#minor inconveniences: oh no horrible

[fjordfolk]

Situation: Troja is uncomfortable with car crate. I take the car through car wash for the first time. Never done that before. Did not realise probably not take car through car wash with dogs inside. Troj is scared.

Expecting: Troj to be even less comfortable with crate. Probably maybe scared of crate. Possibly scared of the whole car.

Reality: The next day, Troj jumps into car crate by herself voluntarily for the first time. No more rush to get out. Chewing chew & chillin'. Happy crated dog.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

WAIT??? MY BOOPS??? THEY SHOW FROM MY MAIN. OH NO. HOW WILL EVERYONE KNOW THAT IT IS I, BOG, WHO IS BOOPING

[tvrningout-a]

hmm how would we feel if i remade

[tasteracha]

a/n: minho eating his own cum out of your pussy when you’re asleep (inspired by this anon) (warnings: smut, minors dni; consensual somnophilia)

you feel warm before your consciousness returns to you - a feeling of all-encompassing comfortableness blanketing your body. you don't want to wake up, your clinging to the last dredges of sleep as valiantly as you can, but soon the sensations of your head touching the pillows and your hands opening and closing into fists becomes too real, and your mind returns to your body from whatever nameless dream it was submerged in.

you're still comfortable, but there's something else taking over, a familiar sensation that you can't quite place in your drowsy state. whatever it is though, it's not enough and you let out a whine and try to adjust your body, hoping to find out what it was. another whine rips out when something holds you down, preventing you from moving at all.

minho's throaty laugh from the foot of the bed wakes you the rest of the way up so quickly and you feel your head spin because -

that feeling was his tongue swirling into your cunt.

"oh," you sigh, letting your muscles relax into the bed. your voice sounds a bit dreamy, softened around the edges from sleep. "what are you doing?"

"i left a mess down here," he pops off from your pussy, letting his head rest on your bare thigh as he stares up at you with fond eyes. "i'm just cleaning it up. a midnight snack, if you want to call it that."

and he had left a mess, you were barely aware of the mess of slick and cum that had been painted over your pussy as you fell asleep. he's usually so good about aftercare, taking his time to clean you up even if you had fallen asleep, so the thought of him being to fucked out to care about that sent a shiver up your spine. that, and the way his lips had returned to your core like you waking up was a minor inconvenience to him enjoying himself. like it didn't matter whether you were conscious enough to feel it.

he wraps his lips around your hole and sucks, a horrible squelching sound echoing around the room as he cleans his own come out of you. it's filthy, a little gross, but it's so hot that you don't care.

your control over your muscles hasn't fully regained itself and you can't stop from rutting your hips against his mouth, short aborted movements since his arm was still pinning your lower body down against the mattress.

he moves back up to your clit, wrapping his red lips around it and hollowing his cheeks as he sucks and licks and swirls his tongue, and you can feel your orgasm approaching fast. you might have been embarrassed over how quickly he worked you up, but for all you know he had been at this for hours before you woke up.

the burn in your core intensifies, traveling up your chest and down to your toes and you're shaking as you come, unable to do anything but ride it out as he eats away at you, making little satisfied noises as he does it.

he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and climbs up the bed to you, wrapping a leg around yours as he curls up against your side. he presses a kiss to your cheek, ignoring how you grumble about how his mouth was just in your pussy. he's hard, you can feel him pressed up against your leg, but he doesn't make any movements to relieve himself.

"go to sleep, kitten," he purrs, twining his fingers into your own and resting them against your stomach when you try and snake your hand into his pajamas. "thank you for the meal."

[clrasecretdiary]

Oh no, i love him | Spencer reid x Bestfriend! Fem! Reader

pure fluff

u can find part.2 here!!

content: Spencer is flirty (:o shocking, i knowww), Spencer calls reader stuff like "honey" (down bad for this.), Mutual pining (no confession in this one), it's obvious to everyone, Penelope interrupts them, but it's fine because she's a princess.

a/n: heavily based on my need to bury my head in Spencer's chest at any minor inconvenience.

Ever since you joined the team, you always seemed to gravitate towards Spencer. He made you feel so comfortable, so seen. Naturally you two developed a friendship, now best friends, joined at the hip, never to be seen apart from the other. 

To anyone seeing from the outside it was clear the other feelings between you two, the tension, the stolen glances. At this point, you two acted as a married couple, but still pretended to only see each other as friends. 

-

You could not sleep, having nightmares the whole night flashes of Spencer lying down, bleeding going through your mind, images so clear you almost thought it was reality. The current case the team is working on is keeping you awake. This unsub, for a still unknown reason, has been targeting Spencer and you guys cannot get to the reason why.

You get in the office early, settling your things down at your table and heading to the kitchen. You catch yourself preparing two coffees, one with an ungodly amount of sugar and the other black. Right on cue, Spencer gets in the office. 

"Good morning, darling, how did you sleep?" 

"Good morning Spence, and you already know it, horrible" You say, handing him the coffee as he places a kiss on your cheek, and you try not to blush – you hoped to master that hence the amount of times you'd have to do it when you're next to him but no he always found new ways to make you blush and stumble at your words like a teenage girl with a crush. 

"What bothers that pretty mind of yours" He says, taking a sip of his coffee and opening a small smile, noticing how you always remember how he likes it. 

"It's this fucking case, it's been 2 weeks, and we can't figure it out, the MO is all over the place, and now he's targeting you… It's just… I'm worried" you say, getting close to Spencer and putting your head to his chest as you often did when the world just got too much  "we need to find this fucking guy" your voice coming out muffled against his cardigan. 

"We will catch him, it's only a matter of time, honey. You don't need to worry, ok? I'll be fine, we will be fine." He says, grabbing your chin and making you look up, making sure you're looking at his eyes while he says that. 

"If you ever die, i'll kill you. Be aware of that Spencer Reid" You say in a fake serious tone

Spencer puts his arms around your waist, making you two be even closer now  

"Oh, i wouldn't dare to do that"  he says giggling and placing a strand of your hair behind your ear 

There's a lingering moment of silence, you two just stand there, the closest you've ever been just… looking at each other. Being this close to him, you can see all the hues of brown in those beautiful eyes of his. And almost as if there's this gravitational force, you two start to get closer 

"Hey guys, i saw you getting in is there any coffe lef-" Garcia enters the office kitchen, scaring you both to opposite sides of the space 

"Yeah there's um.. Some left there i think" You say, face burning with the embarrassment

"We're you two…" She says, pointing between you and reid 

Before she could finish her sentence, Spencer gives her a death glare 

"Alright! … I'm just going to pour up some coffee and be out!" Penelope says rushing to get out

"Derek Morgan, you will not believe what a just saw" You can hear her saying as soon as she steps out of the kitchen, and you two can't help but burst into laughter 

"Well, i better go now, a lot of files. And um bad guys and stuff" 

"Yeah, me too" Spencer says, also blushing.  

You rush out the kitchen and as you walk over to your desk, a realization hits you 

"Oh shit,

Oh shit. I'm in love with him"

You think to yourself, realizing there's no way you can deny the feelings anymore. 

[obsessedwithceleste]

Lessons in Love

(Or why Enzo should be banned from advanced potion making)

Theodore Nott x Ravenclaw Reader

Summary: Ft. Enzo being bad at potions, the Ravenclaw common room door, and more than one accidental love confession.

word count: 3.3k

©️ obsessedwithceleste. all works posted here belong to me and should not be reposted or copied in any way or form.

A deep sigh escapes your lips as you walk purposefully through the empty halls of the castle. You loved Enzo. Really, you did. But how that bastard had managed to squeeze enough O.W.Ls out of his arse to get into advanced potion making was absolutely beyond you.

It’s not that you thought your childhood best friend was dumb per se. You simply thought his talents lay elsewhere. Like in herbology. Or anywhere really where adding a pinch too much powdered moonstone didn’t result in a glittery pink potion exploding all over the front of your robes. This never would have happened of course, if your usual, equally talented, potions partner, Theodore Nott, had actually bothered to show up, but god only knew where that boy had wandered off to.

Walking into classes earlier that day you had been giddy with excitement. While potions may not have been Enzo’s forte, it was most definitely yours and advanced potions was finally giving you the challenge you had been craving. Amortentia, your professor had said, is the strongest love potion in the world, thereby making it exceptionally difficult to brew. You already knew this of course as it had all been detailed in the days readings. Not only would it make someone obsessively in love, but it also had an addictive scent, changing to fit what one was most attracted to. Now that was all well and good until one was covered in it.

Originally, you figured that all would be fine. Enzo profusely apologized, quickly following up with a joke about how “at least you’ll smell nice for once.” But oh how right he’d been. It started with students accidentally bumping into you in the corridor as you went from class to class as they subconsciously leaned in to follow the alluring scent. A minor inconvenience you thought. (Although you did have to choose to ignore that third year almost getting impaled on a statue’s sword because he wasn’t paying attention after you passed.)

But then Cho and Marietta couldn’t stop leaning in to get a whiff of the scent all throughout the start of charms, causing Flitwick to continuously shoot concerned glances at the three of you. You eventually caved, moving quickly and silently to the back of the class room where Enzo was sat with the rest of the Slytherins. As soon as he saw you making your way over, he leaned over, whispering something in Daphne’s ear beside him. She gives you a quick look of knowing pity before moving into the empty seats usually claimed by Theodore and Matteo who were, unsurprisingly, still no where to be found.

“For what it’s worth, I really am sorry,” Enzo mumbles, at least having the decency to look embarrassed as you plop into the seat beside him.

“This is horrible! I did not need to know that Marietta’s amortentia smells like bloody Cormac McLaggen or whatever his name is,” you hiss in response.

Enzo lets out a quiet chuckle, sneaking a quick glance at your house mate.

“Hey,” he whispers after a moment, “What do you smell anyway? You must be going mad having that stuff all over you.”

You shoot a glare at your friend. You had a sinking feeling he already knew, considering he had been poking fun at you for weeks. You shudder remembering all those disgusting kissy faces Enzo had been making at you from across the library just last week. Bloody bastard was fishing for confirmation. Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll simply go away you think to yourself. Enzo however, takes your silence as an admission of guilt, a grin spreading across his face.

“I knew it. So tell me y/n, what does dear Theodore Nott smell like? Cigarette smoke? Hippogriff dung?” He snickers.

“He is my best friend, Lorenzo,” you whisper, giving the boy beside you another withering glare.

Enzo’s face falls at this.

“I’m your best friend.” He grumbles.

“I don’t know why. You’re mean to me,” you reply with exasperation.

