.”

“I’m expressing my feelings,” Sirius muttered.

Remus poked his head in from the hall. “Can you express them a bit quieter? Some of us have dissertations.”

Peter mumbled something incoherent from the other room, which sounded vaguely like “murder” and “strangle.”

But Sirius just kept playing. Over and over again. New chords. Snatches of melodies. Half-formed lyrics that always started in May and ended with a car seat and a laugh he couldn’t get out of his head.

James, one bleary-eyed morning, said, “You’re obsessed.”

Sirius didn’t argue. Because it was true, you haunted him.

Not in a spooky, ethereal way. In a maddening, brain-eating way. You were a thought that scratched at the back of his skull. A loop he couldn’t escape. And the worst part? He hadn’t seen you since that night. No sightings. Nothing.

He looked around in lectures. Couldn’t see you.

He went back to the bar once, under the pretence of meeting someone else. You weren’t there.

He even almost asked around.

But something held him back. Pride, maybe. Fear that you’d already moved on and that it had just been one night for you. No regrets. No repeats.

Still, when he lay in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, guitar across his lap, he could still hear your laugh. Still remember the exact pitch of your voice when you’d said, “Come with me.”

And every time he closed his eyes, he was back in that car.

When the lights go out, She's all I ever think about

The picture burning in my brain

The lyrics came easily after that.

Sirius had written songs before—some good, most chaotic—but this one poured out of him. Every line was sharp-edged, vivid. He remembered your fingers in his hair, the way your perfume clung to his hoodie. The rush of it. The rawness. The feeling that something had tilted in the universe that night and hadn’t corrected since.

James found the scribbled lyrics one afternoon and raised an eyebrow.

“This about the library girl?”

Sirius didn’t look up from the guitar. “What library girl?”

“Oh come on,” James said. “The one you ditched us on a friday night for?”

Sirius strummed a chord, nonchalant. “Maybe,”

The movie playing in my head

Of her king sized bed

Means I can't forget my English love affair

You weren’t expecting him to approach you again.

You’d told yourself it had been one night

—a spectacular, toe-curling, sanity-erasing night, sure—but still, just one night. And Sirius Black didn’t strike you as the type to chase anything other than a bottle of whiskey or a reckless thrill.

So when you heard your name called across the quad, three days later, you were surprised enough to turn around.

And there he was. Strolling toward you with his bag slung over one shoulder and a grin already forming—the sort that suggested either mischief or flirtation, probably both. He looked slightly dishevelled in a way that was too intentional to be accidental. Button-up undone at the collar, necklace peeking out. That same stupid leather jacket strewn over his shoulder.

“Alright?” he asked casually, falling into step beside you.

You arched a brow. “Back for round two?”

“Actually, yes,” he said, and the shamelessness of it made you laugh. “But not the kind you’re thinking. I need help with business economics.”

You blinked. “You need help… from me?”

“You’re the only one who can talk about GDP without sounding like a dementor,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Also, I won’t lie—the button-up’s distracting in a way that makes learning bearable.”

You looked down at your shirt, then back at him. “So you’re bribing yourself into revision by ogling me?”

“Exactly,” he said brightly.

“Charming,”

“I try,”

He gave you a look then—not intense, not over-the-top, just curious. A bit hopeful around the edges. You didn’t have to say yes. But you were already smiling. You were already shifting your books and mentally clearing your schedule.

“Fine,” you said. “But if I’m going to babysit you through fiscal policy, you’re buying the coffee,”

He gave a dramatic bow. “I’m a man of honour,”

“And of short attention span,”

“That too,”

—

You studied together later that day in a quiet alcove of the library—you with your notes, him with his tongue between his teeth as he tried to understand elasticity graphs. Every time you leaned over to explain something, he stared. Not subtly. Not even a little.

“Eyes up, Black,” you muttered.

“Can’t help it,” he said without shame.

But you could tell he was trying. He asked questions. Made actual notes. Repeated terms back to you with enough confusion that you knew he was listening, even if he was wildly out of his depth.

At one point, you looked up to find him watching you with a strange sort of intensity.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he said, too quickly. Then added, “Just wondering how the hell I didn’t notice you before this term,”

You smiled, trying to ignore the warmth that crept up your neck. “Maybe because you only come to half the lectures,”

He chuckled. “Maybe,”

—

Two nights later, he was at your flat.

You’d invited him this time.

“You sure?” he’d asked, leaning against the kitchen counter when he arrived. “You could’ve dragged me to the library again,”

You handed him a glass of cheap vodka. “And let your eye-line drift all over the place in public? Absolutely not,”

He grinned. “Fair point,”

He looked around your flat—small but tidy, the kind of space that felt lived in, comfortable. A few mugs on the table, textbooks stacked under the telly, a random scarf hung by the door even though it’s almost June.

“Flatmates?” he asked, sipping.

“They’re out,” you replied.

He raised a brow.

You added, very smoothly, “I told you to come over today for a reason,”

That made him pause.

He didn’t reply right away. Just looked at you like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or lunge.

Instead, he sat on the sofa, stretched out like he owned the place, and said, “Alright then. Teach me things, professor,”

You groaned, grabbing your laptop and books. “If you call me that again, I’ll throw you off the balcony,”

“Wouldn’t be the first time a woman tried to kill me for being too charming,”

“Gods, you’re exhausting,”

“Yet here I am. On your couch, with you. Alone,”

You tried to study. You really did.

But between the flirting and the alcohol and the way he kept leaning in to comment on the terrible formatting in your notes, it was a lost cause. The vodka burned. The music you put on (mostly as a distraction) didn’t help. By the third drink, you were both a bit giggly, a bit warm, sprawled sideways on your couch with your legs tangled together.

He was fiddling with your highlighter, spinning it in his fingers. You reached over to steal it back, and he caught your hand.

“What’s your deal then?” you asked, half-curious, half-buzzed.

“My deal?”

“You dress like you mugged a punk band,” you said, gesturing at his worn boots and tattered denim, “but you sound like you came out of a Jane Austen novel,”

He snorted. “It’s the trauma,”

“Oh, obviously,”

He sighed, let his head fall back on the arm of the sofa. “My family’s a nightmare. Old money. Very proper. Think they invented the stock market,”

You watched him for a moment. He looked tired—the sort of tired that sits in your bones. The kind you don’t fix with sleep.

“So why are you here?” you asked quietly.

He shrugged. “They paid my tuition. All of it. That was the deal—get the degree, then ‘join the family legacy’ or whatever. Be a good Black,”

“You don’t want to?”

“Not even slightly,” he said, voice dry. “I hate it. I hate the lectures, I hate the people, I hate the smug twats who think balance sheets are sexy,”

You laughed. “So what do you like?”

He hesitated, then looked at you sideways. “Writing music. Playing. Screwing around with the band.”

“You’re in a band?”

He grinned. “We’re called the Marauders. James, Remus, Pete and me. Mostly just gigs around campus and dive bars. We’ve got maybe one good song and three that sound like drunken karaoke.”

“So, what? You write songs about getting high and having sex?”

The words came out before you could stop them—a joke, half-serious, mostly cheeky. You were smiling.

“Pretty much,” Sirius shrugged lightly. “You’ve been quite the inspiration lately,”

You stared at him. For a full beat. “You’re taking the piss.”

“I’m really not.”

You started to laugh. “Are you serious?”

He gave you a wink. “That’s my name,”

You threw a cushion at his face. “That’s such a bad joke.”

He pulled the cushion off his lap and said, “I’m not kidding. It just sort of happened. Couldn’t stop thinking about it,”

You paused.

“You’re serious,”

He nodded.

“Why?”

He shrugged. “It was good. You were good. And I don’t know — I kept seeing it in my head. The windows fogged up, that stupid tie, the way you looked at me,”

You weren’t sure what to say.

Part of you wanted to laugh again—it was absurd, wasn’t it? The campus heartbreaker, Sirius bloody Black, writing actual music about an actual one-night stand. Another part of you… didn’t quite want to make a joke.

You looked at him, really looked at him.

He wasn’t smirking now. Wasn’t leaning into the charm.

He looked oddly nervous.

“You said you couldn’t stop thinking about it,” you said.

“Yeah.”

“And now what?”

He tilted his head. “Now I’m on your couch, half-drunk, trying to pass my finance exam so my mum won’t disown me,”

You smiled.

He smiled back.

—

Later that night, you kissed again—slower this time, more sure. Your hands in his hair, his on your waist. His lips soft and searching, like he was learning the shape of your mouth by heart.

