#god forbid color want to help someone because he wants to help.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Me coming across a bomb ass animation about Color & Killer & Nightmare’s dynamic on Tiktok:

Me reading the comments:

[ajortga]

truth be told

pairing: cairo sweet x fem reader

summary: when cairo catches herself falling in love, she also catches herself in lies that were destined to bite back in the end

word count: 4.3k

author's note: hi guys:)

-

Cairo Sweet wasn’t sure when she had started stalking you.

‘It’s not stalking, I just happen to know where she’s at’ she’d say, although at this point, she caught herself following suite wherever you went.

It began when she had the ability to start noticing. Of course she had noticed things before, like how Mr. Miller would tap his foot like a ticking time bomb, or how she’d know people were lying if their eyes flickered around too much. 

But it was a different kind of noticing. Noticing how you would be styled in jeans and a top that was her favorite color. It was a coincidence, she had never acknowledged you enough to share that her favorite color was navy. 

You and Cairo had gone through years of school together, yet you both had never come to a point where you became friends. It was strange, how you could know someone for such an obscure amount of time yet not enough to wave a hello?

Until, well, something had happened–you were both in Mr. Miller’s class, and Cairo’s wandering eyes had landed on you while you were writing words quickly on your paper. 

She shouldn’t have found you blowing your bangs to the side so hot.

What. The. Fuck.

Cairo didn’t know what happened.

In a blink of an eye, you began to appear everywhere, why was it after her? To just notice it now?

It started off small; she’d pack up slower when the bell had rung, and once you slipped out of Mr. Miller’s classroom, she’d stay a modest distance behind you just enough to know what your next class was.

By the end of the week, she knew every single class you had. She found out you went to your film class and forensics workshop for office hours. 

Suddenly, Cairo Sweet was chasing. Chasing you. God forbid how much she wanted to catch you, like you were some billion dollar auction to win.

And no matter how many fucking dollars someone bid higher than her, she would be the one to win.

You were a month younger than her.

You had an older sister.

You were vice president of your school’s class council.

You liked to read as much as her.

You went to the libraries on Wednesdays.

You went to sleep at 11:50 PM.

You woke up at 6:35 AM.

Your middle name is Y/M/N

Your father’s name is-

Yeah. It was like you were on Cairo’s board of interest. She was calculated, subtle.

The brunette knew that you were into literature just as much as she was. You more interested in the book assignments like she was the writing pieces. 

So, she had stopped by Mr. Miller’s classroom one day after school.

A knock of the door, then a creak open as her platforms stepped inside.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said politely, in a clear voice, slinging her bag to one side as she approached Mr. Miller.

He gave her a polite smile, “Cairo,” he greeted, “You’re lucky, I just finished a meeting, so you’re not. Do you need something?”

Cairo skimmed through her bag, pulling out the book your class was reading. “A favor, I believe I’m slightly trailing behind on the work you’ve assigned on this book. It’s not my cup of tea, so it’s been hard to read. By chance, do you have someone that might be able to help me with explaining the book better?”

She had spent an hour coming up with what to say for all of her answers to eventually lead to you.

Mr. Miller had thought for a moment. “Well, I do agree that this isn’t everybody’s cup of tea, because of the writing style. I suggest you look online for a in depth summary of each chapter.”

Cairo waited patiently.

“But, if you do need more assistance, Y/N has been exceptional with her work based on this book lately. I could ask her if she could help you, only if she agrees, of course. I can ask her tomorrow after class.”

Bingo.

“That’d be perfect, thank you.” Cairo said, her nonchalant voice definitely differing from the smirk that dared to appear on her face.

Mr. Miller nodded slowly, noticing the slip of excitement in her voice as he cleared his throat, “I’ll have to ask her, she does have quite the extracurriculars.”

-

“Cairo Sweet?” You asked with a smooth voice as you entered the room, closing the door of the empty classroom with your backpack slung over your shoulder. You turn to the light switch, turning it off as you switched on another, causing the whole entire room to be lit up with fairy lights.

Y/N, founder of a non-profit organization, captain of the-

You slip into the seat beside her, the light cascading your face in a warm glow. She didn’t realize she was boring holes through your face until you glanced up at her, causing her to look away. “So, Mr. Miller told me yesterday that you’re not quite caught up in what we’re reading. Shakespeare not for you?”

Cairo scoffed lightly, “I’m not into sappy romance, unfortunately. It’s more of, half the time the characters aren’t speaking in modern English. More like the medieval times.”

She was tangling herself in a lie. A lie that might bite back at her later. For the most part, Cairo had absolutely no issue reading the play. She silently told herself that she’d tell you later on. 

You pull out your books and notebooks, “I think that Romeo and Juliet is a tragedy more than romance. But I get what you mean. Here,” you point at your notes, “could you show me what you’ve written for each act so far? I’ll try my best to translate it to something you might understand.”

It was stupid, not being able to do nothing but nod. But at this point, that was all she was capable of.

-

The scent of Cairo’s bedroom was tainted with smoke as she took a hit from her blunt. She scribbled words on her journal that she didn’t even knew she would ever write. 

Sinful, dirty words, about somebody she barely even took notice of.

A flutter of eyelashes, that’s all it took for her to unravel in your hands like putty.

Yet, she couldn’t seem to stop. She never thought how much she could write when she was inspired. 

She was never a sappy person for romantic crap. She wasn’t like Winnie, who’d have a new crush every week, or end up with someone in her bed on Friday nights. 

The weekdays weren’t dreaded anymore. Yet–she felt like she was turning into somebody so corrupted.

Cairo began to shift subjects during your study sessions, ‘accidentally’ brush her hand against yours when taking notes, asking innocently for your phone number so she could ask you questions.

You text her, sometimes. Respond to her texts, tell her little things about your day, like how you were working on your big science project that meant so much to you, maybe text her about the things that you do after school, as if she didn’t know already. 

But gosh, you two had went back and forth one night till midnight. And, you had the audacity to send her a photo of your sleepy self with a messy bun and glasses on. Cairo had scanned the photo for a few minutes straight, how your cheeks were rosy pink from the salt lamp in front of you, your half-lidded eyes dazed with sleep.

Yeah, she had to send you off to bed after that.

Cairo knew that you were the person that could capture the eyes of anybody. You had straight A’s, you spent almost all your weekends volunteering, and you had never seemed to try hard to do what you were doing. You had won the science fair in your district and in the nation. Everyone was always excited for what you were working on now.

She’s seen you, you were that sweet girl, willingly offer somebody half of your home-made food if they were still hungry, pay for your friends food, you had even apologized to somebody who literally hit you straight into the face with a volleyball.

You were the person that people would take advantage of for your kindness.

It just seemed like each time she stepped closer to knowing you more, she’d tangle herself in little white lies. Lies that could’ve been prevented, like she was manipulating you with a persona she couldn’t even catch up with.

And every time, Cairo would take your friendly gestures in the wrong way. She’d savor every drop of the teeniest bit of attention you even gave her. 

When she’d see you smile at her, with a crinkle around your eyes, Cairo almost felt her stomach twist in knots. She had lied about a lot of things. 

She lied about not feeling well, crying so that you stayed with her during lunches. Cairo had told you that she had a sickness. She’d find herself putting an act as you were forced to abandon whatever or whoever you were currently with to sit next to her.

Each time she felt you grow distracted, she’d throw in a lie, to get pity, keep your worried, pretty eyes back on her. And the last thing Cairo would have never imagined herself doing, she had said her grandfather had passed away, from cancer. It was when you had told her you hadn’t been spending time with your family recently because of the three hour long tutoring sessions. Your friends either, Cairo had dragged you away at lunches.

You had knew how much her grandfather meant to her, you’ve heard about him a few times before. The feeling that Cairo was taking advantage of you scratched at her.

She was more than upset, she had other friends, but it made her frustrated. Cairo Sweet always won, she wasn’t going to let you start slipping away. The brunette didn’t even know why she did it, but after she feigned worrisome horror, it was too late. The web of lies keep growing. 

“Oh Cairo, shit. I’m so sorry.” You murmured, your eyes looking guilty.

Guilty for her crying about something that didn’t even exist.

Cairo could see how worried you were for her, how you started calling your friends. It made her bite her cheek, eyes boring at the floor in shame.

Cairo Sweet was a liar. And it’d be back to snap back at her.

It made her sick every time after, lying to you, yet she’d find herself crawling back to jump again.

The truth always bit back.

-

You felt yourself becoming closer to Cairo. She’d invite you at hers almost every night, and you would try coming at least twice every week. Maybe you were slowly drifting apart from others, but Cairo made you forget all about it.

Most of the time, you’d talk, listened, shared. She was sweet, she was Cairo Sweet, after all. And everything she’d say, you’d lend an ear and believe it. You liked her, she’d always be there at the right time at the right moment. 

You never knew how she did it.

Cairo found you beginning to lean your head on her shoulder, fall asleep against her, ask her to hang out on the weekends.

One day, she hoped it would be more. To have the title of a girlfriend.

It was perfect. You were perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

It was another typical day, she approached you as you closed your locker, “Y/N.”

The familiar voice caused your head to turn to her, your eyes crinkling as you smiled, “Hi, Cairo,” you replied, walking alongside her as you both headed to your next class, conveniently being Mr. Millers. “Hope you aren’t tired out today by the rain.”

You watch her as she rolls her eyes playfully, shaking her head as she looks back at you, “You wanna come over to mine and bake later? I’m supposed to be helping fundraise, but that doesn’t mean we can’t keep some for ourselves.” The two of you snicker as you nod and head into Mr. Miller’s class.

“I’ll have to see, I was planning on working on my science project since I’m so close to practically inventing some sort of robot. I’ll have to show you, it’s been working so well with the programming lately-”

“Well, let me know, I’d be happy if you came.”

Somehow, it was the second day you ditched researching for your project. Maybe she should’ve let you keep working on it, whatever you were working on seemed really important to you.

By the time you two went back to her house, you both were stirring the batter of your cupcakes and cookies. 

Cairo was having fun, she could sense that you were too. In the span of a few weeks, you grew comfortable with her, not having to prepare what you were going to say to her without making the conversation awkward. 

You found yourselves laying on her bed as the goodies were baking, you were curled into her, yawning. It was peaceful for you, your quiet thoughts drifting. She feels you turn to observe her, hesitant.

“Do you miss him, sometimes?” 

Cairo looked at you, propping up. “Who?”

“Your grandfather.”

It takes Cairo a few moments, you can see it too. You would say you were good at reading people. But something in her movements didn’t align correctly. 

You would’ve thought that there would be a moment of sadness in her eyes, nostalgia, melancholy. Her eyes always spoke to you, shining, dimming. Yet, they didn’t share the feeling of grief. It was small, but you couldn’t miss the confusion, then full on flicker of panic in her eyes, before in a blink of an eye, it was gone.

Cairo swallows, picks at the skin at the edge of her nails, “A lot,” she forces, avoiding your gaze as she began to travel back to all the times she lied to you about her grandfather. Fuck. What did she talk about? She can’t remember.

Cairo can’t remember.

She sticks to being silent for a moment, “I think that he was the closest thing I had to a best friend when I was little. He always took me out to get ice cream, make secret treasure maps. I think a part of me, well, my whole family died when he passed away from his heart attack.”

She senses something, a shift in your form as you tense slightly. She turns and tilts her head, a question of what happened.

“I thought you said he passed away from cancer?”

Shit.

Cairo straightened, thoughts scrambling as her mind grew foggy. “I mean, yes, he did pass away mostly due to cancer. But the heart attack was.. Well, it was what was the reason it caused him to pass away so early.” 

Please don’t ask anymore questions.

She had ran, ran away from her lies, but they started running faster.

Please let it go.

