#ignore how inconsistent his hair is lol

[venom-scythe]

watched MCDR with some friends who've never seen it which means free excuse to draw. this guy.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 MAYBE I JUST WANNA BE YOURS

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai does not get jealous. he especially doesn't get jealous over someone he's not even dating. because he's not dating you. he doesn't want to date you... right?

(wordcount: 5k; fem!reader, nsfw, lots of smut LOL idk what got into me this is the first fic ive written with more smut than plot in ages. but anyway: jealous!dazai, fingering, oral (f->m), semi-public/public sex. whiplash from dazai's thoughts (as always). unedited.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: hihi. SO this actually wasn't going to be connected to anything, but i decided like mid-fic that i wanted to make it a continuation to the adareader universe ive been considering building. i was too lazy to go check for inconsistencies, so if there's any dihfausihdfsudf just ignore them LOL. when i eventually make the masterlist for it and officially connect them all, ill go thru and double check for them. first i need to write them something with actual substance and not just horny posting LOLLLL.

Dazai is not a jealous man.

He’s not.

In fact, he’s the most un-jealous person in the whole world. He has no reason to be jealous, especially over you. He’s not dating you. Dazai never asked you to be his girlfriend, and that was intentional because Dazai doesn’t want a girlfriend. More specifically, he doesn’t want to be someone’s boyfriend. You’re just a friend—a friend that he sometimes fucks and occasionally seeks out to spend time with. He doesn’t want someone relying on him in a way a girlfriend would, and he certainly doesn’t want to rely on someone in the way a boyfriend would, because he doesn’t want the rug pulled out from under him when it inevitably goes to shit. 

The thought is suffocating, it makes his skin crawl.

Almost as much as the realization that the cop the two of you are assigned to be coordinating with is clearly head over heels enamored by you. Dazai scowls from where he’s standing a few steps behind you, watching as you go over the details of the file that the man brought to you—Dazai didn’t care to learn his name. And yes, Dazai means you because when the officer came over with the file, he didn’t even acknowledge Dazai’s existence and walked right over to you.

He still hasn’t acknowledged Dazai’s presence, staring at you with an adoring expression as you read through the file. Dazai thinks if this were some sort of cartoon, the officer would quite literally have hearts in his eyes—it’s disgusting, Dazai can hardly stand to watch it.

“Dazai,” you finally say, voice a soft hum. He likes the way you say his name—it rolls off your tongue prettily, and it makes his chest oddly warm. He’s not used to people saying his name with such softness; he’s used to anger, irritation, fear, but never this. He’s wondered how his given name would sound, he’s spent many nights imagining it, one hand pressed to his mouth and the other wrapped around his cock, but he hasn’t worked up the nerve to ask you to call him by it. That’s a step too close to actual intimacy and he’s not willing to take it.

You raise your eyebrows at him, and Dazai realizes you must have said something after you said his name, but he didn’t catch it because he was too absorbed in the way you said his name to notice.

“Come here,” you say again, nodding your head for him to drag himself out of the corner he’s sulking in to come to you. He feels a bit too gleeful watching the way the officer’s expression shifts in surprise as he turns to look at Dazai, finally noticing him.

Dazai pushes himself off of the wall to take a few steps closer to you, and he may or may not stand a bit too close on purpose just to see the other man frown. He stands behind you, chest brushing your back as he looks over your shoulder to scan through the file you’ve been reading. It takes him twice as long as it usually does because he didn’t realize that being in such close proximity to you would make him as dizzy as it did, and he’s too stubborn to back off now. 

Your hair smells like vanilla, and Dazai can smell the faint scent of your favorite perfume dabbed on your neck, worn off throughout the long day. His attention strays from the file to you, tracing the smooth curve of your neck, dipping down to your collarbone and swallowing when he realizes that the top three buttons of your dress shirt are undone, the stuffiness of the tiny room and the lack of air conditioning causing small, visible beads of sweat to form on your skin. His breath catches as his gaze lowers just a bit more and-

You turn to look at him and his gaze snaps up before it can drop to dangerous territories, and Dazai catches the amused look in your eyes—you know exactly what he was looking at. Instead of having some shame, because Dazai has no shame, he shifts just an inch closer to you, one of his hands resting on your hip. He watches the way your lashes flutter the same way they always do when you’re trying to pretend you’re not affected by his touch, and his lips curl up into a small smirk.

“What do you think?” you ask after a second. 

To your credit, your voice isn’t as strained as he expected, so Dazai ups it a notch, fingers sliding from where they’re caressing your hip to trail across your inner thigh. All out of sight from the officer on your left, but Dazai can tell he’s aware that something is going on from the way his enamored expression starts shifting into a more awkward one.

Dazai gives him a smug, sardonic smile before saying, “I think our friend over here should go get us the CCTV tapes—that’ll be much more useful to us then a bunch of reports.”

The other man’s face shifts in confusion, brows furrowing and lips curving down, but before he can say no, you speak up and agree, “That would be great.”

Dazai rolls his eyes when it makes the man straighten and nod, “I’ll get it right away.”

Before he steps out of the room, Dazai tosses another look over his shoulder, this one colder than it is smug, and he says maybe a bit too snidely, “Don’t come back until you have them.”

The officer doesn’t reply as he leaves the room, and as soon as the door clicks shut, Dazai is pulling away from you to walk over to it. He locks it quickly and then turns to face you, tilting his head to the side as his gaze roves over your body. You’re leaning back against the table, eyebrows raised, and Dazai doesn’t stop himself this time when his gaze lowers to the swell of your breasts just barely made visible by your partially unbuttoned shirt.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, motioning for you to come over to him.

You don’t budge. Instead, you raise your eyebrows and say dryly, “There are cameras in here, Dazai.”

He pointedly looks up to the two corners of the room that they’re in and then back down to where he’s standing, silently telling you that this is a blind spot. After a moment’s hesitation, you push yourself off the table and make your way over to him. Dazai tilts his head back against the wall, looking down at you through his lashes as you come to stand directly in front of him. He pretends that his throat doesn’t bob when he feels your fingers slip into his belt loops.

“What’s gotten into you?” you ask, but your eyes are glittering so he knows you know exactly what the problem is—and to think he thought you weren’t cruel, you might just be the worst type of cruel there is, hiding it behind pretty smiles and sweet words. “Don’t tell me you’re jealous because that cop has a crush.”

“I don’t get jealous,” Dazai replies with a simpering smile, lifting one hand to cradle your cheek, breath catching as your eyes flutter shut, pressing your face into his hand. “I just didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

Dazai thinks that you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen—he’s thought it since the day he met you, but he thinks it especially now when you’re leaning into his touch like it isn’t poisonous, like his hands aren’t stained with blood and his soul isn’t black and rotten. You deserve better than him, and that’s another reason why he refuses to take that next step: he knows one day you’ll realize it too. You’ll realize that you’ve fallen for a mask, that the man you care about doesn’t actually exist, it’s a thing that can barely call itself human pretending to be him.

He wonders if you know. He wonders if you know that something is wrong with him—he thinks that you must have some inkling after the bout of paranoia he had a few weeks ago when he was at your apartment, but he doubts you know the extent of it. He doubts you know that thoughts running through his head whenever that officer looked at you were anything but just casual jealousy; that every time he leaned in closer to you, Dazai’s fingers twitched in the direction of the gun given to him by the Agency that he’s only supposed to use in emergencies. 

Old habits die hard, Dazai has always been quite trigger happy. They never should’ve put a gun in his general vicinity.

 He leans down to ghost his lips below your ear, savoring in the way he feels you take in a sharp breath. His fingers tangle in your hair as he pulls your head back just enough to kiss the spot beneath your jaw that makes you writhe, and just as he expects, you let out a breathy moan against his ear that makes his head dizzy, your hands darting up to cling at the sleeves of his jacket.

“Dazai,” you gasp as he kisses down your neck. He hums in response, his free hand resting on your waist as he pulls you impossibly closer. “Are you sure…”

“I’m sure,” he says, and then adds smugly, “When am I ever wrong?”

He doesn’t have to see your face to know that you’re probably rolling your eyes at him, but he doesn’t give you the chance to make a witty remark about the first time the two of you met. His grip tightens on your waist as he flips you around so that your back is to his chest.

His hands immediately work to unbutton your slacks, lips finding their way back to your neck to pepper kisses up and down your skin as he watches the rapid rise and fall of your chest. He lets out a low groan against your skin when he slides his hand into your pants and feels just how damp your panties are.

“This better be for me,” he mutters more to himself than to you, nipping at the skin of your neck. His voice is a bit more rough now as he asks you, “Lace?”

He lifts his face from your neck to look at you. Your eyes are half lidded as the pads of his fingers trace the cloth of your panties, head lolled back against his shoulder, breath ragged and lips parted, but there’s something teasing in your gaze as it flickers up to meet his.

“The ones you like,” you breathe out, and Dazai swallows thickly. “I was gonna see if you wanted to come over after this.” 

“Shit,” he whispers, putting pressure right over where your clit is hidden, watching the way your thighs tremble. “Look at you, only I make you feel this good, yeah?”

“Don’t tease.” The whine that clings to your words makes Dazai’s head spin. He can already feel his cock straining against his pants and tries to ease some of the friction by pressing you back into him, rolling his hips against your ass. “Dazai-”

“Shhhh,” Dazai soothes with a grin, kissing up your neck to your ear when he hears the distress in your tone. “I’ve got you.” 

With practiced ease, he slides his fingers beneath your panties, middle finger dipping between your folds. He inhales sharply, immediately losing his grin when he feels how wet you are.

“This better be for me,” he repeats, a bit more seriously this time as he slides his finger between your folds, putting pressure on your entrance but not quite pushing in. “Hm?”

He waits for a response, relishing in the way your whole body trembles against him. He doesn’t even know if you know what he asked, you already seem so fucked out—lips wet and parted as you breathe in and out shakily, lashes fluttering and chest heaving.

“Tell me,” he presses, his free hand sliding up your body, untucking your shirt so he can slip his hand beneath it to feel your skin.

“‘course it’s for you, Dazai,” you say after a few seconds of confusion, like you were trying to remember what he asked. “What kind of question is that?” 

Dazai doesn’t respond to that, letting out a pleased hum as he kisses your jaw again. He also doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, quickly plunging his middle finger deep inside of you. The sudden intrusion has your hand flying to your mouth to muffle the cry that escapes your lips—he almost wants to pull your hand away, but decides against it because he doesn’t want anyone else hearing you like this.

You try to rock your hips to get him moving, but Dazai’s hand flattens against your stomach, holding you still against him.

“Dazai-” you gasp his name again, this time your voice is more pitched, caught between a whine and a complaint.

“Patience,” he coos, but his voice is strained and his breath is heavier as your tight walls hug his finger, imagining that it’s his cock instead. He drags his finger out until only the tip remains inside of you. He teases your entrance again, tracing a gentle circle but not pushing back in. “Bet you could already take two fingers for me, yeah?”

“What if he comes back?” you suddenly ask panic flying through your eyes as if you’ve only just remembered where you are. Dazai is distinctly displeased by the thought of another man crossing your mind while his fingers are inside of you. “Dazai, what if-”

“He won’t,” Dazai answers you, making his displeasure known as he nips your neck. 

“How do you-”

“The corner that the disappearance took place on—it’s a blind spot for the CCTV cameras,” he answers before you can finish. Dazai knows this because he killed a target in that exact same spot two and a half years ago. “He’ll be gone for a while. He won’t want to come back empty handed to you.” 

Dazai doesn’t give you the chance to question him anymore, sliding his middle and ring fingers inside of you and watching as your jaw falls slack. To make up for the displeasure he felt at you bringing up that irritating cop, he fucks you hard with his fingers—you barely have time to bite the palm of your hand before his fingers are stretching your walls.

He thinks he might be pushing his luck—he doesn’t know if the cameras in the corners of the room pick up sound, and if they do, he doesn’t know how well they pick it up. Even if you’re doing your very best at muffling your moans, there’s no hiding the sloppy sound of his fingers driving in and out of your cunt—it’s wet and filthy, and it has Dazai’s head dizzy. 

His eyes drag up from where his fingers are plunging in and out of you back up to your face. Your pretty eyes are almost fully rolled back as he fucks you closer and closer to the edge and your lashes are wet. One particularly rough snap of his wrist has your hand falling limp from your mouth to your side and your lips parting in a moan that Dazai doesn’t dare allow anyone else to hear. Quickly, his free hand darts up to grab your jaw hard, turning your face toward him so he can press his lips to yours messily, swallowing the keening moan before you can let it out. 

He kisses you deeply, tongue tracing the inside of your mouth gently in contrast to the rapid thrusts of his fingers. You try to kiss him back, but you can hardly even breathe with how deep his fingers fuck into you. He knows you're close—he can feel it in the way your whole body is trembling, and how your pussy flutters around his fingers, so he picks up the pace, just as desperate to bring you over the edge as you are to get there.

He’s the only one that can make you feel like this. He’s the only one that can make your body shudder and writhe, he’s the only one that can make your eyes roll back in pleasure, he’s the only one and he needs to prove it.

“C’mon, baby,” he pleads against your lips. The pet name that spills from his lips is not the teasing bella he likes to hit you with like he intended—it comes out strained, breathy, just as desperate as he feels. The lack of control scares him a bit, but he’s too out of it for it to take hold. “C’mon, once on my fingers, then as many times as you want on my cock when we get home, alright?”

He doesn’t know what you’re trying to say, the noise that spills from your lips, muffled against his mouth, is a moan, caught between his name and a please and something else he can’t make out. Distantly, he thinks that the bandages on his forearm must be ruined, he can feel your slickness dripping down his hand to his wrist and he can hear the lewd sounds of his fingers pushing in and out of you. He doesn’t care—in fact, the thought only makes his lower abdomen tighter. 

“I’m gonna-” you gasp, the only word she can make out and Dazai grins.

“Yeah, you are,” he rasps, scissoring his fingers inside of you and rubbing his index finger over your clit, and you’re gone. 

Dazai groans when he feels you moan his name against his lips, hand dropping from your face to your waist to hold you upright as your knees buckle. You cum hard on his fingers, hips stuttering and stilling, and he can feel tears spilling over your cheeks. His cock is painfully hard now and he wants nothing more than to unbuckle his pants and replace his fingers with it, but he thinks that would be pushing his luck—he’s never had any semblance of control once his cock is inside you and he needs to keep an ear out for footsteps approaching the conference room. 

He rides out your high, pace slowing as he continues to fuck his fingers into your sensitive cunt, wiping your tears with his free hand once you’ve steadied yourself. You tremble, reeling from the intensity of your orgasm, and Dazai only removes his fingers when you claw at his wrist for him to stop.

His fingers are dripping with your cum, and though Dazai is aching for a taste himself, he instead lifts them to your lips. You’re still trying to get ahold of yourself, leaning back against his chest and breathing heavily, but you instinctually part your lips for him. His breath catches when you take both of his fingers into your mouth, lashes fluttering shut and tongue swirling around his digits as you taste yourself off of him.

