#as someone who doesn't understand what anyone is saying unless they are facing me and speaking clearly

[kaija-rayne-author]

Do whatever you want, believe whatever you want. And using Veilguard as any sort of source for anything remotely related to canon Lore is just ridiculous. It's so... awful, IMHO, to use it to defend any sort of point.

I'm not certain if this would be considered critical, so I'll put it under a cut. Potentially critical of Veilguard.

Though I'm really just talking about the Lore.

I point out 4 massive retcons in Veilguard that blew my mind and that I see people commonly using as arguing points. And yes, if someone wants to pay me for the time, I can prove all of it with sources.

What little canon Lore they actually used in Veilguard? They twisted beyond recognition.

Just a few examples.

1. The blight is NOT, in fact, (or even in Veilguard) 'everywhere in the Fade'. It has always been contained to the Black City, that floats disconnected from everything else in the Fade. It's why the previously golden city is black ffs! Even in Veilguard, it's really damned obvious that the Fade isn't full of blight. We hop in and out of the Fade throughout the whole damned game like it's a shopping mall.

2. The Fade is not full of demons. Demons are spirits (people) of emotion. What usually twists them into demons is coming through the veil! The only reason there was the big demon in DAI is because it was attached to Coryphyfish. There's probably some, but it's an arguable point that an emotion spirit of, say, anger, or spite is actually a demon. Emotions aren't bad. They wouldn't automatically be demons simply because they reflect a negative emotion.

3. The veil has been canonically choking the life and magic out of Thedas for thousands of years. If the veil didn't come down, there would be no Thedas. This is clearly spelled out in canon. The veil was never meant to be part of the world. At the end of Trespasser, the veil is as holey as my grandmother's doilies. It's not as they tried to depict it in Veilguard, a firm, whole wall holding hordes of demons and the blight of blights back. That's such a bullshit retcon, and I make weird faces every time I try to figure out the mental gymnastics necessary for someone to come up with that idea.

4. It's also a massive retcon that Solas lies. (Sigh. Yes. It really is. No matter what you believe.) He canonically does not. They rewrote his character for DAI so that he doesn't lie because it weakened the character. He was originally written as much more similar to Blackwall. They decided it weakened Solas as a character and made sure he doesn't lie. He obfuscates, misleads, doesn't answer, and is really good at letting people make assumptions or even leading people to make assumptions. Because that is what a Trickster does! But in all of DAI and Trespasser, he does not lie except once. At the Winter Palace when you ask him where he got the experience of court. No. A 'lie of omission' is not a lie by the definition or philosophical understanding of what a lie is. You, as the player, not paying close attention to what he says doesn’t mean he lies either! He is not the 'god of lies'. That's Epler's hate shining through. Throughout 3 games, many dlcs, books, comics, short stories, the Dread Wolf is known as the Trickster. The god of rebellion and sometimes the god of betrayal. He is never once referred to as the god of lies in anything pre-veilguard. It's. Bullshit.

And Solas is an absolutely terrible liar. He stumbles all over himself trying to do it in the winter palace. It's hilarious tbh.

There were more retcons. But I need to go help with dinner.

Just, even if you liked Veilguard, don't use it as a defense in any sort of discussion of Lore. Perhaps listen to us Lore fiends, instead? Because they shat all over the Lore for Veilguard.

Real talk? It makes you look ignorant to anyone who actually has been paying attention to the Lore.

FWIW? I'm not in the best of moods right now. Please think twice, then a third time before responding/reblogging in disagreement. (Unless you're polite and actually have sources I haven't seen. I'm usually willing to have polite discussions or answer questions. I'm also willing to stand corrected if people actually can prove me wrong with sources attached. A 'nuhn unh, Solas lies cause I believe he does', won't get you far with me.) Nor will using anything from DAV to support an argument. I've relegated DAV to the graveyard of not-canon because of the complete disrespect of the Lore.

And I'll just laugh at you if you try to attack me. Internet randos filling my responses with shit doesn't phase me, bother me in the slightest, or make me upset. I find it incredibly, laugh out loud amusing because I've lived through so much more than that in my life.

[galionne-vibin]

Hiiiiii if you say something that I didn't understand and I ask you to repeat it, and you only repeat one word instead of the whole sentence, I will rip tear out your arteries with my teeth✨️❤️✨️

[wannaeatramyeon]

Your Adventures as the Lookismverse Designer

G/N. Run-ins with Burn Knuckles, Goddog, Allied and Big Deal. Masterlists

Being in the Fashion department, you had assumed your classmates had a passion for fashion. For god's sake, it's in the name.

But no, you're wrong.

Apart from using it as an excuse to wear designer brands from head to toe, no one really gave a shit.

No one cared about the history, about design, fabrication, construction.

No one... apart from you that is.

.

.

Your first client wasn't really someone you could say no to unless you had a death wish.

When the whole of the Architecture department shows up along with Vasco, their terrifying leader, you consider running off and screaming.

It was only Jace Park, who seemed to understand a more subtle approach and how intimidating they looked, that stopped you from wanting to flee to the teacher.

(Strange. You actually don't recall seeing your teacher for months.)

"Please," Jace murmurs to Vasco and he's practically begging. "You didn't need to turn up with everyone. Just leave this to me. Please."

If you didn't know better, you would think Vasco was giving him grateful puppy eyes. But that can't be right. He's a thug.

"Sorry," Jace turns to you, looking contrite and fiddling anxiously with his big ears when you're finally on your own. "Are you the Fashion Designer?"

It should have been a stupid question, considering you're in the Fashion Department.

Except you look around at the so-called boxer who pitifully simps after the brunette all day, the rich blonde kid who never talks to anyone, the other girl who is an aspiring streamer and you sigh to yourself.

"Yes, that's me."

.

.

All things considered, the Burn Knuckles are very easy to please.

It's a design printed on some pre-made boilersuits, not exactly avant garde.

You did touch up the logo though and provided some more clothing options than requested. Boilersuits in a small selection of colours, bomber and leather jackets.

When you hand over the boxes to Vasco and Jace, the latter shakes your hand and the former stares at you with tears in his eyes and asks how they can ever repay you.

You shrug. Because he did already pay you for your time and the materials.

"Don't worry about it." You say, giving him a polite grin.

Vasco beams and you think maybe this guy isn't so scary.

.

.

.

.

Somehow your reputation precedes you.

To be honest you didn't even realise you had any sort of reputation until a guy with a messy mop head and two dogs corners you in an alleyway.

"I heard you're the Designer," he grunts.

A part of you thinks of fleeing once again. A smaller part of you thinks damn, that nickname is kinda cool.

"I am?"

"Don't play dumb. I know who you are."

You would have found him rude and menacing if not for his dogs picking that exact moment to roll around on the floor belly-up, desperately wanting some attention.

"Fuck's sake," he mutters though he squats down anyway to pat them. "So?" he continues, trying to regain his previous threatening aura even as the pups wriggle around under his touch.

"So what?"  you ask, not able to stop the smile creeping over your face at this adorable sight.

"I need some clothing."

.

.

Perhaps the Burn Knuckles gave you a false sense of bravado, thinking everyone would be as easy as them. Unfortunately, this guy is a goddamn headache.

He wants hoodies, which isn't an issue but he wants matching dog-sized ones and he wants you to design the logo from scratch too.

"But I don't do graphic design," you cry and he pretends he can't hear you.

On your twelfth iteration, he doesn't glare at it and praise the heavens; he's finally happy.

Well, happy is an overstatement. He doesn't exactly look happy but he's no longer glaring at you, so you assume in Johan Seong's world, that means he's exhilarated.

The hoodies fit, both Johan and the dogs, and the logo looks good too.

You wave goodbye to the back of all three. Your bank balance is healthier except you hope they never darken your doorstep again.

.

.

(You have no such luck. He returns, months later, requesting tracksuits.)

.

.

.

.

It's a sorry state of affairs when three of the members of Allied are part of the Fashion Department, and come to you asking for help.

"Why don't you design it yourself?" you ask Daniel Park, Zack Lee and Jay Hong.

They look at you like you've grown two heads.

.

.

You will be eternally grateful that Jay Hong is mute, that Vasco is actually the sweetest cinnamon roll, and Daniel Park is pretty easy-going because having Vin Jin and Zack Lee constantly bickering and criticising your design is bad enough.

Apparently these men are very adept fighters. Caught up in some gang shit. It didn't matter. You still wanted to ram your pen through their skulls.

Then throw in someone else called Hudson Ahn who also seems to like giving rude, overly critical comments concealed as constructive criticism -

You threatened to quit more than once.

.

.

Eventually, after staying awake for 46 hours - you all agree on a logo.

"Here." You thrust the USB drive with the files at Daniel Park.

"What do I do with this?"

"You're in the Fashion Department too." You rub at your tired eyes, patience long gone with these morons. "Find a clothing printer yourself. Search for it on the internet. You know what that is right? The internet?"

Somewhere to your right, Vin Jin bursts into laughter.

.

.

.

.

You can't decide if this guy is trying to sell you something or if you're actually falling in love with him by the second.

Hell, he could sell you some snake-oil and you're so charmed you don't mind.

"So, you'll do it?" he asks, holding your hands in his larger gloved ones and you feel yourself simpering like an idiot at the contact.

"Sure thing, Mr. Kim."

"Jake," he says, giving you a toothy grin. "I'm Jake. And this is Jerry."

"Who?"

"Jerry Kwon," A large hulking man steps up besides Jake, offering you a handshake.

What? How did you miss him? You didn't notice him at all.

"Oh. Uh. Of course. Nice to meet you too Jerry."

"Come here, guys." Jake signals for the other men hanging back to come forth. "Ths is Brad and Jerry and Lineman."

Shit. Damnit, you've been so fixated on Jake Kim that you ignored everyone else.

Hell. You didn't even realise there was anyone else.

"Hi," you say, wanting the ground to swallow you up and blushing furiously.

Jake catches your eye and gives you a wink.

.

.

Being completely honest, the Big Deal tracksuits aren't your best work.

You're not too sure on the logo design (though hey - that's not really your handiwork). The placement is a little awkward and the design is sort of plain.

You added gold elements to at least make it a bit more cohesive, and sourced extra durable fabrics with lots of movement as apparently the guys have a tendency to damage clothing during fights.

"What do you think?" Jake says, modelling your finalised version.

From the smile on his face, you could tell he's very much satisfied with your work.

"Looks great," you say and you're telling the truth. Although it's not really the tracksuit that looks great, but the man wearing it. His broad shoulders and tight waist, long muscular legs and-

Oops. You silently apologise for objectifying him.

The way your eyes rake over his form isn't subtle, though it's definitely flattering. Jake playfully throws another wink your way.

[shotmrmiller]

soulmate au part 1

john price x f!reader

wc: 1.2k

unedited, forgive my mistakes.

since you were born, your world has been grey. you never thought anything of it, until at school, they started teaching you colours. the only ones in the room that could see more than just different shades of grey, apart from the teacher, were identical twins.

weird.

you went home and asked your parents.

"we are born missing half of ourselves. we have a fated one, and when you meet them, your world will look the way it was meant to."

oh. but... "in class, there were twins that could see colour. what about them?"

they look surprised for a second until your dad softly explains. "in rare instances, the soulmate bond will be platonic. which makes sense in this case, because twins grow up with a connection regular people like us will never understand."

you nod and lower your gaze to look at your shoes. you wonder if the person meant for you is interested in junie b. jones books like you are.

-

in high school, you crush on this pretty girl— a cheerleader. her hair is long and beautiful, her face is small and round, and she's so kind. just your type.

but no colour stains your vision, so you burrow your emotions deep and mourn the loss of what could've been.

-

in college, one of your friends ask you if you've met your soulmate yet.

"no, not yet," you lament. what she says after freezes the blood in your veins.

"my mom knew someone whose soulmate was already dead before they had even been born," she comments while stabbing a grape tomato with her fork. "it was really tragic, because she'll never know what it's like to know a love that has no equal."

your heart is in your throat, and you find it hard to swallow the food in your mouth.

what if your soulmate is already dead? oh, god. you might just throw up. your friend doesn't seem to notice the change in your demeanor and continues to babble carelessly about how she knew someone that knew someone who's soulmate had turned out to be a murderer.

oh my fucking god.

you quickly run to the bathroom and throw up your lunch.

how cruel is the universe? to have no control over who is meant to be for you.

you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and lean against the stall of the bathroom. you should've known that this soulmate business was too good to be true.

cupping your hands, you rinse the taste of bile out of your mouth before walking back to your friend who stayed in her seat.

"jesus, you look terrible, you alright?" she asks.

running your fingers through your hair, you huff. "i've certainly been better. just got a bit nauseous, nothing serious. maybe it's a stomach bug."

"oooh, you better not be pregnant! what of your dreams of working in the medical field?"

you giggle at her response. "that'd be impossible unless i'm the virgin mary."

she gapes comically then leans in and whispers, "you're lying! don't tell me you haven't dated anyone just because they weren't your soulmate."

you shrug, and keep your eyes fixed on your half-eaten plate of food. "i don't really wanna talk about it, if that's alright with you. besides, you've got bigger things to worry about, like the upcoming exam for mr. richardson."

slapping a hand to her forehead, she exclaims, "oh, shit! i totally forgot! shit!"

you watch her inhale the rest of her salad and toss her trash before waving goodbye and sprinting toward the library.

with a sigh, you look down at your food. grey. lifeless. shaking your head, you pick up your plate and toss it in the bin.

you decide to focus solely on your studies. you have dreams of being a doctor and pining after someone you haven't even met yet would only serve as a distraction.

--

your white coat grazes your calves as you walk toward your new patient. standing outside the room, you pick up the clipboard.

Price, John. 34, Active Military.

he's the head of the task force! god, you've only heard stories of them from the other medics on base who have met them, so to finally come face to face with the man, the myth, the legend? you wipe your clammy hands on the fabric of your scrubs and clear your throat.

be professional, be professional. he's just another patient, it's no big deal.

rapping your knuckles on the door, you wait a second before twisting the knob with a shaky hand. you nervously keep your eyes on the clipboard as you walk in.

"good morning, captain price."

"mornin', doc," he rumbles.

oh, his deep voice just might be the end of you.

"you don't sound all that happy to be here, captain," you tease while flipping through his medical history papers.

he lets out a low chuckle, and you squeeze your thighs together at the sound. delicious.

"nothin' personal, doc. just don't like bein' here, you understand."

lightly laughing at his joke, you finally steel your nerves and look up at him.

only to have your vision bleed in something you don't understand. is that colour? is this what colour looks like?

the clipboard drops, clattering to the floor. john— being the courteous gentleman that he is— quickly kneels to grab it and lifts his head as he hands it to you.

he freezes in place, the clipboard slipping from his hands as he stares at you.

you thickly swallow, and dumbly question, "do you...has your....colour? can you see colour?"

unblinking, john's eyes are fixated on you as he remains silent.

your eyes dart around to take in his features. his brightly-coloured eyes are framed by lines that hint at his age, his strong jaw adorned by a mutton-chop beard. his nose is specked with a beauty mark.

"what colour are your eyes, captain?" you softly ask.

he closes his mouth and takes in a sharp breath. "i've been told they're blue."

"blue," you smile. the eyes of your soulmate are blue.

but then, your delighted smile melts off your face, in horror.

there's a shiny band on his finger. he's married.

john price, your soulmate, is fucking married.

your vision distorts with the tears that threaten to spill and bite your bottom lip to stop it from trembling. it feels like there are shards of glass in your lungs, cutting you open with each quivering breath you take. your pain is red-hot, searing under your skin, flowing through your veins like molten lead.

john knows exactly what you're looking at.

