#it needs to be a horrible neon color

[qui-gg]

Motel OJ

[rafeandonlyrafe]

tiny heels and future plans

warnings: 18+ only!, smut, soft!rafe, dad!rafe, toddler daughter, p in v sex, unprotected sex, talk of pregnancy, wedding (not readers)

words: 1.5k

“you always look gorgeous.” rafe says, a slight grin on his face giving away that he's not fully conveying his true feelings.

“but…”

“but that dress is ridiculous.” rafe lets his laughter out, watching you frown at first before joining him in chuckling as you look in the mirror.

“it really is horrible, huh.”

“well, it's your aunt's taste so…” rafe shrugs. you twirl back towards rafe.

“tacky.” you both say at the same time.

“i hope her idea for the flower girl dress is better than this.” rafe looks to the door, knowing jada will be getting up from her nap soon. 

“actually, i told her that we would take care of it.” you watch as rafe smile grows, realizing your daughter wouldn’t be stuck in a neon yellow dress covered in ruffles like her mama is.

“thank god.” rafe sighs. “and about you changing after the ceremony?”

“i was not able to convince her of that… yet.” you tsk. when your aunt invited you to be a part of her wedding, you didn’t even assume for a second it would be understated simply because its her fourth. she’s never been one to shy away from a big event, but being the richest woman in the outer banks means she gets away with her taste being pastels and colorful patterns.

“maybe you could tell her you still breastfeed jada sometimes and need a dress with a better top for it.” rafe shrugs. he doesn’t care what you wear, but he knows you would prefer not to be stuck in that so called dress for the entire evening.

“that’s actually not a terrible idea.” you admit before turning around, rafes hands coming to unlace the corset back as you let the dress fall to the floor. no point in trying to avoid wrinkles when there’s a million layers of ruffles.

“mmm, now that’s much better.” rafe smirks, eyes moving up and down your body, now only covered in your undergarments

you both move with a measured quickness, predicting each others next movements with fluidity until you both end up on the bed, lips attached together.

rafe is just about to reach behind your back to unclip your bra when you hear little footsteps coming down the hallway.

“the one time i need her to stay napping for longer…” rafe groans, rolling off the bed to intercept your toddler so you can get dressed in peace.

“this is what you get for always wanting her to get up earlier because you miss her.” you laugh as rafe sends a look to you before closing the door.

--

“i saw you shed a tear.” you say, causing rafe to whip around.

“jesus, how could i not.” he shakes his head, taking jada from your arms now that pictures with the wedding party were finished.

“are you hungry baby girl?” rafe asks.

“yes!” jada’s eyes light up. “wedding cake!”

you made the mistake of telling jada there would be cake at the wedding when going over what the day would look like, but you have been able to use it to your advantage, like promising her a whole slice if she walks straight down the aisle without stopping or crying.

“we have to wait for auntie tilly to cut the cake first, then we can eat.” you explain. jada looks to rafe with big eyes, her bottom lip pouting out.

“jada, don’t look at me like that.” rafe groans. jada has learned that she can get her way anytime she pouts to her dad.

“i think theres french fries inside, why don’t we have those first, hm?” you offer jada, who is happy enough to accept the compromise for now.

“so, yellow bridesmaid dress all night?” rafe asks as you head into the venue, your aunt continuing to take pictures with her new husband, only 30 some odd years her junior.

“yes, rafe.” you sigh. “i have not been able to convince her since you last asked me half an hour ago.” “well, you look pretty either way.” rafe turns jada in his arms so he can look at her, holding her close to his chest as a group of people walk by. “doesn’t mommy look pretty?”

you both know you should let her walk more, but she’s just so little you’re afraid of her getting trampled by wedding guests, and the fact that she’s not stable in her little heels doesn’t help your anxiety. “yes!” jada squeals her answer before cuddling into rafes neck.

--

“poor sleepy girl.” you laugh, one hand rubbing up and down rafes back while the other strokes jadas.

“i told her this was the last song we were dancing to.” rafe doesn’t bother to whisper, no amount of noise could keep jadas droopy eyes from closing. the party would still be going on for a few more hours, but as the final note of the song plays, you make your way quickly out of the venue.

“im gonna sit in back with her.” you tell rafe as you load jada into the carseat, knowing that if she happens to wake up on the ride home she won’t be happy about leaving the wedding.

“sounds like a plan.” rafe agrees, rounding the car to go to the drivers seat, wanting to get both of you home as quickly as possible.

after you’ve gotten back and unloaded the car (or at least most of it, some can always wait for morning), rafe takes jada to change her into her pajamas while you manage to get yourself out of the mess of ruffles.

“ah, my timing is perfect yet again.” rafe smirks as he walks into the room, just having taken off your bra.

“and definitely no baby to interrupt us this time.” you smile as you flop back onto the bed. with as big of a day as jada had, it’s even likely that she sleeps in tomorrow. 

rafe sets the baby monitor down on the night table anyways, always a little more cautious than you.

“can i say something corny?” you ask as rafe lays down next to you, his eyes moving from your exposed breasts up to your eyes.

“of course.”

“im so glad that when we got married i knew it would just be us. like- i just mean watching my aunt marry and divorce, marry and divorce. knowing that we would just be together.”

“i completely know what you mean.” rafe agrees. when he first told you he loved you, he also admitted you were the first person he's ever loved, that he had to do years of work on himself to get to the point where he even could.

you know about his past only through what he's told you and the little bit of gossip you've heard around the island, having not lived in the outer banks before moving in with your aunt in your early 20s.

“and now look at us.” you smile. “we have jada, this house, and a beautiful family.”

“a beautiful family that…” rafe bats his eyelashes at you, and that's how you know this is something he really wants. “i would love to expand.”

“i-” you can't help but laugh, a big smile stretching over your cheeks. “i already stopped taking my birth control. i was going to talk to you about it tonight.”

rafe can't help but surge forward and kiss you. he should have known that you were already feeling the same, already together in your future plans.

you pull rafe so he's hovering over top of you, your arms moving up and down his toned shoulders and biceps.

“let's get started right now.” you smile up at him.

--

“please.” you whine out, back arching off the bed. “please, rafe, i need it.”

his thumb circles teasingly around your clit again, never hitting it quite right to send you over the edge. 

“mmm, i guess you should cum first.” rafe pumps his hips again, knowing he's not too far from spilling into you himself.

“considering you work so hard growing out little ones.” its funny that rafe has already started to refer to your multiple children, despite jadas sibling being just a thought for now.

“yeah.” you nod. “let me cum.”

rafe finally relents, thumb not just touching your clit but rubbing into you, pulling and pushing on your flesh as your nerves light up, feeling the sensation throughout your whole body as your back aches and you let out a cry, wishing you could keep your eyes open to watch as rafe jaw falls open as he cums into you, but they squeeze shut, stars showing on your eyelids.

“fuck, fuck- y/n.” rafe grunts before whimpering your name, collapsing onto the bed but not before taking you with him, keeping your hips flushed together so you're now laying on top of his, softening cock still inside of you.

“can't pull out yet.” rafe just says, squeezing your ass as you nuzzle into his chest, knowing his mission from now until you're showing is to make sure there's another addition to your family soon.

[myrleius]

confidence boost — azumane a.

azumane a. x fem!reader│word count: 1.9k

synopsis: You just wanted to boost Asahi’s confidence but it all went horribly wrong.

cw/tags: fluff, comedy, established relationship

Despite his towering height and intimidating presence, Asahi is a complete sweetheart.

He’s the kind of the boyfriend who listens intently, remembers the little things, and always makes sure you’re comfortable. Whether it’s offering you his jacket when you’re cold, adjusting his pace so you don’t have to rush to keep up, or waiting patiently for you to finish talking before responding, Asahi does it all without a second thought.

You love him so much and genuinely think he’s an amazing person.

You just wished he could see himself the way you do.

Because despite all the love and warmth he gives, Asahi is riddled with insecurities. When he makes a mistake, he doesn’t just acknowledge it—he fixates on it, lets it weigh him down. When people mock him, he takes their words to heart, even when they don’t deserve to be listened to. He hesitates to ask for help, convinced he’s a burden, as if his needs could ever be an inconvenience.

And it breaks your heart.

Because if anyone deserves to feel confident—deserves to see just how wonderful he is—it’s him.

“Yeah,” you say out loud, as if voicing the thought makes it more real.

“Yeah what?” Asahi asks, mid-bite into his lunch, his expression vaguely concerned.

You lean back in your chair, a slow grin spreading across your face as you lazily intertwine your ankles with his under the table.

“I’m going to give you a confidence boost.”

Asahi pauses, chopsticks hovering in his hand. He blinks at you once. Twice. Then cautiously chews the food already in his mouth, as if bracing for impact. “... Why do I feel like this isn’t going to end well?”

“Wow. Rude,” you say, placing a hand over your chest in mock offense. “I’ll have you know I’m very good at boosting confidence.”

“Yn…” He levels you with a wary look, clearly not convinced. “You once told Tanaka he had ‘super manly energy’ just to see how many push-ups he’d do in front of Shimizu.”

You hum, tilting your head. “And? He did fifty. He felt unstoppable.”

Asahi sighs, giving you a deadpan look. “Yeah. Until Noya jumped in. They turned it into a contest and accidentally pushed Daichi to the floor. Face first. He made them run laps for an hour after.”

“Okay, that was objectively hilarious,” you argue, grinning. “But my point still stands! My methods work.” You poke his arm insistently. “C’mon, Asahi. It’ll be fun. You’ll feel amazing.”

Asahi exhales slowly, rubbing a hand down his face. He already knows he’s lost.

“Yn…” he tries one last time, weakly.

“Nope.” You cut him off cheerfully, clapping your hands together. “We’re doing this, Asahi. Get ready to become the most self-assured man ever.”

Asahi groans, slouching back. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

You beam. “That’s just the self-doubt talking! But don’t worry, we’ll fix that soon.”

And with that, your plan was officially in motion.

After classes, you made a beeline for the stationery store, determination fueling your every step. The moment you stepped inside, you knew exactly what you were looking for. Brightly colored sticky notes in every neon shade imaginable, something impossible to ignore. The paper felt smooth under your fingers as you flipped through the pack, already picturing the messages you’d scribble down for Asahi.

That night, seated at your desk with a pen in hand, you got to work. Each note carried a message of affirmation wrapped in warmth:

‘No one does it better than you, Asahi! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧’

‘Look around and appreciate all the things going right in your life (like me •⩊•)’

‘Slow progress is still progress! ٩(^ᗜ^ )و’

You didn’t stop there. Little doodles framed each note—stars, tiny volleyballs, even a goofy cartoon version of him with his signature bun. And when the time was right, you’d slip them into his bag, tuck them into his textbooks, or press them between the pages of his notebook when he wasn’t looking.

The best part was watching his reaction.

His brows would furrow at first, confusion flickering across his face, before his lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. Sometimes he’d turn to look at you, but you’d always turn away just in time, biting your lip to hold back a laugh.

At first, the notes were pure encouragement. But after a while, you decided to get a little playful.

‘When life gives you lemons, SQUEEZE THEM INTO THE EYES OF YOUR ENEMIES!!’

‘Together, we’re an 11/10, but let’s be real, you’re carrying the extra point ᕙ( •̀ ᗜ •́ )ᕗ’

‘You didn’t wake up to be a little bitch. Go slay, babe!’

Asahi would groan, rolling his eyes, but he never threw them away. If anything, he held onto them longer, even smoothing out the corners after they’d been crumpled in his palm. You knew he loved them.

For two weeks, everything was going perfectly. You could feel the change in him—his shoulders weren’t so tense, his voice a little stronger when he spoke. Your little experiment was working.

And then, it happened.

It started like any other day. Another note, another hiding spot. This time it was in his book. But when Asahi opened it in the middle of class, it slipped from the pages, fluttering to the floor.

Your stomach dropped.

The teacher, already mid-stride, noticed the note before Asahi could react. Bending down, he picked it up, adjusting his glasses.

“As much as I appreciate your enthusiasm for written communication, Azumane, there’s no passing notes in my class,” he announced.

You stiffened and Asahi’s entire body went rigid, his hands gripping the edges of his desk.

“If you’re so eager to share, let me read it aloud.”

No. No, no, no.

You barely had time to brace yourself before the words left his mouth.

“You are a sexy little peach and I’d love to take a bite of that juicy booty.”

Silence. Absolute, suffocating silence.

Your face ignited in flames. Asahi looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, his entire soul leaving his body in real time.

Yeah… you were pretty sure you had just emotionally traumatized your boyfriend.

“... And that's what happened,” Asahi muttured, putting down his cup of beer, ears and cheeks tinged pink.

The table exploded with laughter. Tanaka and Nishinoya nearly fell out of their seats, wheezing as they slapped him on the back.

