#hazard yaps a lot

[wtfgaylittlezooid]

hazard n primal....blease

ignore how i still dont have a design for primal... but they are besties in my head

[starboye]

how overwatch men would react to being edged

baptiste would be his regular flirty self still but with a little more begging, looking at you with needy eyes as your hand jerks up and down his leaking cock

cassidy would be rolling at the feeling, his southern accent is a lot more noticeable now, he's calling you all sorts of sweet names to while a cigar loosely hangs from his mouth but he still sort of loves it

doomfist is the kind of man to be acting tuff at first but trust you sit him down and start edging him just enough he'll snap within minutes, begging you to let him cum in a deep but whiny voice (need that)

genji is a whiny little fucker, im telling you he's gripping the bed, eyes rolling back, barely able to contain every little sound that bubbles up in his throat and falls from his drooling mouth

hanzo tries to stay chill, y'know like not be to loud or anything but it's just so hard to that he ends up just a groaning mess, but he still tries to pull himself together which ultimately fails

hazard like cassidy, you can really hear his accent when this hunk of a man is being edged to near insanity (yall know in some voice lines of his he barks?!??!) that mans mouth is parted and all thats coming out is drool and unrecognizable noises

junkrat is all jittery in his seat when you first wrap your hand around his cock, he's vocal to, just yapping on and on about what he wants to do to you when it's your turn but edging him seems to be the only way to calm the man down

lifeweaver this diva is constantly giving you the fuck me eyes even with being edged into oblivion, lazily leaning forward to kiss you or just feel any part of you

lucio, this man is VOCALLLLL like he's a dj so what do you expect, he moaning loudly while gripping his seat, whimpering your name as every part of his brain melts

mauga is a cocky one now, he's all big and tough in the field (with a monster cock that barely fits in your hands might i add) and in the bed he's the same way, he might not be able to form a steady thought but trust he's thinking of all the things he's gonna do to you when he gets the chance

rammatra doesn't have a cock sadly saur he usually just lets you tamper with his wires which kind of get the same reaction out of him and he loves it, i mean you try being a man fighting for his people every day, i feel like that edging by wires is like heaven

reaper is your typical bad boy on the outside but just a man begging to be touched on the inside, his brain is so fried he's leaning into your touch, you grinning watching the man drop deeper into nonsense babbling and groans

reinhardt is a loud one, he already is but in bed he craves being used by you (as much as he would rather be fucking you into oblivion) he loves seeing the little smirk on your face as you tease him again and again

roadhog is just groans and moans all night, no words just noises that the neighbors can definitely hear and will scold you for tomorrow, you can barely understand anything he's moaning about but with how he's jerking his hips into your touch i think he likes it

sigma is already a crazy man at heart so you edging him isnt enough to dive him deeper into insanity, he just loves the feeling of you jerking him off so much, he always gets a little to into and some stuff in the room starts levitating but he always puts it back to the way it was

soldier 76 aka jack is a old man but a persistent fucker, he may have been edged for hours but he still wants more and more until his balls literally are shooting blanks

(i hope you guys enjoyed this because i really did)

[cozymochi]

For ask meme

Quote and backstory for Cecil, If you can't, you can choose just one. I love him and you other ocs very much 💖💕💗

Backstory: Tell me anything about your twst OC's backstory. Their childhood, their parents, their siblings etc. Does their backstory affect how they are as a character now and how they interact with the cast?

Cecil comes from a family of mages/witches, so that’s cool. His dad is a Royal Sword Academy alumni, so that’s something. He has an older twin sister, her name is Claudia.

She’s meticulous and always holds her head high when it comes to her magical ability and her appearance (💖). Outside of NRC, especially in their home village, they’re often viewed as a pair and compared to one another. (…Mainly Cecil getting compared to her.)

They have a magical rivalry since both of their magic manifested as children around the same time. Though, that’s probably when things started to go south in terms of their once more friendly relationship.

Further yapping under cut. 🔮

Claudia technically got her magic first, but Cecil has much larger reserves and a really natural instinct for it.

Unfortunately for Cecil, this caused a lot of problems early on with a perceived lack of control and a pattern of disasters if he got overwhelmed. Claudia was usually at the receiving end of those disasters, so much like the adults in their village, she doesn’t trust him with magic at all.

Repeated fumbling just made Cecil seem like a hazard who can only do wrong, while his sister was doing everything correctly and seemed more reliable. Her doing well just made his mistakes look worse by comparison. Even if they were really small.

So it became a case of Cecil’s self-confidence taking a major blow, meanwhile Claudia kind of got propped up as somebody he should be striving to emulate.

Over time, it was less that he didn’t have control, but lack of faith from anyone else during his formative years didn’t really help. And since magic is strongly imagination based, that can manifest as shoddy spell-casting unintentionally, even if he knows what he’s doing now.

Claudia is most certainly envious of Cecil’s lifelong affinity with magic, so she compensated by becoming an expert on all things surrounding it like, poisons, potions, curses, practical spell casting, conjuring. etc. and all of the correct most efficient ways to do so.

Though, ultimately it doesn’t matter how meticulous she is because her reserves are just too low for any arcane academy to care. She is not impressive enough to be accepted into any such school, but the bumbling Cecil was.

Her Signature Spell is just changing a persons hair/hair color. (Not that she’d let anyone know… not even her brother.)

There’s less celebration that Cecil got into the prestigious Night Raven College, so much as how unfair it that the seemingly perfect Claudia can’t get into any arcane academy at all. Dad doesn’t really care for NRC anyway so that doesn’t help.

They’re kind of both jealous of each other in some capacity, but neither have communicated this so they’re currently just strained. They can have good days, but otherwise they don’t really talk unless Cecil comes home. …And when he does, expect yapping about all of Claudia’s accomplishments while he was away.

Fun.

SO! How does all this manifest in how Cecil interacts with the cast?

It most emerges as deadpan snark and himself getting jealous about his peers’ magical prowess or their support systems. He just feels this insatiable need to prove how competent he is. …To mixed results.

Maybe he needs to become some hero who saves people or something? Or some kind of authority that gets respect no matter what?? He doesn’t really know.

So here’s Cecil having an all that baggage and just outside of his orbit is freaking Diasomnia fam.

It can get somebody a little… resentful.

He probably wouldn’t have gone to NRC at all if not for his need to prove himself. That, and maybe one teensy tiny push from a precocious neighbor.

But, who can really say?

[saltcxrcle]

heaven knows ❥ i. lahey

summary: social media/ college au with the pack [can be read as a non supernatural au, but its implied]

pairings: established isaac lahey x reader, isaac lahey x fem! reader

warnings: none really, no use of 'y/n', fluff, slice of life, some cursing

a/n: made this instead of my homework bc i wanted to make a smau for isaac :) also emmyparker is an oc based on my friend loll

reblog and comment! i love to see your thoughts on my fics (even if this isn’t technically a fic lol)

𝘪𝘴𝘢𝘢𝘤 𝘭𝘢𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

yourusername

liked by mccallmescott, emmyparker, and 2023 others

yourusername a lil photo dump of college so far ;P (not included: mental breakdowns)

tagged: kirakitsune, lyds.martin, silverallison, isaaclahey14 + 3 more

view all 823 comments

lyds.martin you wouldn't have the breakdowns if you didn't procrastinate ↳ yourusername you know what lydia stfu ↳ emmyparker @/yourusername shes not wrong ↳ yourusername WTH IS WITH THIS DOGPILING 😭😭

mccallmescott why do i have the feeling that your study sessions don't end up being study sessions ↳ yourusername what makes you think that scotty? ↳ kirakitsune @/mccallmescott they usually devolve into yap sessions ↳ silverallison SHHH kira!! they aren't supposed to know ↳ 24stiles is that why we aren't invited?? ↳ emmyparker that's a secret we'll never tell 🤫 xoxo gossip girl 😘 ↳ 24stiles 😐😑😐

* * *

lyds.martin

liked by stilesss, kirakitsune, and 1923 others

lyds.martin girls night in! 🥂

tagged: yourusername, emmyparker, silverallison, + 2 more

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yourusername wheres my pic creds 🤨 ↳ lyds.martin you're tagged, isn't that enough ↳ yourusername no 🥰 ↳ lyds.martin 🙄

24stiles i see my invite was lost in the mail ↳ emmyparker it can't be lost if it wasn't sent 😊 ↳ lyds.martin you weren't invited bc you aren't a girl, hence why it's called a girls night

silverallison we need to do this more often, it was so fun !! ↳ kirakitsune 100% agree, especially with finals kicking our asses rn 😭 ↳ lyds.martin heard, but @/yourusername has to host next time ↳ yourusername thanks for volunteering me lyds 🙃

* * *

24stiles

liked by yourusername, isaaclahey14, and 1120 others

24stiles boyz night 😤💪💯 (and theo is here too ig)

tagged: mccallmescott, isaaclahey14, liam.dunbar + 2 more

view all 782 comments

lyds.martin wow someone was bitter about us hanging out with out them ↳ 24stiles whatever do you mean? ↳ lyds.martin you're an idiot

yourusername i know damn well you didn't use my apartment as a fire hazard ↳ 24stiles ...its technically not just your apartment, it's isaac's... ↳ isaaclahey14 @/24stiles are you trying to get me killed?! ↳ yourusername @/24stiles @/isaaclahey14 stilinksi you're first on my list, lahey you'll be next ↳ 24stiles what about scott??? ↳ mccallmescott DUDE??

* * *

yourusername

liked by kirakitsune, silverallison, and 2009 others

yourusername love you wolf boy 🥰 🩵

tagged: isaaclahey14

view all 1014 comments

24stiles ew i didn't need to see this first thing in the morning ↳ yourusername you jealous i nabbed him in high school when you had the chance? ↳ 24stiles pffhh absolutely not, besides im in a happy relationship with em ↳ yourusername that's what you think :) ↳ 24stiles EM?? EXPLAIN NOW @/emmyparker

silverallison this is disgustingly cute ughh ↳ yourusername feel free to join us if you want ;) ↳ silverallison don't tempt a girl with a good time 😏

kirakitsune for research purposes, i need to know where isaac's shirt is from ↳ emmyparker same... for research purposes ↳ yourusername i sent you guys the link 🤭

isaaclahey14 love you lots babe ↳ yourusername love you more 🫶

* * *

isaaclahey14

liked by emmyparker, 24stiles, and 1923 others

isaaclahey14 love you sweetheart ❤️

tagged: yourusername

view all 863 comments

emmyparker wait are these candids of her actually good? ↳ issaclahey14 do you doubt my abilities? ↳ emmyparker yes 😁 also @/24stiles take notes ↳ 24stiles how do i keep getting attacked in posts that aren't even mine 😭

silverallison @/isaaclahey14 im gonna steal your girl ↳ isaaclahey i'd like to see you try ↳ yourusername guys noo don't fight over me (please do it does wonders for my ego) ↳ silverallison nevermind you can keep her

yourusername this is actually so cute, love you so much honey <33 ↳ isaaclahey14 i swear you always underestimate me ↳ yourusername aren’t you forgetting something 🤨 ↳ isaaclahey14 i love you too ❤️

[anonmousegosqueak]

141 on a plane. I think they all act so different when it's commercial flight versus mission flights. On missions, they're calm and focused, getting into the zone. But commercial flights? Johnny fidgets, can't sit still for more than two hours. John is too paranoid to do anything except sit in the silence, no sleeping, no headphones, won't even get food or drinks. Simon is passed out sleeping, but he's so fucking uncomfortable, buys the either seat on each side of him so he can put the arm rests up. Kyle is blasting music in his headphones, sharing with Johnny (who forgot his) and making sure he bought water and snacks before take off for John.

-🦴 (from a plane)

:(

I used to fly a lot (too and from Texas twice a year to visit the grandparents) but then I didn't. And as y'all know I was on a plane just a few weeks ago. And y'know what? I'm done. I'm okay, thank you. No more flying for me!

Alright, yapping time!

Nikolai: I know you didn't have him in your original ask but... Bro is fidgety. He hates it. He's supposed to be the pilot, not the passenger! He's either silently cussing under his breath the entire time or he's flustering poor Price (it's a good form of distraction). Yeah he's making jokes like "hey, I'm not flying now so I guess my hands are free ;)" but internally he's screaming.

