#boys cannot be left unattended

[thatcoolguyeli]

Regulus takes Barty and Evan out on a leash, the boys cannot be trusted unattended either someones getting hurt or the police called

[lets-try-some-writing]

In your professional opinion: what would be some Cybertronian Superstitions? Like do the miners hit the entrance of mines after someone dies inside it to help free their sparks from their tomb? Do people not say Unicron’s name after dark for fear it’ll summon him? Is there a name(s) that you can’t say inside the Iacon Hall Of Records or else you’ll be cursed with bad luck????

Please feel free to go hog wild with this.

Oh boy I LOVE the idea of that sort of thing. Honestly, I can see all sorts of little superstitions existing due to mythos and history.

Miners make it a point to never leave their tools unattended. They take them everywhere. To recharge, to fuel, even to get repairs. As for why they do this? There is a certain belief that the tools carry a bit of the luck and wisdom of those who held them previously. And since most tools are handed down from one fallen miner to the next, miners treat their tools with reverence. Many have carried the same pick, and each has left their mark. It cannot be disregarded.

Additionally, miners refuse to enter a deep tunnel system without whistling down it first. The habit has been long since made null and void by tunneling improvements, but there are stories of miners getting lost in the dark, before they adapted to it. Many died before their optics were augmented to the low light conditions. Great swaths of miners still believe that the wandering sparks of those lost in the dark linger there, scared and alone. Whistling down the tunnel before entering gives the lost spirits of the dead something to cling to, a guide to the afterlife in a sense.

Gladiators have a particular set of beliefs revolving entirely around the concept of honor. They know that their work is bloody and often cruel, and so they have developed a strange set of beliefs. Every gladiator, before combat, will take a stick or something equally useless, and snap it in half. They will give half of their broken instrument to a trusted comrade and march off to fight. If they return alive, the two pieces are to be put back together and promptly crushed into powder to be cast out upon whichever mech or beast died so that the gladiator could live. A sign of respect. However, if the gladiator were to die, their comrade is obliged to gather up the fallen's half of the instrument and have them run through their funeral rites with the joined object. This is done out of a belief that the dead must be honored, lest they linger in the living realm to haunt those who killed them (in the case of the gladiator surviving) or to stay with the other piece of their spark (in the event the gladiator dies).

Gladiators also have a firm belief that going into battle without paint will inevitably lead to bad luck coming upon them. They take meticulous care of their accenting paint, tracing swirls and jagged lines with delicate touches meant for those of higher castes. Some believe the marks distract enemies. Others say that the marks ward off attacks, letting otherwise lethal combat situations turn in their favor. No one really knows what they do. It is just something that must be done. Failure to go into battle without paint has led to more than a few gladiators meeting their end. Seeing such things has left the rest preferring to not take chances. Megatron himself went into battle without paint one time, and he quickly learned never to do that again when he returned with a brand new scar on his shoulder.

Amongst dock workers, there are various superstitions revolving around cargo in particular. It's bad luck to look at someone's cargo if it has a written letter attached. It doesn't matter what is in the box, it is considered a stain on one's spark to witness the usually rather sappy interactions between those who bother with sending hardcomms. Additionally, dock workers have long since grown to fear any box that comes in solid black. There was exactly one incident where a black box appeared amidst the cargo and disappeared without a trace, taking several other cargo pieces with it. Since then, any black boxes are either thrown right off the truck with a collective agreement that the loss will be signed off as an accident, or said boxes are loaded up with one unfortunate spark to transfer alone. Black boxes being delivered by one mech are often found missing, the driver and the box itself having vanished without a trace. Black boxes are terrifying, and not one dock worker is willing to risk it.

It is also notoriously bad luck among dock workers to deny the youngling with golden optics a ride. They will appear anywhere and at any time without rhyme or reason. When they appear, they never say a word, instead coming up to dock workers and pointing toward whatever transport they are loading up. Dock workers have long since learned to quietly nod and promptly ignore the youngling as they load up alongside the cargo. Interacting with the youngling results in the worker in question befalling some unfortunate end. Ignoring the youngling entirely leads to a similar situation. This superstition began long ago, and many younglings have abused it relentlessly since no one knows what the mysterious youngling from the myth actually looks like aside from their optics.

Low caste mecha as a whole have a strange superstition revolving around the concept of truth. They are notorious for keeping information to themselves, but low caste mecha never ever outwardly or blatantly lie. They are very careful to leave even the smallest grain of truth in their words. Why? Because telling lies brings the whispers of Liege Maximo. What are the whispers? No one is exactly sure. It is an evil omen, one that has led the low castes to develop odd honesty. They don't want to risk Liege's touch, not when he was stated to have been torn apart during the first age for his manipulations.

Low level soldiers hold the belief that giving away their names to one another is bad luck. Since they can all die at any given moment, they find it easier to remain nameless around one another. To them, remaining without a name in the optics of those around them ensures that survivors of battle can move on without fear. Giving a name means binding oneself to another. Their sparks might linger if they are attached, and that could lead to pain for both themselves and their comrades. So to get around this, soldiers don't do the name thing. Instead, every soldier refers to each other through characteristics or words of endearment. "Yellow" for a mech with yellow plating. "Comrade" or "Brother" for a mech they have served with frequently. Anything except a name. It would be cruel to bind the dead to living and the living to the dead.

Soldiers also have a belief that leaving a corpse to rot is incredibly bad luck. It doesn't matter whose corpse it is. It can't be left out. If nothing is salvageable, the spark chamber must be removed and taken to be given proper funeral rites. Not a spark wants to risk and angry spirit lingering because the body was not tended to properly. This belief extends to the point where soldiers will actively tear out their own spark chambers if they know they are going to die (or request others to do it for them). They don't want to linger and haunt those around them, so its best that the core of their frame is guaranteed proper rites.

Flyers of all kinds simply refuse to fly when Luna 1 and 2 are fully aligned. There are a thousand stories telling tales of fliers crashing, being killed, hit by rogue shots, and everything else. They won't risk it, and instead of flying, flyers will instead actively hide from the moons on such occasions. Usually unwilling to be locked in tight spaces, such cycles are the exception. To be seen by the moons is to be hunted. They won't risk it. Additionally, flyers have one particular stretch of Cybertronian landscape they all avoid like the plague. Mecha have been known to go in and never come back out, or if they do return, they are changed. They don't want to mess with that place, not for anything.

Flyers also hold the firm belief that one must keep their optics in perfect condition. They run tests all the time to ensure that their optics function without issue. Some even go so far as to get goggles or visors built into their frames just to protect them. Most chalk this up to a simple desire to not go blind. But flyers think differently. They won't get their optics replaced even if its an option. Why? Because they hold the belief that they carry the optics of a mech who didn't get to soar. Every flyer who has ever lived has had the optics of a grounder who will never get to grace the skies. For flyers, they see their optics as something sacred. They fly not just for themselves, but also for whoever their counterpart is, living or dead. They honor another through their sight, and so they must maintain their vision at all costs. Some call the phenomenon something akin to soulmates. The flyers state that it is the price they pay for their gift of flight.

(Note: Starscream and many of his people do not subscribe to the above thought process. Thundercracker is the only notable exception. Most chalk this up to his love of romance novels.)

Enforcers have many little quirks depending on city, but one they all share is the universal habit of naming their weapon of choice. It is a strange not quite religious belief for them. Whatever the thought process actual is, Enforcers rely heavily on their weapons, and as such, they must appease the weapon itself. They have to bond to it, make it an extension of themselves so that they can move it just as easily as a limb. They go about this through naming, and once named, they never get rid of the weapon in question. Even if its outdated, old, or broken. The weapon stays. If it is obliterated or lost, the Enforcer is obliged to get a copy of their prior weapon for the sake of their continued success. For this reason, most Enforcers fight with inbuilt weapons until they settle on something, and then they buy several copies just in case.

Enforcers will also never actively say "goodbye" to one another. Doing so would imply that there is a possibility of not coming back from the next patrol. So Enforcers simply don't use such language. "Good luck" or "Get those slaggers" are common supplements. Surprisingly, Enforcers only dodge around "goodbye" while on duty. They will casually wave off companions when not on the clock without a care in the world. However, if an Enforcer really does not like someone while on the clock, they will say "goodbye" as their polite version of a middle finger.

It is not exactly a rule, but Archivist as a whole simply do not refer to the Primes by name most of the time. There is a belief that uttering their designations aloud will bring their gaze upon whoever spoke. That can either be good or bad depending on the context, but since Primus's chosen can never really be predicted, most Archivists won't risk it. Instead, if they must say a Prime's name, they will tap a nearby surface a few times to supposedly draw attention away from themselves and hopefully keep the Prime in question from seeing them. It makes no sense, but even Orion Pax kept to the habit. Although some, like Orion, usually worked around this by coming up with slightly different pronunciations of the designations of Primes to hopefully avert their gazes.

Archivists also refuse to read anything relating to relics after a certain time. There is a longstanding belief that doing so can drive a mech mad. Hidden knowledge comes at Primus's chosen joor. Sometimes Archivists will reach grand discoveries at this specific time after delving into records of relics. But more often than not, Archivists have been noted having mental breakdowns, crying, losing their minds, or otherwise going haywire. Medical professionals chalk it up to exhaustion and mania. The Archivists believe it is a warning. They refuse to read about relics during Primus's joor. Obviously, there are some thing between the veil they are not meant to know.

Medics won't come within a ten mile radius of the smelting pits where most of the dead are dealt with. They believe it is a bad omen to linger in places of death, and that the wrath of the deceased can stick to their frames, making other patients lose their lives. This has led medics to make it a habit to remove dead mecha from hospitals as fast as physically possible, handing them off to medical students to carry to the pits. Medical students hardly ever do anything of note with the patients, so the professionals don't feel bad dumping all the potential bad luck on them. The only medics who actively hang around smelting pits are morticians and mecha focused on autopsies. They think lingering around the dead will help them understand the dead. That way, they can better diagnose just what killed a mech. Such medics are usually avoided by the rest who work with the living.

Medics have very sensitive servos. There is a longstanding belief that if a medic is to retire or happens to die, he or she must give up their servos to a younger medic in training. This is to pass on skill, at least in theory. It is also a sign that a medic in training is skilled and worthy of note. To take the servos of an old medic is to take on their legacy. Similarly to the miners, medics take honoring those who came before them very seriously. They will go above and beyond to keep their servos in perfect condition so that whoever comes after them can have the vital sensors that come with a medic's servos. Ratchet is one of the few mecha to not have inherited his servos from anyone. He has also never signed up to have anyone get them after he dies. Most take this to mean he never will die. And considering how long Ratchet has lived, a good chunk of the population firmly believe that Ratchet is eternal.

[drdemonprince]

Hi Dr. Price,

I’m a huge fan of your work and I’ve found it immensely helpful in figuring out who I am.

In recent years I’ve discovered I am both AuDHD and Bi. My partner is also Bi and very supportive. However we have been together for over a decade and I’m struggling a lot lately with the fact that I’ve never actually been with anyone else. I’ve been spending a lot of time in queer spaces online and finding myself wishing I could at least experience some of what they do.

I love her more than anything and would never do anything to hurt her. She’s not interested in opening things up in any way, which I completely respect and to be fair I’m not even sure that’s truly something I would want either.

I guess I’m just asking if you have any advice on these overwhelming feelings of missing out on aspects of life I never knew I even missed? Other than using porn to get it out of my mind as I’m worried that’s affecting our relationship sexually, which is another issue. Should I find a dating sim game or something to push all of these thoughts on to? It’s kind of messed up but I feel like if I was allowed to flirt online and not actually act on it that might satisfy me? I don’t know.

If nothing else thank you so much for your work and giving me a space to get this off my chest. ❤️

Because I am of the mind that most longings for queer expression/recognition/community cannot and should not be met with media consumption, I'm not going to tell you that there is any kind of game that can simulate queer erotic contact in a way that will be remotely satisfying for you.

You and your partner's desires for your relationship and its boundaries are important and matter, but alongside that, I would also encourage you to listen to that urge that tells you that you'd love to flirt online with a sexy queer stranger as a way to let a little of the steam off.

The wants you are feeling are real, and when disregarded or left unattended they can spiral out in all kinds of unpleasant ways, from just regular garden variety frustration, to resentment, to conducting years long emotional affairs with agoraphobic instagram thot boys you met online (not that I know anything about that).

You want to be recognized by another queer person as a sexually desirable, available person, you want to feel the rush of a developing romance, you want the future to be filled with possibility and excitement, you want to know that your life is not over and that there's still more to learn about yourself and more experiences to enjoy -- these are all good things. These are important things, and I promise you that it is very unlikely that you won't get to experience more desire, attraction, sexual contact, romance, and heartbreak in the years to come.

Most relationships end. Those that last more than a couple of years undergo dramatic shifts over the course of their tenure. And so, it is very likely that you and your partner will either eventually split, or your various desires and capacities will become incompatible in certain ways, and you will contemplate some kind of change to the relationship dynamic (or someone will fail to communicate this and cheat. hopefully not that one. But if it does happen, well. It's very common and not the end of the world or even necessarily the end of the bond).

How does it feel to confront this information? That in all likelihood, this relationship will either end, open up in some way, change dramatically in its dynamic, or be marked by one or both parties stepping out in some way, however small, be it an online flirtation or a kiss at a party or a sexual affair? I think your feelings in response to that information is important too. And that regardless of what you and your partner decide for the time being, it is an important series of potentialities to reflect on and emotionally prepare oneself for. Also worth asking: are these potential futures ones that you can speak to your partner about? One of them will likely be headed for you in time, not through any fault of your own or due to lack of love, but simply because people change and relationships develop, just like a person develops. Whether or not these are subjects that can be broached is itself valuable information, too.

Now personally, I am very biased, but I think there is very little harm in having some virtual sex with a consenting stranger, roleplaying sexy interactions online, even getting on a dating or cruising app and posting a few anonymized photos and seeing what kind of attention you get and enjoying the rush. I think that kind of thing is all within the realm of the harmless and forgivable, but hey, my sister just ended an engagement over her fiance doing that kind of thing, so not everyone agrees with me clearly.

But I think it is worth at least contemplating the full, long continuum of infidelity that exists, from having a whole secret other marriage and family and keeping a partner in the dark about it on one end, say, and making bedroom eyes with a cute person at the bar and fantasizing about what if what if what if, on the other. If your partner did anything along that whole continuum, you might be hurt, and likewise they might be if you do.

You say you love your partner more than anything and would never do anything to hurt her. But you can't really promise yourself that. Every partner hurts one another in some way or another, sometimes even intentionally, over the course of a long relationship. But hurting one another in a relationship is, also, not the end of the world. We all make mistakes, say things we regret, lose control of our faculties at times, or are simply forced to reconcile that what we need conflicts with what another person does. And sometimes we put our needs first, even though it's uncomfortable.

I don't regret the times I cheated. I regret the lack of communication and cowardice that brought me to that half-formed, unarticulated decision. But I don't regret ever having chosen to listen to needs that had been powerfully screaming inside of me, typically for years before I attended to them.

I think you and your partner should continue having very frank conversations about these topics, and do your best to regulate your own anxieties and feelings of relationship threat when the other party brings up an activity or an idea that makes the other feel scared. The choice isn't to remain monogamous or to become fully polyamorous with no hierarchy. There are a lot of activities you can both decide are either okay or not okay, and conditions under which you will engage in them.

Even what counts as "monogamy" is subject to fierce debate, that's part of why so many jealous straight people destroy one another so easily. Is texting someone you think is cute in a flirtatious but ultimately just friendly way cheating? Is dancing with someone else cheating? What kind of dancing is okay and is not? Is cuddling on the couch? Working on erotica together? Kissing? Is watching porn with someone else cheating? Is masturbating to a video they sent you?