You pulled back at one point, breathless, and said, “You’re not just here for the notes, are you?”

He laughed, low in his throat. “Not even slightly,”

And then he kissed you again.

You were the one who pulled back first.

Not because you wanted to stop. Just because the weight of what you were doing—the feel of his hands on your waist, the heat building behind his lips—had finally caught up with the moment. The couch was small, the flat was quiet, and Sirius Black was looking at you like you were already halfway into a dream he hadn’t realised he was having.

You gave him a look. One eyebrow arched, all faux-detachment and teasing heat.

“So,” you said casually, brushing a finger along the collar of his shirt. “What you’re saying is… I’m the best lay you’ve ever had?”

He didn’t even hesitate.

“Absolutely.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how quick—and how serious—he was. “That was fast,”

“I’m decisive,”

“You’re drunk,”

“And still right,”

You laughed, trying not to feel flustered, but your heart gave a weird little thud in your chest. “Sirius—”

“I mean it,” he said, sitting back just enough to meet your eyes fully. “Do you want the whole list? Cos I can’t even remember anyone else’s name when you’re looking at me like that,”

That shut you up.

He was smiling, yes—that usual grin, all teeth and trouble—but something in his voice felt weighted. Not a joke. Not really.

You searched his face, waiting for the punchline, the wink, the smug little shrug.

But he just looked at you.

Earnest.

Soft, even.

And your brain, already muddled by the vodka, the warmth of him, the whole surreal magic of the night, completely short-circuited.

“Right,” you said eventually, standing up too quickly. “Bedroom. Now. Before I change my mind and make you sleep on the sofa,”

He grinned, leaping up after you. “You love me,”

“Shut up,”

“You want to marry me and have my terrible punk babies,”

“Oh my God,”

“Gonna name one after James, obviously—”

You smacked him with a pillow before dragging him by the hem of his shirt toward the hallway.

You tried, genuinely, to be patient, but you were both far too drunk to have anything resembling grace. You got halfway down the corridor before Sirius managed to tangle one foot under the other and slam into the wall with a bark of laughter.

You wheezed trying to pull his shirt off and he ended up getting both his arms stuck through one sleeve.

He tripped over your shoes and nearly brought you down with him.

Your elbow went into a doorframe. His jeans got stuck on his ankle.

By the time you finally collapsed onto the bed, you were both half-dressed, breathless with laughter, and absolutely gone — the sort of drunk where everything is funny and your hands don’t quite do what you tell them to.

And still, somehow, your mouths found each other.

It was messy. Clumsy. Loud. Rushed in some places, slow in others. There was a lot of giggling. Some frustrated huffing. His necklace got caught in your bra strap and you ended up yanking it off entirely and throwing it across the room.

“Gentle,” you hissed at one point, when he tugged your hair a little too roughly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled against your collarbone, voice already hoarse. “Just—fuck, you smell good,”

“You’re really drunk, huh?”

“Drunk on you.” He throws you a wink.

You smacked his shoulder. “Gag, that’s such a cliche line,”

“You won’t remember it anyway,”

You didn’t speak after the initial teasing. There was no need for words when his hands were on your thighs and your mouth was tracing the shell of his ear and the whole world had shrunk to your mattress, your body, him.

And then it was over—or it wasn’t, you weren’t sure. The minutes blurred. The vodka didn’t help. You were sweaty, tangled together under your duvet, his arm flung lazily across your waist, your leg hooked over his hip like it had always belonged there.

You stared at the ceiling.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured after a while.

“Thinking,” you whispered.

“About?”

You turned your head to look at him.

Sirius Black. Shirtless. Sleepy-eyed. Absolutely ridiculous. And completely still.

You didn’t answer.

—

You woke up before him.

The sunlight coming through the blinds was far too bright for your hangover, but you didn’t move. Not immediately. You were too aware of the weight beside you, the arm still draped across your stomach, the soft sounds of his breathing as he dozed.

He looked younger when he slept.

Less arrogant. Less sharp around the edges.

And fuck, you thought, staring at the ceiling again. What the hell are you doing?

This wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

It was supposed to be hot, chaotic, meaningless fun. A distraction. A break from your assignments and your own mess and the looming terror of the post-uni void. He was supposed to be a good shag—nothing more.

But you’d seen the look on his face last night.

He meant it.

And, worse—some traitorous, pathetic, unguarded part of you wanted to believe it.

You let out a long breath.

Sirius stirred beside you, groaning as he blinked against the morning light.

“M’head,” he mumbled.

“That’s the vodka,” you said softly.

“Betrayed by my own choices again,”

You smiled despite yourself.

He looked over at you and smiled too, all sleepy and unfiltered, the kind that made something in your chest flutter before you could stop it.

“Morning,” he said.

“Morning,”

He stretched—limbs long and tangled in your sheets—and then rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Do you always look this fit in the morning?” he asked.

“Do you always flirt through hangovers?”

“Only with people who’ve ruined me sexually,”

You laughed. “You’re so full of it,”

“And yet,” he said, leaning in to kiss your shoulder, “you keep inviting me back,”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re tolerable when asleep,”

“I’m irresistible always,”

“I think the word you’re looking for is insufferable,”

“No, no,” Sirius shakes his head carefully, trying not to worsen the impending headache. “Definitely irresistible,”

—

He left mid-morning.

You offered him toast. He accepted. Ate it half-standing in your kitchen like he’d done it a hundred times before. Then he grabbed his shirt, kissed your temple without thinking, and promised to see you later.

And then he was gone.

You stood there in the quiet.

Trying not to feel the loss in the room.

When I got out I knew

That nobody I knew would be believing me

You didn’t hear from him much over the next few weeks.

A couple waves, a few hellos, but nothing proper.

You were too busy. Exams swallowed your brain like quicksand. You crammed until your fingers cramped, drank enough energy drinks to probably cause a coronary, and watched the sunrise from your desk too many mornings in a row.

Your social life dwindled to caffeine-fuelled library whispers and the occasional flatmate making sure you’d eaten something other than toast.

When the final exam finished—the bastard of a quantitative finance paper—you nearly cried walking out of the lecture hall. Someone popped champagne in the quad. You high-fived your study group. You stood on the steps and screamed into the sky.

And in July, you passed. Somehow.

Everything felt lighter.

And then, just as you were heading to your car with your results in hand—sun out, heels clicking against the pavement, wind tugging at your open shirt collar—you saw him.

Sirius.

Leaning against the railing with his hair tied back and his leather jacket slung lazily over his shoulder. Like no time had passed at all. Like this wasn’t the first time you’d seen him properly in weeks.

“Hey, stranger,” you said, grinning.

He looked up, and smiled—not the usual smirk, but the softer one. The one you always had to pretend didn’t get to you.

You crossed the last few steps and launched into your news without hesitation. “I passed. All of them. Barely—and I mean barely—scraped through quantitative, but I did it. No resits. No crying. Well, I cried a bit, but not during any of the exams—”

He caught you mid-ramble with a laugh, pulling you into a hug before you could finish.

You sank into him automatically.

He smelled like cigarette smoke and warm leather. Your heart did that stupid little dance again.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, voice low against your temple. “Knew you’d smash it,”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him with a grin. “You owe me dinner. Or celebratory sex. Your choice,”

He laughed, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Both?” he offered, light-hearted but off-kilter.

You narrowed your eyes, teasing but watchful. “Why do you look like someone’s kicked your puppy?”

He didn’t answer straight away.

That was the first clue.

The second was the way his hand stayed on your hip longer than necessary—like he was anchoring himself. Like he didn’t trust his legs not to bolt.

You stepped back fully.

“Sirius.”

“Alright,” he said, voice carefully casual. “Don’t get mad,”

You crossed your arms. “Why would I get mad?”

“Because I’m about to say something stupid,” he replied, then ran a hand through his hair. “And possibly ruin the vibes,”

You waited.

He sighed.

“I’m leaving,”

You blinked. “...What?”

He gave a weak laugh. “I failed. Most of my exams, anyway. Except the one you helped me with— so really, you’re the reason I’ve got any academic credibility at all,”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again.

“I got the notice yesterday,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Uni’s not letting me back next year. They were… diplomatic about it. Said I could reapply after a break, provided I prove academic discipline, blah blah. But I’m not going to,”

“Oh,” you said quietly.

He shifted. “The band— the Marauders— we’ve been getting attention. Played a couple gigs in Camden, some scout liked us. Said we’ve got a sound. He’s offered to get us into a studio. Independent label, nothing big, but… it’s something,”

You were quiet.

