#the worst part blegh

[skyward-floored]

ack we’ve gotten to the stage with the relatives of “so what have you been doing lately?”

[dudethatsmyundeaduncle]

Sorry just got JUMPSCARED watching batman beyond cuz WTF DO U MEAN BARBRA AND BRUCE DATED AFTER SHE BROKE UP WITH DICK? WTF ARE THESE PEOPLE SMOKIN? IM VOMMITING I AM VOMMITING EVERYWHERE!

[juniperhillpatient]

the thing is I wasn’t made for adulthood. just remembered if I made a meal but it’s gross I can literally just throw it away & order takeaway. I’m so bad at being the “we have food at home” person for myself Lmao

[zarpasuave]

I wish I could draw faster uuuuuuugh

[asinglesock]

also I'm sick AGAIN

[navysealt4t]

just got reminded of the most terrifying nightmare i ever had. fun ! /s

[fallbhind]

‘CASUAL’ RAFE CAMERON

genre smut, angst wordcount 1.4k

❝ i've heard so many rumors. ❜

content warnings ,, mentions oral (f!receiving), p in v, masterbation in the bathroom, 'no attachment sex', rumors (blegh, drama llama.), rafe and reader break up. s1 era.

it was so tiring being rafe's quick fix because you just wanted a real thing, y'know, not some quickie on his couch. the worst thing? your friends (not so friendly friends) call you a loser because you still hanging out with him, when any girl would have done dumped him and found someone better. but he is, or was your better.

sure, you did everything with rafe (when he called you up, not when you asked. sure one day you were fed up, left him a voicemail because of course he wouldn't pick up for you. "i've heard so many rumors." you said through the crackly phone. "that i'm just some girl you bang on your couch, i can't believe i thought you thought of me better."

an hour later (per usual), he answered you an hour later, telling you to 'hurry your ass out to tanneyhill'

you thought for a long hard while before ultimately deciding to head out to tanneyhill. where death literally layer waiting for you in your grave. you knew quite well what he was mad about and what he wanted, because you've sent multiple voicemails about the rumors going around outerbanks, you've heard about them and you‘be literally heard tourons living in the drama with you and rafe.

and you could never leave your back turned to long before people behind started murmuring up a storm.

you walked closer to your death in your busted up converses, running over impossible scenarios in your head. you stopped at the gate, texting rafe 'im here come to the gate.' you said with all intentions to be sassy. when you saw him, his pushed back curtain bangs, every part of him looked so hot.

he opened the gate, telling you to come on. rafe roughly grabbed your arm, taking you to his fathers study room were he did most of his work. whilst you were extremely liked throughout the cameron household, only you, rafe and maybe even sarah knew the real intent to your relationship. rafe said annoyingly, "we're not together, let me make myself clear.

it was like his mood immediately changed as he continued, "just a quick fix whenever we need it." when what he really meant to say was when he needed it. maybe you really should dump him. if that's how it really works. he kissed your forehead, "'n baby, no attachment." though three weeks ago he excused the both of you so he could be knee deep in the passenger seat while he was eating you out, remembering all those sweet nothings he whispered into you pussy that made you give him what he wanted. not to mention, he always acted so lovey dovey with you. and it was about time you got fed up.

you didn't expect for his step-mom, rose, two weeks later after the major argument with rafe to invite you for dinner at tanneyhill. rafe, put on a mock smile, ready to peel the skims dress off your body. you were greeted by ward, and did he piss you off, with the fake smiling and his eyes trailing across your body whenever he could. perv.

"welcome, you look nice and sophisticated." ward said with the nicest tone he could bear, "no wonder rafe doesn't bring you up, your so lovely i'd hog you to." he laughed, and it sounded so fake. rafe had his hand on the small of your back as he led you into the dining room.

you took a seat in between wheezie and sarah, rafe sat across from you, with a pissed off expression. like, how could your's and his situation be casual now? you've literally done every thing, fingering, eating you out, a little bit of intercourse action, you've jerked and sucked him off, and you've let him jerk off onto your tits, and it was somehow casual.

after dinner, rafe again, excused you and him to go to the bathroom. he led you to the bathroom, shutting the door as he told you demanding to get on his counter, you back pressing against the mirror. "fuck, y'look s'good tonight." he pushed up the skims dress up to your hips, "'n no underwear?"

"all'that arguin' f'nothin', still my sweet, sweet sluty girl, ain't you?" he slowly rubbed your thighs , "you gotta be quiet though, don't want to embarrass yourself, do you?" he smugly grinned when you nodded, he dipped his fingers into your cunt, and your let out a surprised gasp, squeezing around his fingers.

he kissed you, whispering sweet nothings like you and him didn't just have an argument two weeks ago.

he unbuttoned his pants, using his index to hook the loops were a belt would be to shove them down, following his boxers. he wiped the pre-cum off his tips, using his thumb to slide it into your mouth. "my girl takes everything." he whispered as you attentively sucked on his finger.

you sucked off all the pre-cum off his cock, rafe patting your cheek gently. he spread your legs more, giving him a great view of your pretty, coated pearl, pressing his finger against it, you rolled your head back into the mirror.

"rr-rafe!" you stuttered out as you cried out. he pulled away from your pretty pearl, aligning his cock with your tight hole. he thrusted into your hole, making you cry out for him again.

he squeezed your cheek, holding you in between his thumb and index finger. "c'mon baby give me more than that. not to loud though." he whispered harshly against your neck, gripping your thighs as he kept repeatedly bullying his way into you. and without break, he kept thrusting his cock into you, with a sneaky smirk. "your my girl aintchu?" he kissed your neck, taking a rest inside you.

rafe nipped at your neck as he moved his cock against your gummy hole. feeling you squeeze around him when he bite and sucked on your neck, he kept doing it. even if it felt like you wanted to squeeze his cock off inside of you. "s'tight. jus' how i like it." he whispered against your shoulder, bullying his way back in you as your gummy walls tried to push him out. he aggressively grunted in your ear, feeling the warmness off your breath as you let out a whimper and even softer moans. you gasped when he touched your g-spot, immediately convulsing around him but not yet coming on his cock.

he'd pulled out just before you could finish. he pulled his boxers, following his pants. he buttoned them up, leaving you desperate for release. you found yourself rubbing your clit trying any method of running your clit to come, though you weren't quite being able to finish off yourself. maybe the problem was that you never had to do anything yourself. you came on rafe's cock than he would come on your stomach.

you tugged your black skims dress back down, putting your heels back on as well before making your way out of the bathroom. you sat across from rafe as he had the satisfaction of making you better than before and not helping you like usual. it was great to see you a little grumpy, whilst a little nervous because you decided to be a little slut and go no underwear. but doesn't mean you weren't his little slut.

you were obviously out of it, because sarah had to tap you back into reality as everyone started eating. you cut the steak up before taking a bite of it. "this is really good ms. cameron, you'll have to teach me how to make it." you said cheerfully. rose smiled at you and nodded.

she was really proud of the fact you thought it was that good, but than of course, her cooking for the cameron's was something any mother should do, while some might think that she'd hire someone, she did it herself.

a week later, your friends had told you rafe had said it was casual still and that 'you get off when he hit it' when he never hit your clit not once. sure he left you drying for release but that wasn't the point. and that was near the last straw for you. you were tired.

you wanted a real relationship which was obvious that rafe wasn't ready for, so you found yourself calling him. and again, it wasn't something were he'd answer you, you said to him through the voicemail "i hate that i let this drag on so long, now i hate myself." you took a breath, "we're done." you said before slipping your phone in your pocket and walking away from the wreck after just having breakfast with your friend.