You might have a very visceral response to these questions, but those are just like, your opinions. They are not set in stone and you can easily find another monogamous person who is just as adamant about completely opposing rules and definitions of what monogamy means to them. And so, it's worth talking with your partner and really being honest with yourself about what it is you want to do, what is decidedly off the table, and what the hell it even is that you two are talking about when you discuss your relationship and its limits.

If it were me, and if I could wave a wand and make you and your partner feel okay about and agree to a set of relationship limits, I think you should consider flirting with actual queer people online. But I can't control other people's behavior or emotions, as much as I have tried. But you can at least contemplate (and then discuss) alternate ways of getting the kind of attention that you desire.

There are lots of things you can do to scratch your itch that are not having sex or dating someone else: LARPing (there is larping that has a sexual or romantic component!). Tabletop games. Acting or improv that incorporates romantic or sexual elements. Going to a sex party and just WATCHING people do stuff. Going to a gay bar and just hanging out and socializing. Going to a cruising bar and watching people fuck. Going to a dungeon for a class or a demo. Going on gay speed dating but secretly agreeing that you're not actually going to take anybody home, you're just gonna see how it feels. Wearing a slutty outfit to pride and waving and winking at people. Exchanging heartfelt letters with a queer friend who you have chemistry with but who respects your relationship.

These are just some ideas, but the possibilities are limitless. One day, you and your partner might agree that you are open to having sex with other people, or flirting, but not to them having other lasting relationships. maybe you'll have threesomes together or one partner will watch the other fuck casual hook-ups. Or maybe you'll just break up. Who knows what the future holds! No matter what it is, you can figure it out with both love and commitment to your partner, but also the courage to name what you are feeling and to honor your desires. None of those things have to be incompatible, and monogamy doesn't have to be incompatible with getting a little thrill here and there either.

Good luck!

[fueledbysano]

𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒! Sae Itoshi

you're his guilty pleasure, his wildest fantasies and dirty secret.

♱ content/warnings: MDNI. afab!reader, unprotected sex, implied m masturbation, sae being a simp for you

♱ a/n: I initially wrote for the other boys too but I got impatient so I'm posting this first 😋

♱ tags: @blueparadis @tokyometronetwork

♱ wc: 0.7k

When he overheard from the guests that his favorite model was watching the match, Sae got distracted from his deep train of pre-game thoughts. His teammates were silenced in a heartbeat when Sae hastily got up from the bench and out of the locker room, visibly in a sense of urgency.

“Find [ Y / N ] [ L / N ]. And give her the best field side seat. I don’t care if they’re filled, find a way.” He instructed the men lined before him.

So when you were told that “Sae Itoshi got you a VIP seat.”, it was something you cannot decline. You came to support his team, but it was to your surprise that Sae even knew about your existence.

The game went smoothly and his team won by a landslide of goals. While you were shown on the big screen in between breaks and the hosts commenting on your presence, your favorite part of the game was sharing an eye contact or two with Sae. So once the game was over, you pulled every string you could to get a hold of the man. You just had to meet him.

“Miss [ Y / N ] [ L / N ] requests to meet you at the country club.” Although it would’ve been more convenient if his security didn’t blurt it out in the team’s locker room, Sae felt proud that he practically got asked out by one of today’s hottest models in front of the other guys.

“Damn, I guess you’re ditching our celebration for your reward?” Sendo banters. “Yeah, screw you, guys.” Sae flatly spoke before changing into casual clothing. “What happened to ‘I want nothing but to be the world’s best’?!”

Sae couldn’t believe it— he’s exactly the man he once mocked. Walking blocks in risk of being seen by fans and media, all to meet you. So as soon as he sees you by the bar counter, he makes his presence known with a gentle tap on your shoulder. You made sure to thank him for giving you a vip seat before buying drinks for each other. The place was cozy enough to keep you conversing, like the usual ‘getting to know’ lines. But this time, it was actually interesting to have a date with someone who was famous in a whole other industry.

However, the night fell darker, and more and more people started to recognize the two of you. So in a leap of faith, you invited Sae into a more private domicile.

“Nghmmh! Sae~ s’too big…” You could tell that your risk paid off when Sae practically had you fold in half on the bed; your legs lifted to his shoulders and his fat cock buried in full penetration inside you. “You deserve it, angel…” Sae weakly smiled in an airy breath, hindering himself from cumming too soon.

He’d thought about this very moment on several occasions, especially right from the first time he saw your voluptuous frame and beautiful face on the cover of Vogue. Sae was too overwhelmed with wild and filthy thoughts when he’s practically living a lot of men’s wildest fantasies. “Pretty princess~” Sae spoke in between kisses on the surface of your cleavage. “Just as perfect as I imagined~”

Your grip on his biceps tightened when Sae’s fingers started tracing over your curves. “D-don’t stop, please, Sae…” You suggestively bit your lip before taking his hand up to your lips and sucking on his thumb whilst keeping hot eye contact. Sae almost came from the gesture, but instead, you felt him rut his hips harshly into yours, your toes curling in an instant as his tip kissed your cervix

Sae had you moaning his name again and again, just as much as you made him moan and jerk to your magazine bikini photos.

Sae was strong and skillful in his movements. He left no inch of you unattended. Not when he had one hand grabbing your breast like his personal stress ball, his thumb circling your clit in eight figures, and his lips practically making out with your thigh all while pushing his length to the deepest ends of your tight cunt.

Sae Itoshi had just officially made himself the best hookup of your life.

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 7.5 K Warnings: homophob*c slurs, homoph*bia. Prompt: If things cannot be changed, can the attention be diverted? This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by lovely: @aremuslupinsimp

Chapter 64: Put Out the Fire

Remus’ hand, the one that had been holding you down seemed to loosen up slightly. You looked up, he seemed just as tense but you saw Sirius plop back down into the water and you couldn’t stay down there any longer, your need for air was almost overwhelming at that point, and while you had frantically looked for a wand in the pocket of both boys’ shirts that were still on the floor to try and use some kind of charm for breathing underwater, Remus’ wand had been on his sweater and Sirius’ on his robes, so instead you’d had to hold you breath.

You gasped for air and looked towards the now shut doors. The first thing you saw was Remus’ shocked gaze, you turned to Sirius, he had his head hidden in between his palms. You looked in between the two of them, you felt your feet trembling and your lips wanting to say something. You hadn’t seen what happened, but by Sirius’ quick standing up and tense muscles under the water, you were sure someone had seen them. 

“Who?” You asked, voice raspy. The room was dеad silent, no sound other than the water still coming out of the taps and the soft echo of the small wave you’d created upon resurfacing. Both boys were almost frozen in place. Neither of them seemed ready to answer your question. “Who was it? At the door?” you pressed. 

It took a whole moment for either boy to muster up the words. “Snape,” said Sirius almost in a whisper. Remus was still quiet. 

“Severus Snape?” you asked, horrified. “How much did he–” 

“Everything,” he interrupted. You felt as if you'd gotten a punch in the gut and all the air had been drawn out of your lounges –you knew exactly how that felt. “Except for you, he didn’t see you. Remus made sure.” You blinked a couple of times and let out a short breath, trying to deal with all the new information. “He called us sissys,” Sirius continued. You saw Remus flinch out of the corner of your eye. 

“So he’s also homophobic,” you said in a scoff as if you weren’t surprised. “And he… just left?” 

“He left when I pointed my wand at his ugly face,” Sirius said, there was a tinge of that very characteristic boastfulness of his laced in his words. “Right Moony?” 

No response. 

“Moony?” Sirius asked again, now focusing his gaze on him. 

Remus was looking at Sirius but not entirely, it was as if his gaze was lost somewhere in the space he occupied. Sirius turned to you, questioning. Remus looked as if he had been petrified, though you could see the soft rise and fall of his chest. 

“Remus,” you said, much softer than Sirius, but his gaze was still completely lost.

Sirius was about to shake him but you were fast enough to hold his hand before he got to touch him. He gave you a confused look and you nodded softly. You used your hold on his wrist to draw it closer to Remus in a much softer manner and guided it until he touched his cheek. You then placed your hand on top of Sirius’ –much like you’d done to Remus earlier– and guided his index just under Remus’ chin. As you suspected, his heartbeat was almost as fast as it had been earlier, but this time it wasn’t because of pleasure, Remus was terrified. 

You threw another soft look at Sirius before pulling your other hand towards Remus’ unattended cheek. “Remus?” you called again. 

“Moony?” Sirius said shortly after, imitating the softness of your tone. He caught on almost as fast as you on what Remus was experiencing. He’d experienced it himself more times than he’d like to admit. 

“He knows,” Remus spoke finally. “He knows I’m a werewolf and he knows I’m queer.” You could tell how hard it had become for him to breathe. He was barely blinking as he said it. 

“He can’t talk about the first one,” Sirius said softly. 

You already knew about the incident. Severus had gotten charmed by Dumbuldore so he didn’t speak about Remus’ secret. You wondered if the spell had been ambiguous enough to also stop him from talking about this. It was highly unlikely, Dumbledore was a brilliant wizard, he wouldn’t leave space for loopholes.

Remus didn’t even have the energy to look at Sirius in the sarcastic way he’d want to. The one that made the obvious thing known: He could talk about the second one.

It was easy to guess what he was thinking. “It’s okay,” you said softly. “It’s okay,” you repeated reassuringly, much like he had done to you in the past. “We’ll figure something out.” 

“We always figure something out,” Sirius said with a smile, and leaned closer to press a soft kiss to Moony’s temple. That seemed to somehow ease the other boy. 

“That’s right,” you added softly and allowed your hand to glide down to his collarbone, squeezing the space between his shoulder and his neck reassuringly. “It may take us a while, but we’ll find a way. We already found our way to each other, whatever happens after won’t matter.” 

“The pressure, it’ll…” Remus took in a shaky breath. “It’ll crush us,”  he added apprehensively. “What if– If you can’t take that anymore,” he added as he looked at both you and Sirius. 

The root of his fear wasn’t on people finding out, but rather it was on the two of you leaving him because of it. You shook your head and sighed once you figured it out. “Rem, we’ve all gone pretty much through hell before getting together. Sirius’s never cared about other people’s opinions and as long as I have the two of you, I won’t either. Shout it out loud to the entire school if you want, I’m yours, we’re yours, and nothing will change that.” 

“She’s right Moons, if you think some Slytherin’s badmouthing us will make us step away from you then–” 

“It’s not just the Slytherins,” Remus interrupted, insisting, anxious. “Our very friends could turn on us. You don’t know the kind of prejudice they have against queer people, against people in a menage a trois or whatever it is you call it. They will look at us and they will judge us wherever we go and–” 

“Hey,” you said softly when you realised his words were taking over his thoughts. “Name one friend you think would leave us if they found out. I dare you.” 

Remus seemed to think about it for a second, he opened his mouth to speak but he couldn’t say a thing. “None of them would,” Sirius confirmed. “You know that, right?” 

“What about my father?” 

“You could always say you’re only half gay, you’re also dating a woman,” said Sirius nonchalantly and got a slap from your side. 

“I’m sure Hope would help him understand if it ever gets big enough for him to hear about it,” you said with a smile. “Don’t worry so much, Rem. We are together in this, we’re not planning to leave you any time soon.” 

“Yeah?” He said softly. Almost too quietly to be heard. As if he was scared you might go back on your words. 

You smiled and leaned in to hug him, Sirius was shortly behind, the two of you embracing Remus tightly. Both boys were still quite shirtless, and you could feel their soft skin against your hands and face, it was reassuring in a way. Your cheeks pressed to the crook of his neck and Sirius pressed almost right behind you. It took him a few seconds, but eventually, he also closed his arms around Sirius, pushing you even closer to him, as if to make sure you were real, as if to make sure you were really there, hugging him, and telling him you’d be with him no matter what. Just months ago something like that would seem unimaginable, and here you were. 

“I mean,” Sirius said. You could hear the teasing smile on his face even if you had your back turned on him. “Did you really think we’d ever want to stop after getting a taste of you?” He added before pressing a sonorous kiss on Remus’ cheek. The smack sound echoed through the entire place.

Remus was startled at first, growing almost red from the unexpected remark –and he was lucky Sirius didn’t lick his face as he initially intended– but then he chuckled light-heartedly. You smiled and pressed a kiss to his neck as well, much quieter than Sirius’ but loud enough for him to hear. “I mean, Sirius’ is right. How could we ever?” 

Remus’ chuckles grew a little louder. And he tightened his grip around the two of you.  A few minutes passed like that. After the heat of the moment and the cold bucket of water that Severus had thrown your way, it was a nice, simple, and incredibly reassuring embrace. “We should probably leave now,” he said while rubbing circles on Sirius’ back and pressing a short kiss to your hair. 

“I don’t want to,” you said petulantly. The idea of leaving the warmth and comfort of them presenting itself almost as a nightmare. 

“Severus might tell a teacher, and then we’ll really be in trouble.” 

“Remus!” Sirius complained this time around. He was clearly much calmer now, impossibly delighted at having both his boyfriend and his girlfriend cling to him so fervently.

“You both know we should go, don’t make me the bad guy.” 

You grumbled something as you pushed yourself off him, “Why did we say we wanted common sense in the relationship,” you sighed as you turned to Sirius.

“Because we’re both reckless and would probably end up in detention without Moony,” he reminded you. 

“Well detention doesn’t sound so ba–” 

“Bathroom cleaning.” Remus said without batting an eyelash. 

You stood straight almost in an instant. “Remus is right, we need to leave this place,” you said as you leaned down and allowed your hand to dive down into the water to pick up their shirts, handing them over shortly after. You’d gotten it wrong and mismatched them to their owner, the boys smiled when they noticed, exchanging the wet clumps of fabric between each other as they looked at you stepping out of the water with clothes completely soaked but clean in comparison to earlier. 

Neither boy said a thing, but the sight of your shirt and skirt clinging to your body due to the water tempted both of them to forgo common sense and just continue with what you’d started before Severus arrived. “What?” you asked as they stared. 

“Nothing,” Sirius said, almost too quickly before busying himself with the damp cloth in his hand. Trying to expand it and put it on, even as it was wet. “How is it so much harder to put on a wet shirt than to remove it,” he mumbled as he struggled to find one of the arms. 

“You’re not really meant to put on wet clothes, only to remove them,” Remus replied with a teasing smirk before also leaving the tub. He was dripping, the droplets of water disappearing into the charmed floor. It seemed like whatever water reached it would instantly dry, it’d been designed to avoid students tripping on wet surfaces; it was still fascinating to see the droplets almost disappear as if they had been swallowed by a sponge the moment they touched the ground.

 His trousers were half on –since you’d managed to remove one of the buttons– and pulled down as he stepped out of the bath. Sirius hollered something about him having a “Great arse” and you tried not to laugh as Moony frowned, and pulled up the trousers as a blush suffused his face. Not that Sirius had actually seen anything other than his underwear. 

You leaned back a little bit to look and nodded. “No, I mean he’s definitely right,” you said with a shrug. Which got an exasperated –and yet diverted– look from Moony. He shook his head as he pulled on his shirt, picked his jumper from the side of the tub and took his wand out from one of the sleeves, where it had previously gotten stuck.

“Little Witch, come over,” He said softly. You approached him without questions and he cast a simple spell over you, in a second your clothes were all dried up, they even looked ironed. 

“That’s a neat trick,” you said as you adjusted the button and realised the small hole in the side of your skirt had also disappeared. You looked at it puzzled as you turned to Remus with amazement. 

“It’s a repairing charm,” he responded with a shrug. “I begged Pomfrey to teach me how to do it. I’d lost a great deal of my clothes because of Moony.”

“You’re so brilliant!” you said as you took his hand in between your hands and pressed a fast kiss on his lips. He seemed rather content with your sudden show of love and appreciation. You’d called him brilliant before about a hundred times, but if from now on that praise also came with a kiss, then he’d have to be twice as brilliant as he’d been before.