“Fuck,” he groans, hand dropping down to rub the heel of his hand against his cock, desperately trying to alleviate the pressure. He has no idea how he’s going to hide this before the officer gets back and…

His thoughts trail off when you finally push off of him, your legs are still trembling, and your eyes are still a little hazy, but your gaze drops from his face to his rapidly rising and falling chest down to where he’s rubbing his cock through his pants. And then, you lower yourself to your knees in front of him.

“Oh, fuck,” he repeats, voice breathy this time and pupils blown wide as he watches your fingers work at the buckle of his belt.

Dazai almost wishes that the officer would come back soon, just so he could walk in on you with a faceful of Dazai’s cock. But if that happens, all of Ango’s work will go out the window because there’s no way he’s letting someone see you like this and walk out alive. 

Dazai’s cock twitches as soon as you free it from its confines. He’s already leaking an embarrassing amount of precum, and his tip is flushed red, but you waste no time before ghosting your lips across his length, suckling gently at the vein running along the underside of his cock before wrapping your lips around his tip.

Dazai chews at his lower lip, thighs tensing as he resists the urge to thrust his hips forward and shove his cock down your throat. Instead, his throat spasms as he swallows, reaching out to cradle the back of your head gently, carding his fingers through your hair soothingly.

“Lookit you,” he breathes out, voice wavering as he swallows another low groan. His fingers tighten in your hair just a bit, but he doesn’t push your face down on his cock, head falling back against the door as you work his cock further down your throat. His breath is ragged and heavy as your tight muscles spasm around him, desperately trying to adjust to the intrusion, and he can feel your nails digging into the bandages wrapped around his hips. “That’s my girl.”

Another loss of control that should probably concern him, but you’re quick to take his mind off of it with the way he can feel you let out a whine around him, nails digging a little bit deeper into skin as you take him fully into your mouth, lips flush to his pelvis and nose buried in his pubic hair.

His head falls forward as he pants, watching your throat struggle to adjust to him. He strokes your hair gently, silently beckoning you to look up at him because he worries that if he opens his mouth to speak, he’ll let out a pornographic moan, one that will be impossible to deny if anyone over hears.

Your lashes flutter as you look up at him, eyes wide and glassy with fat tears that roll steadily over your cheeks. 

Beautiful, he thinks hazily, and his—all his. No one else gets to see you like this, no one else gets to imagine you like this—you’re his. 

He chokes over air, free hand coming up to cover his mouth and hips jerking forward. He feels you gag around him and his hand drops to caress your cheek in apology, trying to wipe away your tears, but it’s clumsy and frantic—the sight of you on your knees for him, tears streaming down you face as you take him down your throat, is enough to send him spiraling over the edge.

His vision spots with black dots, the taut cord in his abdomen tightens and then snaps. He’s hardly able to muffle the moan that spills from his lips as his eyes knock back and his head falls against the metal of the door. His whole body tenses and spasms as he cums down your throat, he gasps for air, thumb still stroking your cheek as you struggle to swallow all of his cum.

It takes a minute for Dazai to regain some semblance of control over himself. By the time he has, you’re standing on shaky legs and tucking his sensitive cock back into his pants. His hazy gaze focuses on your face—your lips are wet and swollen, your eyes are still glassy, and this time Dazai doesn’t have an excuse as he lifts his hands to cradle your face and says quietly, “Mine.”

Your smile is teasing. “‘I don’t get jealous,’” you mock lightly, leaning in to press your lips against his. Dazai’s eyes flutter shut as his hand slinks around your body to your back, pulling your body flush to his as he deepens the kiss, sinking into the familiar feeling of your lips sliding against his. 

“I don’t have reason to be jealous,” Dazai murmurs, this time with a different meaning. He pulls back slightly so he can button your pants back up and tuck your dress shirt back into them, making sure you look presentable before the officer gets back.

Instead of teasing him again, your smile softens and you affirm, “You don’t,” and Dazai’s throat tightens. 

The thought of being in an actual relationship has always been suffocating to Dazai. Imagining having to spend the rest of his life with one person, having someone rely on him when his will to live is fickle at best and nonexistent at worst, becoming dependent on someone who could leave him on a moment’s notice… It makes his stomach churn with disgust, his chest tight with anxiety.

But when that faceless someone turns into you, Dazai realizes that the thought of a relationship is not quite as unappealing as it’s always been to him. Does it still make him skittish? Sure, but does it outweigh the green hue that colors his vision whenever someone looks at you and thinks you’re not his? Does it outweigh the bolt of fear he feels whenever he sees someone display interest in you, wondering if maybe you’ll get sick of his flighty behavior and give them a chance?

Absolutely not.

Dazai hears footsteps approaching the door he’s leaning on, and quickly unlocks it, motioning for you to stand back by the conference table. When the officer opens the door, the two of you are standing there casually like you never moved.

The officer gives you an apologetic smile that makes Dazai’s eyes twitch. “It doesn’t seem like there’s any CCTV footage from the area.”

Before you can respond, Dazai smiles tightly and says, “Wow, and it took almost twenty minutes for you to realize that—no wonder the police keep coming to us for help.”

You elbow Dazai, but he’s unrepentant, giving you a sweet smile before turning a cooler one back onto the officer. “If you don’t mind, we can finish the rest back at our office tomorrow now that we have the files. We have a date to get to.”

He doesn’t have to look at you to know you’re raising your eyebrows at him, but he keeps his gaze trained on the officer, finding sick satisfaction in the way the man’s eyes dart between the two of you, a dawning expression crossing his face.

“A… date?” 

“A date,” Dazai confirms, picking up the file and motioning for you to leave. He pointedly ignores the amused expression on your face as you make your way out of the room, walking past the officer who dumbly steps out of the way. “Thanks for the help… or, well, lack thereof.”

It’s only when the door slams shut behind the two of you, do you finally echo, “… A date?”

Hesitantly, Dazai confirms, “A date?”

When you don’t immediately respond, Dazai’s smile starts to freeze, considering that maybe you don’t want to date him and he read all of this wrong. You want to keep things casual, no strings attached. But after a few agonizing moments, you hook your arm around his and lean into him.

“Where are you taking me then, hm?”

“… It’s a surprise,” he replied.

A surprise for both of you, because Dazai hasn’t thought that far ahead yet. 

A tenseness that he hadn’t even realized was in his shoulders dissipates when you laugh and press your lips to his upper arm before resting your head against it. 

“Alright,” you agree, although he’s pretty sure you know damn well this is all spur of the moment. “Let’s go then.”

Though Dazai tries to rifle through all of the options of places you like to go, when the two of you step outside, all coherent thought washes right out of the window when you turn to look up at him, the setting sun casting an ethereal glow over your face.

“What is it?” you ask when he freezes in his tracks to admire you. “Dazai?”

For just a split second, Dazai can imagine it. He can imagine a life with you, and there’s no sign of any of the suffocation or discomfort he usually feels when he thinks of long term commitment too hard. He imagines waking up to you in the morning and falling asleep to you at night, he imagines spending his days laid up in bed with you sharing kisses and sweet nothings and he imagines dragging you around the city to show you off to anyone and everyone. His thoughts start to spiral out of control, and he’s glancing down at your ring finger, wondering-

“Dazai?”

Dazai’s thoughts come to an abrupt halt, and he swallows thickly when a more realistic image comes to mind—the expression on your face when you find out about his past, the disgust, the fear, the realization that he’s just not who he made himself out to be, that he’s been lying to you since day one.

“Nothing,” he says after a moment, voice a little raspy, so he shakes his head, giving you a disarming smile and clearing his throat. “You’re just so stunning that it leaves me at a loss for words, sweet bella.”

You don’t seem to buy it, but you don’t press, arm tightening around his as you make your way back over to your car.

As soon as you look away, his expression shifts into a more downcast one as his gaze tracks back over to you. It’s only a matter of time, he remembers. His past will catch up with him sooner rather than later, and no matter what you may insist about the past being in the past, he knows everything will change when you finally realize what all he’s been hiding from you.

… but maybe there’s not too much harm in indulging while he still can. He just has to keep reminding himself that he can’t get too attached.

“You should let me drive,” Dazai says sweetly. “So I can drive us to the place and keep it a surprise for you.”

You laugh in his face. “As if.”

You usher him over to the passenger seat before making your way back over to the driver’s side, and Dazai finds a genuine smile unconsciously curling at the corners of his lips. One that quickly falls when his fingers wrap around the handle of the car door.

He thinks, maybe, it might be far too late to stop himself from getting attached.

[your-unfriendlyghost]

Outsiders x Over the Garden Wall au pt.2

Part 1 So to make things more “Oklahoma”, instead of the Woodsman, I think it’ll be the Ranger?

In terms of arcs, idk yet who will be the one who’s tempted by the Beast- to stay in the woods forever to keep the other alive but stuck in Edlewood. I think thematically it makes the most sense for it to be Dally who follows Wirt’s arc…buuuut I also think Johnny would look so cool saving Dallas with an ax (@dallasgallant lemme know your thoughts on the arcs, your takes on these two are so good man)

also ignore how inconsistent Johnny’s hair is compared to the last OTGW post. I wanted it to be shorter than I usually draw it because this is post-Ponyboy’s haircut (normally I draw it falling over his right eye because that’s pre-haircut) and idk how to translate that into this simpler cartoon network-y art style? I think I’ve mostly figured it out but I hadn’t at the time of posting the last one lol

original pics under the cut- I didn’t paint the backgrounds myself this time, just edited them a bit so everyone would fit in place lol

[odiesdayoff]

Trust Your Instincts

pair: Jaime Reyes x fem!reader

summary: Post-graduation, your childhood friend seems to be ignoring you. Once he shows up, secrets are revealed, voluntarily or not.

warnings: SMUT (18+++ MINORS DNI); begins as like pretty dubious, but turns into both parties consenting. Really thin line here, they do have a mutual attraction and explicitly say that they want it.

im gonna be so real i saw an ad for this and started writing...lol. Haven't seen BB at the time of writing this a while ago! Characters are prob inconsistent. i just have like a severe mask kink.

honestly this is unfinished, but i know in my heart I will never get back to it no matter how many times I say it lol. Imagine what happens next teehee.

“He’s not coming?” You brought the towel from over your shoulder and continued to dry the plates as Jaime’s mother handed them to you. Lunch was over and you were excited to see your best friend, but he was awol.

She gave you a sympathetic look as she handed you another clean plate. “I’m sorry, mija. He’s been acting strange ever since he got back. I know he misses you.”

You nodded and placed the towel on the counter. There’s no way he could possibly just up and abandon you after all this time. The two of you had been best friends since the first grade and even though he went all the way to Gotham City for college and you stayed in Texas, you were still close as ever. At least you think so.

“Well, I’ve gotta go. Thank you for the lunch, you know how much I adore your cooking.” You brought her into a hug and she kissed your cheek. She was like a second mom to you. All of Jaime’s family was basically your own. It took this long for them to stop the teasing about you getting together.

It had been months since Jaime allegedly returned to Texas and yet, he hasn’t reached out to you. Not by phone or in person, no matter how much you tried to talk to him. It felt worse than any breakup you’d gone through. Usually, he was the shoulder for you to cry on. 

A loud crash woke you up. It was around two in the morning. In your flannel pajama pants and a black tank top, you ran into your living room to see what happened. There was a large hole where your door should have been and laying on the floor was Jaime.

Your hand flew to your mouth and knelt down to him. His curls stuck to his forehead from sweat and his chest rapidly rose and fell. “Get away! Please, get away!” He pushed you away, yelling and borderline whimpering.

There was something wrong with him and you weren’t just going to do what he told you. “Jaime, please just tell me what’s going on. You’re not okay.” You pushed his hair from his face only to see the fear in his eyes as he looked at you. 

He flipped to his back and crawled until he hit the wall, his body colliding into it. Another dent appeared. Chips of drywall fell on him. “I’m…gonna call an ambulance, okay?”

You pulled out your phone, but before you could even unlock it, it was no longer in your hand. Jaime, now fully covered in a blue suit of armor, crushed it in his hand. “Oh my god.”

He dropped the phone and shook his head. “I don’t control it. It controls me. I promise you.” His voice was slightly distorted due to the helmet he had on.

“Okay, so can’t you call, like, Batman or something?” If this were a normal situation, you know that he would’ve laughed.

He held your shoulders. “I need you to get away. Right now.”

You shook your head. “I’m not gonna leave you like this.”

A robotic voice came from the suit, saying your full name and society security number. Jaime started to shake his head frantically and tried to step away from you. The suit disagreed.

The suit trapped you against the counter. “Please stop!” Jaime yelled. His helmet popped open to reveal his face, still scared. “I’m so sor-” The suit didn’t let him finish, instead it pushed him towards you. His lips crashed into yours. 

You felt guilty kissing back. It wasn't either of your volition, but the teenage version of yourself was screaming and frolicking in a field of flowers just to be kissing him. 

The robotic voice returned, louder now. “It is my duty to keep you healthy. Sexual health is one of those aspects.” The suit retracted more, pulling his shirt and jeans from his body. He was left in his boxers, staring at you. It continued. “I know you have a crush on her. Don’t be a pussy.”

His eyes widened and his cheeks grew red. “Is that true?” He sheepishly nodded.

You bit your lip. “It’s true for me, too.”

[abiiors]

haunt // bed - pt. 1

a/n: a while ago, i wrote do me a favour after which i said, i would write a matty hate sex fic. well this is it (and perhaps a bit more than anyone asked for), read dmaf again if you want to refresh your memory, or don't. there are 3 parts to this + an epilogue. i also know very little about western weddings, so ignore the inconsistencies lol.

a note about the banner: the photo in it is only meant to describe the dress, not the race, body type, hair colour, etc of the reader <3

minors dni! part 2, part 3

wc: 2.7k

see u in an hour xx

charli’s text flashes on your screen, illuminating a small corner of the dimly lit room. it’s not that late in the day, in fact, it’s quite early—only about 10 am. you’re supposed to be hurrying around the room, checking for any last minutes things you might have forgotten. you won’t be back home until tomorrow after all. yet here you are, surrounded by the things that should have been packed in your bag last night. 

the dress, laid out on your bed, feels like a weapon; red silk slippery enough to slide between your fingers effortlessly. “a wily vixen”, that’s what charli had called you when she'd seen you in it for the first. the thought of that day—bridesmaids dress shopping with four other excited girls—brings a small smile to your face. 

everything laid out here is a weapon really; your four-inch, sharp heels, the delicate and dainty diamond jewellery, the makeup you plan on wearing—blood red lipstick, a perfect shade match for the dress. an expensive crystal bottle of the same perfume you have used for the past six years. 

familiarity breeds contempt. familiarity is also an excellent knife to twist in someone’s gut. because everything here, today, is meant to maul and wound him.

see you in an hour babe, love you. you write back and chuck your phone onto the pillow where it bounces a little before nestling between its creases. you stare at it, maybe your body still yearns for a call that will never come? no more can’t wait to see you up there. no more cheeky selfies in a state of half-undress. just a smooth, black screen.

right then…time to get going. 

charli has been flittering around the room for the last twenty minutes. her white dress fits her like a dream, her makeup is a work of art and her excitement about marrying george is so palpable in the room that at least one person squeals or sighs every five minutes. 

most importantly, the smile on her face is a permanent fixture. and every time you look at it, a warmth spreads through your body. she deserves this—the happiness, the celebration. the happily ever after. no matter how your marriage ended, you won’t stop believing in it for her. 