"love—" he starts but you cut him off swiftly.

"don't. you don't owe me anything, captain. uhm, but uh... maybe it's best that we switch your doctors, yeah? conflict of interest, and all that."

you all but run away, away from that room, from him.

how terribly unlucky.

you head towards your office, which is down the hall, and slam the door closed. only then, do you cry, and mourn what should've been.

[crsssie]

pretty blonde curls

word count: 11.6k || College Frat AU || banner by @temmmry

warnings: mentions of sexual assault (not from reader or curly), depictions of violence (reader beats jimmy up), smut (2 scenes)

summary: "Me or him, Grant?"

Curly would say it takes quite a bit for it to get through his head that someone likes him.

He recalls an early moment in college when he had only been part of the frat, four drinks in before he had been raising a brow at one of the girls who had detached from Jimmy and found him, her frustration evident when she had whined that she was trying to ask him out — only to be met with a quiet "oh" from him and an apologetic shake of his head.

He's not stupid when someone's trying to sleep with him, though. Playing stupid when someone wants to hook up with him is always easier than saying no. It's the same as dressing baggy on campus to avoid attention.

"Too attractive," Jimmy tells him.

Curly doesn't see it, remnants of his health problems evident on the stretch marks on his shoulders, insecurity creeping down his sides and across his stomach onto his thighs — but it's all easy to hide. It makes him less scary to approach when he's on the board by his second and third year of the frat. He had been tugged along by Jimmy — which he's thankful for, really. But Jimmy complains about how much easier it seems for Curly to move up the ranks when he brings a different chick home every other day.

So, when the discussions for the next president creep out, it comes to no one's surprise that Curly is president, but everyone's shocked that Jimmy's the VP.

It's easy for Curly to be elected as the face of the frat, clean record, and everyone's favorite from none else but hard work. His professors appreciate his sincerity, and he had been in contact with many of the executives of the school since he was elected as VP. It's easy for it to be him simply because everyone knows he's reliable enough for it — and he knows when to stop. A clean slate — impossible to break and crumble down the name he has built. False accusations of sexual assault never lasted long. Curly was simply too clean for it.

It was almost always Jimmy's fault when it came to it.

But some people steer clear of the frat and its members in general, and while Curly has been dense when people liked him, he understood. Someone who refuses all advances and plays stupid the same way he does at the parties is agitating. He can't complain but, really, he wishes he'd be at least given a chance.

"Not with you alone, no." You click through your schedule. "I told you, Grant. I don't want... you know."

"He won't—"

"It never ends well. You know the rumors spreading about your vice president. You've not got bloodless hands just because it wasn't you, you know? A friend who does nothing to help is just as guilty." You slide your books into your bag, looking around.

"Not under the law—"

"Maybe." You wave bye to him after class, calling at your friends who have come to pick you up.

Curly understands your hesitation. You don't dislike him — visible from the way you're still friends with him, but you refuse to go out with him to hang out or anything else similar unless he could guarantee you wouldn't bump into any of his brothers. You refuse to be out with him even if all of the professors like him because it'd be terrifying to put yourself at risk of being so close to someone on campus who was known to be a sleaze. The election of Jimmy into the frat board threw you off more when he had called you one night.

You'd built more distance when you had found out.

You know he's not the same, but you didn't ever want to be on Jimmy's radar, and Curly had done a good job not showing you at all to anyone he knew so far, and you only prayed it would continue like that.

Curly understands what you mean. His hands aren't bloodless. Jimmy's smeared blood onto his palms and he's washed it off more times than necessary — dried skin from the bleaching far too many times. He can't count how many times he's had to step in and tell Jimmy that taking home the plastered girl from the party wasn't a smart idea and how people had to get checked for drugs because while getting high would be pleasant, someone coming for the frat because one of the members had slipped in a date rape drug to assault someone would not. He's stern about that, and not even Jimmy is allowed any wiggle room.

But it doesn't matter how much he does to make sure that the parties thrown are safe for all. You still refuse to associate with him too much.

At least the frat's name is growing thanks to his effort.

"Presentation night in three weeks." He mumbles to himself as he texts the board groupchat, fingers quick on his phone as he dabs at the sweat on his forehead with the towel.

"Oh, look who it is." You hum, head tilted as you start the treadmill next to him. "Presentation night? What are you presenting on?"

He beams at the sight of you. "Every single time I've had a complaint from the school addressed to me about the club since the start of the school year. Surprised to see you here. Thought you didn't like hanging with me in public."

"Jimmy's in class." You stretch your arms above your head, humming. "Just gotta make sure I don't bump into him."

"Yeah, he is— how'd you know?"

"A friend shares a class with him." You hit the treadmill twice, speeding up. "Warming up or cooling down?"

"Cooling down." Curly hums. "It's getting dark. I could walk you—"

"It's alright. Anya's class just ended." You wave at him dismissively. "See you in class tomorrow."

"See you."

You don't share a major with Curly. You had one class first semester of freshman together and then exchanged numbers — Curly had looked quite nerdy at the time, tall but lack of muscle evident on his face, and over the 15 weeks of instruction, he had lost the majority of his weight after you had told him you'd be down to be gym buddies with him. By spring, he had joined one of the frats and met Jimmy, and the two had stuck close since.

Gym with you is rarer these days, but still.

He claims you helped a lot early on, completely relaxed when you had mentioned casually that you'd be checking out the gym and were scared to do it alone — and the rest was history. He bulked up much faster than you reached your goal, and by the time that the semester came to an end, you couldn't count on two hands how many people had oogled at Curly when he passed them. You couldn't blame them. His biceps were museum-worthy.

The streaks of white on his back and shoulders that you caught wind of when he walked around in made him insecure. You'd caught it once when his shirt soaked through, and he had thrown his hoodie on almost immediately after. The stretch marks on his skin are oftentimes attributed to his height and muscle — never to his past.

He stares at himself in the mirror longer on some days, your voice in his ear as the two of you call. You do care, Curly knows. You just find Jimmy a bitch and hate him with a passion reserved for no one else.

"It'll be hot tomorrow." You hum. "You gonna go around in a long sleeve again?"

"Might wear a t-shirt." He glances at his back as he flexes, staring at the lines on his back.

"Won't you wear a tank so I can drool over those arms?"

"You and your obsession with muscles."

"Hey, it's not horrible."

"Says the one who took a whole digicam photo of my biceps back in year two."

"Hey."

"I'll tell you. You down to study on Saturday?"

"As long as you drive."

"You wouldn't go if I didn't."

"Maybe." You mumble. "Keep Jimmy away."

"And if he wants to come?"

"Tell him to kill himself."

"I can't do that, sweetheart."

"Sure you can, big guy."

Curly likes you. He thinks it's painfully obvious. His brothers in the frat find it painfully obvious. When he smiles at his phone there's an 11/10 chance that you're texting him, and it's much easier to ask him a question and get away with things when he's on call with you because he's barely listening to their question and wants them away from his door as soon as possible so he can continue to talk to you.

It's just a matter of fact that no one knows quite what you look like or what you sound like.

Curly keeps you in his ear at all times, and you never videocall him.

And if some of the frat brothers try to follow him to a coffee shop, Curly's got the sixth sense of a hawk and everyone's location, so as long as one person's by him, he refuses to let you out of the car, even if it means he goes in to grab your orders and you both sit on the car to study. Refuses to let you out or you refuse to get out. The frat just assumes that it's the former, so they stop trying to follow him out to the study sessions.

"They're not here." Curly offers you his hand, and you hum.

"Thank you, Grant."

"Of course."

"Is there a reason why they call you Curly?"

"Don't you think my last name sounds like my first?"

"Hm... I could see Grant as a last name, yeah." You pause. "You got a preference?"

"You get to use Grant 'cause you don't need t' treat me like a president."

"I suppose so. The professors like your last name better, too."

"I suppose." He lets you order first, glancing up at the menu as you finish grabbing your usual.

He thinks it's unsurprising that he likes you this much. You're easy to like and easy to take care of. The fact that you haven't left him despite his best friend's awful reputation was probably an act of mercy in itself. You never fail to remind him that he's part of the problem, though. Really. Truly. You're very much aware that Curly is constantly on thin ice when it comes to Jimmy, and there are lines that you draw to make sure that Curly can never quite get as close as he'd like to.

You refuse to let him do anything that would give anyone the wrong idea, and the furthest that Curly has managed to push you was the study sessions that you only allow on weekends and only go with him after he makes sure no one follows him out.

You refuse to be made public with him.

And it's not that you worry about your reputation or that you don't seem to like Curly — it's really as simple as how much you despise his best friend. Curly seems to have caught on early, never pushing much further than what you allow him. He lets you initiate everything so that you feel like you have more control. He understands how awful it can get when you feel as though you have no control over anything.

He knows what it feels like to have none.

So you're allowed to boss him around, he really doesn't mind it, and dare he say it, it's almost nice. It makes him feel all warm and domestic when you do. Sometimes you bring him back to your apartment when your housemate isn't home and study there, and he likes it. He likes the way you kick him under the dinner table as you swing your legs to focus. You prefer it to tapping your pen, but you also have the habit of biting the back of your pens and darting your tongue out to lick your bottom lip when it gets dry, and Curly can't help but notice the way your lips glisten with your saliva and wonder what it'd look like wrapped around his— not that he would ever actually do anything about it! The most he'll do is adjust the strain in his pants and let out a sigh.

Someone save him.

He likes you, painfully, though. His heart races when he sees you pass him and he thinks he lights up like the sun when you wave back. It's a little bit concerning. Maybe that's why he insists on studying with you despite the fact that your schedules barely match up and why he slots out his Saturday brunches to hang out with you to study and grab brunch because you never seem to have breakfast. He wonders if you do it on purpose or if you just have the worst eating habits on earth.

You don't let him pay even when he insists.

You draw a line between the two of you that gets painfully clearer and clearer to Curly, and he wonders if he's just somehow really into someone who could lowkey crush his heart if given the chance. He gets it to some extent. You don't like his friends, so by proxy you wouldn't be able to last with him anyway if the two of you could start dating. No. Not friends. Just Jimmy. You despise his best friend, and it's almost as if you're just waiting for him to slip up.

But you let Curly get away with more and more as the semester progresses. You bring him home once without checking if your roommates are there, and you blink as Anya stares back at you, waving slowly at Curly as he nods. Another time you pass a couple of his brothers while passing by the frat, and Curly has to cover up and tell them that he was just walking a classmate because it was late. It wasn't out of character for him to play it off as that. Most of his frat understands to respect his private life. After all, despite how reliable Curly was, most of the frat still didn't like burderning him all that much. It was easier to let things be and stay out of trouble.

Not that Curly gets any less complaints from faculty.

Jimmy's failing this class, this other brother is, and another, and another... Curly finds that it's quite annoying, and soon, he calls for the club to start hosting study sessions so that at least the professors wouldn't be complaining about how the frat life was getting in the way. He suspends nonessential parties for the time being and texts you that Saturdays aren't free anymore, and you laugh.

"They're grown ass men and can't study on their own?"

"Happens to everyone." Curly mumbles, glancing at the study group. "We're in this together."

"Anyone got their girlfriend over?"

"You... miss me?"

"Miss your muscles, gorgeous." You laugh from the other side, voice cutting off as you mute yourself.

Curly shakes his head, glancing at the guys in the room.

"You wanna come over?"

"Is Jimmy there?"

"Yeah."

"Then no."

"I still don't get your problem with him."

"Maybe you'd have to be a woman to find out." You hum. "If you wanna come over just let me know."

"You don't mind your roommates knowing?"

"Everyone's out for the weekend."

"Ah. I'll text you."

"Alright. See you around, big boy."

"See you around, sweetheart."

Curly doesn't think about Jimmy much. He's as much of a friend and maybe even more since he had introduced him to the frat, and although Jimmy's got a questionable reputation, Curly chooses to trust his friend. Jimmy isn't horrific in his eyes. He's just a guy who might come off as a sleaze, and maybe he's definitely questionable because of how seemingly little he cares for women, and maybe he's just... yeah, maybe Curly isn't understanding because Jimmy could never treat him the same way he treats the girls at the parties. Though, it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Jimmy barely cares.

"Hey." Curly grabs a guy's shoulder, and the poor girl scurries off into the crowd of the party.

"Curly. Really?" He groans.

"No fucking the girls who look like they're terrified."

"So I can fuck someone who isn't?"

"Don't go harassing them."

Curly gives the guy two pats on the shoulder as he spots you at the door, grinning at one of the other guys.

"Oh, really?" You tilt your head. "Didn't realize the place was so big."

"I love it." The guy laughs, raising a brow as Curly steps over. "Curly."

Curly tilts his head at you, and you tilt your head to the side.

"Our president. Curly."

"Grant's fine." He holds his hand out for yours, and you take it, nodding as you shake on it. "New here?"

"Got invited by this nerd."

"ey."

"Affectionately, of course." You hum, patting the guy on the chest twice.

"I'll take her from here."

"Of course, prez."

Once you're far away enough, you meet eyes with Curly and laugh.

"You drink yet?"

"Wanted to experience one sober." You press against Curly as someone squeezes past you.

"Sober makes it boring, sweetheart."

"Well I can see someone certainly has gotten a drink or two in his system." You pinch at his cheek, and he brushes noses with you.

"Maybe."

"Where's my charming gym buddy?"

"Still here, sweets." He hums.

"Maybe." You push yourself off of him, glancing at the rest of the crowd. "Smells awful in here."

"It's why I don't invite you. Outside of you not caring, of course." He fistbumps a guy that passes, flicking his chin at him as you stare.

"You look real good, Grant." You tap his chest, humming as you glance in the corner of your eye.

"Why are you here? You hate being here because of..."

"Heard he'll be late. Wanted to come see you." You brush your nose up his jaw, and his eyes flutter as he hums.

"This is nice."

"Of course." Your palm finds his chest, and you hum quietly. "I'll head out in a bit. Just wanted to come say hi."

"Not staying?"

"Not for too long. Heard Jimmy would be late. Not gone." You tap his chest gently, and he presses his forehead to yours. He opens his phone and looks for Jimmy's location, humming as he buries his face in your neck.

"See you around?"

"My place tomorrow? Heard there was no study sesh tomorrow."

"Eleven?"

"Mhm."

"See you." He sends you off with a quick nod, and you're off past the door.

It's a quick call. He would have liked for you to stay longer, but Jimmy walks in five minutes after you're gone, and it's back to being friends with Jimmy.

It's a constant dichotomy - the difference between being friends with you and with Jimmy. You're so tame even when you kick him under the table, and you're in little to no trouble. Jimmy gets allegations every now and then at the parties, and Curly is always stuck cleaning up after him. Sweep them under the rug. It's fine. It wasn't anything — alright, maybe he's starting to get your point. He doubts he'd want to hang around Jimmy if he was a girl, but he isn't, so he gets a little leeway, maybe.

He doesn't even notice that you've settled between his legs on the floor, and he blinks down at you as you bare your teeth and smile at him.

"Hey."

"Hey." He swallows. "Something wrong? Dropped something?"

Your palm makes contact with his inner thigh, pushing them out as you prop your elbows to free your hands to work at his belt.