She could see the way you were studying her, the slight furrow of your eyebrows. She knew that something wasn’t adding up in her timeline. But after a short moment, your eyebrows fell and you leaned back. “Oh, I see.”

Cairo let out a long breath when you scooted closer to her and closed your eyes for a small nap.

-

You wrapped yourself further into your project, your room filled with notebooks of coding, engineering, and all of the information of your possibly new invention of a robot that could help the world.

It meant having to turn down weekend plans, small gatherings, meet-ups with Cairo.

Oh boy. 

The timer for Cairo had ticked again.

She shouldn’t do it. This was something that was important to you.

It would only be till the span of the deadline and you’d be hers again. Hopefully.

But she couldn’t stop. She was already so close to snatching you. 

Just this last time. She’d stop. She promised herself. 

Like the broken promises she had made after each lie she told you.

She had gotten an idea. It wasn’t a good one. Well, it was genius for her. Perfect for her. But she knew that this idea would indefinitely break you and your relationship with her. She was putting it at risk a very high one. If you found out, Cairo knew that it would be over.

She was jeopardizing your relationship, your project, your future,

She would jeopardize you.

And if she ever saw the look on your face once you knew it was her, she’d never forgive herself.

She should stop.

Yet it wasn’t enough for her to stop.

In the morning, Cairo woke up jittery, biting the side of her cheek. The stirring feeling in her stomach stayed as she walked to school, slipping into the hallways.

It had to be quick; you had told her that you were going to drop off your project in Mr. Miller’s classroom and show it to him after class. Cairo couldn’t erase the thought of how proud you looked when you said it, your eyes saying it all. 

Cairo breathed in deeply, shaking her head, pulling a strand of her hair as she cursed. This wasn’t a fucking game. Why couldn’t she just wait a few weeks?

You had spent months researching, building, adjusting. It would take Cairo statistically 8 seconds. Then she’d be out, and by the time she walks to class with you, she’d be hero again. She’d be the killer for 8 seconds, then the rest she’d be the hero long enough to forget about it.

Cairo knew that Mr. Miller would be out with Coach Filmore on Tuesdays, he’d leave the keys in the front office till the time they both came back, with some sort of black coffee.

The brunette was calculated, having a printed schedule she wouldn’t be using as she walked into the office. Nobody batted an eye. 

The next thing she knew, her hands grazed over the doorknob that was under the words

J MILLER

Pressed down slightly, and pushed as she didn’t bother turning on the light. Her hands roamed around the solid, flat area of a wooden desk, searching. She squinted until her fingers hooked against the loophole of the keys and charms of what she was looking for. Holding it in her hand as it jingled, she rushed out.

-

It was at least 15 minutes before the bell would ring. She’d have 10 to make it back and return the keys.

Cairo’s eyes were trained on the building in front of her as she walked, keys jingling, her hands just in reach-

“Hey, Sweet.”

Your soft voice pulled Cairo out of the frenzy she was in as her heels spun quickly. 

“Woah there. Goodmorning to you too.” You giggle, studying her unbelievably pale face. “Are you okay?”

You could read her expressions. You could read anybody in a blink of an eye. But Cairo knew that you could read her better than anybody else. 

“Sorry, yeah, a little jittery. Too much coffee this morning. I really have to do something at the moment, but-”

“Coffee?” You ask, giving her a confused, lopsided smile before it almost shifts to a straight line. “I thought you said you were passing on coffee this morning because it made you feel all weird after lunch.”

Your tone was accusive, just curious, it sounded a little raw.

“Well, I guess I lied to myself,” Cairo tried to joke, she had 12 minutes. She really needed to get into that room.

Before you could say more, your friends waved you over, calling your name. 

“I should go,” you say instead, eyes flickering back to her. You sighed, realizing that she had already fled into the building, the jingling slowly fading away.

Cairo rushed through the empty hallways, the sound of her footsteps following after her as the keys clinked together when she inserted it in through the keyhole and turned it.

The silent click of the light switch was all the noise Cairo had made–beside her breathing that shouldn’t be this ragged.

Her eyes scanned the desks, searching. She gripped onto the keys as she walks between the desks, feeling regret begin to pool in her stomach.

She had 6 minutes, it’ll only take 8 seconds. 

Her plan was stupid. She didn’t know why she was going to do it. Cairo slowly took your robot lying so perfectly, untouched, and perfectly program on your desk, into her palms. She just had to snap it so it would be enough to snap wires, enough for you to be pulled back from her invisible string and cry while she comforted you.

Comforted you for her own wrong doing.

8 seconds, 4 minutes and thirty seconds.

Cairo felt the eyelashes caress her cheeks as she closed them, gripping onto your months of work. She breathed deeply, placing her hands on opposite sides.

She could just put it back.

Cairo began to bend, until she could hear the struggle of wires, the small chip of plastic, the door opening-

“Cairo?” 

Your voice was soft, unsure, your hand trembling on the doorknob as you watched the fallen angel holding thousands of hours of work in her hands turn around slowly. Her doe eyes were like the one’s of a deer in headlights. 

The room was quiet, the only noise was a buzzing sound signaling the failure of the robot in Cairo’s hand. And if you counted it, the loud, guilty beating of her lying heart.

She wanted to explain, tell her that her lies caught her in every reckless and stupid action she had done. Yet, the vocal chords of her words died in her throat.

Cairo Sweet was a manipulator of many things. Feelings, people, the truth. But, the only thing that she never wanted to manipulate was you. Yet, she had manipulated every part of you. 

To have you catch her, even when she wouldn’t even fall.

The look in your eyes made her feel like she shoved a dagger through your heart. Yet, your voice was soft enough to make her feel like you'd still be the one to say sorry even if you were the one bleeding out.

“Y/N.” She paused, “How did you- I didn’t-”

You pull out a keychain, jingling it. “I heard,” you mumbled, voice much different than it was 5 minutes ago.

It was only 8 seconds.

You looked at her, trying to understand. And even though you never did, you still raised your hand up slightly to interrupt. “It’s okay, Cairo.” You murmur, she could hear the way a sense of hurt laid beneath, “Really. I wish you could’ve just told me you were here.”

You walked towards her, but you weren’t looking at her, you focused on your broken robot. The room was quiet as you slowly kneeled down, shattered pieces of plastic and glass on your hands. The ripped wiring was making a buzzing sound, and you felt your heart grow heavy. You were supposed to turn it in a week by now. The damage was too much to fix in that amount of time.

It was meant to get you a scholarship.

The way you stood silently somehow made her feel worse than if you were to yell at her. Your face was unreadable as you slowly began to get up.

You couldn’t see Cairo’s expression, but her eyes moved upwards when your voice came, quiet. “You didn’t have to do that.” You murmur, voice emotionless, yet, it sounded so bitter, so unknown. After all, you had never been like this with Cairo. 

But you force to look at her, tilting your chin up. She could feel the string between you two unraveling.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen like this.”

You were already biting holes on the inside of your cheek, “You didn’t mean to break my robot?” The tone in your voice was almost sarcastic.

“It’s just that you didn’t have time anymore and I just wanted things to go back to the way they were. You and me.”

“And you decided to break my fucking robot that I’ve spent months working on instead of just telling me?” 

“Y/N, please, I’m sorry.”

You close your eyes, try to steady your breathing, your voice softening. “You could’ve just told me. I would’ve came.”

Cairo saw the way you were spiraling, your body trembling from how overwhelmed you were. She stepped closer, yet you stepped away. “I can’t even look at you right now,” you sniffed, turning away from her. It was only then that she realized that you sounded like you were about to cry.

You head towards the door, opening it. “I should go. Don’t bother coming after me, okay? I.. I need some time to think.”

Cairo stood in the empty classroom as the closing of the door had echoed through her surroundings. She could’ve stopped, yet her lies would always bite back.

The next few days, the brunette hadn’t heard anything from you; no more silly photos of you, sleepy voice messages, stupid memes.

cairo 1:24PM: can we talk, pls?

cairo 1:24PM: i just want to talk and explain about what happened

cairo 2:13PM: y/n 

Please don’t do this to me.

Cairo Sweet had always been reckless. She would’ve been the one to flee, to leave. Yet, you never know how much someone really matters till they walk away–and only then did Cairo realize that for the first time, she wasn’t the one leaving. You were.

You would’ve always came back, but Cairo took advantage of it. Pried on it. Took too many risks that the truth had came back.

Now, her kitchen was quiet, lacking the sound of laughter. Passing periods were boring, peeking the corner where your locker was to find that you’ve completely relocated where you walked.

She thought she could bring you back to her, doing this. But she had never felt farther. She was so close. But you caught her.

And Cairo would have to live with knowing that she had broken the one thing she had wanted most.

-

[theyluvivi]

OVER THAT, OR TRYING TO BE. client!chris.

warnings.ᐟ.ᐟ: angst. a shit ton.

You're smart.

You have the brain and the grades to prove it... just whatever has been in the air these past two weeks is making you feel like you're the stupidest person on earth. You don't do guys, hookups, or relationships, period for that matter. Yet here you are, sobbing hysterically into your pillow over a guy you barely know.

That's the most embarrassing part about this whole thing. You've talked at most five times, and now tears are pouring down your cheeks, and you can barely breathe.

You've tried to act like you don't care, tried open your laptop and the many assignments that are that stacking up but you can't—Every moment you don't spend thinking about him just brings you back to him. The way he looked at you, his hands on you, the way he talked to you. Nothing works or helps.

Happy music doesn't help. Weed is a temporary fix. Eating takes too much energy—And god forbid you talk to your friends about this. They warned you about him, how he makes girls fall for him and leaves them like they're nothing, but you still kissed him like it was your honeymoon.

Chris didn't leave you like you were nothing. He was nice about it, which is what makes it hurt more. You clutch at your chest, god it feels like you're fucking dying.

The only person you've told is Matt, because you physically can't tell anyone else. And for someone who plays with people's feelings, he accepted yours with open arms.

"....s' not your fault, y'know? The heart wants what it wants....and all that stuff." You let out a sad giggle. "Yeah, but it's definitely not happening, and I've heard how he is to girls, so I shouldn't even try to make it happen." You sniffle and rub at your eyes. "Kid..." He searches for anything in his thoughts to make you feel better but can't find anything. He knows how Chris is.

"Cmere." He opens his arms, far and wide for you. You don't get Matt hugs often, so immediately run into his arms. "You'll get through this... you're strong." You can tell he doesn't what he's saying, but you appreciate the effort. You nuzzle into his chest. "Thank you, Matt."

You haven't taken your shirt off since then, hoping the reminder of Matt's hug will help you calm down. It hasn't, but you can still hope.

Even over your loud cries, you can hear someone knocking at the door. You're not selling... unless it's to friends. You sit up slowly, trying to avoid upsetting the pounding headache you have already from crying even more. You run your hands through your hair. If it's a friend, they would've at least texted you so then....

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

Matt knows you're not anyway near in a suitable condition to see Chris, and he still sent him over. You bury your face in your hands as the knocking persists. You haven't looked in the mirror in days, and your eyes are probably all red and puffy... why couldn't he have come earlier when you were acting like you didn't care?

You let a soft breath, trying to breathe normally after all the hyperventilating you've been doing. You finally get up from your bed and head to the door. Pretend you don't care, pretend you don't care, pretend you don't care—Is what you repeat to yourself as you twist the knob.

You crack the door open. "M' not selling." Chris tilts his head. "Thought we got over this whole you hating me thing?" He smirks, "I also just saw Quen walking out of here."

You huff, opening the door. "Come in." You're doing better than you thought. You thought you'd see him and immediately crumble to the floor. Chris takes in your colorful apartment as you close the door behind him. "What?"

"Looks like a unicorn threw up in here." You narrow your eyes at him. " 'S a compliment...it's so... you." Your heart jumps. "I live here." You sigh, rolling your eyes. "What do you need?"