“so!” charli walks over to you and takes your hand, “how do i look?” she twirls and the dress swirls around her, the tiny crystals catching light and making her shimmer like starlight.

you laugh in response, “like george is about to go into cardiac arrest the minute he sees you!”

the pair of you giggles like teenagers. you can so clearly picture it before it has even happened. the joy and love that will shine on george’s face; his excitement, quiet yet infectious and for a brief moment you’re transported back to your own walk down the aisle. 

small, unsure steps, worried about falling flat on your face in those tall heels, but all of that had evaporated the second you had seen his tear-stained face. and the bright smile that had bloomed a split second later. 

but that’s how long the ache lasts; a brief moment. it’s bad enough that you’re going to have to be civil to him, there’s no need to make it worse with unnecessary nostalgia. 

besides, there’s her to think about. 

she in question is a beautiful, leggy blonde who is at least seven years younger than him. not that you’ve seen either of them today…yet. it’s only because you and charli got drunk one night, four weeks before the wedding, and she felt bad about keeping it from you that matty had a plus one. and that’s how you fell into the rabbit hole of scrolling through this girl’s Instagram profile at two in the morning. 

if you thought you knew his type, you would be dead wrong. physically speaking, she is the exact opposite of you—someone who looks like they belong on a giant billboard in times square, perfect and stunning. then there’s the more questionable aspects of her feed. the flat tummy tea adverts and the paid partnerships with various brands that are always under fire for being unethical.

but that’s the ugly green monster rearing its head. it’s not like you aren’t known for indulging in vanity every once in a while. 

she will be here today, no doubt, clinging onto his arm like a decorative little thing—woah, where did that snide thought come from?! you shake your head to yourself, at least a little embarrassed. he’s not even here yet and he’s already screwing with your head; pushing you back into old jealous and insecure habits. someone clears their throat. 

nora, one of charli’s longtime friends, has her champagne glass raised. a toast. she takes a deep, shaky breath and smiles tearily at the room, about to give her sentimental speech when a resounding knock echoes and cuts her off before she has even begun. 

five heads turn to the locked door and you happen to be standing closest to it. 

‘i’ll get it,’ you tell no one in particular, hand already on the doorknob. the possibility of it hits you way too late. 

it hits you right as his clean-shaven face comes into view. 

it has been ten months. ten months since you gave up the last name healy and changed it back to your maiden name on all your official documents. it had felt like a form of catharsis, getting it done with such urgency back then. but you also remember the days when you would be asked to state your full name and stagger a little at how odd it sounded to no longer have healy in it. to not have a ring around your finger to fidget with. no one to hold you at night. 

but back to now. back to here. 

it’s not hard to see that he has changed a lot in the last ten months. he looks serious; not necessarily sombre—it’s his best friend’s wedding, after all—but mature, more grown up. the grey in his hair, in his beautiful curls, is now much more prominent. the crow's feet around his eyes are more or less the same (and it sends a small pang through you; has he not laughed recently?). his mouth holds—held—a faint smile that’s already slipping, already morphing into a thin line. the exact same face that you woke up to for years now turning into a mask of carefully arranged neutrality.

“charli,” he whispers roughly and then clears his throat, “here to check on charli.” and just like that, he steps past you and into the room where he’s engulfed into a hug by the bride (and slapped on the bum by another bridesmaid but you ignore that for now).

pointedly, you also ignore the sting that comes with being sidestepped so easily. 

you stand by the door, back still to the room, for a second longer than necessary. it doesn’t even register that you’re letting the warm spring air in. is this really how little seeing you impacts him? it must have. because if he’s here then she is also here. 

“tell him i’m fine!” charli’s voice brings you out of your thoughts, making you shut the door softly. “and tell him not to meddle, i’ve got my girls.” she looks at you over his shoulder and throws a wink. your gut tells you it’s nothing but a charity gesture, just trying to gauge the tension between you two. guilt gnaws at you—she shouldn’t have to play peacemaker, she shouldn’t have to worry about two adults behaving themselves. 

“only doing my duty here,” matty raises his hands defensively, “keeping the groom happy.” 

the rest of them tease and taunt him playfully while you take the time to admire—no, simply look at—his suit. it’s nowhere near as nice as the one he wore at your wedding, of course not. but it’s beautifully made, tailored to fit and accentuate his muscles. and there are a lot of those now, that much is evident from the way his sleeves stretch over his biceps. he fills it out nicely, not that he didn’t before, but something about the fabric straining across his arms does funny things to your stomach. funny, you thought that feeling was a thing of the past. then there’s the navy trousers that compliment his backside rather nicely. 

there’s a part of you that is appalled at all these observations you have been making but there’s another part—bored and much more matter-of-fact—that reminds you that there’s nothing under those clothes that you haven’t seen, touched, licked or sucked before. there’s nothing new. he is still the same as he was before, just now with a few extra muscles. 

“go away,” charli’s nudges him gently toward the door. “we’ll be out in fifteen.”

he hugs her just before he leaves, dropping a friendly kiss on her head. after everything you’re glad no one had to pick sides in the divorce. you’ve at least managed to hold the friend group together, even though the same can’t be said about your marriage. 

matty leaves just like he came in, sidestepping you and making sure he’s looking straight ahead. there’s a brief second however—a fraction of one really—when he slows down and breathes in. his adam’s apple bobs roughly and his face struggles to hold the blank expression. 

but it must have just been you projecting right? no one can go through that much in half a second. 

“there you are, darling,” denise walks in on you mid-smoke. “i was looking for you.”

she’s in a beautiful pink dress that brushes her knees and makes her look ten years younger than she is. you blush slightly at having been caught smoking; it’s a recent habit, not one she would be aware of, and you don’t want her to judge you for it. 

“denise,” you try to hide the half-smoked cigarette, “you look beautiful.”

she pointedly looks at your hand and laughs. “my son does enough of that.” then she straightens up, as if bringing matty so casually into this conversation was a mistake. you suppose it was—it does make your heart skip a beat. 

“i just wanted to say hi, darling,” she adds hastily, “and look at you…” her eyes scan you from head to toe, linger on your face for just a second before she smiles again. “simply stunning.”

“thank you.” your voice comes out in a whisper, fighting to get past the lump in your throat. you didn’t think there would ever come a day when she would have to so formally stop by to ‘say hi’. yet here you are, almost a pair of estranged mother and daughter. 

“i don’t…” she starts but shakes her head minutely, “i don’t want to condescend you. but are you okay? with matty bringing that girl, i mean.”

that piques your interest. “that girl?” you stifle a little giggle. “sounds like you don’t like her…”

denise shrugs, leaning against the wall and looking at the bushes in front of her. “she’s okay, i guess.” then she takes a bit to smooth out her dress. “but she’s not you.”

“dearly beloved…” the officiant, charli’s godfather, begins, which you tune out instantly. weddings are lovely and romantic, wedding speeches are dull and boring. besides, like it or not, something else has captured your attention. 

you stand behind the bride, holding the ring she’s supposed to put on george later. and right in front of you stands matty, holding the matching platinum band in his hands. adam and ross stand behind him, smiling and occasionally laughing along with the rest of the guests. you tried it at first too, to only keep your attention on george—who looks very handsome and beams wide the whole time—but it’s impossible when you feel your ex’s piercing stare right on you. 

you would have thought he would stick to the little ignoring act from before. instead, his eyes have lingered on you from the second you walked down the aisle as a part of the processional. tracking your every move, every small step. frankly, it’s insulting. does he think you would ruin the wedding as some sort of diabolical revenge against him? you scoff internally; of course, he would think such self-centred thoughts, it’s just all about him, after all.

you raise an eyebrow at him. what’s your fucking problem?

he smiles back; an arrogant curl of his mouth that turns his face from sweet to insufferable within a matter of seconds. you, his eyes seem to say, you’re my problem. 

well too fucking bad then…

you huff and look away to the side at the guests. it’s only about fifty people from both sides. just family and friends—a lovely kind of intimacy the couple had asked for. you smile at george’s parents who sit in the first row. his mum dabs at her eyes, clearly overwhelmed with emotion. and behind them sit denise and tim. right next to her. 

she’s exactly what she looks like on her instagram page. dainty and beautiful, picture-perfect elegant. her whole face looks like it could be hand-crafted by the gods (or very expensive surgeons according to the snide little voice in your brain) but her eyes are bone dry. 

that’s because she doesn’t belong here, your brain chimes in. not among your friends and your family. 

well, ex-family…

her name doesn’t immediately come to the forefront of your mind. all you know from that drunken night is how charli made you block all her socials at the end of it. as if you were going to go back to them again and again. as if you have no purpose in life other than obsessing over your ex’s new girl. 

she sighs, then looks out the window with a bored expression on her face and you have to focus your attention back to the bride and groom before you do something drastic. not before you catch matty looking at you from the corner of your eye, however. 

not just at you…he’s staring at the plunging neckline of your dress that shows off your cleavage wonderfully. with the big window to your side, it’s so clear to see every little detail of his face—his teeth gnawing on his bottom lip (he’s unaware that he’s doing it. you know that for a fact). his pupils that are blown out wide, making almost the entirety of his eyes look black; dark and hungry. 

your mouth curls into a smirk, arrogant enough to mirror his own. well, this is interesting. 

matty’s mouth presses into a thin line. even now, after you caught him so red-handed, he’s trying to deny it. but you don’t miss his ears turning the telltale shade of pink. 

“...and i promise to love you for the rest of my life.” george’s voice breaks on the last word, the tears flowing freely but he smiles through all of it. in front of you, charli’s shoulders shake. they haven’t even put the rings on each other yet and they’re already emotional. it makes you laugh, and surprising, you feel the tears escaping your eyes.

i promise to love you for the rest of my life. that’s what matty had said too. i promise to dance in the kitchen with you and do all my silly little romantic gestures. i promise to never let you fall. i promise, i promise, i promise…

so many of them unkept, so many of them just pretty words spoken on a perfect day in front of a tearful audience. 

“i do!” charli squeals before the question is even finished, making everyone laugh. a wet chuckle escapes you at her infectious joy. 

“do you, george, take charli to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the officiant asks. 

“i do,” he says patiently and charli sticks her tongue out at him. 

you sincerely hope they stay like this for the rest of their lives—polar opposites who complete each other. not people who are so similar, they don’t know how to exist in the same space anymore. 

matty smiles, first at the couple and then, shockingly, at you. husband and wife he mouths. 

jarringly still, you smile back. 

i would love to hear what you think 🤭

[cryyelan]

𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐔𝐓 — 𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐢 𝐲.

expect bad/inconsistent writing — tws/cws: violence, gore, abuse/bullying, mahito, mc is a lil wack (but I love her) attempted suicide, death, LOTS of angst, also OOC!!

CH1. you are what you eat

no content warnings for this one lol, just a pov switch

SLOW, TIRED STEPS echoed down the corridor as Megumi made his way to his dorm.

Last nights mission went terribly for him, could've been far worse if it weren't for his man-child of a teacher, Gojo.

Megumi reached for the door handle and turned it.

He opened the door, only to be met with an all familiar head of dark hair and her vibrant orange eyes — sitting on his bed.

"[L/N], how did you get in here!?" Megumi asked, surprised.

How did she get in there?

"I have my methods, Fushiguro." She gave him a sly smile.

The boy groaned on annoyance, last night wasn't doing him any favors, he didn't need to have his classmate annoy him.

"What? Can I not check up on my classmate?" [Y/N] batted her eyelashes, 'innocently'.

He figured.

The boy groaned as he entered his room, sitting on his bed alongside the girl.

No words were exchanged afterwords as the duo sat in a comfortable silence, occasionally broken by the birds chirping and the rustling of leaves.

"Soo.. What happened while you're gone?" [Y/N] asked, breaking the silence.

Megumi looked in her direction.

Her face sported a curious expression as she hugged his pillow, legs crossed.

Megumi exhaled before explaining what happened last night — a boy named Itadori Yuji eating the finger and Sukuna incarnating as a result.

"He'll also be a student alongside us." He finished.

[Y/N]'s eyes widen in surprise before changing back into the usual relaxed expression.

Deep down, [Y/N] had garnered a newfound fascination and disgust for the boy known as Itadori Yuji, to think he'd be executed saddened her a little bit, but also deepened her fascination towards him. What is he like? Is he scary? What kind of classmate would he be?

"Fushiguroo... Don't make me more curious than I already am." She said sarcastically.

Megumi sighed at the girl, wondering why shes even his classmate.

"Is that all you're going to say-"

Megumi and [Y/N] heard voices outside the room, had they been ignoring them the entire time they talked?

One out of the two obviously belonged to Gojo-sensei, but the other was unrecognizable to her, piquing her interest futher.

Megumi got off his bed and walked to the door and opening it, the girl trailing behind him.

Megumi stepped into the hallway, [Y/N] stopping just short of the door. She peaked from behind the door, only her face visible — looking at the unfamiliar person before her.

He had bright, coffee brown eyes, his hair was a strange color...pink? He was fairly tall, at least 5'7 from what she could observe.

"Theres a bunch of empty rooms, aren't there?" The boy said flatly.

"Fushiguro! You finally look better!" The male with the strangely colored hair smiled.

"I thought it'd be more lively and fun this way." Gojo spoke.

"Classes and missions are more than enough!" Megumi spot back, frustrated.

"Anyway... It's fine! Most importantly we're goin' out tomorrow!" The older man beamed, clapping his hands together. "We're going to get the fourth first-year student."

"You're too excited for this — why did they let you, of all people, become a teacher again?" The girl peaking behind the door muttered loud enough for everyone to hear.

'They better be a girl..."

Yuji looked in the direction of the girl, setting of the sight of black hair and dull orange eyes looking at him.

"Are you also my classmate? You look a lot like Fushiguro!" He said.

The noirettes exchanged looks at each other, faces screaming 'what the fuck?' as their teacher laughed at their interactions.

"Shut up." Megumi said.

"Stop laughing!" The girl scowled at Gojo.

[Y/N] looked back at the boy, blinking then blankly staring at him, as if she's looking straight into his souls.

'That's him?' The girl thought.

'I never expected him to be so...so...'

stupid.

Her interest was a little crushed, but just who the hell is he? And why is he acting like that?

Yuji, despite paying no mind to her behavior, shivered. "I'm Yuji Itadori — from Sendai! Nice to meet you!" He spoke up, raising his hand out to shake.

"I've heard." She responded with an annoyed expression on her face. She slipped into the hallway, body now fully visible.

"I'm [Y/N] [L/N], likewise" The girl introduced herself, disinterested Yuji's friendly gesture.

Yuji sweat dropped at the girls attitude. 'She doesn't look thrilled to meet me at all!'

His cheerful demeanor deeply bothered her, how could he be so excited about something that will never leave a person the same ever again? It wasn't like she didn't come by choice if it weren't for the heavy amount of convincing she faced.

