#and it always makes my own neurons activate for sure

[chloesimaginationthings]

This eye shape is so…

I love drawing Michael’s eyes wide and he gets the look✨

[gotham-daydreams]

i had a really random idea that activated a neuron in my head and wanted to share here if that's ok— neglected!reader and friend!reader crossover. increased angst potentials, increased relationship struggles.

idk if it's just me, but the cold knowledge and sudden realization that your family was only ever interacting with you to use you as a means of getting close to their original target (who i will be assuming is a friend of yours)? you should be feeling glad that they're finally, *finally* interacting with you, but it just makes you feel more sick. they talk to you, but never want to talk about *you,* if that makes sense, always their target. half-hearted attempts to try and be more discreet, but you can tell they really just want to probe out info about your friend from you. perhaps this even cements your belief that "oh. they're never going to care for me the way i used to care for them."?? im sick i will explode and become atoms for this hypothetical reader's sake. leaving them, and the family realization that in their own selfish goals, they lost something more valuable. only makes sense for them to get it back.

but perhaps it can also be them originally them trying to again, use you as a bridge between said target, only to become more obsessed with you somewhere down the line of continuous interactions. idk lots of thoughts here i am happy big and mentally normal about these giant group of costumed losers !!

I am in love with this idea... especially because you can do it both ways (with the reader either being a part of the fam, or just a 'friend' of one of the Batfam members that they kinda forgot about until now)!

I'll go into Acquaintance! Reader later, so for now I'll focus more on this other neglected sib reader :]

Can you imagine how absolutely heartbreaking finding out that they're just talking with you to get something out of you, at first? Like, okay, maybe reader is suspicious at first, of course, because why the hell is the family starting to acknowledge their existence now? Was it something they did? Something that caught the family's attention? Etc., etc., but the point is that maybe with a little effort and too little time, they begin to have a little hope. They began to think that the family actually cares about them now.

Like yeah, sure, they kind of dismiss their questions when the reader tries to bring up the changes and why things couldn't be like this before, and have an odd habit of giving short answers and moving onto other topics concerning their friend when the reader, again, tries to press even a little bit more for answers or responses, but that's just how it is, right?

It's nothing personal... the reader knows that, and even if it hurts sometimes, it's nothing to worry about, right? Besides, they wanted this... didn't they? They wanted to be noticed, to finally have the family's attention, to have something and they're finally getting that! They should be happy, grateful even... and they are! But... is it so selfish to want more? To want the family and some of their siblings to even be a little interested in the things they do? Instead of just asking about their friend all the time?

Maybe the reader even gets a little jealous, envious, even, as this goes on but I can see them being content with little. Ultimately a little scared to ruin a good thing, and to ruin this for themselves... even if it definitely doesn't feel as good as they had hoped it would be oh so long ago.

... And then, they figure out the truth. Either from overhearing some members of the family talking about it, other friend of theirs points it out/puts that idea into their head, or they just... notice it. Hell, all three of those things could happen - with the reader knowing on some subconscious level that things aren't as they seem and that the family is definitely trying to get something out of them (a thought they had at first, that didn't fully go away), and another friend of theirs (that the fam isn't going crazy over) sort of points out that it looks like the batfam is just using them to get to whoever (and maybe the reader dismisses it at first, but that moment only further plants that idea into their head), and the reader keeps noticing all of these little things from that moment and onward... only for everything to come crumbling down once they finally overhear that conversation.

Once they hear some of the members discussing what they should ask the reader, how they should go about it, and hell - maybe for the irony of it all, maybe even joking about the reader finding out about their little 'ploy'. Even going so far as to laugh and say how the reader will never find out because they're too stupid, too desperate to even really entertain the idea to its fullest. How even if they do think so... well, they can just string poor little reader along and distinguish the idea before it even becomes a problem. How they could use that to just further rope the reader in, and make them feel guilty until they forget all about the very idea of the family just using them... further securing themselves to be one of - if not the only - closest people to the reader, and therefore, much closer to their fixation.

It's... more than just heartbreaking for the reader, but not quite world shattering either. It's some odd in between feeling that hurts all the same. They knew, sure, and they always had the suspicion- but it fucking hurts.

Somehow, knowing hurts more in that moment - just the reader knowing and having their suspicions confirmed hurts worse than anything they've ever felt. It doesn't quite feel like betrayal, or maybe it does - they aren't sure, but at the same time that description doesn't feel quite right. Though that's because they feel partially at fault. Like they did this to themselves, and they do feel guilty, but for only putting themself through this.

They should've known better. They should've listened to their gut. They should've never let this happen- they are at fault as much as the family is...

But can they fully blame themself? They got a glimpse of what it was like to be part of the family. A glimpse into the life they always wanted... could they really blame themself for taking that chance when they saw it? For trying to seize that opportunity even if it was never really there? Could they blame themselves for trying to look past all the signs, because they too wanted something out of it? Because they just wanted to be part of the family that badly, even if it was all a lie?

It hurts, and the reader leaves quietly. They don't burst into the room and confront everyone - no, they just walk away. Too consumed in their own grief and feelings to do much else besides that. I imagine that they don't even make it to their room, and hell, maybe one of the other Batfam members find them, but just looking at them makes the reader cry harder.

If they literally run away from the person, or not, is really up to interpretation at the moment, but either way they manage to find some alone time to themselves, and just... let it all out. The reader, in that moment, allows themself to grieve over the lose of a family they never had, and after all is said and done, I can imagine that they try to distance themselves- but are smart in how they do so.

The reader tries to get the family closer to their friend, while also limiting the amount of the the reader is actually around both the friend and the family. Basically just trying to put everyone in a position where they don't need a middleman - where the reader doesn't have to be involved anymore, and basically just... giving the reader an opportunity to truly distance themself from the family.

Sure, the reader might still try to hang out with the family's current fixation, but I can see them be willing to sacrifice time with that person just to further get away. It hurts to do it, and they don't want to, but they figure that, with enough time, once the family chills the fuck out, they'll hopefully be able to sort of go back to how things were. If not? Then... well, they'll just have to learn how to live with that, and they hope that their friend can forgive them.

Don't get me wrong, I could totally see the reader trying to find ways to get their friend out of the position, but the batfam is one tricky foe.. so they settle for what they can, but maybe they're still trying to do what they can. (Or maybe they think that this is the best course of action since... well, maybe they overheard some other talks afterwards? Who knows)

It could also be that, through the reader's attempt to leave, and them trying to eliminate themself from the equation entirely could be a huge turning point for the Batfam in terms of them turning yandere (aka, if they weren't yan before, they definitely are now. and those that are, are even worse than before). A real "you don't know what you had until it's gone" kinda deal, and it's gotta be hilarious to see the fam just scramble for something, and to kind of 'catch' the reader until they're truly gone... which, to add to the humor- the reader is probably already trying to move out of Gotham by that time LMAO

[winterr77]

ੈ✩ Habits for your academic life

Below are some habits and rules to keep in mind throughout your studies and some tips that will elevate your learning experiences.

☆ Setting boundaries and learning to say no

It is always easy to say yes and join every social event that one is invited to, however its crucial to consider your own personal life and the consequences of your decisions. Hanging out with friends is a needed event as a social creature, however it's better to exercise caution and know when to say "no" to focus on your own goals and dreams. Don't get pulled into the pace of others and focus on finding a routine and schedule that works for your own benefit.

☆ Being comfortable with your own company

You will find in uni that there are lots of times that you will spend alone, and maybe feel a little anxious that you're the only person who isn't constantly in the company of someone everyday like you maybe were in high school. However, realise that even the time to yourself is a time of value, and treasure those moments to focus and work on your own goals. It is easier to get lost and lose sight of your ambitions when with others who don't have the same aspirations as yourself. Use your own time to sit down and work out what you want to achieve and quietly put in the effort to win.

☆ Never being scared to ask questions

It can be quite daunting to ask questions in lectures, so I prefer to ask my questions during times that aren't forced into a short time interval, such as tutorials, office hours, and other forms of learning support that your university/college provides. This way there is no rush to answer my questions and take my time in working through concepts and ideas. Ask questions based on your own conclusions, questions that challenge current rules and perspectives. Think deeper into your lessons and seek to make use of every bit of information.

☆ Being curious

This is very much related to the point above, that being that personal interest really aids with the brains memory retention. The more things you approach with an enthusiastic attitude, the easier it is for your brain to remember and categorise. Having curiosity, even if it is forced, gives a great advantage where you seek to interconnect the information you learn with other data, and grow more networks of neurons that allows your brain to stay healthy and active.

☆ Initiating contact

Struggling with a theory or assignment? Great, it shows that you are actively trying to understand a concept and working your brain muscles. Now the best way to comprehend or complete what you are struggling with is to access support materials. Still difficult? Reach out. Your teachers, professors, tutors are all there for your benefit. Use them intelligently and squeeze every drop of assistance and support from them while they are still available to you.

☆Watching educational content to aid your studies

You can never lose from learning a bit more every day. However make sure to fact check and find your information from trusted and quality sources. In general, it's always a win to be educated in various topics from health, sciences, arts, humanities and more to gain a better understanding of ourselves, our world, and humanity.

For example, I watched a ted talk today, and here is my conclusions from my notes:

ੈ✩TedX: Why Reading Matters by Rita Carter

Summary:

☆Your brain needs a workout as much as your body. And reading fiction seems to be one of the best workouts you can get. (I recommend quality fiction, with that being classic literature because it genuinely exercises your mind with its intricate language techniques and diverse vocabulary)

☆Not only is it good for you, but it's also good for society as a whole because the brain is like a muscle: the more you force yourself through books to take other people's perspectives, to sympathise, to empathise with other people, the more empathetic a society we will have.

ੈ✩‧₊˚

good luck lovelies

~winter

ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊˚

[elliebyrrdwrites]

Dramione Blurb 2.0

It wasn’t his fault. Not really.

How could one take responsibility for something they are unable to control?

It wasn’t as if he had said anything.

One might say that he could have made a different expression. Or no expression, at all. Which was something he was usually very good at, of course. A mask he donned when it suited him best, expressionless.

Of course, until today.

To be fair, Draco Malfoy didn’t know he was making any expression at all. Because he had been overwhelmed with the vibrant array of emotions in...wherever emotions are felt. He knew that emotions are the result of activated neurons that originate somewhere in the cerebral cortex. So, the brain, essentially is what he was saying. Which he thought was funny because all of his emotions seemed to radiate from somewhere below his neck. Depending on the emotion, it might originate from his stomach, or from the center of his chest. It most frequently radiated somewhere around his groin often enough that it caused him to think scientists in general were all full of shit. Regardless, all of the bodily areas seemed to be radiating with emotion.

He didn’t force Weasley to address him.

“Is there a problem, Malfoy?” The Weasel was facing him, now. Not the woman who used to be a girl.

A girl who had lived a thousand lives by the time she was nineteen years old. A girl, who was never just any girl. Not when he first met her. Not ever.

Always very sure of herself, that one. Even when he had tried his best to make her second guess that self assurance. The last time he had seen her, he had seen less of the girl he had known, her eyes haunted and a general harder exterior encasing her once vibrant aurora.

But she wasn’t a girl anymore. Hermione Granger had morphed into a woman.

He also didn’t tell his legs to move forward, to approach the oaf and look down his nose at the boy who had grown to be her man. “Other than being subjected to the sight of you man handling Granger, no. You do realize you paw at her like a dog, right?”

Weasley blushed a red angrier than the hair on his head. “Mind your own business, asshole.”

Brilliant. Clever, as always. Was what he thought. What he said was far more incriminating. It was the start, really, to this story. It could have technically started seven years ago, that day outside the courtroom. The courtroom where his father was destined to be sentenced to a life in prison. The same courtroom that had sentenced his mother to a year of house arrest.

It’s just that he had always assumed that he had ended that brief reprieve from reality. It was a quick glimpse into a maybe. An almost. A what could have been.

But it would have, undoubtedly, sent Granger into a world of danger and Draco would have been spending the entirety of his life looking over his shoulder. Looking after hers.

And so, he had not dived into that thread of fate that might have been. Instead, he had doomed himself to a life of obsessively watching after her from afar. Fucking and dating women he didn’t actually care about. It caused her anger for him to reignite into a hatred much more volatile than than the version she had for him back in school.

But he couldn’t help himself now. He had finally agreed to Dawlish’s offer of joining the DMLE and coincidentally had been assigned as Potters new partner after his former partner had left the DMLE.

His former partner was still staring at him with the kind of hate that spanned centuries, caused wars. And little did he know that the war had began ages ago and not because of blood status but for the reason most wars begin.

A girl.

The girl who was now a woman and was now peeking out from behind Weasley’s arm, big brown eyes trained on Draco. And he watched them widen as he finally responded to Weasley’s brilliantly uncreative response to Draco’s insult. Mind your own business [enter your typical mundane insult].

“She is my business.” Was the response that Draco should not have said. But he did. And really, like mentioned before, it was unrestrained. Unsanctioned! And therefore, not his fault.

He should have expected the fist that came for his cheek. He should have been watching Weasley and not Granger. But her pretty little lips had parted and formed a little O as she locked eyes with his. There was something fascinating about watching the way her eyes lit with fury. A fury he realized he had been missing, terribly, all these years.

Of course, the captivity that her face held him in, did distract him. Prevented him from realizing that the Weasel had launched himself forward. Stringy arms reached out and a fist clipped him across the face, sending heat and pain to spread and pulse.

And you know, once a man is swung at, what can one do but react instinctually. It was beyond his control, the way his own left arm had pulled back before landing heavily against his opponents mouth. None, whatsoever, when his legs launched him forward and his arms wrapped around the man’s abdomen, sending them both onto the floor.

And so there, in the middle of Harry Potter’s foyer, did Draco Malfoy finally declare his intentions while simultaneously destroying an old Black heirloom upon his first visit to Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

The orb, which resembled that of a Crystal ball ala Sybill Trelawney, was jostled from it’s perch on the entry table and rolled slowly down the length of the runner that was placed over the table.

Draco was oblivious to this, of course, as he was too busy rolling over, pressing Weasley onto the floor below him and then digging his elbow into the man’s clavicle.

“Oi!”

Potter was shouting at them and Granger might have been rolling her eyes into the back of her head as the men continued to throw each other around. It was impressive, really, that two men could hate each other so much and still result in things like fists rubbing furiously into the top of ones head.

“Is Ron giving him a noogie?” Harry murmured and Granger sighed the kind of sighed that should have been saved for a god being rudely awaken after a millennia of sleep.

In short, nobody seemed to pay much mind to the heirloom that was precariously perched on the edge of the table. Waiting for the next bump by a leg or a shoulder.

Incidentally, it was Draco’s ankle that caught and thwacked the leg of the table. It hurt more than Weasley’s right hook.

And it was the shattering of a crystal that caused the fight to come to a halt. The scattering of a hundred little shards spraying across the entirety of the foyer.

Both Draco and Weasley pulled apart to look over at the mess. Just in time to see a cloud vapor explode from the floor where the orb had landed and broken.

It billowed up into the air and hung momentarily before it pulled apart. All of the bits of gaseous particles together looked like a cloud of mist. Pulled apart, they became colorless and so miniscule and numerous that they disappeared as they all dispersed into the air, vaporizing into nothing.

The four of them remained frozen before one by one, they all looked at one another. It was Weasley who finally spoke first.

“What the bloody hell was that?”

Harry frowned down at the remaining mess of broken crystals scattered about the floor. “I dunno. It came with the house. Some Black family heirloom, I would imagine.”

“That doesn’t make any of us feel better.” Weasley murmured, then sneered and looked to his right. “Except maybe for you.”

Ah, well technically, yes. He was a Black, but mostly, he was a Malfoy. Even more than all that, he didn’t care to be either.

“Does anyone feel ill?” Harry asked, apparently worried that it was some sort of airborne poison.

Granger remained quiet but all of them shook their heads.

Draco rose to his feet and glanced at Granger. Evidence of anger still echoed on her features, and she refused to meet his eyes. He shrugged and stepped toward Potter. The heel of his dragon hide Oxfords crunched into the tiny pieces of orb.

“Why did you keep all this garbage anyway, Potter?” He sneered over at the wall where a portrait was covered with a sheet.

“Cursed, besides it reminds me of Sirius, so I haven’t actually looked too deeply into removing it all.” Harry’s eyes widened just slightly at the confession before he refocused his attention to the mess with a sigh. “Clean this mess up, guys.” He then turned his back on them and disappeared into a door that led him back into the kitchen.

Weasley finally stood and held out a hand for Granger. “Hungry, ‘Mione?”

She shook her head and watched as Draco began to clean up the debris from the floor. From his clothes, his hair.

“Come with me, yeah?”

