#but I Need to quit smoking and for years I've failed on my own. so im gonna ask for help with that

[lurkiestvoid]

I couldn't sleep but I have Shit To Do Today that I can't risk missing so I am mainlining caffeine. it's 10:30am and my chest is full of hummingbirds. This is maybe fine

[teatreeoilll]

|| Crush (Gojo Satoru X Reader) ||

(Reposted from my old blog which I don't have access to anymore (thanks Tumblr), if you liked it reblogs or likes would be appreciated to get me back on track since I've lost all my followers and half my work :(

Short one shot, in which Gojo finds out reader has a crush on him. TW: mentions of Alcohol and smoking

"I mean, if you had to choose one of them?" Your hands slipped further on the table, your palm grazing the wood while you fixed your gaze on Shoko's uninterested eyes.

"No," She said calmly.

"But if you really, really had to?" Her eyes darted across the room, her mind in dire need of a change in conversation topic.

"If I really - really, had to," She sighs, "I guess I'd pick Satoru."

Your heart dropped at the mention of his name. I knew it!

"But really," She continued, "I think he makes a horrible team with anyone, it doesn't matter how strong you are if you can't do that, y'know? But those six-eyes are no joke, so if I had to, I guess -" Your confused expression stopped her from talking further.

"Shoko, I meant if you had to pick one to - uh, you know, "

All the confidence you mustered to bring up the topic in the first place had vanished, you slid back into the chair, watching Shoko's face shrink with disgust. "No."

The drink before you emptied quickly as silence took over the room, each time you wanted to say something you felt your throat tense as the drunk haze had begun to clear. Perhaps it really was a bad idea to talk about this.

"I have a feeling this isn't really about me, is it?" She reached to open another canned sake. "I would like to say that you can tell me anything, but I have a feeling I wouldn't want to hear this," She took a long sip, "But I'll play along. Who'd you choose?" She was far too familiar with your mannerisms, knowing you would never admit to it any other way.

For a few months now, she had been brushing off her suspicions as misinterpretations.

"I - I would, hm, maybe, Satoru?" Regret settled deeper in your throat, but you knew it was too late to make up some excuse to leave this conversation. "It's not like I'd do anything about it, you know?" Shoko's eyes widened as you spoke, she tried to utter a few protest words, her hands are signaling you to stop talking.

You felt your face turn red, "I mean, It's just a crush, nothing to be too flustered about, right? What do those last, like a few months at most? Just don't look at those beautiful blue eyes, and that snowy white hair… It'll go away on its own!" Aware that it's too late, Shoko had buried her face in her palms. That's it, the thought passed through your brain, She will never respect me again.

"It really is nothing to be flustered about. Quite understandable - really." A familiar voice came from behind, you could hear the grin in his tone. You desperately stared at Shoko, your eyes begging her to say anything - anything to rescue you from the embarrassment.

Shoko cleared her throat, "It is, very understandable! That you have a crush on this guy, who doesn't even attend Jujutsu High!" Ah, it could have been such a good save.

"Oh yes!" Gojo laughed, kneeling next to your chair with his hand placed firmly on your shoulder, "Such a shame, but it's not like you have to see his beautiful blue eyes and snowy white hair every day," He failed to hold back his laugh, "I'm sure it'll go away on its own."

You focused your eyes on the table - Twelve cans of sake, only seven open. Gojo's hand on your shoulder. Oh god. Ashtray, still smoking. Salty chip packets - 2,3 … no 4, one has fallen off the table. Gojo's hand makes its way to your lower back. How's Kyoto this time of year?

"There's nothing to be shy about." His whisper catches you off guard, his face so close to yours you were sure he could smell the alcohol coming off of each of your heavy breaths. You find the strength to stand up, your chair screeching on the floor. Gojo almost lost his balance.

"It's getting late, Shoko, thank you for the - actually, let's never drink again. I'll see you tomorrow."

You walked the dark corridor, unable to focus on anything other keeping yourself balanced after so many drinks, keeping the thoughts on solving your predicament for a more sober time.

A hand brushed your wrist before gripping it tightly and pulling you in its direction. Even in the dark, you could see the blue of his eyes.

"Listen, I really meant what I said." You uttered, watching his smirk widen. "No smart comebacks now!" You felt your chest heat up, the shame had turned to anger. People have feelings, why does it have to be a joke? His hand loosened its grip on yours.

"We're not children anymore Satoru, It's a crush. It'll be gone just as fast as it came. You don't have to joke about it, just forget it."

Never in his life had he let you finish so many sentences without a snarky remark. You tried to read his face, but the shadows covered his expression.

"Say it again." You felt his body come closer to yours, his lips almost touching yours, you didn't notice yourself stumbling backward until the wood boards on the nearest wall had pressed to your back.

"Say what again?"

"Say you have a crush on me," His voice lower than usual.

Fine, if it's going to be a joke, I guess it's better to go with it. "I have a crush on you, Satoru Gojo." As you tried to rid yourself of your compromising position his hand grabbed the back of your neck, entangling itself in your hair. Tension forms at the pit of your stomach.

"I have the biggest crush on you, Sa-" you mustered the huskiest voice you could find, but he wouldn't let you finish, his tongue already trying to find its place in your mouth.

He freed his hand from your hair just to grab your legs, lifting them up to wrap around him, his fingers digging deep into your thighs. He pauses to catch a breath, his face resting in the crook of your neck, just to huff a few words;

"Well, aren't I lucky?"

[thecapricunt1616]

Chapter One The Bear & His Honey

Summary: Carmy + Winnie meet, He obviously tries to weasel his way into her heart by cooking for her.

A/N: Eeeep! I am sooo excited to be writing again, i've written fic's since like 2010 & stopped for quite a while, But Carmen has awoken the beast in me once more LOL !!! It's not without much thanks and love to @daysofyellowroses - Her encouragement & excitement for my ideas has inspired me in the most beautiful way. Give her a follow please! Her fic's genuinely are sososooooooo good that they made me want to start writing myself again, The theme and overall organization of her works is immaculate, I admire her works so much! I highly encourage any Carmy lover to take a look!! She is also such a doll!! And so so sooo sweet!!!

Anyhow, I love longer fics - this chapter is nearing 6k words & it initially started as a one shot, so reader be warned I am very wordy!

Warnings; Cursing, ehh I think thats it? Oh! Smoking Cigarettes & The green stuff, but thats all! *We will be getting VERY spicy, angsty, and sickeningly fluffy in this story - if that isn't your cup, ask me anything if you like my style! I am only writing for Carm at this second, but I will be writing ACOTAR & likely other things as I wet my pallate - it's been years for me, but if you have an idea that you want to throw my way, or just wanna talk (even if you just need someone!) I'm here for you peeps! Without further ado- let the show begin.

(Comments + Reblogs + Kind critiques are not only appreciated, but heavily encouraged!)

𝒞𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀 𝒪𝓊𝓉 𝑀𝓎 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉!

-------------------------------------------------------------------

One

I took a deep breath, the dry, late winter air sticking my nostrils together momentarily- fuck. I hate this god-damned weather. I shuffle across the street, my boots mushing through the late-winter Chicago slush. I slosh into the alley, my boots squelching with every step. I trudge across the street, nearly gagging at every soggy step, feeling my socks ever so slowly become wet. 

I sludge my way finally to the (god-blessed, shoveled) alley across the way, that connected The Next Page to the street in front of it, and hear a muttered “fuck” & my eyes lift from the locked spot on my salty, wet boots. They meet the side-profile of an undeniably handsome curly dirty blonde male, my eyes rolling, as he pats his pockets down. I assume he forgot his light. 

As I approached him, I piped up. “Missin’ somethin’?” I flick my pink lighter to life with my thumb, My eyes meeting his large blue ones. He leans forward, gently lighting his cigarette between my thumb and the flame. “Thanks” he muttered, sucking on the cigarette between his lips, his eyes locked on me. 

“Y’ smoke?” he questioned. I shook my head gently, “Not cigarettes, but I’m bout’ to eat, s’why not?” I slipped the small tin from my pocket, pulling a shorty from the box. I put it between my lips, leaning in close, touching the joint tip to the burning end of his cigarette gently, and took a slow drag once it was fully lit.

“Work here?” I motion at the building next to us with my chin, smoke spilling from my lips as I speak. His white t-shirt made me guess he could be a line cook or a bus boy at the restaurant that had been crowding the block the past few months. He nodded, a large puff of smoke leaving his lips, the edges of his lips upturning a bit into a smile. 

“Mhmm, own it.” he said casually, taking another drag, my eyebrows raising. “Hmm,” I hummed, smoke puffing from my nose obviously in the winter air. “Wow, from the shirt- thought you’re a busboy, quite the humble owner mm’?” I teased, a smile dancing on my lips as I pulled another puff of my joint. “Yea- guess so” he teased, shrugging lightly. 

“My boss comes by once in a blue moon, so either you’re a grade-A asshole, or have crippling OCD and you think your business is gonna fail.” I teased, blowing smoke past his left as I leaned against the brick wall. He chuckled, “Alright, well- Sugar says I’m OCD whatever the fuck that means, so you got me” he shrugged. I laughed. “I can so see it, what’s your name?” I asked. 

His eyes flutter to my lips, before meeting my eyes again. “Carmen.” He replied, putting his cigarette back to his lips and taking a deep drag. “Winnie..” I replied nibbling the inside of my lip gently. Carmen. Carmen. Carmen. The word echoed in my mind like an invocation. “Winnie” he repeated, smoke spilling from his lips in tendrils.

“Full name?” He questioned. A heat rose to my cheeks and I rolled my eyes, gaze flicking to my sneakers as I took another drag of my joint. “Winnow. Shut up, if you laugh, I’ll cut off your dick. My parents were never married, not sure what they were thinking.” I mutter, the tips of my ears heating in embarrassment. “Mmm” he hummed.

I look back up at him, “No slick comments?” I asked, genuinely surprised. He shrugged. “Winnow is pretty, people make fun of that?” He questioned, dropping the mostly burnt cigarette to the ground and crushing it with his chef's clog. My cheeks felt like they were on fire. “A dude named Carmen, not used t’ people pokin’ at your name?” my glance meets his.

His arms were now crossed over his chest, his delicious biceps becoming more prominent. “Go by Carm, mostly” he shrugged. Carm. “Hmm.” I hummed. “Carm. Suits you.” I said, my eyes grazing over the tattoos adorning his arms. “Yeah?” his tongue grazed his lips, a smirk pulling at the corners. 

“Mhhmm” I reach out, my finger brushing over the ‘773’ on his arm. “From ‘round here huh?” I questioned, my eyes meeting his blue ones once more. “Ye’, east side” he said, to which I nodded. “Sorry, don’t know too much, from New York.” I said, my arms crossing over my own chest. 

“Yeah? Where about? Did culinary school out there.” he replied. “Rochester” I nod, my accent coming out slightly. “Ah, alright. Like yourself a garbage plate?” he teased. I laughed, a real laugh, something few and far between these days. “Wow, so you really went to school out there eh’? I do actually, know how that came to?” I asked my fingers finding a loose string on my jacket to fiddle with.

“Not at all, thought it was a myth- you really eat that shit out there?” he joked. I giggled. “Don’t make me hit you, Yes! We do, so story goes, frat guys stumble all drunk in to Nick Tahoes, and they tell the line cook to give ‘em the plate with ��all the garbage’ on it. And so, since it was closing time, they took all the carby leftovers they were gonna throw out, and threw em on a plate- the guys loved it” he grimaced playfully “eugh! Guys never heard of a burger?” 

 I laughed again “there is a burger, Carm! mmm,” I hum my eyes closing and head falling back at the memory of such a comfort meal. “oh my god, mac salad, cold! Has to be cold, Carm, then you do baked beans,” I paused at his brows furrowing “Don’t look at me like that, asshole” I shove his shoulder playfully, earning a chuckle. 

“No- nope keep on explaining your… catastrophe” he teased, I gasped, feigning a shot to the heart. “Wow, Carmy, you know how to flatter a girl huh? Insulting the indigenous dish of her homeland?!” I joked, causing him to really laugh. A beautiful sound I wanted to hear more often. “Ok, ok, so then you add the homefries, then - the house chilli, ohhh my god!” I groaned my head falling back “Soo, so good, then, you add on a burger patty, or a hotdog, or both if you feel frisky” he laughed again, his eyes crinkling adorably.

“How often do you feel frisky mm? Or are you a more tame girl?” he teased. I smacked the side of his jaw gently with a large bashful smile adorning my lips, “Carmen! You do not ask a lady how often she gets frisky!” I giggled, poking his muscular chest gently. “Ok, ok, keep going- or is that the end of the abomination?” he questioned and I dug my knuckle into his chest playfully.