And Itadori most likely wouldn't last a month.

"I'm going to my room, do whatever you want- I don't care."[Y/N] flipped her hair back and huffed, turning her back to Yuji, leaving for her dorm.

Yuji was the first speak up shortly after she left. "Whats up with her?" He asked the duo.

Megumi didn't answer, but instead shot him a 'take a fucking guess' look, he figured that Yuji's word earlier must've annoyed her and made her want to leave. "She's just little moody, you'll get used to it."

"You still haven't got over her calling you a sugar-addicted bum." The noirette interjects.

"How do you know that?" Despite not showing it, Gojo shivered at the though of being called a 'sugar-addicted bum' again the first time he met her. "She told me herself." Megumi answered.

Sugar addicted? Yes.

Bum? Nope!!

Yuji looked at the two men confused — is She really that mean?

MEANWHILE AT [Y/N]'S DORM / 2ND PERSON POV

Shortly after entering your room, you started pacing without realizing it. You began to contemplate your behavior eariler in the hallway.

You might as well call yourself the rudest person on earth had you said whats else been on your mind.

'GAAAAH!! STUPID ME!! BE MORE POLITE!! APOLOGIZE!! APOLOGIZE!!"

You figured maybe a little later, you can apologize to Itadori for your rude behavior. But right now, you're a pacing, confused, sorry mess.

You still stopped pacing as soon you realized.

You haven't watered your flower in almost three days. Great, now you had more things to worry about. In a panic, you got down and looked under your bed to look for the small watering can. But fortunately, it was still there were you left it, You picked up the can and got up. To your luck, there was still water inside the can.

"Oh thank god.." you mumbled, relieved.

You approached the window seal with bright yellow watering can in hand, you settle your gaze on the singular, halfway full of water — vase of flowers you've been keeping in your room.

During weekends, you often leave for a few hours to gather flowers, either in wild or buy from shops, it had once started off something to take your mind off all the pressure shortly after becoming a student in Jujutsu High. Occasionally buying small enough vases to fit the flowers in, sometimes leaving the vases full of fresh flora in open spaces where your upperclassmen, sorcerers could see, and sometimes your own teacher would take notice.

You gaze at the vase full of morning glories, feeling a vague sense of nostalgia looking at them.

It was only years ago your old friend introduced you to them, even saying giving someone one could be a way of saying you love them.

And the vase, oh the vase.

It looked crudely made, preferably by a child — it was a gift given to you in kindergarten by an old friend.

Looking back at it, it looks terrible but it didn't make the memory any less sweeter, maybe one day, just one day,

You'll thank her.

MORIOKA STATION

There stood a young lady with ginger hair, standing on the platform. "It took four hours just to get to Morioka, time to finally say goodbye to the sticks." She said. "I'll be in Tokyo soon."

"What should I do if I get scouted by a talent agent?"

'Like stardust promotion?' Nobara pondered, curious for what the city has in store.

AUTHORS NOTE!! —

nobara next chap yay!! after that one i wanna publish two more chapters thats more slice of life before every goes to shit thanks to you know who!!

@bridemiko — if you see any of my work published outside of tumblr, quotev, and wattpad — its most likely not me!

[shjiyemis]

I won't lie btw. If you look at my character depictions of the homestuck characters and believe their unrecognizable.... I'm just gonna assume you're racist and/or have fanon-brainrot LOL

Nothing in the canon comic canonizes a body type nor heights for anyone and any detailed drawings that were made within the comic are drawn by fans are also usually inconsistent bc of the fact they're all drawn by different people.

Most fanarts of Karkat don't even stick to his canon hair shape or even how his eyebrows are even depicted as thicker at the outer ends. NO ONE ACTUALLY DRAWS HIM CANONICALLY?

So when I draw him with locs that follows the messy longer short hair that is the same thing that everyone else has been doing but with STRAIGHT HAIR?? Yeah imma assume you're just racist and just believe black/afro-centric hairstyles are bad LOL

Drawing Gamzee short and with curves isn't changing anything, all I did was not make them tall and skinny, which is literally all fanon?

Drawing Dave with an afro bun with an undercut isn't that much of a difference either bc guess what? Lots of fanart draw Dave with cute ponytails and undercuts that don't follow the general canon shape of his hair, the only difference is that those are straight haired and mine isnt

I've NEVER seen anyone complain about those Dave drawings (or even any depictions that arent canon, they all have fucking straight hair and can be somewhat racially ambiguous) so yeah, I think y'all just racist and/or just live in the pure ignorance of your white centered life.

"You draw Karkat with red hair" That literally wouldnt change anything either bc I still draw him with locs LOL

My whole headcanon there is LITERALLY him dying his hair black throughout his Alternian days and started accepting his red hair somewhere on the meteor or post-game

Y'all just either racist or have fanon-brainrot or just plain boring. Probably all of the above honestly? Definitely hate a good amount of y'all.

[teddyrizz]

I made a Fanfic or Oneshot for my friend. It’s one of their DND OCs.

Don’t mind the grammatical errors I might’ve made lol😢 But I wrote half of it about a couple of weeks ago and then stopped writing it before continuing it. My writing might have an inconsistency and that’s because I barely write often. I wasn't exactly sure how to end the ending so it kinda dropped off😭

———————-

GOODNESS GRACIOUS

By: Teddyrizz

Doctor Strange x Vincent (DND OC)

Word count: 2k

Summary: A one-shot of Super powerful wizards being goofy and all about love and kindness

Tags: Fluff, Wizards, magic,💔😢😭 Bad writing, Idk, Swearing, Inconsistency

—————————

Strange winced in pain. A small wound had appeared on his arm. A slash from a blade had cut through his clothing. He looked down at his arm and then back up at his apprentice. He gave a sly grin.

“Not bad. You're getting better.”

He said with a chuckle. He wiped his head from the sweat that had accumulated on his forehead. He pushed some of his hair aside to look at her.

“Thanks, been practicing. Think you'll be able to handle it?”

He raised an eyebrow

“Someone's getting cocky… What would that mean?”

“Eh. I'm not that cocky… Just more… better with a blade. Can't handle something with your shaky magic hands?”

He stopped casting a spell with his sling ring. He crossed his arms in annoyance.

“Of course, I can handle a blade. I'll have you know, I'm very proficient with my hands. I was a neurosurgeon before obviously.”

Vincent gave him a knowing look

“Yeah. Whatever you say”

Feeling hot-tempered and annoyed, Strange looked away to the side and huffed in annoyance. He glanced at her quickly before turning around and walking away. His cloak went up elegantly in the air as it twirled behind him.

“We’re done training for today. To finish up your duties. I'll come back to check on you soon.”

She looked at him with a blank expression. Confused but she ignored it and didn't care.

“Fine, fine. Okay, sir.”

She said she began to continue her job as his apprentice. She cleaned up some books and put them away. After a while of cleaning and putting books back in their correct category, she sat down at her office desk. She sighed. She had already cleaned the sanctum prior but Strange just wanted her to do more like usual.

“How boring, nothing fun happens here anymore.”

She glanced around for a second before fiddling with a pen. Looking down at the desk in front of her, she grabbed the book that she was reading off spells to practice earlier. She eventually began to read.

An hour passed as she was reading, using her sling ring to open up a small portal and cast a few magic spells on a plant. Strange had been busy dealing with his problems. Soon he walked back to the library.

He saw Vincent sitting at her desk, he decided it would be a good time to tell her that she should be helping the recruits and training them. But he was impressed with how well she was getting by using magic. He slowly made his way toward her. Standing behind her.

“I see you've been busy.”

Vincent was slightly surprised as they hadn't noticed any presence in the room with her. Maybe she was focusing way too hard. But besides that, as soon as Strange spoke, the spell she was casting bounced off the wall and hit Strange in the face. A small powerful blast hit his face and a blinding light appeared before him.

“AUGH DAMN WHAT THE FUCK?!”

He shouted, stumbling backward and bumping into a bookcase. A book fell off and hit his forehead and scratched his cheek. Almost tripped but his cloak pulled him quickly to his feet. She quickly turned around and looked at him and apologized.

“Crap! Are you good?”

“No?! Why would I be? You just… damn it… Just… Just

“Okay… Sorry.”

————————

SMALL TIME SKIP TO A COUPLE MINUTES LATER

————————

Strange was now sitting down on the desk with Vincent tending to his now bruised forehead. There was a small cut on the side of his cheek. Surprisingly, the blast of magic did some damage. She thought it would just blind him a little bit but things didn't work out that way.

“You know… You should be more careful next time.”

He rolled his eyes at that. He whipped his head away from her touch.

“Hold still, I gotta clean it and put some medicine on it.”

“I can do it myself. I'm not some weak child who needs to be taken care of.”

She raised one eyebrow at this before putting on an ointment on his small wound.

“Yeah, sure. You can heal yourself with magic, but you can't heal your crippled fingers.”

He scoffed at that.

“These are permanent. I've also gotten used to having my hands in this state. It reminds me of how reckless I was.”

She nodded slowly before adding a bandage to his cheek. Just a small one.

“You know I don’t need a bandage, right? It's not that bad. It's just a scratch.”

“Don't want it to scar your pretty face, do you?”

“No…”

He looked up at her and let out a small cough. A little embarrassed but still he didn't show it. His exterior was quite calm.

“You think that I have a pretty face?”

“Sure, you look like a hammerhead shark.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

She said, trying to avoid making eye contact. As she finished bandaging up his face, her hand came a little closer than before. Strange tensed up a little. The last thing he needed was another injury caused by his apprentice's actions.

Vincent was looking straight ahead when she felt his hand on hers. Their hands were touching. She could sense the warmth coming from him. Her breath caught in her throat. Strange was still holding onto her hand tightly as she stared at him without saying a word. They just stayed there like that for a short while longer. Both staring into each other's eyes and not being the one to move first. Until she decided to be the first one to speak.

“You like holding my hand?”

It wasn't the question Strange expected, but he didn't pull away or respond. It was a rather unexpected question. He didn't say anything else so she continued.

“Or maybe you prefer other kinds? My hand, a kiss, a caress. Your thumb brushing against mine?”

She moved her thumb slightly so they met again. She closed the gap between their palms with her thumb. And Strange couldn't help but react. This gesture caused him to squeeze her hand even tighter. He tried to ignore the butterflies fluttering inside of him.

“What are we doing, Vincent?”

His voice suddenly sounded quiet and hesitant. She kept smiling.

“Well, what we are doing is just playing around. It has nothing to do with what we do.”

She said as she squeezed his hand back. Her smile faded and he looked away.

They didn't talk after that. They stood there. As silence filled the room except for the sound of their soft breathing. She then pulled her hand slowly away. She slowly began to move and walk away before he grasped her by the hand.

“Wait.”

She stopped and slowly turned around. Her head cocked to the side.

“What's the matter?”

“Stay with me. For a while.”

He whispered quietly. A little nervous as his nerves were all over the place. She didn't know why. Everything seemed normal.

“Please. Stay.”

His tone sounded slightly desperate and a little nervous. She wasn’t sure exactly why he was a little bit like this. Until it came to her. The spell she used must’ve been something that caused him to be like this.

She hesitated at first. She knew why. She knew why he was asking that. She took a deep sigh before slowly sitting beside him and resting her hand on top of his palm. He smiled brightly as he placed his free arm on her back. They remained silent for a while.

Eventually, the two got comfortable. Vincent began to feel sleepiness as his eyes began to droop. He leaned heavily on Strange’s shoulder who had her eyes closed. She had never seen the man so vulnerable before. She gently brushed his hair from his face. He relaxed a little more into the warmth of her touch.

After a while they decided that they should sit on the floor. She sat down and leaned against the desk. He followed suit and did the same. They eventually fell asleep as the silence filled the room.

——————-

Chapter 2

——————-

After several hours of silence, a loud noise woke both Strange and Vincent from their peaceful position on the floor. They looked around confused and worried. Strange looked at Vincent with a concerned gaze.

"Are you okay?"

He asked quietly, rubbing the side of her neck.

"Mhm…"

"Can you stand?"

She groaned before nodding her head. He helped her stand up before letting go of her hand. They walked out of the library together. She had to stay on guard. Her mind was running a million miles a minute as they walked through the hallway. Her thoughts immediately went towards Strange. As they walked through the sanctums great halls. Searching for the earlier noise. She felt a warm sensation of someone beginning to grasp her hand. It started softly, with gentle pressure and then gradually increased and soon she was feeling a strong grip, as if he was grabbing onto her wrist. She looked down and realized that she was gripping his hand. Quickly letting go of him, she cleared her throat a little bit and glanced at him. They both turned away from each other. Walking in complete silence until they reached her room. She unlocked it and stepped inside, closing the door and locking it behind her, and then turning to face Strange.

"You grabbed my hand.”

“I apologise. That… Wasn't really my intention, but… I suppose in our current situation it was necessary.”

He muttered awkwardly. She sighed before walking over and opening the curtains. A faint red glow illuminated the room. She opened a drawer and searched around for some painkillers and bandages. Finally finding the items she searched them out and tossed them to Strange. He caught them effortlessly before glancing over the items she gave him.

"I can take care of myself-"

"I know."

He sighed and walked up to her. Patting her head. He had to look up a little bit at her since she was wearing heels. Heels that made her a few inches taller than him. With every passing second, he grew more nervous. What was happening here? He was always the confident one but… It seemed like this was the moment where she would push him away. It was probably for the best anyway. If he kept seeing this, he wouldn't be able to handle it. But he felt a strange feeling tugging inside of him. Something that just needed to be done in the moment. He sighed deeply before he reached up towards her chin and placed a hand underneath it. He gently brushed his thumb against her lower lip. She froze for a brief moment. A moment during which he held her gaze. He slowly brought himself forward to press his lips against her own. There were no fireworks. No sudden sparks flying. Nothing. Not even a light gasp escaped her mouth. She only watched him as he pulled away slowly. His gaze looking up at her. He seemed in a rather affectionate mood apart from his usual cocky and arrogant attitude.

“You should practice more. Also… Stay inside the library and rest for a bit. I’ll see you later.”

He said as he gripped her hand gently. She could feel the scars from his surgery he had on his hands. She watched as he pulled away slowly and began to walk out of the room as he unlocked it. His cloak flourished behind him as he walked.

Strange stood motionless for a couple of seconds before moving her gaze away from him and towards the ground. She had no idea what just happened. All she knew was that she liked it. Liked his touch. He kissed her. Even though it was a simple brush of lips. She had an extremely hard time believing it had actually happened. She smiled a little and touched her lips. Feeling that tingling sensation that was left there. She quickly composed herself and walked up to the mirror. Grabbing a small towel, she ran the cold water over her face before looking at herself again. She couldn’t seem to stop smiling. She dried off her face, took a long sip of water. She let out a sigh and smiled.

“So that’s how it feels to make someone smile…”

She thought to herself.

