#i get pimples here and there in the summer

[boag]

This is how I sound on here sometimes . Sorry

[georgeinamerc]

.

[sugawhaaa]

hi!! i just read your skz reaction abt their s/o being insecure abt their body,, and i was wondering if you could do that same thing for piwon??

!!P1harmony reaction!!

Your insecure about your body

Warnings:: talking about body types and insecurities, the hyung line are the only smutish ones (obviously I'm not crazy)

Genre:: doggy style (theo) blow job (jiung) oral f/receive (intak) hickeys (soul)

A/N:: sorry theos is rlly personal 😭 I have a hideous birthmark on my lower back and I've been insecure about it since I was like 5. I've grown out of the insecurity for the most part but it just went along with the fanfic too good. And once again sorry some are longer than others I'm trying not to be biased but sometimes the stories change the length of the one-shot ପ(๑•ᴗ•๑)ଓ ♡

⭐️KEEHO⭐️

(Body hair)

You sat on the side of the pool with a summer hat, sunglasses, and a cover-up that hid your entire body. Not a single speck of skin could be seen from a considerable distance. Keeho in the pool swam over to you and put his arms up on the side of the pool.

"Why did you come if you're not gonna swim?" Keeho asked half genuine half teasing. You scowled at him. "Oh is it that time of the month?" He asked genuinely in a low voice.

"No," you shook your head and took off your sunglasses. The bright summer sun lit up Keehos face.

"What is it? If your shy there's no need to be. It's just me and the members," he put a hand to your thigh and you bit the inside of your lip.

"The party was just so sudden I didn't have time to shave," you explained as you looked at the water. You looked back at keeho to see his eyebrow raised.

"I get that you're insecure about that...but c'mon baby, you know no one here cares, and even I have body hair pretty much everywhere," he explained as he gestured to his body. He hopped up on the side of the pool with you.

"But your a man," you explained and you could see Keehos blood boil at your words.

"Listen. I don't give two flying French fucks if you have body hair, man or woman. It's natural okay?" He explained and you finally heard him out. He put his hand around your waist before leaning in to kiss you. Soul then sprayed Keeho with a water gun. Keeho shot a glare at him before turning back to you. "If you don't want to swim that is okay. But me and all the member would love for you to join us," he smiled before getting back in the pool and attacking soul.

You thought carefully about Keeho's words and caved in. You took off your hat and cover-up and set it on a bench on the deck. You jumped in the pool with a splash and Keeho smiled at you from the other side of the pool while drowning Soul.

🌹THEO🌹

(Body hair, scars, acne, birthmark)

Theo looked at you with a small grin as you panted on the bed, tired from your past orgasm. Theo sat beside you playing with your hair with his fingers that were not covered in your arousal. "Hey baby, I had an idea," he said in a soft, low voice. You look up at him waiting for him to continue. "How about we try a new position? Doggy style?" He proposes with a light smile. You are just about to say yes before stopping yourself. He'd see your back the whole time and your back is not a pretty sight. Lots of hair and pimples plus the worst of all an ugly hairy birthmark.

"Sure just let me get my shirt," you said leaning for your shirt on the end of the bed. Theo grabbed your wrist.

"Why?" He looked at you with a serious expression but his eyes were soft and twinkling.

"Uhm..." you had to quickly come up with an excuse on the spot. "People say it makes it more pleasurable," you lied with pink cheeks. Theo raised his eyebrow at you.

"What's the real reason?" He asked with a light smirk, his hand still wrapped around your wrist.

"Fine, I'm insecure about my back," you explained looking at his hand. Theo was taken aback. He let go of your hand but you didn't reach for your shirt.

"Why? Is it because of that birthmark?" He asked in an unimpressed tone. You nodded and Taeyang sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you I don't care," he pulled you onto his lap. "All I care about is hearing your desperate moans as I pound into you," he whispers in your ear and the butterflies in your stomach fly down south. "Harder Theo ~" he says mimicking your voice in a whisper. "The way you beg for me and my cock. You're just so obsessed with how good I make you feel~" Theo continues to whisper in your ear and your face turns red. "So what will it be? Will you let your insecurities win and I don't get to fuck you up, or you let me win and I make you see stars~?"

🍪JIUNG🍪

(Glasses)

You finally had Jiung right where you wanted him. On the bed, his back against the headrest, and his dick standing straight up. You wrapped your hand around his length and looked up at him. One of his eyes squinted shut as he looked down at you. You thought for a moment.

You wanted to give him a blow job but your glasses would get in the way, they're so big and would slip off your face if you bobbed your head but you also want to see Jiungs face and reactions. Jiung noticed your thinking face and patted your head drawing your attention. "Something wrong baby?" He asked in a sweet voice.

"I don't like my glasses. They're ugly and get in the way. I can't even give you a blowjob," you sigh and put your hand to your chin. Jiung chuckles before gently tucking some loose hair behind your ear.

"Your glasses are adorable," Jiung smiled. "And don't worry about going too fast so your glasses slip off. It's fine, take a nice pace, and don't worry about me, I'm sure it'll feel good," Jiung smiles with his eyes. You think before smiling back at him. He always knows just what to say to make you feel better. "Plus when I cum it won't get in your eyes," Jiung laughs and you slip your lips over his tip. Jiung whimpers and covers his mouth. "Fuck that's good," he smirks.

🍓INTAK🍓

(Going down on you but you say no bc u didn't shave)

Intak pouts at you when you refuse. "Please~ you always like it so much when I eat you out why are you saying no all of the sudden?" He asks with doe eyes. "Are you on your period?" He asks as he looks between your legs at your underwear to see if there's a string or pad.

"No!" You laugh and close your legs.

"Then what wrong?" He asked sincerely, looking up at you eagerly.

"It's just...I didn't shave there yet. I was going to yesterday but I ran out of time and-" you explained but Intak cut you off.

"How many times do I have to explain I don't care! If anything I like it better when you don't shave. I get to bury my face in your little pussy," he said with a smile as if he was talking about puppies or something cute. You blush and shake your head.

"But isn't it uncomfortable?" You look away and close your legs. Intak sighs before opening your legs again.

"No, now let me eat you out~!" He whined and you finally complied. You kept your legs open as he slid off your panties. He did as he said and buried his face into your folds, attacking your clit. You arched your back and grab his hair. He pulled back and smiled. "See it's not all that bad," he smirked.

🎀SOUL🎀

(Lips/mouth)

There's no doubt that you probably have the most innocent and cute-looking boyfriend ever but he doesn't always act like that with the girl he is head over heels for. He was lying on top of you as you played animal crossing on your switch. He noticed your low-cut shirt, his cheeks dusted pink. He hesitantly leaned down and kissed your chest, leaving a small purple hickey. You whimper very softly and looked down at him.

"What are you doing?" You whisper. You don't want his parents to hear during your first visit to his house. Instead of replying, he kissed your neck, sucking on your skin hard. You whimpered softly and sat down your switch. You put your hand on his head, feeling his soft blue and blond hair. "Shota..." you said softly as your face grew hot.

Soul grinned as he backed away from your neck. He leaned into your lips and you planned on just giving him a peck on the lips but he wanted more. He tried to turn it into a make out session but you put your hands on his chest and pull away. Soul instantly apologizes.

"I'm sorry did I take it too far?" He says softly with sympathetic eyes. You held your fingertips to your lips. You shake your head.

"No, it's just..." you look at him and he seems curious as to what you'll say. "I'm just kinda insecure about my lips and my kissing abilities," you chuckle and Soul tilts his head.

"How are you insecure? Like I mean your lips are plump and..." he blushes as he stares at your lips, "and I mean skill level doesn't matter, it's just how you feel," he smiles and you can't help but giggle at his innocence.

"My lips are always chapped and I often forget to brush my teeth and tongue," you explain and soul chuckles.

"My teeth are far from perfect either," he smiles and shows his crooked teeth. "And my lips are always cracking," he explains as he runs his fingers along his lips. "But I still give you hickeys with these teeth and I still kiss you with my lips," he smiles. "Because it feels good, it makes me happy," Soul grins as he hugs you. You think for a moment taking in his words. "So, do you want to feel happy or leave it as is?" He asks eagerly.

You kiss his forehead and he blushes. You smile at him before kissing him, his tongue sliding into your mouth. You moan softly into the kiss. He then bites your lip and tugs on it before letting go.

"Feels good doesn't it~?"

🍒JONGSEOB🍒

(Flat chest)

Your prepping for a date with your boyfriend. You look at yourself in your mirror and put a lip gloss on your lips. Jongseob quietly opens the door a bit watching you get ready. You have some music playing and you hum along as you put mascara on your lashes and curl them. You start singing along and Jongseob smiles as he admires you and your singing.

You brush your hair one final time before looking at yourself in the mirror. You turn to look at yourself from the side, your chest is still as flat as ever. You sigh and run your hand along your body. You adjusted your bra trying to make your chest appear bigger. Jongseob looked confused and continued to watch you. You put your hands on your hips with a grumble. You put in some bigger pads to your bra to make it look more full but it still doesn't look right. That's when Jongseob knocks on the door and you turn around. His elbow on the door frame as you look at him.

"Can I come in?" He asks as if he wasn't already basically standing in your room. You sigh and nod. He walks in and closes the door. He sits on the edge of your bed. "Do you think I don't notice?" He asks with his arms crossed.

"Well, you're supposed to notice!" You raise your voice but Jongseob is unbothered. "I do it so I seem hotter! To enhance my feminine features, make you like me more, make butterflies in your stomach go wild," you explain but Jongseob continues to go unbothered. You step closer to him. "What do you think all of this is for!?" You grab your concealer and gesture to it aggressively. Once you are finally close enough Jongseob kisses you. You're taken aback and fumble over your feet. Jongseob pulls back from the kiss and looks at you with doe eyes.

"That kiss was for you. Not your make up, not your height, not your hairstyle or color, not for how big or small your ass is, not for your chest, it was for you. My girlfriend," he stated before smiling and you look down at him surprised. "Here, why don't we wash up, change into our pajamas, and cuddle up and watch a movie?" He says as he caresses your cheek. You think for a moment before sighing.

"Your right..." you look at the floor before smiling at him. Jongseob smiles back and you can't help but laugh.

"Why are you laughing?" He asks pretending to be mad.

"Ever since you kissed me my lipsticks been on your lips," you laugh and Jongseob looks at you surprised before wiping his lips. He looks at his hand to see glittery lipgloss and pink lipstick.

"Why didn't you say anything!"

"Because you were being so serious!" You laugh.

[scentedpepper]

Attempted Vehicular Manslaughter

BILLY HARGROVE X MALE READER

Summary: Max Mayfield hosts a pool party.

Content Warnings: Use of the F-slur, Use of Queer in a derogatory manner, Injuries, Verbal Abuse, Abusive Household Dynamics, Reader makes a 'if I wanna kms' joke

Other Pairings: Nancy Wheeler x Male Reader, Jonathan Byers x Male Reader, Max Mayfeild x Male Reader, Mike Wheeler x Male Reader

AUTHOR NOTE(S):

Oh brother we got a chatterbox

Had a dream about this ya'll

Readers a little sassy

Reader has a little brother

Reader has a bit of savior complex

Readers also kinda impulsive?

It's 3 am

_________________________________________

The grass was rough and patchy in the backyard, filled to the brim with wilted daisies and weeds crawling through the sprinklers. It was hardly worth a note of much consideration, as there had been nothing of great importance to discuss. There were many trees boarding the house. Pine or oak, maybe. And one dying cherry tree that was a stand alone in the yard. That was about the extent of anything substantial past the old silver fence that matched your shoes.

Nearest the house, under the shade, were several lawn chairs designated for the so-called "chaperones". The older brothers and sisters of the tweens. But really, it was nothing more than a cover-up.

Something to appease the parents' of the Hargrove house because Max knew it was odd to be friends with a group of kids the same age as her brother. Even her mother, who'd tried to remain impartial to any situation, narrowed her eyes and shifted her purse tighter when the suggestion of more than a couple 17 year old's parading around her house came.

Your mom was just happy you got along, let alone made some real friends outside the books, and encouraged the notion. More parental control, she reasoned. Less chances you were off with someone who intended on trouble.

Of course, all the shit about fighting monsters and being on the brink of death with these same friends wasn't factored in.

But no one besides them and the sheriff's deputy needed to know that.

The first time you had met the kids was, admittedly, what one would refer to as a kerfuffle. Riled up and trying to be dominant. Of course, because Billy was there, it spiraled even farther, and someone's head nearly got bashed into a rock.

That someone being you of obviously, after you'd been goaded into the fight and decided to step up. And boy, did Billy hate to lose. Hated being talked down to by a smaller kid who barely had pimples left on his face, let alone bulk.

You put up a good fight. You had a mean hit, especially the lick you gifted to Billy's chest, knocking the wind out of him when it connected. There was a bruise on his ribcage for days after and all the satisfaction he could possibly imagine at knowing it was from you.

But then he nearly killed you so, things turned sour rather quickly.

Which led to a rather impromptu welcome into the group of misfits, the lot of them. Unannounced and unexpected, you marched into the party after your small break down. Ready to be let in and accepted.

Finding out about the Upside Down was a mere accident.

You hadn't gone out of your way to befriend a group of children. Hadn't expected much in regards to friendship period even after getting your ass kicked by Billy Hargrove. Let alone a lifetime, one built from the shared experience of the horrors that lurk just underneath town, attached to one particular boy of the group.

But here you were. Standing in the backyard of Max's home like an idiot with the sun bearing down at your back. The late summer day nearly reached over 100 degrees as the clock neared the noon hour. Something you might have missed otherwise if it wasn't for the black analog watching you closely every time you renetered the house for a drink.

The main gaggle of kids swam and screamed every few seconds, trying to drag you into a half-baked game of Marco Polo that had the older Hawkins teens eyeing each other with concern.

You tapped the top of your can to ease the anxiety, looking around the edge of the yard again, past Max's mother, who waved awkwardly and would come around every so often, offering drinks or food to you, Nancy, and Jonathan.

"Nervous?" Jonathan prodded in his way, looking up from the half eaten sandwhich Will had taken two large bites from, making sure he had gotten his fill and packing it away when he received two big thumbs up from his little brother before he rentered the pool.

"Ah. " You leaned against the lawn chair, rolling your neck before looking over. "Expecting Billy to jump out from one of these corners, " you gesture towards the many hiding places you have spotted in the yard. "cause a scene. "

Nancy shifted uncomfortably, twisting her skirt slightly. "Not yet, at least. " She added while fidgeting with the button over the waist. "I thought he'd show up at least half-way through this thing. "

"Yeah, " you agreed, "thats why I'm–"

"On edge?" Jonathan filled in for you, a soft smile gracing his lips as Will looked over.

"Ready, he means. " Mike piped up, his hand was fully plunged into the cooler chest, blindly shifting around the ice as he looked over at the three.

Something in the tension held firm in the pit of your stomach, because the only times that this happened was whenever a confrontation was supposed to take place.

And judging from all the past events that had occurred, however mundane or fantastical they may be, this was probably going to end badly in more than just a couple of ways.

You'd managed to keep pretty calm in the past concerning Billy. Kept a level head about whatever shit he'd decided to cause that week. But something felt wrong today. That air in your gut had been hard to shake.

And the fact he had yet to make an appearance so far, did very little in easing you. And apparently everyone else involved.

"Don't know what his fucking problem is. " You curse, sitting up in the chair, "Never waits long to start shit."

In fact, you can almost pinpoint the time he entered the premises, an excuse to blame him for the sudden tightening in your gut and the goosebumps on your skin. Yet, he hadn't entered the backyard once since he got home. He stayed holed up in his room the entire day and that much was evident every time you, or Nancy, or Jonathan or one of the kids entered the house and heard the rock music blasting from his bedroom.

He hadn't even made a shadow to have showed his face.

For hours you waited.

Hours of worry and unease ate away at your gut while the rest of the party commenced unhindered.

And yet, it seemed all but for nothing in the grand scheme of things. Because as the sun started to lower from its zenith, you and the rest grew more tired and eventually, the temperature started to cool to a point where splashing around in the pool was no longer appropriate.

The kids came clamoring out, dripping in more chemicals than water, screaming and laughing in the process. It was getting near the five hour mark by then.

Your mind was heavy when you stood up to go inside, nearly tripping when your eyes clashed with the eldest person in the home, the both of you freezing awkwardly in the middle of the walk.

Both you and Max's mother were silent in each others presence. Stoic if there was ever a word for it.

Neil always seemed to be staring off into nothing, zoned out to some far away place only those who drowned themselves in alcohol and other momentary pleasures existed. They didn't interact, besides maybe the occasional conversation starter, or nod in passing whenever a person came too close for an inch of comfort. Not unusual in your opinion of strained marriages.

You began to speak, went to get yourself out of this weird positioning you've seemed to found yourself in. But Susan beat you to it.

"Can you do me a favor?" She beckoned before turning around and trotting off into the kitchen. Already assuming you would listen. You usually did. There weren't any hidden agendas for her actions and nothing against you personally.