“I don’t want to.” She murmured before slapping a hand over her mouth.

Draco snickered and pocketed his wand.

“What are you even doing here, Malfoy?” Weasley rounded on him, projection obvious.

“Potter invited me over, not that it’s any of your business.” Draco dusted a miniscule bit of crystal from the lapel of his blazer. “Confidential, and all that, of course. What are you doing here?”

He watched as the man bristled, his lips pursing together before, “I came to see Hermione and see if she might hear me out.” His cheeks flared.

Pressing his mouth together, Draco flicked his gaze to Granger to find her heaving a great sigh. She only ever wore her emotions on display. It was something that he didn’t understand, and still, it was something he loved. He felt like setting a chair down and watching her react to every day things in her life. Like some sort show that he could attend daily. He’d probably never grow tired of the performance.

Right now she looked like several emotions were warring with one another as she stared at the scene, still pressed up against the wall beside the front door.

“Well, Granger? Care to hear him out?”

“I don’t know.” The words were pulled out slowly, as if she was expecting a reaction the second they left her mouth.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “It means, opposing the idea that she does know, she clearly does not.”

“Why are you suddenly so interested in what Hermione wants anyway, Malfoy?”

“I’ve always cared what she wants.” The words sprung forth without censor. Without his minds permission. Draco was not to blame for many of the things that had just transpired. The look, the declaration of her business being his, nor the first that flew into Weasley’s mouth. But this new declaration was different. It was true, surely, but it sprung forward before he was able to formulate a reply inside of his head.

“You’re such a liar!” Granger suddenly hissed. Weasley’s alarmed look shifted from Draco to Hermione.

“I am.” Draco admitted. Again, unintentionally. “But not right...now?” He was carefully forming his words, worried that one would fly forth, completely unsanctioned before he could finish pulling the well thought out ones from his mind.

“Convincing.” Weasley snorted before turning to her. “Look, we had a good time the other night, right? It was like we were back where we used to be.”

“Which is to either fight or fuck.” Granger said just before a hand clamped over her mouth. Her wide eyes moved to Draco before dipping to the floor where the orb had broken. “Blood Black heirloom.” The words spewed from her mouth like a curse as she pushed away from the wall and rushed into the kitchen.

Draco and Weasley exchanged looks of first, bewilderment, followed promptly by similar looks of disdain.

The men both entered the kitchen where Harry was still pouring over the files on the table. The files that Draco had brought with him for him and Potter to go over. Which they were, when he had excused himself to use the loo. It was a rouse, of course. He had heard the murmuring of voices in the hallway, immediately identifying Grangers through the heavy door.

Potter looked up at them, haunted eyes that once belonged to a boy who lived. Now he was a man who had died.

The current files strewn in front of him were some of the more gruesome crimes he had seen in his entire career as an Auror and Draco felt inclined to let him know that he had discovered a lot about this particular assailant.

Because it was Draco who had started to notice a pattern that the rest of the world had apparently been blind to.

Muggle women had been disappearing, only to re-emerge. Their lifeless bodies were typically found naked and discarded in a field or a riverbed somewhere deep in a forest. At first it was just the bodies sans life. No abrasions denoting strangulation, mutilation or internal damage.

And then one of the women — a beautiful young woman with brown hair, freckled skin, and frighteningly reminiscent of a girl from his past — had appeared in the middle of a wheat crop of some muggle farmer by the name of Buckley.

The woman, like the others, had no visible signs of damage to her body. Nothing to tell them how she had died. There were the typical signs of rape but no mortal injury marred her body.

There was, however, a mark burned into the center of her chest. Fresh, the investigators had said, and burned into her like she were cattle. A six petalled flower inside of a circle. The brand was performed before death, the medical examiner had said. Which meant the woman had been alive when her killer had burned her, seared away at her skin.

Draco knew he was seeing the work of an evil man. He knew it was a wizard that was snatching women. Torturing and raping them. And eventually, he would burn them.

Two more beautiful muggle women turned up dead before a witch disappeared. She was a half-blood witch who had married a muggle. Some bloke she had grown up down the street from, fallen in love with. He cried to the media, begged his wife’s captors to please return her safely. All he cared was that she be returned home safe and alive.

She didn’t.

The day a muggle found her body in the woods behind his home, naked and branded, was the day that Draco finally took the offer Dawlish had extended to him only weeks prior.

Draco looked over at Granger who was busy making herself a cup of coffee. Cream, one sugar.

He watched the lift of her brow as she took her first sip. Pleasantly content with the first touch of caffeine after a rather eventful morning.

She stood amid a window by the sink, and the soft rays of light bending through the glass formed a bit of a halo around the curls she had piled on the top of her head.

She was dressed in a pair of fuzzy pink slippers, a pair of thin pajama shorts and a white camisole. All snug and glorious against the subtle tan of her skin, the curves that caused him to go into temporary bouts of insanity and all beneath a fuzzy pink robe that hung open. Her body taunted him.

For years, her body taunted him. From afar. From memory.

It was a Saturday, which meant she didn’t have to work today. But what did Hermione Granger spend her weekends doing? Did she go for walks? Visit museums? Put herself at the mercy of a predator that might very well be stalking her?

Draco ran a hand over his face, unable to fight against the discomforting anxiety that bloomed in the center of his chest.

“Why wont you just talk with me, Hermione?”

Her words came out slowly, dragged out and punctuated by little pauses. “I am talking to you.” She nodded, as though satisfied with herself.

“I mean about the other night.” Weasley was moving toward her, ready to corner her against the sink.

Draco should have sat down, obviously. And he did, but not before his mouth moved.

“She’s confused, you idiot.”

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

“Can you guys take this upstairs?” Harry asked, irritably. “We’re trying to work.”

“What are you working on?” Grangers eyes brightened, eager for the distraction and pushed past Ron.

Draco tensed in his seat and his eyes met Harry’s. Neither wanted to tell her what exactly the threat to her life may be. But neither, apparently, could fight the urge to be honest.

“Serial killer.” Draco said the same time Harry said, “Killer targeting witches.” They both glared at each other.

“Oh.” Her voice was gentle. Deflated, as she approached the table. Her eyes scanned the photo on display in the file Harry was currently holding open.

“Oh, fuck me.” Ron was standing behind her, looking over her shoulder. At the photo of the woman.

It was the woman who had first appeared with the mark on her chest. Her pale, almost blue skin on display as her blank and unseeing eyes stared back at the camera.

“How did you get ahold of all this, Malfoy?” Harry asked, closing the folder.

Draco rolled his eyes at the now obvious situation. Which was that the orb had, apparently, contained some vaporized dosing of Veritaserum. Which, of course a fucking Black wizard would create something so uselessly ruthless. He didn’t know if the entire house was now cursed to compel any occupant to speak truthfully, or if the spelled potion would eventually wear off. Or if they were forever cursed to speak in truths instead of the intricately woven lies that everyone used day to day.

“I polyjuiced my way into the investigative team that was first sent to respond to this one.” He nodded to the file. “That led me into a back trail that had possible links to this woman. No visible signs of trauma, all otherwise healthy women who appeared naked and dead in the middle of field or floating downstream.”

“You stole all of this, then?” Granger’s self righteousness was so hypocritical but he didn’t need to point that out. Instead, he scowled at her and said,

“Yes.” And then he was hit with a rather brilliant and rather cruel idea. He had had enough of this rather offensive display of interrelationship turmoil. “So, Granger.” He sat back and crossed his arms over his chest.

A hand went to her hip, shoving the robe behind her elbow. The flare of her hip pulled his eyes down, to the way her shorts tightened around her pelvis. In between her legs and at her thighs.

“Tell me,” He dragged his eyes back to meet hers. “Do you remember the day we kissed?”

“What?” Simultaneous yells of disbelief from both Potter and Weasley. “Get serious!”

But it was Granger who was staring bug eyed, hand clasped tight over her mouth that held his attention. She somehow managed to muffle her response, which was lost to the shouts of her best friends.

“You’re an ass.” She was seething, now.

“Do you still think about it?” He lowered his voice and purposefully slid his eyes to her mouth.

“Yes.” She whispered, a reflex due to the Veritaserum that had sunk into their pores. She closed her eyes, pressed her lips together, and sighed.

“You’re telling me,” Weasley started. “That you kissed Malfoy?”

With her eyes still closed, she slowly nodded. “Yes.”

The entire room stilled. Everyone was watching her. The blush that burned into her skin, all the way from her chest up her neck and into her cheeks.

“When?”

“Seven years ago.” She was responded with the sense of detachment that only Veritaserum could cause.

“But we kissed seven years ago! Was this before or after?”

Draco watched her shift uncomfortably, the hand that had been perched onto her hip was now picking nervously at the tie of her robe. “After.”

“How could you!” Weasley looked devastated. So much so that Draco might have felt a flicker of remorse.

“We hadn’t actually started anything up, yet, Ron. We kissed during the battle but we hadn’t talked about what we were and we didn’t kiss until we did decide.” Her eyes flicked to Draco. “You kissed me.”

He nodded.

“And then you disappeared.” Her voice was calloused with an emotion he didn’t understand. Pain she didn’t deserve.

“I did.” He admitted.

“And now you’re here,” Her index finger pointed to the floor. “And you’re purposely injecting yourself into mine and Ron’s affairs. Why?”

Draco took a deep breath and tried to formulate an honest answer that wouldn’t, once again, confess his unyielding love.

“Why would you do that?” She pressed him.

Everyone was now staring at him. The words were bubbling up his throat, and he fought so hard he thought he might suffocate from the battle.

“Tell me, Malfoy.” She stepped up to him, looking down her curved little nose at him.

He tried to shake his head, clasping a hand over his mouth.

“What do you want!” She finally shouted.

Draco sprung to his feet and his body was no longer under his control. The potion was evil. It didn’t just cause your mouth to speak truths, it forced your body to.

Because now he was nearly pressing into her and he was glaring down at her stubborn little face and his eyes couldn’t stop moving around, gathering information. Like the way her fine hairs at her forehead and her temples were a lighter shade of brown. Almost golden against her skin. Or the fact that she had a little beauty mark just there, beside the corner of her left eye. It was faint, but gods, did it drive him mad.

“You, you insufferable witch!”

[leggerefiore]

Can I request domestic fluff hcs with Nanu?? 🥺

arghhh um replay has done damage to my neurons by showing me Old Man again

🐈‍⬛️Nanu❤️‍🩹

🌑 He would never think himself the domestic type. His inability to cook, his laziness about cleaning, and his overall disinterest in a relationship before you came around. It takes a bit of adjustment on his part to get used to engaging in domestic activities with his partner, as he struggles to even call them anything apart from their name for a while. Basically, you will have to teach him a bit of what to do. He is a tired old cat man with not many interests in his life.

🌑 Nanu gets a bit flustered when you go out of your way to make food for him. He can easily go pick up something in Malie or make something out of his endless supply of instant noodles, yet here you are making him a nice meal. The old man eats it and feels like something so enjoyable is wasted on him. He still finds it in himself to thank, however. With how your eyes light up, he knows you are going to cook for him again soon. He tries to make things for you, but he does not get much fancier than a sandwich. His feeding abilities for other people start and end at opening a can and putting it in a bowl.

🌑 A change he can admit he likes is the feeling of coming home to you after doing whatever Kahuna duties had called out to him. While he never really felt alone, due to his collection of Meowths and Acerola's usual visits, coming home to you is a calming thing. Someone he can quietly sit with – someone who lets him just unwind and chat about his day vacantly. Just like with his beloved felines, he can be with you without worrying about being judged. It really puts him at ease. Especially, when you let him lay his head in your lap and just let him de-stress from his work. At least, until a Meowth wanders up and starts whining for attention.

🌑 He does, admittedly, try to keep his home a bit cleaner. There is little he can do about the Meowths and their preferred items, but he tries to make it a bit more presentable as a home. Granted, it still is obviously a police station, but he is trying. You also aid in the cleaning efforts, helping make sure his home does not fall into the Kahuna's usual droughts of energy. It does feel a bit more energising to have a clean home to return to, he notices. Some days you both find yourselves quietly cleaning up the station together. He enjoys it more than he would like to ever say aloud.

🌑 Small things that change also seem to feel oddly right to him. Going to the store with you for groceries feels like something that he has always been doing, sharing a meal at a restaurant feels as if he never used to regularly show up alone, and even spending time with Acerola feels more familiar with you there to help him. It is such a strange feeling for him to process. Even watching you help him care for his Meowths makes him feel as if this is how everything should have been for him. He finds himself a bit lost on why this is for a while.

🌑 Even just having your body pressed against his own as the Alolan moon softly shines in through a window makes him realise how much he has come to enjoy this change in his life. You bury your head into his nape while he holds you lazily, genuinely makes him crack a grin. In his twilight years is when he finally found someone he could live like this with, it almost drew a chuckle from him if he knew it would not awaken you. His life had become strangely cohabitated by you, and nearly everything he did seemed to somehow draw his mind back to you, too. He wanted to shake his head at the torment. Just as he began to doze off, he realised how much he truly enjoyed spending his nights snuggled up to you.

🌑 He slowly finds himself accustomed to an everyday that is spent with you at his side. Sporadically, he even finds himself letting you join him for his Kahuna duties if it is not anything dangerous (he will absolutely not let you near an Ultra Beast unless he is certain you are a competent trainer). There is something that makes the tasks more bearable if he can turn to you and just be aware of your presence. There is soon a running theory from locals that was started by Acerola that you two are married, and he finds himself oddly entranced by it. Maybe one day soon he would make that a reality, if he did not drop dead first.

[cidthesquid]

Style Savvy Trendsetter #11 - The Curtain Closes!

[Previous Post]            [First Post]            [Styling Star #1]

... I know I know! I said, I was done with this game in Post #10, and in post 10.5, I uploaded my remaining screenshots/outfits. But after my injury, the number of games I can play has been limited, and my mood was a bit low, so I went back and finally unlock and completed the 'Elite Contest', and thus completed the game!

There's still more to do in the game, such as the 'International Contest', more hairstyles, photo backgrounds, etc,

and the special brand, 'Purple Moon' is unlocked:

I've heard others refer to it as the 'cosplay brand', But I generally tend to think of it's image simply as 'Fantasy', but either way they have a very distinct style. Once some time passes in game (Day->Night) I also trigger the shop event that unlocks the final contest:

...But this requires me to win the 'Elite Contest' in each of the 10 themes, ...Again, with no way to track what themes you've done. And it's random, So for now, I'll consider the game complete. -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Overall, I'm super glad I went back and finished up this game. I ended up spending a lot of time making new outfits, and I think Style Savvy: Trendsetters is a TON of fun. It's a HUGE improvement over the DS original, it terms of not just graphics, but quality of life changes:

It's SOO much easier to navigate, everything is snappier, the outfit uil is much better, and the music's nicer too! ...But I will miss the more cartooney character models of the DS game:

The newer 3d models are more realistic, but loose a bit of the 'flair'. -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Anyway tomorrow (or Monday) I plan to start the 3rd and final style savvy game! As I mentioned in in post 10.5, I may be changing up how I play a bit, to move away from the (cute/cool) outfit 'neuron activation' style designs, in an attempt to see if I'll also enjoy working with more complex designs. Or what will bring me the most enjoyment. I'm sure that very idea may be confusing to some, so I'll just simplify it by saying that pretty much any kind of expression, even something as simple as designing outfits, functions a bit differently for me, (my brain is a little silly) One of the main reason I started this blog was, so I could talk about these games and fashion in my own weird way, even if it mainly benefits just me, getting the thoughts out. So I'll be doing the same thing with dealing with how I should approach these games. Try new stuff, and even if it seems weird or unconventional, find what form I enjoy most, as I proceed on my digital fashion journey! -_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

But anyway, thanks for reading! I had a lot of fun making this, so I hope you had fun reading it as well. (Click here for my blog on Style Savvy: Styling Star)

As always, all comments, questions, and suggestions are welcome!

You literally can't bother me, (unless you go out of your way to be a jerk), so post whatever you need to say!

[themostsanebug]

BROTHER!!!

Free pass to ramble about Harry cuz I know you like him and I'm sure you've got lots to say about him. I'll even provide a few questions if that makes it easier!!!

Puts on glasses I never wear even though I'm supposed to and reads said questions

AHEM

•How'd you first find out you liked Harry? Was it like a slow realization over time, or a sudden, "Oh fuck what wait I like this guy??!" Kinda deal?

•What about Harry made you so drawn to him? Like, outta all the phone fellas, why him specifically?

•What're some headcannons you have about him? If you have any of course.