By the time you left the bathroom, both boys had been dried with Remus’ spell, and you’d had to step out into the sea of toads on the outside hall. Upon little to no deliberation, the three of you decided that going to the courtyard and blending in with the rest of your friends would be your best alibi. Especially if you made a lot of noise and made it appear you’d been there a while. At least like that, you’d be able to diminish the credibility of whatever Severus decided to tell other people. 

If you made the rest doubt that you’d ever been anywhere but in the courtyard, then the probability of having been in the Prefect’s bathroom would go down drastically. Hence, you sneaked through one of Hogwarts’ interminable secret passages and arrived at the courtyard not from the main entrance but rather from an underground passage that dropped you just outside of it. 

You used the same technique you had used outside the great hall to climb up and the three of you blended with the crowd as if you’d been there all along.

“Hey,” you said as you approached your group of friends.

Mary was almost startled when she spotted you “Where were you?” 

“We got ourselves cleaned after the mud incident, took a while to find you in the crowds.” 

“If you had come with me instead of behind your boyfriends–” she stopped herself as if she realised she’d said something she shouldn’t have but added, “Your boyfriend’s beautiful hair then you wouldn’t have ruined your uniform.” 

You pushed her with your shoulder playfully, not reproaching but rather diverted at how fast her stance had changed when she thought she’d said more than she should.  It made you think of how and when you’d tell the rest of your friends about your relationship. 

Which had some conflicted thoughts, part of you wanted to keep it a secret, just because of how exciting it was to have them for the two of you, while the other part wanted to tell every single person in the world about it, because dating Remus Lupin was something worth boasting about. Yes, it had been you and Sirius the ones who finally got one of the dreamiest boys at the entire school. However would you want to keep that a secret? 

If only there were not such things as prejudices and so on, perhaps you might have made it obvious right there and then. But then again, you might have been the one in less trouble if word got out since you weren’t the one openly breaking the classic heterosexual relationships, the boys were. Not even Tom was openly gay, even if it wasn’t exactly a secret, it was more as if he belonged in a secret club, where only other members of the club and selected allies were admitted. 

It was the only way to maintain everyone safe since you were sure the racism already existing in some places of the school wouldn't take too long to turn into homophobia. Yet another excuse to belittle people. After all, you had met Arkalis, and the way he’d implied things about Evan had been enough to tell you the position of the Pure Blood Community in regard to sexual preferences. 

“What do you mean ‘her boyfriend’s beautiful hair?’” Asked James as he turned to Lily in an almost reproachful tone. 

“Nobody can deny it, Sirius has the best hair,” said Marlene. 

“Between who?” protested James. “The Marauders?” 

“Probably the entire school,” answered Mary with a shrug. 

James looked honestly offended by the entire ordeal, not because he didn’t think Sirius had amazing hair, but because Lily thought Sirius had amazing hair. Not that she didn’t have any right to think it, of course, she could think whatever she liked, but it didn’t stop the little discontent over it. “Well, I think Lily has the best hair.” 

“Of course you do,” Everyone retorted, almost in a choir. James just frowned in return and placed his hand around Lily who rolled her eyes and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, instantly making the frown disappear. 

Out of the corner of your eyes, you noticed Severus walking past the entrance and towards a bunch of Slytherins on the other side of the courtyard. His robes were still filled with mud, and he was covered by what you recognized to be the slime on the library entrance. There was a choir of laughter among the students once a small Hufflepuff girl noticed him and pointed his demeanour at her friends who seemed genuinely diverted at the sight.

“That is enough, Miss Bingley, please,” McGonagall said in a rather stern voice. 

“But Professor,” retorted another Hufflepuff that stood beside her. “He’s covered in troll snot!” 

This caused yet another chorus of laughs, this time even the Slytherins were poking fun at Severus who had already turned crimson from anger, his face contorting into that of an angry ostrich. When he noticed your staring he gave you a disdainful face with an air of superiority. As if he knew something you didn’t and he knew that something had the power to destroy you. Severus had assumed Sirius was cheating on you with Remus Lupin, and he was already devising a plan to bring the three of you down. He had this unwavering idea that it was your fault he was miserable and that Lily had started dating Potter because you had prompted her to it. He didn’t think it was a coincidence that Potter had been chasing after her for years; only when you appeared in the school had she actually decided to give him a chance. 

For all Severus cared, you and James had put a spell on Evans and that’s why she hung out with you so readily. After all, it had been after you arrived that she had started to throw those resentful looks his way. Almost as if she had started to hate him, which had never happened before. And it was in this madness that Severus was determined to destroy you. He didn’t give a damn if you recently lost your mother and friend, not even when he read on the papers that you’d run away from home; in fact, he’d even hoped you wouldn’t return at the beginning of the year. He was so upset and bitter over the way Lily was acting toward him that he blamed it all on you and couldn’t see past his pain.

It being your fault made sense, you were the perfect scapegoat, especially when he was not ready to admit it had been his attitude, and what he had called her that made Lily start being so wary of him. 

Unbeknownst to all his plans, you held his gaze and smirked, leaning closer to Sirius. “You should have told me he looked so ridiculous,” you said with a laugh, that caused Sirius to also pay attention to Severus. There was a fire in the Slytherin’s eyes as his gaze crossed with Sirius’ unbothered and clearly diverted one. 

“Severus Snape?” Sirius questioned. “Or should we say Severus Snail?” 

Some other kid caught wind of what he said and repeated it a little louder, soon enough there was a choir of voices chanting “Severus Snail, Severus Snail!” while the rest laughed at the ridiculously fitting nickname for the boy covered in slime. 

Severus puffed and blew, and looked more pissed than anything, his stupid proud smile erasing from his face as more and more voices joined the chanting. Neither you nor Sirius had joined, but both of you were laughing merrily. And as Sirius had placed his arm around you and had you lean closer to him, Severus thought he was the most disgusting man he had ever seen (after Potter). But he didn’t feel sorry for either of you, instead, he was ready to rip you to shreds. 

“Enough!” repeated McGonagall, in a much more commanding tone than the one he had used the first time. “Mr Snape, please go to Mr Slughorn to see if he can help you out of your… predicament,” she added. “Everyone else, the classes are suspended for today. Food will be served on the lawn next to the black lake and you shall remain there until further notice, is that clear?” 

There was a choir of excited “yes” coming from the crowds.

She sighed and then turned around, Professor Nightshade was by her side. She gave you a weary glance since she’d been trying to get a hold of you since you went back to school, but the situation at hand seemed a lot more relevant. The rest of the teachers, including Sprout, Flitwick and Spellman, leaned in to hear what McGonagall was telling them in a much softer tone. “I’ll talk to the house elves to devise a plan for the displacement of the Toads,” she said. “Unless anyone has any other ideas?” 

The teachers disappeared into the roofed section of the courtyard and you turned to look at Lily with a proud smile, leaning onto her before whispering: “Told you you didn’t have to worry about the homework.” 

Even with the thick snow outside, the students had all armed themselves with warming spells, there had been a few fires constructed near the lake and the elves were handing out hot chocolate with warming potions –courtesy of Slughorn– to everyone that required them. The prank had turned a boring first day of school into somewhat of a winter picnic or an exterior of a ski resort lounge party. The lake was frozen, the elves had gotten some skates and some students were skating about while others remained close to the fires while drinking their hot cocoas and roasting marshmallows.

Eventually, a Ravenclaw had the brilliant idea of also cooking food in the fire and with the help from the house elves got his hands on some raw meat in bruschetta sticks and with a spell had them float and spin around the fire as they cooked.

 He taught some other students how to do it, and suddenly almost all the fires were not only for warming people but also a buffet of all types of roasted food and vegetables. 

The day might have started with toads, but it ended in a winter festival! 

It’s been a few hours since you’d gotten there with everyone and by then you were all just lounging on the snow, close enough to the fire to be warm, but not so much that the snow would melt underneath you. You had a bruschetta of roasted vegetables in your hand and were munching on some green stuff that tasted like zucchini but with spices. 

“Well it turned out a lot better than I expected,” said James as he leaned back next to Sirius, you had been lying in between him and Remus, shoulders bumping into each other as you pulled food into your mouth. Remus would occasionally have some marshmallows float towards him and share them with you and Sirius. 

“Yeah, we’d never had a prank ended in a party,” said Peter from the other side. He was drinking some hot chocolate and had about 5 marshmallows floating beside him, and another 5 -much smaller ones– inside his beverage. “They almost always end up in detention.” 

“You think they’ll figure it was us?” asked Sirius thoughtfully. 

“I don’t think they even know how it was done,” you retorted. “I mean there is no spell that gets so many toads in so many places at once.” 

“I believe Flitwick and Spellman are trying to figure that out,” added Remus. “I saw them talking to some of the elves, and Nimbletwist said they had been tasked to revise the origin of the toads, but no one is sure where they came from.” 

“Luckily the Swampbombs don’t leave any magic traces…” 

“Don’t be so sure,” said Peter. “We thought stink pellets didn’t leave any traces after their dung was completely released and we got in detention anyway.” 

“How did they figure out they had been yours?” 

“The Slytherins threatened the Zonko shopkeeper to tell them who’d bought them,” he admitted. “Moral of the story– never buy pranks under your own name.” 

You laughed at that and took another bite of your bruschetta, whatever you’d eaten was sweet and slightly condimented, you weren’t sure you’d eaten it before, but you certainly enjoyed the texture of it in your mouth, not to mention the taste was exquisite. 

“Hey, wanna go skating?” Annie Doxon said as she approached Peter, you could tell he was trying to hide his smile and look cool about it when he got up as she extended her hand. You smiled as you saw the two of them towards the lake. 

“And you, Étoile? Wanna skate?” 

You hummed in return, you’d barely slept that night, and then you’d gotten a dеath scare at the bathrooms. It's not that you were sleepy, or that you wanted to sleep, but rather that you were much too tired to will yourself to stand anytime soon. Not to mention there was no place as comfortable as lying between the two of them. “Not right now,” you admitted. “But if you want to–” 

“No, I’m good here too,” he added with a smile, leaning his head a little closer to yours. “Can I have some, Moons?” he asked Remus as he gave a bite to a marshmallow. Moony smirked and floated it towards Sirius who promptly gave it a bite of his own. 

“This is really nice,” you said as you took another bite of your food. 

“Not having class?” asked Sirius.

“The marshmallows?” quipped Remus. 

“No, being with you,” you said, not realising how freaking sappy you’d sounded until it was too late. 

“Is it?” Sirius said with a smirk as he turned to you with a teasing eyebrow and you groaned in return. 

“Never mind, I take it back, I take it back,” you joked, it didn’t matter, Sirius had already thrown himself over your stomach, pushing you closer to Remus and looking up at you with a teasing smile.

“What about it is it that you like so much?” 

“Oh, please!” you complained with a smile as you tried not to make it evident how flustered you’d gotten over your own stupidity. 

“Come on, Étoile, dis-moi!”

“Non, non je t'en prie.”

“I’d certainly like to hear it too,” Remus said as he leaned on his elbows to be able to look at the two of you better. It was like the entire world around the three had faded, leaving only you and nothing else. “What is it, Little Witch?” 

“You just like torturing me, don’t you?” you said, playing offended. 

“Perhaps we do,” Sirius responded as he looked at Remus with a rather complicit smile. 

“It’s just that you look exceptionally cute when you’re flustered,” Remus said, much quieter, in case someone was listening to the three. You covered your face with your hands but both of them were quick and moved them out of the way, looking at you with infuriatingly teasing smiles. 

You frowned and pouted and the two boys blurted out laughing. Perhaps if Severus had seen the entire thing happen he would have realised he’d gotten it all wrong, and that his plans to torment you would dissolve in water like an effervescent tablet.

You were shaking your head as the boys continued to laugh their heads off when you heard a rather big explosion. The entire place went quiet, and people turned to look towards the castle. It couldn’t have been the prank, there was nothing in the swampbombs akin to an actual bomb.

“What–” 

“My god,” you heard a Hufflepuff girl –Alice Becket– say as she looked towards her window. You gave Remus a look since they had been a thing and he just shrugged in return. “I left my fireworm in the dorm room, if toads got in…” 

Suddenly there was another explosion, this time it was louder.

“Alice!” Michael, another Hufflepuff, screamed. “Did you also take Puxie out of her cage?” 

“She looked constrained,” Alice said with a miserable-looking expression. 

And then there was another boom. Imogen, who at some point had sat beside Remus winced. “And… that must have been Tony.” 

“Your fireworm?” you asked as you turned to her. She nodded in return. 

“Alice, may I have a word with you?” Said Professor Spellman with a rather stern look. “Care to explain the explosions in the common room?” 

“It’s the fireworms, Sir. I think they might have encountered the Toads…” she said and then she looked down, shaking her head. “Poor Drewie…” 

“And why, pray tell, did a bunch of Hufflepuffs keep fireworms in their dorm rooms?” He said, voice booming and turning to look at Nightshade. She shrugged in response, even if she was head of the house, she had no idea. 

“Homework,” said Imogen. 

“Hufflepuffs are not the only ones with fireworms either,” said a Ravenclaw as there was another loud boom and smoke started to come out of their tower. 

“By Rowena!” said Spellman as he heard another boom. 

“Where do you keep yours?” You asked, turning to Sirius. 

“Peter is taking care of them, I think he left them with Hagrid or something,” he said with a shrug, not preoccupied at all. So far there had been no explosions on the Gryffindor tower or near the dungeons (that you’d heard) and after a few other booms, the novelty of the incident died and some of the students on other years –everyone that did not own a fireworm– went back to the things they’d been doing before hand.

“I’m so going to fail,” said Michael as he pulled on his hair and shook his head in disbelief. “All we had to do was keep them alive.”  

“Loser!” Said Snape as he stared at the smoke. 

“Say that again, Severus Snail!” jeered Michael as he turned around, clearly pissed at his comment. 

“That’s enough,” Spellman commanded, but neither cared to listen. 

“Call me that again and see what else blows up.” 

“Your face will,” retorted Michael, as he pulled out his wand and pointed it towards Severus.

Nightshade had slowly walked right in front of the boy, and in a much calmer, and yet somehow equally threatening voice said, “Michael Stradlater!” 

He looked at Snape, clenching his jaw and wand still high up in the air. Severus stared at him angrily as he looked at her from the corner of his eyes and then focused back on him. He took a deep breath and slowly pulled his wand down. “He started, Miss!” 

“Not my fault he can’t keep his fireworms alive,” Severus insisted, he was in a terrible mood, and being called Severus Snail only made it worse. On the other hand, Michael was devastated over his worm, not because he was overly attached to it, but because he was failing Care of Magical Creatures and needed the extra points keeping him alive would have bought. He aimed his wand against Severus again. 

“Michael,” Seraphina said again, it was rather impassive. Voice soft, but a clear warning regardless. The boy didn’t relent this time. 

You looked at Remus and smiled, he knew you were up to something even before he brought your hand to your mouth and pulled on the fingers of your glove with a bite and removed it, digging your hand in the snow. 

“Professor, I’m really sorry but I cannot–” A snowball surged through the air and fell right on Severus’ face. Michael looked at the scene completely shocked before he allowed his wand to fall back down as he bent over with laughter. 

“Who the hell–” Severus started, but then another snowball flew through the air and fell on the side of Michael’s head, which got Severus to scoff. Remus was not wearing his gloves at this point either. “Is this funny to you?” Severus asked as he looked around annoyed. 

“Plenty,” said Evan as he threw a snowball straight at his face. 

Severus seemed even more offended that his housemate had thrown a snowball at his face than anything, but then a rouge snowball from Sirius fell on a random student and since he thought it had been someone else, he retaliated towards Imogen and Alice, who of course wouldn’t stay with their arms closed. 