She held some power that you wished wasn't. You would take just about any job that required you to be away from the current obstacles of your personal life. But as she turned back to look at you with that indescribable air and knowing nod, she had beaten you.

"Whats up?" You replied, voice more gravely then you meant it to be as you walked up behind her. She was sticking something into the microwave.

"Bye, Y/N/N. " Nancy had emerged from the Hargrove bathroom when she stood on her toes to place a friendly kiss on your cheek before joining Jonathan.

"See ya, Nance. " You say as the dark haired girl glided away, passing a wave to Jonathan and then they were out the front door.

The house was mostly empty now with nearly all the kids back home, and Dustin and Max tucked away in her room, waiting for Dustin's mother. There was enough silence now that you were itching to leave. The house had settled quiet, but you couldn't describe it as comfortable. There was a ribbed blanket across the couch that had obviously been sat on by its dishelved look.

The TV was on but the volume had been lowered so much that you were better off listening to Billy's faint music from down the hall for entertainment.

Water rushed from somewhere on the other side of the house and the distinct slam of a door being pulled shut gave you the visual to what you were hearing. Your little brother, most likely. You'd seen him dip down the hallway like he was about to shit himself the moment Nancy exited the bathroom.

You shifted around, placing your backside agaisnt the counter as you found new things to look at. Languidly, you watched, senses picking out different things around the house to latch on to. The light green walls, the ugly brown patterns on the carpet, the hum of the refrigerator that, strangely enough, harbored no family photos, just magnets with various corny sayings.

Your eyes lingered on the fridge.

Everything here was simple. Blank like a fresh canvas of dry paint. Apart from the dishes left in the sink and the few items of clothing to be picked up off the ground, it felt oddly wrong for an occupied residence.

"Y/N?"

A shift in the environment rippled over your skin and something felt charged but not in a fearful sort of way. You're pulled from your small internal worry by the same woman from before.

"Billy hasn't come from his room all day, mind taking this to him?"

Susan's got a glass plate in her hand, slightly extended our towards you. It's filled at every turn with food she'd transfered from the tupperware after the ding of the microwave you hadn't quite heard.

That same gut feeling crawled up your insides again, but you blamed the way your throat tightened on the anxiety. Why it was something now and not earlier, you can't be sure.

But, if there's one thing you learned from movies and popular tv shows, it's never to interrupt the motherfucker when he's listening to rock. But, here's your excuse. So, with a small nod and the plate in your hand, you try to shake it all away.

Because the worst that could happen is you get your ass beat again.

Stepping up to the wood slated door gave your lungs a run for their money. It was as if all the air had been sucked from the atmosphere and the pressure collapsed the walls around you. Only breathing through your nose you shook the fear away with a raised fist to the door, clenched the plate in your opposite hand.

Bass rattled through the floor and past the wooden door, you're graced with the faint sounds of the guitar on the stereo. There were bits of vocals in the background, a baritone voice that spoke. And perhaps that was part of the appeal. Your fingers danced on the metal that resided at the entrance. It felt cool on your skin.

You knocked again after a few seconds. Nothing sounded on the other side of the door but you were still unsure if Billy could hear you above the music. Maybe he'd turn it down once his father returned from whatever place he'd ventured off to in the night. But you didn't exactly have that time to be waiting around, despite your own fathers late tendencies.

You took a moment to think if you should just leave the plate on the floor, let him pick it up, and try to call a ride. You exhaled quickly, shifting your balance onto your other hip.

Before you even touched the doorknob with a single digit, the music turned down significantly and suddenly the atmosphere was more intense than you'd anticipated.

Which, was the new normal.

But, still.

Things felt off. The pressure in your bones caused your limbs to rise upward, to defend yourself, to at least put yourself in some position that wouldn't leave you open to attack.

For what?

You didn't know.

Because all Billy did was peer up at you from the crack in his door. Nothing significant yet his stare was nothing less than striking. Those blue things could put the oceans to shame, rivaling even the sky in its vivid colors. They were a mirror.

They shifted to the food, briefly. Then immediately returned back to you as the speaker could barely emit its sound.

You watched as the boy straightened, sighed and then opened the door wider, leaving the frame unguarded as he trailed off into his room.

The door held open but his gaze disappeared into the space on his mattress, and the music lowered a touch, no longer loud enough to break the door from its hinges but loud enough that Billy had to raise his voice over it to be properly heard.

You took a cautious step forward after staring at the boys backside, his attire didn't leave much to imagination but his half nude state was the least of your discernment seeing as one, you were fashioned the same way and two, Billy Hargrove was wordlessly inviting you into his room.

You thought maybe this was some kind of trick, a ploy to get you cornered, so your eyes danced over him in brief, consistent glances as you proceeded forward.

He was sitting by his window, a cigarette stuck between his two fingers as he silently stared off into the the darkness the world outside offered.

It was strange. Seemingly off guard as he propped the knee of one leg against the window, giving a free range to his left to lean. Hair swept over the shoulder to show part of his sharp jawline, which dimmed only with each intake of the deadly nicotine.

The room was bland save for a few posters, white walls, brown dresser pressed against a corner and a night stand tucked at the opposite. Clothes were tossed about, either on the floor or hung up half assed on something that you could only guess as a proper hanger.

His nightstand was covered in trash and empty beer cans and you thought of shoving them away before deciding to place the plate on his bed instead.

You spared him a last glance after the action, perplexed by the fact he was just so— quiet. Which, was certainly odd to everyone at least within half a mile from here. Usually the moment you entered his space, his bubble, he erupted like an animal defending its territory.

You decided not to push your luck. Because right now, it felt like the deadly cat across the African plains simply hadn't noticed you. And so your steps were as carefully placed as they had been when you entered. It was almost relaxing despite the looming feeling from the boys demeanor.

Billy felt a wave, a sort of ripple through the air as the presence of another remained in the room. He didn't bother to speak, only raised the unlit cigarette to his lips in a curious manner and took an unsteady puff, letting the wind carry the smoke out the screen. There was a storm, one he had sensed earlier but was hard to make out amongst the many things that had clouded his mind with anger.

Luckily, the only thing he could blame his outburst on earlier this morning was exhaustion, a clear sign of his lack of sleep from the night before which would easily explain his half dead posture and irritability that had pissed off nearly everyone around him.

Another explanation for his hideout in his room but one you couldn't quite understand.

You neared the exit when the floorboards creaked just as they had before and you almost wanted to freeze in your place. Like the cat would come pouncing now, mauling you to death.

"Not gonna make a show of it?" Came Billy's voice, it was low and calm but you caught the slight strain of it. As if he needed a clear of his throat to even be fully heard.

"A show of what?" You cast a glance over your shoulder, brows knit.

The blonde gestured with his lips, the subtle shift in his elbow drawing attention to the stick of tobacco. "I was waiting for some goddamn spectacle, L/N. "

"I don't know what you're talking about, Billy. " You sounded exasperated already and you stepped over a black shirt with a design you couldn't quite decipher from its crumpled up state. You made sure not to add anymore scratches to the ground and turned around, placing your back firmly against the door frame.

Billy's muscles became tense with the new body turned on him and he felt the wave again, the stirring of new energy entering the atmosphere.

But you had simply done so so that your back wasn't uncomfortably to him when you left.

"Whatever. " Was all Billy seemed to say before shutting you out, shoving that fucking piece of shit plate away from him. And in the split second your brain focused on how fast food was supposed to get cooled and not nearly three seconds after swallowing his cancer stick Billy must've caught the attention of the devil himself.

There was no denying the jagged yell, the shuffling in his voice like someone was gripping his head and holding it under water. You jumped away, eyes as wide as saucers as Billy's bedroom door flung open, smacking the adjacent wall with a loud slam that nearly cracked the plaster from the force.

And yet, his voice was a lot less louder than his grand entrance. "Hey, shit face. Why don't you make yourself useful instead of sitting around all day, having our guests, " he gestured to you, "bring you your own fucking food. "

You moved a step back, almost tripping on your own footing from your struggle to balance yourself without the solid sense of feeling. Your eyes darted frantically between the two people within your viewing distance, and you could barely make out Susan a few feet away who had her hand clasped on Max's shoulder.

She was ushering her daughter to their bedroom but Max refused, and the red head stood beside the door with a wary look.

"Get up. And give him a ride home. " Another gesture to you and when you looked towards the entrance of Billy's room again Neil was taking up the entire frame.

"That's really not–" You began but stopped as both of the parents turned to look at you with an appalled look. It was nothing personal but you doubted Billy even knew where you lived and the only time you ever rode with him was pervious to when he'd beat your ass.

"My dad–" You tried again.

"He won't answer the phone, much less pick you up. " Susan jumped in, though the hesitation on her voice made you doubt if that was her plan all along. "Your brother got a ride with the Henderson's. "

"Put on a shirt, stop acting like a balless queer, and go. " Again Neil thrust a drawn out, mocking tone, like his son couldn't comprehend basic sentences and he stepped out of the way to make room for your departure.

Billy's got a storm brewing in his expression and there was one moment where his eyes met yours and you were sure you'd drown in all the hate there was.

You didn't get a chance to argue about the amount of time it would take to get there and about how you would manage on your own. In fact, something in Max's eyes told you it'd be better not to. So you pressed your lips against each other as Billy grabbed his keys and pushed past you.

You watched Billy stalk past everyone, a gruff 'Yes, Sir' leaving his lips that you almost hadn't heard as he passed his father.

You exited the room shortly after, not sparing Susan or Neil a goodbye as you gingerly took your shirt from Max's hands.

She made a comment, something quietly spoken that not even your heightened hearing could make out over Billy's obnoxious slamming of the front door that he knew he would pay for later. You watched the young girl as she returned to her room.

Silence welcomed you when you first stepped into the driveway, stretching across the cement with a sense of uncomfortablity that didn't seem to fade as you entered the car and were met with a chilling quiet.

Billy didnt look at you as his ignition roared to life, nor did he speak to you as he pulled out the drive way. He stared ahead, chin down as he leaned just slightly forward, supporting an arm on the side door, palm rubbing soothing circles into his temple.

He was going 20 above the speed limit. You assumed you two were trying to get as far away from the house as you could. But, the further into the neighborhood you went, the lower the numbers on the radio dropped and the more the car filled with quiet music.

Hargrove was completely out of it, lost in some other space where you weren't welcome. And the car had filled with a tension you doubted he'd meant to cause, but given his current mood, you didn't think he could avoid it either.

Despite this, you chose to press yourself against the door with a turned head, the muscles in your body growing taut with discomfort the more you tried to make it seem as if you weren't even of existence in the passenger seat.

You wanted out of the car.

That much you could draw from your mind when you found that the speedometer was at 55 and increasing.

"Billy. " You tore your gaze from the meter, flickering over the silent boy who was intent on looking only at the road ahead.

No answer. His jaw was tightened and set. There were lines buried in the skin.

"Billy. " Your voice held a certain firmness that he didn't quite like.

Silence still and he tightened his grip on the leather, knuckles turning white. The streetlights were getting ready to cast those obnoxious eyes and like a perfect chain of events the little hairs of a certain song burst from the speakers.

His hand, fast with anger, whipped across the volume dial, ceasing the tune and replacing it with the rumble of the engine.

An inhale, then a single word. "What. "

Somehow you think that's the opposite of an answer. It's barely a question. With the tone of voice he held he shouldn't have phrased it that way because he clearly didn't want to know what you had to say, what you thought.

"Stop the car. I'll walk. " It was simple enough and on any normal occasion Billy might've done just that rather than wasting his gas on you. But tonight was different, and Billy, seemingly fueled by his own agitation, just blew past the stop sign and sent the speed at which the Camaro rolled up with you at dangerous levels.

The car vibrated lightly beneath you, air whistling as you tore through the neighborhood at an alarming rate.

"Oh for fucks sake. " It was a mutter to yourself because you hadn't exactly expected the boy to be cooperative but you didn't think you'd be forced to jump out of a moving car again. Yet, here you were; gripping the handle, poised like a god damn animal, eyeing the road as you built up your goddamned gallantry.

You didn't catch the surprise on Billy's face when he noticed you push the door open against the harsh winds.

Fuck it.

You fell with ease and with a soft oof! your limbs were somehow able to stand the blow rather than becoming mangled chunks of meat against the pavement. You could hear the car skidding to a stop five houses down as you took a moment to roll around in your own pain.

Your shirt had rode up on your torso, back pressed against the heated road as your skin made contact with the tar. You had a few scrapes along your spine, one over the delicate hip bone. And you were pretty sure the road had peeled the skin on your forearm all the way down to the elbow but hey, at least it wasn't your fucking face.

A few drops of blood gathered on a pebble directly to your right. Your nose gave a sharp twinge of pain.

"Dick. " You said that in regards to him, for every aspect of his personality. Because Billy Hargrove was what others considered a giant dick.

If you hadn't suspected it before you were sure when you heard the wheels start to turn again, the shift of a gear springing the Camaro back to life. And then footsteps, louder than the car itself, were slapping against the asphalt.

"Are you out of your fucking mind!?" You raised your head, eyes coming to focus on Billy's very fucking pissed form towering above you. Arms crossed defensively, face twisted with irritation as he glared down at you with something close to— well it looked a lot like anger but Billy only knew one of three emotions and that was definitely not concern.

"Fuck you. " You managed through a puddle of blood in your mouth that you promptly spit out, only having realized it was there the moment it began forming bubbles when you tried to speak.

Billy's voice stuttered in reply. "What the fuck is your problem? Do you want to fucking kill yourself or something?! "

"Better than death by fucking vehicular manslaughter on the account of Billy fucking Hargrove. " You muttered, hands pressing into the road to give you leverage when you attempt to stand up. Your body immediately yells a no to this action and you lay right back down on the road.

"What?" Billy is completely distraught in the sense that his brain has seemed to burst due the sheer incomprability of your actions.

"Oh I don't know, Billy, maybe the next time I feel like killing myself I'll call you and we'll go a hundred miles an hour off the fucking side of a cliff. "

The boys eyebrows were nearly touching his hairline as he stared at you.

"Watch me die like an old school movie where they're surrounded by bubbles and colors and shit. "

You spit the last remnants of blood from your mouth and Hargroves face ran red and blue. "Can you fucking shut the fuck up and get up already before anyone sees you. " He demanded, practically dancing around your form. Arms stretched out with a stance that reminded you very much of a gymnast.

"No. No. I think I'll lay here for a sec. " You roll onto your backside, a groan in your voice, arms folding over your body, posed like a corpse.

Billy stops in his antics and stares at you incredulously. "Are you serious?"

"Very serious, yes. " Your voice almost comes out like a sigh.

Billy reels, and if it wasn't for the fact your eyes were sealed shut now, you'd be able to see the absolute bewilderment of the teen as he stood there in the middle of the empty street. Arms half poised over you but not touching your form. As if he didn't know what do with you.

"...Get up. " He demands, standing straight again, his hands on his waist. This time he's not commanding you in that cold manner. There's a little rise to his voice like he's beginning to lose his patience, his forehead furrowing with anger.

You take another few moments to enjoy the silence. You swear you hear a cicada or something squeak from a window sill nearby and the air felt cooler than it has in weeks. Until it all becomes overbearing and your chest burns from a lack of oxygen. You didn't even realize you were holding your breath.

You open an eye to test the waters.

Billy's scowling now, a hand on his hip and the other resting across his forehead in disbelief. At you or the situation, you weren't entirely sure. Both you imagined. But there was a certain look on his face like he was ready to pull some kind of theatric, a reaction, throw a punch to knock some sense into you but ultimately decided against it.

"Where do you live?" He asked the question in such a manner that you couldn't help but be wary of his intentions.

"...Why?" You asked, the caution obvious in your voice. As he loomed over you like that... it wasn't doing a whole lot of trust building.

You almost hear the growl of frustration from his throat as he began rocking on the balls of his feet, hands swinging like he wasn't able to grab hold of something. "So we can fucking go. Before someone calls the fucking cops. "

You still hesitated.

"Before I fuck you up so hard they'll have to identify you by your fucking sperm. " Okay there were his threats. But they lacked the substance of his normal demeanor. He didn't seem overly angry like he typically did but still, his body gave some kind of look as though he couldn't quite will himself to control the way it trembled with adrenaline.

"Nice one, but you're not my type. " Another bite and a second of Billy looking absolutely befuddled as he tried to keep his voice down. His glare had weakened but only because he was taken off guard, and his cocky expression fell to a tight line.

You watched as he took a moment to look around the empty street. The lights weren't too bright so you couldn't make out that typical, telltale flush of his skin that you've grown accustomed to in his anger.

Your eyes flickered across his face, scanning every inch like a beacon. Curiously, you looked at him the same way he always did. Maybe you'd find some sort of answer hidden somewhere behind his icy blues.

The look on his face was strange. Pensive.

"Get up, Y/N. " An even voice this time. Calming maybe. And to think, all it took was a slightly gay comment in order to simmer the violent bastard.

