#anything other than like. pretty standard schools

[theresattrpgforthat]

Hi! Super sorry if this is a way too specific request. But do you know any systems that don't just treat magic knight/gish type characters as half-spellcaster and half-martial? Specifically looking for something that allows a magic knight sort of character to excel at magic and/or weapons to the same degree a more standard caster or martial character would, even if this means sacrificing something in a third category.

Sorry again if this is too obscure, take as long as you need with it and if you can't find anything that's okay too. I hope you have a nice day/night!

THEME: Magic Knights

Hello friend, so I started by looking for games where the characters were all blessed with supernatural powers, because I think if you're all supernaturally gifted, you're more likely going to get that balance you're looking for. That being said, I think I've also included a little bit of variety both in the basic recommendations as well as some add-ons at the end, so I hope that there's enough variety for something to pique your interest!

MourningStar, by devindecibel. @devindecibel

Lucifer, the former Archangel of Light, has died.

& their ever gloriously radiant body became the star which warms us.

We are the devilkith, those descended from the exiles of the Brilliant Garden & Hallowed star systems of Creation; those cursed to exalt sin.

We defend the Mourningstar, a haven for misfits, guarding the last iota of the Cosmos not conquered by the ever grasping empire of God.

Mourningstar is a “satanic” “biblepunk” dark science fantasy game about resistance, rebellion, othering, theology, individuality, misfits, colonialism, divine politics, infernal magic, & exploring the stars as swashbuckling devils. You will tell the story of a crew of Advocates, attachés to the Court of Lucifer & special agents of the Seven Prodigious Broods, the noble Archdemonic houses of devilkith in the Mourningstar System. Advocates explore the universe of Creation in their Chariot starship, defend the oppressed, skirmish with Angels & intrigue, & fight for the spirit of fierce identity.

Mourningstar is mechanically inspired by heavily narrative games, so I expect the archetypes provided to give players a strong concept to start with. One archetype is the Bastion, which is a knight whose armor is powered by demon blood, allowing them access to blood magic and access the ghosts of past knights' wisdom.

That being said, in its current stat, this is a crunchy game. Set-up is rather complex, and the game is built for campaigns, so if you're going to play this one, you should prepared for a long haul.

Thematically, Mourningstar is pretty specific; it's biblepunk, it's science fantasy, and it's rebellion. Your characters will have big grievances and bigger losses, but at the end of the day, your band of freaks is going to pull of some pretty impressive adventures. Currently the designer is working on updating the game, so you might want to keep an eye on this one!

Freelancer, by mammothbronco.

Welcome Freelancer, Freelancer takes place in a world of your choosing. A world balanced between an age of light and an age of dusk. Betwixt a time of prosperous endless summer and an unforgiving winter, a forgetting of things, a time where swords and blood rule. The makers of powerful artifacts known as relics have vanished; their knowledge disappeared within the dusk. The wealthy hide behind their walls, lusting for such an artifact, but the price is more costly than blood.

Freelancer feels very old-school fantasy, where magic is rare and difficult to wield. One thing that is very common in these old-school style games is the containment of magic in objects, rather than in innate abilities.Spells are things contained in relics, making them rather available to everyone.

There is still a distinct magic class, but the corruption of magic and the fact that you can use a relic without being a spellcaster feels like it puts folks on a slightly more equal playing field. Freelancer also feels more grounded in the typical fantasy tropes, which I think lends itself to leaning into the knight tropes that you might be interested in.

Guillotine: Crown of Blood, by Tally Owl Press.

Dive into a Gothic world that's rife with subterfuge and spellcasting alike, in this PBTA (Powered by the Apocalypse) hack that combines the dynamic, character-driven mechanics of Amour Astir with a dark, sprawling Gothic setting where the Crown reigns supreme. The Crown is a monarchical force that uses its populace for cannon fodder, magical tithing—whatever it wants. You play as a revolutionary with an axe to grind: some reason to want the King's head on the proverbial platter. You have magic, bargains, weapons, and grit at your disposal. You might even have friends and allies, if you're especially lucky. Either way, you and your players will craft a revolutionary narrative where the magic and prowess of the many can overcome the greed of the few.

Magic takes front and centre here, but according to the character sheets, your intent and approach seem very important and thus I think you could use weaponry to the same level of skill, as long as you put some thought into it. PbtA games are more focused on what makes the story interesting, rather than granular details such as weapon modifiers or range bands.

The character options for this game are drenched in themes and arcs; I think that this is a kind of game where you'll be sacrificing something personal and heartbreaking in order to succeed.Because you're fighting against the Crown, I think that your characters are going to feel much less knight-like, unless you play the Shadow Cavalier or perhaps a Partisan. If you want pathos and grit, you want Guillotine: Crown of Blood.

In Extremis, by @keganexe.

In Extremis is a tabletop roleplaying game designed for 2-6 players, about fighting back the man using necromancy, that uses the LUMEN system by Spencer Campbell. Inspired by The Locked Tomb trilogy, players take on the role of exceptionally powerful witches who use their mastery of life, death, and the human condition to keep them and their own safe from other planetary invaders who want to steal their land.

As a Necromancer, you are one of a handful of hideously powerful death witches that protect the planet Hecate, the final holdout for The Coven, from the ever encroaching war of the Corvus Dominion.

In Extremis was the first game I thought of when I saw this request, mostly because I'm familiar with the source material that inspired this game. You are first and foremost a magic user, but your ability to use a weapon is so so so important. The game is also built on the Lumen system, which rewards character abilities that stack, as well as tactical play that focuses on teamwork.

If you want gritty, dark badassery and a lot of corpses, you probably want In Extremis.

Dawnfire Warriors, by matara

The worldlords, the Nowdead Gods, have fallen and the lands they once ruled with wrath and divinity have exploded into an age of unprecedented warfare. You, as a dawnwalker, are a nigh-immortal juggernaut of death clad in the gods' own armor: dawnplate. Stride into battle with your honor guard and your allies, to claim territory and seize the drops of Godhead Ichor dripping from the astral corpses of the Nowdead as they hover over the world, morbid reminders of what came before.

Now is a time of war and fire. Shod yourself in dawnplate and carve through armies to claim what is yours.

Dawnfire Warriors is a one-page, high-strategy tactical game. It requires a grid and something to use as minis, to track your moves. That being said, combat is abstracted out to losses; how exactly you defeat your enemies or what weapons you wield is completely up to the player; all that matters is how well you take out your enemies, as well as how quickly you take them out.

Every character has magical armour and dawnfire abilities, which is attached to the armour you wear.There are three different kinds of dawnwalkers; the Marshal, whose abilities centre around leadership, the Tidewall, whose abilities focus on overwhelming the enemy, and the War Wizard, who's excellent at transporting forces around the field.

If you want a game that's more about strategy than history or lore, maybe consider Dawnfire Warriors.

Our Spell is Steel, by Switchback Worlds.

Our Spell Is Steel (OSIS) is a tabletop RPG built with the Forged In The Dark system, utilising a d10 dice mechanic influenced from World of Darkness.

You play as an Imperial Mancer, a mage who serves an Empire built on magic. Your world is surrounded on all sides by the three ancient Powers: the godlike Dragons, Spirits and Fey, locked in an eternal struggle for supremacy over each other. The Mancers learned the mysteries of magic from these Powers, which is now their only means of defending humanity from the overpowering beyond.

Your group forms a team of Mancers called a Clave. Mancers are born to serve the Empire, ruled by callous and ambitious Trueblood bloodlines who would be more than happy to sacrifice Newbloods like you as fodder and bargaining chips against the Powers.

Caught in the bloody game between gods and mages, will your Clave be the one to fight back against your fate and topple the board, lighting the fires of a magical revolution? Or will you perish before your time, your soul bound into servitude to the Powers, or your own magic killing you as arcane bloom chokes your veins?

All of the characters in this game are magical, but how they use those powers varies; different disciplines give you different kinds of powers. Forged in the Dark and WoD games (inspirations for this one) both give you the ability to improve different parts of your character sheets in different directions. So you could likely make a Wizard who focuses more on building up skills that rely on weapons, or you could start as an Ironheart and then tack on some Wizard abilities as you grow.

Other Thoughts….

Brimstone and Lead Arena, by MummyLaundering is very tactical and embraces magic for all characters, but uses guns instead of traditional fantasy weapons.

Magic & Might, by The_Bellmont, treats your character's magic and might equally, but the game itself is rather simple, and doesn't have the complexity that you might be looking for.

Echoes of the Broken, by Scribbles & Dice Games, appears to be a point-buy system that centres around characters that are supernaturally powerful, and I've recommended it in the past!

Exalted 3rd Edition, by Onyx Path Publishing, has sorcery that is immensely powerful, but I don't know how much the game separates sorcery from martial abilities; all of your characters are incredibly powerful, but I don't know what magic looks like for the martial characters.

Heart: The City Beneath by Rowan, Rook & Decard, has some really fascinating player options, including the Vermissian Knight, whose armour is train-powered, and who possesses an aetheric field that both protects you and can fuel your abilities.

Finally, if you like what I do, you can leave me a tip on my Ko-Fi page. <3

[loving-n0t-heyting]

this was (not too long) after i learned things went much better for me if i took my apoplectic impulses to physical violence out on myself rather than other ppl, btw. of which there were other, less amusing and more shameful, episodes during my elementary/middle school days too. reflection on all this was prompted by an instance of a certain media personality snarking abt how real mentally/developmentally ill ppl are not merely quirky but positively antisocial during childhood—a genre of remark that tends to elicit from me a certain scouring of my past for evidence of social failures. like the way i look for past achievements of mine to coddle my ego when reminded of more impressive peers and former peers, except unwittingly tailored to making me feel miserable and demoralised instead of deliberately tailored to making me feel self-satisfied

i generally feel like im able to navigate my day-to-day life pretty fine as an adult, better than might have been predicted on the basis of some of my weirder moments as a youth, but i think in part thats bc i enjoy and set for myself different standards than a lot of ppl have for "daily living" as adults. i stopped working once it became clear to my professional setting and self i was too unstable to function in that environment, ofc, but it goes beyond that. the most complicated food prep i ever do for myself is cooking boxed pasta and subsequently adding storebought toppings; anything more and i freak out. thats only once or twice a week, too; most meals that arent eating out (of which i do too much) are just me eating hummus from the store w saltines. i dress myself fine by my own standards, but i think most ppl dont consider dressing in the (type-, not token-)same ratty black tshirt and skirt [eta: with no bra] every day acceptable for themselves, whereas if i try wearing smth type-new i, again, freak the FUCK out. my living space is generally well into the "pig sty" territory wrt cleanliness, including eg an "iron throne"-esque pile of used needles accrued over the past ~2yrs that i only managed to contain properly today after a nurse ~metamour took pity on me upon visiting our apartment and brought over a free sharps container. im able to shower and brush teeth regularly but only bc i find those activities intrinsically enjoyable in the moment in a way few other ppl i meet do

i got next to nothing fun or useful done today. woke up too late, couldnt bring myself to do much more than read my own blog for a couple of hours. even things i enjoy. just, feeling the fuckedness of my life a bit more today than usual, ig

i was reminded recently of the time in like 6th(?) grade we were running laps (an instance of my favourite form of exercise since early childhood: moving in a circuit repeatedly) and then midway thru class the pe teacher stopped us to focus on smth else, and i got so angry abt having to stop running laps i started fuming and chomping down as hard as i could on my arm in outrage, in front of all my classmates. this not-even-gambit worked btw: coach let me keep running laps on my own and chewed me out later for being an attention-seeking brat, which i was cucked enough to apologise for. i was so much more pathologically fond of rule-abiding than the rest of my peers and so much more pathologically ill suited than most of them to executing it

if i had gone to a normal, non-[bougie/crunchygroovy/private] k-8 i would have been so fucked. mb in sped or smth. kinda sucks having yr brainfucked behavioural dysfunction dismissed as "affluenza" but it does beat getting sent to separate-but-equal facilities for the Differently Abled

@loving-n0t-heyting

[liorlen]

working on smth where I put gale in silly outfits based on wizard subclasses/schools of magic, since I already did necromancer.

[quarterlifekitty]

Weaknesses part 5: complexes

Note: this is jokes!! Please don’t take my cartoon pathologizing too seriously!

cw: some daddy kink level stuff

Gaz has a soft spot for girls who suffer from oldest sister syndrome. Girls that are a little world weary and too grown up at too young an age from caring for others while not having people to rely on. He just loves how pleasantly surprised you are literally every time he does something helpful that you didn’t ask him to do. Doing the dishes. Spackling that hole from the picture you took down. Refilling the air in the tires. Bleaching the bathtub. Very small things— but you’re so used to being the only one who can stay on top of things. Literally the high he gets from telling you to sit down and relax is unparalleled.