TAGS .ᐟ @archiveofvirtue @sematarygirls @beausling @mattsdolll @pr3ttyf4wn

@wi4hfulth1nking @gibson-g1rl

[makeyoumine69]

Till Death Do Us Part (Chapter One)

PAIRING: Patrick Bateman x Innocent!Fem!Reader; [no y/n]

SUMMARY: After moving in with Patrick Bateman in his luxurious Upper Manhattan apartment, it didn't take long for you to get into trouble, as your future husband couldn't stand anyone being bossy in his own home.

CONTAINS: Arranged marriage & enemies to lovers trope, explicit sexual content, violence, mild gore, dub-con, Patrick being a dick, drugging, toxic behavior, dirty talk.

WORDS: 3.3k

A/N: Here's the first chapter of the writing project I've been working on for the past few months! I hope you enjoy the journey!

LINKS: [MASTERLIST]; [SERIES MASTERLIST]; [AO3].

Life is such an amazing thing.

Sometimes it can bring us challenges that seem impossible, but what doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Do people always say things like that? Well, maybe they do, but in your case, that was exactly what your family told you the day you found out that you had to marry Patrick Bateman—a ghost from your past, a boy who used to bully you, then an arrogant Harvard student best known for the number of girls he fucked.

Not to mention how much you hated him and everything associated with him whenever your mother tried to start a conversation about the good old days when you were a kid playing with Patty, ah, the childhood nickname you used to call him. It all felt like memories from your past life, not your present one.

How you were going to survive it all now, only God knew.

1987, New York.

Patrick stared down at your sleeping form on his couch, a plastic cover over the expensive fabric you slept on. It had been a few days since you had moved into his apartment. The man remembered clearly when his mother told him about the arranged marriage. It had happened a few days after she had told him about his breakup with Evelyn. The whole situation made him angry. Patrick never wanted to get married, and if he had to, it certainly wouldn't be to a girl like you. Memories of your moments together during childhood and high school flashed through his mind. They were pretty blurry—just like any other memory of his, but he knew that there weren't any positive memories. 

Patrick ran his hand over his face, an exasperated sigh escaping his lips. He tore his eyes away from you and moved quickly into the kitchen, tying his robe tighter around his waist. 'She's not even blonde,' he thought bitterly as he began his routine of brewing a fresh pot of expensive coffee.

The sudden sound of the coffee maker made you jerk back onto the couch, but the moment you opened your eyes, a bitter realization washed over you like a tidal wave—this was not a dream and you were really in Patrick Bateman's apartment. And you were about to marry him, which was actually the worst thing that could happen to you.

Carefully, you got up from the soft furniture and went to the kitchen to check on your future husband, trying to pretend to be a good fiancée, just like your family wanted you to be. "Good morning," you mumbled as you watched him take the ice mask out of the fridge. "Did you sleep well?"

You bet he did, because unlike you, he slept in the big comfortable bed while you slept on the couch, although it was your choice, but at least you expected him to be a gentleman and offered to take his bed, which never happened.

Slightly annoyed, Patrick kept his focus on the coffee pot, his gaze fixed on the way the coffee grounds turned to liquid. He tensed noticeably when he heard a second voice and turned to look at his future wife. Blegh. 'Actually, I didn't sleep at all, Rebecca. I spent all night chopping up a hard body in the back alley of Barcadia,' he thought to himself, his face stoic. "I slept well." He spoke, his voice steady with a hint of annoyance. 

The pot banged, letting him know it was ready. He mechanically grabbed a mug from the cupboard and poured himself one, dropping two Xanax pills into it before taking a sip. The bitter liquid slid down his throat, calming his nerves and replacing the usual mask he wore. The man spun around to face you. "There should be some oat bran in the top cupboard…but I think you could stand to skip a few meals." He smiled, his eyes remaining empty as they bored into you.

Frowning, you rolled your eyes at his comment and turned to leave the kitchen. "I'm not hungry."

‘What a fucking arrogant bastard,’ you cursed and went back to the living room where you noticed a magazine with wedding dresses. God, now you remembered that you probably fell asleep reading that stupid magazine with the ugly dresses—they really were ugly and you didn't care if they were high fashion.

When you saw him join you in the living room, you tried to ignore him at first, but then you heard the sound of clothes being taken off—the sight of Bateman's perfect body clad only in white underwear embarrassed you, but you still didn't move.

"I had a thought—maybe we can postpone our wedding a little?" You asked suddenly, looking at him as he began to stretch out on the floor. "I have exams in my internship and I need to prepare for them."

For a while, the only sound in the room was Patrick's heavy panting as he began to do crunches, the way his muscles tensed with each movement, stirring something strange in your core that made you claw at your skin to distract yourself.

"No, negative." Bateman spoke, not bothering to look at you. "Your family and my family were very specific about the date," the man said before moving onto his back and doing crunches. He huffed as he moved, his abdominal muscles tensing and flexing. As he worked himself up, he suddenly stopped and huffed, moving to sit on the floor. "Why don't you make yourself useful and put in that Texas Chainsaw Massacre tape?" He asked, pointing at the TV; his eyes then drifted to the magazine. "You might as well pick something. If you don't, we'll just dress you in a cinched garbage bag. An expensive garbage bag."

With a wry smile, you scoffed at his statement about the wedding and dressing up in an expensive garbage bag. But the last thing you wanted to do was argue with him when you had to work and study today.

"Garbage bag doesn't sound bad from what I've seen in this magazine," you commented briefly, getting up to turn on the TV. "I don't understand why this wedding is even necessary. I'll survive if I don't get my picture on the front page of the Times." Your muttering was soon interrupted by the sound of the movie.

You looked at the cover of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre tape for a while—it looked pretty scary, but cool, and you were genuinely curious why Bateman was so obsessed with movies like that.

"Do you watch anything else besides horror movies?" Your tone was artificially friendly because inside you didn't really care. "I mean…I don't think it's weird, just…asking."

Bateman watched you move before quickly grabbing the remote from the table. He started tapping the forward button and watched as the scenes on the TV flashed by. Frowning, the man sighed when you started complaining again. "The wedding is necessary because both our families want it. Why is that so hard for you to understand?" He asked condescendingly, his focus shifting from the TV to you. You were attractive, he supposed—nice tits, a full ass, an…okay face. But he knew he could do better. 

Patrick looked back at the TV before it played his favorite scene—near the end of the movie where the final girl screamed bloody murder as Leatherface wielded a chainsaw over her head. The sound was like music to him. He paused the tape to answer your question. 'Porn,' he wanted to say, but instead he said, "I don't know…maybe…not really." Then he turned off the TV and got back on the floor. 

Something about the scene seemed to rile him up, because he started doing his stomach crunches much faster. Small beads of sweat ran down his temples as he groaned softly until he finished—doing 50 in just one minute. Then Bateman moved over to start doing push-ups, the muscles in his back rippling through his skin. He paused for a moment before sighing and stopping his routine. "Price and Daisy," he paused again, unsure if that was the name of Price's new girlfriend. Maybe it was Carmen? Dalila? He couldn't remember and frankly, he didn't give a shit. "Um, they have reservations for four at Barcadia…tonight at 7:00. So…you know…try to wear something nice."

Abashed, you almost dropped the pencil at your fiancé's request. "Something nice?" You repeated, looking down at your medical book. "You mean wear something that makes me look like a slut?"