And of course, if you've got anythin else to say about him, go ahead! This is your blog. You're allowed to be insane over that man all you want

what is it with everyone else i know whose supposed to wear glasses not wearin em.... /silly BUT OUGH YES THANK YOU FOR THE. time to be insane :3c

OKAY FIRSTLY!!!!! it was. sorta slow? im still really fuckin confused about how this happened myself. LIKE. MY FEELINGS ARENT EVEN THAT STRONG I JUST BECOME INSANE OVER HIM SOMETIMES THEN IT DIES DOWN EHVEHDHS. but it started around the time i introduced moon to the blog i interact with harry on!!!!!!

THIS ONE? I GENUINELY HAVE NO CLUE HELP...... i think its just getting to see how much his personality changes whenever hes talking with someone he loves cause like. from professional to sappy and flirty in seconds and its just sosssooososos <33333

AND HEADCANONS.... ouh i do have a few!!!!! some taken from other people (coughs @/disconnectedkid coughs (NOT ACTUALLY MENTIONING THEM BECAUSE IM SCARED BUT CREDITS RAAAHH!!!!)) such as him also being trans and without top or bottom surgery!!!!!!! he/him and all that fun stuff. i always lead with those kinds of headcanons cause theyre like. special interest neuron activation ehebdbhs..... outside of that? i love the headcanon of him having glasses even with the phone head. it makes him look SOSOSOSO stupid but in the best way possible trust. hes also a cane/mobility aid user because. his leg<:( ALSO!!!!!! just for my own fun? i see him as being rather good with verbal affection and sorta timid with physical. hes very hesitant to touch (NOT IN A WEIRD WAY.... maybe) but not to talk and thats so <:3

as far as anything else? i think the things i have written about him are. evidence enough. drops my mic and walks off stage...... (THANK YOU FOR ENCOURAGING ME BEING INSANE BIG BRO 🫡🫡🫡🫡🫡)

[maifrenthebesto]

The voices told me you're too scared to make your last first move again. I wouldn't take that if that were me dawg. I wouldn't take a lot.

Yeah we're finished here.

Knowing what to say is difficult because you don't always want to say it.

I admittedly had to let a lot out of my system to function.

And let a lot in to help fill the gap left in the absence of what could no longer be seen.

It was through trial and error that we find ourselves able to read and write, to ve able to be moved by that which we choose to listen to, and to live in the light of our own sum. For as long as you're able to afford it, that is.

You don't have to show me to know that you feel anxious at times. That you've been scared before our intersection, and that you will continue to experience anxiety through your life. This is a shared experience, at some point we can all find ourselves stranded.

My aim is to help, not condescend. The intersection of feelings and information is defined through experience, and while I've been able to expand this domain quite far, it is only as stable as the host observer's relationship to the experience. Whenever you like/don't like what you see pertaining me, I get a stimulus, neuron activation. I then respond to it internally or externally regardless of surrounding but not indiscriminate of them, meaning the response type relies more heavily on the stimulus itself rather than the timing and context in which it is received.

This results in instances of me talking to myself abruptly at times, however the information coming out at these times needs little context to be able to be interpreted between select participants. As if the fact I said something at that time cleared a gap in their thoughts either consciously or subconsciously. This last part is of course wishful thinking, as it has seldom been corroborated, however there are remarkable instances I can look at not as proof, but as indication of a phenomenon which urges one to ask questions.

And this whole log is an attempt to answer the questions that come to me.

Any overlap between questions you may have had is purely non-coincidental. But I'm sure there's a fair share of coincidences scattered around the path that has been outlined by the coincidences that happen to be synchronous to the viewer's experience.

You already hold all the reasons not to do anything, it's in fact all I have been hearing recently. All that context you're having to fill people in, it echoes, they laugh, and you march onward still. For that reason alone I sympathize with the nature of your approach, you seek internal growth, but you still know that despite how close to home I hit you in my remarks, that they are not meant to be denied, as embarrassing as it may be, it has let your authentic individuated self shine through that fog that surrounds me, the same fog I assume others are gonna have. They are not to blame for being impervious to it, but it is quite transparent to see the relation links through the nature of the flow of information. And the intentions behind leaving me in the dark become apparent when you look at the players involved.

But I'm not needed for pointing out the things we all know already.

Or am I?

Someone has to remind us of who we are when we lose sight of ourselves.

So yeah I did it and I'll do it again.

Would you?

If you answered anything to anything ever, make sure to let me know about it, I want to hear your voice, so go ahead friend, I'm listening.

:)

Talk as much as you need, I have written as such, so perhaps we'll both get tired around the same time too.

[forkbirtuna]

Hi Tuna!

How are you?

When did you get into hetalia? Has Germany always been your favorite character? What are your favorite ships with him?

I really adore the belarus piece you drew! It's absolutely gorgeous!!-🪽

Hi!!!!! Where I live is currently so hot I'm melting, but I'm doing pretty good, thanks for asking!! :DDD

I got into Hetalia back in late 2019, but I actually have been listening to the character songs since mid 2018! One day a video with all the songs simply popped up on my youtube feed and I thought the voice actors went by country names because it was their stage names (I was like 14 and not very smart so I didn't question it 😭), but it took me seeing a bunch of fanart on pinterest with people commenting "in today's episode of: I didn't know this was hetalia!!" for me to actually look into it and find out it was a whole series 💀

Germany has always been my favorite character, something about him just made my neurons activate back then and now he's a little guy that lives rent free in my mind and simply refuses to leave. To quote my own words:

I am so normal about him (lies) (liar) (I'm lying) (liar liar pants on fire) (showed up to liar town and everyone there wanted an autograph)

I'm a very basic shipper so itager/gerita is my favorite ship with him, however I have a specific view of these two that makes it a little hard for me to find fanfiction that matches my vision and that I truly enjoy, but people out there do know how to cook something good. However, I'm really open to see what other people ship him with, if they make Germany act in the way I see him then yeah sure of course I'll engage no objections about that😋

And I'm really glad you liked my Belarus drawing!! :DD I had so much fun experimenting with brushes on it, I think if one of the best pieces I've ever made ^^

Thank you so much for the ask!!

[weirdmageddon]

five years too late let’s analyze this. the commentary has gotten me back into gravity falls reigniting thoughts and insights i came to years ago

i love everything about this commentary in general it hits the points of humor, genuine analysis of the characters, but most of all im so glad hirsch addressed that the droid not detecting any fear from dipper here doesnt make any scientific sense because that was a massive CinemaSins moment for me

IDK the fact that dipper can fucking stand after an airship crash because theres a bigger threat at hand is literally one of the defining capabilities owed to adrenaline lol...... IM SORRY im a biopsychology student if i dont point that out iwill seethe and die because that was just . its a grudge ive held for a long time about this episode but didnt rant about because it was something so minor and i’m sure nobody would care.

i was 13 when this episode came out and i’m almost 19 now, i had a special interest in biology and i still do but now i’m actually having college classes in biopsychology so i can give my arguments more oomph now. and i have to say, now that i know more about the brain and autonomic nervous system the more this scene bugs me, if that was even possible. and it says a lot of dipper and ford’s relationship.

if dipper clearly wasnt calm before, why would he be now just because he’s put up an outwardly confident facade? before he was in the flight but now hes in the fight. my boy just rode on top of a spaceship by nothing but a magnet gun that could detach at any time if it failed and then the ship crashed, he sustained injuries, is in emotional turmoil because he thinks his uncle is Fucking Dead and the threat of a security droid that detects adrenaline is on his tail and produces a Big Fucking Gun in response to dipper saying “i hAvE a MaGNeT gUn” and hes screaming and has his teeth clenched but sure there’s no adrenaline coursing through his body in that moment i can totally believe that

when dipper asks what happened, ford says “the orb didn’t detect any chemical signs of fear, it assumed the threat was neutralized and self-disassembled” but i don’t think measuring someone’s heartbeat alone is particularly relevant in detecting ... chemical signs of fear?? they dont really tell you this shit but noradrenaline (and maybe adrenaline too if the acetylcholine from sympathetic outflow always activates the adrenal medulla??, theres two pathways) is always active in small quantities to make sure your parasympathetic nervous system doesnt slow your heart to dangerous levels on its own, regardless of your emotions. it’s just a homeostatic mechanism. your sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems are CONSTANTLY modulating control of your organs on a see-saw, literally with every breath you take. simply standing upright causes specialized mechanoreceptor neurons in blood vessels to signal your brain to project signals to release catecholamines via the sympathetic nervous system to constrict your blood vessels so that blood is able to reach your brain and not pool in your legs. i have a deficiency in my body’s ability to adapt to this which is why i know so much about it. if i stand up my heart races to compensate. i’m not feeling fear, my body is just adjusting—albeit grossly and incompetently lol.

but what im saying here is that the security system is flawed. it’s a cool idea to have security droids detect fear, but in practice by detecting adrenaline, and not even directly by detecting the molecule itself—it’s done in a roundabout way by reading the heartbeat, could be a recipe for false alarms. like what if someone’s on beta-blockers. that’s not really an adequate way to measure “fear”; there’s so many variables that could interfere with the measurement the farther you abstract from what you’re really trying to detect. and besides, adrenaline is NOT just a sign of fear, it’s just for preparing the body for action. i know the sympathetic nervous system and adrenaline is constantly linked with the “fight-or-flight” reaponse to a stressor, but 99.9% of the time the sympathetic nervous system is used in your life is to balance out your parasympathetic nervous system to maintain homeostatic equilibrium for mundane things.

i think detecting amygdalar activation would be more efficient in detecting fear. the amygdala sends projections to the hypothalamus which then in turn modulates the autonomic nervous systems. but the amygdala is intensely activated specifically in response to a fear-inducing stimulus (it does activate in response to other emotions but they’re mostly negative and is most activated by startle and fear), and wouldnt be highly activated by many other confounding variables like measurement of the heartbeat could be. the amygala is one of the first stops directly from external stimuli.

to show you how integrated the amygdala is as the first step in registering fear after receiving input from sensory stimuli let’s look at the auditory-amygdala connection for example

see how the auditory thalamus projects to the primary auditory cortex and auditory association cortex? the cortex is where conscious awareness of what the stimuli is comes from. this is the “high road”. it goes sensing -> perception -> emotional response. but sometimes you can be startled without even processing what it is you’re sensing, like the startle response of an alarm or a phone ringing in a quiet house before you even register what it is. this goes sensing -> emotional response, without perception happening until after you’ve already felt the startle. that’s when it takes the “low road”. here’s a simplified version:

even if that were the case with these droids though it’s obvious dipper is still fearful on some level here. his body language, voice, expressions all give it away. for the amygdala, aggression isnt too off from fear so it would be detected equally.

the reason this is so important is because ford uses this as evidence for why dipper is special, “i did it?” “you did it. this is what i was talking about, how many 12 year olds do you think are capable of doing what you’ve just done?”

but like....did he really? i’m not saying this to shoot dipper down or make him out to be more of a wuss, he was incredibly strong-willed here and i dont want to take that away from him because it WAS growth on his part. but the underlying psychophysiological reactions of aggression and fear shouldn’t be that different and this was a total asspull. maybe the droid was so old that it fucked up. maybe dipper being covered in grime and dirt made it harder for the droid to measure the correct heart rate through photoplethysmography (im assuming since they use a camera and are non-contact).

and in all honesty everything i just said brings into question the interpersonal healthiness of ford’s judgements, what he thinks, his expectations, and how he communicates that. in this video alex already talks about how ford is projecting onto dipper. and i think ford may be projecting his expectations for himself onto people who are not him, and the fact that it’s on dipper here makes it far more unfortunate. you realize how much this boy idolizes ford, right? how much impressions matter? dipper even tells himself before he leaves in this same episode, “all right dipper, this is your first big mission with great uncle ford. don’t mess this up.”

even though it’s unstated, the implicit message dipper is perceiving from ford based on their dynamic is: “do you have what it takes for me to be proud of you?” and to accomplish this he must be like ford, even though he’s clearly not and he knows this. he says “i don’t think have what it takes. i was tricked by bill, i was wrong about stan’s portal, heck, i can’t even operate this magnet gun right.” then, by simple chance without even knowing what he did, he activates the magnet gun and pulls out the adhesive, which immediately takes the focus away from what dipper was telling ford about his feelings of inadequacy to ford saying, “yes! dipper, you found the adhesive!”

these thoughts of dipper’s hang in the air without resolve or comment from ford. we don’t know what ford would have said. but it then becomes painfully self-evident in the scene immediately after when the droids emerge and ford tells dipper, “they’re security droids and they detect adrenaline. you simply have to not feel any fear and they won’t see you”, to which dipper replies with an exasperated (and rightful) “WHAT?”

dipper goes in a panic trying to indirectly tell his uncle that this isn’t something he can do. and he is completely right and valid to be freaked out by that full stop. that IS crazy. you can’t control your fear. you can control how you interpret that fear in your higher brain regions but the physiological changes will stick around for longer than it takes to cognitively calm down. it’s easy for me to detach from my emotions to analyze them, but being able to do this does not come naturally for everyone. even i have an irrational fear of wasps and i can’t control it by detaching myself, my body is just automatically primed to get the fuck out of there. i know it’s stupid and i know it’s irrational and isn’t helpful to get myself worked up but i literally can’t stop how my body reacts no matter how i cognitively think about it. expecting composure from dipper in a situation like this when he’s being made to consciously be aware of his anxiety is absolutely fucking insane. look what you did, placing these cruel expectations on him, now he’s afraid of being afraid! this isn’t a case where two wrongs cancel out, they just stack on top of each other.

there’s a good reason these scenes were put side by side but it seems up until now it had remained unanalyzed.

what dipper fears from ford is disappointment. not living up to his uncle’s (quite frankly badly placed) expectations for a twelve year old with anxiety. not once did ford say or subliminally communicate “i don’t expect you to be able to do what i can since you are not as experienced as i am and that’s perfectly okay, no judgements”. you don’t put a child on bike before training wheels. you don’t throw a kid into a swimming pool without giving them swimming lessons. the way ford is doing it, there’s no room for trial and error or mistakes that are an opportunity to grow and learn; instead, it’s life or death. he only seems to pride dipper on what he can do while ignoring the underlying struggles that plague him and never making it known it’s okay for dipper to fail in front of his hero and that he won’t think anything less of him for it.

and that’s why i found the ending scene for dipper and ford’s adventure in this episode to feel so.. wrong. on a scientific and social level. because by the sound of it ford focused more on what dipper had done to dismantle the droid (the droid not detecting any fear) instead of how dipper displayed love and protection for him even if he was truly afraid. what if the science was accurate and the droid detected adrenaline while dipper was confidently standing up for his uncle. would ford still be proud of him regardless?

[sarcastically-defensive17]

Hello lovelyyy! Could i request a Billy imagine? He makes fun of the reader after hooking up with her at a party and she just playa along for the sake of his reputation but it hurts her a lot. He finds her and apologizes and its all really angsty with a happy ending??✨

Facades - B. Hargrove

I love this req so so so so so so much and I am so sorry I took so long to complete it! If you hate it then I am so so sorry and I hope you let me know so i can send you pictures of baby otters to apologise!

I really hope you like it!!

TW: THIS STORY CONTAINS MENTIONS OF BULLYING, SEXUAL REFERENCES, SWEARING, BRIEF ALLUSIONS TO DOMESTIC VIOLENCE / PARENTAL ABUSE, BILLY BEING A BIT OF A MYSOGINISTIC PRAT, Y/N STANDING UP FOR THE LITTLE PEEPS AND BEING A QUEEN AND MENTIONS OF NON-CONSENSUAL STARING AT INTIMATE BODY PARTS.

IF THIS CONTENT CAN POTENTIALLY TRIGGER YOU, PLEASE DO NOT READ. YOUR OWN MENBTAL AND PHSYICAL HEALTH IS IMPORTANT, SO PLEASE TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF. MY INBOX IS ALWAYS OPEN.

Original Story by defensive_sarcasm17.

Please do not copy, reproduce or repost without credit or in a manner that removes my username, and/or ownership from the work. Stealing is not cool, my loves.

Billy Hargrove was an asshole.

Not just your regular asshole, but the kind that knew he was an asshole and allowed his severe longing for attention to control his every action. Whether positive or negative attention, he craved it; he reveled in it.

He knew it was wrong, but simply knowing he was on somebody’s mind in any way filled him with a sense of pride. It disgusted him but the thrill was far too addictive.

And there was sweet Y/N. Anybody could tell that she didn’t fit in. She walked - no, she strut - to the beat of her own drum. The minute he arrived she caught his attention. He had never before witnessed how somebody could be so unique and beautiful, yet remain on the outside. She was a fascinating creature and he hadn’t before felt such an intense desire to get to know somebody.

She was so different to so many people, both in personality and appearance, yet she took care to avoid bringing others down. Her first interaction with him was her reprimanding him for speaking ill of another girl in their grade with his friends. She had overheard the conversation that occurred near to her locker and made sure to discuss it with him away from his friends.