“I almost forgot about that,” Daichi chuckled, shaking his head.

“Remember when we used to call him ‘Sexy Peach’ for a whole month?” Sugawara added, grinning.

Asahi groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Please for the love of God, stop.”

“But it worked out in the end,” Nishinoya pointed out, pouring Asahi another drink. “Ever since that happened, you stopped being such a wuss.”

Asahi blinked, his hand stilling around the cup.

He hadn’t thought of it like that before.

For years, he had carried his insecurities, convinced that no matter how much time passed, the self-doubt would always be there, whispering that he wasn’t enough.

But somewhere along the way, those doubts had let up. 

It wasn’t because he had suddenly stopped making mistakes or because he had magically become more confident overnight.

It was because he had learned—slowly, painfully, and with far too much embarrassment—that mistakes weren’t the end of the world. That being laughed at didn’t mean he wasn’t loved. That messing up didn’t mean he wasn’t enough.

Back then, if someone had told him he would someday be able to sit here and retell that story without wanting to disappear, he wouldn’t have believed them.

Yet here he was.

Still standing, moving forward. He was still surrounded by the same friends who had teased him mercilessly, sure, but who had also always been there, cheering him on.

And yn.

God, yn.

She had been horrified after the whole thing. He could still remember the way she had chased after him once class was over, face red and soaked in tears, words tumbling out between hiccups like a glitching robot.

“Asahi—I didn’t mean—hic—I just—hic—I swear I wasn’t—sniff—”

And then she just sobbed and Asahi went into full panic mode.

“Yn—Yn, breathe,” he had blurted out, hands hovering awkwardly. “You’re going to pass out at this rate!”

But she wasn’t listening, only wailing into his chest while he stood there, frantically rubbing circles into her back.

And thus, instead of disappearing off the face of the earth like he had planned, Asahi spent the next hour reassuring his very remorseful girlfriend that no, he wasn’t mad, and yes, he still loved her.

But that wasn’t enough for her.

For the next week, she had dedicated herself to earning his forgiveness—buying him drinks, giving him shoulder massages, literally hand-feeding him snacks like some kind of king.

She had even offered to write herself a note to publicly embarrass herself in return, because apparently, “equal emotional damage” was the only fair form of justice.

(He had gently declined that one.)

Still, the truth was, he hadn't even been mad. 

Humiliated? Absolutely. 

But mad? Never. 

Not when she had always seen something in him he hadn’t seen in himself, when she spent all that time sneaking those ridiculous, sticky notes into his things, determined to make him believe in himself.

He wasn’t the same person he had been in high school.

The insecurities were still there, lingering at the edges, but they no longer dictated his life. He had learned to push past them, to embrace the imperfections, and if he ever stumbled, he would always get back up.

Asahi exhaled, shaking his head with a small, fond smile.

“Yeah,” he admitted. "I guess it did."

The group cheered, clinking glasses, still teasing him mercilessly, but Asahi didn't mind. For once, the warmth in his chest overpowered the embarrassment.

Later that night, as he fished his wallet out of his bag, something fluttered onto the floor.

A sticky note.

His breath hitched as he picked it up, already recognizing the familiar handwriting. Even after all these years, even after getting married, yn still found ways to sneak love into the most unexpected moments.

He unfolded the note, his lips curving as he read:

‘Get home safe, okay?? I need my sexy little peach in one piece!! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡’

Asahi groaned, burying his burning face in his hands. But even as he did, he couldn't stop the grin spreading across his lips.

He carefully folded the note and tucked it into his wallet, right next to a tiny stack of others just like it.

God, he loved that woman.

[cherryredstars]

hello cherry this is my first time requesting something :)))) i was wondering if you could do a miguel x reader where y/n and miguel get into a big fight because miguel hasn’t been home / hasn’t been letting the reader know when he isn’t going to be there and after their fight y/n goes out to the club to let off some steam with her friends and it turns out miguel is at the club for a business meeting and he spots her and gets a bit possessive (feel free to add anything else you’d like hehehe that’s what im mainly been thinking about )

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: Possessiveness, Suggestive, Slight Praise, Dom!Miguel Vibes

A/N: Hello, love! I hope you enjoy!

Unedited

You were still fuming when he left.

Your cheeks puffed in agitation, glaring at him from the couch as he walked out the door. Horrible timing if you ask him. One second the two of you are fighting about how he barely has time for you with all these meetings, and the next he’s asking for a rain check because he’ll be late for a business conference. Really helping him out there.

It’s left him annoyed the whole meeting, resisting the urge to bang his head against the table and rub his face until it peels off. In all honesty, he doesn’t really need to be part of this meeting. He’s only here for looks, not even expected to know what the meeting is about or add any input. He could be at home, laying on the couch between your legs as he laps at the liquid gold between your thighs as an apology.

Miguel lets out a heavy sigh, the noise getting lost with the loud music that’s giving him a headache. His eyes wonder from the table of men, turning his head to peer over the railing surrounding the balcony of the VIP section. His eyes scan the mass of people, taking in the writhing mass. At his age, things like clubs have lost their appeal, but he knows this place would be something you would like. You’d love to dance to these songs, too.

Miguel hums to himself, making a mental note to take you here sometime soon. His eyes are about to go back to the meeting when he spots a familiar face in the crowd. Or, multiple faces. His eyes zero in on you, your face turned to talk to your friend behind you. The strobe lights light your face in different neon colors, and he straightens up. His eyes stay on you as you walk through the crowd, a drink in one hand and the other slapped over the top as you walk. Good girl.

Miguel is content to have you have this time with the girls, knowing after fights like this you need something to take your mind off of things. But his eyes stray to a group of men near the bar leering over at your group of friends, one of the sleazy fucks gaining courage to walk towards you. Miguel’s expression sours, and he fixes his suit jacket as he stands up. The group instantly stops talking, focusing on Miguel.

“Where are you going?” One of his coworkers ask, brows furrowing in confusion.

Miguel doesn’t spare him a glance, adjusting the cuffs of his suit. “Bathroom.”

The group continues to watch him, slowly turning back to each other and continuing the conversation. Miguel turns his back to them as he leaves, his eyes sticking to where you and your group stand. He can see the fuck walking towards you, and he grumbles when he realizes he’ll get to you first. Once he descends the stairs, it gets slightly harder to spot you. But it isn’t an impossible task with his abnormal height, and he can still make out the vague area you’re in. The crowd parts easily for his intimidating build, and soon enough he’s a few feet away from you.

As expected the sleaze is already with you, mouth moving way too much as he talks to you. Your brow is furrowed in annoyance, and you glare at the man as he talks. Miguel can’t make out what he’s saying, but he can tell you aren’t interested in his shit. Miguel’s stare hardens when the man leans forward, getting into your personal space and whispers something to you.

Miguel reaches you right as you lift your hand to slap him. Miguel’s front presses into your back, his hands acting fast as one wraps around your wrist and the other around your neck to tilt your head up. Your face shoots up to stare at him, the glare in your eyes softening slightly at the sight of him. Miguel’s thumb strokes the pulse point on your neck, calming you down as he stares at the man in front of you.

“Down girl,” he mumbles to you, slowly lowering your hand so it rests at your side.

You make a sound similar to a scoff, but you don’t resist. Your body melts into him, and you turn to hug him when he lets go of your neck. The man looks between the two of you and scoffs, walking off with an irritated grumble once he realizes he’s not getting lucky with you. Miguel watches him go, his large hand stroking your hair.

Once he’s completely gone you pull away from Miguel. That glare is back on your face, and you cross your arms as you stare at him.

“I’m not some dog.” You sass, tilting your chin up.

Miguel hums. uninterested. His hand comes to grab your cheeks, squeezing them together so your lips pucker. The furrow in your brow grows deeper, and Miguel’s mouth twitches at the corner.

“Of course not, mamí,” he agrees. “But you are a brat.”

You begin to grumble a protest but Miguel pinches your cheeks tighter.

“Ah-“ he cuts you off. “Behave and have fun, yeah? I’ll come get you when my meeting’s done.”

Your lips jut out further with a pout, and your grumble something inaudible before nodding reluctantly. Miguel hums, leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

“Good girl. I’ll be back”

He lets go of your face, pressing a kiss to your forehead before giving you a once over and leaving. You watch him go, trying to ignore the ache between your thighs.

You hate that fucker.

[vagabond-umlaut]

summer collapsed into fall

summary: gojo satoru has no favourite colour. he feels no need nor interest to have one, either. pairing: gojo satoru x reader [unspecified gender] tags: slight undertones of teacher-student relationship BUT there is NO ACTUAL romance between them; can this be called pining? idk; character study like fic of our sweetest satoru *cries* he deserves sm better; fluff but with a mild serving of angst; wc 0.8k notes: fic title inspired by a quote by oscar wilde; fic inspired by this lovely post i saw on pinterest; jjk isn't mine; loosely related to 'you make my heart flutter and fibrillate'; tumblr hates me using dividers hence the new fic format ^_^

satoru doesn't really have a favourite colour.

it's never quite crossed his mind. and even if it has, he has never seen it to be important enough to allow it be anything more than a passing thought, a meaningless thought---it is not like his life will be impeded should he not have a favourite colour, nor is anyone ever going to ask him what it is, so why bother?

but now, as you peer up at him expectantly, having already listed your top five favourite colours and why you love them so, satoru wishes he did bother back then.

he decides to feign confusion.

"what?"

"what what?" you shoot back, eager gaze not wavering one bit, "i just told you my favourite colours; aren't you gonna tell me yours? it's fine even if you have just one, sensei."

but is it fine if he has none?

throwing his watch a quick glance, he turns back to you. then exhales a quiet sigh, tired but the farthest from annoyed, when he sees you're still waiting for his reply... shutting the bus window beside, he turns to lean against it, shifting to face you properly.

and sighs, decidedly noisier this time, "this isn't the type of questions one asks their teacher, y'know? they are too casual, meant more for a friend than for a teacher."

"you got to be the last guy to lecture me about etiquette, sensei," you retort without missing a beat, huffing a quiet, amused laugh.

"and after the time i had to bring you to ieiri-san after you passed out from drinking a bit too much: i guess we're a bit more than a teacher and a student, aren't we, sensei?"

not really... no.

while satoru believes your first point to be a debatable topic, he does not think the two of you are anything but a teacher and a student, no matter how much help you extended to him or will in the future---it's not like he isn't grateful, though. he is; he really, really is---it's just his belief that few acts of kindness do not necessarily cause a friendship between people, and he intends to tell you this very clearly---

but finds he cannot. he simply cannot.

not when you say, still so eager but with an undercurrent so achingly soft that even the strongest wonders if he can handle its weight: "i'm not that bad a friend, y'know---you can ask others if you want; they'll tell you i'm a good friend, not the best but a decent one---"

"why don't you guess what's my favourite colour?"

rude, yes, horribly so. satoru knows, he knows this very, very well. but what can a man do but divert when he's being unsettled by words like the ones you addressed to him, by the tenor you employed for him---

although now that he observes you consider his suggestion, the man wonders if diversion was the right tactic or not.

he could have just lied and told you any random color. he could have chosen to be honest and told you he has no favourite colour like you and probably the rest of the world have.

but no, he doesn't.

satoru does not opt either of the above two painfully simple, painfully easy options. choosing instead to ask you to guess what his favourite colour is... satoru never really anticipates he'll end up being this much more unsettled, thanks to his decision of diversion:

if there was a subtext of a haunting softness in your manners before, the sorcerer reckons it is the text now, typed out in bold letters then underlined and highlighted in neon---you too shift to face him, even moving the bag kept in between to your lap and shifting a bit closer, but still a respectable distance away---only to punctuate your effort with a keen stare, much too gentle, at him.

it's scary, he thinks. yeah, undoubtedly scary. but somewhere in the back of his mind, something says it's also comforting.

many eyes look at satoru throughout the day. they gape, they gawk, they study the man and every small aspect of his person with many different kinds of reasons behind them. but before today, there has never been anyone who has regarded him with this much care, that too for a nonsensical cause like yours...

he wonders, just what are you seeing in him?

just who are you seeing in him?

"it's orange, isn't it?" you exclaim abruptly, leaning a touch forwards with a snap of your pointer and thumb. voice too loud. smile too big. eyes too bright, way too bright---

satoru takes not even one whole second to decide:

he now has one favourite colour.

[avianyuh]

Lecture Notes | Jake Sim

Summary: In which Y/N, a college student, can’t seem to focus in her psychology lecture due to an attractive boy. The culprit? Apparently his name is Jake. 

Word Count; 4.5k

Isn’t it funny how a man can completely derail your priorities? Okay, let me explain myself.

