#they could be imitating Void

[no-light-left-on]

considering the historical influences in the fashion of Dishonored (and the extent of nsfw fanfiction this fandom has) I’ve been thinking about the layers that would be, realistically, part of the daily dress

which means: dishonored seems to honour the importance of a vest in a properly dressed gentleman’s or lady’s wardrobe

vests were, and I cannot stress this enough, a mandatory part of an outfit, to the point of men wearing only vests if they could not afford a fully tailored suit (trousers + vest + jacket) and a new shirt and opting to only wear a fake collar under the vest for the illusion of a full outfit

shirts were underwear, so to speak. there were no occasions in ‘polite society‘ where one could only wear a shirt without a vest on top.

this is something we see mirrored in both dishonored games, though the style of the vests and clothing have somewhat changed, they still follow the same rules of vests worn with every outfit, as far as we can tell. (we could argue that Jessamine is not wearing one, or that some higher class women aren’t wearing vests under their buttoned up jackets, but since we don’t really see underneath we can’t judge.)

we see the vests be worn even by the Whalers in the first game (which in itself brings up many questions. are whalers, the actual whalers that capture and kill whales, held in high enough regard by the society that they made a vest part of their uniform? or is it merely something that is worn by all? something that every citizen of sound mind would don, were they to leave their house?)

there are a few exceptions to this, of course, but this whole thing came to be by asking a simple question

does the Outsider wear a vest under his leather jacket?

now, in the first game, his jacket is unbuttoned just enough for us to get a good enough peek at what lies beneath. which is to say: there is no hint of a vest underneath. judging by the vests in the first game, the fashion was that the vest would go up high, often covering collarbones or even having a standing collar. what we see on the Outsider is just... an unbuttoned shirt

it’s much the same in the second game, even if we examine his final concept art, his outfit consists of a shirt (more or less underwear) with most of the top buttons unbuttoned, and a jacket on top. no hint of a vest underneath

what I’m trying to say is that the Outsider is a slut

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Champagne Problems | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Oh, hi! Truly, sometimes you just don't know the answer till someone's on their knees and asks you, you know? Also I hope my taglist works this time but who the fuck knows.

Word Count: 9.1k

Warnings: engagement / wedding talk, mentions of alcohol

Nat flipped through your list of invitees, crossing off a few names as she scanned the page. She took it upon herself to help you stuff, address, and mail the invitations for your engagement party, because in her words, you were “dragging your feet”. There were only five or so weeks left until the event, and you just hadn’t found the time to sit down and sort out the invitations. At least, that’s the excuse you told Nat- and yourself. 

“Okay, we’re finally making some progress, we’re about halfway done,” Nat called from the dining table. “Shit. Without me, no one would even show up to this fucking party.” She didn’t mean for you to hear that second part- but her voice echoed through your nearly empty apartment. 

Almost everything you owned was gone; either sold, or stored, or moved into the house you were to share with your fiancé, Cole. All that remained was your clothes, your bed, and a few odds and ends. It would’ve been far easier, far more convenient, to stay in your new house instead of living out of cardboard boxes. And far more aesthetically pleasing. The house was a nice- nicer than you’d ever be able to afford yourself. And it was beautiful. There was a lush garden in the backyard. A swing on the front porch. Even a white picket fence. You described it to everyone as “picturesque.”

But the lease on your apartment wasn’t up quite yet. You still had a few weeks until your move-out date, and you wanted to soak in as much time at the old place as you could. You loved it here. Loved the worn wooden floors and the doors that didn’t hang straight. The dent in the wall where Bucky bonked his metal elbow when you popped out of the hall closet and scared him. The corner in your bedroom where you and Bucky made a blanket fort during last winter’s blizzard. Memories papered the walls and covered the floors of this place- and most of them involved Bucky.

This was home. And while the new house was great- and fully paid for by your fiancé’s wealthy parents- it didn’t feel like you belonged there. It didn’t welcome you in or fill you with warmth. Cole’s mom said it just needed the right décor. Your friends told you it needed time. But deep down, you knew that no amount of beautiful area rugs, no amount of time, could turn your house with Cole into a home. There would always be one thing missing, one glaring and flagrant void. 

Bucky.

“You’re inviting Bucky?” Nat looked up from the list and found you coming around the corner with a bowl of popcorn in hand. Her incredulous expression nearly stopped you in your tracks.

You gave her a strange look, “Yeah, of course. He’s my best friend. Why wouldn’t he be invited?”

“Okay, first of all,” Nat scoffed, “He’s your best friend- present company excluded. And second, do you really think that’s a good idea?”

You threw a few pieces of popcorn into your mouth as you settled into your chair. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Nat rolled her eyes, “Because I don’t think it’s smart to invite the guy you’re actually in love with to a party celebrating your engagement to another man.” She threw you a shrug, “but hey, that’s just me.”

“Woah-” you almost choked on your popcorn. “I’m not in love with Bucky.”

It was the most absurd thing Nat had ever heard. “I’m not in love with Bucky!” she jeered, imitating your voice. “Yeah, right.”

“Okay, okay, jesus,” you raised your hands, miming a surrender. “I did- at one point- have romantic feelings for him,” you conceded, “but that was a while ago.”

“Oh, at one point?” Nat crossed her arms over her chest. “You say that like you had a small crush on him for a week, when we both know your ‘romantic feelings’ have been a constant ever since you became friends with the guy.”

Her accusations weren’t necessarily wrong. But they were loud. And pointed. And rubbed salt in your many wounds. “It was …” you gave a small shake of your head. “We never got the timing right, you know? It just didn’t work in our favor.” The heartache with which you’d grown familiar reared its ugly head. “But it’s fine,” you told her. “I’m engaged, now. So.”

Ever since you boyfriend, Cole, became your fiancé, you’d done your best to kill and bury your longing for Bucky. But your feelings for him weren’t so easily vanquished. They were strong and boisterous and loud. At least a few times a day, they launched themselves at you out of nowhere. At work. At the grocery store. At dinner with Cole and his parents. Nowhere was safe. Everywhere you went, things reminded you of Bucky. Of your favorite person. Of the person to whom you were not engaged. 

The desperate pining for him tore your still-healing wounds wide open. Every time your gaze landed on your engagement ring, every time a friend mentioned your impending wedding, a sharp pain sliced through your chest. And each time, you were forced to acknowledge the fact that you were not, in fact, getting married to Bucky.

 “Um, anyway…” you cleared your throat, “Of course, I’m inviting Bucky. And the subject isn’t open for debate, by the way. It’s my party and I’ll invite who I want to.” 

You grabbed an invitation and a blank envelope from the stacks in front of Nat and positioned them in front of you. If Nat didn’t want you inviting Bucky, there was a more than significant chance that she’d conveniently “forget” to address an invite for him. And so, you scrawled his name and address onto an envelope and affixed a stamp in the corner. Come hell or high water, he was going to get his invitation. Even if he didn’t want to come. 

The night of the party arrived sooner than you expected. Sooner than you’d hoped. 

The house was abuzz with people running in and out, carrying food and linens and liquor; you knew you’d be requiring the latter in order to survive the night. Florists arrived to cover the house in perfect, beautiful blooms. A team of caterers brought with them enough fine food to feed an army. And a flawless, two-tiered cake with delicate lacy piping sat on the dining room table, complete with yours and Cole’s initials. All of it was perfect. Picturesque, really. It was exactly what you wanted- but Cole wasn’t who you wanted it with.

Every few minutes, you checked your phone in search of a text from Bucky. The deadline to RSVP had come and gone almost two weeks ago, and he never gave you an answer one way or another. He ignored your “hey, are you coming to my party?” texts, and your “just wanted to know if you plan on coming to the party” voicemails. He ignored almost all of your correspondence, actually. 

Lately, he’d only been answering about a third of your texts and a quarter of your calls. It was unlike him. It was unheard of, really. On multiple occasions in the past, he answered your calls while taking heavy fire; you could actually hear the bullets whizzing by on his end of the line. But now, things were quiet. And you forced yourself to accept that fact that he was not coming to your party.

The festivities kicked off around seven-thirty, and you found your house full to the brim with party goers. All of Cole’s friends showed up. His childhood friends, his college buddies, his old soccer team- they all arrived with bells on. And your friends were well represented, too. High school pals, your book club, a close coworker or two. They were all so excited to see you, so happy that you found someone. 

Even Bucky’s teammates made an appearance. They were his friends first, of course, but growing close with him meant growing close to them. And you’d build unbreakable bonds with Sam, Nat, Wanda, and Maria. They were thrilled for you and more than happy to attend your party- even if Bucky wouldn’t be there. 

With your house so full, so jam-packed with friends, you thought you wouldn’t notice the pain of Bucky’s absence. But you did. Of course, you did. And you found yourself feeling painfully alone in a sea of people. 

Without Bucky there, the night seemed to fall flat. The flowers lost their vibrance. The food was bland. And the music sounded disjointed and off-tempo. Things just weren’t the same. 

People swarmed you every few seconds, hollering their congratulations and asking to see the ring again. They asked you about venues and dresses, bridesmaids and center pieces. Everyone meant well- you knew they did. But as the throngs of people refused to relent with their questions about table linens, your chest began to tighten. A hard, concrete cast wrapped itself around your lungs, preventing them from expanding. A suffocating lack of oxygen rendered your dizzy. It was all too much. The people and the music and the impending nuptials. Even the sensation Cole’s hand on your waist was too much, too tight, too smothering. 

With a whispered “be right back”, you moved swiftly through the crowd and escaped out the front door. If you could just get some space, some quiet, some oxygen, you’d be fine.

The door provided you with much needed support as you tilted and teetered on unsteady feet. The panic, the alcohol, the high heels- it all combined to form a dizzying, possibly lethal combination. But at least you were outside. As least you were free. The cool night air prickled at your skin, and finally, your lungs filled to capacity. A few deep inhales cleared the fog from your mind. With closed eyes, you tipped your head back against the door and let yourself enjoy the quiet. Sure, the music from your playlist leaked into the night air, but this was the closest thing to silence you’d experienced all night. And you were not going to complain. 

As your heartbeat slowed, you told yourself it would be okay. That everything was going to be fine. That you’d figure out how to handle the situation. And, if only for a moment, you actually believed your fabrications. A sense of peace wrapped around you like a blanket, and a welcome calm settled into your bones.

But the creak of a porch step yanked your eyes open. 

And there you found Bucky, frozen on the second to last stair, with giftbox in hand. He eyed you as though he were a prey animal, wondering if you’d seen him, waiting for his chance to escape. But it was too late; he’d been caught.

“Buck?”

He forced a smile, “Hey.”

“Hi!” you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck with an intensity that would’ve injured a mere mortal. He reeled back a few paces as your momentum knocked into him. “I’m so glad you’re here! didn’t think you were coming!”

His arms draped loosely- weakly- behind your back. It wasn’t much- but it was better than no Bucky at all. And after he failed to respond to your messages, didn’t answer your calls, and made himself scarce over the last few months, you’d take whatever you could get. 

“Right. Yeah. Well, technically, I’m not-” He untangled himself from your arms and pointed at the perfectly wrapped giftbox. “I just wanted to drop off your present.”

“Oh, thanks. That’s-” Dismay dripped from your words, “Wait, you’re not staying?” 

Bucky gave a shake of his head. He avoided your eyeline and chose, instead, to look at anything other than you.  The grass. The porch light. His own shoes. “I can’t, sorry.”

It crushed you. Having him stop by for only a moment was far worse than him not showing up at all. Because now, you had to deal with the loss. The pain of his departure. For him to grant you the warmth of his presence, only to snatch it away moments later was almost cruel. How could he leave when you were finally seeing the world in color? How could he go when the music finally made sense with him by your side?

You didn’t want to beg. Didn’t want to make him feel bad. Didn’t want to seem pathetic. But the words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. “You can’t stay for even a little while?”

The disappointment in your voice broke his heart. And he had half a mind to forget his plan and allow you to escort him inside. But he stood firm. “I would,” he shoved his hands into his pockets. “But I have to go pick up a friend from the airport.”