"What I always need." You don't miss the way he steps closer to you. You feel bile rising in your throat. "Can't sleep again. I need one of your fairy joints to help me." You groan. He knows it pisses you off when you he calls them that. "Quen bought the last one, sit." You gesture to the couch, "No tour?"

You scoff. "You're lucky I even let you in."

Chris is like a toddler. He refused to leave you alone, in the comfort of your own room for five minutes, so you're sitting across from him on the couch as you roll him what he apparently came for.

You're finding it harder and harder to believe that he's staring you down like you're a piece of steak, and he's starving. His hand creeps up your thigh. You want to let him get away with it, "Chris?"

"Yeah?" You finally finish rolling, your acrylics giving you a break. "You didn't just come here for this, did you?" You wave the joint in his face, a smile finding its way onto your face for the first time in days. It's a sad one.

"You sayin' something?" He smirks, you begin to crawl towards him after the placing the joint behind your ear. "And if I am?" He pulls you into his lap, and you missed that, dearly. The feeling of his hands roaming over your body. You can feel tears beginning to weal up in your eyes. This is the most pathetic you've ever felt.

It's terrible. He's terrible.. But you want it, so bad. "Mhn...then you're right." And his lips are on yours, and you expect to be rough—you want it to be rough, but it's slow and sensual just the way you need. Tears trickle down your cheeks. You quickly wipe them away before Chris opens his eyes.

His hands find their way under your shirt, slipping up to the clip of your bra. "You want this?" He asks, and you nod immediately.

It's okay if he sees you as nothing more than a quick fuck, if he doesn't care about you and only wants you for weed, if he doesn't want a relationship and just needs another girl to run to. You need this.

tags 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚: @inspiredangel @whore4mattsturniolo @domizmez @sosasturns @drewswife @strnilolover @cvnts4demi

a/n: .... :(

[ghostbasin]

— JUST A LITTLE FURTHER.

Kevin Khatchadourian x Reader. Kevin loves to push you, to see how far you'll follow him. 2.1k words. Warnings: Questionable morality, psychological manipulation, NSFW actions implied/mentioned vaguely, minor violence, Kevin-typical hostility. Reader gender: Female. 🦇 Please feel free to submit requests! 🦇

Notes: I probably could have turned this into a full fic, but I was just in the mood to jot down some ideas. Might turn this into a fic later if there's interest!

For all intents and purposes, you'd always been a good girl. It's not like you didn't enjoy the general debauchery people your age got into every once and again, but you never did anything outright heinous.

For Kevin, his interest in you began as a very... clinical ordeal.

He craved you because of what you were when he met you — mostly innocent, very malleable, but not someone who was a snitch, or inauthentic, or dumb, God forbid. You were something he could work with. Something he could turn into a toy, one of his very own.

And with that, it started small.

It's not like he wanted you to commit murder or something. He was tip-tapping away at his keyboard, working on his latest "prank" for Eva — nothing unfixable, but an inconvenience to her computer no doubt.

"And if you press this button," he says, finger hovering over the return key, "her shit will be so fried for a solid day." You couldn't help but notice the sound of his voice, the closest he ever came to happiness — a dull tone of haphazard amusement.

"Why even bother," you ask, "it's just going to piss her off for that 'solid day' and then you'll do it again."

"It's fun," is all he replies.

Kevin gestures to his keyboard expectingly, as if to say, "go on, do it." You wait for him to elaborate before he asks, slight aggression on his tongue, "Are you pressing it or not?"

"Why the hell would I do that? I don't love your mom, but I don't hate her."

But as always, he wears you down. It's fun. It's temporary. It's not that bad, Y/N, get over yourself. After a few moments of back and forth, you hover your finger over the return key as he commanded, and before you can change your mind, he slaps your hand down onto the key and you feel strange as code rolls across the screen, working its "magic," if you can call it that.

"See? That wasn't so hard." It's the closest you'd get in terms of encouragement or pride from Kevin.

The next few days, Kevin leaves you alone. You didn't beat yourself up about inconveniencing Eva for very long, knowing Kevin would eventually give into her bickering and reverse whatever nonsense he caused. Meanwhile, Kevin dissected you like a bug in his mind, tapping your glass enclosure and wondering what would make you squirm.

You thought it was a one-off, just another thing Kevin wanted to do just to prove to himself he could. Oh, how wrong you were.

A week after, Eva comes home early from work, to see you and Kevin on the couch. Celia had begged and pleaded for you to watch one of her favorite movies with her, and of course Kevin couldn't leave you to yourself, even around his little sister. His sister, who you considered to be a sister to you, too.

Eva walks in and immediately says, "Celie, can you go upstairs for a few minutes? I need to talk to Kevin in private." Celia, naturally, complains a bit, but gives in, always eager to make others happy.

The second Celia's door is closed, she begins. You can't quite follow what she's talking about, as if she started in the middle of a story. Apparently, the school called her about a brutal fight, where one kid needed stitches, and Kevin was the only kid in class unaccounted for at that time.

"And?" Kevin asks, his voice bored and his eyes fixated on the neon colors on the paused TV. The dots connected in your head at last — what the hell had Kevin done?

The mostly one-sided back and forth between Kevin and Eva continued as anxiety wound itself tightly in your stomach, wondering why Kevin looked unscathed and what he was thinking.

"Well, Mummer, I'd love to take responsibility for the ass-kicking that guy got, but I wasn't at school at all today," he says. You look at him incredulously.

Eva asks where he'd been, then, if not at school—he was reckless at times, but a generally good student—and the words that came from his mouth would've sent you into a coma three years ago.

"Are you sure you want to know?" followed by Eva's nod, followed by, "I was too busy fucking Y/N's brains out to be beating up a classmate, Mumsy."

The dead shock on your face mirrors Eva's, and all you can think is, there's actually no way on God's green Earth he said that.

And Eva asks you, if you had in fact, "been in bed" with Kevin. He shoots you a glance that says, "you have one chance and one chance only," so you nod and say, "Yes, Mrs. K., I was." You hope the anxiety and shock in your voice passes for embarrassment, and later that evening try to give Kevin a "talking to," only for him to ignore you.

At the end of your tirade, if you could call it that—if anything it was a half-hearted attempt at trying to gain some respect from Kevin—he asks if you're quite done, kisses you, and pats you on the head like some dog of his.

Kevin takes you out to the backyard the next day. He says to you that you're going to learn to shoot, and it's clear this isn't a choice you have. He arms you with his bow and arrow, steers your arms in the right direction, and for hours you practice shooting at his target. Thankfully, you're a fast learner.

This becomes your little routine. Kevin pisses you off, you try to change things, he placates you with a kiss or a few extra moments in bed when you wake up before he leaves you deserted in his mess of blankets to go brush his teeth, and then he helps you practice after straightening up whatever minimal chaos had been caused in his room.

It only takes a few weeks for you to be a good shot. Far from as good at it as Kevin, but good enough. You could hit the target, and not poorly on a good day.

Later, after a practice session, you sit on Kevin's bed. The tiny twin bed was hardly big enough for one of you, much less two, but you sat cross-legged on his comforter as he remained fixated on the screen in front of him.

"Kev, we should do something," you suggest. His eye flickers to you for a second—didn't he say not to call him "Kev"—and back to his screen.

"Bored?" he asks. You hadn't known Kevin for years by any means, but you knew him for long enough to understand that the taunting way he asked meant you had done something, and he was going to take advantage of it.

Kevin stands up from his desk, the worn computer chair completing its circular revolution from the motion of him standing as he walks over to you. You look curiously at him, expectant.

"Get up," he demands — not an ask, but a command. You know better than to spend too long wondering what for, and stand up off the bed. You and him, face to face, eye to eye now.

Kevin doesn't speak at first. He watches you, the way you shift from foot to foot. He never did understand why people couldn't just stand still, and he grabs you to hold you into place. You jump.

He smirks. Did you really think he was going to hurt you? You can't play with a broken toy. His hands drop to his sides, but the expression doesn't leave his face.

"What would you do if you had to protect someone you love?"

The question is abrupt, confusing. What did that have to do with anything? So you tell him, you'd protect them. You love your family, your pets, your friends — and you'd protect them to the best of your abilities. You'd even go as far as to say that you'd protect his family if you had to.

"To the best of your abilities?" he taunts, something dark in his eyes. "What, there's a limit?" He steps closer, leans in. His nose comes millimeters from brushing your cheek and he whispers to you, "Would you kill for someone you love? Would you die for them?"

It feels like a threat. It feels like a warning, and so you say, "Kevin, you're scaring me." He smiles, sickeningly.

"You didn't answer my question, Y/N," he replies. If it were anyone else, and any other question, you might have found something attractive about the situation.

Without anything else to do, you nod. Yes, you would kill or die for someone you love. Of course. It's the right thing to say — isn't it?

"That's a good girl," he says, leaning in to kiss you. Your fingers feel cold, but you kiss him back and feel a little warmer. You forget about this, filing it away in your brain as "odd shit Kevin does for attention."

That is, until several weeks later.

You had no idea how Celia had gotten there. Kevin takes you to the backyard to practice, and Celia is somehow halfway up a tree, sitting on a branch. She could climb just fine, and she watched you practice in the backyard from time to time, but she was sitting there and collecting leaves from a branch way higher than you'd ever seen her climb — not too far to get down, but definitely an injury-worthy fall.

By now, Kevin had brought out one of his older bows so you could practice simultaneously. You keep an eye on Celia as you shoot, occasionally glancing up to ensure she's still firmly planted on the tree and not trying to get down on her own.

You had shot about four or five arrows at the target, all pretty clean shots, before you realized Kevin had stopped. All you could hear was your own breathing and Celia's humming as she happily played with the tree leaves.

You look at Kevin, and see him staring at his sister, arrow in one hand and bow to his side in the other.

"Are you okay?" You ask him. He would never answer questions like that, but you would ask anyway.

"You'd kill for someone you love, die for them," he says. It's not a question this time. And a feeling washes over you, one that says run! run!, but you stay put. He continues, "We'll see how honest you were being."

"Kev, wha-," you start, but he interrupts you. "You, or her," he says.

"What?" You shout in a hushed voice, trying to avoid stirring concern in Celia. What the fuck was he doing?

"It's time to pick. Are you willing to die — for her?" Kevin asks, the venom, the disdain clearer in his voice than ever.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" You ask, your voice dead serious. You realized what this was now. As he loaded the arrow and pulled back the bowstring, you realized — he was hellbent on firing at one of you, you or innocent, unsuspecting Celia.

Celia was as good as your sister. She had no where to run, and before your mind could catch up to your voice, you say, "Me."

Kevin was never going to kill either of you, he never planned on it. What good is a broken toy, he reminds himself. And so when he pulls back his bowstring and releases it, he of course aims just shy of hitting you.

But what Kevin didn't expect was that you weren't going to die for Celia, but you would kill for her if you had to. By the time he processed what was going on, you'd fired an arrow his way, too.

You missed. The one time you were ready to be fully, irrevocably on the mark, bullseye, you missed. But Kevin drops his bow and says, "You weren't lying," smug as ever. It shocked him that you would actually fire at him, but he wouldn't let you know that.

"You're one fucked up son of a bitch," you said, dropping your bow, speed walking inside, and then out the front door to head back to your house. He didn't see you cry as you walked down the street, and he didn't follow you.

It wasn't the end of your relationship with Kevin, far from it. As much as you wanted to stay away, he pulled you back in — and it went without saying that neither of you would breathe a word about that day.

What you didn't know when you left his house, however, is that that day was the beginning of your unraveling.

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Someone requested lumberjack!Logan I hope you like it <3 if you do please like, comment, and reblog it helps me stay motivated to keep posting on here. Request are open for Logan and Bucky and I am running out of things to write so please send in request!

Lumberjack!Logan builds you a house.