There I was, sitting in my psychology lecture, notebook open, wearing my comfiest sweater and sweatpants. After all, it was a Friday lecture. I was mentally done with the week and already planning out my watchlist of movies for the weekend. And of course, studying, (If I had time…)

What was comical about that Friday, and almost a quarter of the semester's lectures, my notes would start out strong, really organized. I’m talking color coded with six different colors; light blue, peach, neon pink, yellow, pastel green, and a very pretty shade of lavender. Bullet pointed, sectioned by main and sub topics. The whole nine yards. But then, after about a page, the notes would start to look sloppy, then, absolutely nothing. I paid the price on my midterm for the lack of proper note taking by the way. Sorry to Sigmund Freud. Upon first inspection, it would seem like psychology is not my strong suite. But that argument is easily debunked by my last A grade from my last semester's psychology class.

So, what’s the problem? Well, it’s this guy. And in my defense, I see other girls getting distracted by him too! Which I secretly hate, but hey, he’s not my boyfriend. I’ve had one encounter with him, three weeks ago, a Monday to be exact. He sat in front of me and handed me a paper that needed to be passed back. Our fingers touched and I noticed how calloused they had felt. Call me a loser, but I sat there for the rest of the lecture hypothesizing why his fingers felt so rough. Yet again, I completely fault myself for doing so badly on that midterm.

His name is Jake. The reason I know his name is because I heard the professor call him by his name a few times. All I really know about him is that he comes into class routinely late. In the beginning of the semester, he would come in 5 minutes late. At first the professor took notice and called him out, but after the second week, he for some reason seemed to look the other way and Jake started showing up 10 minutes late, which has become the norm. He tip-toes to wherever his friend is sitting, high-fiving him and slinking down in his seat. But, I’ll give him credit, once he actually makes it to class, he takes a lot of notes, occasionally volunteering an answer or question. I don’t know what it is about him. Maybe his voice? It’s really calming, he’s pretty soft-spoken. Plus, the fact that he has an accent, my guess would be Australian? But I don’t know that many people with accents so maybe he’s English? I’ll probably never know…Or maybe it’s his eyes that make him so attractive? He has these kind, brown eyes. To me, he’s just intriguing. I know nothing about him other than the fact that his time management skills are horrible and he has a large group of friends. I see him around on campus a lot. A swarm of people follow him around, always laughing. I also can’t help but notice the rotation of girls that seem to be on his arm every other week. They always look so happy with him. Usually the girl is walking with him, staring at him adoringly, but he’s always looking straight ahead. I never understood that.

And not too long after I see him with one girl, there’s a new one doing the exact same thing. Right after I had that passing the paper back encounter with him, I saw him walking on campus with this girl. Like I said, normally, he’s looking straight ahead, but this particular time, he looked right at me as we passed each other. I quickly averted my gaze away from him, internally screaming all the way back to my dorm room.

One time I went to a party with a friend of mine. She made me go, and said it would be fun. What a liar… So I get there, the dorm room is packed, barely any room to move around. The room was decorated with LED lights that were all red, I swear it looked like a rave or something. Turns out, I have claustrophobia by the way. I felt like I couldn’t breathe due to the lack of personal space. I saw Jake there, which in hindsight wasn’t very surprising because it seemed like my whole campus was trying to fit into that dorm room and hallway. I sat in the corner with my friend who 20 minutes into the party was also starting to come down with a case of party-goer's remorse. I watched from that stool in the corner as he danced with his date. How they made out against the wall. I even watched when he stumbled to the cooler to get another drink, obviously drunk. Then I saw him wander back over to her, and accidently spill his drink all over her blouse. The people in the surrounding area all went Oooooo, and the girl gasped. Stomping her foot, she yelled out, “What the fuck Jake?! You did that on purpose!” Then she shoved him. Now, in her defense, I could see that he was trying to conceal his laughter as he handed out some half-assed apology. She stormed out of the party, leaving him and his friends in hysterics. “Babe, I’m sorry, but accidents happen.” Jake threw his hands up defensively as his friends laughed at her. That next Monday in class I didn’t even notice that he had snuck in. And for a few days, I honestly thought I was over my little infatuation with Jake. I choked it up to him being an attractive douchebag.

But remember, I said I thought I got over my infatuation. And here I am. Sitting in class, empty seat to my right. The person who usually sat there, a guy with a buzzcut who always came in with a cup of coffee from the coffee cart outside and his giant water bottle, was seemingly missing. Overall, a quiet guy. The few times I had spoken to him had been pleasant. Just a few basic, ‘Hey's' and ‘Nice weather, right?’ or even a ‘Nervous about the exam?’.

15 minutes into my lecture. It was a rainy day. I already mentioned my lecture attire, my sweater, a tan colored cozy knit one and my black sweatpants. My notes were organized and I was actually pretty invested in the topic today. Everything was going well, but I couldn’t wait to be done for the day and back in my bed. After all, it was cold and dark outside. But then, the sound of the door creaking open, the gust of wind that came along with it hitting me and making me shiver. I didn’t even have to look up to know who it was. I could hear his footsteps, searching for wherever his friend was sitting. But this time, the footsteps started to sound more frantic. I could hear him pacing, but I refused to look in his direction. After all, I was supposed to be focused on my professor, not him. And I saw first hand how much of an inconsiderate jerk he could be at that party. He wasn’t worth the distraction and another week of incomplete lecture notes. Then the footsteps started to get closer. Going from a distant tapping sound to almost a persistent stomp.

And that’s when I felt a tap on my shoulder. “Um, excuse me?” That familiar voice, just a whisper, was now in my ear. “Is anyone sitting here?” I looked up at him, taking note of his beautiful smile as I nodded my head yes to his question. His closed lip smile transformed into a full toothed one, “Thanks!” he said enthusiastically. I quickly looked back down at my notebook, scribbling down what was on the board. I suddenly felt hyperconscious of my breathing. How loud or erratic it may have sounded to the insanely attractive Australian next to me. I wondered if he could hear me swallowing. And I prayed that my stomach wouldn’t make any noise for the rest of the class, considering I felt myself becoming hungry. I tried to be as quiet as possible. Also trying to make sure that my elbow didn’t accidentally touch his. A few minutes later, I felt him nudge my arm. At first I didn’t look because I thought it was a mistake. “Excuse me?”, he whispered again. I turned my head to face him, looking over expectantly as I waited for him to continue asking his question “Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you, but would you mind if I looked at your notes? I know I should have gotten here sooner… I get it though if you don’t want to share…” he rambled. I held up my hand up in front of his face, stopping him from whispering.

“Sure, I don’t mind.” I shrugged as I moved my notebook closer to him.

“Thank you so much!” he exclaimed as he started to copy them down.

“No problem.” I replied. Well, there goes another week of half-complete notes, I thought to myself as I tried to refocus my attention back on the professor. By the end of the lecture, Jake had taken down all my notes and I had missed the second half of the lecture. As I started to pack up my things and head out, Jake did the same. Normally he rushes right out and has a group of people waiting for him outside of the lecture hall. Today, he was lingering. And then just as I was zipping up my bag, he cleared his throat. I looked up at him and he stared back at me, looking like he wanted to say something.

“I just wanted to say thank you again for letting me copy the notes down. You have great note taking skills, not to mention, really nice handwriting.” He complimented me, that same warm smile on his face. I couldn’t understand how someone could appear to be so kind, yet come off as so inconsiderate of other people. Nonetheless, I couldn’t help but admit that I was flattered by the compliment.

“Oh, thank you. I actually always thought my handwriting was sloppy.” I responded back. Throwing my bag over my shoulder and pushing my chair in. I stared out the window, noticing the light rain had now turned into a heavy downpour. I groaned as I laid my bag back on the table, unzipping it and pulling out my jacket and umbrella. Jake looked at me in confusion upon hearing me groan, before peeking past my shoulder and letting out an understanding ‘Ah’ before doing the same as me. We stood in silence as we both put on our jackets. I made the first move to leave, though he was closest to the aisle. He made no attempt to move as I tried to maneuver around him.

He stopped me again, speaking up, “I feel kind of bad. You missed out on taking notes for the second half of the lecture because of me.” He continued, moving out of my way. “Do you have any other classes today?” he questioned. I pursed my lips together as I tried to figure out a response to his first statement and more importantly, what he was trying to imply with the question regarding my schedule.

“Well, first of all, it’s okay, I was paying attention so I’ll probably just go home and try to write whatever I remember down. But to answer your question, no I don’t have any other classes today.” I decided to be truthful with him, as I assumed he was just asking me to be nice for letting him copy my notes.

“So you were going back to your dorm after this?” He raised his eyebrow. I let out an awkward laugh.

“Um, yeah, it’s a torrential downpour out there, my hiking plans have been ruined for the rest of the day.” I responded sarcastically. To my snarky response, his warm smile now morphed into a devilish grin.

“Instead of sitting inside all night, why don’t I buy you a coffee and give you the rest of the notes” Jake proposed. To that question, I gave him a puzzled look.

“But you didn’t get the rest of the notes either?” I responded back, confused.

“Yeah, but the professor keeps a copy of the lecture notes in that desk over there. And luckily for you, I know how to pick locks.” He bragged, pulling something pointy out of his pocket as he started to make his way down the steps towards the professor's desk.

“Wait, doesn’t he take his lesson plan with him?” I called out after him, looking around the two exits nervously, expecting someone to come in and catch Jake breaking into the professor’s locked drawer.

“Not on Fridays. You’d be surprised how many of the professors leave things out in plain sight.” He explained as he bent down so he was eye level with the drawer. He pulled out a lock pick and got to work. His eyes focused intently on the drawer.

“But this isn’t out in plain sight, you’re literally picking his lock…” You tried to rationalize.

“So…Who cares, he already taught it. It’s not like we’re cheating. We’re just going to get the notes and I’ll sneak back in and put it back before Monday morning. I do it all the time.” He got silent for a minute before he jumped up. “Aha!” and with that, the drawer was open. He pulled out the lecture plan, before he grabbed your hand with his free one and started running up the stairs. I tried to keep up with him, your head spinning by how weird your seemingly calm Friday had become. “Grab your bag. You know the coffee shop across from this building right?” He asked. I squinted my eyes before nodding as I threw my bag over my shoulder. “By the way…What’s your name?” Jake titled his head at you, waiting for a response.

“I’m Y/N.” I responded back, extended out my hand for a handshake. He smiled at me, making my heart sort of melt, before placing his hand in mine.

“Jake.” He said, and you pretended to act like you learning his name was a recent development.

“Nice to meet you, Jake”. I grinned as we both made your way out of the huge lecture doors. What was supposed to be a boring Friday just turned into one of the most surprising days of my life. By the time we made it to the coffee shop, fighting our way through the rain, and fully situated in the back of the coffee shop 10 minutes later, you pondered if all this really was going to amount to was a study date?You wondered if he had his next girl of the week yet? Or worse, what if you’d end up being his next temporary fix? You ended up telling yourself that you wouldn’t know how this would all pan out unless you gave him a chance. Part of you wanted to abandon whatever this was with Jake to go back to your dorm. A place where you didn’t feel self conscious in front of hot guys. The other part of you was really tempted to stay and try and see if there was more to him other than a cute accent, a rebellious streak and inviting eyes. I watched him closely, his back turned to face the counter as he placed the two orders. I noticed a friend of his had snuck up behind him, patting him on the back as they greeted each other. They were murmuring something to each other and I decided to look away before he caught me. I looked down at my phone as a way to look busy, but readjusted myself in the seat so I could get a small glimpse of Jake and his friend through my peripheral. All I could tell was that the conversation was light hearted, I heard something about an exam, a party over the weekend and then I heard his friend ask if he was at the coffee shop alone…To which I could see Jake out of the corner of my eye turn towards me. But they got kind of quiet as I assumed he was saying something about to his friend. I pretended to keep scrolling through my phone, even though I really had nothing to do on there. I texted my friend, who had hopefully finished all of her classes for the day. But to be honest, she was quite unreliable since she took a long time to respond to text messages. However this time after sending a quick, Hey, she surprisingly responded back almost instantly.

Hey! Done with all your classes?, she wrote.

Yeah. Going to go home pretty soon., I texted back.

Oh, you’re not home now? I was going to ask if you wanted to watch a movie? I have snaaacks… Now I’ll be frank, that offer did sound tempting.

I want to but I’m at the coffee shop trying to get some notes from this guy for my psychology class. It’s a long story. You explained.

WHO?! Anyone we know?, she questioned.

That guy Jake who I thought was cute…, I typed back.

Girl no! He’s such an asshole, remember that party?-

But before I could read the rest of her message, Jake appeared in front of me, setting down my coffee and sliding into the seat across from me. He gave me that beaming smile of his I had seen quite a lot of today. “Sorry, that took so long. I don’t know if you saw but that was my friend Jay.” He explained as he waved at his friend who was now on his way out of the coffee shop.