The words hit you in a strange place. A pin-prick pain nipped at your chest- you’d caught him in a lie. “Buck, no offense, but all your friends are inside.” You gestured toward the house with a nod of your head. It was true- all of Bucky’s closest friends were dancing the night away in your living room. And he was caught red handed.

 “Right…” His teeth dug into the smooth flesh of his cheek; his eyes roamed the yard. He should’ve known better than to use such a lame excuse- he did know better. He couldn’t casually lie around you; you knew him too well. But the pressure got to him, and forced cracks into his cool, marble surface. He hadn’t even expected to see you tonight, let alone talk to you. The painful awkwardness of the moment ate through him like acid.

“So… you can stay?” Your words came out too desperate, too expectant. But you couldn’t help it. You’d do anything to get him to hang around- even if he didn’t seem excited about it. Hell, you’d beg him on your knees if that’s what it took. Anything to get him to stay. 

“Uh, yeah,” he shrugged. “I guess I can.”

Finally, he let his eyes land on you. After choosing to avert his gaze for so long, he wasn’t strong enough to do so any longer. He had to look at you, to take in every detail of your face. But as he drank you in slowly, inch by inch, in the light of the full moon, a strange solemnity sunk its teeth into him. Perfectly imperfect curls framed your face. A flawless diamond sat at the hollow of your throat. You were even wearing his favorite lipstick of yours- the one he said made you look like a vintage Hollywood star. He eyed your delicate, lacy white dress. Your white strappy heels with bows on the ties. Your white nails. And the perfect, glistening diamond adorning the ring finger of your left hand. 

Everything about you was so beautiful. So bridal. It made his chest tight.

“You look really nice,” he said, almost bashful. “Beautiful.”

“I, um- thanks. Thank you.” 

This stupid white dress. With its stupid lace and its stupid pearls and its stupid bridal flare. You hated it. Resented it. Wanted to take scissors to its seams. But if you were to play the role of Cole’s blushing bride, you had to dress the part, didn’t you? You had to don your fiancée costume and take part in the production. 

But, regardless of your feelings about the outfit, your heart still flared at Bucky’s compliment. One simple word of praise from him had such a startling, intense effect on you. And suddenly, you were in high school again. He filled you with a sense of giddy adoration that you hadn’t experienced since the tenth grade. This was the stuff of love notes stuffed into lockers. Of first kisses under the bleachers. But your feelings for him could never be as fleeting or as shallow as those of your youth. No, this was the stuff of forever. 

“Hello?” Bucky gave you a wave. “You okay?”

An awkward laugh escaped your chest, “Yeah. Sorry, I kinda spaced out there for a second. Did you say something?”

“I said, what are you doing outside?” He eyed the packed house. Twinkling lights shone through the windows. Crowds of people danced and drank champagne. Music wafted through the air. “Shouldn’t you be in there? At the party? Cause, you know, it’s for you.”

Just the thought of going back to the party made your stomach turn. Part of you wondered if you might be able to hide outside all night; just stay in the yard until the festivities came to a close. Hell, maybe you could even run away. You could get pretty far if you started walking and didn’t look back. By the time the party ended, you could be deep in the heart of Brooklyn- you could be at Bucky’s.

“Yeah, no, I probably-  I should be inside. But, I’m just��” you took in a sharp breath. It hitched in your windpipe and got stuck for a moment. “I got a little overwhelmed, you know? With the noise, and the people and the… everything. So, I came out here to-” To hide. To escape. To flee. “To get some air.”

Bucky could’ve sworn he sensed something lurking beneath your calm surface. It was the slightest change in your voice, the smallest twitch of your brow. He clocked the way your hands never stilled. The way your teeth dug into the inside of your cheek. Something was off. 

He sat in the long silence, waiting for you to open the vault and show him your secrets. But the lock remained secure. You didn’t say anything else, didn’t hint at the source of your discontent. He eyed your manufactured smile, but couldn’t seem to crack it. 

Things never used to be this way. He didn’t keep secrets from you, and you wouldn’t dream of hiding anything from him- there was no reason to. Neither of you had to fear judgement or ridicule from the other. Your most embarrassing stories, Bucky’s darkest thoughts- they were all safe with the other. 

But an unfamiliar disconnect had pulled the two of you apart. And Bucky could no longer read your soul like a book.

“Everything’s okay, though. Right?” He eyed you with suspicion. With concern. 

You nodded- maybe too fervently. “Yeah. For sure,” a fake smile stretched across your face, “Just stressed, I guess.”

“And he treats you right?” It was one of the things Bucky worried about most. Sure, the house was nice. And the ring was huge. But did Cole speak to you with kindness? Did he show you empathy and understanding? Did he make you feel safe?

“Yes.” 

Bucky breathed a small sigh of relief. Knowing that Cole handled you with care brought a sliver of ease to his worried mind. “So, you’re happy then?” 

It was all Bucky ever wanted for you. A safe life, a happy life. But the answer wasn’t yes or no. This  was the farthest thing from a black and white situation. On more than one occasion, you told yourself to just be happy. You thought that if you willed it, if you said it with conviction- then it would be true. And the happiness you were supposed to feel around your fiancé would magically spring up around you. But it didn’t. Every day, you waited. Every day, you told yourself to just be fucking happy. Cole gave you everything. He was nice and agreeable and provided you with the resources to do anything you’d ever wanted. But the happiness never came. At one point, you decided you’d settle for contentment. But that too evaded you.

“Um, do you wanna sit?” It was the best subject change you could come up with on such short notice. “The porch is free. Come on.”

Before Bucky could respond, he found your fingers linked with his. Chills traveled up his arm, over his shoulder, and across his scalp. Even the most innocent of your touches sent his dopamine levels through the roof. He’d never experienced ecstasy like this ever before- and knew he never would again. Especially not after your wedding.

He knew it was selfish to feel anything less than happy for you. You were engaged, you were getting married- this was what you wanted. You wanted marriage. A lifelong partner. A “till death do us part” kind of relationship. And now, you finally had it. So, who was Bucky to ruin it for you? Who was he to hope that you’d leave Cole at the altar? He forbade himself from ever being that selfish. If he was truly your closest friend, he had to be happy for you- even if it meant that he could never be anything more than your friend. 

With his hand in yours, you led Bucky to the porch. And regardless of the brand-new patio furniture Cole’s parents gifted you, you and Bucky opted to sit on the steps. Crickets chirped every now and again. A cool breeze wafted through the trees, rattling the leaves. Voices and music and the clatter of dishes seeped through the windows. You didn’t notice any of it.

Because, finally, you had what you wanted- if only for a moment.

It was the simplest, most innocent desire you’d ever had. To sit on the front steps with Bucky. To share a home with him. To drink coffee next to him on the porch each morning. To watch the rain from safety of your porch swing with Bucky’s head in your lap. 

If you ignored the white dress and the engagement ring and the pop of champagne bottles, you could almost believe that this was Bucky’s house, too. That the two of you could go inside and retire to bed. That you could wake up in the morning, wrapped in his arms. You could almost believe it. Almost.

The two of you sat in silence, planning your words carefully. Conversation felt like a mine field, and one misstep could send either of you to your death. But the warmth radiating off Bucky’s his body wrapped you in a familiar comfort. The narrow steps didn’t provide much in the way of sitting room, forcing Bucky to sit almost shoulder to shoulder with you- not that he’d ever complain. 

With every gust of wind, he caught a whiff of your perfume- the perfume he loved so much. The scent that often clung to his hair and weaved itself into the fabric of his clothes. It mixed with the smell of early spring- crisp air and new blooms. And he felt himself losing his resolve. He did his best to put distance between the two of you, to protect his heart and yours. But as you leaned your body against his and rested your head on his shoulder. He wondered why the fuck he’d ever leave your side.

You, too, lost all strength. And suddenly, you didn’t care about misspeaking. 

“I miss you, Buck…” Present tense. Because, even with him next to you, you missed him. Missed the way things used to be. “I feel like I never see you anymore.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy with work, and trying to prove myself…” He let out a heavy sigh. Of course, regardless of his intentional distance from you, work really was killing him. “Everyone at SWORD is paranoid- they’re convinced that there’s a secret faction of Hydra growing within their organization.”

“Hmm, that’s so weird. I wonder why they’d be worried about that.” You gave bucky a nudge, and pulled a laugh- your favorite laugh- from his chest.

“Yeah, yeah,” he shot you an eye roll. “But you’re probably really busy, too. With all the wedding planning.”

His mention of the wedding shattered your perfect, maladaptive daydreams. All the noise from the party once again filled your consciousness. And the weight of Cole’s engagement ring felt like an anchor, dragging you down to the deepest, loneliest sea. Bucky wished he hadn’t brought it up as you removed your head from his shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, no. It’s been-” you felt yourself closing off a bit, and did your best to fight it. “I haven’t actually planned a single thing. At all. So.”

Bucky gave you a strange look. It wasn’t like you to put things off, to procrastinate. He knew you to be an organized, ahead of the curve type of person. You were always the one who had a plan, always the one who over-prepared. He figured that in the few months since your engagement, you’d have planned at least a few things- if not the entire wedding and honeymoon.

“Do you have a date at least?” He pulled out his phone, “I want to put it in my calendar.”

Bucky would be there to support you no matter what, even if watching you marry another man killed him.

“Um, no, there’s no date yet,” you said. “Cole’s parents belong to a really fancy country club and said we could get married there- it’s beautiful. All I have to do is contact the club’s event coordinator and figure out which days are available. I just-” you dropped your eyes to the ground, “I haven’t yet.”

Bucky didn’t like your downcast gaze or your uncertain voice. There was something eating at you- he’d bet his life on it. Maybe you were just overwhelmed. Maybe you felt like you were behind on all the decisions that needed to be made. Either way, he wanted to help.

He threw you a shrug. “Well, there’s no rush, is there?” 

He took your left hand in both of his and gave it squeeze, but regretted the gesture when your engagement ring dug into his palm. You were getting married to someone else; he had to stop touching you like this. Had to stop treating you like you were still on the market. He didn’t want to make you uncomfortable or disrespect your relationship. And so, he dug his hands into his pockets. 

“I mean some people don’t start planning right away, right?” He said, “They wanna take their time and enjoy the engagement for a while, and-

“I’m not.”

“You’re not what?”

“Enjoying my engagement.” You had half a mind to take off the ring and launch it into the street. You’d dreamed about doing so every day, actually. Dreamed of throwing it on the subway tracks. Or dropping it through a grate on the street. 

Alarm ran through Bucky’s system like wildfire. “Is everything okay? Is it-”

Finally, you lifted your eyes and met Bucky’s stare.  

“I don’t want to marry him.”

Bucky felt his brain short circuit. He forgot how to breathe, how to speak. His thoughts tangled themselves together in tight, writhing knots. Words bounced off the walls of his skull without meaning. This wasn’t what he’d expected you to say. 

“Um, why-” he cleared his throat, “why not?”

He cringed at his own question. Maybe it wasn’t his business. Maybe you didn’t want to get into the details. But you were upset. And if there was any chance at all that you’d want to vent or use Bucky as a sounding board, he was going to listen. 

But there was nothing for him to listen to. For a long time, you didn’t answer. Because to you, the answer was stupid. To you, it sounded like bullshit. Like you’d wasted Cole’s time and love and money. Like you were some noncommittal, unsure child. You rolled your eyes at yourself- as you had every day since Cole’s proposal.

“I just don’t- I don’t love him,” you finally said. “I’m not in love with him. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he’s great. He’s a really nice person…” And he was. He was kind. He was understanding. He was thoughtful. But he wasn’t the one- he wasn’t Bucky. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. And he’s given me- he’s given me everything. But, I just don’t love him like I-”

You stopped yourself. The words that danced on the tip of your tongue were too risky, too dangerous. You wrangled them before they had the chance to escape- before they had the chance to push Bucky away- and locked them behind bars. 

But they screamed inside your mind. ‘I don’t love him like I love you’ echoed again and again, reverberating every few seconds. Part of you feared Bucky might hear it.

“Um, I don’t love him like-” you rerouted, “Like I always imagined. You know? I don’t feel the way I thought I would.”

