#love this headcanon ngl

[xixovart]

“no seriously who did you choose?”

“i chose you”

grover and percy are the platonic soulmates. in the most literal sense possible. i mean, literally nobody in the world, including their respective girlfriends, will ever know grover and percy as well as they know each other. and not just because of their empathy link.

grover was the person who was there for percy the most. he helped percy transition from the mortal world into the greek one. he supported percy in tlt when sally was thought to be dead. grover was percy’s first friend. ever. it’s not fair how people keep forgetting that. grover saved percy’s life.

percy literally did NOT hesitate to save grover when he was kidnapped by polyphemus. percy tried his hardest to be there for grover while grover fulfilled his dreams of finding pan. percy and grover travelled through most of the labyrinth together. grover is the foundation of percy’s best traits. percy saved grover’s life.

there is no other friendship in any of riordan’s books that can compare to grover and percy’s. they’re platonic soulmates. there’s no one like them.

[theyrealllesbians]

Obsessed with the idea that Remus uses all the marauders being animagi as blackmail.

Sirius catches Remus eating chocolate even though he is under strict instruction from Pomphrey to not eat it just to see if it makes his migraines go away. Remus immediately responds with "yeah, I suppose it is weird that I'm eating chocolate, Pads. But you know what would be weirder, Dumbledore finding out a black dog was in the Gryffindor common room last night?" Sirius doesn't utter a word.

James catches Remus studying the night before a moon, knowing it will make him tired and grumpy in the morning, making the moon even worse. "Moons. Go. To. Bed. I'll go get Sirius." He is stood there with his arms crossed and as stern of an expression as he can muster. "You go get Sirius and I'll tell Regulus you're a deer. Yeah, that's what I thought, now leave me to it Prongs, I'm fine."

Peter watches as Remus tries to get ready for classes, even though he has the worst cold their dorm has ever seen. "Remus, I swear to Merling, go back to bed, you idiot. You can't even walk straight, you are that ill!!!" In the most hoarse, scratchy voice ever, Remus just bites back a weak "I will report you to the ministry Peter, just you wait."

Remus knows it's never a comparable threat, but it works for him every time, so why would he stop?

[tiramiiswu]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ indomitable

⋆⭒˚. invincible x green lantern!reader ⭒˚.⋆

✦ masterlist || next ✦ imagine: local delinquent girl acts as the one and only green lantern of earth and who just so happens to have a distinct disdain for a certain half-viltrumite she has the displeasure of meeting ✦ pairings: mark grayson x reader ✦ warnings: n/a ✦ a/n: reader is a sort of magical girl inspired green lantern in the sense that i keep picturing her hero costume to be reminiscent of the pretty guardian sailor moon sailor senshi outfits, specifically sailor jupiter’s since she’s already green. her personality is bit of a mix of makoto kino from pgsm and kyoko sakura from puella magi madoka magica when it comes to inspiration because i love my bastard daughter, but i think it definitely evolved in a way that doesnt really align with that as well anymore ✦ originally this was meant to be longer but im not super used to the like? headcanons bulleted list style of formatting this imagine is in and i tend to like ramble and get off my initial thought so hopefully this cut version is readable enough, i might make multiple parts to this just to get some of my other headcanons out because i did really like some of the extra ones i just didn’t think they fit that well with the main ones (i also just want to write about gl!reader and her beloved punching bag ^^;; )

edit: I FORGOT THE OTHER HALF OF MY DRAFT FUCK.

✦ mark grayson was a fucking loser

✦ that was something you were sure of

✦ he’s some stupid dweeb with a dorky interest like seance dog who’s not even worth looking at over the gum stuck to your shoe

✦ you’ve known him since you were kids, when he was an annoying little boy with a gap in his teeth

✦ your parents trying to set up playdates with him and his family after moving into the neighborhood some time before you developed your powers

✦ before everything went to shit

✦ at twelve you were sought out by the green lantern’s ring, unsure as to why it chose you or how you were considered worthy

✦ maybe it was due to your childish belief that evil could be thwarted by the power of love and justice, like the pretty guardians and magical girls in the boxsets your mother let you read with her and the old vhs tapes you watched sitting in her lap growing up

✦ maybe it was your stubborn resolve when it came to protecting your friends on the schoolyard from snotty little boys who tried to pick on them (you were sent to the principal’s office due to your quick response to slug your tiny little fists at some stupid brat’s mouth enough to be on a first name basis with them, much to your father’s dismay)

✦ whatever it was, you were over the moon with your newfound abilities

✦ through sheer willpower you were able to construct anything your imagination thought of, you could fly, and (most importantly to your 13 year old self) your ring could create any hero costume design to anything your heart desired, complete with a dazzling transformation sequence to boot

✦ at first it was everything you ever wanted, days at school spent wanting to do nothing but go out and fight the forces of evil with your totally awesome magical powers (sort of)

✦ for a while you even wondered when you’d get your own team (all magical girls had a team comprised of their friends to fight off evil, so obviously you would get one eventually, right?)

✦ you spent a lot of time in class doodling what you thought your team would be like, which of your friends were bound to be chosen next and join your side (in the back of your notebook you even had some little doodles of you and some masked phantom thief type character that you could no longer pin who your kid self was thinking of at the time when you stumbled upon your old notebook)

✦ but of course, life wasn’t that simple

✦ you never got that team of magical girls, or other lanterns to come to your aid and help you fight off evil

✦ you didn’t have a moment where a kind older teammate you picked up along the way reassured you and comforted you when your body ached from being thrown around like a rag doll by some super powered freak trying to destroy a city block

✦ no one else was there to help you when your ring faltered and your constructs fell apart because you were just a little girl fighting for love and justice against real monsters, bad guys who wanted to break your bones or worse, ones who couldn’t be magically defeated with a magic tiara or a special transformation power-up

✦ it was you who had to do all of that

✦ it was you who had to choke back tears and lick your wounds just to push all of that fear down into the pits of your stomach and pull yourself back onto your feet to hit the bastard who broke your rib ten times as hard

✦ your constructs were tougher, brighter even, they no longer shattered after one heavy hit against the body of a big bulky target

✦ but it wasn’t your courage making them stronger—

✦ it was the unwavering resolve that you were going to punch and claw your way out of each hell you got into and survive, even if you had to die trying

✦ at some point you quit sticking your neck out for other people

✦ you stop searching for fights to start and to prevent crime before it escalates with regular patrols of the city

✦ you only ever came to the aid of civilians when danger was making itself present in big conflics, it gives you more time to be a regular girl and live your life