With a muffled chuckle, you put the book down on the coffee table and lay back on the white couch. You were completely indifferent to social life, in your opinion it was just a waste of time and money, and you never understood why your family was so obsessed with it.

"Who is Price? I don't even remember all your 'friends'," you grimaced at the last word and kicked your legs in the air. "You can take Courtney instead of me or any of those other chicks you always hung out with."

Memories of the Harvard years flooded your mind without permission. Patrick, surrounded by an endless number of girls, walking in front of the main building. Damn it! Why did you even remember all that shit? But then another memory came to your mind, there was a charity banquet your family attended where you finally met Bethany, the girl Patrick had been dating since they were at Harvard. Bethany was so beautiful and slim, just like the model. 

Caught up in your thoughts, you seemed to miss what Bateman was saying. "If you said something, could you please repeat it?"

Patrick furrowed his brow, the lines in his face creasing slightly as he frowned. "I'd rather have a slutty wife than someone who looks homeless." He scoffed and stopped working out, deciding that he was done with his exercise routine. His face suddenly felt very heavy, as if the small amount of oil was wearing him down. He had to wash up immediately.

"Timothy Price-" Bateman spoke as he quickly walked into the bathroom, leaving the door open to answer any more tedious questions you might have. He casually opened his medicine cabinet and began to scrub his face with his expensive ointments. "A dress will be here in a few hours. I want you to try it on. If it doesn't fit, call my tailor. His number is on my nightstand." The man shouted, put the mask on his face and let it sit for a few minutes. 

When Patrick heard your ranting again, he groaned in exasperation. He quickly stormed out of the bathroom, the shiny mask still on his face. Bateman grabbed your hair in his fist and pulled it, tugging your head back so you could make eye contact with him. "You…get…dressed." He spoke slowly, slowing it down for you. "If the dress doesn't fit, call a tailor." Patrick pointed to his bedroom door and let go of your hair.

Bateman's sudden anger scared you to death, but you didn't even make a sound. It was only after he released you and returned to the bathroom that you allowed yourself to sob barely audibly, covering your face with your hands.

‘I don't want this marriage. Fuck, I should have accepted to marry Vincent when I had the chance, but my stupid family would never allow me to marry an ordinary man, not a fucking billionaire.’

Crying, you stood up on shaky legs, wanting to wait for Patrick to leave and call your ex-boyfriend or maybe your brother. You hugged yourself before slowly sneaking into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Unfortunately, your hands were shaking so badly that you splashed water all over the kitchen counter and floor. A paralyzing fear of his rage made you panic, and you had to quickly find something to clean up. When you couldn't find anything and heard his approaching footsteps, you decided to act desperately and before you knew it, you took off your top, leaving yourself exposed as you were not wearing a bra. Then, you crouched down to clean the floor with your fucking shirt. You didn't care because it was just a piece of cloth; his anger was much more frightening.

Irritated as hell, Patrick went back to the bathroom, his angry expression returning to his stoic one. He hardly thought about his sudden act of violence. It was the only way to get you to listen, but he couldn't deny that he got a little thrill out of it. 

As the man peeled off the mask, he thought about what would happen if he pulled a little harder. If he broke your fucking neck and chopped you up and threw your parts in a river. Or maybe he could nail you to the ground and let a bunch of hungry wild pigs eat you until there was nothing left. He soon finished peeling off the mask, crumpled it up in his hand, and threw it away. 

A short time later, Bateman came out of the bathroom and made a beeline for the kitchen. He noticed that you were no longer on the couch, which annoyed him. The thing that annoyed him most about you living with him was the lack of control he had. You could just do whatever you wanted and go into any room. Touch all his possessions. Patrick stopped in the doorway, his eyes widening slightly at the sight; his eyes trailed down your body, your curves. The man felt a sudden heat between his legs, his boxers suddenly feeling tighter. 'Damn it,' he thought. Aroused, Patrick ran his fingers through his disheveled hair, deciding what to do. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he had an idea. Maybe now he could show you who was really in control. Smirking, he stepped closer to you, his crotch in your line of sight. He stepped on your shirt, stopping your movements. "Worry about that later…if you're going to strip in my house, you should do it in the bedroom." Bateman spoke quietly, pulling up his boxers. "Go." He pointed to his bedroom again.

As soon as you heard his voice, you instinctively covered your breasts and glanced up at his almost naked form—he looked even bigger from that angle.

"Don't touch me," you whimpered suddenly, crawling back a little. "Say what you want, but please don't touch me." You used Bateman's confusion to slowly get to your feet, leaving your wet top on the floor as you didn't dare ask him to let you take it. 

'Gosh, his eyes are literally glowing with rage. Or maybe it's not anger?' A brief thought flashed through your mind as you retreated into his bedroom without turning around.

In the bedroom, you sat carefully on the edge of his large bed, picked up a random robe and tried not to think about how many women had been fucked here, as you were about to throw up from such a realization. Patrick didn't follow, so you sighed with relief, thinking that he would probably leave you alone—finally. And that meant that your plan to call her ex-boyfriend was still relevant.

Meanwhile, after watching you leave, Bateman quickly opened his cupboard, grumbling as he shoved food away. "Where's that…" he muttered before grabbing the drugs he was looking for. Ecstasy. Perfect. Patrick then took out a flute-shaped wine glass and poured his most expensive champagne, placing two pills inside and watching them dissolve. The man knew that you probably wouldn't be very… willing with what he wanted to do—not without help. 

Soon Bateman walked into the bedroom and saw you on the bed. With an artificial affection, he handed you the glass, a warm smile on his face. "Here. It's my most expensive brand. It's a... peace offering for what I did to your hair." The man purred, touched one of your locks, twisted it around his finger and pulled away. "My behavior can be…erratic at times." 

There was something strange about his sudden tenderness, but you felt too upset to think clearly. Scared of his recent rage, you took the glass and before you decided to try it, you gazed at him, knowing that something bad was going to happen, but you didn't really have a choice.

"It's very…very sweet," you commented, looking at the glass and licking your lips. "Is it supposed to be that sweet?" Frowning, you studied him with your big doe eyes before closing them for a moment. The taste of this chapmange was very strange, even after you drank more. "Aren't you going to drink as well?" You asked, feeling your head start to spin.

Snickering mischievously, Bateman watched you drink and nodded. "Of course, but I'm sure you've never had this brand. It's quite high-end." He confidently turned away from you and walked over to the camera on the tripod, pointed directly at the bed. The man pressed the record button, a tradition he had for every session. It didn't matter if it was a random prostitute or his future wife. 

Then he moved to a dresser on the other side of the room and opened the drawer. His finger brushed against the objects inside: three different knives, a bent coat hanger, matchsticks, dildos, vibrators, lube, and a box of condoms. He took the box out, leaving the drawer open for later. "I'm not thirsty," Patrick remarked. "Besides, I have to be at work in a few hours. I really can't get drunk." He smiled and sat down beside you again, running his fingers down your back, feeling your spine through your skin. "You have a really nice body."

Stunned, you shivered at his sudden touch. "W-what are you doing?" You asked, but didn't flinch.

'God, how many times did I imagine us like this in college? How many times had I imagined being his wife? And now my life had decided to punish me in such a cruel way because the boy I'd fallen in love with since childhood was a completely different man, and now I had to marry him.'

Bateman sneered suddenly, his warm expression turning to one of annoyance. "Nothing. Can't I touch my fiancé? Or are you one of those…after-marriage women?" Patrick smiled again. He didn't think he'd ever want to be intimate with you, but you really did have a nice body. Besides, he'd have to get used to it.