“Oh, no problem, the longer I sit here, hopefully the rain slows down and it’ll make the walk back to my dorm easier. But you didn’t take that long so don’t apologize.” I reassured Jake as he nodded understandingly. Jake stared at me for a minute, before opening and then closing his mouth, hesitant to speak. “What?”, I questioned, grinning at him. His eyes went wide, as he tried to conceal his smile. “No seriously? You looked like you were going to say something!”, I teased him, waving your hand for him to continue.

“No, it’s stupid.” he said under his breath. I hummed in response.

“Almost everything is stupid. Plus, I don’t judge.” I lied. The truth is, I can be pretty judgmental. Hey, I thought I had written Jake off as a douchebag, and I still wasn’t completely comfortable letting my guard down in front of him just yet.

“I don’t know, I just wish we had spoken to each other sooner. I’ve seen you around campus a few times and I knew we had a class together. But I never sat near you or anything pther than a few weeks ago...” He explained, avoiding eye contact with you. I took a sip of my coffee as I listened to Jake intently. “Plus, I know most people probably already formed their opinions of me…” He concluded.

“What do you mean?” I questioned, furrowing my eyebrows at him. He sighed and leaned back in his chair.

“Well, I come in late almost every class. And I know that’s fully on me. But I’m sure you’ve noticed?” he looked up at you hesitantly. I nodded my head in agreement and he groaned. You chuckled before trying to make him feel better.

“The professor doesn’t seem to care, so maybe it’s not a big deal? If it really bothered him, you probably would’ve been kicked out of the class.” I rationalized.

“He did want to kick me out of the class. Apparently my Dad made a phone call, they know each other from college. I got an angry call from him, telling me I was an embarrassment to the family, that I wouldn’t amount to anything, needed to get my act together, blah, blah, blah.” Jake’s voice got deeper, no, more frustrated as he looked as if he was thinking back to that said phone call. You leaned your arms on the table as you listened to him.

"Well…can I ask you a question if you promise to not get mad?” I tilted my head at him. He took a sip of his coffee as he hummed in response. “Why exactly do you come to class late?” He put down his coffee as he sighed again.

“Honestly? My other class is a business law one. It’s on the other side of the campus. One time I just skipped it, which was why I was on time for psychology. I explained it to my advisor and my father, but I can’t drop it because I need the credits. Whoever designed this campus was an idiot in my opinion.” He stated as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“That actually makes a lot of sense. I assumed that you just didn’t care enough to show up on time. But you always seemed interested because you’d ask a lot of questions so I was always kind of confused by the whole showing up late thing.” I explained as Jake kept his eyes on me. “Second question…how the hell did you get into the habit of picking locks to get the lecture plan.” I giggled, covering my mouth as he himself started to laugh.

“It was actually back in freshman year. I had been one of the last people in the room with a professor on a Friday. I noticed that she had left the lesson plan in her drawer. I needed a few more notes so I went down after she left the room and picked the lock. That was something I learned to do back when I was a kid. But all I did was copy what I needed and I put it back, I swear.” He explained, throwing his hands up defensively.

“Hey, I believe you. And if I didn’t say it before, I’m really thankful that you wanted to help me with the notes. You didn’t have to…” I responded.

“No, after all you did, it was only right. And now look, we got to know each other. I’m having a good time with you.” He confessed, fidgeting with his coffee cup. I mimicked his movements, starting to feel a little antsy. I toyed with the idea of laying out everything I was feeling about Jake with him. I was feeling unsure if he was truly just going to give me the notes and that would be it. I wondered if he just saw me as a potential friend. And of course, maybe he was into me, but I had no desire to date him for a week and then have to go the rest of college seeing a guy who dumped me around campus for two more years. But I guess I made the decision easy, because before I knew it, I was involuntarily blurting out all of my intrusive thoughts.

“Okay, I just have to ask now. I want to be transparent with you. I was aware of you before we officially met today. I also saw you around campus a lot. Is this simply just an exchange of notes and nothing more? It’s okay if that’s what this is, I mean, I get it. Or is this just you trying to be my friend? That’s fine too.” I halted my speech for a second, looking into his eyes. Now he was the one motioning for me to continue. His expression was more so on the serious side now as he waited to hear me out. “Or, um, are you interested in me? Oh god…” I hid my face in my hands as I mentally slapped myself for saying something that sounded so self absorbed. “I feel like an idiot. You probably have a girlfriend already, I always see you around campus with a different girl.” I decided I didn’t really need the notes after all. After all, what was another mediocre test grade? At least the first half of the notes were written down for the week, right? I stood up quickly, reaching for my coat and quickly throwing a few dollars on the table, a repayment for the coffee, though he hadn’t asked me to pay him back.

Jake quickly stood up, grabbing my hand, stopping me from reaching for my coat. “Wait, wait, wait. You didn’t even let me answer” He laughed lightheartedly as he tried to persuade you to sit back down. “I didn’t realize I was sending out so many mixed signals. I thought when I said that whole thing about seeing you around and wanting to talk to you, I made myself clear…” He rambled. But I was still confused by what he meant. And by the look on his face, he could tell you were still confused. “To be straight forward, yes. I sort of had the intention of asking you out. I like you.” I couldn’t help but feel my heart flutter upon hearing that. Then he continued, “I like how sarcastic you can be. And I really find how honest you are attractive, not to mention I think you’re gorgeous.” I hid my face again, but this time, he murmured no and raised your chin up so that you were looking right at him. “I thought this would be a great way to continue talking. I didn’t want to ask you out earlier because I didn’t want you to say no since we spent most of class just sitting, not really talking.” Jake explained. “And for the record, not all of those girls were people I was going out with. I went out with two different girls between freshman year and now. The rest have all been friends.”

I thought back to that party. The girl he was with who he spilled the drink on. I assumed the girl from the party was most likely his ex-girlfriend. Though I was still curious, I didn’t want to pry. At first you didn’t know how to respond to him. Overall, you were ecstatic on the inside. “I’m willing to go on an actual date with you. But preferably, not when it's thundering and down pouring.” I joked as I turned my head toward the huge coffee shop window.

“I agree.” Jake responded, laughing. “But, how about we wait the storm out here and I’ll walk you back to your dorm later?” You both looked at each other, smiling. You couldn’t help the blush that was now creeping up on your cheeks.

"After the notes though! That’s how this all started…” I said as we both pulled out our notebooks. Two hours later, another coffee, two sandwiches and a 10 minute walk to my dorm, I had a date scheduled for tomorrow night, exchanged phone numbers and a long story to tell my friend. And to think it was all thanks to notes…

[amphibianshaped]

hi i love your work! i wanted to know how you go from grey scale to color? i want to try it myself

yes yes ofc!! im a commercial illustrator so i have a very specific process for speed/efficiency and to also make it easier to revise if need be so the process isn't very "fun" (fun for me is like mixing paint and applying it slowly lmao) but it is how i do it lol. this is gonna get long so beware!

so my usual process for digital work is always b&w shapes > color > finalize. i use something called 'select color range' (photoshop)/'select color gamut' (clip studio paint) plus tons of layers w different blending modes to get the colors i want. this works in procreate/krita/any other program as well so long as there are layers/blending modes! also, even if there isnt select color range, this process can still work, just the clean up afterwards will take longer. how you use select color range/gamut is like this: you pull it up and it will give you a eyedropper tool with a little window. for CSP it looks like this. you can select a color on your canvas and the program will isolate/marquee all the colors that match/are close to the one you selected. you can change the "error margin of color" to include a higher range of colors/values or a lower range. 1 being very specific (it will only isolate the color you selected) and higher numbers being very broad (for example, if you put 20 and select a red, almost all reds and maybe even some oranges/yellows that are the same value will get selected)

so because of this, another thing is that i tend to only work with a round hard brush with no anti-aliasing which makes it incredibly easy to select entire chunks of value and paint bucket it without the horrible grey-halo. in PS i dont believe there is this option but can be mimicked via the dissolve brush (but PS tends to have better color tech so it's not a huge issue)

OKAY SO im using this crop of an old vash piece as an example. i did this in like 5 minutes (goes to show how quick it can be!!)

i tend to always make sure my piece in BW is somewhat developed and clean. usually all lighting/value/comp/drawing problems should be solved so that once u get to color u can just focus on making it look nice lol. the level of development/refinement is honestly up to you, but i find that w this method, the more refined the better

usually i start with a base color on overlay. i try to think abt the overall warmth/hue of the image and select a base color based on that. so like if i want a super warm yellow sunset ill prob choose a neutral yellow. if i want a crazy neon green night scene may go for a neutral green/blue tone.

i would kinda recommend that u have an idea of how the color scheme is gonna be or else u are gonna be in indecision hell and sliding the hue sliders around for hours... but also fuck it who cares we ball

select color range - so here i start selecting entire groups of values and depositing color down. with simple images like this its pretty straight forward, but with more complicated images (like ones with bg, multiple light sources, etc) usually i start with the shadows en masse, and then the lights en masse, and then will start getting more into individual objects. if u dont have this function you can also just paint directly on with the pen or pencil brush

i also abuse the hue/saturation slider lol. this way i can kinda get the exact color i want depending on the blending mode (i use them all. literally. i use overlay the most but my fav is subtract and darken lmao) i literally just do this with all the values on the canvas or until im like. happy with it lol i tend to paint bucket everything but if i need like very specific areas and the marquee has selected areas i DONT want i just mouse/pen it in

after doing all that you can start to like tint/change color with like entire layers of overlay or anything! color balance or anything! (i used a dark purple subtract to tint everything a bit more green, and then put down a pure white on normal on the BG)

i will say tho that this process is not perfect, and sometimes i will have to go back in and repaint/recolor certain areas to make it look better, but i use this method really just to quickly apply color to the entire image, and then make the adjustments i need later. anyway i hope this was informative in some way LMAO hope it makes sense and that you can find a way to maybe use it for ur own work :D

[rachelsfav-queer]

Snoods

Wednesday silently snuck past the yellow police tape, careful not to let the bright, neon color touch her skin as she entered the now twice abandoned mansion. The last time she was here… she shuddered just thinking of that horrible night. It was certainly the worst birthday ever and not in the exciting way.

Shaking off the unpleasant thoughts, Wednesday continued into the mansion, entering the same way as before.

Everything was different inside and yet exactly the same, but she wasn’t here to explore or sightsee. She was here to grab something that never should’ve been lost. The raven went straight for the stairs down to the basement and soon enough… she found it. And it… broke her cold, black heart in ways she hasn’t felt in so long.

Shredded black fabric laid across the cold and dusty floor and Wednesday dropped to her knees to pick up all the pieces, tears flowing from her eyes unbidden as she tried to hold back her sobbing. Wednesday held the tattered fabric to her chest as she cried for who knows how long, just kneeling in this abandoned house that has taken so much from her, now taken one more thing from her.

Suddenly… “Wednesday?” A voice rang out throughout the house, traveling down the stairs like the echo of lost memories.

“Wednesday! Wednesday, why are you out here again? I swear, if this is another stupid- Wednesday?! Oh my gosh, Wednesday! Are you okay? Why are you crying? What happened? Are you- hurt… oh… Oh, Wednesday,” Enid’s voice softened impossibly as she noticed her girlfriend clutching the torn snood she had made for her all those years ago.

Enid quickly wrapped the seer up in her arms, holding her carefully, but oh so tightly, just how she knows the girl loves and as she does, the dam breaks and Wednesday lets out an absolutely heart-shattering sob as she curls up into Enid’s embrace.

Endless apologies would be spewing from Wednesday’s mouth if she weren’t crying so hard that any words were just completely incoherent. Enid shushed her gently and comfortingly rubbed her back and her head.

The werewolf waited out the worst of the storm, letting her girlfriend have a very overdue and much needed cry session that would hopefully wash out most of the emotional gunk that had definitely built up inside the poor raven since the day her pet scorpion died and she had sworn off tears and emotions altogether. It was necessary, Enid knew, despite how painful it was for her to hear the smaller girl sounding so entirely broken down and defeated.

Once Wednesday’s tears had slowed and all that was left was small little sniffles and hiccups, Enid pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes and spoke, “Feeling a little better? Yeah, I’m sure you are, that was probably a literal decade in the making. Don’t worry, baby, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

Wednesday hiccuped as she looked down at the torn snood in her arms, “It’s ruined…”

Enid simply smiled softly, “It’s okay. I’m very sure I can fix it, it’ll be good as new. But… I don’t think this was all just about the snood, was it?”

The raven shook her head as she looked away sadly. Formulating how to word it all, she was interrupted before she could even speak. “Hey, Wednesday? You don’t have to talk about it, if you’re not ready for it. Take your time, okay? Besides, we should probably get out of this creepy ass house before we get caught down here or something. Principal Weems will have a total fit if she finds out we were out here again.”