He immediately perks up again at this, giving you a slight nudge.

“So I’m right? You do like Theo?” He asks excitedly.

“Enzo, I will avada you, and make it look like an accident,” you hiss in response.

“Come on, y/n, I’m your best friend, you have to tell me these things,” he pouts.

“Oh really? Like how you have to tell me about how you’re probably smelling Daphne’s shampoo right now? Or is it her lavender perfume?” You ask innocently, batting your lashes.

Enzo goes beet red at this, gesturing wildly at you to lower your voice.

“Hush woman! She’s right there!” He hisses.

You say nothing, only giving him a triumphant grin before turning back to Flitwick to try to salvage what few notes you’d been able to take down that lesson.

The final straw occurred during ancient runes when poor, unsuspecting Hermione sat down behind you and asked with a look of bewilderment if you had been showered with Draco’s cologne that morning. Her look of absolute horror only grew as you told her of your distressing situation. You thought she might faint when she realized that Draco had been within earshot and now had a shit eating grin on his face. With a sigh of defeat, you give Hermione an apologetic smile before deciding it was time to turn in the white flag of defeat.

You breathe a heavy sigh of relief as you finally come to a stop outside your common room door. You then frown, realizing you had in fact, made it to your common room door.

“What makes a raven like a writing desk?” The metallic voice of the Ravenclaw common room door asks, springing to life.

This putrid, skanky little-

“You wouldn’t want me to shove either of them up your ars-“

A low whistle catches your attention before you’re able to finish cursing out your common room’s door thoroughly.

“Whoa there feisty, let the eagle be,” Theo’s voice laughs as he steps into view.

The strong scent of roasted coffee beans and smoke that had been burning your nostrils all day hits you once again like a ton of bricks. Giving the eagle another withering glare, you turn your full attention to the looming threat approaching. You would sooner throw yourself off of the astronomy tower than let Theo know that your amortentia smelled like him. Someone had to keep the boy’s bloody ego in check.

“Full offense Theodore, I’ve had a horrendously awful day today, and I really don’t have time for whatever nonsense you’re about to start.” You say with a roll of your eyes as you cross your arms at the boy in front of you.

Theo laughs again, mirroring your movements as he leans against one of the pillars lining the halls.

“Poor principessa. Have a hard day in classes without me?” He asks with a smirk.

You scowl in response. It didn’t help that you had, in fact, missed the brunette’s comforting, albeit annoying, presence all day, but you weren’t about to admit that.

“Now that you mention it, I didn’t even realize you were missing. What snake hole did you slither off to today?” You ask, the lie sliding easily off your lips.

Theo cocks as eyebrow at that but leaves it be.

“Matteo wanted to ditch, had to baby sit. Make sure he didn’t get into too much trouble. You know how it goes,” Theo replied shrugging his shoulders. “And what’s a pretty little witch like yourself doing skiving off class?”

Theo takes another step forward.

“Don’t come closer!” You yelp before you can stop yourself. You had no interest knowing what Theo would smell if he got close enough. He frowns at you however.

“And why not?” He challenges, taking another step towards you. This boy really did not take well to being told what to do.

“I- I smell. Really bad. Had to leave class, I just- ya know, smelled, so bad” You splutter, mentally kicking yourself. Who says that in front of the guy they like? Why were you like this?

Theo’s thick brows shoot up at your declaration before he takes a final large step towards you and leans in, pressing his hand against your forehead before moving it down to feel your cheek.

“Y/n are you ill? Do you need to go see Madam Pomfrey? I can walk you there if you’d like.” He says, any bit of snark his voice previously held long gone.

“I’m fine Theodore, really.” you say, batting his hand away.

“Are you sure?” He asks, looking at you disbelievingly.

He leans in again and takes in a whiff of your scent and you immediately tense, freezing where you are. God damn it. His brows furrow.

“Y/n, you smell perfectly normal, maybe a bit stronger than usual, but definitely not bad.” He says, looking even more confused.

Before you’re able to fully process the words that just came out of Theo’s mouth, Enzo and Pansy come barreling down the hall towards the two of you in a fit of giggles.

“Y/n! y/n, you know I’m sorry, really I am, but if dousing you in amortentia is all it takes to get Draco and Granger to make complete fools of themselves in front of each other, I’d do it again!” Enzo exclaims between breathy laughs. “You haven’t seen ferret boy run past, by chance, by the way have you?

“Sorry, amor-what now?” Theo asks, blinking as he purses his lips.

You look between the three of your friends in alarm, praying no one mentioned anything after Theo had just announced that you smelled perfectly normal to him.

“Oh, you’re going to wish you were there! After you left, Draco was so pleased with himself. Looked like a kid on Christmas. Kept trying to flirt with Hermione until she finally sent a flock of doves to run him out of the classroom! Professor wasn’t too happy bout that one. Let us go early to find the blonde loon,” Enzo says, completely ignoring Theo’s question.

“I’m sorry, amor-WHAT?” Theo asks again, louder this time.

You feel yourself cringe.

“Amortentia.” Pansy snorts. “Do try and keep up Teddy.”

“This is what you get for always skiving off class with Matteo,” Enzo adds, nodding at the boy as if he were his disappointed mother.

“Mhmm. Enzo totally floozied over y/n’s potion this morning. Blew it up all over her and she’s been having people wander up to her to take a sniff all day.” Pansy tells him with a sniff.

Theo blinks again before slowly meeting your eyes as what he said only moments earlier begins to sink in. Pansy, ever the cunning witch, was lightening quick to catch on.

“Speaking of which, I am suddenly so interested in what exactly it is that you smell, dearest Teddy,” Pansy says as her eyes flicker between the two of you, a mischievous grin growing on her face.

Theo scowls at the nickname.

“Campfire.”

“Old parchment.” You say in unison.

Pansy smirks.

“Do you smell that Enzo?” She asks, making a show of sniffing the air around her. “I think I smell- a liar. Or two.”

Enzo only snickers as he eyes the both of you up. He knew exactly what you had been smelling all day and you begin to feel panic rise up in your chest. You send a menacing glare his way, daring him to open his mouth.

“Come on Pans, I don’t think Draco and Granger are the only ones who’ll be chatting up tonight,” he says finally.

Glaring at the pair’s disappearing backs, you once again turn slowly back to the problem at hand.

“Soo,” Theo starts at the same time you blurt out,

“This is entirely your fault.”

Theo’s mouth drops open, and he has the audacity to look offended.

“How do you figure mi amore?” He asks.

“You’re supposed to be my partner in potions, but you weren’t there today, so I had to work with,” you shudder, “Enzo.”

Rolling his eyes at your dramatics and giving you a small smile, Theo lets himself relax, leaning on the wall as he towers over you.

“Enzo isn’t so bad,” he says, slowly bringing a hand up to rest on your waist, gently moving you towards him. You pretend not to notice, taking a small, nervous step forward.

“He singed off Matteo’s eyebrows last year. The year before that, he didn’t realize there was a difference between fire flower and fired flour, and his potion melted through the floor. I heard a Puff call him Slytherin’s Seamus,” you retort. “Do you realize how bad you have to be at something to get made fun of by a Hufflepuff?” He snorts at that, cocking his head in agreement.

“Well I’m sorry alright? I’ll make it up to you.”

“You’ll have to. I have to go in again to remake the potion. Don’t want that bad mark on my grade.”

Theo only hums at this, as you’re finally standing nose to chest with him, forcing you to tilt your head up to still see his face.

“You really do smell nice,” he murmurs, pressing his nose lightly into your hair.

You make a face before nuzzling into his chest to hide the redness growing on your cheeks.

“I’m not talking about this in public. I simply refuse,” you say, trying to melt into him from pure embarrassment.

Theo looks down at you with a devilishly handsome grin before turning back to your long forgotten common room door.

“Hey, open up. She technically answered your little riddle earlier,” he tells the door.

The eagle grumbles something unintelligible as it starts to life again.

“I can always melt you down. I’m sure you’d make a great piss pot,” Theo threatens, going to pull out his wand.

The door swings open rather violently and you’re pretty sure you can hear a rather colorful string of curses come out of the eagle’s beak as you make your way inside. Having been there a thousand times before, Theo easily leads you to your shared, but thankfully empty, dorm room, closing the door behind you.

“You really don’t get along with that eagle, do you principessa?” He asks, throwing his shoes off and making himself comfortable on your bed like he usually did.

“Like you’re any better. You just threatened to turn it into a chamber pot,” you retort, falling easily back into your usual banter. This was fine. This was safe.

Theo only raises a brow at you.

“The blasted door is still mad at me for making a ur mum joke when it asked me if a chicken came before the egg in front of a bunch of second years.” You admit, letting your arms fall to your side.

Theo lets out a loud laugh at that shaking his head and extending his arm for you. You walk carefully towards the bed before hesitantly accepting his invitation. It’s not that cuddling with Theo was something unfamiliar to you, as much as you were hyper aware of the slightly awkward tension between the two of you that wasn’t usually there. You slide your shoes off as well before curling up next to him and laying your head on his chest. The two of you lay in silence and you slowly let your eyelids flutter shut, lost in the feeling of Theo’s chest rising and falling.

“You know. You still haven’t told me what your amortentia smells like,” Theo says, finally breaking the silence as he gently brings his hand up to run his fingers through your hair.

“Take a wild fucking guess,” you murmur, refusing to open your eyes and determined to get further lost in his warm touch.

He only hums in response, continuing to comb his fingers through the soft locks of hair.

“You know when Enzo asked me if I smelled you today, he thought you’d smell like hippogriff dung,” you say eventually.

“Fucking tosser. What did that git smell? Wild lavender?”

“And Daphne’s shampoo.”

You feel Theo snort as if he expected no less of your ever romantic best friend. Silence once again rolls over the both of you as you absentmindedly play with the edge of his shirt, rolling the soft fabric between your fingers nervously. The quiet begins to feel suffocating, so you open your mouth to speak, but Theo beats you to it.

“Champagne. And that perfume you always use. With the little white flowers. Lilies of the valley, right?” Theo says.

You open your eyes to look at him in confusion.

“That’s what you smell like.” He says, carefully running his hand down your spine, sending a shiver through you.

“I smell roasted coffee. And smoke. Not the fire-y kind though. The kind that sticks to your clothes cause you refuse to quit smoking.” You respond, looking into his eyes warily for his reaction.

Theo only smirks in response, a cocky grin spreading across his face.

“Aw mi amore, I’m what you’re most attracted to?” He asks, the teasing bait evident in his voice.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks as Theo gazed intently down at you in his arms.