"Mmh, I shouldn't drink too, because I have to go to the hospital today…" you mumbled and turned to face him, only to gasp at how close he was. "Patrick…what's in that box?" You pointed at the small box in his hands.

The man laughed and jabbed his finger at the glass in her hand. "You've already drunk half of it!" Patrick murmured in an amused tone. "I'll call for you. I'll tell them you have a cold. Then he looked down at the box in his hand and shook it. "Condoms. You probably don't want to look pregnant at the wedding. It'll ruin the photos and stretch out your dress." Bateman leaned closer to you. "I think you and I should…you know…get it on. What do you think? If you're going to marry me, you might as well get used to my cock."

"Did you say…cock?" You almost choked on your drink. "We...we didn't even share a bed, and you're suggesting we have...sex?"

The champagne seemed to begin to cloud your mind and you didn't even notice that you had finished your glass. Then, all of a sudden, you tried to get up, but almost fell to the floor.

It was over. It was so fucking over.

P.S. Thank you for reading until the end! I don’t have a taglist. You can follow my side blog @makeyoumineagain and turn on notifications to know when I update!

[darlingsblackbook]

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Summary : The time of an old pact, promising your hand to the heir of the Gojo clan, has come. It is now your wedding, how will the two of you continue from here?

Wordcount : 1k

Warnings : Arranged marriage, mention of Naoya ( yes, he is a warning ) english is not my first language, feel free to correct me if you see any mistakes but please be respectful about it. ( I will cry otherwise )

A/N : To be honest, I write the reader with myself in mind. I have not mentioned hair color, eye color or body shape but a lot of personality traits, like being shy and awkward, were from me :) I might make this a short series with parts of their lives, feel free to leave suggestions!

There was this ringing in your ear. It was the only thing you could hear—not the only sound. No, there were many sounds—all so muffled—there was so much happening all around you. Too many things were happening, and you just could not keep up with any of them. You felt so detached from everything happening around you; nothing felt real; you did not feel real.

You were numb, not yourself.

The only thing you could focus on was the ringing in your ear.

Until that one voice cut right through it.

"You could at least smile, you know?"

And suddenly all the water in your ears that was muffling the world around you rushed right out of your ears, and you could hear everything.

Music, laughter, singing, aunties gossiping.

You blinked once, then once again, and one last time before you lifted your head to gaze over the sea of guests through your veil.

And you were back to reality again. You were back to being the new bride—the new lady of the Gojo clan.

"The situation may not be ideal, even I can admit that, but I am not the worst person you could have been paired with." Your husband sounded amused, "Like Zen'in, for example. Can you imagine being even just acquaintances with Naoya? Blegh," he stuck his tongue out.

Your husband.

Gojo Satoru—the strongest—was your husband.

You were from an ancient clan, not as big or flashy as the elite clans of the jujutsu world. They were not even sorcerers.

However, your family had a unique trait. They were not sorcerers, but through dreams and visions, your family had the ability to predict the future. Just like your husband, your power lay in your eyes. They could not only see curses but they could also see through the veil, to the other side.

Unfortunately, the unique ability had been appearing less and less throughout the centuries and, just like your husband, you were the first in so many years to be born with the ability.

A seer.

The family heads of the elite clans are greedy; they all want to be better, stronger than the other. What better way to be a step ahead of your enemy than by knowing what will happen in the future and owning the eyes that could potentially be even stronger than those of the Gojo brat?

They all came knocking on the doors of your estate as soon as the word went out that the first seer in so long had been born. Well, you were already a few years old at the time, but only when you were a bit older could you communicate what you were seeing with your family.

Smaller clans, clans that had weakened and faded into the background, came knocking in hopes of rising to the top again.

The Kamo clan, willing to set aside their values of keeping the bloodline pure, came knocking.

The Zen'in clan—your grandfather, the current head of your clan, had immediately shot their offer down. The hand of his precious granddaughter for their heir? No way.

Only one of the big three had not come knocking, and it was only a mere two weeks ago that you found out why.

Knowing that both the abilities of the Gojo clan and L/N clan had been appearing less frequently, your grandfathers, being close friends, had made a pact. The hand of the next woman born with the L/N clan's abilities would be given to the heir of the Gojo clan if he had inherited the Six Eyes.

You had been promised to them before you were even born.

Of course, you only found out on a random Saturday night as you were getting ready to retire for the day. You were in such shock, you could not even resist—not that you wanted to. You had always known there was a big chance of being in an arranged marriage, and actually, you had been happy with it. Being the socially awkward, shy girl had always made it hard to make friends, let alone have a romantic relationship.

You had such a big heart full of love to give, but there was no one willing to receive it. You wanted someone, just for you, so badly, but there was no way you could do it on your own.

So now you were here, sitting next to your husband, at your wedding.

Happy, but in shock at how fast things went and having absolutely no idea how to act.

"-esides, look at how handsome I am~"

You averted your gaze to him. For the first time that night, you really took your time to just take him in.

Indeed, the rumors of his good looks proved to be true—much to your delight. His hair, as white as snow, looked so soft you were tempted to just reach a hand out to caress it. His bright blue eyes—a shade you had never seen, they are so pretty.

His eyebrows shot up, a certain twinkle appearing in his eyes. "I am glad you think so, wife."

"Huh?" You responded, dumbfounded. "Did I...?"

"Say it out loud?" Satoru finished your question. "Yes, you did."

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire at this point. You went from being too shy to talk to men to getting married and embarrassing yourself, all in one night.

"I..uhm..sorry," you managed to squeak out. He was just so handsome, face and body. You could see his muscles through his clothes; he was so big and, of course, older.

He suddenly leaned in, his nose just centimeters from yours, "For what?" He tilted his head to the side, eyes glancing at your lips.

You opened your mouth, but no answer came out. You tilted your chin downwards a bit, shyly looking at him through your long lashes, looking so adorable to him....

You decided to just answer with a shrug.

His lips curled up in a sly smirk, "A wife is supposed to find her husband attractive, isn't she?"

You could hardly think; he was so close.

"I must say," he hummed, leaning even closer, his lips right by your ear. His hot breath ghosting over your skin, "I am certainly not disappointed."

♡

Time for bed, ya'll. Goodnight

All Rights Reserved © 2024 DarlingsBlackBook

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Pass me the — thing.”

“The thing.”

“Yes. The one.”

Hunk’s amusement is evident. “Here’s the thing about capital-T Things, Pidge Podge.”

She makes a face. Ugh, not him too. The annoying nicknames Lance comes up with always seem to end up in other people’s vocabularies. It’s the worst. (They don’t even make sense, either. Her name comes from Pascha, her Hebrew name, because she was tiny even when she was a baby. And Matt is ridiculous. But Lance’s names come from nowhere!)

(…She supposes she’ll allow it, though. Occasionally. Because she’s the best ever, basically, and endlessly benevolent.)

“Things in concept are referential,” Hunk continues, snickering to himself as he dodged her blind kick. “Ergo, you need to reference them. Specifically. Outside of your own brain.”

She makes a noise of frustration, tilting her head in the direction of the scrap pile on Hunk’s work table. “The thing! Shiny! With the— blegh!” She is Focused right now, alright. There are Processes happening in her brain. Words are secondary.

“I’m just going to ignore you now.”

“No! The thing! The thing that looks like a dreidel!”

“There we go,” he says emphatically. She scowls at him. He grins brightly. She holds her glare for a whopping three seconds, which is frankly record-breaking, so. Point to her. “That’s a referential Thing.”