✦ by eight grade you had had to switch schools for fighting other students

✦ mark noticed that before your expulsion you seemed to have quit picking fights to protect your friends (friends who gradually started to drift away from you late seventh grade) and now you seemed to just be starting fights out of nowhere

✦ you needed to let off steam from your hero work, taking it out on some annoying boy in class was the closest thing you had to a goon or grunt

✦ he didn’t see you again until late into high school

✦ or, really he didn’t see you until he ran into eve after getting his powers

✦ because you saw him immediately after transferring back to the same school district and getting enrolled in the same high school as him

✦ somehow the world couldn’t be smaller

✦ you saw him the first day of senior year

✦ how could you forget, you punched him in the jaw at your parents’ funeral nearly four years ago

✦ you basically ignored him as much as you could

✦ i mean really he’s the same as he was as all those years ago as a stupid kid— dorky and innocent

✦ it was almost insulting the way he didn’t recognize you at first, but to be fair you gave him the cold shoulder and pushed past him in the halls whenever you could

✦ he often saw you smoking under the bleachers during breaks

✦ you still got into fights sometimes, he’s seen you throw a mean right hook whenever one of the other students were bothering you, so he generally he keeps his distance (still, he found himself looking at you over his shoulder every time he did notice you, something about the bad girl delinquent vibe gave you an allure of some kind)

✦ so now imagine being you, taking a night off for once from beating crooks bloody and waiting for civilians to get into trouble before swooping in to save them (again), loitering around Burger Mart and using your lantern ring to make a lighter to light a cigarette (you left your lighter at home— a nice vivienne westwood that belonged to your mom)

✦ you’re minding your own business when you see a familiar face come out from the back of the restaurant

✦ your brows scrunch up identifying the boy in uniform as your least favorite regular human on the planet as he’s hauling two trash bags over to the dumpster

✦ you groaned at the sight of him and rolled your eyes, going back to lighting your cigarette when you see him fidget with the bags for a moment before fucking chucking one of them into the fucking stratosphere

✦ you just sort of stare at him from where you were sat with wide, furious eyes

✦ because no way this loser gets powers out of fucking nowhere

✦ no fucking way you have been busting your ass for years getting stronger, learning how to suppress your fear and push yourself to be stronger, faster, more durable, everything to survive when you’re doing your rounds as Earth’s only green lantern

✦ and mark fucking grayson gets to throw massive heaps of trash into fucking space like it was nothing

✦ if there was a God somewhere, you were sure he’s laughing right at you

✦ you’re there when mark— sorry, when invincible makes his debut as a hero, during the initial flaxan invasion,

✦ you’re exceptionally more irritated than usual

✦ the others chalked it up to your usual grouchiness, but atom eve (your one and only friend) caught onto your ire rather quickly with just how aggressive you seemed to be that day

✦ when mark approached eve in the halls at school afterwards you didn’t do anything to hide your scowl, appearing behind her like a shadow

✦ it took him a second to notice you and he’s not all to proud to say your sudden arrival made him jump a little

✦ scared for a second that he was talking loud enough for someone to have heard him reveal his identity when he remembers you as one of the heroes who he fought beside during the flaxan invasion

✦ you’re annoyed when eve offers to lend an ear to mark, call it jealousy or just you being territorial of your only friend, but there was no way mark grayson gets one rocky start as a hero and immediately gets to be reassured by someone

✦ he gets his powers without needing to prove anything, he gets support from the get go by another hero like eve as soon as he doubts himself, it made you sick— HE makes you sick

✦ from then there on you just couldn’t shake this guy off you

✦ you ran into him more often at school, or at the store, hell you were getting put on the same assignments by cecil

✦ you’re sick of him

✦ sick of his stupid face and that dorky grin of his

✦ how he’s always checking in on you when you go down during a fight and how his voice sounded a bit softer when he spoke to you

✦ the way he makes your face heat up and made your stomach flip when he looked at you—

✦ oh…

✦ oh hell no.

✦ you needed to hit something and you needed to hit something hard (preferably mark)

✦ you were already pretty standoffish and kind of mean when you had to interact at school, but now?

✦ whenever you’re paired with him for missions half of it is spent barking at him and calling him stupid for not being careful enough

✦ he doesn’t even really know what gets you so heated sometimes but he’s getting better at dodging your punches when you start wailing on him post fight

✦ you hate how much effort you have to put just to keep up with him sometimes

✦ he makes you put in the work when he’s barely breaking a sweat

✦ you want to hit him with your hardest construct sometimes just to see him get skipped like a stone. he’s durable, he’ll live

✦ seeing you in action is something else

✦ your costume hasn’t really changed since you were younger (really the sailor scout uniform was just too good to switch up)

✦ but the duality of the cute bows on your leotard and the short pleated skirt compared to the sight of you slamming a heavy green mallet over some poor supervillain’s head always draws his attention to you

✦ you fight so effortlessly in mark’s eyes, you’re quick on your feet and there’s a unique power behind your punch that make him feel the earth beneath his feet shake when he sees you clock someone in the jaw

✦ you always looked so cool with your stoic, determined expression and he admires how ✦ you seem so put together, you barely stagger between attacks, it’s as if you’re just going through the motions

✦ watching you ring-sling is such a sight to see

✦ you’re so quick to adapt your light constructs he can’t imagine how fast you must be thinking for you to be able to switch as naturally as you do, almost like breathing

✦ he’s seen you combo your ring-sling constructs with your raw strength, hitting them with a green baseball bat before the same light construct stretched into a tether or a lasso to yank them back into your ring bearing fist— which by then had some brass knuckle or gauntlet wrapped around it to bust up their jaw

✦ you do surprisingly well at keeping up with him, you’re nowhere near as fast or durable as he is after he starts getting deeper and deeper into being invincible, but your willpower wasn’t something to laugh at

✦ he admired your courage and strength, even if he was at the end of some of those punches

✦ the two of you were such a strange pair

✦ both of you seemed oblivious to the way you looked at each other

✦ maybe it was the goggles on his costume but mark never seemed to realize that the scowl on your face wasn’t the same as your usual resting face (though he found the scrunch of your nose and the furrowing of your brows very cute)

✦ and you (despite your observational skills and general common sense) couldn’t tell that the sheepish puppy dog look on his face when he talked to you wasn’t just how his stupid face looked

✦ you also didn’t seem to realize that thinking about him as consistently as you did wasn’t something you’re supposed to do about someone you claimed to despise

✦ eve is at her wits end with you guys, especially since she was most often the one left to mediate between the two of you

✦ rex tried to do that once, but seeing as you were strongly aligned with eve and hold grudges longer than anyone else you still weren’t giving him any civilized response that didn’t involve chucking him into a lamppost ever since eve confided to you about him cheating

✦ also he used your spare lighter as ammunition once and he was still feeling the pain in his arm from when you broke his wrist after that

[risingmoonyue]

Tried my hand at redesigning Lucy from Fairy Tail! Notes and separate images under the cut.