Soap is, quite frankly, into girls who grew up thinking they were ugly. It’s a terribly selfish, but he likes telling you all of the dirty things he thinks of doing to you, how he feels like someone’s knocked him upside the head when you enter a room in a new outfit, how he has to take a cold shower every time you’re going out to some event and he gets to see you dressed up. Honestly, he has to take the cold showers pretty regularly. Seeing how you’re flustered, and you don’t 100% believe the things he says— so he has to put in the time to make you believe him. You’re the kind of girl boys would dare each other to ask out in middle school, and now Soap has the absolute pleasure of convincing you that sometimes you make him so turned on that he thinks he’s about to throw up.

Ghost likes outcast girls. He likes how you eye him with a little bit of suspicion when he chooses to hang around you. He sort of gets this idea in his head that he’s the only one that can handle your eccentricities— handle you. That other people are afraid to approach you but he’s not afraid of anything. That his interest in you is because honestly, he has a much more refined palate than any of the shitheads you’re surrounded by. And you know what? He likes the idea of you as a couple being the scary, freak ass couple. Two lone wolves becoming mates.

Price likes former gifted students. He loves that you’re talented and quick, yes, but he also can’t help but get excited by all of that pressure that’s on you— that you put on yourself. He gets to be the one that relieves it. He’s the one that gets to lavish you in praise, and he’s also the one who gets to pin you down and force you to take it easy for a little while. He loves gently handling any mistakes or missteps, rationally perceived or otherwise. Because he can tell no one’s ever bothered to treat you so gently, have they, sweetheart? They’ve just been content to push you to your limits and have you run yourself ragged because you’re special. You are, he won’t deny it— but you’re also a little thing that hasn’t seen enough nurturing, in his eyes.

König loves so called “high maintenance” girls. Girls with high standards who know what they want, who have gone through some partners that couldn’t take the heat. He gets a very unique sense of control out of it— knowing all of your rules, rituals, likes, dislikes. Like Ghost, he likes thinking of himself as the only person who knows how to handle you— that everyone before him has just been unworthy of you. That he is strong where others have been weak. And you know what? It’s not rotten work. Not to him. Not if it’s you. He’s just built different.

Nikolai… I’m just going to say it. He likes girls with daddy issues. He kinda throws his whole self into relationships at times, and he likes it when he can be your everything. Your love, your friend, your hero, your source of approval from an older man. And he loves a brat. Because he knows you only act that way because someone didn’t pay attention to his special girl in the past. You’re testing him— daring him, unsheathing your claws to see if he’ll flinch and he never will. He’ll endure it all and chip at your defenses until you’re the soft, satisfied, sweet girl he knows you really want to be. Lavishing you with praise and attention, bragging about you to anyone who will listen. He wants you to have a complete breakdown because you’ve been holding it all in and putting up walls for so long that you don’t even know how to cope with being in the arms of someone who will always catch you when you fall.

[zillychu]

I’ve gotten a WAVE of asks about this AU, so I decided to flesh it out some more and answer some of those questions!

I’ll probably polish this extended summary up at some point and submit it to AO3. But for now, here’s a rundown of my thoughts–please feel free to send more questions! I’ll update this post if I get any more. But if you’re someone who wanted to write fic for it, don’t worry, you don’t need to take my headcanons as gospel. It’s a pretty basic AU honestly lol

Summary:

The portal accident results in a violent explosion that wipes out the whole block, and condemns all of Amity Park. Danny haunts the city for 100 years, before Sam and Tucker find him. 

Setup:

In the 1920’s, 19-year-old Danny went into the incomplete portal on his own, hoping to help out his parents. Ripping the portal open through unnatural means created a huge burst of energy that resulted in a massive explosion. A good portion of the Amity Park population died, many were injured, and the ones on the fringes relocated–Amity was quickly deemed too dangerous due to the excess ectoplasm in the area that attracted ghosts. 

While the disaster was in Amity, the fallout was seen around the globe. Before, natural portals were rare, short-lived, and rarely allowed ghosts to fully slip into our realm (the most severe cases being on par with poltergeists that most people didn’t believe in). Now, natural portals pop open frequently around the world, large enough to allow the entirety of a ghost into the physical plane. They’re more common the closer you get to Amity, but they happen enough elsewhere that this change was something of a small apocalypse before people settled back down and found out how to combat at least some of their new, permanent neighbors. 

Danny is unaware that he’s only half-dead, believing he’s a full ghost. He ends up sticking around Amity, unintentionally making it his haunt. His grief and guilt over causing the death of his loved ones (and many others) makes him isolate and avoid human contact. Though he has, at times, scared nosy people away from the city in a mix of territorial instinct–and to get them to leave before a less friendly ghost finds them. 

Ghosts are much more of an uncontested danger in this AU. Lesser ghosts are practically mindless, and while stronger ghosts are capable of reason, their interests are limited. They’re highly territorial, possessive, and often destructive. Most worrisome is that they also like to snack on the life force of anything alive. No one is sure what dictates a ghost’s propensity to attack or hunt the living for their life force since ghosts don’t exactly experience hunger. At least, not the way we do. If a human is rescued before their life force is fully drained, they can make a full recovery–though humanity has still not yet found what this “life force" is. 

And since the Fentons’ research died along with them, there aren’t many tools available to the public to protect them from ghosts. Most homes have standard ghost shields and some weapons are available on the market, but certified ghost hunters are required to take care of anything more powerful than your average spook. 

Sam and Tucker met in high school, and are now rooming together for college very close to the Amity border. Rent is surprisingly cheap when you’re a stone’s throw away from a condemned area crawling with ghosts. Sam is the one who drags Tucker along with her fascination over finding out more about the city, and its largely mysterious demise. Sam is aware of the danger, but feels ghosts have a place in this world just like everything else, and does exercise caution–like one would while foraging in the woods with a known tiger population. 

What she and Tucker weren’t expecting was to run into a ghost that felt almost human. One that hasn't hurt them, not for lack of trying–while being powerful enough to walk past ghost shields without so much as a flinch. The long white hair is familiar in the whispers of the ectobiologist community, but there’s no way it could be the rumored ghost king Phantom, right?

About Danny:

He has very long hair, claws, and black sclera. His hazmat suit is more torn and ragged, with exposed hands and feet that fade into a burnt black.

His hair tends to float a lot on its own. It can start morphing into fire under duress. 

He does still technically have gloves and boots, they've just charred and melted into his skin towards the ends. He can't take them off in his ghost form. His hands and feet have a leathery texture that's tougher than the rest of his skin.

The white of his hazmat suit is both supposed to look like flames, and also a battered look representing his more violent, explosive death.

Overall, he appears rather listless and sad, with an unnerving air of danger around him–even for a ghost. 

Danny’s “ghost sense” comes out as white smoke.

He does breathe black smoke at times, usually when agitated. 

He's already fought and defeated Pariah Dark by the time Sam and Tucker find him, technically making him the Ghost King. This is heavily speculated by ghost experts, despite there being no real proof beyond a massive battle that scarred Illinois. He has not donned the Ring or the Crown, and captured sentient ghosts are hesitant to answer questions surrounding him. Danny basically has the throne but doesn’t do anything with it, and finds it meaningless enough to routinely forget he has the title. He only fought Pariah because he knew otherwise, humanity would have perished. A lot of ghosts are scared of him because he's so hard to figure out, and he's strong. 

Danny is usually very quiet and speaks softly, because his lungs were damaged in the blaze that half-killed him. He's technically healed since becoming a ghost, so it's more of a compulsion due to the traumatic memory. That, and he’s just… very forlorn and distant, shy around humans who don’t seem to understand how dangerous it is to keep hanging around him.

His memories pre-accident are extremely fuzzy. He knows the very basics of who he was, but specifics have been muffled due to trauma and isolation. He routinely forgets human habits, etiquette, etc. and tends to act more like a full ghost with some odd quirks. 

He does try to scare Sam and Tucker off numerous times. Unfortunately for him, they realized they shouldn't have been able to escape a ghost that strong–but they did, because he let them. 

Sam and Tucker think he's mute at first! He doesn't speak a word to them until several encounters later, when he fumbles his whole scary act and saves them from another ghost. 

He’s still half-ghost, though he doesn’t figure this out until Sam and Tucker come along trying to unravel the mysteries behind the Amity catastrophe. Physically and emotionally, he’s been stuck for 100 years–so his human form is still 19. It’s unclear at this point if he can age normally like a human as long as he stays in human form, or if he’s immortal. 

Danny's family did not turn into ghosts, though he sometimes worries he'll find them in the afterlife as shells of their former selves. He doesn't know if it's better or worse that he's not sure he'd recognize them. 

(Danny also still has some living family. Take a guess.)

Yes, he knows how to Wail. Understandably, he very rarely uses it. You do not want to witness this.

Danny :) is not immune :) from the allure of eating a human's life force :)))

[cheekinpermission]

Number 14? If not already done?

14. What are your OC's grades like?

Sometimes being a bogo student has its downsides...

Erin would be pretty good at the standard school work (writing papers or reports, taking notes, taking tests, etc.). She had a pretty good academic standing back in her world and just applied what she knew to NRC subjects.

Of course, the transition wasn't exactly one-to-one. I don't know any schools that teach subjects like "Animal Linguistics" or "Ancient Curses" so... she struggled. She just didn't have that familiarity or background knowledge of Twisted Wonderland that most other people did. For instance, if she was told to make a potion for an assignment and was given a list of ingredients, she would have no way of identifying any of them. Even if it was something obvious to rest of the student body, she had no way of knowing without having grown up in Twisted Wonderland.

She promptly gave herself a crash course because failing was humiliating and even if this wasn't her world and she wasn't planning on staying, she wasn't going to look bad.

Any assignments that require magic, Erin is pretty much at the mercy of Grim. WHICH IS UNFORTUNATE BECAUSE GRIM IS KINDA DENSE. He basically cancels out anything she does... He is at least better at performing magic than he is at studying it, so they'll eventually come to an agreement where Grim does the magical half of their assignments and Erin does the written half.

Together, they'd manage a B average.

(There is one class that they're both absurdly good at and I'll get to in the next ask!)

[johnbrand]

Building a Roster

With @dansformations

Danny was more nervous than he had ever been before. All he had to do was knock on the door. Correction: all he had to do was knock on the door of Chad’s apartment. Correction with full explanation: all Danny had to do was knock on the door of Chad’s, the popular athlete he had a massive crush on, apartment.

It had come out of the blue really. The two had never hung out before, just shared a few classes here and there. So when Chad had invited Danny over to watch some soccer, Danny had replied with an instant “Yes!” Awkwardly tall and skinny, Danny hoped the shorter, muscular jock was asking him out in a sort of discreet way. But those hopes came crashing down once Chad opened the door.

“Danny boy, you made it!” Chad cheered, tossing an arm over Danny’s shoulder before leading him inside. Chad was shirtless, allowing the sweaty bush of hair within his armpit to soak the corner of Danny’s long-sleeve shirt. Had he not been transfixed by Chad’s bulky, hairy torso, or the party of many other just-as-attractive dudes, then Danny might have questioned how Chad knew he was at the door.

“Just in time, the match is about to begin,” Chad chuckled. Danny, enchanted by the pure testosterone of the room, watched as all the jocks organized themselves in front of the television. They joked with each other as the game began, boasting about their most recent sorority conquests and directing butt blasts at each other. Danny’s lust was slowly weakening, the apartment's evident stench of heterosexuality creeping in.

“Take a seat, bro,” Chad motioned to the chair beside him at the dining table, his massive, bare feet propped up right in front of the chair.

“I don’t know-”

“I said, take a seat bro,” Chad ordered, and instantly Danny obeyed. Chad redirected his attention to the game, but for some reason Danny could not focus on anything besides the feet in front of him. They were vile, funky, dirty, and obviously uncared for. Danny had never found feet attractive before, but he could not help himself from leaning in closer. He could see every spot of dead skin, every droplet of sweat. He could only wonder what the gigantic soles smelled like...tasted like…

“Yeah, that’s it…” Chad grinned, not looking away from the television as the homo’s tongue began to run along his feet. All the other guys in the room were too absorbed in the match to know what was happening behind them. “Just keep licking, it won’t be much longer now until we have a full roster.”

Danny’s mind had simply turned off, his only concern to clean the godly soles in front of him. When Chad had transferred to the university to become captain of the soccer team, he had not known the board had already discarded the team due to declining interest. “You know how American schools are,” Coach grumbled when Chad had confronted him about it. “Besides, we barely have enough men to make a qualifying roster.”

That sent Chad on a mission. He wanted to play soccer, be the captain of a team. If that meant putting together a crew for his university, then so be it. He had had no problem creating jocks in the past, but only one or two at a time with the nerds who had truly pissed him off. Over these past few weeks, he had already transformed 15 college losers into grade-A stallions, 16 if you counted the current fag at his feet.