Price: as stated above, he's *not* having a good time. Yeah he knows how to control himself but he's absolutely freaking out under the surface. He's literally in a death tube being flown by someone he never met, and he's supposed to be calm?! No thanks, Nik is his only pilot.

Ghost: okay I think everyone is miserable? He gets really sleepy on plains (like my sibling) but he can never get comfortable (unlike my sibling- HOW DO YOU SLEEP SO GOOD??) Sometimes he just gives up and ends up disassociating while staring into the seatbelt sign for an hour. It always freaks everyone out and he's been told to stop many a time. Also if you think any of these men are going to fit into that tiny airplane seat?? Anyways, he lands with a crick in his neck and a taste for blood.

Soap: baby. Hunny. If you think this man is sitting still in a tiny seat for an hour+? It's TORTURE for him. He's got that ADHD that means if it's not a life or death situation, boy is fidgeting. He also always steals the safety manual they put in the seat pocket in front of you, don't ask how or why. BUT- if he has a big strong Lt. next to him...? He could find a way to pass the time~ (aka he passes out on his shoulder and snores in his ear)

Gaz: the only one having a decent time. It's not like he likes flying, I don't think anyone does, but he probably hates it the least. He'll absolutely flirt with the stewardess for an extra bag of pretzels, supply everyone with snacks and water, and even provide distraction for those who need it. 10/10, sitting next to this guy is great. His momma said he was a good flyer as a kid, he ain't gonna make her disappointed!

Roach: I think he's a 50/50. On the one hand, he likes airplanes. He thinks they are neat. He likes the cramped space, the cool view, heck he likes comparing things with what he learned from Nik! The one problem though? His ears pop BAD. I'm talking crying from pain, unable to hear and head feeling like it's gonna explode. It's the one thing he can't stand, and of course it's extra hard for him because life (me lmao) wants him to suffer apparently.

Red: Red is not allowed on plains. You cause *one* bathroom fire and all of a sudden your "banned from flying" and "a hazard". They say it's bullshit, everyone else says it's 100% fair and probably for the safety of anyone and everyone on board.

[oobbbear]

Can you yap more about heart please-

I can’t talk too much about the lore, but I can talk about the design choices hehehe

Ok made a lot of modifications to Heart that restricts his movement, for example his pants are made in a way that the wearer can not take large steps, he can’t run he can’t jump, he can’t escape he can’t fight back even if he wants to. The ribbon pricing on the back of the neck can be a safety hazard, it is connected to the weakest point of the body, if anyone pull on it too harsh it will literally shatter his neck. Here’s body is hollow and thin so it breaks easy, his soul gem is not on him so he can’t go very long distance. Ok want him to be a pretty bird with broken wings stuck in a cage and sing for her all day, so she made it happen

She did it also bc she does not trust him fully due to past events, heart had this rebellious energy in his soul and a smart mind, if he’s as brainwashed as worm he would have been given more power

His currently design actually mirrors a lot of worm’s early days look, if given enough time and trust he might end up like worm too

[hyperfix-wip]

Webbed Together

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Fem!Reader/ Spider-Punk x Fem!Reader

Word count: 9.5k

Author's Note: *6. Months. Later....* ....So...we're back? 😅 I am so. fucking. sorry 😭 Not gonna lie, this one was a doozy for me. I actually had to think long and hard with how I wanted to approach this particular chapter (plus a lot of the stuff happened, but that's not important to the topic lol). But, yeah, I really wanted to write this one as precisely as how I imagined it, especially with how I ended Chapter 5. Not sure how this one will actually be, but I think I'm pretty proud of this one. I'd like to thank @the-kr8tor and @pinksugarscrub for really helping me out for this one. They are honestly the best people I could ever ask for, especially for the amount of yapping and panicking over Billie and Ramona. I don't know what I would do without them to help me bring these girls to life

Tags: Parent Trap!AU, Dad!Hobie AU, Twin!AU, Billie and Ramona!AU, Older!Hobie, Mom!Reader, Older!Reader, Fluff, Slight Angst, Slight Hurt/Comfort, TW Anxiety

Chapter 6: Paramnesia

<<< Chapter 5 Chapter 7>>>

“Step lively,” the elderly counselor briskly hikes up the dirt trail, her heavy boots stomping down the worn down path. “The sooner we reach your new quarters, the sooner you two can be settled in.”

A winded groan slips through Ramona’s lips as sweat beads up and rolls down her face. Heat from the sun’s rays beats down against her slick neck as she trudges behind the counselor, the strap of her duffle bag and guitar case gradually digging into both her shoulders the higher she hikes up the steep hill. Her legs strain from the constant upturn of the hike, screaming bloody murder at her to take a break, but she continues on with a stubborn grit to her teeth. She blows up at a loose coil on her face with an annoyed frown before glancing to the side. Billie huffs and drags her roller suitcase up the uneven path, not faring any better as she grips onto her violin case.

Birds squawk above the towering trees, mockingly so, as they soar through the blue sky towards their intended direction. A brief prick of jealousy stings in Ramona’s chest as she weakly glares at the flying smug rats with feathers, taunting her with their wings gliding through the wind, free from any heavy baggage over their shoulders, free from sweating and ruining their legs up this stupid hill–

The moment she reaches the top of the hill, Ramona heaves out a tired groan before she stops to catch her breath, hunching over and resting her hands on her knees while her mind continues to curse out the passing birds. Billie trails behind her before collapsing on a nearby tree stump, kicking her suitcase to the ground as she gasps for air.

“Oh, thank god, proper flat land!” Billie rolls onto her back on the stump, her limbs dangling from it while she stares up at the sky. “M’ plates o’ meat’re killin’ me, they migh’ jus’ start fallin’ off t’e bone–”

A guffaw rips through Ramona’s lips before her breaths stutter out her lungs. She stumbles over to a tree and leans against it, trembling and tearing up from holding in her pained laughs.

“What?!” Ramona manages to sputter out before succumbing to the burning in her lungs, coughing up a lung with choked out wheezes.

Billie turns her head to her trembling double with a cheeky grin, sweat trailing down her forehead and mirth glinting in her eyes as her accent grows thicker. “Yeah, jus’ creamed after trekking up t’is damn hill–” Ramona instantly chokes from her own spit before collapsing onto the ground on her knees with another wheeze– “ ‘n take a butcher’s a’ me daisies!”

A strained grunt rips through Billie’s lips as she lifts her legs up in the air, swaying back and forth while she flutters her dirt-covered combat boots. “Absolutely muddied ‘n pimpled wit’ pebbles, innit? Ya’d t’ink t’e paths ‘ere’d be smooth ‘n not a safety hazard–”

A shadow suddenly looms over Billie, briefly startling her as her legs swing back down to the dirt, before she looks up at the deadpan of the counselor.

“Are you two finished?”

Billie sheepishly laughs as she pushes herself up from the stump. Ramona coughs out the rest of her laughter before pushing herself up the ground and shuffling over next to Billie, embarrassment flushing on her cheeks. The counselor blankly stares at the identical duo before dropping her head and letting out a relenting sigh.

“Alright then, you two. We have six weeks left at camp, but since the two of you have resorted to non-peaceful matters against your fellow camper, you two will be spending every glorious one of them in this isolation cabin.”

The elderly counselor points her thumb over her shoulder, and the girls look behind her to see an old run-down cabin sitting in the shadows on the top of the hill. Eerie creaks echo through the woods as a breeze blows against the cabin, some of the roof tiles fluttering and barely hanging on the roof, and the wooden staircase leading up to the rocket porch barely looks stable enough for someone to set foot on it. Both girls stare at their new quarters with evident disbelief as a bird flies up to a wooden banister, only for it to creak and start to tip to the side before the bird frantically flies off it.

“...’s a li’l much for a punishment, innit?” Billie bluntly asks before straightening up to look at the counselor. “Wasn’t there another cabin we passed by earlier? It looked…”

“Stable?” Ramona suggests. “Structurally sound?”

“Less haunted–”

“Alright, I understand this cabin is not ideal for the both of you,” the counselor tries to placate the duo, “but the other cabin is already being occupied by another camper.”

Billie’s eyes narrow into cat-like slits as she crosses her arms against her chest. “Lemme guess, Benny’s got the nicer lookin’ cabin–”

“I will not divulge that information–”

“But ‘m right though, huh?”

“I will not answer that–”

“But ‘m right though– OW–”

Ramona quickly elbows Billie in the arm, effectively shutting down any more provocation from the Brit double as she winces and rubs her arm with a pout. “What was that for?...”

Ramona rolls her eyes at Billie before focusing on the counselor again. “Is there another reason why we couldn’t have the cabin from earlier?”

The elderly woman drops her shoulders in relief at Ramona’s calm demeanor. “The cabin could only house one camper, so we had to give the other camper his own space–”

“You could say it’s Benny,” Billie interjects with a nonchalant shrug. “We already know it is–”

“As I was saying,” the counselor cuts back in, narrowing her eyes at Billie in disapproval before turning back to Ramona, “it could only hold space for one camper, so it was decided that you two will be staying at the bigger isolation cabin while Benjamin–”

“Benjamin?” Billie stifles a snicker before Ramona elbows her again, biting back another wince while the counselor ignores her and continues.

“–while Benjamin will be staying at the other one.”

Despite Ramona quietly nodding along, her lips purse into a pensive frown. “Hm, okay. That makes sense, I guess. So it has nothing to do with the fact that Benny’s your grandson?”

A small snort sneaks up on Billie as the elderly counselor’s brief smile drops from the sudden question.

“...no, it has nothing to do with that.”

Billie’s face scrunches up into a disbelieving frown, her brows furrowing until her forehead ripples into small wrinkles. “...you sure?”

“Yes–”

“You sure sure?”

“Yes–”

“ ‘cuz it sounds like a convenient excuse–”

“IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH–”

The counselor abruptly stops herself before she could say more, taking a deep breath before moving on. “Anywho, since you girls are sisters, I would assume you two would be fine sharing a cabin with each other until camp is over.”

Both girls glance at each other, confusion flooding their faces, before looking back at the elderly woman and answering at the same time.

“We’re not sisters though.”

“You have got to be kidding–” the counselor sputters in exasperation– “what do you mean you’re not–”

“We literally just met yesterday,” Billie adds on with a shrug while Ramona nods along. “Had a laugh ‘bout it ‘n all tha’–”

“But you two are practically twins!”

The girls look over at each other again, Billie tilting her head to the side with a scrunched up nose, and Ramona tilting her head the opposite way with a furrowed brow.

“…her teeth’s a bit off though, innit?” Billie bluntly counters with a nonchalant smile, “a little gap in her front teeth, but not too bad.”

Ramona instantly rolls her eyes and stares at Billie with a deadpan. “What does my teeth have anything to do with this–”

“Regardless–” the counselor interrupts in exasperation– “you two will be staying here. Is that understood?”

The girls glance over each other, skepticism mirrored in their eyes, before they reluctantly look back at the adamant counselor. Without another word, the same thought flickered in their minds.

She’s full of bull.

—

The interior of the cabin (unsurprisingly) matches the exterior– creaking floorboards, peeling paint, cracked walls, groaning rooftop– vindicating Billie’s suspicions as she belly flops onto one of the twin beds with a muffled grunt. Her luggage clatters on the wooden floors as the metal springs in the mattress groans underneath her. The smell of lemon-scented cleaning products barely masks the mustiness in the air, even when she buries and irritates her face into the stiffly-starched pillow.

The absence of giddy chatter and gossip from her old cabin sends a wave of discomfort in Billie; cold shivers prick up her skin from the looming solitude within these worn-out wooden walls. The only sounds reverberating in her ears are the wind blowing against the loose roof boards, as if the cabin itself is breathing its labored breaths, and shuffling from the only other person in her new space. Ignoring the itch tickling her nose, Billie turns her head over and stares across the room, her eyes lingering on Ramona’s back while she unzips her duffle bag on her own bed.

Dark tight coils tied up into a ponytail with a red scrunchie, green nylon rustling from her oversized windbreaker, paint-splattered trainers absently bouncing against the squeaking floorboards– it’s like if Billie’s watching herself in some strange 90s sitcom that Uncle James and Auntie Yuri would love to watch. It’s even weirder that Ramona is so…quiet. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, though, but… it’s weird seeing someone with Billie’s face and be so quiet.

For a brief moment Billie remembers the time Uncle James read to her about doppelgangers– when you meet yours, they’re usually your evil twin bringing bad luck into your life. Ramona doesn’t seem evil though, if anything, she’s more of a good person than anybody here.