[EDIT: I now have another post for more notes and world building!]

I wanted to give her a little more “working towards casual” vibes, because I wish it was explored a little more how being raised rich affected her behavior - or rather, how she *doesn’t* act. I HC she spent the time pre-Natsu but post running away kinda training herself to not default to rich, polite heiress. There was a lot of people watching involved. She may or may not have a notebook titled “How to people”. When she’s really tired or stressed, she’ll fall back on talking formally, though she usually catches herself fairly quickly by the time Natsu bulldozes his way into her life. She prefers talking casually, but the formal speech comes in useful when dealing with particularly picky rich clients (or royalty).

(On a completely unrelated note if anyone has fics along this vein send them my way)

Anyways I like to think my version has a very close, familial relationship with all her spirits. She’ll call one out most days, even just to hang and talk for a while. It very conveniently doubles as stamina training for her - not that she actually needs the excuse, but if she does happen to need one that’s her go-to. They are all very protective of her, especially Aquarius, who despite how it seems cares very much for Lucy and basically helped raise her after Layla passed. Lucy appreciated how Aquarius treats her like literally anyone, and Aquarius is her go to for life advice; Aquarius herself has a habit of accosting the other spirits as they come back for status updates.

[your-unfriendlyghost]

Steve x Evie police station meet cute

A great idea by @dallasgallant in this post- Steve and Evie meeting after committing crimes lol totally not like in Rebel Without a Cause

In my take on it, Evie got hauled in for punching her mom’s boyfriend because he treated her mom badly. Now Evie’s in huge trouble, just for trying to defend her. Everyone’s telling her she was wrong, including her mom, to the point that she almost believes it…

But then this little angry-looking greaser guy who has the rap of a tough guy- who she’s never seen smile, not even once- tells her that he thinks she’s so cool for that actually. And it’s exactly what she needed to hear lol

Steve on the other hand was not hauled in for noble reasons. Just uh…petty theft I think

After this Steve buys her a coke or smth ig and they start hanging out

okay I actually have a million more h/cs about Evie but I’ll leave it at this rn lol

[xerroa]

Drunken ramblings (Leaner x reader)

We know how much our boy loves a good drink. Why not indulge in some late-night activities? Just be warned, it takes a strong tolerance to withstand all the free drinks. 

"We'll figure it out together," he says. And I look into his eyes with a sickeningly hopeful expression, not believing my ears. He seems amused, something that happens often with me. I can't help but look away as an awful color crawls to my cheeks. 

"You've already done so much. "

"I'm doing this because I care about you." He replied simply. 

You felt no hint of deceit in his voice but you hadn't been here for long. And yet he had always remained so kind.

"About a stranger that just came here and took your room? That's cute." You said it in a sarcastic manner.

A laugh escaped his throat. "You're not just a stranger." Leander started. "I see you as more of a friend at this point." 

It took you off guard, even though getting close and friendly with everyone was such a him thing to do.

“You must make friends quickly, then. What was it?” Recalls Leander's quote, shared in one of the group outings “An acquaintance is only a friend you haven't shared a drink with, huh?”

"That's not wrong," Leander replied, a soft chuckle slipping past his lips as a light flush appeared on his face. Whether it was embarrassment or from the mention of alcohol, can't say, but he does give a slight, sheepish smirk.

"You have a good memory for remembering that."

“Do I now?” I take a swig of the strong drink in front of me. “You know, I think your quote may very well be true.”

He laughed again, his lidded eyes watching from his position against the counter, his gaze flickering from your eyes back to his glass of beer. He spoke again, words slightly teasing yet genuine.

"We've had plenty to drink these past few days, haven't we? I'd say that's probably a good thing, though."

You really have. There was nothing better to do after a long day than spend some time winding down with such good company.

“Is it? You seem to love getting me tipsy.“ You laugh after realizing how accusatory it sounded.

"Oh?" Leander reacted, one of his eyebrows raising slightly. His words were still slightly playful as he turned to face you fully.

"You make it sound like I'm intentionally getting you drunk. I can't deny the fact that I've given you a few drinks, but it's your choice to drink them, isn't it?" He questioned in a light and teasing tone. Yet he did truly mean it, since Leander wouldn't try to pressure you into drinking after all, right?

“I'm just kidding around.” You say not expecting him to react so defensively “I can't complain about being treated to a drink or two. Uhm… Actually, I've lost count of them by now. “ You said bashfully.

He was amused by your response, clearly.

"Of course you can't; it would be rude to complain about something like that after all." He replied, sarcasm in his tone, making it clear that he wasn't taking you seriously at the moment.

“Ugh, just ignore my ramblings,” you say in frustration as you rest your flushed face in your hands, unaware of his watchful gaze.

As the night had progressed, the more drinks you had, the more uninhibited you became, doing things your normally composed self wouldn't. As pathetic as it is, it was endearing for him to see this side of you. So raw and open, no longer flinching away from a mere gaze but rather relishing in it.

A soft sigh escaped his lips, his eyes still watching you with those same, sparkling green eyes. Leander felt a wave of sympathy for you; he couldn't help it. 

He moved from his position at the counter and went to sit on the chair beside you.

"You're definitely drunk, aren't you?" 

A hand came around to lightly rest on your shoulder, giving you a slight squeeze as Leander spoke softly. His words were gentle, yet there was a hint of command behind them that even in your drunken haze, you couldn't not notice.

"Come on, I'll walk you to your room. You've had enough to drink for the night."

You look at him with a childishly pouty look but do as he tells anyway, sliding off the bench and nearly stumbling on him. Everything feels slow, hazy, like moving through water, but his gaze is sharp, unwavering, pulling you in even as you try to find your footing.

He wrapped an arm gently around you, supporting you as you nearly tripped in your drunken state. He took slow, careful steps, making sure to move slowly to allow you to walk while still supporting you.

"Careful; you're going to fall if you don't watch your step."

The two of you made it to the door; the walk was slow and cautious, to the point that Leander was more like carrying you to his your room than walking with you. He helped you into the room, supporting you as you stumbled in and made your way to the bed.