Speaking of which, Chad decided to check in on Danny’s progress. Since the licking had begun, Danny had already packed on a considerable amount of muscular weight. His jaw was looking sharper, his overall frame hairier, and somehow (over the stench of all the other men in the room) Chad was able to detect a new degree of masculine body odor. Flexing his toes a bit, Chad registered the amount of life force that had been drained from his newest jock. He sucked his boys pretty dry. Chad wanted each of his jocks to be malleable to his and Coach’s standards and morals, but also not too far gone that they could not handle simple day-to-day tasks.

By the look of it, Danny was about done. When Chad eventually pulled his feet away, he heard Danny’s own now-monstrous stompers bouncing excitedly on the floor. Perhaps Danny could be his future sweeper.

“Danny boy, look at me,” Chad commanded, guiding the vacant pair of eyes towards his own. “You don’t like my feet, in fact you don’t like men. Bros only go for hoes, remember?”

Chad could practically watch the cogs rotate and realign in Danny’s washed-out brain.

“Good boy, now go watch soccer with the other bros and study up. Soccer is your favorite thing in the world now, and if you want to play, we need to focus all our energy on it.”

“All…our energy…” Danny mumbled, his voice much lower and slower than before. Like a zombie, the newest jock trod over to join the rest of the men. At first, the others did not know what to make of their newest companion, but after Danny let out a juicy fart, they applauded and welcomed him into the circle. It would take a few days for Chad’s feet to get dirty enough for the next recruitment, but he knew he was close to fulfilling his dreams.

[qqueenofhades]

So I keep seeing people play the "Harris is a Cop, so I'm not voting for her because ACAB" card, and not even pointing out that she was a DA/Prosecutor rather than an actual cop seems to change their minds - as far as they're concerned, working with cops in any capacity makes you a cop. Do you happen to have anything that'd make for a good counterpoint to this argument (or, at the very least, something to make those of us who still plan on voting for her despite our dim views on Law Enforcement not feel so bad about it)?

....Not feel so bad about it?

First of all: these are laughably, incredibly unbelievably unserious people, and frankly, my first advice would be NOT to bother trying to engage with them at all, because there is nothing whatsoever they will ever accept in the way of logical proof to change their minds. First it was "you can't ask me to vote for Biden specifically because of [insert issue here.]" This changed a lot, from Roe getting overturned by the corrupt SCOTUS, to the train strike (hey anyone remember that?) to student loan forgiveness and then had settled firmly on Gaza. So now, lo and behold, they're given exactly what they asked for: a new younger candidate who is not Biden and explicitly more progressive on the Gaza issue (Harris was the first member of the administration to openly call for a ceasefire). So they turn their noses up, rush to their favorite 2020 disinformation founts that were first spouted when they were trying to sabotage her in favor of Bernie (who endorsed Biden pretty strongly before he dropped out), flirt with Jill "Actual Agent of Putin" Stein, and other equally expected and equally bullshit maneuvers. Lololololololol online leftists. Never change, or something.

That said: because their minds are so set that they will never vote for any Democrat ever, you can't really give them any logical information to separate them from this conclusion. I don't have the links on hand, but etc Google and Wikipedia are free: Harris's tenure as district attorney and California AG was progressive even by modern standards, and it was happening in the early 2000s: she refused to prosecute for low-level weed offenses, pushed for harder sentences for assault weapons, performed gay marriages LONG before it was legal even in San Freaking Francisco, refused to seek the death penalty, worked with restorative justice programs, etc. This was after she was a first-generation American child of brown immigrants who took advantage of equal-opportunity education programs to go to law school, and her parents were already high-achieving academics (one a cancer researcher from India and one an economics professor from Jamaica). Sure sure, she definitely seems exactly like Derek Chauvin to me. Critical thinking is great! #VoteJillStein! A literal puppet of Putin and unabashed Assad fangirl is definitely the pro-peace morally correct option here!*

In other words, the morons do not give a single shit about factual reflections of Kamala's record. They do not care about whether her time as a district attorney was progressive (it was) and whether she was actually a cop (she wasn't). They're so wedded at the hip to their braindead disinformation propaganda that now we're going to see the excuses change at lightspeed from why they can't vote for Biden specifically to why they can't vote for Harris specifically. None of it will be remotely tethered to reality and all of it will be in extreme and obvious bad faith. As I said, there are plenty of persuadable voters elsewhere who HAVE been energized by her elevation to candidacy. If you are indeed interested in winning voters to her side (as opposed to having to find reasons to justify yourself to the All Voting Is Evil crowd who will never listen to or believe you anyway), I suspect your time would be better spent elsewhere, and outside the echo-chamber leftist social media space in general.

Aside from that, I have gotten a few hand-wringy asks about Kamala and the election overall, and I gotta say, I am not going to waste my time and effort replying to them. We have about 100 days to win this election or become a fascist dictatorship. We are already in uncharted territory, but the replacement of Biden with Harris went UNIMAGINABLY smoothly, far, far more than anyone (including me) ever expected. It reminds me of the presto-chango that the French center, left, and center-left parties pulled off to replace candidates, IN FIVE DAYS, to better position themselves to defeat the fascists. Compared to that, three and a half months is a cakewalk, but we still absolutely do not, DO NOT, have time to sit around worrying and hand-wringing about this or that hypothetical Bad Thing. It deeply unsurprises me to hear that US Online Leftists are still throwing snits and pitching their toys out of the pram rather than getting on board, but the rest of us don't have any time to waste and need to apply our energy to where it will be best put to use. So yes.

*extreme, extreme sarcasm alert

[lexirosewrites]

Hiii I don’t usually go here, but I have had a few Disjointed Thoughts(™) for like WEEKS and I finally decided to share on this, the most holy (hole-y, hah) of days, Slick Sunday.

SO. O!Steve, A!Eddie, shocking. Steve is excruciatingly aware that, physically? He’s not really the Ideal Omega, at least by societal standards. Or his parents’ standards. Or his own, if he lets himself think about it too much, but that’s why he simply Does Not Think About It. Emotionally, he’s pretty solid. He absolutely loves his forcibly-adopted, feral, teenage pups. He’s excited to have his own one day, and to have an Alpha who loves him and their pups. He is always taking care of somebody, particularly the people he cares about, and most of the time it’s not even a conscious choice.

Physically, though?

Physically, he’s taller than an omega usually is. He spent so much time doing sports before he presented, and then after to keep up the image. Plus, let's be honest, he's absolutely keeping himself in shape and strong enough to defend/protect his little chosen pack. No matter how he or other people might feel about it, nothing is as important as keeping everyone safe, even after the UD is taken care of.

He and Eddie have been getting close, though. Eddie made enough anti-secondary-gender-roles speeches in school that Steve's pretty sure he won't mind that Steve is more invested in keeping them all safe than playing the part of “good little omega.” He was certainly impressed when Steve had to bite a bat in the Upside Down, and that's not very Omegan. The problem is, Eddie is such a perfect Alpha. Robin always makes a face when he says it, but Steve can feel it in his soul. Eddie is loud, exuberant, fiercely loyal, and protective of anyone who might need it, particularly when he cares about them. He's good with his hands, between his guitars and tinkering with his van when it has a new issue every month. He bickers with Wayne constantly over bills, trying to get his uncle to let him help more, leaving stray bills in Wayne's pockets when he loses the argument.

If Eddie can be such a good Alpha, Steve can try and be a better Omega, just a little. He does tone his more Alpha-like tendencies down a little, just to be safe- doesn't bring up playing sports/working out as much when Eddie's around, asks Eddie to help move things instead of just doing it himself, lets other people grab stuff from high shelves rather than volunteering himself. It seems to be going well, all things considered. He and A!Robin (who knows about the Omega-image issues, but not that he's been playing a bit more of the helpless Omega for Eddie, because she absolutely wouldn't approve) are sure Eddie's going to ask him to start courting any day now, really!!

To hopefully kick-start the process, Steve eagerly volunteers to help Wayne with some manual labor. Something with the siding of the trailer; it won’t be difficult, but it'll be a lot easier with two people. He'd have helped anyway, of course, but he's very aware that Eddie is devoted to his uncle and wants him taken care of. Surely, if there's anything that would outweigh any distaste from the non-Omega-like behavior, it's helping Wayne. The day of, though, he's on a ladder (Wayne is holding the ladder steady; Steve threw a hissy fit when he tried to go up himself), hammering in the last couple nails when Eddie gets home.

Normally, Eddie seems ecstatic to see Steve in any scenario- at one of their houses, after Hellfire to take the kids home, the few times they've passed each other in the grocery store- but when Steve looks over to say hi, he doesn't look… pleased. He actually looks kind of. Angry? Maybe? His eyes are blank, not filled with the warmth he's used to. His mouth is pressed together in a thin line, jaw clenched.

Steve has gotten pretty good at reading Eddie, knows his facial expressions like the back of his hand, but this is new. New and not happy. It makes him self-conscious, make him want to jump off the ladder and go beg forgiveness from his Alpha for whatever he did, but Steve pushes it down. He's got a job to finish, and if that face is directed at him for too long there's a good chance he's going to start whining- or worse, crying. Eddie gets back in his van immediately, though, driving off who knows where. Steve tells himself he was probably just having a bad day, and didn't want company. That's just a thing that happens. Nothing immediately to do with Steve, surely, and Wayne doesn't seem bothered so it's fine. Definitely.

A few days pass, and the party are all at Steve's house. The pups (who are nearly grown, now, but that doesn't stop them from being Steve's Pups, okay?) are mostly in the pool. The technically-adults are enjoying the sun and calling out warnings when the play-fighting gets a little too rough. Steve and Lucas are practicing basketball a few feet away, trying to nail a particular, super impressive move that even Steve can only do with about 40% accuracy. (I don't know basketball, I'm sure something like this has to exist though, right??? Indulge me lol) The two of them have been at it all summer, to better Lucas’ chance of getting varsity next school year.

Then Lucas nails it. Absolutely picture-perfect form, better than even Steve has ever done it. And they go NUTS. Everyone is looking over, confused but generally amused at their antics. Steve is so proud that he doesn't even think about it, just lifts Lucas up so he's sitting on one of Steve's shoulders, so Steve can hold him up with one arm and gesture wildly with the other while parading Lucas around, explaining exactly why this is so impressive to the non-athletes.

Except. Then he happens to look over at Eddie. And it's the face from the other day. Closer now, he can see that Eddie's knuckles are white where they're clenched around his beer bottle. Steve still can't get a read on it, and Eddie hasn't been in the pool yet so the scent blocker is keeping Steve from being able to tell what's the matter. Again, Steve's first instinct is to figure out what he did, how he can be better. But this is Eddie. He's probably just bitter about a sports thing interrupting whatever nerd conversation he was probably having, and he'll get over it quickly. Besides, Lucas deserves his moment.

Eddie is fine the rest of the night, and it doesn't come up, so Steve manages to mostly forget about it. But a week or two later, Steve is dropping Max off at home after physical therapy, and she's clearly too tired and exhausted for the stairs but she'll never admit it. Steve moves slowly, telegraphing his intentions as obviously as he can to give her an out, but she doesn't take it. So he picks her up, gently as possible, and carries her up the steps, grabbing her crutches as well.

He doesn't push it, even if his Omega would be thrilled to bring her in and make sure she gets settled and drinks some water, because it'd make her uncomfortable and this is already a lot. They don't talk about it, they just say their goodbyes and Steve goes to drive home. He glances over at the Munson's trailer, purely out of habit, and in the window is Eddie. With the same facial expression as before. He turns away from the window before Steve can react, and the curtain is pulled.

Steve has the whole way home to question this, and the only similarity between the two events that could have caused that face is… Steve being too Alpha-like. The manual labor, carrying the pups around. He's too strong, too big. He's not a good Omega, and his Alph- Eddie, who isn't his Alpha yet and maybe now never will be- Eddie doesn't like it. He drops. Hard. He's not sure how he makes it back to his house, or inside. The next thing he knows, he's sitting next to the phone, Robin's voice coming distant but frantic from where it's dangling by the cord next to him.

Then she's there, in front of him. Worried, clearly, but Steve can't bring himself to do anything about it. He just stares. Time passes, clearly, because at some point he finds himself in his own bed, nest haphazarly built up around him where someone presumably tried to make it bigger without disturbing anything, staring blankly at the ceiling with Robin pressed against him.

His face is wet.

His eyes hurt.

Oh. He's been crying.

He remembers why.

His breath catches, and it's enough to get Robin's attention. She scrambles up, holding his face while she takes exaggerated breaths. He matches her breathing until he's sure they're past the risk of hyperventilating. He tells her everything- not just the times Eddie has seemed upset, but every time he's tried to be better, to be less, every time he's questioned if it would ever be enough. She clearly wants to comment, but she lets him get it all out first. When it's clear he's done, she bundles him in her arms. Calls him a dingus, so he'll crack a smile. They slowly transfer back down the stairs, curling up in a mass of limbs in front of the tv to watch whatever they can find without getting up.

Steve drives her home around midnight, knowing she has work tomorrow and he's got the day off. He swears he's fine, that he'll call if something changes. He waves her off, drives away, and heads in the opposite direction of home. He's okay for now, but if he goes home, he'll think about how empty it is, how he may never have an Alpha to help him fill the space and the quiet, and he won't be okay for long.