You half wondered where the fag-bashing erratic moron went. Maybe he'd packed his bags and runaway. You could hope.

You did more than that infact, you put that right there on your bucket list, and with a frown, more for yourself than anything else, you looked away from the boy above you.

"Fine. Alright. " Your movements were stiff with pain as you moved to push yourself up by the palms of your hand, your arms trembling beneath the weight. The skin on your hand and forearm burned with a stinging sensation.

Billy watched at your pathetic attempts, a sneer or two on his face but he didn't seem to offer much help until it'd all get too pathetic and he had to reach out and aid you.

"Idiot. " His lip curled as his palm met yours, his fingers holding onto the back of your hand tight as possible.

You stumbled slightly upon becoming fully upright, teetering against Billy for a moment as you took a minute to regain your ground.

"Yeah, well whose fucking fault is that. " You've developed a lovely habit of hissing through your teeth with an unnecessary amount of spite. You're surprised Billy hasn't knocked you on your ass and left you for dead by now.

He scoffs, trying to put as much distance between the two of you while still having your arm linked through his, helping you along. To the ignorant eye, you suppose this would look platonic enough but anyone that knew the two of you well would certainly think otherwise.

Billy's all rigid limbs and stunted movements. Even when you'd finally started to walk on your own and your grip on his arm began to slack, he held firm with a grip like a vise.

And by the time you're at the passenger's side, he's shoving you into the seat and you nearly knock your head on the top of car.

You didn't bother giving a remark when he practically seethed through his teeth, slamming the door in your face. He strode around the car like a man on a mission.

"If you go more than 5 over the speed limit—" You felt the warning die on your tongue when you saw the look of pure anger etched onto Billy's face.

"You'll jump out. Yeah. " His hand came down on the shifter. "Got it. "

There was a part of your brain that you didn't recognize that was screaming in terror, completely and totally convinced you were going to die tonight at the hands of the ever brooding Billy Hargrove.

But much to your surprise, Billy maintains that 5 mile leway the entire drive home even when there's barely a car in the streets. He hadn't muttered a single word since throwing his angry body in the driver's seat.

Instead, he'd cranked up the music all the way as if it'd some how compensate for the lack of speed and conversation, not that there would be much to say anyway.

You hadn't bothered looking at him. He hadn't bothered looking at you. But somehow, in one way or another, the feeling as if you were watching each other was even more abundant in the silence.

Whatever hostility had remained from Billy's mood in the first half of the night had receded back into his depths for later. Though the occasional frown on his face never quite leaves no matter what, his eyes are softer now.

And by the time he's pulling into the dirt driveway of your home, the soft beams of amber and yellow from the streetlights dimly hitting half his face, there's no sign of anger or any real semblance of emotion. It's oddly quiet, and the only thing to really speak up was the steady rumble of the engine.

"Thanks. " You beckon quickly and with reluctantance as you awkwardly grabbed at the door handle, trying to turn as quickly as you could while still maintaining balance. Anything just to get out of his car and away from the guy.

"Y/N. " He voices and the moment you pull at the handle you come to find it's resistance. A dull tingle shoots up your spine and the hair on the back of your neck raises with tension.

You turn, facing the teen who kept an unconcerned façade. He was a calm still pond with blue eyes flickering like small waves in the face of a strong wind, and although most times they were ice and snow that held such a cold, unforgiving passion of arrogance, there were times they were the ripples of a breeze.

Now was one of those times.

"Don't go around pulling fucking stunts like that. "

That was definitely closer to a warning than anything else that had come from his lips the entirety of the night.

"This is coming from the guy who beat my ass into the concrete two months ago. " And at this point, you were too exhausted to be filled with spite for the boy.

His posture falters and not just figuratively. There's a shift to the way he's sitting but the flicker of his eyes remains. Even with you half turned, his stare remained. In fact, it seems to have gotten all the more intense.

"What's it to you anyway? " The way he tilted his head might have been endearing in another life. Now, it seemed to hold meaning, the way a predator stalks its prey with such observant behavior before sinking its teeth into its jugular.

His gaze on you could have bored into your brain, much like a drill for how quick your defenses seemed to start dissolving.

He'd always looked at you like this. Whether or not you caught his eyes on you was by chance.

In class, in the halls, it was all the same to him. He'd get one look and that was about all it took. He'd stare with the attention like an interrogation, as if trying to decode some secret behind your stature, trying to pick you apart bit by bit with those watchful baby blue's of his. And if there was no easy route to doing that he'd dig his little meat hooks into you until there was.

You were all he'd focus on. Not you in particular. More so the idea of you.

Whatever that meant.

Of course the only instance Billy looked at you without fail, hard looked at you like the blue was about to spill out of his eyes and swallow you up like a tsunami, was when he was a little tipsy or riled up with heat and fury. But like most of Billy's emotions, they were very intense. Too intense for something as simple as just a fucking stare. It almost gave you the illusion of a dangerous threat that made your skin buzz with goosebumps, your nerves rattling in their sockets.

He was doing the same now, except, the only difference was that he wasn't pissed faced or smoldering with alcohol this time. In the confines of his car, beneath the yellow white shine of the nearby street lights, he couldn't tear his gaze away even if you begged.

Billy was the sort of thing to stop you mid thought when you glance and feel your limbs freeze, suddenly petrified with all this uneasiness and sudden confusion as to why there was only one sort of definition to put on why you felt such things whenever his presence was met with a hundred paces of distance.

"I..." He starts but his voice falls flat. Something beyond frustration, something between anger and concern. The sort of look that told you he was working something out in his mind. Or he just couldn't find the proper word choice that didn't end in an f-bomb at the end of his sentence.

He's still staring, his eyes flickering back and forth between yours, like a candle wick in the night. Wavering. Stuttering. Inconsistent uncertainty.

Like he's just asking for guidance to fill his barren vocabulary, the words never existing like an undiscovered civilization in his brain, unable to conjure up the sort of speech that would get him what he wanted.

An abrupt sense of panic washed over you. You inhaled sharply and you didn't let the breath go until your next move was placed in front of you like a chess piece on the board and you couldn't take the time to think out any future moves on your part.

All of your attention was pulled to him, focused entirely. The way he moved, the way he breathed, it left a tingling feeling trailing behind him like some faint breeze of emotion.

Everything stilled, it was him and you. Him. And you.

And he's just looking at you like that. Mouth halfway opened and the noise of shallow heavy breaths were the only sounds falling from his lips while he's looking at you all wide-eyed, like some fresh-faced virgin whose never seen one in person before.

You cursed yourself. Cursed the wind. Cursed the ground. Cursed Billy and his stupid face. And every corner of his stupid car and everything else about him. You can curse the sun but that'd probably be a step too far. Especially the moment you met those watchful pools of sea foam.

Fucking Billy Hargrove and his stupid, fucking car and his even more stupid...

Lips.

Lips and teeth.

Teeth, pale pink lips.

Blue eyes, long lashes.

Stupid fucking curly hair.

The sort of curly where it always managed to get you by the tips, tangling its brambles in your fingers and refusing to let go.

Which is why the second Billy made a small noise– not even really a noise, it's a breath. A single exhale that hits your nose, hits you the way nothing has before, and it causes a wave of heat to wash over you, overtaking your senses.

You grab those curls, your fingers entwine them and his breath is alot heavier, alot hotter as his hands grip tightly onto your shirt, like he's a frightened child.

His lips are wet.

He's messy.

Sloppy.

Like he's never kissed before in his life. Lips that keep moving, and his tongue is too sensitive, too eager.

Every sharp inhale of breath reeks of sweat and chlorine.

There's no time to stop and make sense of the situation.

He's scrambling over the middle console, desperate hands gripping on your collar and in any other scenario, this would've been the step before he plummeted his fist into your face. But there's hardly anything suggesting that. At least not without the time to see the tiny trail of tears lining Billy's eyes, glossing his cheeks.

He tastes as he looks. Like liquid gold with his tongue rubbing against yours in a hot mass of burning motion. And any semblance of a rational train of thought was chucked out the window.

There was enough room in the front seat for a teenage boy and then some. Billy Hargrove was not such a teenage boy. There was barely enough room to shift and breathe and wriggle around in this half straddle.

You can faintly hear a heavy car pass over a mound in the road, an off balance tire or perhaps someone forgot to inflate it and the uneven troll on the road, not entirely deafening, but it's there. And Billy hears it and he jumps from you, leg grazing the shifter, head knocking into the top of the roof.

His ears are steaming red as he all but falls into the driver's seat, face flustered and hair slightly disheveled.

He's looking around like a wild animal caught in a trap and he can't escape, eyes flickering back and forth; from the gearshift all the way to the rear view mirror and then to your face.

Pupils shot open, dark and wide, and a hand coming up to press on his forehead, eyes squinting.

"Billy‐ " It's a start, but it doesn't stay long enough to be deemed a full sentence, not with his name lingering on your lips while you try to swallow down the heat in the pit of your stomach. Billy's looking at you, breathing heavy.

"Get out. " He mutters forcefully, the lock clicks open and when his hand comes up to rub across his face, it's shaking.

"Billy. " More insistent this time.

He looks a few shades redder than when he was before, his head snaps back to meet your stare, hair curling beneath his ears in a gentle mess, curls threatening to fall into his face.

"Get out!" His voice pitches, breaks into something close to a sob and Billy swings his arm wildly, fist connecting with the steering wheel and there's a loud honk as a warning before he shouts again. "Get the fuck out, you fucking faggot!" His voice reverberates across the entire neighborhood, shattering your ear drums in the process.

There's dogs barking from far away, probably due to the horn.

You hesitated but only for a moment before swinging the door open, just barely missing the opportunity to knock the shit out of your leg by the time Billy decided to slam down his foot on the pedal. The door shuts fast. The car speeds off before it has the chance.

You watched him drive away, with just as much intensity as the boy inside the car watched you in the rearview.

As your house began to shrink away into the distance, and the glare of the car grew smaller and smaller. You could hardly see those searing blue eyes the way you did in class. Though this time, instead of a look of hatred or scorn, it was one of fear and dread.

And maybe, just maybe, if there were more light shining on his face, it would reflect a thousand scenarios playing on his cheeks. Not that you would've been able to tell from all the way out here.

"Fuck. "

[darnell-la]

Hii, I was wondering if you wrote for Scott Summers? <3

note: here is a little smut for Scott Summers. We’ve never written about this character, but we will start. We’ve had a few requests about him. They will be answered soon!

———

“It’s been a long day!” Scott said in the shower as y/n entered his room, already dressed in her nightgown. They used to occasionally lay together until a week ago when they finally did it. Ever since he’s asked her to stay with him.

“I know, with you and your friend Logan,” y/n snickered as Scott groaned loudly and shut off the shower to get out and dry himself off.

“That son of a bitch. Can’t work without him askin’ about me and you. Did you know he could smell us? Fuckin’ perv,” Scott shook his head, sounding upset but in actuality, he liked the thought of people or someone knowing you were with him.

“Oh, you’ll be fine,” y/n said as she got under the covers. She’s had a long day as well, but she knew it wasn’t as bad as Scott’s. Dealing with Logan isn’t something everyone wants to do.

“Could go for a snack,” Scott yawned as he made his way out of his bathroom. “I’m already tucked in,” y/n said as she turned around to face Scott and god, he looked amazing. He always did.

“C’mon, babe — I’m hungry,” the man said, still not looking at the young lady as he dried his hair. “I’m sure,” y/n scanned the man’s body. The man was lean, and his v-line pocked out hard.

“Fine,” the man sighed as he threw the towel away and finally looked at y/n. Seeing her lost at the view of his wet body, made him smirk.

“I-I’m just tired,” y/n shook herself out of her thoughts as she tucked herself deeper into his covers. “Is that so?” The man said as he walked towards the bed, watching her chest rise.

“Yes, now, come on,” y/n said, avoiding eye contact as he crawled on the bed. She thought he’d lie next to her, but instead, the man hovered over her, looking right into her shy eyes.

“Maybe I already have a snack right here,” Scott spoke low, body leaning down and going under the covers. “Scott, I- Not right now,” y/n said, hands running through his hair, but she knew he wouldn’t. He was an eater. He couldn’t hoop himself.

“Ssh,” was all he said as he spread this hits thighs, taking a nice look at the wet patch she had. She was always wet, and he was always ready.

“I know you just showered, but fuck, y/n — How do you get this soaked?” Scott teased with a laugh as he hooked onto y/n’s panties and pulled them to the side, revealing her pimpled lips.

“D-Don’t know,” y/n awkwardly laughed, trying to stay calm, but when Scott was this close to her, it was hard. “Of course, you don’t, baby,”

Scott had wasted no time sucking onto y/n’s cunt, taking her folds in his mouth before French kissed her bud.

“F-Fuck, Scott,” y/n grabbed the sheets as her feet curled. “Mhm hm?” He hummed into her heat, sending a shock throughout her body.

“Shit, I- Oh my god,” she tried taking deep breaths, but the way he slobbered all over her cunt, made it hard to keep quiet.

Was this what Logan was talking about? Could he smell the sex? Does everyone know about her and Scott?

Y/n felt a small panic, but that soon turned into lust. The thought of people knowing Scott claimed her made her feel something she’d never felt before.

“G-Gonna- Gonna-“ y/n tried saying as her body locked up, and her skin felt numb. A harsh orgasm was pulled from her. She came all over Scott’s face, making him lick at her to get it all out and into his mouth. He loved her taste. She tastes amazing.

[b5withextrachicken]

the bet - kenan yildiz

pairings: kenan yildiz x fem!reader

summary: they hate eachother, but when a petty bet rolls around, hate blends dangerously well with love.

(based on a req)

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

there was a thin line between love and hate. it was invisible. scrawny. they should avoid it. she should avoid it.

and yet both of them always met there every day. pushing eachother, testing out their limits.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

it was a warm summer school night, the setting sun painted the football pitch infront of her a beautiful mixture of orange and soft pink. her chest rose and fell with every deep breath she inhaled, the evening breeze lingering around her every now and then. the girl opened her eyes, inspecting the other students that fuzzed around on the stands.

today was their school's football team's matchday and support was mandatory, leading to more than 200 students staying on school grounds after the last lesson had ended. anticipation roaming the air made the late noon even more energetic. the grandstand became fuller with every minute, students of the competitor school crystallizing into groups among the others.

the pointers on her watch read 6:44 pm and she let out a sigh, knowing that the game wouldn't start until 7. her gaze fell back on the field where the players were in the middle of heir warm up. she didn't really care for most of them, their personalities dull and aggravating. but now her mind subconsciously longed for a certain someone. the past weeks her eyes always seemed to search for him and she hated herself for it.

a voice caught her attention, looking around she noticed her friend, maria, calling her name. she held two cups of god knows what in her hands, raising them up over her head, a beaming smile on her face. y/n returned the smile while getting up and moving towards her, right to the sidelines of the field.

the two friends spoke for a while, laughing about one of her jokes when she felt a presence behind her. y/n turned around, eyes widening as she was faced with his tall frame. kenan. her breath caught by surprise but she quickly managed to hide it. he was so close, her face almost squeezed into his chest.

"what're you starring at, huh? seeing something you like, dipshit?"

kenan's teasing tone ripped her out of her thoughts. thankfully. the tall man was dressed in their schools jersey, his cleats already dirtied from running on the pitch. he must've jogged over mid warm-up just to get cocky now with a provocative smirk displayed on his lips as he looked down at her.

"no. really no. but you have a massive pimple on your chin. right there." y/n replied, pointing with her finger, getting petty as her smirk mirrored his. kenan scoffed "yeah sure..." he muttered confidently. it was an obvious lie but he couldn't resist to check in the reflection of maria's sunglasses, who tried (but failed miserably) too stifle her laughter. "why are you even here? aren't you supposed to, i don't know, warm-up? or are you contributing from the bench again today?" y/n asked sweetly as they fell into their usual banter again. one insult more childish than the other.