Less than 10 snowballs later, a fight had ensued. There were snowballs falling on the fires and on the food, and even the students who had been trying to read a book, or work on homework (which of course there were some) had now joined. Remus and Sirius and you had started out as a team, until Sirius accidentally threw a snowball at Remus and he retaliated with one towards him that ended up falling on your arm. 

Eventually, Sirius was focusing solely on Remus and Remus on Sirius and you decided to pull back a little since you had already gotten like 10 balls clash onto you in the crossfire. It was as you stood close to the lake, using a spell to make about 20 snowballs at once, that someone with a disillusionment charm passed through and pulled you back behind some old stone walls that you assumed had been some ancient building that the school hadn’t cared much about maintaining.

“Hey Reg,” you said when you noticed it was him. 

He smiled, pulled his head up to make sure no one had spotted him dragging you there and turned back. “How’d you know it was me?”. 

“All my other friends with mad disillusionment skills are in the middle of a snowfight.” 

“Could have been an enemy,” he said in a rather serious tone –you did notice the irony of that thought.

“An enemy wouldn’t have pulled me anywhere nearly as gently as you did.” You shrugged.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, casting a spell around the two of you so you were both now invisible, but somehow he’d managed to make himself visible to you and vice versa.

“You have to teach me that trick.” 

“So you fill the school up with more toads?” 

You gasped in surprise. “What makes you assume it was me?” 

“You weren’t at the Great Hall when chaos ensued, as if you knew it was going to happen.”  

“You were looking for me?” you asked tilting your head to the side with a teasing smile. But Reggie’s face made you realise he was not in the same spirits as you were. “What?” 

“I wanted to talk to you.” 

“That does not sound like good news whatsoever,” you said, somehow still half-jokingly but with an almost strained tone, as you didn’t want to hear what would happen next. 

Regulus took a deep breath and then turned back to you. “After the Christmas party… they thought I’d helped you.” 

“But you tried to stop me!” 

“They didn’t believe you knocked me out just like that…  Evan and Crouch were also on the line.” 

“But the wand I gave Barty–”

“It didn’t matter,” he said. “Arkalis for some reason thought Evan would protect you… Of all people, can you believe that?”

You tilted your head to the side and let out a low “hmmm”. 

“Wait, you can?” 

“It’s a long story. But Arkalis believes I hooked up with him.” 

“With Evan?” asked Regulus. He might have not been in the class but he very well knew about the animosity you had towards each other, and he also knew about him and Barty.

“It’s a long story,” you repeated. 

Regulus shook his head and sighed before he spoke again. “Anyway, we had to convince them that we all hate your guts.” 

“Couldn’t have been hard for those two,” you joked, but Reggie didn’t seem to loosen up after that either, he was tense still. 

“How are you?” He changed the subject. You were about to say you were fine but he didn’t let you speak. “Really.” 

You swallowed. 

“I see you’ve been using her wand.” 

You stopped breathing for a moment, not knowing exactly how to respond to that. “Better than I was then,” you said honestly. “I’ve… so much has happened since. It’s been crazy but the boys have been there for me, through and through. You?” 

He smiled when he heard you. He could tell you weren’t lying. “We convinced them we never helped you.” 

There was an apprehensive way in the way he said it as if he’d had to do something awful to achieve it. “What did they–” Your words got caught in your throat as he rolled back his sleeve. 

His pale arm had been tainted, marred with a symbol that it took you no more than a second to recognise.  A snake with a skull on top, exactly like the one you had seen up in the sky when he persuaded you to stay outside. For a second you wondered if your mother would still be alive had you actually listened to him. It was a terribly destructive thought that you knew you shouldn’t allow to roam in your mind for too long unless you wanted to be back where you’d been before the mirror.

You took it in your hands and pulled it towards you. “Reggie,” you said, afflicted as you looked at his arm. “Did it– Did it hurt?” He stayed quiet, clenching his jaw, which was enough for you to know it had. 

“He can call us whenever he wants now. That hurts more.”

“Can’t we remove it?” 

“I don’t think it’s possible, dark magic is involved. Like a curse.”  

“All courses can be broken,” you said with determination. “Sirius is way better at that than me thought, perhaps we can talk to him and–” 

“No!” he let out in a rush.

“No?” 

“Sirius’ animosity towards me was one of the things that convinced them that I wasn’t on your side. Evan also used Sirius as his excuse to not helping you. And while we’re supposed to pretend to be friends with you at school, it’s only to keep an eye, and make sure you don’t interfere again, if not…” 

“I get it,” you interrupted, not wanting him to say the words that both of you knew would follow. “But, your brother he, you won’t be able to make up with him. I know he’d like to have his little brother back, Reggie. He misses you.” 

“Very peculiar way he’s got to show it,” he responded sarcastically, in a way that was incredibly reminiscent of Sirius himself.

“You’re no better than him.” 

“Well, he shows you he loves you.”  

“He’s still angry about the stuff that happened that summer,” you explained. “But he misses you still.” 

“He has James.” 

You sighed, you weren’t sure how to respond to that. “He needs to think you’re on their side?” 

“There’s nothing more convincing than his scorn,” he said coldly, you could see it hurt him either way. 

“And I? Must I pretend to hate you too?” 

“No,” he said as he shook his head. “We’re meant to keep an eye on you, remember?” 

“So I shouldn’t be surprised if I end up with Slytherin satellites?” 

“I doubt anyone will take it seriously. Except perhaps Mulociber and Severus since–” 

“They too?” you asked in shock. Both of them already hated your guts. Perhaps as much as Barty and Evan had before Christmas. 

“More than me, Evan and Crouch, even. Since they got in themselves, not through their family connections.” 

“Shit.” You said as you thought to the fact that Severus had seen Remus and Sirius in the bathroom.  Would he be scared enough just with Sirius’ threats to leave that fact alone? Would he go running to inform Orion? Did he even have a way to contact Orion? What would the Blacks do if they found out? 

“Yeah,” he agreed. He wanted to ask you how you were coping. Especially about your mother, she’d seen how much closer you were to her than to your father, and while he would have been almost pleased to have Walburga out of the way, the way in which you had defended Avis was enough for him to know it wasn’t like that for you at all. “I’m sorry about… everything that happened on Christmas.” 

“I’m sorry about this,” you said as you placed your hand over his arm again, rubbing your thumb over the mark, as if that would wipe it from his arm. “And everything they made you do after Christmas.” 

Perhaps it wasn’t the nicest thing to bond over your sorrows, but at least, Regulus had someone he could talk to. You had always had James and Lily and all your other friends to bond with, but Reggie could not talk about any of the things he thought with almost any of the Slytherins. He could trust no one, he didn’t want to risk it. 

“That doesn’t mean anything,” he said as he looked at the mark. “I’m on your side. I’ll always be on your side.” 

You knew he meant it. From day one, even if reluctantly, Regulus had been on your side. And something deep inside told you that he would be till the day he died. And while it was reassuring to know that you had friends who would stand by you no matter what, you had also seen first-hand what standing by you no matter what could do to them.

“Stay safe,” you retorted. “Don’t put yourself in harm’s way for my sake.” 

“Would you even listen if I asked that of you?” he said with a small, almost teasing-like smirk that reminded you just how much of Sirius’ little brother he was. Sometimes even the way he walked was so reminiscent of Sirius that you had –upon seeing him by the corner of your eye– thought it was him. 

“Do as I say, not as I do!” you retorted with a smile as well. Reggie was bringing down his shirt sleeve and buttoning it as neatly as if it had never been pulled up. 

“Hypocrite.” 

“I’m older, I get to be one,” you added teasingly, he actually smiled after that, it was a genuine smile. Almost a twin to Sirius’ except his was a little brighter. You wondered if someone would ever make Reggie smile like his brother, you hoped there would. 

“You really should have been a Slytherin.” 

“Don’t go around saying that, you might get beaten up by James,” you smiled. And pulled your wand out of your pocket before smiling and passing it over to him, he looked at you with narrowed eyes. And then you smiled. “Careful, you’ll get cold.” 

“What?” he asked, confused. 

You smiled and pushed him gently so that he wasn’t covered by the rocks anymore. “Hey!” you said in a voice that didn’t quite sound like you. “Regulus is hiding over there!” 

Regulus gasped and then turned to you with a shocked smile. Now that was the kind of smile you were looking for. “You traitor,” he mouthed as several snowballs crashed against him. Three on his arm, one on his face that made snow splatter and colour a good deal of his hair white, and then one on the side of his leg. 

You winked and picked up a ball yourself, throwing it towards him. “Go on seeker, let’s see if you’re as good at avoiding small balls as you are chasing them!” 

He smiled and shook his head, rolling down on the snow and picking a ball before throwing it straight at your face, even if you were still invisible. 

“You were saying?” he asked with a smile. 

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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A/N: Since we're getting close to the end, I'm planning to do a reread (10-15 chaps left) + heavy revision once we're done (still a few months from there but it's probably going to be done sometime this year) because I want to make my own printed version of it (probably on Lulu), and perhaps a cute epub file? It will probably contain pictures, fan art, and other bonus material. Either way, if you want to collaborate, either in the revision or in bonus content, please don't hesitate to hit me up. Sidenote: please check out this ANNOUNCEMENT regarding some alterations to the posting schedule for the rest of the month.

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[ohtobeleah]

Was It Over? // Jake Seresin

-> Chapter Four: [Parental Guidance]

Summary: Jakes Mother simply cannot understand what he saw in you, your mother simply cannot comprehend why you left Jake.

Warnings: Sick!reader. Breast cancer diagnosis. Jake Seresin x F!reader. Angst, hospital & medical inaccuracies. SLOW BURN ROMANCE/ Inaccurate medical information. Relationship turmoil. Overbearing mothers.

Word Count: 4:1k

Author Note: Mothers…Especially boy mothers can just be the worst when they’re in LOVE with their sons.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

November 1st 

Bradley Bradshaw never thought he would be the person Jake Seresin called when he was in a situation and needed help, but here he was. Sitting in his Bronco outside the house of a woman he didn't know in the early hours of the morning watching Jake stumble down the small overgrown cobblestone path. The Halloween costume Rooster had seen Jake in early that night was long forgotten as the fighter pilot wore nothing but a pair of boxer briefs with his wallet and keys in the palms of his hands. 

Immediately as soon as Jake sat in the passenger's seat of Bradleys pride and joy, he could smell the liquor trying to expel itself from Jake pores. 

“You smell like a distillery and we have a HOP at 8am.” There was a very evident disdain for Jake's current state in Roosters' tone, Jake wasn’t drunk enough to miss that. “Why are you calling me in the middle of the night to pick you up anyway? What did you do this time to warrant getting kicked out?” Jake didn't respond right away as he kept his eyes staring blankly out the window, the two had only just recently been given new orders to remain in North Island permanently. But when he did speak up, Bradley's heart ached. 

“I accidentally said my wifes name while uh–yeah.” Jake didn't think he needed to explicitly tell his wingman that, during one of the first and what Jake would consider the last one night stand he’d engaged in during your separation, he’d called out your name. “Vanessa didn't really like that.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” Bradley agreed as he drove down the street. “That's rough dude.” Bradley knew of yours and Jake's separation, Jake had told him one night at the Hard Deck after he’d asked how the family was. The two hadn’t always been on good terms but Rooster liked to think you and him were close enough to send Christmas cards to. When Jake had told him you’d left? Bradley didn’t reach out—he assumed it was for the best all things considered. 

“Yeah—but you know what’s rougher?” Jake sighed as he let his head fall back against the headrest. 

“What’s that?” 

“Knowing your wife won’t ever believe you’ll change.” Bradley knew without even looking at Jake that between the mix of alcohol and his desire to win you back that the naval aviator sitting with slumped shoulders beside him was holding back tears. “And proving her right by sleeping with some badge bunny who looked an awful lot like her.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

Your home had never been so quiet with all three of your children gone. You stood in the foyer of the entryway just looking around at the mess that had been left behind. Forgotten toys yet to be put away, discarded shoes, dirty plates and cups. Pine needles that fallen from the faux Christmas tree that was essentially hanging on by its last thread. The reminisce of three young children that were allowed to be children inside the safety of their own home. 

As you wiped away the tears that you had let fall freely down from your puffy eyes, you made an effort to tidy up the house you’d be leaving in only a few short hours to leave for the hospital stay you had planned. Tiny shoes with no feet to fill, toys left unattended over the holidays simply to be replaced by newer shiner ones. 

Between now and new years while Jake had the kids in Texas your treatment plan would increase tenfold. You were scheduled for aggressive rounds of IV chemotherapy that you knew you’d have to stay in hospital for to go through, your body was barely tolerating the oral medication as it was. You were scheduled for a double mastectomy in your time at the hospital which would hopefully stop any cancerous cells from spreading to more lymph nodes and areas of your body that remained untouched. Did you have high hopes? Not particularly. But you were ready and willing to do just about anything the oncologist assigned to your particular case had recommended. 

It was going to be a rough stint, but hopefully by the time Jake returned with your children, you’d still be able to mask your diagnosis. How you were going to explain the symptoms like hair loss and suddenly having no breast tissue to Jake was something you had yet to come up with. 

But ‘New year, New me’ was looking like the best possible explanation. Maybe the new look would get him off your case a little when it came to working on your marital issues. 

As you put things back in their rightful places and tidy up, you felt your phone ringing in your back pocket. The call ID immediately made you want to cry even more than you already had been. 

“Hi mum—“ You cooed softly as you stood alone in your empty home. “I uh, I just got home.” 

“How was Jake?” Your mother asked as she drove over to yours, you could hear the difference in her voice because of the shitty ass bluetooth system she barely knew how to work properly. “Did the kids kick up a fuss?” 

“Jake was–” You would never be able to find the right words to describe your husband, well, ex-husband. “Jake was Jake mum you know how we are right now.” Your mother knew about your diagnosis. She had been the one who urged you to see a doctor after you told her you had found a rather large lump on your left breast. “And no, actually the kids were super excited to go with their dad for the holidays, I think they still don't really understand that I'm not gonna be there at all, maybe they just think I won't be there for a day or two, but uh–yeah, they were good.” 

“And how are you feeling?” It was surprisingly a rather hard question to answer as you sat down on the lounge. For the longest time you had always put your family first, made sure all their needs were met before your own. From your kids to your husband they always came first, but now? Now you had to focus on your health and put yourself first if you had any chance of getting through the next few weeks. 

“I threw up this morning–” It was your way of saying you werent travelling well at all. “After I slept with Jake–” You knew your mum would be shocked at your admission, so you closed your eyes and braced for it. The scolding, the “never sleep with an ex speech” But it never came. All that came was a sigh you couldn't tell was laced in disappointment or approval. 

“You need that man in your life darling, he's a good man, the two of you just need to work on your differences.” Your mother had always had a soft spot for Jake Seresin, for a few weeks after your initial breakup he stayed in her spare room. Jake loved your mother like his own and you knew that if you ever gave her a moment on the soap box, your mum would scream it to whoever would listen just how much you and Jake were made for one another. 

Which in your opinion was a little shitty. Jake had his own mum. You needed yours. 

“I know he's a good man mum, that's why I married him to begin with.” You sighed heavily as you laid on the lounge to ward off the dizzy spell that was threatening to throw you off balance. “But I haven't been his priority in a hell of a long time, and I owe it to myself to not go back to being a married single mother.” 

“Okay okay, well–” You knew your mum was only trying to help but it felt like the two of you had this very same conversation every time you spoke, it was like deja vu. “He won't wait around forever darling.” That fact you also knew, according to Jake himself her name was Violet or Vivian or Vanessa. Something that started with a V. Either way you knew very well that Jake wouldn’t wait around for you to take him back on his hands and knees begging. 