“I’m moving out next week,” he added. “Might end up up north for a bit. Or Manchester. Depends where the recording space is. Everything’s still up in the air,”

He glanced at you, then away.

“But I wanted you to know,”

You nodded.

He watched you, a flicker of worry behind his lashes. “You alright?”

You let out a soft breath. “Yeah,” you said, and meant it. “I’m happy for you,”

“You sure?”

You gave him a small smile. “I mean… I’ll miss you. Obviously. Even if it was just a friends-with-benefits situation, or whatever the hell this was. But this is what you’ve wanted, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah,”

“Then I’m proud of you too,”

Something in his jaw tightened.

You tilted your head, half-grinning. “Besides, what kind of monster gets mad at a guy for chasing his dreams?”

He smiled—properly this time, though a bit bittersweet.

You nudged his shoulder. “So, one more round before you go?”

He blinked.

“Sex, genius,”

His eyebrows shot up. “You serious?”

“Call it a send-off. My treat,”

He stared for a beat longer than necessary, then grabbed your hand and pulled you towards your car.

You were both half-laughing, half-running — high off adrenaline and the electric sort of sadness that feels like holding fireworks too close to your chest. The air smelt like summer pavement and exam dust, and Sirius looked at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. You didn’t let yourself read too far into it.

You knew better than that.

Still, when he pressed you against the passenger door and kissed you with every ounce of tension he’d held in since telling you he was leaving, you let him.

And when you got back to your flat and climbed the stairs two at a time, limbs tangled and mouths chasing the next inhale, you let yourself want him.

Because why not?

What were you saving yourself for?

It felt like a dream, the way you stumbled into your room. His hands on your waist. Yours in his hair. The low clatter of keys falling to the floor. Clothes tugged off, discarded without aim. Your jumper. His shirt. The way he looked under the dim light of your lamp, mouth red and eyes blown wide.

When the lights go out

She's all I ever think about

Except… you didn’t even have sex.

You wanted to. So badly you could’ve screamed.

But something about it—something about the way he looked at you, or the silence between your heartbeats—shifted.

Maybe you both knew that this wasn’t going to be another carefree romp. That if you went any further, it would mean something. Something you weren’t sure either of you could walk away from.

So instead, you just… sat.

You climbed into his lap, straddling him where he’d dropped onto your bed. Your bare legs wrapped around his hips, your lips brushing his jaw—and instead of unbuckling his jeans, you let yourself settle there. Let yourself exhale.

Dusk painted the walls violet and blue. There was a breeze through the open window, and the smell of distant cigarettes from someone smoking below.

And you talked.

He told you about the producing deal in more detail—how the scout was a friend of someone’s cousin, and how it wasn’t official yet, but they’d been invited to record a demo. They’d booked a session in a dingy little place near Camden, and the label guy said if the sound was tight, he’d see what he could do.

“I mean, we’re still technically a uni bar band,” Sirius admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “But we’ve got followers. And if it goes well, it’s a foot in the door. A real one,”

“That’s brilliant,” You nodded, tracing the edge of his collarbone absentmindedly. “And terrifying,”

“Oh, it’s horrendously terrifying. I haven’t told my family yet,”

You quirked a brow. “Why not?”

He gave a bitter little laugh. “Because they’ll cut me off. Or worse — be disappointed,”

You leaned your cheek against his shoulder. “Do they even know about the band?”

“Not really. They think it’s a phase,”

“They’re in for a surprise, then,”

He snorted. “They think music’s fine as a hobby — as long as I’m also taking over Black & Co. eventually,”

You hummed. “I’ll take your place,”

He paused. “What?”

You pulled back just enough to grin. “Once I graduate. I’ll apply to be the heir to your family’s cold, corporate throne. Could do with the cash,”

“Don’t even joke about that. You’ll be wearing grey slacks and developing caffeine dependency within weeks,”

You poked him in the chest. “Better than moving in with my mum,”

“Debatable,”

You mock-pouted. “You don’t think I’d make a great junior partner?”

“No offence,” Sirius said, lips twitching, “but my family are absolute twats, and I wouldn’t wish them on you,”

“None taken,” you replied. “They do sound like twats,”

He laughed, and you kissed the corner of his mouth. His hands slid along your thighs in a way that felt instinctive, not lustful—like he was memorising you.

You stayed like that for ages.

Talking. Drifting. Laughing into each other’s skin. The vodka stayed unopened on your desk. The city hummed around you. And every time you looked at him, something soft bloomed in your chest that you didn’t have a name for.

The picture burning in my brain

Kissing in the rain

He stayed the night.

You didn’t ask—just curled under the covers with him once the sky turned navy and the streets below went quiet. He didn’t object. Just pulled you close, his arm around your waist, your head tucked under his chin.

You both slept badly, but neither of you cared.

It was enough to be near.

To exist in the same breath, if only for a few more hours.

—

The morning came too soon.

You dragged yourself out of bed in an oversized hoodie while Sirius rifled through your room looking for his jeans. He finally found them behind your desk chair, tangled in the blanket he’d somehow pulled down during the night.

You tried not to stare at his back as he dressed. Tried not to think about how quiet it felt.

He pulled on his jacket, fingers catching the zip, and you reached out before you could stop yourself—smoothed it for him. He blinked, just once, then smiled that same smile you’d seen on the steps outside campus.

Like he was trying not to let something show.

The clouds outside were thick and heavy, grey like wet concrete. You walked him to the door anyway.

Neither of you said much. Until you opened it—and found the rain waiting on the other side like a punch to the face.

Sirius blinked, stunned by it, before laughing. “Bloody hell,”

It was *pouring—*sheets of rain, bouncing off the pavement, flooding the drains. The kind of rain that soaked you through in seconds. That made umbrellas feel pointless.

You reached for the car keys beside your door, but he stopped you.

“I’ll be alright,” he said, pulling his hood out from where it was shoved inside the back of his jacket, but not putting it up.

You stared at him. “You’re going to walk to your flat in this?”

“It’s only fifteen minutes,”

“In that?” You gestured to his torn jeans and thin cotton tee beneath the jacket.

“I’ll dry off,”

“You’ll drown,”

He chuckled, then hesitated—that same beat-too-long pause he always did before saying something real.

“I’ll be alright,” he said again, more softly.

You didn’t argue this time.

You just watched him step into the doorway and reached for the pen on the side table, scribbling his number on a crumpled receipt.

“Just in case,” He said, holding it out. “In case we get lucky,”

You took it with a grin. “Unlikely,”

“Still. Now you’ve got no excuse,” His eyes met yours, storm-dark and unreadable.

And then he kissed you, with feathered lips and hands gentle enough that they don’t even leave fingerprints on your cheeks.

You barely had time to kiss him back before he stepped into the rain.

Let himself get soaked.

Didn’t even pull up the hood.

He just glanced over his shoulder one last time, gave you a two-fingered salute, and vanished down the street, hair already dripping, receipt crumpled in his hand.

You stood in the doorway until he was gone.

And then longer still.

The movie playing in my head

Of her king sized bed

Means I can't forget my English love affair

The song ends, but the crowd doesn’t.

They’re still screaming—still throwing themselves toward the stage like they could grab onto the final chords and keep them going, as if their voices might convince the band to stay just a little longer. The lights pulse overhead, hot and gold and dizzying. The air tastes like sweat and smoke and bassline, like summer caught in a bottle and shaken until it fizzes over.

Sirius stands at the mic, breathless, his shirt clinging to his back. Hair damp, jaw sharp beneath the spotlight. He looks… elated. Wrecked in the best way. The kind of tired that feels like triumph.

You’re somewhere in the crowd, but he can’t see you.

Doesn’t know you’re there.

Not yet.

Because you hadn’t planned to come. Not until the very last minute—until your best mate shoved a last-minute ticket in your hand and said “Come on, it’ll be funny. Isn’t that your uni crush? The one who played guitar instead of going to lectures?”

You’d laughed.

And then you’d come.

Because somewhere after the goodbye, Sirius Black had turned into someone people recognised. Someone who got played on indie radio stations and reviewed in music blogs. Someone with tattoos and a fandom and a press schedule. The kind of person who said things in lyrics that made strangers cry.