The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass him and herself, but she also needed to tell him that his behaviour was unacceptable. He made more of an effort to watch his tongue after that, but old habits die hard and he quickly resorted back to being an ill-mannered asshole.

Just... never to her.

Nevertheless, he was still drawn to her. Their relationship evolved, a few sneaky kisses, hanging out outside of the arcade, or the cinema, or even the one time that Billy was eating at the diner and Y/N took a seat across from him just to babble about some new thing she was doing. If she was anybody else, Billy would have told her to take a hike, but instead, he clung to every word she told.

What Y/N didn’t know, though, was that she had become a butt of some jokes amongst Billy’s friends. Her kind, bubbly personality, her eyes that were often wide in energetic glee, the way she held a cheesy smile on her lips whenever she passed Billy in the hall.

To her it was normal. Never in her the lengths of her imagination would she conclude that the way she behaved would spur other people - people that she has grown alongside - to ridicule and tease her behind her back.

So she continued on in blissful nativity, even going as far as spending a night with the brutish boy - cuddled together, fumbling blindly amongst the rumpled sheets of her double bed. What started as a meaningless conversation at one of the many parties ended in one of the best nights that either had experienced.

She was entirely enamored by him, forming an intense and strong connection with the way he would present himself to her. She quite enjoyed the Jekyll within him.

The euphoria that he felt in her presence wouldn’t fade away like it normally did, even as he took his leave from her.

But when Billy was seen by Y/N’s neighbour, Angela, leaving her house early in the morn, the news circulated with the intensity of a swarm of angry locusts amongst the school.

And when Billy turned up to school late the next day, after a long and enjoyable farewell with Y/N and a quick stop at his own abode to change and freshen up, he was hounded the minute he approached his friends in the cafeteria.

“Please for the love of all that is cool in this world, tell me you didn’t hook up with freaky Y/N,” Tommy blurted in front of almost the entire cafeteria. The frown on Billy’s face did nothing to deter the boy, and from the corner of his eye he could see Y/N still as a statue as she felt most eyes turn towards her. Her tray was clasped between her fingers and she struggled to shift her features away from shock. “I mean, look at her,” he raised a hand as if he intended to whisper, yet the silence of the room ensured everybody heard, “You’d get more satisfaction out of a bean bag chair. She’s a dork.”

In that moment, he had two options: stick up for Y/N and confess to the growing admiration he harbored for her in front of everybody, and remove the cloud of admiration he received from many women and men alike; or do what billy does best-

“Please, I won’t put my dick just anywhere, willingly,” he scoffed, avoiding the burning gaze from the girl. His stormy blue eyes hid the flurry of his neurons, all of them working overtime to one up with an excuse, an answer, anything to avoid judgement from his peers. “She ended up with my jacket at the end of the night and there was no way I was letting her keep it.”

Tommy had an evil smirk on his face, turning his gaze towards Y/N and eyeing her in a grotesque way. His eyes linger on her chest for longer than she deemed comfortable before he snapped back to Billy. “Figured as much, but, we’ve all seen the way the freak looks at you. Even now, she can’t keep her eyes off of you.”

More sniggers erupted throughout the room. Y/N placed her tray down carefully, planning to leave the room as fast as she could, but she stopped when she saw Tommy crook a finger at her. He beckoned her closer, and she wanted nothing more than to shrink down to the size of a mouse.

“Is she dumb?” Tommy grunted as he nudged Billy’s shoulder with his own. “Come here, freaky!” Some chatter resumed in the room, but all eyes were still on her. She slowly stepped towards their table, crossing the few meters difference as slow as she could.

A chuckle left Billy, but he had forced it from his chest. His mind was going through many scenarios in which he could hurt Tommy, his favourite settling on stabbing him in the hand with one of the cafeteria forks followed by a severe pummeling to the face, but the eyes on him sent his adrenaline spiking. He felt horrible about speaking so badly of Y/N, but everybody had their attention focused on him. He was making people laugh, gasp, grumble even. He saw the girls at the table next to them get closer, winking at him and whispering along themselves about Y/N.

It was intoxicating.

“Tell us, freaky,” Tommy drawled, a sinister smirk forming in his thin and cracked lips. “You’re just obsessed with my man, Billy, here. Aren’t you?” Billy didn’t meet her eyes, and she knew - she just knew - that he didn’t enjoy what was happening, but she figured he would have the decency to stop it from continuing.

She had seen many sides of Billy, including the menacing, careless, boarding-on-sociopathic side, but she had managed to convince herself that she was immune to the abuse that tumbled from his lips. Y/N was already scolding herself inside her mind for thinking such discrepancies.

“Look at her, Billy. She can’t even speak!” Billy felt Tommy shove his shoulder with the palm of his hand, dropping the appendage quickly when he noticed the glare Billy shot him. His face paled slightly before the arrogance returned and the smirk resurfaced when his gaze shifted back to Y/N.

She hadn’t moved, her eyes locked on Billy. In those situations, Y/N knew her tear ducts were far to close to her eyelids, often spilling over at the any confrontation. She shied away from it, knowing that it often resulted in heartache and misfortune - but this time she felt anger. She just wasn’t quite sure if the anger was directed at herself or Billy.

Maybe both.

To add fuel to the flame, Billy turned his steely cerulean eyes towards her, raking them along the length of her body before he decided to open his mouth once again.

“Do i make you speechless?” his voice was sultry, warm, juxtaposing with the chill that ran down her spine at the audition.

It took her back to the previous night when he whispered sweet nothings against her skin. But she knew this was not the same Billy. This was the Billy that he would show to everyone. Everyone but her.

This was his Hyde, and she despised it. This was far from her Billy, but she knew how much his reputation meant to him.

He held her gaze strongly, but she could see something else in his expression. He was hoping that she would stay quiet, retreat from any chance of spilling his secret to the entire cafeteria, but part of his mind was telling him that he deserved her to speak the truth.

“I can’t help it, Billy,” she mumbled, hoping that a confession would make everything end. Her face was stoic, jaw set in a tight clench, only relenting to let the words slip out. To the rest of the cafeteria, it would portray as nerves and embarrassment, but to Billy - he knew that something had definitely changed in the usual mild-mannered, kind-hearted woman. Shame was running through her head at an alarming rate, mixed with embarrassment and cut with a growing anger. “I’ve had a crush on you for so long. It’s hard to deny how i feel about you.”

The words hit him like a speeding truck. Despite their activities, she had never once given him an indication for the depth of her feelings, nor had he for her. He had came to the conclusion that she simply knew of his emotions without the audition of them - he treated her so differently, he thought.

Nevertheless, he wanted to believe that her words were the truth, but the fire blazing in her beautiful eyes set his skin alight and had his heart pounding against his ribcage with guilt. She was Y/N. She was kind, she knew him. She knew how much he craved the satisfaction of being on somebody’s mind as if he could sense that he held somebody’s attention.

He knew she did it to help him, and he was somewhat grateful underneath the growing guilt.

“Wow,” Tommy breathed. His face held a look of astonishment, but once again he returned to his stock standard expression. “What an absolute spaz!”

Billy found himself nodding along to avoid the heat-filled stare, swallowing the lump of bile rising in his throat, “Why is it that all the dorks think they have a chance with me? I must have a wannabe-magnet that makes them all hot for me,” his cackle was filled with faux-malice, but the students were none the wiser. His thoughts were roaming around his head, moving faster than he was sure his brainwaves could manage.

He barely noticed when a feminine voice hit his ears and said something about Y/N needing to cool off before pouring a drink over her head. The red liquid was already beginning to stain her shirt and her hair was pushed to the front of her face.

“There you go,” Carol - the girl that had Tommy wrapped so tightly around her little finger that she has a circulation issue - had been the one to spill the liquid over her head. The smile on Carol’s face was dripping with sugar, but Billy knew that it was actually salt.“The red makes you look less like an ugly cow.”

A gasp left her lips, her eyes closing quickly. Y/N knew that the tip of the iceberg was approaching. Everybody has the point in their anger when they hit a point of hypersensitivity. Their body struggling to find a way to release the pent up friction in anyway, and it chooses to take the route of tears.

When she opened her eyes they had already began to blur with tears, yet she could still make out Billy’s figure, but she didn’t stay long enough to hear their taunts any longer. Her feet carried her to her car at a steady pace, where she finally allowed the emotion to escape in any way it pleased.

<><><><><>

He had expected to see her in their next class. Her presence was the only think that kept him from flipping out during their history class. Mr Daniels, the balding, narcissistic, middle-aged douche bag, had it out for him. Billy had often joked that it was because of the hair - pure jealousy, he said. The mere sight of Y/N’s profile managed to keep him occupied, his mind running wild with thoughts of the woman.

But when he had noticed she wasn’t there, all resolve had fled his body as his body fled the school. He had been trying to reach her since he had left, the pay phone on the corner of the block had his attention for nearly an hour, all of his change spent dialing her number over and over again with the same result.

The guilt was eating away at him, shame creeping up his spine.

He was an asshole. Plain and simple.

He had spent nearly his entire wallet on the pay phone, growing more frustrated by the minute. If she were home, she would answer. She always did. She was too kind to ignore a call. Hell, she even stayed on the line with telemarketers until they stopped talking for long enough for her to apologise and bid them goodbye.

The mere thought had him slumping his forehead against the receiver of the phone. His patience had worn thin and he cursed under his breath as he reefed his keys from his pocket and set off towards his blue camaro.

He needed to see her. The image of tears running down her cheek was burned into his mind, occupying all of his thoughts as his subconscious mapped out the route to her house. He had only been there once, maybe twice after dropping her home one afternoon, but he had the way etched into his hippocampus alongside many things about Y/N.

He had barely pulled in to the curb before he shut down the engine and stomped to her door.

His knuckles were rapping on the door before he knew it.

He knocked again, and once more. But no answer. Her car was parked in the drive way, he knew she was home. He picked up on the faint sound of music playing, some indie band that she was fond of. Not Billy’s taste.

“Y/N?” He called, fighting the lump that had swollen in his throat. “Y/N, please, I need to talk to you!”

The door opened slightly, just enough for Y/N to stare at him with innocent eyes full of shame before the chain stopped it from advancing further.

“I think you’ve said enough, Billy,” her voice sounded broken. Shattered even.

Her hair was still saturated, the T-Shirt she wore was stained, and he faintly recognized it as one of her favourite articles. A from was deeply carved into her features and he had to restrain his mind from thinking about how she adorable she looks with a crease between her brows and a dimple forming on her chin with growing anger.

“Darling, please let me in. I need to talk to you about something,” he flashed a charming smile. His pink lips contrasted perfectly against his sun-kissed skin. He was a delectable sight and he knew so; he made sure to dress to impress on the daily. He craved the looks of lust and jealousy. Like neon straight into his awaiting veins, it was his drug. Even the way Y/N glared up at him made his ego hum, but his heart ached with the disappointment she showed. “What happened in the cafeteria... it’ll never happen again. I just, I couldn’t-“

The door abruptly slammed in his face silencing his words in an instant. He froze, the sound shaking his spine and clearing his train of thought, only for the sound of a chain clicking and the door reopening capture his attention back.

There she stood. Hair drenched beyond all hope, clothes stained a bright red, throwing off the aesthetic of her outfit for the day. Her makeup was smudged more than he originally thought, as if she had been furiously scrubbing at her eyes with her hands. His heart ached, but he couldn’t deny the excitement in his nerves when she gave him her full attention.

Her hand reached out to grab his shirt, pulling him inside faster than he thought possible.

“Couldn’t what?” She snapped at him, venom coating her words in a way that made him recoil. “Couldn’t resist making fun of me? Couldn’t resist having every single pair of eyes on you? Couldn’t resist taking the piss out of me, just like you have done for months?”

She wasn’t meant to know about that, he thought. She was meant to be none the wiser. His face paled, eliciting a dry laugh from her chest. She felt the pressure of the forced omission in her stomach, the muscles aching from the furious sobs that racked her frame moments before.

“All of this time, I was trying to be your friend, Billy! And you!” She waved her hand at him, pointing at him in a manner dripping with unbridled anger. “You were playing me for the fool! I’ve been the butt of all jokes between you and your asshole friends since the minute I opened my big mouth to talk to you, haven’t I?”

He knew he was in the wrong. He knew that he should have punched Tommy in the face for even bringing anything up in front of her. His friend had noticed that he had abruptly halted the jokes surrounding the girl in question, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit the real reason why. He was falling head over heels, but he just didn’t know it yet.

Now he felt like his heart was ripping in two at the sight of her blotchy cheeks and red rimmed eyes, and he was the reason.

“It started as a joke, Y/N. I never meant to hurt you,” His voice was full of pain. Self-loathing. “Yeah, Tommy and I used to make fun of you for a while, but...” his words faded away.

The chuckle that left her lips this time was a hearty one, more like she was laughing at an actual joke than their humourless situation.

He didn’t realise how intently he was staring at her sock covered feet until he brought his eyes up to her face. She was genuinely laughing, but the tears that he didn’t realise were falling down her cheeks made his arms twitch from the need to hug her.

“My god,” she huffed, bringing her palms to her eyes and pressing hard, almost as if trying to hold her tears back. Her voice deceived her, and she sobbed for - what felt like - the millionth time that day. “I’m such an idiot.”

His hands connected with her shoulders and he brought her in against his chest. The hug was all he could do to comfort her, for he knew so little about his own emotions to even begin to understand another’s pain.

“Every time we spoke, every time we hung out together...” she pulled herself back from his chest. She couldn’t stand the contact that she craved so much, for she knew that it was unrequited. “Every time I kissed you.. last night. It was all bullshit!”

“Princess,” his own voice began to shake, feeling overwhelmed and anxious, “Every moment I have ever spent with you has been because I want to.”

She worked her hands into her now half-damp hair, pulling it back from her face in a tight grip, “Why? You and your friends needed some new material?” She released a heavy breath, her lips trembling. “Nancy told me about all of the jokes last week, yet I still went home with you last night. I still played along while the entire cafeteria stared me down because I know how much your reputation means to you. I know that I am at the very bottom of your priority list, Billy. Everything you do is for a purpose, and your purpose with me was just to make me feel worse than literally everybody in that school already does.”

He reached for her hand slowly, as if he were afraid she would pull away from him forever. He was never sure of his emotions, but this time, he knew that he would watch the world burn just to make her happy. He hated himself. He hated Tommy, and the girls that embarrassed her further. He hated Neil, and he hated his own narcissism. He hated the world for making such a beautiful soul so miserable, but he especially hated how he knew right from wrong and still chose the latter.

His fingers laced with hers, but her hand remained slack in his grip. It was better than nothing, he thought.

He cleared his throat, the organ feeling as stiff as a piece of cardboard, his mouth dry. The next words would be difficult, but they were honest. She deserved honesty.

“When I first met you, I didn’t know who you were, and I didn’t really want to. You were kind and thoughtful and you pulled me aside to chew me out for talking shit about some girl, but you did it where you knew my friends wouldn’t hear, just so you could spare my reputation. For the first little while, yeah, we made jokes. I made fun of the weird way you dress and the horrible music you listen to, and how you are the nicest person I have ever met, but the it stopped. The things you did stopped being funny to me, and the way I felt when I was around you changed completely.”

“Billy, what are you talking about?” Her tear-filled eyes wrinkles, her brows furrowing deeply.

“Tommy and the rest of the assholes, they noticed that I didn’t want to talk shit about you, or that I didn’t like when they would talk about you in the way - in the way we talk about other girls. Its hypocritical, but they dropped it. Until today. All because Angela couldn’t keep her big mouth shut.” He caught the look that she sent him, frowning slightly. “Sorry. Because Angela told them that I left here this morning, and they wouldn’t shut their stupid mouths the minute they saw me. I told them that I had nothing to say about you, but they wanted answers and I said shit that I never wanted to say.”

She watched him intently. Tommy had made a lot of comments about her over the years she had known him. The other guys had too, but she did notice that they started backing off lately. She hadn’t paid much attention to the fact, secretly hoping that they had begun to mature, but to think that Billy made them stop - well she didn’t know what to think.

“Why did you make them stop?” her mind was running faster than her mouth, but she still couldn’t put it together. If Billy was anybody else, she would maybe think that he reciprocated the feelings she expressed for him in the cafeteria but he isn’t - he is Billy Hargrove, and he doesn’t have feelings for anybody.

He laughed for a second. A soft, disbelief fueled cough. His eyes seemed to shine bright in the dull lighting of her house. Neither of them had realised the time that has passed, it was now nearing the afternoon. He looked down at her, his stomach full to the brim with an odd sensation.