Bucky considered your words for a long time. Unlike you, he didn’t think it was bullshit. Or stupid. Or childish. He set his feelings for you aside, not allowing them to cloud his judgement, and thought about your predicament. 

“Well, you don’t have to, you know,” he finally said. “Marry him, I mean.”

You gave him a subtle nod. Maybe he was right. But a larger problem- a more important problem- loomed. And while you’d spent the past few months hemming and hawing about marrying Cole, there was another issue at hand that ate you alive every single day. 

“Why have you been avoiding me, Buck?” It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t accusatory. You just needed to know.

For the third time that night, Bucky found himself caught red-handed. “What?”

“Ever since I got engaged, you’ve been avoiding me.” 

The hurt in your voice was unmistakable. And though Bucky knew it was truth, his first instinct was to refute. To deny. To deflect.

“No, I haven’t. I’m not avoiding you,” he said, putting on an air of offense. “I’ve been busy with work and-”

“Don’t give me that.” Your heartbreak dissolved into cold, hard facts. Facts that Bucky couldn’t refute. “I used to see you almost every day. No matter how busy either of us got, we still saw each other all the time. We made time for each other. But ever since Cole proposed, you don’t answer my texts anymore. You don’t respond to my voicemails. I mean, I’ve only seen you-” The realization was startling. You knew Bucky had been distant, but as you quickly flipped through your memories of the past few months, you confirmed just how detached he’d been. “I’ve seen you twice. Including tonight.”

Bucky’s silence bit through your flesh. 

Part of you didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to know. But the question left your lips before you could stop it. “Buck, are you mad at me?” 

He shook his head. “No, why would I be?”

“Because Cole proposed, and I said yes.”

A look of bewilderment yanked Bucky’s features upward. Emotions flashed across his face at lightning speed. A scoff barked out of his throat.

“No. No, I’m not-” He was caught off guard. Struggling to cover his tracks. “I’m not mad. It’s not like that. I’m just-”

“What’s it like, then?” You stared at him, expectant. 

“Oh, come on…” It was all too much. He couldn’t be in such close proximity to you anymore. Couldn’t have you almost pressed against his side. 

He fled from his seat on the stairs and opted to stand in the grass. He paced for a beat or two, wearing down the fresh blades of greenery. And when he finally came to a stopping point, he couldn’t face you. Couldn’t look you in the eye. He just needed a moment. Needed some space. Needed to breathe air that didn’t wear your perfume. And when he cleared his mind- and his lungs- he turned to you.

“You know…” he let out a huff. “You know that things haven’t always been exactly platonic between us. You know that I’ve had- that I’m-” His metal fingers ran through his hair, “Anyway, I’m just… I’m trying to deal with this whole thing. I guess I’m not doing a good job.”

It wasn’t news to you. But it still struck you like lightning. 

Things between you and Bucky always teetered on the edge of romance. Always walked a tightrope between friendship and love. And while you adored a good “will they, won’t they” type of relationship on tv, it didn’t have the same charm in real life. The Nick and Jess, Sam and Diane, Janine and Gregory dynamic brought you only pain. Confusion. Heartache. Unfortunately for you, there wasn’t a room full of talented writers scripting your every interaction with Bucky. The two of you didn’t have a well thought out, perfectly planned arc that placed you in a relationship by the end of your third season as friends. No, the two of you were left to your own devices, navigating the difficult terrain without help. 

Part of you always believed that you and Bucky would end up together. Maybe it was the Ben and Leslie of it all. Or maybe it was your hopeless romantic side. But you truly thought things would work out for the two of you. The ring on your finger, however, said otherwise.

A wave of remorse washed over you. You rested your elbows on your knees and dropped your chin into your hands. “We just never got the timing right…”

Bucky furrowed his brow, “What do you mean?”

“Our feelings for each other were always out of sync,” you lamented. “They ebbed and flowed over the years- just with opposite timing. When you had feelings for me, I was dating someone. When I had feelings for you, you were in love with another woman. It was just…” you cursed fate and destiny and everything in between. “It was bad fucking timing. 

A sharp edge rose in Bucky’s voice, “You think that’s what happened?”

You nodded, “Um… yeah. Yes.”

“You’re wrong.” He was steadfast. Resolute. He wanted to argue with you, wanted to prove you wrong. 

“What do you mean?”

“My feelings never ebbed- whether I was dating someone or not, those feelings never went away,” he said. There was a desperation in his voice. A longing you hadn’t heard before. “And they still haven’t. They’ve never gone away or even faded a little bit. I know you had fleeting feelings for me at one time or another, but mine weren’t temporary.”

It was bullshit- it had to be. Right? His “feelings” for you never seemed so concrete, so permanent. They weren’t even feelings; if anything they were more like passing flirtations. Momentary affections that dissolved every time a beautiful woman walked by.  

You let out a scoff, “Tell that to all of your girlfriends-”

“I only dated other people because I was losing my fucking mind.” His voice rose an octave or so  and he cut his eyes toward the house, watching for a sign that someone had heard him. “Every time you started seeing someone new, it was like I couldn’t breathe. So, I needed something- someone- to be a distraction. And I know that’s a dick move. But-”

You weren’t proud of it, but you were familiar with Bucky’s coping mechanism. With his tactics for surviving every new boyfriend of yours. “I did the same thing.”

“What?” He didn’t believe you- not even for a second. Your engagement ring wouldn’t allow him to. 

“Buck, I’ve had feelings for you since we became friends. It was pretty much immediate after meeting you. And they weren’t ‘fleeting’- or whatever you said.” The word actually offended you. “They’ve never ebbed.” 

You caught a glimpse of your engagement ring in your periphery and instantly dropped your hand into your lap, hiding the ring from your view- and Bucky’s. “I only dated other people because I didn’t think anything could actually happenbetween us.”

Bucky’s chest tightened. He instantly mourned the lost time, the years he could’ve spent with your lips on his. Of course, the friendship you shared was never a waste. And he’d never trade the years you spent as confidantes. But he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about how different things could’ve been. How much mutual pain could’ve been avoided.

He took a step away from you, too confused and upset to be in your orbit.  “And you never told me any of this?”

Your brow furrowed; your lips stretched into a thin, frustrated line. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What?”

With fury smoldering in your chest, you rose from your seat on the porch steps. Anger glistened behind your eyes and hurt coated your words. “I told you! I bared my fucking soul to you!”

The puzzle pieces came together for Bucky. He let his head tip back a bit and covered his face with his hands. He let out a deep groan that only added to your rage. He didn’t have to ask- he already knew what you were referencing. But the part of him that wanted a fight egged you on. “Oh my god, are you talking about that night at the bar?”

“Of course I am!” you spat. “I told you everything- I confessed everything! I told you I loved you and that I wanted to be with you. I told you I was in love with you. And you just brushed it off!”

Bucky grimaced, “I know...” 

He wandered a bit farther, putting a few more paces between your body and his. He knew he was wrong. Knew he fucked up. Every time he thought about what you said at the bar, and the way he reacted, he grew nauseous.

“But I didn’t think it was real.” Another wave of desperation sent his voice booming through the yard, “I didn’t know you actually meant it! And I didn’t think I should hold you to something you said after six margaritas.”

He had a point. He had good reason not to believe a drunken confession. But you gave a fervent shake of your head; it wasn’t his actions that night that hurt you, it was everything that followed.

“But you didn’t even acknowledge it!” The words echoed down your street. You wondered if your neighbors had gathered around their windows, watching yours and Bucky’s drama unfold like a soap opera. “You could’ve asked me about it the next day or-”

The pain in your voice cut Bucky deep. His tone was softer now, his voice a little quieter. He knew he should’ve handled things differently. Knew you deserved better. “Well, you never brought it up either…”

“I tried to!” A rogue tear dripped down your cheek. You wiped it away in a hurry, hoping Bucky hadn’t seen it- though you knew he had. “But you told me ‘not to worry about it’ and then you��walked away. And that was it.”

Bucky watched as a few more tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. He wanted to wipe them away with the sleeve of his shirt. To offer you a hug. But he couldn’t- he was certain you’d swat him away. Regret sat in his stomach, weighing him down like lead.

“Do you know how embarrassing that was for me? I told you how I felt, and you pretended like it never even happened,” your voice wavered ever so slightly. “And when I tried to talk to you about it, you waved me off. I was so humiliated- I didn’t want to say anything else.”

The weeks that followed your drunken- but true- confession were some of the most miserable times of your life. Bucky simply carried on like normal, inviting you over for movies and pizza and wine. And you didn’t have it in you to pull away. To put some distance between the two of you. To take the time you needed to lick your wounds. And if you were honest with yourself, you didn’t want to stray from his side. Didn’t want to retreat. Because being around him was better than being without him, even if the rejection left you broken and bruised.

 “After that,” you shrugged, “I thought you didn’t want anything more than friendship with me.”

“But I-” Bucky shook his head; you were wrong- you were so wrong. He’d always wanted more, always wanted you. “I’ve always loved you…” 

“How was I supposed to know that? I mean, your string of girlfriends says otherwise.” You thought back on the litany- on the catalogue- of beautiful women Bucky paraded around. “And I know I dated other people, too. But you had so many. And you were so- you gushed about those women. You flaunted them. You talked about them nonstop.”

Bucky knew it was true. He brought his girlfriends to every event, every team dinner, every casual hang. The one time, the one place he deemed too sacred for the presence of his rotating cast of lovers, however,  was the one-on-one time you shared. He never dreamed of allowing them to tag along when it was just supposed to be the two of you- that was one line he’d never cross. He did spend a significant amount of time talking about them, though. He went on and on about his many, many forays into the dating world. And truth be told, you had trouble keeping track of all the names. 

Because, while you’d had a few boyfriends here and there, Bucky dated enough women to field a soccer team. Or two.

But you weren’t mad at him for it. You didn’t hate him for seeking companionship. You just couldn’t believe that he had real, legitimate feelings for you while simultaneously telling you that he planned to propose to Isabella. Or Nadia. Or Violet. 

“Honestly, you made it seem like you wanted to marry every one of them,” you told him. “The way you talked about them- it was like you were so in love. So, I didn’t think…” The whole situation was too messy. Too confusing. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to have real feelings for me. I thought you were a flirt. And a ladies’ man. And I thought you only showed me affection when you were bored between lovers.”

Bucky thought back on all the girlfriends. All the hook ups. All the times he left a one-night stand and ended up at your apartment after. He hated it- but you were right. He may have flirted with you; he may have showed you fleeting affection. And maybe he made a joke or two about growing old with you- but he never made a declarative statement. He never confessed his true and undying love for you. Never made the effort to take your friendship to the next level.

Only you’d been brave enough to do that. And he’d paid you dust.

“And I mean, you made it very clear that you didn’t want to talk about my feelings for you,” you said. A flood of familiar embarrassment rose around your ankles. You found yourself struggling to wade through it, just as you had after Bucky brushed you off. “So, I just… I found Cole. And I stayed with him- I stayed long enough that he asked me to marry him. And I knew you didn’t want me, so… I said yes.”

Bucky couldn’t imagine a reality in which he didn’t want you. “I’m so-” he slid a hand over his mouth. He let his head drop a bit. 

The weight of your words- of the truth- almost forced him to his knees. He’d only ever known longing, wanting, yearning- for you. And he always told himself you didn’t see him that way. But knowing now that you’d felt the same, that your confession was real and true, didn’t assuage the hurt. He couldn’t believe that he brushed you off. That he didn’t take the time and summon the courage to ask you about what you said at the bar. 

But he’d been too scared. Too scared he’d ruin your friendship. Too scared he’d make you uncomfortable. Too scared that your drunk words were just that- drunk words with no meaning.

As your point of view stood next to his, the puzzle pieces aligned. And the two of you finally got a look at the full picture. It was a picture of mutual love, mutual longing, mutual heartache. A picture of two best friends who couldn’t find it in them to have a serious- sober- conversation about their feelings for fear of ruining a good thing.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky finally said. “I didn’t know you were serious at the bar. I didn’t mean to hurt you- I never want to hurt you.” He swiped his sleeve across his face, mopping up a stray tear that threatened to run down his cheek. “And I really didn’t mean to push you into the arms of another man. I just... I didn’t know you meant it.”