"Hey, sweetheart, hey—"

"Quiet." You mumble, poking at his dick through his boxers as you pull at the waistband, and Curly panics. No way you're doing this. You barely even like it when he holds open doors for you and offers to walk you home. You're definitely drunk or maybe you got your hands on some drugs or whatever because surely you're not—

You're taking him.

You're sucking him.

He blinks owlishly at you, your lips parted and skin glistening under him, lashes fluttering as you wrap a hand around his base, and he thinks he's going to pass out. Your mouth is painfully warm, and he reaches his fingers to thread through your hair, head thrown back in bliss as he—

His alarm rings, and Curly heaves, hand over his chest as heart threatens to break past his ribcage. God, fucking hell. He needs to fix his mind before you turn around and leave him for good for even thinking about you like that.

He'd argue that you probably know from the way you raise a brow at him on occasion, but better safe than sorry.

You're knocked out on the coffee table, eyes closed as you sit across him, and Curly adjusts the strain in his pants. It'd be rude to rub one out in your bathroom, but it'd also be uncomfortable for him to just let it sit there. He taps his fingers on the table as he stares at the drool that slides past your lips, humming to himself as you mumble to yourself.

He reaches to brush the hair out of your face, and your lashes flutter awake.

"Was I drooling?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry." You mumble.

"I should be sorry." He swallows. "You too tired for this?"

"Not too tired. Just tired." You mumble, yawning as you smush your cheek against the glass and blink at Curly. "You've got blonde lashes."

"Sure do." He stares back down at you, shifting his legs again.

"Do I gotta make a joke about how you're hard or are you just restless today?" You look away, staring at the blank screen across from you.

"Restless." He mumbles. He's sure the red on his ears is giving him away.

"Well, at least the GE will be out of the way." You kick at his leg from under the table, and you click your pen twice. "Don't got all day, big boy. Still have gym later."

"Yeah." He mumbles.

He doesn't see you for a while after that.

You go and flounce around and hole up in your room afterward, and Curly busies himself with the things of the frat and preparations for the pre-finals week party. It's never a smart choice but most people are going to find a party to go to anyway, so he might as well host one. Reputation has to be upheld anyway.

He texts the groupchat and everyone gets the drinks, and Curly checks the whole house for hard drugs, raising a brow at one of the younger boys who pulls out a sheet of LSD. It's shoved in the vault for safekeeping, and Curly assures him he'll get it back after the party when everyone sobers up.

Then people are invited and the house fills right up. Curly leans against the wall, just enough alcohol in his system to be warm, but not enough to cloud judgement — at least not according to himself. He glances around at the party, nodding at people he knows, chatting idylly with people he recognizes, the music and yelling making it hard to hear. Curly learns to read lips, and he sends almost everyone off with a quick flick of his fingers.

It should be fine. It's usually fine. It's the biggest party of the year that he had the trouble of going through planning in his third year, but this year is a lot more relaxed now that he isn't struggling to count club funds. Treasurer was not a fun position if you didn't like it all that much. At least he isn't going through it again. Also, the alcohol makes it hard for him to really keep to his weight. Too much sugar. Not good for his health or—

"Grant!" You call, squeezing past a couple making out as you tug on his collar and have him bend down for you, lips brushing his jaw as you grin. "There you are. Brooding all by yourself, handsome?"

"Sweetheart." He hums, hand finding your cheek as he squeezes gently. "What brings you here?"

"Boredom. Also alcohol."

"Didn't want'a get drunk at your apartment?"

"So much more fun when there's a man around."

"And Jimmy?"

"Heard he isn't coming tonight."

"You seem to know whenever he isn't coming." Curly brushes his nose against yours, and you hum.

"Don't want to catch his eye."

"You're already catchin' everyone's by bein' here." He eyes one of his brothers that stares, the poor guy looking to the side at Curly's glance.

"I think it's cuz their precious president is all up on some girl they've never met." You whisper, pinching his cheek as he leans back up. "Hm?"

"Well, not that they haven't met you."

"People are nosy." You glance to the side, winking at one of the girls that pass.

"How much d'you drink?"

"Pregamed at home. Three shots? Horrible for my sugar intake, though." You mumble, hand resting on Curly's chest as he pulls you in by the waist.

"Makes two of us." He mumbles, hand finding your forearm as he rubs. "You stayin' the whole time?"

"When's it end?"

"1:30 we start yellin'"

"Then until y'all clean up." You hum. "Not completely drunk."

"Can tell."

That's the fun thing with you, though. Your alcohol tolerance runs the same as Curly, so he finds that it's a lot easier to know when you'll knock out in his arms. It's not the first party you've been to. You joined once back in freshman when Curly first joined, and you had met Jimmy — and immediately decided that it was not worth it. You patted Curly twice on the chest and left that night, and never came back. It was surprising that you'd show to a party in year four of all times. He's not complaining, though. Always nice to see your pretty face.

Curly keeps an eye on Jimmy's location when you're around just because he'd hate to see you actually meet the guy. Met him once years ago and decided to stay as far away as you could.

"Don't get why you can't just drop him."

"Maybe after college." He mumbles. "He's our VP."

"Would you kick him if an allegation was serious enough?"

"How serious?"

"Expulsion serious."

"I'd have to. Otherwise I'd go down with or without him."

You brush your nose against his jaw, humming quietly as your chest vibrates against his.

"Good to know."

"Don't be going getting yourself assaulted. Won't let that happen to you." He mumbles.

"Me or him, Grant?"

"Don't do that to me." He groans, watching as you bat your lashes at him. "You're both important."

"Don't go testing me, blondie." You hum.

Curly glances at his phone, sighing as he rests his forehead on yours. "Jimmy's headed our way."

"Thought he left."

"Texted an hour ago sayin' he'd be back." He mumbles. "Wan' sit in my room, sweetheart?"

"You know the rules. He's here? I'm off." You whisper, closing your eyes as his lashes brush your skin.

"See you after finals?"

"Text me before you go?"

"Of course."

You hang out with Curly in between semesters during breaks. When he's free from the frat for the most part and planning things, he finds himself in coffee shops with you to catch up on gossip of all things. You ramble about tea you hear while working for your professor, and it makes Curly see a whole new side of some of the people on campus. It's like you have eyes and ears everywhere since you're helping the professors out.

"And then she ended up taking a break." You tap the keyboard, humming. "She'll be back next year, but we'll be gone by then, so, you know."

"Because the dude knocked her up?"

"I'm surprised she chose to keep it, but I mean, if she wants it, then so be it." You press the straw to your lips, humming to yourself. "Lovely tea place. How'd you find it?"

"One of the guys' girlfriend. Told me this place has great tea." He hums. "Not overbrewed at all, huh?"

"Nice and aromatic." You kick your legs under the table. "How've you been? Survived finals?"

"Yeah. The usual."

"How dependable."

"Yeah?"

"Shame no one knows how you really are." You hum. "Quite charming, nonetheless."

"You're speaking in book again."

"Alright, Grant. Sorry I wanted to be poetic for a sec. My condolences for my use of language."

"Now you sound even worse."

You click your tongue at him. "I like you this way."

"Rude?"

"Honest." You hum. "You've always got that goody two shoes smile on your face when you're on campus. It's strange. I know you want to sink those hands into my neck and choke me out every now and then."

"In public is insane."

"Your fault for taking me here. I offered my apartment."

Curly raises a brow at you, and you hum. "Complexity builds character."

"My brothers beg to differ."

"Where's Jimmy, by the way? He's usually around during breaks."

"Decided to take a solo trip. Builds character, or something." Curly hums.

"We should do a road trip." You glance at your phone. "Go around the area. Find a national park and go camping."

"Aren't you gonna get cold?"

"We'll survive." You raise a brow at him. "We could huddle for warmth, even."

"You implying sex?"

"You pervert..." You gasp, holding a hand over your mouth. "No. I was implying cuddling, but considering that your brain went straight to the gutter, I vote no road trip."

"A day trip down south would be nice."

"We could go to the city."

"Oh, that too." You scroll on your phone. "Tomorrow?"

"How about the beach?"

You glance at Curly, and he laughs.

"Please?"

"I hate you, Grant."

"Love to see you with your tits out."

"Oh, god. Fratboys."

But the truth is that Curly knows exactly what's going on at all times. You admit he's part of the problem. You keep him around because he's fun to be around. Down to do most things. Not a horrible person — a person. Not morally good or bad. There exists no pure saint or pure sinner. Anyone who presents that way is suspicious enough to warrant questions. You keep Curly around because he's not a horrible person. Only issue is with his best friend.

He's sure you'd try to cling onto your best friend if it was all allegations and no charges too, but you can't afford the same for Jimmy. The gender difference and lack of security you felt whenever he was around was more than enough to scramble any sense of security you felt with Curly. He understands that.

He wonder if it's the lesser of two evils — friends with a liar or abuser?

You'd choose a liar, but he supposes for himself it's one foot in both.

Well, not that you're the accuser.

Curly starts the new semester without you but makes time to study with you nonetheless, humming to himself as you invite him into the apartment, scrunching your nose when he smells of a workout and kick him out to come back another time. He complies, frowning at you when you shoot him an apologetic smile, and he nods. He understands. He has a persona to keep up around your roommates, and he also has an image to upkeep for the school, or whatever.

It makes him crack a little. Seep under the mask just a little. He doesn't know where the ego comes from, but he doesn't appreciate it.

He scrubs at it in the shower, and he reminds himself that it is not who he is.

He had to work to get where he was. He doesn't get to act like he's better than people.

"Ego is really only for... people who have nothing." You mumble, stirring your drink.

"Yeah? I mean sometimes I get egotistical, but I have to remind myself that I'm not who I am." You hum. "I worked to get here. Everyone works to be who they are. If they don't... then they aren't who they are."

"Now that's something new."

"I have never had an original thought in my life." You glance at the girls that step up to the table and go quiet.

Curly deals with them. He knows you can hold your ground, but they're not people you know, so they're not people you should have to deal with. He prefers to keep you away from them, even if they come knocking to the table the two of you have in the coffee shop. He's seen her at a party or two. Probably a second year looking to date a hot fratboy so she can say she dated one in college. Nothing Curly hasn't seen.

"Why are you here with her again? Curly, I really did expect you to be better at choosing... study dates." She eyes you, and Curly watches you smile.

Inhale, exhale, stare.

"If you wanted a date you could have just asked." You offer, voice light with mirth as she blinks at you.

"You! I'm not some cheap whore, you know?!"

"Didn't say that." You hum. "Unless you'd like to sit with us? Don't see a bookbag, though."

"In my car!"

"Want' come study with us? You can pull a chair—"

"Speaking of chairs. This one's uncomfortable. You mind if we switch spots?" Curly offers you a way out, and you hum.

"Where'd you have in mind?"

"I'm kind of hungry, so I vote the diner."

"Wanna camp there?"

"Too late to camp."

"Fair." You mumble. "We can figure it out when we get on your car."

"Come on." He offers you a hand, and while you raise a brow, you still take it, letting him squeeze your hands gently as he ushers you off.

"If that reaches Jimmy's ears I'm shooting him point blank."

"It won't. Jimmy wouldn't touch what's mine. He's not stupid."

"Sure feels like he is sometimes." You mumble. "What's yours? Am I yours, Grant?"

He squeezes your hand. "Are you not?"

"Oh, I wouldn't go there if I were you."

"And why not?"

"Cuz you're not getting anywhere close to me with that shitty best friend of yours."

Curly finds that maybe you really are just dangling him on a string. Swing him close on some days, swing him out on others. You cancel a study date for girls night with your housemate and Curly tells you to send photos (you never do). But it's fine because when you do finally meet up it's close enough to Valentine's that the coffee shops have all of the heart decorations up and Curly's got his hand over yours and he's asking you if you'd like to be his date to the party on Valentine's.

"I don't know, Curly." You mumble.

"Please? You mentioned your roommate would like to experience a full-fledged frat party at least once, so it'd be nice to bring her to our biggest one."

"I'd have to chaperone her."

"I'll keep an eye out for her." He mumbles, tapping the back of your hand.

"Will you?"

Curly does not.

The party rolls around and he keeps everything organized, searching everyone, and patting Jimmy down, going as far as raising a brow at his hat and swiping it off to shake a little. He lets Jimmy go with two pats to the back and then tosses everything into the safe, humming. He loses track of some things as people roll in, and he welcomes your housemate. He gets distracted with you, though, your lips brushing his under the lights as you tilt your head and ask him what's going on in his pretty head.

"Just you, sweetheart."

"Just me?"

"Just you." He sighs, resting his forehead on yours as you hum. "Does it always take a party to get you so vulnerable like this?"

"Maybe it's 'cause I'm your date tonight."

"Or maybe you're just irresistable in the awful frathouse lighting." He whispers, thumb finding your bottom lip as you part them for him. "Yeah?"

"Mhm." You hum. "You gon' kiss me, Grant?"

"God, sweetheart." He mumbles, lips brushing yours as you lean in, and he swears he's gonna get his fill of you until—

"Prez! Couple stumbled into a room."

"God, fucking hell." He groans, straightening up as he looks to the side. "Couldn't have picked a worse time."

"Sorry 'bout the cockblocking." The guy glances at Curly make his way up the stairs, and you shake your head.

You wonder where Anya's wandered off to.

Curly kicks the couple out, and he glances at Jimmy's locked door.

He knocks twice.

He thinks he hears a muffled cry when he knocks, but the music downstairs makes it hard to tell.

He knocks a third time.

It's silent.

A fourth.

Nothing.

Then, he heads downstairs.

Maybe you're still here— if you haven't stumbled off while half drunk, that is.

Curly never fully got the story from you afterward. You had stumbled home and found your housemate missing, calling Curly to check the house, and Curly had found your housemate in one of the spare bedrooms in the house, knocking and entering, letting you know where she was.

"You alright?"

Your housemate, closes her eyes, holding her head as he grumbles.

"My head feels like it's splitting open. I don't remember anything..." She mumbles.

"You alright?"

"Fine. Just sore all over." She mumbles.

"Want me to walk you back?"

Your housemate squints at Curly, and then checks her phone.

Curly assumes she dials you.

"Hey... yeah, just sore. Everything hurts. Is that supposed to happen? Curly's offering to walk me home. Should he— alright. Yeah. Yeah. I'll let him know. See you in a bit."

Curly tilts his head, and your housemate nods.

"Mind driving me instead? My legs really hurt."

"Of course. You need me to help you?"

"Should be... alright." She mumbles.

You thank Curly for taking her home, brows furrowed, giving him a pointed look that he seems to understand.

"I'm sorry for leaving you alone." You mumble, holding her forearms as you lead her in. "Thank you for driving her here, Grant."

"Anytime. You two stay safe."

You nod.

And then you go MIA.

You stop responding to his texts and calls, distance that he had tried closing in on back between the two of you seemingly gone overnight. You tell him weekends are off limits again, and you offer limited explanations for why. Maybe you're just busy. Or, you've finally become fed up with the fact that Curly can't really pick and choose and drop people that he should really drop. Either way, he doesn't really judge you for it.

He can kind of see it.

Yet, life moves on, and he busies himself with his own things.

Maybe time can heal this.

But he texts you updates — parties hosted by the frat, and you tell him you'll show to the next one.

He asks even if Jimmy's there — you tell him especially if Jimmy's there.

He doesn't really want to know why exactly you've gotten a specific change of mind, but he doesn't pry further. It's really not his place. Besides, he should be happy that you're agreeing to to his best friend of all things.