Would that make Billie the evil twin? Nah, she’s too cute to be evil.

Even though she did kick Benny’s arse and wrestle him to the ground. But he deserved it. Obviously.

While Billie’s mind wanders, Ramona looks over her shoulder with a befuddled frown, her brows furrowed and her lips pursed up into a slight frown. “Uh…is there something on my back?”

Billie’s eyes refocus and flick up to Ramona’s, the same familiar russet shade as hers, the same shade as her dad’s.

If anything, Ramona's eyes look more like her dad’s. Odd.

“Nah,” Billie groans as she pushes herself up on the bed. Her eyes flick to the neatly folded clothes and small, organized piles on Ramona’s bed– pens, papers, bonnets and scrunchies, guitar chords, printed pictures. “Jus’ havin’ a gander a’ me new roomie.”

A small snort slips through Ramona’s nose as she turns around and sits on the edge of her bed, some of her trinkets sliding down against her sides from the sudden shift in weight. “Still a little weird for me, not gonna lie. Didn’t think I was gonna get in trouble, especially with fighting.”

“To be fair, you weren’ fightin’,” Billie shrugs as she pushes her curls out of her face, “you had the right t’ slap ‘im in t’e face. T’was jus’ unlucky tha’ t’e li’l twit ended up havin’ his nan under his thumb.”

A stifled snort briefly slips through Ramona’s nose, and she covers her mouth before she quietly giggles behind her hand.

If someone who knew Billie saw Ramona in her outfit laughing right now, they’d probably have whiplash. Or at least fear for the end of the world while making sure she isn’t sick or dying…

That’s a little annoying to think about, Billie fights the urging twitch creeping up in her eye.

“Anyway,” Billie huffs, swinging her feet up in the air and slamming her boot soles onto the protesting floorboards before pushing herself up from her bed, “we migh’ as well get ta know each other now. Can’t really get comfy here for t’e rest of camp if I don’ know a t’ing ‘bout you.”

Each slow, heavy step from Billie approaching Ramona reverberates against the walls and floorboards. Small chains dangle from Billie’s army green cargos, clinking softly against the denim, and silver studs on her denim vest glint under the sunlight shining through the grime-stained windows. With a lopsided grin Billie holds her hand out to her double, mirth and mischief flashing in her eyes.

“Billie Jean Brown, nice t’ meet’cha. But you can call me Billie.”

An amused scoff slips through Ramona’s lips before she grabs Billie’s hand with a firm shake. “Do you always introduce yourself like that to everybody?”

“Eh, ‘sa habit,” Billie shrugs before letting go, hopping onto Ramona’s bed with an oof, making Ramona bounce up from the impact with a squeak. “Gotta make yourself known ‘fore ev’rybody tries t’ do it for ya.”

Billie then wraps her arm around Ramona’s shoulder and pulls her against her side, “Least tha’s what m’ dad told me anyway.”

A small grunt breaks through Ramona’s lips before she gives a sidelong glance to her punk double, her eyes flicking to the dangling silver hoop in Billie’s earlobe and the matching ear cuff on the rim of her ear.

“But enough ‘bout me,” Billie barks out a mischievous laugh, shaking Ramona out of her small trance. “I wanna know more ‘bout t’e damsel tha’ smacked Benny in the conk–”

“His what?” Ramona chokes out a guffaw, pushing the snickering Brit off her before Billie flops down on the creaky mattress. “Look, I didn’t actually mean to hit him! He just kept pulling my hair–”

“ ‘m not sayin’ it’s bad!” Billie cackles as she props herself up with her elbows, her wild dark curls splayed a stark contrast to the starched white sheets. “If anythin’, ya could’ve gotten more hits in–”

“No!” Small giggles bubble up from Ramona’s chest, slipping through her lips and nose through short bursts of exhales while she curls up against the headboard of her bed, easily sliding her sneakers off her feet before tucking them underneath her. “I had enough violence for the rest of camp!”

Billie playfully rolls her eyes before she flops back down on the bed, dried mud flaking off the soles of her boots on the wooden floor. “The twit had it comin’ though!”

“That doesn’t matter!”

“ ‘Course it does!”

Their laughter bounces against the groaning wood, piercing through the heavy silence within the isolated cabin, while the sunlight gradually peeks through the grimey windows and warms the room.

“Now c’mon, Mon-mon!” Billie huffs out as she rolls along the bed, careful to avoid rubbing dried mud on the covers, “Don’ leave me hangin’! I don’ ‘ave a scooby doo ‘bout ya, so start rabbitin’ on–”

“Alright, alright!” Ramona plants her hand on the rolling punk girl, earning a cheeky giggle from Billie as she melts along the grooves of the bed. With a small mirthful huff, Ramona crosses her arms and tilts her head to the side, her pulled-back coils fluttering down to the side. “There’s not much to know about me though–”

“ ‘Course there is,” Billie rolls her eyes with a pout, stretching her lanky arms out. “You could talk ‘bout whateva’ comes t’ mind. Like where’re yer from, yer fav’rite games…”

Billie’s eyes flick down at Ramona’s clothes for a brief moment before flicking back to Ramona’s eyes with a quirked eyebrow, “or why yer dressed up like a primary school teacher–” “I’m gonna ignore that last option,” Ramona rolls her eyes before she gently pushes Ramona back with her flower-printed socked foot. Billie groans in feigned hurt as she rolls back to the other side of the bed, her lips curling back up to that familiar cat-like grin.

With another playful roll of her eyes, Ramona straightens up her back and reaches up to fix her ponytail. “Well, my name is Ramona, and…”

A second of trailing off, to two, to three, until Ramona sheepishly shrugs and pulls her hands away from her coils, “I don’t know, I…I like mac and cheese?”

A loud snort breaks through the comfortable silence before Billie barks out a cackle, prompting Ramona to kick her double off her bed until Billie flops onto the wooden floor with a grunted “oi!”

“Shut up!” Ramona huffs out with a flush creeping up her face, “That’s all I could think of–”

More snickers bubble up in Billie’s chest as she pushes herself up from the ground, brushing the dust off her clothes, before grinning at the pouting Ramona. “I never said it was a bad t’ing! I like mac’roni cheese too– oh, stop hidin’ your face, it ain’t tha’ serious–”

Laughter rips through Ramona’s throat as Billie quickly grabs her wrists and pry her arms away from her face. The action itself is surprisingly familiar to Ramona – as if this isn’t their first time being alone together, as if they have been like this for a lifetime rather than for an hour. It seems easier to be around Billie somehow, even easier than with Arnold despite her overt brashness. Maybe the ridiculous circumstances between them broke through the usual awkward small talk phase, or maybe Ramona is slowly growing accustomed to Billie's overfamiliarity.

Either way, Ramona, for once, doesn’t think about it too much.

—

Loud clatters shatter the silence within the worn cabin walls, followed by a disgruntled curse from a certain Brit.

“Bloody hell– not again!”

With a furrowed brow Ramona glances up from her bass, already dressed in her green pajamas and her matching bonnet, while Billie scrambles onto the floor to deal with the aftermath of her belongings exploding from her suitcase. Wrinkled shirts, creased pants, worn down notebooks, small half-filled bottles of different products– the chaotic mess is enough for Ramona’s fingers to have the urge to straighten and organize everything.

Ramona slowly sets her bass aside on her bed and slides off her bed, the wooden floors creaking under her socked feet, before kneeling down to pick up a crumpled shirt (and ignoring the urge to smooth it out in front of Billie).

“What’re you looking for?” Ramona inquires as she continues to pick up the scattered items on the floor, mentally wincing at the sight of dust from the floor on the clothes.

Jesus, they’re gonna have to clean this place up too, huh? A seed of doubt plants itself in Ramona’s chest when her eyes drift over to the open suitcase, the remaining clothes and other belongings a small mountain threatening to crumble down with a landslide.

“M’ towel ‘n bonnet,” Billie replies as she tosses her clothes over her shoulder and onto her– no, don’t throw them on the bed! – “Pro’lly shouldn't've taken tha’ nap earlier, bu’ t’e damn hike got me knackered.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t understand half the things you’re saying,” Ramona coughs out a huff while she crawls on her knees closer to her punk double, handing her her things despite the growing itch in her fingers to fold them.

“Wha’, you wanna write a dictionary fer yerself or sumthin’?”

“...that might actually help, yeah.”

A loud guffaw rips through the punk girl, her grin becoming a familiar sight for Ramona, before Billie grabs her clothes and tosses them over her shoulder again. Ramona briefly winces again from a pair of black shorts sliding down between Billie’s bed and the wooden wall. Is that area even clean?

“Yer an actual riot, Mon-mon,” Billie wheezes before she drags the suitcase closer to herself, the silver metal scraping against the hardwood. “It ain’t tha’ hard t’ understan’ me, yeah?”

A pregnant silence soon follows, with Ramona raising her eyebrow with a clear deadpan.

“Well, you can understan’ me now,” Billie playfully rolls her eyes, a snort slipping through her nose while she rummages through her suitcase, her hands digging deep into the pile. A twitch unconsciously pulses in Ramona’s eye when a couple shirts from the pile plops down onto the ground from Billie’s movements as Billie tugs a ratty, faded orange towel out from it.

God, Ramona might actually have to clean this cabin up.

“...do you need help putting your stuff away?” Ramona hesitantly asks, her eyes flicking back and forth between Billie and her suitcase, “That way you don’t have to worry about it later?”

“Yeah?” The same grin grows on Billie’s face again. “Tha’d actually help me out, thanks!”

A wave of relief washes over the itch in her hands as Ramona lowers herself onto her rear. Her nose wrinkles from the obvious layer of dust against the dark green fabric of her pajama bottoms before she lightly smacks it off her knees.

Yeah, she’s definitely cleaning tomorrow.

“Oh yeah, been meanin’ ta ask ya,” Billie continues on, throwing her towel over her shoulder while her other hand still wriggles in her suitcase, “been eyin’ yer bass fer a while. How long ‘ave you been playin’?”

Ramona’s eyes widen from the sudden question while her hands gingerly smooth out some wrinkles from a random shirt from the pile. They briefly flick over to the numerous patches and pins on her denim vest, the punk rock influence blatantly obvious to her, before sweat breaks out on her back.

“Oh, uh… like a year or two?” Ramona sheepishly smiles, laying the now-folded shirt on her lap before grabbing another one from the pile. “I haven’t been playing too long, only just switched to it after playing the ukulele for a while–”

“Ukulele?”

Ramona’s eyes instantly squint from how bright Billie’s smile got. “Damn, ya know how to play tha’? Tha’s really cool!”

“It is?”

“Yeah!” A twinkle glints in Billie’s eyes. “I mean, my dad ‘n uncles taugh’ me how t’ play a bunch o’ instruments, but they never had a ukulele. Who taught ya, by the way?”

Ramona slowly leans back as Billie leans closer to her, her personal bubble instantly compromised, before Ramona slowly pushes her punk double back with an embarrassed smile.

“I, uh, I actually taught myself. Just looked up some Youtube videos when my mom bought me a ukulele from her business trip and followed them…”

Heat slowly creeps up on Ramona’s cheeks the longer she’s under Billie’s scrutiny, the eager glint in her eyes making her shrink into herself more. “And for the bass… I asked my mom if I can learn bass after…”

Ramona’s cheeks redden even more as she trails off, the enthrallment in Billie’s eyes growing more daunting by the minute, “...after I heard a really cool baseline from a song…”

A heavy rock plummets in Ramona’s stomach as the familiar ringing creeps up in her ears again. The dust clinging to her pajamas suddenly weighs down on her knees, her mind screaming and clawing in her head to smack more of the dust off. The creaking from the floorboards muffles in and out of her ears, but they’re drowned out by the ringing– that damn ringing– while her mind starts to spiral.

Why couldn’t you just lie and say you just got interested in playing bass? Look at Billie, she looks like she’s already ready for a huge stage with a guitar or something! She’s gonna think you’re a poser now–

“Which one?”

The berating voices and the ringing grow silent as Ramona’s eyes flick up at Billie, patiently waiting for her answer.

“Which what?”