“Shut up Theodore. You sure know how to ruin a moment,” you say, once again burying your face in a chest.

You feel his chest rumble with laughter before his hand snakes it way up to your chin, tilting your head up and capturing your lips with his. His lips are softer than you imagined as he moves them gently against yours. You let a soft gasp escape and Theo pulls you closer, gripping your waste tightly, and shifting you on top of him, deepening the kiss until you’re both left gasping for air.

“Was that more of what you had in mind amore?” He asks with an innocent smile, looking up at you with what you could only describe as his best baby seal eyes.

“I mean, you were definitely significantly more shirtless when I imagined it, but I can settle.” You joke.

Theo’s eyes darken however, and he lifts you as if you weigh nothing, flipping you over so that he now hovered above you, your back pinned against the bed beneath you. With one swift movement, Theo pulls his shirt up and over his head before lowering himself back down, his chest now pressed against yours.

“Better?”

You can’t help but laugh at the boy’s determination as your eyes shamelessly take in the lean muscle and tanned skin that was current above you.

“Theodore, as much as I enjoy this, you have to put your clothes on. Cho or Marietta could walk in at any time,” you tell him as you begin to make soft circles across his waist line with your thumbs, admiring the boy in front of you.

“Mm. You mouth is saying one thing, but these,” he says, placing his hands over yours, “are saying something else entirely.”

You roll your eyes, pulling your hands out from under his and handing him his discarded shirt.

“One kiss?” He asks, looking at the shirt as if it had mortally offended him.

“One kiss.”

He leans down, once again capturing your lips with his, but with more intensity this time. You feel one of his hands brush your waist as his thumb pushes up under your shirt, the rest of his hand following soon after, gripping tightly at the warm skin beneath. You let out a breathy moan when he flicks his tongue across your bottom lip, and he takes it as an invitation to let his tongue explore the rest of your mouth.

An awkward cough shakes you from the haze and you look up, over Theo’s shoulder to see Cho standing guiltily in the doorway.

“Sorry,” she says, looking literally anywhere but you and the shirtless boy above you. “Bad time?”

You cover your eyes in embarrassment, feeling heat once again rush to your cheeks.

“What did I tell you!” You groan, letting your head fall back onto your mound of pillows. Meanwhile Theo has a much too self satisfied grin across his face.

[2smolbeans]

I just realised how terrifying a yan ceo can potentially be.

Money, power, connections, it can be all used against you. For all you know, they could kidnap you in the most subtle way to the point that you won't even know when to be on your guard. They could hire men to come and grab you in a shabby van, alleyway, or even in your own home- in broad daylight too. They could disguise themselves as a regular Joe who happens to work in the same workplace as you as a way to get closer. They have all the time to do it, not like they need to work 24/7 unlike you.

And when they kidnap you, God knows where they can put you! For all you know, they could move you into a foreign country inside a locked up penthouse. Good luck getting back home, especially if you don't even speak the language! Or better yet, if you could even find your passport and any of your belongings.

Or if their feeling a little lazy, they could just trap you in a room with loads of security cameras and locks. They have money, and they can literally afford anything. A shock collar? Oh, don't mind if they do! Let's add an invisible gated fence while at it to keep you in place whenever their gone.

A rich person always has connections, and oh boy, can they abuse it with their wits and charm. You escaped (which will NEVER happen), and you accuse them of absolutely horrible crimes. Well, you're just a jealous ex with a history of drug use, fraud, and theft that just wants to collect their money. Better yet, where were you during the disappearance of a particular person? It's suspicious how your DNA is plastered all over the crime scene..

Or perhaps they have a 3rd party they work with. CEOs and rich people always gave different ways of earning money.. Sometimes, it can be tied to an illegal 3rd party. Man, what a shame if they were to just auction you off to the black market, sell one of your organs, or maybe try that new expiremental drug they've been curious about because you decided to lip off at them.

They could replace you anytime, but they choose not to.

Money can buy anything, and it probably bought your parents over. Sending money, gifts, and letters to your family, introducing them as your best friend or partner as a way to personally wiggle themselves into your life.

"(Y/n) they are so nice! Why didn't you tell us about them?"

"Oh, don't be like that! We need them. Please.. Don't be inconsiderate."

With all the gifts and life changing money they throw, they sometimes even win you over at some moments.. And that's what makes it even worse. You actually consider being with them the more you comply, the more they reward your submissiveness to their insanity, and well to simply put it- throw money at you.

I mean fuck it, why not? What's the harm in marrying them? Is what you would say if they weren't bat shit insane or cruel. The richest people don't become filthy rich from being good or kind after all..

Mistreating workers, black market connections, destroying peoples lives financially- fuck does it make you feel complicit. But you can't leave. Divorce them? Yeah, in your dreams. But okay, what if they humor you and let you leave?

Say goodbye to any property you have, your money, and your dignity. By the end of the court session, you'll have nothing, and I mean NOTHING. Try to get a job? It won't pay the debt you owe or restore your bank account after the legal divorce. I say legal because to them, they probably just see this as a minor inconvenience or couples quarrel. They could always just get another ring and throw another wedding, you're just being whiny and difficult.

You wanna buy a house, a car, or even pay rent? Yeah, no, you can't afford to divorce them.

They literally own you now.

[beebotea]

☁️ ˖⁺ thinking of collegeboy!kayn

pairing: heartsteel!kayn x gn!reader genre: fluff, crack cw: probably ooc ngl, hearsteel is a rising boy band, kayn is annoying asf, slight jealousy, idk classmates to crush ig, reader is an ezreal stan i.e.: collegeboy!kayn headcannons

collegeboy!kayn who’s part of the rising boyband heartsteel

collegeboy!kayn who stands as one of their lead rappers and opens for their first single

collegeboy!kayn who has amassed a significant following outside of school for his looks and stage persona

collegeboy!kayn who has this arrogant, bad-boy-esque aura to him when he walks around the halls

collegeboy!kayn who you had the unfortunate luck to sit beside on your first day of class because he was in your program

collegeboy!kayn who often misses classes during band promotions

collegeboy!kayn who starts to fail his classes because of his horrible attendance and lack of study skills

collegeboy!kayn who you’ve been tasked by one of the department heads to tutor

collegeboy!kayn who was told to play nice during tutoring sessions or he’d be kicked from band activities if he failed a single class at the end of the semester

collegeboy!kayn who gets kicked out of all the public spaces you guys try to study at because he always makes too big of a scene at any minor inconvenience

collegeboy!kayn who brings you back to the dorms because you’re too embarrassed to step foot in public within a 10-meter radius of him, but he still needs you to help him pass his classes

collegeboy!kayn who gets annoyed when you start to fawn over ezreal when he greets you from the living room

collegeboy!kayn who drags you away by the wrist to cut your conversation off short, grumbling about not knowing what you see in the guy and how you’re sooo shallow for liking the pretty boy under his breath

collegeboy!kayn who yells at his mom yone for barging in during your study sesh and bringing in a plate of perfectly cut fruits

collegeboy!kayn who threatened to “beat the living shit” out of ez if he didnt stop flirting with you while he was trying to figure out maslow’s hierarchy

collegeboy!kayn who decides to lock the door after having k'sante peek his head in to “check on how you're both doing”

collegeboy!kayn who started to look forward to walking with you back to his dorm after class and spending time with you once a week

collegeboy!kayn who begins to do better in class with your consistent help every weekend

collegeboy!kayn who impulsively called you, excited that he got a b+ on one of his final exams

collegeboy!kayn who turns red in embarrassment when you tease him over the phone about never calling you prior (he always insisted he was a text-only type of guy)

collegeboy!kayn who couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed when you laughed, saying that he wouldn’t need you to tutor him anymore

collegeboy!kayn who, without thinking, said, “no! im still stupid, you have to keep tutoring me!”

collegeboy!kayn who mentally facepalms when you laugh at him again for being such a loser about it but quickly gets over it when you agree to keep helping him

collegeboy!kayn who finds himself thanking someone for the first time with a slight smile on his face before you disconnect the call

collegeboy!kayn who throws the nearest pointed object at sett and tells him to "fuck off" when he gets teased for looking so lovesick over a phone call of all things

collegeboy!kayn who slams the door of his bedroom shut and comically lets himself fall face-first into his pillow because he’s realized he has absolutely developed a crush on you at this point

collegeboy!kayn who thinks to himself with a smirk and decides it shouldn’t be too hard to win you over with his undeniable charm and good looks… right?

a/n: should i release a one-shot or multi-part ver of this? i got MORE!!! also are league fics a thing? idt ive ever seen them but oh well heartsteel kayn is just too UGHSAHJGSHJG

[nectardaddy]

HOT TO GO !

masterlist

introductions : go to hell mattsun

notes : ignore the timestamps I can not be bothered

go to hell mattsun !

❤ roommates! ❤ makki named the gc and they never changed it ❤ they were all playing uno drunk as shit and mattsun flipped the table because he was losing - makki never got over it ❤ "come get her" and "jordan belfort" are constantly blasting in that apartment unironically ❤ they're all down horrendously but tanaka is the only one with a girlfriend (WE LOVE YOU KIYOKO)

mattsun !

❤ mortuary science major ❤ brings a light hearted vibe to every class he's in ❤ he's really smart actually, but lacks every single bit of common sense ❤ feminist + woman lover ❤ rushed a frat (gross) but he didn't get in and he thanks whatever higher power there is that he didn't ❤ tinder is his addiction, has horrible but funny openers ❤ "I listen to chappell roan btw" - "no you don't" - "yeah you're right" (thank @sandwhitches for this one)

makki !

❤ business major bc he doesn’t know what he wants to do ❤ he doesn't know lev, lev doesn't go to class, makki does ❤ does way too many drugs, he can and will show up to class high ❤ roasts mattsun all the time for rushing a frat ❤ uses any minor inconvenience to party ❤ brat coded ❤ uses tinder but not as much as mattsun, his bio is "give me your hottest take so we can argue"

tanaka !

❤ kinesiology major with yaku ❤ he fucking loves it, gym bro vibes ❤ talks about kiyoko any chance he gets ❤ "oh my gf does that too" - "we know tanaka" ❤ keg stand king ❤ actually listens to chappell roan

donatello !