“Nope!! Then you add chopped onions, ketchup, and mustard!!” I grinned and he grimaced jokingly. “Holy Jesus, your breath could knock out an army after that I’d bet” he teased earning another true laugh from me. “I swear, you own his place? If you thought you were busy before- add a garbage plate to the menu, and you’ll be rich, Carmen” I adjusted the Saint Anthony chain around his neck gently, so the pendant was facing front. 

His cheeks got a bit flushed. “Well, i’m makin’ a new dessert menu, if you wanted to come in and check it out, How bout’ I make you a garbage plate, well, the Carmen-Garbage plate, we don’t do chilli here, but I think you’ll like what I pull together” he offered. 

I took another drag of my joint, contemplating. “Alright. Shops been slow today so, Mel won’t notice if I sneak an extra few minutes in” i put out the nub on the wall, before dropping it and crushing it under the toe of my boot. 

“C’mon” he nods, pulling open the large metal door that leads into the kitchen.

Read Chapter 2 Here!

[bangchansgirlsblog]

My Biggest Regret

Part five:

**

His arms wrapped around her as fast as they could. Pulling her against his body. He couldn't believe it. She was there.

The nights he would cry himself to sleep because of the lonely feeling that no one seemed to fill except her played in his mind. The days where he would pick up his phone to try to call her but knew he couldn't, played in his mind.

She was right in front of him.

"I missed you so much Aya," He whispered to Y/n. Her scent filled his nostrils and all of a sudden he was the 14 year old boy running around the playground with his girl bestfriend. So innocent, so happy and so in love.

"I missed you too Channie," she whispered back to him. She was trying to keep her tears in but she totally failed. The tears slowly wetting his hoodie. Just like at the airport but he didn't care, he never did.

"Hey, don't cry, you're too beautiful to cry," his touch was so soft. He wiped the tears from her eyes and kissed her forehead.

"Yuck gross!" Hannah exclaimed when she had realized the two were now just staring and smiling at one another.

"Hannah, Stop it! I've been waiting for years to see this happen!" Chan's mum smacked Hannah on the  back of the head before admiring the two lovers who were both in their own world.

Unlike Hannah who was rambling in anger while her mum and dad just admired the couple in-front  of them.

The rest of the boys sat in confusion. Trying to understand what was going on because they were very sure that their leader was in a relationship back home. They were sure that their leader was getting all the girls and screwing them every chance he could get so why was his mum calling them love birds? Did they miss a chapter? Did any of them know what was going on back home?

Han looked over at Changbin trying to communicate with his eyes, trying to get answers but Changbin, being his slow self, couldn't understand what was going on.

"Shall we show you guys to your room as these guys catch up?" Chan's dad interrupted the little chattering that was going on.

"Yes please," I.N replied and they all got up and carried their bags following right behind.

"Okay Chan, I'm going to say it. I.N is smoking hot!" Hannah exclaimed and collapsed on the couch. He looked over at his little sister and chuckled. He wasn't surprised at her reaction because when he was away she would always make such comments to piss him off.

"I don't think you want to mess with him, his quite the player," Chan responded.

How ironic Chan because aren't you the same person screwing other girls while you claim to love with your bestfriend?

Hannah whined and looked up to her older brother. "Ugh you’re no fun,"

"You missed me though," he teased back.

"Sure," Hannah stuck out her tongue and laid back down on the couch.

"I'll go take a shower and we can catch up yeah?" Chan hadn't let go of Y/n's hand. He was still holding on and he didn't let go. He refused to let go but if he did want to shower he eventually would have too.

"Okay that's fine, I need to set up the snack table anyway," she smiled at the older boy. The light in her eyes was brighter than ever and her skin was glowing. Chan couldn't take his eyes off her. Not at all but again he knew he had too. He finally let go and grabbed his suitcases to head to his room.

The living room was now boy free. Chan's dad came back to start on the grill and Chan's mum was by his side helping. They wanted to get everything ready because they knew the boys were hungry. Who wouldn’t be?

Meanwhile Hannah was complaining about how living with 9 boys (including her dad) was going to be the most excruciating pain ever.

Y/n on the other hand was in lala land. Chan was more handsome and the most beautiful. His muscles were bigger and he was way more taller and his jawline was sharper than ever. He was just perfect.

"Y/n dear, will you help me bring out the drinks?"

"Yes, sure auntie," she replied politely then made her way into the kitchen and she grabbed the beers and soft drinks out of the fridge. She then put them in the coolers and started making the punch and put it in jugs.

"Do you need help?" A low voice makes her jump. She quickly turned to look at the door where she saw non other than Hyunjin.

His hair was wet indicating that he had came out the shower and he was dressed in sweats and a shirt. He had a soft smile on his face.

"Um, no not really. You should go sit down. You've been traveling for hours," she smiled and continued to pour the punch into the jug.

"Yeah but I'd rather help. You all have already prepared such a nice meal. You might have been in the kitchen all day,"

"Not really no, would you like something to drink maybe?" She asked the boy who was now leaning on the counter watching her in awe.  He was admiring her. Who wouldn't? She was so beautiful.

"Hm, what about some of that punch. Did you make it yourself?"

"Yeah I did, my mum taught me how too," she grabbed a cup and poured some punch and passes it to the older man. He took a sip and quite literally moans.

"That's really good," he said while his eyes were wide in shock.

"Thank you," she giggled and walked over to the cooler to carry it.

"No let me," Hyunjin said realizing how heavy it was. He didn't mean to get close to her the way he did but in a way he did mean too. He wanted to feel her and he was slick with it.

"No it's fine-" but before she could protest his body was against her back and his hands reach over her carrying the cooler over her head and out of the kitchen.

She stood there in shock. His body was against hers and she couldn't help but turn red. If anyone had seen that it would have been a problem.

"Hey Y/n? Mums wondering if you could bring out her wine for her," Hannah's head popped around the door.

"Okay, coming," she grabbed the bottles and made her way to the living room where she finds a few boys sat on the couch watching football while Chan's dad was setting the stuff on the table.

She handed the bottle to Chan's mum and sat next to Hannah who was now sitting next to I.N.

The two were talking about something, totally in their own world while mama Chan was getting to know the boys better.

Slowly by slowly the whole living room was filled as more of the boys came out of their rooms. Chan came out last but was eager to talk to Y/n.

He wanted to know where they stood. He wanted to know how she was. He wanted to know if she was better. He most importantly wanted to apologize but he wouldn't get the chance to because his sister grabbed him once he walked downstairs.

He was confused. Why did his sister need to talk to him? Did he do something wrong?

Y/n knew what their talk was going to be about so she wasn't surprised. She was just worried about Hannah. She Was praying that she would get her closure and that she would stop being mad at him.

The two disappear out back brining Y/n’s attention back to the living room and the people around her.

"So Y/n, You and Chan..." Seungmin spoke up over the noise. "Are you guys a thing or something?"

"Uhh," she didn't know how to answer this, "we used to be? I geuss," she takes a sip of her drink.

"Uhhh, so how long have you guys been bestfriends?" Felix joined the conversation now interested as well.

"We were born two weeks apart. So ever since I was born," she let out a small laugh and smiled over at the boys who were so intrigued by her, "How's straykids?" She asked them.

"A lot of work, just really busy. But really fun. A lot of parties a lot of events-"

"A lot of girls," Han interrupted earning him a huge smack on the head.

"Ow! What?! It's true!" Y/n looked at them suspiciously but decided to shrug it off.

"Maybe one day we can take you to an event with us!" I.N smiled cheerfully.

"Uhh no! I don't do parties." She shook her head and put her drink down. Eager to know how Hannah and Chan were doing.

"Um...I'm going to check on those two, I'll be back," she informed everyone in the room and headed to the back yard. She spied on them. Trying not to be seen but when she looked at both of them, her stomach started to turn.

The both of them were in a heated argument. It was clear. It looked like Hannah was the one yelling the loudest. Y/n knew she had to step in or it could go left.

It took guts but she walked out to the garden. Their conversation becoming clear to hear.

"You weren't there Chan!"

"What do you expect from me Hannah?! I'm busy! I have a life and I can't keep coming back to Australia just to see you do little things that you're probably going to forget!"

"Oh wow! Chan, you know in my lowest times I thought you would be there. You weren't. Y/n was and she is the best older sister I have ever had and you will never ever be half the women she is, I don’t even know why your back after all these years! We were fine without you!"

**

[scuttlingcrab]

After rereading the last two installments of the Tailor Tav™️ saga, where Raphael crosses paths with her at a ball and where he reaffirms his desire to commission another piece from her, and the unrelated (I'm assuming) piece where Raphael tries to gift Tav something, I can't help but picture how Raphael would react to Tav teaching him a bit of her craft—at least the non-magical parts of it. Maybe she can use an offer to teach him as part of a bargain with him to free her from the stipulations that ban her from creating for anyone other than Raphael himself? (also I just love the idea of this devil and his a mortal having something like a shared hobby together and/or Tav being a gracious teacher who doesn't belittle Raphael's early efforts when they inevitably aren't quite as perfect as he'd hope, but I'm getting ahead of myself here; just wanted to let you know that your writing is living rent free in my mind)

Tailor Tav™️ is back! I've been looking forward to this one for awhile and really hope you enjoy! Thanks for filling my inbox with gems like this! x

Summary: Tav makes a proposition for Raphael, offering to teach the Devil her craft of sewing in exchange for him relinquishing her creative ban. Raphael finds stitching a wee bit harder than he initially expected.

Notes: Based on A Perfect Fit, Dressed to Kill, Shadowy Deals, and Dance with the Devil. Tailor Tav™️ has also appeared in a few other one-shots, hehe.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

Trial by Fire

(Image via red-dead-sakharine)

“Will you hold still?” Tav asked, her voice on the edge of frustration. 

She quickly put out the growing flames with a spell, stopping the fire before it began to overtake the rest of the table. 

Raphael sat sourly beside her, completely out of place in her tent. He had humiliated himself, feeling like an outright fool for the first time in over a thousand years. He held a charred piece of clothing in his hands, the fine material ruined due to his shoddy needlework and rising temper. Somehow Raphael not only failed to join together the fabric, but had created a stitch so crooked and tangled that nothing could be done to reverse his mistakes. The Devil would need to start over. Again. 

He shifted in the wooden seat, raising his hand as he prepared to snap his fingers, hoping to erase the day’s mortification permanently from his memory. Just looking at the wretched garment left a bitter taste in his mouth. Tav cleared her throat, her own scolding gaze rivalled Raphael’s disposition, causing him to lower his hand back to the table. 

Raphael’s seat was still smoking, the top of the wood charred from his last outburst. He impatiently drummed his fingers on the tabletop, small scorch marks growing blacker with the increasing tempo as he waited for Tav to continue.

“No magic, Raphael.” Tav said, the exasperation had disappeared from her tone, only kindness and patience remained, which pained Raphael more. “Now please, try not to melt this needle. It’s my last one.”

Tav placed the needle in her open palm, extending it towards Raphael. 

“I will do my best, but I cannot make any guarantees.” Raphael responded through tight lips, carefully retrieving the needle.

They’d been at it for hours, each minute that dragged on grew heavier on Raphael’s shoulders; weighing him down more than his increasing responsibility to secure the Crown of Karsus. Raphael had watched Tav carefully, making precise notes and calculations on how to anchor a thread and initiate the first stitch, yet his infernal hands could not grasp such a simple mortal notion. 

He must’ve burned over a hundred articles of clothing since he began, slowly depleting Tav of her resources as he struggled to amend his previous errors. He vowed to himself not to leave Tav’s tent until he conquered sewing, until he successfully made himself a basic tunic devoid of any flaws. He would never dare let that little mouse beat him at anything. 

Raphael was practically perfect, he wasn’t afraid to admit it. If he could, he would proclaim it from the highest mountain top for all living beings to hear. The Devil was a master connoisseur, and above all, a jack of all trades. He had to be in this line of work; after all, how else did he get so far without even an ounce of assistance from his beloved father, Mephistopheles? 

He prided himself in his studies, in the relentless work and countless hours of preparation done to lay the foundations for his future. He shadowed only the greatest painters, memorised the intricacies of politics from every realm, and even went so far as to read all the noteworthy books that have been published throughout the millennia; but nothing prepared him for the horrors of being a tailor. The job required an old fashioned sensibility, a delicate handmade approach to see any design through to completion. 

Tav leaned towards Raphael, lightly placing her hands over his in an attempt to guide him. He stiffened slightly at her soft touch as she began to lift his hands. Raphael discretely tilted his head, hoping to get a better look at Tav without bringing anymore attention to himself. 