You show up different, though. Low cut dress and makeup done — Curly doubts he's ever seen you put so much effort into meeting up with him.

"New hair?" Curly pinches at the wig on your head, tilting his head and raising a brow.

"I'll talk to you in a bit, Grant." You hum, patting his chest twice and disappearing into the crowd. "Be good, now."

Curly nods, letting you wander off as he continues to greet guests at the door.

Most people don't cause too many problems. You learn to figure your way through the crowd, quiet sauntering as you spot Jimmy, smearing your lipstick as you tug your dress a little lower, reaching to trace your fingers down Jimmy's arms, distracting him immediately from the girl he was previously talking to.

You glance at the back door before batting your lashes at Jimmy.

"And who might you be, doll?"

"Just wanted your number." You hum, mustering a smile as he raises a brow.

"It's usually the other way around. Haven't heard the rumors?"

"Maybe I'm just into a good fuck, not a good man." You tap his bicep gently, and he hands you his phone.

"Do me a favor, would you? Save your number as doll in my contacts so I remember. Password's six sixes."

"Oh, of course." You hum, clicking on his phone as he goes back to chatting with the other girl, and you scroll through his photos. You send a handful to yourself, deleting the chat history, and check your phone for the photos. Close enough.

"You figure it out, doll? Or did you accidentally lose the page?"

"Seems like I did..." You mumble. "Sorry, not super good with electronics. Such a clutz move of me, huh?"

"I'll help ya, doll." He wraps a hand around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as his hand brushes your lower stomach, free hand clicking through the apps on his phone. "There y'a go."

"Thank you." You jut out your bottom lip, clicking in a random phone number, Jimmy's hand sliding higher and higher until they practically grope at your tits, and you pause for a second.

Alright. Seems drunk enough.

And then all you see is red.

Jimmy's dragged by his hair as you throw him out the back door into the empty parking spot, your knuckles cracking with each punch as he fights back, the tip of your heel digging into his thigh as his screams catch the attention of the rest of the party. You don't know how many punches you've reached but it's five whole minutes where everyone is stuck watching in horror as you practically crush his jaw under your fist and Jimmy is stuck there crying. He's too drunk to know who you are, and you don't care if this gets you jailed, you're taking the chance.

The satisfying crunch of his jaw under your fists and the blooms of red on his face only feed into the satisfaction, and you wonder if he'll ever think of this when he drugs the next poor girl to approach him thinking that he's not as bad as the rumors make him out to be, and it gives you this sick sense of satisfaction. You can ice your knuckles and wear gloves because it's still cold enough for it. Jimmy can't hide from his classes forever, and it definitely helps that you've got a wonderfully glued wig on that you could just burn when you get home and no one would fucking know that you were laughing while beating the frat's vice president to the ground.

Your knuckles are bloody when you're halfway through, and there's a fight outside the party that Curly has to rip through the crowd to get to.

He's surprised to find that it's you, and he pulls you off of Jimmy before stepping to ask you what happened, and you pant, fistfuls of Jimmy's hair weaved through your fingers as your chest heaves, and there is so much red in your eyes that Curly wonders if you're seeing anything at all, and he runs his hands down your bare arms as you breathe.

Jimmy stays on the ground.

"Hey, what happened?"

"Asshole grabbed a fistful of my tits."

Jimmy scoffs from the ground. "You're the one who—"

You curse him out as your heel reaches to crush his balls, and Curly holds your thigh to stop you.

"Hey!"

You look up at Curly, eye twitching as you breathe, taking two steps back and glaring at Jimmy.

"Sweetheart." Curly tries, and you look up at him, eyes vile as you scoff.

"Watch your mouth, Grant." You point a finger at his chest, humming with your head tilted. "Don't you go thinking you're any better because you don't do it. You're still doing nothing about it."

And you're off, knuckles bloody and hair between your fingers.

You don't receive disciplinary action because half of the party was too plastered to remember who was fighting who. Besides, Jimmy didn't even remember who was punching him.

You don't look Curly in the eye for a week, and Curly wonders really if it was at all worth it. First week of spring of all days. He understands the party is for the sake of the brothers, but he really'd rather not be stuck cleaning up after Jimmy when they were barely into the semester. And a matter of assaulting you of all things.

He apologizes on Jimmy's behalf after class, and you blink at Curly.

"If you know he's doing all these things, why do you keep him in his position?"

"I've just know him for so long..."

"That's not an excuse, Grant." You spit.

It's dark out.

Curly knows it's not an excuse. He knows that he shouldn't be excusing Jimmy's behavior, and especially not when his best friend had just grabbed you by the tits at a party while drunk out of his mind. Drunk or not, he shouldn't be doing that anyway. But Curly doesn't want to acknowledge it. Acknowleding that Jimmy was a horrible person would be like admitting that Curly doesn't have good taste in friends, and he'd really rather not be—

"I'm sorry for what he did at the party, but it really wasn't—"

"Oh, don't worry. Only one of the punches was for grabbing me by the tits." You open your phone, texting someone. "The other punches were for something else."

"What... what are people accusing him for now?"

"Nothing much. Just the usual. With evidence this time, though."

Curly raises a brow at you, unimpressed as you raise a brow back.

"What kind of evidence?"

"Roommate got pregnant, evidence."

"And you think it's Jimmy because?"

"Tracks with the frat party we were at."

"You just think it's Jimmy because you hate him."

"My emotions have nothing to do with how shitty of a person he is."

"He's not the type to take it that far—"

"Is that all that matters to you, Curly? Is your best friend more important than the law?"

"And what evidence do you have?"

"My friend's word of mouth? The person that she was last seen with being him taking her upstairs to his room? Curly—"

"Not, Curly." He mumbles.

"You don't deserve to be called Grant if you're not gonna be a good person, Curly."

The name sounds like poison spread on your lips as you scoff.

"Are you going to defend Jimmy with your life?"

"It's just that you hate him so much, so it's easy to just assume that it's him. I know him—"

"Sure, yeah, and I know my roommate. She's not the type to lie."

"Yeah, but Jimmy isn't the type to take things that far."

"Is that so?"

"I know so."

"Alright. Alright, Curly. I should go to another party and get raped by Jimmy and then we can prove it, right?"

"He's not going to touch you. I won't let him."

"So you'll let him touch other women?"

"He doesn't do that."

"You think so?"

"Sweetheart."

"Don't sweetheart me. There's nothing sweet about how shitty of a person your friend is."

"Are you sure it's not just because you hate him?"

"It's not." You swallow, gritting your teeth as your brows furrow and you take a deep breath. "I stay away from Jimmy, not hate him. I didn't hate him until he raped my roommate at the party."

"What evidence do you even have that it's him?"

"DNA? Blood tests? Timeline? Video footage?"

"It could all be made up. Why are you trying to ruin his li—"

You slap him.

The slap echoes into the night, and you breathe, chest heaving as your brows furrow impossibly more, annoyance visible as you groan. It's like Curly refuses to get the point. Curly knows you're being honest. You wouldn't slander Jimmy if you didn't have any evidence, but his mind is stuck on the feeling of your hand making contact with his cheek so harshly, and he wonders if he's really doing anything at all by just watching it all go down. Jimmy's awful but he couldn't have been able to drug your roommate. He pat him down — no. Jimmy had chosen a hat for the occasion with a compartment he had show Curly once. It absolutely could be Jimmy, but that would mean Curly made a mistake and—

Curly holds his cheek, blinking slowly as he looks at you, and you're frantically tapping on your phone, the muffled clicks of your finger against the screen the only thing until you're holding the phone to his face with a series of photos that he can only assume were taken by Jimmy.

It's morbid.

Curly feels sick to the stomach at the sight of your housemate crying into her hands and trying to hide her face, the unmistakable sound of Jimmy's voice behind the camera, and something twists uncomfortably in Curly's stomach.

"Do something." You speak, voice steady and eerily calm as Curly stares at the photos you've somehow managed to acquire on your phone, hand still on his cheek. Suddenly, the sting no longer stings and all that's left is a ringing in his ears. "You're the president, Curly. Do something before I get both of you expelled and ruin his life."

"He couldn't have—"

"His DNA was found in her. I don't know what else you want me to prove to you." You let out a laugh, looking to the side, bitterness instantly visible on your face. "Paternity test came back with an exact DNA match of the hair I yanked from his hair the other night at the party while he got his grimy hands all over my tits now Grant fucking Curly tell me if you're going to do something about that shitty best friend of yours unless you want me to end both of your university careers right now!"

"Why..." Curly mumbles, shoulders sinking as he glances at you. "are you telling me this?"

"The head of the fraternity is responsible for all of the members of its chapter. If I submit all of this evidence against Jimmy while he's in the frat, the fact that she had gotten raped at a frat-hosted party will spread and you'll get expelled for mismanagement of your frat. I know I send you mixed signals and refuse to be seen in public with you because of your shitty best friend you do nothing about, but I do care about you, Curly." You pause. "If I release all of this information while he's still in the frat, you'll have no way out, especially as the president. If you expel him first, then you'll still somehow make your way out with only your reputation taken a hit. People might even blame Jimmy for keeping it all from you."

Curly looks into your eyes and then at the picture on your phone, and he closes his eyes.

"Give me a week. Will you take nothing less than removal from the frat?"

"Nothing less. I refuse to let him continue to stay in the frat. You are responsible for them all. You only escape scathed if you remove him from the frat."

"Will—" He swallows. "I'll save that question for after I deal with this. I'm glad this is early enough in the semester, god. What about his contracts?"

"Do you think he deserves it after raping my best friend?" You bite. "What if it had been me? Would you have been able to look at me the same after his hands had been all over me and he assaulted me? That his dick had been balls deep in me while I cried for him to let go?"

"But it wasn't—"

"It shouldn't make a difference who it was. A rape is a rape, and if you don't do anything, then I suppose we're better off as strangers, Curly."

You don't text Curly back at all.

You move from your seat next to him in class, and while he knows you most likely won't talk to him until the vote to remove Jimmy from the frat goes through, but it's a painful handful of weeks without you. It hurts him to call the other board members and tell them of the situation, evidence presented as he presents even the DNA match, and it becomes apparent that no one is going out unscathed of this situation of the frat. A lighter blow is better than a total blow, they seem to agree. Then Jimmy is contacted about the situation — Curly knows him better than anyone, so the board had to know before Jimmy, and when Jimmy's calling upon their friendship of the entirety of college, Curly shakes his head and tells him that it didn't matter if they had been friends for so long. It was either they both go down or just Jimmy on his own, and it was apparent that Curly didn't want to, but had to.

Then Curly finds out just how ugly Jimmy can get, thrashing and yelling as the other members of the board hold him back after he punched Curly, and Curly just wonders how he had stayed blind for so long.

He kind of deserved the slap from you both.

"You think just because you're hot as hell and you've got some chick slung around your arm that it erases that you were nothing before me? You wouldn't be here without me!" Jimmy yells, and Curly's shoulders sink as he stares at Jimmy. "You were nothing."

Shut down. Shut down. The same way you do. Let his shoulders sink, inhale, exhale, stare into the void.

"Jimmy. Maybe you introduced me to the frat, but I am the president because of my own efforts." Curly steps up to Jimmy, and he wonders for that brief moment that perhaps this is the kind of control that he could only have in his position. Jimmy looks incredibly small like this. And suddenly, Curly seems to kind of understand how terrifying it must have been for both you and your housemate. Jimmy looks powerless for once. "You are no longer welcome here. I'll give you a week to find somewhere to settle, but you are no longer welcome here. Rape or assault of any kind is not welcome nor swept under the rug in our frat. Get out."

"You—"

"You are no longer in power. Get out."

It'll hit the local news tomorrow, and once the local news is hit, you'll submit everything to the chancellor and then Jimmy will be done for.

Curly doesn't want to think if it's the right thing or not. It is the right thing to do, but he had thrown away one of his friends as a result. Jimmy had been important regardless of what Curly thought, but he had also been a horrible person, so the choice was coming sooner or later.

It takes two days for news of Jimmy's history of both assault and sexual assault to emerge, and it takes less than a full week for Jimmy to be expelled. First expulsion in near two decades at the university, and Curly's hand shakes when he texts you. He had done it. You had done it. It was done. He had done... the right thing.

You call him instead.

"You alright?"

Curly stares at the news on his laptop, and he swallows.

"Not really."

"You want me to come over?"

"Will you?"

"He's gone." You hum. "Or you can come over. Everyone went home for the weekend."

"Is... she alright?"

"Much better. Thank you, Grant."

There's a considerable silence on the line before Curly is speaking up, voice quietest you've ever heard it. "Do you think I did the right thing?"

"I think you did the bravest thing that no frat president has the balls to." You hum. "You did great, Grant."

He rests his face in his hand, going quiet as he breathes, chest shaking. It was scary. Despite how dependable everyone considered him, Curly had never once considered himself to be dependable all that much. There is still a nagging fear that carried over from high school — the concern for his body and him from the doctor quiet in the back of his mind. Dependable. His facade had worked, but it hurt to have to actually speak up on it.

"I'm. That was." He breathes. "Can I be honest?"

"Always, Grant."

"I never want to have to do that again." His voice shakes, and he holds his forehead.

"You did great. You were very brave, Grant. You want anything to drink?"

"Can you bring me a..." He pauses.

"Two beers. I need a drink after all of that process too." You mumble. "God, those meetings were draining."

"We.. did it."

"Thank heavens we did."

You head over with two beers, bottles clinking as he holds out his car keys, streetlights flickering as he hums.

"Wan' sit on the truck?"

"That'd be nice." You flick the bottlecap off, handing him one beer as you bite off the other.

"Your poor teeth."

"It'll live." You hum, pressing the bottle to your lips as he exhales, sitting back in the truck bed.

"You alright?"

"Hm?"

"You were... that night." He mumbles.

"You can say it, Curly. I got groped. It's not that deep." You raise a brow at him.

"Yeah." He furrows his brows. "Was it really necessary?"

"You were technically half-right to accuse me that I hated Jimmy so I was convicting him of raping my roommate, but it was really a moment where the opportunity come on its own. Besides, much better to stay cleaner as a frat. As clean as you can get, anyway." You raise a brow at the bottle in hand.

"First expulsion in over a decade..." Curly groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "He was my best friend."

"Also an asshat."

"Yes. but —"

"No buts. He should've kept it in his pants." You raise a brow at him. "He punched you, for fuck's sake."

"Yeah. He... he was a shitty person. I do mourn the loss of a friend, though. Not necessarily him, but, you know."

"Yeah, that's fair." You lean back, glancing up at the sky.

No star in sight. Too polluted.

"Do we just keep moving?"

"Just keep moving." You kick your legs over his, and he sighs, exhaling gently as he presses his palm on your calf, squeezing.

"Join our party tomorrow?"

"Might as well sleep over in your room, then—" You pause. "No, the bathrooms are nasty."

"I'm in the master."

"Oh, in that case..." You mumble, letting Curly run his hand up your calf, hum on his lips as he leans back. "You got spare clothes?"

"Oh, sweetheart. You don't even need to ask."

Curly wonders if you're only being so sweet now that Jimmy's gone. Maybe in a way it was your plan to ruin that man's life. Not that you'd do all that over a man. He wonders if you'd ever ruin his life like that. He might thank you for it — not that you will. You've done more than you could imagine and he's learned more off of you than he could admit. It'd be embarrassing to tell you, maybe. He might just have to get drunk enough for it.

Though, the sight of you drunk is a lot funnier.