I see this happening in two ways; either he builds it in secret and surprises you or you help him design the floor plan and he builds what you have planned.

I personally think it would be more of a surprise, maybe a wedding gift for the two of you and he lets you decorate it instead of getting involved with the dirty work that is involved with building. He doesn't want you to get calluses or splinters and God forbid you hurt yourself with one of his tools.

He has the blueprints all prepared by the time he proposes, every week when you kiss him goodbye, he heads to the private land he bought and starts to build, he makes sure that he has it done before the wedding. The night of your wedding he carries you to his truck and he drives the two of you to the new home. It doesn't have much yet, just a mattress for the two of you to use for the night but when he carries you through the threshold you feel your heart swell. The man you love more than anything built you a home from the ground up.

"Logan this is beautiful" you squealed and jumped out of his arms to look around, before you could really explore, he starts to lead you to the master bedroom he made for the two of you and the two of you spend the night tangled in the sheets and each other limbs.

In the morning, he wakes up to the sunshining through the windows and he can't stop himself from purring when he feels the warmth of your body pressed so close to his. He has plans for the two of you to go out and buy whatever decorations and furniture you might want; he painted the walls colors he thought you might like but he wasn't stuck to the colors so if you wanted to repaint then that's fine by him.

He just wanted to provide you with shelter and warmth and comfort. As he looks around the room, he starts to think he did a pretty damn good job at achieving that, so he doesn't care how you want to furnish the house because he knows you'll make it a home for the two of you. And maybe soon it won't just be the two of you...he did make sure to build a few extra bedrooms for future use.

Tagging:

@userchai

@mahi-tamashi

@100percentlazybonez

@lanassmarty

@western-pyro

@misscrissfemmefatale

@marit332

@navs-bhat

@fluffy-b33z

@chaimshelii

@aoi-targaryen

@eyes-ofhell

[poisonsage808]

strange love

John Munch x Stripper!Reader

they think i’m insane, they think my lover is strange

• It really shouldn’t have panned out in his favor, considering he was an asshole on your first date.

"So what do you do?" He asked, struggling to keep boredom from his tone. He hates small talk.

"I'm an entertainer," your hands fidget nervously, "of sorts."

"Well, as long as you're not a stripper." He chuckles.

You, of course, do not.

• To his continued utter perplexity, the date concluded without you throwing insults or silverware at him. You suffered each and every question that you said no one had bothered to ask you before. The thought of dates prior ending abruptly after you'd surrendered the information, you alone with the check, made him more upset than you!

"The bad ones weed themselves out, right?" You joked bitterly, shrugging like you were unfazed but he saw the bleeding heart on your sleeve, "Anyways, I can't really blame them."

John tilts his head, "Why?"

"Would you wanna date someone you knew was ogled nightly by strangers, maybe a coworker or business partner? Everyone says it doesn't bother them until it does."

"That bothers you," he states like the fact that it is, "so why don't you stop? Do something else?"

Pausing while lifting a glass to your lips, you sit straighter and send a smile right to his heart, "You should know why; you're in the same boat as me, it's just named something else. Why don't you stop being a detective even though it's detrimental to your love life, hm? Because we don't believe we should live our lives for anyone other than ourselves."

• Your occupation didn't bother him half as much as his delusions did. He always attracted the wrong type of women, four failed marriages and a looong string of exes can attest to the fact, what business did he have dating a stripper thinking it would lead to what he really wanted? He didn't need another 'I told you so' from the universe

• He went home, alone, denying your comparison because it couldn't possibly be even remotely similar. Your words haunt him the entirety of the next day and later he calls to ask you out again, purely intending on picking your brain and, ideally, prove you wrong. He ends up stepping deeper into the trap you swore you didn't lay, so, maybe, there was a chance he willingly entered and couldn't bring himself to leave

• He’s an old fashioned man, he doesn’t fully get it. Like most, he wants to “save” you and get you out of this line of work. He tries to understand though and therein lies the difference. John still makes jokes about it, however knowledgeable he may be now, he feeds into it every time you complain about work and say you’re quitting,

“Oh no,” he says flatly, dropping his book and turning his attention to you. “Want me to check the classifieds for you? Or I have a buddy in hotel management that needs help manning the front desk, you can stand there and look pretty instead.”

“Don’t be a dick, babe.” You grin despite your irritation.

“I just called you pretty, how am I being a dick?”

• That's not to say you two don't have your fair share of arguments about your job— or his for that matter. There are times where your schedules don't line up or the stress of work gets to you both, resulting in a fight. It shocks him and you that neither of you takes the opportunity to cut losses and leave. It doesn't matter who started what, it always ends with a soft gesture that can only mean no one's going anywhere

• In the past, you’ve both been scorched badly enough to make you wary of a sudden flame. John’s (mostly) open and honest about everything on his mind but god forbid you ask him what his favorite color is. He’s slow to let you in all the way but when you manage to get there, close the door behind you because he doesn’t want out

• Fashion is a surprising forte of his and, wow, does he love shoes! Broke a heel? He has a shoe repair man that knows him by name. You need new pumps? He’ll come with you, have you test them out, holds your hand and says ‘give us a little twirl’. Don’t forget he’s still John Munch, he’ll let you know if he thinks a pair is ugly

“You look ravishing, sweetheart, an absolute dream… if you buy those abominations on your feet that dare call themselves as stilettos, I might accidentally throw them off the Empire State Building, though.”

• Far would it be from John to control your every move, he almost never even thinks of asking but sometimes the fear is unmanageable. John’s job is hard enough as it is only now he walks around seeing your face in every victim, terrified one day they’ll pull back the white sheet and that worry will become a reality. So can you blame him if he holds on too tight? If he asks you to call in sick because he has a bad feeling or demands you stay home because a freak is out there killing strippers? You try not to.

“Don’t argue with me on this, please, just lock the door and don’t answer it for anyone that’s not me. Please.”

• Being apart for days at a time makes phone calls very important… only John hates talking on the phone, keeping his replies shortened to “yeah” and “mhm”. Sometimes you can hear someone in the background and will take the conversation in a dirty direction to get him riled up. Other times you know the call is coming to an end and quickly say,

“I miss you, handsome.”

His voice quiets and turns impossibly soft, “I miss you too, beautiful.”

Laughter erupts close by him, the familiar voices of his infamous squad teasing him. You can’t help but grin as the line goes dead, feeling victorious that you won over the possibility of ridicule.

• Because he does miss you, terribly. You make him throw caution to the wind, you turn his brain to slush and have him forget how to tell himself no. He thought he got rid of this bad habit where he rushed in too quickly— then he asked you to move in with him. It was unceremonious and obviously not thought out, but you still said yes. Now, even though your schedules aren’t always on your sides, you two can at least take comfort in knowing the other will be coming home at some point

~

“Twelve bucks? I’m not paying twelve bucks for a spoonful of yuppie punch– I’d punch a yuppie for free, though. How the hell did these people get their liquor license? This is robbery.”

You’d know that sarcastic voice anywhere.

In a club packed like sardines and music blaring like a morning alarm– terrible combination, really– he shouldn’t have heard you the same way you shouldn’t have heard him. Still, you snorted, an unattractive sound, that you tried to mask with your hand. The second you did, he couldn’t take his eyes off you and was struggling to maintain a passive expression. You were willing to bet that if you went to the back and checked your phone there would be an SOS text from your boyfriend, trying to give you a heads up.

He looks pleased as punch to have caught you.

“Sounds like someone agrees with me.”

“Yeah right, you probably paid her to laugh.”

You turned with a shy grin, debating how you wanted to play this scene. Behind the darkened lenses of his glasses you could sense John studying you, wondering the same thing.

“So which is it, gorgeous, do you agree with me or did money jump out of my wallet and into your hand?”

You feel your cheeks warm while you attempt to stifle a laugh at his compliment. Hot and sexy you heard every day but the rare bouquet of praise John gave you was consistently refreshing, and he was a walking dictionary so the compliments were endless. His partner’s eyes go wide at your reaction. You’ve never met any of the detectives he worked with but from John’s stories, you gather it’s Fin.

“I’d report my boss for theft but that might make me a hypocrite.” Sweeping over your hips, you gesture to your outfit. Or lack thereof, your favorite piece was two zippers away from leaving you fully naked.

That gets a smirk out of him, “I dunno about that. You don’t look like a rip-off to me.”

You dare to step closer, wasps of coffee and leather hit your nose. Clearly enjoying the attention, John angled himself to block you from Fin and placed a hand on his hip. Like a bird, he preened when you took his tie in your hands, standing straighter and puffing out his chest. You lowered your voice and he chased after it, allowing you to gently pull the silk.

“You here for business or pleasure, handsome?”

“I’m—” You wouldn’t find out what he was going to say, there was a loud, fake cough behind him. John sighs, mouth pressed into a straight line and leaning back slightly, “Detective John Munch, a—”

“–And I’m Detective Tutuola. We need to speak to this boss of yours.” His partner chimed in, shoving his way back into view. The two shared a private conversation with their eyes that left them both glaring.

Jack, the bartender, set a tray with two martini glasses on the counter and whistled for your attention. Reluctantly, you allowed John’s tie to slip entirely from your fingers to grab the tray.

“Follow me.”

It wasn’t an offer. Taking John’s hand you began walking backwards, leading them to a booth. His fingers link with yours like it’s the most natural action in the world, leaving you on top of it. You had to bite your lip to contain your excitement.

“You’re not worried you’re gonna break an ankle?” He asks too seriously, quirking a worried brow at you.

“Haven’t yet.” Your reply isn’t reassuring him in the least. “Hey if I have to look for a new job you’d tell me, right?”

“Well I’ve only been asking you to for the past two years. Will me arresting your boss actually make you quit? I’ll feel really stupid if that’s all I had to do to keep you to myself.” He teases, winks, then turns your wrist over to place a delicate kiss to your knuckles.

John releases you to slide into the booth beside his partner, looking damn pleased with himself. Staring with narrowed eyes and a befuddled frown, Fin finally speaks his mind.

“…I’m missin’ something.”

“Gee, you’re quick today. Tutuola, meet my girlfriend. Ethereal light of my life, this is the infamous Fin.”

“How do you do?”

To you, the man smiles kindly, “Just fine, thanks, lovely to meet you. One second—“ The slap he gives John’s arm, however, is audibly loud and full of petty anger. “You have a woman!? And you never told me!? That’s messed up, Munch, I’m your partner.”

“First of all, ow. You can’t just hit people because you’re mad at them, didn’t they teach you this in grade school!? Keep your hands to yourself, you acrimonious oaf. Secondly, I did tell you— it’s not my fault you thought I was kidding. Thirdly, I told her about you which, if you think about it, is arguably more important.”

John leans back when he runs out of hot air, dramatically rubbing his arm. Already accustomed to your comforting weight around his shoulders, he doesn’t blink when you hug his neck in front of his partner.

“He says you’re the best partner he’s ever had.”

“I did pay her to say that.”

“Yeah, I bet you did.” Fin winks, like you’re sharing a secret, “I’ll keep his bony ass safe for you, mama.”

Tapping your arm, John turns his head so he doesn’t have to yell over the music anymore, “We really do need to talk to your boss now, sweetheart.”

"Duty calls, you answer." You hum, sliding your arms off him to release him from your embrace, "I'll get her for you. See you tonight, handsome."

Mindful of your lipstick, you lean in to ghost a kiss to his cheek but he discards your caution and steals a proper, quick peck. John grins at your surprise, feasting on it. Snickering, you playfully swat his arm before walking away. You can feel his reluctant eyes struggle to let you go. Fin smirks and jostles his partner as you depart, much to his provocation.

"You dog!"

Munch waits a moment to wipe the mark from his lips, grinning at your frame as it fades away.

"Woof."