A tired sigh deflated your chest, “I meant it.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to say. Or how to handle the situation. He hated that things got so muddled. Hated that you felt so hurt. Hated that he hadn’t just been honest. The two of you were so close, so comfortable together, he never thought things could get this messed up. This disastrous. But he supposed it was par for the course. After the way his life had played out, why would he think that something as important as falling in love would be easy?

“So, it seems like we’re…” Bucky frowned, “terrible at this.”

“Yeah,” a dark laugh escaped your chest. “I guess we’re both stupid.”

Bucky nodded. If there’d been one- just one- honest conversation between the two of you, none of this would’ve happened. There’d be no Cole. No hurt feelings. No argument in the yard. All this time, you could’ve been sleeping next to Bucky each night. You could’ve shared a home with him. Kissed him good morning each time the sun rose. And the engagement ring- albeit a smaller one- resting on your finger would’ve been from Bucky. 

But it was too late now, wasn’t it? There was too much pain, too much hurt. And you were very much so engaged. Hell, you and Bucky were standing in the front yard of the house you shared with your soon-to-be husband. But Bucky had to ask, didn’t he? He had to dig deeper, to find the truth. 

And after he’d failed to acknowledge your truth last time, he wasn’t going to do it again. 

Knots twisted around in his stomach. His lungs failed to expand all the way. But he needed to know. “Do you still-

“Yes.” You didn’t hesitate. Didn’t leave even a sliver of room for doubt. “I still love you.”

Bucky said nothing. He simply drank in the words. Replayed them in his mind. Relished in the sound of your voice- sober and steady- saying that you loved him. It was all he’d ever wanted.

But his silence pushed you to the precipice.

“So, um,” your hands shook. “What about you? Are you-”

Bucky almost laughed. “Oh, come on. Of course, I do- of course, I love you. What kind of question is that?” He shot you a wink.

There it was- his truth laid out before you. And to think, you’d dreaded this night for weeks. Dreaded celebrating your engagement to Cole. Dreaded answering questions about your impending wedding. And now, the love you’d hoped for, the love you’d always wanted, laid perfectly spelled out for you in the grass. Somehow, the party celebrating your engagement to another man provided the perfect venue for Bucky to bare his soul.

And while the two of you relished in the others’ words of love, uncertainty still filled the air. Bucky stood firm on his side of the lawn, and you yours. This wasn’t a perfectly scripted episode of sitcom, there weren’t people telling you what to say. What to do next. Your shared predicament was messy and awkward. And though you didn’t have a director telling you how to act, you knew your neighbors were entertained.

“So, what do we…” Bucky shoved his hands into his pockets. “What do we do now? You’re supposed to marry someone else. Your house is full of people celebrating your engagement. And-”

He didn’t get to finish his sentence. 

You pursued him across the lawn, stalking toward him until your lips crushed his. Instantly, his hands found your waist and pulled you tighter. Your hands slid up his chest, over his shoulders, and buried themselves in his hair. The chill in the air fell away. The noise of the party evaporated. Nothing existed outside of this moment, this kiss. Bucky snaked his arms around your back, encircling you completely. He wasn’t going to let you slip away. Not again.

But an errant sound from inside the house made a grab for his attention. And suddenly, the stark reality of the situation hit him like a train. 

He pulled away ever so slightly, only allowing a few millimeters between his lips and yours. His gaze landed on the packed house, “Someone might see us-”

“I don’t care.” You gave his hair a gentle tug and closed the gap between you. Now that you’d finally tasted his lips, you didn’t want to spend a moment without them. Ever.

And while Bucky wanted only this- only you- for the rest of his life, his anxiety needled at him as it always did. He did his best to swat his worries away and devote his focus to you and only you, but he couldn’t fight it. He had to tell you, had to clarify.

Again, he pulled away. 

“But you know I can’t- I can’t give you the things he can give you. You know that right?” He searched your face for any hint of realization. Any flicker of regret. “I mean, the big diamond ring, and the fancy wedding, and the house. I don’t want you to be disappointed, I don’t want you to-”

And again, you cut him off. Your mouth melted against his, hell bent on consuming him right then and there.

“Buck, I don’t want any of that,” you finally said when you came up for air. “I want you. That’s it.”

And there it was- Bucky’s confirmation that you wanted him for him. That you didn’t care about his small, shabby apartment. Or his lack of funds. That you loved him for who he was, not what he could gift you. 

“And honestly, all the fancy stuff isn’t really my vibe,” you shrugged. “I mean, I’m not really the type to play tennis at the country club. And I don’t use ‘summer’ as a verb.”

Bucky’s laughed boomed through the yard. It cut through the noise and chatter of the party and made you feel more at home than you ever did in this godforsaken house.

“So, do you want to make a run for it?” Bucky asked between long, deep kisses. “If we go now, I don’t think they’ll catch us.”

It was enticing. The thought of absconding with Bucky set you alight from the inside out. All you could think about was spending the night in his bed, wearing his clothes as pajamas, and then ditching them entirely for a night of passionate debauchery.

But there would be plenty of time for the two of you to make your escape- after you carried out the plan forming on the outskirts of your mind.

“I say, we run- but not quite yet,” you told him. “I think you give me a few minutes inside so I can snag a couple bottles of champagne and some of that fancy whiskey Cole’s dad brought by. And then we jump in the getaway car and run like hell. How does that sound?”

How could Bucky possibly say no to that? He watched with bated breath as you snuck back into the house and hoped to god that no one noticed your return.

And his prayers were answered. Everyone was so drunk, so distracted by the music and the lights, that they didn’t even glance in your direction. 

A quick trip to your room allowed you the opportunity to rid yourself of Cole’s ring. Sure, it was beautiful. And sure, Cole was a nice guy. But you didn’t want it, didn’t want to be shackled to him for the rest of your life. You slid the ring from your finger and instantly felt the weight of the world fall from your shoulders. It was the most instantaneous relief you’d ever felt- aside from kissing Bucky for the first time. You tucked the ring safely into the drawer of your nightstand and told yourself you’d return it to Cole tomorrow. 

Tonight, you had more pressing matters to attend to. You snaked down the hall to the kitchen, undetected by the raucous partygoers. And without drawing any attention to yourself, you snaked two bottles of champagne out of their ice bath and tucked a nice vintage whiskey under your arm. If you and Bucky were going to celebrate, you were going to do it in style.

With the alcohol safely cradled in your arms, you made a mad dash for the front door. But just as you turned the handle, the sensation of someone watching you gave you pause. Slowly, you turned around, fearing that you’d find Cole’s confused, heartbroken gaze staring back at you. Instead, it was Nat who’d caught you in the act. 

She gave you a wicked smile and mouthed “I told you so” from across the room. And with a sweeping gesture, she urged you to “go, go, go!” She didn’t have to tell you twice. Quick as a flash, you escaped out the door and sprinted down the porch steps. 

Bucky paced up and down the front walk, waiting for your return. Part of him feared that you might not return from your trip inside. Maybe you’d change your mind about the whole thing. Maybe you’d decide to stay with Cole. But the way you tore down the front steps and launched yourself into his arms quieted his anxieties. 

He took your face in his hands and captured your lips with his. “You got the goods?”

Your laugh vibrated against Bucky’s lips, “I don’t know about you, but I think stolen champagne tastes better.”

"That's my girl."

Bucky snaked an arm around your back and ushered you across the yard, out the front gate, and across the street to his car. He stole the booze from your grasp and placed the bottles gently in the back seat. And once he ensured that the alcohol you worked so hard to pilfer would make it home safe, he turned his attention to you. 

His hands slid over your hips and traced up your spine, sending goosebumps over your skin. His mouth met yours in a kiss full of love and desperation. Longing and need. This was what you’d always wanted. What you’d begged the universe for. What you’d cried and agonized over. And now it was yours- Bucky was yours.

He pulled away only a fraction of an inch, “You ready to go, baby?”

“Get me outta here, Buck.”

------------------------------------

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[burdigel]

So one of the most lore-indepth wildcards of Wild Life would be the superpowers that relates past seasons of the Life Series and acknowledges other series (eg. Hermitcraft and Evo) and their personal lore to attribute to each participant's power.

Starting alphabetically,

Bdubs power is essentially all related to time and his ability to manipulate the day cycle expentially. With the clock being his main motif across all Life Series, the ability to slow and speed time according to his will is easily solvable but with the inclusion of the Hermitcraft and Empires crossover event, his ability to speed time according to his sleep schedule becomes another layer deep. Besides the clock being a main symbol for Bdubs, the concept of sleep is another that has essentially been from the beginning of Hermitcraft. Always carrying a bed and sleeping whenever. The Empires crossover Bdubs was framed as a god of sorts of the Sun. Always bright and always there when the Sun remained as its brightest.

Bigb can summon creaking. He creaking. He is like a king or dimplomant to the players who invade their home and they view him as their kin so he has the responsibility and power to summon them.

Ethoslab based of Kakashi from Naruto is by definition a ninja. An escapee or fugitive at best. So with his ability to jump higher boosted by wind charges can be explained by his connection to the shonen series and the inclusion of the mace could be chalked up to typically stories of protagonists gaining resources or inventory to defeat the "Big Bad" or achieve some sort of goal that is to win the Life Series.

GeminiTay or GeminiSlay named by others intimidated by her, has slayed each participant brutally in the Life Series and on Hermitcraft rewarding her the reputation from her immense PvP skills. So with her power of astral projection, it acts retribution for the slayed to talk and apologise or instigate to those dead for her or others benefit.

GoodTimeWithScar is nortorious for being not PG friendly so the inclusion of one of his powers been the ability to ride people, it's self explanatory. Yet as Scar is commonly associated with and as a vex, his other powers of extreme knockback and thorns can be explained by the hostile and aggressivness of the mob.

Grian as essentially the grandmaster or orchestrator of the Life Series would have access to all the powers and mimic but not fully copy the others' powers. Yet because of his power chained by an omnipresent force, he's unable to fully copy the powers but imitate them for only short periods of time.

ImpulseSV and his teleportation powers could derive from his cyber-theme aesthetic for his Hermitcraft Season X base. With most series of fictions based around cyberpunk civilisations, technologies like teleporation and other advanced transportational devices are commonly utilsed. Resulting in Impulse's power of teleportation and the ability to swap the position of another with himself.

Martyn power is boosted hearing cause he's a Listener.

So Lizzie or LDShadowLady's inflicts blindless or a shadow upon the surrounding people in her radius and resulting her in temporary invisibility and blindess to others around her. But from her endless descent into the void in Secret Life, arises Lizzie with trails of the void clinging to grasp the light of the overworld. Causing the void remnants to spread to others and infect them with blindness in all for the hope to spread towards the light from the cold world of the End.

With the ability to fly, PearlescentMoon carries aesthetics relating to Greek mythology in both her powers and external design choices. As one of the Postmasters of Hermitcraft, Pearl is essentially the builder and additional redstone help of the trio for the postoffice and other aesthetic designs. Hermes the herald or messenger of the Olympus gods delievers messages to other celestial dieties and mortals similar to Pearl's jobs as a Postmaster. Other than the similar professions, both Pearl and Hermes wear a petasos which is essentially a wide-brimmed hat that is commoly adorned for shade and for Hermes, additional wings to the sides of the hat. Symbolising their shared ability to fly quickly and efficiently for a purpose.

As RentheDog is commonly interpreted as a dog-hybrid of sorts by the Hermitcraft and Life Series community, his ability to splice and copy the DNA of others to match their appearance could be an aftermath or positive side-effect from his hybrid mutation.

Similar to Ren, Scott has the capability to transform into any mob in sight and similar to Limited Life where he was depicted as a siren as part of the Mean Gills. His ability to shape-shift into any mob regardless if it's passive or aggressive could be similar to his mutliple origins from New Life SMP and Origin SMP and the reflect the changing nature of his powers.

So Joel with essentially triple jump could be hinting his slimely origins of his Shrek skin in the swamp. Where the swamp generally spawns slimes at a higher rate than other slime chunks and slime blocks harvested from the slimes can be used as jump boosts. Resulting in the triple jump.