❤ mattsun's pet turtle he treats like a son ❤ there will be many mentions of him, don't forget about him

tag list (open , send an ASK)

@eggyrocks @yogurtkags @jadeoru @cosmiicdust @joy-laufeyson

@wakashudou @cosmiicdust @honeekyuu @gigiiiiislife @yoshit-he-dinosaur

@mollyrolls @soulfullystarry @comettarium @sandwhitches @seroh

[cambria-writes]

Chapter 1: Blow out all the candles

pairing: astarion x bard!f!reader word count: 6,010 rating: T13 warnings: swearing, mentions of blood and gore, implied past sexual abuse/assault, nothing outright spoken about, if there's anything else to be tagged please let me know

a/n: it's here! and it's proofread! i'm very excited to put this out because i've been working on it for actual months by now. i think about this when i go to bed at night and i look forward to the weekend to keep writing. i don't know that there will ever be smut—there might be, i just haven't properly considered it yet—but there will be a lot of self-indulgent soft moments with the bastard.

please let me know what you think, and comment if you'd like to be tagged for future updates!

You feel like shit.

You feel like shit, there are burns all over you, and the whole of your party smells like soot, death and disappointment. Well, at the very least, you, Lae’zel and Astarion do. Karlach seems to be managing perfectly fine if her boasting is anything to go by. And she tends to smell like smoke most days, to begin with.

Shadowheart, bless her, manages most of the minor wounds on her own. Chastises you gently for running into a burning building again—this time literally. Her lecture has no bite though; she can see on all your faces that this latest encounter has left an extremely bitter taste. In all of your mouths, not just yours or hers, and not just because of the smoke.

Once you no longer look like more of a corpse than your actual undead party member, you drag your feet back to your tent. Grab a change of clothes, pull a bucket from by the fire—with a promise to a whingeing Gale to bring it back, clean and preferably full of equally clean water—and thoughtlessly head towards where you’d last seen running water. It would suck, it would probably be freezing, and the idea of being mostly unarmed in any state of undress makes you want to curl in on yourself and disappear into the Underdark. Maybe let the monsters there take you, while you’re at it. At least then you wouldn’t have to worry about an uninvited guest in your fucking skull.

But there is work to be done. Horrible, dreadful work. You know you’ll sleep… maybe not better tonight, but at least not as miserably, you hope. All that physical exertion has to be good for something.

You try not to think of the people at Waukeen’s Rest as you walk. Conveniently—or supremely inconveniently—there’s already someone in the clearing you’ve wandered into. The shock of white hair lets you know it is, in fact, Astarion who’s sat at the water’s edge. You figure the only reason he hasn’t noticed you yet is because he seems very… aggravated. His back is turned to you, but you can tell he’s violently trying to scrub something out of his hairline.

Probably the same blood, gore and soot that’s dried into yours.

You raise the bucket in your left hand and knock into it with your right. The vampire flinches and spins around so quickly you wonder if secondhand whiplash is a thing. There’s a moment where his face displays what you’re almost certain is fear, before he controls his expression into something more akin to familiar annoyance.

“Oh. You. What do you want?”

You wrinkle your nose at his almost pouty tone. Lately, Astarion’s been especially bitter with you. No idea why; maybe it’s because you turned him down those two times he propositioned you? You hadn’t figured he was serious. He flirts all the time with nearly everything with a pulse—probably things without if given half a chance—how would you ever know if he was being genuine?

…or maybe it’s the whole conversation with Raphael. Hm. Well it’s not like anyone—except Astarion, apparently—could fault you much for not wanting to trust a devil. At all. Ever.

You’re thinking too much about it.

Instead of offering an immediate answer, you approach Astarion with a not insignificant amount of caution.

“I can…” you start, but trail off. If you offer help—which he clearly needs, what with being unable to see his own reflection and therefore see his own face to wash the dried blood, soot and grime off of it—he’s going to refuse you. If you try to impose yourself, you’re probably just… not going to make it to see the next morning, actually.

So you hedge your bets and, after taking a few more careful steps forward, reach your hand out, palm up.

“May I?” You ask, gesturing vaguely at the washcloth Astarion’s holding. He predictably narrows his eyes at you. His gaze flickers between your outstretched hand and your face as though there’s some form of deception there that he should be able to see.

His right leg shifts, just barely. You already know that’s the side that has a small dagger hidden in the boot. You do your best to pretend you don’t see or know.

You’re not sure you do a terribly good job of it. Astarion sighs—a terribly loud, put-upon sound that just reminds you of a child being told to clean their room.

“Fine. Just be quick about it.”

You’d sigh yourself if you didn’t think it would set him off even more. So instead you approach, carefully and slowly as you can manage without looking too terribly awkward. Once you’re a foot or two away, you grab the washcloth and give it a quick rinse in the river. Once you’ve wrung it out, you maneuver the bucket upside down to sit on it and scoot yourself a bit closer to the… very obviously displeased vampire.

You barely catch yourself; when your right hand comes up to his face with the washcloth, your left immediately follows. It hovers by his cheek and you freeze, for a moment, and try to remember to breathe under Astarion’s extremely judgemental stare.

“Can—do you mind?” you ask, barely over a whisper, quickly glancing at your left hand. You’re already curling your fingers to pull it away.

The vampire spawn rolls his eyes like your antics are truly the most boring thing in the world before answering.

“Whatever gets this over with the fastest, if you don’t mind. I would really love to stop wasting time on a face I can’t even see.”

You nod and try not to swallow thickly. But you don’t think any effort matters. The sound of your thundering heart would probably bury any other sound your body would make anyway.

His skin is incredibly soft, but you bite your tongue to prevent yourself from saying so. You focus on what you’re meant to be doing, focusing on a spot above Astarion’s left brow. Then the right brow. You do your best to remember to breathe through your nose the whole time. No talking. No fast or twitching movements. You pray the smell of death and fire are enough to overpower whatever your breath smells like.

You don’t realize when he closes his eyes. Maybe after the second or third time you gently push his head this way and that. You run the washcloth around his ears, along his jaw. Meticulously avoid the two puncture wounds on his neck.

“As good as it’s gonna get,” you whisper, quickly casting your eyes down before Astarion opens his, and busy yourself with folding and refolding the washcloth. Take a deep breath and look back up while you pass the cloth back over. “Still gonna want to dunk your head, though. Hair’s still…” You gesture vaguely at what should be a shock of pure white.

It’s… well it’s not entirely white anymore.

There’s a moment where you catch an unusual expression on Astarion’s face. It doesn’t last long enough for you to be able to figure it out. And where maybe you would’ve asked, any other time, today doesn’t—the timing doesn’t feel quite right.

“Well then,” you start, grabbing the bucket by the handle and quickly moving to the river to scoop up a decent amount of water. You pretend it’s not heavier than you think it was. You’re trying to figure out what you should say as you leave—if anything at all—but your companion makes the choice for you.

“Thank you,” he says, not quietly, but not with the usual bravado you hear from him. It’s enough to make you pause. “I would hate for my slovenly appearance to ruin vampires’ prim and proper reputation,” he continues, and you can’t help but let your mouth twist into the smallest grin. “Even though red is my colour.”

You snort in amusement, but quickly shake it off. There is something you want to be saying, actually, and you open your mouth before you can lose your nerve.

“When you’re done, can you—do you mind passing by my tent?”

Astarion’s eyes narrow as he wrings out the washcloth. He doesn’t move, despite the fact that you’re pretty sure he wants to slighter back to the water’s edge. You cut him off when he opens his mouth; you’re not sure you’re ready for whatever biting one-liner he’s got ready for you.

“Actually nevermind, I’ll just—I can see you tomorrow morning. It’s not that important.”

You beat as hasty a retreat as the weight of the bucket of water lets you.

You help Gale for supper. Wash, peel and cut various vegetables, fetch more water by the riverside—Astarion has blessedly left by the time you crouch back down by the bank—and take the time to throw the ball for Scratch a few times. By the time the sun begins to sink into the horizon, the smell of deliciously spiced duck, stewed in with a mouth-watering variety of vegetables, wafts over to you and lures you by the fire where your companions have assembled.

Your local vampire is, predictably, absent. You find yourself wondering if the smells that are so tantalizing to you now would be repugnant to you if you had survived on the blood of pests for two hundred years.

Supper is generally a calm affair. You catch up with whomever was absent from the adventuring party for the day, offer Gale some praise for the meal, indulge Wyll with a few dances—kept at a very polite and respectable distance—and eventually settle by the fire.

Lae’zel and Shadowheart seem to have made peace, for now. They watch each other from their respective tents. There’s not as much contempt and disdain as there was a few nights ago when they’d tried to kill each other. You’re relieved they no longer feel the compulsion to ask to the rapidly mounting pile of absolute bullshit you have to deal with. As if mindflayer spawn in your brains and the looming threat of annihilation weren’t enough to sate their need for excitement.

Well after the sun has set, Wyll rests a hand on your shoulder before sitting himself next to you by the fire. You nod in acknowledgement and quietly retreat to your tent. You’ve set yourself up far enough from the campfire if only just for some solitude after a day surrounded by other people and death. Close enough to the water that, when you return to camp at the end of the day, you’ve an easy time just shrugging off your armour and clothes and just walk into the water after sliding into a well-loved, black cotton slip.

You’ve sat yourself behind a makeshift low table—really just a few planks of wood, scavenged from a damaged dock, atop a pair of crates you’d emptied—and open your journal to begin writing. You were never an avid diary-keeper before being abducted by the nautiloid. Never saw the relevance of it. Not that you could remember to keep track of your daily activities, either way.

But now that so many things happen in only the span of a handful of hours, and so much planning to do, and so many people to remember... you find it easy to sit down at the end of the day and write down everything you saw. You write about Halsin’s release from the dungeons in the defiled temple. Write about how conflicting he seems as a man, and as an elf—so incredibly large, and his speech is so incredibly gentle and soft until it suddenly is... not so much.

You take a moment before writing about your encounter with Abdirak. You keep it brief; the only person reading this journal should be you, after all, and you trust yourself to remember how you felt, beneath the mace, and how you feel now, trying to untangle those feelings.

You omit Astarion’s interjection, much as you do spend a minute thinking about it.

You’re flipping to your fourth page of daily notes when you hear a gentle knocking on one of the wooden poles holding up the canvas of your tent. You don’t look up from your writing but call them in, anyway. You gesture vaguely in front of you, motioning in what you think is the general direction of the cushion set in front of your makeshift desk.

“Sit,” you command. “I’ve just got to... finish. This sentence,” you add haltingly. You have to cross and rewrite a word, spend a few more seconds completing your sentence, before finally putting the quill down. When you look up from your notes, you hastily shut your journal, still-wet ink be damned.