The Devil needed to concentrate, but he found himself momentarily distracted as his eyes fell on a small pale scar that decorated her chin. Raphael’s high standards for his own appearance allowed him to grow obsessed with others’ imperfections; finding more beauty in mortal flaws than in their perfect physiques or conventional facial features. Tav had a peculiar allure about her that made Raphael’s attraction flourish the longer he spent in her presence.

She brought a dark piece of thread to her lips, wetting the tip of it with her tongue before placing it in Raphael’s hand. He carefully watched the act, something so mundane had a hidden layer of intimacy attached that caused his heart to unexpectedly flutter. 

Raphael took a long deep breath to calm himself, there was a risk Tav might feel his body temperature rise as his heart continued to slam against his chest, beating faster and faster like a cursed infernal engine. He slowly took in Tav’s scent, savouring the notes of cloves and roses, now mixed with just a hint of perspiration.

“OK…” Tav whispered, causing Raphael to unwillingly pull his gaze away from her. “Thread the needle, just like we practised.” 

Tav’s grip tightened as she helped Raphael push the thread carefully through the eye of the needle. She let out a loud sigh as it went through with ease, shocking them both.

“I will pretend I didn’t hear that.” Raphael responded, dryly.

“You nearly burned down my tent, twice, in the last hour! Please allow me this moment to celebrate.”

Raphael’s nostrils flared as his seat began to smoke underneath him.   

“No offence, of course.” Tav added, quickly taking the thread and needle away from Raphael, “you’ll get it, eventually. Practice makes perfect, right?”

“Bah! Petty mortal idioms are of no use to me. We will continue, I have yet to learn what lies beneath the expertise of your craft.” 

Tav hesitated, cradling the needle and thread in her hands. 

“Listen, how about we take a break, yeah? I’m spent. With any luck you’ll finish this first piece within a fortnight.” 

“And is that how long it typically takes you to complete this type of labour?”

“Gods no! Half a day, maybe one at most. Of course, it depends what else I’ve got going on when I’m not fighting my way through Faerûn.” Tav grinned back at Raphael. 

The Devil held back a gasp. He had wasted an entire day catering to Tav’s ludicrous games and didn’t have a single piece of clothing finished to prove himself. Mortals cannot be trusted, even when their very souls were at stake they’d be foolish enough to risk it all if it meant satisfying their own agendas. 

“I’ve had enough of this blatant display of tomfoolery.” Raphael stood dramatically, pushing back the chair as he walked towards the tent's entrance.

The instant Raphael learned Tav went against her word, having the audacity to craft clothing for anyone but him, he nearly sent a torrent of Hellfire down on her camp. He had discovered the little mouse’s betrayal from Korrilla’s reports, his resentment spreading as he read through the detailed descriptions again and again. Tav had gifted all her companions garments ranging from nightgowns to luxurious capes, outfits that belonged to him. Tav went so far as to give out her clothing for free to random mortals she encountered on her travels. The little mouse had truly taken Raphael for a fool.

Raphael released his blistering rage on Korrilla, blaming the dwarf for her ineptitude and Tav's errors. For every piece of clothing Tav made in breach of contract, he added an extra day to Korrilla’s penance; temporarily stripping Korrilla of all Warlock powers and forcing her to train his latest apprentice, Dolofina. He even denied her use of his healing baths until she truly learned her lesson.  

When Raphael summoned Tav to his House of Hope, demanding an explanation, he was instead met with another proposition. Tav would teach him her craft in exchange for her freedom from the stipulations of their agreement, relinquishing the creative ban Raphael had set in place.

“Just give it another chance. You will soon appreciate the work that goes into making garments, I promise you.”

“These idle promises are waning, little mouse. The terms have yet to be honoured.” 

“Gods, don’t you understand? You will still get exclusive clothing. You think I would dare make another doublet like yours? That was my greatest work, and I only hope to do better with your next piece.” Tav paused, rising to meet Raphael at the entrance. “But I need to make a living.”

“You think life will just return to normal after the Elder Brain is destroyed? A foolish fancy.”

“I have a shop waiting for me in the Lower City, collecting dust. I’ll be damned if I let it go to waste when this is all over.”

“Your little shop is meaningless against what I can offer you in exchange.”

Tav nodded, almost considering the possibility, the future they’d share together.

“As nice as that sounds I’d get bored eventually.”

Raphael titled his head, a smile slowly loosening his lips. He was surprised at how little anger he felt at that moment; in contrast to the fury he experienced throughout the day, a growing warmth rose in his chest. He took a step towards Tav, towering over her as he admired her grit. The little mouse was mighty, ferocious, and would not back down so easily. The Devil was very much looking forward to this fight.

“Mortals, ever so fickle.” 

He placed a hand on his hip, studying the tent that was close to shambles. But of course. It only made sense he failed learning to sew on the first attempt, such mortal professions were beneath him, unbefitting for his station and ability for comprehension. It would require more thought, more time. 

And what more did Raphael need to do in order to impress that creature? He held all the most important cards close to his chest, allowing no one else to peek behind the curtains. Perhaps there was something else he could dangle in front of her? Something more enticing, causing her to drop everything in allegiance to him.

Every great hero has their foibles and Raphael would discover Tav’s soon enough, as he did with all the others that came before her. Not only would he acquire the proper skills of her craft, but he would crack her open, dissecting every inch of that soul in the process.

“Very well. We will continue again at first light. And this time, I expect to leave with a finished tunic.”

[cavinginhisfvce]

'Lead The Way, Stevie."

Pairing: Harringrove.

Fem!Billy Hargrove x Steve Harrington. || i don't know how to use the read more feature, so if this floods your TL, i truly apologize. It's 4k words, idk.

Unedited, btw.

LEMON!!!! (A shitty attempt at it, at least. I've not written anything lemon-y in almost 6 years. Maybe longer)

Unsafe sex practices.

The first time Steve met Billy, she quite literally took his breath away. She stepped out of her Camaro with a confidence that he'd never seen in any other girls in Hawkins. 

Nancy was confident. She knew she was smart, and made sure everyone knew it. 

But, Billy? She was hot, and she was more than aware of it. She didn't need anyone to tell her. 

She wore fishnet tights and short, flared skirts with an ease that had other balking at. 

The blonde was no taller than 5'5, but Steve suspected her platforms gave her the majority of the height she had.

It would've been no big deal if she was just a pretty face, but no. She had to be smart, and talented on top of it all. 

Smart enough that she threatened to dethrone Nancy as valedictorian. Talented enough that within two weeks of joining the cheer squad, Chrissy had made her co-captain, a position she'd previously left open with no hope or prospect of filling. 

She was good at basketball too, great even, and despite the coaches best efforts, Billy refused to join their newly co-ed team. She claimed that cheer was more her speed. 

All in all, Billy Hargrove was beauty, grace, snark, and somehow softness wrapped in a pretty little package. 

She had piercing blue eyes that she never failed to pair with whatever color eyeshadow matched her outfit that day. 

The tip of her nose was always red, as if always cold. Steve thought maybe she was. Until he caught her at her locker, applying a soft red blush to the very tip before blending it in. 

When she caught him staring, she just winked and shut her locker before disappearing into the crowd of students. 

She wasn't easy to approach, not with the gaggle of people that surrounded her on a daily basis, some wanting friendship, while others visibly wanted more. 

Billy, despite indulging in the attention, stuck closely to Chrissy and Carol. 

It'd taken almost two months before the universe finally gave him an opening. 

It was a less than ideal one, however. They were both definitely drunk, not to mention Eddie Munson was lingering somewhere in the house, the smell that accompanied him was unmistakable. 

They were at a party to ring in the New Year, Steve would've gone to the Byers, but he'd wanted to be around people his own age for once.

Everyone was loud, and engaging in other things they'd probably never do under the same roof as their parents. The music that played was awful, but there was still at least two hours before the ball would drop.

Steve watched as Billy slipped out of the house to smoke a cigarette, and naturally he followed behind like a lost puppy, hoping against hope that he'd get to at least formally introduce himself. Quick waves and glances at lockers, and when they picked up their respective charges weren't enough. 

It wasn't until he actually stood in front of Billy that he found himself lost of what to say. 

'Hey' felt too basic. Too casual. 

'I want you to have my babies' was definitely off the table. He couldn't play that off as a joke.

Luckily for him, Billy spoke first, her words slightly slurred from the shots of vodka she downed not too long ago, "hey, Pretty Boy!" She was grinning widely, her cigarette long forgotten.

Steve found himself quickly returning the smile, a blush dusting his cheeks. 

"Hey, Billy. Havin' a good time?"

Billy just shrugged, offering the rest of her cigarette to the brunet. 

Steve accepted it, thanking whoever was listening that his hand didn't shake in the process. 

"You're here, so yeah, I'd say so."

The slightly older boy was quick to brush off any shock he felt at her words. He wouldn't get his hopes up.

"Yeah?" He raised a brow, hoping he sounded as casual as he was trying to be. 

Steve's quickly polished off the cigarette, before tossing the bud into the dirt and stomping it out with the tip of his shoe.

Billy just beamed up at him and nodded, "yeah, Harrington. All the guys at this party are…" she trailed off, waving her hand off-handedly. 

"They're either Tommys or Jasons...eager puppies, mostly harmless. Or, again. They're Jason." She lowered her voice when she said that, her tone giving the impression that her dislike of the male was a secret. 

Steve threw his head back, a laugh leaving him as he did. It shocked them both, if the slightly startled squeak that left the girl was any indication, but soon she was joining the laughter and Steve knew that was a large feat.

"Carver's an ass, but believe it or not, he was worse before he started dating Chrissy." 

Billy peered up at Steve, her blue eyes filled with mirth. 

"You know what, Harrington? I believe it."

There was a pause between them, more comforting than awkward, thankfully, before Steve was blurting out the question he's wanted to ask for weeks. "Why didn't you join the team? You're really good, you know?"

It could've been the chill in the air, or the drinks Billy had over the course of the party, but her cheeks had darkened, Steve just isn't sure if the blush had been there before the comment. 

"I wanted to, but my dad doesn't want me on a team with a bunch of guys," she scoffs, shaking her head. "Max called him misogynistic and almost cost her ass her New Years with those nerds." 

Steve could picture the redhead trying to defend her sister's right to join the team having, having met her on more than one occasion, he knew just how fiery she could be.

"There's like four girls on the team, though."

Billy throws her hands up in exasperation, a pout crossing her bright red lips, "I said that! Then my step-mom chimed in to say 'Oh, sweetie, it's just not lady-like! Shouldn't you join the squad? You've always loved cheering!'" She added a saccharine tilt to her voice, her hands cupping together at her cheeks. 

The elder laughed at the impression, his tongue clicking thoughtfully, "well, your dad sounds like he's stuck in the 80's or some shit. And your step-mom doesn't sound too far behind."

 Billy seemed to agree, however, she added, "I used to like cheering. My mom was on the squad at my old school, you know, back when she was my age...she'd drive me from practice, or to competitions.

When she left, I quit the team. Started getting into music and other shit, when Max and Susan moved in, but then my dad moved us here," she puffs out her cheeks, her hands finding her arms to rub them. Steve doesn't know if it's meant to comfort herself, or if she's just cold. 

He shrugs his jacket off and gives it to her anyway. 

She smiles shyly at him as she accepts it. 

Their size difference is more noticeable when she's swimming in his jacket, it's almost swallowing her whole, but she looks so fucking cute. 

It feels right.

There's another beat of silence before Billy continues, "he dropped us here, and cheer was the only thing he'd let me do." She lets out a bitter laugh, a hand raising to brush back her dyed red bangs. "I'd kick your ass in basketball though, Harrington. Those chicken legs you got wouldn't stand a chance."

The 180 is almost enough to leave Steve dizzy, breathless, but instead he feigned a gasp, a hand clutching at his chest. 

"You talk a big game for someone who barely reaches my kneecaps."

"That's how I know you have little legs, Pretty Boy!" She stomps her foot, her eyes squinting as she seemingly sizes him up. "I could take you."

"In a fight?"

She goes silent for a moment before humming, "that too." 

Steve's eyes widened, but he's not given a chance to reply before the girl was laughing hysterically, her nose scrunched up in the most adorable way. "And! For your information, I am well past your kneecaps, asshole."

The brunet is the one to laugh this time, his hands clapping as he tries to take in air. 

"The hell is so funny?! I'm tall!"

"You're like 5'2 at best without those shoes."

Billy balks at that, her face going from a mix of betrayal and disgust, before shifting to shock, "did Max tell you that?"

Steve quickly shakes his head, another laugh leaving him. "Shit, was I right?"

Billy just shoves at his shoulder, her tongue darting out to swipe over her canines. Steve catches himself tracking the movement despite himself. 

"If you tell anyone, you're dead Harrington." The threat appears empty, but Steve isn't willing to test that theory. So, he quickly throws his hands up in surrender, "your secrets safe with me, shorty."