After just breaking the Canary Curse two seasons ago, SolidarityGaming or Jimmy has the power to turn fully invisible until someone or something damages him. Ever since his debut to the Watchers back in Evo, Jimmy has been under constant surveillance by the Watchers as an object of their amusement. Always failing to reach even the finale and fumbling to keep alive. Yet when he broke the curse and relayed it too another, he was discarded. Seen invisible to the Watchers as he had become an object of boredom by reaching his resolution. So that's where his invisibility comes from.

Tango with his cowardly approach to things, has constantly ran away from situations but with this power, it supercharges his speed allowing him to become part of the fight and conflict instead of running away. And with his ability to frost-walk on ice, it could recall his Season 9's skin back when he was the Dungeon Master in Decked Out II and became an icy persona.

ZombieCleo and resurect dead people as she's a reanimated zombie.

----

part 32

im tired

[thedevilssinner]

I wanna share something because I don't want to suffer alone with my thoughts 😅

It's one of the scenarios where Tav knew Astarion before he was turned, but I've never read anything where it played out like this.

I apologize if something is wrong, English is not my native language.

Imagine that Tav is an elf and Astarion's lover before he was turned.

They're devastated when they finds out that Astarion has been killed. Mourning his death for a very long time and even moving away from Baldur's gate because everything reminds them too much of Astarion.

They know that all their happiness and love are gone. No one can fill the void that Astarion's death has brought them.

And now, two hundred years later, they stand on the beach, the sun beating down on their head, the burning Nautiloid at their back and before them... Astarion?

Only it's all wrong, his eyes are red and he's pale... paler than he's ever been.

Anger rises up in Tav. How dare some shapeshifter even take on Astarion's form after their beloved has been dead for 200 years?

And do a bad job at it!

Before the pale creature could even call for help again, Tav lunged at him with an angry cry, surprising the imitation and truckling it to the ground, dagger pressed to it's throat while they straddled his body. "How dare you?! How dare you to take his form?! Show me who you really are... now!" They command, surprising even themselves with their actions. But they couldn't stop... not when someone is using Astarion's face for gods knows what.

"Darling, there seems to have been a little misunderstanding. I don't know what you're talking about, and I'd appreciate it if you'd remove the dagger from my neck." The shapeshifter replies, his voice smooth and flirtatious and so unmistakably Astarion's that it hurts, and Tav presses the dagger a little harder against his neck.

"Shut up, shapeshifter!" Tav shouts at him, gaze anchored on that so familiar yet different face. "Where did you even get his face?! His voice?!" They ask angrily, the hand holding the dagger starting to shake. "You have no rights to pretend you're Astarion when he's... when he's gone. And to do it badly!" They continue, still angry but deep seated sadness linger behind.

The shapeshifter's eyes widen, opening his mouth as if he wants to say something, Tav noticing the fangs there and even worse idea that him being a shapeshifter, starts to creep into their mind.

"Tav?" Fake Astarion finally speaks, saying their name as if he were saying it for the first time in a long time, tasting it on his lips. The previous flirting gone. Instead he looked confused and as if just now he remembered something that was hidden in his mind. "You are them, aren't you? Gods, how could I forget... so beautiful." His red eyes glide along Tav's face, his voice nothing than a whisper. He's clearly lost in his head and Tav swallows thickly, realisation slowly grasping their mind but they fight against it.

"No, stop! Stop it! You can't be him. You can't... he's dead and your eyes are wrong. You're wrong." Tav says, their body starting to shake all over, threatening to cut him by mistake with the dagger still against his neck.

But now it's easy for 'the shapeshifter' to take Tav's wrist and move their hand away from his neck, easily wrenching the dagger from their fingers and tossing it aside. His lips stretch into a sad smile.

"That's what vampirism do to you, my love." Astarion says ever so softly, the deepest pain and sadness etched in his voice and Tav knows, feels it in their soul, that he is telling the truth.

So that's how Tav meets Astarion again, this encounter more painful and bittersweet than anything else.

They stay on the beach for a little while, Tav crying their heart out and Astarion trying to hold back his own tears. Both of them not expecting something like this to happen.

(Sorry if Astarion seems ooc.)

[starcurtain]

Following Topaz's explanation that Cornerstones are made to fill the hole in the user's heart, what "hole" in Aven's heart do you think his drag queen powers are meant to fill? Especially since Topaz remarks he's the only one with such showy powers

Still trying to catch up with all the messages in the inbox; sorry to everyone for taking a million years to respond.

So cunty, and for what???

Anyway, first, when Jade talks about the Stonehearts' "voids," the alternate reading above that word is actually "ambition." And she mentions that the reason she risked reaching out to Firefly is that she views herself as similar to Firefly--Jade is someone with an unfulfilled wish.

I think there's enough here to suggest that the Stonehearts' voids are not quite what we would normally think of when hearing the word "void"--rather than being best understood as something removed or something lost, their voids seem to be "something desired." An unfulfilled goal. An unmet need. A burning ambition. A secret wish. They all have somewhere they want to get to, and they've signed on-board with Diamond's Preservation project because his power is the fastest way--maybe the only way--to get there.

The implication here, by the way, is that the Stonehearts are acting out the very act of Preservation itself with Diamond. The goal of Qlipoth is for the universe to be saved, an unshakeable resolution to stop Destruction's wanton obliteration. Thus, Preservation itself can be understood as "A desire that must be continuously protected and relentlessly pursued." To live. To endure.

In using the power of an emanator to protect and provide the Stonehearts with ways to pursue their own desires, we replicate in miniature the exact resolve and endless pursuit of perseverance that Qlipoth is acting out in the broader universe. The will of Preservation empowers the Stonehearts--and in turn, the Stonehearts swear an oath to aid in Preservation's mission. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement, and it also simultaneously imitates Jade's shop perfectly: I'll give you exactly what you want, if you give me what I need.

I should clarify that I don't actually think the cornerstones themselves fill the Stonehearts' voids. Rather, they seem to me to be a tangible symbol of the oath between Diamond and the Stonehearts--"I'll give you this power to fulfill your deepest wish, if you work for me." Jade suggests that the power of the cornerstones provides Stonehearts with the means to fill their voids (I.e., having superpowers makes it possible for you to pursue your wish), so I think their individual cornerstone abilities are best understood as "The exact power I need to achieve my particular goal."

So what does that say about Aventurine's "showy" transformation?

Pretty much all the rest of this is just going to be my personal speculation, but I'd say the most telling glimpse we get into why Aventurine's power is so "visual" comes from these lines with the future "Aventurine" in 2.1:

There's two completely contradictory desires being expressed here: Aventurine's life "is the chip he's most eager to lay down" and "always has been"--that is, he genuinely wants to die. He isn't just willing to gamble with his life, he's eager to. The future "Aventurine" also says real Aventurine wants to be "polished up" (to be controlled and molded by others) and "cuffed with red-hot chains" (to be made powerless and not responsible for making his own decisions, to be punished).

But conversely, the real Aventurine also wants to be perceived as "a smooth operator" and "the solid gold deal-maker who doesn't waste a drop of sweat." He wants to be in charge of his image. He wants to be the one who controls the narrative and defines how others think of him. He wants to be "spotlit center stage"--to command the eyes of the world. In short, we could say that Aventurine wants his death (and conversely, his life) to mean something.

From these conflicting desires, I think you can derive a few totally opposite but equally valid interpretations of why Aventurine's cornerstone power is so "visual":

A combat-oriented transformation is another means to seek death.

Jade's power is scary, but she isn't using it to literally launch herself into fights. Topaz's seems to be similar--something that might allow her to win over her opponents in some way (she was about to use it in Belobog to no-sell the Trailblazer), but she clarifies directly that it is not a "transformation." Aventurine just literally turns into a boss enemy and goes straight out on to the battlefield.

In the fight, he doesn't even use shields. (Now whether that's something he never does because the cornerstone powers don't actually come with shields while in his monster form, if he couldn't use shields because his cornerstone was broken, or if he just chose not to use shields in this fight to give Trailblazer and Co. a fighting chance, only time will tell. However, it might be worth noting that his empowered Apocalyptic Shadow form doesn't come with shields either, despite having other new mechanics.)

The point is, this form, while looking cool and seeming strong, is actually a gamble in and of itself. To go out onto the battlefield, where you might not actually be the strongest combatant, is always a risk. And I think this is the kind of risk that Aventurine manifests continually in his life. He is constantly creating opportunities for his own luck to fail. His unfulfilled desire, the "ambition" he was desperate enough to join the Stonehearts to pursue--as his original goal to save his people is completely gone, his only current goal might actually just be a chance to die. His powers may manifest as a combat-oriented transformation because that is just one more way to throw himself into the crossfire.

In fact, this is exactly what Sugilite accuses him of in Jade's myriad celestia:

You didn't need to snatch his wig this hard, Sugilite. (Also I need you all to know I originally wrote "You didn't need to come for him this hard, Sugilite," but then I realized how unfortunate that wording was, so...)

You could even argue that the fact Aventurine's transformation comes with a mask that obscures his entire face is a sign that we're supposed to see this form as dehumanizing.

The facial features are completely obscured and asymmetrical, there's no mouth, his fingers have become claws--despite his body staying mostly human-shaped, it's obviously intended to hint at something monstrous, subsuming his original identity behind a violent facade.

Kakavasha disappears entirely behind "Aventurine" when he transforms, becoming a faceless enemy at the risk of (perhaps in hopes of) entirely losing himself. Maybe every transformation lets Aventurine throw himself closer and closer to the edge of death--and perhaps, before Penacony, only death could ever have filled the "void."

But, on the complete opposite hand (because Aventurine is always both sides of the coin), we could also argue the other end of the spectrum entirely:

A combat-oriented transformation is a show of force.

This screencap brought to you by Mr. Rubhen925 of Youtube.

Aventurine's entire life has been marred by disenfranchisement, by violations of his basic human rights, freedoms, and agency. At every turn, he has been victimized by others more powerful than himself: his childhood consisted of his clan being relentlessly hounded and hunted to extinction by the Katicans, having their food constantly stolen, their meager belongings burned to the ground, and each one of his family members systematically slaughtered, often in front of his eyes.

After his childhood, he was bought and sold as chattel for pennies, branded like an animal, and forced into a fight where to he had to beat other innocent people to death just to keep himself alive, all for the entertainment of the masses. Even Jade, who promised to help him achieve his goals, treats him like a business investment more than a friend.

In Penacony, we watch everyone he talks to degrade and ostracize him. Even though Aventurine led him into doing it, Sunday tortures and re-traumatizes him live for our entertainment.

Even more that, we see Aventurine constantly struggling with the question of whether his life is really his own or whether his blessing from Gaiathra means that his entire existence has been predetermined, his fate sealed in blood and sand from the very moment of his birth, utterly inescapable.

No matter how Aventurine tries to portray himself as the ultimate winner, he's only ever the "final" victor--being the only one left standing at the end is meaningless if on the road to getting there, you were treated like fate's favorite punching bag. Winning in the end is utterly pointless if on the road to winning, you still lost it all first, from the things you loved to your personal freedom.

What does a person who has been made powerless again and again truly desire? What void do you seek to fill if life has denied you your agency over and over?

Power. Dominance. The ability to literally strike back at those who've wronged you. The strength to intimidate and force people into a corner the way you've been intimidated and forced before.

If we say that Aventurine's "void" is not a literal desire for the release of death, then it might make sense for the "void" to instead to be a frantic desire to gain control over his circumstances. To be the one finally in charge of deciding his own fate.

Particularly in light of his character story which tells us that Kakavasha's original goal for joining the Stonehearts was to save his people, the desire to take on an impressive form that screams "I'm powerful" and has the ability to physically enact vengeance on others feels directly aligned. And it remains aligned even after the reveal that the Avgins are all gone--once more fate strips Kakavasha of his power to make a difference in the world, to achieve what he truly dreams of.

The Apocalyptic Shadow version of his boss fight is called "Desperate Diceroller."