He scoops up the piece and tosses it at her. She catches it without looking (which is wicked cool and something she will subtly mention next time she watches Allura drop something) and sets it on the table top beside her, finishing up a tricky solder. Leaning back to admire her handiwork, which is, indeed, quite handy, her gaze keeps getting pulled to the little part.

“You know, it really does look like a dreidel.” She picks it up by the stem, flicking the little acorn-shaped object and watching it spin. It works like one, too.

Hunk hums. After a few moments, curious at the air newly lacking the sounds of her tinkering, he looks over at her. He purses his lips thoughtfully.

“…What day is it on Earth, do you think?”

Pidge shrugs. “We left in late May. Been a few months, at least.”

“Lance has a watch.”

“Course he does. ‘Cause he’s a big ol’ nerd geek loser.”

Hunk snorts. “Indeed.”

At the same time, without either of them having to say a word, they scramble to their feet, abandoning their projects and rushing out the workroom door.

“Pool?” Hunk asks.

“Nah, training room. He was in the pool this morning.”

Neither of them is particularly fast, but after months of Shiro’s training they can handle their own. They don’t, sprint, per se, because that would be embarrassing and Lance would be all dorky and pleased about it (can’t have that), but they…hustle. Hustle would be the right word. There’s some hastiness about, some purpose to their step.

As they run past the kitchen and finally turn down the corridor to get to the training room, a door opens on the left and someone walks out. Hunk grabs the back of Pidge’s sweater (totally not Keith’s grey hoodie that she stole) to keep her from crashing straight into them.

“Hey, Lance,” Hunk says, smiling brightly. “We were just looking for you!”

Lance, predictably, gets all dorky and pleased about it.

“Well, Lancey-Lance is at your service,” he preens, brushing fake dust off his shoulders. “Of course I am happy to offer my services to such —”

“Why’d you come outta Keith’s room?” Pidge interrupts, squinting.

She’s pretty sure that’s Keith’s room, anyway. The door on the left has a dent on it from when Lance tripped and brained himself on it in their first week of space.

Curiously — oh so curiously — Lance turns a violent shade of red and cringes with his whole entire body.

“Whaaat,” he says, voice cracking so many times she actually winces in reflective sympathy. He laughs nervously. “That’s not — I’m not — Keith isn’t —”

He opens his mouth, then closes it, then coughs, then doesn’t bother. Pidge can actually feel the heat pouring off of him, which is so humiliating that she almost decides to be merciful.

“Is Keith also in there?” she says instead, because fuck that.

Lance looks at the floor like he’s considering swan diving onto it. “What did you guys need me for again?” he asks, loudly.

Hunk, too soft from years of close proximity to Lance, takes pity. “We need your watch, dude. What day is it on Earth?”

Lance’s dark eyes go a bit sad, like they always do when someone mentions the E-word. But it’s gone before Pidge can so much as register it, really, and then he’s glancing down at his dork ass bright blue Moana watch and saying, “One twenty-six on December 7th.”

Pidge cheers. Hunk grins.

“Clear your schedule!” Pidge shouts, pumping her fists. “Hanukkah starts in a few hours!”

———

“An…oil…feast?”

“Yeah!” Pidge says enthusiastically. Allura leans forward, intrigued — she loves stories from Earth. Anything from Earth fascinates her, really. “Thousands of years ago, Jews — my people culturally and religiously — had just freed themselves from the cruel rule of a kingdom that resided over them. They wanted to purify the Temple — that’s where practicing Jews go to pray — so they were burning holy oil. But there was only one bottle of sacred oil, which was upsetting, since that would only burn for one night. But miraculously, the oil kept burning for eight nights!”

Allura gasps. “But how?”

Pidge shrugs. “Religious Jews believe it was a miracle from God, who is our holy deity. Whether or not you’re religious though, Hanukkah is celebrated at the end of every year to commemorate Jewish resilience and hope. The oil is our physical way of celebrating, ‘cause it burned for eight days exactly — as long as it takes to make more oil.”

“And so we get to celebrate by eating delicious fried food,” Lance adds, fist-pumping. He grins at Pidge’s raised eyebrows. “My sister-in-law is Jewish, so my neice and nephew are too. We celebrate Hanukkah every year and it rocks.”

Pidge can feel her smile lighting up her body. There are bigger celebrations, and more religiously important ones, but Hanukkah is so much fun. She hasn’t celebrated in too long — it came and went last year before she even noticed, too wrapped up in finding her brother. And the year before that, her and Mom couldn’t…not without Dad and Matt. They couldn’t celebrate with just the two of them, they spent most evenings in their own rooms.

Shiro’s steady hand comes to rest on her shoulder, squeezing gently. She glances up to find him smiling sadly at her, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of her head.

“We’ll light a candle for each of them,” he murmurs into her hair. “Colleen, too.”

“Is that what’s done?” Coran inquires softly. “Candles lit, in remembrance?”

Pidge hums, leaning back into Shiro. He holds steady, hand staying fast on her shoulder. Keith flashes her one of his quick smiles, small and comforting.

“Yeah. Eight candles, in something called a menorah. One for each night, one for each intention.” She meets Coran’s eyes first, then Allura’s, her own expression determined. “We’ll light a candle for Altea, too.”

“I would like that,” whispers Allura, swallowing.

“I can make the menorah,” Hunk offers, “if you and Lance want to help. Lance has a good eye for design.”

Pidge takes a couple more moments in Shiro’s embrace, soaking up some of his strength. No one interrupts her. Once she feels like she can stand straight again, like her family is tucked neatly where they usually are in the centre of her heart rather than spilling out all over the place, she stands, patting Shiro’s hand as it falls away, and steps towards her friends.

“Yes, let’s do. We’ll need a few things, actually, to get ready. Keith, you think you can paint the right symbols on the dreidel if I describe them to you?”

He nods. “Yep. I’ll draw ‘em out first, it shouldn’t take long. I think I’ve seen them before, anyway.”

“Cool. Allura, Coran, you wanna put up some decorations? Lance can help you out.”

All three enthusiastically agree, rushing off to make do.

“Shiro —” She falters. “Uh, dude, maybe steer clear of the kitchen. Wanna help with the menorah since Lance is on decorations? Then Hunk’ll have more time to cook.”

Shiro pouts, as he always does when he’s teased about his cursed kitchen tendencies, but the twitch of his smile gives him away.

“I guess,” he laments. “I’m sure I could fry latkes without burning the castle down.”

Keith, Pidge, and Hunk shudder in unison.

“Yeah, right,” Keith says. “You remember when you set a pot of water on fire, Hazard Boy? Because I do.”

———

For people who have no idea what they’re doing, the decorations end up looking really nice.

Everything does, actually. By the time Lance’s watch hits six — the time they have all collectively decided will be sundown based on absolutely nothing — everything is prepped and ready to go. Keith got the characters down after a couple tries, and the dreidel looks like any other one Pidge has used before. Lance had, from what Pidge picked up from Allura’s grumbling, channeled his inner festivity dictator to ensure all decorations were as lovely as possible with their limited materials. Of course the menorah Hunk and Pidge created looks beautifully intricate, one of the more gorgeous things Pidge has ever seen even with all the wonky mismatched candles.

“Okay,” Hunk says, clapping his hands together. “If you guys want to set up the table, Lance and I will be finished plating the food shortly. I dunno about you guys, but I’ve been smelling fried food for a couple hours now, and I need to eat.”

“Please,” Pidge groans, because she’s been smelling it too and boy is Hunk ever a head chef.