He ends up at the quarry. Still quiet, and he's still alone, but at least it's intentional here. He's not exactly watching the clock, but he's only idly thrown a handful of rocks down into the water when he hears a noise he could pick out anywhere. Eddie's van is pulling up, faster even than the ridiculous speeds he usually does. The gravel flies up as he slams on breaks, and the headlights are still fading out when Eddie throws himself out the door.

He hurries towards Steve, and when he's close enough, he drops to his knees. Steve tries to ask, tries to pull him up because that can't be good for Eddie's knees, especially when he's clearly in his pajamas and some untied shoes but Eddie grabs his hand and holds it in both of his own. Trips over his words as he tries to explain, rambles that Robin had called him after she got home, that Eddie had immediately run out the door, went to the house first and then drove around to find Steve.

Steve can feel the shame heating his cheeks, prickling in his gut. He's already mentally cursing Robin's overprotective nature. Of course she'd immediately tried to defend him. She'd probably told Eddie off, something embarrassing about leading him on or believing too much in gender roles despite his own nonconformity or whatever else. Steve tries to pull his hand away, but Eddie's got a firm grip and pleading eyes, and Steve's Omega is too desperate for some approval after his drop earlier to try too hard.

Eddie looks like he's tearing up, and Steve is too caught off guard by this whole thing to hold back the whine it pulls out of him. Even if he's hurt, seeing Eddie upset almost hurts his Omega more than anything else. Eddie's eyes go wide, and he surges to his feet, pressing Steve's hand to his chest and letting a reassuring rumble answer. Steve hates himself a little bit for how much it does calm him down.

Eddie rushes to explain. He's in love with Steve. He thinks Steve's easily the best Omega he's ever met, loves how much he cares for the people around him and protects their pups (Steve tries valiantly to ignore how his heart skips a beat at it being THEIR pups. He fails). The face Steve has been seeing has been Eddie straining to keep his Alpha from begging to bond with Steve on sight. Eddie wanted to court him, wanted to take it slow and romance him and do things properly because Steve deserves it, not ask Steve to have his babies in front of all their friends.

He's been waiting to ask, has been making Steve his own battle jacket since he'd liked Eddie's in the Upside Down as a first courting gift. Apparently, tracking down patches for artists Steve likes is a lot harder than finding patches for Eddie's favorites, and hand-sewing them all on has taken even longer. It's everything Steve could have ever hoped to want and so much more, and Eddie's not wearing any scent blockers, so underneath the heady smell of leather and comfort and Eddie, Steve can tell he's being honest.

The misunderstandings are forgiven. They start courting immediately, and Eddie gives him his own vest to wear as an IOU until Steve's is done. Robin is very mildly scolded for spilling Steve's business, which is cancelled out by the grin on Steve's face as he does it and the hug she tackles him in immediately after says she doesn't regret a thing. It's okay, though. Neither does Steve.

-irrelevantbutembarrassing

chomping on insecure omega Steve because he’s so biteable💕

[the-90s-music-colosseum]

Quarterfinals, Match 2

expand to see all propaganda received! (wall of text warning oh my god this is a severe cautionary message)

Lauryn Hill:

"she paved the way and was hot as fuck the whole time"

"Girl c'mon. Look at her. You're gonna try and tell me that isn't the most beautiful and attractive person alive? Okay. You're lying but okay."

"if u freaks don't give ms. lauryn hill the respect she deserves..."

"actually one of the prettiest women ever I'm such a lesbian for her. like irl I'm already a lesbian but she is helping"

Damon Albarn:

"Don’t think Damon should be here? Why don’t you get your head checked by a jumbo jet? Maybe you’ll feel heavy metal and calm down."

"If Damon is in the “some guy” category, he’s the heavenly and heartbreaking version. Damon is the sort of significant stranger I’d see on the train out of Colchester but could never speak to, just a face seen in passing yet too radiant to be real. I’d fall in love for an hour and carry the ache for a month."

"Damon sets the standard for me. I think he’s the most fascinating man alive. What I find attractive in Damon is not just his gorgeous bone structure and boyish charm, but how wholly he’s committed himself to music. Damon is an artist who walked the walk: in one of his roughest years with some of his rawest songwriting, he said he was no longer excited by anything except the creative process. He was disillusioned with the celebrity of it all, with his relationships suffering for it, and only wanted to make art: nothing more, nothing less. He would go on to compose film scores, write operas and stage musicals, produce other artists’ records, form collectives to fulfill his passion for world music, and create some of the most globally successful music of his career in a completely innovative format that placed him as the phantom behind the characters. Whenever one band takes a break, he makes a solo record or puts together a supergroup to stay busy. He’s uniquely collaborative and still writes personal letters inviting artists to record with him, and yet can function as a one-man show, acting as a multi-instrumentalist, a singer-songwriter and a producer. He’s been a constant voice of bringing British music to the world *and* bringing world music into Britain. Sure, he’s won Brit Awards and a Grammy among others, but he also has a Guinness World Record and was named an Officer of the British Empire for his services to music; his long work with Africa Express earned him respect even from peers who’d previously dismissed him, and his commitment to support his Malian collaborators in the face of violence earned him the title of Local King in Mali. There is so much talent in the world, but there is truly no one else with a career that looks like Damon Albarn’s. Damon is far more than just a prettyboy to look nice on a magazine cover, but looks are the ultimate point of this tournament, so make no mistake: he was terribly, terribly pretty. You watch him performing in the 90s, you sift through photoshoots and interviews and documentaries, and it feels *cruel* how beautiful he was. If his talent was god-given, so was his face. To put a bow on this thesis: I don’t know if Gorillaz and Damon’s musical universe would be the experimental, globe-trotting, boundary-pushing community affair it is if Blur hadn’t become such a central figure in Britpop and if Damon had not been made such a media spectacle, and I don’t know if Damon would have been that spectacle if he wasn’t so ungodly pretty. The domino effect is that Damon’s cherubic face launched a thousand multimedia art school projects for decades to come."

"I wish I was basically any bloke in the 90s so I could tongue Damon Albarn down. Damon will see a man and ask “is anyone gonna kiss that?” and not wait for a response."

"I have a pillow with his face on it. I sleep with it every night 😊"

"“I’m more homosexual than Brett Anderson, always have been. As far as bisexuality goes, I’ve had a taste of that particular fruit, or have been tasted you might say…” is just the rawest most Shakespearean statement ever"

"he is the ultimate Pretty Boy ™. his glorious golden locks, his electric blue eyes. he is if Princess Diana was a Britpop Dude. he is the Regina George of Britpop. he is if Aphrodite took male form. Zeus would come down to earth to fuck him if he knew. he is a caffeinated orange cat let loose. he is deranged. he is unhinged. you never know what will come out of his mouth. he had sexual tension with every single man who knew him. he pulled justine fucking frischmann. his aura knows no bounds. he is a siren. he is a weird guy. but being so gorgeous stunning ethereal didn't stop him from also being one of the most prolific songwriters of his generation"

"THE MAIN BLUR"

"literally where do i even begin. i could write entire essays on this man. a good place to start would be the beetlebum music video, i suppose. i'll never forget the first time i watched that music video. something in me changed, my brain chemistry was altered, my life was never the same, i view the world a lot differently now. and a lot of the viewing i'm doing is of pictures of damon albarn's face because of boy do i have a lot of those saved. every time i try to look for a photo of something on my phone i can't find it because there's so much damon. okay that's maybe an exaggeration but this man has the most unfathomable beauty ever. his eyes? HIS EYES. god dammit i love his eyes i want to stare at them until the end of time like nothing else exists. i'm so normal about this man (lying) and while i'm usually very shameless about my interests i'm actually incredibly glad this propaganda is anonymous because otherwise. yeah. but the world deserves to see damon albarn's beauty and also hear his fantastic voice because what the fuck. his voice is literally the most gorgeous sound ever produced like bro sounds like that and expects me not to fall in love? i want this man to sing his silly songs and talk absolute nonsense to me until the sun eventually blows out and the world ends. cmon damon girlies let's demolish this tournament i know there are a lot of you."

"He’s beautiful. He’s a little rat. He’s a sweetheart. He’s a dickhead. He’s a musical genius. He’s a dumb bitch. He’s a jock. He’s a weirdo. He’s real. He’s an illusion. He’s everything. He’s just Damon."

"DAMON DAMON DAMON where do I begin oh jeez I've hyperfixated on this man for a solid 4 years and still going strong. Damon makes me wish that British people are real. That says A LOT. This man created a whole ass ANIMATED BAND WITH A SHIT TON OF LORE as a SIDE HUSTLE??? Not to mention, what other man has collaborated with Stevie Nicks, MF DOOM, Del the Funky Homosapien, Snoop Dogg, AND Beck?! People, we're literally in the presence of a god. And he's STILL GOING. Anyways, TL;DR, damon is so so so neat and cool and he should definitely win this competition. Thank you."

"Okay 90s Damon is The Perfect Boy yes yes, but the people who parrot the Daily Mail and say "he's ugly now" will never understand. I would still suck every drop from him on his deathbed."

"Vote for whoever you want to. But Damon is so pretty."

"i did not spend hours admiring this beautiful man's face on pinterest just to see him lose."

"Damon Albarn just brings me joy. When I'm watching him perform, following along as the camera lingers on and adores his pretty face, I get butterflies like I'm 15 again. It's nice to still feel that totally unguarded giddiness sometimes."

"God let the intrusive thoughts win making Damon. What if he's a beautiful blond twink with eyes like saucers and dick to his knees, he reads Herman Hesse and plays footie and is insufferable about both, he'll be the most prolific musician of his generation and write operas and seminal albums in 5 different genres and also he's gonna be the dumbest bitch alive? He'll also be kinda bi, but only kinda. And send."

"when i found out about his existence, my life was changed forever. i wish i could use him like the hannah montana boot milk pillow and chuck him at the wall so he makes a loud thud"

"Think of the drama and anon fights it'll cause if Damon wins it all! And think of how quiet it'll get after Damon's out. You'll miss him when he's gone, like memories of a noisy house years after it's grown silent. Choose Damon, and keep the messy train chugging."

"Even the Gallagher brothers have the hots for him."

"Kiss kiss I love him also you can't vote for any of the Seattle men they're literally copy and paste it's not fair. We need Brit representation"

"I want to take care of him, I want to provide for him. I need to gauge his baby blue puppy dog orbs out to I can clean them with wood varnish, paint shades of Pantone 320 C in his eyes, spray eau de parfume by dior in them and sew it back into his eyes like that scene in Toy Story 2."

"Seeing as simply filling the page with ‘Damon’ written 10000000 times isn’t going to cut it 😅 may I admit/submit: I DO have him tattooed on my being (no descriptive, is this anon?); he’s inspired somewhat unhinged late night/early morning fandom conversations in which I’ve served as ‘parish’ priest hearing confessions from all manner of folk about what they’d like to do to him/receive from him; sadly I lost an essay where I detailed why the letters that make up his name suit him so well, and described him as the hot caramel sauce to Graham’s cool vanilla ice cream. He’s a faerie princess with a nose that makes people weep and a voice that feels like the warmest home and he gives amazing hugs. He loves trains and chickens and his tuxedo cat. He’s annoying and sweet and somewhat unhinged and his music saves people and all this is on top of that fantastic dick. He’s a dream yet very real and we’re fucking blessed to be on earth at the same time as him, amen"

"Damon Albarn was a beautiful, beautiful boy. The world saw that, regardless of if every individual reading this has the same taste in men; it felt like a truth of the universe at the time. They don't make celebrities that angelic in face and erratic in personality anymore."

"I need to touch his eyebrows, nose and prostate just one time JUST ONE TIME COME ON"

[prettylilyanime]

Blooming Hearts ♡ Chapter 01

˚✿˖ Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem reader

˚✿˖ Synopsis: All your life, you’ve had it all—wealth, beauty, and a quirk good enough to secure your spot at UA. But after three years, you still feel more like an outsider than a future hero. Social life? Barely existent. Friends? Who needs them? You’re ready to coast through your final year solo… until fate lands you squarely in the lap of a certain hot-headed blonde—literally.

˚✿˖ tags/warnings: 18+, smut in the later chapters, reader is spoiled, shy reader, they're all third years at UA, Fluff, strangers? to lovers trope, not really strangers, miscommunication, drama, y/n just wants to make friends, reader is canonically pretty, reader is a hero in training, whipped bakugou, she falls first but he falls harder

˚✿˖ Masterlist ♡ Previous ♡ Next

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The first days of school are supposed to be exciting—or at least, that’s the idea you’ve gathered from TV shows and a few overly romanticized books.

But for you, ever since you first walked into your pre-k classroom in shiny Mary Janes, it’s been the same story. Year after year, right up to today, in your polished Chanel loafers, you’ve loathed it.