She rolls her eyes at him, the pout returning to her features. "Laugh it up, chicken legs! I'll still kick your scrawny ass."

They spend the next hour talking, but before they both know it, the party is starting to wind down, people are too drunk to make it to the countdown, some just don't care, and the threat of rain looms over their heads. Not that many can be bothered to care.

Steve is admittedly sad. He knew the night would have to come to an end, even if it meant not ringing in the New Year with Billy, but it didn't make him any less upset to have to end his conversation with the blonde, and return to an empty house.

Billy seemed less than delighted to have to split off as the pair reached their parked cars, so Steve decided to throw caution to the wind, his mouth moving faster than his brain, "do you want to maybe, come over?"

Billy would either agree or tell him to fuck off, but at least he asked.

Billy's eyes lit up at the offer, but she was nothing if not a tease, so she leaned over, her fingers just barely brushing against his chest, "I usually make a man buy me dinner before I go home with him, Harrington."

Steve quickly scrambled to reply, his cheeks heating up at the implication. 

He'd be lying if he said he never imagined the blonde laying in his bed as he took her apart, leaving all of her laid bare for him to indulge in. 

But, he hadn't meant that! 

When he came up with nothing, Billy simply giggled and softly tapped his cheek, "lead the way, Stevie. I'm freezing my tits off."

The entire drive to his house, Steve found himself more flustered than he had been previously. He couldn't remember if he took out last night's trash, or if he washed the dishes left over from him and Dustin making sundaes. 

If the place was a bit messy, would Billy care? Would she scold him the way Nancy once did?

Would she just ignore the small mess and carry on with their night? He prayed she would.

To his luck, when they finally barreled into the house, Steve found himself relieved that he had indeed remembered to clean up.

He quickly peeled his shoes off, then watched as Billy did the same, a satisfied smirk settling on his lips when she seemed to shrink in size almost instantly. 

They still had 45 minutes to go.

She held a hand up, her index finger pointed dangerously at him, "I'll eat your chicken legs for dinner if you even think about saying anything!" 

Steve raises both his hands in a placating fashion, his smirk growing. "I didn't even say anything, Lil' Bit!"

Billy just gapes at him, her eyes squinting in an attempt to be menacing. 

"You think because you're pretty I won't kick your ass, Harrington?" Her words don't match her tone, there's a teasing undertone, one paired with obvious, thinly veiled laughter.

It has the brunet laughing, himself. Not because Billy isn't intimidating, she is. 

But, because being around the Californian made him giddy, made his chest bubble with something akin to hysteria and a calmness all at once.

Steve just holds both hands up in defeat, all traces of laughter disappearing, only to be replaced by a smug grin, "I think me being pretty is what's saved me from getting my ass kicked all night."

Billy seems to mull it over, before she's dissolving into a fit of giggles. "You just may be right."

Eventually they moved into the living room, after Billy complained of aching feet, the NYE ball drop played in the background, serving as mindless noise while the pair chatted about any and everything.

Steve discovered that Billy was secretly a huge nerd. She had a knowledge of D&D and all things nerdy that rivaled even Dustin. Not that he would ever say that to either of them.

On the flip side, Billy learned that Steve could bake, he admitted as much with a blush coating his cheeks. It was so endearing, that Billy only commented that she wanted to try one of his creations, as opposed to teasing him.

When there was only fifteen minutes before the clock would strike twelve, Billy had huffed, her fingers fidgeting with the fabric of her skirt. 

It was red, like most things she wore, it came up to her waist, where it hugged her frame perfectly, before flowing outwards towards the bottom. It was just above her knee, giving only a small view of tanned skin, the majority obscured by the fishnets she also wore. 

Before he could ask if she was alright, she was turning to face him, a small frown on her lips. "Pants, please." She spoke as if he had already asked her if she wanted a change of clothes, as if she could read his mind. 

Steve just nodded and stood up, motioning after a moment of hesitation, for her to follow him. She quickly did, and the pair soon found themselves confined within Steve's plaid walls. Walls she did not fail to make fun of him for.

It only took him a minute to locate pants that should fit her, they had a drawstring in the waistband, if she needed it.

After a second of debate, he grabbed one of his smallest shirts, coincidentally, it was red. He handed the clothes off to her, shyly stepping out of the room to give her privacy to change. He changed quickly in the bathroom by his room, only slightly shocked when he found he finished before Billy had.

A few minutes passed before she was opening the door, her clothes laying in a pile at the foot of Steve's bed. 

Wordlessly, she raised an eyebrow and climbed into his bed. Instead of heading back downstairs.

When Steve failed to follow, she patted the empty space beside her with the hand not reaching for the remote on his table.

Knowing an obvious invitation when he sees one, Steve slides in beside her, his hands shaking softly as he slipped under the quilt when she did.

She quickly found the ball drop, humming when she saw the time read '11:55'.

There was only five minutes left to the year, and Steve went from not having spoken to the girl of his literal dreams, to having her in his bed. In his clothes. 

Which, fuck she looked good in. But, she looked good in everything Steve has ever seen her in, so that's unsurprising.

What is surprising, however, is Billy turning to him, her dimpled cheeks the darkest shade of red Steve has ever seen naturally on her. She'd removed the bulk of her makeup at some point, leaving only her eyes coated in it.

She opens her mouth, like she has something to say, but nothing comes out.

The blonde takes a soft breath, her eyes fluttering shut on the inhale, and then open on the exhale. Steve watches closely at everything she does. Every tiny, almost imperceptible movement doesn't go unnoticed. Which is why Steve is equal parts prepared and unprepared for the girl to slip onto his lap, her legs straddling either side of his hips. 

When she's comfortable, Steve wastes no time in resting his hands on her small waist. The same waist he's spent nights in bed imagining how it'd feel to grip. 

He knows now. It feels good. 

Neither of them speak, Steve just peers up at the gorgeous girl, captivated by the piercing stare of blue eyes. Billy is equally as drawn in, her chest slightly puffed out as if holding her breath. 

Maybe she is. Steve knows he is.

In the background, people begin screaming, the excitement of the countdown filling the air when they've reached '10'.

At five, Steve reaches up and cups Billy's cheek, the smaller immediately nuzzles into the touch.

At two, Billy leans down just enough, her nose barely brushing against his.

At one, Steve closes the gap between them, claiming her red tinted lips with his own. He notes how she instantly kisses back, her composure seeming to melt when his tongue grazes her bottom lip. 

She's quick to to part them, a muffled moan bubbling from her when their tongues brushed together, and his fingers dug into the curve of her waist. 

It's Steve who pulls back for a brief moment, whispering softly against her lips,

"Happy New Year, gorgeous."

"Happy New Year, Stevie."

The sounds of people celebrating droned on somewhere, but neither Billy nor Steve can find it in themselves to care. Not while they were slotted together, coming together in ways Steve could only imagine happening before.

Her hands rested on his chest, fingers squeezing the fabric of his shirt as she involuntarily rocked her hips against his; the action causes Steve to grip her hips tighter.

His thin pajama pants do very little to hide his growing bulge, not that Billy seems put off by it at all.

In fact, she seems invigorated by his body's reaction if the purposeful roll of her hips is any indication. 

She's warm, her own arousal made obvious by the growing wet patch in the borrowed pants. The same pants she breaks their kiss to shimmy out of, leaving her in nothing but a pair of thin, pretty panties. They're lacy, and sheer. 

What shocks him is the color, they're not just red like he would have assumed. 

Instead they're a sinful combination of black and red.

It takes everything in Steve not to push them aside and ravish her. 

Billy doesn't seem at all like she'd mind. 

But, no. Steve wants to cherish this moment. Wants to hear her ask for it, for him. 

It appears she does too, because when their lips meet again, she's grabbing one of his hands and resting it on her lower back, giving just enough space that his fingers graze the top of the curve to her round cheeks.

She pushes gently against his hands, and he takes the hint; his hands sliding the rest of the way down to cup both cheeks, fingers kneading the plush skin.

He rolls his hips upward, grinding against the rapidly growing wetness of her panties, groaning quietly in response to the moan she was unable to conceal.

It was easy to get lost in the way she ground her hips against his, even easier to get lost in the feeling of her. She was soft, and firm in all the right places. But, something devine kept them in the moment, while allowing all their surroundings to melt away.

With a gasp, she pulled away, and Steve quickly mourned the loss of her lips on his. 

"I wanted to take this slow, Steve. From the first time I saw you, I've wanted you…" she pauses, and Steve is stuck on her confession, on the way her words mirror his own. He wasn't the only one pining from afar, he wasn't the only one whose mind filled with thoughts of blonde hair, and blue eyes happily curled up against his chest, stealing kisses every so often. 

"I don't want to wait anymore. We can restart, take it slow, or pretend tonight never happened…" She doesn't seem to agree with the last part, if the furrow of her brows means anything. 

Steve hurriedly declines the latter, softly replying, "we can reset after tonight. We can start from scratch and do it all right. Dates, dances, the whole nine-yards, baby."

"And tonight?"

"Tonight? Tonight goes however you want it to, beautiful."

Billy doesn't need to hear anymore, it seems, because she immediately leans down and presses his lips to his own again, mumbling against his lips, "fuck me, please Stevie...need you inside of me, baby, please…"

Her words leave Steve breathless, but who was he to deny her of what she wanted? What he wanted?

With an agreement on his lips, A promise of taking care of her, really, he kisses her again, wasting no time in resuming the previous intensity of it.

Prepping her was painstakingly slow, but Steve was taking no chances. He wouldn't hurt her, not in this way, or any other way. Even if she continues to insist she was ready. It was no skin off his back to watch her fall apart as he opened her up with his fingers and tongue. 

She was sweet in a way Steve had never experienced, and he planned to take full advantage of it.

Finally, when he dubbed her sufficiently prepared, she'd already cum once, and was now splayed on her back, her legs spread apart as she whined for him to hurry up and fuck her.

When he made to grab a condom, she bit her lip and glanced up at him, shaking her head gently to decline. "Don't need it, m'on the pill, please. Wanna feel all of you, Stevie."

With a nod, Steve positions himself at her opening, his lips finding hers as he pushes into her tight warmth. "I got you, baby doll, just breathe for me."

She gasps sweetly when he bottoms out, her legs hooking around his waist, it's a bit obvious that the stretch was more than either had anticipated, but Billy wasn't detoured at all. If anything, she was filled with a new thrill of excitement. She wasn't a blushing virgin, but she wasn't one to just sleep around. Steve knew as much, because no matter how many dates he's heard about from the guys, they never brag beyond saying she kissed them.

Because there was never anything more that happened. 

Since moving to Hawkins, Steve was the first person to truly be with Billy, and both of them planned to take full advantage of that.

It's like they're made for one another with the way their bodies seem to move in almost perfect timing. She clenched around him when his thumb skillfully rubs her clit. 

He almost cums at the downright sinful moan that leaves her, and the way her hips arch off the bed to meet his touch.

It doesn't take long for her to come undone again, this time, though, she tightens around him; her eyes meeting his as she frantically nods her head.

Steve isn't sure if it was the sensation of her already tight pussy, getting impossibly tighter around his cock, or if it's the way she seems to encourage it; but he can't hold it off any longer. 

A warning dies on his tongue when Billy leans up and kisses him with fervor, her fingers threading in his hair. 

He thrusts his hips once more before he's cumming deep inside of her, eliciting a drawn out moan from the girl beneath him, to match his own pleased groan, all the while she rocks her hips to pull him in deeper.

When the room is only filled with their heavy, synchronized breathing, Billy smiles up at him. He still nestled inside of him, and she shows no signs of changing that any time soon, so neither does he.

She's glowing, her hair is a mess, her once perfect makeup is now smeared on Steve's pillows and shirt. But, she looks so stunning this way, that he just doesn't care. He can always change the bedding later, his shirt would be fine too.

Eventually, Steve has to lay down beside her, and she pouts at that. Not because it's horrible being pressed against his chest, but because he'd pulled out of her to do so. 

Steve caught the pout and laughed, leaning down to press his lips to her neck. 

"Next time, Princess. I've got you."