Everyone rushes to get the table set as quickly as possible. Pidge makes sure to put Lance’s favourite cup (that he has a hissy fit if anyone else so much as looks at, even though it is practically identical to ever other cup except one tiny chip one the bottom that he loves for some reason) next to the chair closest to the door, where Keith always sits, because she has not forgotten the Earlier Incident. If all goes well then something embarrassing will happen for her to witness, which is all she can ask for, really.

“Can someone who is not Allura come help me bring food over?” Hunk calls from the kitchen as Pidge places the last fork. “No offense, Princess, but I watched you and Lance walk into the same door this morning and I’d rather our hard work not end up splatted and inedible on the floor.”

“Offense taken,” says Allura darkly, and Lance’ whining echoes all the way to where they’re standing.

Keith meets Pidge’s eye and snickers.

“I got it, Hunk,” he calls, jogging over to them.

“Absolutely not!” Lance screeches. “There is no way I will allow Mullet to be entrusted with something I am not allowed to —”

He cuts himself off with a loud shriek. Whether Keith finally pinched him quiet or Lance is just shrieking for drama’s sake Pidge will never know, but moments later the red paladin is striding out of the kitchen, heaping bowl in one hand, batting Lance away with the other.

“If you drop that I’ll kill you both,” Hunk promises, setting the heaping plate he’s holding down on the table.

Thankfully, nothing gets dropped (although does it ever come close). Everyone is accounted for and seated and nothing has gone to waste, and Pidge’s stomach is growling.

“Got a little bit of everything,” Hunk says. “Classic latkes, kugel, and sufganiyot. And you mentioned the zippoli and arancini your Nonna used to make, Pidge, so I made some of that too. And Lance made lots of masitas and plátanos.”

“Hope that’s okay,” Lance says, face kind of scrunched. “I know it’s not traditional, but we had it on Hanukkah, and I thought —”

Pidge grins at him. “Looks great, man.”

Everyone takes turns passing food around and loading up their plate. Pidge takes four zippoli. She regrets nothing. She has had none in several years and this looks perfect.

Before anyone starts, all eyes turn to Pidge, so she squeezes her eyes shut and remembers her mother’s blessing: “Barukh ata Adonai Eloheinu melekh ha’olam shehakol niyah bidvaro.” She opens her eyes again. “Dig in, everybody.”

No one needs to be told twice. For a while the castle is even shockingly silent, everyone too busy shoving their faces. Keith chokes on latke. Shiro laughs at him until the red on his face is from more than a lack of oxygen.

“I love human food,” gushes Allura, inhaling more plátanos. “You guys got to eat like this every day?”

“Unless you lived with someone who regular fucks up ramen noodles,” Keith says pointedly, dodging Shiro’s under-the-table-kick.

“I think Numbers Two and Three might just be talented in the kitchen,” Coran responds. Both Hunk and Lance beam at the praise.

After dinner — and lordy it does not take long to polish it off — they clear the plates away, tidying up the table, as Pidge sets out the menorah. She carefully sets out the candles they have gathered, arranging and re-arranging the order. When she’s satisfied, she picks up the smallest candle, thin green stripes running up its sides, and places it in the space at the far right. She picks up the shamash — choosing the thickest and tallest one — and accepts the lighter Keith offers her. Once it is flaming, she holds it outwards, and begins to softly recite the blessings she memorized so long ago:

“Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tsivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah. Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, she-asah nisim laavoteinu v’imoteinu bayamim hahaeim baz’man hazeh. Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, shehecheyanu v'kiy'manu v'higiyanu laz'man hazeh.”

She says the words slowly, carefully, allowing herself to feel the shape of them on her tongue. They are familiar. They are heavy. They get caught in her throat, tangled, and stay there until tears begin to trickle down her cheeks, softening the way out. Her voice shakes, but she feels her own strength spreading through her like the heat of the shamesh candle.

“Make it home to me, Matt,” she whispers, as she lights the first candle.

———

“Okay, there is no fucking way.”

Pidge cackles at Keith’s indignant protest, accepting Lance’s sharp high-five and dragging in the entire pot of tokens again.

The two of them are absolutely fucking killing it. Their token piles are high. Keith has had to begrudgingly ask Lance for a loan no less than six times. Everyone else is dangerously low, except for Coran, who’s doing alright.

Pidge thinks this is righteous. As the two youngest, she and Lance should be winning by birthright, basically.

“Suck it, Kogane,” she says gleefully. She flicks a token at him. “Take some charity.”

Keith scowls at her, but takes the token because he is too broke not to. It is greatly amusing.

Ha! Loser.

The game shouldn’t last as long as it does, but somehow it keeps going for hours. Pidge suspects Shiro has several dozen tokens up his sleeve and is cheating. Allura may also be using alchemy to make more tokens appear. Either way, Pidge and Lance’s hordes are steadily increasing, and the menorah has long since been blown out, and the food has settled in everyone’s stomach, and Pidge’s head keeps drooping.

“Think it’s just you and me, Pidge-Podge,” Lance says softly. Someone tucks her hair behind her ear, she’s not sure who. Her eyes might be closed. “What say you we call it a tie, huh?”

“There’s no tie in dreidel,” she argues. “We gotta finish.”

“I’m thinking we play again tomorrow,” Coran suggests. “I’m sure when you’re fully awake you can destroy Number Four much more efficiently.”

“Hey,” says Number Four in question, indignantly.

Pidge manages a smile. Keith sticks his tongue out back at her, and the next thing she knows there are arms around her waist and she’s airborne. She buries her face in a strong shoulder and pretends, secretly, it’s her father, even though she knows it’s not.

“Say goodnight, dork,” whispers Shiro. He pauses, adjusting slightly. “Oof.”

“You’re getting old,” says Keith gleefully.

“Respect your elders,” hisses Lance, accompanied by a swift punch to Keith’s shoulder.

“Ow!” Keith complains, but interestingly he only pouts at Lance instead of maiming him. “It’s Shiro! He’s not even an elder, he’s six! You —”

“Goodnight, Pidge,” say Hunk and Allura, loudly.

Pidge smiles. Her voice is half-buried in Shiro’s shirt. “Night.”

She doesn’t remember the walk to her room, but she feels it when she’s laid down, when blankets are fluffed over her and a kiss is pressed to her forehead.

“Sleep well, Katie,” whispers a voice, and the cool metal of the fingers brushing her hair are soothing. “Love you, kiddo. Happy Hanukkah.”

She falls asleep the the click of her door closing and a warmth burning hot in her heart.

[zarkishere]

y/n x Javier talk because I'm insane (also normal Javier talk but I talked a lot about his dating life and trust issues blegh) I think if you dated Javier it'd take him AGES for him to trust you, and I'd take even longer for him to let his scars show

in part, it's because of his ex lover in Mexico, but he's also an outlaw on the run c'mon shits dangerous can't let your guard down you see, I think he sees them as a failure. he let someone get close enough they'd be able to...yknow...almost slice his throat open, break his nose, cut so close to his eyes...