“You really don’t know?” he seemed to have stepped closer to her, only slightly. His shoulders were slightly shrunken in. She shook her head softly, the crease returning to between her eyebrows as she thought. “I’m in love with you, Y/N.”

Never in his teenage life, had Billy feared rejection from a woman. His mother had given him all of the rejection he needed for a lifetime, but now, as he stared into Y/N’s eyes, his lungs seemed to constrict.

It was as if her world froze for a moment. Not only did Billy Hargrove, possibly her best and only friend, confess that he has feelings for her, but he said that he loved her. To say she was at a loss for words would be an understatement, but she stood in front of him gaping like a fish, mouth opening and closing every time she wanted to say something.

“I don’t mind if you don’t feel the same,” He spoke, slightly lower than when he confessed to her. He turned away from her slightly, releasing her hand and using it to rub the back of his neck. His skin felt like it was aflame and he started to sweat. “I just wanted to let you know, especially after what happened today. I-I’m sorry for the shit I said, and I am gonna kick Tommy’s ass for this. And I’m sorry that you had to say that stuff today. I know that you just said it to help me, and I appreciate it but you didn’t have to -”

His words fell short when he felt arms wrap around his waist. It was a soft, slow gesture, new, but not entirely uncomfortable. If he had to put money on it, he would say that she could feel exactly how fast his heart is beating.

“Those things I said today, about my feelings for you...” she began, head pressed against his chest.

“Yeah, princess?”

“They were all true.” He pulled her back slightly to look at her. It was his turn to look confused. “Last night was one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time, Billy. Being around you just makes my heart swell and everything better.”

His heart started to beat impossibly faster, but there was still hesitance in her voice. “I feel like there is a ‘but’ coming.”

“But I can’t deal with this split-personality bullshit, Billy.” He had never heard her curse before. It was music to his ears, exciting, entrancing, but he also knew that she meant business. She was incredibly serious. “The person you are when you are around me, that is the guy I am obsessed with. Who you are when everybody else is around... I know how it feels to be on the receiving end of that now, and I hated it.”

“I know, darling. I’m so sorry for that, I promise, I will be better. Even if you won’t have me, I will be better. For you.” His eyes held an honest strength. It was as if he were selling his soul to her, right there in her entry way, where they had stood since she wrenched the door open in a fury. “But, if you will have me, how about I take you out tomorrow night? If you don’t want to, then I understand.”

“I would love that,” she smiled up at him, the expression growing wider as a matching one took over his face.

He couldn’t help but lean forward slowly, giving her an opportunity to pull away. When their lips connected, he melted into the touch, moving with such intensity it was as if he were repeating his apology and his promise into the kiss.

She had never felt more wanted before, and he had never felt more safe.

When their lips parted she rested her forehead on his for a moment, basking in the silence and the ambiance that surrounded them.

But of course, Billy had to ruin it.

“So, you are obsessed with me, huh?” She could feel the smirk against her cheek as he nuzzled his nose into her temple.

She turned away from him so fast that the wet ends of her hair slapped his face.

“Where are you going, princess?” He followed after her, long strides catching up with her faster than she wanted.

“I’m going to have a shower. If you want to join me, you can leave that bad attitude at the door along with your shoes,” She sent him a sly wink, a smirk on the lips that Billy wanted to taste once again.

“Yes ma’am,” he said, and his shoes went flying into the hallway.

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[sparxwrites]

@manoessay​ replied to your post:

This post activated my brain harder than most so even though you arent gonna make a fanfic i will add, Dream testing how many times you can bring a person back on quackity once he gets out.

(i absolutely fully got possessed by this idea, and then wrote this self-indulgent and weirdly experimental fic feverishly at like 1am last night. this is... probably not what you were imagining, but it’s what fell out of my brain, so! enjoy? written to “innocence” by madeon.)

cw moderately graphic torture / gore, mental breakdown, mind games, temporary character death

[ao3]

-

“How many times have you died now, Quackity?”

The words flash hot through his skull, but don’t translate into meaning. Don’t translate into anything other than noise. The floor is cold beneath his palms. Russet-brown flakes up beneath his nails when he claws at it, chest heaving, lungs trying to remember how breathing works.

His first inhale gurgles, wetly, makes him jerk on his belly like a worm on a hook. His throat is raw from disuse, from screaming, from the sword that had sliced through his trachea like a knife through so much butter. When he tries to speak, the only thing that comes out is blood.

It goes like this, every time Dream drags him back from Limbo: his ears full of a high ringing, his lungs not working, his body numb. The link between flesh and brain is faulty, sparking wrong – like the battered neurons take a few precious minutes of life to rewire back together fully. It fixes itself a little less each time, the link; he’s permanently numb down most of his left side, now. The fingers on his right hand are going insensate in terrifying inches.

“How many times?”

Crooked mask, ragged voice, cracked porcelain smile. Dream looks better than Quackity feels, but not much – crouched low on a stone floor that’s caked in layer after layer of old blood, watching Quackity like a bug under a magnifying glass. His hair’s a greasy mess, his mask dirty-white and chipped, his clothes spattered with weeks of gore. With Quackity’s gore.

There’s blood dripping out from beneath the mask, though, fresh and hot. His hands shake. The knuckles clenched around the hilt of his sword are white, the skin beneath his fingernails faintly purple-blue.

The eyes behind the mask are just a little too green.

“Can you even hear me?” There’s a giddy slur to the edge of Dream’s words, the manic lilt of a man high off the same shit that’s melting his brain out through his nose. That feeling was familiar to Quackity, in another life. “Quackity. Hey, Quackity. Anyone in there?” He laughs, short and cruel and batshit crazy. His eyes are the colour of battery acid. “Have I finally broken you?”

There’s no response – because Quackity’s still trying to remember how his lungs work, remember what ribs are, remember how to do things that aren’t screaming and curling in on himself and rocking – and the amusement in his voice turns angry, sour. “I said tell me how many times, Quackity.”

Dream stands, unsteady, swaying as he does and leaning heavily on the sword for balance. His hands are still shaking. The blood’s stopped dripping, but there’s a sickly tinge to it, and when he wipes at his chin with the back of one hand it leaves a smear that’s more brown than red.

There’s a flicker of something, as his knuckles touch the half-inch of exposed face – dirty white light, bridging the gap between skin in a static-shock flash. There and then gone, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it.

The eyes behind the mask glow a little brighter. A little greener. A little less human.

The point of Dream’s sword sinks into Quackity’s shoulder, splits open an old scar. Quackity’s covered in them, now, more scar than skin. More ruined than not. He spasms, chokes, bleeds wet and red and fresh over the dried blood that carpets the floor. The noise he makes is animal, leg-in-a-bear-trap high and thin and dying. Barely alive five minutes, and he’s bleeding out again already. It’s almost funny.

Dream laughs, and leans on the pommel of the sword. It pushes in another inch.

“Month!” manages Quackity, forcing the word out through the wetness in his lungs, through the broken-bone grind of his throat. If he weren’t so many shattered parts, pasted back together by unholy power and Dream’s capricious whims, it might have been a howl. As it is, he barely has the energy to sob, the words raw and hoarse and threadbare. “A month, a month– thirty– haha, thirty-six days in, in, in Limbo, fuck, please, please–”

There’s wet on his cheeks. Tears? Blood? Worse? He can’t tell any more. He can’t even feel the left side of his face.

He grabs for Dream’s boots, presses his forehead against them, gasps for air that doesn’t seem to bring any relief from the cold ache in his lungs. One of his hands finds an ankle, a strip of bare skin between shoe and pant leg. Dream’s skin is fever-hot, sickly, bottled lightning gone past its sell-by date.

The shock of the contact knocks him silent for a second, though. They won’t touch him, in Limbo, the ghosts – or can’t, or both, can’t and won’t. Because they’re bastards, because they hate him, because he isn’t one of them. They can’t-won’t touch him, can’t see him, won’t see him, won’t speak to him– and he’s left, alone, in a room full of the faded impressions of people he once knew, once loved, once was loved by. A room full of people who do not see him, and do not touch him, and do not hear him when he talks.

(When he screams, when he swears at them, when he tries to claw their eyes out with unsteady hands that don’t make contact– when he begs, when he pleads, when he wheedles and bribes and bargains to deaf ears– when he wraps arms around himself, when he rocks himself back and forth until the blood rushes in his ears, when he whispers to himself until his voice fades to nothing, and tries to pretend it is the same thing as being loved and held and comforted–)

“Please, don’t– hahah, don’t kill me, fuck– please, look, look, hurt me, please, hurt me– anything, anything, I don’t–” He doesn’t have the breath for this. Doesn’t have the energy. Doesn’t even really have the words any more, after screaming for thirty-six fucking days straight, after talking to himself for so long his vocal cords wore out and left him mouthing silence in a desperate attempt to keep himself company. “Don’t, don’t send me– not, don’t send me back, please, fuck, anything, ha, haha, don’t, don’t–”

“I said I’d make you beg for death,” says Dream, amused, bored, manic. “Not torture. Not that I’m complaining. It’s just kind of funny. Don’t you think? I think it’s funny.”

He pushes the sword in, another inch. Quackity sobs, desperate and pathetic, and feels no shame for it. Presses his face to Dream’s boot, clings to his ankle like a lifeline, and feels no shame for it. Shame was beaten out of him, bled out of him, several lifetimes ago. “But that’s not what I asked, though. How many times have you died now, Quackity?”

The sword in his shoulder twists, and Quackity screams. Something severs with a pop, and then another, and then another, until the joint is little more than a hot ball of pain and wet meat, grated bone. Until he can no longer scream, gasping desperately through the pain, weeping like a child. Another twist, and something else severs, something vital, a second’s resistance before a give and a spray of warm blood.

He bleeds out between one sob and the next, tumbling into darkness, the golden net of the respawn reaching up to catch him as he falls.

He wakes up three feet away, sprawled out on the filthy bed that occupies one corner of his cell, still sobbing. The respawn clings to him like a second skin, like weights around his ankles, frightening and familiar all at once. It fades slowly, reluctantly; slower each time he dies, he thinks. Like it’s getting used to holding him. Like it doesn’t want to let him go.

It’s only barely gone by the time Dream crosses the space between them, two short steps, no time for him to flinch, no time for him to hide–

Dream grabs him by the wrist, wrenches his body up from the bed, and slots the sword neatly through the front of his throat. The broad, well-used scar carved across it parts for the blade like an old friend, swallows it whole – and Quackity dies for the second time in as many minutes, choking on his own blood.

The respawn catches him. Drags him down into darkness. Drags him back up to the surface of reality, deposits him back onto a bed now sodden with crimson. He’s shaking. He should be used to it, but he’s shaking so hard his teeth clack together, so hard he’s not sure it will ever stop.

Dream drags him off the bed, back onto the floor. Back onto the filth, the layers and layers of dried gore, a carpet constructed from every time he’s been slaughtered like an animal in this tiny, lightless cell.

“Dream,” he begs, quietly. “Dream, Dream–”

Even to his ears, it sounds more like a prayer than a plea.

“It’s a simple question, Quackity. How many times have you died now? Properly died. How many times have I brought you back? I just want a number. Just a number.” The mask obscures Dream’s mouth, but his grin is audible. His eyes are so bright, they hurt to look at. “How many times have I proven to you that I’m a god?”

Quackity tries to curl in on himself, but Dream is in the way, one boot by his shoulder and the other pinning his wrist to the floor beneath its toe. He’s not surprised. Dream is everywhere, always, omnipresent. His free hand seeks out Dream’s ankle onces more, curls around that curdled-lightning skin, desperate and needy. It grounds him, touching the only real person in his whole entire world, and he hates himself for it.

“…T- ten?” he tries, and knows as he says it that it’s wrong. The panic rises like the respawn, choking him. He can’t breathe. “Ten, ten times– maybe eleven– fuck, fuck, Dream, please–”

The sword-tip finds his back, finds the space between his fourth and fifth rib. Finds the ropy scar there, beneath the rags, soft from re-use – like a zipper, easy to pry open right down to his weak, wet heart.

“Good guess,” says Dream, quietly. “Closer than before. But still not right. You need a little longer to think about it, I guess. But– hey, you know what? I’ll be nice, and give you a hint.” He pauses, and Quackity’s world stands still. “You’re guessing too low.”

He pushes the sword down. It slips between Quackity’s ribs like an old lover, lodges in the crusted filth and stone below, pins him still against the floor. His heart beats once, twice, a butterfly-flutter around the diamond skewered through it. His body convulses. He falls still.

The blood from his mouth dyes the toes of Dream’s boots crimson, as the light leaves his eyes.

He wakes in Limbo, on his knees, in a room full of people – full of impressions of people, like the ghosts of a faded photograph. He sees them all there, their backs to him, as they move amongst one another, as they talk amongst one another. Tubbo, and Schlatt, and Fundy, and Wilbur, and–

Sapnap, who looks right through him. Karl, whose eyes skate over him. They hold each other’s hands. The rings on their fourth fingers gleam weakly in the strange, nebulous light of the afterlife. They do not hear him when he says their names, ragged and desperate, like a plea. Like a prayer.

And then they, too, turn their back on him. And Quackity – still raw, still bloody, still skewered open right through his butterfly heart – screams and screams and screams.

[phantaloon-books]

(some) Riordanverse characters (bc I never read TKC) and which Hogwarts House I think they would be in

Warning: this is a long one

Nico: the dude is definitely Gryffindor without a doubt. Like Sorting isn't about some traits and some characteristics, it's about core personality. He may have gone through some of the roughest stuff when he was 10-12, and he was resentful and bitter, but he was brave and bold af throughout everything he did. From learning about his powers, to using them relentlessly despite knowing how exhausted he is afterwards, to his willingness to do whatever is necessary to do what has to be done, because it has to be done. You can't change my mind that he's Gryffindor lol.

Grover: Do I even need to explain why he's Gryffindor? He's a satyr, and even if we're shown strong satyrs, they're not really supposed to be brave fighters. Yet he is one of the strongest, bravest nature spirits we've ever encountered in the Riordanverse, and one of the bravest in general. Like he's so passionate about doing what is good, he's a hero, and the only thing he doesn't match with common Gryffindors is that he's humble and as far from arrogant as could be possible, but it doesn't take his courage away.

Hazel: She's Gryffindor, and core personality-wise, she and Nico are very much alike. They don't ever think about themselves, like Hazel really always does what has to be done, no matter the cost, I mean she literally died preventing Gaea to rise the first time, and she freed Thanatos while believing he would take her back to the Underworld. She's brave af, and she has one of the most strong willpower we've seen in the Riordanverse. She's a passionate hero, and she's the closest thing to a real knight in shining armor.

Lester: I'm gonna place him in Gryffindor because I don't think he fits in in the other houses lmao. That said, as Apollo he's very shitty, but as Lester, he's one of the most courageous people. He's grown so much, he's so willing to actually do stuff now, and sacrifice everything to do what's right, including his life, even if he doesn't know he's gonna survive. Hell, he really went most of TTT with an incredibly painful wound that nearly turned him undead, and he cared more for the future of Camp Jupiter than his own life. Additionally, he's a bit arrogant and cocky, but he truly means well, I love Lester so much.

Clarisse: Look look, all I have to say is that no one could have pulled off less than half the stuff Clarisse has done, she's so Gryffindor it hurts. She's reckless and impulsive, but she's driven by her passion to do good, even if she's the daughter of war, and was bullied by her own father. She's daring, she's bold and she is the hero. She's also arrogant and thinks she can solve everything by herself, something characteristic more of the canon Gryffindors in the books, rather than what the fans have shaped. In fact, she's very much like Gryffindors in the books, who are actually very rude to other houses and think they're the best. Still, at heart, she's in this house.

Alex: I'm in a huge dilemma about where to put them, but I reckon they'd fit pretty fine in Gryffindor. Not only are they daring and courageous, they're proud of who they are, but not in a too full of themselves kind of way, rather in a 'I am who I am, and if you can't accept me, fuck off' kind of way. They can get carried away rather easily though, and very arrogant, thinking they don't need anyone else, when they do in fact need some company. They are one of the kindest and at the same time most ambitious characters we've met, but they are brave beyond understanding in a very personal way, thus, Gryffindor.

Percy: I think it's fair to say he'd be Hufflepuff, because loyalty is literally his fucking fatal flaw, and he is the kindest sweetheart to all those who deserve it, he goes out of his way to help those who need help, whether that be mortals, halfbloods, gods, magical creatures or even his own enemies. He's too good for this world, and even if he's grown a bit bitter, he always looks to fight justly for what is right, and never loses faith in others. That, and the fact that he turned down immortality so that the olympians were more inclusive of minor gods, and their children were treated better. He's just a lovely soul, he's like 80% Hufflepuff so that's enough for me. All that and he's stubborn as hell.