“Song. Which song’re ya talkin’ ‘bout?” Billie laughs, as if it’s obvious. “Is it like a classic from an old band or sumthin’? Like t’e bands my dad would listen to? He likes songs with a really cool bassline, even though he likes playing electric guitar more– anyway, I know t’ere’s a lotta bands like The Ramones, The Clash, Dead Kennedys, Bad Brains–”

Ramona’s shoulders shake a bit as she lets out a soft huff of a laugh, the tension in her body slowly seeping away from Billie’s enthusiasm. “I don’t know if the song I’m talking about fits those bands’ kind of vibe…”

Ramona starts to get up, only for the clothes she’s been folding absently start to slide from her lap. A conflicted frown pinches her face before she tucks them under her arm and pushes herself up.

She will be damned if she let these clothes get covered in dust.

“It has more of a synthy, pop-alternative kind of vibe,” Ramona rambles on as she scrambles to the nightstand beside her bed for her mp3 player, “but the instrumentals are still really catchy, and the song itself is actually kinda sad if you pay attention to the lyrics–”

“There’s m’ bonnet!”

Billie cheers behind Ramona before trying to pull it out of her suitcase, but the joy is short-lived. A deafening rip breaks through the comfortable peace, the silence palpable and heavy. Ramona slowly looks over her shoulder, only to meet the thinly-veiled shock and distress in Billie’s eyes and the tattered remains of a patched up bonnet in her hands still stuck in the hinges of her suitcase.

Ramona’s hand hovering over the awaiting mp3 player stills in the air, fingers twitching from the awkward tension, before she trails it down to the top drawer and pulls it open to rummage through. With a sheepish smile she pulls out a shiny red silk bonnet and holds it out to her distraught double.

“Uh…wanna use one of mine?”

—

Quiet chatters echo through the mess hall the next morning, campers sleepily lining up and grabbing their trays for the awaiting breakfast on the table. Aromas of cooked sausage and bacon waft in the space, the crackling sizzle of eggs and batter frying on the griddle mingle in the background, and the stacked trays of different breakfasts– eggs, pancakes and waffles, hashbrowns, biscuits and gravy, etc. – present themselves on the long tables, waiting to be eaten.

Amongst the sea of tables that other kids swarm around for an empty spot there is a small table tucked in the corner of the mess hall, one with a laminated sign taped on the edge for the whole camp to see.

Isolation Table.

The only occupants sitting in the lone table, away from the rest of the campers, are Billie and Ramona, sitting across each other with their own trays of food. While Ramona’s tray only has small portions of sausage and scrambled eggs on her plate, Billie’s has a stack of pancakes, teetering from the weight of the browned, puffy slabs. A waterfall of honey gradually cascades down from the summit, trailing down the crisped edges and pooling into the indented plate into a moat of viscous amber. With a glint of awe in her eyes, Billie carefully tears at the jagged edge of her fifth packet of honey, her fingertips tacky from sticky edges of her discarded packets, before she starts to squeeze every last drop onto her pancakes.

Ramona, with her fork lined with egg still hovering in the air, stares at her punk double with mild bewilderment and horror, her throat tightening from the cloying sight of the pancakes being waterboarded with honey. She winces from Billie licking the leftovers off her fingers, her tongue trembling from the saccharine sight, and she blanches the moment Billie saws through a large piece through the stack and stabs through it before shoving it in her mouth.

Despite the blissful smile curling up on Billie’s stuffed face, Ramona’s stomach churns from the thought of having a mouthful of honey flooding her mouth and throat.

Billie flicks her eyes up from her plate with a swallow, oblivious to the subtle revulsion on her double’s face, before spearing another piece of honey-soaked pancake and holding it out to her.

“...wan’ a bite–?”

“No thank you.”

With a shrug Billie stuffs the bite into her mouth again, and another small wave of nausea washes over Ramona before she finally looks away and finally takes her own bite of food, only for her face to scrunch up from the imaginary honey clinging to her tongue.

Appetite lost, Ramona’s eyes flick away from sweet-loving Billie to the rest of the mess hall, lingering on the other campers crowding in the numerous lunch tables. A cacophony of laughter and clattering utensils bounce against the walls and into Ramona’s ears, a welcome white noise to the deafening silence in their cabin when Billie is off to her independent violin lessons (which is surprising for Ramona considering Billie’s personality, but to each their own, she guesses.)

Her russet eyes soon land on a familiar figure across the room, hunching over his food with a solemn frown as he pokes his spoon in a small plastic bowl of frosted cereal. Arnold, grimacing even more at the growing sogginess of the cereal, slowly pushes his bowl away from him before turning his head towards her direction.

The moment their eyes meet across the mess hall, Ramona instantly sees the hesitation wavering in Arnold’s, the guilt following soon after as he shrinks from her. He looks like a puppy, keeping his head down with remorse while waiting for his owner to yell at him for doing something wrong.

 A dull ache pools in Ramona’s chest, but she wills it to go away as she gives her friend a reassuring smile and mouths out the only words of comfort she could think of.

I’m okay.

She can still see the wavering in his eyes, the lingering doubt. She knows he still feels bad about what happened with Benny and his grandma, about her being pulled from the regular jazz lessons for her own independent lessons, about her and Billie moving out of their respective cabins for the isolation cabin. She doesn’t blame him though, she doesn’t regret it. If she was given a chance to go back in time to that game, she wouldn’t do anything different.

Annie soon pops up behind Arnold with her own tray and sets it down next to him, briefly breaking him away from Ramona’s gaze, and a small wave of relief ebbs through Ramona. At least Arnold isn’t alone.

After a moment of quiet chatter between them Annie glances up to Ramona’s direction, and a small encouraging smile curls up on Annie’s face, as if to tell her to hang in there. With a growing smile, Ramona holds up a thumbs up to them in understanding.

Relief briefly flickers on Annie’s face before her face suddenly drops, her brows furrowing and her jaw dropping in disbelief instead. Confused, Ramona slowly looks behind her, only for her face to drop in alarm at Billie shoving the last honey-soaked pancake into her mouth, a sticky empty plate sitting in front of her.

At that moment, Ramona decides that she’s not eating honey anytime soon.

—

Loud merry whistling rings out in the open, standing out amongst the rustling of leaves and crunching gravel under rubber soles. Soft clanking against metal harmonizes with the whistles, the handles of the violin case swinging back and forth from Billie’s bounce in her steps, echoing against the backdrop of the towering greenery surrounding her as she treks her way back to the cabin.

Birds fly overhead with their tuneful chirping, faint reverberations of different instruments from different music lessons bounce against wood and leaves, laughter and chatter from other campers lap against Billie’s ears– each sound becomes a melody for her to take in, each an accompanying note or harmony for her own personal soundtrack.

Despite the annoyingly far distance across the camp from her violin lessons to her abode, Billie doesn’t mind the walk itself, especially without her luggage torturing her arms and legs with their weight. The scenery itself is beautiful– mother nature, a riot of viridescence and burnt siennas against the manmade structures of the cabins in the campgrounds. The vividly earthy colors are a stark contrast to the drab concrete grays in London, the constant roaring of traffic and waves of pedestrians already a distant memory to her. Her eyes drift over to the glittering distance where the lake should be, a startlingly beautiful accent to the rest of the camp, before pulling away to the winding trail to the cabin.

Her violin case continues to smack against the side of her thigh with each step, a rhythmic low thudding akin to Uncle James’s bass drum during band practice. Her whistles gradually switch up to another familiar tune to her, one that Auntie Yuri whistles to while she watches the rest of the band packing all of the instruments with Billie (much to the chagrin of Uncle Ned barking at her to help).

Those little reminders gradually reel in her mind the longer she thinks about them, a small weight under her shirt growing warmer with each thought, before she absently reaches for the braided red string around her neck and tugs out her lucky pick. Billie’s thumb runs along the weathered grooves on the plastic, the familiar scratchings of the initials ‘HB’ on it sending a wave of comfort over the brief ache of homesickness.

As much as she likes being here– even with the setback of getting in trouble and forced into independent study for the rest of camp– she still misses the band. She misses the offkey singing from Uncle James while he drives the band van, the unabashed laughter from Auntie Yuri when they go sightseeing, the thrumming of Uncle Ned’s fingers while he tries to figure out how to braid her hair during their concert intermissions, and especially the soft humming from her dad as he lulls her to sleep.

As much as she likes being here, she still misses home.

Blinking away the burning in the back of her eyes with a sniffle, Billie continues to trek up the hiking trail to her temporary home in this camp. Just a few more weeks, just a few more weeks until she goes back home–

Billie’s feet suddenly halt once they step onto the top of the hill, her eyes bulging from the sight of plumes of dust chimneying out of open windows. Loud coughing echoes through the forests, along with the now-familiar groaning from the cabin itself, before she stumbles and rushes to the sound. Her heavy soles pound against the dirt and gravel, the wooden porch steps nearly cracking in protest from her stomping, the thudding of her feet breaking through the groans of the old cabin, until Billie finally stumbles underneath the doorway and peers inside.

Most of the cabin is startlingly sparkly. What was once caked in grime, the cracked windows are now clear, the sunlight now shining down and brightening the space. The wooden shelves and walls are more polished, not dulled with layers of dirt from months– maybe years– worth of neglected dusting. The mustiness in the air is gone, replaced with long-awaited fresh air flowing through the open windows and door. Even the hardwood floor, which used to be plastered with dried mud and dust, is now squeaky clean– gleaming and varnished with the scent of lemon lingering in the air. Ramona, oblivious to the gaping Billie behind her, sneezes and coughs while smacking a large dust-covered rag out the window, her overalls and cheeks just as covered in dust and dirt.

“Holy bloody hell…” Billie mutters under her breath before glancing down to her dusty combat boots. A conflicted frown pulls on her face before she hurriedly unties her boots and kicks them off, her socked feet padding against the clean floor as she approaches her double.

Muffled music hums around Ramona the closer Billie gets, the sounds of a catchy baseline and a synth-like piano ringing through Ramona’s earphones, distracting her enough for Billie to be close behind until she taps on Ramona’s shoulder.

A shrill scream rips through Ramona, jolting Billie with her own scream, before she snaps her head around and glares at the sheepish Brit.

“Jesus Christ!” Ramona huffs as she pulls an earphone out, the bassline blasting through the speaker bud. “You can’t just sneak up on somebody like that, Billie–”

“The hell happened here?” Billie laughs, her eyes completely enthralled by the spotless state of their quarters. “This wha’ you’ve been doin’ all mornin’?! Didn’t ya have lessons or sumthin’?”

Ramona sighs as she flops down on top of her trunk, a wearily satisfied smile curling up on her lips as she watches Billie wander around the space with an impressed glint in her eyes. “Just a one-on-one bass session with one of the counselors. I didn’t really have other activities planned for today though…”

“My god, Mon-mon, I’ve been gone for a few hours!” Billie scoffs in amazement before she lightly tosses her violin case onto her bed, which was left in its own messy state in the morning. “You got all this done?! ‘s like some Disney princess magic shite o’ sumthin’.”

A snort slips through Ramona’s nose while Ramona sheepishly looks away from the Brit. “It’s not much–” Billie instantly gives her a deadpan–”...okay, actually it was a lot, but it wasn’t a big deal. I was just getting tired of having dust all over me.”

“We just moved in here like two days ago–”

“And I got tired of it in those two days.”

Another bark of laughter booms from Billie as she steps up in front of Ramona, picking up the earbud and tucking it in her ear. “Ya really hav’ tha’ clean freak vibe, don’t cha.”

“I’m not a clean freak! I just don’t like feeling gross and dirty.”

“Yeah, yeah, whateva’ ya say, Snow White,” Billie snickers as she gently bobs her head, her wild coils swaying back and forth in tandem with the drum kick. “Song ain’t bad. A little poppy fer me, but I like the psychedelic vibe of it.”

Ramona’s eyes instantly light up, the fatigue from the cleanup dissolving like smoke. “Oh yeah, this was the song I was talking about earlier! I personally think the synths are a great backdrop to the bassline, and the drums are also a great partner to it. And the lyrics themselves are really deep, like they’re talking about having an unrequited love–”

Her smile instantly drops once she notices Billie’s eyes widening and her face dropping in shock, and Ramona sheepishly glances shrinks down under the punk’s scrutiny.

“Sorry,” Ramona mumbles as she stares down at her mp3 player in her hands, “you probably don’t really care about that–”

“Nah, keep goin’,” Billie slowly grins. “I wanna hear more.”