“Holy shit,” James says, breathless as he steps offstage, clapping Remus on the back. “That crowd was insane,”

“Insane,” Remus agrees, wiping sweat from his brow and reaching for a bottle of water. “I thought we were going to lose the speakers during Track Six,”

“We might’ve,” Peter adds, looking mildly terrified and thrilled in equal measure. “I saw security taping one of the subs mid-song,”

James lets out a bark of laughter. “I didn’t notice. Too busy watching Sirius dry-hump his mic stand again,”

“Not my fault the crowd’s thirsty,” Sirius replies, dropping onto a crate near the back of the tent and fanning himself with a setlist. “I’m simply giving them what they came for

“That’s what she said,” Peter grins.

“I’ll leave you all to form your own relationships with your microphones, thank you,” Remus mutters, shaking his head.

Sirius just smirks.

He should be riding the high. The set went better than they’d hoped—no technical issues, the crowd was electric, and the reaction to the unreleased song was mental. He’d watched people mouth along to the chorus by the final repeat, like they already knew it. Like they felt it.

And maybe they did.

Maybe everyone has someone they can’t forget. Even the people who pretend not to care.

“You’re getting softer by the year,” James says as he flops onto the crate beside Sirius, elbowing him lightly. “Soon you’ll be writing acoustic shit about holding hands,”

“Don’t tempt him,” Remus says, snorting. “We’ll get a ballad about library desks and crosswords next,”

“Finance Girl,” Peter says dramatically, holding an invisible microphone. “Track one off the next album,”

Sirius doesn’t respond immediately.

He’s smiling—the kind of half-amused, half-resigned smile that means yeah, alright, fair enough. He tosses his towel over his shoulder, grabs a water bottle to throw in James’ direction, and watches as he raises it in mock salute.

“To Finance Girl,” James says, voice dry. “The unofficial fifth member of the band,”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Remus groans. “You’ll jinx it. She’ll turn up in a dramatic twist of fate and demand royalties,”

“She’s probably a CFO somewhere now,” Peter adds. “Drinking oat milk lattes and marrying some bloke named Quentin,”

James leans in conspiratorially. “So, remind us again. Why did you never go back for her?”

Sirius pauses. The air buzzes with leftover feedback and adrenaline. Somewhere outside, the next band is warming up.

He shrugs. “Dunno. Life got loud,”

“Bet she’s still fit,” Peter says with a dreamy grin. “Imagine the sexual tension if she did show up now,”

“She’s always in your head anyway,” James says. “You write more songs about her than I have about Lily, and we’re married,”

“That’s because you two are boringly vanilla,” Sirius replies without missing a beat, unlocking his phone.

Dozens of notifications. Mentions on Twitter. Clips of the performance already circulating. A missed call from their PR. A text from a number he doesn’t recognise.

And it’s that one that makes him freeze.

still writing songs about how good our sex was? count me honoured

The room falls away.

The noise fades.

He stares at the screen like it might combust in his hand.

Because no one else would know to send that.

No one else could make him feel like a second-year uni student again with just one sentence.

No one else ever dragged him into the backseat of their car by his tie.

Then a second message.

I really hope you haven’t changed your number otherwise whoever is getting this text is gonna be really confused

James notices first. “You alright?”

Sirius doesn’t look up. Just stares at his phone like he’s forgotten what it’s for.

“Mate?”

Sirius finally speaks. “I think she’s here,”

“Who?” Peter asks, still giggling at something Remus said.

Sirius doesn’t answer.

[sweetromanova]

High Risk, Higher Maintenance🖤

Natasha Romanoff x Female Reader

Summary: Natasha’s orders: protect the brat politician’s lonely wife. The twist? She might actually like her. (Don’t tell Fury)

Word Count: 5k

A/N: new story woooo i only have a couple more left over to upload! i'm going to try and keep the uploads long so should have around 5 or 6 chapters, weekend updates are scheduled for 10am both days! enjoy🤍

Chapter One

The SHIELD conference room smelled like recycled air and consequence. Natasha sat in the centre chair like she’d been dropped there from a great height and told not to move. Arms crossed, leg bouncing once every few seconds. Her jaw was clenched tight enough to crack molars.

Across from her, Fury paced.

Not the kind of pacing that meant strategy. This was the kind that meant disappointment. The kind you earned.

“You compromised classified intel.” He said finally, without looking at her.

Natasha didn’t answer right away. Her eyes followed him but her mouth stayed shut.

“You let Yelena into Tier Three access.”

“She needed it.”

“She didn’t have clearance.”

“She had need. There’s a difference.”

Fury stopped pacing, turned and looked her dead in the eye.

“You don’t get to redefine clearance based on gut feelings.”

“She was running point. I made a call.”

“You made a mess.”

His voice wasn’t raised, it never had to be but the silence that followed was loud enough to press against her ribs.

He dropped a file on the table. Thin. Civilian-grade. Not even stamped.

“You’re benched. Immediate suspension from fieldwork. No missions. No exceptions.”

Natasha didn’t move.

The words didn’t surprise her. But they hit anyway.

“You’re sidelining me for three months?” She asked, voice flat. “You want me filing drone logs with the kids?”

“I want you to feel the weight of crossing a line.”

“I’ve crossed plenty of lines.”

“Not this one.”

Fury leaned on the table now, hands braced. Every inch of him radiating the authority of someone who’d already decided.

“You want to stay useful? There’s one option.”

“I don’t do babysitting.”

“You do now.”

She scoffed but the laugh didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m not a handler, Fury. I’m not a suit.”

“It’s not a suit gig. It’s a threat detail.”

That stopped her, just a fraction. Just enough for him to open the file and slide it toward her.

She didn’t reach for it but her eyes scanned the front page.

“I said threat detail, not glorified security for someone’s insecure C-list husband.”

“She’s not C-list. And it’s not a husband.”

At that, Natasha leaned forward, more intrigued than she wanted to be and finally looked down at the file properly.

Your photo met her gaze.

Soft lighting. Something formal, a charity event, probably. Your hair done, your smile poised. But there was a hollow edge to it. A stiffness. The smile never made it to your eyes.

Congresswoman Evelyn Prescott’s wife.

Her brow lifted.

“Prescott…” She repeated slowly. “The Evelyn Prescott?”

Fury nodded. “And she’s too busy shaking hands on the Hill to pay attention to her wife getting stalked.”

Natasha’s lip curled. “And Secret Service?”

“Stretched thin. They gave us jurisdictional clearance.”

She flipped the page. There were typed threats, low-level tracking. Nothing solid but it was growing. Something just beneath the surface.

“Why not send a junior agent?” She asked, still reading.

Fury didn’t blink. “Because I need someone who doesn’t blink when things go sideways. And I need someone whose instincts override bureaucracy.”

She looked up at him. “So suddenly I’m your ideal choice?”

“You’re the only one who knows how to deal with a problem before it becomes a headline.”

He left that there, like a slap disguised as praise.

She stared at your face one more second, then shut the file.

“Fine.” She said. Her voice was rougher now, somewhere between bitter and resolved. “Where is she?”

Fury didn’t smile but he stepped back.

“She’s waiting.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The house was glass and shadows and the kind of money that got things silenced.

Perched on a hill just outside the city, it looked more like a showroom than a home, all clean lines and careful distance. Not a single light on. Not a single plant or bush out of place.

Natasha had barely stepped out of the SUV when a staff member appeared at the door.

“Upstairs. Probably.” The woman mumbled, not quite making eye contact before vanishing back into whatever wing she’d emerged from.

Probably. Looks like everyone took this stalker seriously.

Natasha stepped into the foyer and let the silence breathe.

She didn’t call out nor did she go looking.

Just stood still, counted the seconds and let the house show itself.

It took twelve minutes. Exactly.

Then the soft pad of bare feet on polished wood.

You descended like you were walking into your own stage lighting. Not rushed. Not apologetic. Silk pyjama pants, hanging low on your hips. A barely-there tank top that looked like it belonged to the evening before. One hand resting lazily on the bannister. The other delicately holding a half-empty glass of white wine between your fingers. 

At four in the afternoon.

You looked at her like someone might look at a painting they’d forgotten they owned, curious, detached, not exactly impressed.

“So.” You said, voice warm and wry. “You’re the solution.”

Natasha didn’t blink. “You’re the problem.”

You grinned slowly, not girlish or innocent but dangerous.

“God, they really didn’t send a suit this time.”

“Disappointed?”

“Surprised.”

“I’m not here to impress you.”

“Shame. You’re doing it anyway.”

Natasha ignored that. Eyes already sweeping the room behind you, every angle, every shadow, cataloging entry points, blind spots, weakness.