There are... probably too many things written down that you wouldn’t want Astarion to see, especially if his current smug expression means anything.

“What, too caught up in waxing poetics about my boundless charms?”

You scoff at the play of arrogance before pulling one of your smaller packs into your lap and stuffing the journal back inside.

“If you must know,” you start, tossing your back near the back of your tent. As far out of reach of a rakish rogue as you could manage in such a small space. “I was writing down my expectations for the day tomorrow. Which includes going back to the grove to collect our reward from Rath.”

Astarion raises his chin and you and narrows his eyes. “Suspiciously selfish of you, bard.”

You shrug your shoulders and lean back on your hands, letting your legs stretch out in front of you. “I’m not as tooth-rottingly sweet as you seem to think I am. My altruism is also self-serving.”

Astarion shifts and pulls a knee up to rest his arm against and leans in. There’s a glint in his eye you recognize. Your heartbeat flutters, for a second; you could say that you don’t like it when he looks at you like a roast to carve, but closer to the truth would be to admit that you’re terrified of it for lack of knowing how to respond.

You clear your throat before adding, “I’ve got too many people relying on my decision making, besides. I can’t afford to extend a hand if I can’t be sure we won’t all get bit. I very much intend on having us all get to Baldur’s Gate in one piece, and live to see our brains roommate-free.”

Astarion scoffs and leans back. You breathe a little easier now that he’s back to being more aloof and judgemental rather than overly-observant.

“I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse,” he replies, feigning interest in the cleanliness of his nail beds. “The fact that you’ve assumed that kind of responsibility for... what, exactly?” He turns his gaze to you, and you can feel more than see the derision in his eyes.

You look down and take a moment to think. The obvious answer, the first one that comes to mind, is that you feel you have the moral obligation to help when you’re able to. It’s how you were raised.

Another answer, just as true as the first, is that you hope that if you treat others with kindness, maybe they’ll allow you mercy when you need it. Self-serving altruism, just as you’d said.

“Safety,” you eventually respond, lifting your eyes to Astarion’s and tilting your head. “Same as you, I figure.”

Astarion bristles at this, but only barely. You can see it in the tension appearing in his shoulder and the way his face seems to become a little more taught, a little more rigorously controlled.

“Safety, you figure?”

You hum in agreement. “I’m the one you chose to bite that night.”

Again, he scoffs. “Because you were the one least likely to stake me, darling. Not because I thought you’d keep me safe.”

“You thought I’d keep your secret safe, though” you say, pulling your legs back towards you and lean in to rest your elbows on your desk. “I was the safest risk because somehow, all of you with the brilliant exception of Wyll, think I’m a bleeding heart with no sense of self-preservation.”

“You quite literally wandered into a room full of smokepowder barrels with a torch in your hand. A lit torch.”

“I didn’t know there would be smokepowder there, come on!” you exclaim in defense. You compose yourself almost immediately; you know Astarion’s just trying to rile you up. Looking at him, he’s not quite smirking, but there’s the pull of an expression there that feels like it could be satisfaction.

You sigh and run a hand down your face. It feels like a cold shock to have him speak so casually with you now when he felt so unapproachable by the river, earlier. Maybe it’s the fact that he chose to come see you, come into your space, makes it feel different. You feel more in control, if only a little.

In here, you still have the pretense of being the leader of your eclectic group. By the river, stripped of armour and excuses, you felt untethered.

“Whatever. Is there a reason for your visit or were you just bored with getting under everyone else’s skin?”

Astarion fakes hurt and offense, a hand to his chest. “You wound me! You’re the one who asked me to come to you, or has the tadpole knocked the memory loose?”

You lean back a little. You had forgotten. In the midst of the food and the dancing and the writing, you had completely forgotten that you’d asked for him to seek you out. You had, however, figured he would actually wait until the morning. Or maybe another week, if you survived that long. Or never at all.

You were never quite sure what Astarion thought of you at any given point in time, nevermind how seriously he would take your words.

“Right. I just fi—it’s. Right.” You trip over your words, before leaning off to one side to grab at a small pouch. You pull at the drawstring as you right yourself, and plunge a hand in to pull out its singular content.

You hold it up in front of your eyes for a second. It had started as a peculiar stone, but with some time and effort and possibly too much polishing, had revealed itself to be a particularly beautiful opal. Clear nearly all the way through save for a single starburst of vivid colour in the center, tendrils of refractive colours reaching out for the edges.

It had reminded you of sunlight, when you had first held it up to a candle after the final polish. And then, unbidden, you thought of Astarion, and his complicated and upturned relationship with the sun.

You slide the pendant, carefully wrapped in looping metal wires, strung on a simple braided leather cord, over the desk to Astarion.

“I found this in the village,” you explain, trying to calm the panicked thrumming of your heart. “It reminded me of you so I... well, it’s yours if you want it.”

This felt like a good idea at first. While grinding down the rough edges and sanding the surfaces smooth, it felt like a kind gesture. Currently, it feels like maybe you might have given Astarion even more to relentlessly tease and bully you with. Like perhaps you’ve found something that would add another weight to you both.

You keep your eyes on the table. See Astarion slowly reach for the pendant to hold it up in front of his own eyes. You swallow thickly and motion to the candle at the edge of your desk.

“If you hold it up to the light, it looks better.”

He wordlessly nods and follows your directions. The stays motionless for several seconds, and you’re having to remind yourself to breathe. His expression doesn’t change at all, and that makes you even more nervous.

This feels like the riverside all over again. You never know how Astarion will accept kindness, you realize.

“...I don’t understand why you would give this to me if it reminds you of me,” he eventually says, though his eyes are still riveted to the flame-like starburst of the stone. “Why would I keep it?”

You flounder for a second and do your best to try and remain composed. I just wanted to isn’t going to be an acceptable answer. When Astarion turns his gaze to you, otherwise unmoving, you hold a hand up.

“Give me a second,” you rush to say, biting the inside of your cheek and looking down at the wood of your desk to think. There has to be a string of words you can put together that will make sense, even to someone like Astarion. Surely.

Some bard you are.

“I suppose,” you start slowly, placing your palms flat on the desk. Astarion brings his arm down. You don’t see what he does with the pendant. “I wanted you to have something that meant someone thought kindly of you.”

You expect to see a sneer on his face, or something akin to disgust, maybe revulsion. But, no, he’s returned to examining you again. You feel the tadpole squirm behind your eye and squint against the discomfort. Is he trying to...?

Well, fair enough.

You hardly have any control over the tadpole—not that you want to control it, you only want it out of your skull—but do your best to try and let him see you finding the stone. Try and open the door just wide enough for that single experience.

Astarion, of course, pushes his luck. Though he’s about as skilled with using the tadpole as any of you likely are at this point, and gets pulled into your mind like a receding wave. Your mind shows you sharp, white teeth and crimson eyes. A shock of silver-white hair under moonlight just as his face comes into view. Teeth at your neck and the feeling of uncertainty of what any of this means for you. The flood of relief when you realized your campmate was just a vampire, and that he was never intending to do anything worse than taking a sip.

Astarion withdraws suddenly and violently from your mind. The absence of him feels like the bleeding gap left by the removal of a particularly large splinter. There’s a headache beginning to drum just behind your eyes that has nothing to do with the illithid parasite. You rub at your eyes with the butt of your palms to try and ease the soreness there. When you pull your hands away, the expression you see on Astarion’s face is indescribable. There’s horror there, but understanding and a non-insignificant amount of apprehension.

“Next time,” you croak, clearing your throat and rolling your shoulders. “I would appreciate if you just asked.”

“I did, and you let me in,” Astarion answers, uncharacteristically soft and quiet. He says nothing else before standing up and turning to leave your tent. You feel aloft in the wind before he turns around to add, “Thank you, for your gift.”

The canvas of your tent moves back into place. Your candle keeps burning. The quiet of the camp is only broken by the habitual night time sounds of nature, the occasional sound of Scratch’s collar, and the crackling of firewood when Wyll throws in another log.

You whistle sharply, two tones, and you hear Scratch eagerly making his way over to your tent. He pushes the canvas out of his way with his snout and quickly comes to sit in front of your desk.

“Is something bothering you, friend?” the dog asks, tilting his head to the side. You smile when one of his ears flop over.

“I’m alright, boy,” you answer with a relieved sigh. “Mind spending the night here with me?”

Scratch stands back up excitedly, tail wagging. “Of course!”

You make short work of moving the planks of wood to the side and stacking the crates out of the way. Unfurl your bedroll and pull some salvaged sheets for some extra padding. When you lay down, Scratch curls up at your side. You put an arm around him and distractedly scratch at his back.

When you trance, you try to keep your mind as clear as possible. You need to be sharp, alert and aware for the day tomorrow. You need to clear the rest of the goblin camp, prepare yourself for the brutality of it. And then report back to the grove and Zevlor once you’re done.

This does not prevent ruby eyes shining like stones from appearing in the shadows every now and then.

You walk to the grove with everyone in tow. You, Astarion, Lae’zel and Wyll are covered in blood and probably viscera. Karlach seems mostly untouched, and though Gale and Shadowheart look exhausted, they seem perfectly fine. Nothing a nice, long rest won’t fix. Probably.

In front of the large wooden gate, you call out to Kaldani.

“Let them know it’s done,” you shout up. “The goblin camp has been cleared!”

There’s shouting as the gates open, and immediately the tieflings begin to swarm you. Zevlor appears out of practically nowhere. Alfira even makes an appearance to interrogate you about the goblin camp, the defiled temple. You end up following her deeper into the Grove to sit and regale her with your... well, you suppose they are heroic endeavours, but you take a moment to sincerely let her know it was horrible. Yes, you whole group is competent, yes, all together you make for a terrifyingly effective strategist. But slaughtering people who don’t know any better because it was kill or be killed isn’t something heroic. It is not magical or fantastic. It is brutal and it is bloody, and when you say that, you wrinkle your nose.

You’re still covered in blood. And gods know what else.

Alfira makes sure to convey her understanding, lets you know that she won’t be composing something wonderful and fantastic. She tells you she wants to make it a cautionary tale; being influenced by powers you cannot see and compelled to perform acts of cruelty yet unmatched. The grit and resolve it takes to prevent such a thing, and the knowledge that sometimes you must choose means for ends you cannot promise. It’s a bit much, but you appreciate it.

You don’t bother letting the rest of your crew, swarmed as they are, know of your departure. You slink off to go collect from Rath, as you had mentioned. Leaving the inner chamber and escaping unnoticed, however, was a significantly greater challenge. As you’re attempting to make a quick escape, you get held up by Zevlor. He offers to pay you for your help—the word makes you grit your teeth—and given that you’re alone and no one else can complain about your decision making, you refuse. Looting the defiled temple had provided you all with more than enough tradeable materials to make for a sizable amount of gold.