Jason: Hufflepuff. Just, undoubtedly Hufflepuff. Like he seems to be this cold and self centered hero with a superiority complex (bc of all the son of Jupiter stuff) but he's the softest guy there is. Not only is he hardworking, open minded and kind, he appreciates justice but he doesn't seek for revenge or anything, he makes sure people are treated fairly and wants everyone to be accepted. Proof of that is how he continued Percy's job of including more gods, and made sure Nico felt comfortable with who he was. He truly has a heart of gold. (He deserved better btw)

Meg: God I can't decide between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, but I think I'll go with the former. She's so strong, my baby, she's faced so much wrong, but she's still so kind and understanding of others, especially those who deserve kindness. She puts up such a hard facade, but she's so patient and warm and inclusive. She's brave and strong (as strong as the big three kids, if not stronger), but she's also so loyal to her beliefs despite how she was forced someone else's beliefs for years, so I'll keep her in Hufflepuff. Also, she's stubborn af, and she can be lazy, so that settles it.

Will: I KNOW some people will say Will could be in other houses that are not Hufflepuff, BUT I won't have it any other way. Will is literally the warmest person ever. He is kind and sympathetic and enthusiastic and patient and inclusive. Like Helga Hufflepuff would take one look at him and lose her shit screaming "mine". He's the guy who saw the son of Hades so many people were scared of and immediately grabbed his hand and transfered him some warmth and didn't let him go ahead and get himself killed. He's also the one who everyone loves and likes, so much that Clarisse gets along with him and he can calm her down. He's the ideal Hufflepuff, you can't change my mind.

Magnus: I mean, what else can you expect from the son of the god of summer? He's literally a guy who heals others with warmth. He's also the guy who spent years on the street with the most difficult situations, and accepts every single person the way they are. He's inclusive af, and tolerant of everything. He's the guy who's closest include a deaf elf, a Muslim valkyrie, and a black dwarf, and he's dating a genderfluid person. Yes he's brave, and he's kinda smart, and he's ambitious, BUT none of those qualities overpower his Hufflepuff nature.

Piper: Kinda debated whether Gryffindor or Ravenclaw fits more, but in the end I went with Ravenclaw. Even though she isn't a fighter, she's very very brave, yet her bravery isn't compared to her wits. Like others in the PJOverse, she wins her fights by outsmarting her opponents, but unlike others that's one of her strongest traits. She's witty and creative and a little on the negative side, she really struggled to work in a group rather than by herself. On another note, she's able to keep calm in crazy situations and come up with the craziest most unthinkable solutions (I'm talking borderline ridiculous) that always somehow work. She's not booksmart, but she knows so much about everything, and she's lifesmart you know?

Reyna: Why are some of these so hard? Deeply debating whether she'd be Ravenclaw or Slytherin. In the end I'd go more for Ravenclaw though. Reyna's smart as hell, she's strong and sharp, and she always sees the best way out of a situation. She's witty and observant, being able to keep her cool in battle and lead others in the best direction. She's always looking to grow, and she prefers to do things on her own, but she's a great leader. She has some Slytherin qualities, and she's not learning as learning oriented as others, but she's definitely Ravenclaw.

Sam: Let's face it, Sam has the only active neurons in all of MCGA, she's definitely Ravenclaw. I'm gonna be honest though, I've only read MCGA once, so I can't remember much of their personalities, but Sam is witty and clever, pretty much the only one who can come up with competent plans, while the others rely mostly on luck and whatever plan they can cook up in 5 seconds. She's loyal and true to who she is, and she's extremely courageous and proud of who she is, but her sharpness is what she stands out for me, which is why I put her in Ravenclaw.

Annabeth: I know the obvious option is Ravenclaw, but I genuinely think she's also Slytherin. Yes she is booksmart and wise like Ravenclaw, but her personality matches Slytherins' ambitious, cunning and resourceful nature. She's smart as fuck, but she's calculative, she always finds a way to end up winning, and while she does so by outsmarting her opponents, she wouldn't need to outsmart them if she weren't so competitive. I feel like there's this 40/60 odds on Slytherin rather than Ravenclaw, but it's that small difference that counts. Plus her leadership skills are so powerful that people don't ask, they just know she's the boss.

(Also just picture the sweet and loyal Hufflepuff boy with the strong and cunning Slytherin girl, like it should be as opposite as it is with Poseidon and Athena, but they're so cute)

Leo: Idk what you can expect that's not Slytherin. This boy is the embodiment of ambition and determination. Reminder that not all Slytherins are bad btw (I'm slytherin myself), but like he's life smart and cunning, and he can analyze situations faster than anyone else. He's charismatic and talented, and there's no one to stop him from triumphing. I don't have much to say, I just know he'd be in Slytherin.

Rachel: She's kinda a difficult one, and I struggle between Gryffindor and Slytherin, and tbh I'm still not sure. But I think I'd place her in Slytherin, because even if she's brave af (especially since she was a mortal fighting in a war out of her power), her main trait is her determination. When she's set on something, she gets it done. You can't tell her she can't do something, because she will find a way to do it. She's kind, and she's only a mortal, but she still has incredible power unlike any other. I don't think I can really name it, but I think she'd be put on Slytherin with much difficulty from the Sorting Hat.

Luke: Where else could Luke possibly go? On the meaner side Slytherins have created themselves, Luke would be part of those misled by who preceded them, by those who want to take advantage of their mistreatment (bc let's face it, Slytherins are mistreated by both students and Hogwarts staff), and turn them cold and bitter. Luke is ambitious and manipulative, being manipulated himself, and it comes easily because of his natural charisma and talent. He's very freaking determined and cunning too. He'd fit right into Slytherin, but he'd be viewed as one of the rotten lot.

Thalia: I don't have much to say about this, but Thalia is the girl whose fatal flaw is their desire for power (or smth along those lines), just like most Slytherins. She's ambitious, she's smart, she's truly talented, she stands out between the rest, and she knows it, and she actually kinda likes it.

(Also I put Annabeth, Thalia and Luke in the same house because they're all kinda similar, even if their beliefs and postures are different.

Frank: Ngl I'm having more difficulty with Frank than anyone else. I'm kinda torn between Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. I literally can't choose. He'd fit perfectly in any of them lmao, I just can't decide where he'd go. You decide this one yourself.

Please keep in mind, this is my personal opinion and my take on the characters, and not all of you will agree, and that's fine! You can let me know what you think (kindly please, don't come at me), and if you want to, send me an ask on a character you want me to do the same as these (as long as it's not TKC, I'M SORRY I haven't read those) go ahead, don't be shy!

[cthulhuliet]

playing his game

6.1k words | AO3 Link | warnings: explicit content, canon-typical violence

L is hoping for something-- to see any flash of Kira behind Light's eyes. He would do anything to draw him out again, even play a silly party game for a brief hint. He ends up with more than bargained for.

“Ok, truth or dare,” Light asked, looking expectantly at L.

“Is this really a good use of our time?” L bit the corner of his thumbnail, pointedly looking away from Light.

“You have asked that already,” Light crossed his arms, annoyed, “And I don’t see any better use of our time,”

L knew that, in a way, Light was correct. The Kira case had reached a cold spot after Light and Misa’s imprisonment, which left L feeling depressed and unmotivated to work on anything (despite the… encouragement from Light). Playing a party game with a teenager was towards the bottom of his priority list. However, that teenager was currently L’s prime (and only suspect) in the most difficult case of his career, so it would be foolish not to play.

Furrowing his eyebrows, L pulled his knees closer to his chest, “Fine, we can continue,”

“Truth or dare,”

L paused for a moment. He knew that even if Light asked something incriminating like his name for truth, he could simply lie or refuse to answer. Though, it is interesting that for the past rounds, Light has simply been treating this as a fun “get to know you” party game, while L is looking over his shoulder and analyzing every one of his questions.

“Dare, I suppose,”

Light smirked, “I dare you to take these off,” He shook his wrist, the handcuff jangling with the movement. L said nothing, simply raising an eyebrow, “Eh, worth a shot,” Light stood up from where he was sitting and quickly reached over to the coffee table behind him and put the phone in front of L’s feet, “Fine. I dare you to prank call Misa,”

L opened his mouth and closed it, shaking his head, “No, I am not doing that,”

“What? Giving up already?’ Light smirked leaning in close to L. He could smell the aftershave on his cheeks and the toothpaste on his breath, “I guess that means I win, Ryuzaki,”

A ripple of heat waved through his blood. Despite being a stupid party game, L was not about to lose, especially not about to lose because of Misa. He snatched the receiver from Light’s hand, “No, you do not,” He put the receiver between the crook of his shoulder and ear, “I am not about to lose to you, Light,” A devilish grin spread across Light’s face, as he wordlessly dialed in the numbers. It was only when the line was trilling did L realise how ridiculous this was. Covering the end of the receiver, he whispered to Light, “What am I even supposed to say?”

Light looked like a child at a birthday party, biting his lips to fight off a smile, “Figure it out,”

The line connected and he heard shuffling on the other end, “Light? Why are you calling? It is 2 in the morning,”

L froze, looking at Light with owlish eyes, begging for help. The latter would be of no help, seeing as he was using every muscle in his body to suppress his laughter, “Oh, apologies for the late call Misa, this is actually Ryuzaki,” His voice felt stilted and awkward, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh, is Light still awake?”

“No,”

There was an elongated pause, L could hear Misa’s quiet breath on the other line, “Do you need something? This better not be something perverted, calling me at 2am…”

L rolled his eyes, “Of course not. I, uh, just wanted to let you know that… Watari is making waffles tomorrow. Do you want me to put you down for some?”

Misa hummed on the other line, “I don’t know, all that sugar will make me fat,”

“These are 0 calorie and organic fair trade,” He goaded.

She sighed, taking a moment to consider, “That actually sounds lovely. I don’t know why you had to call me instead of just waiting until morning.”

“Uh-”

“It’s probably just an excuse to hear my voice,” She giggled, “It’s ok Ryuzaki, I won’t tell anyone,” Misa yawned dramatically on the other line, “I am going back to bed. Tell Light to come visit me tomorrow.”

“You realise that I would also be-”

“Goodnight!” The call disconnected. L pulled the phone away from his ear and slowly put it back onto the cradle. He looked over at Light, amusement sparkling in his eyes, “Misa is looking forward to a date with you tomorrow,”

Light slapped a hand to his forehead and started laughing. There was something infectious about Light’s laugh that made him smile too.

“Ryuzaki, that was the worst prank ever,” He choked out between chuckles.

Light’s smile lit up the room and L could feel swells of warmth coursing through his body, hitting him gently like waves on your ankles in the ocean. Light’s smile, his genuine smile, was one that lit up a room and kept people watching. When his laughter and joy reaches his eyes, L is not surprised about Light being so popular. And in moments of weakness, L could see why he would fall for him as well. Though, that warmth was nothing compared to the twisting of the icicle in his gut. The flaring up of every neuron in his nervous system, with anxiety spiking up to 11. The logic center of his brain turning him and shaking him by the shoulders, begging him to remember that none of this is real .

The real Light would have never laughed like a schoolboy as L prank called his girlfriend, finding hilarity in something so trivial. The real Light would never playfully, but softly, ruffle L’s hair, telling him to lighten up. The real Light would never look him in the eyes, and thank L for playing along. The real Light would have never let L see a single moment of vulnerability. He would have never admitted that the toll of this case was genuinely making him extremely stressed. He would have never apologized in that moment for punching L, admitting to him that sometimes he reacts with anger when faced with complicated emotions. No. Because the real Light laughs at others he deems beneath him, and not with them. The real Light had more brick lined walls with white lies as cement built around his true emotions. This is not Light, this is not Kira--The real Light doesn’t care about other people, the real Light only cares about himself.

And yet it was so easy to get lost in the fantasy. So easy to allow L to sink into the idea that this is who Light really is. Light is, and always will be, the hard-working honors student. He always will be charismatic and charming and clever. Light always will have a strong sense of justice. Light always will be a bit bashful and awkward when confronted with any embarrassing emotions. It’s easy to look at Light that way. It is easy to see Light the way his family, the way the task force, and the way the world sees Light Yagami. Of course it is easy. It is easy to ignore red flags when you are looking at a monster through rose-colored glasses.

L watches Light balance his heels against the wall, attempting to do a handstand for his dare, and he almost wants to stay like this with Light forever. A part of him wants to take what is given to him and keep Light like this. His emotions are at war as he needs to grapple with the fact that it would be selfish to quit now. L knows deep down that there is a good chance will die at Kira’s hand, and a large part of him dreads the moment he sees Light behind Kira’s eyes as he closes his for the last time.

Kick his heels against the wall, he tries the handstand as well. The blood rushing to his head does help L clear his head a bit. He looks at Light, sitting on the floor but hanging off the ceiling, small chuckles escaping from his lips but nodding, telling L that he is impressed.

L scoffs, but not because of Light’s seemingly patronizing comment (which was most likely sincere). It is so easy to love Light like this. But he doesn’t think that he could ever truly love Light without everything else. Without the dubious morality, without the knowing smirks and mental chess, without Kira . Loving Light like this is easy, but L hates easy.

“Wow, you’re surprisingly flexible,” Light told him, L huffed out an exhausted breath when his feet finally touched the ground again.

“Thanks, my joints aren’t exactly what they used to be, but I am glad I could still do that,” L grabbed a teacup off of the coffee table and sipped the contents of the mug. Cold.

Light shook his head, “Well, maybe if you didn’t pull your knees up when you sit and crouch like this … you would have an easier time,” He pulled his legs away from his chest and sat cross legged.

L simply rolled his eyes in response, “I sit as I want, and still only struggled slightly more than you, despite being over half a decade older than you. I would be more concerned with your flexibility then commenting on my habits,”

Shaking his head, Light threw a pillow at L’s face, “I don’t like when you say it like that, Ryuzaki,”

“It doesn’t matter what you like and not, I am simply stating the truth,”  L cocked his head to the side, “Not to say that you do not have your strengths as well,” Hooking his finger in his mouth, his eyes trailed over Light’s toned biceps and broad shoulders, “Those years of tennis are still owing you favors it seems. No wonder you are so popular…”

L trailed off, eyes still trailing over Light’s figure, the latter now rubbing the back of his neck, “I hope that is not the only reason… And the attention isn’t always… great…”

L hummed, “I am sure Misa-Misa is not the biggest fan of all the attention you garner from other women,” Light did not respond and L narrowed his eyes at him. The other man refused to make eye contact with him. His fingers were twitching and there was a faint redness on his cheeks that was certainly not from the previous physical activity. L clicked his tongue, “Why do you not like Misa?”

Light was pulled out of his own head, “What?”

“That is my truth or dare question.”

“What if I pick dare?”

“Then I dare you to tell me the truth.”

Light frowned, glaring at L. The two locked eyes for a brief moment and it was hard to tell what Light was thinking.

“ He really does have pretty eyes ,” L thought, “ Iris that are too brown to be red, but when they hit the light just right, it is the opposite, with golden flecks dancing around the pupils …”

“I don’t dislike Misa, it’s just…” Light sighed, leaning back on his hands, “I am just not interested in her-- romantically that is-- and I have informed her multiple times of my feelings but… She does not seem to listen, or more likely she does not care,” Light bit his lip, looking down at the carpet. L subconsciously followed the same action, “It is difficult to be around someone who doesn’t seem to listen or respect your wishes.”

“I see. I apologise that you have to be around me so much then, Light.”

Light looked up at him and frowned, either confused or simply playing dumb. L took his finger from his mouth and shook his wrist, the chain rattling. In response, he rolled his eyes, “That is different, Ryuzaki.”

“Oh?”

Light nodded, “You are not doing this because you want to, this is for the Kira investigation. This situation benefits both of us. I get to prove to you that I am not Kira, and you get your suspicions of me assuaged. I never really agreed to be Misa’s boyfriend.”

“I see.”

“Besides,” Light chuckled slightly, “It is much easier to have a conversation with you than with her,” He closed his eyes, and shook his head. L watched carefully as his hair fell over his eyes, “And even without the overbearingness, I could never see myself dating someone like her.”

L leaned forward. Anyone with worse balance than himself would have most likely fallen on their face, but he was hooked onto every word coming out of Light’s mouth-- pure voyeuristic curiosity getting the better of him, “What does Light look for in a partner?”

Light’s expression shifted. He was not uncomfortable, L determined, but his eyebrow was raised and eyes narrowed, looking suspiciously at L, “Does it matter?”

“This is truth or dare. This is a truth question.”

“You already went.”

“I am going again.”

“Have you ever played this before?”

“You can do two in a row for me.”