[quirklessidiot]

title: Y/N and her boys [sneak peek] pairing : Upper classman/popular kid!Gojo Satoru x F!reader, Exchange student!Eren Jaeger x F!reader, MMA Fighter/Celebrity!Ryomen Sukuna x F!reader, Childhood Bestfriend!Aki Hayakawa x F!reader, Varsity football player!Itoshi Rin x F!reader (use of she/her pronouns) Genre: Alternate Universe-University setting, romance, fluff, angst (if you squint), slice of life, drama, all cliche romance genres unite! (Based on the Manhwa, Bunny and her Boys)

Summary: Y/N’s denied the existence of pretty boys and god forbid she’d ever end up dating one yet with one horrid break-up, she decides that relationships aren’t just meant for someone stupid like her but the problem is — five of them suddenly appear and god, why does it seem like they can’t get enough of her?

General warning for the story: mild sexual content, cliche tropes (help), mahito is his own warning, minor character death, mentions of depression, a lot of second-hand embarrassment from y/n's part (shes not a cool girl, SHE IS A BUBBLING MESS AND THATS OK <33), insecurities, bullying, and mentions of cheating Notes: english isn't my first language! (dont judge me) this multi-chaptered story will probably be 20-30 chapters (idk) in ao3. you can totally tell this story is rooted from self-indulgence LMFAO. Im not sure if i should cross post it but im leaning towards ao3 more either ways, can't wait to release this on friday!

also can u guess who she ends up with :P rb’s are appreciated yay FULL VERSION IS RIGHT HERE!

SNEAK PEAK

“Maybe…Maybe we should break up.”

There's another round of silence between you two, and you know that you can’t exactly take it back anymore since you had said it loud and clear, “Woah, woah, I told you I wasn’t with Misa.” his voice turns louder, and the background noises are good as gone as if he had left the noisy place, “Where are you? I’m coming to get you-”

“I said,” you try to control the stammering of your voice, trying to avoid the stares of the people who cast odd glances, “We’re done. I don’t want to see or hear from you again.” and before he could let another excuse out of his mouth, you end the call. It is only now that you notice how your legs have been quivering and your mouth has gone dry, seemingly like a pup who had just been born and trying to walk. You lose your footing and sit down on the dirty pavement.

No tears were shed at that very moment, probably because you were only stupefied, and it was written clearly on your face that this wouldn’t be something you’d recover anytime soon. Heck, you couldn’t even grasp the idea entirely that someone you’ve been friends with for years and, eventually, a lover would do that to you.

Was it as easy as a snap of a finger?

“Miss? Miss?” someone calls out, but it only bounces back to him like an echo in a cave. You remain still, eyes blinking rapidly while the rest of your face is slack. Everyone around you continued to move, but you remained there like a decorated statue.

“Miss? Christ, you’re about to be–” the husky voice also stops, and it’s only now that you look up to find a man. He seems stocky but, simultaneously, smaller, as if he didn’t want to come off as intimidating when he maintained eye-to-eye contact. 

He is incongruous with everyone who walks by since he desperately tries to hide his features with a baseball cap and a dark face mark. The only thing you can see are strands of his bleached hair, his eyes that resemble the sunshine that peeked through the glasses of whiskey, and the swirls of ink becoming visible underneath his coat when he stretches out his arm.

If this were any other day, you’d run in the opposite direction because he looked like an unscrupulous loan shark, but your body remains in a state of unknown fatigue that you just wanted to stay still. 

You watch as his face softens, the lines on his forehead somewhat disappearing when he watches the color bleed from your face. “...Alright…” he stops, squinting as he crouches to your level. His thick thighs encompass the rough expanse of his straight jeans, and you wondered if he had been an athlete or something. Aside from his built, his presence was rather invigorating,  “oh…” he continues, “Sorry, you-uh…” The confidence he had to throw you off is gone like the evening dust as he motions his index finger up and down his face.

At that moment, you feel something wet running down your cheek. It seemed like the waterworks were late.

You didn’t want to be a pity party in front of anyone, and you’d expect there to be only bystanders, not ‘good samaritans’.

You sniffled, violently wiping the tears away as you felt your ribs were too tight when you took one long breath, “I’m fine…” you respond monotonously.

Who were you even fooling? 

“Right…” you carefully watch him take out a handkerchief, “Fine, sitting on a dirty pavement near my car doesn’t make you look fine, Miss.” he prodded.

“Well, what do you care, anyways?” you tried to keep your voice from cracking, but the stranger showed no qualms of anxiety or fear, nor did he seem mad at your snappy attitude. The blue handkerchief is laid on his palm, waiting for you to take it, yet you exhibit no signs of accepting his kindness. Instead of forcing you through like the usual status quo, he returns it to his pockets.

The odd man.

“Well, for one, I don’t want to run your feet over since I’m parked over here,” he thumbs towards the black jeep that’s parked in front of you, “And my mom didn’t raise me to leave a girl sitting alone, crying her eyes out…”

“Well, did your mom tell you to mind your own business, as well?” your body remains heavy and distant from the stranger, not minding if it came off as rude, but you’ve always been wary of them, especially the ones who claimed to be nice. You wouldn’t be swayed even if you were in a vulnerable place.

He sucks in a deep breath, quite surprised that you had the energy to exchange a vehement response to him. Weren’t you just about to bawl your eyes out?

“Well, you honestly looked like you deserve some niceness after whatever happened.” he conceded, remaining suspiciously friendly, “Piece of advice, though, if it’s a guy, he’s not worth it.” 

“I-what makes you think it’s a guy?” there it goes again, the unknown tightening of your throat and the way the gummy lids on your eyes would heat up as if a pipe of water was about to burst and flood the segways any moment.

“It’s always an asshole who doesn’t seem to know how to treat a woman right.” he lamely explains, and slowly but hesitantly, as if he was waiting for you to move away, he places one hand on top of your hand. 

Unlike a while ago, you weren’t as hostile, but you were confused about why the stranger suddenly did this and didn’t seem to tilt away like you usually would, “So go home tonight, Miss. Cry it out and wake up tomorrow for yourself. You’ll be fine.”

You don’t even see his entire face, but the way he gently caresses your hair as if you were a long-time friend had your lips quivering, and without even realizing it, your torso bends forward. You bury your face in your arms, finding solace in your makeshift fetal position.

The stranger says nothing more; honestly, you didn’t even mind. His newfound presence is comforting.

[kebriones]

Hey just letting you know that @/margaretkart is a racist and apparently some kind of modern greek supremacist. She plays the victim and acts as if Greek people are an oppressed minority in the world and refuses to acknowledge that race is a post colonial construct. Race as we know it did not exist during ancient times. She for some reason also is convinced that the worst thing in the world is having a person of color play a fictional Greek mythological character. God forbid the “purity” of Ancient Greek mythology becomes sullied by—gasp!—a Percy Jackson show. The Ancient Greek gods were the gods of all the people on earth like come on. That includes people of color.

1. What is the point of this ask. To inform me? It could've been done privately or out of anon. If you have issues with someone, block them or talk to them about it. Do not do this. Also why mention this person when there are many greek people on tumblr who hold very similar opinions? If you wanted to talk about the issue in general it would've been better to not mention one specific person. I haven't even seen this person mentioning this topic, but I have seen it before by other greek people here.

2. I've argued about this topic with fellow greek people publicly online here, in private talks and in real life. I am a firm believer that actors who play in movies as well as theater do not have to match anything from age to gender to appearance to origins of the character they're playing. Have I still complained that helen in the movie troy looks way too german? Yes. So do I understand where this sensitivity stems from? Yes. The systematic approach of ancient greek culture being a free for all for western countries while ignoring modern greek identity and how, for better or for worse, tied it is to the ancient culture, is an issue. I still think it's up to us to put ourselves in this narrative rather than complain that foreigners aren't catering to us.

3. I feel like describing someone as a racist and a "supremacist" over this is a little bit in bad faith. I have not had talks about this topic with this person, I don't care to have extensive talks about this topic in fucking general anymore because it's stupid and I know other people who feel that way and I'm not some morality police to go out of my way to go call them out. When the discussion reaches me, and when I'm talking for myself, I will say what I think. The way the discussion of race is online is so weird to me anyway. It's all way too saturated by current convoluted US ideas and I am not equipped to help detangle the mess for others.

4. Do I think that it's way more realistic for a movie about, say, classical era greece to have a character that looks to be of african origin than a character that looks Scandinavian? Absolutely. Did the actor that played Achilles in Troy:Fall of a city bother me? No, it's an actor playing a role, of an imaginary character no less. What bothered me was that he didn't have long hair, because hair was a very significant cultural element at the time, and his hair is used in the story. The same exact issue that I had with the actor that played hector in that series, who also didnt really look like a person from that area realistically, but who was otherwise very good at his role.

5. As for playing the victim and oppressed minorities: while i would not go so far as to use "oppressed minority" for the greeks of the diaspora, it's very real that modern greeks have been looked down at by westerners, historically. Do I think this justifies or has anything to do with being bothered about what actors who play ancient greek mythology characters look like or come from, in a foreign piece of art no less? No. But it's still a thing.

6. I am extremely stressed out and busy today but I still took time to answer this because i need to say again, please don't do this. If you want to help people to see things differently and maybe move away from biases, talk to Them. Just because I'm following someone or interacting with them online, it doesn't mean I'm endorsing or agreeing with or even KNOW everything they think and say and believe. I avoid reading posts from fellow greeks that are complaining about these things because i think it's an overreaction and I think we need to tackle deep and actual cultural problems that WE have ourselves and not care too much about what some Hollywood movie is doing. Whatever. Tired discussion.

7. Percy Jackson sucks and I do hate that it's based on anc greek mythology but I just don't interact with it. The fact that it is a generation's first taste of anc. gr mythology and thus has had an impact on their perception of it is true and important though. The same way it bothers me when all people know of the odyssey is epic the musical. But still, whatever. Some greek people might be more bothered by it all and need to talk about it online and I think that's perfectly okay and valid. I do my petty complaining now and then too.

8. "The ancient greek gods were the gods of all people one earth" you can say that of other mythologies that have an origin of the entire human race as part of their myths, that's how religions usually go. These gods were worshipped in specific areas in a specific time and the mythology was created by specific cultures of specific areas. This is a major complaint that greek people have, which I mentioned before, that this specific ancient culture's mythology is treated as a thing detached from the actual culture, the ancient one, and from its inheritors which happen to be the people that live here and/or have this specific cultural identity. I don't think this cultural identity has anything to do with the appearance of people, and we all know the greek identity has absolutely nothing to do with race and that's a very fundamental part of it.

9. I would try to make myself even clearer but I don't have time and I didn't want to leave this unanswered even though I also kinda wanted to because this type of anon ask does nothing good for anyone and I encourage you to engage with others in a way that is understanding and comes from a place of wanting everything to be better and kinder. And there's so so much you will disagree with, on fundamental levels, with other people online, if only because we all come from very different cultures with different values and upbringings, despite how it looks like we're all in a US-based melting pot. You have to make peace with that, and it can be difficult. I've had American friends that I deeply disagree with on important stuff, and I had to face the discomfort and take time to let myself understand that our cultures are different.

Anyways. I apologize in advance if anything i said makes no sense or is insensitive or condescending. I admit i was upset when I started my reply but if you want to discuss this further we can absolutely do that. I cannot reply privately to anon asks otherwise i would have. I hate call-out style stuff like this because they do nothing good.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Delta anon here again and I have a wonderful angst idea

(Tw: violent lash outs, s/h)

So obviously, Delta and Beta have anger issues. This is a known thing among the fandom, due to him canonically being a hothead.

But due to the more recent headcanons about them being able to mask their emotions and fake it to the point of being able to hide their glow internally, what would they do when they can finally let it out?