Ramona’s eyes snap up at her Brit double, heat creeping up on her cheeks and the back of her ears, before she turns her head away.

“No, it’s embarrassing–”

“Oi, don’t gimme tha’!” Billie scoffs, nudging Ramona’s leg with her own. “If ya like sumthin’, ya like sumthin’! Ya can’t jus’ back away from it!”

She plops down next to the flustered Ramona on the large trunk and bumps their shoulders together with her signature cat-like grin. “Now, c’mon, what other songs do ya have? Ya go with more of a bubblegum poppy vibe or a psychedelic alt one?”

Ramona rolls her eyes again before she clicks on the middle play button, the screen flashing its blue light and revealing multiple named playlists and  as she scrolls through them. “I listen to other genres, like hip-hop, rock, alternative–”

“So you picked out all of these songs on it?”

“...no. My mom did.”

A slight petulant pout juts out from Ramona’s lower lip as she continues to scroll down the menu. “I mean, I like listening to them either way…I just get more options through my phone than on this…”

“ ‘s better than usin’ a cassette player,” Billie huffs out a small laugh as she holds her hand out, waiting for Ramona to place the player on it. “M’ dad refuses t’ use a dog, let alone a tablet, ‘cuz he t’inks the gov’ment’s spyin’ on us ‘n keepin’ track o’ our data. M’ Uncle James jus’ calls ‘im old, though, ‘cuz he doesn’ know how to use ‘em.”

A brief flicker of confusion crosses through Ramona’s eyes– What does a dog have to do with this? – before she notices the telltale sheen in Billie’s downcast eyes. The pensive smile on her face, the slight strain on her lip. That familiar trembling of her fingers.

Ramona’s gaze softens before gently dropping the mp3 player onto Billie’s palm. “Maybe you can get your dad one of these instead. I’m sure they’re old-school enough for him to listen to music with.”

“Nah, he actually sucks a’ using these too,” Billie lets out a watery chuckle as she starts to scroll through. “Crazy, though, ‘cuz he knows how to take stuff like ‘ese apart and put ‘em back together, but he doesn’ know how t’ download a song–”

A sharp gasp hitches in the Brit, her eyes widening and her jaw dropped, before she lets out a bark of a laugh again, any trace of vulnerability on her face replaced by pure elation.

“Oh my god, you actually listen to this band?! Okay, wait wait wait wait wait–”

Billie then bolts off the trunk, accidentally yanking the earbud out of Ramona’s ear, before scrambling to her own. “No, ‘cuz I have the perfect t’ing for this! Annie let me borrow this before I moved out, but I never got t’ chance t’ use it!”

The moment Billie unlatches and pops her trunk open, Ramona’s face falters in dismay from the shambolic state inside. Crumpled t-shirts and pants in disarray, crinkled papers sticking out between layers of clothes, and some pencil eraser ends peeking out– is that even safe to stick your hand in?!

Ramona flinches when Billie haphazardly shoves her hand inside, digging through the chaos within, before she yanks her arm out with a large pill-shaped speaker in her hand.

“Found it! I t’ink they should be compat’ble wit’ each other– oh, wait, there should be a chord with this, unless yer player’s got bluetooth or sumthin’–”

“Yeah– yeah, it has it,” Ramona scrambles over to Billie before she risks plunging her hand inside her trunk again, “but can we do it after we get your side cleaned up?...”

Billie owlishly blinks at Ramona before slowly glancing over to her bed. The fitted sheets are half off the mattress, pillows and a crumpled blanket are scattered across the bed, and her stuffed bunny Pom-pom hanging off the edge. Her eyes also linger on the layer of dust and grime on the windowsill beside her bed and a suspicious cobweb–that definitely wasn’t there before hovering–over her headboard.

Her face pinches in reluctance at the sight, clearly not enthused at the potential work, before an idea pops into her head.

“Or maybe…”

—

The Ramones blare through the speaker, upbeat guitar and drums vibrating against the wooden walls and rattling against the windows. Loud thumps ring through the music, socked feet and painted converses stomping and jumping against the groaning floorboards, as the two girls thrash and dance across the cabin.

Billie headbangs to the raw guitar riff, her dark coils wildly swishing in the air, while she plays her air guitar along the instrumentals with feather dusters in hand. Giggles bubble up from Billie’s chest as the familiar rush of adrenaline washes over her, images of flashing lights and screaming crowds ringing in the background of her mind with each thrash of her head, shadows of leather and spike-cladded bodies flitting back and forth on her mini concert.

Ramona, meanwhile, flails her arms and twirls the towels in her hands, twirling and whooping across the cabin with a grin growing on her face. Exhilaration courses through her veins, limbs swinging in tune of the beat and ponytail slapping against her skin in sharp stings, and a welling builds up in her chest until it explodes out of her mouth into a whoop.

The moment the drum solo takes over, both girls chant out the hook at the top of their lungs– 

“Hey! Ho! Let’s go! Hey! Ho! Let’s go!”

Their voices reverberate the wood in reckless abandon, their singing following the frontman screaming through the plastic speaker, while they dance and scrub through the rest of the cabin. Loud smacks of feathers slapping dust off in tandem with the drums. Feet bouncing against squeaking floorboards. Towels sweeping against surfaces with each bass riff. Sheets and blankets snapping in the air. Clothes being folded, papers and pencils being sorted through. The smell of sweat and lemon mingling with the fresh air. The rickety cabin livens up from the inside for the first time in a while, groaning and vibrating along with them in their wild bopping, their jubilant concert for two.

With the last of their chants rolling off their tongues, they flop onto Billie’s now-clean bed the moment the song ends, more giggles bubbling up their chests while they bask in the inviting spotlessness around them. Sunlight pools through the open windows, the telltale sounds of instruments playing and children laughing in the background lulling them as an intermission.

“I actually needed that,” Billie huffs out with a growing grin, a lot more broad and child-like compared to her usual cat-like one. “Can’t deal with those bloody violin lessons anymore, what with their bloody postures, their techniques, their rule about stayin’ still–”

“Okay, before you continue,” Ramona gasps out with a winded laugh, pulling out her mp3 player from her pocket to lower the volume in sync with the speaker before the next song plays, “why did you sign up for the orchestra program– let alone for violin? I thought you’d go for something more…your vibe.”

Billie blows a long raspberry with a disgruntled frown, her forehead wrinkling up and her nose scrunching up. “M’ dad ‘n m’ Uncle Ned tried t’ get me into t’e other programs, but they were all filled up. T’e only ones left at t’e time were violin ‘n… tuba.”

Both girls blanch at the thought, their arms already protesting with dread from the weight of the brass instrument.

“Can ya ‘magine me carryin’ tha’ ‘round camp?” Billie adds on with a sputter, “ ‘specially wit’ me luggin’ it up the damn hill?”

“Okay, yeah, no,” Ramona coughs up, struggling to stifle her laughter, “that would’ve sucked.”

Billie’s grin grows the more she listens to Ramona’s giggles. She slowly rolls onto her side, her attention square on her double as she sinks down on the creaking mattress. “Yeah, Dad ‘n Uncle Ned were kinda worried ‘bout me gettin’ in, thinkin’ ‘m not gonna have fun or not get along wit’ the others, but it’s not so bad, I guess.”

The flicker of nostalgia in Billie’s eyes does not go unnoticed by Ramona.

“You’re really close with your dad, huh?” Ramona coaxes as she shifts on the bed to face the Brit.

The grin on Billie’s face briefly drops for a moment before it softens into a soft smile. “Yeah, he’s m’ best friend.  We do everythin’ together.”

A small twinge pricks in Ramona’s chest, but she ignores it with a small sniffle. “Yeah? Like what?”

Pride floods Billie’s face. “We go on tours together wit’ his band. They go all over Europe ‘n the States ev’ry year ‘n take me durin’ summer term. Normally I’d go wit’ ‘em, but Uncle Ned wanted me t’ spend more time wit’ other kids this year–”

“Wait, on tour?”

“Yeah! They’re bloody big in London, but lately they’ve been gettin’ more shows here, so I’ll prob’bly be stayin’ here durin’ the summer more often.”

“Whoa…” Ramona gapes at the grinning punk, eyes filled with awe, earning a snicker from Billie.

“Yeah, but what ‘bout you?” Billie props her arm on the mattress and rests her cheek against her hand. “Wha’s yer dad like?”

Ramona’s face falters from the inquiry, that small twinge pricking in her chest again, before she glances away from Billie.

“...I don’t know my dad. My mom doesn’t really talk about him a lot.”

Billie instantly stops smiling, her chest instantly hurting from the brief light in Ramona’s eyes dimming, before she changes the subject.

“...wha’s yer mum like then?”

Ramona’s eyes flick up to Billie’s again, and Billie sighs in relief from the light gradually building up in her double’s eyes.

“She’s my best friend,” Ramona whispers with the sweetest smile Billie’s ever seen, one that stirs up a familiar image she cannot explain. “She raised me by herself, so we’ve been through a lot together.”

Ramona clears her throat and glances away, blinking away the sheen in her eyes. “I usually stay home or hang out with her at her studio, but my mom had to go on a long business trip this summer, so she and I signed up to come here.”

A small smile creeps up on Billie’s face the longer she listens. “She a musician too?”

Ramona shakes her head, her smile gradually growing with a quiet pride of her own. “She’s actually a designer. She owns her own clothing company and everything. Sometimes she’ll design some stuff for fashion shows and other commissions, but she normally focuses on regular clothes.”

Pushing herself up on the bed, Ramona sits up straight and holds her arms up to show her overalls, a bright patch of a cherry sitting on her chest area. “She actually makes some of my clothes, from the designs up until the final product. She’ll usually show me her ideas and let me pick out which ones I like before she makes them for me…”

A dull ache creeps up in Billie’s chest this time, but she smiles it through. “Kinda wish I had a mum like that…”

The nostalgia in Ramona’s smile dissolves as she stares back at the punk girl, the same bittersweet smile briefly on her face. She shifts along the mattress until her legs are crossed and tucked underneath her.

“Is your mom…?”

Billie shrugs her shoulder before pushing herself up, mirroring Ramona as she pushes her wild curls out of her face. “Never really got a clear answer ‘bout that, but I guess so. Dad doesn’ really talk ‘bout her, but my uncles and aunt do. They’d tell me a whole bunch of stories ‘bout her ‘fore I was born, basically had Dad smitten ‘n wrapped ‘round her finger ever since they met a’ one of their earliest shows before they blew up…”

A wistful smile lingers on Billie’s face, a face that Ramona instantly doesn’t like on her.

“M’ mum ended up makin’ their first band shirts ‘n stuff, ‘n she’d go to ev’ry show jus’ t’ watch Dad play his guitar solos. Eve’rybody loved her. M’ Auntie Yuri even told me once tha’ I look like her sometimes, even though ev’rybody else says I look like m’ dad.”

A familiar guitar riff quietly creeps into Billie’s ears, and she glances at the speaker with a hint of shock and sentimentality in her eyes. “Wait, hang on, can ya turn the speaker up for a secon’?”

Ramona furrows her eyebrows from bewilderment, caught off guard by the change of subject, before complying. “Yeah, sure. I really like this band too, but this one’s my mom’s favorite band. She’s been a huge fan of theirs for a long time, like ‘knowing all the members by name' kind of fan. She actually started taking me to some of their concerts recently–”

Ramona’s voice slowly grows muffled in Billie’s ears, only focusing on the recognizable guitar riff, one her dad usually plays. Then a nostalgic female voice starts to belt through the speakers, sending a rush of homesickness to her chest.

“...Auntie Yuri?” Billie mutters in disbelief before she glances down at the mp3 player in Ramona’s hand. “Can I…?”

Puzzlement flickers in Ramona’s eyes before her face slowly drops, her eyes widening and her jaw dropping before she hands Billie the player. “Wait…don’t tell me…”

A burning sensation creeps up in Billie’s throat the moment she stares down at the small screen, her eyes watering again as they linger on the all-too-familiar band name.

“My god, that’s m’ dad’s band,” Billie huffs out, a watery chuckle wavering in her voice. “Ya actually listen t’ m’ dad’s band…”

“Hang on– this is your dad’s band?!” Ramona’s thoughts race through her mind in a frenzy, the revelation from Billie a literal bombshell as she pieces the details together. Her Auntie Yuri, the frontwoman? Her Uncle Ned…the bassist? And since Billie’s last name is…Brown…

“YOUR DAD IS HOBIE BROWN?!”