And you have a feeling the tieflings are going to be needing whatever they can get their hands on far more than your lot will.

You accept Zevlor’s offer to celebrate your party tonight, if only because you don’t have the heart to turn him down. And maybe also because the idea of drowning your sorrows in several bottles of wine and ale sounds like an amazing idea.

Shadowheart is the only one that spots you trying to make a hasty getaway. She smirks at you before looking away, back to whoever she was conversing with. You let out a sigh of relief and trudge your way back to camp.

By the time you make it by the extinguished fire, you’ve already taken off your breastplate. You feel better already, without the weight of it on your shoulders. Make your way over to your tent and make quick work of the rest. Staring at the pile of metal and leather, you find yourself wishing you knew any transmutation spells. Prestidigitation would be very useful right now.

You disrobe, piling your clothes into a wicker basket, before slipping into your cotton shift. Grab the wicker basket and make your way to Astarion’s tent. You pilfer one of the six bars of soap the man has before making your back back to the waterside. You’d at least like to be clean of blood and dirt and have the possibility of wearing clean clothes if you’re going to be up all night drinking to what you suppose is a job well done.

You let your face screw up in disgust while you scrub at your face with a threadbare washcloth. Evil as goblins may be, you’re still unsure about the near-thoughtless slaughter of the children you found in the dungeons. There’s something off-putting about anything resembling genocide. You let yourself get angry, in between scrubbing your hair with soap and dunking your head in the water to rinse it out. Angry about being in the horrible position of leading a group of people with different ideals, angry about the stupid fucking worm in your head, angry about everyone looking to you for the correct path to take.

“Correct path my left fucking nut,” you spit, flattening your wet hair away from your face. “Like a bard’s supposed to be a moral fucking compass.”

“Well, isn’t that unusual,” you hear from the riverside, and take a moment to close your eyes and brace yourself. You take a deep breath before turning to face Astarion.

“I hardly think bathing is unusual,” you retort back, twisting and wringing the water out of a tunic particularly roughly. “Did you also escape ahead of the tieflings, then?”

Astarion leisurely kicks a log—probably one that was by the fire—before taking a seat a few feet away from the water. He looks... alarmingly clean for someone that emerged from the same hellish depths you have. You don’t listen to his reply, but instead try to remember whose face you remember seeing in the grove. His was not one of them.

A twig hits you in the forehead and stuns you out of your thoughts.

“What in the world was that for—”

“I was asking you a question,” Astarion says, leaning an elbow on a knee and cradling his chin in his hand. “But it seems someone was too preoccupied with my shoulder to properly pay attention to me.”

“I realized you didn’t follow us to the grove,” you trail off, turning back around to continue washing your clothes. You freeze, for a moment, realizing he very well could have seen you sneaking the bar of soap from his belongings. You resume your scrubbing, determined not to bring it up if he doesn’t. Not like Astarion hasn’t pilfered some of your own things before.

“I did,” he replies with all the drama of someone being called a liar. “I simply left once the news had been given that we’d been successful.”

You hum to yourself. “So you left before they even opened the gate to let us in, then.”

You hear a scoff, then, “Are you going to answer my question or not?”

“You’re the one who was saying I wasn’t paying attention,” you say with a bit of a huff, twisting and wringing out your trousers before slinging them over your shoulder. “What was the question?”

There’s a long enough pause when you’re scrubbing and rinsing your undergarments that you wonder if Astarion’s just left. You let the clothes fall back into the wicker basket you’d wedged in some tall grass and turn back around.

He isn’t looking at you. You don’t think you ever quite understood the concept of someone looking through you until this moment. Astarion’s gaze is, technically, you suppose, on you. But he seems far away, like recalling a memory he isn’t quite sure how he feels about.

“Well?” you prompt, grabbing the wicker basket and making your way to ground.

“When we spoke, last night,” he starts, and you find he sounds a little unsure of himself. Hesitant, maybe? “When you... let me in.”

You’re not sure if you shiver because of where the conversation is going or because your dripping, waterlogged shift is making you cold. You don’t say anything and wait for Astarion to continue.

“The first night I—when I bit you, what...” he trails off and looks away. His face contorts into something like disappointment, but you’re not quite sure what with. “What is it you were scared of?”

You busy yourself with finding a nice, wide rock, exposed to the sun, to lay your clothes out to try. Do your best to make sure everything is flat and won’t wrinkle.

“I was scared of the same thing any woman would when she wakes to a man looming over her.” You try to keep your voice level and not let the vitriol—the result of equal parts rage and terror that Astarion couldn’t possibly ever have had any hand in—out of your voice. “It wouldn’t have been the first time,” you add quietly.

You turn around to wring the water from the bottom of your shift. You keep your eyes down as you twist the fabric, but catch Astarion standing in your periphery. When you do look up at him, after he’s taken a few steps toward you, something horrible and expanding twists in your stomach.

He looks ashamed, somewhat, but there’s something else in his eyes that takes you a moment to place. It’s understanding, it’s knowing that he had put you in a position that he, himself, is intimately familiar with. It’s the kind of look you seldom ever see on a man. It rends your heart, a little bit.

“Right,” you say suddenly, moving to shake and wring the water out of your hair. “Glad we’ve got that out of the way, so if it’s all the same t—”

“I’m sorry,” Astarion blurts out. Like the impulse to apologize for his transgression was stronger than the need to preserve whatever image he’d constructed himself. “I wouldn’t have—if I’d known—”

“You could have,” you interrupt him in turn. When you look down at your hands, you can see your veins honeycombing in a familiar pattern. You still the shaking in them by picking up the hem of your slip. “I’m not being fair to you, sorry. I can understand why someone in your position wouldn’t have been asking for everyone’s personal circumstance.”

“How—what do you mean by that?” Astarion asks, frowning like he thinks you know something he doesn’t. You shake your head.

“The expectation would have been for you to share your own history,” you explain, making your way to your tent. You pretend you don’t loathe the feeling of dirt and grass stuck to your feet. “Even if you’d lied, that would’ve all been blown away as soon as we got to Bladur’s Gate, wouldn’t it?”

Astarion looks down and away. You shrug your shoulders as he follows you. Busy yourself rolling and tying up the fabric that served as a door to your personal space. You turn your head just in time to see him open his mouth to speak, but whatever he starts saying is lost under Gale’s booming greeting.

“There you are! We were wondering where our fearless, valiant leader had gone!”

You glance over Astarion’s shoulder, where you can see Gale leading your merry band of misfits, before looking back at the man in front of you. He already looks detached and aloof again.

“Suppose I’ll leave you to your social duties then, darling,” Astarion says as way of a parting greeting, and ambles over to his own tent and disappears inside.

You let Gale fill you in on the plan—wherein the tieflings will pack everything up and, on their way out of the grove tonight, will come celebrate their ‘liberation’ with the camp. You sit on the small stool you have set in front of your tent and only half-listen while coming through and braiding your hair.

You don’t see Astarion again until well after the sun has set.

[gojos-thot-patrol]

i DEFINITELY want more Frat Boy Sukuna!!! 😍😍😍😍

Oh man, you're twisting my arm so hard here nonnie, what ever will I do?

I guess I'm just going to have to post some headcanons and frame work I have for the up coming part 2 (Of which you can get on the tag list for it: here!) Oh! And if you want a refresher, you can find Seven Minuets in Heaven Here!

Now Presenting...

Some supplemental reading if you will ;)

Ok, lets start with just some basic information on our boy

Hes in the Alpha Beta Omega frat, or the ABO frat. The entire Frat is very quick to point out they’ve been around longer than ABO when you bring it up, minus Ryomen. 

He just tells you he’s an Alpha and asks if you’re trying to be his Omega. It normally gets whatever reaction he wants

He’s majoring in business against his will (Remember this: It will come up) with a minor in he’s really about: History

If taking over his fathers very lucrative business (Again: This will come back up later) fails, he wants to be a history teacher.

He often bonds with Nanami over hating their shared major and being annoyed with Gojo and Geto making out in the most inconvenient places.

He sells drugs on the side to supplement his income, but nothing harder than weed because “Weeds not even a drug when you think about it.”

Is known for being the biggest manslut in the manslut frat. But hey, at least he gets tested regularly. 

Ok, so now I want to start with a little bit of his background because it informs a lot about how I characterize him.

He’s Yuji’s older brother by about 4 years. Both of them look almost exactly like their father. The man really said Ctrl C, Ctrl V, Ctrl V. 

Their father left when they were 7 and 3 respectively. Yuji doesn’t remember, but Ryomen very clearly remembers how horrible their father was to their mother. To him, it was a relief when that asshole finally abandoned the family for good.

The family moved in with their Grandpa, who was one of the very old school “I will only tell my kids I love them on my death bed” types. He also died when the boys were only 13 and 9.

Meaning our boy never really had a good role model for how to perform masculinity, and now that he’s an adult he finds himself pretending to be the type of man media told him he was supposed to be. Somewhere between Tyler Durden and Joey Tribbiani. He doesn’t think he’s very good at this performance. 

The moment he turned 16, he started getting piercings to try and look less like his dad. The moment he turned 18 he got his tattoos to really separate himself from his father. Yuji thinks it’s insane, but Ryomen thinks it’s worth it to be able to look in the mirror without wanting to punch it.

His father reached out to him his senior year of high school. He offered to pay for 100% of Sukuna’s college tuition, as long as he majored in business and took over the “family” company once he graduated.

Yea, turns out dear old dads new wife couldn’t conceive, and his smoking had finally caught up with him in the form of lung cancer. Faced with an inevitable death, he was desperate for an heir. 

Ryomen may have despised his father with everything in his being, but he realized how stupid it would be to throw away not only a free education, but also a guaranteed career. So he agreed.

OKAY now that that’s outta the way, let’s get into how he is in a relationship 😈

You are his first real relationship. He’s had “relationships” that lasted officially about 2 weeks at the longest. He’s had a plethora of situationships where he’d make promises he had no intention to keep. But as far as actually, serious, relationships you’re number one. 

And genuinely this new emotion kinda scares the shit out of him. The first time he got love pangs he thought he was having a panic attack, the first time you brushed him off he felt like he shattered. this shit sucks yo, no wonder the Greeks thought it was a mental illness.