[bakedbakermom]

psychiatrist still won't prescribe me stimulant medication for my adhd even though i know it works for me with no side effects except insomnia, which i've had since i was 6 and can be easily dealt with.

i am so tired. i am so tired of failing at life. i am tired of feeling trapped inside my own head and unable to function as a human being. i am so tired of experimenting with meds that may or may not work and may or may not come with debilitating side effects (and they always do, because i'm me, and i always get the bad side effects), when i know there's something out there that actually helps, a little blue pill that makes life--if not easy--at least within reach of possible. that's all i want: possible.

but i can't just say "i want my fucking adderall" because then i look like an addict, and the last thing doctors want to give an addict is the medicine they're addicted to, apparently; i guess being addicted to being a functional human being is frowned upon these days.

i know addiction and abuse are common with stimulant meds. i appreciate her caution. but i am 37-year-old woman who has never held a steady job, who can't keep her fucking house clean, who is trapped in a cycle of self-loathing that is just barely short of crippling. i just want help, and all she's doing is prescribing anti-anxiety meds and telling me to quit smoking weed (which has done more for my anxiety than anything i've ever tried and can be grown in my own backyard in this state).

i am giving her one. more. try. with this new medication and if she still won't help me, won't give me what i actually need, i'm finding a new psychiatrist.

[kodiescove]

I am so tired of smoking cigarettes.

And it's like... So fucked. Because if I'm in an environment where I know I can't smoke, the urge to smoke is less.

But if I'm at home, I can hardly control myself. And even though I've asked my mom NOT to give me cigarettes, she still does, and I just genuinely do not have the self control to not smoke cigarettes. Not in that house.

I do not know if it's because my mom smokes, and because we've both been smoking in the house for years the smell is embedded into the walls, or it's because I'm so stressed being there as a default, or because I know I have access to them, or what. But distinctly, I have no control over my smoking at home, so I can't even cut back like I need to.

I do not like smoking cigarettes anymore. I do not want to be smoking cigarettes anymore. Cigarettes have cause crackling in my lungs. I want to stop smoking. But I am in an environment that does not encourage nor support me quitting and I really do not know what I'm supposed to.

And like... It just kind of highlights an over all problem of that house. Because like I said I have asked/told my mom not to give me cigarettes, but she does anyways. That is such a basic form of support. If she told me no, id accept it. Yeah sure id be irritable as I go through withdrawals but like... Whatever. Anytime I ask her to do something to support me, to help me, no matter how simple or easy it is, even if it's just "hey please let me keep some yogurt in the fridge drawer", she won't do it. She says she supports me, but none of her actions line up with that.

And it's just... So tiring. Because I need help, a lot of help, and it is tiring to live with someone who's like "yeah just ask me for help and I'll help you" and then does not do the things, or anything, that you say will help you. And I'm not asking for anything grand either.

It's just tiring. I know I'll make it to when my name comes on the list for assisted living but it's just.... The thought of making it through roughly a year of all of this is just exhausting. I get that when I move out, I'll be doing a lot on my own(though I will have staff to help me), but the thing is, it is distinctly more exhausting to try and get someone to help you when they say they'll help you and they won't, than it is to just be in a situation where you have to do it yourself and to do it yourself.

It is tiring to have to save face and pretend like she isn't constantly letting me down. It is tiring to pretend like she didn't disastrously fail me when I needed her most. It is tiring to live in a house that does not support recovery when that all I want. I just want to live in recovery, in an environment that says "we support you getting better" and actually shows and means it. Because to me it just seems like my mother is content to let me rot in my room and stay the same and not make any progress.

[postcardgirl]

: DEATH TW :

It's crazy, I was so indifferent towards dying for so long, felt so youthful at 23/24. And now these health issues have completely shifted the gears and I can't stop crying or thinking about my own death, my partners death, my friends and families deaths. It doesn't help that I've quit nicotine cold turkey, and mostly stopped drinking (I lost two days for the first time in years and it scared me sober).

I can't stop the constant loop of "every feeling in my body I don't like is a stroke or a failing organ, I'm totally about to die, man, what's death gonna be like, oh god here we go again"

And now with my partners results, his bad cholesterol is way too high, and he gave up quitting vaping with me, smokes weed everyday, and his drinking is only now starting to improve after his results.

And he's going on a trip to see his family which is a 9hr drive one way with two children. I'm so scared he's going to get into a car accident

I don't want to constantly look or think of him as dying at any moment, I don't want to think about how either of us could wake up tomorrow and the other stays asleep forever. I don't want to sit in my shower crying thinking about a life without him. I don't want him to go through living without me.

I don't want to think about the inevitability of death. I don't want to think about what comes after or lack there of. I wish I could have blind faith, even if its fruitless. I wish I didn't have to be so OBSESSIVE over it. I just wanna live without death anxiety.

What I need to remind myself of is that I'm a perfectly healthy 26yr old. I need to remind myself that my partner can reverse his cholesterol and high bp. Our odds of making it past 50 aren't too bad. He's only 29.

I just want to live a long and fulfilling life with the person I am completely and utterly committed too and in love with.

[iwrite-sinsandtragedies]

Hi, I'm back 😩

Sorry for just like, dropping off the face of the earth there for a hot minute, but my life has been this specific brand of absolute dogshit that has left me hiding under the floor boards - quite literally - since mid october, and I'm only just starting to get my battery back to like, maybe 10% again now.

TMI under the cut, and probably quite a bit of a ramble;;

SO.

Life has been shit. Like, shit shit.

Like, I'm warning you now, this is trauma and abuse shit.

Suffice to say that I'm the kind of person who tends to get taken advantage of and not speak my feelings or stand up for myself. It comes from a place of pretty severe trauma and mental illness, of course, but knowing that and knowing myself doesn't make things any easier in my life really. It just makes me self-aware and subsequently frustrated at my own slow progress.

For example, at present: I've been locked inside my room since the above mentioned, mid october. I have to ration food and water, I can't be too loud for fear of being caught, I sneak out for one bathroom break a day, if I'm lucky, and I have had to work with sanitary wipes instead of showers since this bullshit began - which is fine for the body, but fucking useless for the hair 🤷‍♂️ this wouldn't be such an issue if I didn't have eczema, but I do and so I am suffering, I guess.

Why, do you ask? What has caused this situation? Stupidity has caused this, my friend. Stupid people including my stupid self.

For a bit of backstory context: Several years back, I was chased out of my house by an abusive family member. It was 30 below and I had nowhere to go but, I remembered someone offered to help me, if I ever needed it - so I ended up on his doorstep! He happily took me in as he was like a father to me. There was no expectations for me, it was clear I was abused and traumatised (I was horribly malnourished and anemic at the time) and I was a naturally reclusive and quiet person anyways. So they gave me an old dusty room and left me be.

They being him and his father. For simplicity's sake, we will call them Dad and Gramps. I'll start by saying that I love and adore my Dad. Also, I don't hate Gramps, despite all he's done to me. Even if sometimes I think I should.

Gramps is an old cowboy. Crass and backwards and poorly educated. He's spent his whole life working and drinking and smoking and driving really really fast. He thinks insulting people is how you make friends and his favourite past time as a young man was starting fights. He's had several failed marraiges and has several dozen people (related or not) that call him dad. He's done more than anyone that I've ever met but that also means he thinks he knows more than anyone and no one can tell him what's wrong or right.

He's got a lot of good and bad qualities. Is what I'm saying.

Among those bad qualities, unfortunately, is sexual harassment. Which, I suppose should have been a very clear and blarring warning sign right from the beginning but, as a survivor of child abuse and SA, my boundries have always been miles behind from where they should be. Additionally, I had nowhere else to go 🤷‍♂️ it took several months and me getting visibly angry with him and telling him about my previous abuse before he finally stopped slapping my ass but, his language towards me never really fully went away;;;

Despite this, I stayed. I was unemployed and terribly ill and struggling to get through my previous traumas and depression, so I stayed and helped around the house however I was able to make up for me occupying space. The room I was staying in was musty and filled with mice and their filth, so I had to clean the space. The big old bed was filled with droppings (inside the boxspring especially) but Gramps refused to let me get it replaced unless someone would pay for it. So I layered it up with a dozen blankets and it's still the bed I sleep on to this day. In my brain, it wasn't much different from the bed that I had as a child, so I just put up with it 🤷‍♂️

As the years went on, my health continued to decline. The doctors couldn't figure out what was wrong, they tossed around words like 'heart failure' but wouldn't confirm a diagnosis. My muscle wasted and I was never able to catch my breath, I started having fainting spells. At my worst, I would spend days in bed.

Despite all this, I somehow became Gramps's unofficial caretaker. Unbeknownst to me, his whole family couldn't stand to put up with him because he would complain for sympathy and demand to be waited on hand and foot. I can't deny that I'm gullible, so when he started his sob stories, I went out of my way to help. If you can't tell by now, my fawn response is pretty strong - I've been told more than once to consider myself before other people but, it just never occures to me in the moment, I guess.

And so, I took care of him. No matter how aggrivating he was, no matter how often he belittled me or insulted me, no matter how stubborn he was or how little he listened to me; no matter how disgusted I was at the kind of things he suggested to me. It was nothing I hadn't dealt with before so I just 🤷‍♂️ put up with it - like an absolute fucking idiot.

This went on for several years.

It affected everything I did. My health never got better because I was too busy taking care of him (and others) to set time aside for myself. My friendships were impacted and even started to decay in several instances because of my declining mental state. It felt like, no matter how hard I tried to mend things with people, to keep up face and hold things together, it all just kept slipping through my fingers - until I had nothing to hold onto at all.

In the beginning of 2023, Gramps got diagnosed with cancer.

Now, an additional note that I should add here is that his family throughout all of this was entirely absent. In those several years I was caring for him, I was calling 911 nearly once a month for his heart or his breathing or because he stumbled and fell. I was helping him get dressed and cleaning his (and his friend's who is also an asshole old man) shit and piss off of the hallway and bathroom floors. I was cooking his meals and giving him baths and sitting on his bedside in the middle of the night when he had a breathing attack or got too lonely. I was buying his groceries and carting them up two flights of stairs, I was fixing his tv and enduring his fits of anger and yelling and pandering to every nonsense request he had on top of that. On top of all of my own problems, I was entirely alone in taking care of him.

When he got cancer, I was still entirely alone in taking care of him.

When he started getting angrier, more stubborn, more vocally abusive. When his diabetes spiked and his eyes started going blind and he was swearing and yelling at me because he didn't want to go to his appointments or use a walker or a wheelchair despite not being able to see 5 feet in front of him. When he refused to eat, when he refused to let me sleep.

When he started with the verbal threats of violence.

When he started touching me again.

And I had nowhere else to go.

I tried to ask for help. I genuinely did. Which is honestly a huge blarring warning sign for me because, if I'm asking for help, I'm probably close to a mental break - and I was - but, despite me saying, mulitple times to multiple people "I need help. I can't do this. I'm out of my depth. Can someone help me." No one ever did.

It all came to a head shortly after my friend group fell to pieces. I just wanted everything to turn off after that. Gramps and I got into an argument, a real proper one where I finally got angry back, and he took a swing at me and I decided that was enough. I was done. I went into my room and locked the door and curled up in bed and did my best to ignore his threats and his yelling. I cried until I fell asleep and thought about killing myself and I continued to think about it for the next two days. The entire time I was in there, he was upstairs, right above my head, promising to call the poliece to kick me out or promising to beat my face or break my neck.

I texted my Dad, I told him how I felt. He called his sister and she took over where I left off.

I still had nowhere to go 🤷‍♂️

So now, here I am, over 3 months into this bullshit. I filed for emergency housing within the following week of that madness and I've been hiding in this room and waiting ever since. My laptop was packed up in an emergency bag for the first month and a half / two months since I was in perpetual fear at that point of making even a whisper of noise or being caught without my bags packed and ready to go. I've had one dear and solid friend that's stayed with me and helped me through the worst of this all, even despite being an ocean away. Without them, I don't think I would have made it this far tbh.

So!

As you can probably tell, tumblr has been the LAST thing on my mind lately 😂 I've only really started coming back to it in the last month or so and I have just had no energy to put towards my blogs at all.

But, I'm slowly coming back!

I have a few drafts saved, so I'll probably trickle those in eventually. OL has been on my mind as of late, as well as BG3, which is why I'm posting here again at all. So, I hope to do something with this little sprout of inspiration that's managed to grow out of my head.

In the meantime, yeah 🤷‍♂️this is where I've been, under the floor boards, hiding in the dark, and just biding my time until I can escape.

Sorry for the long ramble! But also, not sorry at all, because this is my blog and all that 😂 For me, it's nice to finally put all this down somewhere, at the very least. Hopefully I won't have anything to complain about again for a long while after this. Honestly, I'm just hoping that I get that email soon that says there's finally somewhere safe for me.

[returntosaturn271995]

Friday, August 4th: Window of Tolerance

You can't keep a good girl down, even though I did smoke 4 cigarettes this week. Which is more than I usually have in a year, because now is not the time to be making new vices. On my run today I found myself worrying that I had the black lung, which is ridiculous given that I never worry about that when I smoke a joint.