"don't piss me off," he started "i might shoot the ball in your face" "only if you get to play, benchboy" she snapped back, grinning. it went on for a while, their arguing was only interrupted when maria spoke up again,

"just kiss already."

they stopped in their tracks, jaws falling agape. y/n's eyes darted between maria and kenan, sending her friend an irritated glare. "wha-" kenan started but maria continued talking "oh come on. it's not like you two don't want it."

shock. it took a moment before they snapped out of it and started to deny, deny, deny. "over my dead body." y/n exclaimed, sending kenan a judging glare. he glared back, but for a short moment she saw his eyes focus on her lips. not in a million years would she kiss him. not a dickhead like him. sure he was attractive, tall, trained, funny when he wanted to be but no, no she would never kiss him. she swore herself to never start something with a player, especially not him. anyone but him.

kenan furrowed his brows in response, his head in a tilt as he looked down at her "sounds promising." they exchanged look, his jaw tensed. y/n scoffed. "why don't you guys agree to a bet." maria drew their attention to her again. "and what kind of bet would that be?" she countered annoyed, irritation growing by the second. "let's say... if i score today, you have to kiss me." kenan chimed in, his voice low as he leant down slightly. he was teasing her, but there was a hint of sincerity in his eyes. the girl stood there for a moment, contemplating, holding eye contact. the tension was palpable. a smirk then tugged at the corners of her lips as an idea blossoming in her head, "the bet is accepted. if you score, i'll kiss you." she started while raising her hand for him to shake and he gladly took it, his hand grasping hers softly. a mild smile painted his face. "but if you don't," y/n continued, still smirking "i'll wax off your eyebrows.".

kenan's expression twisted into a shocked one that she couldn't help but giggle at, giving his hand a firm squeeze, but before he could answer his coach called him back on the field. they shared one more glance before he withdrew his hand, turning around.

y/n let out a sigh as she watched him get back to the warm up, her emotions whirling inside her.

the bet was petty, childish, but she couldn't hide the fact that she was somewhat excited.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

the game flourished in tension. students cheered for their teams, wrapping the crowd in an electric feeling. she stood there, in the stands, her fingers nervously tapping her thigh, focused only on him. she didn't know how to feel about their bet. but the longer she watched him play, his hair tussled, his muscles tensing, the way he'd look over at her from time to time. she found herself hoping he'd score.

kenan did the same, his legs moving quickly through the wall of defenders, the ball practically glued to his feet. he wanted to score, to win the game and the bet. he wanted to kiss her. desperately.

he also didn't want to lose his eyebrows.

it wasn't easy. their rivals were perfectly prepared. but all he needed was one chance, a small error in their defense. and then it happened, he was the first to notice and didn't waste a second, shooting the ball with all his power, striking it right into the top-right corner of the goal.

the crowd erupted in cheers, shouting his name when his team mates pulled him into a hug. he received praises and proud pats on his back but all he could care for was her, his eyes searching the crowd. she met his gaze with a scowl, making him laugh and mouth 'you owe me' just for her to see.

y/n rolled her eyes at his antics but help the pink hue warming her cheeks. the game wasn't over yet but kenan already knew he won the night, his gaze fixed on her. it didn't take a genius to tell that there was knot of tension in the air, just waiting to come undone.

° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° ° °

a whistle rang through the tense atmosphere, signaling fulltime. kenan's team mates screamed in excitement for their win while kenan already made his way to the barricade, getting his water bottle. he took a few sips as his eyes roamed the crowd.

y/n made her way towards him, dodging arms and shoulders of other students. she lost the bet and now she didn't know how to feel. when she finally reached the barricade, it felt like her heart would explode. kenan smiled, noticing her nervousness. his gaze darted to her mouth, she noticed. "congrats on your win. i guess i lost the privilege calling you benchboy..." the girl mumbled, looking down to her shoes. she could feel his gaze burning into her. looking up their eyes met.

in that moment they both knew. there wasn't just hate connecting them anymore, something new had blossomed. her gaze fell to his lips. her heart muted the hate screaming inside her.

"kiss me."

that's all it took for the tension to unravel, her words breaking the silence and before her mind could process it, kenan had smashed his lips on hers. passion engulfed them, teeth clashing as their mouths moved in sync. his hands found her waist, pulling her close to him in a swift movement. her fingers grasped his hair, softly pulling, a low groan leaving kenan's throat. in need for air they pulled apart, gasping. she was in his arms, her hands in his hair as she spoke, still a little out of breath "i still hate you". her tone unconvincing. a soft smile crept on his lips "hmm," he hummed, his lips ghosting over hers "that's what i thought." he gently grabbed her jaw, pulling her in for another kiss, a soft, sweet peck.

they were not perfect. nowhere near it. but maybe, just maybe, they could agree to ceasefire.

"at least you're not a sore loser"

"you little-"

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

i had fun with this request, feel free to send in more!!

[saturnbellfromhell]

SKINCARE TIPS part II.

Hello my lovlies, welcome back to a new post! I wanted to come back with something easy and fresh for the beginning of the colder season, since I'm guilty for not taking care of my skin in the fall as much as I am in the summer time. So I want to make a quick post about skincare once again. If you have any questions leave then bellow, I always anwser! With that being said let's get into the post shall we?

〰️ DISCLAIMER

I'm am not a certified dermatologist/cosmetologist, I highly advise to go to one if your having a hard time with your skin! With that being said, let's get into the post. 🕊

TIPS AND TRICKS

I. INTUITIVE SKINCARE

Now I know in the first post I talked about skincare cycling and how that can help to stay on track and it's also very beginner friendly to understand the process and the products that go together. But as time goes and you get into skincare you'll soon realize how good it is to monitor and understand your skin. Some days it will be very dry and patchy and some days it will be immensely oily and clogged. That's why I always recommend having two sets of skincare for different occasions. I work in an environment where my face gets dry patches after a few days, so on those nights I reach for my soothing cleanser and heavier moisturizer. If you're forgetful like me, you can also put an alarm in your calender for monitoring, this also helps me out on those busy weeks.

II. HYGIENE AROUND YOUR SKINCARE

I know many people who don't change their towels, wash cloths after a few days and I'm not saying you're dirty for that, I'm just suggesting you should try changing them everyday. I have 7 wash clothes, which I use once a day (morning and night) and I clean all of them together only with my sheets on the highest temperature. I also stopped washing them with softener, since this can lead to build up over time. If you're worried they will seem stiff, add some white vinegar, they fluff up towels real nice! I advise all my closest friends with acne prone skin to try this out or just use boxed tissues, even though this can be a little pricey and not eco friendly. Not a fan of makeup remover wipes anyway... to add on to this make sure to buy products with pumps so you don't scoop your hands into the product, even if they've been cleaned. Old skin, dust particles and such can get into the product.

III. OVER EXFOLIATING

I know you've heard people say this a million times, but is really is the case, especially if you have reactive/sensitive skin. Stop using exfoliating products more than twice a week. What this can do is a plethora of bad things. From stripping all the natural oils from your skin to dehydrating it, to making it more sensitive than it was before. Patience is the key here.

IV. RETINOL USE

When talking about patience, the first thing that pops up in my head is retinol, because o boy do you need a lot of patience for this. It can seem very intimidating at first but if you stick with simple steps the purging will not be so bad. Retinol makes skin cells turn over faster, by doing so when you start using it, it will push out more dirt than usual. This is the reason people stop using it. They payed so much for this product and now they have to look at a million blemishes popping out of nowhere. Our skin doesn't like big changes and retinol is a big shock to our skin from the start. So I advise in the beginning doing it once a week. I used to have retinol Sundays and yes I did purge, but not so much I had to stop. A pimple or two a week I would say, and with that I would just put pimple patches on them and it would resolve the issue.

Rules for retinol:

1. Never use retinol in the morning, it degrades in the sun. So you're throwing your money down the drain.

2. Don't mix it with vitamin C, salicylic acid and benzoyl peroxide. Yes you can have a skin day where you exfoliate with salicylic acid, but than have a recovery day after. In the same day, I wouldn't recommend it for the majority of people.

3. Never use more than a pea sized amount for a long period of time. Your skin needs to get used to the dosage.

4. I know the "sandwich" method is really popular right now with retinols, but I advise the old fashioned route. Sandwithing is putting a moisturizer before and after a retinol. I like to use a heavy moisturizer after the retinol and that's it. Even if you have acne prone skin, a heavier cream is necessary beacuse retinols dry out skin.

5. Don't apply to damp skin. Even though it may seem like a logical step, it does more damage than good. When applying a retinol to damp skin it penetrates deeper. So this can be quite irritating for your skin.

6. Don't forget the neck area and also your hands!

7. In the beginning do it only once a week and than after a month/two crank it up to twice a week. Really monitor your skin when cranking up the volume of retinol to see if you need to still hold back. Please please please dont rush this step. It's better to hold back a week or two than rushing.

8. Invest in a good sunscreen after getting into retinol and apply it every morning, reapplying every 2-3 hours when doing outdoor activities. If you work only indoor apply in the morning and the moment you exit your work place...that'll do it.

V. SUNSCREEN

For the longest time I didn't invest in some sort of good sunscreen, I have no idea why to be honest with. I guess I was just lazy to be honest. Sunscreen is the most important item to have in your skincare bag. All this money can be spent on creams, toners, moisturizers, retinols and so on...but it means nothing when you don't have UV protection for your skin.

VI. MORE IS MORE

Many think if they have an oily face that they can moisterize less or even not at all. The trick is to find a cream/moisturizer that is not heavy or that clogs your pores. Most of the time you will damage and cause even more blackheads/whiteheads if you don't moisturize because your skin will increase your sebum production. More is more, try out toners as well for amazing hydration!

Also be sure to know that there are 2 types of sunscreen: chemical and mineral.

🖤 Chemical Suncscreens absorb UV rays, acting like a sponge. It's better for oily/acne prone skin because they are lighter than mineral one's. With this being said if you break out easily, you can also try chemical sunscreens. Chemical sunscreens have ingredients like OXYBENZONE, AVOBENZONE and OCTOCRYLENE.

🖤 Minereal Sunscreens reflect UV rays of the skin, they are more suited for babies, sensitive skin and also pregnant women! The ingredients that are in minereal sunscreens are ZINC OXIDE AND TITANIUM DIOXIDE.

IV. BEGINNER ROUTINES

I struggled with this a lot, not even going to lie. When the whole world is just throwing so many products at your face and you just don't know where to begin. What chemicals go together, what is better in the day time, what products should you spurge on etc... I had many problems in the beginning because I was introducing so much to my skin. So I'm going to give a few examples for a beginner skincare routine with some of my favorite products so you don't need to struggle. Also I go by the this too when I'm feeling lazy and don't want to put 10 products on my face.

🖤MORNING

For daytime I recommend just the simple cleanse, moisturize and spf. On to this later you can add hydrating toners, vitamin C, an essence like snail mucin, hyaluronic acid, niacinamide. All of these products can go together!

🖤 NIGHT

Double cleansing in my opinion is a must, even if you have sensitive skin. Start of with an oil based cleanser on DRY skin, message for a minute, rise and than apply a normal cleanser, massage for a minute and rinse again. The oil pulls out gunk from the pores. After that make sure your face is dry and than apply your started retinol followed up with a heavier moisturiser. To this routine later you can also add eyes creams, again essence/and or toners and spot treatments for acne/dark spots.

🖤EXFOLIATION

Even sensitive skin needs exfoliation at less once a week, but be careful to really keep this routine simple. Again double cleanse, only this time the first cleanser is an oil based and the second is a salicylic based cleanser. Follow that up with a very soothing cream. For deeper exfoliation later you can look into exfoliation masks (the ordinary has one with salicylic acid) or a clay mask. Or my personal fave on exfoliation night is aloe vera gel and snail mucin. Glycolic acid and lactic acid are also an exfoliating product.

Hope you enjoyed the post!

xoxo NK

[derangedbookworm]

ok guys, here are some of my marauders headcanons. they're pretty modern (mentions of modern artists, technology, and media), and are not hogwarts/canon specific. i think the only ships i directly mention are dorlene, marylily, jily, and rosekiller, but they also aren't specific to any ship. i'll also add picrews of how i imagine each of them.

also, hey! if you don't agree with some of these, that's ok! please do not come into my tags or ask box hating just bc you don't agree! thank you!

(tw: colleen hoover mentions 😔)

~marlene: -lesbian -irish (galway or derry) (she and peter grew up together, and were childhood best friends) -i also love filipino marlene (i literally cannot decide anything) -very blonde hair -has hetechromia (one blue eye and one green eye) -she has cystic acne (dorcas thinks it's so hot) (me too dorcas) -LOVES messy buns with her entire being -cannot sing for the life of her -girl in red -renee rapp -5'8 -she and dorcas like to match outfits -her favorite color is orange -most septum piercing to ever septum pierce

~mary: -pansexual ~colombian (she speaks spanish) (her and james talk shit all the time) ~black (her skin is really dark) -has rosacea (you can't really see it bc her skin is dark, but when it gets hot she gets RED) -she likes wearing her natural hair (in the summer she gets protective styles though) -hazel eyes -showtunes and chappell roan -5'7 -waitress and wicked are her favorite musicals (she thinks glenda and elphaba should have been lesbians) (doesn't everybody?) -loves experimenting with makeup -yellow is her favorite color -wants to wear a yellow sun dress and go frolic in a meadow (real)

~lily: -bisexual -has curtain bangs for sure -scottish or irish (probably scottish) (and she speaks gaelic) -cheek dimples -she's a ginger so she freckles super easily (they're mary's favorite physical attributes of lily's) -anne of green gables (gilbert and anne are such a jily varient) -ambidextrous -she can sing really well -5'6 -PLUS SIZED LILY MY LOVE (i feel very strongly about this) (she's my baby) (i love her so much) -green eyes -six, waitress, and ride the cyclone are her favorite musicals -olivia rodrigo and maisie peters -loves experimenting with makeup -wears very boring clothes (never wears graphic tees or anything like that) (dresses like a beige mom most of the time) (it's ok though) (we forgive her) -her make up always eats (it has not missed once) (her eyeshadow and eyeliner skills are unmatched) -chappell roan

~dorcas: -lesbian -has a very wide nose (marlene worships it, so i had to give it an honorary mention) -5'10 -sza -wears a few different styles, but box braids are her favorite -doesn't actually wear that much makeup (probably just does mascara and eyeliner) -eyebrow piercing -BILLIE EILISH -very dark brown eyes (almost black) -lets pandora try different makeup looks on her and dress her up all the time -naturally very clear skin (marlene is jealous)

~pandora: -pansexual/queer/demisexual (i literally cannot choose) -probably polyamorous as well (she just loves) -black (lightskinned) -she and evan both have vitiligo -5'5 -blonde dreads (her and evan both) -loves those star and heart shaped pimple patches (she wears them even if she doesn't have a pimple) -pink doc martens and those valentines converse -either pheobe bridgers, penelope scott, gracie abrams, or ppcocaine, meg thee stallion, nicki minaj (and there's no in between) -sza -strawberries are her favorite food (she LOVES them) (wears clothes with strawberry patterns, watched strawberry shortcake growing up, strawberry flavored candy is her favorite) -refuses to wear wireless earbuds (1. she's scared one would fall out and she'd lose it) (2. she likes the aesthetic of wired ones better) -autism -light brown eyes -tooth gap (😍) -rock collection

~evan: -gay/asexual (i can't decide) -vitiligo -ocd -i love trans evan as well as cis evan -5'10 -black (lightskinned) -he and pandora have matching jewellery and he wears it all the time -the best brother EVER tbh -would literally kill someone who looked at panda wrong -snake bite piercings (he got them as a dare but ended up loving them) (barty also loves them) (they're so bad for your teeth though 😔) -his favorite color is pink but he pretends it's light blue (he's fooling no one) -blonde dreads -light brown eyes -deviated septum (he hates it but barty loves it) -nirvana, korn, and slipknot

~barty: -pansexual or unlabeled -italian -mullet (the underside is died neon green, and the top is black with some green highlights) -6'2 -raised catholic -BLUE eyes (seriously, someone get this man some brown contacts) -wears those collar chokers unironically (evan secretly loves it) -piercings everywhere (eyebrows, bridge, septum, tongue, ears)(evan won't let him get an albert though) (he's afraid it would get infected/heal wrong) -his favorite color is dark forest green -black clothes (he doesn't own any other color istg) -graphic tees and wife beaters -ripped black skinny jeans -black doc martens but he colors the yellow lining in with sharpie bc he doesn't like it -low-key kind of emo -metalhead but secretly enjoys all genres of music -ethel cain (was raised queer and catholic) -mother mother -mama's boy -him and evan are so fucking freaky (it's actually insane)

~regulus: -gay -autistic (got the good at school autism) -chronic insomnia -5'9 -loves oscar wilde -him and remus DESPISE colleen hoover (me too) -wireless headphones (probably beats bc he's rich) -half-deaf in his right ear, and no one knows why or how -left-handed but was forced to write with his right so he uses his right

-the original sad boi poetry writer -french -gray eyes -gets hot super easily and turns red -but has poor circulation in his hands (he's so me) -hozier -paris paloma (no one knows, don't ask) -ethel cain -loves greek mythology (his favorites are icarus, and pyramus and thisbe) (he just loves doomed love) (i may be projecting a little) -evan and barty have asked him for a threesome at least once -on earth we're briefly gorgeous, the picture of dorian gray, the song of achilles, and a good girl's guide to murder

~james: -pansexual -bpd -adhd or audhd -6'1 -desi (monty) and latino (effie) (i couldn't decide so now he's both ❤) -only wears gold jewelry -speaks spanish -listens to traditional music and abba -taylor swift and hozier -super smart but got burnt out by the time he was 13/14 -bluey and paw patrol (tell me i'm wrong) (this man would eat up paw patrol) (marshall and chase would be his favorites) (and everyone loves bluey) -has the best singing voice of the group -a singular lobe piercing -his favorite color is red -VERY long lashes (the girls are so jealous) -scared of deep bodies of water and abandonment (omg reggie?) -prettiest hazel eyes you've ever seen -can dance really well -red converse -big pants, little shirt typa guy