You sipped your wine, watching her with open interest.

“Where’s your wife?”

“D.C. Fundraiser. Or an press conference disguised as one. I lose track.”

“You live here alone?”

You twirled your wine glass. “Alone enough.”

Natasha moved once, slow, deliberate. She didn’t like standing still when someone like you was circling.

“Secret Service too busy?” You asked, cocking your head. “Or am I the lucky prize in SHIELD’s punishment rotation?”

Natasha tilted her head just slightly, like you were a problem that she was already solving.

“Are you always like this?”

You blinked, mock-innocent. “Like what?”

“Performative. Mouthy. Spoiled. Bored enough to make people regret showing up.”

You smiled, wider this time but it cracked just a little at the edges.

“I’m lonely.” You mock pouted, lips almost to the rim of your glass. “Not spoiled. There’s a difference.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“No.” You murmured, stepping past her. “But you’re still looking.”

That made her stop, just for a second.

You were close now, too close, standing with your wine like it was a shield, like your bare feet gave you power.

“I read your file, you act like a brat.” Natasha said, voice cold steel. “You act like that with me? And you’re going to get treated like one.”

Something flickered across your face.

You tilted your head, mouth parted. “Promise?”

It wasn’t a challenge. It wasn’t even flirtation. It was a wound, wrapped in silk.

Natasha didn’t respond. 

You turned before she could, walking slowly back up the stairs, back arching just enough in that stupid tank top, wine glass trailing, feet silent.

At the landing, you looked back once, eyes unreadable.

“Let me know if you get bored. Most people do.”

Then you were gone.

And Natasha stood in the entryway, pulse unsteady, jaw tight.

She hated these kinds of jobs. She hated the politics. She hated the silence you carried like perfume.

The door at the top of the stairs clicked shut behind you, soft as a secret.

Natasha stared after you for a beat too long, long enough for her composure to fray at the edges.

She exhaled once, sharp, like it might chase away the air you’d left heavy in the room.

She moved, finally habit taking over. A sweep of the space, a practiced look for exits, surveillance, traps. But this wasn’t that kind of danger. This was personal. And personal was messier.

She turned toward the bar cart in the corner, the one you hadn’t touched, despite the glass you carried like a prop.

Empty.

Of course it was.

The ice in her stomach cracked a little as she leaned against the wall, palms flat against the cool plaster. Her reflection in the mirror caught her off guard. A victim stood in someone else’s war.

Yours, maybe.

She closed her eyes. Don’t get involved.

That was the rule. The unspoken one.

But rules were harder to follow when someone looked at you like they were daring you to break them. Or begging you to.

Natasha pushed off the wall and started for the stairs. She wouldn’t knock. Wouldn’t ask but she would look.

Because beneath all the bravado and silk-wrapped wounds, there was something else she’d seen. Something real.

And Natasha Romanoff had always been terrible at walking away from that.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The house was silent when Natasha woke.

Early morning sunlight slanted through the kitchen windows as she moved barefoot across the marble floor. She’d already been up for an hour, her body too trained, too wired, to allow for sleep-ins or comfort.

She’d cleared the perimeter. Twice. Done a full workout in the gym downstairs, mostly cardio and bodyweight drills. Something to shut her brain up. The silence in the house had weight to it, like it had grown used to being empty or ignored.

Natasha threw a towel over her shoulder and wandered into the kitchen.

The housekeeper was already there, folding napkins for a breakfast that wouldn’t be eaten.

“Morning.” She said, offering Natasha a small nod. “You don’t look like a coffee person but I’m guessing you’re going to need it.”

“I look like I need something to punch to which I probably do.” Natasha replied, with a friendly smirk.

That earned a small smile. The housekeeper, mid-fifties, tidy in the way people from the old world always were, gestured toward the absurdly expensive espresso machine on the counter.

“Machine’s Italian. More sensitive than my last husband. Hold this button until it blinks, twist here, pray to God and it should give you something dark enough to stomach.”

Natasha leaned in, eyebrows raised.

“That’s a lot of steps.”

“Nothing in this house is simple. Especially not her.”

Natasha turned slightly. “She’s still asleep?”

The housekeeper nodded.

“Didn’t come down for dinner last night either. Had a party a few days ago. Didn’t attend. She’s supposed to be with her wife today. Fundraiser at The Newbury. 10:30am arrival, press already booked. Evelyn is expecting her.”

“And she won’t go?”

The housekeeper shrugged one shoulder, continued folding cloth napkins with mechanical precision.

“She might. She won’t. Depends how much she wants to be seen pretending she’s happy.”

Natasha didn’t respond. The coffee machine sputtered to life and the smell filled the room, bitter, grounding. 

“She always like this?” Natasha questioned.

The housekeeper didn’t answer right away.

“She used to try.” She said, quietly. “Now she doesn’t.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

Ten minutes later, Natasha stood at the foot of the grand staircase, coffee in hand and made the deliberate choice to stomp up each step like it owed her money.

She didn’t bother knocking.

The bedroom door creaked open under her hand, the lock disengaged, of course. No one in this house locked anything surprisingly for a household with death threats and stalkers circling it.

You were a mess of tangled sheets and rumpled silk. One arm thrown across your face, hair spilled over the pillows, the duvet kicked off one leg like you’d been at war with it.

Natasha stepped into the room with all the subtlety of a wrecking ball.

“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.”

You groaned from under your arm.

“Jesus Christ, what time is it?”

“Time to stop hiding.”

You moved just enough to peer at her through one eye, still heavy with sleep and pure venom. “Are you seriously waking me up like this?”

“You’ve got an event in two hours.”

You didn’t move.

Natasha crossed her arms. “Fundraiser. Press will be there. Your wife expects a photo op and a smile.”

You sighed like you’d aged twenty years in ten seconds.

“I’m not going.”

“She thinks you are.”

“She thinks a lot of things.” You muttered, pulling the blanket back over your head.

Natasha was not a patient woman.

She crossed the room, grabbed the edge of the duvet and ripped it back in one motion. You yelped, twisting away from the sudden chill.

“Are you insane?”

“You’ve got forty-five minutes to shower and look like you haven’t been avoiding your entire life.”

You sat up sharply, sheets pooling in your lap, eyes blazing.

“Let me guess… SHIELD trained you in ‘Emotional Support and Manners,’ too?”

“They trained me to get the job done.” Natasha said. “And right now, you’re the job.”

“So you wanna ‘do’ me? Well, why didn’t you just say?” You smirk, eyes raking up the redhead’s body where you were met with an eye roll. 

“Oh please I’ve looked after kids with a better attitude.” Natasha scoffed but she couldn’t ignore what was in-front of her. You might have been a pain in the ass but you were a hot one.

You stood, barefoot on the hardwood, silk slipping off one shoulder. Everything about you was infuriatingly perfect and profoundly out of place. Like a painting hung in the wrong museum.

“I don’t need a babysitter.” Your voice had an edge to it now, like you’d stopped teasing and she’d got you where it hurt.

“Too bad. You’ve got one.”

“And I don’t need to be dragged to a fucking fundraiser to play happy housewife for a woman who hasn’t touched me in a year.”

Natasha didn’t flinch.

“You can hate your wife on your own time. But this is public-facing. You don’t show up, you make headlines.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should.”

There was a pause, a long one. The air between you stretched thin, tight like a wire about to snap.

Then you said, low and vicious. “She didn’t ask you to wake me up like this, did she? You just liked the power play.”

Natasha stared you down, her expression blank but her jaw tight. “I’m not here to play.”

You stepped closer, close enough for the words to sting when you dropped them, honey sweet and full of poison.

“No.” You said. “You’re here to be obeyed, right? Alpha dog on a leash. You want me dressed and smiling by ten? Better tell me nicely.”

Natasha blinked once.

“I don’t do nice.”

Your breath caught just slightly but you didn’t back down.

“I noticed.”

And for a second, neither of you moved.

Not until Natasha leaned forward, just enough.

“You keep bratting out like this, I’ll stop treating you like a job.”

You blinked and your throat bobbed. Then you said, quieter now. “Maybe that’s the point.”

Natasha turned away before she could answer that. Before she could say what she wanted. Before she could do something worse.

“Be ready in thirty.” She said, over her shoulder. “Or I’ll pick the damn dress myself.”

You didn’t call her back.

You waited until she was gone before sitting back down on the bed, hands shaking, chest tight.

Because god help you, she’d touched something you’d tried very hard to bury.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The espresso was too hot and the mimosa was too cold, so you alternated between the two like they were medicine.