As Billie scrambles off her bed and rushes to her trunk again, Ramona whips her head with a look of alarm. She clambers off the bed and rushes to Billie’s side while Billie rummages through her newly organized trunk.

“Nonono– you’re not gonna just drop that on me and not tell me more!” Ramona sputters in exasperation. “You’re telling me this whole time your dad is Hobie Brown?! Oh my god! His guitar riffs are crazy! And you basically got to see him and everybody live and up close?! Are you serious–”

Tuning out the mental spiral next to her, Billie pulls out a flat tin box and pops it open, revealing various old pictures of her and the band– as well as rendering the babbling Ramona silent with shock and awe.

“Won’t lie, was kinda disappointed tha’ nobody in m’ old cabin didn’ know ‘bout ‘em,” Billie sheepishly chuckles before gingerly tucking the photos into a stack, “but since you do, figured ya’d ‘preciate seein’ these–”

“Holy crap.” Ramona gapes at the hidden treasure in Billie’s hands, “my mom would probably freak out if she saw those…”

A snort slips vibrates through Billie’s nose before she hands the pictures to Ramona, who eagerly gazes at the faded ink. “They ain’t much, but m’ Uncle James wanted me to know the ‘whole history’ – she air-quotes with a playful eye roll– “of the band. They mainly played in Camden at some old bars and underground venues before somebody picked ‘em up.”

Ramona’s eyes twinkle with excitement and recognition, her eyes lingering onto each grainy photo before her fingers reluctantly shuffle to the next. Yuri Watanabe– the Yuri Watanabe– grinning at the roaring crowds with a mischievous grin akin to Billie’s. Drummer James Jameson with his arms raised up to the heavens with his drumsticks, blond hair whipping in the air, before swinging them down to the cymbals for a thundering drum solo. Ramona’s eyes widen at the image of bassist Ned Leeds in mid-air, soaring into the crowd for a stage dive, leather-cladded with black liner staining his cheeks.

One photo makes Ramona’s fingers freeze– a young man with wild wicks and silver piercings, skidding towards the edge of the stage on his knees with an electric guitar in hand. A glint of mischief flashes in his eyes, a familiar smirk curling up on his pierced lip, living in his element in one solid image. Billie instantly pops into Ramona’s mind when she stares at the photo, her heart soaring and welling up in overwhelming wonder.

She’s staring at the Hobie Brown– before the fame, before the sold-out concerts, living his life through the music. It feels like a shame to move on to the next photo, but Ramona reluctantly shuffles on, the printed memories getting ingrained to her mind the more she looks at them.

A couple of baby photos pop up soon after. Baby Billie fast asleep on a sleeping Yuri’s chest. The same baby Billie giggling and grabbing handfuls of the same James’s hair, the man wincing with a pained smile. The same baby Billie reaching her tiny hand out to a yellow plastic maraca in a beaming Ned’s hand. 

Despite knowing the curly-haired infant in these photos is someone else, Ramona can’t help but imagine herself in them, especially the photo of a wearily content Hobie gently bouncing the baby in his arms.

Her mind briefly wanders off to her own father, the stranger with no face in her mind, the shadow who lingers in her mom’s memories. Would he have been as gentle and loving to her like Hobie to Billie? Would he look at her with the same love like Hobie to Billie?

Her hands tremble slightly as she hesitantly slides that photo behind, only to stare at the next photo right in front of her– a young Hobie Brown hugging a young woman holding up a band t-shirt. An all-too-familiar looking woman with an all-too-familiar smile.

You.

“Oh yeah, tha’s my mum,” Billie whispers beside Ramona, her eyes gleaming with awe and tenderness. “Tha’s the only one Uncle James could find o’ her. Even then though, I know she’d be the best mum if she were still wit’ us. Honestly, I don’t really believe Auntie Yuri when she says I look like her. I mean, I look pretty fit like m’ dad, but m’ mum? I think she’s the most beautiful…”

Billie trails off as soon as she glances up at the stunned Ramona, her hands trembling and crinkling up Billie’s borrowed memory. Worry floods Billie’s face before she carefully shakes her double’s shoulder. “Mon-mon? What’s wrong?”

But the moment Ramona finally answers, Billie instantly hears glass shattering in her ears.

“Mom?”

----

British Phrase of the Chapter:

Plates of meat - feet

Creamed - or creamed crackered; knackered, exhausted

Butcher's - or butcher's hook ; look

Daisies - or daisy roots ; boots

Conk - nose

Scooby doo - clue

Rabbiting - or rabbit and pork ; talk

Dog - or dog and bone ; phone

https://www.berlitz.com/blog/british-slang-lingo-words-meanings

https://www.ruf.rice.edu/~kemmer/Words04/usage/slang_cockney.html

https://www.collinsdictionary.com/us/dictionary/english-thesaurus/nose

---

Song (s) of the Chapter:

[ofmermaidstories]

Hi!!

Just wanted to let you know I've re-read for loke the 10nth time the seeing-deaths!reader×bakugo story and oh my god it's so good, it's one of my favorite stories ever

If you feel like it, have you ever thought about Bakugou's side of the story? Especially after the ending. I think the story is perfect as is and doesn't necessarely need a sequel but I often wonder about this Bakugo so I'd love to hear any of your thoughts if you feel like sharing them!

Anyway, love your writing and have a good day!

Xo

The ghost story. 🥺

I hadn’t actually sat down to think about how it would effect Bakugou, like, in-depth until mei-writes reblogged it and pointed out how devastating a loss would be for an older Bakugou, one who fought so hard to make through to the other side of his (in Mei’s brilliant words!!) inferiority complex and anger. 🥺 I said in reply that I thought Katsuki would like, throw himself into work until he broke, as a way of regaining some control/giving himself a distraction, but that it wouldn’t work. And it wouldn’t!! I think it would be an unholy drive, though; I always saw our killer as getting away that day (it’s why we die, it’s a distraction), and I don’t think Katsuki would give himself even a moment’s grace to process things. He’d just—immediately chase after him. Of course he has to. He failed to get this guy once, and look what hap—anyway. Don’t think about it, not now, get this bastard first. 

Katsuki would genuinely scare everyone who cares about him. Denki, Kirishima. Izuku. When Katsuki finally finds and corners the guy it’s like, idk, in some industrial real-estate, just a warren of warehouses and factory floors and empty parking lots. Katsuki’s been going 24/7, he’s running on fumes and fury, and this prick is like, making machinery and walls topple down in a spray of fine steel dust, piping hot concrete. Inorganic material that reacts to insane heat differently than—

You know, Katsuki’s always prided himself on how tightly controlled his explosions can be. On the discipline it takes. But like I said, he’s running on empty. He’s exhausted, he’s not letting himself think of why he’s here in some fucking shitty-ass industrial park, chasing down a fucker who’s laughter keeps echoing around these fucking buildings—so maybe he loses his temper. Maybe his explosions start rippling through warehouses and storage spaces with plastic containers of hazardous materials until he creates an inferno. Maybe, just maybe, when Izuku arrives (breathless, afraid, his jaw tightening when he finds Katsuki standing motionless in front of a blaze so high and hot it’s that the blond is shimmering with sweat, dripping like jewels) it’s too late.

Death during legal intervention. That’s the phrase used in the coroner’s findings. It’s shocking, and there’s some grumblings—by the press mostly, who brand Dynamight a danger to order and decency. Anti Pro-Hero groups arc up about it, and maybe a justice-system reform organisation pushes for actual punishment. But mostly the public forgives. The guy was dangerous. He killed people! There’s literally footage of it from multiple angles, it’s so horrific and sad. The looks on the victims faces, before it happens. Still. The Hero Commission can’t let it look like they don’t care about order—Katsuki’s on immediate leave, two months, half-pay. 

His friends are still scared. They enact the Sit-a-Chan system, babysitting Katsuki, making sure he doesn’t do anything crazy. He hates it—people in his fucking space when he doesn’t want them!! Deku’s the worst, he hovers, but Kirishima and his yapping is a close second. And then Denki—ugh. He’s the one that notices the extra toothbrush, in the bathroom. The little toiletry bag, wedged in between Katsuki’s shaver, some callous cream.

(Denki’s heart drops to his ass when he realises, and carefully—quietly, before Katsuki can notice his silence and get suspicious, he peers into Katsuki’s bedroom.

He doesn’t know what he’s afriad of finding—a lifesized mannequin of you, maybe, dressed up in your clothes or whatever, paint smeared on its face. But Katsuki’s room is neat and tidy, spartan almost, his bed made. 

There’s just—

Denki’s mouth thins, sad, when he sees it. On the end of Katsuki’s bed is a small pile of fresh laundry, neatly folded—all in colours Denki’s never, ever seen him wear.

“Got any plans for what you wanna do with the—with everything?” The asshole asks, suddenly, as Katsuki tries to ignore him by pretending to take a nap on the couch. 

It takes a moment for him to register what the walking charging pack is saying, his body recognising it before his brain, his chest immediately tightening at the words.

Fury jerks Katsuki upright. “If you’ve touched one fucking thing—”

But Denki’s hands are already up in surrender. “Nah! Nah man, I promise, I’m not gonna do anything.” There’s a beat between them, where Denki watches him, mouth shut before he says, very, very gently, “No one’s gonna force you to do anything. I’m just—curious. Izuku said you’d met with… with the mother. Of both of them.”

Talking to Kacchan is a lot like talking a tiger, at times; red, feline eyes staring at Denki unblinkingly, untrusting, until they cut away to the kitchen, his table. The expression on his face doesn’t change, but Denki can only guess what he’s thinking of. Who’s he’s thinking of. 

“There’s nothin’ to do,” Katsuki says, eventually, voice hard. “Whatever’s here is it.” 

Denki nods. Your apartment, your belongings—your mother probably dealt with all that. Suddenly he realises just how little his friend has of you. A folded pile of clothes. A toothbrush. Time.)

Two months is a lot of downtime for a man who’s used to saving the country regularly. The things left in Katsuki’s apartment move around, like your restless ghost is unsure of where to leave them, Katsuki’s restlessness unsure. There’s nothing of value to them and your Mother had shaken her head when Katsuki had mentioned that he—that you—that he had a few things of yours, if they were important—

But still. He doesn’t know what to do with them. The book you were reading slips in among his own, sticking out like a baboon’s ass. He hands up your cardigan in his wardrobe—just to get it out of the way, he tells himself. The bag of your skincare and shit—an italian handcream, a lip balm, moisturiser, some other things—still sit behind his mirror, where he sees it every day.

He doesn’t tell anyone when he leaves the city, your little toilet bag shoved in his dufflebag, unceremoniously thrown in the backseat of his car, sleek and black and shinning under the city lights as he drives. It’s the closest you’ll get to leaving the damn place, together; though Katsuki doesn’t let himself think that. 

Your Mother, when Katsuki had met her, had almost seemed—resigned. Not surprised.

“It’s been hard,” she’d told him, his skin prickling uncomfortably. “Not just—not just this. But… but being unable to help throughout everything. Did you—did the two of you ever talk about… about your quirks?” 

Katsuki had shaken his head, his jaw locking. He had always assumed you were quirkless; you had always avoided the conversation. 

Your Mother had swallowed. Nodded. “If you ever… if you’re ever our way, back home, please—please call in. It would mean a lot.”

To her. To you, maybe, if you’d still been here. To Katsuki too, though it’s harder for him to admit to himself. 

He drives through the night to your hometown, the sun rising when he finally makes it, pulling in off the road, just up on a hill that overlooks the town lights below. It’s a chilly morning; Katsuki leans against his car, scuffing at the gravel under his boots as he shoves his hands in his pockets. Maybe he’ll get some answers here. Some insight into what was going on in there, behind those big, unsure eyes you’d sometimes look at him with. 

(He does, and he doesn’t. Your mother has pictures of you, ready, when he makes it. You in highschool with a tall, redheaded boy that’s all grins. You as a small kid, with an older, smiling woman, round and soft-looking. 

Your mother is silent as she watches Katsuki take them in. 

“They’re all gone, now,” she tells him, when Katsuki eventually glances back to her. 

You and your collection of ghosts. Your mother tells him what she knows, and it’s not everything—but he thinks he finally begins to understand.)

[luckyboki]

Have some winterfrost and thundershield hanging out together shenanigans cause I love them very much!!!!