"There we go," Leander started, watching as you sank into the mattress on the bed.

"You did well getting here." He continued as he pulled the covers up and around you, making sure you were all tucked in and comfortable. 

"You should get some rest and try not to get too sick from the hangover you'll have." He teased, knowing you would have a severe headache come morning.

Feeling like a smartass, you reply, “Isn't that from the withdrawals of alcohol leaving the system? Gotta keep the party going.”

Leander let out a small laugh at your response, his eyes shining with amusement as he listened to your drunken ramblings.

"I think the headache will be from the alcohol, not the withdrawal, given that you'll only be sober by the time morning comes," he replied.

You quiet down and sigh, “Do you have to leave?”

Leander's smirk faded slightly as you asked your question, his eyes moving to meet your own.

"If I leave, you'll be able to get some rest. It'll help with that headache I just mentioned, you know." He said, not really giving you an actual answer.

Leander noticed your silence and the disappointment in your eyes, his smile softening slightly at the realization that you didn't want him to leave. 

"Don't look at me like that... I'll come back and check on you in a bit; how about that?"

“...No. You should get rest too." You said defeatedly.

Leander paused for a moment, clearly not expecting your response. His tone was soft, even if his words held a hint of disbelief in them.

"How thoughtful. I should be the one taking care of you, not the other way around."

"But I suppose I do need some rest as well. You try to get some sleep, and I'll be back to check on you in the morning when you're sober again."

Before he can move to leave, you put a hand over his and lightly squeeze it.

A surprised look appeared on his face as you reached out to take his hand. Your sudden action caught him off guard. Yet he squeezed your hand back, fingers gently wrapping around yours as he spoke.

"You're really something when you're drunk."

"If only you'd act like this more often." He added, his thumb lightly beginning to rub the back of your hand, a gentle and almost affectionate gesture.

Watching as you slowly began to quiet down, your response becoming less and less frequent as he spoke to you, he could tell you were growing tired, and the man knew he should leave you to rest.

He gave your hand one more squeeze, his grip on it soft, before he let go. "Goodnight." He whispered, his voice soft and quiet as he spoke.

“Night night, Leander," you replied, words mindlessly slurred by the alcohol in your system. 

He let out a soft chuckle at your drunk, adorable state before he slowly began to turn to leave the room and leave you to rest.

He walked towards the exit of the room, his steps quiet so as not to disturb you. His gaze settled on you, lingering, as if committing the sight to memory. Tucked beneath the blankets, softened by sleep. A faint smile curved his lips, private, almost indulgent. And then, with a quiet exhale, he forced himself to turn away, shutting the door behind him—but not before letting his eyes drink you in one final time.

[turtleblogatlast]

Leo getting hit with a truth curse but instead of forcing him to admit to super sad or worrying things it’s things like “it was me who broke the remote” “I saw Mikey prank Donnie and helped hide it because it’s way funnier if he didn’t know who it was” “I rip my clothes to look more like Raph’s because he’s really cool” “my stripes aren’t even red they’re pink!”

[bri-cheeses]

Imagine this: Barty doing that stupid cliche thing where he’s like “Let’s compare hand sizes!” and so he and Evan compare and Barty just wordlessly interlaces his fingers with Evan’s and goes back to doing his schoolwork or something and meanwhile Evan’s blushing because what just happened but also mad because Barty tricked him into being all soft and hand-holdy.

Just Barty holding hands with Evan while doing his schoolwork and Evan having a blush on his face but also silently fuming the entire time even though he actually kind of loves it

[barbiiecams]

baby trapping bfb!rafe omg 😖. it would most definitely be an accident, but now you could finally claim him. you weren’t so opposed to the fact of getting pregnant with his baby beforehand, but because sarah was genuinely your friend, you made sure not to for the time being.

now rafe? he’d be so mad yet happy at the same time. he was very reluctant to even take off the condom off with you, and this seemed like the consequence to his actions.

“right there!” you moaned out as he hit the perfect spot inside of you.

“yea? right there?” he’d taunt, smirking down at the position he had you in. he pulled out for a second which almost made you cuss him out, but then lifted one of your legs in the air and held it by the back of your thigh, plowing his way back in again.

this made your eyes roll so far back you were almost positive they got stuck for a hot minute.

“that’s the spot, huh baby?” he’d lean over and say into your ear. not being able to form words, all you could do was nod. but there was something you desperately wanted from all this.

he’d been folding you up, throwing you around and switching positions all night. and he knew exactly how you liked it. it’s like he could seriously do no wrong. all though this whole situation was wrong, you still seemed to forget that this was your friends brother. someone who’s supposed to be off limits.

but we can’t help who we like, right?

he definitely didn’t care though, matter of fact, his dirty talk never stopped about it. “yea? that feel good being fucked by your friend’s brother? imagine if she saw us now. shit, i finally wouldn’t have to hide my girl.”

and he just continues.

“yea rub that clit baby. soak this cock.”

“keep taking it baby, know you can.”

“let go baby, cum all over it.”

as soon as he felt your release, his came up not too long after.

“shit, you feel too good. gonna make me blow mine soon.” this right here is when you ask for whatever, knowing how easy it is for them to say yes when they’re balls deep, seconds away from nutting.

“inside me? please!” you’d grab onto his shoulders, while his arms were now pressing your hip down into the bed.

his movement doesn’t slow, but his face says the answer as well as his words. “you know we can’t. convincing me to go raw wasn’t enough?”

“i just wanna feel you… all full inside me.” you’d say, almost choking on your words the way he’s still milking out your orgasm.

“i’ll cum in your ass. how about that?”

“s’not the same! please, rafe. just once?”

he doesn’t answer for a little bit, but the way his face starts to scrunch up, he was bound to cum in a few seconds.

“fine,” he finally says. “better fuckin take it all.”

right after that, his hot and heavy flow streams right into you, making your brain feel like complete mush.

after a few moments of just laying there, he pulls out and lays down next to you, pulling your head into his chest. “won’t be leaving you alone anytime soon with a pussy like that.” he chuckles, & you playfully hitting his chest.

—

the only thing that brought you was a world full of trouble. because here you are now, sitting on the toilet with a nauseous stomach, and positive stick in your hand to top it off. this most definitely was not supposed to happen, but you didn’t feel that bad about it either.

taking a picture of it in your hands, you sent it to rafe then put your phone down and held your stomach again. you didn’t even need that pregnancy test. the way you were throwing up buckets confirmed it by itself.

not even 5 minutes later, he texts you back.