If anything, it’s your least favorite time of year.

Everyone is too happy. Too enthusiastic about seeing each other. People making plans left and right, hugs, laughter—none of it involves you. You’re left to sit and watch, stuck in your silent little bubble while the world keeps spinning around you.

Not that anyone’s being intentionally cruel. No, you know this is more on you—on your quiet, awkward nature that seems to freeze any potential interaction before it even has a chance to begin. So you can’t really blame them when, even as you sit dead center in the classroom, your classmates talk over and around you like you’re invisible.

You sink lower in your seat, hoping it isn’t too obvious how Kaminari is leaning across you to chat with Kirishima, who’s seated just behind you. Each laugh and cheerful exchange only makes you feel smaller.

God, you hate day one.

Class doesn’t officially start until 8:45 a.m., but your alarm—set to chime with soft jingles—woke you up at 5 a.m. sharp.

You went through your entire morning routine with the precision of someone preparing for a photoshoot: exfoliating every inch of your skin with vanilla-scented soaps imported from France, carefully styling your hair to perfection, and spending far too long at your vanity.

A layer of sparkly gloss on your lips, clump-free mascara on your lashes, pink blush dusted on your cheeks, and the lightest touch of pearl shimmer on your nose—everything had to be just right.

Even picking out your outfit took an hour, despite the fact that it’s a school uniform, and no one’s likely to look twice at what you’re wearing.

Still, it boosts your confidence, makes you feel like you’ve got some control. Your black designer loafers and knee-high black socks set you apart from your classmates, most of whom stick to the standard brown shoes provided by the school.

Your jewelry is minimal but elegant—sparkling diamond studs in your ears, a small stack of delicate rings on your fingers, and a few simple bracelets on your wrists. Beneath your uniform blouse, a dainty diamond pendant rests against your chest.

Yet, even with all that effort, you still feel small, like your presence is nothing more than background noise. You stare blankly at your desk, drowning in the chatter of the classroom around you.

“Bakugou! What’d you do this summer, man?!” Kaminari’s voice rings out, pulling your attention.

Your gaze lifts to the boy sitting at the front corner of the room, his expression as uninterested as ever. Bakugo barely spares Kaminari a glance before responding in his usual blunt tone. “I trained and worked with best jeanist, dunce face. You were there for most of it.”

Dunce face. If Bakugo ever called you something like that, you’re pretty sure you’d have an existential crisis right then and there. But Kaminari? He just laughs, brushing it off with a carefree grin, as if Bakugo’s blunt insults are part of his daily routine.

The boys keep up their banter, the sound blending into the general noise of the classroom while you sit quietly, feeling like a shadow in the background—there, but barely noticed. Just another morning, same as always. That is, until something weird happens.

“What about you, Y/N? Did you do anything fun?” Kaminari asks, suddenly turning toward you.

You blink, your brain stuttering to process his words as the chatter around you dies down. All eyes shift toward you, and you feel the heat rising to your face. Instinctively, your hands clam up, but you fight the urge to shrink away, forcing yourself to meet Kaminari’s expectant gaze.

“I, um… I traveled.” Your voice is soft, hesitant, and wow—could you sound any less enthusiastic?

You glance around nervously, your eyes flicking toward Bakugo. As expected, he looks utterly disinterested, his expression blank as if he’s already tuning you out. Figures. 

Swallowing down the tightness in your throat, you turn back to Kaminari, offering a tense smile. “Across Europe. I… brought souvenirs for everyone.”

For a moment, there’s silence.

Kaminari’s yellow eyes widen in genuine surprise, and Kirishima looks equally taken aback. You can tell they hadn’t expected you to say much—let alone reveal that you’d thought to bring back gifts for them. You’re not exactly known for being vocal, and this is probably the most they’ve ever heard you say at once.

“Oh, that’s really cool!” Kirishima beams, his usual warmth shining through as he gives you an approving nod. “You didn’t have to do that, though!”

“Yeah, that’s super nice of you!” Kaminari adds, grinning widely. Beyond his dumb antics, the electric boy really does have a sweet smile to him, and for a second, the tension in your chest eases just a little.

You shift awkwardly under their attention, unused to being in the spotlight like this with your peers. “It’s nothing, really. I can give you the gifts after class,” you mumble, waving a hand dismissively, even though your heart is pounding in your chest.

“So cool! What countries did you go to?” Kaminari asks, leaning in slightly with genuine interest.

“Well, I stayed at my grandparents’ vacation homes, so mostly Western Europe,” you explain, your manicured hands practically clawing into your skirt as you try to project calmness.

“What’s this about Western Europe I hear?! That’s so cool, Y/N!” Mina suddenly bounces into the conversation, and your heart practically drops out of your chest. How does she so easily swoop into conversations she wasn’t even part of? You know these are her friends, and she’s comfortable with them, but still—you can’t help but admire her confidence.

“She was there over the summer, and she got us gifts too!” Kaminari shares excitedly, as if you aren’t sitting right there. Your cheeks burn violently under the sudden attention.

Bakugo stays silent, leaning back in his chair with a bored expression, but you swear you catch the briefest flicker of acknowledgment in his eyes before he looks away. Maybe it’s your imagination, you tell yourself, but it doesn’t stop your mind from swirling.

Mina gasps and clasps her hands together. “Wait, you got us gifts? That’s seriously so sweet! Thank you, Y/N!” she chirps, her gratitude genuine.

You manage a tense smile, nodding politely, but before you can reply, Sero chimes in with a grin. “So you stayed at a vacation house too? Gosh, that sounds way cooler than ours. We were only there for a week.”

Your brows raise slightly. They all went on vacation together?

“Hey, we can’t complain,” Mina snorts, nudging Bakugo, who scowls in her direction. “It was on the beach, and we had Chef Bakugo at our service the entire time.”

“At your service is bold as fuck to say, Raccoon Eyes,” Bakugo scoffs, arms crossing in a way that only somehow makes him look even bigger. “If I hadn’t cooked, you all would’ve starved on cups of ramen.”

Your eyes, if they could, would sparkle at the visual. How does he even fit in his uniform?! His arms strain against the fabric of his sleeves, and the way his blazer clings to his broad shoulders almost makes you forget how much you hate first days of school.

You catch yourself staring for a second too long and quickly look away, heart pounding. Seriously, calm down. You don’t have a crush on Bakugo. You can’t have a crush on Bakugo. It’s not like he even knows you exist—aside from right now, where you’re sure he’s more focused on the conversation than you.

But still… he’s hard to ignore.

Denki, in his usual silly mood, throws himself into an exaggerated pose, dramatically praising Bakugo as though the blonde had single-handedly saved his life on that trip. “Our fearless leader Bakugo, slaving over a hot stove so we didn’t perish!”

Bakugo rolls his pretty red eyes, muttering something about “idiots” under his breath, and somehow the sight sends your heart into a chaotic rhythm again. God, I need to get ahold of myself.

Conversation flows smoothly without you really, but you still sit and smile, at least somewhat involved which is more than what you've really ever gotten- though it's interrupted by the sight of Aizawa opening the class doors.

“I want to see the progress you’ve all made over the break. You have 15 minutes to put on your costumes and meet at the training arena. Don’t waste time.”

Your brows lift slightly in surprise at the sudden announcement. A performance test, right off the bat? Instinctively, nerves creep in, but they’re soon replaced by a flicker of excitement.

You can’t wait to put on your new costume. Your mother had pulled some serious strings to have it custom-made by her design team, and you’ve been itching to see how it feels in action.

Grabbing your suitcase, you fall in line with your classmates, heading toward the locker rooms. Once inside, you quietly move to a far corner, grateful for the privacy. You flip open the suitcase, and your heart lifts as your eyes land on the carefully folded fabric inside.

The bodysuit is breathtaking—an iridescent pink material that seems to shimmer with every shift in light. Attached to the waist is a short skirt shaped like delicate flower petals, each edge subtly sparkling as though dusted with stardust. It’s both beautiful and practical, designed to move with you and enhance your quirk.

With steady hands, you slip into the form-fitting suit, the breathable fabric molding to your body perfectly.

You adjust the petal skirt, ensuring it falls just right, before sitting down on the bench to put on your boots—sleek, sturdy, and designed for agility. As you lace them up, you take a moment to glance down at your fully assembled outfit, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

It’s more than just a costume—it’s a statement of everything you’ve worked for, a tangible reminder of how far you’ve come.

Already, little girls across the country are asking for dolls that resemble you, despite the fact that you haven’t even graduated yet. Your internship at your mother’s prestigious hero firm is impressive, sure, but it's your image that truly captures the public’s attention.

After all, who could resist a hero who looks like a princess, wielding a quirk that blooms like pink flower magic in the midst of battle? It’s easy to see why your visual appeal has taken center stage—there’s something undeniably captivating about a hero who sparkles as much as she fights.

It’s surreal, considering the incredible feats of your classmates, that you're one of the ones that are being eyed most.

Todoroki, Midoriya, Bakugo—they’ve long since cemented their place among the best, their power unquestionable.

Yet, somehow, you've found yourself thrust into the spotlight, unexpectedly pushed forward as one of the frontrunners in the public eye from your graduating class.

It’s almost ironic, considering how incapable you are of even talking to your classmates. You’re not as strong as they are—not by a long shot. You don’t have their raw power or battle-hardened skills.

But in a world where appearances sometimes speak as loudly as strength, your presence has somehow captured the hearts of the country.

Again, painfully ironic.

You stand and smooth the glittering fabric of your bodysuit once more. Taking a steadying breath, you step toward the mirror. With a flick of your wrist, your quirk activates.

Delicate cherry blossom petals glow softly, the faint pink hue shimmering as they materialize from your hands and float effortlessly through the air. They slot themselves into your hair, pinning back the front pieces with the kind of precision you’ve long perfected.

So cute!!

“Oh Y/n, you look so good!” Ochako gushes, her eyes wide and sparkling as she clasps her hands together. Your cheeks flush at the attention, feeling the heat rise as if all the energy of the room is focused solely on you. The sheer amount of social interaction today has already left you feeling a little winded, but you force a smile, the best one you can muster.

“Thanks, Ochako,” you reply, gesturing to her newly upgraded bodysuit in black and pink. “You look great, too.”

In fact, everyone looks great. It’s surreal, really.

To think back to when you all first started, and now, seeing how much you've all grown—both in your abilities and in how you carry yourselves. It’s a strange feeling, being a part of it all, like you’re watching the shift from the sidelines rather than standing in the middle of it.

The sudden memory of Aizawa’s emphasis on “15 minutes” jolts you back to the present.

With a quiet shuffle, the girls make their way out into the arena where the rest of your classmates stand. You settle yourself on the outskirts of the group, perching on one of the benches, the space around you familiar and comforting. You’re content to just observe this time, no pressure to dive into conversation.

It’s easier this way, you think, as no one pays you any mind. Your eyes wander over to Bakugou, who, unsurprisingly, is at the center of the chaos.

He’s snapping at Kirishima, his fiery temper on full display—but you couldn’t care less about the words exchanged. What draws you in again is the way his costume fits him, perfectly tailored to his frame, an expression of his raw power.

God, he looks good.

Before you can let your mind wander any further, Aizawa’s voice slices through the air, snapping everyone’s attention back to him.

“Alright, guys, let’s start,” he announces, his tone calm but commanding, as usual, a checklist in hand. “Here’s what we’re gonna do.”

You focus, brow furrowing slightly as you listen to the rules. Capture the flag? Sounds easy enough, right?

The rules are simple: whoever holds the flag is considered the villain, and the team tasked with capturing it are the heroes. Straightforward.

But then, the teams are announced—randomized, of course—and before you know it, there’s a bright yellow flag strapped to your waist. And just like that, you’re the villain.

The weight of the flag feels less like an accessory and more like a target now. Great. It’s fine! You can handle it. Your quirk’s flashy and not the best for stealth, but you’ve worked with it before. No problem.

You straighten up, waiting for Aizawa to announce your opponent. You can practically feel the tension building as the seconds stretch on.

“Bakugou Katsuki. Hero.”

What?

Suddenly, it feels like the world stops spinning for a moment. You’re hyper-aware of the eyes on you and Bakugou, feeling the weight of everyone’s gaze fall between the two of you, curiosity in the air. Mostly because, well...

You and Bakugou had literally never been paired together for anything in the three years you’ve spent together at U.A.

It sounds odd, but despite being in many different classes, projects, and assignments together, it’s never happened. Not once.

And now, here you are. Your first time being paired with him. Oh god.

You can feel your heartbeat in your throat as you look over at him, unable to stop yourself. Your breath catches when you realize his red eyes are already locked on you.

His hero mask rests casually on his forehead, pushing back the messy platinum strands of his hair, only adding to his beautiful face. His expression is neutral—almost indifferent—but in your eyes, it only makes him look more dangerous.

You swallow hard, and your pulse spikes.

Bakugou Katsuki... is going to try and catch your flag?