How angry he must be, deep down. How hateful the world must seem. How sad it is to feel that way.

If destiny won't let you out of the cage, your only choice is to grow claws to tear it open.

Okay, but WHY so much swag though?

Are the peacock feathers and spandex really necessary?

Listen. Everyone talks about Ratio having "gifted kid" syndrome, but I'm here to tell you that Aventurine is actually a burnt out gifted kid extraordinaire.

He's literally, canonically, explicitly the chosen one of his people.

From the moment of his birth, his mother and sister--and presumably others in his clan even--were telling him that he was their clan's most precious treasure and that he would lead them to prosperity and safety.

He carried this weight even after fleeing from the massacre, all through his childhood and teenage years, through slavery and abuse, putting his very life on the line to join the IPC in hopes of finally fulfilling the destiny his mother and sister promised he could.

He was supposed to save them. That was his meaning. That was his purpose in life.

But he was too late.

The fate he was born for, raised believing, and risked everything to achieve... is still incomplete.

So, for all that talk about suicide and power-seeking, my real answer is this: Aventurine's "void" is his unfulfilled destiny.

His whole existence has been predetermined, his life's journey laid out in prophecy and blessings from the very beginning. Yet what he thought was his fate betrayed him, and where you head after becoming an unsuccessful chosen one is a question without answer.

His thoughts constantly circle around how he is a "failure" and a "loser."

When you have no sense of purpose, when your life has no meaning, when what you are still seeking is the role you were supposed to have from the moment of your birth: the glorious destiny of being a savior, being the "happiness" of your people, being the hero...

Of course you crave the spectacle. Of course you long for the spotlight--you long to be recognized. Because Kakavasha's the chosen one. "Spotlit center stage" is where he's supposed to be--in the leading role that was stolen from him.

I think that Aventurine's cornerstone transformation is so flashy because, at the core, it represents a longing to truly be the "precious wealth" of the Avgin that his sister promised him he would be. It represents his desire to transform from a useless, "discarded" person into a larger-than-life version of himself. (Hey, fun fact, out of every official depiction of Aventurine, his boss model wears the only outfit in which his slave brand is not naturally visible.) He literally transforms into a supernatural being, capable of seizing others' fates in his hands. It represents the power he needed to save his people and himself. Its extreme flashiness screams for attention, demands to be witnessed as something beyond a helpless human.

It's almost as if Aventurine is a child writing a wish-fulfillment story where he transforms into a hyper-glamorous, all-powerful masked superhero who is capable of saving the day and winning against his enemies every time.

Unlike Jade and Topaz, Aventurine can't hide his deepest desire. It was always going to be a "transformation," because Aventurine's unanswered wish is to be someone better than himself.

His "void," his deepest unachieved ambition--it's written right there, all over his body.

Aventurine's cornerstone power is a story he's telling himself about the person he was supposed to be.

But as Acheron claims, that's life itself.

Aventurine doesn't feel like he has any control over his journey's ultimate destination.

He doesn't know where's he's headed or what the purpose of it all is. But...

Jade explicitly describes the Ten Stonehearts and Diamond's endeavor as a "journey" as well:

Because Preservation represents the continuance of life itself, and the Stonehearts with their endless "voids"--Aventurine with his soul-deep longing to become someone better than himself--represent all of us very real human beings, trying our best to find our own "cornerstones," to gain the means to finally, finally achieve our own sweet dreams.

[matrixbearer2024]

Cruel

[Mr Bill Pines AU: Bill Cipher-Pines x Clifford(Stanford Reincarnation)]

Bill misses his husband and he can’t decide at the moment if this was Karma or just another mistake he’d walked into. Fate could be very kind, but it could also be a very cruel thing.

Inspired by a comic from @honeqq and I decided why not write something related to it! I need to write more stuff for them PLEASE-

Bill had to steel himself once more at the familiar chime summoning him again. He already knew who it was and had a few theories about the reason behind it. The real problem was that he didn’t know if he could take it anymore; each moment felt like a deep cut, with wounds left to fester as his heart battled his mind, tearing apart any semblance of sanity.

He had to mentally prepare himself for every encounter with the lookalike of his deceased husband, the imitation of a man to whom he had once given everything. Just being there was painful—the same voice, the same face, the similar mutation…

But he wasn’t the same man.

Taking a deep breath, Bill stepped in front of the impatient artist, who regarded him with mild annoyance. The artist was blissfully unaware of the constant struggle the god faced just to maintain a decent appearance. For some reason, Bill didn’t dare to explain this to him; it made it easier… sort of.

“Oh, finally. I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show.”

Bill mused that someone must be pulling a sadistic prank, repeatedly putting him in this situation where every waking moment threatened to unleash the flood of emotions and grief once more. This man wasn’t the genius he had once loved. This guy wasn’t Sixer, no matter how similar they looked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’d call you ‘lucky’ number seven, but you’ve just been annoying. Of all the cosmic beings to seek guidance from, you’d think you’d pick one that hasn’t faded into obscurity.”

“You were the muse for this journal’s author, so I thought you’d be able to help me in some way, somehow. I think.”

At the mention of the journal, Bill wanted to shrivel up and die. It was the only one he hadn’t had a hand in writing. The others he had co-authored with his husband, but this one… this one had eluded him for so long, only to be found by… this guy.

He wanted to bash his skull in and scream.

Stanford was gone; that pill had been hard enough to swallow a thousand years ago. Fate just had to rub salt into that open wound. This whole situation was cruel.

“What’s the problem this time?”

“I can’t decide what I want to paint.”

The empty canvas the other man gestured to seemed to beckon him, the stark white void drawing him in and holding him in a vice grip. The triangle stared blankly at the vacant space; an idea flickered to life in his mind, but he hesitated to indulge it. What if he did? It would only unleash another wave of grief, a haunting reminder of what once was and what he had lost to the relentless claws of time and the cold hands of death.

Bill already knew this was going to be idiotic. He felt it in his bones—he was about to make yet another stupidly ridiculous choice. Yet, before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out. Regret settled in immediately after he spoke.

“How about this? What if you painted someone for me? A portrait.”

The reincarnation regarded him with curiosity and interest, and Bill felt an overwhelming urge to gouge out his lone eye at the sight. Don’t look at him like that. Don’t give him the same expression that once held so much love and adoration, the kind that had nearly drowned him. Don’t remind him of those memories. Don’t drive the knife in deeper.

“Sure, I don’t see why not.”

That was the amusement that haunted him: the ghost of a man he had once loved to his own detriment. Someone whose smile caused the edges of his eyes to crinkle with unbridled joy, someone whose gaze never wavered in love and adoration. It was a ticking time bomb to have chosen and loved a mortal; inevitable goodbyes lurked around every corner of his finite life. There was no telling how much time they had left together, yet Bill still felt like Stanford was taken from him far too soon.

What he would have given for just a little more time—one last kiss, one final “I love you.”

He was a god, yet he would have surrendered absolutely everything for just another moment with the man he once called a husband. His equal. His muse.

Bill had to turn away from the other man, feeling tears welling up in his eyes. He quickly blinked them back; after a thousand years, the grief was still overwhelming. It felt like just yesterday he had been in the arms of his lover, and now that love and comfort were nowhere to be found. The ache in his heart throbbed and pounded, emotions turning him soft. What a useless god he’d become. What was once a pleasant feeling had morphed into crippling sorrow.

“If you don’t mind me asking, though… who is it that you want me to paint?”

That was a loaded question, burdened by the lament and grief of a thousand years—a love lost to the hands of time and the embrace of death. The one plane of existence where Bill couldn’t follow. Not as he was. Not when he didn’t have the ability to die. The sickness of an immortal, truly.

“Someone important to me. My muse.”

“You have a muse? Wow. They must be someone incredible.”

Bill could only let out an empty laugh. Stanford was incredible—more than he could ever dare to articulate. Words simply wouldn’t do the man justice; to have a god fall to his knees out of love was an immeasurable feat. The triangle always believed his lover was a force to be reckoned with, a powerhouse and then some. Yet, the relentless sands of time eventually wore him down. Even Stanford's brilliant mind, which had endured so much, couldn’t escape the inevitable; the grim reaper came to collect his dues.

No mortal was spared from that fate.

“Yeah. He was .”

The pain that bled through the triangle’s voice didn’t go unnoticed by the artist, despite his attempts to conceal it. However, the artist chose not to mention it, believing it was best not to pry. After all, it wasn’t his place to interfere; why would he?

Bill cleared his throat and floated up to get a better look at the empty canvas. Every instruction was clear and concise, every requested stroke of the brush executed with intention and purpose. The triangle’s close guidance and precise descriptions of each detail left no room for error; there were simply no mistakes.

As the painting began to take shape, colors and pigments blended seamlessly, crafting an image clearer than crystal. Gradually, the likeness of a man emerged—one with silver hair and a gentle gaze, complemented by a smile that reached his eyes, eyes that radiated immense love and adoration. It was evident that the painting captured an intensely intimate moment; such an expression was not meant for just anyone. Only someone so deeply loved and cherished could inspire a face like that. Only someone who felt eternally young could carry the weight of age with the wonder and joy of a child. The painting became a living juxtaposition.

The artist dropped his paintbrush in surprise; the painting looked so… alive. Under Bill’s guidance, this project had transformed into one of his best works. He couldn't help but wonder if its resemblance to a self-portrait was purely coincidental—an unnerving mirror he had created hour after hour, stroke after stroke, with immense specificity from the triangle beside him. However, the longing gaze from Bill toward the smiling subject made things clear. That action alone spoke more truth than any words they had ever exchanged. Yet, despite the painstaking effort poured into this piece, his eyes were inevitably drawn back to the final product.

It felt… familiar somehow, as if he knew this man, perhaps having met him somewhere before, despite the artist's certainty that he never had.

What was this sense of déjà vu?

The painting was beautifully crafted, distinctly unreplicable, particularly within the eyes of this man, which overflowed with mirth and fondness that clearly belonged to a lover. The expression he wore embodied the true essence of being loved, the purest depiction of happiness.

How had Bill even known about this? Not to mention in such explicit detail…

“Bill—”

“You have your painting, I need some time to think.”

The triangle’s voice trembled with overwhelming emotion, cracking under the weight of his grief. He couldn’t bear to look at the painting any longer. He turned away, unable to face either the finished work or the living, breathing human who looked so painfully similar to the man immortalised in the portrait. Every glance at the painting drove the knife in his chest deeper.

He had been right—this was a stupid idea.

“Just summon me again when you need me,” 

Bill muttered, his voice barely holding together. And with that, the god vanished before the artist could even respond.

Back in his original resting place, hot tears spilled from his lone eye as the grief he’d kept buried for so long finally poured out. The triangle broke down into uncontrollable sobs, curling up against a nearby wall, shivering as anguish consumed him. An agonised scream tore from his chest, shaking the very room. It was a miracle he had managed to stay composed for as long as he had.

Maybe he had wanted to see Stanford again—wanted to remember a happier time, to recall a memory frozen in place. The face of his husband, the man he had loved so deeply. But that love was now buried beneath a thousand years of pain and loss, an ache that had festered beyond measure.

Bill Cipher couldn’t move. He stayed there, weeping through the day, letting the weight of eternity crush him.

If he was truly fated to cross paths with that reincarnation, there was only one truth left.

Fate was just so cruel.

Fic is here as well on Ao3!

[emthimofnight]

Alright, I have to know who out of the four siblings is a Daddy's boy/girl and who is a Papa's boy/girl?

I can kind of tell that Stellar is a Papa's girl and Polarity is a Daddy's boy but what about Void and Andromeda?

Stellar would say she has no favorite parent, but she is definitely more emotionally close with Shadow! She and Shadow are also the most physically affectionate, with Stellar often running up to hug him or jump into his arms when he comes home. That being said, she can find him to be overbearing or overprotective at times. Contrastingly, Sonic is the fun parent. 😂 He lets her get away with way more stuff, so the two of them are often partners in crime. A common phrase whispered between them is, "Don't tell papa."