~sirius: -bisexual or demisexual -french -gray/blue eyes -anxiety disorder and seasonal depression -cptsd -5'8/5'9 (he's shorter than regulus) (i have decided it) -freckles that only come out in the summer -poor circulation in his feet -left-handed -black converse and doc martens -draws on his converse -has a tattoo of the leo constellation on his chest (right above his heart) (☺) -is math and science smart -can't write for the life of him -pheobe bridgers, boygenius, conan gray, and olivia rodrigo -hozier -metallica and dream theatre -band t-shirts and ripped black skinny jeans -leather bracelets -double lobe, septum, and lip piercings

~remus: -gay -welsh -dyslexic -very tan skin and freckles -scared of heights -english and history smart -colleen hoover's biggest hater (real) -6'4 -scoliosis -chronic migraines -ren (go listen to him rn, he's amazing) -david bowie -brown eyes (hazel or dark brown, depending on his mood) -hates red velvet cake but loves chocolate (?) -greek mythology (likes medusa, and achilles and patroclus) -grandpa sweaters and cardigans -levi jeans and fuck-boy pajama pants -sleeper build -awkward as hell -fucking loser (and we love him for it) -bde -song of achilles, they both die at the end, the fault in our stars, the invisible life of addie larue, the picture of dorian gray, and the seven husbands of evelyn hugo

~peter: -omnisexual/straight/unlabeled -irish (galway or derry) -or german -learning disability -anxiety disorder -5'7 -plus sized -his hair is almost brown but still kinda dirty blonde -green/hazel eyes -favorite color is yellow or orange -probably listens to basic white girl music, or rap (idk which one😭) -like, he's either listening to taylor and ariana or he's listening to kendrick and tupac (i don't make the rules 🤷) (both are great anyways so it doesn't really matter) -wears button up shirts and khakis (his parents were super religious and proper growing up, and he hasn't been able to kick the habit) -loves christmas but hates new years -would be fantastic in american football (trust me on this one) (he's a little short but he'd do great) -he's an only child, but he grew up in a more suburban area, so he had lots of neighbors (marlene) -his parents struggled to conceive, and he was a rainbow baby after 2-3 miscarriages (he and james are kinda similar in that sense)

[idensgarden]

you guys seemed to like my last au ranting post so. here we go

some more takes on classic gravity falls aus because i like reimagining things. Here's my 2 cents on reverse falls, which. i havent seen the visual novel if thats considered canon or anything to the au. i think uts like batman now where everything you apply to it is canon if it vaguely follows the premise

from what i've seen, it's more of a situation swap than a personality swap, so most parts of the au will follow that. but pacifica didn't come to gravity falls for the summer- she had to move here because her stupid dad got involved in a scandal or something and had to lay low. the northwests have inherited enough money to last them a good while, but apparently they can't go spending it on "trivial things", like pacifica's very important designer clothes. so she has to get... a... a... god, i can't say it without gagging, a JOB!!! at a worn down car sales shack!!! hold on. let me add a cut here.

okay im back. alright. at her job, pacifica meets gideon gleeful, who's basically gideon but less entitled, and surprisingly a bit like mabel. he's immediately the most annoying person pacifica has ever met. but he's the only company she has, besides mr. gleeful, who is way too cheerful to be pleasant and gives off major discomforting vibes, and mrs. gleeful, who makes her reflect on the lack of affection she receives from her actual mother and creates a deep pit of sorrow in her heart. just girly things.

(since gideon is much more pleasant in this au, his mother is much more stable, and takes the role of the primary caretaker since bud is too normal for me to write about)

the other employees are bad, but could be worse. the sleepy cashier with eyebags for eons and ROBERT written uncaringly on his nametag, and the overachieving pink-haired errand-girl who seemed to have a different name each time you asked her and a cartoonishly large bow on her head.

the longer pacifica works at her new summer job, the more fond she grows of it. when she's not hearing about gideon's annoying ramblings about wanting to be on broadway and the melancholy of settling for a mascot gig, she's actually feeling this gross sense of pride after actually working for something in her life, and getting sandwiches made for her by ms. gleeful (eventually nicknamed aunt agnes). pacifica hates to admit it and it keeps her up at night, but she's happier here than she's ever been. which is why she doesn't leave when she notices strange things happening around gravity falls.

ms. gleeful denies it, but gideon totally agrees with her- something weird is going on in this town. pacifica, going through an old car with an undefinable model much too damaged to repair, finds a journal in the glovebox, embedded with an X over an eye, and from here, the show plays out a bit like normal gravity falls. give it that unnerving, darker touch that the northwest manor episode had. some early episode ideas:

a full episode based on the what's-his-face comic, obviously without the mystery twins. pacifica gets a pimple, and thinks that since she's starting to get older, she's losing her adolescent beauty, and thus becoming less of a 'valuable asset' to her family. what choice does a girl have but demon magic? i hope this one doesn't backfire!!!

after the last episode, the effects of pacifica's fear of not meeting the beauty standard linger. after catching pacifica staring at multi level marketing get-pretty schemes, ms. gleeful decides to revoke her phone and take the kids camping, saying that technology is evil. it turns out she's right, as pacifica's phone has grown restless after it's abandonment and transformer'd into a beast, which is hunting them down in the forest slenderman-style.

pacifica doesn't believe in the tooth fairy- she's almost 13! it takes her a terribly long time to be appropriately afraid when it gets one tooth from her (gideon convinces her to just TRY putting one under her pillow) and becoming obsessed with harvesting her perfect teeth. inspired by ckret2's goldilocks au!! :)

and then comes episode four...

on her break (thank god!), pacifica sits down to watch some trashy tv, but can't stop seeing ads for this flashy tourist attraction called the mystery shack. at first she rolls her eyes, but the lights and the colors and all the cool effects just look to awesome to pass up. this town must be getting to her, because she'd never indulge herself with something like that before, but now she just has to go. she works overtime for money to see the shack, and gideon uses his allowance to go, too. (pacifica is surprised. why is he spending money on this? he said he doesn't even want to go!!! (gideon just wants to get closer with his first friend)).

the shack is run by a professional conman, who collects and shuffles the money dramatically at a fancy desk, called stanford pines (not actually, this is pre-ford). his employees were vigilant, and yet always exhausted- a goth girl with a sharp tongue and a bodyguard who always seemed uncomfortable in his suit.

but customers really came for the twins; mason and mabel, psychic slash drama slash comedy duo. the townspeople practically (sometimes literally) threw money at them. they were the same age as pacifica and gideon, but had this air of disconnect to them. in all their posters they had the same matching yellow earrings, contrasting their bedazzled blue outfits. their hair also seemed to be greying, even at such an early age.

pacifica was not happy to have spent her 45 dollars on watching two kids read fortunes more vaguely than a cookie and tell dumb jokes and do stupid dances, but gideon seemed jazzed.

the next day, there's a knock at the office door. the twins came to visit! pacifica is pissed. mabel asks to chat with gideon, and pacifica tells her to screw off, but gideon rushes out of the door with mabel, 0 hesitation. he probably has a crush on her for a bit like in canon, but it doesn't go anywhere.

dipper invites himself in, offers that pacifica could offer him some tea free of charge, and pacifica almost thanks him. she lashes out at him, and quickly learns that he is all bark and no bite, curling up like a scared kitten in the recliner. she picks on him a bit, barely noticing the glow of his earring, before mabel comes back out with gideon.

"alright, that'll be all! hey, can gideon take work off today?" she says. "we want to go get makeovers! you know, since we're best friends now and all."

for some reason, pacifica feels a strong pang of rage. but she doesn't act on it, just standing there dumbfounded as mabel doesn't wait for an answer, and gideon skips out of the shop with his new best friend.

it keeps pacifica up at night. she should be important to him!!! wasn't she his first friend?

wasn't he hers?

when gideon finally comes back, pacifica is still angry, but she's relieved. at least that wacko girl is gone- nevermind, she's back, and she's taking gideon out for tacos and pedicures.

it goes on and on and on. pizza night this, karaoke night that, arts and crafts here, a cool party there... pacifica knew that she should be mad. she should be frustrated- she was pacifica northwest! she should be the center of everything, she should be invited to these stupid get togethers, she deserved it!

but she wasn't angry about that. she was angry about gideon. and above all else, she was lonely.

so she did the responsible thing and communicated with gideon about how she felt and I'm lying I'm lying to you right now. she actually hunts down mason, demands that he spill the ulterior motives of mabel pines, and yanks him up by his shirt collar like a cartoon bully. at first, mason won't talk, but pacifica drops him on the ground and gets a good look at his stupid dumb constellation birthmark. she asks him about it.

"it's... not actually a birthmark. it's,, like a tattoo." mason confesses. "it's a long story. with a really gloomy sleep paralysis demon at the center of it. please don't tell anyone."

pacifica has no idea why it's that important, but utilizes her leverage, and blackmails mason into telling the truth because shes kind of a dick. he tells her that the whole mystery shack is a con made up of conmen and conwomen and conpeople, and mabel is trying to make gideon another cog in the cog-powered con machine and swindling him into giving up his family's business in order to expand the shack, showering him with attention and taking advantage of how gideon has never had any friends.

pacifica is outraged. yes he has, she decides.

she barges into mabel's backstage room in the mystery shack just in time to dramatically yell DROP. THAT. PEN!!! before gideon signs a waiver.

gideon is disgruntled, confused, and angry. "you're just upset that mabel is treating me like a real friend, something you never did for me!"

"i didn't know how to do that for you, i never... i'd never done it before!"

gideon squints and softens at pacifica's confession. oh. so she's not actually that mean, she's just repressed and lonely. she's just like me for real!

the two make up and hug, before the sentimental scene is destroyed by a loud "ENOUGH!!!" from mabel. mason dashes into the room to come to her aid, a bit sorry for leaking her plan, and the two use their cool crystal earrings to beat the shit out of pacifica and gideon.

"YOU WANNA HAND OVER YOUR PROPERTY TO ME SO BAD, IT MAKES YOU LOOK STUUUPID!!!" (cool psychic fight)

eventually, gideon manages to snatch the amulet from mabel, asking her what the diddly darn she's doing. mabel sighs.

"come on, gideon! i have braces! those mess with girls' emotions and hormones and stuff!"

"d-... do they really?"

"no, but you wouldn't know, you never had friends!" she towers over him. the whites of her eyes become a ghastly blue, her pupils shifting to a shape akin to a goat's. "come on, gideon! what's it hurt? your dignity? your family? your life's work? we both know you need approval. need to feel normal. like you're not a freak." her words are venom. "i can give you that. there's no reason for you to miss this opportunity. there's no reason for you to miss me."

pacifica is restrained by mason, reaching out for gideon. "don't believe them," she sputters. gideon looks up at mabel.

"you're right. it's just nonsensical. to miss this. miss you..." he takes her hand, as he speaks again.

"not when my aim is just getting better."

he takes his free hand and SOCKS mabel in the face and unclips her earring because i decided theyre clip ons and ripping it out is a little extreme!!! he throws it on the ground and stomps on it, and mabel is FURIOUS. she turns to mason.

"come on, bro bro!" she huffs. "do something!"

mason is still for a second. and then he shakes his head. "mabel, we need to talk."

"NOW!?"

as the twins begin to argue, gideon and pacifica take the opportunity to flee the shack and run back to the car shop. before ms. gleeful makes dinner, gideon asks if he can actually stay at pacifica's tonight.

ms. gleeful is okay with it, but pacifica quickly dismisses the topic. it's the thought that counts, but she didn't want to see her parents at the moment.

"you don't mind if i stay here tonight, though, do you, ms. gleeful?" pacifica asks.

"please, sweetheart, call me aunt agnes. i have a sleeping bag 'round here somewhere!"

she and gideon smiled at each other.

[dontneedhair]

Using An Epilator On My Head (Part Two) - The Scalp

Sometimes I get the question how I managed to epilate all of my head, and how I have kept it that way. The short version and my inspiration for doing it the way I did can be found here.

Unlike others who seem to be able to get through the entire process during one weekend, starting from what I'd see as a considerable hair length (half a centimetre maybe), I needed several weeks to complete it. Shaving, then waiting maybe half a day before letting the epilator grab the very first stubble. Waiting more time, epilating again, this time with more stubble being ripped out, and repeating this process till it hurt so much that I shaved again, starting the cycle all over again.

One thing I had to deal with relatively soon were pimples/small ingrown hairs.

Not the end of the world, but not the best look, either. There are different methods for dealing with this, all of them basically some kind of peeling to enable the newly growing hair to find its way to the surface and stop the pores from clogging. What worked really well for me was a spray against ingrown hairs after epilating - a chemical peeling of some sort. To this day, I tend to apply it once a day, mostly in the evening before going to bed. On the day of a tweezing session applying it can sting, but it is bearable and a good sign that it does its work. Even if a pimple is already there, it will go away much quicker with this extra help.

Another thing I had to live with for a short time was a certain patchiness on my scalp. I'm talking about the small-scale level here, you can see some of it on the picture above. No-one ever commented on it, from a certain distance it wasn't even noticeable, neither was it under little light. Or maybe everyone just thought I hadn't done a good job shaving?

In any case, it went away after having tweezed every hair at least once, which took some time because of the different phases of the growing cycle the individual hairs were in. Once that was done, things got much better very quickly in every respect. The hair that did grow back was finer, which made it a lot less painful to epilate. Since I kept on tweezing twice a week (always in the evening), there was also not that much to remove in an individual session any longer. And regrowth has kept getting less over time.

The MPB zones were the first one where the hair seemed to give up, my natural hairline for example never really returned after going over it with the epilator a couple of times, the same is true for the stretch that goes from there to the crown. The hair more to the sides is also getting less dense now as far as I can tell; to be sure, I would have to stop epilating for a while, and I don't want to do that.

What I still do after every tweezing session on my scalp is a wet shave. Especially in the beginning, and even after having epilated every hair at least once as explained above, just tweezing wouldn't give the totally smooth feeling yet. The shave is extremely quick and effortless, and after that my scalp has almost a glass-like feel to it. Over time, the smoothness I achieve just by tweezing has improved considerably as well. Being consistent in using the epilator definitely has had its rewards.

(Another photo from last summer, not even a year after starting the scalp tweezing, but the work I had to put into maintenance was already so much less than at the beginning of the process, and while there was some regrowth after one or two days, I was shadow-free one hundred percent of the time.)

For those who consider venturing into this as well, I would like to stress (as Tom did on http://scalptweezing.com) that using the epilator on your scalp is likely to lead to noticeable permanent hair loss pretty soon. So that should be something that you want or at least accept in exchange for the benefits. It can also be part of the thrill to know you are changing your appearance in a way that cannot be undone, at least that was my case. Just don't forget that the point of no return can come really early.

[hannahssimblr]

“You and Jen,” She says to me as we walk alongside the shore, “What’s the story there?”

“What you mean?”

“You seem close.”

“We are, she’s my best friend.”

“Right, well…” She trails off, “Okay never mind. That’s fine.”

“I know it’s fine. Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“Do you think that boys and girls can really be friends? I mean really really.”

I huff out a laugh. If she knew how often I think and talk about this exact topic she’d laugh too. “Yeah I think so. At least I think that I think so. It makes it a bit easier when one of you is gay though.”

Clóda’s eyebrows shoot up, “She’s gay?”

“Yeah does it make you feel better to know that?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah of course,” I almost say that I know because I already tried to kiss her a few years ago and it didn’t exactly go down well. She’d thought I was experimenting on her, and maybe I was. Maybe we were experimenting on each other. 

“Just because you’re always together, and laughing, and like, she’s staying at your beach house and all of that, I was wondering-”

“Does she make you feel insecure?”

Clóda burns red, “No, I don’t get insecure.”

“It’s alright, she’s staying with me because the family she usually lives with are on holiday in Malaysia this summer. She didn’t want to go with them so I invited to come to the beach house with my family instead.”

“What do you mean 'the family she stays with'?”

“Yeah Jen doesn’t live with her parents anymore. She lives with our friend Michelle.”

“Hm. Sounds a bit weird to be honest.”

“It’s for the best, hey,” I press my hand against her arm, goose pimpled, then her hand clutching it in a frigid claw. “You’re freezing. Why didn’t you bring something else to wear?”

“I don’t know, I just didn’t think about it.”

I take my hoodie off and zip her into it, “better?” 

“A bit, but I’m still cold.”

“Okay,” I pull her into my chest and rub my hand over her back the same way I used to do to Ivy when she was a toddler wrapped in a towel. “Maybe we should go back to the fire, hm?”

“No, I want to be on our own.”

“Okay, then why don’t we find somewhere sheltered to sit? That sea breeze is really picking up.” 