Your hand naturally falls on the flag tied to your waist line, holding it to you, and you don't miss how his sharp eyes follow the movement.

Why, of all times, does your face suddenly feel like it’s on fire? Your heart races in your chest, and you can’t tell if it’s from fear or something else entirely. Oh god, help you. You’re in trouble

⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖°⋆˚✿˖

[sttm99]

Bakugo falling for a 'popular' girl.

Sometimes Bakugo felt stupid for falling for you. Not that there was anything wrong with you, or that you weren't up to standard. Quite the opposite. Quite frankly, you were out of his league.

You were one of those crazy pretty Management Course girls that had boys and even girls falling at your feet. You were so used to being hit on and flirted with, it was like you were desensitised to it.

He'd held open the cafeteria doors for you one afternoon, much to the amazement of his friends. They gawked as he stood near the door, holding it open for you and one of your friends, and instead of receiving some blushy words of appreciation, you just muttered a dismissive thanks and walked through without sparing him a glance.

He stood there for the next few minutes, fists clenched by his side, head turned down with wide eyes and red cheeks, whilst Kirishima, Kaminari and Sero guffawed.

Then he looked back up in your direction, and watched as some random boy literally ran over to pull out your seat for you, and another had even gone to get your food tray so you wouldn't have to.

He paused.

Was that what he was competing with?

How would you ever notice him if every other boy in school practically worshipped the ground you walked on?

He began brainstorming, with the help of Kaminari, because he was considered to be the more romantic one of his friends.

"You just keep proving why I was right to call you Dunce Face!" Bakugo yelled at his blonde friend, cursing at and dismissing every single idea he'd been given.

"I think Kami's actually got some good stuff, Bakugo. You're just picky." Sero defended.

But of course Bakugo was picky. This was you! He'd watched you, studied you, despite how creepy that sounded. He knew the things you'd scoff at and scorn, and he knew the things you wouldn't even bat an eyelash at.

"You're all idiots!" He yelled at them and stalked over to his room, slamming his door shut behind him and pacing the space.

It was later that evening, that Kirishima had pulled him aside and told him to just be forward with you.

"Just go talk to her. Like, actually talk. Not opening the door, or pulling out her chair and expecting her to fall at your feet. It doesn't work that way."

Bakugo contemplated it, turned the idea over and over in his head. He nodded at Kirishima's words, deciding that would be what he would do.

He wasn't some blushy boy that couldn't get any words out once in your presence, and he wasn't some entitled brat that thought he deserved your favour for doing the bare minimum.

He was better than all those idiots. And he'd show that.

The next day at school, he caught you on your way to lunch, stopping you and asking for your time.

"Sorry," you began, your pretty, fake smile making its way to your lips as you looked at him. "But I'm really in a hurry right now. Maybe later?" You said softly.

He knew that wasn't true. It was a tactic you used, the same sequence of words you gave all the boys so as to avoid stupid confessions like his.

But he was better than them.... he'd show you.

"Please," he said, resisting the urge to bite at his lips at how uncharacteristic of him this was. "I just- I want to ask you something."

You sighed softly, looking at the girls by your side and urging them to walk forward. They did, but not before offering Bakugo sympathetic smiles, as though they knew you'd reject him, as though they knew he'd come out of the conversation with a broken heart.

"What is it?" You said to him, one hand on your hip and your weight on one leg. "I really don't want to miss lun-"

"One date." He blurted out quickly, wanting to go through with it before any nerves caught up with him. He wasn't used to this; asking girls out, flirting, courting. He'd never participated in the stupid, juvenile acts of romance with his peers, when everyone was just realising that the opposite sex wasn't all that disgusting.

He didn't know how to do this, but he wanted you, badly.

"A date, huh?" You said with a slight smirk, pushing away the strands of hair that had fallen over your forehead.

You could admit the blonde haired boy standing before you was attractive, very much so; with wide shoulders and bulky arms, and a sharp jaw and intense red eyes.

That, and he was Katsuki Bakugo. A student notorious for his refusal to indulge in romance with his peers, considering himself above it, and finding the whole ordeal to be a distraction from his goals. That driven, obtuse boy was standing here asking you for a date.

It swelled your ego just a bit.

He nodded. "One date. I-"

"You do realise that you asking me for a date doesn't exactly make you stand out from all the other boys." You cut him off with bored eyes.

He almost gapes at you.

"They all do this, ask me out cause they think they're better, or different from the ones that hold the door and pull out my chair. I reject them. All of them. Why shouldn't I reject you, Bakugo?" You ask.

He steels his resolve, taking a step to you, almost dwarfing you in his height and mass. He's big, and he knows it.

"You know my name. Do you know the names of those shitty idiots that drool over you?" He raised a brow.

You scoffed. "Even if-"

"You should know that I'm never one to play games. I don't believe in wasting my time. I want to spend it with you..., because I like you. Even if I don't know you all that much, Yn. One date. Let me prove it. That I'm worth it."

You stayed silent for a moment, a little smile tilting your lips upwards. "A restaurant date... cause you're making me late for lunch. So the good stuff will be gone."

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and throaty. "I'll give you anything you want, Yn."

You smiled at that. "Really?" You teased.

He took another step to you. You could smell his cologne now, could see some of the little blemishes on his pale skin.

"I'll give you everything. Whatever you desire."

You nodded smugly. "I like that. Good."

"So...?"

"When's the day?" You smiled up at him coyly.

"Saturday. I'll pick you up at 8?"

You nodded. "Alright then. See you Saturday, Bakugo." You offered him a small wave as you walked past him, making your way into the cafeteria.

[queenk00k]

cupid's lead arrows // rafe cameron

Requested by anon

Request: Hi girl I love your writing 🫶🏻 Can you write about Rafe, who has been Reader’s best friend forever, but secretly has a crush on her? One day, Reader confesses that she’s dating someone, and Rafe does everything he can to break them up.

Summary: You finally get a boyfriend but something, or someone, seems intent on keeping you apart.

Word count: 1.8k

Includes: This is literally all angst sorry

Note: My first Outer Banks fic in over 4 years lol please be kind! I got a little carried away...this lends itself to a part 2, if anyone likes it.

It’s not always a walk in the park when you’re Rafe Cameron’s best friend.

You’ve been inseparable since the first day of high school when you got paired together for a semester long project. Study sessions in the library (well, you would study, and Rafe would flirt with the cute library monitor) turned into after school hangouts at Tannyhill, which turned into hosting parties and heading to college together.

Did you ever have a crush on your best friend? Well fuck, have you seen him?

Not only is he gorgeous but you got to experience a whole different side of Rafe that not everyone got to see, the sweet side – loyal, caring, and pretty soft behind the scenes.

You spent years pining after Rafe, silently and stoically of course, never wanting to ruin your friendship by letting him know how you felt. You figured it was for the best and besides, you had lived through enough of Rafe’s girlfriends to know you weren’t ever going to be his type.

You’ve seen each other’s highest highs and lowest lows which, unfortunately for you both, Rafe seemed to have more than his fair share of. Much to the disappointment of your parents and the shock of your friends, you stuck by Rafe’s side through his drug addiction and his drinking problems and were there to pick up the pieces after his father died. Rafe, in turn, had your back when you had blow up fights with your mother and comforted you when you had problems with your friends.

Now, two years out of college and with Rafe mostly sober, you didn’t think there was anything you two couldn’t handle, nothing you couldn’t face together, nothing that could ever come between you.

Until you started dating Parker.

Rafe seemed happy for you when you first told him, hugging you and telling you he was proud of you for “finally getting some.” He was nice to Parker (by Rafe’s standards, which really meant not going out of his way to intimidate the guy) when you brought him to the beach and introduced them.

But as the weeks went by, you noticed a subtle shift in Rafe’s behaviour. You kept telling yourself you were being paranoid, that there’s no way Rafe could have an issue with Parker. He told you he was happy for you, right? And unlike the last potential boyfriends, Rafe didn’t try to scare him off.

But something was off.

You noticed Rafe was falling back into old habits that scared you. He was drinking more, often double parked at parties, and either loud and belligerent or sulking on his own in a corner.

And then then the incidents began. At first you just thought it was shit luck, but then it just started to feel like the universe was conspiring against you and Parker.

Turns out Rafe was conspiring against you and Parker.

It started when Parker seemingly ghosted you on one of your Friday night dates, leaving you alone and upset at the wharf before Rafe picked you up. Parker swore he had car issues, both his front tires punctured, and you figured that was a reasonable excuse.

Then the night of the annual bonfire, a harmless game of ‘never have I ever’ turned sour when Rafe and Topper kept coming up with the most oddly specific scenarios. Each of them left Parker putting down his fingers, looking sheepishly over at you as your cheeks turned red from embarrassment before you got up and left the circle, Rafe raising a beer bottle to his lips as he watched you intently. He followed after you that night and you melted into his arms, naïvely assuming your best friend was comforting you without an ulterior motive.

And now the worst of all – Topper had cornered you as you were leaving the driving range to ask if you knew Parker was spending time with his ex, and you finally snapped.

“Where did you hear this, Topper? Who told you?”

And because Topper was, above all, really just spineless, you got the answer out of him straight away.

Rafe. At the scene of the crime, three times in a row. What a fucking coincidence.

So, you decided you’d had enough of this bullshit, of Rafe playing games with your relationship, and you drove over to his house, marched up to his front door and banged on it with your fist until he finally opened up.

“Y/N!” he said, looking genuinely excited to see you. “What are you doing here?”

You took a deep breath, willing yourself not to lose your shit just yet, not to get angry until you actually knew the truth.

“Do you like Parker? Do you want me to be with him?”

Rafe blinked at you, his blue eyes narrowing in confusion.

“What? I don’t-”

“Tell me the truth,” you cut in. “I want to hear you say it.”

Rafe stepped over the threshold and gently closed the door behind him, clearing his throat before he answered.

“No. I don���t, and I want you to break up with him,” he said, folding his arms.

You huffed out a humourless laugh.

“Right, well, that’s not going to happen. Thanks a lot,” you say, willing yourself not to cry as you turn around and walk away from your best friend.

“Y/N, please come back. I have my reasons!” Rafe raises his voice as he calls out to you.

“Why do you care so much? Is this some fake chivalrous ‘if I can’t have you, no one can’ bullshit? Just leave me alone, Rafe.” You say as you clamber down the front steps and start walking to your car.

“Because I love you, alright?!” Rafe shouts after you.

You stop, the righteous anger you were feeling only moments before threatening to dissipate into the humid night air. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply before turning around to face your best friend.

Rafe’s breathing heavily, running his hand over his head as if to erase what he just said.

“Fuck,” he hisses, his ring glinting in the moonlight as he chews on his thumb, looking pleadingly at you, willing you to say something, anything. The silence between you feels heavy as your mind races. He’s said it before of course, but it’s usually in jest, or after you help him with something. This feels different, and you know better than to assume it’s not.

“Rafe,” you say, fighting to keep your voice steady. “What are you doing?” You watch him warily as he takes a hesitant step towards you.

“I love you. I’m serious. More than best friends, more than anything we’ve been in the past. I love you and I…I can’t stand to see you with someone else. I can’t let it happen.”

“You have no right-”

“He’s not a good guy, y/n!” Rafe raises his voice again, making you flinch slightly. You scoff at his words, throwing him an incredulous glare.

“Like you can talk, Rafe. I know you – more than anyone else. You’re not exactly in a position to be telling me who’s good for me or not,” you snap.

Rafe huffs, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Yeah, you got me. I’m not perfect, fine, but I know you and I know you shouldn’t be with Parker. That’s why I-” Rafe stops abruptly, his mouth twisting.

You step closer to him, closing the gap between you. “That’s why you what, Rafe?” Your heart pounds and you’re sure you’re about to have your suspicions confirmed. When Rafe stands there, dumbstruck and silent, you answer for him.

“You’re the one who started that rumour about Parker and his ex, aren’t you?”

Rafe’s silence tells you everything you need to know. You shake your head, not quite believing that your best friend would try and sabotage your relationship like this.

“And the bonfire? That was on purpose, wasn’t it? You got some dirt on Parker and wanted me to know about it.”

Rafe winced. “Well, Topper helped with that one. But seriously, this is all for your own good. I’m trying to protect you!”

You hold your hand up. “Stop. Just stop. How could you do this? Why would you try and break us up like this, just because you’re jealous? Why can’t you just let me be happy? Not to mention, you’ve been hurting me, Rafe! You’re not just hurting Parker; you’re destroying me in the process.”

You’re crying now, feeling betrayed. You had barely noticed but it had started to rain, the droplets mixing with your tears to run mascara down your cheeks. Rafe has the audacity to look concerned and regretful, to move as if to hug you and you shake his arm off before jabbing your index finger into his chest.

“You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, Rafe. You had your chance! For years! Just because you’ve finally fucking woken up doesn’t mean you get to ruin my happiness. And now this bullshit about Parker’s family? That’s low, even for you,” you spit, the brief warmth you felt when Rafe told you he loved you now completely cold.