I'd imagine they'd lash out at the nearest object or person. And God forbid Color or Epic try to stop them from lashing out - or even go near them in that state.

If one of them tried stopping them or touching them, then Delta, who is running on fighting instinct and adrenaline at this point, would lash out at them and probably harm them. Grabbing at them, punching them, accidentally burning them - they're not thinking at this point and just need something to attack.

(We really gotta invest in getting this man a punching bag that won't break on the first punch lmao)

Obviously, whichever one isn't being attacked at the moment immediately runs to help and at least get Delta far away enough so that they can get the other out of there. Delta doesn't even realize what he's done until a while after, probably after he's done destroying whatever room he's in.

Eventually, after he's calmed down, Delta would remember what they did and immediately get wrecked with guilt. Did I hurt them? How badly did I hurt them? What did I do? Why did I do that? Why did I hurt them? I didn't mean to, I didn't want to. Why did I do that?

Imagine the panic, not just from him, but from Beta as well. Will they leave us now? What if we hurt them so badly, that they hate us now? Do they still like us? Do they still want us around? What if they don't? Will they leave? What if they think we're too dangerous or violent to be around, and then they finally leave us?

The angst of them frantically wanting to apologize, horrified of what they've done, yet freezing up, unsure if Color and/or Epic even want to see them right now, much less be around them. Should we wait? Should we let things calm down for a little? But what if they think we meant to do it? Are they okay?

Now, this thought process would probably lead to a panic attack. And what makes it worse, is knowing that they're entirely alone, have no one to call for help, and might never have anyone again. Because all they can remember is that they hurt someone - they can't remember how badly they did. Oh stars, what if they killed them? What then? The only people who ever really cared about them, their best friends, and yet he hurt them. How could he? They must hate him, surely. How dangerous really was he? Are they really too dangerous to be around?

And when they finally get over the panic attack, probably multiple hours later, they're able to pull their shaking body off the floor they collapsed on and push the door open to go check on whoever they hurt. Afraid to find out, but afraid to not.

(And at this point, I'd also imagine that due to the intense emotions and the idea that the burn appears based on the intensity of his emotions, they'd most likely have hurt themselves by now. Purposefully burning themselves, genuinely believing that they deserved it after all the pain they put their friends through.)

Eventually, he'd be able to find them. I'd imagine he'd be anxiously peeking the door open, trying to subtly glance in the room without raising alarm, not wanting to scare or hurt them further but being too afraid to not check.

Would Delta/Beta allow themselves to be comforted, or would they immediately seek isolation after checking on them to make sure they're okay, out of the fear that they'll hate him and want nothing to do with him - so they take care of it themselves. Not to guilt trip them, but out of genuine concern and fear. He doesn't know if they want him around anymore, and are too afraid to ask and find out.

And if they did hurt themselves, would they allow themselves to be healed (reguardless of how serious the burn is) if Color and Epic found out, or would their insecurities and fear take hold and stop them from allowing anyone to help them, and also from reaching out? Would he force himself to endure the pain and refuse to heal himself, especially if it's a serious burn?

And when Color and Epic finally did find them (let's be real, they probably had to seek him out and hunt him down), do you think Delta would put the offer of hurting him in revenge up for them to take? Because surely, that's why they came here, aside from an apology. Wouldn't they want revenge against them for what they did? They deserve to be hurt and in pain for what they did, don't they?

(How horrified would Epic and Color be at this offer? How would they convince Delta/Beta otherwise?)

What do you think the aftermath would be, depending on who they hurt and how badly? How would they move on?

(Also if Killer caught word of Delta doing this, and Delta had accidentally hurt Color, would Killer go after him immediately while Delta is still in his rage? How bad would that fight get? How would it get stopped, if it did?)

Thoughts?

You know, this actually made me think of a scene similar to a fanfic i read. Where Killer hunts Delta down with intent to kill if he had hurt Color, only to come across Delta and Beta in a very not good state and feeling a sudden sense of deju vu, and before he knows it hes triggered into Stage 1 or like, gently “nudged” aside.

Someone crumpled and curled up, hurt and bleeding, alone and afraid and guilty after hurting someone they didn’t mean to or want to. Afraid to face the world and the consequences. Killer’s been there, even if the reasons for hurting people/loved ones are vastly different.

Perhaps this is the moment where they gain an understanding. Where Killer can take everything he’s learned from Color and therapy and his healing and his own experiences, and help someone else now.

Or perhaps Killer doesn’t switch into Stage 1 fully, but that eyelight glows in his right eye socket and hes uncomfortably aware that the sight is familiar. Which can be a jarring experience for Stage 2, not really known for such empathy, and the moment is very likely fleeting and he likely experiences something like emotional amnesia towards the moment later.

Maybe Killer decides to help Delta and Beta treat their wounds, which also gives them some time to pull themselves together before facing Epic and Color. If Delta and/or Beta tries to pull the “I hurt them, i don’t deserve it, you should be trying to kill me,” card, Killer reminds them of what Color always says: “It’s not about deserving. Do you want it?”

So would they want Killer’s help? If even Killer can offer this moment of what seems to be forgiveness, understanding, then Color and Epic definitely would. Do they want it?

[azsazz]

Thinking of rancher cass 🤠

Oh you mean grumpy Rancher Cassian who hasn’t felt the touch of a woman for years?

Rancher Cassian who drives his beat old pickup into town one last time before the storms set in for the winter and he’ll be unable to make it into town until the snow melts in spring? The rusted out truck with over 300,000 miles on it? It was his fathers and as long as it runs he’ll drive it.

That’s how Rancher Cassian is. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. The shutter is hanging on by one bolt? He’ll wait until it falls off because there’s too much for him to do around the ranch. The chair has a crooked leg? He’ll sit in it until it collapses under his weight, then, out of spite, he’ll eat his dinners leaning up against the counter as he glares at said chair, sitting broken on the floor.

Rancher Cassian who is at the mercantile, freshening his supplies for the winter. Maybe he grabs a candy bar and shoves it under the pile of things he carries to the register because god forbid someone sees him with a colorful candy bar in his hands. He nods to the women who greet him and shakes the hands of the men who know him, trying to joke with the grumpy rancher about how maybe they’ll see one of his purebreds up in the state rodeo come summer.

Rancher Cassian who’s not one for conversation. Ignores the women who tend to leer without knowing, staring at the jeans that fit tightly around his muscular thighs, the stretch of his flannel across his broad shoulders, the large boot prints from his brown, worn cowboy boots on the dusty road he leaves behind, the always fresh looking cowboy hat that sits atop his flowing hair that he hasn’t bothered to get around to cutting. He’s sure he’ll find the time when he’s snowed up on the farm, between braving the winter storms to check his herd and whatever else needs tending. He doesn’t care about anything more than he cares about his mares.

Rancher Cassian who hears an unladylike curse coming from up the street, where you stand, arms crossed over your chest and accentuating your breasts as you glare at the car that’s decided to break down on you without warning.

Rancher Cassian who tosses his things into the bed of his truck before approaching you like you’re a wild stallion he’s trying to rope down. Your eyes are red with frustrated, unshed tears, and normally the emotion would scare him away, have him jumping into his truck to get back to his ranch, but you’re too gorgeous not to.

You’re not from around here, and Cassian knows this not because he knows everyone in the small town he’s never left in his life, but because of the clothing you wear. Where did you come from, wearing that of all things? 

Rancher Cassian who tips his hat and asks, “Do you need help here, ma’am?” He watches the way your eyebrows pull together and your lip lifting in a grimace. 

Your eyes rake hot lines down his body, branding him like he does his horses, a hot iron red with heat against his heart, and he’s gone before he ever really knows it. 

“(Y/N),” you respond flatly, piercing eyes snapping back up to meet his. “Not ma’am. (Y/N).”

His eyes narrow a little but he doesn’t respond, tight-lipped and waiting for your answer to his question. 

You wait him out, a stubborn little thing you are. He reckons he could pull you right up into his chest and swallow you whole, that’s how small you are compared to himself. But there’s that fire in your eyes, you don’t want to relent, but the sun is quickly setting in the sky and the brusque breeze turns colder, causing you to shiver.

“Yes, please.” 

Rancher Cassian who looks at your car and tells you the bad news. “Part will take weeks to get here, but I can let the repairman in town know. He can get your car towed over there tonight. I’d suggest checking out the inn at the edge of town. It’s not much, but there’s a storm coming in and you’re going to want to have a place to stay.”

You groan like you cannot believe your luck, and he gets it. No one wants to stay in the bum fuck of nowhere in the small town that houses barely over a hundred people. Cassian doesn’t mind the seclusion, though, up on his ranch with his horses and the beauty of the nature surrounding it, it’s serene. 

He doesn’t know why he does it, if it’s the tears lining your eyes or your defeated posture, but he offers up his own truck. “It’s not much, but it’ll get you where you need to go,” he promises. “I just need a ride up to my ranch and you can bring it back when your car is fixed.” He doesn’t say that he knows it’s going to snow badly soon, or that you’ll be unable to return it to him before the snow melts. 

You really look like you could cry now, with how nice he is. It makes him uncomfortable, shifting on his feet as you hastily wipe your eyes, accepting his offer with a thanks that is so sincere it makes him question what you’re running from. 

Of course, by the time he helps you get the car towed to the auto shop and he’s pulling into the drive, the snow is coming down in droves. The both of you race into his house as the storm rages on. Cassian shows you to his spare room and sets you up there, then goes to start a fire in the fireplace. 

Come morning the snow still hasn’t stopped and it’s so thick he can hardly make out the barn from the kitchen window, but there are chores to be done and you haven’t shown your face yet for breakfast, so he leaves the coffee pot on and bundles up, heading outside.

He knows that he should’ve forced you to stay at the hotel in town. He should’ve told you about the storms and how there’s no way you’ll be able to make your way back into town in these conditions. He’s an asshole for keeping quiet, but there’s a selfish part of him that wants to keep you trapped up here with him, so that he can get to know you.

i love rancher cassian gdamn

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

I just can't get the idea of Lorcan with a soft wife. Like she gardens and bakes and nobody understands how the dynamic works so well but it just does

Sweet peas

Well, don't they say that opposites attract? Sounds cliché but in all reality, it's just how it is. It's so obvious looking at the two of you that nature requires balance.

Lorcan is the embodiment of dark, lethal power. He's someone who people don't even dare to take a second glance at. Lowering their heads. Moving further away from the streets. Praying to the gods they believe in hopes that they would save them if Lorcan appeared on their doorstep. Especially when he's the god of death himself.

So to say that people gasped with fear when they saw you standing so close to him the first couple of times would be an understatement. "What a poor beautiful girl, hope the death is quick", "What could have she possibly done to upset him", and "What a cruel way to go, for such a delicate creature".

Just the funny thing is that it's quite the opposite. It's Lorcan who has been captivated by you. Trailing by you like a true dark shadow. And it's as if he finally understood what it's like to feel the warmth that radiates from the sky. How pleasant the summer breeze can be. That chirping bird wasn't all that annoying. And all of that is because of you.

The first time you met he was rushing back home. Annoyed over the fact that the whole day was shit. Cutting corners so that he would return to the comfort of his home as soon as possible. In all of his anger, he didn't notice the patch of only springing flowers, his big boots stomping on them. The gasp that echoed behind him made him jerk back.

And there you were. Two braids falling over your chest, a light green dress with puffy sleeves, and a dirty airport that you without a doubt used to wipe your hands at. At first, he thought that the gasp was the usual reaction to you simply seeing him. That's how everyone always reacted. But no.

You weren't looking at him. Eyes fixed on the crushed stems beneath Lorcan's feet. His own eyes darted down. "My sweet peas...", you stepped closer, pushing at Lorcan's chest as if he wasn't the biggest predator in town. "No, no...", you muttered, kneeling, gently trying to pull any of the potential survivors up. And it felt as if that dead flower was exactly how Lorcan's heartfelt now watching you. The way your soft fingers touched the still-closed petals that will never get to bloom.