Light shifted on the floor slightly, sighing, “Fine,” He uncrossed his legs and stretched them out in front of him. He looked up at the ceiling and thought for a moment. L thought as well. What kind of person is Light Yagami? What does he want in a person? Surely if he is going to bring another person into his life, in a close intimate way… Is that someone he even wants? Human connection is essential for survival, but for Light, one needs to think more critically. What does he get out of it?

“This is hard,” Light muttered, “I don’t know. I suppose I want what anyone wants… Someone kind and honorable, probably intelligent as well. A person who shares interests with me, something like that I suppose.”

L said nothing for a while. He pressed his thumb against his lips, critically staring at Light. He narrowed his eyes, “That is incorrect.”

“Excuse me?”

“I asked you a question, and you refused to give me a truthful answer. For once, stop lying, Light, you are not very good at it.”

Light eyes flashed red for a moment, and he leapt to his feet, staring down at L still sat on the floor, “What the hell are you talking about? You asked me a question and I answered it when I didn’t even have to, now you’re saying that I am lying about what I told you?”

“That is exactly what I am saying, yes,” Light balled up his fists, and L instinctively steeled himself for an oncoming punch. He would not be able to react if he hit him from this angle, but there is a possible countermove he could make one he gets to Light’s level playing field. Though, instead of a punch, Light yanked the chain, hard, forcing L to his feet. L yelped, his balance unsteady and he felt as though he would trip and end up on the ground again at any moment. He only had to worry about that briefly, as Light balled up the front of L’s shirt and harshly pinned him to an opposing wall.

Light’s hands were pressed hotly against his chest, his knuckles digging into his sternum. He was sure he could feel how fast L’s heart was beating, and he prayed to God that Light assumed it was fear and adrenaline.

“I am not Kira, Ryuzaki, I know that’s what you’re thinking!” Light yelled in his face, the previous clean smell of aftershave was replaced with sweat and anger, “What, you think I am some heartless serial killer so I just want someone I could manipulate, or hurt? After all this time is that how little you think of me? You really think I cannot care about anyone?”

Light’s diction was filled with rage, and he tried to take that simply at face value, but L could sense the trepidation behind the words. Stripping them of their anger and removing Light from his aggressive position, they take on a new meaning.

“I am not Kira, Ryuzaki, I know that’s what you’re thinking!” Is that really all you see me as?

“...some heartless serial killer..” Have I not done enough to make you believe me?

“...don’t just want someone I could manipulate, or hurt…” I am a good person.

“ After all this time…” We are together 24/7 and you still don’t get it.

“...how little you think of me?” I am not made of ice, Ryuzaki. It hurts that you think of me this way.

“You really think I cannot care about anyone?” I have feelings. I care about people.

L’s breath was shallow at the close contact between them. He swallowed, choosing his words carefully, “I am not saying that, I am saying your reasoning is not entirely accurate. That is the surface level answer I would expect from a 12 year old. Light demands something more for his relationships. If you didn’t, then there are hundreds of intelligent, honorable people in Japan that you could easily be attracted to. But you are not, so what is missing for you? What makes you want to grow close to another person?”

Light’s hands balled even tighter, L could feel the stretching of the fabric around his shoulders and neck-- it dug into him uncomfortably, but the physical pain could easily be ignored in favor of the tinder in Light’s eyes, “ It’s not as simple as that! Who knows what anyone wants. Besides, how can you even ask that question? What do you even want?”

L shrugged simply, “I do not desire a relationship.”

“Liar.”

“Excuse me?”

Light smirked, “See how it feels?” L rolled his eyes, tired of Light’s petty actions. He squirmed to break free, but Light’s hold on him against the wall was too strong. It was only now that he was cursing the years of tennis and his taut biceps.

“You are behaving like a child.”

“Pot, meet kettle,” Light snarled, clearly losing his patience, “I did my best to answer, and that clearly wasn’t good enough. You aren’t even trying.”

“Why does it even matter, Light? It is a stupid question to begin with,” L muttered, desperately needing Light to move away from him. L needs to not be able to see the light dusting of freckles across Light’s cheeks and how his hair was curling up at the ends slightly or the traces of loose leaf tea on his breath or the equally shallow breaths coming from him holding L in place-- every one of his senses was being overwhelmed and the circuit was going to overload.

“Because, Ryuzaki, we are playing a game. Now play.”

L opened his mouth and closed it. He pursed his lips, “Fine. I do not desire a relationship because most people bore me,” Light’s expression softened, but his wide eyes narrowed in suspicion, “I meet others who are passably attractive and their traits are so transparent it doesn’t excite me. It doesn’t make me feel anything. If for whatever reason I were to want to have any kind of relationship, it would need to be exciting. I don’t do easy-- I want a challenge. A person who doesn’t challenge me I have no interest in keeping around long term,” Light’s grip loosened slowly. L sucked on his lower lip. “I need someone to keep me interested. Keep me on my toes. I want someone who tests me, who I can be in opposition with, but also who I can see as an equal. As shallow as it sounds, simplicity is not attractive. I do not believe I could ever find myself a partner, because just by existing, as L, I am a challenge,”

Light let go of L’s shirt, but simply stood in front of him for a while. He didn’t say anything, just stared at the other man with an unreadable expression, like he was emotionally undressing L.

“I see,” Light said, “That makes a lot of sense.”

L quirked up an eyebrow, “Really? Because most people would not say they want a pugnacious partnership like myself.”

“Well, you do not seem to be the type for domesticity.”

Light awkwardly dropped his hands to his side. It was moments like these that L remember that Light, well this Light, was still just an bright student who didn’t have much experience with dating, or possibly any kind of relationship at all. But still, if he prods enough…

“So, what about you?” L asked simply. Light looked at him and then pointedly stared out the window, “Well, there is no need to be shy now. You wanted me to open up, and now it is only fair,” L took a step closer to Light, instinctively biting his nail, “Besides, we are playing a game, aren’t we?”

“Well-”

“So tell me. I am morbidly curious,” L teased, hoping it would pull back some of the awkwardness, but it has no effect on Light’s overall demeanor.

Light sighed, running a hand through his hair, the chain rattling in its wake, “I obviously have… Desires. They are just the wrong… The wrong kind.”

Cocking his head, L frowned, “Please clarify.”

“The things I want, and what I can have are different. I don’t break rules on purpose-” L held back his comments, “- and I do my best to do what I think is right. But sometimes I do things just because… Well I feel like I should. And it is what is expected of me. My desires would be crossing every line…”

Light rubbed the back of his neck and stared off and out the window, his mind clearly somewhere else. L’s mind was also analyzing Light’s words. Desires… What does Light desire? He says it as if it is something uncouth, something forbidden. What is out of his reach? What motivates him? What gets him out of bed in the morning? What would Light kill for? Sacrifice himself for? What would Light put everything on the line for?

“What exactly do you want that your mind has deemed so wrong?” L asked.

Light shook his head and turned away from L, “No, I am not telling you.”

“Why not?”

“It will simply make everything worse.”

L raised an eyebrow, prodding more, “Light, you are my prime suspect in the largest murder case in recorded history; unless these desires are bloodlust, I doubt you can make anything worse.”

“Ryuzaki, enough, I am not saying.”

“And why not?”

Light turned around to face him, taking a step closer, “Why do you even care?”

L took a step towards Light, “Just for my own edification.” Lie. “Besides, you made me share and do things I did not want to.”

Light pushed a finger into L’s chest and slowly walked him back against the wall, “I do not owe you anything, Ryuzaki.”

“Of course not,” L grinned wildly, “But we are still playing a game.”

“No.”

“Truth or dare, Light?”

“Neither.”

L blinked slowly and tilted his head, “Then I guess you lose.”

Light scoffed, “Who is behaving like a child now?”

“Still you, somehow,” L smiled, and he watched Light grow more and more furious. It wasn’t as though he enjoyed pressing Light’s buttons, but he cannot lie and say it is fun to see the reaction of the typically calm and collected golden child come undone; it is refreshing to see the perfection mask slip every now and again. And when it did, L would be ready.

“I am not playing any more.”

“Forfeiting is still losing.” L smirked, and Light gripped the front of L’s shirt again, pushing him against the wall. The taunting brought back memories to the Lind L. Tailor ploy: laughing at Kira from miles away, begging him to try to kill him even though at that point L knew there was nothing Kira could do. Waiting for his next move. Waiting...

“Stop acting entitled, I don’t have to tell you,” Light’s breath was becoming more shallow, he was nearing his breaking point.

“Why don’t you just play the game?”

“It’s not just a game, Ryuzaki!”

“So, you’re admitting to losing?”

“Shut up.” Light warned him, the grip on L’s shirt becoming deadly.

L shrugged the best he could, “I didn’t realise that Light could fail so outstandingly at a party game.”

“Shut up!” He was desperate now. He was pleading. L wanted more.

“I would have thought that Light could just lie his way out of any situation,” He pressed a thumb to his lips, “He does seem to do it a lot.”

“Ryuzaki, I am warning you!” Light anger was almost at its peak. He was unraveling. L needed to push just a bit further. He was going to poke and prod and wind Light up. He needed to tear away all his layers until Kira stared back at him.

“Warning me of what, exactly?” L asked calmly.

Light pulled L towards him briefly before slamming him back into the wall, face mere inches away from his. His pupils were blown out and sweat sheened on his forehead and upper lip, “Shut up, before I shut you up.”

L chuckled lightly, before gazing hard into Light’s eyes, “I dare you to try.”

A challenge. L left it dangling in front of Light. He sweated out those painful seconds that felt like hours, waiting for when the bend became the break. What does Light Yagami do when his pushes turn to shoves? L braced for impact. He waited for knowing smirk, or a kick to the jaw, or a shove to the ground. He looked through Light’s eyes and waited for those too brown eyes to shift to familiar red.

When Light cupped both of his cheeks, and pressed his lips against, L’s he still waited. He waited for the punch. He waited for the slap. He waited. L waited as he pressed his lips back against Light’s, the other man softly sighing as he loosened his grip of the white shirt. L expected a harsher tug when Light threaded his hands through his messy black curls. L was waiting for the catch, waiting for the cruelty.

Light tilted L’s head to the side, kissing up and down his pale neck, “Is this ok?” He mutters into L’s ear, pressing a brief peck to the lobe of his ear.  His subconscious was shaking him, telling him none of this is real , but Light’s lips were on his neck and roaming over his chest, and actions speak louder than words.

“Yeah… This is good,” L told him, breathy. If L didn't have it before, that was all the definitive proof he needed that this was almost-but-not-quite Light. Light is not the type to ask permission. Light takes and he takes. He consumes unapologetically, and has to be told to stop, rather than need permission to continue. There is something to be said in respect to the morality of messing around with someone who is not quite the same person as they used to be. L knows that Kira would never tenderly kiss him or softly suck love bites into the junction of his neck and shoulder, though it is undetermined if Kira desired him in any way other than in a coffin.

Light led him to their bed, and L should have stopped Light then, but he didn’t. As L unbuttoned Light’s pyjama shirt, he wondered what it would be like with Kira. What would Kira want? What does Kira desire out of a partner?

Light straddled his waist, and L’s wandering hands make their way up to his hips. Grabbing his wrists, Light pins L down to the bed. L groans in response and Light licks a stripe up his neck, softly kissing him before biting down on his bottom lip. L makes a noise he would typically be embarrassed by, but it’s ok, because Light is already hard.

“Control ,” he determined. Kira would never submit to anyone. He sees others as lower than himself, and he would never have the displeasure of anyone having authority over him. Kira would make his partners say his name over and over again, or call him “sir” or better yet, “God”. He would want a partner he could manipulate like putty in his hands.

Letting go of his pinned wrists, Light lifted L’s shirt and latched his mouth onto L’s nipple, licking at it slowly. L’s hands found their way to his waist, and he pushed Light’s hips down and he grinded their hard-ons against one another. L’s only wish was that Light’s moan in response was not muffled by his lips against his chest. He could only imagine the sound unabashed was heavenly.

Light sat up, and towered over L, a dangerous look on his face. L chuckled, hooking his index finger in his mouth as he spoke, “It is no fun if you are the only one in control,”

Smirking, Light attached himself to L nipple again, but instead biting down as he pressed his hips against L’s. He gasped at the action, and he could feel Light’s smirk.

“ No, that’s not right ,” L thought. Kira doesn’t like easy. Kira like a challenge. He doesn’t care about the people bending to his will. He’s met all of L’s challenges head on, it would make sense that Kira would want a little resistance. Kira would never let it go too far, taking charge in the end, but if Kira was to dominate, he wouldn’t want a submissive partner to simply do what he says: Kira would want to earn it.

Light made his way to L’s sweats, and pulled them down with a quick tug, his hard cock straining against his boxers. He palmed L through the cloth, and swallowed his moans by shoving his tongue in L’s mouth.

L was writhing underneath Light, all his nerves were alight with feeling the man everywhere on top of him. He ran his blunt nails against Light’s back. Light breathed in harshly through his nose and a low moan came from the back of his throat.

“Rough,” L mentally added to the list. Kira was the type of man who was not gentle about anything. Though, neither was L. He imagined getting fucked by Kira had a lot of bruises and scratches. He imagined the scratches would be rough and deep, leaving scars from the claws sinking into your skin. Harsh bites to the lip would draw blood-- a thick and metallic flavor that would make him dizzy, though you can’t drip nectar over his tongue and expect L to not love the taste.

He stripped L of his boxers, and L shivered slightly at the cool air. Light paused for a moment, and looked up at L, “I, uh, I have never done this before,” Light stared at L with his too-brown eyes, all wide and innocent, asking for help. L had to swallow down the part of him that wishes that it was still all an act. He sat up, and ran a hand through Light’s hair, kissing him and telling him it was ok, and that he would tell him what to do.

“Praise,” He added. Kira was a man who wanted to be a God. All Gods want to be revered, and it should be no different for Kira. Here was a man who wanted so badly for the world to know of his existence that he is risking the electric chair in order to be seen. He bends his idea of justice just to keep his reign intact-- that is the kind of man who wants a partner to tell them that he is perfect. To let Kira know that he is so smart, so handsome, so good . Yes, Kira is a principled man who doesn’t see he is evil. He wanted to be told he is good.

L’s head fell on Light’s shoulder, writhing and moaning in his lap. Light’s hands twisted up and down L’s cock. Light used his thumb and focused on L’s head, smearing the precum around it before returning to his steady motions.

“Yeah, you got it,” L moaned in Light’s ear, “I didn’t have to give you much direction at all. You’re doing so well, Light,”

L could hear a faint whimper from Light, and he bit into the junction between his shoulder and neck, imagining that under all the collars and button ups that Kira-- Light--- they dreamed of hiding a love mark there.

In a quick flurry of motions and direction, L moved Light out of his pants and boxers, and began slowly stroking him as well. Light paused his motions and gasped, digging his nails into L’s hips. L reasoned that it would not take much to make him come at all.

“Fuck, Ryuzaki…” Light said, low but rushed.

L hummed, using more spit and applying more pressure to his grip, Light’s eyes rolling to the back of his head, the gasps and whimpers increasing in volume and frequency.

“You’re so responsive,” L observed, pressing feather light kisses to Light’s neck that made him whine, “So sensitive…”

“W-well yeah, that makes sense.” Light ran his nails across L’s thighs, his well manicured ones were sure to leave pretty red marks.

L tilted his head to the side, “I wonder what would happen…” He questioned, and before Light could respond, L pushed him down on the bed, and took his cock in his mouth. L deep throated his entire length before focusing his attention to the head, moving his hands around Light’s cock in tandem with his licks.

Light threw his head back, one step removed from screaming as he begged loud enough for the whole floor to hear (not that there was anyone around).

L took Light’s cock again fully in his mouth, and that was enough to have Light coming, tightly gripping his hair and L’s name on his lips. L pulled off of him after swallowing and kissed Light softly on the lips. It almost felt wrong.

“You didn’t come.”

“It’s ok, I’ll be fine.”

Light’s eyes were wide, “I want to make you come.”

“Okay.”

“I don’t think I could do what you just did though.”

“That’s ok,” L brushed the brown hair out of Light’s eyes. His all-too-brown eyes. “You can just use your hands if you want.”

Light was beautiful, and it was easy to love Light like this. Easy to love Light when he was taking care of L. Licking his hand to keep his cock slick, seeing him bite his lip with every drop of praise-- not that L minds calling Light a good boy, or telling him that he is doing great for his first time and that he is making L feel so good.

Light kissed him like he meant it, his tongue brushing against L’s, inexperienced and messy but still erotic and tender. He kissed L’s neck as he warned Light that he was close, because of course he already picked up that that was one of L’s most sensitive spots. L couldn’t even bring himself to be shocked, because Light is just that brillant.