Rafe shook his head. “No, no, you don’t get it! That’s all true! They’re shady fucking people and God, that’s coming from a Cameron. You can’t get caught up in their mess,” he pleads.

“You must be out of your goddamn mind if you think I’m going to believe you now! Why should I?” you yell before spinning on your heel and stalking down the driveway to your car, being careful to not slip on the pavement.

“Y/N, wait!” Rafe calls and he catches up to you in two long strides, grabbing your wrist with his large hand. His white button-down shirt was almost transparent now and the rain was running in rivers off his nose as he looked down at you.

“Please,” he begs. “Come inside. Let me explain. I love you, y/n, please,” Rafe looks desperate, and you almost pity him before you snap back to reality and remember why you’re so angry.

“I’m going to my boyfriend’s house,” you snarl, tugging your wrist out of his grip. “And if you follow me Rafe, I swear to God, I will never speak to you again.”

With that, you yank open your car door and put the keys in the ignition with shaking hands.

“FUCK!”

As you pull away, you can hear Rafe yelling your name.

You don’t even look in the rearview mirror as you turn out of his street, tires squealing.

[kyunniebuns]

˗ˏˋ Entry : 049 - Lover! Jinwoo x Fem! Reader: Trichotillomania ♡ ˎˊ

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

[ Trichotillomania: Repeated hair pulling habits from stress, anxiety and depression. Do not engage with this fic if you are in a poor mental health state. Familial abuse. Physical abuse. Body Dysmorphia. Depression. Suicidal Ideation. Trichotillomania can be considered as a form of self harm. Other variations of self-harm is in heavy description. Ends in fluff ]

╰┈➤ ❝ [ Just Somewhere to Hide. Just somewhere. Anywhere. ] ¡! ❞

The only thing that's stopping you from ending things right now is that there is a lack of a knife present in your hands.

The kitchen is just a few steps away. Just one thrust into your heart and it's off to the comfortable embrace of death itself.

But you can't risk that, there's no spot in this godforsaken house you're imprisoned in for a peaceful death. Every corner of the walls around you is a death sentence to invite panic attacks in.

Why can't everyone just shut up and leave you be?

It's not like it's your fault you can't get into fucking college because of the tuition fee. Aren't you saving everyone's fucking wallets from that bullshit?

No one should give a fuck about your lack of education, you can enroll by the time the expenses die down.

You shouldn't have been here in the first place anyway. If it weren't for that single night you wouldn't be born.

But ah, life has a wonderful way of fucking up everything.

You grew pampered, with food served to you in rich flavors and huge amounts. You're thankful for that, you're thankful for the lovely childhood.

Oh how you wish to go back to those days.

But do you really?

Childhood may have been lovely but underneath all the glitters and rainbows were belts and hangers and brooms used to discipline you?

Can't spell a word right?

A smack from a fist.

Can't do your math right?

A smack from a hanger.

Can't translate between two languages fast enough?

A smack from the wood of a broom.

Can't do an essay right?

A smack with a belt.

Maybe childhood isn't lovely either.

Where was the place that you could hide yourself away? School.

Yes.

As much as you hated that place for all it's shitty standards it was a safe place. At least there you can pretend, at least there you can have some form of isolation even if you're being bullied and mocked for how you look and your voice sounds.

It's fine that you undergo discrimination and bullying, at least they're not swinging belts and brooms at you. It's just them destroying your self-esteem.

Not like you have any to begin with thanks to your parents who were even more brutal about your appearance that you now have body dysmorphia on tip of depression and anxiety.

Even if school is a place where teachers normalize humiliating students shamelessly for basic wrongdoings that can be corrected with simple warnings.

Even though that place is full of people who only respect you when they need something out of you, even if that place is a paradise for the pretty girls and a hell for those who don't fit the beauty standard— That place felt safer than anywhere else.

All your life you've never been given privacy because of your privilege. You're luckier than your cousins who have it harder, so be thankful.

But at one point you started wishing for your places to be switched. It's fine that you eat food that is burnt and poorly cooked, it's fine that you have to eat shitty food.

If it meant you can have a little more breather instead of getting anxious that you might have done something to earn the belt— It's fine.

You'd rather starve than anything else.

At some point in your life you started to pull your hair out. It started from a few strands. But all of the sudden there are clumps of hair gathered on the floors.

What did you get instead of receiving help?

A beating.

That's right, a beating.

You got your hair yanked, pinned to the floor, and slapped repeatedly on your helpless situation. When your aggressor was pried off of you— You got kicked on your already helpless situation.

In the end who is the one who asks for forgiveness and gaslit that you being pinned down and slapped is justifiable? You.

You.

The helpless you.

The you who isn't allowed to voice your feelings out so you grew to not know how to tell anyone what you really feel, even to the point that you feared telling your feelings is what will doom you into irreversible damage.

You feared your own emotions.

You feared everything you should have been allowed to fear from the years of abuse. The fear bedded into your soul.

Did you want help?

YES.

Fuck yes you did.

What happened instead? You are guilt-tripped into saying no that you don't need a psychiatrist despite the fact you have major social anxiety, severe trichotillomania and heck— You even cut yourself when you can.

Nothing.

Nothing could help you.

Everything is a prison and you yourself are rotten from the inside out.

No one wanted to help you.

Your family?

Right.

They only fucking insist on caring because the image of a severely mentally ill daughter is bad for their image.

Nobody really cared.

Nobody did.

Even if you cry your heart out nobody could help you.

Nobody wanted to help.

No one.

There's no one there.

Not here.

Not there.

Not anywhere.

You're all alone.

In this vast world that you try to paint into a pretty picture in your head— Not one soul wanted to help you.

The embrace of death seems all the more enticing now that you really think about it.

Why fear it?

Death gives you mercy from the agony of living.

Atleast if you're dead— No one ans nothing can hurt you.

You can sleep all you want while your body rots from six feet under.

You've always been rotten anyway.

Dying won't be any different.

Life always ends in slumber, it's about time for you to dream.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

"My liege!" Beru's panicked voice yells out for his master, instantly jolting Jinwoo awake from his small nap after playing a few rounds after homework. "The empress— She's unwell!"

"Exchange"

The command slipped out of Jinwoo's lips in an instant. He knew what was happening.

Even if he doesn't know the full story of what you've been through— He knew the situation is bad as he feels Beru's heightened anxiety.

Jinwoo can technically peer into your memories and see for himself what really happens. But he didn't. He wanted you to tell him what happened in the years you grew up. He wanted you to tell him what pushed you to whatever the hell happened to you today.

He knew about your destructive habits. It was the result of bottling up your emotions for so long that it created a ticking time bomb that will burst at any moment should the right trigger be pulled.

And when Jinwoo finally materializes from the abyss-like wisps of shadows— He would find himself face to face with your figure staring out at the cityscape as you stand on the ledge.

"Stop, wait!" Jinwoo panics, breaking into sweat when he saw you take a stop.

He yanked your arm back in an instant, letting your back crash against his chest. Jinwoo held you firmly as you thrashed and screamed in his hold.

But ah, his strong arms will not let you go.

He refuses to let go. Knowing the moment he does you will take flight and descend to your demise. Still he was hyper aware of his strength, if he so ever squeeze too much and he might kill you.

As you stretched your palm out to yearn for the ledge— Jinwoo uses his to grab hold of yours and pull it back.

"That's not something you should longing for" Jinwoo says, his voice trembling as he uses his other hand to cover your eyes so you wont see it anymore. "A leap of faith is not what you need."

You kept thrashing in his hold, cursing Jinwoo out for daring to interrupt your final farewell.

But soon he would lift his palm up from your eyes.

As your eyesight adjusts back to the waking world— You find yourself no longer on top of the building you were in a second ago.

Instead in front of you is a vast field of grass with blooming flowers swaying back and forth along with the gentle breeze blowing your way.

Once Jinwoo could tell that you're no longer agitated, his hold becomes gentle, and instead he would just hug you from behind as you both sat on the grass.

Your breath was completely taken away by how pretty the sight is. Every single dark thought you had in your little head is instantly washed away by the peaceful and beautiful sight.

The sky itself is majestic, with full and fluffy clouds drifting about and even the stars blinking so prettily along with a meteor shower.

While your gaze is distracted by everything else, Jinwoo's eyes are on you. He could see another bald spot on your head from your hair plucking habits. At the center of it was a huge gaping wound fresh and still bleeding. He blows on it gently, the wound closing instantly and your strands growing back anew as if nothing ever happened in the first place.

"Better?" He finally asks as he nuzzles the side of your head.

"Mhm." You weakly nod, too distracted to really talk properly.

"I know, I know that I can't tell you that everything will get better" Jinwoo holds you softly, holding you tighter. "It'll be stupid for me to try and tell you about rainbows and whatnot."

"..."

"But if you want to run away, if you want to be somewhere far away like this. Just tell me. Don't go hurting yourself, don't think about leaving this world" He goes on.

You can't see him directly, but you knew by the tremble of his voice that he must be crying. And yet Jinwoo pretends to be strong. The one who needs comfort is not him, but you.

"When the world is too cruel on you, when everything is just too painful for your, when you just want to cry— Turn to me." Jinwoo said, no— He was pleading you. "I'll take you here. Just you and me. Just us."

A place of solace.

A paradise for both of you.

A place where no one can hit you, no one can yell at you, a place where you can let your guard down.

The thought of that caused you to break into tears. You wanted to tell him what you feel. What you think. What happened and why you're like this. But instead you only sob.

You can only cry your sorry little heart out, you let out all the screams and tears you've been hiding because you will be guilt-tripped for having emotions. For being weak.

Yet this man wasn't doing any of that. Instead he was rubbing your back as if he understood what you were trying to tell him in your tears.

You don't have to hurt yourself. Not as long as he's here. If it's a hero you need then he will be your saviour. Jinwoo wants to show you that you are loved.

If not by the world, then by him.

He will love you, more than he has now.

The world is beautiful, and you have unfortunately been too exposed to the ugliness of everything. So he will be your beacon of light.

He'll hold your hand and show you everything that should have been shown to you in the first place. He'll pamper you to the point that you'll forget your destructive habits.

After all, those came to life because of your environment.

In the hellhole that you are imprisoned in, he'll pull you out to take you home. A home for you and him.

꒰ 🪼 A/N: What a way to start my Lover series hahah. I just needed this fic so bad so I'm sorry for introducing my new series like this. If you are in need of professional help please reach out immediately should you are able to. Please don't bottle up your emotions. You're only hurting yourself. If you are unable to reach out to therapists then please talk to your friends or close people for comfort. ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[averyfuckingtiredyounglady]

What kind of crush would SKZ be??

Ot8 x gn reader

This is like what vibe they give off to me/scenarios i can imagine them in

-Finished ver-

(Wow no smut this time)

BANG CHAN

close but not close enough

Chan is someone you always saw around. You lived in the same neighborhood and rode the school bus together. However, he was two years older than you and you never took classes with him or had much reason to talk to him at all but boy did you have a big fat stinking crush on him. You just did. If all he did was look your way or if he GREETED you?? It was the highlight of your day. Once he gave you back a pencil that you dropped.. you had kept it since.. Eventually chan ended up moving away and you never saw him again, you soon forgot about your little crush… until he came back home to visit…

LEE KNOW

classmate crush

Minho sits in front of you in class. He pretty much keeps to himself and he has a small group of friends. He’s known to have a dry personality but you cant help but notice his cute little quirks. His phone case with the pictures of his cats, the ugly face hes always doodling in his notebook and passing in notes to his friends. You dont have any friends in this class so you dont have anything better to do but stare at his back just wanting to reach out and tap him on the shoulder and say hi.. or anything… but something makes you feel like itll be too awkward so you never do. Miraculously, one day in the hall you hear him from behind you whisper yelling your name “hey! Y/n!” But when you turn to face him you notice hes unable to meet your eyes. “Hey umm.. i dont know if anyone else told you, but… you have toilet paper stuck to your shoe.”

CHANGBIN

the already taken

Changbin is your friend’s boyfriend… and you like him a lot… like.. a lot a lot.. Oops. Well… YOU LIKED HIM FIRST.. but he liked her more… at least you’re pretty sure he does. You never told anyone about your little crush so you can’t blame anyone but yourself. So whenever you see them kissing, holding hands, or, lord help you, whenever youre third wheeling while hanging out with them, you want to beat yourself unconscious with the nearest heavy object.

HYUNJIN

Love at first sight, beautiful stranger

On any standard day at work you come across some attractive people of course, but sometimes you see someone and it just… hits different. And you CANT stop staring at this one customer… like what the fuck?? They make em like this??? Holy shit… and you know youre staring but youre like… in shock.. he clearly just came from working out or something because he has a light sheen of sweat.. he just looks kinda wet… all over… but its hot??? You watch him disappear into one aisle after the next while hes doing his shopping and suddenly youre imagining your first date. Youre checking out the customer in front of you but youre still thinking about him… by the time youve married him in your imagination, hes finished shopping and coming toward the registers and youre holding your breath thinking “please dont come to me. Please dont come to me.. pleeeasse dont fucking come to my fucking register!!!” Aaaanndd there he is.