But at the end of the day you weren’t sure if you even wanted him to wait for you. Of course you loved Jake, with your whole heart. But right now nothing made sense to you, you were dying after all. 

“Trust me,” You rolled your eyes thinking about how Vanessa or Vicky or Veronica looked. If she looked anything like you or maybe completely different. If she had blue eyes you'd surmise that he probilby date her. “I know he won't, but he's not the priority right now, my health is.” 

“I'll be there in about an hour or two depending on traffic.” For a split second you wished it might take a little longer. Although you loved your mum dearly and appreciated everything she ever did for you, her favouritism towards your husband made your blood boil. 

“Okay, I might have a bit of a nap while I'm waiting for you, I'm feeling pretty shattered.” No word of a lie was spoken, you were exhausted to say the very least. Finally being alone and not having to be in constant caregiver mode for three young children truly had your body calling it quits. You needed sleep and so much of it. 

“I'll see you soon alright?” You mum spoke through the bluetooth that crackled and broke with the failing reception, but you heard her just barely. 

“Alright, bye mum.” You paused hesitantly as you let your eyes close “I love you.” It had been a while since you told anyone you loved them besides your kids, and for a second you wished it was Jake on the other end of the line. You did love him, probably more now than you ever had. Everything was just so messy, it wasn't fair. None of this was fair. 

“Bye Darling.” Your mum replied. “I love you too.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***~***

“My babies!!” Janeen Seresin was in Jake's opinion, one of those women who never should have had kids, let alone four of them. Jake was the youngest of four Seresin children and the only boy. His father, Rodney, was a hard task master who no matter what Jake accomplished in his career or personal life, never seemed to be proud of the man he had become. 

“Hi Ma.” There was a pretty simple explanation for that, Jake never took a beating without getting a few punches in himself. He wasn't the kind of guy who you could beat into submission even as a teen. “Merry Christmas.” 

“Jacob oh my boy it's so good to see you.” Janeen took her youngest child in her arms in the threshold of the Sersein estate. Lavish gardens surrounded the old exposed red brick home that had been in the Seresin family for generations. Jake knew when his parents died it wasn't going to him, but to his eldest sister Julies. “Come in come in! You guys must be so tired after your flight.” 

Jake, despite being a fighter pilot who had flown some of the most suicidal missions, was a nervous flyer when he wasn’t in total control. Commercial flying wasn't something he typically enjoyed. It made him anxious at the best of times and whenever he added his children to the mix he was sure that the way his heart pounded inside his chest during takeoff was early signs of an underlying genetic heart condition he probably inherited from his father. 

“The kids are definitely a little tired, I think Sam's ears haven't really pooped either.” Jake cooed as he and his kids entered the house Jake grew up in, the overly eccentric, far too big, the annoyingly in your face house he knew you always hated. It always seemed to exemplify the two worlds you and Jake grew up in as children. 

“Grandma!” Lucy interrupted. “Mum said that Santa will know exactly where we are if we put out cookies and milk for him and carrots for his reindeer like we do at home.” Janeen chuckled at her granddaughter as Jake placed Sam on the ground to walk off with his brother to explore the mansion style home that was far bigger than the one they were used to. 

“Your mother would still have you doing those silly little things wouldn't she?” Jake bit his tongue as he watched his mother soothe a hand over his daughter's head. “Of course we can put out cookies and milk, but if I get ants you better be ready to clean them up little miss.” Lucy simply smiled and nodded in response, the dig had gone right over her six year old head. 

“God Ma you'd think you never had kids of your own before.” Jake argued in an attempt to remind his mum that his kids were only young. The magic of Christmas was important to you and him. “I'm sure Santa won't leave cookie crumbs all over the house.”  

“Santa isn't who I’m worried about making a mess–” Janeen tried to say the loud things quiet while around Jake's children, but the intent in her words was still as loud and as obnoxious as ever. “How is your mother Lulu? I’m sorry she won’t be joining us for Christmas and new years.” 

“She’s been sick the past few weeks.” Jake frowned at his mothers smile, she left little to the imagination about her opinion of you. “But she’s better now.” Jake wasn't so sure of the statement his daughter made, the way you were only on your knees this morning throwing up into the toilet bowl made him frown in response. Jake had this gut feeling he couldn’t get rid of it no matter how hard he tried not to think about it. Was something wrong with you? Like, more than just a long winded flu? Who even gets the flu for three weeks these days? 

“Oh I’m sure she is dear, right before her big trip away hey?” Ever since you and Jake separated, Janeen Seresin had been pushing for Jake to file for divorce and full custody. No one got to leave her perfect angel boy. In her eyes Jake could do no wrong, he was her angel, her precious baby boy that no woman could ever be good enough for. 

“Yeah! She’s going to the snow with a bunch of her friends Grandma.” Lucy replied, she didn’t understand her grandmother’s resentments just yet. That or it went right over the little girl's head, either way Jake was thankful for her innocence. 

“Oh I know your dads told me all about your mothers grand plans.” Janeen rolled her eyes pretty heavily at the idea you were off whoring yourself out on a ski trip out of the country while her son was tasked with looking after the three children you had with him. 

“Ma, drop it will you?” Jake urged. “She’s allowed to go away for the holidays, she’s pretty much had the kids all year.”

“And why is that?” Janeen retaliated as little Lucy walked off to find her brothers. Jake followed his mother into the dining room where festive decorations dressed the dining table. Perfectly set and prepared. A stark contrast to your old chipped four seater dining table that had soggy cheerios spilled on the top just this morning. Jake much preferred the cheerio-covered table to his mothers perfectly decorated one. 

Fuck, Jake thought to himself the more he looked around. His kids were about to mess this place up. He knew deep down that would bring you a little solace. You knew Janeen was sour on you. The idea of the kids making her life just a little more chaotic would normally make you chuckle.

“Because I live and work in North Island now, I don’t have the proper work schedule to take three kids on by myself.” That was the appropriate and only answer, but Jake knew his mother saw it differently. “I don't have to means to look after them myself–Y/n does, we both agreed on that when he split.” 

“She’s keeping those kids away from you sweetheart.” Jake couldn’t have rolled his eyes harder if he tried, he’d been home for all of what? five minutes and already his mum was disrespecting you. “You don’t see those kids nearly as much as you should and it’s her—“

“Don’t you think that’s more on me then it is on her?” Jake argued back. “Come on ma you know exactly why we separated, I wasn’t putting in what she was giving and it damn near killed her. The last thing she needs is a custody battle.” 

“What you ever saw in that woman I’ll never understand sweetheart.” Janeen cooed as she reached up to touch her son's cheek. “I always knew she was never good enough for my baby boy.” 

Jake wanted to argue, he really did, but it was Christmas and his entire family would soon be filling the Seresin estate. So Jake pressed his lips together and leaned in to press a kiss to the top of his mothers head. He didn’t want to ruin yet another family holiday. He didn’t want to be dubbed the family disappointment because of his separation. Although he knew that's exactly what he was. 

He just wanted to be loved. And at this point Jake was gonna take that love whenever the hell he could get it from. 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

“Y/n–” At first you didn't respond, but as your mother shook you as you slept on the lounge and called your name a few more times, you finally woke up. “Y/n, babe jesus have you been asleep since we got off the phone.?” It took you a moment to come back into your body as you wiped the dry drool that had leaked from your mouth onto your cheek. The discombobulation was clearly evident to your mother as she stepped back a little to give you some space. 

“Yeah, I guess so.” You mumbled as you sat up. “I'm just really–” The all too familiar feeling of bile rising came hard and came quickly. “Oh god mum, get me a bucket!” The look of panic written in the tired lines on your face was enough for your mum to realise what was going on. 

“Oh shit hang on.” Your mother hurried into the laundry nearby and searched high and low for something you could use, but you decided soon thereafter that it was quicker if you booked it into the kitchen and puke right into the kitchen sink. “Y/n! Oh god are you alright darling?” 

For a single mother of two children, yourself and your older brother Carson, your mother did alright for the hand she was dealt. On the younger side, your mother always seemed a little ‘Childish’ in her nature and mannerisms. But she was your mum and you wouldn’t change her for anything. 

“I'm fine–I just–” You couldn't keep anything down to save your life right now, so when your body wanted to expel any form of bile it was just stomach acid and remnants of whatever you had most recently eaten. Your mother did her best to comfort you as you coughed and splatted your gagged in the kitchen sink for dear life, she could tell your body was weaker than it ever had been just from the way you trembled under her touch. 

It broke her heart to see you like this, so sick and fragile. You did well to hide it though, for what it was worth she thought you looked relatively healthy still. But it was still early on in your journey. 

“I'm so scared mum.” You cried out through gags as you stayed bent over the sink coughing and crying. This wasn’t fair, you had a family to think of, kids to watch grow, a husband to hopefully fall in love with all over again. How could whatever god was up there do this to you? Why did this happen? Why you? What had you done so wrong to deserve this untimely fate?

“It's okay I've got you baby.” Your mother cooed as she rubbed circles into your back with her open palm. “Im here, I’ve got you now, let's get you ready to go up to the hospital hey, you wanna take a shower or?” 

“Let me just brush my teeth–” You sighed as you spat into the sink to clear your throat. “I should ring Jake, make sure they got in safe.” 

“I'm sure they’re just fine, he’d call if there was a problem, let's just focus on you for once.” You didn't want to feel like you were neglecting your children but you already felt like you were. They were your entire world, putting yourself first just wasn't in your nature. But as you thought about calling, thought about just sending a text, you looked at your phone to see a missed call from Jake about twenty minutes prior and a few text to follow. 

:Lover: “Kids and I are here safe, ma’s on her fuck the ex campain already and dads nowhere to be seen.” 

:Lover: “Hope you're enjoying your kid free afternoon, safe flight tonight, text me when you get into Calgary.” 

You couldn't help but to smile as you pocketed your phone, you'd call Jake later once you were settled into your hospital room. Right now you just needed to finish packing, brush your teeth and get over to the hospital for your admission time. 

“He loves you so much.” Your mother reminded you as she followed you up to your room to help you finish packing. 

“I know he does.” You really weren't in the mood to be discussing the state of your marriage right now. “He deserves better, someone not riddled with cancer cells.” 

“Is that why you won't even consider the idea of getting back together?” Your mother was nearly flawed when you silently nodded in return. “Y/n, don't you dare–” Again, you didn't want to talk about it. Between Jake's mother not being your number one stan and your mother playing devil's advocate what seemed to be twenty four seven, you were just over everyone having an opinion. 

“Mum! He didn't care about me enough when I was healthy and happy and his wife! What makes you think he’ll care now that I’m literally dying!” You shouted as you threw a pair of extra soaks into your luggage bag. “It's not fair, none of this is, but I left him well before I got sick and me getting sick doesn't change the reason I left.” 

Your mother didn’t respond, all she did was stare at you worryingly from across your bedroom room in silence. It looked as if she was trying to figure something out, read your face, understand what was going on. Then, after a few short moments of silence she spoke. 

“Your father and I went through something very similar before he died.” Your parents had been divorced for three years before your dad died in an awfully unexpected car accident. It shattered your mum, you knew it did. “We never did get to a point where we could resolve our differences.” She explained softly as she walked over to help you pack the last few items. You let her help you fold some T-shirts, Jake's old T-shirts, as she spoke. “This past year watching you and Jake go around in circles about how much you both still love each other and how desperately he's willing to change in order to keep you is so infuriating because you, my baby girl, have already decided you're not worth loving because you’re unfortunately going through something I can't even begin to comprehend.” 

“He couldn't love me before mum.” You simply sighed in defeat, god it was like you were going around and around on a ferris wheel. “What makes you think this changes anything?” 

“That man has never stopped loving you Y/n, he just got a little lost, we all do.” 

“If you had a chance would you take dad back?” It was a question you'd never asked before purely because you were afraid the answer would be no. now? As you tried to navigate the best thing to do for yourself, you desperately hoped the answer would be yes. Perhaps then you wouldn't feel so torn about hating to love Jake Seresin and his ability to captivate your entire being. 

“Without a shadow of a doubt my dear.” You’d never seen your mother have to hold back tears so hard before in your life. She was watching her only daughter go through a battle she wouldn't wish on her worst enemy as well as trying to help you through your separation. Although sometimes unwarranted and unsolicited, she was still your mother. 

“Without a shadow of a doubt.” 

***~***~***~***~***~***~**

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[marimayscarlett]

Who is Frau Schneider's favourite?

I'd say Richard since she never leashes him (she should) and only gently threatens him.

Olli too. She knows he's a good, obedient boy.

The rest of them? Unruly rascals! Cannot be trusted to be left unattended!

Hi 👋

Well, interesting questions and thoughts 🤔 I always saw Flake as one of her favourites, he is very obedient and gets occasional love by Frau for being so calm and well-behaved 🙂‍↕️

Richard as a favourite...hm, I'm not sure. He provokes the poor Frau to the extreme, he’s definitely doing it on purpose - like a kid who rebels to get attention 😤👀 The typical "But I didn't do anything! 😏" kind of kid:

I mean, no wonder Frau sometimes just absolutely snaps, this one is a real rascal:

My little out there-theory: Her secret favourite is Till. Yes, she disciplines him quite a lot, sometimes even harder than the rest:

Yet I still have the feeling that it's more like a 'tough love' sort of relationship. She recognises his potential and loves him dearly, but she has to resort to drastic measures or finds no other way to keep him on track - like with a student, where you know exactly how capable and intelligent he is, yet you still have to step in repeatedly to prevent him from falling into chaos/standing in his own way. And in the end, I think she does appreciate him a lot and is proud of her Till 🤍

And I think it's clear who she barely tolerates:

[mydeerfellow]

A list of things Keekee enjoys:

⊚ Alastor's lap and shoulders, particularly when he's least expecting it. She considers it a very fun game when he tries to push her off. It can last for hours.

⊚ Convincing Vaggie that Charlie has never fed her before in her life and she is, in fact, slowly withering away.

⊚ Niffty feeds her bugs. Keekee loves the cronch.

⊚ Sneaking into Alastor's quarters to beg for meaty snacks. She also considers his pillow to be the ultimate resting place (it is the Forbidden Bed)

⊚ Angel Dust's lap but only on the condition that the Horrible Pig is not there.

⊚ Watching the Horrible Pig be bathed. She relishes his screams.

⊚ Following the Egg Bois because they are very good at locating crumbs.

⊚ Sleeping with Pentious. It's not very hard to wiggle into his arms, and he's very warm. It lacks a certain element of forbiddenness, though.

⊚ Pissing on Husk's hat if and when it is ever left unattended. Another cat in her hotel is a travesty that Keekee cannot overlook.

[daisychainsandbowties]

Is there anything more beautiful and tragic than Lilith’s self-destructive longing to be loved?

i wrote a little something for this. a little bit of davy jones au

/// lullabies in salt

Lilith sings to her, sometimes, when the ship becomes a ghost and all of her crew are just specks of watery light. They move through the rigging, each one turning into what they really are.

Or what they long to be – Lilith has never been certain of this as she stands alone among them all, watching as eels curl around ropes dangling unattended, as crabs wander the deck with their claws scraping softly on soft wood.

Jellyfish strung like floating lanterns up above as thought trying to replace the night sky.

Her crew, to whom she is not gentle, and yet here they are in their simplest form; their wishful thinking that endures to this depth and makes light for her where there should be none. She has watched their bodies change, like hers, over the years.

(there is no need to admit to herself that she has lost count of them)

They are always so astonishingly alive in the beginning, and of course Lilith is just a ghoul to them. She has to be. Pacing by day in her coat that always drips cold water, her swords lending weight to her hips where flesh and fat and all her girlish ends of her have faded away.

She’s seen how they look at her – eyes bloodshot, gleaming in the candles her crew carry with them onto the wreckage of ships. Lilith wonders each time if this makes for a better ending, as she paces in front of the survivors where they kneel in their shallow saltwater graves, variously bloodied and always on the edge of death.