Andromeda would definitely find it easier to relate to Shadow! The two of them would go shopping, out to eat, or to the spa together. That being said, they'd also fight unlike anyone else in the house. 😂 If Shadow tried to stop Andromeda from doing something she wanted to do, it'd become a big argument that could result in them being mad at each other for days. She and Sonic relate less in terms of interests, but she really appreciates his presence regardless. To Andromeda, he's very calming and relaxing to be around (despite his cheesy jokes and sarcastic remarks). The two of them would often watch movies together!

Polarity would love both of his dads, but Sonic would definitely be who he is closest to. He would think he is the coolest!! He'd love nothing more than hanging out with him and trying to copy everything he does. 😂 People would tease Sonic for having a little mini-me following him around. Shadow would actually find his attempts at imitating Sonic to be super endearing. He would have a big soft spot for all of his Sonic-like mannerisms.

Void's favorite is definitely Sonic. He and Shadow have a tendency to bump heads a lot (mainly because Shadow sees a lot of things he doesn't like about himself in Void). Void doesn't appreciate being told what to do, and Shadow doesn't appreciate his disobedience. 😂 Void likes Sonic for a lot of the same reasons Shadow does (not that Shadow would ever admit those reasons) and he appreciates that Sonic knows when to give him space. Sonic just seems to know how to approach him better than Shadow does.

[blakeblueboi]

Cat Animagi Au

Purely self-indulgent- I simply wanted to draw some kitties and honestly, I feel like this could be hilarious so here's some head canons I thought of while drawing this ---->

Harry

Harry was not at all expecting to be a cat Animagus. He fully expected to be a stag like his father or some sort of dog like Sirius was. The last thing he expected was to be a cat, and a very large one at that.

Harry became an animagus in eighth year.

Professor McGonagall was thrilled that she was no longer the only cat Animagus at Hogwarts. She personally saw to it that Harry was registered as an animagus at the Ministry.

Hermione often finds Harry curled up in the common room on the windowsill.

Ron is convinced that Harry is some sort of "titan" cat due to his humungous size but Hermione speculates that he's some sort of maine coon or Norwegian forest cat.

He is very much a void in the darkness and has scared the piss out of Ron, Seamus, and Dean many times.

However, his animagus status is kept quiet from anyone other than his housemates. The other houses now recognize his animagus form and give him weird or outlandish nicknames. They're mostly to do with either the faint glasses markings around his eyes or his larger than normal size.

Harry takes advantage of his smaller size to sneak around the castle during the night.

He has taken pleasure by nipping Draco's heels in the hallway between classes.

Draco

Draco, on the other hand, was hoping his animagus form was anything but a ferret. Every since that incident in the courtyard with Professor Moody he has loathed the creatures.

His mother predicted he could have been an exotic bird and for a while he was fond of the idea until he realized he would have to molt feathers every year.

The first time he transformed Pansy gushed over him and promised to purchase him one of those pretty necklaces that she's seen muggles give their cats. Draco had to explain to her how that was, infact, not a necklace, but a collar. Blaise would not shut up about giving Draco a collar for the next month.

Draco takes pride in his appearance and that does not stop when he's in his animagus form. He's always very sleek and shiny without a hair out of place. His tail is by far his favorite feature with how it looks like a fancy feather when he walks.

He's yet to register with the Ministry as an animagus.

He can often be found infront of the fire in the Slytherin Common room curled up on a silk pillow.

Draco hates the black smudge on his right foreleg that imitated the dark mark on his arm. Even as a simple cat he can't escape the choices he made in the past. He's tried ripping the fur out there but found that the skin underneath was also just as black. He had a mind to dye it but that idea quickly went out of the window for a multitude of reasons. One being he did not have opposable thumbs.

Draco and Harry

When Draco stumbled upon Harry in his animagus form it was completely by accident. At first Draco was afraid that the Chosen one would somehow recognize him but was surprised to find a gentle hand passing over his head and spine. It was the weirdest experience he has ever had.

Draco took to following Harry around the castle on weekends convinced that Harry was none the wiser about who he was. It was nice. Of course when Ron and Hermione weren't around. WHen they were Ron teased Harry about gaining a follower, as if he did have those already, and Hermione studied him as if he was one of the massive tomes she carried around. He was half convinced that she had figured him out long ago, but just hadn't said anything for some unknown reason.

Draco met Harry finally in the other's animagus form while stalking the halls late at night. A quick glance and Draco was petrified by two glowing green eyes in the darkness and it took everything in him not to flee down the hallway.

It took awhile for the two to get along in their animagus forms and on several occasions had to be broken up by Professor McGonagall who during several of those occasions was in her animagus form as well.

After a while, Harry and Draco slowly form a weird routine of walking the halls at night. They bond quite well during their time together.

Harry at some point joins the gag about getting Draco a fancy collar. Draco is surprised that it doesn't seem like that bad of an idea when coming from Harry.

Draco teases Harry about how even as a cat his furr is still just as messy as his hair is in human form.

[misc-obeyme]

👉👈 since requests are open can i ask for sleepy mornings with Mammon or Solomon (or both wkdkfj, I'd flip a coin because I can't choose between them)

The fact that they BOTH aren't morning people is hilarious to me. I'm not either, I'm staying in bed until I absolutely have to get up, and then I'm scrambling to get ready. That's the panic that kicks in from hitting snooze too many times

Of course you can make such a lovely request, my friend!

I decided to go for both because when I started thinking about it, my brain was like oh here!! I have ideas!! And I was like yeah yeah okay lol.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

Solomon x MC x Mammon

Warnings: none 'tis all fluff

You are in a soft and warm darkness. You don’t know where you are, but you’re so comfortable you hope to never leave. A dull and distant sound is chiming, but you barely hear it. You’re too wrapped up in the tenderness of someone holding you close.

That is until the arms holding you shift and you realize that there are in fact two someones and it is the alarm that you hear blaring.

“Shut up, ya damn thing,” someone grumbles from in front of you.

Someone behind you chuckles sleepily.

You scrunch up your face, fighting the awareness that will reveal to you the early morning hour. If you could just stay here a little longer…

There's some fumbling as the person in front of you moves about unsuccessfully, due to being unwilling to fully let go of you.

“Can’t get it,” he mumbles.

“Allow me.” A slight shift from behind you and a light flashing on the other side of your closed eyelids, indicating the use of magic.

The sound of the alarm stops abruptly.

Mammon groans as he buries his face back into your chest. “Thanks,” he says, his voice muffled by your body.

Solomon’s arms tighten around you, one of them wrapping around Mammon as well. “It only lasts for five minutes,” he says with a yawn.

Mammon groans again and buries himself deeper into the blankets.

You steadfastly pretend that you are completely unaware of all that’s happening, insisting on keeping your eyes shut in an imitation of deep sleep.

Solomon blows gently on the back of your neck, making you squirm.

“Oi!” Mammon protests. “Quit doin’ that!”

“You do realize MC is only pretending to be asleep, right?” Solomon asks. His voice is thick with sleep, but the amusement in it indicates how he can't help teasing both of you, even if he’s groggy.

“Yeah, let ‘em stay that way!” Mammon exclaims.

Solomon chuckles again, but settles for a few moments.

All three of you drift back into some semblance of slumber for a few minutes before being unceremoniously jolted awake again by the return of the alarm.

To your annoyance, Solomon pulls himself up, casting another spell at the alarm clock. “I suppose I’ll get breakfast ready.”

Mammon shoots up in bed, launching himself over you to grab both of Solomon’s hands. You grunt a little beneath his weight, trying not to laugh.

“Don’t ya dare!” Mammon exclaims.

You peek open an eye to watch them.

Solomon is looking at Mammon in surprise and curiosity.

Mammon is sweating. “Eh, I mean, ya were up late workin’, ya know! Go back to sleep for a bit, I’ll take care of breakfast. Right, MC?”

Having been caught, you roll over just enough to be on your back between them. “Yeah,” you agree. “C’mon, Solomon. You didn’t get into bed until hours after we did.”

Solomon smiles. “You’d really do that for me?”

Mammon blushes and lets go of Solomon’s hands, looking away. “Y-yeah. ‘Course. Just get some rest.”

Grumbling, Mammon stumbles out of bed, leaving a cold void beside you. You sigh and try to snuggle down into the blankets where his warmth lingers.

Solomon watches Mammon leave the room. “Are you sure he’ll be okay getting breakfast by himself?”

“Of course,” you say. “He’s done it before. Stop worrying and get a little more sleep, won’t you?”

Solomon does as you ask, settling back down beside you, pulling you into his arms.

Not long later, you’re both woken again by the smell of bacon.

“Is that…?” you inquire, eyes open.

“Bacon,” Solomon says. “From the human world.”

“Not shadow hog bacon,” you add.

“No,” Solomon agrees.

You both look at each other for a long moment before you’re scrambling out of bed and running to the kitchen, each trying to get there first.

When you come crashing in, you find Mammon just putting a plate of actual real bacon on the table. He looks at you both in surprise.

“What the-?” he starts to say.

“Bacon?” you ask, grabbing his arm. “Real actual bacon?”

Mammon blushes and shakes you off his arm. “Yeah, well, I got some ‘cause I thought maybe you humans missed some food from home, that’s all! Now sit down!”

Mammon has been practicing how to cook human world food with the help of Barbatos, as you later find out. You have to drag it out of him bit by bit, but eventually he admits it. He was just waiting for an opportunity to actually make some for both of you.

You smile happily around the table as Solomon teases Mammon again, the latter blushing and pretending he doesn’t care. While you would have enjoyed a little more time in bed, you decide that this is pretty nice too.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[simp4eshal]

Ballroom

Count Vronsky x poc!reader/OC(Arabella Von Jaga) (but she's mostly reader i just felt more comfortable giving her a name)

warnings: obsessive behavior, angst ??, smut, yearning, fluff, lemme know if i forgot something

In the dimly lit study of his opulent manor, Count Vronsky paced restlessly. His eyes burned with an intensity that betrayed his turmoil of emotions. It had been months since he had last laid eyes on her, months of sleepless nights and restless days spent yearning for the touch of her skin, the taste of her lips. His heart ached with a longing so powerful it threatened to consume him whole. She was his obsession, his raison d'être, and he would stop at nothing to make her his. Her name was Arabella, and she was the only thing that mattered in his world.

He paused before a large mirror, running his fingers through his unruly hair, trying to tame the wild beast that had taken over his appearance. His once-handsome face now bore the telltale signs of his all-consuming passion: dark circles ringed his eyes, his skin was pale and sallow, and his muscles were taut with unspent energy. Even his once-elegant attire seemed to reflect his inner turmoil, wrinkled and askew.

He could no longer deny it; he was losing his grip on reality. His thoughts were consumed with her, and his actions had become increasingly desperate. He had tried to fill the void with other women, but it was futile. They were but pale imitations of the one he truly loved. Arabella was his sun, his moon, his stars, and without her, he was nothing but a shadow of his former self.

Determined to take matters into his own hands, Vronsky gathered his most trusted servants and issued a decree. He would hold a grand ball in her honor, an extravaganza the likes of which the kingdom had never seen. The invitations were to be sent out far and wide, to every corner of the land, inviting everyone who was anyone to attend. The catch was that the ball would be by invitation only, and the only invitation that truly mattered would be in Arabella's hands.

For weeks, Vronsky's servants worked tirelessly to prepare the manor for the event, transforming it into a veritable wonderland of opulence and excess. Intricate tapestries hung from the ceilings, gleaming chandeliers cast their warm light across polished marble floors, and towering floral arrangements adorned every available surface. A full orchestra was hired to play throughout the night, their haunting melodies weaving in and out of the revelry.

As the appointed day finally dawned, Vronsky paced anxiously before the grand entrance, his heart hammering in his chest. He had spared no expense, had left no stone unturned, and yet he couldn't help but feel that it wasn't enough. He longed for her to be there, to see the depth of his devotion, to feel the weight of his obsession.

Dusk fell, and the first guests began to arrive, their opulent attire casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the ballroom. Ladies in shimmering gowns and gentlemen in finely tailored suits mingled amidst the fountains of champagne, their laughter and conversation filling the air. The orchestra played on, the music swirling around them like a living thing, weaving a seductive spell that enraptured everyone within earshot.