You stood at the kitchen island in a half-zipped dress and no shoes, hair still pinned up messily from your shower, sipping like it was brunch and not an emotional ambush.

The housekeeper, June, barely looked up from setting out your earrings on a velvet tray.

“Toast?” She asked.

“God, no.” You said. “Just feed me something I can won’t throw up dramatically in front of cameras later. Maybe a strawberry.”

June rolled her eyes and passed you one without comment. You plucked it from the plate with a lazy smile, voice softening as you spoke again.

“Thank you, by the way. You always know what I don’t want, which is honestly more useful than anything.”

That got a real smile out of her, small but real. She reached out and lightly adjusted the strap of your dress.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

Natasha stood in the doorway watching all of it, the way your voice changed, the way you thanked the woman like it meant something, like she wasn’t just staff. The way June looked at you with something like pity, or maybe protectiveness.

It made Natasha pause.

Maybe you weren’t just a brat. Maybe you were also lonely in a thousand different directions.

But she still had a job to do.

“You ready?” She asked.

You didn’t answer. Just took another sip, this time from the mimosa.

“Dress is half done. Hair’s a disaster. Emotionally I’m a seven out of ten.”

“That’s generous.” Natasha muttered.

You turned to her with a sharp smile. “Don’t get testy. You’ll wrinkle your jacket and that would let terrible in the background of my pictures.”

“You said you weren’t going.”

“Changed my mind.” You replied. “Gotta give them the illusion that I’m still trying.”

She didn’t say anything to that. Just motioned to the door with a clipped gesture.

“Car’s waiting.” 

You downed the rest of the mimosa like it was a shot and followed her out barefoot.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The car ride was silent until your phone buzzed on the seat beside you.

You stared at the screen. Natasha did too.

Evelyn🤍

You let it ring out.

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You’re not going to answer?”

“No.”

“She’s your wife.”

“And that means she’s entitled to my time but not my patience.”

Natasha didn’t let up. “If you don’t take the call, it’ll be worse later.”

“I’m used to worse.”

The phone buzzed again. This time, Natasha picked it up and held it toward you.

You glared at her.

“Answer it.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I don’t feel like spending the next two hours babysitting a pouting debutante in the middle of a charity circus.”

You grabbed the phone and answered it, speaker on before she could object.

“Hello?”

“Finally!” Evelyn’s voice came through, crisp, cool, direct. No affection or warmth. “Are you en-route? I have a schedule to keep.”

You glanced at Natasha, who was now watching you, arms folded tightly, jaw clenched.

“Yes.” You said. “I’m on my way.”

“Your dress is steamed?”

“It’s fine.”

“Hair?”

“I’ll fix it in the car.”

“You need to be more camera ready than you were last week. You looked tired.”

You blinked, slow and sharp.

“Thanks for the feedback.”

“I’m just saying-“

“I heard you.”

Silence stretched for a moment then Evelyn cleared her throat.

“Okay. I’ll see you at the entrance. Try not to be late.”

The line went dead before you could even pretend to answer back.

You put the phone down gently.

Natasha didn’t say anything.

But you saw it, the subtle shift. The way her expression changed. She wasn’t smug. Not even vindicated.

She was quiet and curious.

“She always like that?” She asked after a beat.

You shrugged, eyes on the road.

“She used to be less… clinical.”

Natasha waited. You knew she would.

“She hasn’t been home in a week.” You added, voice quieter now. “Hasn’t said she loves me in longer.”

Then, after a pause. “And sex is… off the table. She stays out her townhouse in the city most of the time.”

“You don’t stay with her?”

“She said I would distract her from work...”

The car filled with silence again, thicker this time. Natasha didn’t offer comfort. That wasn’t her style but you saw her fists unclench.

You laughed once, not bitter, just tired.

“Guess now I’m just the perfectly dressed political accessory who sleeps on the right side of an empty bed.”

“You don’t have to be.” Natasha said.

You looked at her. “And what-“ You asked. “-would I be instead?”

Natasha didn’t answer. Maybe she couldn’t.

But she turned to face forward again, her voice low.

“Fix your hair.”

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The green room smelled like hairspray and citrus scented hand sanitizer. Light jazz murmured from speakers overhead, a polite buffer for egos and nerves. You were ushered in ahead of Natasha, still adjusting an earring, dress fully zipped now, posture immaculate.

She trailed you like a shadow, always six feet behind, always watching.

Evelyn Prescott entered five minutes later, like she’d been waiting for a cue. Press-perfect. Blue suit dress. American flag pin glinting under the soft lighting. A smile built for cameras already in place.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Evelyn said lightly, crossing the room with open arms. “You look beautiful.”

You lit up. Natasha saw it, the small inhale, the straighten of your spine, the desperate flash of hope.

She also saw what happened next.

Evelyn kissed the air beside your cheek, not even pretending to touch your skin. Then she turned to shake the event coordinator’s hand without missing a beat.

Natasha watched your shoulders drop by a millimeter. Not enough for anyone else to notice.

Except her.

Politeness flowed like wine. Evelyn was warm to everyone. Her laugh was practiced, low and pleasant. She thanked every volunteer, complimented floral arrangements, mentioned donor names with impressive recall.

But when she looked at you, she didn’t touch, didn’t soften, didn’t call you anything but your first name.

It was like watching a politician thank their intern, a pat on the head dressed in pearls.

You didn’t seem surprised. You just drifted back into position beside her, folding your arms behind you like someone used to standing quietly.

Natasha looked away for a second, just one second.

And when she looked back, the transformation had happened.

You and Evelyn were standing under camera lights in the ballroom foyer, picture-perfect. Your face was made for this, Natasha realised. You knew exactly how to tilt your chin, when to laugh softly, when to squeeze Evelyn’s arm in a way that made it seem like you belonged there.

You looked happy.

No one would guess that you’d begged to stay in bed this morning.

Natasha kept near through dinner. Not too close. Not too far. A private table had been arranged, Evelyn flanked by donors and other congressional heavyweights. You sat to her right, silent unless spoken to, nodding along, sipping champagne like it was water.

Except… Natasha noticed you didn’t sip. You drank. Gulped. Fast.

You kept your fingers curled around your wife’s arm when she stood to toast. Held her hand under the table, even when she didn’t hold yours back. You laughed a second too loud at an anecdote, eyes glassy with exhaustion or champagne, probably both.

Natasha folded her arms and leaned back against a pillar, scanning the room like she wasn’t quietly dying inside.

When Evelyn finally stood and spoke. “Excuse us for a moment.” She took you by the wrist, not the hand. Her smile never faded and neither did yours.

Natasha didn’t follow.

But she didn’t stay behind either.

She stopped just short of the hallway. One door slightly ajar. No one looking.

Inside, your voice broke the silence first.

“Can we just… can we go home together? Just tonight?”

A pause.

“I’m exhausted and you haven’t been home and- god, Evie, I miss you.”

Nothing for a moment. 

Then Evelyn’s voice, calm, practiced. “I told you this week was full.”

“I’m not asking for everything.” You said. “I’m just asking for something. Stay. Just stay. You don’t even have to-“ Your voice cracked. “-you don’t even have to pretend. Just be there.”

There was a long silence.

Then the thump of heels on tile. Most likely you advancing on your older wife, who you begged to just see you once.

“I’m not doing this here.” Evelyn said, this time quieter and more controlled. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.” You snapped. “I’m desperate.”

Natasha held her breath. Then came the sound. A shove. Not loud but unmistakable. Fabric brushing against the wall. A gasp.

“You’re needy.” Evelyn hissed. “You’re embarrassing yourself. I have a job. I have responsibilities. I don’t have time to coddle your every insecurity just because you don’t know how to be alone.”

Silence again.

Evelyn exhaled, sharp and rehearsed.

“I’m sending your babysitter in. She can take you home.”

Footsteps. 

A door creaked.

Natasha moved fast, ducking back into position before Evelyn appeared. The congresswoman swept past her like nothing had happened, like she hadn’t just bruised a woman’s heart in a soundproof hallway.

“She’s ready to go…” was all she said.

Natasha didn’t respond to the woman, watching her waltz back into the room like she was running the show. And if Natasha knew anything about politics the she probably was. She waited five beats then went in.

You were still standing by the wall. Makeup pristine. Eyes red. Holding the pieces together with the same strength you used to carry the whole damn marriage on your back.

You didn’t look up.