Still, I've been in an east coast state of mind. Literally, this new job is on east coast hours because I'm quite a silly person who says yes to things without consulting future me. But fuck it! MO' MONEY. I discussed my outrageous nerves (or what should be outrageous nerves but I'm a little in denial) with my therapist, Angelita, yesterday.

I can't control the future. This job may very well suck. But it's 21 K for 3 months, so apparently that's my going rate for corporate stooge services. Truth is: I can do a fucking LOT with that kind of money. Move to New York or Colorado. Get my hair done and my face injected just a lil to avoid looking as stressed as I can get.

Angelita suggested I be happy and celebrate, which I am and I am, but we need to remember this is my life. Going to plan isn't exactly its thing. Just ask about my love life and my career and some of my estranged best friends.

Oh to be a 20's cliche just three weeks short of 28. 2-8 baby. My return to Saturn is supposed to last until I'm 30 so we're approaching the 1/3rd mark. In this time I've dated and dumped a lot of hotties, got into the routine of cooking like a chef and running/hiking on the reg. It's the year I committed to yoga and meditation. Adjusted my relationship with alcohol and strengthened my relationships with good people. I like myself more. My hair is longer. My sense of humor is as fucked up and weird as ever.

I'm not so scared, not so stupid. I'm kinder in my own head. I smile at people on the street (Today I met the owner of the bulldog I pass on the beach, her name is Katie. And gave a dude from Seattle some cafe recommendations). From this time last year: new roommate, new job, books read, music blasted, a journal committed to. A life committed to.

I stopped wanting something to save me and just sort of slowly rolled over and started doing it myself. Now I just have to keep failing upward and remember never to take any of this shit too seriously.

Begin again. And again. And again.

It's not so bad. And neither am I.

Other things:

Tomorrow is Day 1 of 22 days straight of running challenge (allowed one rest day per week). I intend to go at least 5 minutes each day on top of my normal walking and up to 35 minutes without a break.

Angus Cloud (25, Fez on Euphoria), Sinéad O'Connor (56, Irish singer/hot bald lady who tore a photo of the pope on SNL), and PeeWee Herman (70, kinda creepy as most things associated with children's television is) all died this week.

Trump has now pleaded not guilty to almost 80 charges, state and federal. No rest for the wicked!

[tsarinatorment]

oo now im interested in that apollo is chb'd patron thing would you care to elaborate on that??

@stereden also asked this! There's not so much canon for this as some of the other things I've talked about but there's still a few things to say on the topic, and not only am I going to talk about him being the patron, I'm going to talk about how that works with the things that happen with CHB during the PJO series, and of course because we're talking about Apollo, there's the odd little titbit from TOA that makes its way into this, too.

A lot of this will be extrapolation, but I've done my best to keep more floating headcanons out of it, so this should at least all stem convincingly from canon.

I'm going to address two things under this umbrella, because I think they're related and also because I find them fascinating: Apollo as the patron god of CHB, and Apollo's loss of jurisdiction over CHB by the events of canon.

So, Apollo and the patronage of CHB. While Camp Half-Blood Confidential is pretty goofy and daft in tone, it gives us a few important little nuggets of information regarding the founding of the camp, namely that it was Apollo's idea - or at the very least, Apollo foresaw that it would happen/needed to happen.

As it turned out, giving Apollo a centaur-back ride was the smartest thing I ever did. Unlike others of my kind, I didn’t belong to a specific tribe. I was a loner…and, sometimes, lonely. We bonded during that ride. I found that Apollo could be quite charming one-on-one, when he wasn’t trying to impress his adoring throngs of fans. When we got back to the cave, he said something that changed my life. “Uncle Chiron, I’ve decided to teach you some stuff.” Perhaps he found the idea amusing: a nephew teaching his uncle. Or maybe, being the god of prophecy, he suspected I had an important role to play in the future of Olympus. Whatever the reason, he chose to share his knowledge with me. At first, he showed me simple things, like how to nock an arrow—“Aim the pointy end away from your body”—and how to bandage a gushing battle wound. He taught me to make a lyre, play a number of hits like “Stairway to Olympus” and “Burnt-Offering Smoke on the Water,” and even compose my own lyrics. Once, in an effort to refine my poetry skills, he sent me on a quest to find a rhyme for arugula so that he could finish an ode to a mixed-green salad. The best I could do was pergola. Apollo called my effort an “ode fail”—the ancient precursor to today’s “epic fail”—but he continued to work with me. The lessons went on for a year. Then one day, Apollo showed up at the doorway of my cave with a half-dozen young demigods. “You know all that stuff I taught you?” he asked me. “It’s time to pay it forward! I’d like you to meet Achilles, Aeneas, Jason, Atalanta, Asclepius, and Percy—” “It’s Perseus, sir,” said one of the young men. “Whatever!” Apollo grinned with delight. “Chiron, teach them everything I showed you. Y’all have fun!” Then he vanished.

I have high doubts that this is exactly how it went down - I don't think those six demigods were all direct contemporaries of each other, mythologically, for starters - but they were all trained by Chiron and it makes sense for Apollo to be the one to introduce them, especially as he's the one that trained Chiron in the first place, and paying things forward is not a new or novel idea, especially when it comes to knowledge (after all, that's how teaching works even now - kids learn things, grow up, the next generation of kids start learning from them. That's just how humanity works).

From here, of course CHB continues to expand until it's the camp we know and love today. Chiron details this out for us (again, I don't believe the actual way he tells it, but the basic facts if not the very fictionised retelling seem solid). I won't copy out all of that, but I will make note of Apollo's direct involvement within the expansion, that that's the addition of the satyrs:

The satyrs arrived en masse with this note from Apollo: I predict that in the future, demigods won’t be able to find Camp Half-Blood on their own. The world will simply be too large, too populous, and too dangerous. When that time comes, send satyrs to track down your prospective students. Satyrs can find anything. They recently located a herd of cattle Hermes stole from me that even I couldn’t find. Trust me: you need seekers, and they’re the goats for the job.

Apollo is the one that's actively looking out for future demigods and their safety here. It's understandable that he's the one that knew it would be needed, because of his foresight and prophecy powers, but the fact that he acts on it so early, making sure the Camp is fully equipped to handle it with the satyrs long before they'll be needed, shows that side of him that he tends to not advertise in modern times - the side that wants to look after and protect the demigods.

That's two of the most important parts of CHB - its existence, and the satyr protector-guides - both directly attributed to Apollo himself, tying him more firmly than any other god to the camp. With this in mind, who else could possibly be the patron of the camp, if not for the god of knowledge whose own teachings are being passed down, and who actively worked to ensure the safety of future demigods?

The third thing is not explicitly Apollo, but considering the pattern it seems most likely, and that's the defences around CHB, back pre-Thalia's tree.

You see, I knew that so many demigods living in one place was like an all-you-can-kill buffet for monsters. Yet I had convinced myself that our campers needed no other protection than the skills we taught them. My pride had nearly been our destruction, but I learned my lesson. I immediately sent an Iris-message to Olympus asking for help. The gods heard our plea. The next day, a magical border settled over and around the grounds—a barrier that would both conceal the camp from unfriendly eyes and repel future attacks.

It's just the general "the gods" mentioned here, but considering that Apollo is the most involved god so far in the camp, if he isn't the one that did this himself (unlikely), he's certainly one of the gods that was involved in making sure this protection happened.

Another minor little detail to note is in the symbolism of the battle that occurs which prompts Chiron to request for aid here. To summarise for those who haven't read this story, the campers are nearly defeated, and it's only last-minute reinforcements from past campers that saves the day:

Then, just as rosy-fingered dawn peeked over the horizon, a new battle cry sounded in the distance. Former campers who had learned of our desperate plight now came charging to our aid.

The reinforcements came at dawn. Yes, I know that's a favourite trope in media (see the very memorable Battle for Helm's Deep in The Two Towers), but that doesn't make it any less fitting here - the camp was saved at dawn, which is the time when Apollo takes to the sky (and yes, by this time chronologically, Helios has already faded and Apollo is the god of the sun, according to Chiron's description of their first meeting:

“Ah…yes, Lord Apollo.” I tried to control the twitching in my withers. “Very weird indeed.” I noticed the sky was darkening even though it was only noon. “Not to be critical, O Great One, but shouldn’t you be driving the sun chariot right now?” He shrugged. “Actually, I put it in park for a few minutes because Artemis is up there doing her lunar-eclipse thing.” He scratched his fashionably stubbled chin. “Or is it solar? I can never keep them straight.”

It's likely that this isn't long after Apollo took on the role, although of course he could have just been goofing around with the lunar-solar mix-up, but he is still, in this narrative, the god of the sun by this point).

The implication here is very much that Apollo's the one who called the older demigods to help (presumably the Ancient Laws are in effect at this point - in fact, that may even be why Apollo had to pass on the responsibility of teaching to Chiron in the first place, with the advent of the no interference Laws) which again adds some credence to the idea that he's also one of the gods, if not the god, who supplied the original defensive barrier for CHB.

So, that's Apollo's involvement in the original CHB, way back when, and I don't think it can really be argued any other way than that at this point, at least, he was the patron god of the camp.

But what about modern times?

Modern times gets more confusing. I still believe that Apollo is, on a technicality, the patron of the camp, but in practicality he no longer seems to have any jurisdiction over it.

He still keeps an eye on the camp - no matter how he tries to throw us off the scent in TOA, there are some slip-ups in his narration that give us a glimpse of the god who is not at all distant from camp emotionally, even if he's physically forced to be.

Over the centuries, I’d had many conversations with demigods who wanted to know more about their absentee godly parents. Those talks rarely went well.

From this it's clear that he does spend time with the demigods at camp, historically (although not recently, which I suspect has a lot to do with Dionysus' forced presence, either because Apollo fears being reported to Zeus, or because there's a rule about only one Olympian god near the camp at a time). He cares about them and goes out of his way to reassure them - all of them, not just his own children.

He also remembers names. There are twenty two campers present during THO, including Meg, and during Apollo's narration we are given the names of every single one. The facts he gives us are precise, and the fact that he is able to perfectly recall every name after being introduced once (especially when we contrast this with Dionysus' refusal to get most demigod names right even if he's known them for a decade) implies a strong level of care. And no, this is not just because it's in winter and therefore Rick had a small enough cast number that he could afford to name them all - in TTC there is a similar number of demigods in the camp, yet Percy, who lives with these people for several months of the year, never gives us names. In fact, we learn in BOTL that Percy doesn't bother to learn some of the camper names at all. This is Apollo caring about these children.

“Let me guess,” I said. “Connor and Travis Stoll are the pranksters?” From a nearby basket, Chiron grabbed a flannel blanket and spread it over his fake legs, though the ruby shoes still peeked out at the bottom. “Actually, Travis went off to college last autumn, which has mellowed Connor quite a bit.”

Not only does he know their names, he also knows their habits and personalities. That's not just a basic level of reading names off a roll list, that's Apollo being actively aware of the children at camp as individuals.

It's also shown less implicitly through his conversations with Chiron in THO. Chiron knows that Apollo cares about the campers - he opens their first conversation with this:

My old friend smiled, though his eyes were stormy and distracted. “Apollo, it’s good you are here. We need to talk about the disappearances.”

Literally Chiron's first thing is to bring up missing campers, because he knows Apollo will care about this - and Apollo does! It isn't Chiron who continues this topic of conversation, it's actually Apollo who keeps trying to bring the topic back around while Chiron talks about Python and Delphi and prophecies:

“Chiron,” I said, “this is Meg McCaffrey, my new master and wellspring of aggravation. You were saying something about disappearances?”

“Disappearances,” I prompted. “What has disappeared?”

“The disappearances, yes.” I wiped drops of tea from my pants and tried to ignore Meg’s snickering. “Tell me about those.”

He asks about it three times before Chiron finally gives him the information he's after - it's actually the thing he's most insistent about focusing on in the whole conversation (he keeps trying to dodge the discussion of Python and Delphi) - and even after that it's the one he keeps asking more questions on, trying to get more and more information. Apollo never says so in as many words, but it's clear that he's very worried about the missing campers (a façade he more or less manages to cling to until his own children are added to the number, at which point the façade collapses entirely and we see Apollo in full worry mode over the children).

So the question is, if Apollo is the patron god of Camp Half-Blood (and let's not forget his domain of protector of the young, here!), why did we never see him in this capacity during PJO?

Quite frankly, it's obvious that he can't. It's impossible that, if Apollo had any say over the matter at all, he would have allowed the sacking of Chiron in SOM. He also sends no visible aid during BOTL, but the Daedalus thing is interesting... But let's start from the top.