Enid’s bright optimism and enthusiasm always managed to sweep away all the pain and darkness inside Wednesday in a way that she just couldn’t fathom was real. Nonetheless, she nodded in agreement and the two girls stood up and walked out of the mansion together, this time holding hands while Wednesday held her snood tightly in her other arm.

It wasn’t okay yet, but it would be, in due time. Enid was right, it just takes time. And it’s okay to not be okay all the time. As long as they had each other.

(Day 29, Prompt 29 of Wenclair-Tober. Sorry this is so late lol. I took melatonin last night and it always makes me sleep in super late lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this one! Yes, it takes place in S2 time, whenever that exactly is. Weems is alive because I said so! Just remember, everyone, it’s okay to not be okay. Take care of yourselves and be patient with yourselves. Much love, Rachel ❤️)

[summerlovingbaby]

the dog days are over

the dog days are over

Y/N barley contained her tears by the time she made it out of the library, hoping the Slytherins were too busy laughing to follow. She could normally take their insults on the chin, grin and bear it or ignore it. She knew better than to believe their vile insults, she could handle their intense cruelty, but sometimes, it got to her. More often than she cared to admit she left interactions with them feeling slightly shattered. 

She felt guilty, for feeling bad. In the grand scheme of things she knew what she was experiencing was relatively  minor. All three of her boyfriends had it worse than she did, and were so much stronger. Remus Lupin dealt with bullying on a nearly daily basis, his whole existence was hated by greater wizard society, and took most insults bravely on the chin. Sirius spent his childhood being  beaten into submission, every act of imprefetcion was to be strictly punished. He still had the scars from his childhood. James took his own fair share of volit\ilty from the Slyherins, for the simple act of daring to speak to ‘mudbloods’, as far as most were concerned he was a blood traitor, and most of the Slytherins made it well known exactly how much he was hated. 

If they could face such adversity with a brave face, then she should be expected to as well, the fact that she was falling apart after such a minor indescreaion. She felt horribly pathetic. She witnessed Snape insulting Lupin, and he didn’t even flinch, and she couldn’t handle some minor name calling. 

She made it down the corridor before she burst into tears. She clamped a hand over her mouth to keep her cries from echoing down the corridor. The last thing she needed was to draw unnecessary attention to herslef. She already had sludge dripping down her back and her hair was changing into various neon colors. 

She ducked into a forgotten broom closet to gather herself, assuming the Slytherins had maintained their laughs enough to follow her. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing their words got to her. She wasn’t going to let them now how deep she could feel their cuts. She sank to the floor, muttered a cleaning spell and tucked herself into her knees to sulk.

She lost track of time, and stayed tucked away until after dinner. She watched her watch tick past 7 and hoped nobody would come looking for her until morning. She still smelled like sludge and the thought of walking through the hallway and all the way to Gryfindoor tower made her nearly sick. Her roommate Lilly would cover for her if McGonogall did bed checks.

She was just growing comfortable with the idea of spending the night on cobblestone floor when she heard the sound of the door creaking open.

“ Blimey, Y/N where have you been?” James asked exasperated.

“ You know you missed dinner?” Remus clucked.

“ And it’s past curfew!” Sirius scolded.

She tried to make a brave face, but only looked at them a moment before she burst into tears. The boys looked at eachother vaguely confused at Y/N’s sudden outburst.

“ Godric, Y/N, were not mad just worried,” James said, he shrugged off the invisibility cloak and stepped closer to Y/N.

“ Honey what’s the matter?” Remus asked, his voice strangely soft.

“ Nothing,” she choked out. It wasn’t very believable, Sirius lifted his eyebrow in disbelief, before sinking down to the floor next to her.

“ Honey?” Sirius asked. 

“ M’fine,” she said again, through  a broken wheeze.

“ I think we would be more inclined to believe you if you weren’t crying,” James said softly, sinking down next to Remus.

She turned away from the boys. James soft brown eyes melted away all her resolve and made her quiver. She knew better than to try to lie to Remus, he seemed to be a mind reader. Able to decipher the smallest quiver in her cheek, able to see in her features any sense of impropriety. 

“ How long have you been crying baby?” Sirius asked.

All three of them were sitting across from her. Remus looked various degrees of concerned, while James looked worried. Sirius was staring at her with such a look of confused bewilderment that Y/N wanted to melt into the floor.

“ Just a few... hours,” she admitted.

“ Hours?” Sirius exclaimed. “ Baby what happened?”

“ Nothing,” she said again. She couldn’t fall apart in front of them, she hadn’t earned that right. Not when their lives were so full of tribulations that they could handle just fine on their own.

“ Well it’s not nothing if you’ve been crying for hours. I mean we haven’t seen you since fucking lunch.” James said.

Y/N let herself sniff wetly, and used the back of her hand to wipe her nose, thankful she had the foresight to get rid of the sludge that was in her hair. She was still sure that she smelled like raw sewage.

“ Some of the Slytherins were teasing me, it’s no big deal,” she admitted.

“ Oh?” Remus said with a lifted brow.

“ Nothing serious, just calling me names and flinging a couple of harmless curses at me,” she shrugged. “It just got to me this time is all.”

“ Well it’s serious if its making you hide in the closet,” Sirius said.

“ I just felt a little bad,” she admitted. She sniffed. 

Remus pulled a pocket square from his shirt and mopped the teras from her face.

“ You’re allowed to feel bad, hon,” James said quietly.

“ Its kind of stupid that I’m falling apart over something so small, he just called me a few names I really should get over it,” she shrugged and use the back of her hand to wipe away her tears and sniffed the snot back ingto her nose. She wished she taken up smoking lie Remus and Sirius so she could steady herself, imstad she dug her hands into fists, digging her nails into the center of her palm.

“ You can feel all your feelings,” James repeated, “ you just don’t have to be by yourself when you do it!”

“ Baby we were worried about you,” Sirius added.

“ Sorry,” she said. “ I just needed some time to figure out some things, I just felt like I was in the dog house.”

James leaned froward, and Sirus lifted a brow with curiosity. “ Doghouse?” James asked.

“ Its a muggle saying,” Remus explained. “ Y’know when dogs get in trouble so they go outside in the doghouse to suffer alone. Y’know like people having dog days?”

“ What the hell is a ‘dog day’? James asked.

“ Dog days are the hottest days in summer when its too miserable to do anything,” Remus explained, there were still a few catch phrases that Sirus and James wouldn’t get because they didn’t grow up in the muggle world.

“ Well your dog days are over.” James said, poking Y/N in the cheek. She snorted out a laugh.

[unholyhelbig]

Keep the kate angst coming pls

Title: Firecrest (Part 4/???)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Summary: Kate Bishop and y/n have an unspoken agreement that revolves around being enemies with benefits. But when Kate's new mentor is someone Y/n is very familiar with, things become complicated.

Warnings: Bad parenting, panic attacks, possible arson, descriptions of fire, fight scenes, blood, angst, and horrible grammar (I don't proofread)

[A/n: All of my Kate Bishop stories have a tendancy to flop, but this one is for you, six loyal readers, I love you!]

Bobbi Morse refused to release her hold on the duffle bag. It was comically pink but covered in different drawings that bled into the nylon as if the item had been wounded. You hated the color, despised it, really, but defacing it with sharpie markers seemed to settle your discontent.

Her other hand gripped her daughters shoulder with her usual confidence and you knew better than to pull away from her. The woman in front of you was only a head taller than you, her face pockmarked with zits of different pustules of width. When she smiled, her lips made an uncomfortable noise against her braces.

“Miss Morse, I promise you, Y/n will have a fantastic, safe, time.”

They were playing tug-of-war with the bag now. It was subtle enough that no one else would notice. But of course, Eleanor Bishop was always the first in the room to notice subtle. She materialized out of a Rolls-Royce that had a strange purple tint to it in the mountain sun.

“Oh, Bobbi, you have to relax.” The woman gabbed your mother in the side. If anyone else had ever tried that, they’d lose a hand or possibly a heart. “You think I would really send Katherine to Target Trails if it were dangerous? These are trained professionals.”

That seemed to relax Bobbi’s shoulders by half an inch. Your mother was not worried about safety. She had ensured that you knew how to take care of yourself from a young age, much younger than the counselor in front of you now.

The idea of leaving you in the middle of the forest wasn’t a problem either. You had survival skills, you could make a home for yourself out here in the wilderness and wander back to civilization on your own in time for school to start in the fall.

Bobbi trusted you. What she didn’t’ trust, was your powers. You had become less reactive over the years, relied on therapeutic techniques to control the fire that festered just below your fingertips. But there were moments, sporadic ones, where the heat got away from you and you were too groggy to chase it.

“Jessica, dear. Can you make sure that Katherine and Y/n are in the same bunk?”

“Mrs. Bishop, the assignments have been set for weeks, I can’t just-“ a crisp hundred dollar bill was slid across her neon clipboard. Her eyes widened, narrowed, but she snatched it up all the same. “Would you look at that? We just had a bed open up in the bullseye cabin.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Bobbi was suddenly relinquishing her hold on your bag to cup both of your shoulders. At fifteen, you were nearly her height. She made a point never to bend down to speak to you. It was demeaning, and you both knew it. She addressed you like an adult in these moments.

“Okay, sweetie, remember what doctor Garner said.”

It wasn’t a question. Your coping mechanisms were drilled into your mind, tattooed against the softness of your brain. You were supposed to name five things in the room you could touch, five you could see, five you could hear, and five you could smell. By the time you’d puzzled it out, you had reached to the end of that ever-familiar heat.

There were other tools; an imaginary box to put your worries in, a safe-space that was fire retardant. But there were almost always moments you feared that nothing would work. That you’d torch a place and add more names to your ledger of misuse.

“I love you, firefly.” Bobbi kissed between your eyebrows and gave your shoulders an extra squeeze. “Send a smoke signal if you need me.”

She smiled jokingly before loading back into her jeep and expertly pulling from the gravel drive. She kicked up white dust behind her that tasted like the salt of the earth when you inhaled. Jessica smelled like sunscreen and sweat, and you stepped to the side before she had a chance to touch you in a nurturing way.

“Right, let’s get you to your bunk.”

There were four other girls in Bullseye, including Kate; America Chavez, who had somehow already found a stick to carve with a pocket-knife that should have been confiscated upon entry. Cassie Lang, a small blonde that had already claimed the top bunk. And Gwen Poole, a girl who would have loved your pink bag before you destroyed it, the tips of her hair dyed the offensive color.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s good to see you too, Katie.”

“Okay!” Jessica clapped her hands together, “Y/n, I’ll leave you to get settled. Dinner is at six and there is a mandatory campfire afterwards.”

She seemed to sense the tension and left fast enough not to get hit with the sticky screen door. She took the cabin steps two at a time and kicked up a trail of dirt much like Bobbi had. Kate had claimed the bottom bunk on your side of the cabin, leaving you with the rickety top.

“I hope you’ve curved that nasty bed-wetting habit of yours.” She said, just loud enough for the whole cabin to hear.

“Hope you packed an umbrella.”

Kate turned as white as a sheet and clutched her pillow to her chest. She could never tell if you were being serious or not. Of course, you weren’t. You’d never wet the bed. Setting it ablaze on the other hand? That wasn’t so far out of the realm of possibility.

“You take that back,”

A wolfish grin moved across your face before you pulled yourself up onto the scratchy green blanket. The springs creaked as if they’d been used for years. You were suddenly exhausted and made no move to remove your boots, or unpack the duffle shoved to the side.

“Do you two know each other?” America asked, shirking a long strip of birch onto her own bed. She was sitting cross legged, getting it as sharp as she possibly could. You had a feeling you would gravitate towards her throughout the summer. “Or is this some weird attempt at flirting?”

You sat up fast enough to make your head spin, “Our parents run in the same circles. We’re obliged to be in each-others presence at least 75% of the year.”

“Obliged? Try forced” She scoffed, scowling at you. “You don’t even like archery.”

“I like being better at it than you.”

“You’re not.”

“They’re totally flirting.” Gwen whispered to Cassie, who gave an exaggerated nod, barely stifling her blinding grin with the stuffed bear she’d brought along to suffer with the rest of them.

Most of that summer had passed by in a blur. You really didn’t like archery. Your aim was there, but your form was lacking. Kate ticked all the boxes and had even split an arrow straight down the middle on the second day of camp, much to your dismay.

The two of you mostly stayed out of one another’s way, on opposite schedules by design. You’d grown impossibly close with Gwen and America, the three of you none too enthusiastic about the sport that Target Trails boasted about. You were much too interested in the lake, and spent most of your time out there.