Her crew, who have all made the same poor choices, whisper that it is. Better.

“Why?” she asks them, her voice moving like water over sand.

Her crew, who she thinks of as beautiful because what else to think or to feel about them? Their faces cracked open by barnacles and occupied by every crawling thing that lives inside the ocean. A girl of seventeen (dead) who did not endure the crossing from England; her eyes replaced by the broad caps of jellyfish, who looked up from her whalebone dice and said, “It’s better to have a choice, I think.”

Even now, she is shy, though the sea has reclaimed all of her girlishness. Her forearms are chitin and her teeth are coral, and even as Lilith stood by, waiting for her to summon her voice again, a tiny krill crawled out of her left ear and settled on the lobe like an earring.

The girl touched it, smiling, as though a pretty boy (or another pretty girl, Lilith supposes) had set it there with bare hands. “I wasn’t ready to be dead,” she told Lilith, quiet but fierce, “And I don’t regret this.”

“You will.”

As the ship falls, passing out of sight of sunlight, Lilith searches for the marshlight of that girl in the strung-shadows, in the ghosts. There are a few she suspects.

One, a dolphin turning loops around the mainmast. It is the pink kind that live out somewhere on the continent west of Europe – oh, Lilith can’t remember the names they put on maps. What she remembers, from the queer knowing of things that is her deathbed companion, is that this creature is a freshwater thing and does not belong here.

Its shape climbs and climbs, into the crow’s nest, and then the ship shudders. They are done descending.

The light vanishes.

Lilith steps away from the wheel, fingers unsticking reluctantly from the barnacle-choked wood. Maybe there is no wood left at all, she realises, taking in the twitching mass of creatures that have consumed every inch of what was once a clean and solid shape.

(what has she done to them?)

Her memory is cloth eaten by moths, and all of this is probably her fault, but she cannot remember why.

Sometimes, when she falls asleep (at last. Always at last) with the ship’s organ falling silent around her, she dreams of a rainswept shore. Scrawny palm trees and dried seaweed strewn along the sand.

Kneeling there like one of the flotsam she fetches out of the sea, face uptilted to taste the rain, to feel it run between her teeth. One last taste before her trembling hand raises something that makes her fist ache. She is shirtless in her dream, lurid in the shine off of drenched skin. Her scars all laid bare for that ruined island to see.

(did she burn them out of their little church on the hillside. did she paint the parish bell with blood and turn the neat little houses to cinders. did she-)

Perhaps the island was deserted when she came, rowing away from the Dutchman in the longboat with her crew watching in their silent way. Arms flung over the railings, hands fiddling with bits of wood or scraps of leather.

She went to where they could not witness her and stripped down. Laying her coat over a fallen tree and leaving her shirt as a smear of white on the sand, weighted by rain. She kept her pants (she has others) and knelt, placing every last letter into the box. A handful of flowers long turned dry and delicate as she shielded them from the rain, snapping the lid shut to protect them.

Turning instead to a smaller chest, all filigreed in the shape of sea creatures. Lilith didn’t make it herself. In the way of things, the ocean brought it to her in the ruins of a dying ship. It knows her mind and what she intends, and there is only a little mockery in the gifting of a chest.

(a locker)

 Sailors, among all types of men, are good at poetry because they see so little of it.

And so much.  

Lilith has seen so much and she remembers certain things with clarity like crystal – warped, but unashamed. Carrying light somewhere, if not where it needs to go, if not exactly all the way to the eye of the beholder.

She remembers kneeling, naked, and something in her hand (terrible) and tears tracking toward her mouth to make the freshwater taste of rain vanish. It was a knife, she thinks, that left hard welts in the flesh of her hand and made her bruise for days.

Her palm a cup of bluegrey turning green, turning yellow, turning on her as she walked unsteadily through the ship.

(and lilith is no fool)

She knows what she’s missing, and few besides her know that it is difficult to walk without a heartbeat – that there’s a rhythm to it. Stumbling like a drunk for days with the ship all run dry of rum.

“When do we make port?”

Her crew, as things crawled up on the deck.

They were afraid at first to become more like the sea, lashing out so she tipped more than one eviscerated body over the railing in that first week. Bodies weighted like anchors to their doom, since they could not sleep without serving her.

(she came back, later, and found them in their shallow graves alongside hidden reefs or close to islands they used to visit in passing, just to lay on the beaches and drink)

“Sorry captain.” Voices almost vanished into seawater and the soft rolling of waves across the ocean floor. “Glad you came back for me.”

(what else could she do? this is all her fault)

 It was cheating, but Lilith made deals and traded favours with other ships to get them supplies. “I’m a ghost, if anyone asks,” she’d tell their captains, who were always variously afraid of her. “Speak of this at all of your own volition and I will send her to find you.”

“Who?”

Only the daring ones asked, and sadly Lilith liked the daring ones. Their smiles and how their fingers lingered on her cold wet hands, fascinated instead of repulsed – give it time.

A hunger to them as they stepped a little closer – they met on her ship, and in their eyes it was because she preferred it this way, and not because her ship would not allow her to leave. “Who will you send?”

She’d smile, like a girl who did not need to keep secrets, “The sea.”

It was close enough to the truth. Lilith does not remember anything of how it came to this, but she sourced paint, canvas, charcoals and paper and anything her crew might need to remember for her. All of her kindest acts have been out of fear.

In their stumbling and then better and then beautiful attempts at painting, or sketching, Lilith has seen the bottom of the ocean as it changes over years. The crawl of objects along the ocean floor as the waves return. They are more loyal than the rest of the world together.

Sometimes she would be stupid and end up in her cabin with one of these odd little artists – her crew which is a collective and also individual. Individuals.

They were like anyone else to fuck – messy, and good, and quiet afterwards, tracing the mark of her own sword on some crewmember’s stomach.

Of course she is not so much of a fool as to say, “Who did this to you?” even in jest, but she wonders.

Who did this?

It doesn’t feel like her, but she remembers and it was and she left markings on her map at each place where she sent a panicked body over the railing.

All of them were right as they came at her with cutlass, saber, chunks of rotting wood.

“You did this to us.”

(and she did. she did)

It is not punishment enough, she knows, to have watched them change, one by one. Bodies she knew – fucked, cooked for, defended with her own – turned to bodies she only recognises because she never looked away. Afraid to blink, sometimes.

She gave them paper and paint so that they could remember, and there is a little booklet in the dry-store of her crew before, or halfway through. Her crew slowly undone as the Dutchman turns and turns around the ocean like a tiger in a cage.

And she is not brave enough to remember why she did it to them.

Lilith has no interest in drawing things, or putting smears of colour down to try, try, try and represent what happened to her. Lilith is a liar, and that should make her an artist too, but she takes what she has and puts it onto piano keys.

Happy, in the end, to remember little beyond her own naked chest. Nothing but a beach, a knife, a bloody shape in her hand.

(still beating)

It has been like this forever. Lilith with lichen growing out of her hairline and glassy teeth growing under the veins in her wrists. As a child she read about Moray eels and their teeth, and as usual her dreams have come back to infect her.

She is sick with longing, disfigured by it, and sometimes she wakes up with her arms bloody and soaking her bedsheets. Prongs of a glasslike substance sticking out of her wrists – and it is terrifying, but Lilith cannot die.

(and ‘cannot’ is a terrible thing, even when it is about death)

Tonight the ocean is calm and nothing has died, so Lilith moved through her crew. Oh, they are quiet sometimes especially when the stars come out. Night so clear you can feel it reaching for you.

Their voices all around her and their hands reaching out, sliding off her slick skin. Lilith, their fresh-drowned corpse, with new shapes sprouting now from her jawline. Following it all the way home into her mouth.

She loves their hands. She loves them.

The new ones as yet unbroken by the slow crawl of time, with their human faces. Almost, now, she finds their eyes unnerving – all simple shades of brown or blue or black or hazel or grey. There is so much weather in these living-dead things. So much of land.

As the sun fell she moved through them, listening, composing something in her head that sounded already as though it would be a sad song. She is good with only two emotions in music.

Anger, and this strange melancholy that falls over her crew when there are no bodies to collect. No limbs floating in the water and no blood in the seafoam.

No sharks.

“Let’s go down”

                                                      “Lilith”

                       “Captain”

    “Let’s go down”

Lilith has seen more of the ocean than anyone alive. Her body is spyglass, map, compass, and complicated in all the ways that saltwater is. There are no clean deaths out here.

Only drownings.

She took them down, waves rushing up the length of the ship to swallow their bodies one by one and how they floated for a while as the crushing took hold. Their bodies ignored it, and Lilith felt only the familiar ache in her wrists.

Here, at least, she cannot drip water onto the deck beneath her like a poor excuse for a heartbeat. Her crew were, at first, themselves.

She hates to find them beautiful, but there’s a helplessness to it; to Lilith and her long acquaintance with the sea.

I miss you.

The thought stepped out like a ghost to frighten her, and Lilith flinched against the wheel, but she did not let it go. Beach, knife, rainwater, and a bead of sharp pain somewhere on her chest.

Sand, blood, and the water catching up to catch her, and drinking it down.

“Are you thirsty, Lil?” (a voice she does not know)

Her crew are beautiful. They are the ocean and they are her and they float so perfectly as the ship descends, dragging their shapes out of sight. Light-swallowed and turning into light as they unravel.

(she will not describe them)

Only their ghosts, strung up into blurry wavelengths as the depths settle like an absent heartbeat around her. Quiet as her grave.

Lilith waits.

Her ship is lost now, barnacles loose in the water around her as they try to flee. (where? there is nowhere to go)

Catching one, she turns it over, watching as featherlike cirri tease from its tip, combing the water even now for food. It is not afraid of her, or it would have retreated into its shell, and Lilith lets its tiny appendages tease over her fingertips. There is plenty to eat on her skin.

She sets it on her forearm, feeling it secrete onto her skin, burrowing down among fine hairs and into flesh. There is a momentary bloom of blood in the water and then Lilith turns her attention out toward the ocean, to where a shape lurks now on the edge of seeing.

“Hello darling,” Lilith whispers, and a kraken’s arm punctures out of absolute darkness, easing toward her like a tongue parting lips, parting water. Easy as a knife parting flesh, carving out space for a ghost.

It moves through her crew, who scatter like wavelengths of light (that is all they are for now) from its path. The barnacle, newly apart of Lilith, quivers against her bones.

The arm stops, extended, a few inches from Lilith where she stands just shy of the ship’s wheel. It is cold at this depth, but Lilith cannot feel that any more than she can feel sunlight on her skin or the taste of food in her mouth.

She reaches out with her left hand so as not to scare the barnacle (who knows its place in the grand scheme even if Lilith does not) and lets the very tip of that unfathomable arm reach forward, curling all around her.

Her kraken hums and Lilith feels the reverberation of it mostly in her chest where there is plenty of room. She steps forward and the arms curls and curls – and Lilith is always dripping water but this creature is wet and she can feel it for once.

Lilith closes her eyes, feels her feet lift away from the deck and she is free, finally, of all that wood and tar, of a million nails and a thousand tiny chips in once-beautiful wood. She feels her barnacle rush toward the inside of her elbow where it burrows into the vein, opening her wide.

A blood trail follows them through the water as the kraken brings her close, away until the ship is just a mirage. Its mouth opens to show her rows of pretty teeth. Lilith has one on a leather cord around her neck, gifted accidentally by a shipwreck she visited one.

“Liar. A shipwreck you made.” (says a voice she does not know)

Its breath is only warmth here as the kraken lazes at this depth, letting faint currents shift her from side to side. They are still far from the bottom of the ocean, but this dark is preternatural anyway. This place hardly even exists.

Lilith, who has been granted space to move in the safety of the kraken’s grip, runs her hand over the suckers on its arm. It tastes her blood.

“Have you been well, dear one?” She asks this through the murk so her voice does not really travel, but the kraken hears her. She feels it twirling her lightly in place, humming more serenely as they dance farther from the ship, together.

Lilith kisses its wet flesh and looks toward her creature, her kraken, her ocean. “It is all I have, to hear that.”

It sends a small shockwave through the water in response – enough to make the barnacle shiver where it sits sipping at Lilith’s blood.

“Do you want me to sing for you?” Lilith spreads her palm over what passes for a kraken’s hand, sliding her fingers fully around the thinnest part, the very tip of its arm.

There’s a plea in its voiceless rhythm as the kraken twists in the water. There is so much of it that Lilith cannot follow every arm to its ending. Her creature is vast and it swallows the ocean around them. Everything, instead, is her.

(they are the same thing)

(ocean and kraken. ocean and girl)

Lilith sings.

[kings-highway]

Haikyuu Captain Squad Flash Fiction: Miniature Rocket

---

Bokuto comes back from a summer holiday, and one of the first things he does is knock on Kuroo's door. He holds up the box that he's holding - "Look what I got," he says, grinning. "It's a miniature rocket. Apparently it can launch like a hundred feet high. Can you help me build it?"

Kuroo is a little skeptical, but his interest in launching a rocket gets the better of him. Plus, he's pretty sure Bokuto will light a fire if left unattended with this thing.

So he agrees, and they head out to an empty park field that morning to go build the thing. Kuroo likes to think he's pretty good at this sort of activity, but after about an hour and six separate arguements, he throws the piece he was holding down into the grass.

"Dude, this is impossible. We need help," Bokuto groans, flopping into the grass.

Kuroo thinks about this for a moment, before making a call on his phone.

- When Daichi arrives to help, he finds the two boys rather dispairingly stretched out in the grass.

"Why do you think I'll be able to help?" he asks, sitting down with them and beginning to look at the pieces.

"I dunno, you're like, good with this kinda stuff, yeah? Like the building stuff."

Daichi stares at Bokuto for a second before looking at the rocket again, and deciding he may as well give it a go. Unfortunately, thirty minutes of frustrating confusion later and they've made no progress.

"You know who might be able to help?" Daichi says, pulling out his phone.

- Ushijima is next to arrive on scene, standing above them and staring down at the three idiots as they go through the pieces and explain what they think they're supposed to do.

"Are there not instructions?" Ushijima asks, frowning.

Daichi has the good sense to seem embarassed, scratching at the back of his neck before nodding to the other boys. "I just assumed if they needed help there hadn't been any."

"I... didn't check..." Kuroo mumbles.

Ushijima turns to find the box, digging around inside to produce a small folded booklet for instructions.

"Alright, bud," Kuroo calls. "Just tell us what to do and we'll do it."

"I cannot."

"Excuse me?"

Ushijima looks over to them. "I cannot read it. Where did you buy this?"

"Mexico," Bokuto says, prompting Kuroo to plant his face into the grass.

"Give me a moment," Ushijima says, turning away to make a phone call.

- "Alright... so... no, put the long piece... yeah, just connect it in like that-" Oikawa honestly wasn't so thrilled at being dragged out here mid-afternoon, but he hadn't had anything better to do. Daichi and Kuroo are both covered in grass stains by now, but at least they're almost done. "Okay, then- wait, shit, sorry - we're gonna need the wigglymajig back-"

"I thought you knew how to read Spanish," Bokuto frowns, where he's standing over Oikawa's shoulder and pretending he's helping.

"Yeah, everyday normal words," Oikawa replies. "I didn't exactly study my engineering vocabulary, this shit is complicated."

"It's just a toy," Ushijima says.

"You're just a toy, shut the hell up."

Either way, after about two hours of guided help, they have arranged the rocket and managed to get it's innards working to the best of their abilities. They set it up on it's launch pad, and all scramble back the reccomended distance.

"Alright, blast off!" Bokuto says.

Nothing.

"Blast. Off," Bokuto repeats, annoyed.

Still nothing.