He has no idea how to properly love someone, he’s winging this shit: Doing everything entirely based on vibes

In his past “relationships” the moment conflict arose, he would leave. He doesn’t want to do that to you though, so head it is.

I’m not joking, the moment you have an issue he’s taking you to bed to try and distract you. And he’s always shocked when you still want to, ya know, communicate about issues you’re having after the fact. And he’s always even more shocked when you don’t just leave the moment conflict arises. 

Did I mention he has no real concept of how healthy relationships work?

He’s trying though. He’s trying harder to make this work than he’s trying to keep his grades up. 

Often catches himself flirting with other girls without even realizing it, it’s just second nature to him. He’ll always disengage the moment he realizes

Oh he’s jealous. Oh he’s so jealous. He sees you just talking to another guy and he’s spiraling in his head. He’s immediately getting involved and planting hickies on your neck right in front of whoever you’re talking to, because you’re his god damn it.

As such he loves to buy you jewelry. His dad’s got fuck you money, and he plans to spend it all on you. His current favorite thing to see you wear it a dainty, golden chain, with a ruby encrustedfrat b R hanging from it. It looked gorgeous on you, and marked you as undeniably his. 

Suguru has 1000% had to talk him out of getting a tattoo of your name, this man is down so unbelievably bad. He’s never really been in love before, and now that he’s feeling it he’s overwhelmed by it.

This man really thought he was above getting pussy drunk until he hooked up with you. Now he realizes he’s is Not. At. All immune to it, and is actually quite prone to it!

Ultimately, his goal is to marry you after graduation, even though his fraternity brothers are highly against it. Not because they don’t like you, quite the contrary, they love you! But they all know that marrying your first love probably isn’t the move, and that the two of you have a lot of problems to work through. They want him to at least wait a few years before popping the question.

Still, every once in awhile he catches himself looking at rings and day dreaming about the future.

[euripidestrousers]

Can't get this AU out of my head, I need to let it out:

Muggle AU where Remus moves into a new neighbourhood. He notices his neighbour is almost constantly in his garage, working on his motorbike with the garage door open for fresh air. Remus, an avid gardener, is setting up his new garden beds and finds himself often glancing over to watch his neighbour work (he's impossibly handsome and Remus is just trying to figure out if he's real or a figment of his imagination conjured from lonelieness, alright?), and suddenly he's become incredibly clumsy.

The neighbour stretches his back, the tips of his fingers reaching the high ceiling and his shirt riding up - Remus fumbles the watering can and spills it all over himself. Neighbour lifts the hem of his shirt to wipe sweat off his forehead - Remus trips and dumps a wheelbarrow of soil on the driveway. The neighbour looks up and notices him one day and sends a friendly wave and smile his way - Remus promptly drops his sad, sick aloe vera plant into a bucket of water, sealing its death.

It's quite inconvenient, really, having a smoking hot neighbour who either doesn't seem to be aware of his good looks or doesn't care.

However, it comes in handy when his car won't start one day, and Handsome Neighbour hears the pitiful stutters of the engine and pokes his head over the low fence, asking if he needs a hand.

Remus promptly smacks his head on the open car bonnet and while he's busy protesting that he really needn't trouble himself as he gingerly presses the tender spot on his head, turns to find his handsome neighbour walking up the driveway. He grins, introduces himself as Sirius, and asks if he wants some ice.

"For the car?" Remus asks, bewildered and maybe a little concussed.

Sirius bursts into laughter. "No, uh, no, I meant for your head. Let me take a look."

"Oh, it was just a smack, I'll be right. No need to-"

"Actually, this time I meant the car", Sirius chuckles, peering into the engine.

Thus begins the horrible, embarrassing fumbles with Handsome Neighbour Sirius Black.

(It's entirely possible that Sirius keeps finding minor problems with Remus' car and offers to fix them for free just to have an excuse to chat to his shy, and frankly adorable, neighbour who is living proof that you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, because while he's always wearing a wide-brimmed sun hat along with 3 layers of sunscreen more fitting a retired senior, and always seems to be dropping something, he has a wicked wit and cutting opinions on national politics, and God, Sirius could talk to him for hours. Remus' car has had a full logbook service done by the time Sirius gets invited inside for a cup of tea and they kiss in the kitchen and fuck nasty on the counter)

[bemusedlybespectacled]

Minor tangent but I have seen a specific criticism of OFMD multiple times that's along the lines of "the problem was the first three episodes being too dark and gritty instead of being our fluffy kind gay show."

And I strongly disagree with that criticism.

Like, Season 1 already had its dark and gritty moments. It was never 100% fluffy. Everything Ed does at the end of 1x10 (throwing Lucius overboard, cutting off Izzy's toe, marooning the crew, and kidnapping Jim and Frenchie) is the most obvious example, but there are others: Stede's experiences as a child, Ed's abusive father, Jim's family's murder. All of them are shown to still be affected years later in a way that impacts how they interact with other people, which is why it's emotionally satisfying when they find love despite it.

Addressing the events of the S1 finale in the first couple of episodes of S2 was vital. It solidifies just how devastated Ed is and how that devastation has affected everyone else, both negatively and positively, for a given value of "positive" (the Kraken crew is clearly closer as a result of their shared trauma). The scenes showing how being part of Stede's crew changed them for the better (talking to and hugging Izzy, Jim telling Fang the wooden boy story with the voices, etc.) were absolutely necessary and arguably the strongest parts of the show, and I don't think we would have had that if the stakes weren't so high. "Ed is a bit mopey sometimes, but it's not that bad!" just doesn't have the same oomph.

Had they pulled a Last Jedi and started 2x01 by throwing away all that build up from 1x10 and making a joke about it, it would have been a poorer show. The times when darker things were treated as a joke (Lucius' experience after being thrown overboard), flat-out ignored (Stede's fairly obvious anxiety disorder), or blown past because of time constraints (Ed getting voted off the ship and then reinstated as part of the crew within a day) were when the show was weakest.

The problem, of course, is that once you've acknowledged that impact, you need to keep acknowledging it. It needs to continue having an impact. And you can't do that if you don't have the time to explore it because you need to skip ahead to the part where everything's fine now.

I'm not saying that they needed to fully shift gears and stop being a comedy entirely. I think S1 threaded the needle pretty well in terms of balancing the conflict with humor. Like, Ed has a breakdown in the bathtub over murdering his father and what a horrible person he is and his plan to kill Stede, and none of that is a joke; the joke is when Stede checks to make sure Ed isn't going to kill him. The sad stuff can be taken seriously and we can still have humor to break the tension! We can do it! We have the technology!

But you can't have a serious thing happen for the sake of growth and then hand wave it away later when it's inconvenient. And you definitely can't introduce ways to break that tension (surprise, Stede is alive because he used This One Weird Trick!) and then not use it when it's inconvenient (surprise, Izzy is alive because he– oh, wait, no, he's dying for realsies).

The issue wasn't the show having dark and gritty bits at all. The issue was the lack of time for those dark and gritty bits to do their fucking job: being a catalyst for personal and relationship growth in a way that actually matters to and affects the story.

[cluster-b-culture-is]

Cluster b culture is going thru the

Oh yeah I'm awesome -> [minor inconvenience in relation of FP/exception/equal] -> do they hate me?? I'm horrible. I should have never spoke. -> [they apologize] -> oh yeah we are back

Pipeline CONSTANTLY

.

[not-pollux]

𝕭𝖆𝖉 𝕱𝖚𝖙𝖚𝖗���� ℌ𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖔𝖓𝖘 ⋆

╭ ・── ・ ꒰ ☆ ꒱ ・ ── ・ ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ ִ ֗ ִ ۫ ˑ ᳝ ࣪  ⊹

  ˚   ₊˚ˑ  💙💜❤️🧡 ‧ ₊ Future ROTTMNT ༄

༶•┈┈┈┈୨☆୧┈┈┈┈•༶

Warnings: Unedited, lowkey kinda long, discussions of bad habits

Word count: 1772

Leo 

Stressed 24/7

Constantly working + horrible at time management = chronically overworked

Like he's so bad at taking breaks 💀

If he does manage to take a break aside from sleeping or eating he's thinking about all the work he has to do

If I'm being honest, he thinks about work while eating and probably dreams of work too

Speaking of sleeping, he doesn’t

Stress induced insomnia wont let him. He would really like to sleep, if he could. It’s not that he doesn’t want to. He just can't.

He eats pretty well though. Sometimes skips meals when he's super busy, but he's otherwise pretty good. He understands that a well fed body is an efficient body!

Definitely has a poorly kept personal quarters

He has pretty good personal hygiene, though.

He takes showers regularly and brushes his teeth, he has an image to uphold and he enjoys taking care of himself

He's more unsanitary in his own personal space. He doesn't change his bedsheets often, hasn't swept the floor in forever, lots of unwashed clothes, etc

Because he’s chronically exhausted, these super simple tasks tend to be really hard for him. If they aren’t essential to his image and performance as resistance leader, he won't do it.

In my opinion most of Leo's stress comes from the fact that he is overly concerned about how people perceive him and his leadership skills. 

He doesn’t want to take breaks because he doesn’t want to be judged for it. He thinks people will go “Oh my god, how can the leader be taking a break when there is so much stuff to do?”

He doesn’t ask for help, or ever show any signs of weakness because he feels the need to be everyone’s personal Hamato beacon of hope. 

Everyone is counting on him. He only lets himself unravel in his locked room where no one is ever allowed to go. Not even his brothers.

On that note, would rather move a whole mountain on his own than admit he needs assistance.

He will actually tell people to stop if they try to help him out. He’ll guilt trip people by saying that they made him feel like he wasn’t doing his work good enough, or he isn’t enough for the resistance. 

He fully believes that he isn't good enough when people try to help him.

People love to bother him. With every single minor inconvenience. And he is expected to deal with them all. 

He honestly shifts from his very outgoing personality to a lot more closed off as he gets older.

He’s definitely not rude or anything, he’s just trying to ensure his interactions with people do not go on longer than they need to.

Its for his own sanity.

༶•┈┈┈┈୨☆୧┈┈┈┈•༶

Donnie

Also chronically overworked

I agree that Donnie would lock himself in his lab and work excessively.

He tends to believe his worth is only determined by what he can offer intellectually, and therefore pours his life and soul into his projects

His tech is also more or less what is keeping everyone alive. Their base is secured with Donnie’s tech and fortified with Donnie’s tech and armed with Donnie’s tech

Also really bad at taking breaks. 

They are so twins.

I see the headcanon that he literally survives on only coffee everywhere, but I don't think that's super realistic for an apocalypse. 