A week and a half before the end of summer, and you had let your guard down. You would never admit this, but you were actually having fun and participating. Gwen had begged you to attend a movie night at the fire pits, and you had agreed with the promise of sickly sweet marshmallows.

The two of you were huddled up under a blanket, biting through the late-night mountain chill. You hadn’t been paying attention to the content that would be shown, nor to anything other than the slow-moving bag of puffed deliciousness that was making its way towards you.

“We have a real treat for you tonight, campers. We’ve got first hand access to the new Hawkeye documentary! It’s not releasing until this November, but he loves what we do here at Target Trails and gave us an exclusive.”

A wash of numbness fell over you, appetite suddenly gone. You were frowning, you knew, at the documentary as it played on a hung white sheet, strung up between two evergreens. Your fingers curled around the edge of the blanket.

Gwen nudged you with the bag of marshmallows, but you shook your head, too engrossed in the picture on the screen. Seeing him as a hero, you could handle. He’d been on the news, and you’d caught glimpses before Bobbi shut it off. But this was different. This was about his life.

He sat at his kitchen table with his family. A baby cradled in his arms and a woman with kind eyes at his side. There was a girl around the same age as you in the other chair, pushing yellow eggs around her plate and doing her best to ignore the camera. A daughter.

“Lila, don’t be rude, say hi to the nice film crew.”

Clint was joking, and the frame was shaky, but she gave a small wave and dazzling smile regardless. The thought was bitter; what made her different from you?

You didn’t realize that your breath had quickened and you’d wigged out of the fleece blanket that you shared. Gwen looked at you with worry, but you had the stamina to hold it together until you could maneuver around other campers to the darkness of the surrounding woods.

Far enough to stifle your sob in the side of your hand and fall to the damp forest floor. The pain that ripped through you was unbearable, and you naively dug your fingers into the dirt to see if it would extinguish the building flames.

The pressure licked at your throat and pressed down your spine like a metal rod. It hurt to hold it in, to let warm tears soak through the glowing embers that had taken over your irises. You were doing so well. You were pretending almost too well, to be normal.

Arms were around you in an instant, but you were too far gone to push them away. Instead, you folded into the embrace. It was cold compared to your body-heat, the scent of artificial wintergreen rivaled the real thing. It was Kate. You knew from the strong grip of her hands and the gentle soothing words that you couldn’t process.

A growl had escaped you, and when you peered up at her, the orange glow of your eyes shaded her features. There was no moon tonight. They flickered like a lantern used as a beacon. Kate drew in a sharp breath, but didn’t’ push.

“You need to breathe for me, y/n.” She said instead, letting you clutch onto her camp shirt and stain it with dirt. You were in her lap like an insolent child, but you would combust if she let you go. As if on instinct, she held you tighter. “Four in, six out, come on.”

You tried to follow instructions, but the pain started to roll in waves. The rolling in your stomach felt like you were about to vomit up magma. Kate was panicked, you could see the beautiful gray of her stare flicker with worry. Your hands were getting hotter.

“Fuck it,” She hissed.

Kate leaned down with fervor and pressed her lips against yours. It was not graceful, her teeth hit your own with a dull clack and her hand was gripping your collar to hold you up. Her nose was cold, and her chest heaved up and down with anxiety. It was much too clumsy, and it was glorious.

Eventually, you sucked in a deep breath and used your heels to scramble away from her, back hitting the hard bark of a tree. She had a dazed, glassy stare that still seemed to seep with worry. The worst of it was over, and you were suddenly exhausted.

Your stare didn’t glow like engine coal and your skin had returned to it’s normal pigment. You were breathing normal, almost greedy for the tinny taste of it. “What the hell, Kate?”

“Me what the hell?” She whispered harshly, “You what the hell! I was preventing a forest fire.”

“You’re not smokey the mother-fucking-bear.”  

It was harsh, you should be thanking her, but you wanted to get as far away from the archer as possible. You clambered to your feet and started to head towards civilization. You needed to get to the payphone. Screw the last few weeks of camp. That was too close of a call.

Kate didn’t’ let you get far. Her fingers wrapped around your wrist and she held you in place with an impressive amount of strength for a girl her size. “I don’t understand a lot about what happened just now. That’s not important. I don’t get why you’re so mad.”

“Because,” The first word was easy, the rest got stuck in your throat. You tore your hand away and she let you. “You… stole my first kiss.”

Her features softened for a moment before she narrowed her eyes in what you could only describe as discontent. There was plenty to thank Kate Bishop for, and plenty more that you had to explain to her. Instead, you were hung up on this. And why wouldn’t you be?

You’d been saving it. You’d expertly dodged Tommy Maximoff at a game of spin the bottle just last week. And before that, you’d gone to see a movie with Teddy Altman who seemed as worried about grabbing your hand with his sweaty one as you were. None of it felt right, and the two of you both breathed a sigh of relief when the credits rolled.

She kicked dejectedly at the dirt. “You took mine too, you know? You were freaking out and I saw it in a movie. It worked. Didn’t it?”

You blinked at her in surprise. Kate bragged on multiple occasions that she and Eli Bradley, a kid that was way too into ROTC, had made out behind the bleachers. It made sense now, why the two of you had done your awkward little dance on the forest floor.

“Thank you,” You settled, working shaking hands through disheveled hair, suddenly feeling even. “For doing that, I mean. It could have been really bad.”

 An obscure pop song crackled through the overhead speakers in the grocery store. The lights buzzed under the melody, uncomfortable and neon in their flickering annoyance. You hadn’t been able to sleep, which wasn’t a surprise, so you took advantage of the low traffic to stock up on essentials.

Bread, milk, and dry pasta. Your diet wasn’t the best, but it filled you up and the staples still maintained an easy enough price for you to justify your purchases. The basket hung from your arm, slowly filling with off-brand items.

You were busy stocking up on bandages and antiseptic when you felt an odd crawling feeling up the back of your neck. You were being watched. Your movements stilled for half a second before you continued with your task, senses becoming overwhelmed with an expensive floral scent.

“Miss Morse, strange running into you here.”

Yes, it was strange. You didn’t know that Eleanor Bishop did her own grocery shopping, and judging by the single orange in her cart, you weren’t sure she had actually decided to do so now. There was a sheepish smile on her face. She had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed.

“Relax, sweetie.” She squeezed your upper arm. “You don’t have to be so guarded. I just wanted to extend an invitation to dinner this Friday. It’s a formal event, just a chance to get to know my daughters partner a little better.”

The air suddenly felt thick. You still hadn’t produced a comprehensive sentence and now you opened and closed your mouth like a goldfish that had hopped from it’s bowl. She had a thin smile on her face that failed to hide her true rage.

“I’ll even extend the invitation to your father.”

Finally, you found your voice. “I’m sure Lance would appreciate the thought, but he’ll, uh, be out of town until next Monday I’m afraid.”

“No, no. Not Lance, silly. Clint.”

Your grip tightened on the box of bandages. It made a sad noise under your crushing fingers. Eleanor’s unwavering gaze flicked down and then back up, hardly phased by your knee-jerk reaction. You were flushed with an odd type of calmness.

Five things you can touch: The rough fabric of your jacket. The metal handle of the basket. The obnoxious blue plastic at it’s end. The crumpled box of bandages.

“How do you know about that?”

“Well, dear, people talk.”

Five things you can see: The venom in Eleanor Bishops eyes. A single fly trapped in the light fixture above. A bored clerk that pushed packs of gum around the counter. The puke-colored floor tiles under your feet. The line of green vitamin bottles just below your shoulder.

“That won’t be a problem, will it? I’ve heard through the grapevine that you and Katherine are getting quite serious. It’s only customary to meet the parents. I know Bobbi so well, but Clint is all anyone can talk about these days. We’d love to get to know him better.”

Five things you can hear: The pitiful last cries of the trapped fly. The squeak of a cart that was three aisles over. The dull hum of the frozen section across the store. Eleanor Bishop’s even, calculated, breaths. An obscure rock-song blaring from the clerks’ headphones.

“Y/n?” She prodded, lifting a sculpted eyebrow.

“That… that uh,”

Five things you can smell: Your own sweat, quickly slicking your back. The musky floral perfume that Eleanor Bishop bathed in. The sharp edge of antiseptic contained by plastic bottles. The faux citrus scent of floor cleaner. The beginning of bile climbing your throat.

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Bishop.” You schooled your features into something you hoped was calm. “I’ll be there.”

She clapped her hands once, a moment of success. You were absolutely drenched in sweat with a heat that even the frozen section couldn’t cure. She went to pat you on the shoulder but thought better of it, before leaving her cart with the singular orange behind.

Shopping was the furthest thing from your mind at this point. Any semblance of productivity was morphed into shock, and then scathing anger. You set your own basket down and turned to rush from the grocery store, entirely overwhelmed in the area you’d just used to steady yourself.

The change in temperature between the store and city streets was minimal. You could feel your breath speed up, your fingers start to tingle. You had to get out of here, so you started to run. Kate’s usual haunts as a hero weren’t too far, and even if they were, you were positive that you could sprint to them.

People became scarce on the sidewalks, a humid mist coated your skin. White fairy lights adorned every other tree, and then none at all. There was a darkness, chain link fences and a dog that lunged on a short lead. The streets were empty, and your chest began to ache.

You stopped in the center of the street, shouting out “Hawkeye!”

It wasn’t certain which one you would summon. You tightened your fists, clenching your eyes shut as you tried to control your breathing. You hadn’t had a panic attack like this in years, high school, to be exact. The turmoil kept building. The memories you’d shoved down boiled up.

“Hawkeye!” You shouted again, letting the orange flames engulf your fingertips, cracking against skin. “Come out or I start torching everything!”

An overreaction? Perhaps. But part of you, a very small part, was tired of playing the hero when all of the cards were stacked against you. What was stopping you from being a villain? You had your nemesis in both archers for different reasons, and a formidable villain you would be.

It would be easy to let go of the control you’d worked so hard to build. Fires were uncontrollable, they were dangerous and deadly. There was no problem setting them. It was controlling the blaze once it’d been ignited that could bring absolute destruction.

“Five!” You called out, your boots on the ground the only noise. “Four!”

You spotted a trail of gasoline leaking form the bottom of an old Camaro that was propped up on cinderblocks, all four tires being ripped from the frame. Perfect. It was clearly abandoned, and far enough away from the brownstones to be a real risk. An attention grabber.

“Three!”

You were feeling heady now. A wash of dizziness had replaced the panic as your emotions were simmering down. You knelt, the sharp scent of gasoline filling your senses. Even the smallest touch would ignite the vehicle in a wash of flames.

“Two!”

Still, nothing. The quiet was eerie. Much like crickets and frogs in the country, the city relied on it’s staple noises. There was never silence, but it fell heavy on your shoulders now. You could cut your losses, raise to your feet, and walk away. But walking away never got you anywhere. Walking away was too much like your father.

The sharp sound of an arrow being pulled back pulled you from your thoughts. “Not another move.”

Kate was bluffing. You could see the uncertainty and fear in her eyes. Of course, you were positive that you were harboring the same thing. You weren’t obedient in this moment. The sight of her in her black tactical suit, marred in purple, was captivating. Infuriating all the same.

A rush of hot air pooled at your palms as you righted yourself. They’d gotten stronger, hotter. Blue licked harmlessly at your skin now. You clenched your jaw and lilted your head to the side. In this moment, despite the intoxicated hold she had on you, you wanted to fight her. Wound her as she’d wounded you.

“Do it. Shoot.” You called her bluff. Her aim was slipping. “Or we could put all of our flashy toys away and have it out like adults.”

She made no move to lower her weapon. “We can talk this out. Just step away from the car.”

“This car? God, she’s a beauty. It’s such a shame that it was put to waste like this.”

“Y/n,” She warned in a muted growl. “I will shoot.”

This time, you believed her. Any slack in her stance had tightened like she were on puppet strings. She aimed directly at your chest. Hawkeyes never aimed to kill, but they would. Kate would, if she was pushed far enough.

You lifted both of your hands up in a half surrender, letting the flames extinguish themselves. You’d shown so much restraint. So much leniency for an unfair situation that plagued the both of you. Kate lowered her arrow, the metal tip pointed at the ground before she placed it back in the quiver entirely, sensing the danger dissolving.

When she glanced up and closed the distance between the two of you, your breath hitched. There was insurmountable anger in her eyes. In a quick movement, she slapped you with an open palm, hard enough to make you taste metal, but not hard enough to cause a ringing in your ears.

Kate hissed “that was fucking stupid of you.”

Your head was turned to the side, the harsh sting throbbing in tune to your heartbeat. You pulled in a humid breath and let it out within the same sentence. It had been stupid of you, nearly starting another fire that could very easily get out of control. You’d never admit that to Kate.