Han

Friendzoned

Han Jisung is so full of shit… he won’t date you because you’re “too good for him”. What a crock of horse shit… You wish you’d never confessed and right now you’re at a restaurant and he’s talking to you about god knows what. You see his mouth moving but you’re consumed with your thoughts, replaying the conversation in your head when he friendzoned you like its a fucking snuff film… and what in god’s name is he yapping on about? “Y/N! Are you listening? Can i have some of your fries?”

FELIX

Childhood friend

Everyone loves Felix.. That’s what you tell yourself. Your feelings are normal. The feeling that you would kill to see him smile… Come oooon. Its Felix. Who wouldnt??? Yeah, you get angry when you see him getting close to other friends and yeah you don’t like sharing his company with anyone else.. You’ve known him practically since birth. Being with Felix is like returning home. If nostalgia was a person. it’s only natural to have an attachment right? You know him better than anyone else and nothing can threaten the bond you two have. Yep. You and Felix are just a couple of BFFs. Nothing less… nothing more.

Seungmin

Dense crush

You and Seungmin are in the same department at work. You started as juniors at the company hired around the same time. He started a little before you, helping you with some of the knowledge that he himself had just learned. You were nervous to start a new job and honestly a bit intimidated by the whole thing but Seungmin made all that so much easier.. he was so respectful and hard working and helped you more than he needed to. The way he buttoned his shirt all the way to the top and hid his smile when he laughed was so cute to you.. and you admired that he was such a perfectionist with his work and before you knew it… you had a work crush. You tried dropping hints. You tried complimenting him on his work which you felt he would especially like. But he kinda just nodded at you. You noticed when he got a haircut and told him it looked nice. You put extra effort in your clothes and hair enough to be noticed but not to be obvious and skipped your lunch break like he usually does a few times just to be in the office alone with him… You really should stop the games and just be more direct but WHAT MORE DOES HE WANT FROM YOU? Youre just a girl for Pete’s sake. When all else fails, you start to put your master plan together when you and Seungmin get put on a work project together.

I.N

Too young for me… but?

🎶 You saaayy it’s because of my age, girl. But, age ain’t nothin but a numbeeerrr. It ain’t nothin but a nuuummbbeerr, babyyyyy 🎶

It’s easy to sing along to these lyrics in a song that have nothing to do with you at all.. and thats what you were doing, quietly singing to yourself when you were out on your early morning walk in the park and happened upon a young gentleman, a rather young gentleman, jogging on the same trail. He gives you a respectful nod as he goes by. You let your eyes linger on him for longer than they should have. Why not? It’s free! He had on some running shorts too…Woo chile! If you were his age…he just don’t know… You shake your head at yourself and huff out a quiet chuckle, picking up your pace. You meet each other again and again as you both make your laps. At one point you see him taking a break, bent over with his hands on his hips, chest heaving up and down, trying to catch his breath, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. You started to get some inappropriate thoughts and you decided you might as well go home. Acting like an old pervert is not how you wanted to start your day. As you’re changing out of your tennis shoes and chucking them in your back seat you feel a tap on your shoulder. You jump a bit because you didn’t know anyone was there and remove your headphones. It’s him. Of course it is. He has a shy smile.

“Sorry ma’am. I didn’t want to bother you earlier while you were, ya know, busy, but… you’re really beautiful and—“

You start to chuckle softly.

“That’s sweet but you just called ma’am. I’m way too old for you, dude.”

“Oh. Sorry. It’s just a habit. I mean, I can tell you’re older but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Oh? Is that right?” You taunt.

You squint your eyes at him, reading his expression… what is wrong with this young man? Oh, what the hell? What’s the worse that could happen?

[batmanlovesnirvana]

| BATTINSON HEADCANONS ! 🦇

A/N : old post from two years ago, but I’ve changed and added a few things since then

my boy is awkward as hell, but somehow, not at all—it really just depends on who he’s with and the vibe of the moment

sassy when he feels like it, but most of the time? he’s a total nonverbal enigma—half the time, all you’re getting are grunts and the occasional raised eyebrow

specially if you’re still just a stranger to him, or even just a friend

he’s ridiculously stubborn—dug-in-heels, won’t-budge-an-inch stubborn. and, of course, he inherited every ounce of it from his darling mama...

had a Star Wars phase when he was 9

he could’ve talked to you all day back then if you’d asked—about every character, every layer they had, his favorite, and why

I think his fave would’ve prob be Luke

but secretly, he’d have a soft spot for Darth Vader too—not for the evil he represents, but for the complexity of his character

he was definitely spoiled—lived the life of a prince, no doubt about it. but his parents made sure to keep him grounded, always lecturing him to be thankful for what he had and to value everything, no matter how small

he’s the last person to complain about anything, especially when it comes to material stuff

If your apartment’s not exactly perfect or if you don’t have all the fancy things, don’t feel embarrassed—he couldn’t care less about that

Bruce isn’t the type to judge people for their circumstances

what matters to him is who you are, not what you have

he traveled a lot and saw poverty up close. he didn’t just witness it; he experienced it and used it as a way to train and push himself

so I think he’d insist that you don’t let his wealth define you or make you feel small. he’d want you to focus on who you are, not what he has

but he’s still a billionaire

and sometimes it shows

Like if he takes you somewhere, he might be like,

“That place wasn’t good, not what I wanted for you, their steak was too dry”

or “The service was way below expectations.”

it’s not that he’s trying to flex, but his standards have been shaped by a life of luxury and privilege.

even if he doesn’t mean to, it can come off like he’s out of touch with the more everyday experiences.

listen, I’m pretty sure he was that kid in middle school—the one everyone liked. Popular, friendly, Shy, and effortlessly cool, he had a ton of friends and was the kind of person people just gravitated toward

but deep down, he was still an introvert at heart. No matter how many friends he had or how much people loved being around him, he always cherished his alone time—it was his way of recharging

probably teacher favorite

after his parents were murdered, he retreated into himself, becoming a loner—a shadow of the person he once was. the bright, sociable kid who could light up a room disappeared, leaving behind a quiet, guarded shell

he shut everyone out—his friends, his teachers, anyone who tried to reach him.

communication felt impossible, like talking to a wall ready to crumble at the slightest touch. he became volatile, quick to anger and prone to violent outbursts.

the smallest thing could set him off and it was clear he was battling demons far too heavy for a child to carry

he was always getting into fights at school, over the most ridiculous things—someone looking at him the wrong way, a comment that barely made sense, or a passing remark. it didn’t matter how trivial; he’d snap.

it was like he was itching for a reason to lash out, just to feel something other than the numbness that haunted him

alfred was absolutely fed up every time the school would call. It was the same routine—another fight, another complaint.

his patience was wearing thin but he never showed it.

he’d just sigh, straighten his tie, and head to pick Bruce up, trying to stay calm while his mind was racing with how much things had changed

alfred probably thought about quitting a dozen times, especially during those rough moments. he was already carrying the weight of guilt over Thomas and Martha’s deaths, feeling like he’d failed them in some way.

but even through his exhaustion, he couldn’t walk away.

he simply couldn’t abandon Bruce, not when his parents had entrusted him with their son’s care, not when the boy was falling apart.

bc alfred knew that no matter how hard it got, he had to stay—because Bruce needed him, even if he didn’t always show it.

it’s pretty clear that Bruce really doesn’t have time for small talk.

that man goes straight to the point, no beating around the bush. sometimes, it’s like he forgets there’s a filter between his brain and his mouth—so he comes off way too blunt.

but, honestly, he just doesn’t see the need to waste time on unnecessary pleasantries.

if he’s got something to say, he’s saying it, no fluff.

Bruce absolutely loves car races (it's actually canon in the prequel book)

he’s got that need for speed, and nothing gets his adrenaline pumping like watching or being part of a high-stakes race.

it’s not just about the cars; it’s the whole atmosphere, the precision, the thrill of it all.

you can tell he’s got a real passion for it—just one of those things he doesn’t talk about much bc he rarely even talks that is

and so, naturally, he’s got a huge interest in F1

He’s got a serious passion for mechanics too—like, borderline obsession

favorite car is, without a doubt, his grandfather's Corvette (the one that makes an appearance in that iconic funeral scene)

another phase he went through during his late teens—but never really left—was his obsession with Nirvana

It hit him so hard that he even picked up an electric guitar because of it.

spending hours alone in his room trying to replicate their sound, teaching himself riffs from songs like “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and “Lithium.”

it became an outlet for him, a way to channel his emotions without having to say a word

he wasn’t looking to impress anyone or form a band—it was just for him, a way to lose himself in the music. over time, he got pretty good at it, though he’d never admit it

and I think music became another refuge for him, a way to escape the chaos in his head

overall, though, he was a massive fan of Nirvana and Kurt Cobain

did date as a teenager, but it was never anything too serious

his heart was always more focused on Gotham—on his plans, his ambitions, and the legacy he was determined to create

relationships were never a priority for him back then; it was always about the bigger picture, the city that needed saving, the work that needed to be done.

gotham was always at the forefront of his mind, and nothing, not even the most charming date, could truly distract him from his ultimate goal

honestly, I don’t think he’s even a virgin. or maybe he is—who knows? but the prequel book did mention he knew his way around women, so it’s safe to say he’s no stranger to that side of things

was a straight-A student without even breaking a sweat. it just came naturally to him

fave subject was chemistry

he looks a lot like his mother but you could definitely see his father in him too—kind of a perfect mix of both, like a living blend of their best features

he inherited his mother jawline and hair

and his father eyes and nose

was really close to his paternal grandparents

they passed away when he was only seven, so his memories of them are more like faint impressions. but looking at the pictures on the fireplace, you can tell just how much they meant to him

according to Alfred, it was his grandparents who chose his name

never really knew anything about his maternal grandparents, except that they were long gone before he was even born. it was just one of those things he never thought to ask about, something his mother never spoke much about. it was as if they were just figures in the past, distant and forgotten, not even a whisper of a memory for him to cling to

he’s got a ton of distant cousins, most of them living over in Europe, but honestly he doesn’t talk to a single one of them. it’s not like he cares to, either.

that's another reason why Alfred ended up with custody. with all those distant relatives, none of them really stepped up and Bruce wasn’t exactly close to them anyway.

alfred was the one who had always been there, so it just made sense

didn’t mind being an only son, but deep down, he used to beg his mom for a sibling

comfort smell? It’s his mom’s perfume—lavender mixed with a hint of lemon

and Alfred cookies ofc

Bruce’s go-to comfort clothing is his dad’s old Harvard sweater—it’s just cozy and familiar.

as a kid, he’d call his mom "Mummy" or "Mama" and his dad "Papa."

most of his suits? Hand-me-downs from his dad. He’s only got a few of his own.His favorite sport is soccer—don’t ask why; it just makes sense.

Bruce has always been fascinated by his family’s history.

his dad used to tell him all these stories about their ancestors, and Bruce would listen so intently, always begging for more.

sure, the library had books on it, but hearing the stories from his dad just hit different. his dad’s voice made it all feel personal and alive.

oh, and he’s canonically descended from English royalty

his mom was really into gardening.

she loved her plants, especially lilies of the valley and Bethlehem stars.

Lily of the valley: sweetness and purity of heart.

Bethlehem star: hope and happiness.

she used to say they reminded her of his dad and Bruce.

Martha was also super into art and fashion.

she painted and was basically a Gotham fashion icon

because of her, Bruce was always dressed to impress as a kid

his dad, though, was the total opposite. Thomas Wayne’s tie was always crooked, and he had zero fashion sense

Bruce remembers how every morning, his mom would fix his dad’s tie and scold him about it, but Thomas would just kiss her to shut her up

at work, his dad was all about scrubs, and at home, it was pajamas and a robe

Bruce sometimes wears his dad’s robe now—it’s comforting

when it comes to fashion, Bruce is totally his dad’s son

if Alfred didn’t step in, he’d probably look a mess.

his dad loved photography and books

Bruce remembers how his dad used to take photos of his mom and him all the time

the library is packed with pictures of his family—mostly his mom and little Bruce

his parents’ love for each other was something else, and Bruce secretly dreams of having something like that one day

and deep down, he’s a total romantic. he gets that from his dad

he’s already decided that if he ever gets married, he’ll propose with his mom’s ring

a diamond blue sapphire ring

Alfred used to sneak him sweets before dinner (classic Alfred move)

they played chess a lot, though Bruce never actually won

Dory, his mom’s maid, was one of the midwives when Bruce was born

she’s also the one who taught him how to cook, and yeah, Bruce knows how to cook ( the essential at least )

everyone says he’s a cat person, but honestly, I feel he's more like a dog person. It just fits.

part 2 ?

or should I do dating headcanons ?