Natasha walked over slowly. She didn’t say anything but she just slipped her coat off and held it out.

You took it without a word.

Only when she opened the side door and led you out toward the car did you finally speak.

“She used to love me, you know.”

Natasha didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Because for the first time since she arrived, she saw you, not the brat, not the wife, not the public figure.

Just a woman breaking quietly in the backseat of a black car, clutching someone else’s coat like it could keep her warm.

⋆⋆⋆⋆

The car ride was quiet for a whole two blocks.

Then your voice floated from the back seat, a slur of silk and spite.

“Hey, Benji?” You called up to the driver.

Benji, a greying man with a kind voice and the patience of a saint, glanced at you through the rearview mirror.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Take us to that place on Charles. The one with the blinking ‘OPEN’ sign that’s been out since 2009.”

“The… liquor store?”

“God, yes. The trashiest one. The one with the lollipops next to the condoms at checkout.”

Benji didn’t even blink. “Of course.”

Natasha, seated beside you, gave a slow exhale through her nose.

“Is that necessary?”

“Yes.” You said. “Unless you have a minibar hidden in that jacket, Soldier.”

Benji gave a dry chuckle. Natasha did not.

Ten minutes later, you came stumbling back to the car with a brown paper bag and zero shame. You didn’t wait. Just twisted the cap off the tequila, threw it back like it was water.

Natasha flinched.

“That’s not how you sip tequila.”

“I’m not sipping.” You grinned. “I’m coping.”

She reached for the bottle fast but you pulled it back faster.

“Don’t, Natasha. Please. Not tonight.”

There was no fire in it or flirtation. Just exhaustion in silk and eyeliner.

She let her hand fall back to her lap.

You drank again. Harder.

When the car pulled up to the house, Natasha got out first. Opened your door. You stared at the steps like they were Everest.

“Come on.” She said gently, eyeing the half drink bottle of tequila in your hand that had clearly done its number on the drive over.

“I can do it.” You mumbled.

“You can’t even stand.”

You tried. You failed.

She caught you before you hit the doorframe.

Somehow, she got you inside, one arm around your waist, one hand gripping your wrist to keep you steady. You smelled like vanilla and heartbreak and cheap liquor.

Your head lolled against her shoulder as she guided you up the stairs.

“I don’t do this.” You murmured.

“Get drunk?”

“Fall apart.”

“You were already falling.” You didn’t reply.

By the time she got you to your bedroom, you were quiet. Not passed out or asleep, just quiet in a way that honestly scared her a little.

She sat you down on the edge of the bed and started to pull your heels off.

“You don’t have to-“

“Shut up.” She shut you down.

You blinked at her. Then smiled, weakly. “There’s that bedside manner again.”

When she looked up, you were staring at her. Like you were trying to memorise something you didn’t think you’d get to see again.

“Can I ask you something?” You said.

“Depends.”

“Am I ugly?”

Natasha froze.

“Because she doesn’t look at me.” You continued. “Not anymore. Not when I’m dressed up. Not when I’m naked. I don’t even think she notices when I leave the room.”

Your voice cracked.

“I used to be worth looking at.”

Natasha knelt in front of you, slowly.

You were flushed, eyes glassy, hands twisting in your lap.

“You’re not ugly.” She said, quietly.

You scoffed. “Then what’s wrong with me?”

She wanted to lie, to distract you, to offer some clean, packaged comfort but you looked too honest.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with her.” She said instead. “But if I had you-“

You blinked. She kept going.

“-I wouldn’t stop touching you. Looking at you. I wouldn’t let you fall asleep without knowing you were wanted.”

Your mouth trembled.

Something in your face cracked wide open.

You looked so young like this. Not in age but in pain. Like someone who still believed love was supposed to be safe.

“Don’t lie to me.” You whispered.

“I’m not.”

You stared at her for a moment longer, then nodded. Slowly. Like you were accepting a kindness you didn’t believe you deserved.

She eased you into the pillows. You clutched the blanket like it might disappear.

“Stay?” You murmured.

Natasha brushed hair from your forehead.

“I’ll be right outside.”

You were asleep before she made it to the door. She stood in the hallway for a long time, staring at the floor, jaw clenched, fingers twitching.

Because somewhere in the mess of tequila, heartbreak and half-whispered confessions… she’d started to feel something she wasn’t supposed to.

[bunnwich]

✨Ranking the Overblot Animations✨

+ Thoughts on OB!Boys

Disclaimer: Just MY thoughts. Also SPOILERS BELOW!!

1) Idia: 

Animation ranking: 10/10

Idia’s makes me cry. Full stop. I do feel like the animation was the most detailed. He looks so…calm/accepting of the blot.

The crazy part of all this is that he KNOWS that this could kill him, so he’s embracing death, and has the look of finally being at peace, and then the sigh of relief he breathes out?? I’m ILL.

Idia knows about the blot, he's being primed as the leader of Styx ffs. It wasn’t a meltdown in the same way as the others. HE KNEW WHAT WAS GOING ON. And his blot monster is not just a creature: IT'S ORTHO.

The image of Idia calmly embracing the tidal wave of blot legit gave me chills, and it’s  the part that made me cry.

Then the transformation of the TUBES that connect to Idia as if ORTHO, his blot monster, is his life support, as if Ortho is the ONLY thing keeping him alive. Just as robot Ortho acted as his security blanket for most of his life, Idia is now returning to where he belongs…with Ortho og who was trapped in hell.

And then I think about what we see Ortho talking to Idia in the white light in Chapter 6 after Idia is defeated, and Ortho telling him that Idia doesn't “hate the world as much as he claims,” he loves the world. And the best thing for Idia is that he needs to leave Ortho behind once more.

Idia’s overblot just hit different because of how calm he was, because of how self-aware of the consequences he was. He is filled with such a deep sense of grief that he is essentially embracing death. Jumping in the coffin with Ortho.

I know Idia is a memer or whatever, but he is one of the most interesting characters with one of the most compelling backstories. Chapter 6 was one of my favorites for this reason. (Annoying minigames aside)

The acceptance of the blot tidal wave mirrors what I feel is Idia’s core issue and the core of his social anxiety: the idea that if someone sees you as you are, they will not accept you truly.

Ortho is the only person that he feels has ever truly accepted him.

Also, another way the tubes can be seen is: when they were at NRC Ortho was, as I said, life support for Idia. And now, after the overblot, they are connected in a morbid yet symbiotic way. He is being support for Ortho too, to exist outside of the blot pit. It just conceptualizes PERFECTLY the co-dependency that the brothers have for one another.

CHAPTER 6 MAN. Shoutout to @comingyourlugubriousness for listening and helping me get down my Idia thoughts!

2) Leona:  

Animation ranking: 7/10

I do think that Leona’s, while not as impressive animation-wise as some of the others, because I have done so much reading into his character, it was the one was most excited for. So  for that reason, I have to rank him high. I think they did good for what they had, considering how lame Chapter 2 was, I think they have gotten at better at portraying Leona’s depth. I do see the recent effort made to give him development by th4 writers.

There is a split second where we see a shadow of the blot monster symbol as a shadow behind them. For Leona, it was a lion head and the way it's done, maybe bc he overblots in a stadium made me think of a spotlight? Reflecting his desire to be seen. A similar thing happens with the other overbloters, but with Leona, it very much had that "spotlight" look to me.

In contrast to some of the other’s Leona’s overblot is mostly based on very SUDDEN emotion. There wasn’t an overuse of magic. It surprised him, and he was embarrassed. He felt ashamed his emotions were on such full display. Almost like a humiliation ritual. Leona knew what overblotting was, but he never thought it could happen to him.

The shock and despair is plastered on his face as a glob of blot falls on his head in an extreme excess, Almost violently. It feels like that true moment of him losing control he’s no longer the chessmaster but instead at the mercy of his emotions.

Then we see Leona reaching his hand up as if to seek something, maybe help or support. Then only for his palm to be filled with blot as if  the only thing he feels he has to fall back on is his negative coping mechanisms now: the sorrow and frustration he feels for his life.

Like I said, this whole weak moment feels like a humiliation ritual in a what where metaphorical tomatoes were being thrown at Leona for being a shitty leader. And now, we get to see who he truly is

The sand that surrounds him pulling him DOWN as the lion shaped blot monster envelops him, like guardian him in a way. Makes me think of how Leona so often sits in his negative emotions like a safety blanket so long that it becomes toxic. Or him using his apathy as a defense perhaps.