Apollo has lost jurisdiction over CHB by the time PJO begins. I would argue that this is a relatively recent development - there are conflicting canon statements regarding how long Dionysus has been at CHB (in TON, Apollo says he's been there for half a century but then later we get confirmation that Dionysus' punishment is far from over, yet in PJO his sentence was cut in half down to fifty years - my personal guess is that Dionysus has been there for around 15 years or so as of TLT, long enough that all the current campers have known him, but as his only known children are fifteen or older in TLT (Castor and Pollux are seventeen in BOTL, two years later, Dakota is a similar age to them) the implication is that he hasn't had any children since his punishment began, otherwise why the lack - considering his far from PG domains, Dionysus is a god I'd ordinarily expect to have a lot of children). However, Dionysus' tenure as Director of CHB likely prevents Apollo from getting too close to the camp for any length of time, as I mentioned earlier.

The biggest thing, though, and what I think was the final nail in the waning coffin of his jurisdiction, was Thalia's death. This is when Zeus put a very large, aggressive stamp on CHB - his daughter is the one guarding the camp now, through Zeus' own actions. By doing this, Zeus has completely muscled Apollo out, and we know that Apollo can't (and is too afraid to try to) challenge Zeus.

So, why would Zeus be so determined to claim CHB as his, and kick Apollo out? There's a few reasons. One is his ever-present paranoia. CHB is a major part of modern day demigod society - barring CJ, which is Mars' and the Roman equivalent, it is the most major part. The amount of power and influence it gives Apollo to have it under his control is huge, and we know Zeus fears Apollo overthrowing him (this is also why cabin eleven is the cabin for the unclaimed demigods - while the logic that Hermes is the god of travellers does hold water, as the camp patron and protector of the young, it would actually make far more sense for them to go to cabin seven. The only reason I can see why it wouldn't, in-universe (meta-wise it's clearly to build the Percy-Luke rapport in TLT to give the betrayal the oomph it needed), is if the other gods refused to let that happen. Considering they all seem fine with leaving their kids languishing in Hermes' cabin, they probably don't really care which cabin it is, as long as it's not their own - Zeus is the only one who has reason to protest against it being Apollo, and he has the clout to make sure he's obeyed on this).

Well, I say one reason is his paranoia; really, a lot of this is based on Zeus' paranoia, because all his interactions with Apollo are steeped in this throughout the series. Another aspect of his paranoia is the Great Prophecy - he wants his own child to be the Hero, but when Thalia dies, he's left in the horrid realisation that it might not be his child; Jason is still very young (and also a son of Jupiter and therefore Roman, and the Romans don't even have this prophecy), and if he's broken the Oath, there's a high chance at least one of his brothers has (whether or not he knows about Percy's existence this early is debatable, but from the way the accusations at theft were immediately levelled at Poseidon before Percy even knew he was a demigod, it's likely that the Olympians were aware of Percy's existence at least a little before the events of TLT). A child of Hades would be a problem, but Hades' kids aren't popular so he might see them as less of a concern/easier to get rid of (Hades also doesn't seem to like sending his children to camp - he explicitly refused to send Bianca and Nico to CHB). A child of Poseidon, however?

Remember that Poseidon and Apollo have historically worked together to oppose Zeus. A child of Poseidon central to a great prophecy in a camp that's under Apollo's jurisdiction is, to Zeus, a terrifying combination and one he won't want at all, so he uses Thalia to wrest the control of camp away from Apollo. Now Zeus is the one in control, and we know Zeus doesn't like giving control back. (And remember that in TLT the Apollo cabin back Poseidon... against Zeus; that can't have pleased him in the slightest!)

Of course, there's also the same power basis in his favour - he doesn't want Apollo to have that power, but he does want it for himself. The gods have all been waning compared to their original selves, and their powers are far weaker. During PJO, all of the gods are, if not pathetic, clearly weakened. It's only at the end that we see Poseidon and Hades regain their strength (the same way we see Apollo regain his in TON), while Zeus continues to wane.

So, what does Apollo do about this? He can't fight back against Zeus - TOA is a spectacular example of what happens if Zeus even thinks he's rebelling - but while the functionality has been stripped, he is still the patron of the camp, and also the protector of the young. Apollo doesn't sit back and do nothing.

First of all are the dreams - we know Percy gets a lot of demigod dreams, we know Zoe gets a dream while in CHB, we know Apollo kids get dreams, we can infer that Chiron probably also gets dreams (I'll get to this in a sec), and also that he knows about the dreams (once again, see @fearlessinger's discussion of our theory on Apollo and the Demigod Dreams).

Secondly, there's Octavian.

Now, it took me a while to try and rationalise Apollo's apparent desire to work with Octavian, especially considering the way it ends up with Octavian trying to kill the Greeks (who are under Apollo's patronage - this, at least, must have been a misunderstanding because there's no way Apollo ever approved that), but when I sat back and looked at how powerless Apollo is in PJO, it makes sense.

Firstly, there's his inability to help Artemis directly during TTC. As this is a gods and titans problem, primarily, the Ancient Laws shouldn't actually prevent him from doing this - the only thing that could be clouding Apollo's sight and keeping him out are the Fates themselves - but Apollo is still unable to do more than effectively send children to their deaths (Zoe is admittedly not a child, but Bianca is, and Apollo is the one who got them most of the way to the desert in TTC, although he isn't the one to actually drop them there).

Secondly, there's the mess that is CHB. Chiron is sacked and Tantalus (someone who kills children) is hired in his place (do I like the idea of Tantalus' punishment extending outside of the Fields of Punishment being Apollo's doing as a way to make sure the kids stay protected? Yes, I do - but there's no actual canon for this although Tantalus finally getting his hands on food right at the end, when Thalia is restored and the power in the tree is now purely Zeus', is a very stretchy potential link to the last vestiges of Apollo's influence in any capacity being broken off). This is all around Bad News for CHB and nothing Apollo could possibly have approved of. Then in BOTL the camp is literally attacked and children die (including one of his own).

Daedalus is suspicious as heck the whole time, and Chiron is clearly very suspicious of him - and yet, he does nothing (even though Daedalus was posing as a Roman adult demigod and it highly amuses me to think of the panic Chiron must have been in about one of the smarter kids asking the right/wrong questions). I was discussing this with fsinger the other day and the conclusion we came to is that Apollo may have been the one to assure Chiron that Daedalus had not - yet - joined with Kronos and was therefore safe to have around the kids. After the mess of Tantalus, Apollo would no doubt be keeping a very close eye on who was being allowed near the kids, after all (and as he can't directly interfere, the most likely method of imparting this information would be via dreams).

The fact that Apollo has been dragged off monster hunting by Artemis on Zeus' orders, thereby keeping him away from camp at the time when they need godly protection the most also plays a significant role here (Dionysus, too, was elsewhere on Zeus' orders, which makes one side-eye Zeus very heavily at this point).

Overall, Apollo has lost a lot of power in recent years, and he's desperate to regain at least enough to be able to protect Artemis and CHB again - power which he would get if the Romans started worshiping him higher, because the gods are clearly fuelled by belief (notably, at the end of TON, Apollo has regained his belief in himself, which is even more powerful than belief from others, and makes me wonder if he could now regain his jurisdiction over CHB back from Zeus). This neatly ties in the Octavian side of things in HOO.

So, in conclusion: Apollo is the reason CHB exists, he's been consistently shown to care about the demigods right from its inception to the modern day and protects them as much as he is able to, which makes him the clear choice for patron of the camp. However, Zeus' paranoia has prompted him to muscle Apollo out of any practical patronage (although he is, technically, still the patron even if he can no longer act on it), leaving Apollo desperate to regain the patronage and protect the demigods however he can without directly defying Zeus.

[newsfromstolenland]

I don't think I can fully put into words the irreparable harm that the psychiatric system in canada has done to me and many others

I want to talk about this, so for the purpose of organizing my thoughts I'm going to sort this into three parts: psych wards, substances, and the concept of functioning

Psych wards: I've known people who have had positive experiences in psych wards. but for the most part, I have heard of many negative experiences. in the interest of privacy for others, I will be basing this off of my own negative experience.

psych wards remove a significant amount of people's autonomy. most people can't leave without clearance from a doctor. there are cameras everywhere. rooms and bathrooms are often strictly gendered. phones, computers, and tablets are usually not allowed. personal items are limited and highly scrutinized, as is personal clothing. transphobia, racism, ableism, homophobia, and misogyny are rampant.

I was in a psych ward when I was 15. at the time I was a trans boy. because I refused to stay in a "girls" room, and they refused to put me in a "boys" room, they instead put me in the psychiatric intensive care unit with the adults because the rooms weren't gendered there.

In the psychiatric intensive care unit, there are cameras in the common area, bedrooms, and bathroom. every time you change or use the bathroom, you are monitored and recorded.

the staff regularly misgendered me, and refused to let me keep even an mp3 player.

the result is being imprisoned, having your privacy invaded, being misgendered and disrespected, losing your autonomy, being isolated from the world, and being stripped of any comfort items.

Substances: there's a lot to be said about the way substances are viewed in psychiatry. first of all, the use of non prescribed substances is vilified. even smoking weed is stigmatized, let alone using other substances. self-medication is treated as reckless behaviour, rather than an impact of a failed medical system. recreational substance use is treated as a moral failing. I once had a psychiatrist threaten to take me off of my medications unless I stopped smoking weed (and no, it was not because my meds interacted badly with weed). of course, all this meant was that I never told her the truth about my substance use again.

second, prescriptions are not given in an adequate way. there is a combination of over prescribing and under prescribing, neither of which are safe. for example, people are denied necessary prescriptions if doctors identify so-called "drug seeking behaviour". people are denied medical marijuana due to stigma. medical marijuana is also denied by places like CAMH, and instead significantly more dangerous drugs are prescribed. not so coincidentally, CAMH receives lots of funding from pharma companies, and not from medical marijuana companies. when I was in a psych ward, I had a prescription for a medication taken as needed when I had panic attacks. rather than giving it to me accordingly, I was given double the dose regularly three times a day. unsurprisingly, I became addicted to it and only recently (7 years later) managed to stop using it beyond when it was needed. on the other hand, when my ex was in a psych ward, they were denied their medical marijuana.

The concept of functioning: I've been a patient/client of quite a few psychiatrists and therapists over the years, and something that has come up a lot has been the concept of functioning. Being considered a functioning member of society is extremely arbitrary, but under a colonial capitalist system it typically comes down to working full time and building/maintaining a nuclear family. Obviously this is inherently harmful as a goal to set for mentally ill people, and creates feelings of self-loathing when we are unable to achieve it.

the mental health field's focus on neurodivergent people becoming "functioning" is not done for our benefit, the goal is not for us the function how we want to. the goal is for us to be able to work all our lives and contribute to capitalism.

I'm not trying to say that the mental health system never does any good. I now have the necessary medications to not struggle for every second of my life. my point is that many parts of our psychiatric system are harmful, exploitative, and dehumanizing.

something needs to change, and fast, or more people are going to be hurt by this

[a-gal-with-taste]

was listening to some etta james and wondered what if the reader was a jazz singer type that performed at the last drop and vander & silco are like *heart eyes* probs some time before the events of the big flight between s&v

Yesss, love the mental image! Went for a more platonic/beginning-of-a-beautiful-friendship route instead of romantic, because I love the idea of those two turning into mini-fanboys for a hot minute. My first time fully diving into Younger Vander and Silco, hope I did them justice!

Inspired Listening for this Request

"I don't bite, you know. Quite the opposite, actually." You mused without looking up as you thumbed through your tip-box of this night's earnings. Your mood was light, as the box was heavy with the golden coins gleaming under the bar-light as you counted. "Nah, think ya proved that back on stage there," Out of your peripheral, you saw the larger of the two take the seat beside you, the beer you just heard him order already halfway chugged. "'M Vander, 'ere's Silco."

"You already know my name," You introduced yourself just as politely, tucking the box at your side beneath your coat as you raised a look to the two joining you. Vander was a mountain of a man, but with a warm face, naturally so and also as an effect of alcohol. The slim one behind him, Silco, gave you a short nod, eyes trying to appear carefully impassive on a thin, serious face.

You couldn't hide your smile of amusement as you noted the awed-gleam they were failing miserably at hiding, in both their eyes.

"Hope that you're cornering me because you enjoyed my rendition-" "Yeah, hope we're not a bother?" You shook your head with a smile, gesturing to the counter. "No, but a drink would be nice..." You trailed off, a bit surprised as the shorter one, Silco, thumbed a coin out of his pocket without further-ado and a drink was soon placed in front of you. You gave a considering hum as you watched them nonchalantly, taking a long, smooth drink before gesturing, letting them speak their piece.

"Y'were incredible. Best I ever heard, and we been 'round these blocks for a couple spells now." “No fooling? There’s a bunch of other singers out there.” 