With the warmth of the day evaporated from the sand it is chilled against my hands and elbows as we find a spot to sit amongst the marram grasses. As soon as we sit I hold her close to me because maybe all we need is to share body heat. Maybe it’s the most sensible thing to do. 

“Here, give me some of my heat back,” I say to Clóda as I slip my hands into my hoodie and press icy hands against her back. She squeals and pushes me away, only to get her revenge by flattening her own cold hands against my cheeks, my neck, under my t-shirt where she finds the warm skin of my chest and I squirm but I don’t stop her. Instead I lean in to tickle her neck and her ear with my lips and breath and then with her pinned underneath me I kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her, and now with her hands under my clothes and hers under mine I feel it; that familiar ache that spreads throughout my body, and the heat and the hunger that drives me past my senses. We stop laughing and I kiss her harder.

I roll on top of her and pin her body down with mine, our hands roaming, mouths messy and desperate, and although I zipped her into my hoodie only ten minutes ago I’m already zipping her out of it again just so that I can feel more of her body in my hands. 

My t-shirt comes off. I think it was me who removed it but I don’t know or care because now my fingers wrestle with the clasp of Clóda’s bra. I wish I could do this with one hand. I wish I was that slick but I’m not, but it doesn’t stop me trying it for several seconds before I admit defeat. Like most other mortal men I need both my hands, but they do it easily, and then I am touching her with them and she sighs while I swallow the sound with my mouth against hers. She lies there open to it, arms open to her sides, lips open as I glide my tongue against hers, legs as I fit my hips between them. 

She gasps at the sensation of being close in this way, of feeling all that she can feel between thin cotton and jersey. 

“You can touch me if you want,” I prompt. 

“Where?”

“Wherever you usually touch a boy.”

“Oh, yeah obviously.”

She doesn’t move, so I draw back to look at her, breathing hard. Her teeth tug on her lip and she looks at me with uncertainty, then slowly, hesitantly she reaches for the elastic waistband of my shorts. Even the brush of her fingers against my lower stomach does insane things to the inside of me and I shudder. I hold my breath as she pulls at the band, slides a cold hand in and she’s under, and there. Not doing anything, not moving, just holding. 

“When you go back to Dublin after the summer,” she says anxiously, “will you stay in touch with me?”

“What? Will I-” I suck air in through my teeth at the new sensation, “Yeah of course. I’ll text you all the time.”

“And you’ll visit me too?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have MSN?”

What the fuck. “Yeah, yeah I have MSN- ow, no-”

“I’m doing it wrong!” She drops me like a hot potato and shrinks away in horror.

“Are you alright? It’s fine, you just-”

“I fucked it up.”

“Clóda- no, it was nice.”

“Can't we just skip this part?” Her hands spring to her sides in surrender, “I clearly don’t know what I’m at.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll just, um…” I feel a lot of the desperation and urgency slipping away and make an effort to heat things up again by licking her neck a bit and reminding her that she is hot. It’s never really hard for me to get in the mood anyway, as all I’ve ever really needed to do is have the privilege of a girl underneath or on top of me to feel like stars and moons and a million constellations of light have dropped into my palms. 

I adore girls, I think, as my hands slide under her skirt. I worship them and everything about them that makes them different from me. Soft skin and lips and the scent of their hair, their humour, the way that they laugh… I think that I like girls more than most boys like girls, honestly, not that I’m competitive about it, just, if there was a contest I would be winning. 

Clóda’s breath hitches and she clutches to me so tightly that my face is forced into the sand over her shoulder, but I don’t really feel like pointing it out to her, because sometimes with good things comes some sacrifice, and if eating sand is a part of the experience of fingering her then I suppose I can accept that. 

“Oh, that feels odd,” she says. 

“Um, Odd? Does it usually feel odd to you?”

She seems to realise what she has said, “Um… yeah, I-” A panicked sob escapes her and she blurts out, “I don’t know! I’ve never done anything more than kissing before! I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like!”

I sit up instantly, wiping and spitting sand off my tongue. “But you said-”

“I know, but I was just saying that. That’s what everyone says! Everyone just makes it all up, I hoped that maybe you…” she trails off.

“I’ve never made anything up.”

“You’ve done all of this before?”

“Of course.”

“Don’t say ‘of course’ like it’s so obvious! Most people haven’t done a thing, I suppose I was just hoping that it was the same for you.”

I scratch the back of my head, “No, well, I have…”

Her eyes widen in horror, “Have you gone all the way?”

“Yeah, a few times.”

“A few times?” She covers her face in anguish, “But you’re only sixteen.”

“It’s not a big deal, really. It’s just, like, fun, and I don't mind if you’ve never done it, or anything, really. If you want to give it a go, then…”

A pause, “You’d do it with me anyway?”

“Yeah, I think you’re nice.”

“You really don’t mind?”

“No.”

She looks at me. I look at her, and for a long moment neither moves or says a word, perhaps for fear that whatever opportunity has just presented itself will evaporate into thin air if we dare say or do the wrong thing in the wrong way, that we will realise it is a stupid idea and we alongside it are stupid people. 

“Okay,” she whispers carefully, “Yeah.”

“Yeah?” I scramble around in my pocket for a condom. “You trust me?”

“I think so?”

“You have to know, not think.”

“I know.”

Beginning // Prev // Next

[rubyreduji]

hi how are you doing? congrats on 3k <3 you really deserve it <3🧸🧸

for the sleepover can i request svt x reader with small tits?

— join the sleepover!! 🧸️

hi hi :) i wasn't sure if you were asking for a reaction or like an actual request? i decided to do a blurb as a healthy medium bc like...i feel like as a reaction they'd all just...love you the same you know

anyways here's the minnie blurb (i hope you like seokmin lol):

[minors dni!] [cw. slight insecurity, minor nipple play, grinding]

you glare at the mirror, your eyes zeroed in on your tits, or lack there of. it's not that you hate having a-cup boobs, you enjoy not having to deal with boob sweat in the summer or having immense back pain all the time, but still, you wish you had a little more.

"oh babe, there you are!" you watch as your boyfriend's arms snake around your waist, tugging you in tightly. "whatcha doing in here?"

"just...looking at myself."

"looking at anything in particular?"

you know you could lie, tell seokmin that you're just fixing your hair or seeing if the pimple on your forehead has lessened, but then again it's just seokmin.

"my chest," you huff. "does it ever bother that i have small boobs?"

seokmin huffs a laugh. "why would that bother me? you know i'll love you no matter how you look."

"i don't know...," you mutter, your mind wandering to his last girlfriend who was more than fortunate in the chest region.

"you're beautiful," seokmin tells you, nothing but sincerity in his voice. you're used to the light, joking tone he usually takes on, but right now he's 100% serious.

you sigh and stare back in the mirror. "but wouldn't i be sexier if there was more there?"

"baby," seomin starts, "you are already sexy. i mean, not to be biased, but i have no complaints when i get to see you naked." seokmin starts to press kisses against your neck, his hands trails up your body to stop at your chest, cupping your tits in his hands. you shudder at the feeling. "see, they're just as sensitive as any other boobs.

"m-minnie," you whine as his fingers push under your bralette, pinching your nipples between his fingers. his lips trail kisses along your neck and shoulders as he continues to play with your nipples.

after a moment seokmin pushes your bralette off your chest and spins you around to face him. he pushes closer, slotting his leg between your legs as he leans down to kissing at your chest. he trails kisses down to your nipples before licking and sucking at the buds. you gasp when you feel his teeth tug at your nipple right as his knee rubs against you just right.

your fingers tremble as they bury in seokmin's hair, his mouth still working at your chest. you hips rolls against seokmin's thigh, your clit catching each time, making your cunt clench as it starts to drip.

seokmin lifts his head again, placing a chaste kiss to your lips. "you look so pretty like this baby. you look so pretty always."

you whine in response, already so close just from his leg and the small amount of praise. one of his hands moves up to tug at your nipple, while the other moves down to rub at you through your clothes.

"now can my pretty girl cum for me?" his fingers press harder, just slightly enough to have you gasping out, your mouth falling open as your legs shake slightly. "that's it baby."

your body slumps against seokmin when you're finished and he chuckles.

"you're tits are perfect to me, because you're perfect to me," seokmin tells you, pressing a kiss to your head.

[yzeltia]

FFXIVwrite2024 27. Memory

Featuring: @driftward 's Zoissette Vauban (Mention) and Nyx Blackmoon (Mention), @scrollsfromarebornrealm 's FFXVI AU Characters: Y'zel Tia, Kirian Summers, U'rahn Nuhn, U'nyxia Rahn, Claudien Expansion: Endwalker(Setting) Rating: T Summary: Small Vignettes Notes: Nothing stuck so have a lot of somethings

A memory, repeating

“Oh Y’zel. I really wish you wouldn’t let those boys get to you,” Ysayle huffed.

Y’zel furrowed his brow, ears flitted back as Ysayle dabbed a cotton swab along a cut on his chest. “They were mocking my dad,” he said defensively.

Ysayle narrowed her eyes then bandaged the scrape before giving it a little slap to seal it before starting to scold him, “Raiden can take care of himself and until you grow the muscle to back up your mouth.” 

Y’zel whimpered, putting back on his shirt as Ysayle took a seat next to him on his bed, letting him rest his head on her shoulder.

Y’zel stirred a bit in his sleep on the gazebo bench but did not wake. He gently nuzzled into Zoisstte’s shoulder and muttered. “Sister…”

A memory, yet five years from now

“So. You think you’re good enough for my daughterrr…”

Kirian watched as the Warrior of Light, Nuhn of the Drake Tribe of the Forgotten Springs, U’rahn, paced before him, tail swishing about behind him. He’d known the man his entire life but upon finding U’nyxia, U’rahn’s daughter, had a crush on him, the man had come to treat him like a stranger.

“That is for her to deicde,” he answered, staring up at U'rahn.

“I see. And if U’nyxia let’s say is cornered by a sandworm. Would you push her out of the way and let it swallow you instead? Would you fight a legion of magitek hoards to keep her safe? What about dragons? Trrravel to the ends of space and time itself for herrr,” U’rahn drilled, pointing at the various tomes on his shelves, novelizations of his adventures.”

“...I’m ten. My dads won’t even let me hold a sword yet,” Kirian protested.

U’rahn blinked and looked at him. “Oh yeah. Huh, strange. The girls could all swing a sword and fire arrows at your age,” he mused before going on into something else entirely. “Just remember. If you hurt her you won’t have to worry about me, but my wife.”

Kirian’s chest swelled as he held U’nyxia’s hands, smiling down at her as he thought of the first time he actually had to think about their future together. He smiled, leaning down to kiss her as her grandfather finished their ceremony, pulling back to see her father balling his eyes out while his wife stared at him dead on. 

A memory, altered twice forward

“I’m never going to be as he wants me to be. Why can he not see that? I want to run away. I hate it here so much. I want to go home to Old Sharlayan and forget this place. I- I-,” Y’zel cried out, tears streaming down his face.

Claudien didn’t know what to do, Y’zel having come out of nowhere and into his arms. He did his best to shoosh the other, stroking back their ears. Y’zel lifting their head and gazing into his eyes, he offered a smile then found the other lifting on their toes to kiss him. He remained frozen for a moment, unsure what to do. Y’lem was his mentor and yet…he could not deny the affection he’d built up for Y’zel. Giving in, Claudien pulled them close, an arm going around their waist to pull them closely forward.

And then the chill set in. He felt goose pimples spread across arms, hair rising as the floor underneath them froze. Y’zel pulled away, eyes shining blue before he started to let out a strained cry. Cold aether flooded the room as ice crawled up the walls, Y’zel’s frightened screams echoing in his ears.

Claudien snapped out of it as applause rancorously filled the opera house. His heart raced, as he came off the daydream, only soothed as Y’zel ran into his arms and kissed him, hidden by wing’s curtains. Unaltered. Unprimed. Safe, for now.

[gncrevan]

i kind of completely missed my one year on (low dose) T anniversary, so here's a little list of what has + and hasn't - happened (some tmi but nothing crazy):

+ body hair, mainly arms and legs. i've always had a lot but it's longer, thicker, darker

- still waiting on that stomach hair. where's the happy trail i ordered

+ the second thing i noticed was bottom growth. took me a while but we're getting along now

- no voice change of any kind i am going to cry (pray for me that it happens on the higher dose, and soon)

+ sweat smells worse but

- i don't seem to sweat significantly more, which is a blessing bc i already have hyperhydrosis

+ some acne, especially some really mean cysts during summer. i never had a lot of pimples during puberty so this sucks, but i seem to have it under control now (neutrogena clear&defend moisturizer my beloved). what's interesting to me is that i used to exclusively get pimples on my t-zone and now it's mainly on my cheeks & temples

- luckily even at its worst, it's not been nearly as bad as i've seen on other people; the last thing i need is more inflammation in my body tbh (touch wood)

+ hair that has grown on my face: my lashes got longer, my eyebrows are coming back, the blond hair on my cheeks is longer, some single mustache hairs that are nothing to write home about

- honestly i don't want a full mustache or beard anyway, and i would have to hide it bc nobody in my house can know i'm trans, so it's better this way

+ i seem to have grown two centimeters, which feels odd to think about at age 31, but kinda fun

- i have not built any muscle; not that i can exercise, but i was still hoping to pick up some. rather i've lost strength due to illness

- my face shape hasn't changed, i was really hoping for some squaring of my jaw as that's one of my main dysphoria (and dysmorphia) triggers

- to everyone's surprise, i haven't suddenly started to love my body 🤡

i'm not super happy about the pace we're moving at, so i doubled my dose and already feel a bit better. i'm still really glad i started T, but it's hard not to compare my transition to others and see all the things that haven't happened and might never happen for me. i also really struggle with the reality that i might never get top surgery, and even if i could, i first have to take care of the partial colectomy and idek how that's supposed to happen, i really lack help in that department. surgery hangs over me as this big, heavy thing that seems so attainable for others and so impossible for me, given the body i inhabit. you can imagine it doesn't make our relationship better that i get to blame it for not only having grown wrong, but also keeping me from rectifying that mistake.

anyway—

i wish transition was very much exclusively this joyful thing that makes me feel complete, but i don't think that option was ever open for me. transitioning from an abomination into a person isn't as straightforward as switching between genders.

[philliam-writes]

on that tree i'll carve our names (01)

pairing: Ominis Gaunt x fem! Hufflepuff Reader; Sebastian Sallow x Male MC

Synopsis: You have never believed or trusted in Prophecy, not with the way you were brought up. Paying attention to Prophecy is like tossing real diamonds in the air mixed with shards of broken glass. The grab is rarely worth the injury. But when the new fifth year arrives, so do trouble and mischief, and you're inadvertently thrust into adventures and secrets too grand to deal with by yourself. Yet with hardships come friendships, and while you learn to trust the new student with your life, you're less keen on trusting the cunning Sallow boy or the quiet Gaunt heir. Still waters run deep, as they say, and you can't shake off the feeling something dark hides at the bottom of those white-veiled unseeing eyes.

content: canon divergence, fighting prophecy, enemies to friends, reluctant soulmates, platonic soulmates, slow burn, basically HL but Reader isn't MC, angst, hurt and comfort, Sebastian and Reader can't stand each other (until much later), they're all mean, because they're starving for love, will love and kill for each other, dark(ish) ominis, satisfying female rage, also Quidditch because screw Black

notes: [02]

words: 5.9k

a/n: this is so self-indulgent, i don't even know if i'll keep this up. but right now i need to get this out of my system, so here is tragic platonic soulmates with delicious slow burn for borth of them and my favourite slytherin boys. hope you enjoy!

01: hawthorn makes the heart burn

The new student has been at Hogwarts for only a week, and already you cannot stand him.

It’s got nothing to do with the fact that he is a Slytherin. You have never been a fan of the sorting system, because even if it is partly at fault for sticking kids into boxes and teaching them to think in categories, the students surely don’t make it better living by these stereotypes. Not all Slytherins are bad people, just like not all Gryffindors are brave; not every Ravenclaw is a genius, and not every Hufflepuff is a saint, e.g.: You.

“You’re joking! Three Sickles and fifteen Knuts for a Pocket Sneakscope? That’s way too expensive!”

Lifting your eyes from the list of gadgets you need to buy on your next trip to Hogsmeade, you raise an eyebrow at the second-year Ravenclaw boy. He’s taller than most of his fellow housemates, shows signs of a long, hawkish nose and has pimples scattered on his cheeks like a Leaping Toadstool Cap. You can’t really remember his name. Freddy or Fred or August, maybe.

This early in the morning before classes start, the air is especially thick with the smell of late-summer: sweet buddleia in full bloom, the rich green leaves of trees as they sway gently in the wind. Mist hangs low in the valley and over the Great Lake, a milky curtain hiding its resident gently poking long tentacles into the warm sun. The castle is only slowly waking up after a short night—the last grace of long summer days approaching their end as October draws closer.

A beautiful landscape you can hardly enjoy with the second-year’s whiny voice buzzing around your head like an annoying mosquito.