Steve has probably never seen Bucky laugh as hard as he does when he’s around Loki and Thor. Those two crack him up like nothing else.

Bucky’s favorite bit is Loki taking Thor’s cape and doing dramatic re-enactments of his brother. Gets him every time.

Everyone assumes Steve is the most responsible of the four but honestly, they’re all bouncing the same self destructive braincell around between them all. Bucky tends to get them out of trouble the most (even if he may have helped start it in the first place).

Tony calls them the “safety hazards” and addresses them as such when they all walk into the room together.

Loki likes to take Steve’s shield and hide it in the most obscure places. He found it on a satellite dish on the roof of Avenger’s tower once. This bit also makes Bucky laugh a lot. He even suggests places for Loki to hide it. They even take it sledding one snowy day after seeing Jeff the Landshark using it for the same purpose.

Bucky once bought Thor pop-tarts for his birthday and nearly got crushed in a hug afterwards.

Steve and Loki can yap for HOURS. Thor and Bucky enjoy sitting and listening. Bucky will even fall asleep on Loki’s lap if they end up talking into the wee hours of the night.

They all attend their first Pride event together and have a blast. Everyone wants their picture taken with Captain America of course, but Thor, Loki and Bucky also get invited to join in on the photos. Steve frames one of the four of them in the main room of the Avengers Tower and keeps multiple framed ones in his room.

[tanukitsuneko-suki]

w episode 22 thoughts:

- shotaro as the conscience of this show is gonna bite him back in the ass one day

- "i believe terui ryu has the right idea this time" listen i feel very /pos about this. i have a lot of emotions. obviously the conclusion that ruthlessness should be accepted is wrong and violates the lesson that w is trying to impart but whenever they have this conflict between them it tickles my brain

- i have half a thought to stop yapping just in case i'm proven extremely wrong but ahh... mistaken conclusions are a part of life isn't it

- if i mischaracterize a character so bad in these recaps to the point where i earn a side-eye from you guys i am sorry in advance

- philip scolds shotaro a lot but he still smiles softly when shotaro does what he does, i really like that part about them. it almost makes it seem like any opposition from philip is him testing shotaro's resolve again and again, rather than any real argument

- anyway the way philip looks at shotaro when he insists on not letting any lives be lost...that is a gaze of a man in love

- *oh.* philip smiled because he knew that shotaro understood what he said that they have to stop her regardless. shotaro was too forgiving and philip pulled him back. they met in the middl;e

- SHE ACTUALLY TRACED SAEKO'S OFFICE. LET'S GO WOMEN!?!?!?

- they have to kill her off because she is too powerful otherwise. death note ahh plot

- that went downhill quite quickly!

- sure do hope wakana doesn't die or anything. the death flags in her song is crazy

- i will be very polite. i will not say anything. about the legs. not a single peep from me

- i think she's just trying to infiltrate the org deeper even at the cost of a life or two

- ohhhhhhhhh🧍 maybe i'm naive too. i have love and peace in my heart, you have to understand

- "...react with rage and hatred" oh you mean like hazard. like a hazard level? they grow stronger with intense emotions and occasionally get driven berserk? okay

- first time seeing his transformation clearly. he turns into the motorcycle itself?? haha just like

- this secondary is spoiled to all hell by the plot

[alastor-simp-page]

#wip wednesday

Context: old gay men yaoi however not radioapple. SATAN X LUCIFER. Or lucitan. idk trying to come up with a ship name. Takes place after mastermind and spawned in after a what if question.

also two hot demons? millennia old beef? two big egos? a power struggle? (again, speculation)

SAY LESS

also gimme some time tho i'm desperately trying to fight my way out of writer's block STILL

without furthur adieu the yapping has ceased (under the gif is the little pathetic attempt at writing)

Lucifer POV (for context):

Did those fuckers even miss him? He hadn’t received a single text message about these Infernal Trials.  

Lucifer picked up his phone and swiped into the 7 Deadly Sins Group Chat. A chat that had been silent since 1669. However, the mini group chat without that ass wipe, Mammon constantly being a huge douche was not. As a matter of fact, his little “friend group” were chatting about an upcoming meeting. In…”THIRTY MINUTES?”

He still didn’t have a clue why they kept including him in these chats. Ah, and douche bag numero dos is typing. Satan was rambling on about the trail, the time, the place, the venue, the seating, blah, blah, blah. Who cared? Well…what people cared who mattered? Lucifer blinked a few times, his fingers hovering over the message bar. Did he matter to them anymore? 

That thought struck a rather nasty chord in his heart. His face twisted and he tossed the phone a few inches away from his head. It had been a while since he had done…anything. Anything remotely important. For the last few hundreds years he had been killing time…and it never seemed to fucking drop dead. His gaze scanned over his embarrassing messy room. The dresser had overturned makeup supplies with used makeup removers balled up into a mountain next to it. The work station, God, he didn’t even want to talk about it. It was all in all, a safety hazard with multiple razor sharp tools on the plush and unvacuumed floor, open paint bottles, stale paint water glistening under the Hell Sun and about a few hundred half finished rubber ducks glaring back at him. 

He wanted to scream yet he couldn’t find the voice. How fucking pathetic was he? His wife left him, his daughter estranged, his once close friend group he willingly isolated himself from. And the sinners? Fuck the sinners. Naive Lucifer all those thousands of years ago thought he could make a change for humanity however they fucked it up. He let them run wild and they burned down the world. The worst part? Dear old weary Lucifer was forced to live amongst the ramble even if he chose to distance himself as much as he could. 

There was no avoiding the Hell grocery store which, by Golly, was real Hell. The parking lot, the screaming children, the constant honking and bitching customers. He had to give it to the Wrath hellborn A Team for creating such a horrid thing, nothing beats a grocery store parking lot on a Sunday morning. 

Well, maybe war crimes and mosquitos but that was beside the point.

And that reminded him: Satan. The other deadly sins. The downright audacity to not invite him to an Infernal Trial in God knows how long. 

“You know what…FUCK IT!” Lucifer declared, digging into his shirt for his smushed pajama collar and straightening it out with his claws. With a skip in his step, he leapt up to his feet and crossed eagerly over to the dresser. Sitting there in all its glory: his wondrous iconic hat. Licking his fingers and slicking back his fluffed up blonde hair, he set the hat upon his head, smirking into the ever so flattering mirror that ogled back. “It’s about time I show them who's boss, hm?” 

[distant-velleity]

Never know when the calm winds will change Everyone lives hiding themselves like a sealed tornado Poppin', if you think I'm just pure and innocent, you're wrong When a favor continues, people think it's their right, toxic This is what drives me crazy, warning

Easier said than done, right? But what’s the use in pretending to be normal?

Well well well. Look which silly little guy actually found the time to make a groovified version of Music Weeks Yuhua. I took some inspiration from SKZ's MANIAC for this, because that song is SUPER Hazard/Riff core.

Once again, thanks @raguiras for hosting this event!

(Additional voicelines beneath the cut)

~

Home Transition (Groovification): When the music starts, that’s when people show their most authentic selves. I’ve already learned a lot about others from the way they approach singing and dancing.

Tap Home (Groovification): Yeah, I’ll admit I’m still feeling some ‘stage fright.’ But, better to try it and fail than never do something at all, right?

~

some assorted yapping!!

Usseewa, Outer Science, and Shanti were all REALLY strong contenders for inspiration here. But. MANIAC's choreography will always win me over unfortunately (or fortunately?)

That said I still would kill for a Yuhua cover of Usseewa because of how well it fits him (...........I say that like I don't have the power to envision/create such a thing)

Don't ask me how his vignette would go because I have an idea and it's kind of mid 😭

~

art taglist (ask to be added or removed): @thehollowwriter @theleechyskrunkly @elenauaurs @casp1an-sea @nahelenia

@skriblee-ksk @boopshoops @scint1llat3 @nyx-of-night @nemisisnemi

@the-banana-0verlord @beneathsakurashade @kathxrat-01 @lumdays @twistedwonderlandshenanigans

[gildedmuse]

Fandom rookie here. Could you please walk me through your Zoro/Law and Zoro/Ace HCs? Love your humor btw!

Ahhh! A little fandom greenhorn! So cute!

You have asked the wrong person the wrong question, newbie.

ZoLaw:

Zoro is from the East, and while he isn't use to Winter Island Cold, he naturally runs hot. Law is from the North and while he HATES being stuck on Summer Islands on hot days, he naturally runs cool. They balance each other beautifully when they share a bed.

Up in the North Blue, it's considered weak to admit that you're cold. Weaknesses gets people killed in the North Blue, so having someone imply you need an extra blanket is a direct insult to a person's ability to keep themselves and their loved ones alive. So obviously Law would never need the extra heat.... But he MAY find himself scooting closer to Zoro-ya on the chillier nights.

The handle of a katana isn't the only thing Zoro can talk around.

...

(Cock. He can talk around a mouth full of cock. And Law LOVES it. Its the only time he can stand one of the Strawhats yapping on).

Look, Law is scientifically minded and likes to believe he is very rational (that's open to debate). He's seen Zoro-ya in the sea and knows he doesn't have a devil's fruit. But sometimes it feels like he does. SPECIFICALLY, one that somehow manages to undo every single one of Law's plans. Because the problem certainly isn't in Law! His plans are complex and perfect. But anytime he comes up for one about how to, say, ask Zoro-ya out it always somehow manages to go terribly wrong. It MUST be a devil's fruit ability.

The first time Zoro actually properly asks Torao out, he first bows to and addresses Kikoku. Since it's imperative he has the curse blades permission to touch his master (especially with all the touching Zoro has planned).

Law doesn't get jealous. That's petty and below him

Law has personally threatened at least three shichibukai and one very (also highly annoying) horny yonko. Not because he was jealous, they just need to step off and stop looking at HIS Zoro-ya that way.

If you ask the boys when they started dating, you get VASTLY different answers. Law would argue that while he'd of course taken notices of the other Supernova back on Saboady, the boy then disappeared for two years and besides Law had a lot of plans that he needed to focus on and execute perfectly. They didn't really see each other again until after Punk Hazard and of course Law was very distracted until after Doflamingo..... Then the horrors they saw on Zou, though, admitedly he may have found himself distracted by Zoro-ya once or twice even at the time.... You know, he would say it was Wano. It was Wano when he realized what an idiot the other boy was, and how he absolutely needed Law on the ground watching after him or he would do something amazingly stupid like... Like listening to Law's plan for instance! When Zoro-ya endangering his life was CLEARLY not what Law intended! Yes, that is when Law decided this boy simply couldn't be considered safe unless Law is there to watch after him..... Also, it's sometimes nice when Zoro-ya looks after him as well.... SOMETIMES.

Zoro would say "Did you see Torao cut that island in half?" And that is all he has to say on the subject of when they started dating.

Law has noticed that Zoro-ya doesn't seem to pay much attention to what he wears, just picks up what is nearest and easiest and throws it on. On an unrelated note, Law has been "accidentally" making sure to strip down right by their bed, and leaving his shirts right there. His shirts with his jolly roger.

Nico Robin had to use not just her ability but her most Teacherly voice in order to separate Luffy and Law when Zoro shows up with the Heart Jolly Roger on his shirt. Law's smirking about it (while Zoro remained utterly confused through the entire fight) didn't help.

Zoro is super weak to people playing with his ear. This goes double when it's Torao and his stupid, sexy hands. He already wants to squirm whenever he watches Torao do that stupid switch-switch thing, but once Torao starts to sit closer and, even while reading his fingers seem to find their way to Zoro's earrings..... Twirl twirl twirl, TUG. Its enough to break Zoro's brain.

Historically, Northern denizens tended to have shorter and much more dangerous lifes compared to the relatively safe and stable East Blue, leading to them having a much different view of things like romance and marriage. That's part of why tattoos are so popular among North Blue denizens. However short your inevitably short life is, a tattoo is permanent. You can't change your mind or take it back. It's a way of wearing your loyalty.

Right behind his ear, the same side as his piercings, Zoro has a small black heart tattoo. He got it on their way up to Wano.

Usopp still doesn't understand how Zoro got lost on a submarine. He didn't see him for a whole four days! What's so funny, Robin.....