You settle on his lap, closing your eyes with a hard seltzer in hand, tilting your head as you stare at the rest of the party.

Curly hardly knows where to put his hands, blinking slowly and quietly as you settle your head on his collar, blinking up at him, lashes fluttering over a shirt that's far too tight for his life but his brothers insisted on him wearing, and he wonders if any of whatever was going on was even working. You don't seem to notice when he's wearing clothes to show off his body, preferring to tilt your head and meet his eyes instead.

"You alright?" He looks down at you, and you hum.

"Mhm. Pregamed before the party." You trace circles on his chest, letting your lashes flutter over his chest. "Always smells awful in here."

"Always does. It's why I didn't like inviting you."

"Liar. I've gone to so many this year." You throw a glance at the rest of the party, and Curly hums. "Sure you like it better when you've got me dangling off of your arm, though."

"Yeah, but it's not like you're mine or anything. Could be..."

"So I'm a common whore?"

"I didn't say that."

"You seem to think that I'm playing you, still." You crane your neck to wave at another member of the frat, and Curly swallows slowly. Your hand moves lower and lower until your fingers are brushing his lower stomach, and Curly sucks in a breath out of instinct, earning a gentle frown on your lips. "Stop sucking."

"It's gotten soft."

"It's called a dad bod." You brush your fingers over his lower stomach, and he exhales as you hum happily. "I like you however you are."

"You like me?"

"You never quite seem to believe me when I tell you." You crane your neck upward, brushing noses with Curly as he hums.

"I can never really tell."

"I know. All your frat knows." You laugh, voice airy as he hums quietly.

"I doubt you'll remember this in the morning."

"Then you'll just have to remind me." You hum quietly, palm sliding under his shirt as you brush over his stretch marks.

"You don't mind them?"

"We match... just tell me you love me in the morning." You close your eyes, and Curly finds a hand on your waist as he continues to watch the rest of the party.

Curly thinks you might actually like him.

Despite it all, Curly does like you. He doubts the world "like" would even encapsulate just how enraputred he is with you. Pretty, pretty girl. He thinks — chin resting on your head and sun peeking past the blinds in your bed. He gets why you like your bed a lot more. It's much cozier than his, and your back pressed to his chest only serves to have him groan when you shift.

He doesn't quite remember how he ended up in your bed, only that he's got his head buried in your back as you stretch your arms over your head.

"g'mornin'."

"Mornin' to you too, Grant." You grumble, getting up to rest on your elbow as you turn around.

"Aren't you a sight in the morning." He mumbles into your skin, and you yawn.

"You know what isn't?"

"Me?"

"Your breath." You push him off of you, Curly's laugh rumbling in his chest as you sigh, opening your phone. "You want brunch?"

"How could I ever say no to you, sweet'eart?"

"Oh, god. Man so sleepy he reverts to his old accent."

"You love me."

"Debatable." You run your hand through his hair, watching as he rests his chin on your chest. "What'you looking at me like that for?"

"Thinkin' 'bout how you're so pretty." He mumbles, closing his eyes as you scratch at his scalp. "Brunch?"

"I'll call in."

"No, let me." He reaches behind him for the phone, humming. "Same place as usual?"

"Yeah."

"Go on, then. Get ready while I make our reservation."

You press a quick hum to his forehead, getting out of bed ot get ready.

Curly likes this a lot better.

He finds that it's much better to get closer to you, and it almost feels like a reward for the years he had toiled away in college. Something sweet as nectar on his tongue when you give him a quick kiss between tasks, his shoulders sunk and relaxed as he watches you get ready for dates, humming when you complain about how he's a little unshaven. He'll do it for you. He always will. He'll let you rub at his chin when he finishes shaving, humming happily to himself when you press a quick kisso to his jaw.

Warm and cozy. He likes you quite a bit.

Quite a bit is an understatement, he thinks.

You look pretty at all angles, but he finds that some sick part of him finds contentment and satisfaction when you're under him — bare to the eye and touch.

He never lasts long with you looking like this, lashes fluttering as he rasps at the sound your pretty pussy makes for him as he slides in, breath heavy as he stills, your nails digging into his shoulders as you match your panting with his.

"God, dammit, Grant, move." You sing for him, and Curly groans in response.

"Sound beautiful singin' like that, angel."

"Don't you want me to sing for you more? Your name like a prayer on mine lips?"

"Don't tempt me." He holds your hips in place when you try to shift, brows furrowed as he exhales. "Gon' just flood that pussy if you move this quick."

"Never fucked a woman before?"

"You'd be surprised at how little I pulled up until college." He pinches at your waist, bucking his hips into yours as you squirm, stars in your eyes as your nails reach for his wrists, finding something to ground yourself as he gradually speeds up. "Loved playing dumb and watching girls give up. No one likes a dense man."

"I seem t— ah." Your lashes flutter, head thrown back as Curly practically drills into you, holding your head in his arms as your quiet pants register in his ear, causing him to twitch inside of you.

"You don't like men who play dumb, sweetheart. You're the one who," He rolls his hips, earning a particular whine from your lips, and his head spins. "you're the one who plays dumb. Stringing me along for so long. Have to thank you, though. Glad you fixed me."

"Fixed? Fixed ya how?" You pull at his hair, and he groans.

"Oh, sweetheart. You don't even know."

"Really?" You tempt, tongue darting out to wet your bottom lip, craning your neck to avoid Curly's as he lets his teeth graze your pulse point.

"Gon' bite you. Puncture wounds in your neck and leave red that clings for days." He rumbles, exhaling into your neck as your nails dig into his back. "Felt you clench right up. Would you be into that? Marked with my teeth despite your distaste of association with me just months ago?"

"It wasn't distaste of— you—" You heave, curling into his chest and voice shaking. "You know w-why."

"He's gone now, and I get you all to myself." He mumbles. "Get to bring you over... and fuck you dumb on this cock in my room."

"Hate you." You gasp, lashes fluttering as he groans.

"No y' don't."

"Hate that fuckboy talk you keep," You yank at his hair, forcing his head back as you tilt your head. "spitting out. You're not my sweet boy, now are you?"

"Not when I'm buried balls deep in you." He forces out, thumb finding your clit as you jolt. "There she is..."

You let him fuck you through your orgasm, nails dug into his shoulders as you leave marks, his quiet moaning rippling against your skin as you throw your head back and feel him pulse inside of you.

Curly thinks he's reached some kind of ascension. Raptured in the moment, head spinning deliriously at the feeling of you practically milking him for all he has. This is what he's been waiting for, he supposes. You're singing his name like a prayer, eyes rolled so far back he's worried they'll get stuck like his ma used to tell him, but, oh, heavens be dammed. If this is how he goes then so be it.

The bliss will bleed and his skin will burn, but he doesn't really mind it.

"You're wonderful, sweetheart." He mumbles, forehead pressed to yours in the afterglow, and you'll call him a sap and sigh.

"You think I'm a sap?"

"I know you are." You mumble, thumbs finding his cheek as he closes his eyes, basking in your touch. "I like it."

"Well, I like you."

"Sap."

"Your sap."

Curly finds that maybe its a little twisted that he had to toss his friend for you, but really, who is he to complain when you're so pliable under his hands? You prefer him to be pliable as well. It helps the two of you communicate and work better.

"You think I can keep the stubble after we graduate?"

"Mm, don't want burns when you eat me out." You hum.

"You gon' make me give that up to keep my beard?"

"You'd just have to step up your aftercare."

"I can do that."

"Maybe focus on your job after graduation first."

Curly closes his eyes, humming into your bare shoulder. "Won't y' come with me?"

"We'll see."

"I'll make sure it's a yes." He mumbles.

"We'll see when we get there."

He'll make sure it's a yes when he gets there.

But, until then, he supposes he'll just have to stay dangled on your finger like a pretty little accessory.

[erimeows]

TFA Characters' Toxic Traits

Me with another TFA headcanon set? Who would've guessed. Got the inspiration for this one after realizing I'd done it with MysMes but not with Transformers. Enjoy!

Optimus Prime: Shoulders every single burden all by himself. Will not ask for help and open up to others when needed, even though not doing so ends up negatively impacting everyone more in the end than asking for help would've.

Bumblebee: Toxic positivity- enough said. You vent to him and he's like "oh but you have so much to be happy about!".

Bulkhead: Will not take sides in any conflict of his own accord even if he knows that one side is "right" if he fears it will upset any of his friends. Passively steps out of conflicts even when he's needed, unless it's an absolute emergency.

Ratchet: Refuses to open up about trauma that he has even though it affects the way he acts and negatively impacts the people around him, who are very confused as to why he acts the way he does.

Prowl: Has an ungodly superiority complex, tends to think he's better or smarter than others (even when he's not), though he's trying to work on that.

Sentinel Prime: I think we saw in the show, but he's very prideful and will never admit that he's wrong in any situation. Also terrible at offering genuine apologies- more of a sarcastic "I'm sorry you feel that way" than a genuine "I'm sorry I did (x)" kind of guy.

Jazz: Gets uncomfortable when things get too serious to the point that if people try to open up to him about something deep, he will change the subject or deflect them 90% of the time.

Ultra Magnus: Too by the book. Will do things that he doesn't believe in or ignore wrong doings for the sake of legality.

Megatron: Very selfish and very charming, which is a bad combo. Similar to Starscream, he will be nice to your face if needed and then screw you over in the end as long as it benefits him.

Starscream: So many, but the worst one is lying to people's face and then talking shit behind their backs or doing them wrong for his own benefit.

Blitzwing: Depends on which of the three personalities you're dealing with because they all have some pretty over the top toxic traits, but the worst and most prevalent one is that all three of them tend to belittle others to feel better about themselves- especially if their life is going bad or if they're feeling insecure about something in particular.

Lugnut: The Megatron obsession, obviously. It gets to the point that anyone and anything else in his life that should be prioritized get(s) pushed to the side for Megatron's sake when Megatron doesn't value him nearly as much.

Blackarachnia: Very vengeful and obsessive about getting revenge to the point that it's unhealthy. Obviously this is seen in her TFA episodes where she wants revenge on Optimus/Sentinel for what happened when they were in school- but those emotions are over a huge tragedy that happened in her life and are almost understandable. This toxic trait also applies to, say, someone who accidentally shoulder checked her or took her lunch from the staff fridge. If you wrong her in the slightest, she will make sure she has revenge, even if it was a genuine mistake.

Lockdown: Can't handle commitment. He's not scared of it, just not emotionally mature enough. Whether it be a job, a friendship, a romantic relationship, or whatever else, he won't commit. He doesn't care whose feelings it hurts or if he's passing up on something genuinely good for himself either.

Swindle: Also can't handle commitment, but I'd argue that his worst toxic trait is actually his concern for money. He's terrified of being broke to the point that it consumes his every waking minute. Sure, he enjoys the swindling, but if he misses out on money he panics and he will go to ridiculous lengths to get a good deal or to rip someone off.

[huh-i-guess]

The Choice

(Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader)

Summary: Miguel needs your help with the Miles situation.

Warnings: Angst (?) 🛑SPOILERS 🛑 idk if this is fluffy or not -_-

Word Count: 683

“Miggy. I think you are being too hard on him. The kid’s 15 and he's scared. You and I both know what that is like.” You started as you paced through Miguel’s lair.

“He doesn't know what it is like to lose someone- EVERYONE that he loves. He’s a selfish immature kid who doesn't deserve to have his powers. That bite wasn’t even meant for him” He fumed as he slammed his fist onto his desk console.

“Please mi amor. Have some compassion for him. He is a kid.” You pleaded.

“Y/N this isn't just about his dad okay. The world. His world. Ours. The multiverse. Everything could collapse. I can't lose anyone else. I can't lose you.” Miguel drops to his knees in front of you and places his head onto your stomach.

“Cariño there will be nothing left. I have dedicated my whole life to keeping the multiverse safe. I can’t let this anomaly mess it up. It's not just him and his dad. It’s you and me. It’s all of us.” He looked up at you with tears rimming his waterline. He looked at you with a pain that was normally reserved for his memories of his daughter. It pained you to see him like this.

“Miggy… I don’t know what to say. ” You ache. You look down at your partner and feel something that you haven't felt in years. It's uncertainty. The deep gnawing feeling stuck in your chest. You felt like it was wrong to trust your heart. Miguel is a man who has been through a lot in his life. He has always been knowledgeable and understanding. He is the one who has always made the difficult choices but this. This felt like some horrible test that assesses your moral compass. Choose your lover and the universe or a scared, curious kid whose future holds great potential for bad and good, who wants to save his family. This dilemma was one that ripped you apart because at some point in your life, you have been in Miles’ shoes but now you are a grown person who has had the blinders of youth ripped away from you. You have felt fear and loss in your life but never have you expected and anticipated it. To know what Miles knows must be gut wrenching. And that is why you feel what you do. This situation has broken you and what you stand for. It has made you doubt yourself.

“I need to stop him. This has to happen. It's happened to all of us and we are built stronger from it. He’s caused too much damage.” You lifted Miguel from his knees and embraced him in your arms. You tugged at his suit and felt your tears fall from your face. You inhaled deeply and felt the drum of his heartbeat. This man who has fought for you for so many years and loved you deeply. The fear that flooded you at the thought of his heart stopping was enough to shake you. He was right. No matter how wrong it felt to let your love force a child to watch his father die, you knew he was right.

“I need you with me. Please, Cariño. You are one of our strongest and brightest. Stay by my side. Please. I need to know that you will support me.” You knew Miguel would never beg unless he was in desperate need. Looking around and seeing the damage Miles caused to the tower, you felt his desperation was well placed. He removed his clawed gloves and placed his hand on your cheek. You leaned into his warm touch.

“This feels so wrong Miggy. I don't want him to go through this pain. I can't wish that grief onto anyone.” You pleaded as you lifted your head to meet his gaze. He let out a small sigh and brought his lips to yours. His plump warm lips met yours and filled you with a sense of calm.

He placed his forehead against yours and stated with anguish, “It’s our only option.”

[youronlylie]

hello people in my phone

BOONE head cannon list, just a mix of stuff that'll probably change later ( THERE WILL BE MORE ) 1/?

• He undoubtedly was ripped/heavily worked out being in the ncr, after moving to novac and loosing his wife he undoubtedly lost a lot of muscle but...guys he still is literally like beefed.

• He cannot fucking cook for shit, he understands what shouldn't be put in your body but from there he has no clue.

• Going off of cooking, he has strict times where he eats, like routine from the ncr.

• For some reason he strikes me as a guy who really enjoys fruit whenever he can get his hands on it.

• Cannot tolerate any sort of spice.

• Smells very mettalic, sweaty, like man must.

• Has a soft spot for cats.

• 1000% is not bald, just shaves his head as he probably prefers the look.

• I feel like with a romantic partner, since he isn't one much for talking his love language would be physical touch or gift giving, I could imagine him seeing stuff he knows they'd like and saving it for later, excited to see how they'd react.

• He would definitely have a special place in his heart for fantasy movies, he doesn't seem to be able to express himself well and I feel like the creativity of something like lord of the rings would get him going.

• I seriously cannot pick so I'll include both, he is either an extreme cuddler with a romantic partner or on very rare occasions, he's just terrible at expressing emotion.

• If the courier and him are something like romantic partners he'd definitely never be able to sleep, often awake staring and listening for noises, waiting for the next cascade of legionares but it never happens and he eventually learns that.