———————

[thora-jane]

Wine Drunk (Matt Murdock x Reader angst)

(a/n) Ok this was short and I wasn't sure what I was doing and it doesn't quite feel finished but! It is what it is. I'm sorry my writing has been so inconsistent lately lol

Warnings: Alcohol, slight angst

Summary: You knew Matt didn't love you, but Elektra's return still sparks up feelings you can only find the end to at the bottom of a bottle.

Word Count: 821

Next

“(y/n)? What are you doing here?” Foggy asked, emerging from his office and draping his jacket over his arm.

“I just figured it’d be quiet today, y’know?” You shrugged, taking a sip from your mug.

“Is that…Are you drinking wine from a coffee mug?” He chuckled as he slid into the chair next to you.

“Well, you don’t have any glasses at the office, Foggy.” You mumbled into your drink, finishing off the last of it before pouring yourself another mug without thinking. He held out his hand to stop you before it could overflow.

“Woah Woah Woah! Let’s not go overboard, this isn’t some bachelorette party!” He tried to joke and lighten the mood, but the evident look on your face was harder to ignore, “Care to explain why you're suddenly drowning your sorrows?”

You looked up at him, eyes bleary and red from unshed tears and a little too much wine, “It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure? Because nearly half a bottle of wine drunk in the most depressing way possible doesn’t seem like nothing. You don’t even officially work here!” He gently took the bottle from your hands and poured a little into his own empty mug, “So how about you tell me what’s so clearly eating at you.”

You shrugged, leaning back in your chair and swirling the wine in your mug before taking another sip. You tried to sound as nonchalant as possible as you spoke into your mug, “Did you know Elektra’s back in town?”

His face fell faster than you had ever seen. Without hesitation, he crossed to your side of the desk and pulled you into a hug, “Oh (y/n).”

“I didn’t say anything,” you hiccuped into his shoulder, “I just said she was back in town.”

“I know. But you didn’t need to,” Foggy said, not letting you go.

“But that explains why Matt’s so much happier, and why his hair is combed just a little differently. And his tie’s straighter than usual, probably because she’s helping him and-” You pulled away, drinking from your mug again, “And good for her. Because not everyone can make him that happy.” You whispered to yourself in a voice you thought only you could hear, “I know I can’t.”

“That’s not true,” Foggy began, leaning against the desk, “Remember the one time you made him laugh so hard he snorted beer all over Josie’s pool table and it left the grossest stain? Elektra could never make anyone do that because she walks around with a stick so far up her ass-”

“Her very fine ass, that both you and Matt have commented on multiple times,” You glared at him, “Matt will only ever think of me as a friend. I’m not his style.”

“Bullshit, what style even is that?” Foggy tried to laugh, but you could hear the nervousness in his voice.

“Badass women, hardened and cocky and undeniably beautiful. Wear nothing but heels and tight pencil skirts and walk around like they own the world,” You laughed, which only made Foggy look at his feet, this foreign harshness in your voice rendering him unsure of how to respond “I’ve come to terms with it, really. Matt doesn’t want someone who can make him smile, he wants someone powerful and determined. He wants a beautiful face that will look at the world and see things to conquer and darkness to dominate. He’s-” You stopped, a soft knock at the door. Through the frosted glass, you could see the silhouette, “Fuck, he’s outside.”

“Shit.” Foggy’s eyes nearly popped open at the realization, “look, (y/n) maybe you shouldn’t answer that, maybe he heard you and-”

“How could he have heard me? It wasn’t like I was shouting,” You shrugged him off as you smoothed your shirt and unlocked the door, “Hey, Matty,”

Matt stood there, hand frozen over where the doorknob was a mere second ago. You heard the sound of Foggy slapping a hand against his face behind you, and Matt moved his can from one hand to the other.

“I forgot my jacket earlier.” Matt began slowly, “I could come back later though-”

“Why would you need to come back later? This is your office.” You chuckled, opening the door more for him to come in, “I hope you don’t mind. My roommate was going out on a date tonight and I figured it would go well so I needed somewhere to be out of their way.”

“Right.” was all Matt said. He crossed the room to his office. You thought you heard Foggy whisper something to him, but you couldn't quite make it out. In no time, Matt had his jacket and he was crossing the room to leave the office.

“(y/n),” he began, mouth open like he was about to say something else.

“Yeah?”

He squeezed his cane again in one hand and patted your shoulder, “Get home safe, ok?”

(a/n) I hope you liked it! I wasn't sure how to finish this so it doesn't quite feel complete but maybe that's how it's supposed to be? Regardless, I hope you've found a way to take care of yourself today, and remember to drink water!

[maschotch]

same anon as the morgan ask lol - no you’re so right about the weird vibes of hc’ing reid as transmasc. like if it was just sometimes… but it’s all the time, it’s disproportionately him, much more rare for hotch or morgan or luke or anyone to be transmasc. and like… people are always calling reid their /babey boy/ and it’s kinda the same with a lot of popular transmasc hcs, it’s young, skinny, white, shy or "socially awkward", "feminine" in some way, characters. it rubs me the wrong way. depends on the reasoning. but for reid it’s always,, "oh cause he looks young for his age, he has long hair, he’s so /cute/, he’s my baby boy, he’s shy and girls are shy" etc. like. classic infantilising of trans guys, classic transphobia against transmascs. nothing against some reidgirls but can they stop being weird about it? can they explain why they’d not hc hotch or morgan as transmasc, unless they’re doing t4t reid and someone? why i’ve only ever seen one hc of any of the women as transfem? & don’t feel bad about preferring to talk about hotch - i’m a morgan fan but i’m a (low empathy) prentiss fan first, i don’t mean that everyone has to obsess over morgan, i just wish people would appreciate his strengths & flaws & experiences & overall character a bit more in general.

admittedly i’m also the person who sent that last low empathy prentiss ask btw, big agree with all you say. of course i don’t mind that people have different opinions on her to me but just…. sometimes i’m like, did we watch the same show? a lot of the things they consider "empathy" moments from her are just being somewhat kind, and like, yeah i don’t think she’s evil so of course she has the capacity to be kind and exhibit some compassion. but every time she gives a grunt of disgust at a crime scene or whatever, it’s just to show that she disapproves of what the unsub did, not that she’s devastated or shocked in the way that many of the others on the team seem to be. and probably somewhere between having a shit relationship with her mother, the way she canonically has said she would change everything about herself to get approval from other teens when she was moving schools all the time in high school, and her undercover missions at Interpol… somewhere in all that, she clearly developed some acting skills, the ability to manipulate people, mirror and read people but *manually* rather than by having empathy. for her job, that’s necessary, idk how to say "manipulate" in a way that doesn’t sound that bad but i don’t mean it as inherently bad lol. and having less empathy would help her stay calm, logically analyse problems, not be fooled by people pretending to be upset, not have too much guilt get in the way of manipulating suspects (necessary to her job obviously), etc. however, it can diminish her ability to comfort friends from an emotional POV, might make her more impulsive/reckless because she doesn’t consider the effects it might have on herself and others, and it probably would contribute to how in those Lauren eps she just assumes her team members would be mad at her because she doesn’t *know* how they would emotionally feel about that. and maybe she does worry that she’s a bad person bc of her low empathy! who knows! i haven’t actually thought *that* much about it, i’m just kinda rambling about a few patterns i see, but i do think she has low empathy. and that you’re very right about the writers just… being inconsistant and weird with her character a Lot. i’m glad someone else sees what i see with her.

signed, the only morgangirl 😔 lmao

yeah :// like it’s tricky to be overly critical of trans hcs without being disrespectful or belittling people’s experiences (bc there are some people who i know identify with reid’s gender ambiguity (???)) but idk… it’s hard to ignore the pattern of the internet favoring their submissive breedable skinny white little twink as the main char seen as trans. like. what are we saying here lol

and yeah same thing w characters… you cant really fault anyone for preferring certain characters but when they take character traits/experiences/plotlines from morgan and give them to reid?? it just feels?? distasteful? like if youre gonna change everything about reid to make him/his backstory more like morgan, just… write about morgan? idk how to describe it. it’s like… if there’s a set of angsty tropes that are pretty standard—used by both official network writers and fandoms—that the showrunners divvy up between characters, and the fandom enjoys certain tropes that apply to certain characters, and the fandom’s favorite character is different, then they’ll give those same tropes to their favorite character without acknowledging the other character at all. idk if that makes any sense, but it’s just glaringly obvious when it’s the exact same type of skinny white guy that becomes the fandom’s favorite every time

but yes i am a very big fan of low empathy emily <3 i think it’s one of those “repressed lesbian jj” concepts that explains away a lot of the shitty character inconsistencies?? emily’s inconsistent bc she’s acting, bc she’s playing a part, bc her mask is changing as she tailors it to the group dynamic and her place within it. which is just FASCINATING to me lmao i love it so much. it’s something i’ve spent a lot of time thinking about, but despite that i feeel like i dont have a lot to say on it? it’s less like a “here’s a list of headcanons for this character” and more of a “here’s a lens to watch the show through.” it doesnt necessarily addd anything, it’s just a different perspective that imo makes things make more sense lol. i think she’s made peace with who she is and doesn’t spend too much time fretting over whether she’s a bad person. like i don’t think she’s answered that question necessarily, i just think she knows it’s kinda pointless trying to figure it out. n e ways yes i like that you also see it :)))

[thatbeluga]

Part 11: Wattpad Edition

Part One / Part Two / Wom’s Chapter / Part Three/ Wom 2 / Part Four/Part Five / Part Six / Wom 3 / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Wom 4 / Part 10

PREVIOUSLY ON WET SOCK...

“Oh shit,” he said. “Fuck I don’t think we were supposed to let Elmo in.”

“Ohh, right,” Fuck said, their edible also hitting.

“What do you mean ‘not supposed to let Elmo in?’” Rad asked, balling her fists. “What is going on?”

“Well, our musical number got interrupted,” Beluga said. “And the world’s gonna end.”

{insert catchy but mysterious intro}

"The world's gonna end?" Rad asked, raising an eyebrow. Her multicolored orbs watered. "uwu."

"okay but why" Elmo queried.

"Well, we didn't want to tell you this," Beluga said, "but Elmo is--

"Beluga, you're supposed to be in character," Fuck hissed, smacking him with their wing.

"How am I supposed to do that?" Beluga asked.

"Like this," Fuck declared. Their feathers were always messy, but it made them so hot. Everyone at school stayed clear of them, but Y/N couldn't get her mind off of them. But every time Y/N tried to talk to Fuck, she always ended up tripping or dropping something or embarrassing herself.

"Got it," Beluga giggled, his 64 pack glistening with sexy sweat. "Am I doing it right?"

"Close enough," Fuck seethed.

"hey can you tell us what's happening" Elmo said. "i have an appointment with a hot vampire lady with a heart of gold in like an hour. weve been meeting for like fifty chapters and we just made charged eye contact for the first time."

"WAIT I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONLY ONE?!?!?!" Rad shrieked, tears streaming cutely down her face.

"I'm so sorry babe," Elmo said, running a hand through her black, red, and blue hair that went all the way down to her mid back also she was wearing purple lipstick that matched her violet eyes. "Forgive me."

"Okay whatevs uwu i'll take you back"

"What the HELL is going on here?" Misp shouted, standing in the doorway with a tray of cookies. (AN misp doesn't know that everyone is doing the wattpad thing).

"We're ignoring the lore to dive into a very one-dimensional love story written with noticeably bad grammar and punctuation, stilted prose, impossibly perfect characters and inconsistent plots. Writing like this is of course an important step that most writers go through, as it allows them to explore their creativity and learn the basics of writing. The trouble only comes when a writer is unable to mature past this stage," Beluga said. "Or something idk lol (AN stop telling me this is OOC! This is just my interpretation of the character OWO)

"Is that why you have a 64 pack that glistens in the sun and Fuck's feathers are messy but perfect and Elmo is in a love triangle with our mom and a hot vampire lady?" Misp asked, slowly transforming into the older sibling in high school who is good at sports and popular. "What about Womb?"

"My parents sold him to One Direction for drinking money," Rad said, crying cutely again. Her perfect mascara didn't run down her face tho (AN in this universe mascara doesn't run).

Rad suddenly dropped all of her books. "Oh my gosh I'm so clumsy."

"It's okay, our mom has depression ever since our Dad mysteriously disappeared," Misp said, popping the collar on her varsity jacket.

"Thank you older sibling who is cool and popular," Rad said. "Hey, have you seen Y/N?"

"Y/N?" Misp asked, looking at the camera. "I do see Y/N. Right there."

Rad, and everyone else, looked at the camera. "We see you."

They see Y/N. Y/N can see them. All of them.

"W̷̢̤̲̗̘̝̺̅̒͆̐̋̽Ę̷͉̬͖̝̤̇̽̃̚͝ ̶̡̜͕̳̄̐́̌̃͑ͅS̸͚̘͙͖͗̾̈́̒̆̒̔͌͝͝ͅẺ̵̲͎͎̦́̆͛̕Ȇ̷͔̣̲̦̤̟̙͌͐͋̾͜ ̸̡͇̟͓͎̏̄̾͛Y̷̠̏̽̈̍̋̌̎̚Ȏ̵̢̢͖̜͓̜̩̺̱͉͐̽̈́̍̌̿̚͝͝Ų̸̺͙̝́ ̶̡̟̙̙̱͈̿͐̇̅̇̊̀̚͠Ŷ̴̺̄̈́͐̄̑̒̈́̈́̕/̸̢͈̘̽̽Ṅ̵̢͎͈̣͙̝͔̙̋̎́͗́̀̂"

"Okay, okay, this is getting too weird and meta," Beluga said, smacking the wall and breaking the Wattpad spell. "We need to get back to the plot."

"Oh yeah," Rad said. "Something about the world ending?"

"Yeah that," Fuck said. "It doesn't have to. But it could."

"How do we stop it?" Elmo asked. Before they could answer, Beluga and Fuck disappeared, leaving a single perfectly messy feather in the center of the living room.

[pandoricpies]

Not sure how to feel (AS IM SCROLLING GODDAMNIT SSOBLR THERE’S ALREADY THRIST DISCOURSE)

*Ahem* back to this post lol. Now let me preface this post by saying this; his design as an individual is very detailed and extremely well-made! The textures, staff, and eyes are some very detailed highlights of his overall design.

However, this brings up a point that I thought about when Carl Peterson was redesigned;

Both he and Fripp are too detailed for this game. They just don’t fit in.

Now don’t get me wrong, there is quite a bit of detail in certain places around Jorvik (Lisa and Linda’s rooms, Fripp’s Chamber, etc.). However, these details are of background or landscape nature if you will, and are decently proportioned so that the characters inhabiting them still fit in (there is probably a more technical term for that but I am not very well-versed in digital design terminology). However, when those smaller details are added to certain characters when other characters’ designs have larger, more round details (again I’m very ignorant on the terminology of this subject) don’t fit that ratio, the difference becomes noticeable. Let’s look at an example of Carl and Lisa (unfortunately I was using Google and couldn’t find a fuller picture of Carl):

A few things to point out here:

- Starting with facial features, we can see that Carl’s eyes are significantly smaller, more realistic and more detailed than Lisa’s. Lisa in contrast has more cartoon-style eyes that aren’t as true to the actual human proportions as her father’s are (I prefer the cartoon style more for SSO because it fits the overall design better). Carl’s nose and facial hair (eyebrows because we can’t compare a beard as Lisa obviously doesn’t have one) are just so detailed... and I’m not saying his design isn’t very well-done. But, that design, however meticulously created, doesn’t fit with SSO’s more bubbly, saturated, and large cartoonistic style. Hair is also another thing to notice, as the details and shading in Carl’s are so much more realistic while Lisa’s hair shading is more sparse.