“Look, you wanted a Pocket Sneakscope, I got it for you,” you say and unhitch yourself from the cool stone pillar, one of many holding up the roof of the Viaduct Courtyard’s passageway. “It’s not my fault the underground path is infested with spiders.”

Damned Weasley could have warned you though. You have been using the secret passage under the humpbacked, one-eyed witch leading to the cellar of Honeydukes since your second year when you spied Garreth Weasley sneak through it, and since then you both agreed on staying out of each other’s way as long as nobody rats out the secret passageway to the faculty. He gets to obtain whatever he needs for his weird concoctions, and you get to continue your little business of providing first and second years whatever they want from Hogsmeade since they can’t go themselves yet—all for a certain price. It makes trips to Hogsmeade easier when you can’t use your broom, though the occasional acid spit launched your way is less favourable than the breathtaking view of Hogwarts towering majestically as the sun sets, throwing the whole castle in stark, black contrast against the warm, orange sky.

“Unless you want someone else to get you stuff from Hogsmeade,” you continue with a shrug. “Good luck finding them though.” You move to put the Sneakscope back into your pocket, barely managing to keep on a neutral expression when Freddy or Fred or August, maybe, gasps as though you have reached into the Ravenclaw’s house point hourglass, grabbed a handful sapphires and chucked them at the Headmaster.

“It’s just—it’s just a whole Sickle more than I can spend this month!” he protests, but judging by the quiver of his voice he’ll eat out of your hand in no time.

You give your brightest smile. “Not my problem.”

The Ravenclaw-boy fumes, but when you hold out your hand, he slaps the coins into your open palm, his pale face blotched red with fury.

“Pleasure doing business with you.” You hand over his Pocket Sneakscope and watch him stamp off towards the double doors leading inside the entrance hall. He stops with a small, pale hand on the bronze doorknob, turns around as by his touch alone the doors squeal open with the magic that recognises students entering. “You are the worst Hufflepuff at this school!” he shouts and quickly dashes inside.

You don’t know why he felt the need to point it out. It’s not as though people don’t know who you are: the Hufflepuff who burnt down the left greenhouse in her second year when trying Incendio after agreeing to a bet; the Hufflepuff who broke a Ravenclaw’s nose because said Ravenclaw accused her of cheating in Defence Against the Dark Arts; the Hufflepuff who smoked Silverweed in a corner under the Great Staircase in her third year to see if it would yield any relaxing effects; the Hufflepuff who actually cheated on her very first exam in History of Magic—all in all the Hufflepuff who really should have been sorted into Slytherin on her first day, according to everybody else. Except the Slytherins have no love left for you because you wear yellow.

It is a wonder you have not been expelled yet, surely to do with the fact that despite it all, one student outshines your delinquent record. Your grades are passable, neither at the very top nor bottom, though you do have a knack for quickly learning spells and charms. What keeps you in somewhat good grace is being the Beater for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team—and what a Beater you are: ruthless and quick with strong arms. Maybe not as fast as Slytherin’s Captain on a broom, but you feel comfortable enough up in the air. All your problems seem so much smaller when you soar through the sky. Speaking of Quidditch, a Gryffindor second-year asked you to get a fake Snitch to practice for the team’s try-outs. Hopefully the Spintwitches Sporting Needs opens within in the next week; you’re in need of a new broomstick servicing kit, preferably before practice starts.

You move towards the Great Hall before they clear out breakfast. You did ask Javi to save up some Pumpkin Pastries for you, but he’s been in a foul mood since yesterday because Peeves destroyed a bust in the Astronomy Tower and he had to take the brunt of it. But while you’re crossing the courtyard, you notice a shadow standing under a wide archway, tall and sinewy, though body shapes are usually hard to guess under the loose, floaty school robes. Yet you know that despite looking lanky, this boy is nimble and quick, and his presence is utterly unappreciated—that is how the circle closes; the reason why you can’t stand him.

Even from this distance, you can make out Callum St. Jude’s pale grey eyes—they stand stark against his unruly map of ink-black hair. Paired with skin pale as moonlight, he looks like one of Hogwarts’s residual ghosts.

You feel your face turn into a scowl. It seems that no matter where you are these days, he is lurking nearby. At first you thought he was spying on you to check out the competition for tonight’s Crossing Wands duel. It is the finale after all. But when you had confronted him about it, catching him on his way down to the Slytherin dungeons in the Grand Staircase after your shared Charms class, he had considered you with a blank expression. “Who are you?” he’d asked, looking down at you from a few steps above.

Behind him, trailing him like a shadow since day one, Sebastian Sallow had sniggered. “Seems like you already have admirers,” he’d said with his insufferable haughty voice. “Though that Hufflepuff is more trouble than she’s worth.”

You were about to show him trouble, face hot with shame, when Javi hauled you up, hands under your armpits, and carried you away as if you were a sack of potatoes. “You can’t get detention now, it’s still the first week,” Javi had said mildly.

At least it would have been worth it. It would have been so satisfying to blast that cocky grin off Sallow’s face, to silence St. Jude’s little mocking huff. You firmly believe St. Jude is suffering from the worst ailment to date: Main Character Syndrome.

The symptoms have been evident since his first day: joining Hogwarts as a fifth-year, arriving late to the Sorting Ceremony due to a dragon attack, besting Sallow on his first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson (though you can hardly criticise him knocking Sallow down a peg) and mastering every new spell and charm as though it is as easy as breathing. Just last week, he fought off a grown troll and defended Hogsmeade, and now the whole school doesn’t shut up about it.

It is with eager anticipation that you await tonight’s Crossed Wands’s finale. Your fingers practically itch to draw your wand and Flipendo him just to juggle him around a little and wipe that blank expression off his face. He is beautiful, you hate to admit, feeling a sour taste in the back of your throat, but he’s using that face in all the wrong ways. He has the sort of face they’d probably frame in a museum, the kind that’s unbelievably pretty, but unattainable.

“Preying upon second years this early?” St. Jude tuts. “It seems there really is no rest for the wicked.”

“Looks as though I am already punished for it,” you grumble. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have to deal with you.”

St. Jude cocks his head to the side, looking thoughtful. “Interesting way to talk to someone you fancy.”

“I do not,” you press out between gritted teeth, shouldering past him as he steps into the entrance hall first, “fancy you.” You hope the Thunderbrew potion will be the first you’ll learn in Potions class. Watching St. Jude getting struck by lightning would lighten your mood considerably.

“For someone who pretends not to be interested in me,” he continues, ignoring you, “I see you around an awful lot.”

You consider tripping him as you two ascend the stairs. “Yes, that seems to be the very problem.”

“Won’t make me take it easy on you tonight though.” Since he is nowhere near a gentleman, he doesn’t hold the door open for you and it almost slams in your face. “I always duel to win.”

“I hope you don’t mind spending the next couple of days in the hospital wing.” You bump into his shoulder, hard, when you finally enter the Great Hall and immediately aim for the Hufflepuff table to the far right of the hall without another glance at him.

The hall is buzzing with students, the air filled with the tasty smell of crispy bacon, grilled leak, slightly burnt toast with melting butter on top. It isn’t as crowded as at lunch or dinner time—most students tend to skip breakfast to either sleep in after a long study night or use the hour before classes to finish assignments and homework.

The ceiling shows a clear blue sky with thin clouds drifting past lazily. You slide in the free seat next to your fellow Beater near the front of the table. Javier García is shoving scrambled eggs into his mouth, his bright brown eyes fixed on the Daily Prophet. In your first year, you didn’t pay much attention to him. If you look up Hufflepuff Student in any dictionary, it will show Javi’s face—a hard-working, loyal individual that always reminds you of a golden retriever until he steps on the field and turns into a pit bull from a fighting ring. Every summer he returns to his muggle family where he helps tending to the crops and fields, evident in his arms the size of tree trunks used to heavy lifting. Perfect for hitting Bludgers at opponents and slamming them off their brooms.

You pour yourself coffee and begin spooning slabs of apple-cinnamon-oatmeal into a bowl.

“Ranrok’s Loyalists have put up more camps around the Hogwarts highlands,” Javi says, mouth half-full. “It looks like they’re moving closer towards Hogwarts.”

“Why would they come to Hogwarts? There’s nothing here.”

“The castle has tons of secrets still uncovered. Why wouldn’t they try and get inside?”

“As if they’d manage to get through the defences. Hogwarts is impenetrable.” You take a long sip from your cup, hoping the caffeine kicks in fast. “No one’s going to get inside. Forget about the goblins. Did you see the Quidditch board? Our first game this season is against Gryffindor.”

Javi groans. “I hate their Seeker. Too small to hit with a Bludger, too quick to slam off the broom. We might as well throw in the towel.”

“Don’t let Captain hear that or she’ll turn you into a fox and wear you as a collar.” The Hufflepuff’s Quidditch Captain, Mary J. Lockwood, is sweet in pretty much every aspect except when it comes to Quidditch, and she never hesitates making you take the brunt of it. You’ve stopped counting how often she’d condemned you to run laps around the field as punishment for talking back or disrupting practice.

You finish breakfast and quickly drop by the common room to get your parchments and books for Divination class, hoping it will let time pass quickly until evening. But while staring for roughly an hour into the lazily swirling fog inside a crystal ball without an answer to how this year’s Quidditch season will end, time seemed to move slower than a snail. After dozing off twice and woken up by Adeleide Oakes’s pointy elbow to your ribs before Professor Onai could notice, the class finally ends.

Next up is Herbology and after that you’ve got two free periods until lunch and then end the day with double Potions. It’s a slow day for a Wednesday, and you can’t wait until practice starts in October to give you some change from sitting for hours in the library and going through dusty old tomes or watch the first and second-years getting roped up into playing Gobstones in the common room by the older students, filling it with the putrid smell of its foul liquid. You just enjoy being outdoors more. Which is why Herbology is somewhat fun, even if you and Javi prefer to pass time by betting on who can stick their finger closest to a Chinese Chomping Cabbage, earning a scornful side glance from Leander Prewett.

You promised Samantha Dale and Nellie Oggspire to work on the assigned group project for the essay on Ghouls for DADA during your free period, but when you’re about to set out to the Great Hall to grab a few snacks before going through the list of books you’ll need from the library, Professor Garlick appears before you suddenly as though sprouting from the ground like a flower.

“Oh, delightful, my dear, there you are!” she beams. Small brown parcels flutter around her head like butterflies. “Here is the delivery for Mr. Ollivander, if you’d be so kind and bring them to him now.”

Just in case, you look behind you. Nobody there on the stairs leading up to the central hall. Even Javi has made himself scarce already. She really is talking to you.

“Why me, Professor?” Someone must have hit you with Obliviate. You can’t remember having agreed to any favour for her.

“Oh? Frederick Gustave told me you would offer! Quite an attentive, nice boy! He will grow into a splendid Ravenclaw student one day!” Frederick Gustave? In Ravenclaw? You don’t know anyone called Frederick or Gustave or—the thought strikes you like lightning. Freddy, Fred or August. “All you need to do is bring these little parcels to Mr. Ollivander in Hogsmeade. These are magically nourished woods he has requested, and I am quite eager to see the results for myself.”

With a flick of her wand the parcels change course and begin to circle around your head before you can even begin to explain that this is a huge misunderstanding. She pats your cheek affectionately and twirls around, descending the stairs back to her flowery domain.

Javi is waiting for you at the top of the stairs, ignoring your scowl as he whistles the tune of The School of Jolly Dogs. His face lights up. “Since you’re heading to Hogsmeade, can you bring me some white Chocolate Frogs? Mine hopped out of the window last night because Arty forgot to close it.”

You answer with a rude hand gesture and stomp out of the hall, heading for where you keep your brooms stashed in the Hufflepuff locker room.

~ ⋆｡°✩ ~

The flight to Hogsmeade takes longer than usual. Every time you move too fast, the parcels begin to cry and whine like little abandoned ducklings until they catch up to you. Other than that, it is a beautiful morning as the sun keeps dipping in and out between wispy smears of clouds on the wide blue canvas. The tiny, homey town is alive with witches and wizards scurrying around to get their errands done. The novelty and excitement from visiting Hogsmeade in your third-year has worn off after two years, but it’s still a nice change from the dark school corridors and unending spiralling stair cases.

You leave your broom leaning next to the entrance of Mr. Ollivander’s shop. This shouldn’t take more than five minutes, darting in and out; you’re pretty sure you’ll be quicker than a Niffler digging through a pile of Galleons.

The door swings open easily. It has been five years since you last set foot into the small, cramped shop, yet nothing has changed and suddenly you feel as though you’re eleven again, entering for the first time. It smells of polished wood and something burnt underneath like a misplaced Incendio. Nearly every wall is stacked high with countless wands up to the ceiling, waiting to choose their witch or wizard. Back then you felt very small as a first year, anxious and excited to finally attend Hogwarts and get your own wand—the very first object that truly belonged to you and was not one of your older sisters’ hand-me-downs.

From the back of the shop you hear heavy knocks and a shrill screeching sound that makes you want to put your hands to your ears. Just like five years ago, you reach for the bronze bell on the counter but before your fingers can touch it, it lifts on its own and jingles beautifully. The knocking immediately stops, followed by a last dull clatter and then Mr. Ollivander emerges from the back room, dusting himself off.

He looks at you over the rim of his golden glasses, and a small smile spreads on his face as recognition dawns. The wide counter flap squeaks open when he swishes his wand to step through.

“Ah, the Hawthorn girl,” he says in greeting, quickly closing the space between you and taking your hands in his; you feel every wrinkle against your palm, every patch of rough skin from decades of work as he squeezes your hands. “I have hoped that I would see you soon.”

The question mark must be evident on your face, for Mr. Ollivander explains, “I remember every student and wand I paired, and you my dear, I remember the day five years ago when you came to my shop and your wand found you. Spiral, twelve inches, and a phoenix feather core. Unyielding. But what makes your wand so special is the wood it is made of. Hawthorn makes such a strange, contradictory wand, as full of paradoxes as the tree that gave it birth, whose leaves and blossoms heal, and yet whose cut branches smell of death.” He chuckles to himself, blinking as if lost in a memory; not noticing how tense you are and the way your uneasy smile curls downward. As though you could forget what the hawthorn means. But instead of allowing your mother’s voice inside your head and poisoning your heart, you square your shoulders and pull your hands away from Mr. Ollivander’s grasp.

“Delivery from Professor Garlick,” you say with a faux cheery voice. It seems only then does Mr. Ollivander notice the parcels still fluttering around your head.

“Ah, yes, yes! Allow me.” He points his wand at the parcels, then to his back room and they float through the shop in rank and file, all in proper order. “And here of course, the payment.” Mr. Ollivander hurries behind the counter, and produces a heavy pouch that he hands over to you. It jangles handsomely when you take it from him.

“Well then, I wish you a nice da—”

“Tell me, dear, have you met him?”

Feet already pointed towards the entrance, you turn your body halfway back. “Met who, sir?”

Mr. Ollivander looks up from the account books he’s been writing in. Something glints in his eyes, but maybe it’s just the reflection on his glasses. “Why, the Blackthorn boy of course.”

You rack your brain for anyone you know who’s called Blackthorn but come up empty. “I’m afraid I have not made any acquaintance like that, sir.”

The wandmaker’s eyes are calm, a sparkling blue of sunlight lancing off a stream. “I see,” he says. “Well, my part of this was fulfilled when I matched your wants with you. Everything else is up to you.” He gives you a little secret smile, then goes back to his ledger, the conversation clearly over even though you have dozens of questions swirling in your head.

Back out on Lower High Street, you have been released of the fluttering parcels and instead Mr. Ollivander’s words torment your mind. You can feel a memory hiding behind a thick fog, blurry and barely visible but its presence heavy and lurking like a ghost.

Wasn’t there something he had told you five years ago? When he had presented your wand to you, still resting in its narrow satin casket. You were too excited to pay him any mind—it had sounded too much like one of your mother’s stories; like an augury or worse even, a prophecy—when he had told you about a cursed kingdom, two brothers, and a hawthorn and blackthorn tree. Why listen to old fairy tales when the real adventure—Hogwarts—was waiting for you?

Besides, if by ‘Blackthorn boy’ he meant someone with a blackthorn wand, finding that person would be nearly impossible. And why would you look for him in the first place? Superstitions and divinations have no place in your life. Not after how it had dictated your childhood with a cold iron fist.

The trip back to Hogwarts is significantly faster without having to look after enchanted parcels behaving like newborn Fwoopers. With what happened at Mr. Ollivander’s, you completely forgot to drop by Honeydukes for Javi, which makes him look like a kicked puppy for the rest of the day.

You manage to start your essay for the group project, although you don’t get nowhere near where you wanted to be before the match. Lunch is a blur of tasty shepherd’s pie and grilled mushroom skewers with a small handful of students passing where you sit to wish you good luck, pattung your shoulder hard enough you almost choke on your pumpkin juice. Others send you little notes with crude drawings showing St. Jude zapping you with a spell and losing tonight’s duel. The messages are charmed to head dive into your cup and plate, splattering mashed potatoes on your uniform.