“didn’t i tell you it was a bad idea? now how are you gonna tell sarah, cus im not.”

now that was definitely something you weren’t thinking about in the heat of the moment.

[mythbringer-mayhem]

Just a little misunderstanding.

Lucifer, thinking aloud: ....I wonder what I taste like...

Alastor: I can find out for you!

Lucifer, now flustered: *assuming he means they'd kiss* ...what-

Alastor: *actually means cannibalism :)*

Imma draw this but I need to write it down so I don't forget bc adhd brain can and will forget.

[flowerakatsuka]

my shimamatsu artbook came in so i finally got to see the rest of the unreleased teacher set...

scans of gym teacher oso from this set can be found here!

choro's a math teacher, which i feel like is pretty fitting for her. they drew her very cute, peak froggy expression.

ichi's a science teacher, like in teacher matsu merch by movic. he's also setting a bad example for his students by wearing open-toed shoes which is against standard lab safety rules, for shame smh.

jyushi is an art teacher! very cute, he's definitely fitting the bill of the zany art teacher stereotype.

totty's an english teacher. he's really meant it when he said he doesn't want to work bc he's giving us NOTHING in that awakened art. his outfits are very cute, though.

" gee, mj. where's kara? wasn't he the one you were the most curious about? " wELL. i waited to share him last bc...

when i tell you that i opened to this page in art book to find this set, saw kara, and then immediately closed the book...

he's a japanese / literature teacher, which i do think fits. ( still such a missed opportunity to have him as a music teacher... ) * puts my face in my hands * he's such a dork.

[hatsukeii]

fragrance: lazy sunday morning, replica / college!kageyama tobio x reader

notes: lily of the valley (top), iris (heart), white musks (base)

description: fresh laundry pulled from the wash, lazing around in the embrace of linen sheets.

disclaimer(s): faint sillage, poor longevity

wc: 3224

warning(s): mentions of panic attacks, but other than that nothing!!! gn reader too!!!

The first Sunday morning you spend together is at 6am in a residential laundromat. The two of you have occupied the lonely space, watching clothes spin as soap bubbled and sloshed against fabric. You kneel in front of the opening of the washing machine, basket in hand as you lazily yank dripping clothes and soaking sheets out. Kageyama leans on the edge of another washing machine, hip pressed against the side of it with his phone in one hand and the other propping him upright as he waits for his own bedsheets to finish .

You go home with a basket of double sized bed sheets, ones that hang much too loose on your twin bed, despite your many attempts to tuck them beneath your mattress. Kageyama goes home with a basket of twin sized sheets, ones that stubbornly snap off the corners of his double bed as he desperately tries to pull them across.

————————————————————————

The second Sunday morning you spend together is at the same laundromat, at 6am again. A week of sleeping without bed sheets has rendered both of you impatient, itching to reunite with your own. Both of you assume that the other would be at the laundromat again the next week, and both of you are correct in thinking so. This time, you arrive with a duffel bag, alongside a basket of unwashed clothes, and Kageyama enters the laundromat with two baskets, one stuffed with bedsheets, the other with his own dirty laundry.

“Sorry, grabbed them by mistake last week, didn’t even fit on my bed properly.”

“All good, I also slept without bedsheets for the week.”

Bedsheets are exchanged, stuffed into baskets and bags, and the two of you continue your laundry in silence, shoving dirty clothes and towels into separate washing machines. You glance at Kageyama, a D1 volleyball jersey peeking from his basket.

“You the new first year on men’s D1 volleyball?”

He hums in confirmation, tugging the jersey from his laundry as he shoves it into the machine.

“I watched you guys play last Friday, it was good.”

“Thanks. I’m pretty sure you’re in my lecture hall tomorrow too.”

Your eyebrows rise, surprised. You swear you have never seen him in your lectures, only ever on the court. You aren’t even too sure of his name yet. Standing up, you slam the washing machine door shut, pressing lazily at the buttons until a droning beep sounds, and soapy water begins to trickle into your laundry.

“Really? Never seen you there before.”

“I sit behind you most the time. y/n, right?”

You scratch at your frizzy bed head, too dazed to register his question. You hear the beep of a second machine, and the sloshing of clothes and water.

“Yeah. Sorry, what was your name again?”

“Tobio. Kageyama Tobio.”

————————————————————————

The twelfth Sunday morning you spend together, unlike the first, or the second, or the third, or any previous ones so far, is on campus instead, at 8am. Somehow, the both of you have managed to do your laundry during the week, perhaps for the reason of making it to the college’s open day on time. You rub your arms against a school emblem hoodie, and a staff lanyard, whilst Kageyama is clad in full volleyball attire, kneepads and jersey proudly representing the school’s men’s volleyball team as the two of you make your way from the residential quarters to the main campus.

“Don’t you look extra cool today, Mr. D1 athlete?”

“Yeah, yeah, okay, TA nerd.”

You grin, slinging an arm around Kageyama’s neck haphazardly and yanking him down. He yelps as his arm shoots up to your own, wrestling you off. Clicking your tongue, you kick the back of his knee and watch him catch himself halfway into his leg buckling beneath him, snickering vengefully. Ducking down swiftly and picking you up by the legs, he slings you onto his shoulder, arm wrapping around your waist as he continues walking. Kicking and flailing, your fists rain down on his rigid back, a vain attempt at forcing him to release you. His steps come to a stop, just to tighten his grip on your body.

“Let go of me! Or I’ll take your bedsheets again, asshole!”

“Yeah, if you can make it down, that is.”

Offended (not really), you stretch your arm as far as it can go, poking at his side. Kageyama squirms and writhes, the shit eating smirk once plastered on his face contorting into a pained laugh. His arm finally loosens around your waist, and you take the chance to wriggle out of his grip, landing on the ground in front of him.

“D1 athlete, but can’t keep someone half your height and weight on your shoulder, get good.”

Kageyama rolls his eyes. He is good. Great, even. He does, however, wish he could have revelled in the feeling of his arm around your waist for just a little longer.

————————————————————————

The twenty-fifth Sunday morning spent together is, once again, as always, at the laundromat. However, with the months of friendship the two of you have accumulated, a new step to your laundry routine has been introduced. No more are the days of staring at bubbling clothes and spinning sheets through the veil of chatter and gossip amongst the two of you, instead replaced by morning coffees, walks, even the occasional jog. Today, the two of you have decided on a coffee walk, the steaming cups residing within your numbingly cold fingers, their heat emanating into frosty winter air.