- Onto the clothing; just look at the difference in clothing stitching between these two. You can barely see Carl’s tan stitching in his jean jacket in the picture and even more so when in game. Another thing to note is the tan fluff on the back of the jacket. Notice how small the ‘tufts’ are and how detailed it is. In contrast, you can clearly see the zipper details on Lisa’s jacket and the fluff on the back of her jacket is much less detailed and more blurred (taking on that less-detailed cartoon style).

The point of this post is just to simply point out some inconsistencies in character design as of late. I hope from now on the team tries to stick to either a more detailed design like Carl and Fripp, or a more cartoon style like the Soul Riders, Maya, and Josh (for some reason they seem to be keeping the younger characters that cartoon style while the older ones are getting more detail).

The design size scale of Fripp and Carl doesn’t work with the rest of the game. On their own, their designs are great! But not for this game.

Also, one more thing to note is the inconsistent height scale. Lisa is said to be a pretty short person. However, when standing next to her father (or any other older adult updated or not), she appears to be about the same height.

Basically, because of all the inconsistencies, looking at Lisa and her father side by side you’d think they were from two different games.

I’ll put some more pics down below for comparison:

Eh just doesn’t look like the same game to me.

[benedictscanvas]

found - aaron hotchner

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Word Count: 4.6k (i got a little carried away with this one!)

Warnings: Mentions of kidnapping, torture, serial killers, reader’s father was killed in a car crash, reader is the victim of emotional and (a small bit of) physical abuse from her mother, nice and fluffy ending

Request: i ADORE your writing. could you do a hotch x female reader where the reader works at the bau but comes from a really rich business family and a case comes in where her brother's gone missing because they want money from the family. they save him but the reader's mother belittles and slaps her, and the team stand up for her in front of her family and then later she goes to hotch's office and just some cute fluff because they've been in love with each other for years? ik it's weirdly specific lol

A/N: First of all, thank you! Also, never apologise for specific requests, it only means that I don’t have to think up an idea myself, haha, always a good thing! This one got away from me a little, but I just really loved how protective the team were of the reader here (especially my man Aaron). Love to you all, I hope none of you ever have to go through a situation like the one below <3

---

The weight in your stomach was beginning to ache now. Your mind was playing the events of the past few days over and over but you couldn’t work it out. You’d found him, you should be fine, and yet there was something still bothering you.

There was no way the BAU ever would have taken this case were it not for the connection you had to it, there was no point kidding yourself about that. It was on Tuesday morning that you had practically run through the bullpen towards Hotch’s office, ignoring the concerned voices of the members of your team and not bothering to knock as you burst in on him.

“It’s my brother,” you said, out of breath, clutching the door with a painfully tight grip as your chest heaved and Hotch stood from his desk. His face would have seemed as stoic as usual to most people, but you could see the worried lines around his eyes better than most people, “Someone’s taken him, I don’t know who, but they want money quickly and my mother won’t give them the money and-”

“Y/N,” he quieted you with his soft utterance of your name, and you gasped in for breath that you didn’t have. There were tears in your eyes, but you wouldn’t let them fall, “We’ll get everyone in the conference room, okay? Tell us all at once.”

You nodded, pressing your lips together and wiping a shaky hand down your face. He didn’t question you. Didn’t question taking the case. You had hardly told him anything and he was dropping whatever the hell he had been doing, and even in your haze of fear you couldn’t appreciate him more.

“Thanks, Hotch,” you said quietly, and he simply nodded at you, resting a warm hand on your shoulder briefly as he passed you to gather the team together. Not five minutes later were you telling the team everything, from the rich parents you’d never previously mentioned to your brother’s disappearance, showing them a picture of the ransom note that had showed up on your mother’s doorstep that morning. Not thirty minutes later were you on a plane to your hometown, sat next to Hotch on the seat of four and listening to him and the team bouncing theories around.

It had taken three days to find him.

Three days of you being worried to the point of sickness. You’d thrown up multiple times. JJ had been there the first time, swiftly following you into the bathroom after the toe showed up in the mail. She held your hair back as you emptied your lunch into the toilet, your tears simultaneously streaming into the bowl. But the second time was after your mother refused for the fourth time to pay the ransom to save your brother. You only made it to a bin in an empty room in the police precinct, but Hotch was right behind you, rubbing your back with a firm hand.

You only found him in the end due to a connection Spencer made between the original ransom note and the note that came with the toe, an inconsistency that led Garcia to a name and you to an address. It all fell into place quickly, like it often did, and soon the two culprits were in cuffs, your brother was sent off in an ambulance and the case was closed with no lives lost. It should have been a good day.

But still, now, as you sat in the front seat as Hotch drove you to the hospital your brother had been taken to, your stomach was swirling with doubt and anxiety and you knew exactly why.

“You don’t look too happy,” he commented in a low voice, even though there was no one else in the SUV except for the two of you. As soon as your brother was taken away in the ambulance, your mother jumped in beside him and you were left on the pavement, before Hotch placed a hand on your back and jingled the keys beside you, spurring you into action, “Your brother will be fine, Y/N, they’re only taking him as a precaution.”

“Oh no, I know,” you said flippantly, turning to Hotch even though he kept his eyes on the road, “He’s a strong guy, he’ll take this in stride. There’s just something...else.”

You wondered whether you should tell him. It was a thought you dismissed as soon as it came. You and Hotch were close, closer than anyone else really realised, and if you told him there was no telling what he might want to do about it. There was nothing to be done, though, and so there was nothing to be said either.

“What is it?”

“I just-” you figured out your lie, needing it to be half-true so he wouldn’t see through it, “I don’t think it’s sunk in yet that he’s safe.”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything. It was a sign that he knew you were lying, that he was waiting for you to crack and tell him the truth. A trick he’d learned from you, actually. Sometimes, you stayed late with him to help him out with paperwork, try to get him home a little sooner and you talked. You talked a lot. And whenever you’d ask him how he was, or whether something was bothering him and he would lie you would nod and go silent, waiting for him to speak again and inevitably reveal the truth.

It wouldn’t work on you this time. Instead, the rest of the drive passed in a slightly uncomfortable silence and when you got out of the car, the two of you headed into the hospital without words. Guilt poked at your heart but you pushed it away as you were given directions to your brother’s room and took purposeful steps in that direction.

Just as you reached the door, you pushed open the door to join him, your mother and the nurse that was checking him over.

“Hey little-”

“Y/N!” your mother cried, rushing over to hurry you out of the room again and you caught a glimpse of your brother’s apologetic glance before she was shutting the door in your face, “Can we have a word?”

The weight in your stomach was getting heavier by the second.

“I’d really like to see my brother and check he’s okay,” you said, tone clipped and formal. You felt Hotch’s presence a little way behind you, watched your mother’s eyes flick between you and him with disdain.

“And I would really like a word with you,” she said, her voice different to how it had been. She had an audience now, you thought silently, and fought the urge to roll your eyes, “If you wouldn’t mind talking to your mother.”

She was trying to make you look bad and you knew it. You tried not to, but you could feel your embarrassment rising despite yourself. There was nothing to be embarrassed about and you knew it, but having Hotch there watching your mother talk to you like this, no doubt profiling you both made heat creep up the back of your neck.

“Then let’s find somewhere private-” you attempted but she cut you off.

“No, we talk here.”

It had been her favourite method of doing things when you were younger too. As soon as your dad died, she began subtly belittling you in the house. Blaming you for his death was the only way she seemed to move forward, even though you quickly accepted that just because you had been in the car when he died didn’t make you at all responsible.

But it was when you went out with her that she truly came into her own, having the free reign to humiliate you as publicly as possible, making sure that other people heard it. You hadn’t seen her in a few years. You’d forgotten how difficult it was, even now, to avoid reverting back into that childlike state when she looked at you like that.

“Mother-”

“Again. Again, someone has hurt our family and again, you are the one responsible. Do you enjoying seeing me suffer? Is that was this is, Y/N?”

You stared at your feet and set your jaw. It was difficult to know whether to shout at her, laugh in her face, or start sobbing on the ground. You’d tried all three before. Nothing worked. And now - oh god - and now the whole team had rushed into the hospital to check on you and your brother and you turned your head a little to see Hotch hold up a hand to stop them from saying anything behind him. You bit your lip. The taste of copper filled your mouth with a welcome, distracting bitterness.

“How could this possibly be my fault?” you asked incredulously, looking up and meeting her gaze with all the anger you held towards her for so much of your life, all the resentment. You hoped none of the fear shone through alongside it. Apparently, your rage meant nothing, as she simply laughed, the hollow sound a haunting nostalgic tune.

“You’re meant to be a fucking FBI agent, and yet your brother has come home without two of his toes and one of his fingers,” she said, still laughing, shaking her head in disbelief at you, “You couldn’t find him in time.”

You were seething.

“If we hadn’t found him in time, he’d be dead. Things don’t always end this well, mother. He’s lucky,” you ground out and she reared back, stung.

“Lucky? Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Mrs Y/L/N-” Hotch began, and you heard him take a small step forward behind you. You winced. You knew what was coming.

“Oh, Agent Hotchner,” she said, her tone sweet again and you felt your stomach churn. You were beginning to feel lightheaded. Your serial killer catching team were right there and you were being scolded by your mother. Don’t cry, you pleaded with yourself, “You must be so tired of dealing with my daughter and her lack of empathy. Thinking that her own brother is lucky when he’s been severely deformed, I mean, the lack of-”

“Severely deformed?” you said, chest heaving as you stared her down, “Sam is fine. He will be fine. He is not deformed. All thanks to me and my team. My amazing team, who do not want to see any of this so can we please-”

Part of you was hoping that maybe some of them would take your hint and leave, just so you wouldn’t embarrass yourself in front of your colleagues anymore, just so you wouldn’t have to handle them losing all their respect for you. But there were no footsteps.

“We’re not going anywhere. You’re not seeing your brother. I won’t let you hurt him more than you already have-”

“I have never hurt Sam in my life-”

“You know you’ve hurt him more than anyon-”

“For fuck’s sake, mother, I didn’t kill dad!”

She slapped you. Actually slapped you right across the face and your head whipped to the side. She’d never done that before. Perhaps she’d never had the heart when you were younger, or maybe you’d never actually said the words before, you didn’t know. You clutched your cheek as you kept your eyes downward and felt the tears staining your cheeks. Fuck.

You were already planning your resignation from the BAU in the stunned silence of the corridor.

JJ was first to run forward, putting an arm around you.

“Are you okay?” she murmured in your ear and you simply nodded, shrugging her away from you a little in your embarrassment.

“Don’t you ever mention your father to me,” she said, her voice dangerous, but you still hadn’t looked up, couldn’t fathom giving her the satisfaction of seeing you cry. You wanted to scream at her, slap her right back, maybe slam her against the wall but you knew none of it would help. You hardly had any dignity left as it was.

“You know what, Mrs Y/L/N,” Dave spoke up into the silence and you closed your eyes, hoping he wouldn’t say anything too bad, “I was wondering why you wouldn’t pay the ransom. I thought maybe it was the principle, or perhaps you were worried they’d just ask for more. But, I get it now.”

“Yeah, me too, Rossi,” Derek chimed in, “Now it’s easy to understand. Your kids simply aren’t worth anything to you.”

“Excuse me?” your mother’s voice was higher in pitch and part of you was worried she might slap them, but you knew she didn’t have it in her. JJ was still hovering behind you.

“You have two wonderful children, Mrs Y/L/N,” Emily continued, “Sam’s a doctor, the perfect child and yet the only value he has to you is in the bragging rights he provides.”

“And Y/N? She’s one of the best agents in the bureau. She cares about people-” Spencer’s voice cracked and you blinked out a fresh wave of tears, “-she cares so much. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever met. If you can’t see that, then it’s your loss.”

You finally stood up straight and looked to your team with eyes full of shame. Your cheek was no doubt a different colour to the rest of your face, tear stains galore, eyes puffy. No moment was worse, than seeing them all staring at you with pity in their eyes, and yet the warmth you felt radiating from them was stronger than any feeling you’d ever had from your family. This was your family, after all. Your real family.

“Y/N’s one of the best people I’ve ever met too.”

“Same here.”

“Me too.”

Came the replies from your team. You let out a shaky exhale as you stared at them. Thanking them and apologising to them all at once with just the look in your eyes. Your mother was still silent, clearly shocked that anyone could possibly care about you like this, let alone a whole group of people.

“She’s the best person I’ve ever met,” Hotch spoke up and when your eyes snapped to his, you didn’t see pity. You saw that fiery anger that he usually reserved for the lowest of the low. And yet now, he was staring at your mother with that stare that made killers recoil in their seats. She looked horrified, “And she’s going in that room to see her brother. You will go outside and wait until we’ve left. Then, and only then, can you come back inside this building.”

“But-”

“That’s an order from a federal agent, Mrs Y/L/N,” his voice was hard and unfaltering and you saw his hands clenched at his sides, longed to prise them open and slip your fingers in between his, “Rest assured that if I ever hear you speak to Y/N like that again, I will make your life a living hell. You’re a lawyer, right? I pull some strings, and you’ll be out of a job before you can blink.”

“She’s my daughter and I will-”

“Go outside.”

You surprised yourself when you spoke up. But the anger that boiled inside you had bubbled to the surface and now, there was no stopping you. Your team were behind you, literally, figuratively, in every way possible. It was enough. You weren’t a child anymore.

“Y/N-”

“I said, go outside. I don’t want to see you again, are we clear? We’re done,” when she just stood there dumbfounded, you pointed towards the exit and took a step towards her, your heart leaping when she took a step backwards, “Leave.”

And just like that, she left. She had to walk past every member of your team on her way and they refused to move out of her way, so she had to squeeze past each and every one, mumbling to herself the entire time.

She was gone and silence enveloped the little corridor to the private room yet again.

“And don’t come back,” Dave muttered, causing you to finally crack a smile in his direction, which in turn made him smile, and the rest of the team, even though they were hesitant. You wanted to say thank you, but you weren’t sure you had the words. You were so damn tired.

“Hey,” JJ spoke up beside you, a hand on your shoulder, “Go see your brother. You want to stay for a while? We can hold the jet.”

You shook your head.

“I’ll see him quickly,” you said, “I just want to go home.”

Everyone smiled again, more sympathetically and Hotch spoke up, his voice back to his normal voice around you. It was your favourite version of him. Soft.

“We’ll be right here when you’re ready.”

You nodded gratefully, turning and heading into the room without another word, because you didn’t have anymore. You just said a quick hello to your brother, gave him a tight hug. You’d never been close, the torment you’d been put through by your mother he had been immune from and it had put a rift between you. You’d never understand each other. But he was your brother, and you loved him all the same, so you wished him well and told him to call more often. When you left the room, true to their word, the team were still there and led you out of the hospital to the SUVs, shielding you with their bodies from your mother outside. You didn’t even see her.