In a swift move, you grabbed Kate’s arm, twisting it until she let out a yelp and fell clumsily to one knee. You stopped shy of breaking anything. “No, it was fucking stupid to tell your mother about Clint.”

Kate’s fist hit your stomach with a cheap shot. It was still effective, knocking the breath right out of your lungs. By the strap of her quiver, you dragged her back to her feet and slammed her against the side of the car.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re the only one that knows, Kate!” You snarled “Your mother invited me to a family dinner with him.”

Your knee was in between hers, she was panting, strands of hair falling into her slate stare. There was a smear of dark blood against the corner of her lip. You hadn’t put it there, and though she was pinned under you right now, you wanted to destroy the person who had done that to her.

Fist-fights were predictable for you and Kate. The first time she landed a punch was at her 9th birthday party. You don’t remember how the quarrel started, it was that trivial. It was a pool party with an inflatable slide that might as well be a boxing ring.

There was hair pulling and you remember Lance wrapping his arms around you while Derek Bishop wrestled to pull a feral Kate to the other side of the yellow slide. After fifteen minutes, the two of you were sitting at the edge of the pool digging into chocolate cake.

“Y/n, have you ever considered that other people heard the conversation we had at the benefit?” She sighed, letting her head thump softly against the side of the car. “My mother has ears and eyes everywhere. I didn’t even tell her we were dating. I would never do that to you.”

She shoved you off, and you went slack, allowing her to. You were close enough to a catering table that it was plausible. Kate sounded broken, and it filled you with a deep guilt that you weren’t quite prepared for. You had been so certain.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck.” She bumped into your shoulder as she walked past you. You turned, tracking her with your eyes. “After all these years, do you really think that little of me?”

“No, Kate I...”

She looked at you expectantly. Sadness rimmed her stare. All of your previous anger had melted away. There was nothing there but a deep dread. You never wanted to hurt her. You hung your head like a kicked dog, feeling a lump form in your throat.

“We’ll do the dinner. Keep playing the part. But after that, it’s done. I don’t owe you anything.”

“You don’t.”

Your voice was tight, chest suddenly painful. She used the edge of her thumb to wipe at the wound on the edge of her lip that you’d reopened. She swiped her tongue over it for good measure.

You were crying.

But she respected you just enough not to say anything.

Tag List💕: @noturlondonboy, @slvtformaria, @pianogirl2121

[0nlyhere4phil]

Rating All of The Howlters New Outfits (except the randomized ones)

Some of you actually asked for this, so here's my review of the Howlters new outfits!

Starting with Dils Formal:

I honestly don't know how to feel about this. It's just not Dil. It doesn't go with his nerdy dad vibe at all. It makes him look older, it doesn't fit him right, and the color is really weird. If they had gone with the blue and some different shoes I think I would have liked it more, but since they didn't put much effort into it it's just bad. Objectively it's an okay suit, but for Dil it just doesn't work. So yeah overall just a no 4/10.

Next His Sleepwear:

Why did they like this so much? What is actually wrong with them? If it was just the pants and the slippers it would have been fine, but the pants, the slippers, AND socks...it's just too much. No no no bad. 2/10.

Next His Party Wear:

What are they doing to him?? Who is this? I'm kind of just staring at this not knowing what to say, because I think if, minus that UGLY HAT, this was on a different and younger sim it would look okay. This looks like Dil is going through a midlife crisis. I like that the shoes match the shirt, thats nice, and I like the overall color pallet, BUT NOT ON DIL! So I'm weirdly torn, but since this look is on Dil I don't like it. Again it's not that bad but on Dil it's just horrible 4.5/10. I hate that fucking hat.

Next His Swimwear:

You don't get how relieved I am that they didn't put him in a fucking speedo. I like this a lot. This looks like a father, which is perfect for Dil. It's cute, it's simple, and I like the colors they chose. 9/10

Next His Hot Weather:

Meh. They didn't change much, they just made it worse. I prefered the original because I feel like the green looked better. Also wearing slippers on a hot day sounds absolutely HORRIBLE! 3/10

Next His Cold Weather:

I absolutely LOVE THIS! It's so fun! Dil in the horrible 80s dad aesthetic works perfectly! It's still nerdy as well! I feel like this is perfect. If they had made his whole wardrobe this over the top ugly neon nerdy look I would have loved it! 10/10

That's it for Dil. To say I'm disappointed is an understatement. I feel like they should have gone for nerdy Dad than whatever the hell they actually did. Next up is Tabitha.

Tabitha's Everyday:

This is just an upgraded version of her original outfit. I like the new hair color, though I wish they looked through different hairstyles cause the one they chose is not giving what it needed to give. I LOVE her new tattoo, I think it's fun that they gave her it. I also do like the shoes matching the hair. This is cute! 8.5/10

Next Her Formal:

I like the dress, but the outfit looks unfinished. They should have changed her makeup into something more dramatic to match the dress, and they also should have put some bracelets and necklaces on her. They did good on picking the main part of the outfit now they need to go back and finish it. 6/10 (I couldn't get a good screenshot with the tattoo sorry)

Next Her Sleepwear:

Slay queen. I love this honestly. I like how lavender has become her color. The sunglasses are iconic. The only thing I hate is SOCKS WITH SLIPPERS! THAT LOOKS LIKE IT FEELS HORRIBLE! Other than the sock and slipper combo this eats. 9.5/10

Next Her Party:

I beg your pardon? What is THIS and WHY was Dan so obsessed with it? This is horrible. I'm glad they remembered that necklaces and nails exist but I'm upset they exist on this monstrosity. Nothing about this goes together. THIS. IS. THEIR. WORST. LOOK. 1/10.

Next Her Swimwear:

It's kind of a mess but I kind of love it. I feel like it suits this new Tabitha. I don't have much to say other than it strangely works. 7/10.

Next Her Hot Weather:

Fuck right off. Daniel you know NOTHING about goths. This is horrible. This poor woman is going to feel so sticky and sweaty, and it wont even be worth it because this outfit is trash. Just no. 1.5/10.

Next Her Cold Weather:

I really like this. I love how throughout the outfit pink pops up, and I like that it makes sense for the category it's in. Good job Dan and Phil 9/10

That's it for Tabitha! For the most part her new outfits aren't bad. I like that they (unintentionally) gave her a pastel goth sort of vibe, I like that she does look like a streamer now, and I think the new tattoo is really cool. I will never forgive them for her party wear though. Moving on to Dalien.

Daliens Everyday:

This is fine. I wish the pants were the skinny jeans because those were more emo, and I wish he had black eyeliner. Overall it's not bad, but I prefer the original. Also they should have stuck with the purple highlights instead of changing them to red. 7.5/10

Next His Sportswear:

Ew ew ew. This is rancid. The hoodie makes him look bald, and I despise the ripped socks they gave him. I actually like the shorts though they remind me of something Phil would have had back in 2010, but even then working out in those shorts sounds like a nightmare. Other than the shorts this whole look is a wreck. 1.5/10

Next His Party Wear:

The outfit itself is okay but this is NOT Dalien. This looks like Dalien stole from a skater boy. They had the opportunity to go absolutely insane with this outfit. They could have given him crazy black makeup, a sheer shirt, some fishnets, and platforms, but instead they did this. It's lazy. It's not emo or goth or whatever they want him to be. 4/10

Next His Swimwear:

Jesus Christ. NO. Just NO. 1.5/10

Next His Hot Weather:

Why didn't they give him FISHNETS? Why did they choose those grandpa socks??? Why is EVERYTHING GREY BUT THE DRESS?? I think the idea of Dalien wearing a dress is cunty, but not like this. I feel like he would be a long skirt kind of guy. Also the cuff like glove things in the summer sounds horrible. 4.5/10.

Next His Cold Weather:

Again this is just a no. Nothing about this is emo or goth or whatever they want him to be. I like the jacket and the boots a lot; if they had put Dalien in some skinny jeans and removed that fucking hat this would have been okay. I mean this in a derogatory way, this is something Dan would wear. 5.5/10

That's it for Dalien. Overall it's just not good. Most of it makes no sense, and they also should have given him black eyeliner.

In conclusion, they really did the Howlters dirty. This is probably the ugliest dressed family I've ever seen. None of these outfits gave what they needed to give. Also this family is a sensory NIGHTMARE!

I hope whoever is reading this enjoyed this or atleast agrees with some of my points. Have a wonderful rest of your day, evening, or morning.

[scekrex]

Hey could you by chance do an Adam x reader who dies their hair all the time? Like one month they have blue hair, the next it's pink, then black, then red, and there's no real way to tell what color is next besides maybe a "I think people with *insert hair color here* look super cool", thanks and have an amazing day/night!

I fucking got you, as someone who used to dye his hair every 4-6 weeks, I feel reader's vibe

Pretty Boy Swag

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

“Adam,” you called out for your boyfriend from the bathroom. It only took him a few seconds to open the door and lean against the door frame, his arms were crossed over his chest and the look in his eyes was critical. Even though he was very much enjoying the view of you sitting there only dressed in boxer shorts in order not to mess up any clothes.

In annoyance he sighed, “What color this time?” Like don't get him wrong, he didn't mind that you dyed your hair regularly, he thought it was fucking badass, but he didn't like helping you because no matter how careful he was, he would always get that fucking hair dye on his skin and it would take days to fade. Your lips curled into a playful smirk as you put on your gloves and squirted some dye onto your plastic covered palm. “First bleaching, then purple,” you replied. Adam's eyes flickered up to look at the faded neon green that your hair currently was and decided that purple sounded like a fucking great upgrade. “Alright, gimme the gloves,” he continued to act all annoyed as he stepped closer. The brunette stopped behind you and took the gloves you held up to him. Once his hands were safe, he took the bottle with bleach inside from you. Bleach was fine, it burned a little in his eyes and it smelled absolutely horrible, but bleach didn't stain his hands for days so he could live with that. As long as none of it got onto his or your wings, that was.

The bit of bleach that you had squeezed onto your hand you roughly applied, only for Adam to bat your hand away, “You want me to help so you're gonna sit fucking still and let me do my fucking thing.” He would never admit that he secretly enjoyed your little hair dying sessions. It was relaxing, really. “So why purple?” the first man hummed as he made sure the bleach covered every inch of your hair. “Y’know, because extermination is in a couple days and your battle robe is mainly purple so,” you shrugged as you watched Adam through the mirror in front of you, “So you thought it would be a nice fucking match, huh?” he finished for you. “Damn right. Whatcha think?”

Adam thought about it for a moment, “Do you have golden dye?” You raised an eyebrow at that, curious on what his plans were. “Yeah, in the back of the cabinet is a bit of leftover gold, why?” Adam however, completely ignored your question and continued to cover your hair in bleach silently.

Once he was done the two of you decided to order food and something while the bleach was working its magic. A thing Adam didn't calculate was that the food would take some time to arrive so when it did, it was already time to wash out the chemicals. So instead of immediately eating, you two went back into the bathroom to finish your job.

“So you gonna tell me what you need that for? I asked for purple, not gold,” you were about to complain but Adam pushed you down on your shoulders until you were sitting on the chair you had placed there before you had started to mix the bleach. “Split dye babes, if you wanna match colors, we're gonna do it fucking right.” You liked the way he thought. So he used the golden hair dye on the left and the purple on the right side. Once the color was applied, the two of you finally got to eat.

“Remind me to let you pick my hair color every now ‘n’ then, big guy, because fuck you have taste,” you mumbled with a mouth full of sushi and a shit eating grin on your lips. “Did you ever doubt that?” his voice was playful as he raised an eyebrow at you, a silent challenge. “Maybe, I mean gold and purple? C’mon, that's clearly a you-thing.” If he could, he would've tackled you and wrestled you down onto the floor, pinning you down. But he couldn't because that would cause a fucking mess, not only on the floor but also on your head. So he didn't.

-

Well at least until you had washed it out, because the second you had turned off the sink, he wrapped his hands around your waist, lifted you up just to carry you on his shoulders like a large bag of potatoes. “The fuck?” you squeaked in surprise as Adam carried you out of the bathroom and right into your bedroom. “Adam my hair's still fucking wet!” Not that he cared. He dropped you onto the soft mattress and leaned over you within a blink and for a tiny moment you felt dizzy by how quick he had moved. “Shush bitchboy, you look absolutely fucking glorious and I take that as my sign to fuck you stupid.”

[autism-swagger]

Okay wait actually here's a (non-exhaustive) compilation of Daisy being a closeted fashion disaster:

It's really only noticeable in season 1, because after that she just starts wearing all black for pretty much the rest of the entire show, but once you start noticing it you literally can't stop.

Plaid vest. So painfully 2013. And I'm saying this as someone who had a plaid vest circa 2013, that I wore everywhere. It was fleece.