• I don't think he'd ever get married again unless it'd be over 20 or so years in the future, it's a type of commitment that I don't think he could mentally handle whatsoever unless he is totally over Carla.

• I definitely do think boone could find love again in another person, he's scared and alone, fearful for any sort of attachment.

• 10000% has really really nice man hands, like large hands with nice fingers.

• Is definitely tall but not close to arcade tall, 6' ish at MOST, I just feel like looking at his build and concept art that he is definitely a tall man.

• Secretly really has a thing for drawing whenever he can, especially when he was nested at novac, sitting up top the dinosaur scribbling stuff on old receipts or whatever else it helps him get his emotions and thoughts out.

• irl he would be so patriotic it's not even funny, like he'd go all out for fourth of July but is the somber type so he'd cook hot dogs and whatever else then sit in the corner and watch everyone else.

• Has a thing for memorizing features, very very very intuitive and will remember almost anything you tell him.

• He is so the type of guy to enjoy snow, like yeah he'd probably be kinda pissy for a bit but if you pushed his buttons enough I feel like he'd mess around with the courier.

• He absolutely like no doubt has nightmares, like the ones where you erupt in cold sweat and your throat is sore.

• If he does sleep like ever, along with nightmares he grips the sheets, rolls around a whole lot, mumbles. In the ncr he was the total opposite, stone faced, layed straight and slept some what peacefully until later on in his ncr years.

• Yearns for someone, even platonic, to just sit beside him, no words and scratch his back and kinda just touch him lightly. I don't think he'd cry but it's something I could imagine would bring him close to tears.

• He absolutely probably finds almost everyone annoying, like, he just is done with everything and doesn't give two shits about what anyone has to say unless the courier puts some sense into him.

• Really disagrees with gambling, just doesn't like it.

• Wishes he had a nice farm house, out somewhere away from everything, where it has everything he needs and could be away from absolutely everyone. ( of course after extracting revenge on the legion )

• He wants to learn how to play guitar, either he has tried and is horrible or has just never gotten the chance, I have a feeling he'd really be into (irl) like classic rock or something smooth.

• Cannot look at people with features his wife had the same, down to personality or looks.

• Absolutely dreads deep down without realizing going back to novac when the courier disbands him.

• He would like having books read to him, he's a listener not a reader, likes hearing people's voices just not his own.

• At a point probably had a nickname for his rifle, something like Beth or something that was a joke between him and Manny.

• Manny 1000% at a point tried hinting to boone or even confessing his love for him, either the point never got across or they got over it together. ( somewhat ish at a point )

• In all reality I play him out to be a really sweet guy, which I can imagine and he can somewhat tend to be but he ultimately really doesn't care, he'll kill in order to get what he wants ( so be it revenge or whatever else ) even if he isn't necessarily fond of it.

• At a point, consumed by guilt he forgets what Carla looks like and that eats him up inside, like the teeth gritting soul crushing ache for revenge, and a year or two leads him to completely forget her complexion.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

I was reading some of your old stuff and saw the one where Beidou’s S/O scared of ocean.

So keeping the same energy how about Xianyun,Amber and Sara(or anyone who has thing for heights/flying) with an S/O who’s scared of heights?

Imagine teasing someone like Sara and her grabbing you, dashing towards the sky and dangle you by your leg until you say sorry.

Oh and sorry for sending too many asks you’re like one of the few most active on Reader x fandom blogs and your work is amazing!

(Genshin Impact) Xianyun, Amber, and Sara's S/O being afraid of heights

I don't think Sara would be THAT sadistic personally, and don't worry about sending asks! That askbox will just grow sentient and kill me soon anyway.

Xianyun to some extent, understands S/O's fear of heights.

After all, they could not easily fly like her, being a mortal human and all.

Nevertheless, this does not stop Xianyun from constructing a device that would help alleviate their fear.

She wished to show them how beautiful the world was from up high.

More pressingly, she couldn't invite them to her true abode since the domain looked like it was floating above an endlesss chasm, S/O would surely die from fear from that alone.

(S/O) "Xianyun? What's that?"

(Xianyun) "One has created a device that will let you soar up into the air."

(S/O) "...W-Why?"

(Xianyun) "So that we could help dispel your fear of flight, I can safely assure that is 100% safe."

(S/O) "I don't doubt it, but I don't think my heart could-"

(Xianyun) "Worry not, for One will be with you every step of the way."

Xianyun is patient, after all she had four disciples under her care.

Everyday she helps them practice and eventually start floating ever so higher off the ground.

Amber understands the concept of being afraid of heights, but since she glides all over Mondstadt, she can't fully comprehend it.

It does not stop her from at least trying to comfort S/O.

(Amber) "Hey, no worries! I won't force you to jump off Starsnatch Cliff with me-"

(S/O) "Y-YOU BETTER NOT!"

If S/O wanted to help conquer their fear, Amber takes it very slow.

No diving off cliffs, at least not yet.

Amber is always stoked to help them out, making sure that they will never get hurt, not on her watch!

(S/O) "I will never understand how you can do this every single day...!"

(Amber) "Psh, this height is nothing! I once did a backflip off Dragonspine-"

(S/O) "Of course you did..."

Sara doesn't fly often unless it's during a battle or an emergency, so thankfully S/O doesn't really have to deal with heights.

At least, as much. There were still lots of cliffs in Inazuma City, strangely enough.

Sara does her best to make sure they don't get near them often, but if she was ever approached on trying to face their fears.

Well, she could make some exceptions.

(Sara) "Are you sure? You can always just-"

(S/O) "A-As long as you're here, I'll...I'll try!"

Her heart began to swell with pride and affection, seeing how much they faith they placed in her, as well as themselves.

She was carrying them bridal style, before deciding to go for a little test flight.

(Sara) "Hold on tight, S/O."

[scrollonso]

Careful — Carlando

@ellearts fueled my ideas...

Carlos knew he shouldn't, he had no business starting anything with the 19-year-old rookie he was supposed to be mentoring. But it wasn't entirely his fault. Lando was the one who had kissed him so innocently, confessing he liked him more than he should. Lando's shy, uncertain soft lips had felt so good on his own, and he couldn't bring himself to deny the sweet boy a thing, even if it was their first kiss.

It soon became something they did when they were alone, after their training sessions; they kissed often. Nothing serious, just a few reassuring pecks when Lando aced a lap time or when Lando would pout because he didn't understand a strategy. Lando would always smile so cutely, clinging to Carlos like there was no other place he'd be. Carlos liked that, liked it a lot.

The kisses eventually turned into full-on make-out sessions, and before long, Carlos didn't know how he went without it before. Tongue kisses were the best, especially because Lando would make the cutest gasps and moans, not so silently begging for more. Therefore, it was only a matter of time before Lando was spreading his legs for him, asking for more, and Carlos had a weak constitution when it came to saying no to Lando.

Which would explain their current situation at the moment. They were in the team's motorhome, supposed to be reviewing race data, but somehow Lando had shifted in his seat until he ended up in Carlos's lap. To anyone walking by, they would look like two friends discussing strategy. When in reality, Lando had made a home there, rubbing his tempting ass against the driver's lap continuously. Carlos had tried to ignore it at first and focus on the data on the screen, but Lando made it so difficult.

Suddenly, he heard something that sounded like a pen falling to the floor and rolling under the table.

 "Silly me! I dropped my pen!" Lando says with faux surprise, a smile tethering on his lips. He slides down from Carlos's lap until his knees hit the soft carpet.

"Lando," Carlos warns tentatively and is only met with innocent eyes and a palm on the growing tent in his pants. "We're in public, we can't. Someone could walk by and see us."

A playful grin graces Lando's cute face. "Your cock doesn't share the same sentiment, Carlos." He presses harder against his teammates growing erection.

Carlos grabs Lando by the jaw from under the table, forcing him to look up at him. "That's because I have an eager little slut in my lap." His grip is almost too rough, but he knows it only turns Lando on further.

Lando let out an airy laugh but didn't respond, busying himself with freeing his teammates thick cock from its tight confines. Carlos looked around with caution; there was no one in their general area due to the time of day, but he could see a few mechanics in the distance between shelves. If they were to look up, turn their heads, or walk over, they would see them. For some reason, though, that wasn't enough for Carlos to stop Lando from licking his cockhead into his wet mouth. In fact, he grabbed hold of Lando's curls and watched the teen eagerly choke himself on his dick.

"Fuck, Lando," Carlos whispered thinly into the air. His eyes lowered, swallowing down his sounds of pleasure as Lando blew him, his slick tongue sliding up and down his underside with practiced movement. Lando made for such a pretty sight. He had everyone fooled into thinking he was a sweet kid from a nice family, and while those things were all true, they didn't know the kind of cockslut Lando really was. Something that Carlos had a part in.

Just as he was getting into the tight warmth of Lando's throat, the latter pulled off with a wet pop. He stroked the length while staring at Carlos with what could only be described as 'fuck me' eyes.

"I can't focus correctly unless I'm stuffed with you. You made me this way, Carlos, take responsibility!"

Curse Lando's silver tongue. Their frequent sexual activity had made the once shy, inexperienced teen into a confident little deviant who knew exactly what he liked and how to get what he wanted from his teammate. And Carlos, despite how he pretended to be the voice of reason, was just as weak for Lando and his intentions.

He tugs Lando up and back into his lap, the teen's legs around his waist. Carlos slots their mouths together, dipping his tongue past Lando's more than willing lips, tasting himself there. The teen moans needily, trying to pull Carlos closer, but the latter's grip remains as a reminder of who was really in charge. Carlos's fingers trail down Lando's body, lifting his baby blue sweater to stroke his soft tummy before going towards his goal; unbuttoning his pants with trained fingers. Lando keens into his mouth as Carlos rubs his slick clit through his underwear.

"So wet and we only just started reviewing. You need it that bad, Lando?" Carlos asks, his digits pushing the thin fabric aside to slide along Lando's folds.

Lando covers his mouth with his sweater sleeve, his eyes already glazing over as he nods erratically.

Carlos shakes his head, feigning disappointment when in reality his cock throbs with arousal from the pretty boy in his lap. "You're in no position to continue working like this. I'll have to take care of you like a good teammate so you can focus again."

He pulls back and stands. Lando whines needily and prepares to beg, but then he's being turned and shoved forward on the top of the open lapop. Lando braces himself on the hard table and looks back at Carlos with wide eyes.

"I thought you were worried about someone seeing us," Lando teases lightly, watching his teammate stroke his throbbing length.

"Then we're gonna have to be really quiet, hm?" Carlos says, with a crooked smirk. He knew it was a risk; they were in a public place after all, and anyone, mechanic or team principle, could fall victim to the role of innocent bystander and witness their debauchery. They risked serious consequences if they got caught, but for some reason, that just excited Carlos more, and he knew Lando felt the same.

He trails his fingers against the soft inner thighs of Lando, admiring the way he trembles under his touch.

"Papi," Lando urges, but quickly regrets it when Carlos spreads his lips to view his pink entrance. He bites his sleeve, the soft blue slowly darkening, to quiet his moan.

Carlos couldn't put up a front; he was just as addicted to Lando as Lando was to him. As he pressed the tip of his cock past Lando's fat folds, he knew he'd never grow tired of the delicious heat enveloping his length. Lando moaned, rolling his hips back against his dick until Carlos was balls-deep inside his cunt.

"Fuck, Lando, you're gonna be the death of me," Carlos whispers low enough for only them to hear.

"Papi fills me up so well—!" Lando gasps when Carlos slaps his palm over his mouth, shoving his fingers in.

"Lower your voice," Carlos warns, his cock twitching inside Lando's tight snatch. "We have to be quiet. You can do that for me, right, amor?"

Carlos can't tell if Lando whines from the endearing pet name or because he hasn't moved yet, but it really doesn't matter because the teen bows his head lower and gives him a shaky nod. He smiles, dipping his digits down on Lando's plush tongue.

"Good boy. Now let Papi take care of you." He purrs, slowly backing his cock out before plunging back inside. He finds a steady pace, not wanting to go too fast, despite how much he knew Lando wanted him to, knowing if he really went all out, there would be nothing stopping Lando from wailing on his dick.

Lando holds the edge of the table with his hands, bracing himself for the hard thrusts that manage to drive them both insane with lust. The warm glide of Lando's walls feels even tighter, and Carlos couldn't believe he was fucking his teammate boyfriend in the team's garage. It was far more arousing than anything had prepared him for. It was true that anyone could see them, see him pounding into Lando who was pinned underneath him, taking each inch like a good boy, but Carlos couldn't bring himself to care in the moment.

Lando heeds Carlos's warning, barely makes a peep, his mouth stuffed with his sweater sleeve and Carlos's fingers. Only a few small gasps escape, and it's kind of disappointing for Carlos. One of the things that pushed Carlos over the edge was Lando's incessant moans and breathy calls for his "Carlos." If Lando was truly quiet, it wasn't nearly as fun.

"Baby," Carlos says, his voice soft and affirming. He moves his fingers under Lando's sweater, rubbing over his sensitive nubs. Lando audibly whines, but not nearly as loud as he usually would. "Come on, Lando, you can voice how it feels for me, can't you?"

Lando sniffles, the sound is unmistakable to Carlos's ears, and he stops mid-thrust. He turns Lando over so he's laying spread open on top of their work material, his swollen pussy and tight taint on full display for his teammate, and while the sight itself is magnificent, it's not what captures Carlos's gaze.

"Fuck, baby, are you crying?" Carlos asks, even though the answer is right in front of him. Lando's watery eyes with a reddish hue and tear stains down his cheeks. The driver's cock throbs, and he has to stop everything in himself to not come from his boyfriend's helpless face.

Lando nods. "F— feels good but I have to be quiet for Papi." He rasps, and Carlos bites back a groan. Within all the times they had fucked, Lando had never cried. He would whimper and moan about how good it felt, but Carlos hadn't seen him ever shed tears. His eyes were a soft green haze, half-lidded, pupils blown wide, and his bitten lips hung open just enough for his slick pink tongue to poke out. He already looked entirely fucked out, and they weren't even done yet. Christ.

"Feels that good, Lando? Baby crying cause he can't moan like the whore he is?" Carlos coos as Lando sniffles again, looking so gone and pathetic. Carlos taps his tip against Lando's wet pussy before pressing back inside. "My baby is so pretty even when you're crying. I know it's hard to hide your voice, but we have to be quiet unless you want to be found out."

Lando shakes his head in understanding, his arms reach for Carlos, holding him close by his shoulders. The position was entirely uncomfortable, the books' hard covers and pointy edges pressing into their bodies, but Carlos couldn't care less about the pain his body would be in later. The teen under him, completely capturing his attention.

"Tell me how it feels," Carlos urges.

"A-ah, Carlos," Lando pants, millimeters away from Carlos's parted lips. "So good, I wan' you to cum in me, please, please. Haven't I been good, Carlos, wan' it so bad," He's babbling, more desperate tears fall, and Carlos can't resist grabbing him by the jaw and dragging his tongue over his soft cheeks, licking up the wetness. He moans deeply, even Lando's tears tasted sweet.

"Sí, Lando, you've been a perfect teammate, you deserve a reward for your hard work," Carlos kisses his boy, his hips fixated on a slow deep thrust to avoid making the table shake. Lando yanks him close until their faces are touching, allowing Carlos to hear every delicious whine right next to his ear.

"P-Papi 's so dirty for fucking me in a library, but I love it. Your big cock makes me feel so full, hits every spot, love it so much," Lando whispers a bar of lewd words before biting Carlos's ear. "Cum in me, Carlos."