and while some may take that as a 'fuck you I lived I'm better' he takes it as 'I'm fucking stupid and a moron and how could I fuck up so bad' specially given he's so particular about his looks, mans HATESSS THEMMMM he can't control how those look, they're just there, and he hates feeling out of control

so if you dated Javi, you'd have to be VERY CAREFUL about those, specially at the beginning

you catch a glance at the one on his throat? Pretend you're fucking blind and saw nothing eyes accidentally landed on the one on his nose? look away

you were kissing him and accidentally moved his scarf down? pull it back up and DON'T glance down, it'll make him feel bad and weak and stupid and JUST DON'T

slowly but surely he'll open up, maybe give you a hint of what happened (he's never telling the full story tho), if they hurt maybe he'll let you know he needs some time, he'll let the scarf be looser when it's only you two

much later on in the relationship, he'll ask you to massage the scar tissue when it hurts (ex:when it's cold), scarf is off more often (again, only when it's you two), glancing at them isn't such a deal but don't stare years into it if he can't do it himself (ex:he got shot and can't use his arm well) he'll ask you to shave him (BE CAREFUL THOUGH, OBVIOUSLY HAVING A BLADE NEAR HIS THROAT IS A HUGE FEAR), no scarfs around the house, etc working with him through the self-hatred is obviously encouraged, he may seem like a scary guy, but boy has a billion issues and needs his reassurance that things are okay, and you're not going to run away and leave him (he has massive guilt over leaving his family and is so afraid someone will do that to him) (+if it's post vdrlnd gang it got worse lol)

also just talking about just flings/prostitutes, I think if the person he's with accidentally pulls his scarf down (yes it stays on during sex) he'll actually panic like he'll try to play it off and just pull it back up and act normal, but bro is PANICKING and thinking the worst edit - i'm adding 1 more sorry i think if you tell him they're not ugly and like a mark of strength or whatever, he'll give you a side eye and say somth like " don't act like it's a good thing " and he just doesn't like taking compliments when it comes to them </3 (with time he'll accept them, but will never LIKE them)

that's all just giving a few thoughts ough I'm insane about Javier if you couldn't tell <3

[nightthinker-08]

Wish Ragatha being a people-pleaser and maybe unknowingly act a little passive aggressive is explored more in the fandom.

then again, thats my own personal HC, so maybe I should do that exploring lol

There's just something interesting to me to see a character that is very emotionally open but very emotionally distant as well. Like "Oh, sure, you can open up and I won't judge, but you won't ever know anything about MY emotions" kind of situation? And she WANTS people to open up to her, but then she herself cuts people off from getting too close to her.

I think it's both because she doesn't want people to worry and because she doesn't want to acknowledge that she has negative feelings either. Like admitting its there opens her up to a weakness she CAN NOT AFFORD-

Is she the pillar of the group? Yes absolutely! But did she ever WANT to be? She is the 2nd longest person there, and she probably feels very responsible for everyone's wellbeing because of that. She HAS to be the one who guides people, because literally no one else is capable. (It would be interesting if Kinger was like that to her before he was crazy.) It probably frustrates the living hell out of her that she's put in that spot, but what can she do?

The worst part is that she does this so much and so often that it practically "default" in everyone's mind that Ragatha is ALWAYS going to be there—so much so that they don't appreciate her as much as they should, if at all. And she probably wants at least that. For someone to see her hard work and say thank you, but everyone is so fukin jaded already.

That's why maybe Pomni can be a breath of fresh air for her, you know?

(kind of gay thoughts, but it can be platonic.)

Don't get me wrong, Pomni is a fukin mess, but at least she doesn't know the default roles of the group. So she would notice things much faster than anyone else because she's new. And for Ragatha, finally having someone see her is, well… it would probably lead to a lot of confusing emotions swirling inside her lol

I have more thoughts on this, but blegh- this is too long already, and I'm getting shy again. lol so yeh thanks for listening to my Ted talk xP

[twopoppies]

This is just so tabloid. Like, the worst kind of low tabloid bait. He could do so much better to get press. Fuck, visit a charity. Donate something. Wear a cool outfit on a pap walk. They could buy him any press they want and this is what we get. He could just hold hands or go to dinner and this is what we get. Embarrassing pda in Japan. They’re so two faced in what they want his image to be. The humble polite mysterious rock star supporting the right non toxic male things, and also a womanizing fuck boy homewrecker making out for the Daily Mail. One keeps fans interested and fighting for him, one gets press and clicks. And probably fans too, but shit fans that sexualize him, which at this point seems to be adjacent to their goals. Blegh.

Well, as I said, with Louis’ documentary earlier in the week, they both play all sides of the fandom and it’s quite clear to me that their goals are very different from what they were even just three or four years ago. I think they both compartmentalize the shit out of their careers versus their private lives. And as much as we think we know them, we don’t know them at all.

So, I guess one can either choose to be a fan of someone who is actively wanting a long career as part of the entertainment industry, which includes having to play the games that come along with that. Or, if the stunts and the double talk get to you too much, you take a step back and be a fan of their music and let it go at that.

I think we tend to put the two of them on a pedestal, and we love them for how they make us feel when they’re behaving in ways that align with our beliefs, but when they don’t, we are either outraged or make excuses for them. I think many of us hold on to how we saw them as teenagers, or men in their early twenties, and think we know them and know what they want out of life… but we really don’t.

I don’t know if we have a right to be angry at someone for not living up to who we think they should be or not living their life the way we think it should be lived. We are important to them, in an abstract way, but they don’t owe us the truth. As close as we may feel to them, we are not their friends.

I don’t know the answer to any of this. I’m trying to navigate my thoughts and feelings as much as anyone is. But this is where I’m at at the moment.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

On a scale of Blegh to Slay Girl, which OB character design is the best and worst?

I'll be talking about my own thoughts in this post, but if you're interested in seeing a larger sample size's opinion on this question, you can check out the results of this poll! Vil was initially hardcore in the lead, but over time (I think because someone datamined and shared Malleus's full body OB design during the period in which the poll ran) Malleus overtook him.

From personal Blegh (worst/least liked) to Slay Girl (best/most liked):

Azul — This is the first “real” look we’ve had of his true form, and it doesn’t leave a good impression on me. It’s not that I don’t like Azul’s look as an octopus, the proportions of his tentacles just seem… off?? Like I feel like they should be much longer than they actually are. Additionally, the design of the tentacles makes them look plasticy and fake, almost like pool toys you’d blow up and then whack around in the water.

I also feel like because of Azul being an octopus, the design feels a little empty and the designers overcompensated by cover up the empty space (ie slapping random stuff on). The placement of the shells on his lower body is very weird on him, and compared to his collar (the necklace, the coral spiking off his shoulders) there’s not a lot happening here. The harsh black blot against the grey-purple of his skin also looks very jarring (which, as you’ll see, will continue to be a point of contention for me as we get into other OBs). Perhaps the only element I like in Azul’s OB is his crown, which resembles King Triton’s (you know, after Ursula yoinked it from him). It’s not too much embellishment like the elements at his collar, and it’s not oddly placed like the shells are.

Vil — I like his sleeves, veil, and little metal talons!! I also appreciate this his single glowing eye has blot running down like tears or running mascara! … That’s about it. I find that nothing else about his look does it for me 💦 Vil’s chest feels… oddly empty?? It’s like he has no form at all there because of how unnaturally smooth it is. And while I kind of get where the devs are going with the religious imagery and the incorporation of peacock feathers, I don’t think it all visually meshes very well together. The blot that his fabric fades into ends up looking like weird clumps of hair sticking onto the ends of Vil’s train and sleeves because no one was there to hold them up for him to keep them clean.

His crown is meant to make him look regal and imposing, but I just giggle a little because it looks so… chunky that it comes off as comedic and top-heavy (like he’ll keel over from the weight of it any second now). Yes, I understand it’s the same crown as that of the Beautiful Queen; I just think the extra things they added to it (ie the peacock feathers in the halo) gives additional weight that isn’t needed. I’m not sure if I get the weird spikes at his waist either; it was probably to better color distribute the scarce white in his look, but I feel like some other design element would have made it look less disjointed.