There was no talking in the SUV. Hotch drove, Derek in the front beside him and you sat in the back with JJ. She insisted. Halfway to the jet, she reached over and grabbed your hand, not even looking over at you and you squeezed it gently. You were grateful for the grounding touch.

It was only back on the jet that someone spoke up. Hotch was busy in the kitchen. But everyone else was sat around. You were sat beside Spencer at the table, with JJ and Rossi opposite. Derek was sat on the couch nearby and Emily perched on an arm rest just so she wasn’t sat too far from you.

“When did it start, Y/N?” Derek asked once the plane had been in the air for a while, earning some sharp looks from JJ and Emily but you waved them away.

“It’s okay, guys, it’s not like I can hide it now,” you said, having calmed down significantly on the drive to the jet, JJ’s touch and the hum of the engine comfort enough to decrease your heart rate, bring you back to earth. Your shame was still there, but you had tucked it away for later. Right now, you wanted to salvage as much of yourself as you could, “As you guys know, my dad was killed in a crash when I was 12. But what you don’t know, is that I was in the car and that my mother blamed me for it. She made everyday after a living hell. I moved out as soon as I could and never looked back. I’ve not seen her much since, just family events and such, but she’s always the same.”

They all had varying looks of anger and sadness. Spencer asked the question on everyone’s minds.

“Has she ever…?”

You didn’t make him finish, because you knew the words would be difficult for him.

“Hurt me before? No, she hasn’t. I don’t know what was different this time,” you shrugged, subconsciously reaching up to gently touch your cheek, “I don’t think I’ve ever said outright that I didn’t kill him before.”

“But you know you didn’t, right?” Emily asked without thinking and you smiled at her.

“I’ve always known that,” you said honestly, “It would have been so much worse if I’d believed her, but I always knew she was wrong.”

Hotch emerged from the kitchen with an ice pack and you smiled at him a little, relaxing when he offered a small smile in return. You expected him to hand it to you, but to your surprise he sat on your armrest right next to you, your arm pressed against his side. He brushed your hair away from your face with gentle fingers and placed the icepack on your cheek, apologising under his breath when you winced from the cold sting.

“That’s what you were worried about in the car then,” he mused aloud, gaining the attention of everyone on the plane, “You knew what was coming.”

“Somehow, I did,” you grimaced, looking up at him, “And I’m sorry you had to see it,” you looked around at everyone, “I’m sorry you all had to see it. It’s so embarrassing and degrading and...well I understand that your perception of me must have changed but I assure you-”

“Woah, woah,” Derek interrupted, “The only way my perception of you has changed, honey, is that you’re stronger than any of us knew.”

When you looked at everyone else around the plane, they were in agreement with Derek, it was clear. You felt yourself welling up again, and cursed your weakness.

“I can’t thank you guys enough for what you said about me,” you began, voice shaky, “It just...it means a lot. I’ve never had a real family before.”

“Well, now you do,” Dave said simply, watching you with those kind eyes of his. You nodded with a smile before Spencer produced a blanket from behind you, offering it up to you if you wanted to sleep. You accepted gratefully, laughing a little when Spencer and Hotch on either side of you helped to tuck it around you snugly. Your laugh was a sign to the team that they could relax. That you’d be fine. As you fell asleep, you felt Hotch lean into you a little more, still holding the icepack on your face, and the knowledge he was there was enough to lull you into slumber.

---

Spencer woke you gently and told you that you’d landed. There was no one left on the plane, but you’d trapped him into the window seat. He waved you off when you apologised.

“You’re really important to us, Y/N,” he said, letting a few walls down now that everyone else had gone. You knew it must’ve been hard for him to hear her say those things to you. You’d talked about childhood bullying before, helped him to work through his own without telling him your experience. He’d probably feel guilty that he hadn’t known, but you pulled him into a rare hug.

“You’re important to me too, Spence,” you said, knowing that he’d really meant it personally. You felt his smile against your shoulder and grinned at him sleepily when you pulled away, both of you making your way off the jet. You walked into the office and shared compulsory hugs with the rest of the team, including Dave who you didn’t think you’d ever hugged before. When the hugging was over and people began to make their way home, you looked up at his office.

Hotch.

He was leaning against his desk. Not working. You knew he was waiting for you, so you hopped up the steps and let yourself in without knocking, letting the door close behind you with a soft click.

As soon as the door was closed, his shoulders fell and his posture became hunched.

“Hearing her talk to you like that…”

He trailed off and your heart melted. You walked towards him and rested your hands tentatively on his biceps, feeling the muscles relax at your touch.

“Hotch,” you breathed, “We’re home now.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” he said, eyes flashing upwards to meet yours and that anger seemed to be back, but it was directed inward, “She was saying all this crap about you and I didn’t even do anything, I didn’t want to intrude but then she- she slapped you, Y/N.”

He was talking in facts, a trick he used to take the emotion out of situations in which he got too emotional. You recognised it in an instant. The small protective edge he had for you was one that you shared for him, so you noticed these things. Made a habit of it.

“I know,” you said, nodding, “But that icepack did the trick in bringing the swelling down- look.”

You reached down and grabbed his hand, bringing it up to rest on your face. You knew it wouldn’t hurt. His touch was so hesitant around you, always worried to overstep a mark that you wanted him to leap over. Now, seeing him care about you made you bolder than you had been with him in the years you’d loved him.

You’d realised you loved him, actually, really loved him about two years ago. It had been three for him. Two beings hopelessly devoted to one another, yet kept apart by paralysing fear. You were kind of over it.

You leaned into his hand, but he was the one who closed his eyes and relished in the touch.

“You took care of me,” you whispered into the relative darkness of his office, lit only by the soft glow of the overhead lamp, “See?”

He shook his head with a gulp.

“Shouldn’t have let it happen in the first place.”

“What could you have done?” you asked, smiling, “Slapped my mother first?”

He cracked a smile at that and his chuckles joined your own giggles in a few seconds.

“I wouldn’t have done that,” he insisted and brought his other hand up to cup your other cheek in an act of boldness spurred on by your own. Perhaps he was tired of not just being with you too. God, you hoped so, “You looked so...ashamed afterwards and you had nothing to be ashamed about. All I- all I wanted to do was take you in my arms and take you away from there.”

He’d never spoken like this before. You basked in his words, enjoying the pleasant tingling that had erupted down your spine. You were feeling lightheaded again, but this time you wouldn’t have had it any other way.

“A nice thought,” you hummed, “I think I could get used to being in your arms.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I think so,” you were breathless as you leaned closer to him, because now you’d had some of him it would never be enough. You needed it all. You needed every bit of him, because now you knew it could be yours if he said it. You needed him to say it.

“You wanna know something?”

“I really, really do.”

You were getting closer with every word. Breathier with every passing second.

“I’ve loved you for years,” his lips brushed against yours as he whispered the key to his soul, “And nothing hurts me more than seeing you in pain.”

You closed your eyes and brushed your lips against his again, fleeting, a promise.

“I’ve never loved anyone like I love you,” you gave him your soul in return, because it was the fair thing to do, after all.

He pressed his lips against yours properly, for the first time. All at once, the world tilted and you had found a new course for the future, one where you hoped Hotch - Aaron, as you moaned when he began a path of kisses along your jaw - would keep kissing you like this for a lifetime.

[bansheeoftheforest]

Well, my wifi is not back, and wont be anytime soon. The very earliest luckiest would be getting it back by Tuesday (unlikely). The very worst my house burns down so theres that /lh /hj

This sucks so much because I really cannot read asks I dont see in real time, I have the same amount of reading comprehension for them as I do Frankenstein XD

Dm me links to any important syndicate asks I miss while I'm gone 👍

-

Bannnnnn I tried to draw the Jekyll brothers but Kent? Is inconsistent? The database (what I use) showd him as a clean shaven guy with a bit messy hair but google is showing Kent as a completely different model? Neat hair, Brokenshire beard. Like it's the ingame "identify" zoom in and I cant check whats right before I already killed himmmm

Anyway here art <3. I know I said I'd draw the DTIYS first but art inspiration is stored in the Syndicate au <3

-

Also I've been thimking about Henry wearing a mask +plus ponytail to hide his identity like for the past two days. Yknow those theater masks? The weeping and laughing? He wears the sad one while in the Blighters and Templars and the happy one while in the Rooks because hes a dramatic theater nerd. Also! I like to think that if Jekyll has to be a templar he'd still wear the Blighter uniform when he could and pretend hes not high ranking. He gets away with it because Crawford doesn't care about him and Roth lives for chaos

I also drew Henry in a mask and ponytail but it's not done yet 😔

-

Also I did the math the the twins are 3 years older than Jekyll. Like thank goodness first of all because I fully went into ship entirely unaware on if there were canon ages or a scary difference. But also Jacob being 3 years older than Henry is kinda funny to me

-

All of Evie's outfits (besides her default) are bad and I'm gonna fist fight the designers because the secrets of london (where I only searched the locations of 3) is so bad, especially with the effort needed. How did they do Jacob so good, but utterly fail with Evie /lh

NOOOOOOO D: Man, I really hope you will get it back asap, and also that your house don't burn down!!

Man, if I don't know your struggle rn. However I shall do my best to link you to every syndicate ask that I will get from here on out bc I don't tend to get small asks for that au so <3

--

Huh-- oh wow you're right. I wonder if it is a set design or just a bit on random depending on the save file... I killed him a long ass time ago so I have absolutely no idea how he looked like <3

EITHER WAY OH MY GOD IT LOOKS AAMZING. I love??? How you gave all three individual personalities in just a single picture??? Kent looks like he is seconds away from murder and I LOVE Henry in the templar outfit, it fits him so well??? Man I really want to start thinking more of this branch. Would the entire Jekyll family be Templars so the trio got that role inherited? Are Raphael and Kent unidentical twins and Henry is the odd-one-out because he is the youngest? Were the three of them really close in Scotland, but left as soon as possible bc their family was abusive, only for Kent and Raphael to find refuge in the Templar Order while Henry goes to university? Would they still have that brotherly love if they were close as kids even when they are in the Order, or would they have a falling out and start despising each other (or Jekyll @ the older brothers at least)? Would Raphael and Kent secretly be protective of Henry and manage to keep him out of Starrick's line-of-sight so that Henry won't get in trouble for defying orders/ignoring them? Would they force Henry to join the Templars with threats or would Henry mostly feel obligated to join them? Since the Templar Order isn't illegal in London, would other people know that Jekyll is a Templar, or would he keep it hidden from the public? Would his brothers help hide his identity?? SO many questions and I'm so sad I won't be able to discuss them with you :'c

(also can I just say I love the poetic differences between their clothing. Raphael is just wearing a waistcoat/basic clothes and he is a brute and more open, Kent is wearing more clothes/layering up and he is the "brains" out of the two of them, Jekyll is wearing the most layers and is almost trying to hide himself and I just... *chief's kiss*)

--

Henry being a dramatic theater nerd and stealing Roth's costume supplies to hide his identity bc he is so ashamed of it and doesn't want people he knows to know about it my beloved <3 Plus the blighter uniforms doesn't look too far off of what he normally wears so he could probably use that as an excuse whenever some other Templar gets up his ass about not wearing the right clothes, yet it still doesn't make Henry feel any better knowing he has to bear the knowledge that he is actively wearing discreet blighter clothes to keep the Order happy and the public oblivious, knowing what cause he is reluctantly supporting. (him joining the rooks and suddenly coming into the Society all dressed in green lol)

Anyways I have now also decided that Maxwell and Henry are friends bc they both hate the Templars and Crawford and Henry gets to star in many of the plays he sets up. Plus they are both slightly insane so they match each other good.

YKNOW WHAT I WAS DAYDREAMING ABOUT WHILE BRUSHING MY TEETH RIGHT AFTER THIS ASK? Jekyll being forced to be the one to murder his brothers and the twins trying to track the murderer down just to know who tf are killing their targets, conveniently at the same time Maxwell starts meeting Jacob. Henry watching Jacob from afar getting smitten by him but keeping a distance bc he knows Maxwell is possessive, Jacob being the first to befriend Henry after Maxwell explains that both of them are against the Templars and Crawford, Jacob saving Henry during the fire of the theater? Yes pls <3

--

Thank god bc here I was imagining an age gap of like idk 15 years bc of the differences in the timeline but! I'm just going to keep the canonical age difference while also shoot the timeline up a lil so that the events of Syndicate and TGS takes place at the same time but they are the right age and stuff, just bc I do not like Evie's and Jacob's older designs and I do not want to imagine them meeting during the Ripper dlc <3 Also the thought of Jacob being older than Henry is funny. I think Henry has a type /j

-

They are so fucking bad and I'm going to scourage the Nexus to see if I can find any good redesign mods because they are so fucking bad. But to be fair, all female main characters' outfits are bad. Pearl? Lucy Thorne? Mfs looks like vampires. Even more reasons for why I only play Jacob, bc all other outfits on Evie are bad <3

[katsuki-goodness]

<= Part 4 =>

Summary: If he wanted to come, he could have.

Tagged: @todosweetheart @afuckingunicornn

A/N: It's been a while since I wrote anything so I'm sorry for the inconsistencies. I made sure to look over it so I am hoping everything is okay lol Also, Val, I had forgotten you changed your name XD But I hope you enjoy this regardless. My writing isn't what it use to be but I only write when I feel in the mood so I hope you both enjoy this, and everyone else too~

"She is bruising up! She is losing too much blood! Y/n! Please!"

"Deku...!" Izuku stood up in front of his classmates, looking out to the stadium below where your body was lying motionless for everyone to see. You had not been hit by Todoroki regardless if that was the intention. He was trying to win and you had the same excuse, but you pushed yourself. You couldn't get a single scratch on him until he had assumed that he won. You were able to put him in the ground but he rolled away in time before you had the chance to smash him into the rocky floor. Your body began to wear out, your arms were giving up as they began to loosen upon you and that's when you began feeling wet. Something felt weird but it wasn't the water of any sort that was covering your arms, but the blood that was forming inside your arms. They began to bruise but you didn't think much of it and used your quirk to attack him again.

It took just a few seconds for you to feel the sharp pain, making you fall over and whale in pain. You had pushed yourself so hard that it popped some blood vessels and tore a ligament in your shoulder. Todoroki looked panicked but he didn't know what to do. Izuku quickly screamed out in fear, calling your name as the teachers stopped the match. Katsuki stood up from his seat, his eyes in utter shock. This couldn't be happening to me is what he thought, and his anger took over more and more until he jumped down to the lower levels to get to you. You were picked up and getting ready to be taken away but he caught up, his eyes angry, watering as if he felt like he was going to lose you.

"You damn idiot! Why the hell would you push yourself so hard, huh?!" His voice cracking but he continued to keep his anger to topple his worry and sadness.

"Bakugou, please, go back to your seat," Nightmare had asked which got ignored by the blonde.