You blow at the opening of the lid, wisps of steam puffing from the liquid as you take a sip of the latte (ordered with only half a shot and extra milk with sugar). Still too bitter, you wince, smacking your tongue to wash the caffeine down. Kageyama huffs out a chuckle, before gulping down his own (also ordered with only half a shot and extra milk with sugar), and grabbing yours from your hand, devouring it too. Then, he tilts his head, looking at your surprised expression with furrowed brows and nibbling his lip in confusion.

“You don’t actually like coffee, do you?”

“Well it’s the only thing they have at this cafe. Plus, you like this place, so I keep coming anyway.”

Kageyama stares, baffled. Him? Liking coffee? Where did you get that from?

“I thought you liked it, considering you started these coffee runs? I’m pretty indifferent to be honest.”

You let out a breathy laugh, pointing at him instead.

“I thought I could try to like it, but I only started because I thought you’d be into coffee? Isn’t that what brooding guys like you enjoy drinking on Sunday mornings, while their laundry is running?”

Kageyama hates coffee. He has to order it with a 1:7 ratio of espresso to milk. Yet the hums of satisfaction (or so he thought) that seem to escape your throat at every first sip of hot coffee on chilly Sunday mornings makes every disgustingly bitter swallow of caffeine just this much more enjoyable. You also hate coffee, albeit not needing as extreme of an espresso to milk ratio (1:6 to be exact), yet Kageyama’s fluttering grin makes it clear what you have to do- suck it up and swallow your scathing, sickeningly tart (half) espresso shot, so you can keep, whatever this is, going.

“Yes, brooding guys like black coffees in the morning. But no, I don’t like coffee at all. Wanna go somewhere else from now on, my treat?”

From that Sunday morning onwards, the two of you skip the usual coffee stop, and head around the block for a cafe that serves chocolate instead. Kageyama’s grin would stretch into a satiated smile from the corner of your eyes, and your small, fleeting hums would turn into droning ones of actual satisfaction, much to the delight of Kageyama’s ears.

He wants to keep this going, through winter, then spring, then summer, and autumn too. You want to take the longer walks to the new cafe with him, for hot chocolate, maybe even iced coffee one day, if either of you suddenly develops the palate for it.

“So, you stuck around the cafe only because you thought I liked it? That’s sweet, Mr. D1.”

“What, like you didn’t suggest it because you thought I liked it in the first place? How nice of you, TA.”

————————————————————————

The thirty-fourth Sunday morning spent together, the two of you are perched on the edge of Kageyama’s couch, eyes trained to his laptop as a grey circle spins, and spins, and spins. On the coffee table ahead sits two cups of hot chocolate, stale and lukewarm.

“What if I’m not in?”

“Don’t be an idiot, look at you. You’re so in.”

The circle goes on for an unsettling period of time, and you swear you can hear the veins popping in Kageyama’s head. They can’t possibly reject him, they won’t. And if they do, you’ll be there to make sure the decision is fixed hastily. You’ve seen him play countless games by now, taking sessions of TA work off for the sake of watching a ball hit the ground over, and over, and over. Even for someone who doesn’t know the slightest thing about playing volleyball, you could tell that he deserved this. He was perfect, through and through.

The circle disappears, and the webpage goes blank. Then, twelve portraits pop onto the screen. The two of you inch forward, noses almost touching the laptop as you scan for one particular name.

"No.9: Kageyama Tobio, position: setter”

You barely have time to register his name in the national team roster before strong arms engulf your entire body in a tight embrace. Kageyama’s weight knocks you into his couch, his head buried in the crook of your neck as he finally exhales from relief. He’s close, closer than he ever has been before, and you catch a hint of white lilies and cotton on his pulse. Smiling, a pang of pride surges through your head and heart, and you let your arms wrap around Kageyama, pulling him close. You feel a trail of water trickle down the side of your neck, followed by a flurry of badly hidden sniffles and sobs, and one of your hands moves to stroke the back of his head.

“I made it…I actually made it.”

“I knew you would, Tobio.”

————————————————————————

The forty-fifth Sunday you spend together doesn’t start as a Sunday at all. Instead, it starts as a gloomy, rainy Saturday night, red numbers glaring from Kageyama’s bedside clock while he holds himself close, quivering breaths wheezing from his chest. The bed is damp beneath his sweating figure, hair sticking to his face and neck in his unmoving, curled up position.

The door to his dorm unlocks with a click, and you tuck the spare key back beneath the pot of the houseplant outside, nudging it in until it disappears, before stepping inside. The room is pitch black, spare of the buzzing streetlights seeping through his blinds, dissipating in hospital white threads. Your heart drops at Kageyama’s erratic breathing, his body curled into a little ball and sinking into his linen bed sheets.

“Hey, you called?”

He doesn’t respond, so you shut the door behind you, and shuffle towards his bed. Your hand presses into the mattress, the fabric damp beneath your fingers, and you sit beside him, your thigh pushed up against his back. His back remains turned away from you, yet you can feel the tension loosen ever so slightly. Your thigh nudges into his spine, and your hand taps at him to get up. 

“Your bedsheets, they’re sweaty. Go take a rinse, I’ll change them for you, okay?”

Kageyama obeys, getting up for the first time in the past three hours and dragging himself into the bathroom. Pulling open every single drawer in his room, you search for his bedsheets, before finally finding the same set that you accidentally took home once. Water splashes and taps from the bathroom as you peel the old, sweaty sheets off the mattress, tucking in the new ones instead, and giving his blanket a fluff. His room is a mess, a volleyball sitting beneath his bed, scattered papers across his desk, knee pads slung carelessly over his chair. The national team jersey, however, hangs proudly at his door, as if to remind him who he is now. He is no longer just Kageyama Tobio, college student, health major, D1 college athlete. He is so much bigger than that now, reaching so high that his feet might just leave the ground forever. 

Yet pain fills your chest as you stare at his new jersey from his bed, the school’s D1 shirt now tucked away into some unceremonious drawer. Is this really worth it? Is this worth hours of panic attacks? Or mornings consumed by training entirely, leaving your Sunday habits behind? You can’t remember the last Sunday you saw him at the laundromat, or grabbed that hot chocolate together, each week a cycle of training, class, training, then sleep. Like the unending spinning of wet laundry in a washing machine.

The bathroom door creaks, and Kageyama finally steps out of the bathroom to see a fresh set of bedsheets on his mattress, cool and dry beneath his body as he crawls in. This time, he doesn’t turn his back to you. 