Carlos is finished upon hearing that, he slams his hips into Lando one last time, his cock twitching as he fills the teen up with his load.

"Fuck, Lando," he gasps loud, muffling his noise into Lando's neck and sweater. His release rocks through him, and for a moment, he forgets where they are, only able to focus on Lando and his filthy words that sent him to the brim.

Lando kisses Carlos lazily as he orgasms himself, legs holding his teammate's waist while they both come down.

"Lando... you did that on purpose," Carlos says later, putting his spent cock away while Lando carefully adjusts his pants back on his waist.

Lando smiles, only reaffirming Carlos's suspicions. "You were being a pervert about me crying so I wanted Papi to lose control too."

Carlos can't find it in himself to be actually bothered. He came harder inside Lando while having discreet sex in the back corner of the garage than any other location. Lando's words were just fire to the fuse.

"How can I not? You drive me crazy," Carlos smirks, rather pleased that his partner was just as perverted as he was. He adjusts his glasses and looks at the table. The laptop had random letters typed into various locations on the spreadhseet they had opened. Carlos deletes them, double checking before shutting the computer. He then turns to Lando, whose cheeks still wore a hint of pink. He licks his lips.

"...How about we skip work today?"

[ratsonastick]

Jealous Clarisse has my heart, so could you do one where she's jealous of the reader with a new camper but she doesn't do anything because she thinks the reader doesn't like her and vice versa? with a happy ending please

Clarisse La Rue x Oblivious!FemReader

A/N- IM A JEALOUS JEALOUS JEALOUS GIRLLL. If I can't have HER baby

Also sorry its a little short!!

Request are open

─⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Clarisse wasn't someone big on confronting their feelings, that is unless it's related to anger. So when she saw you standing with some other camper who was trying to be smitten. She scoffed and walked away. 

She knew there was a chance you wouldn't like her, but the way that she finally got you to hang out with her, and how you were so cute near her, just gave her the impression that you did. 

So she did what she usually did, which was go to the training field and punch a dummy. For the next few days, she was more aggressive toward others, If that's even possible … 

Clarisse is just honestly someone who doesn't know how to react when her vulnerable side is declined because she never shows it to anyone. Her friend Selena (If that's what you call their relationship) told her that it wasn't fair to blame you, you had no idea. 

But Clarisse thought she was being obvious, complimenting you, giving you extra portions of food, and lifting heavy things for you. 

Along with being aggressive, or more sassy as some would say, she was constantly ignoring you. As much as she would hate to admit it she did feel a bit jealous, and now a part of her felt embarrassed and not good enough to keep trying. 

This was the first time she had ever felt not good enough. 

You, on the other hand, didn't know why she wasn’t speaking to you all of a sudden. 

Every attempt to speak to her she’d scowl and walk in the other direction, trudging forward just like she did a year before when she didn't care for you at all.

You were stressed, not knowing what was wrong bothered you. You started to believe that she didn't like you, that maybe you said something that showed your interest and she got grossed out. 

One day when you found her alone in the field you finally decided to confront her. At first she didn't notice you, throwing another punch at the dummy, but then when she did she turned away and walked towards the bench avoiding your gaze. 

“Clarisse!” you called out, walking forward faster to get to her. “What do you want?” She asked sternly, which took you aback. 

“What's with this?” you asked hinting at her attitude in a distressed voice which made her sign and turn to face you, you looked at her and truly saw nothing for a moment. 

Even though Clarisse was upset, her hands still got slightly sweaty at the sight of you. 

“What's with what?” She spoke up, her shoulders raising slightly with each heavy breath she took in. “This attitude, you’re like a completely different person.” 

She rolled her eyes and turned back to the bench taking a sip from a water bottle, it was yours, the one you lent her when you got worried she wasn't drinking enough water. 

Clarisse took it because she thought it was the closest thing she’d ever get to kissing your lips. 

“I'm a different person? What about you, walking around talking to some kid who was clearly flirting with you! Don't you understand how much of a fool you made me feel?” she spoke, turning to look back at you, her eyebrows furrowed. 

“Clarisse, what are you talking about!” you spoke up, “Stop playing dumb! That new kid.” She shouted at you, which made you take a step back away from her. 

She never showed this side of her to you, the side that every Ares kid had, Anger. 

Clarisse tried to calm down but a part of her felt like it was on fire. “That kid was a childhood friend … he's 5 years younger than me.” You spoke up with a disgusted look on your face, scoffing at her ignorance. 

Clarisse could've sworn that kid was 6ft tall when she saw him. 

You shook your head turning around to walk away  “I’m such an idiot for liking you.” you spoke softly, but Clarisse heard you say it and her heart skipped a beat. 

You liked her … 

She wanted to run after you, she wanted to apologize and kiss you. But her embarrassment and realizing she was wrong made her stop and stay in place, her breathing deepening. When you were out of sight she threw the water bottle onto the ground in annoyance, and that's when she heard a yelp. 

She turned to the side and saw Annabeth taking her hat off “Annabeth … get lost.” Clarisse would've been angry about Annabeth stalking, but she had bigger things to worry about. 

“Talk to her.” Annabeth spoke up “One thing I know about Y/n is that she is a forgiving person … which is also a curse. She needs someone like you to help her make decisions like that.” Annabeth spoke before walking away. 

And for once Clarisse agreed. 

That night Clarisse walked up to your cabin and opened the door, it was late, and a lot of your siblings were giving her stares for going in the cabin at this time. 

But she was on a mission. 

She saw you propped up in your bunk with a small light shining behind your shoulder so you could read her book. 

You looked so beautiful to her, she could take you right here if she could. 

But she approached you, and when you finally noticed her you shut your book and turned the light off. “Y/n” Clarisse spoke softly, kneeling down “Please come outside.” 

“I’m sleeping” 

“No, you just talked.” 

You sighed and turned to face her, sitting up in your bed, and Clarisse felt her heart skip another beat. “Fine … but make it quick,” you mumbled. 

Clarisse smiled and took your hand, and you wrapped your fingers around hers. She brought you outside and turned to face her. 

“Look I’m an idiot, I know but please forgive me. I can’t help being jealous and angry; it's just the way I am, and the way I always will be. I should've talked to you about it but I didn't, I just like you so much and seeing you smile at someone else made me hurt.” 

You smiled at her and rolled your eyes as you looked to the side, but Clarisse didn't stop. She grabbed your hands and kissed them both as she looked at you “Princess please” she mumbled slightly and you could've sworn you saw a blush of embarrassment on her. 

“Fine,” you said. 

Clarisse was shocked, that was it? She was prepared to fight, do anything to win you back, but all she had to do was be truthful. 

Her eyebrows slightly scrunched and she smiled “But just remember Clarisse, if you get jealous and decide to ignore me again I will end you.” 

Clarisse nodded her head and placed her hands on your hips, hooking her fingers onto the inside of your pajama shorts and pulled you closer to her. She had a smirk on her face “Whatever you say ma’am” 

And with that she kissed you softly, but eventually she depended on it as her hand went to the small of your back, pressing you against her.

[genericpuff]

I've watched both (this is a hazbin hotel ask btw) but tend to keep my eyes closed to merch sales (and such forth) unless it can pierce my five degrees of separation

also gotta admit that I've been not keeping up with HB since... honestly the since the season end. yeah I'm behind.

What do you mean they're waiting for what's functionally pamphlets? It's taking MONTHS for a pamphlet?

That's funny in the bad way 😭

yeah so from MY UNDERSTANDING (i.e. correct me if I'm wrong) the playbill was part of some exclusive package deal where buyers would receive some keychains, trading cards, and a playbill which was supposedly going to be filled with exclusive interviews/quotes/background information/etc. about the show's production. That playbill was exclusive to the pre-orders, meaning if you didn't pre-order this merch package, presumably you could still purchase the merch package on its own (or possibly its parts separately on the merch site like the keychains n junk) but the playbill would ONLY be sent to those who pre-ordered.

The pre-orders started around a year or so ago, but then roughly 9 months ago when the bundles started to show up, people reported that the playbill - literally the centerpiece of the marketing - was missing.

Since then, the playbills still haven't arrived, but customers have gotten TWO separate emails written from the "characters" of Hazbin Hotel updating them on the situation. Yes, you read that right, the emails meant to update people on the part of their pre-order package that was still missing - a package that cost them $76 and again, the playbill was exclusive to - were written in-character like a roleplay post in a message board forum.

And for some reason, the A24 staff decided that Husk would be the best character to deliver the bad news, a character who is, like many characters in Hazbin, just an asshole.

It's wild that this even got approved as an official email from the A24 team because let's face it - if you had spent $76 with the good faith expectation that you were gonna get everything you were promised in return for that $76 is this really the response you'd want to get? I'm not exactly sure when this email was sent out but according to some of the people reporting on it via Twitter, it was around the end of January (so the end of the month that folks were expecting it to roll in). Not a great way to tell people that the product they're waiting on - and didn't expect to be missing in the first place - was delayed.

Months later, a second email rolled out, and A24 sort of learned their lesson, not by actually addressing their customers as human beings, but this time as Charlie, who is at least not a complete dickhead.

It still doesn't really answer any questions though because it's putting the responsibility on fictional characters to explain what's going on. So of course everything is masked behind the "teehee, Alastor did a naughty and Niffty got stuck in the printing press machine!" roleplaying talk which literally does not actually tell anyone what's really going on, just gives them a vague impression based on what they chose to make a fictional character say.

Sure, it's nicer than Husk, but it's still disingenuous and frankly just cringe esp when this is concerning the interests of paying customers.

I don't know if this is Vivzie's doing or someone else on the A24 team, but it really feels like they're trying to operate the same way HH would have operated back when it was just a Youtube series... but it's not a small-time Youtube production anymore, it's a full on Amazon show with hired employees and a customer base that expects the thing they paid for to actually show up. So at best this is just really immature mishandling of a situation that should be taken at least relatively seriously.

And really, out of all the things to delay... the playbills? Really? For anyone who's not familiar with what a playbill is, it's literally just a booklet. Professional, "Playbill" branded playbills that you see in legitimate theatre productions are (if I recall correctly) anywhere from 30-60 pages, but a lot of those pages are often dedicated to ad space of other productions and companies, with maybe only 10-15 pages dedicated to the actual production. People love collecting them though because you typically only receive them when you go to see a play itself, so it can be a great souvenir from limited run productions.

It's kinda like comic collecting for theatre-goers, they can serve as memorabilia or as "proof" that you were there to attend a specific show. Though playbills don't tend to accrue as much value as much as comics can, they can still have a lot of sentimental value.

Hazbin Hotel isn't a play though. It's a streaming show available on Amazon Prime that anyone can watch anywhere in the world. It doesn't exactly have the need for something like a playbill, because the exclusivity is simply tied to how much extra money you're willing to give them for the pre-order, not to any sort of unique in-person experience of going to the theatre and watching the show live with your own eyes.

Granted, Hazbin Hotel does obviously take heavy inspiration from theatre culture as it is itself a musical, so I can understand the novelty and appeal of creating a unique playbill for it. I just don't really understand why that's the item that got delayed when a booklet containing exclusive info should be one of the easiest things to make, especially when it comes to production costs (printing a bunch of playbills shouldn't be anywhere near as expensive as producing keychains and trading cards).

But there was an update on reddit about this a couple weeks ago and it seemingly contradicts what A24 - sorry, 'Charlie', sigh - said months ago that they were working hard on specifically printing and packaging the playbill orders-

FINALLY the HH fandom gets a real human being from A24 responding, but they're saying that the designs are still being worked on??? So this means they haven't even started printing the things yet?? So that's an entirely DIFFERENT issue that hasn't been addressed up until this point.

So yeah, again, I don't have any stakes in this and it's definitely not something that I'm like, putting a lot of emotional investment into, but it has still been fascinating to check in on every now and then. Big condolences to the HH fans who paid $76+ for this package and are still waiting for the MAIN CENTERPIECE to show up - if you're one of those fans and are now reading this, you're probably gonna be waiting a little while longer because apparently they haven't even designed them yet 💀😆

[popopretty]

BSD Chapter 107

"In the Narrow Room" - Part 3.1

We got a rather long chapter this month and the plot is progressing! Asagiri is always so unpredictable and I love it so much.

Please note that I don't speak English nor Japanese as a native language and I am also super excited about the chapter so I may make mistakes here and there. Please have mercy on me ;_;

SPOILERS AHEAD

After hearing Teruko talk about the true purpose of The Decays of Angel, Atsushi's head becomes confused with all the thoughts of what is right or wrong. He wishes someone could answer all of his questions. He remembers how Dazai used to show up in his thought when he struggles, and wonder why this time he cannot hear Dazai's voice anymore.

He stops at the foot of the tower and notices Aya and Bram there. He tries to go and rescue them, but it turns out to be a trap, with Akutaga jumps out to attack him.

Sigma is finding his way in the prison after escaping from the elevator. He thinks about what happened. He remembers Dazai checking the elevator before getting on it, and realizes that Dazai already knew the elevator was dangerous from the beginning, and he probably just got on it because it is what needs to be done to save the Agency. Sigma also recalls Dazai's expression underwater, he wonders if its the face when Dazai realized that the elevator was going to fall, and that's why Dazai acted the way he did. Sigma wants to run away by himself because he thinks an ordinary person like him cannot do anything. He then found a paper on the floor. It is written in Russian, that says "Save me" (Notes: The original text is just "Please save", it is not clear who it is telling him to save)

Back to Atsushi and Akutagawa. Atsushi still doesn't understand what is happening. He tries to fight back and realizes that Akutagawa is not using his ability to guard himself. Akutagawa instead sucks the blood from his own hand to heal his wound. He doesn't try to cover himself because he can regenerate like that, and it means unless Atsushi kills him, there will be no way to stop him. Atsushi tries to tell him to stop, hoping his consciousness is still there, and that he still wants to ask Akutagawa why he saved his life that time.

In Mersault, Dazai is seen dragging himself and leaning against the wall, covered in blood with his legs broken. He looks up to the surveillance camera and tells Fyodor to put an end to his pain cuz it hurts so bad. Fyodor gladly accepts and sends Chuuya to finish him. Suddenly Sigma enters the room and shoots Fyodor in the shoulder, telling him to stop attacking Dazai. Sigma says he is there cuz he has promised Dazai to touch Fyodor to read his scheme in the airport. Fyodor asks why Sigma has to keep the promise with Dazai, which surprises Sigma himself. Fyodor then proceeds to say that Dazai has manipulated Sigma the whole time, and that normally Sigma is not that kind of a reckless person. He explains that at first, Sigma only wanted a "home" so he would not get used by anyone. But after watching Dazai, Sigma has come to realize that a lonely "home" is not enough. He has started to want not a place, but trust, a relationship where people rely on others without borrowing or trading anything. In other words, he has started to want to become a member of the ADA. Yet, Fyodor adds, it is not Sigma's own thought, but the trick Dazai uses to tamper with his heart.

Sigma thinks back of what Dazai has told him, and still decides to point the gun at Fyodor. Because even if it is a trick, Dazai has paid a big price for it, and accepting a customer's bet is the casino's way. He says he knows Fyodor is trying to manipulate him too, to cause distrust towards Dazai and makes him drop the gun. Sigma then adds that Dazai has won this manipulating competition.