"Did we do-"

The question Daichi was about to ask, 'did we do something wrong,' is immediately answered by the rocket exploding into a million pieces, making them all jump and flinch back as it's plastic is scattered in all directions.

[yuseirra]

I'm keen about emotions, I know where Ai's coming from when she's said all the things she wanted to do with, and do for Hikaru. Those were the most loving words you could give towards someone and you cannot say things like that without having conviction about the other party. It's so genuine and strong. Especially for someone with her character who feels such a strong desire for love, and was curious about just what it was but was so wary about it at the same time.

If this is a story about "love", that cannot be a thing that's left in vain or unattended. If this is about a girl who's name literally means love and has eyes that tell of love, she can't be ever wrong about it in a story that has it as a device.

What she said really got me. If I were to say the same things she said about Hikaru to someone, that'd mean they're the one. That's something so, so difficult to have Ai of all people to have felt and obtained, but she really got it. I felt so happy for her thinking, 'Oh, you really did it, Ai, you really were able to find someone who you were able to give your love to. It was him all along... Your boyfriend. He was it.'

You don't make Ai's "the one" be a psychopathic murderer who uses people for their own gain.

It got me hooked, so I examine the guy intently and see some behavioral patterns he has and the types of language he uses, the way he expresses himself and I surprisingly come to the conclusion that he really is someone that's worth it for Ai to try doing all the things she's done. I'm right about this. At least, this is what I'd do if I'm the writer. You just DON'T make a character like Ai say all those things for it to be proven wrong. It can't happen and besides, there is no point in doing so either except for maybe some mere shock value that'd soon fade over a couple chapters.

It's...right. Ai is right. You need to see that boy through her eyes. Interpret him through the way she's felt, and it all works and fits in like a puzzle piece. This is like a mystery where you fill the pieces to make sense of, but in a psychological sense. You have to believe her. What she's said isn't wrong. What Ai says holds weight and it makes so much sense for her to achieve all the love she's wanted by the end of the story. He's a person worthy of her love and that actually means he can be a saint;; the bar Ai has for people can be so high and he somehow made through it. The more I look, I come to a conclusion that it REALLY can be that way. He was that good and sweet. I see how he actually acts and he's really... So kind? That I get surprised, he could have done a lot of reckless things and tainted himself after Ai's death still but seeing how Ai wanted to "help" him?? And wanted the protagonists of this very story to do it with her? When the story is heading towards its finale?? Then he actually may have some room to be saved. That's why 154 pulled me in. I felt there would be no way this story will head otherwise.

So don't worry about Ai and don't worry about this ship. It will come through. Give it time!

[plant-acts]

A prompt for your theatre AU: shenanigans in costume storage.

I might have gone a little overboard with the "few sentences" and wrote 1,259 words...oopsies...

ANYWAY!

Here is what happens when 8 theater boys are left unattended in costume storage.

Ao3

--

The theater was quiet, too quiet for Time’s liking. An annoying mix of the air conditioner and his keyboard had been the only sounds for the past half an hour.

Usually, there was always some sort of commotion in the building, whether it be power tools, footsteps running to and from class, or people making weird accents for a laugh. It was never silent, especially with his current students.

The last time it was this quiet, he found the tech boys trying to turn the booth into a bedroom, and the time before that was because they broke a set wall and were trying to fix it without him knowing. So, to say that he was more than a little worried was an understatement.

At least he didn’t seem to be alone. Malon must have also felt that something was off because less than a minute later, she was knocking on his office door. Her red hair peaked in as she asked exactly what he knew she would. “Dear, have you seen the boys?”

He leaned back from his computer and shook his head, “Not since I sent them all to the costume closet to grab some old clothes we can tear up for the show.” Thinking back on it, that had been almost thirty minutes ago. What had they gotten themselves into this time?

His wife froze. “Link.” She stared at him as though he just told her their house had just burned down. “Tell me you did not send actors into the costume closet.”

Uh oh, she used his first name. Time was in trouble. He wilted under her gaze, suddenly very interested in the fake plant on his desk. “What’s the issue with that?”

She threw her hands in the air, pacing in and out of the room as she fumbled over her words, “What-what’s the issue with that?! Actors cannot be trusted in the costume closet! I-you know what, follow me.”

Before Time could even come up with a response, she grabbed his arm and marched towards the back of the theater.

She was probably being dramatic, yeah. I mean, how badly could the boys have messed it up? They are all responsible college kids. If they can be trusted to live without parental supervision, then they can be trusted not to destroy the costume department.

—

Time takes everything back. This was the most irresponsible group of people he had ever met. How they all have lived this long was a miracle.

Before him laid the remnants of hours of organizing. Clothes had been pulled from their racks and scattered across the floor, while accessories were hanging from every surface imaginable. In the middle of it stood the culprits…all dressed ridiculously.

“I could fight God in this!” Warriors called, wearing a blinding amount of knight armor. The helmet was too big and fell over his eyes, causing him to bump into everything and everyone within a five-foot radius.

A blur of blue jumped out from a pile of boxes in front of him. “Argh! Fight me then, matey!” Wind yelled while swinging a foam sword wildly. He committed to the pirate bit by dawning an eyepatch and a red bandana. “Or are ye too scared of my might!?”

Warriors stumbled back, knocking Hyrule, who had fairy wings hanging off one shoulder, to the ground. He rubbed his face in annoyance. “Guys, we are going to be in so much trouble if we don’t clean soon.”

Legend helped him up, struggling slightly because of the obnoxiously large ballgown he decided to wear. “Oh, lighten up ‘Rule, they won’t even- HEY! Don’t step on my damn dress, bitch!” He yanked the fabric out from under Twilight’s foot.

“Sorry, sorry, but I agree with Hyrule. My parents are going to be pissed if they see this. Especially Malon. She spent forever putting this room together.” Although he spoke for tidying up, Twi did not hesitate to take the cowboy hat handed to him by Wind and continue to search for a sheriff’s star in the mess.

The sound of clothes falling interrupted whatever response was coming. “Hey, Lege’!” A pink wig sat on Wild’s head as he stumbled out of the rack with a shit-eating grin covering his half-scarred face. “We match now!”

Surprisingly quick in a dress, Legend lunged at him. “Take that off!” He yelled as they dissolved into a tangle of fabric on the floor.

Sky glanced up from where he sat messing with a bird puppet and looked around. Someone was missing. “Has anyone seen Four?”

The room fell quiet as they looked between each other.

“I just saw him by the suits!” Wind called, somehow sitting on top of a shelf and using a telescope to watch the chaos.

From across the closet, Warriors spoke up, “What? But I just saw him over here with the hats?”

Twilight shook his head. “No way! He was with us near the fantasy stuff.”

A voice from under a pile of clothes startled everyone. “All of you are wrong! I’m down here!” Four struggled a bit before pulling his face out of the mess. “One of you- Wild, dumped the cheer uniform box on me!”

Wild laughed without a hint of sympathy. “Oopsies!”

Seconds stretched into minutes as Time and Malon watched with equal parts horror and fascination at the scene in front of them. He put his arm around the other and pulled her close. “Should I be the one to ruin their fun, or would you like the honors?”

She smiled up at him with a glint in her eyes and gently patted his cheek. “Let them have their fun for now. Lord knows they need it with how long I am going to make them stay here to clean it up.”

He chuckled while planting a kiss on her head. “You’re evil, you know that?”

“Maybe a little,” she shrugged, leaning against him as she watched the boys wrestle for a crown. “But don’t get too comfortable, you’re helping too.”

Time froze, “What!? Why?”

“You let them in, so you’re helping.” The smile on his wife’s face told him he probably wasn’t getting out of this.

“In my defense, I didn’t know this would happen.”

“And in my defense, I don’t care.” Malon turned, standing in front of him with her hands on her hips. “Theater is a family remember, if one of us goes down, we all do. And if eight boys trash the costume closet, then we all have to help clean it.”

All Time could do was sigh and laugh through the future pain. “I hate that you’re right.”

“I know you do.” She smiled and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

From inside the room, there was an eerie silence, followed by whispers. Looking over, it seemed the boys had finally noticed their arrival. No one said anything for a long moment.

Finally, Twilight spoke up. “Hey mom, dad.” He shifted nervously. “I promise this isn’t as bad as it looks.”

“Don’t lie, it’s worse!” Four yelled, still trapped under the cheer uniforms.

Wind jumped off of his perch and ran to a box sitting in the middle of the room. “We got the costumes you needed, Time!” He held it over his head with a proud smile.

The closet looked destroyed, his students looked like they were the stars of a kid’s birthday party, and his wife looked two seconds away from kicking everyone out of college.

Time could genuinely say he loved his job.

[haz311bl0gs]

Kitt | High Half-Elf | Dagger Wielding Sorcerer | Immortal (200+ years old) | Agent of Raphael | Neutral Evil |

Backstory under the cut (He's not a Tav, he's just a BG3 OC).

Kitt (real name unknown) is a selfish and narcissistic man but extremely powerful. Kitt comes from a noble family that had vast amounts of arcane knowledge and priceless arcane artifacts. Bored and in love with himself he feared aging, death and missing out on the carnal pleasures youth could provide. He struck a deal with Raphael to become his immortal agent and live a life full of pleasure, Kitt would want for nothing. For this Kitt gave up the souls of his family (5 souls total) along with all the arcane knowledge and artifacts that the house possessed. His family was forgotten and vanished like they never existed. 

Kitt's memory was mostly wiped clean, he remembers what he sacrificed but he doesn't remember what the importance of the items and knowledge he gave up were. His ability to wield magic like a master and fight with his dagger also remains intact. Kitt basically remembers everything in order to be Raphael's perfect guard dog and messenger boy. 

Kitt idolizes and loves Raphael to a fault. He takes great pride in being the property of the man that gave him eternal life and pleasure. His admiration for Raphael set in slowly but when it set in, it hooked into him, and that hook has no plans of letting go. He would lick Raphael's boots clean if he was told to. 

Some points about Kitt: 

Kitt is immortal but not unkillable and there are two ways to take him down. He must be stabbed in the heart by Raphael with a special dagger named "Warm Embrace" that Raphael gave to him as a gift. The other condition is that Kitt perishes should Raphael meet his demise. 

The dagger is magically bound to him and will return to him if out of a certain radius. It’s pretty much his leash.

Kitt met Raphael in his 30s which means Kitt has been in Raphael's service for almost 2 centuries. 

Although Kitt is very sure his Master cannot be slain, he will often be found at Raphael's side in moments of danger. Kitt is selfish at the end of the day, and he will do whatever it takes to make sure Raphael does not come to harm. 

Raphael chooses Kitt's clothing.

Kitt's good looks were another driving force behind Raphael making a deal with him. He finds Kitt very attractive, but Kitt wishes for more attention than his Master can provide. 

Kitt is a play on the word Kitten. Only Raphael can call him this, anyone else with this knowledge will not be able to utter the word towards him but only in the House of Hope the rest of the world it is free reign but not everyone knows this little fact. 

He detests being asked his age. He loathes the concept of aging and even though he doesn't show it physically he is over 200 years old. He also can't really recall as he stopped counting 100 years in. 

His fighting style is quick and sporadic. He moves in flashes with teleportation and creates illusions. Fighting him can be very disorientating. 

He's all about pleasures of the flesh, he loves sex. 

His favourite fruit is pomegranates, he likes things messy.  

He's never been with Haarlep, he hates them, and he won’t without Raphael’s say so (and that’s never happened). Raphael knows how weak Kitt is for carnal pleasures and fears Kitt may do something stupid if left unattended with Haarlep. 

He doesn't get to lay with Raphael as much as he would lead you to believe, and he hates it. 

He is so jealous of Tav/The MC it makes him sick to his stomach but he’s very good at hiding it. 

Fun or not so fun fact, if you slay Raphael, you can find Kitt's dagger and bones in the teleportation room in the House of Hope. (I'm still fleshing this and his ways of tying into the game out). But because I can be mean to my OCs I like to think he sensed something was wrong a bit too late and was trying to get back, but his attempts were in vain. 

You can find out that his name is short for Kitten and use it as a fun little dialogue option to piss him off. He will call Tav/MC a "little rat" in response.

I’m still figuring out romance with him, but it would be a one-night stand if anything. If you ask him about Raphael post sex he will be amazed that you even needed to ask and he will tell you how he sleeps with him every other night (a lie) and how wonderful it is (the truth to him at least).

Anyway, that's all I have on him for now. I know it's a bit wild just inserting him into the game like that but hopefully he's believable and stuff.

[calciumdeficientt]

What if I asked for more max headcanons.,., *bats eyelashes*

Ohohohohhoh okay can do. Fuck that weird bitch forreal

SIR MAXELL WHITLOCKE IV HCS

Sensitive to light, silver, garlic, holy water and cru- oh no wait. No no no hold on that’s a vampire. My bad. He’s probably just sensitive to light from all the many hours spent trawling the depths of Reddit like some kind of goblin, and maybe has some kind of allergy to silver jewellery. He’ll die if you stake him through the heart but that seems like pretty standard procedure for any living creature. Maybe sprinkle a little bit of holy water on him, or text him a bible verse or something if he’s annoying you and he’ll get out of your hair.

Hunched constantly, unlike Gary its not intentional, he just has bad posture and just a smiiiiidge of scoliosis that never got fixed because he kicked and screamed and bit so much has a kid that his parents, nannies and other caregivers refused to attempt putting the back brace on him. So now he stands at that creepy angle all the time, and probably will for the rest of eternity. The hunch will only get worse as he ages, so when he’s and old man he’ll probably be folded completely in half like a contortionist.

Technically his DAD is the one with the knighthood, he was given it for charity work he did in Africa. Max just uses his title as leverage over the preps. That was actually how he got in, he was asked for a name and as soon as ‘Sir’ left his lips they were rolling out the red carpet for him and preparing a room private room in Harrington House. Likely commandeering one of the other, poorer preps’ rooms. The IV part is real, he was named after his great great grandfather, who had ancestral ties to the East India company but we don’t talk about that… wait what’s that red dot… its moving oh god. No N-

Has a series of lab rats he likes to do tests on. Noting crazily sinister, just little mazes. Although sometimes the mazes are more like labyrinths, equipped with little minotaurs in the form of his pet snake Basil. He likes seeing them work through the puzzles and often doesn’t name them until they’ve succeeded in at least one maze. They have to earn their names, its pointless getting attached to them if they’re completely brainless. Taffy is his oldest and best rat, as well as being his best confidant and just generally the snuggliest.

The phrase ‘say it dont spray it’ was invented the day he got his headgear on by the way. Super cool claim to faim to be honest. He cannot say a single sentence without drooling on himself or others. It’s really incredible how much spittle one boy can produce. Even when he’s just sat there, he produces volumes of saliva that could easily fill an Olympic sized swimming pool, his mouth doesn’t close all the way, so its not really his fault he drools like an old, blind English Bulldog.

Really wants friends and approval. He raised himself from when he was old enough to dress, shower and otherwise exist unattended. Hence why he clings to Gary like a barnacle and much like a barnacle, he’s just as much of a nuisance. Gary gives him praise, approval and guidance, much like his parents were supposed to. So he hangs on his every word and praises him like a god. He has a little shrine in the corner of his rim full of Gary’s stuff. Discarded notebook paper, old yearbook photos, gum. its as creepy as it is wholesome. He just likes to keep the mementos. Very is his first and only humans friend, so its safe to say Max is more than a little obsessed with what he has to say. Because of this sheltered past, it makes Maxwell Gary’s personal errand boy and puppet. He’s more likely to get away with stuff because of the privilege of being rich, and that little weasel knows it.