“Thank you, y/n. I’m sorry.”

“Just game nerves, I get it. I’m sorry I can’t be there tomorrow, Tobio.”

A knowing pout creeps onto his face, before it dissipates into a sad smile. He knows you’ve never missed a single one of his games, and that the only reason you won’t make it tomorrow is because of a TA promotion initiative. Of all games to miss though, why did it have to be his first nationals match? 

“It’s okay, you deserve that promotion. You have to get it.”

You reach over to grab his broad shoulders, shaking them a bit as you stare him down. 

“You are, quite literally, the best player I’ve seen in my life. You’re gonna be amazing tomorrow. Don’t worry.”

Getting up, you grab your phone from the floor, rolling over to leave the bed, when Kageyama’s arm shoots out to grab your wrist. If he can’t have you tomorrow, he’ll need to have you now.

“Can you stay the night?”

Your face flushes. Never have you ever been offered to stay the night before by a partner, let alone a friend. Yet he looks like a lost puppy, eyes searching desperately for some semblance of calm within the harrowing match that looms dreadfully in the near future. Somewhere in there, is a thick cup of hot chocolate, puffing steam from the opening of the lid on a frosty Sunday morning, a basket of clean bedsheets, freshly dried and warmed from the laundromat as the sun rises above the horizon, and the stupid TA lanyard that he searches amongst crowds and lecture halls for, day in and day out.

“Of course.”

The bedsheets shuffle as you crawl back in, making sure to inch away from Kageyama’s body just enough to give him space. You look at him, face pressed into his pillow and eyes threatening to snap shut at any moment, and smile gently. The mask of lilies diffuses into something even softer, like morning dew sitting on iris petals, and pollen wafting into spring air, so delicate that it threatens to drift away at each breath. His fingers shift around the bed to find your own, hooking his pinky with yours as he drifts off to sleep, finally, after two hours of sweating, and crying, and failing breathing exercises. 

Your phone buzzes, text messages from your professor popping up to cancel your meeting for sick leave.

The clock by his bed ticks into 00:00. Sunday morning has come.

————————————————————————

Kageyama wakes up before you do on the forty-fifth Sunday morning, national team jersey stretched across his body and a duffel bag hanging from his shoulder. He watches your nose twitch a little, adapting to the warm, now empty spot on his bed. He decides to watch you a little longer, so he can remember your finger wrapped around his beneath his blankets, and the stripe of light on your face as the morning sun shines through the blinds. He swears it will make him better, as long as he knows every detail of your knee touching his own under the covers, and can hear the small, hitched breaths you take in your sleep in his head, and he steps out the door.

You find yourself sprinting out of a taxi towards Kamei arena at 1pm, finally having read the messages from your professor. Wet hair from your morning shower leaves lines of water in the fabric of your sweater, barely having had the time to take it in the first place. The arena is expansive, every corner turned leading you to the wrong sports hall, until roaring cheers erupt from one of them, and you finally burst in through the right door. 

Kageyama stands at the serving line, bouncing the volleyball against the ground. If they take this set off this serve, they might just have a shot at qualifying. Warm fingers, hot chocolate, knees touching, fresh laundry, hitched breaths, lanyard. He has to remember it all. Feel it all. He scans the crowd, and a lone figure stands at the door. 

“You got this.” He can roughly make out from your lips, now realising that he doesn’t need to remember, or feel, or envision it at all. 

He takes aim, jumps, slams his hand into the ball with as much precision and power as his arms can conjure up. The serve hits right on the line, too close for anyone to think to save it, yet in bounds nevertheless.

The referee calls the match point, and the team hasn’t even had the chance to approach him in celebration, before Kageyama sprints off the court, and towards you. He runs into you, knocking you back a few steps as his entire body engulfs your own in an embrace. He doesn’t spare a second, before grabbing your face, and pulling it towards him, planting a firm kiss onto your lips. You hesitate, confused, before your arms find his neck, looping around to hold him as your eyes flutter shut, and you breathe in the notes of lilies, and musk, and irises, mixed with his sweat and adrenaline. The smell of Sunday mornings. The crowd screams. His teammates also scream. His hands pull your face away from his, so he can properly stare at you, irises darting between your eyes. Fuck a trophy, or a medal, or a national title. He would happily pretend to like coffee, just so you could take him to every single coffee shop in the world if you so desired. He would be satisfied with your knees touching beneath his blankets on lazy Sunday mornings, maybe his arms around your waist too, and your legs tangled up in each other, instead of just his finger wrapped around yours. He would willingly do laundry every single morning for the rest of his life, if it meant getting to pull bedsheets out of washing machines with you. 

“I thought you couldn’t make it?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Tobio.”

author's note:

this was ok! i wanted to experiment with vignettes but it's hard to find a balance... but! im 4/7 done with finals, and i finally have the weekend to rest, so i decided to get it over with and finish off this piece!! im so stupid i like accidentally posted it way too early while checking my blog at like 6am so i was very confused when this draft went missing ummmm

anyways! hope you enjoy!! don't let the word count get to you!! please!! i poured a lot of effort into this because 3k words is more than i have written in like weeks!!

tag time!!

@starlysama @chuuya-brainrot @bailey-reeds @fiannee @afyrian @iiwaijime

ok love u guys see u soon bye bye

[irradiatedpathogen]

Ok, i classpected all of them

and to explain my choices:

•non of them can 8e fuschia (sorry cacoa)

•their zodiac is based on their release

•no8ody can have the same classpect

•the holders aspects mirror eachother

The rest is personality 8ased which is why eternal sugar and silent salt have NOTHING, also according to my very relia8le calculations silent is coming out in august

[madamewalburga]

*clears throat* My personal headcanon is that Sirius used to be Walburga’s favorite son.

The moment he was born, she already knew he was special. Her firstborn. She always tells people that stars started dancing in the sky when Sirius first cried as a baby. Sirius was a happy and smart child. He learned the spells much quickly than kids his age. Put him in a room full of kids and he will come out as the ringleader. He always covers for Regulus, and she lets him, because she likes seeing how responsible her baby is becoming. Charming, regal, powerful. The perfect Black. The perfect heir.

But also, Sirius had a streak of rebelliousness (just like her!). He knew the rules, he knew how to play with it, and in it. But he also did not want to bow down to anything, never wanted anybody to be his equal. Sirius accepts others, but also never forgets that he’s above everyone. The perfect Black.