I feel like Leona has an interesting relationship to his blot monster. He almost seems to pity it, sympathize with it more than some of the other blotters. As if they both take comfort in each other in weird way. Leona’s blot monster in Chapter 7 refers to Leona as his “friend.”

 Again, like with Idia there is a codependency, but whereas Ortho is a person Leona’s blot to me so clearly represents his coping mechanisms, his pride, his bravado that protects him from any “real emotions.” And I feel if you have had depression you understand this type of masking or self-indulgence as a means of self soothing.

Leona is a person who bed rots, indulges in rich food, demands to be spoiled and yet it STILL doesn't make him happy. The description of him “cuddling” with his blot monster from the Chapter 2 light novel makes so much sense.

Overblotting for Leona was a wakeup call as for a few others, he sees himself and it's devastating and of course. It’s pathetic.

Once he fully transforms in the animation, he's no longer alone. We see the new face of Leona’s bravado manifested with a smirk and chuckle. His blot most both consumes him AND protects him from the truth: the deep inferiority that he feels within.

Side note: I just replayed his Chapter 7 part since it dropped on EN!! And now after seeing just how sad he was back then Leona takes a strange sort of sympathy towards his blot monster who cries out for a “friend” as if to say: “I will keep you. And I will make both of our dreams come true. I will get us OUR happy ending." Leona, who I believe has MUCH self-loathing, embracing himself this way was really touching  We rarely get such sentimentality from him normally. (Might make a separate post for this!!)

3) Vil:

Animation ranking: 9/10

SO WELL ANIMATED. SO DISTURBING. The fake SMILE as his blot monster wipes the blot over his face like a mask. Similar to one a true performer must wear, and this actor has worn their mask for too long.

Similar to Leona in the idea, Vil comes to terms with his ugliest self. BUT Vil’s come out of deep shame and believing that maybe he is ACTUALLY as ugly is the villain he so often gets cast as. He resented Neige for so long, wanting to surpass him.

Vil being so self-aware of the toxic mindset he realizes he’s had all along. And what he allowed himself to almost do. He compromised  himself, his values. Too busy taking stock in what others think and he let himself become desperate to prove that he was in fact “The Fairest.” He lost faith in himself.

The wiping of the blot on his face was masking AND unmasking, a covering his usual  perfect facade. He is showing the ugliness he believed to be inside, all those ugly emotions he harbored. He feels as though HE DESERVES THIS.

Before he turned , I think it made him feel sort of…free to unmask like that. Vill is SO hypercritical of himself he never gets to let loose this way.

Vil knows what he did was wrong and therefore is READY to play the role that he earned. THE VILLAIN. THE HAG. The acceptance that he is ugly inside and out in this moment.

The MC and crew caught Vil before he hurt Neige; we stopped him before he committed a heinous act...but he couldn't live with himself. That he had almost done something so ugly. He almost poisoned Neige but instead he let himself be poisoned.

4) Jamil:

Animation: 9/10

UNHINGED ENERGY BUT LIKE HE DESERVES IT A LITTLE. He reminds me of how premeditated and devious his plan to get rid of Kalim really was. FULL UNMASKING MOMENT.

Unlike Vil and even Leona he seemed to not be ashamed at all. Jamil after being forced into servitude for so long and all that repression never being allowed to truly be himself…he cackles gleefully and maniacally.

The part that got me was him taking of his hood: to let the blot in A VISUAL REPRESENTATION OF HIM UNMASKING. Coming out of the shadows if you will. In the Scarabia duo, Jamil is the moon so this makes so much sense. It was all sooo chaotic, unlike his usual reserved MEASURED persona.

Like Vil, everything Jamil does is calculated. A diamond under so much pressure, though unlike Vil, who is striving to “be the best”, for Jamil it’s under the pretense of HIDING his true self. He had enough. HE wanted to cause harm, to finally be FREE. Just like the genie.

5) Riddle:

Animation: 8/10

Angry expression. His blot monster squeezing him with her big hands, pulling his head back like an overbearing mother, holding him in one place.

It was a really good one! I think I just don't have as much to say because IMO Riddles trauma is so…straightforward and apparent compared to some of the other boys.

He suffers because of his mother and the expectations she has brainwashed him to fear in way. He never got to be a happy carefree little boy. He never got to have childhood.

And so, he is a child throwing a fit and his acceptance of his overblot after he transforms is him doubling down on his toxic mindset and the rage he feels is so justified in. He’s lashing out.

I do think because Riddle had no childhood he has a stunted sense of emotional control. He never got to just...be. As poised as Riddle acts he often still has a temper, stomping around like a child when he doesn't get his way. He is repressed as a few other OB boys are ,but not in the same way as say, Jamil, who can usually stay calm and keep that mask in place. (Makes me feel sad for them both in different ways.)

6) Malleus:

Animation: 9/10

Animation was great. THE MUSIC PUT HIM OVER AZUL TBH. But it was kinda par for the course for what I imagined. THE DRAGON CIRCLING AROUND HIM WAS VERY COOL.

I do think he is more out of touch with reality than most of the characters because his life is so long. And even though he craves connection from these “lower beings” he seem to have troubles in appreciating them at the same time?

Malleus kinda makes me think of demi-god. While he craves adoration (like Leona) he often still looks down on others at the same time. While he is more polite on the surface than Leona he often still misfires socially by not taking the time to TRULY understand humans or other races. And even despite trying, I do think at the end of the day he still believes himself to be above others.

The animation is interesting. He almost seems “turned on” by the power he was unleashing. This power was not new for someone so powerful as him, HE KNEW WTF HE WAS DOING. He couldn’t handle the idea of losing Lillia and add in the grief of Silver and even the MC mentioning that they were struggling too.

He seems gleeful the whole time, he thinks he's the hero and that he knows best for everyone. It’s a gift, silly! The most wonderful fantasy forever. He’ll never have to be alone again and neither will you!

He's full of delusion, there’s no despair or shock. And neither is there the contrast between his normal repressed self and his blot self like Jamil and Vil. THIS IS MAL.

He’s doing us a favor! He’s taking us into his delusional fantasy and laughing the whole time. He could no longer cope with reality. He is no longer going to be alone in this new world of his making. Everyone will be happy and WITH him. FOREVER. He is choosing WANT over need and HE CAN because that’s how powerful he is. He needed to be taken down a peg to learn his lesson. (Thank you Mr. Shroud.)

It makes me think how insensitive Malleus is with others' time too. Let's not forget he literally stopped time once before in a Halloween event just for fun.

Malleus like Riddle is immature and emotionally stunted. I mean how do you discipline a child that could kill you?? Unlike Leona he never learned to control his powers as well IMO.

It is pretty sad but at the same time Malleus has no accountability when it comes to how his actions affect others sometimes. And he just HAS to. He’s TOO strong to not be more empathic. He needs more respect for other autonomy and wants. And I hope he can learn that going forward.

7) Azul:

Animation: 7/10

Let me just say this: I don’t resonate with how Azul handles his angst. (And he’s my least fave OB boy)

Like Jamil he starts out laughing, but unlike Jamil he doesn’t OWN it. He cowers as the blot splashes on his face, he can’t handle it. Azul more than anything hates bullies. But, IMO Azul became a bully. He is the  bully in Chapter 3 whether he believes so or not.

So it makes sense that his overblot monster is a bully too. Splashing the blot rudely in his face as he tries to have his moment. That’s because Azul is his own bully. He has a lot of self-loathing issues.

However, I feel Azul’s malicious behavior feels aimless. Taking advantage of students to gain more power and servants is purely a power trip. His whole life he felt powerless at the mercy of others and now he gets off on having that control of other people.

Azul been so busy trying to “get revenge on his bullies” by “bettering himself” BUT instead he is taking revenge on those who had nothing to do with his childhood bullying. And himself in a way because he is not truly bettering himself. He still hates himself and the powers that he has gained are just taken from others. He doesn’t see his own worth and his innate strengths as valuable enough. SAD.

He feels like he's nothing without the power he’s accumulated and so when Leona sanded his contracts he LOST IT. He was perfectly fine with tossing away his loved ones (the Tweels) to get them back. In his worst moment, Azul would rather be feared than loved.

It’s sad because all the support he does get from the twins gets so undermined in this moment. He can’t accept their love because he feels as though they are only with him now BECAUSE of the persona he’s built. That’s how LOW Azul’s self worth truly is. When it’s so clear that they became friends with him way before he was the Azul we know today.

--

Anyways those are my thoughts on everything along with a bit of rambling.