I actually have a number of HCs for these two that basically boil down to "Each Island should have its own culture, and by extension, each Blue should have its own culture the way each state has its own culture but the USA also has its own general culture." This can range from things like what I mentioned above, about North Blue having historically shorter lives due to the harsher environment or being more technologically advanced. But I also had smaller things like Law kissing Zoro-ya on the nose, since up North that was how you showed affection to family or younger friends and acquaintances. I also went the entire opposite direction of "smaller" and invented an entirely Shinto derived religion that's customs and kami differed based on the Blue.

I even came up with particular weather that happen almost strictly up North (Ice Storms which are incredibly deadly at sea and Black Mist, a yet unexplained phenomena that seems to choke the life out of any one who gets caught outside) and then wrote up an entire "Old North" mythology that explains the two phenomena and why they often follow each other even though one happens strictly on land and the other typically at sea. I pretty much full on created a whole religion and mythology and wrote individual stories just so Law could have a whole culture that belonged to HIS blue. The myth in question involved a human falling for a siren, and just like actual myths I created multiple retellings and versions where the characterization changed depending on the message the storyteller was trying to express. But in most every version the Siren, Isa, had green hair (because of course the North associates green hair with fertility; oh that's another thing, I created a whole sex profession hierarchy for the North Blue with the one common feature among different types of sex workers being they typically dyed their hair green, like that was a way to physically depict that you were fertile and later that you were, you know, open to being fertilized) and regardless of how they are depicted they end up turning into the shards of an Ice Storm either because they accidentally take human captain's life, do so and then regret their hunger, or are told they have killed them and in turn kill themselves. Law was told the latter version as a child and so always felt bad for Isa, who didn't know they were eating the captain's life force but the crew could have just told him and he would have left and instead because he is "different" they think it's better if he simply destroys himself. It's a character Law can both identify with but also see aspects of Zoro in; both his physical appearance which I'm sure to Law he just pictures Zoro now, but also in his loyalty and honor which aren't as important values up North which instead values survival and strength.

As you can see if I presented an accurate list of my HCs for these two, it would be insane and make no Earthly sense. I just really enjoy world building, especially when that world building leads to two hot sword boys pining after one another.

Oh, did I mention the whole "green hair = sex worker" association and just how personally All Hearts Law takes that when applied to his Zoro-ya?

Yeah.....

ZoBurn FistRo PortZoro

ZoAce:

Upon meeting him during Alabaster, every single non Luffy Strawhat was - at least a little -totally into Ace. He just seemed so cool (and also hot.) He's like a sexy Luffy and the whole crew wanted some.

Zoro wanted it the most, bitches

[ueidesign]

I’m curious as to your reasoning behind making Leona Wind/Euridition.

Does it have something to do with this?:

And the fact that he canonically loves chess, is very strategic, and is extremely intelligent?

I would have thought, with Savanaclaw’s dorm motto, the Hunt path would work better… but if you chose to go with the above clip and a sand storm as his main attacking point, then Eurdition does work better since they do better against groups, right?

Forgive me if I’m way off I have never played hsr in my life this is the product of a quick amount of research to figure out elements and paths etc. so I knew the barest of bare bones so I could learn more and understand more about what you’re doing here with these because I love them 💀😅

Well, hello there ! ^^

Before i start yapping, i just want to say that i love how u ended researching about the paths and elements BECAUSE THAT IS TRUE DEDICATION OVER HERE

Also you are not far from my own reasoning :0 !

Soooooooooo

Let's start by the Path

If we want to choose based on the canon, it would be Tank (Book 6), similar to Vil's

However, i wasn't pleased with it .. it felt bland ?

even Idia himself forfeited the idea immediately cause it DOESN'T MATCH LEONA'S CHARACTERISTICS

And i absolutely agree that the path needs to reflect a character behaviour and their skills !

A small detail i liked is that Leona is not only physically strong, but even his magic power is in great shape !

LEONA IS STRONG AND WELL SUITED TO BE A DPS

He might be lazy... yes, but wasn't what started it was his hatred toward the way he got treated whenever he tried his best ?

In reality He is strong and well suited in the front lines

He even has the title of a "Sunset Warrior" back in his hometown, which is a title given to the strongest fighter !

This leaves us with two options Destruction, The Hunt and Erudition

It is true that Leona's SP (Signature Spell) is a destructive one(turns everything he touches into sand), but unlike Malleus, his behaviour AREN'T that hazard !

This leaves us with The Hunt and Erudition

Comparing the two to each other, i believe that the Erudition is the perfect choice

One

is because Leona is a character that was raised as a TRUE prince he did turn into a troublesome person and very difficult to handle, but those actions of his reflect how strategic he can be

Not to forget how he managed to avoid lots of trouble thanks to this talent

Another thing i love about Leona is that he might be ruthless, but his words are based on experience and silent observation. A LOGICAL ONES INDEED

He even went to a great length with cheating and abusing his power in order to achieve what he wanted (Book 2 accidents)

Point two is more related to his SP, which can injure those around him on a specific range

I think this is a great choice for him to be a multi targeted character or, more accurately, an aoe character

Element choice

As u saw, i ended up giving Leona the Wind element and not physical

Why ?

Because relating him as physical just because he is strong and well built didn't feel right

LEONA ALWAYS DID WHAT HE WAS TOLD he learnt to fight because he is the prince

he polished his skills because he is the prince

I'm not saying he doesn't like that. But why does it feel wrong? It is as if we are labelling it as his duty as the SECOND prince

Wait, let me give an example

Remember Jack Eidolons?

I gave Jack a physical element, compared to Leona. You can see how well deticated Jack is for working out and balancing a healthy lifestyle, but Leona ? He might have cared once but completely gave up on it later on

Not to forget that Leona is a beastman. his species played a huge role in this too.

Last but not least his SP gives a veryy strong feeling for wind

Since sand storms occur when there is a strong WIND to the point it starts lifting the sand grain off the ground and blows them in the air :> (thank u google)

Hope this helps clear everything

Btw !!!

i didn't consider the gif i inserted as a part of my reasoning because u absolutely shocked me with that detail, and I LOVE IT hellooo!!!???

Little note (and a reminder)

ALL OTHER CHOICES ARE VALID. THIS IS NOTHING BUT MY OWN OPINION ON HOW I VIEW THE CHARACTERS <3

Feel free to drop me ur thoughts ! Or reply on this matter

[dragonroilz]

Hey there! I've come across your art ever since I got into Risk of Rain 2 (better late than never, I've been sleeping on this game for years, jesus), and I'm enamoured with it, to say the least. Is there any advice you could perhaps give for an aspiring artist?

you're getting an essay whether you like it or not.

tl;dr of it if you dont want to read

- learn how to take critique

- dont skip fundamentals

- tracing is okay*

- be mindful when drawing

- you wont see good results for a long time

ok firstly, glad you like my art! i try my best on pretty much everything i make so the compliment is greatly appreciated!!

secondly, you have NO clue how much i love yapping about how to draw. im not an expert on how-to-draw-ology but i like to think i know enough to help other people not swing in the dark when it comes to getting better.

learning how to take criticism is THE most important part. not getting butthurt or at least listening to peoples critiques when they mean well is critical to improvement because its specialized advice for you. you have no clue how many young and/or new artists have gotten mad at me for giving critique when they specifically asked me for it. if youre looking to improve you gotta bite that bullet. not all criticism is valid(dont listen to people who are just tryna make you upset), but good and valid criticism can come from anyone. dont unvalidate someone's critique just because theyre not an artist or "not as good" as you. try and get as much feedback as you can and move onto the next piece instead of fixing something to perfection. you will get obsessed in a very destructive way.

learning fundamentals is another step to getting better. that means actually learning perspective, hands, anatomy, and all of the other stuff people hate drawing. its like lifting weights. most people dont like it but if you want to get stronger you need to put in the time to do the painful stuff.

chris christodoulou(ror's composer) actually made a similar comment about the topic of improvement in his field that was along the lines of "if you want to write music, stop playing video games and read a book". he got a lot of shit for saying that but honestly its true.

you need to treat art as a discipline if you want to get better at it. draw as much as you can for as long as you can before it becomes a health hazard. when im not resting i tend to draw at least three hours a day, not counting the 3 to 6 hours additional hours a day i draw during college. obviously a beginner doesn't need to draw that much but drawing daily is a good start.

if you want resources on where to look for fundamentals, Sinixdesign and Ethan Becker were who I turned to for advice that is relevant to the industry. There's definitely others out there but I tend to do more self studying so i don't know the more recent stuff.

something that they'll bring up is that tracing isn't bad AS LONG AS YOU DONT POST IT AND CLAIM IT AS YOUR OWN. it's a good way to see how other people deal with stylization, but its absolutely not okay to post that stuff online. treat it like how traditional painters do master studies. its for your own education, not clout. and you shouldn't be drawing for clout anyway.

last but not least, draw what you love and you'll always love drawing. dont be afraid to hyperfixate and lose interest in things. it will help you continue your art journey. a lot of people in my art school have little to no motivation to draw outside of college because they have no interest in drawing outside of assigned work, which is not a great relationship to have with art if you want to pursue it in the long run. draw what you want to draw when the motivation hits you. if that motivation is risk of rain? draw it. if it's leg muscles then fuck yeah draw that too.

you can stick fundamental practice into your casual art by being mindful of what you are drawing. that can be done by asking questions about what's going on to further the progress of your art. its kind of hard to explain in text, but its basically just keeping in mind how your lines influence the piece.

in the beginning youre going to have ideas and none of them are going to translate to paper. its going to take years before anything will ever compare to whats in your brain and thats just the sucky part. ive been drawing seriously for about 5 or 6 years and theres still a ton of shit i do NOT wanna touch but i have to if i want to improve.

we're all sisyphus pushing that goddamn stupidass boulder and the only thing we can do is acknowledge how far we've come while still knowing that there's more work to be done. but thats kind of the shit that i live for.

[solifloris]

wings with xavier and one kiss with caleb pls!!

selfship asks — one kiss; you and your f/o's first kiss (ft. caleb/miki) & wings; a time when your f/o was really proud of you (ft. xavier/kaia)

SNIFFLES REESEEEE 🥺 HI 🥺 I LOVE YOU 🥺 AJFJAJFJS THANK YOU FOR LETTING ME YAP ABOUT THIS SOB....

one kiss — calmiki

you won't believe it. it's absolutely miki who initiates the first kiss. SKFJSJ i feel like essentially as me, miki captures a lot of the mostly-shy, sometimes-just fuck-it-we-ball essence of me lmao 😭 so that's exactly what it is, you know?

she's had just about enough of the push and pull, just about enough of the tension between them. it's a kiss that definitely doesn't happen for a while, and a also a kiss that definitely took a lot of tension to build up beforehand.

caleb and miki's relationship isn't perfect, maybe that's the picture that the first kiss paints really well. because when you stretch a cord too tight, it snaps.

an argument, probably. something about how caleb's always keeping things from her, something about how caleb's always doing so much for her and little for him, something about the self-deprecation and the fact that he can't seem to understand that she wants to be part of his life too, not just someone he wants to protect. usually she's quiet—usually she gives him the benefit of the doubt, usually she worries about him from afar because she doesn't want to make things worse.

sometimes, though, there's too much—like in this case—and sometimes the only way she can think to prove it is through a kiss.

which, like.,,, probably not the most ideal first kiss in the world?

but it calms both of them down, and she's burying her face into his chest, and— "you idiot, caleb, let me stay beside you for once..."

;;;

wings — kaivier

this is going to sound SO SILLY but it's legitimately going to be the first time kaia ever successfully cooks something. which. ironic, isn't it? considering xavier's status in the kitchen? 😭

kaia might be less of a self-insert as miki is, but she still does have elements of me to her and one of those is... very unfortunately that we're both hazardous in the kitchen LMAO.

it's just a moment of the dish turning out okay, no fires started, nothing burnt—xavier's there watching her, and she turns, and there's this really really big smile on her face. it's probably something she's been trying to do for years. cooking takes a lot pf practice when it's not innate in you! but then this one turned out well, and so she's squealing jumping up and down throwing herself into xavier's arms, and he's more than happy to laugh with her.

twirls her around, sets her on the counter so he can look at her properly. probably there's a moment, the laughter dies down, he brushes the hair from her face a little... and you know how xavier's just very calming to look at? you can see it in his eyes even if he doesn't say anything. there's pride in there, and love, and adoration... all of it.

he does say it this time, though.

"i'm really proud of you."

it means more to kaia than the words of anyone else.