"I...", Lorcan starts but you're shaking your head, picking up your watering jug as you pierce him with what Lorcan assumed was your angry face but he could tell that it wasn't a usual emotion you portrayed.

But he can't stop thinking about those sweet peas. All evening. All night. All morning. And he's so grumpy. So unimaginably grumpy because why the hell is he thinking about some flowers? And the teasing from the boys doesn't help because when he finally snaps and says, "I don't know where to get sweet peas that are in bloom, okay?!", the whole room dies down. Fenrys throws Gavriel a look and the older male silently forbids the pup from commenting. Rowan has one eyebrow raised. It's Aelin who clocks onto what's going on. She knows you. Had seen you last evening, and listened to how upset you were that your favorite flowers got stomped on by some sulking brood. "I know where to and plenty of them", she says softly and Lorcan's hopeful eyes meet hers.

It's not long after that he's knocking on your cottage door. Hands firmly holding six pots with sweet peas in different colors. The sugary smell twirls all around Lorcan and it hits him that they almost smell like you. The door cracks open and here you are. Once again right in front of him and he's so starstruck that he forgets how to speak for a moment. Then he just pushes the pots closer to you, "Bought you what I destroyed". You tried to scold him with your eyes but Lorcan could see the happy softness there. "Want to help me replant them?", you asked softly and that was his last undoing. Shrugging off his jacket, Lorcan pushed the sleeves of his shirt over his elbows. Getting ready for the best day of his life that opened the door to happily ever after.

[vampirevatican]

Scrap the last one bestie!

The brothers with a black gf black n wash day, hair redone day, and styles they like on her!!

Enjoy so self indulgent content 😘

omg tytytyty so much!! since it's self indulgent, ima write (w/ my hair, 3b - 4a, and self in mind) my faves and what comes to mind uwu

Wash day, Styling and Fave Style

The ones who help w/ the process:

Satan goes the whole nine yards. Conditioning, rinsing, detangling, shampoo, rinse, and style. If braids, ofc blow dry then style but if not? Then he does everything to keep her curls intact. Usually sections the hair so it's easier on her. On days where he's pissed but it's also wash day, it soothes him. Seeing her smile as he shampoos her hair, the fact she trusts him with her hair. You know this demon did research, like heavy research.

Beel would help with the detangle but feels bad seeing her wince when he has to brush it out, so he helps with washing and lets her detangle but always reminds her to section it off so it's easier. Also helps with styling but there are quite a few snack breaks where she ends up doing it herself for a bit before he gets back to it. Belphie is usually there, seemingly knocked out, and will say something out of the blue like. "If you keep it sectioned off then it's easier." or "Beel she's fine, the braids are supposed to be tight." If im thinking black-hispanic twins? then they've got her set, no research needed. though Beel is still Beel, so Belphie does the detangling instead.

Levi would be able to help with a lace front and you can't tell me otherwise. It's the cosplay. I know this demon don't play when it comes to cosplay. Now if we're talking blasian levi, i feel like he could do the whole process w/o research but would have to slip into a hairstylist persona. Same goes for Levi as is, but once he does, seeing you trust him is enough to put his confidence through the rough. "Me? Really? You want a filthy, loser, shut-in, otaku like me to do your hair?" trust me he's good at it, would need to do some research to figure out styles and how but he's p good.

Asmo would do it no questions asked and fully eager too. Already has a list of styles ready, just needs you to pick though he definitely has his favorite.

The ones who give support:

Mammon is my silly mfer. my goofy ahh nigga. so he's here to keep her sane through the process, to keep her from doing the 'i remember you was conflicted' kendrick scream. ESPECIALLY when it's any hairstyle that has many parts/sections, like (god forbid) micro braids. Oh yes and although he is my black man, i like to think he only knows how to do his hair. Gotta keep up the appearance, after all his face card makes dollars so he doesn't have to make sense/cents. You'd let him comb through, detangle, your shit once and he immediately puts the brush down when you shout about the ouch because he fucked up the order.

Lucifer would literally pay someone to get it done for her and if they ever fucked up the process? May Lord Diavolo help the poor lesser demon, or human. Honestly I feel like he'd make a big deal out of it and even travel to the human world with her, especially if it made her more comfortable.

Belphie could do her hair... he just doesn't want to. He loves to touch whenever it's just out and mutter about how soft it is when it's washed then dried, but he is not dealing with that mass of hair. Hell even if im talking black-hispanic belphie?? he still wouldn't. He has Asmo do his hair for him, and as sloth why tf would he? So his purpose is to say something to encourage and reassure Beel, pull her out of dreams when Beel needs a break from styling or hold conversation with her to keep her awake while doing hair.

Their favorite hairstyles... and why! ☝🏾🤓:

Asmo loves french curl braids. They're very pretty, long, come in many colors and combinations, the curl!!! like, come on now. Versatile too because of how long it is, there's multiple ways to put it up and wear it. A second favorite is box braids but curling the ends when sealing them. Because it's just as pretty and versatile but sometimes shorter than the french curls.

Mammon likes loves fulani braids, bantu knots, jaded braids, triangle box braids, knot less braids, yarn braids and whenever she styles her fro into a shape. He love, love, love, loves seeing you being expressive with your hair. Second to that is whenever she wears a style that matches his. (yes actual black hairstyles, yes im talking about fan art.)

Beel doesn't have much of an opinion, she looks pretty no matter what in his eyes. However there are styles he thinks are cool or add to her cuteness like: afro, bantu knots, jaded braids, bubble braids, goddess braids

Belphie also doesn't have a preference, protective style or just out he loves it... BUT he likes it when it's easier for her to put a bonnet on or just lay down so he's biased to: twists, braids, faux locs, and box braids

Levi likes twists of all kinds and snake braids, or as i like to call it zig zag cornrows. He also likes whenever you just wear a wig/weave/sew-in because he has a hand in making it look like your actual hair, again cosplay lace front skills to the rescue. But also because he enjoys the ease of taking it off, depending on installment, and switching it out. Loves you being able to cosplay at the drop of a hat or embodying his favorite visual novel girls. "She gon' be black today." her and blasian levi say in unison.

Satan loves anything that shows off her natural hair. Not like adding hair ruins it for him, he loves her in any style but adores seeing it with little manipulation. With that said, afro or poof(s). Find it endearing and thinks she's adorable whenever she fashions the fro or twin poofs into cat ears. He also loves it when she does that with her box braids but just adores the floof.

Lucifer wouldn't say he has a preference but it's just known he loves elegance so: goddess braids, box braids with curls, french curl braids, micro braids, sew-in, lemonade braids, and nubian twists. Because he's pride, he loves to show her off and regardless of the style? whenever he decides to take her out and show her off he's gonna make sure she looks stunning.

[valle-de-sombra-de-muerte]

Homestuck Reread: Act 3, Part 3/3 (p. 1027-1153)

Read the previous post here.

At long last, it's time to finish Act 3!

When I first read Homestuck, I had thought PM was a guy until this page. I think it might've been because she was referred to as the "post man" during her rant about the mail.

I dunno it feels like a weird detail that should've been communicated better. It's not like it's a big "twist" or anything.

A lot of these alchemized creations are kinda worthless, but the Remote Ghost Gauntlets might be one of the better ones. I don't think we ever see them get put to much good use, though.

Using a mirror to create a left-handed copy of the gauntlet is a creative detail.

Right, so if Rose's "patron black celebrity" (the term I've invented to describe this incredibly niche running gag) is Charles Barkley, John's is Bill Cosby. This has to be the most poorly aged reference in the whole comic.

For those unaware, this page was uploaded a few days before Christmas. The joke is that all these events are canonically supposed to have taken place within a single day: John's birthday.

Dave returns, evidently no worse for wear after having fallen down the stairs, to finish this final round of the Strider fight. I really like the color composition on this image. If I haven't made it clear enough, these flashes have been the highlight of the Act so far.

The fight ends with Cal destroyed and Dave's shirt permanently scratched, which I'm not sure how that's even possible. Bro's just so precise he's able to do shit like that, I guess.

I'm thinking again of that page where part of John's hair gets sliced by the glass shard. That detail isn't carried over in future pages, but this scratched record is.

Bro gives Dave the Sburb discs because that was never the point of this fight. He never wanted to keep them from Dave in the first place. This whole fight was just for... I dunno, fun I guess. This is just business as usual in the Strider household.

Yeah Hussie, god forbid we extend the Strider fight any longer than necessary. It would've taken precious time away from Jade dicking around in her house!

Rose frames her relationship with John in a similar way to the one with her mother: in a weird, competitive campaign of one-upsmanship. It's a wonder she has any friends at all if she treats them as foes in these mind games where she's the only player.

I know I may sound like I'm knocking on Rose a lot and an anon commented about this, but I actually really like how much of a weirdo she is. She's highfalutin, overconfident, perverse, obsessed with ridiculous things, genuinely does not know how to normally interact with people despite professing an interest in psychoanalysis... all putting her leagues above the likes of John or Jade when it comes to character depth. When she's handled well, she's a fun character. It's only when Hussie uses her as a vehicle for exposition that she becomes a genuine bore.

Kanaya's first appearance! Little known fact, her dialogue can be really entertaining sometimes. Like look at these crazy metaphors she's making. It's easy to forget how funny she can be with how often the fandom portrays her as bland and boring.

Even though she's often portrayed as the "elegant" one, I find Kanaya to be really ungainly and silly, especially in her insults. It helps to read her dialogue as stilted and unnatural, placing emphasis on every word.

With her penchant for using excessive verbiage to get her point across, it's no wonder Rose eventually takes a shine to her. I think it would've been a great idea to have Kanaya be a true intellectual that runs circles around Rose's pretensions, and Rose would've had to struggle to communicate with someone who was actually smart. Alas, that doesn't come to pass.

Much like how Rose was trolled right after opening John's present, the same thing happens to Dave after getting his present.

Oh yeah, Dave's "patron black celebrity" is Snoop Dogg, as seen by his Huggy Bear wallpaper and the rap verse quoted in his "sick heat" passage from Act 2.

I like how both Kanaya and Tavros open with metaphors about people shitting themselves.

Dave using the "ethnic wedding" metaphor Rose previously (or, subsequently, given how this is a flashback) used in her GameFAQs guide. Those two are on the same wavelength.

It's a crying shame that Tavros and Dave don't have many pesterlogs because this one is really good. This sequence of pages establishes very early on that Tavros and Kanaya are parallels in how they communicate with Dave and Rose respectively.

Both trolls initially struggle to communicate with the humans and at first acts as rivals. Kanaya is frustrated with dealing with the "primitive" humans and wages a back and forth "war" of being snarky and condescending toward Rose (something Rose is already familiar with in how she engages with her mother). Tavros wants to prove himself as a competent troll, but is utterly humiliated by Dave. He then later comes back to try and redeem himself and prove himself as a worthy rival in Dave's eyes (something Dave should probably relate to as someone who has lived constantly within Bro's shadow).

But after repeated conversations, eventually both parties learn to crossing that cultural barrier and form a rapport with each other. Except wait, that really only comes to fruition with Kanaya. Tavros's plotline drops off very sharply because Hussie has a weird vendetta against him. Imagine what could've been if Tavros had been allowed to actually develop beyond a walking (or wheeling) punchline. Perhaps DaveTav would've been as big as Rosemary.

AR's big obsession is justice and the law. Though his enforcement of such leads to him often being portrayed as a police officer (and indeed, this was his previous occupation), he really seems to aspire to be a judge. I love his wig made out of bullets.

His second big obsession is guns, even though he's been missing every shot he makes. AR loving guns and being terrible with them despite being a trained officer is a more endearing character trait compared to Jade loving guns and being inexplicably amazing with them.