Non essentials are not easily accessible.

I also think he sleeps pretty well because he understands how quickly the brain deteriorates when he doesn’t sleep. 

He knows how inefficient it is, and he hates inefficiency.

Doesn’t usually eat more than one meal a day. 

Sometimes he'll skip eating for a full day if he's really busy.

He could possibly be malnourished. It's most likely very common in the apocalypse and he is a giant mutant turtle who needs more food.

And he probably only consumes quick and easy food that gives him the bare minimum of nutrients to function. Nutrition is important, but not as important as sleep

I'm so sorry Donnie lovers but I lowkey think he doesn’t have super great personal hygiene

We know he's a bit of a germaphobe so I don’t think it would be too bad, just skipping showers and brushing his teeth occasionally when he’s super absorbed in how work especially because it doesn’t affect his performance at all

We know he's a neat freak (and control freak) so I believe his personal space would be really clean.

It makes him feel like he’s not loosing his mind

Exact opposite of Leo.

Lowkey a hot take, but I think Donnie has the best mental health out of the four. 

Not to say that it’s good. He is stressed and overworked, for sure. They all are.

But I do think he’d have a semi private lab, and people wouldn’t be constantly harassing him

I like to headcanon that he has a little mail system for when people need repairs done around the base

You put this little slip of paper into his little mailbox and that way he has a written report of everything he needs to get done AND he didn’t have to interact with anyone.

Win win!

Being a control freak, he is controlling everything he is physically able to, and as of right now, it’s helping him stay somewhat sane.

༶•┈┈┈┈୨☆୧┈┈┈┈•༶

Raph

I'm so excited to explore how and why Raph would lean into the ‘anger issues' stereotype that holds most iterations of Raph in a choke hold.

Being released from his duties of leader, I think Raph feels less inclined to keep himself put together

He copes with stress through punching shit. We know this.

I believe as a response to stress, Raph would yell more frequently (out of fear) and eventually that would translate to physical violence.

We see this at the beginning of the movie with Leo.

I believe this physical violence is directed not towards allies but more to enemies. He becomes a formidable warrior due to his anger. I'm talking crazy strong and insanely vicious. 

Although because of his size and violent tendencies most mutants and people in their base are afraid he'll explode and use that violence on one of them one day.

They treat him like he's a bomb, and if they rub him the wrong way he'll blow up in their faces

This irritates Raph further. 

We love circular conflicts!

I believe he sleeps well. Actually, I think he sleeps a bit too much.

He feels isolated because of the way people talk to him and refer to him. To cope with that he sleeps 12-18 hours a day. He tries to spend as much time away from people as possible.

He pretends he does it to slow his metabolism so he doesn't have to eat as many rations, being the biggest guy in the resistance.

I think he would be pretty clean himself, but his room wouldn't be.

I love portraying people's personal spaces/rooms as a reflection of their minds.

Not necessarily messy, just extremely disorganized.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself, he feels like his strength is his only use, and people don’t see him as strong and powerful, they’re just scared

And that reflects in how he doesn’t really know what to do with the stuff in his room. Things that he holds dear to him or felt like they represented everything he believed pre apocalypse don’t really have a distinct home in his room anymore

They’re just… laying on the floor somewhere.

This might be a bit of a reach but I think he meditates to deal with this too. Specifically with Mikey when they’re both not busy.

He eats less than he should be because of the way they hand out rations, but for the circumstances he eats pretty well.

༶•┈┈┈┈୨☆୧┈┈┈┈•༶

Mikey

Mikey is swamped with a LOT more responsibility than he is used to very very quickly.

He becomes “the mystic guy”. He’s in charge of most (if not all) of the mystic mojo that goes on in the resistance.

I think Draxum and him created some sort of mystic force field that blocks the Krangs powers to hide their base

If you remember that scene where the Krang finds the key by going into Raph’s head and finding their base?

Yeah the force field basically prevents the Krang from being able to do that.

He has to replenish the force field every once in a while, which drains him a lot, and even more so if (when) Draxum dies and they can’t split the burden 50/50

So this boy is OVER. WORKED.

One of the few future headcanons I really like is the fact that Mikey looks significantly older is a result of mystic overuse

It makes a lot of sense in my opinion

In my opinion his body is deteriorating and aging a lot faster because he doesn’t have access to adequate amounts of sleep, hydration, or nutrition, and on top of that he’s basically putting his body through the equivalent of running a marathon every single day through his mystic powers

I think in his early days of training he actually overate a little

He was trusted in the rations kitchens, so he’d take a little extra and he would steal rations from Donnie and sometimes Leo and Raph when they didn’t eat

In his head it wasn’t bad if it was to a good cause, refueling his super tired and achy body

He learned better though, he doesn’t do that anymore. I do think he is the best at eating all three meals every single day, though.

I also think he sleeps really well, against his will. He’s always so physically tired, so he always goes to bed early so he’s well rested.

I think he’s also pretty hygienic all around, just a little goodie two shoes

Due to his mystic powers, I headcanon him with chronic pain in his arms, along with terrible migraines.

Donnie making compression sleeves for Mikey is like, my favourite headcanon ever

I don’t think the damage would be similar to Good Future (too much power all at once), but instead normal amounts of power used way too many times way too close together.

TLDR; Overworked muscles, basically.

I think Mikey is the favourite turtle for people to ask for guidance (Leo is a very close second), so he also has to deal with a lot of people asking him questions all the time. He gets swarmed whenever he has a break

Meditates with Raph for his migraines.

༶•┈┈┈┈୨☆୧┈┈┈┈•༶

AN: I'm just took each turtle's worst traits and amplified them for future headcanon purposes :3

I might do a good future headcanons version of this or a April, Splinter, Draxum, Cassandra, Casey Jr mini drabble next. Not completely sure yet.

I hope you enjoyed reading this! This was super duper fun to write!

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Big Sis | Yandere Junko and Mukuro

A Concept To Maybe Continue...

You knew something was different about your older sisters. According to others, sisters their  age fought all the same…just not with high-grade weapons. Your sisters were Junko Enoshima and Mukuro Ikusaba–The ever hated Despair Twins. 

It was terrifying or it would be if you weren’t desensitized to the overwhelmingly radical personalities. Oddly enough you're usually not on the receiving end of their despairful escapades. Instead forced to be smothered by your sisters' obsessive and possessive tendencies. That made you an unwilling bystander to their crimes. 

Mukuro was the better one, more inclined to be a nurturing older sister. Scratch that, she essentially instated herself as your motherly figure. Using the skills she was naturally inclined to as the ultimate super soldier to take over most of your needs. From infancy to junior high she’s intent on carrying you around and spoon-feeding you the meals that she cooked. You’d like to say she didn’t do the weird blushing thing that she did with Junko’s violent affection but that’d make her too normal. She had her moments but more often than not she was infamous for getting overly excited about all the small things. 

First school uniform?

“Baby, you look perfect!”

“Muki-chan you’re nose is running.”

“Oh is it?”

Eating your favorite food?

“You’re such a messy eater, (Y/n)! Here I’ll get that for you.”

“Are you-? You’re not throwing that in the trash are you?”

“Oh (Y/n) what are you doing talking? Eat your food.”

Simply existing within her vicinity?

“Hah~Look at them sleep so soundly! My (Y/n)~!”

You really didn’t like waking up to her drool on your face, or at least that’s what you hope it is.

But if you compared that to Junko’s behavior it was more of a minor inconvenience to know your sister’s watching stalking you diligently. Junko had the most prevalent despair-filled behavior but not in the way many would think. 

“Oi oi don’t go runnin’ from your big sis! It be pretty despairing if those friends you’re running to all died horribly in front of you?”

Always keeping you within arms reach, in her lap, or her actively making you aware of whatever despair she was deciding to inflict. Unlike her treatment of Mukuro which was truly ever to encourage her obsession with despair she seemed to satisfy in simply you. Having you, living with you, keeping you, killing for you, causing despair in your name It was an anomalous relationship with an abnormal girl; a love for you that was measured by her burning love(?) for you. But her affection wasn’t shown in any typical fashion as any would guess. Locking your friends in a room and enticing them to plan murders. Or that one time when she dressed you up as a baby to ‘relive the grand ol’ days’. Playful pushes, pinching at your cheeks, writing her name somewhere on your body, and including you in her violent rampages. The sight of Mukuro’s blushing face was a familiar one for you.

“Upupupu did you think you could runoff with that scumbag without sharing the fun times!?”

“Little (Y/n)! Did they hurt you? What am I saying, of course they did! I’ll brutalize them soon!”

Leading up to the biggest, most Awful, most Tragic event in human history your sisters were occupied with. Putting their plan in action they let you slip away with nothing but a tracker on. A tracker you were able to locate and stick to some unsuspecting pigeon.

With your newfound freedom you enjoyed yourself to the fullest completely unaware of the impending doom that would have been birthed from the walls of Hope’s Peak. By the time the world had truly began to be consumed by despair you were far from the school and fending off the Monokuma–masked assailants. For whatever reason the broadcasts didn’t affect you like it did others and that alone made you a person of interest to the graduated Ultimates. After hours of interrogation and questioning you were deemed not a threat but an asset in bringing down the host of the killing game. 

“Upupupu you plebs out there still rooting for hope are cheering aren’t yuh!? Well for the glorious agents of despair I’ve got a job for ya–” 

Now revealed: Junko Enoshima appeared in a prerecorded message beckoning the 77th class to snap and snicker at her voice.

“If you’re looking for the next instigator of despair it’ll be the living one! Baby (Y/n)!!!” Tongue out with those despair-filled eyes, as the video cuts to a picture of all three of you–zooming in on your unsuspecting chubby face. All though it was an old photo it resembled you enough and that was all it took to start the latest wave of despair.

Under Munukata’s leadership you just barely escaped his sword. By his divination you were still an ultimate, an ultimate targeted by the wicked Ultimate Despair. So naturally you should stay by his side even as the 77th class began to converge on your location, eager to plummet the world into deeper despair. Forget the way he so willingly strikes down any who attempt to befriend you or the way he demands you listen to his odd rules ‘to keep you safe.’ Forget all about how even after their reformation they still seem keen on meeting you and bringing you with them. And be sure to ignore how  even more nameless victims of despair attempt to weasel their way to you. 

Even in her death they seemed to birth an obsession around you.

“Awww didn’t think a silly thing would stop me baby bird! I’ve always wanted to give you the despairful birth you deserve. Corrupting all hope to fall into disgustingly delicious despair! Love can be cruel can’t it!?”