This fuckass neon pink dress that she wore to a cocktail party. This is not a cocktail party dress. This is the dress you wear to nervously sing a song in your local community theater talent show. Featuring a single gold cuff, and THEEEE chunkiest ring you will ever see in your entire life. Girl please color coordinate your jewelry.

Denim button up with plaid sleeves. She couldn't wear one of her beloved vests so she just decided to mimic the look.

Tshirt where literally only the sleeves are mesh. What's going on there. Does that not defeat the purpose of sleeves. And also what material is the rest of the shirt made of? Cotton? Because I feel like that would feel weird in conjunction with mesh. Please I need to know. This is such a deeply baffling shirt to me.

...you know that saying, about how if you don't have anything nice to say, you shouldn't say anything at all?

And my personal favorite, the leather vest with detachable sleeves.

Objectively (joke. mostly.) horrible articles of clothing. Yet somehow she manages to pull them off so well you don't even really question them. That one tiktok audio that's like. He got that shit on though!

[urundeaduncle]

The Mirror

Description: Milo, a 36 yo tiefling warlock, describes a strange mirror inside his home

There is a mirror inside my home. It used to be my fathers and now it’s mine. It sits there, flush against the wall, looking down on me while it rotates through the length of my misdeeds. 

Sometimes I stand at the edge of the corridor in fear. As if  this piece of glass somehow controls my movements. I wait, until a less significant transgression is being projected; a lie I told as a child, fights spurred on by drunkenness. Then I shuffle uncomfortably down the way, averting my eyes until I reach the kitchen. 

From there I can still hear it, which would seem to be the worst part, but I learned to block that out when I was a child. My sister and I would take turns covering each other’s ears until one day we didn’t need the help. 

My father had implemented the thing as a sort of cautionary aid. If he was willing to put his worst moments on display, as he described it, then we should have no issue doing the same. It made us careful at the best of times, and rotten with shame at the worst.

It wasn’t until I was older that I uncovered the truth about the thing. My sister and I grew up with all of our sins on dispose and never once questioned why our mother or father hadn’t shown up inside the frame. When you’re a child, your parents are like gods. They depict what is good and wrong and even when they act out of turn you find ways to justify it. I thought my parents were perfect and so did everyone else.

A family of high sorcerers and we never dared to question that he might use that same power to deceive us. I think we were so wrought with guilt we imagined the mirror could hear our thoughts too. So we never spoke of the idea, my sister and I. Even if we were both thinking the same thing. 

Tonight it is on the usual loop; lying, thieving, kicking, casting, and then lying again. I never gave up the act, even when I knew it would be documented; even after he was gone.

I stood at the end of the hallway watching as the colors projected on the other wall morphed with each depiction; red and orange hues dancing beside each other and then an explosion of neon green. It filled the hallway, stretching its viridescent limbs into every corner, even pouring a bit into the kitchen.

I always know that it’s coming, this memory. Even from upstairs, some nights I lay with a pit in my stomach waiting for the flash of emerald to pry its ugly fingers beneath my door. Tonight was no different, apart from my stance; only a couple feet away from the mirror and its position. My heart pounded in my chest, and my body flushed with shame. The kind of feeling you get when you’re about to vomit. Chills covered my arms, and my mouth was suddenly hot and slick with saliva. 

“I WISH YOU WOULD JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!” 

The words were flung from my mouth like a bark mingled with a scream. I could feel the distinct warmth as tear began streaming down my face. I wanted to scream again but I didn’t. My knees just crumbled beneath me, and horrified, I found myself in the exact position as my previous self was sitting within the mirror. I was folded over with my hands sheltering my face, only this time they weren’t tacky with blood. 

I cried and the mirror cried back at me, filling my house with a horrible symphony of past and present anguish. 

I stayed like that for some time, wailing occasionally, and lifting my fingers to watch the verdant light weave through them. I didn’t look at the mirror until the glow began the fade. 

The frame showed me crumpled over my knees in the middle of the family study, dull flickers of eldritch energy dancing on my finger tips. I looked like a candle drowning in its own wax, like I’d burned too hot suddenly or for far too long. 

My head was slumped unnaturally close to my chest and my arms lay lifeless next to my sides; palms up, facing the ceiling.

The room is dark, nearly devoid of light, apart from the green embers still sizzling in certain areas. 

Just out of frame is my father.

I can see his torso and his legs and the viscera that’s holding them loosely together. The large gash in his stomach is singed around the edges, glowing like a twigs in an emerald bonfire. 

I remember the smell, metallic like wet rust, and immediately lunge forward vomiting. My throat burns from the acidity and when I try to call out for him, only a hoarse groan falls out. It echoes up into the ceiling joining the sobs from earlier, hanging itself among them like a colony of bats in the rafters of my home.

I fell asleep in the hallway that night and woke up to the same green shadow hovering over me. I crawled to the kitchen where I prepared a cup of draught tea. I closed my eyes, taking full breathes as I allow it to take over. 

Before I fall asleep I have a vision of my father, the same one as always. 

He sits across the table from me and I tell him I’m sorry. He doesn’t say anything but nods back, as a large snake coils itself around his stomach. I know what all of it means but I don’t have time to think on it before I’m out.

I have a mirror in my house. It used to be my fathers and now its mine. I’ve tried to get rid of it, but I know even it was gone these feelings would never leave me.

[ask-the-command-post-war]

Megatron: I do not see why this stupid blog thing needs to be orange.

Skywarp: yeah, purple is a far better color!

Starscream: fair, when compared to orange, but I prefer blue.

Skywarp: simp.

Starscream: stfu skywarp you ass kisser.

Optimus: That’s enough, we can negotiate colors like normal people. I just thought the warm orange would be nice, and not so assaulting on the humans optics.

Megatron: assaulting? Please, like orange isn’t more assaulting of a color.

Optimus: that’s why I chose a softer orange. And I know you’re not overly fond of softer, lighter, more lavender shades of purple.

Megatron: better than orange.

Hot Rod: can you stop, it’s just a color, leave it be. and if I have to be included can it please not be all orange, or red and yellow as well. It’s like…

Optimus: of course, sweetspark. I’ll change the accent to a lavender that doesn’t horribly clash to look tacky against the orange.

Hot Rod: thank you. I’m muting now to go back to sleep.

Optimus: you’re welcome, love. If you come into the living room, I can make you something to eat before you do.

Hot Rod: okay.

Megatron: that was fast, considering how stubborn you were being.

Optimus: I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it because I want to make it easier for him.

Elita: you didn’t convince slag into us. It’s for Hot Rod.

Jazz: hey hey hey, you three. There’s no need to be picking a fight over the color of the blog, alright. It could be worse. A lot worse. Like, highlighter neon yellow and hot pink worse.

Soundwave: that sounds horrible. I think I’ll take the soft orange and lavender over that.

Prowl: the idea alone is overwhelming my visual senses.

Silverclaw: i like purple. :)

Astralwave: I think both colors are good. I prefer red though. ¯\_(•–•)_/¯

Bluestreak: eh. Lavender is nice, and I’ve gotten pretty used to orange.

Bluestreak: but aren’t we supposed to do a proper introduction for the blog?

Jazz: we’ll put introductory paragraphs in a pinned post, don’t worry kiddo.

Bluestreak: I’m twenty-four.

Jazz: my baby. <3

Prowl: doing it in a pinned post does sound the most sensible. I’ve never ran a blog before, though, so I wouldn’t know.

Jazz: Don’t worry, Soundy and I can manage it. Right, Sounders?

Soundwave: Refrain from ‘Soundy’. I only allow my conjux that nickname. But yes, we can.

Jazz: cool, cool.

Elita: I still don’t get what this is for.

Starscream: me neither.

Jazz: it’s so the humans and others can ask us questions freely, as the war has ended. And we can answer them!

Starscream: would it not be easier to simply write out an article full of answers to FAQs to serve as a PSA?

Elita: he has a point: isn’t that easier?

Jazz: yeah, but what about all the niche questions, and that’s not as fun. We get to actually interact with them, rather than just feigning for a parasocial relationship.

Elita: and we want to interact with them further, why?

Starscream: grand point. id think they hate us. It’s a lot like superhero movies: we think that it’d be awesome to have superheroes, but we would all hate them because last Saturday you watched one pick up your car, throw it at the dude, and fucking miss, and there’s your car totaled, and would the insurance even cover that? “Superman threw my car at a bad guy so it got totaled”?

Jazz: some of them like us! And want to ask us questions! Let’s just give it a try, yeah?

Starscream: …alright.

Elita: so you and Soundwave are mainly managing this, and we sometimes answer questions. Because they have niche questions that we can’t answer in an faq article.

Jazz: yeah! You’ve got it.

Megatron: this is ridiculous. We need to answer to the likes of humans, just because?

Skywarp: I don’t mind. Seems fun enough.

Silverclaw: okay sounds fun :)

Astralwave: alright then.

Jazz: alrighty! Let’s hop into it! Start sending asks, everyone! ^^

[an0thergl1tch]

Here are some sanderssides outfit headcanons because I’m gay :

Remus : Definetly had a pair of the Brendan Urie are you nasty booty shorts at some point in time. When alone this bitch either dresses like a emo slut, a toddler who decided to dress themselves for the day, a punk anarchist, or Adam Sandler, there is no in between. Janus has to convince him to put on pants when guests come over. “Who says I can’t wear converses with my dress.” Janus has to stop him from spontaneously cutting his hair or giving himself piercings so has a BUNCH of fake ones. Spends 10 minutes taking off all of his accessories. Puts in funky contacts to be edgy. Never throws old clothes out and thinks it looks punk despite there being very obviously not intentional large holes in them. Either extremely over or under dressed, If there’s a dress code, it’s ignored. Constantly wearing platforms. Definitely has tried to give himself a scar on his face because he thought it would look kickass, he no longer has access to knives. Randomly does sfx makeup to freak people the fuck out.

Janus : So much vintage wear. Definetly has a pin striped suit somewhere in his closet, dosent wear it because Virgil calls him the cat from Tom n jerry. Definetly has tea parties in renissance era dresses. Probably has one of those dramatic 60s newly widowed housewife robes that he wears while lounging with a glass of wine. Probably wore one of those androgynous suit dresses to Thomas’s prom, Roman was pissed because he looked better than him. Extremely overdressed, would wear red to a funeral. So many fucking hats, need I say more. Beauty is pain, there is no functionality, he can’t walk in half his outfits. Wears a lot of layers but actually has the excuse of being cold blooded.

Virgil : Oh so many bracelets, who gave him access to so many bracelets. Spends a solid 2 hours teasing his hair and putting makeup on every morning (this bitch is a GOD at eyeliner.) So many layers, you do not need to be wearing 3 hoodies at once. Somehow always cold despite having enough clothes on to survive in the artic. “Oh fuck one of my bracelets fell off.” Acts like he despises pink despite wearing neon pink raccoon tails during his college scene phase. Extremely underdressed unless he has the energy to dress as a Victorian vampire. Definitely experiments with goth makeup and clothing.

Patton : Its giving youth pastor. Owns every color of polo shirt. Wears aviators to look ‘hip’ and ends up looking like goose from top gun. Definetly has a leather jacket somewhere in his closet that he only wore to college parties to look cool (the obligatory dad mid life crisis leather jacket, probably worn and probably has seen some shit.) Constantly wears a tool belt or a Fanny pack, lord get this man a backpack. Had horrendous emo phase, good lord MySpace traumatized him. Definitely has a jersey and varsity jacket but actually IS into sports. Needs to get outfit tips because he will wear a polo shirt and cargo pants to every occasion. So many dad hats.

Roman : wears jerseys and varsity jackets despite not being into sports at all. Loves makeup but goes horribly every time he tries to do it on himself. Has to be held down to do eyeliner or mascara because he will NOT stop moving and complaining about you poking his eyes out. Loves being overdressed however half his wardrobe is costume pieces he pretends are high end items. So many rings and necklaces. “Buy me Prada” *is wearing thrift store jeans* Takes hours getting ready, getting dressed takes 10 minutes but he has to get his mindfulness meditation for the day in before he leaves. Definitely has a purse collection.

Logan : This dude probably has so much vintage clothing and historical pieces but is absolutely terrified to wear any of it and wrinkle anything. Has a tie collection (extremely obvious) however half of them are funky ties Patton spotted while shopping and gave to him. Has hundreds of the same shirt but tons of blazers and vests to spice things up a bit. Definitely has a collection of very high end leather shoes that he takes care of dearly and gets heavily pissed off if someone steps on them. So many cheesy nerd pun t-shirts that he wears exclusively in his room because Patton would freak the fuck out. Is tired of people calling him Steve Urkel or a newsie when he puts on suspenders. Practicality over looks, however makes a few exceptions (This bitch would look amazing in a corset.) Can run in heels and Roman is extremely jealous and terrified. Can do makeup surpisingly well.