“Light… Light …” L whimpered his name as he came, moaning and pulling his hair. Light wiped the come off of his hand and onto the sheets. L was still panting, coming down from his peak, and Light kissed him softly on the lips. L cupped his cheek and kissed him back, feeling as though this kiss was the greatest line crossed tonight.

L threaded his hands through Light’s all-too perfect hair, holding him as they both settled down, the adrenaline previously running through their veins beginning to seep out. Light traced patterns across L’s neck, and L kissed his temple.

He tilted Light’s chin up and looked into those wide innocent eyes. L prayed that Kira was behind them, but he only saw Light Yagami. Perfect Light Yagami, not the monster Kira. The type of monster that is the only one that could love L completely. L felt like Light is the real victim here.

And yet, he still pulled Light in for another tender kiss, his grapple with his own morality was overpowered by the desperation to feel his lips against Light’s once more. Just once more. And once more…

Each kiss with Light felt like a burn, and L knew that any of those could be their last, but he really would not have minded if he was fully consumed by the flames.

[novantinuum]

Fandom: Steven Universe

Pairing: Steven/Connie

Rating: Teen Audiences 

Words: 2.6K~

Summary: In which Connie’s subconscious, innocent touch helps Steven realize just how nice the sensation of gentle fingertips gliding across the surface of one’s gem can be. (Just a bunch of teen romance fluff, + first kiss)

This is set like... a few weeks before Steven leaves Beach City. I imagine he’s been recovering from what happened in I Am My Monster for at least 6 months by this point.

His days aren’t always great- there’s a lot of ups and downs- but thankfully, today is a markedly pleasant one.

_____

His house is still for once. Impossibly so. No Diamond business, no new arrivals to Earth, no disgruntled Gems kicking down his front door. No more battles, beyond his own internal ones. Admittedly, a part of him is happy for the peace and quiet. He’s appreciative of the way all his family and friends rallied around him in support months back after... erm- after his breakdown, but every guy needs some space eventually.

‘Some space’ never has to mean alone, of course.

Steven sneaks a doe-eyed glance at the girl flopped next to him on the living room couch, her mind lost in the pages of her own fantasy world. It’s a new series, something about a human accidentally falling into the world of the fae. (It’s only been like, half an hour, and she’s almost a hundred pages in already!) A pliable smile teases his lips as he watches her eyes flicker back and forth, digesting each passage with a voracious hunger. Sighing in content, he turns his attention back to his own book, externally making as if he’s busy exploring the world of fiction to hide the sappy fact that instead he’s been thinking about her all along. Honestly? He adores quiet days like these. Even if they’re not doing anything special, it’s just nice to get to spend time alone together. It’s a comfortable together.

Connie shifts, instinctively curling closer, her free arm slung against his side. With a soft hum of content he leans into her welcomed embrace, trying his best (and— caught in her innocently bewitching presence— failing abysmally) to focus on the wandering lines of text.

Everything is peaceful.

No hard knocks, no frenzied phone calls, no family disruptions. The domestic warp hasn’t even activated once this whole lazy afternoon. In recent days, he’s pretty sure that’s a record.

At long last, his house is still... and yet in a flash, his hormone riddled teenage mind— ever foolish— is everything but.

Because Connie’s touch is tickling him.

It’s subconscious, almost imperceptible at first. At some point her free hand has roved so that it’s no longer pressed against his side, but against his midriff— which is currently exposed, his shirt bunched up at the waist from all his slouching. Teasingly, her fingertips dance upon the facets of his gem with the pinpoint expertise of a prima ballerina, encoding an endless rhythm directly into the sum of his being, the feather-light contact sending vibrations almost too faint to notice coursing through his hard light veins. But not too faint for him. Not now, not while host to this kind of silence. Not when the girl draped on the couch next to him unknowingly commands every shard of his attention with the slightest twitch of her index finger.

It’s taking all his willpower not to squirm at this ticklish contact right now. It’s so... weird when other people touch his gem. It’s certainly not something he’s used to.

(Steven promptly buries the memory of the last time someone touched it, refusing to let old terrors tarnish an otherwise pleasurable encounter. He can feel the pink threatening to rise in his cheeks, that instinctual rush of panic he’s grown so numb to over the past months rearing its ugly head. It’s so, so hard to wrestle away from its thrall sometimes, but thankfully his therapist has been teaching him ways to mitigate these sorta reactions. His eyes clamp shut as he breathes deep through his nose and focuses on the tangible, on what he knows: the plump, lumpy cushions of the couch under him, the slight scent of garlic and cumin in the air from the lunch he cooked a few hours ago, the rhythmic crashing of waves outside the house. The warmth of his best friend by his side—)

Tap, taptaptap, tap, taptaptap...

His cheeks bloom a human red as her lulling rhythm continues.

Like he said, it’s obviously subconscious. It has to be, right? It would certainly make sense. From his observations, Connie’s always been a tactile thinker. It’s part of what made her such a quick study in sword fighting. Whenever her mind is alight, those beautiful neurons firing back and forth like a firework display, her body is in motion. Sometimes it’s her foot, tapping impatiently into the dirt as she parses through memory to find the precise words to say. Or it’s like how she memorizes facts for tests easier if she’s jogging, listening to audio recordings of the test materials she made herself. And then there’s times like now, when Connie is reading. When her fingers tap and glide with an almost impish touch across the diamond gemstone in his belly’s center as her eyes— by all appearances entirely disconnected from both her hand’s motion and his reaction— skim effortlessly across the unfolding tale on her page. Her hands... oh, those hands... calloused, warm, digits lithe and curious in their movement. They’re always shifting, always tapping, always twitching to some identifiable rhythm. Is this just another example of her sway towards more kinetic-based thinking? Or... is it something else? A silent yearning that extends its roots from the heart into object reality, innocently unaware of the power of its call?

Stars, Steven thinks, mustering with all his strength to ignore his burning face, so maybe I’ve been thinking a little too much about her lately...

Eventually, it all becomes a bit too overwhelming to handle. If this continues in silence any longer, well... well, heck. He doesn’t even want to imagine what embarrassing things could happen. Mustering up all his courage, he flips his book shut and drops it on the cushion beside him.

“Um, Connie? By the way? That’s kinda ticklish,” he squeaks out, voice high and reedy.

Upon his words, she notices where her fingers are subconsciously tapping and immediately pulls her hand away, her cheeks flushing dark. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she says, quickly tossing her book aside and shifting upright on the couch. “I didn’t mean to goose ya’! I wasn’t even thinking abo—“

“No, it’s okay!” he interjects with an open hand. “I’m fine, really, I am. I- it’s not like, uh- It isn’t like a bother, and- well, it just—“

Burning up with such a ferocity that he’s about one impulsive decision away from high tailing it out of this fraught social situation and dunking his glowing pink head right into the Atlantic, he forces himself to hush before he says something super stupid and humiliating in front of his best friend in the whole world that he’ll regret and replay in his dreams forever and ever for the rest of his days.

Okay, Steven, stop running your mouth like a lovesick fool for one second and think. How can you say this in a way that doesn’t sound entirely stupid and/or weird?

Watching him closely, curiosity written across every vibrant feature, Connie inclines her head ever so slight, a subtle, wordless gesture— one only a Jam Bud could understand— for him to keep going.

The phantom sensation of her fingers tapping against crystal rushes through his nerves like the physical analogue to a bad ear worm. He reaches up to itch at the side of his neck, unable to fully stifle his nervous laughter.

“Honestly, it uh- it actually felt pretty nice?”

“What, me touching your gem?”

“Yeah,” he manages to croak out, voice cracking like it hadn’t since he was freshly fifteen.

She isn’t able to fully stifle her giggle at this, pressing her hand tight to her mouth far too late.

His heart nearly plummets at the sound of her teasing laughter, the constant thrumming of his hard light veins steadily quickening as a flood of energy pulses just below the surface. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything, he knew it was far too much after every other recent misstep he’s made in their relationship! Why couldn’t he have just kept his trap shut?

“Aw, geeze,” he says, voice thick and his every muscle ready to bolt, “this is so embarrassing—“

“No, no! I shouldn’t have laughed, it’s okay!” she jumps in, pressing her hand to his shoulder to help ground him “It’s just bodies, Steven. It’s not weird. It’s just how skin-to-skin contact works. It’s supposed to feel good, because we’re meant to be social creatures, y’know?”

He hums softly in agreement, taking the offered moment to ease himself down from brink of panic. He focuses intently on the weight of her hand, resting feather-light against him. It’s a small gesture, but a powerful one. More than anything, more than words alone could say, it’s a promise. A reaffirmation, moment by moment. I’m here. We’re here. It’s a truth even the sobering reality of shared trauma can’t hope to erase: that even when the going’s tough, they have each other.

Connie brushes a stray stand of hair behind her ear then, shifting on the couch. Perhaps out of a sum of bashfulness, her eyes drift, not quite able to meet his.

“I- it’s silly, but I guess I never considered that you could even feel sensation through your gem,” she admits.

“Really? But you’ve had a gem before. Well, shared a gem,” he corrects himself, though in the end it’s all semantics.

“Well, sure, but when we’re Stevonnie, they don’t tend to think about stuff like that, because you’re used to it, and I’ve never thought about it. It’s simply... normal for them, I guess.”

“Hahah, yeah. It’s always been that way for me,” he says with a soft chuckle. “I never crawled like a normal kid, d’ya know? Dad says I always used to move around by scooting on my butt. When I tried crawling my gem would scrape against the floor, and apparently? I hated it.”

She laughs for real this time, (with him, not at him), her voice ringing true and beautiful and clear like a bell. His heart swells with joy.

And then...

Connie’s lithe fingers reach towards his midsection, hesitantly at first, before— in careful consideration of boundaries— pausing in their voyage entirely.

Her eyes lock with his, her shy expression wholly giving up the chase on what her request will be before she ever shifts her tongue to ask in words. “Is it okay if-?”

“Always,” he says, gently leading her hand under the hem of his shirt and towards the gemstone at his core.

He can’t help his sharp inhale when he feels her fingertips dance across his facets once more. Even when he knows what’s coming, knows to expect this contact, it’s funny. Not funny in a ‘haha’ way, funny in an ‘I’m not used to this’ way. After all, he’s never exactly made a habit of touching his own gem beyond periodic cleaning, and (almost) no one else has ever had a purpose to. It’s for this reason that a small traumatized segment of his mind still can’t help but spiral in panic about the mere concept of any external being brushing against this treasure, this tangible half of his very essence. Given the nightmares he’s been through, he’d have every right to deny her touch. But with Connie... beyond everything else, allowing her in this way is the greatest show of vulnerability he knows how to give.

It’s his proof to her that in this moment, he trusts her implicitly, without question.

Gracefully, she traces her finger around the edge of his gem, lines each individual facet in turn. It’s ticklish at first, much like before, but as she grows more confident in her gentle exploration he finds himself relaxing under her touch. He feels warm, a faint buzz of content flooding his system through his hard light veins. With her, he feels safe.

“It really is beautiful, you know that?” she says, a peaceful expression settling across her features. “Your gem.”

“Nah, you’re beautiful...” he murmurs bashfully, cheeks flushing.

“So are you,” she replies in swift measure, eyes soft with endless adoration.

His fluttering heart extends its gossamer wings and soars. If it weren’t for her nestled at his side, lithe fingers running across each facet in even measure, her tactile presence tethering him like an anchor to this present reality, he’s pretty sure he’d have floated halfway to the ceiling by now.

Daringly, his gaze locks with hers. He swears his heart’s beating its own drum solo within his chest, but this time it’s not because of fear, not at all.

It’s the feeling of freedom.

His fingers loop around a stray strand of hair that’s fallen in front of her eyes. That seems to happen a lot, he’s noticed. As delicate as he can manage, he hooks it back over her ear.

“Can I...?” he whispers, his warm breath brushing against her lips.

She replies in wordless affirmation, leaning forward to close the narrow gap between them. Hooded eyes drift shut. Her hand still rests on his gem as they finally move to cross that final barrier, that fuzzy, oft indistinguishable line drawn between childhood sweethearts and could-be couple, and kiss.

Well, attempt to, anyways.

To be fair, despite his schmaltzy roots, Steven only has movies and books to pull from as an example.

Their noses bump against each other’s at first. Both giggling, they tilt their heads to compensate and then mash their lips together, reveling in every ridiculous moment of their joint inexperience. It’s definitely sloppy, and he doesn’t have a clue where he’s supposed to put his hands or how long is too long, or how he’s supposed to move his mouth against hers, or— stars, did he even remember to brush his teeth this morning?? He sure hopes so— but because it’s with Connie all of that doesn’t matter. It’s perfect in every way.

“OoooOOOoo, looks like loverboy’s finally gettin’ some!”

He and Connie startle at the interruption, pulling apart from each other with equally flushed faces to match eyes with their surprise visitor.

It’s Amethyst, leaning against the kitchen table with a downright roguish smirk, probably thinking she’s the funniest Gem that’s ever emerged. Of course, who else would it be? (Though, which entrance did she come in from? When did she sneak past them? Were they really so involved with each other that they just... failed to notice??)

“Crude,” he says, brows creased with faint annoyance.

In return, she cups her cheeks and serves him the most ridiculous, schmaltzy expression she can muster. “Sap!”

Connie stifles a laugh at her exaggerated antics, but on his side he can’t help but be salty that her interruption yanked the two of them away from the blissful throes of blossoming teenage romance.

“Oh, get outta here, you,” he chimes back, and playfully tosses one of the couch’s pillow straight towards her face. “Shoo!”

The quartz Gem catches it out of midair and grins, no stranger to tests of reflex these days. Adopting a fake posh voice, she fires back her retort. “Your wish is my command, Sir Sappington...”

Tucking the pillow under her arm, she turns on her heels and skips up and over the warp pad’s platform, stalking towards her room with a victorious air. She doesn’t even try to mask her lovingly teasing snickers as the door splits in two at her command and she crosses the barrier into the temple’s dimension warping interior. The last they hear from her before the passageway shuts is an overly triumphant ‘whoop.’ Steven can’t help but raise a scandalized brow at this. What, were the Gems hosting a betting pool about him and Connie, or something?

But thankfully, in time, the beach house grows peaceful again. They’re alone together, and together they’re content.

“Geeze, sorry about that,” he says bashfully, scratching at the nape of his neck. “You know how Amethyst is, heh heh.”

Connie smirks with loving, mischievous intent, comfortably cuddling up against his shoulder. “She’s kinda right, though...”

“About?”

“You can be pretty sappy sometimes,” she says fondly, and tilts her head so she can smooch his cheek. “Just one of the many reasons I love you.”

____

Notes:

So, given that I’ve also written a fic wherein Steven wakes up feeling a hand against his gem and has a panic attack, a word of explanation with my headcanons-

Ultimately, I imagine there’s a very stark difference between a trusted individual like Connie touching his gem when he’s fully alert and it’s just them, alone, safe... and him waking up and being groggy enough to not immediately realize who it is next to him.

In the end though, I just hope Steven would be able to reclaim a once-terrifying experience (someone else touching his gem) as something that is also able to be loving and comforting when it’s done with consent.

[talia1998]

If someone were to ask me what I miss most now as a twenty something adult- I think it’s the ability to genuinely enjoy doing certain things without the inherent self imposed pressure to be good at it. I remember as a child- I would do so many things- like painting, building blocks, writing stories, dancing and singing- with absolutely no desire to please or impress. I don’t know if that’s because somehow it was always easier pleasing people back then or because as a child the joy that particular activity brought to me made the end product so irrelevant. I remember the time I would paint the most pointless things, wake up one Sunday morning lay some newspaper on the floor get random tit bits from my cupboard and lots of paint and just create. Did I create anything phenomenal? No. But did I completely forget myself and feel complete paradoxically? Yes. And was I proud of what I made? Absolutely. Before it was just scraps of paper, broken plastic and bottles of paint- now it’s something I have created- something nobody else could have with its extremely unique flaws- almost like a signature. I don’t know when I stopped doing that. But then I remember when writing brought me so much joy. English classes for essay writing. Two hours of just purely expressing anything that your neurons could string together? Right now, It’s so hard getting two sentences down without doubting and asking myself- ‘my vocabulary is a dying plant, why can’t it sound more nicer, it sounded far more clever in my head, I don’t even like the language that I’m using’ sure if I were a professional writer it would make sense but when I’m writing something down in my own journal? The shame and the hate because I can’t reach some potential that I fabricated in my head is almost tragic. Self criticism is good and the need to want to improve is great but the extreme obligation to be perfect and good at everything is so dangerous because now I hate doing things I once loved and as a result haven’t really done much to creatively express myself. And that’s worse than creating something I’m not proud of. I’m not sure how to balance it out but I sure need to work on it.