"Were you trying to prove a fucken point by what, hurting yourself?!" He got closer to you, the stretcher holding your limp body. He was stopped by Todoroki who only held him back with a hand on his shoulder. The blonde looked back with blind rage but the heterochromatic eyes that looked back at him told him to calm down and that's all it took for Katsuki to growl under his breath and leave the stadium.

-

You were quickly rushed to Recovery Girl and were diagnosed. You had to rest in bed for quite a while until your arms could properly heal. Since popping a vessel can be healed in short of a few days with the help of medical professionals, what will be a hassle would be the shoulder that you tore. It wasn't a massive tear but it wasn't something that shouldn't be taken lightly. After all, you should have lost both your arms if they tore even more, and no thanks to you who wanted to push yourself against Todoroki. Really, it might have sucked but you tried.

Your thoughts might have been running a lot but they all stopped once you blacked out, and once you woke up again, they came back. The headache was intolerable making tears roll down your eyes as if they paused until your mind was able to process what was happening.

The first thing you saw was the walls. You recognized them. Of course, you felt stiff and a lot more pain than you anticipated, but at least the silence got you to sigh in relief.

"It seems like I couldn't make it, huh," You had asked yourself with a sigh coming right after. You wondered if Todoroki was disappointed in his victory or was he glad about it. There was no reason for him to not be glad but what do you know. I'm sure as heck that I don't.

A sudden sound of a door sliding open caught your attention. You assumed it was Recovery Girl but the familiar green hair and expression made your eyes soften, remembering how those same eyes were still very much the same as the ones looking back at you right now.

"Your arms," He had said, walking in and closing the door behind him, his eyes still trailing the bandages on your arms. Your smile was forced but you did it to not worrying him which only made him worry even more.

"I'm okay. I was told to rest. My arms aren't as bad as they seem.” If you moved then maybe the pain will come back for a split second. It felt a bit suffocating to feel Izuku here but who else was going to come aside from your classmates?

“Y/n, you’ve been noticeably pushing yourself and you make it seem like everything is okay.”

“Because everything is okay.”

“But you’re hurt, Y/n. Do you not see that?” Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to push your limits in this case even when it is just for fun. Has it ever stopped Izuku from doing the same? You watched him how he destroyed himself just to make a point and win against Todoroki but he lost, and his wounds were more severe than you’d had seen. You don’t know how the boy in front of you got a quirk but he did and he was now telling you the same advice you were sure he was told.

“How about you take your own advice, Izuku,” You had told him, a soft sigh escaping your lips. “I understand you are worried but I’m fine. Really.” You were able to tell that he was not satisfied with your response. He walked closer to you and sat at the chair that was near your bed. It was only there because Recovery Girl was talking to you as she made sure you were okay. You had focused on the boy, not realizing that he had begun to talk again.

“I understand how you feel about Kaachan but he is truly is worried about you.”

“I can’t really say that’s true when he doesn’t show his feelings towards anyone. All he does is get angry.” It went silent again and neither one of you said a single thing, not even when Izuku left the room to let you rest. Your thoughts were cloudy and you weren't sure if the only reason you felt like that was because Izuku came to see you. He mentioned Katsuki knowing that you felt some sort of way about him. Of course, he knew. 

It had been a while of just sitting around, seeing a lot of your classmate enter and disappear, going back to the probably rowdy lunch room. You were astonished by the student coming in and out, questioning you whether or not you were okay. Your sadden eyes took notice of the look on some of their faces, showing signs of worry and you hadn't felt cared for in this way for a long time. It was even more apparent in Izuku's eyes, the way his lips tried turning upright into a smile but quickly turned into a frown.

Going through the many possibilities of what to do as you rested, the groans came out each time you tried adjusting yourself, your arms aching, becoming stiff when you moved them on top of your lap. It was getting late at this point, noticing that the sun outside was now setting, the beautiful oranges and pinks painting the sky. It looked very out of the ordinary but it was beautiful nonetheless. In the short time it took you to be mesmerized, recovery girl had entered the room, her clipboard in hand and someone else following her. It was Todoroki and Kirishima, looking guilty and you right away noticed it. You wondered if they were gonna apologize when it wasn't even their faults.

"Heyy," Kirishima's nervous voice elongating his greeting. Todoroki didn't say anything but you meeting his eyes was enough of a greeting to you. "How're you feeling?" The red headed added, coming closer to the bed with Todoroki trailing behind him.

"I'm okay. I should recover pretty soon," You answered with a soft smile.

"Was it serious?" Todoroki was the one to ask this time, and you tilted your head slightly to the side.

"In a way? But I'm fine." Your short responses only gave the boys knots in their stomach. Kirishima wasn't here for himself but he also wanted to apologize to you, remembering that the reason he was here was because of Bakugou.

"Hey, um, I'm sorry you ended up like this. I'm also sorry Bakugou caused a scene."

You shook your head. "I'm used to it. I've known him for years. It's not the first time he caused a scene like that especially in front of that many people."

Kirishima gave you a small smile, and rub the back of his neck. "I actually came on behalf of Bakugou. He was suppose to come but he didn't have the courage to do so. I'm sorry, he said he didn't want to but knowing him, I know it's because he's too shy."

Katsuki? Shy? Since when? You were completely confused but you felt as if asking would just make you sound dumb. The blonde was an aggressive Pomeranian who never thought and just acted on his feelings. You couldn't remember much of what happened but you heard his voice, and it was worrisome, which troubled you greatly. Nonetheless, you didn’t want to get your hopes up when it came to Bakugou. It will turn bad if your hopes just became that, hope.

You shook your head in disbelief and lightly smiled to Katsuki’s friend, making him a bit nervous when you tried adjusting yourself. “By the way, who won?” Both boys looked at each other, and Kirishima decided to respond for the both of them.

“It should be a given. He won a second time in a row.” You didn’t know whether to jump in joy , and even the faces of the boys seem off to you that it felt like they wanted you to be happy for the guy. You told yourself that you shouldn’t be but… maybe this time-

“I’m… glad he won.” It should have been convincing enough, but maybe not entirely, either way, Todoroki and Kirishima took the hint and didn’t press on, their now nervous expressions becoming softer. After the awkward silence, Kirishima smiled and reassured you that everything with Bakugou will be okay. Todoroki didn’t really know how to say goodbye so he nodded with a light blush, walking out before Kirishima. They were gone and the room became quiet again.

You hadn’t realized that you had been holding your breath, exhaling and letting the heaviness of your heart finally deplete as you laid back into your pillow. “Am I really glad he won?”

You had left the infirmary with a brace holding your arm in place. You went home with you parents, walking into your room and sitting on your bed with your mind very much occupied with the events that happened today. You looked around with your eyes pinpointing a small plush that was gifted to you at a young age. It was nothing too weird, just a regular cat plush that a particular blonde had gifted to you. He was sweet back in middle school, even if he was bullying Deku all the time.

You walked over to it, looking it over and inspecting it with the saddest eyes and smile. You let it go, playing it next to your old instruments you don’t play anymore. It will gather up dust if it stays there, but that’s okay. You felt like this was better than letting him get to your head. He rarely came to you unless it was to fight and argue, and even Deku was no exception. They aren’t your friends anymore, but you’re glad they are striving, and you have to do the same.

[a-for-alternative]

Hello, A! So I was wondering do you have any headcannons about how you and B were like at Wammy's together? PS. I thought dead men tell no tales lol (sorry about the joke if you didn't like it)

// Oh do I ever... Alternative has such potential to highlight things about B’s character that develops him into the killer of Mello’s novel. The lore surrounding the first generation (and the notion of Mello writing about a dead successor that previously filled his position - his predecessor) is more poignant than I think it was intended to come across but here are some headcanons~

Wammys House:

A & B are the first to receive their secondary alias after which it becomes a kind of right of passage for other successors, choosing their own (though often not official) - to A & B, only theirs will ever be legitimate.

A is introduced to B after only 1-2 years of being at the house

A, before becoming a letter, was taken into Wammy’s due to his intellect but only later is selected as the first attempted L-backup, probably pulled from a satellite home 

Alternative & Backup (A’s perspective):

His introduction to B is a pivotal moment for him. After so much loss, he sees this as an opportunity for redemption and a return to a clear path forward, and now it is under threat. B represents for A the physical manifestation apathetic fate, he is foreign in every sense, they cannot even communicate when they are initially introduced. His presence signifies A’s disposability - B is the backup plan for when A fails, like a vulture circling over head, it looms over him like a prophesy he is trying to outrun..  though, B can also overtake him at anytime, relegating him to a future that, from A’s perspective, is neither known nor the success story that he has put so much hope in. The world for Alternative at this point in his life is an unreasonable and precarious place. All he knows, up to this point as a seven year old, is that everything is fragile and must be hard won - and there is no guarantee that one can keep what they have fought or sacrificed to obtain. --- after all, he is in line to replace L and L is about as far from vulnerable as he believes a person can get --- Maybe, B also represents a challenge that requires a level of maturity that he does not yet possess - the inevitable dilemma, that this position is of such consequence to the world, that it needs the best person for it, — and that may not be him...

There is nothing genuine in the sweet smile.

The way he extends an open hand, how his soft, his boyish voice offering “ Hello, Alternative ” …  

A feels an unpleasant sensation snake up his spine like a fever’s chill, empathetic aptitude ringing in his ears with all the incongruence rolling off this boy.

His gentleness feels scripted, words trilling out of his mouth- practiced and angular; absolutely, wholly contrived. A has never meet anyone with such an emptiness in their words and actions…

A returns the greeting with a stony, silent stare - I know what you are. 

They slide up from the open palm to meet the foreign boy’s gaze - Blue eyes resting soft, knowing and stormy, heaven’s skies empty of angels. Alternative is standing his ground, refusing to pretend they are not here for a reason, telling himself, “I’m not afraid…”

 But,  he has never seen anyone with such deep eyes.

 They are the windows into an empty soul, a black abyss,                                                                                             absolutely apocalyptic…

Alternative is capricious in his treatment of B, vacillating between animosity and empathy- at times he’s even conspiratorial , allying himself with B and undermining their superiors- beginning to identify with B (even in spite of the language barriers). Backup is clever and naïve and careless, and unreserved in a way that A wishes he felt safe to be. B is the only one that can truly grasp what he is going through but he is also very strange... -- Alternative struggles with trials & setbacks that roll off Backup’s back with ease. B is several years into his understanding of his eyes and it shapes how he moves through the world, what he feels is worth his pain, what ultimately just doesn’t matter. A is, in some ways, what B might have become if he were a little more ignorant, spared the ever present reminder that this is all so temporary.

Alternative has many faces that none are as acutely aware of as B- it is why he doesn’t take the quips and backhanded apologies personally. Alternative’s identity has been tailored to his circumstances — so much of it he had to leave behind to become this -- to his superiors, he is mature, disciplined and motivated -- exemplary if not a bit too austere. To those that benefit him, he is considerate and trustworthy- and honest. To those that he fears will take advantage of him, he is an arrogant and harsh - conniving and spoiled. When he is caught without a persona on hand, he is awkward, reclusive, and reserved. Despite this, his cardinal traits are eloquence and persistence, he thinks deeply about his place in the world and who he should be but not enough on who he is — Only B is audience to moments when he is short sighted and immature, when he is undone or humiliated - when he is elated or truly.. afraid of what lay ahead of them. When he is sick or less than who he wants to present himself as, B has been there whether he wanted him to be or not.

Alternative is attracted to B though it is initially a disquieting realization, one even he doesn’t entirely understand. It isn’t that B is unusually good looking or charming — though perhaps A has peculiar tastes that B unintentionally satisfies (I can’t imagine him actually trying)... The level of intimacy involved in knowing someone this long, on such a personal and inescapable level has made B a source of unwavering acceptance, — because he had to be. The alternative would have been sleeping next to someone he would gradually come to despise any who really wants to live that way? Yet, B comes to represent stability and unconditional regard that feels a lot like love. There is a fraternal element to it in that B anchors who he is. B is someone that has a history with him that hasn’t been erased or eroded -- that contradicts A’s perception of the world as fragile or finite - it is comforting to have something seemingly permanent ... and terrifying that he cannot start anew, if he doesn’t like who he is and cannot be hidden in the obscurity that L enjoys.

When B begins to insinuate an interest in something more, A is not initially receptive and becomes genuinely distressed. This doesn’t translate with any logical sense to B, who believes it’s born out of A’s latent fears of realizing his own sexuality...  But, by the time they are entering late adolescence, A is more concerned with the prospect of romance and that becoming L is destined to be a lonely path. He sees their childhood in it’s twilight as a tragic loss that cannot be reclaimed or rewritten, and B’s subtle advances as destructive to the purity of their friendship -- but he can’t stay a child forever even if he feels a sense of unfinished business surrounding it and he can’t keep B there either... It takes B’s attention shifting elsewhere for A to begin softening to the idea that B isn't ruining what's between them but expanding on it.

Alternative has experienced depression -- at some point he was prescribed SSRIs, as a part of basic care for successors. While it does alleviate the depth of his lows, he begins to worry that it is dulling the sharpness of his mind, which he has come to see as central to his self-worth. It may have no foundation in reality but A develops an inconsistent relationship with any medication prescribed to him out of those fears. In the end, - there are some things medicine cannot fix...

A few other small things:

- A loves the smell of lavender and grass, it reminds him of his home though as he gets older this memory is more elusive and he begins to wonder if they memories from funeral flowers or even if they are impressions left over from a dreams.. did he even attend his parents funeral?

- A knows they aren’t allowed to take pictures of each other in Wammy’s for good reason but when Y sneaks a camera into the house one summer evening, he is can’t deny there is something precious about having pictures of B perched on the railing of the back steps - his hair sweep by the wind just as he turns his eyes to look, soft unfocused, — like the tender look he gives him just as he wakes up in the morning before he remembers who they are. A traces the lines of his face while lying beneath his bed, where he tucks it between the boards. It’s only a few years later that he will see how much his friend has matured. -- B hates photographs and will place them face down when they go into Roger’s office. Roger has never understood why.

- A drinks his coffee and tea black as tar. B thinks it is terribly bitter but will bring it to him anyway, unaltered. There is something uniquely enjoyable in knowing that B doesn’t need to be told what he likes~

- A is borderline masochistic though perhaps only B has any inkling of it. He would probably never acknowledge it openly... it is degrading to get a charge out of being hurt.

- A loses his faith around age 10 but still believes that he might as well act as though there is a purpose in being good and not just adept and ruthless. The only alternative, from A’s perspective, is to believe that everything he has been through meant nothing and he will ultimately change nothing. And, that may be too painful a philosophy for him to embrace. 

- A’s worst injury occurred when he was deliberately shoved off the roof by an irate B ( thatvhe provoked). While it was a watershed event for A coming so close to death and experiencing the consequences of pushing B beyond that point of caring about consequences... For Backup, this a was also critically informative event, an exercise proving the numbers were infallible -- he was genuinely surprised that A survived the fall and, to a greater degree, surprised that he felt regret in having done it ... left alone in their room to wonder for days, searching for the contraband pictures from that summer A had hidden that could prove if A was even still alive....