She gives him everything. The best robes, best quills, best paints. She lets him access the forbidden books because she has no doubt in his intellect, or his self-preservation. She lets him go to the Muggle hunts because she knows Arcturus loves Sirius and she knows how happy her son is when Grandfather and Father acknowledge him. (She earns a slap when she questions him what happened, why did Sirius come home so quiet.) She leaves Regulus with him often, and her heart breaks a little at how Regulus shrinks himself (just a little!) but that is how it should be and she’s proud of him. Regulus is the second son. He should understand as early as he can that he is and should never be Sirius’ equal. She brings him to Pureblood gatherings and her heart swells with pride every time a child excuses themselves with a forlorn expression, realizing that they are nowhere near her baby boy’s level. The perfect Black.

She sees him sit beside a bespectacled boy on the Hogwarts Express. The boy waves to Euphemia Potter, and though they are not her family of choice, the Potters are purebloods and that boy will do. Her darling boy will soon ignore him after the usual pleasantries. And if he does not, he will be forgotten once Sirius is in Hogwarts.

That night, she bites her lip through Orion’s Cruciatus (Didn’t I tell you all your coddling would make him weak! How much shame should I have to endure due to your rebelliousness?) after news of Sirius’ sorting has reach 12 Grimmauld Place. Regulus is asleep and Orion Black is not the man who will finally make her scream. She writes to the Headmaster. There has been a mistake! No Black has ever been sorted outside of Slytherin and it certainly would not be her firstborn. The perfect Black! She writes to Sirius, telling him to go to the Headmaster and the Head of House Slytherin. She tells him everything will be fine.

Two days later, she receives Sirius’ reply. “Everything is fine, mother. I like it here. The first Gryffindor Black!” She’s torn between disgust and pride. How did this happen? Sirius knew how to play within in the rules. Is he making his own rules? Is this what it was?

The ladies in society mock her as they pass. Hushed whispers of “I told you so” floated around her for weeks. She tightens her grip on Regulus’ wrist as she quickens their pace. A warning. A protection. She tells him over and over again to not make his brother’s mistake. A warning. A protection. (Regulus has always seen it as a threat.)

Sirius goes home for the holidays a completely different person. He talks about James and Remus (half-blood!) and Peter (another half-blood!). He talks about James and Quidditch. He talks about James and Evans (mudblood!!!!). He tells Regulus all these stories about Hogwarts and the Red House and Walburga wants to blast that blasted castle to ash. He’s talking with his hands moving and his legs spread too far apart. She sees him sit up straight when he catches her glaring. Orion yells at her every night, blaming her for everything that Sirius has become. She curses the Potter boy under her breath. Curses the Sorting Hat. Dumbledore. Everyone. They have corrupted her boy. The perfect Black.

She sends him off to the Express once more after the Holidays are over. He kisses her cheek and says he’ll miss her. “I know you’re not happy with this, Mother, but I am. And I truly am sorry to break your heart, please know that.” She squeezes his hand and she swallows the tightness in her throat as she bids him goodbye.

She received so many letters of his troublemaking tendencies the following year. And the year after that. And the year after. She has written so many letters as well, with hands still shaking from anger, shame, or Orion’s last curse, reminding Sirius of who he was. The Black heir. The one set to stand over everyone in the Noble and Most Ancient House.

Her nails started digging itself deeper on Regulus’ skin. Reminding him not to make the same mistakes his brother did. He didn’t and Walburga loved him so, so much for that.

12 Grimmauld Place is always loud when Sirius is home for the holidays. So many arguments due to his behavior. Sirius has always talked back and Walburga has always been proud of him when he does it, but now he’s defending mudbloods in her house, asking if his half-blood friends can come over and she wonders since when did she start resenting the sound of her firstborn’s voice.

Since when was Sirius a complainer? Could he not see that he was given everything? That he had it easy? That she has protected him from everything, every evil his father could do to him? He used to be the most perfect son, how did this even happen? Did he not realize how many times Walburga gritted her teeth to protect him? How much she has endured to make sure he would grow up differently and less painfully?

It turns out her firstborn would be finally be the man to make her scream.

And Walburga screamed and screamed and screamed. She cursed him and shamed him and belittled him. And Sirius screamed back. As expected. He cursed her and shamed her and belittled her.

The baby boy she raised so carefully, broken to pieces by her.

Years later, Orion is dead and she believes she is free. The war is still raging and she is scared Regulus would soon be dead after defecting. She allows herself to believe in that freedom.

She reads the Prophet everyday, hoping she does not see certain names in the Obituaries.

Regulus knocks on her door and tells her he will be missing dinner and to not wait up for him. She does not reply. She continues to stare blankly at the window when her secondborn kneels beside her. He holds her hand and kisses her cheek and apologizes for breaking her heart.

She blinks away memories of an eleven year old at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters telling her the same thing. She slowly turns to Regulus and asks, for the first time ever, “Where is your brother?”

Regulus smiles softly. “I don’t know. Though he is in a happier place, I’m sure.”

“Was he unhappy here?”

Regulus takes a while before replying. “Not always. But he was always lonely.”

Walburga struggles to believes that, but Regulus does not have to hear it.

Two years later, she receives boxes of Sirius’ belongings after he was sent to Azkaban and she screams again. Out of despair, shame, frustration, she does not know. She wanted to burn every single one of those and she would have, had Kreacher not opened a box and a framed photo of Sirius in a wedding sat on top of that pile. Did he get married? She did not even know. She realizes the Potter boy is also in the picture and remembers the first time Sirius yelled at her (Why are you friends with someone in love with a Mudblood— / Don’t call her that! Don’t you dare call her that!). He reaches for Sirius’ face in that photo and oh... She remembers how her baby boy used to smile like that. He used to smile at her like that.

“He was always lonely.”

She commands Kreacher to close the boxes and take it up Sirius’ old room.

Walburga Black would really rather not rethink all her choices in life but alas, all there is for old people waiting to die is time. She would never admit to it, not that there are people left alive for her to admit her guilt to.

And if she visits both her sons’ rooms and silently grieve all the love she spent and lost, no one would have to know.

[nastylittleghouls]

Aether: What did you do with the body? Cowbell: What didn't I do with the body? Aether: *raises an eyebrow, amused* Cowbell: *chuckles* Okay, that sounded more sexual than I intended Cowbell: *pulls dental floss out of his uniform jacket* Cowbell: I disposed of the corpse respectfully

[sengenism]

wdym if the petrification didn't happen, modern world gen wouldn't know how to flirt with girls while senku would be ur average dude with 18+ thoughts on his mind all the time....... this is just too funny