According to the fact that Fyodor has to try to talk him into lower the gun, Sigma concludes that he has no other backup. He tells Fyodor he is going to touch him and read his information, but before that he wants Fyodor to tell him what his ability is, cuz its dangerous to touch someone whose ability might be activated by contact. In the last frame, Sigma changes the question from "What is your ability" to "What the hell are you?"

The chapter ends here. Next chapter will be out on June 2, 2023 (Japan time). Thank you for reading till the end!

[wh0refornikolailantsov]

Hey I have a request if that is okay. Can you please write a Kaz brekker x reader fanfic where the reader has a childhood teddy they are attached to but one day Jesper accidentally throws it out not knowing about the attachment and the reader is like oh it’s okay and acts like it’s okay but they are not . One day the reader walks into their room and there is a teddy just like theirs on their bed with a anonymous note saying it’s not yours but hope it helps and the reader notices the hand writing and says thanks to Kaz and he’s like for what and they say for the teddy. Please

I think I can do that

Small Sentiments - Kaz Brekker

Content Warnings: Canon Complaint Tragic Barrel Backstory Implied. Material/Sentimental Loss. Explicit Language. Not Beta/Proof Read.

It is in moments like this you are reminded that Kaz Brekker, Bastard Of The Barrel, had not had the luxury of comfort. The child he was before he became the man he is, died and what was raised from the deep was someone else entirely, and Kaz instead was left with this strange awkwardness of someone who was never loved and as a result never learned to love and is poorly improvising as he goes.

These small acts of understanding are not something that comes naturally to him. But this was something that seemed easy in principle, seemed straight forward, something he could fix. Or at least he could try to fix.

Jesper hadn't meant anything by it, he hadn't even really thought about what he was doing. He was in a stressed state looking for something and in the process he had been clearing things out, when you'd come back to your room in the Slat you had noticed immediately that it was missing. You'd tried to be calm and casual about it, walking into the Crow Club and asking if anyone had any idea what had happened with a bunch of the stuff. Jesper had shrugged it off and explained that he did some cleaning, Inej's eyes had scanned him, wondering if he would notice his misstep, but he didn't. It is easy for Jesper to forget that what he gambled away he did so of his choice, and many of his companions lacked belongings for reasons beyond their control. Inej had barely anything to remind her of who she was before she was taken, and those things she holds very dear. You weren't an exception to that, you had little from before your life became something else to what it was supposed to be, just small things, innocuous and valueless trinkets of a time that no longer even truly felt like your life.

"Don't worry Inej," Jesper had said, "I didn't touch anything that was yours, I just threw out a bunch of things that I don't even know why they were there, some worthless knickknacks and broken things, we are Crows, not magpies."

You hadn't been sure how to ask, and some of your heart didn't want you to, knowing the answer was going to hurt. "You didn't see a teddy on your cleaning venture, did you?" You had asked, as blasé as you were capable of sounding.

"Not unless you're talking about the rag with eyes," Jesper said, waving a hand as he continued ranting about how he still hadn't found what he had been looking for. You'd felt Inej's eyes on you, you knew that she knew but you couldn't let Jesper know. He hadn't meant anything by it, he didn't realise what it meant to you, what it was to you. He couldn't have known that you put so much love and nostalgia into such a small bundle of worn and battered fabric with tiny glass eyes.

Inej said your name and you barely heard her, but you gave her a brave smile and brushed away all the concern you could feel on her. "It's okay," you had told her. It wasn't okay. "It doesn't matter." It did.

"Did I fuck up?" Jesper had asked, and that worried look, that one that screams 'lie to me, I don't care if it's a lie, please just lie to me' was on his face.

"Don't worry about it Jesper," you had told him, "really, it doesn't matter at all."

You didn't think Kaz would have noticed the difference, the sadness. You often think that despite Kaz's uncanny ability to know almost everything you don't want him to know, unless it has a payment at the end of it, he doesn't bother noticing. But he sometimes surprises you, not enough that you forget who he is, what he is, what he does and why people call him by the names they do. But he still can surprise you. You often find it hard to believe a man by the name of Dirtyhands knows the gentler option exists, the kind option. He didn't built his life around being soft or kind, he built himself brick by brick, by being ruthless and earning the title Demon Of The Barrel.

But when you come home and there on your bed is something you never thought you'd see, a small note in his handwriting, not signed but you'd recognise it anywhere: 'It's not yours, but I hope it helps.'

The teddy sat centre of your bed is so familiar, it looks exactly like yours once did, back when it was new, back before life happened to both it and to you in disproportionate measure for the years you've lived. It looked how you remembered it, in those memories from before all the bad. How it once was, blindingly undiminished.

You reach out and the fabric is so soft under your touch that you flinch from it, it's been years since you've laid hands on anything that didn't have sharper edges or rough patches. You don't let yourself wonder how he got it, you know he got it, he didn't have to put his name for you to know only he could have done this. Kaz writes his r's in a way that you could recognise in the dark. You've never seen anyone write them with such certainty that is hiding hesitation, one day you might ask, but it doesn't matter right now.

Kaz is watching over the games at The Club when you find him, he is leaning against the far wall, back flush against the stone, both hands holding the head of his cane as he scans the tables, observing like a Saint over his kingdom, but with nowhere near as good intentions, his eyes are searching out for the sinners, for the bad and the worst, to see what he can make of it.

"Thank you," you say as you sidle up to him, he noticed you the moment you entered, but he didn't give that away. If he gave away every time he noticed you, he would be showing his hand all the time, and that's something Kaz Brekker cannot afford to do.

"What for?" he asks, not taking his eyes off the tables. You aren't expecting some monumental shift in character as you give Kaz your thanks, you're not looking for acknowledgement or explanation, not reaching out to find a trace of extra sentiment in the The Bastard Of The Barrel. You just want him to know that you know, and that you're grateful. Because Kaz Brekker went out of his way, to do something that didn't overly benefit him, surely if questioned he would play out every rhyme and reason, every equation that added up to this being 'practical' more than thoughtful. But it would ring oddly false to your ears and you know it.

"The teddy," you say plainly, before moving to excuse yourself.

"You're welcome," is all he says in return, still not letting his eyes wander to you as you move towards the bar, to where Jesper is signalling you for a drink. He cannot show his hand after all, he won't, not even to you. But these small acts, gossamer in their attempts to hide the endearment that lies beneath them, are at least something that he can quietly do for you.

[smallestapplin]

Little love

This was commissioned by @bellafragolina who asked for found family Trevor Belmont before meeting the others.

Word count : 1,521

No warnings!

-

-

-

When Trevor first found you, he didn't know what to do, he's a Belmont, not a babysitter. But he just saved your village from monsters, more specifically he saved you from being eaten. Your small chubby hands gripped onto his shirt, silently sobbing into his chest as he held you.

You've been traumatized, not wanting to make a sound in case more monsters come back. It sickens him, you couldn't be any older than five, and this is the world you were meant to be raised in?

"I got you now. Let's go find your parents, yeah?"

The mention of them just made you sob harder, it made his blood run cold.

They are probably dead.

Well, that's at least something you two have in common.

He shakes that thought from his head and tries to pull you away, just so he can see your face and ask a few more questions, only for you to cling to him tighter, mumbling something he couldn't understand but it sounded like pleads.

Fuck, he can't just leave you, but he's not exactly child friendly, and it's not like you can talk much, seemingly only knowing a few words.

When taking you with him, he asked around the village women how to take care of such a young child and what you could eat. He soaks up their cooing and praises while also getting the information he wanted before he stocked up and set off.

You're like his little shadow, always one step behind him like a duckling.

"Alright, you gotta name?"

You didn't answer, just held onto the end of his cape as you two walked.

"Well, aren't you the life of the party?" He snorts, running a hand through his messy brown hair.

"Hm, if you're gonna be my shadow, we are gonna need to train you. Can't have you gettin' hurt on my watch."

You're not like him or his family, you're supposed to be a normal child running around, scraping your knee, living a normal life, he's sorry it had to be this way but he will ensure you at least have a fighting chance.

The first night with you was a nightmare, he was so paranoid about monsters finding you he didn't sleep, any small noise had him on high alert, the only thing that calmed him down was looking over to your sleeping form all bundled up in his cloak, sound asleep.

It's also the first night he doesn't go to a tavern and drink himself to sleep.

Any new mission he spends getting a room first, booby-trapping it to hell and back, and placing protection symbols everywhere to keep monsters at bay. Anytime he goes to leave he makes sure you have food and water, and that the windows are shut and locked tight.

He crouches down to your height, handing you a rather sharp knife.

"Now, if someone knocks what do you do?"

"Don't open."

"Good! And if they claim to be me or the inn keep?"

"Don't open."

"And if they try breaking in?"

"Under the bed, go for the ankles."

"Good job, little love. I'll be back as soon as possible, do not open the door for anyone unless I give the code."

You nod your head, clenching the handle of your blade to you, holding it just like he taught you for maximum danger.

It's not ideal for you but it's to ensure you're protected while he hunts. He spends hours away at a time, fighting tooth and nail to kill vampires, ghouls, whatever those bastard bat monsters are, just to return to the tavern and drink and drink and drink.

Until his body feels warm.

It's then he returns to the room, knocking in a set pattern before muttering the goofy code he gave you. He smiles hearing the soft sound of your feet pattering against the wooden floor. After a few minutes of movement, the door opens, revealing you rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

"Ah, m'sorry my little duckling, seems I lost track of time."

You don't say much, just moving to let him in, and following right behind him as he flops face-first into the bed, groaning as he can finally relax his muscles.

Trevor can't help but chuckle, feeling you climb into the bed as well only to keep going until you're laying on his back.

"Swear you're like a cat."

You just get comfy and quickly pass out, having been so tired waiting for him.

He may have only found you months ago, but he doesn't know when he got so attached, he swore he'd never be a father or a father figure, swore he was destined to be alone and wear the weight of his clan's duty on his shoulders.

Being the last Belmont holds some pain to him. Everyone around him dies, he's not meant to have anyone.

So why did he cave and take you in?

You're just like him when he was young, though he was a much rowdier child, he can't fault you for changing with your environment.

You lost everything, you were alone, you had no one.

Just like him.

But he didn't want the cycle to continue, he didn't want any more lives lost.

He had no one.

He wanted you to have someone.

Months turned into years, he watched you grow, watched you pick up on people's lies, watched you pick up your training fast, being able to handle yourself while he's not around so he no longer fears what could happen to you.

He still never got a name from you, maybe you didn't have one or wanted to lose that part of your life, but whatever your reasoning he doesn't care.

Two years on the road together, he couldn't imagine not having you with him. Deep down in his gut, he knew if anything happened to you he'd be devastated.

But that's a price he's willing to take.

He's killed people for trying to take you away, killed those trying to hurt you, and he's proud you can take on smaller monsters on your own.

It doesn't stop him from picking you up and sprinting when needed, but you seem to have fun, even giggling when you get to sneak into small crawl spaces to help him reach something or overhear something.

"I get to be a monster Hunter just like you!"

Oh, he wants you to reconsider, he wants you to live a normal life but with him as your guardian that won't be possible.

You'll end up in his profession where people often die young.

But he will do what he can to make sure you are ready for it, to make sure you live longer than those fallen before you.

His little love.

His little duckling.

He will make sure every monster is vanquished to make sure you're safe.

For now, he will stay in this temporary room making silly voices as he tells you a story, smiling at how you squeal and laugh as he tickles you like he's the big scary monster.

You are his daughter in everything but blood.

The circumstances may not have been ideal, but he'd do it all over again.

Every argument, every tantrum, every cry, every laugh, every gleeful ramble, every excited question.

He will do it all over again.

Just to make sure you're safely by his side. Even if it's just you and him facing the world.

As your journey takes you closer to Wallachia, a place where the monsters seem to be spawning from, he still holds you, carrying you tightly to his chest as you sleep soundly.

He will have to set up camp soon if he doesn't have some inn close by to sleep at, but it's all worth it, even as his legs ache from walking he won't stop.

A mumble catches his attention. Pausing in his step he looks down at you, seeing you sleepily looking up at him.

"Something wrong, little love?"

"Mm..."

Trevor chuckles, brushing some of your hair out of your face.

"Just sleep, we are almost to a resting spot."

You just hold onto his shirt tightly, almost as tightly as you did the night he saved you from those creatures.

"Are you okay, did you have a scary dream?"

"Can...can I call you dad?"

His heart swells, and his blue eyes are already shimmering with unshed tears. His throat feels tight, closing as he tries to stop himself from sobbing.

You have no idea how much he's thought of it, how much he's wanted to hear you call him 'dad' instead of 'Trevor.'

The days and nights he's spent taking care of you, protecting you, teaching you the basics of the world while teaching you how to fight.

"Of course. Everything but in blood we are family. I will sooner perish than let anything in this world hurt you."

He can't believe he's grown soft.

But every day he wakes up with a new sense of motivation.

And that's to take care of you.

You are his daughter.

You are a Belmont all the same.

[secretpostsposts]

I'm going to call this Sibling Change

To avoid confusion, I'm going to call the adult version of the brothers John Dory, Bruce (they are the ones whose name can best be changed), Adult Clay, Adult Floyd and Branch, the young versions JD, Spruce, Young Clay, Young Floyd and Bitty B; unless it's Branch talking to the younger versions and he used the correct names (I imagine calling Spruce Bruce a mistake sometimes)

But more or less this is what I have in mind:

The adult siblings are very "emotional" as they see BittyB and have many feelings of guilt or regret because, their brother could have remained a sweet and gentle baby, but they ruined him, especially John Dory, I imagine that at some point he didn't. He endures it and only carries Bitty B and hugs him as if fearing that he would disappear into thin air and cries and asks, no, begs him to forgive him (taking into account that it was 20 years, I say John Dory seems to have traveled a lot, at some point). point returned to the Trolls Tree, so he could, for a while, believe that Branch was... Dead; I'm an older sister and I may not get along with my brother, the mere idea of losing him like that or having that idea, kills me inside, so John Doy may have that trauma, so not only does he apologize to Bitty B, he wants to believe that if he takes care of this version of his brother he will fix something about his now adult brother that he lives with) so I see a lot of part of the adult siblings these scenarios of regret and helplessness because they have this baby Branch in their hands and they know what to do but they feel bad, because he is their brother, but not their brother at the same time, they feel that they are trying to "replace" him in some way. shape.

While with the Band (I will refer to them that way since they are still a band and act more like brothers according to me) they are "floating" in the situation they feel unreal, they have their little brother, who is a baby, he wears a diaper !, and out of nowhere this adult Trolls Branch appears who claims to be Bitty B but in 20 years in the future and is so drastically different from his little brother, they understand that their little brother will change as he grows, but there is something wrong with this Branch, he doesn't seem to know how to deal with them, mistakes Spruce for "Bruce" and doesn't find Clat funny, and. Bitty B loves Clay's jokes, he seems nervous, and seems ready to have a heart attack every time he mentions or sees a Bergen too close to the tree, he also makes faces every time JD says something about the band or Harmony. Perfect Family; and not to mention Grandma, they just don't know what to do with this Branch, they know he's their brother but it's like having a perfect stranger in the house and their colors are so dull that they're starting to get sick with worry, and Branch is starting to ( I don't know if it's stealing or undermining) he will take JD's authority over the Band (brothers), he doesn't even let Grandma be in charge, he takes charge and it's strange.

This is more like a base of what the brothers' relationship will be like in these situations, a fanfic will be made, someone asked about it in the previous post, and Tumblr won't let me respond to the comments, so if anyone has something to say , the question box is open