[vamqyr3]

hii! hope ur well plsplspls could u make a one shot ab how the reader makes valeria mad on purpose like maybe with another guy? idk just something bro there's nothing for her 😭😭

↳ VALERIA “EL SIN NOMBRE” GARZA, TASK FORCE 141 // ATTENTION. ★

CW// PUBLIC, BRAT TAMING, SPIT, EXHIBITION, ROUGH, RESTRAINING, POSSESSION, MAINLY ALEJANDRO X FEM!READER, ECT.

NOTES// I still need more requests guys..💔 also real talk? This was mid. Do I care? No. But know in a different timeline I can write better than this.

The wooded floor clicked under boot and heel. Handfuls of political leaders and influential head figures weighed down the foundation. Valeria had been down in that musty room for ages. Left you at the elevator, told you to stay put and took the Scotsman with her. She had a horrible insatiable hungry need to keep you safe at all times, away from danger and smuggled behind bullet shielded doors. It was infuriating, it was dismissive of your years of training, the war thick scars on your sides and the time spent fighting by her side. You had a capacity for violence too, for action, for mischief.

You should’ve jumped in the pool, peeled off the shell of clothes and let any mayor of the city see the brand of bra you wear. But the mayor secured protection under law, and the alliance with the peoples to the south provided useful in territory scuffles. To do that would undoubtedly hurt her, that would be selfish. Just anything to get her attention, really.

There’s two men down the hall, to the right of you, another wears a mask flat against the elevators adjacent wall. Valeria was smart to leave you with a guard, nice even. But she was dumb to leave you unattended, needy. You wanted to see just how far you could push it.

“What’s your name?”

“Andres, miss” He refuses to look at you, hands hidden to the back of the suit. You had hated Diego for many things, including his choice in uniform. The ski mask and blazer was trashy, it served no purpose in anonymity and led to complications. You couldn’t even see his reactions to your senseless parade of angled looks and sugary words. That man, the man named Andres wearing a mask? That man would do just fine to entertain you tonight.

“I could get you out of here,” he’s finally looking at you, tilting the left most side of your hip upwards. “Get someone to cover your post and finally get you off your feet,” He stands there silently for a moment, smelling bits of dust and digging into the velvet carpet. “No thank you, miss,” he doesn’t seem to understand.

“Scared the big bad Diego’s gonna find you?” Your jutting bottom lip smooths your words to sound mean, condescending. You know he’s not. “I cannot let you out of my sight,” his head bobs with every gritty word. “No, your just worried the boss is gonna catch your ass,” you make footprints in the rug leading up to him, hooking the best of your finger round the dry belt loop of his pants. You smell sweet, and move your mouth even sweeter, cutting holes in his figure with your eyes and letting the poor boy marinate in filth. “You know, I could get you in with the top dogs, get you a real nice seat next to El Sin Nombre,” there’s a glint in the gelatinous coating of your waterline, it turns up to resemble your brows. The air around him is stale and your touch is sudden, leaving his back rigid. You smile.

Valerias shouting to the end of the hall, pushing the scotsman, Diego trails behind. She yells like a chastising mother, having caught the two of you red handed. She breaths steams of anger and tugs at you with excitement. There’s a twinge of pain as her hand chokes the back of your arm, it leads to a trip or two of your feet. A left foot dance to the elevator, up a few floors and down the way.

The rest of the night had went to shit. Left you choked up and humiliated. It had Diego dead, Valeria in storage crate and you zip tied and rubbed raw. The men had refused to let you into the metal jail as they spoke, yet had arrested you in hopes to use you for intel. You could still hear yelling echoing from inch to inch, but it’s sharp undertones went silent crashing along the walls. And that man? Andres? He grabbed you in a same fashion Valeria had to stuff you back into the chipped shipping crate.

She was not tied to the chair, the two of you shared equal opportunity to snap past the bunch and struggle with the door. But they were armed, they were tall and they were men. The door closes behind you, clipping shut on its lock, and Valeria stands proud under light, atop a chair.

“What’s your plan?”

“I give them what they want, they go,” Her head juts in the direction of her words and she pauses a while to pick at her next choice sentence. “We’re you in on this?”

“What? Baby, I’m handcuffed, how would I be in on this?”

“I don’t know you tell me,” She grows alive in her seat, stalking closer, arms folded. “You were the one humping Alejandro in the back of the elevator,”

“Who?”

“The man I left you with,” she’s coughing at your ignorance, cold to the marrow of her bones. You could only assume at some point she had found reason in your doe eyes, rationed logic and self induced restraint. Because soon after her nose points to dim lit chair and commands you to sit in it, and you do.

She looks down into you, surveying the twitch of your knee and the curve of your lidded eyes. The way you flinch under the weight of her hand, smoothing over your breast to jawline. Tilting your cheek to look back to her, poking your legs apart with her boot and curling wet lips into one another.

They talk just outside, a chilling reminder of the not only dangerous, but annoying situation you sat on. Hopefully she didn’t intend to enact her humiliating bouts of revenge with the cowboys so close on listing ears?

“Do you think it’s funny?” the hem of your crisp cut jeans ringed around her knuckle. “Hm? Getting a rise out of me?” ”Yeah, like you ever fuckin’ pay attention,”

“Oh, so that’s what it is? You act like a bitch to get my attention?” You smile and twist your hips away, palms wring your thick sides back into the hard bit of the chair. “Answer me, don’t play dumb,”

“No, I just get bored,”

She smacks at the side of your face, pressing her cheeks flat and kneeling down to your size. Wetting the bottom of your lip, her hand rolls into your underside, feeling up the clothed meaty bit of your crotch. There’s a ear splitting ever constant hiss of the lamp, the noise outside seems to be thinning and her patience follows in toe. “They’re right outside,”

“Oh? But, I thought you wanted the attention?”

Furiously, she unsticks the clasp at your hips, tearing down at the fabric like it was scolding hot and wrangling your twisting bottom. The butt end of her thumb rubs between you, raw and rhythmic. The connect of your slicked lips on hers make recognizable clicking sounds and it lulls you to a daze.

If only they knew just how good of a show you had put on earlier. Knew the silhouette of her tongue in cheek, the attention her hands placed roughly upon your body. The thick smell of her heavy breath, the taste of her teeth and the feel of her torso fighting yours. Her pointed fingers map the outline of your bottom half, other hand finding purchase on the meat of your hip, she takes care to drag the topside of her index along your sticky cunt. Sloshing past the fatty folds and kissing the velvety walls. Her movement is slow and meticulous, grazing the rivets of your innermost nerves.

You instinctively slot your mouth open, hoping to let noise out. She’s quick to make you forget about the company outside, the immense swelling of distress and bitter tasting words fall flat against her gooey fingers. You want her to go faster, the twinge of your hipbone mock a faster pace and she’s quick to shut it down with a slurry of sharp snaps to your silken clit.

You didn’t know how loud you were. But using the scream of the tactile aluminum door groaning alive in action, your breathy pants pale in comparison. Though evidently loud enough for a soldier outside to hear. One of the bunch is sulking through the door, dipping through the shadows. Valeria seems not to care, refusing to turn her back and flexing the muscle of her forearm delving wide into you. He clears invisible bits of stuff from his throat, hand ringing the upper half of the tactical vest with his right hand, nodding and smiling.

“Take a look at this,” it’s that Alejandro boy. It was an unlucky roadblock, but you didn’t mind. You wouldn’t mind flirting with any other man and having her fuck you with your head in their lap. Watching them grow alive with want. Wouldn’t mind the smack of her hand on your ass sending you up into the cold wall, clash loud enough for the group to hear. But she did care, a lot.

She’s sparking with a new found anger, barring her teeth and curling out to scare him away. He’s throwing up his palms and smiling into a laugh, exchanging a few heated words in their native tongue and refocusing back to you. The door’s still open on it’s hinges, a white back drop to contrast the darkness encased within the metal cube.

He scoots past Valeria, sliding a finger down your jawline and testing your temper. Your shifting a bit to get the seams of your jeans to fall back in place, an action preferably done manually now stopped by the zip ties wound round your prickled wrists.

“I bet you don’t mind sharing?” “Valeria seems too,” he’s laughing, face ribboning to make way for teeth. “She’s all bark, no bite,” Her hips roll In the same fashion of her eyes, pink tongue picking at her gummy check. The soles of her feet unstick from the floor and her thighs level with the ground, face now close enough to tear down the straps of your clothes and have you jumping at the chilly seat. Alejandro is edging on uncomfortably close, hints of his lower half glaze the shell of your ear and he won’t stop smiling. Saying something along the lines of, “Didn’t know Valeria could wrangle something as pretty as you.” You can taste her anger, feel it through the tips of her tongue on your clit. If getting her pissed was how this all started, you would do it all again.

The folds of his pant rolls over your nose, propping open your mouth and sticking your eyes back onto her, you map the outline of Alejandro’s cock with your teeth. Spit seeps back into the cotton drying out the reservoir behind your lips. You didn’t mind if his boney palm eclipsed the back of your hair, smashing you wider, it made her eyes thinner, sharper. Made your knees creep farther and chair jiggle with excitement.

Her tongue smooths over the beady dot, inching back and forth with the suction of her mouth. Pink nails make red hot half moons into the plush of your thigh. She licks your nerves, sliding into every ridge and leaves wet trails of ecstasy. You wanted to fuck her like an animal and Alejandro’s task to pick up on it. Excitedly unraveling the thick knots of his pant hem, he’s jumping out of the clothes.

The Scotsman is second to follow, outlined in white light and overcast with shadow. He’s stood on his left foot, leaning into the doorframe. You turn your head to look at Alejandro, frantically spilling out from under his elastic banded underwear. He holds himself up, other hand pushing down the tops of his boxer shorts. Your quick to leave lines of kisses under his hand, Valeria bites at you in protest. Maybe Mohawk would join in, stand opposite of his comrade and strip you of a shirt. Make you ring your hand around him, fuck himself into the hold and steady your face on Alejandro with his palm. Just maybe.

Your jaw falls slack to envelop the man, he slots far into you, hard bits of your mouth graze the uppermost top of him. Valeria sweetens the dance of salt and slobber, ribbons of syrupy spit slide down your chin, bubbling off your lips. You want to plead with her to go faster, let your hands and hips go to buck into her. But the tight flinch of your muscle with every swallow screws your eyelids and brows together. You’ve been made to sit there and take whatever they damn near please.

“What’s going on down there Alejandro? You gotta party and didn’t invite me?”

“You wish, Graves,”

Not only could they hear you on comms, but through the wide voided doorframe, no doubt. Soaps absentmindedly nudging at the knot in his crotch. The sight alone is leaving silky thick ropes between you and Valeria’s full mouth. It all edges between too much to handle, the hard collide of his stomach on your chin leaves a ringing louder than the lamp in your ears. Your whole body’s buzzing, tiptoeing off the floor trying to escape Valeria for a moments rest. Some other man has an arm slung around the shoulder of Soap, eyeing you down just as hard.

He begins to Crescendo, popping out a while and leaving the cream splattered tip to lay on the plato of your puffy tongue. Your lover’s quick to reprimand him, switching her tired mouth for broad thumb. Kurt swipes shiver your lower abdomen, have you tightening on gasps of air. The warmer half of you is melting into the chair, charred in the heat of ever constant stimulation. Alejandro’s back in your mouth, digging into your rippled and beaten throat with a strong hand to guide the senseless berate.

They’re mumbling about near the door, fist deep in their pants. Valeria shifts on her knees and starts with a new passion, throwing your hips back onto her nose and bumped muscle. The gagging and sputtering is quelled with a sense of familiarity. You’re pulling on the ties, choking for tight air. He’s laughing at the view, little bits of juice collected in the lines of his forehead. He begins to palm at your chest, rolling the meaty pouch between his leathery fingers. Graves is on the radio, his words of encouragement are mixed with static and hot air. Commenting endlessly on just how good it sounds, how the boys wish they were there. Alejandro is impossibly loud, Valeria’s using your thighs to cut off the screams, burrowing farther and farther. Her fingers tapping at your clit, tongue pressing into your mushy hole.

She’s pushing you through your undoing, waving her face all over. It leaves you twitching in the chair, struggling to exhale while still gagging. His hand never leaves your skull, finding pleasure in your pained chokes. Alejandro’s right hand shoots up to cup your ear, pressing your nose into his pelvic bone. And he stays there, far and wide, balls deep into your throat. Mouth a perfect ring and making new wrinkles into his temples. He unsheathes himself after a good while. You fail to see the boy’s reaction to it all, Valeria’s quick to rise high and cut your sights short. Latching onto your jaw angrily, she’s prying your teeth to part, kissing and licking the musty salt and cum out. She pulls back, satisfied, purses her cheeks and spits it all back.

“Swallow,”

[eikichi-supremacy]

If i analyzed a mitski song through a kuwameshi lens would u care…

i just think it kinda fits as a yusuke pov is all! like here let me just-

what if yusuke wanted to be held. he hasn't been held since he was a child and had no one but a mother too young to know how to do it right. what if all of a sudden he had someone to depend on no matter how hard he bit and fought and clawed. kuwabara has his back in fights, in life, so why not be at his back in the quiet intimacy of night. maybe i can kiss your fingers for a change instead of breaking them. i can be soft. i can want soft sometimes. but it's a pointless desire because kuwabara has potential yusuke doesn't see in himself. a chance to be "normal" and "successful" away from the destruction and strife that seems to lick at yusuke's heels. all yusuke has is this man eating demon heritage and a ramen cart. so he can send kuwa off with a smile, call him college boy to further separate himself from what kuwa has the chance to achieve.

i will compare kuwabara to the sun until i die. he's bright, he saves with his light. when he smiles he beams. even his aura is yellow and hot and beautiful like the sun the very center of our existence. of yusuke's galaxy, his universe even if that doesn't make sense. and kuwabara knows what it's like. his childhood wasn't much better than yusuke's. and still somehow he came out the other side shining while yusuke belongs to the night. a creature of the night. not even a part of the grand solar system just some thing that is wrong and rough and hurting that wanted to hurt in turn. still he can't help but open a little for the sun. maybe like a morning glory. he can't bring himself to be direct can't take that leap. but he can sing for the birds to pass messages for him. little touches, sweet moments that can be laughed off if necessary, hugs they pretend didn't happen. those are his song.

do not wait!! i'm not for this place and you're meant for better so don't waste your time on something like me. there's this divide. human and demon. sun and the monster undeserving of its rays.

you'd think that because their situations were similar shizuru and atsuko would be thick as thieves but i feel like there'd be a disconnect. a sort of envy on atsuko's side and judgement on shizu's. maybe shizuru sees this child her brother brings home unattended and mean and unwilling to be cared for and she gets it but also she doesn't. because kazu isn't like that so what could've happened? yusuke knows shizuru feels bad for him, for how he was brought up but he can't bring himself to share the sentiment. he's glad for his mother even. her willingness to tell him how it is. to make sure when the world punched him he punched back ten times as hard. to not get to attached because it only hurts when you get left behind.

Kuwabara is...he really is a man amongst men. he is just that good. he's got honor, he has respect, he can do the yes ma'ams and no sirs, he can also rile you up if need be. he can raise his abysmal grades just by believing he can. he can defend he can protect he can be strong he can be sweet. he can be confident and vulnerable. he's just everything you can wish for in the guy you wanna take home to meet your parents. and yusuke wants. he doesn't want to want but he does. he wants to be worthy of that guy.

if. well when it all comes crashing down because yusuke cannot keep things afloat he doesn't keep connections he breaks and breaks and breaks. kuwabara is everything he could ever want wrapped up in one person and that's exactly why he knows he'll fuck it up because urameshi yusuke cannot keep a good thing. he shouldn't have tried it in the first place

and maybe his mom was wrong. wrong in what she taught him. the lessons she gave. but at some point down the line yusuke can realize it's not always learning what to do. but what not to do. and because kuwabara is this perfect guy he will never give up on yusuke even if he fucks up. so the least he can do is put that same effort in. maybe he understands his mother more the less he becomes like her.