Adeleide plucks a nervously flapping piece of paper out of your meal and unfolds it. “At least they’re creative,” she notices mildly.

You throw a wary glance at the note. “That doesn’t even look like me.”

“I don’t know.” Javi slurps loudly from his cup. “They got your scowl right.”

Double Potions after lunch flies by for a change. Your Wiggenweld Potion tends to be a tad bluer than Professor Sharp’s apple green concoction bubbling at the front table for reference, but you have a hard time focusing when your mind is already occupied with how tonight’s duel might go.

You have a handful favourite spells that you’ve practised long enough they come as easy to you as breathing. But from what you have seen during the last Crossed Wands duels where St. Jude has participated, he seems to have a natural gift for duelling. You’ve heard he competed alongside Sallow in his first duel, but every after he’s been on his own and you’ve seen the battered and bruised leftover competitors limping out of the Clock Tower. You don’t plan to follow in their footsteps.

When evening falls on the castle and the long, narrow corridors awake with dim candlelight, you follow the throng of hooded students hurrying towards the Clock Tower after dinner. The excitement ripples through the lines of people like a physical force, alive and rearing when the first students file into the Clock Tower and find a seat close to the walls and away from accidental stray spells.

You spot Lucan Brattleby surrounded by a handful Hufflepuff and Slytherin students. Javi is among them, and when you draw closer you notice the ledger in Lucan’s hand and the Sickles being passed between him and Javi.

Javi startles when you step next to him like a Mooncalf facing an oncoming card. “Hiya,” he says in the very familiar voice that sounds a lot like him hoping you won’t be mad.

You raise an eyebrow. “Placing bets?” Your eyes linger on the page as you scan the names on the chart on your side. Only a few names—Leander, who’s been especially snappy since he lost against St. Jude in the semifinals, a handful other Gryffindors, one or two Ravenclaws and the rest are students from your house. On St. Jude’s column, Lucan has started to write the names as tiny as possible to fit them all on the page. Javi’s is amongst them. He ducks away from your scrutinising gaze. “He slew a fully-grown troll last week!” he pleads his case. So much for the infamous Hufflepuff loyalty. “I’ll invite you to Honyedukes after and pay whatever you want from the win.”

“Whatever.” You turn away to get ready, walking into a hard, solid body.

Callum St. Jude steadies you before you can stumble. “Easy there.” His smile slices white. “Am I already sweeping you off your feet? We haven’t even started yet.”

You shrug his hand off your arm. “The only sweeping happening today is when I wipe the floor with you, St. Jude.”

He hums thoughtfully. “We’ll see.”

You stare daggers at his back as he retreats to his side of the hall, welcomed by other Slytherin students who pat his back and ruffle his unruly jet-black hair as though he is the fifth year’s Champion already. He doesn’t linger around them for too long, and instead retreats to a far corner where Sallow is already waiting for him. What an annoying duo.

Tugging your black robe off, you begin to stretch your limbs. For today’s occasions you’ve chosen to wear a simple shirt with ribbon uniform tucked into your plaid trousers. More mobility, less fabric flapping around. A tie or a blazer would allow too much surface for a nasty Accio. From the last duels you’ve watched, you know St. Jude is as sharp as a whip, and he uses everything in his so far meagre arsenal of spells to win.

You’ll need to keep all your wits about you. If he, and the majority assembled under the giant swinging pendulum today, underestimate you, it will be your pleasure to remind them what vicious creatures badgers are. And that they devour snakes.

When you turn, St. Jude is already standing ready, his wand raised. He’s shrugged out of his robes as well and pulled off his tie, following your example. Gone is the hint of the cocky smile he always wears, so infuriating and inviting to punch. Now he is serious, his face an impassive mask that betrays nothing but you have seen it change within a heartbeat before knocking an opponent out with a savage blast of his wand. Like a snake, waiting and watching, until it strikes viciously and sinks its venomous fangs into your skin.

“Attention!” Lucan Brattleby hops in the centre, his arms raised. “Wizards and witches! Welcome to the fifth year’s Crossed Wands Championship Round!” He lets the audience get the whistling and bellowing out of their system before he introduces both parties. “Competitors, let’s get started!”

He quickly dashes out of the way—rightly so, for St. Jude’s opening move is always a lightning-quick Levioso, just like Professor Hecat taught him. You dodge the spell and hear it disperse against the wall behind you, feeling the sparks nip your skin.

“Accio!” You whip your wand towards you, only able to catch St. Jude by the cuff of his white sleeve as he evades with a side-step. But it’s enough to unbalance him as his arm is pulled in your direction and he retaliates by using the moment to blast a few Basic Casts your way which you block by well-timed Protegos.

The crowd’s cheers disappears into background noise as you and St. Jude continue your tense dance of attack and parry; a step forward, another step back, his Incendio is answered by your Glacius; since he prefers fire you do him the pleasure of casting Confringo which forces him to dive to the side. Your spell blasts the wooden weapon rack behind him into splinters and pieces, showering the Slytherins sitting beside it with glowing embers.

“Come on, new guy, give her a proper Slytherin treatment!” one of them yells. St. Jude doesn’t let himself get distracted, not even by the instructions of his fellow housemates or the quips from your side of the room. His eyes are pinning you like a butterfly on a corkboard, following your every step. They are frighteningly bright, you have the feeling that no move will go past him.

From behind you, you pull a large crate from under the buttocks of two Gryffindors with Accio, ignoring their protests when in the last second you fling it bodily towards St. Jude with Depulso. You’ve been working on the right timing for this for a long time—people usually don’t expect to be thrown at with things instead of spells. It hurls through the hall, and to your utter astonishment St. Jude blocks it in the last second with a flying object of his own—a practice dummy.

But where was the spell? You didn’t see him cast one when he hurled that dummy through the air.

At your puzzled expression, St. Jude grins at you, his smile so sudden and jarring as a thunderclap. You narrow your eyes. There’s something growing in the pit of your stomach, rearing its ugly head and snapping sharp, volatile teeth. Basic Casts don’t feel enough, and every vicious Diffindo St. Jude parries or dodges in the last moment. His retaliation is a fiery Incendio after Incendio—you’d think after this time one of you would grow weaker, lose focus, but the heat flaring your way and the flames licking up your uniform feel anything but harmless or tame.

Sweat runs down your temples, along your cheeks, down your neck. Your wand feels hot in your hand, but you grip it tighter, knuckles white. Your lungs feel tight in your chest, but you breathe in stronger, eyes wide. That rage that always lives inside you rears. It is an almost physical pain, like nails against flesh; like teeth against bars. That unwanted animal is starving, it wants nothing more than to get out and you’re surprised nobody else can hear it howling.

“Not as quick or cunning as that Sallow boy, but her spells pack a mean punch,” they say about you. You couldn’t best Sallow, and now there is this new contender and you refuse, refuse to slide down to number three; always coming in last, always pushed aside. You snarl at St. Jude as though trying to wrap your teeth around the world.

The air crackles with magic. Faintly, you hear an echo of a familiar voice. “Do not be surprised at your wand’s ability to perceive your intentions—particularly in a moment of need.”

It seems your wand shares your taste for violence—you can feel that this is the best Expulso you have executed since you taught yourself the spell in year four. You swing your arm, wand scorching hot in your hand—vibrating even—and hurl the Blasting Spell at St. Jude.

You can see his mouth move as he speaks a spell, blue sparks fly from the tip of his wand and then crackling lightning intercepts your attack. Through the sparks and bolts you see St. Jude’s puzzled expression—now is the chance to strike. A surprised opponent is a weak opponent; you swing your arm back—your arm is stuck.

From the tip of your wand a wiry crimson light crackles across the room, connected to St. Jude’s wand. When you try pulling back again, an invisible force lurches you forward, forcing your arm up until the thin light grows stronger, redder like spilt blood. Your arm shakes with the feeling of wrongness crawling up your arm, a kernel of god-awful flavour that has you biting your bottom lip. You feel an awareness. No. More than awareness, more sentient than that. It is recognition.

The point of your wand, shining a blazing white, shakes with the effort of you trying to pull back; shakes from whatever magic is transpiring between you two. On the other side, St. Jude has his free hand around his other wrist, trying to lower his wand, his face as white as a wall. To no avail.

The magic spreading from your wand through your body is like curious, warm fingers touching up along your arm, curling around your shoulder, settling against your cheek. They wander lower and splay across your chest, then sink through your ribs. Close around your heart. Squeeze.

The world explodes.

The magical blast sends you flying. Your teeth clang together as you slam on your back. Pain radiates through your body. Black dots dance before your eyes and blur your vision as you’re struggling for air.

A hushed silence has settled inside the Clock Tower. You shake your head, your free hand rising to your chest where you still feel a sharp twinge. Gingerly, you pick yourself up, carefully feeling for injuries. The whole room is a mess as though a wild Graphorn has ravaged inside and destroyed most of the furnishings. When your eyes lock with St. Jude’s across the room, your heart beats in your throat, making it hard to breathe.

Mirroring you, one hand is pressed against his chest, the other holds his wand in a vice-grip as though his life depends on it. You see him shudder helplessly, as if it were winter and he has gone outside without gloves and caught a terrible chill. His eyes meet yours, then drop to your wand. His lips mouth a single word, and you stare at him, throat tight, the cold sweat sensation of dread spreading slowly through your limbs.

And all of a sudden, you remember very clearly one thing Mr. Ollivander had told you all those years ago.

Once your paths cross, your fates will be irrevocably connected, growing together like the roots of old trees. Your wands have come from the same seed. There is no doubt that you fill find him.

Your Blackthorn boy.

A/N: If anyone is interested in this story, I can make a taglist :) Would also appreciate any sort of feedback, or just hitting the little heart so show me you enjoyed it

[charleneferlay]

Drawing Philip II of Macedon

After my first post on drawing Alexander, I'd like to talk about his father!

Here is the amazing portrait by @elfinfen:

More to read below!

Let's start with his face: I asked for a olive skin tone and dark hair. In the novel, Philippos is usually described as having very tanned skin, so his skin may get much darker than this at the end of summer.

You may have seen several pictures of Philip II. Here are some, just in case:

Philip in the 2005 movie, with brown hair.

Philip by J. F. Oliveras, with brown hair.

Unknown artist, Philip with black/brown hair:

There are a lot more pictures of him online, but all of them share two traits: Philip is missing an eye (more below) and he's got hair ranging from brown to black. Compared to him, Alexander usually has hair ranging from light to dark blond, sometimes light brown.

The truth is, we have no idea what Philip's hair color was. The frescoes in the tombs of Macedonia show us Macedonians with all hair colors, so Philip could have been blond, or have russet hair. I think the reason why he is usually pictured with darker hair is to set Alexander appart from him... but in the biographies I read, there was no hint that they didn't look like each other!

So why is my Philippos very dark haired? Since Alexandros is the son of Philippos and Zeus, I wanted to set him appart. In my story, all of Philippos' daughters, as well as his son Arrhidaios, his nephew Amyntas and his illegitimate son Ptolemaios look a lot like him. Some have straight hair, or some variations, but when the narrator meets the (dead) brothers and half brothers of Philippos, they also look so strongly like him that no one can doubt they are of the same family. This is almost a caricature, but it can be explained because Philippos' family has divine blood, descending from Herakles. There's a "type" in the family that runs strong, and they all look like each other... except Alexandros, who looks like his half siblings Hermes, Appolo and Artemis.

Now, moving to the eye: that is the result of an arrow wound in 354BC. The eye was removed surgically. We don't really know how the wound looked like, but since eye injuries ick me a lot, I asked the artist to make it a very clean wound. In Gemmel's story The Lion of Macedon, it seems like it didn't heal nearly as well.

You may have noticed that my Philippos' armor has the same shape as the one on the last picture. This is because we (and many other artists) use the same source for Philip's armor:

This is "Philip II's armor", now in the Museum of the Royal Tombs of Aigai in Vergina, Greece.

I'm using a recreation by Hellenic armors:

Now, the twist is that while this armor comes from a tomb which was named after Philip II, it is probably not his tomb but that of his son Arrhidaios. My source for that is @jeannereames, who knows way more about Alexander&Folks than I do, so if she thinks it's Arrhidaios' tomb, who am I to disagree? Still, I decided to use this armor as a reference, because it's pretty and because I didn't have a better one to use.

In my version, Philippos wears a scarf around his neck. There are two reasons for that: first, armor on skin isn't a nice feel, so I wanted to have some clothe visible to make it look like more comfortable. For this armor, I decided to go with a roman like scarf (picture from x-legio).

The second reason for the scarf is to link Philippos' picture with Alexandros:

Basically I needed to add some beige to Philippos to get the same color palette of dark red / bronze / beige.

Another link between those two pictures is the left eye. The first time I described Philippos' eye color was in the spin off, where he described himself:

I had been a small child, dark haired with forgettable brown eyes – my brothers had inherited my mother’s beautiful, deep blue irises, and I the boring muddy shade of my father [...]. Teenagerhood had ambushed me while I was stranded in Illyria; it had hit violently, spraying pimples all over my face, stretching hairy legs until they looked like knees holding sticks together, and I had a soft, ridiculous black fuzz over my upper lip.

Needless to say, I was suddenly overcome with nostalgia for Illyria, where people simply did not go naked in front of others.

A few things about this part: blue eyes were actually not favored in Ancient Greece and I have no idea if Illyrians liked to be naked or not. In between this scene and now, I changed my mind, and Philippos' eyes turned to dark blue, to share Alexandros' left eye's color. What didn't change, however, is that young Philippos describes himself as a pretty ugly teen, and though he's grown into a very confident king, in this scene with Kleitos, he is obviously not depicting himself as much prettier:

[For context, Philippos and Kleitos are discussing Philippos's relationship with one of his page, Hippostratos, while P&K have been lovers for 20years. Philippos just broke up with Pausanias, with whom he was getting along very well, except Pausanias was getting too old for that.] "He's really not the sharpest spear, that boy," Philippos mumbled [...]. "I could have told you that," Kleitos said with a smirk. "But you wouldn't have listened, right? Whenever you get rid of a boy you like, you always move to idiots who bore you to death." "What a friend you are." [...] "Oh no, believe me, I do pity you," Kleitos joked. "Your life is always so complicated compared to mine..." "Your choice," Philippos reminded you. "I've never forbade you to..." "Nah, you know, there's only one man I want." "I am really wondering why," Philippos laughed, "old and ugly as he is." "Because I'm young and pretty?"

In a later scene, after Philippos is wounded (and taking too much poppy milk to deal with the pain), he has a rather bitter conversation with the main character, Orestis/Hephaistion, who brought him a message from Pausanias, who is trying to get his former lover back:

"What does he want?" Philippos repeated. "Lands? A command? A high born spouse?" I blinked, surprised. "He told me he wanted to be with you, that's all." The laugh that followed was bitter, almost a bark - and then it turned into a great wave that shook the king with acidic mirth, until he rose his head again. "That is the most absurd thing I ever heard. Who would want to be with that? I used to be ugly, and now I need a fucking slave to get out of my bed. I'm too old for this bullshit... and even if I weren't, they come, they go, they don't care about what I feel about them and I don't care about what they feel about me. It's pointless." "He said he loves you." "Love? Was that love, when he told you to spread the rumors that killed Hippostratos?"

Okay Philou, we get it, you think you're really not pretty.

But are you? Are you really ugly?

(People usually agree that he's really handsome on this painting lol.)

At some point of the story, Hephaistion gets to see Philippos at fifteen, and his description of him is like that:

If Philippos had been at Mieza with us, and not a prince, he would have been one of those boys who, for a hopeful stare aimed at Pausanias, would have been laughed at for a full week. He was tall for his age, with too long limbs and the air of a newborn foal. With pimples all over his cheeks and a rather weak shin, heavy eyebrows, and a rather big nose, he looked like the can of boys who will try anything and everything to get his beard faster - and I had to admit, he looked much better with one.

... basically because the beard hides the acne scars and, with the right cut, strengthen the jaw and the shin. So while Philippos was probably an average teenager moaning that he is ugly (well, everyone is ugly compared to dashing Pausanias and Hephaistion in the book, even Alexandros moans that he's not pretty enough), as an adult he does know how to make the best of what he has, and actually has a fair share of charm (and the best and worst sense of humor, you DON'T want to get one of his jokes aimed at you). Oh, and the diadem of a king, which, according to Alexandros:

Hephaistion: "I don't get why Pausanias is so obsessed with him. I mean, with his eye, he is not exactly..." Alexandros : "Pretty? He is the king." Hephaistion: "So? Does being a king make you prettier?" Alexandros: "Obviously."

I'll be leaving you with a second commission drawn by the amazing Kloh.eh, of Philippos at fiften:

One funny thing about this pic is that according to the artist, this is the first time someone came to her to ask for a not-pretty character XD But I love him that way, and it seems my readers on AO3 also like that he's a rather bland teen!