I love this page.

John says he bought his slime ghost shirt at a "weird Asian store." I don't mean to bring any race discourse here because I honestly don't care about what race anyone headcanons the kids as, but I feel like this would rule out John belonging to any Asian ethnicity.

I'm quite fond of Jack/Slick's trait of delivering one-liners that are more explicitly violent than they are clever.

Nothing to add here except that I love this exchange leading up to the End of Act flash. Dave and Rose making SBaHJ references to each other will never not warm my heart.

And oh boy out of all of these End of Act flashes, [S] Enter is my favorite, hands down. Not only does it have "Sburban Jungle", but it's so action packed. Every time it looks like things are about to wind down, the music picks up again and the action keeps on going. This is what "peak Homestuck" is to me.

Love that Dave is casually drawing some SBaHJ while the game installs. Also shout out to that old MS Paint interface. Oh nostalgia.

It's funny that Rose is now on the receiving end of dealing with a server player's shenanigans. I get that they're on a really tight time limit here, but it makes me wish that we got to see more of her and Dave bickering as he tries to figure out the controls. Dave and Rose navigating Sburb would've been infinitely more entertaining to read than Rose instructing John from Point A to Point B for god knows how many pages.

Kino scene where the raindrops are synced with those weird synth lines in the music.

A leap of faith to grab the bottle

And saved by the very cat she wished to resurrect. This isn't just a top 10 Rose moment, more like a top 10 Homestuck moment entirely.

And oh yeah, John finally makes it to the gate. Jeez, better late than never. If there's one flaw to this flash, it's that it should've ended with Rose smashing the bottle. This whole John part honestly feels so tacked on at the very end and reinforces my belief that the plotline with his gate should've been resolved in the previous Act.

Well that was an incredible way to cap off an otherwise underwhelming Act. This one felt like a big step down compared to Act 2. The highlights included the Strider fight and the insights about Mom Lalonde (even if they're never elaborated on). But everything else was just horsing around with Jade and and the Exiles in the name of establishing convoluted nonsense and "weird plot shit."

You know, it would've been more engaging to just tell a good story instead of trying to pad it out with all this time travel and paradox nonsense. All of this shit could've easily been excised to focus more on the kids' progression in the game, and the plot would've been stronger for it. Hussie is just jangling the keys in front of the reader's face so they don't realize they're being had.

Again, I can't emphasize enough how much better it would've been to see more of Rose and Dave as Sburb partners instead of Jade playing trans-temporal postal carrier.

Man... well now it's time for Act Fo- oh sorry, I mean The Intermission. No skipping here. If you skip the Intermission I'm judging the shit out of you.

Read the next post here.

[erimeows]

WRITER DROP ANDRIOD 16 DATING HEADCANONS AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

Omg I LOVE Android 16. Happy to provide!

General Dating Android 16 Headcanons Below The Cut:

In my heart, Android 16 was able to be repaired/brought back after the Cell fight <3 don't @ me he's still alive

The whole relationship thing for Android 16 is admittedly... Awkward, at first. When he starts developing feelings for you he legitimately thinks that he's having some sort of malfunction and goes to Bulma for help, only to find out that on top of the other emotions he has, he can also apparently feel romantic love... Particularly for you, one of the many Z-fighters he's become acquainted with since Cell's invasion of earth.

He assumes that after everything he's done and the way he is in general that you wouldn't want anything to do with him romantically, so he doesn't ask you out. You end up having to be the one to do it and when he hears you say that you like him and would like for the two of you to go on a date together, he's beyond surprised.

But, of course, he accepts. Because he loves you and would hate to turn you down and make you upset- and since you did the asking, which is arguably the hardest part, he plans out the first date.

He's programmed to know everything about everyone, so he has no trouble planning out something you'd like for your first date. After that, the two of you take turns. His ideal dates are going on nature hikes (which he will carry you on if you seem the slightest bit tired) and bird-watching.

Android 16 is a surprisingly good partner. As mentioned earlier, he's a little awkward, but he remembers all the important dates like anniversaries, birthdays, Valentine's day, and everything in between. He always tries to plan something special for each to the point that he over-worries about whether or not his date/gift ideas will be good enough.

Expect lots of hand-picked flower bouquets put in thrifted vases.

He won't ask for physical affection often, but he's a big softie and physical touch is his preferred way of receiving affection. He loves to hold you in his arms and give you big hugs, cuddle with you at night (he likes to be both big and little spoon), and have his ginger locks of hair played with.

Likes when you wear green or red because they're 'his' colors since they're his favorite.

I headcanon that one of his many hobbies after the Cell conflict dies down is crocheting. He crochets you lots of hats, mits, sweaters. etc. though they're a bit lumpy at first.

Feels as if he's not good enough for you and tries to overcompensate with gifts/nice dates. Once you reassure him that you do love him, and once you're together for a long time, he does calm down with the gestures but they never go away.

Would guard you with his life just as he does the rest of his loved ones. God forbid someone ever hurts you, he'll come after them with a vengeance, he doesn't GAF.

Encourages you to chase your dreams even if they're unconventional or if other people in your life are doubtful of them. Your biggest cheerleader and biggest supporter.

[thorne-xil]

The mirrors of me

You remember the things you’re told growing up,

They stick with you,

“God sees you, he knows and understands you.”

But the problem is, the things we are told-

The same people who told me I was loved, told me I was paying for the sins I’ve committed.

Smiling and keeping up those images,

Make the mirror smile back,

Nod and agree and they will love you

But you will find a great place among them.

And I wanted that, I wanted what they wanted me to be,

I saw those and thought they were the gods.

God. (“Lord above forbid there is more than one.”)

But looking back on that mirroring image…

Like reflective glass, they seen me but only through me,

Not really seeing me.

Not deemed “pure” enough

They shattered me…I shattered me.

Cutting and breaking myself down,

And then they saw through like a kaleidoscope,

The colors of which danced across.

They told me it was over, cut me down the rank,

My people are kinds who are damned to the fires of hell,

According to them,

I was the cracked glass, and in a way they were right,

Shards and shatters was what laid left,

Until I smiled, nodded and agreed, forever to pretend.

There’s a way your kind of forced to,

Told to read that sacred text, and I have.

For 18 years I’ve reread those verses,

14 of those,

Repeating, repeating, repeat.

That mythical man’s words,

Burning my flesh, scorching my skin

For I am nothing he tells me,

I am nothing.

And I somehow believed that.

I begged to hide my assortment of colors,

The hate, frustration, and dismay that came with it all,

A complete hole, scorn into my mind

Making it clear I am not regular,

Why am I not normal?

Why can I not be what’s expected of me?

Another smash of glass to my psyche

And I believed it.

They made me believe them.

They said I wasn’t a lesbian, it’s “abnomal”

Being with a girl is sinful and immoral.

Being non-binary, a “fake” identity.

Made it clear I wasn’t clear,

“Jesus won’t want you

God won’t want you

Satan will bar you from hell even”,

When the day of reckoning comes,

I would be left behind in the hellscape.

They would rather me dead, then be something they called “different”.

I yell to keep myself heard, rather than get lost

Within the distorted mirror funhouse that is the mind of others

Who saw me as a sinfully minded hell maiden.

.

.

.

.

There’s a thing about mirrors, something someone close to me use to say:

“That if you dreamt seeing yourself in the mirror, it was your conscience telling you to look at yourself.”

But, my mirror is in shards and shatters, it’s my mouth screaming and crying those verses.

Repeating, repeating…repeat.

But there’s a time when I stopped…

looked…

and…

Looking down at the glass, I was everything they hated.

I spent those years looking in the mirror,

Breaking myself into a million pieces,

It was my hand,

My arm,

It was me.

And without even knowing,

That with a fist to a mirror,

I broke myself into a million pieces.

A mace brought to the already shattered.

Shards and shatters, fragments and splinters.

But somehow, eventually.

I glued myself back together.

Finally stripping myself away of denomination,

I saw me.

But now I deal with the consequences of coming out.

I, to this very day, have to witness and hear of the shit my community goes through, the slurs we have to hear.

“Faggot, dyke, disgrace to God”,

And if I dare say a word, that would not spare the rod.

But the utterance on my body and continuously being misgendered,

It does not make me feel any better.

And being told I’m doing this to be trendy and for attention,

They see to use my pain against me,

So I scream,

Because there is no way in the goddamn heavens,

I would bring the gates of hell upon myself for a bit of attention.

I put up the attempted illusion for everyone, “I love my life”.

Yet twelve-year-old me cried themself into the night,

Begging mythics for help.

Why in seventh grade, I wrote an essay to argue my teacher about how gender and sexuality is not so black and white,

And looking at that pale body of mine every night since I was seven,

The very glass of the mirror that slide across the floor,

Because I’d rather stab it, then keep my womanly aspects.

And me, and thousands of others still fight to prove our identities are real.

Real.

And as bittersweet as it is,

I am lucky, because I can say I love my life now,

My fight with those who deem me dead,

It may never end.

But I am a proof of the living,

The ones who overcome their own stab wounds,

Have stopped the bleeding,

Pieced together.

A beautiful, mangled mess named “Thorne”.

I am a reflection,

A bright new perspective,

Broken or not,

The mirrors of me.

— Thorne

[alexandraisyes]

KC/Flare/Sun

What are their dates like?

Favorite things about each other?

Who’s the most… TICKLISH? >:3

HEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHE

God everyone who knows me, and I mean actually knows me, knows that I will die with this rare pair. They're literally perfect.

It depends on who is planning the date.

Killcode makes reservations for classy, expensive restaurants, he wants to show off his lovers on a silver platter. White tie events, formal parties, galas and balls. Whatever it takes to get them in their nicest dresses (in his colors, always in his colors) and have them hanging off his arm. For someone who works with mafia-level crime and prostitution, he has quite the reputation with the local upper class (which is most likely because he has good ties in the black market).

Solar Flare tends to be more reserved, something nice but not fancy. Most likely a quiet date in the park for dinner, there's a local farmers market they love visiting and buying from. Tucked away from the public eye in the wooded part of the park, right at the perfect time to watch the sky transition into melted golds and pinks, then finally a dark navy as a sprinkling of stars decorate the sky. It's nothing like the sky in the forest where he and Killcode used to live, tucked away in one of Moon's forgotten bases, but no one complains. Then maybe walking around the city at night, running a couple errands while they're at it, and hitting up one of the nicer bars for a few shots of whiskey. Then back to walking around the city at now four in the morning, until heading back near dawn. Sun doesn't always come with them when Flare plans dates, since he has a hard time staying up that late.

Sun is, ironically enough, an introvert. Stay-home dates where he cooks something "romantic" (as he likes to call it) for the three of them, then cuddles in the living room as they watch a movie together. Probably a really shitty romcom or horror movie that they can make fun of, especially Sun who can't seem to be able to enjoy a movie without criticizing it so it's become somewhat of an inside joke when he manages to watch a movie without saying anything negative. Of course, when that happens he'll go on a tangent about why it doesn't deserve criticism and to suggest such is an insult to the craft. Stars forbid Flare disagrees, they'll argue for days about it, and Killcode has learned the hard way not to attempt to mediate.

For Killcode it's Flare's unwavering loyalty, and Sun's eagerness to be helpful. For Flare, well first of his favorite thing about Killcode is the fact that it's Killcode. His favorite thing about Sun is so small and cheesy, but it has to be his smile. Not a faked, or forced one, but when he's caught off guard by something and he lights up with amusement. Sun loves it when Killcode purrs, it literally shakes the entire bed/couch/floor whatever the beast is lying on, and he's a sucker for Flare's cooking (I would be too).

Killcode is the most ticklish, with Flare not being ticklish at all, and Sun being a good middle ground. Unfortunately, it's not advised to tickle him unless you are outdoors.