Malleus — This look is what I jokingly call “Nosferatu”; it reminds me a LOT of a stereotypical vampire, from the cape and slicked back hair to the zombie-like tint to the skin and draconian is this considered a pun clothing. The skin (being a reference to Maleficent) is, of course, a muted green color. That… just makes Malleus look hella seasick to me DX maybe like he has some cyanosis coming on??? In any case, I don’t like it. hdisbskskxos ANOTHER THING, THE GLOW IN THE DARK/LIGHT UP HORNS AND TAIL ARE SO FUNNY 😂 It doesn’t make me take him seriously as a threat when he’s over here lighting up like a lava lamp.

The main thing that makes me like this design a little over Vil’s is that the colors of neon green and deep blue-purple offer a greater contrast between the super dark parts of his clothing. There are also little details I appreciate, like how the blot on Malleus’s face forms little black scales like that of a dragon or a lizard and the continuous incorporation of thorns throughout the design. There are thorns over his torso, thorns crawling up his waist, thorns forming the “cage” of his skirt, and thorns climbing up from his cape—it really sells the imagery that his own insecurities and loneliness are swallowing him. The thorns on his chest are of particular interest to me 👁️ It’s like Malleus has “walled off” his heart to intruders, refusing to let them into his perfect dream world where no one leaves him. It just works well thematically!!

Jamil — I know Jamil’s OB design is really unpopular. I didn’t initially like it that much either, but the more and more I thought about it, the more I realized that while I don’t think the outfit is awful, it’s Jamil’s physical traits that drive people off from him. I actually really enjoy many elements of his OB: the tattered veil, how his skirt flares out at the end, the shoes, the beads, the draping cloth of his sleeves… The problem is, that’s not what my eyes are immediately drawn to. I’m way too busy staring at his snake hair and fake facial hair to notice anything else 😂

The snake hair looks so goofy (I think because of them lacking a lot of detail), and I'm not sure if the hair turban was a good choice either. I think it gives kind of clashing ideas as well??? The idea of snake hair invokes thoughts of Medusa, who is more closely linked to Greek mythology (which, thematically speaking, is more of an Ignihyde thing than a Scarabia thing; I’m not saying that Idia should have snake hair, but the fact that it was put on Jamil who had no association with Greek mythology may feel slightly off). The blot pooling at his chin and forming pseudo facial hair is also pretty silly (I know it's to mimic Jafar's goatee, but it's still weird to see on Jamil). Altogether, it creates a weird initial impression, especially when combined with the various over-the-top facial expressions Jamil makes while in this form.

Riddle — Here’s the part where I admit I probably ranked Riddle high due in part to nostalgia and because I’m really into Alice in Wonderland motifs 🤡 I think it’s a nicely balanced design, not only because of the even distribution of black and red in the dress (plus white as a much needed accent color), but you very clearly get the “Queen of Hearts” vibe without the very obvious overabundance of hearts everywhere. There’s a lot of neat little details, like the roses at his waist, the “spider legs” of playing cards, the loops of the bow that form a “heart” behind him, and the incorporation of suits into his choker and various other areas.

One thing that I think helps Riddle really stand out is just how small he is compared to everyone else; his OB outfit helps to further emphasize that, with the length of his dress’s train curling around him. We see the size difference highlighted in the battle against him as well. Riddle’s Phantom looks over him while he floats slightly hunched over, as if a puppet on strings. It makes me think of how his mother still has a strong hold on him, so she’s the one “in control” of his strings, the one influencing his toxic behavior. That lends Riddle’s OB a lot more personality in my eyes.

Idia — Cringe lines aside, I like how different and dynamic Idia’s OB is! The electronic mouth guard helps him be a lot more expressive than he usually is, and all the blue flames and swirling blot creates a super distinctive look. (I’m especially a fan of the vortex of blot that makes up the lower half of his design.) Blue and black work really well together, and I also feel like that color combination is good for emphasizing the sleek, cybernetic armor Idia sports, with the black part being metal and the blue part being the lights/energy/magic/electricity coursing through that powers it.

I guess the one big con against Idia’s design is that it doesn’t much resemble Hades. However, I tend to find that I have a preference for more subtle design elements in OBs, so I don’t really mind this. There’s enough sprinkled in to get the idea, from the stripe of cloth hanging from Idia’s clavicle to the slender (resembling the robes of Hades), pointed fingers of his gloves (again, similar to Hades), and even the vortex of his armor (like the spirits of the underworld swirling around). A lot of the tech elements help make Idia stand out and tie back to the trauma he experienced, so I think retaining the robotic nature of the OB is a must!

Leona — The single major qualm I have with this design is his lack of footwear 🥲 I never want to see bare feet (I won’t go into detail, but let’s just say it’s related to a traumatic childhood memory). Other than that, I think this is the most cohesive design of the OB boys. It's not too much, but it's also not too little, and the colors aren't too garish, nor too much black. The slicked back hair and furry collar resemble a lion's mane, and even something as understated as Leona's silhouette is made to better resemble his Disney counterpart (Scar's body shape is replicated using a corset of sorts). The blot covering his hands also gives him sharper nails, similar to a lion's claws. Leona's jewelry is also an interesting choice; the necklaces, of course, resemble the teeth of a predator, but everywhere else the jewelry seems very shackle and chain-like, perhaps alluding to how Leona feels resigned to his fate because of something he cannot control (his birth order). He's trying to break free of those attempts to keep him down, rebelling against people's low expectations of him.

The fabric that's draped over his lower half is a little on-the-nose; it's ramshackle and stitched together, resembling "scars" (geddit, cuz "Scar"). In the context of an OB though, I think I can overlook this. All of them feel broken, so seeing torn and ruined elements only makes sense. You can see his tail chilling inside of that cage of stitched fabric, but just barely because there's also golden cloth in front mostly covering it. To me, this is a good thing because tails on humanoid characters kind of unnerves me 😅

Anyway, those are my thoughts on all the OB designs ^^ I hope that was at least somewhat interesting to read.

[akirameta84]

worst part about worm communities sometimes is that they insist taylor and lisa cant date because lisa is aroace coded and taylor is het

as an aroace: do whatever you want. if you dont want to ship a character, dont. if you do, ship it! they dont exist. when you write them you interpret them however you want

i prefer lisa as ace but demiromantic. but if you prefer her as strictly a repulsed aroace? perfectly fine! but you cant shit on people who dont agree because these characters ARENT REAL. if you want to strict close to canon you can, or you can just do whatever. blegh rant over

im also turning my eyes on some of you saiki fans as well. i will repeat: sex repulsed aroace here. just because a character is aroace coded does not mean people cant fucking ship them. grow up. it can be good representation to you and you can express that, but if someone doesnt see it the same way then who cares? they dont. even. exist.

they do have to respect your interpretation as well, though, because this does go both ways, and respect that it means something to you or them. but they can acknowledge it and still have their own personal interpretation. it doesnt erase yours at all, and yours doesnt erase theirs

these arent real people who can express their own identity. theyre fictional. you can respect the author but make changes in your own fanfictions to your hearts content

[yunsimplystarves]

yap yap yap intro

hey gang its kuangyun back with another youtube video that was the worst intro ever anyways hi i'm kuangyun you can call me yun for short idc they/he/ae prns - transmasc agender + bi ace ermm i have ednos and i cut blegh as of right now my bmi is 17.9 and my cw is 51.4 but that probably gonna change by tmr yeah idk anyways

if you're part of shedblr or anything moot me up!!! idc if youre over 18 any age is fine w me

alrighty goodbye