“Most sound like they're giving birth to death itself in their lungs on-stage. So-called musicians here seem to be fond of mistaking screeching for singing." Silco's dry tone almost had you snorting on your next sip, Vander being quick to turn in his seat to glare at his friend. "C'mon, they ain't all that bad. And it won' do us any good if they hear you talkin' shit like that."

"It's not trash-talking if it's true. Don't play devil's-advocate, either, I've seen you unplug the mic on our worst nights."

"You guys own a joint?" You mused as you made the guess, Vander brightening immediately. "Yep! Heart of the Undercity, it'll be! Already got the bar nice 'n set up, got people all over the town stoppin' by-" "I apologize, he treats our establishment like it's his first-born. Will drag on about it for hours if you let him," Silco cut in once more, rolling his eyes as he took a sip from his own fresh shot-glass, though you could see the thinly-veiled amusement. "Don't get him started on the décor."

"That you helped me pick out, don' think I won't be tellin' people for years to come about the great barstool fit you had."

"You wanted them out of wood. Wood, Vander, do you realize what side of town we live on...?"

"Boys, boys." Quick to raise a hand with an amused smile before they dissolved into what was friendly, and clearly an instinctive need to bicker with the other, you looked between them once you had their attention. "I think I can see where this is going. What're you offering?" Vander smirked triumphantly already. "Free drinks every performing night and weekends."

"Free drinks whenever, and also I can't have smoking in the place, at least 12 hours before a performance." The larger of the two immediately frowned, and you gave a pointed look to his vest-pocket, where the mouthpiece of a pipe was sticking out. "Owners or employees included." Drumming his fingers on the bar-counter, the man frowned deeply. "Not many pleasures one can find down 'ere, y'know-" "Oh no, there's plenty. But I'd rather not be trapped in a building with the one that can destroy my voice."

Reaching to your hip, you tapped a nail on the gas-mask you have hanging there. "That's how many vocalists lose their voices so quickly. Air is shot-to-hell as is, I don't want to lose the thing making my money for me." Vander was still frowning, but Silco gave an approving nod behind him, leaning over to elbow his pal in the back as he innocently stage-whispered, "Perhaps your lungs would approve the break from smoking."

The wiry young man had his attention returned to his shot-glass when Vander turned on his seat to frown at him.

"... ah, fine, we need good entertainment, and ya seem good."

"Seem good? Now I just feel insulted, and we haven't even shaken on it yet." You can't help the genuine chuckle as Silco sighed long and tiredly while Vander attempted an apology, reaching over the mountain of the man to hold out a hand to you, which you promptly shook.

"Would there be any requests or specifics I'd be working with? I'm fine with matching aesthetics, but if death-screeching is popular in the area..." You trailed off when you watched them both give a quick head-shake at the suggestion. "Gods no, whatever magic you did on stage will do." You hummed, shifting in your seat as you began to tap out a slow rhythm on the counter. "Think my kind of style would go well at at a bar? In the heart of the Undercity? Most don't go for the slow and smooth down here."

"No they don'... it's why ya voice will be a knockout, somethin' new for us to pass our time away between drinks." Vander pointed out with another sip of his beer, eye wandering to the consitering tap your nails were beating out onto the counter. A small smile as he lowered his drink, quirking a brow at you as he leaned an arm on the counter.

" 'course, if your gonna go and offer us a demo, I wouldn't object..." His partner-in-crime says nothing, but Silco smoothly hops up to sit on the counter, ignoring the bartenders disgruntled look as he looks over to you paitently. Neither are attempting to hide their eagerness anymore, or if they are, they're doing quite poor jobs at it.

You smiled as you began to tap out a tempo in earnest with your knuckles on the counter, thinking this was going to be the start of something wonderful, before you opened your mouth to let the music flow out.

[melancholic-pigeon]

HEY ALL

Long story short, I had a health scare that I have been assured is almost certainly nothing and that even if it is something it's the kind of something that's basically nothing. I'm okay!

But I have decided that now is the time to seize the day jump the final hurdle and quit nicotine entirely. I'll put my experiences/rant about vaping below a cut in case the validation is helpful for anyone, but the nuts and bolts are that I might be distant for a few weeks more.

My mood tends to tank pretty catastrophically, and that virtually always ends up directed inward, but just in case: if I get snippy or short with anyone, I'm so sorry; it's not your fault!

I'm going to work with my doctor on this, because I've tried hundreds of times before and never succeeded, and this was my main goal for this year: I want to be off nicotine completely by my thirty-first birthday. I'm still well within that time frame.

Wish me luck! Either I'll disappear completely or I'll be posting like mad to distract myself from the cravings lmao.

also, vaping is an important harm reduction tool, including flavored liquids.

the banning of flavored liquids is much like the banning of flavored alcohol: misguided, when the real issue is that they should be stricter about checking IDs so adults aren't punished for liking things that taste nice.

The flavors are actually a big part of getting people to reduce/eliminate nicotine entirely: the weaker the juice, the more you taste it. Also important: all those stats about people still using an ecig after x years or whatever fail to mention that most of them have reduced their nicotine levels in that time!

I started smoking when I was nineteen out of self-destructive impulses and a desire to be holding something that was on fire so I could easily get away if someone tried to hurt me (in other words, rampant PTSD). I tried to quit and failed about a million times. Eventually, I switched to a vape.

I started at 15mg of nicotine. I went down to twelve, then six, then three (which is the lowest you can get). Over the past couple years, I've been switching between 3, 0 and a handmixed blend of 1.5mg. I'm very, very close! It's just that last jump to "none, ever" that I can't seem to make on my own.

But I am determined. I never went into this thinking it was going to be permanent— I always knew it was a slow, slow stepdown. I have had this goal (quit by 31) in my head for years. I don't know how I'm going to do it, but I do know I need help, and I guess the biggest change is that I'm ready to ask for it.

@monstersandheartache told me a while back that there's a reason David Bowie found it harder to quit nicotine than cocaine, and that's something that's turned into a mantra for me (so thank you, my dear, dear friend 💜). In case anyone else needs the reminder:

Nicotine is addictive! You have an addiction! By definition, it's hard to quit! You are not weak for struggling with the exact things addicts struggle with. You deserve the same compassion and support as any other addict (which is a lot). This is an extremely difficult undertaking, and it's engineered to be that way. Addicts are human beings struggling with an illness, not failures of society who should be scorned.

Much love.

[alice-angel12x]

☁Senario! Dullahan!Reader

Shinsou, Izuku, and tamaki meet a new student, a headless student.

💤Shinsou💤

I remember that day like it was yesterday, who could forget the day you meet a headless girl.

"Good morning class, We have a new student. Meet Y/n L/n, and her quirk should already be obvious," The teacher said in a border tone.

We meet back in Middle school, so at the time I didn't care about the new girl. Though I was caught off guard when the new kid had to sit next to me, and I've seen many strange quirks. Yet there she was, normal from the neck down, and from the stump of her neck black smoke came out.

It seemed for the most part she simply kept to herself and always held her backpack close, as if her life depended on it.

"Shinsou, you will show the new girl around okay," The teacher said.

"Fine," I sighed in annoyance.

---

"And this is the cafeteria, and that is the end of our tour," Shinsou yawned.

'hey is that the guy. the guy with that villainous quirk,'

'yeah don't take to him or else he'll brainwash you,' whispered a couple of smirking kids.

Shinsou sighed as he stretched the back of his head. Suddenly he felt a soft tap on the shoulder, turning to see the headless student with a notepad.

"Why are you sad?" was written down.

"I'm not sad. Just it gets to you when people labeled you as a villain before they even get to know me, all because of my quirk," Shinsou said bluntly.

"That's terrible :'(," Y/n wrote as she stepped closer to Shinsou.

Despite not having a head Shinsou could feel an aura of sadness coming from the headless girl.

"So are you joining middle school so late? Especially the last year?" Shinsou asked.

He watched as the girl scribbled on her notepad. She quickly flipped it around for the taller boy to see.

"The students from my last school would bully me. One threatened to throw my head from the school rooftop," Y/n wrote.

"Y-Your head," Shinsou asked curiously.

"Yeah, my weak spot. If something happens to it I'll die," Y/n wrote.

"I think everyone's weak spot is our heads," Shinsou said simply.

"well if I were to lose my head, anyone could destroy it and my body will drop dead no matter where it is," Y/n wrote as her shoulder dropped slightly.

"Soo... You have ahead?" Shirou asked slightly confused.

Y/n slipped her bag off and opened her bag revealing her head. She had a beautiful face, lovely locks of H/c hair with shimmering E/c eyes. Y/n quickly closed her bag and quickly looped it over her shoulders.

"So your not quite headless," Shinsou chuckled.

Y/n's neck stump shook no as a puff of black smoke emerged along with the sound of a chuckle.

"So... You want to...Have lunch with me?" Shinsou asked slowly.

"Yes :)," Y/n wrote.

🥦Izuku🥦

It was another long and boring day school and Bakugou's harassment as Izuku was busy writing in his hero's journal that he failed to notice the new student that took a seat next to him.

"Midoriya!"The teacher called suddenly.

Izuku gasps and quickly stands, as he accidentally knocked over his notebook. The class giggled at Midoriya's blunder as he began to stutter. The teacher simply ignored Midoriya's apologies and continued with his lesson.

As he sat back down looked all over the floor around his desk for his book. As he searches he saw a hand holding his book out to him. His eyes traveled up the person's arm to see a biker's helmet staring at him.

"Ah! Um, t-thank you," Izuku gasped as he took his notebook back.

The girl simply nodded and turned back to her desk. As the days went on Izuku couldn't keep his eyes on the biker-wearing girl next to him. He knew that in school hats were not even allowed in class, so why is she wearing a helmet.

--------

The class soon broke for lunch as everyone just hung around and chatted among themselves. Izuku sat nervesly next to the new girl as they ate their lunches at their desk quietly. As he staredown, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"AH!" Izuku gasped loudly.

Suddenly a phone was shoved in his face. He quickly backed a bit to see the message on the screen.

"You're quite observant. I peaked a little into your journal. Do you want to be a hero Too?" It said.

"Umm yeah, I want to help people and bring a smile to people's faces," Izuku said with a small smile. "What about you? umm, What is your quirk?"

The girl typed on her phone to change the message.

"My quirk scares people, so I wish to be a hero that people can turn to in their time of need," the message said.

"I-it can't be that scary," Izuku reassured.

They looked at Izuku blankly, when she removed the helmet to reveal to have no head. The room was soon filled with screams as all the remaining students ran out of the room in fear. Izuku fell to the floor in shock, but he stared at her with awe. The headless girl typed on her phone again.

"If you are afraid, your free to run. Everyone does, that is why I were a helmet to give the illusion that I have ahead.

"N-no, I won't run, but. What is that black smoke coming from your neck? How can you see without ahead? Do you eat? Is there more to your quirk?" Izuku asked as he started to bombard the poor girl with questions.

"I'm Y/n L/n by the way," Y/n typed.

"Oh um... Izuku Midoriya,"

🐙Tamaki🐙

It was another day in UA in Class 1A, Tamaki and Mirio sat around waiting for Mr.Aizawa like the rest of the class. Then suddenly the door opened with a tired teacher and a new girl with him.

"Alright sit down everyone, we have a new student with us, hurry up and introduce yourself," Aizawa yawned.

"I'm Y/n L/n, it's nice to meet you. Let's work hard and become heroes," Y/n said with a bright smile.

'Looks like there's going to be another extremely confident student,' Tamaki whimpered to himself.

"Alright that's enough, get into your gym uniforms and head to the gym," Aizawa yawned as he left the room.

"Well Let's get going everyone!" Mirio announced.

-----------

It was another one-on-one combat training again, and Tamaki was watching the new girl fight against Nejire, and it was intense. Nejire tied to blast the girl, but Y/n was too quick and nimble. Then suddenly Nejire sent a surprise blast, blowing Y/n's head clean off.

The class screamed as Y/n's head soared through the air, and landed into Tamaki's arm.

"AAAHH!" Tamaki screamed As he held the head away from him.

"OWW! That's the worst feeling," Y/n's head groaned.

"umm, a-are you okay?" Tamaki stuttered as he looked down at the ground.

"Hmm, oh yeah I'm okay," Y/n's head smiled.

"Umm, Y-yeah," Tamaki mumbled as his heart fluttered in his chest.

Nejire was still recovering from her state of shock when she felt something slashed through her. Suddenly she felt a burst of pain throughout her body, as she passed out. Y/n's body had made a sythce from the shadow mist coming from her neck.

"Nejire!" cried out her friends.

As Nejire fell, Y/n's headless body quickly sprinted into action and caught the unconscious girl. Everyone was still weirded out by the headless body and the fact it was acting on its own.

"Oh, Tamaki could you reattach my head, please?" Y/n's head asked.

"Oh umm Okay,"