Vrronsky paced restlessly, his gaze darting about the room, searching for any sign of her. His heart felt as though it were being squeezed in a vise, the anticipation almost unbearable. He had invited every eligible bachelor and bachelorette in the kingdom, hoping that one of them might know where she was, might have heard a rumor or seen her somewhere. But so far, there was no sign of her.

Hours passed, and the ball reached its zenith. The guests, their appetites whetted by the endless feast and flowing champagne, had begun to let loose, dancing wildly to the orchestra's stirring melodies. Vrronsky, however, could not join in their revelry. His focus remained fixed on the grand entrance, willing it to swing open and reveal her.

As midnight approached, he grew desperate. He had to know if she would come, if she would accept his invitation. He spotted a servant hurrying across the ballroom and beckoned him over. The servant, out of breath from running, bowed low. "My lord, a messenger has arrived with a note for you." Vronsky snatched the envelope from the servant's trembling hand, his heart racing. With shaking fingers, he tore it open.

The note was brief, but it was all he needed to hear. In her delicate script, she had accepted his invitation, promising to attend the ball. He read it over and over again, the words losing their meaning as tears of relief and joy streamed down his face. He could feel the weight of his obsession lifting from his shoulders, a lightness in his chest that he hadn't experienced in years.

With renewed vigor, he rejoined the revelry, laughing and dancing with the other guests. He scarcely noticed the envious glances that were directed his way, for he was no longer concerned with the opinions of others. All that mattered was that she was coming, and soon she would be in his arms once more.

As the night wore on, the ball reached its climax. The orchestra struck up a new, haunting melody, and Vronsky could feel a shiver of anticipation run down his spine. He glanced at the grand entrance, willing it to swing open and reveal her. Suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd, and all eyes turned towards the entrance. There, framed by the doorway, stood Arabella, resplendent in a gown of shimmering emerald silk that clung to her curves like a second skin. Her hair was pulled back into an elegant chignon, revealing the long, dainty column of her neck. She held a single red rose in one hand, its thorns glinting in the candlelight.

Vronsky's heart skipped a beat as he saw her, and he felt a surge of relief wash over him. She had come. She had accepted his invitation. With a graceful smile, she glided across the ballroom, her eyes never leaving his. As she drew closer, he could see the love and devotion reflected in her gaze, and he knew that she felt it too. They met in the center of the room, and without a word, they began to dance.

The music seemed to fade into the background as they moved together, their bodies in perfect sync. Their hands entwined, their fingers interlaced, and Vronsky felt as though he had found his anchor in the world once more. He could feel her heart beating against his chest, and the sensation was intoxicating. She leaned into him, her cheek resting against his shoulder, and he could feel her breath hot against his skin.

The other dancers seemed to fade away, leaving them alone in their own private universe. Time itself seemed to lose all meaning as they moved together, lost in the music and in each other. Their every touch was electric, every movement full of promise and passion. They danced until the orchestra had finished its final song, until the ballroom was empty and the candles had all burned down to stubs.

Finally, with a deep sigh, Vronsky lowered Arabella back onto the parquet floor and stepped back, his heart racing. She looked up at him with a mixture of exhaustion and contentment, her cheeks flushed from the exertion and the heat of their embrace. "Thank you," she breathed, her voice barely audible above the sound of their labored breathing. "That was... that was perfect."

He smiled down at her, his eyes taking in every detail of her face. Her lips were still slightly parted, her eyes shining with a mix of passion and desire. "I love you," he murmured, brushing a stray hair from her forehead. "You are my world, my reason for living."

Their gazes locked, and for a moment, they stood there, lost in each other. Then, slowly, Vronsky bent down and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was tender at first, a gentle exploration of each other's mouths, before growing more passionate. Their bodies were pressed tightly together, and he could feel her respond to his touch, her hips grinding against his.

With a groan, he swept her up into his arms, carrying her across the ballroom and into his private chambers. The candles flickered against the walls, casting soft shadows as he laid her down on the bed. She arched her back as he trailed his fingers down her neck and over her breasts, helpless and full of desire at the same time.

Their kiss deepened, becoming more urgent as they tore off each other's clothes. Vronsky kicked off his shoes and shucked out of his trousers, revealing his aroused length. He positioned himself between her legs, feeling her hot, wet folds against his skin. With a growl, he pushed forward, burying himself inside her. She cried out in pleasure, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as he began to move, driving deep inside her with each thrust.

Her body arched off the bed, meeting his each stroke with a grinding of their hips. Their sweat-slick skin slapped together in a rhythm that grew faster and more frenzied. The air was thick with the scent of their arousal, and the candlelight flickered against the walls, casting shadows that danced across their entwined forms.

As they moved together, lost in the intensity of their passion, Vronsky felt a building pressure deep within him. His thrusts became more urgent, more desperate, as he struggled to find release. He felt her body tense beneath him, her muscles clenching tight around him, and with a hoarse cry, she shuddered violently in his arms. Her inner walls gripped him tight, and he felt himself spill inside her, his climax overwhelming him in a wave of pleasure.

He collapsed on top of her, their sweat-slick bodies sticking together, his weight pinning her down. For a moment, they lay there, catching their breath, their hearts racing. Then, slowly, Vronsky rolled off of her, their entwined limbs separating with reluctance. He looked down at Arabella, her cheeks flushed and her chest heaving, and felt a surge of love and possession course through him.

"You are my everything," he murmured, trailing his fingers down her stomach and over her hip. "My reason for living, my reason for breathing. No matter what happens, I will always be yours."

Her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled up at him. "And I will always be yours," she whispered, her voice still husky from their passion. "Forever."

Vronsky felt a shiver of possessiveness run down his spine at her words. He leaned in, pressing their foreheads together, and breathed in the sweet, feminine scent that clung to her skin. "You are mine, and I will never let you go," he murmured, his voice a low growl. "No one else will ever have you."

Their eyes locked, and he could see the heat of desire burning in her gaze. She reached up, tracing a finger down the line of his jaw, her touch sending shivers through his body. "I belong to you, Alexei" she whispered, her voice trembling. "I always have, and I always will."

[blueishspace]

Grian could be an avatar for most of the Magnus Archives entities if you think about it.

The Eye is the most obvious one cause he's a Watcher and his obsession with knowing everything all the time doesn't help his case.

The Web, you could nake a cause about being the mastermind for so many events. The civil war happened because of him, the mayoral elections happened because of him, the life series also him, the crossover was because of him. Also the soulbounds are usually represented as spider like strings forcing players together so there's that.

The Lonely too, especially life series Grian. Always finding teammates, burying them and then abandoning them. Not only that though, he was isolated in highschool and being abandoned sticks with him as a theme everywhere he goes.

The Dull is the newest one and...yeah, permit office Grian is all I have to say about it. Doubt anything else is needed.

The Corruption makes me think of Mother Spore, honestly that's just the most obvious example of it though. There's also the morbid attachement and codependency that links to the already mentioned issues with isolation. And the snails, the snails too.

The Vast, there is his season 6 base. A tall spire to the clouds in the middle of the ocean. There is constant connections to both sky and the sea, how good he is at flying, soo good that the fandom gave him wings.

The Dark, the mooners and not sleeping the night away, the connections to the void, the boatem hole. He doesn't even have eyes, just holes filled with pure darkness.

The Stranger, there are all his skins and dusguises. From being forced to impersonate Taurtis to Ariana and Sherlock Grian and the fisherman and every other outfit and persona he has played. He's a natural born imitator, no wonder his power was that to copy other's own.

The End, what can I tell you about this? There's demise, a constant reminder of the inevitability of death. There's the life series which is literally demise but worse. Even the way the permit office is designed is very Terminus-like... Well that and also Spiral-like which brings us to:

The Spiral, there's the permit office of course, there's also the white voids rooms made entirely to trap and confuse people inside them. Sure BigB is so much better at it then Grian is but not all avatars are the same so...

The Flesh too is pretty obvious, there's the weird forms like the backward one and the side one and the upside down one that are in canon pretty horrifying. There's also Butcher/Cannibal Grian from that murder mystery video which I feel alone should be enough.

The Slaughter, the man is literally known as the guy who starts war. Also he created a series of very violent death games where people are forced to fight eachother to the death again and again and again, this one is pretty obvious.

The Buried definitely has It's connections, from chocking on plastic showed down is throat to shallow breathing in a cell deep underground to falling breathless into the void beneath the world to living at the bottom of the ocean in multiple series.

Even the desolation fits considering the whole exploding an entire desert and exploding the mansion and settings his own base on fire and summoning the wither and just...so much uneeded destruction done only for It's own sake.

The Exctinction is a little harder but the man did kinda get involved with the end of two different worlds and almost caused the destruction of Empires as well trough Grumbot so ...

The Hunt is really the only one I can't think of a connection.

[jarvewrites]

Heuss Your team 7 headcanons were so good honestly could I request team seven and sibling headcanons? Like how’d they treat their younger sibling?? Ty!

team 7 younger sibling headcanons!

hey there, thanks for the request! i just love sibling headcanons they are so cute and full of fluff. thanks for your support and kind words🌷 i'm glad you enjoyed the headcanons!!

characters : naruto uzumaki, sakura haruno, uchiha sasuke

gn!reader

naruto uzumaki

— so let's say that naruto did have a younger sibling! he would absolutely treasure you, as he would consider them his very first friend. both of them had to go through hard times, such as being unaccepted by other people and misunderstood, but naruto is always here for his sibling, making sure that no one dares to belittle his own blood, even if that means getting humiliated himself.

— in their childhood naruto would spend a lot of time with his sibling and make sure that they never feel that lonely void in their soul. so lots of playing with toys, pretending to be ninjas on a mission, dreaming about their perfect world, where naruto becomes the hokage and he makes sure that every one of your wishes come true!

— supportive elder brother. he would always be glad to hear about your dreams and aspirations, no matter how silly they may sound. «you need to work hard for it!» naruto would definitely remind that to you, as it's important to never give up

— he would try to train them to make sure that they can protect themselves(even though naruto as a kid wasn't a master, he sure did try at least!)

— he's a kind - hearted guy, he always means well for his sibling, but due to lack of knowledge he would make mistakes, such as feeding you mostly ramen(since in naruto's eyes ramen is the best thing ever, he would obviously share it with his little sibling!)

— i can see naruto talking about his crush on sakura with a huge smile on his face! i like to think that naruto and his sibling would be super close, as they got no one but each other.

— as he got older, he definitely was more mature than a kid naruto, but still as outgoing and loud as ever. his dream of becoming a hokage is coming closer and if he sees you accomplishing your goals as well he would cheer for the whole village!

— but there would be teasing as well. sometimes naruto would call you some absurd and silly nicknames or sometimes pretending to act like the all - mighty master(jiraya)

—naruto is confident in you, so when he goes for a 3 year training with the old sage, he doesn't doubt your skills and believes that you can get by

— don't tell anyone, but he would secretly ask sakura to check on you from time to time to make sure that you are alright

— naruto is short - tempered so i can see his sibling knowing his weak spots and purposely hitting them to tease him, like talking about his crush on sakura and imitating how he tries to impress her

— so in short, naruto is nice, sometimes annoying, but always supportive elder brother who loves to tease you, but would never let anyone belittle you for who you are

sakura haruno

— your role model

— sakura is one the prime examples of inner growth and confidence. though she was pretty insecure as a kid, i imagine you always hyping her up, as she was one of the coolest people you knew. pretty, smart and just so cool!

— over time as sakura learned to love herself, she decided to never let you go trough the same thing, so she would always compliment your outfits, how accurately you threw your shiruken and praising you for passing your exams

— as a medic, she definitely takes care of the psychical wounds here in the house, but she's a great listener as well. whenever you have a problem, you can always count on sakura, she will listen and give you an honest and blunt advice, but with affection of siblings

— no matter how well do siblings get along, they still bicker at times. sakura and you are no exceptions. both of you usually argue about something insignificant, like who gets into the shower first, who washes the dishes, who takes out the trash, who never cleans up after themselves and so on

— i can imagine your parents' brains exploding from constant argues

— but the good thing is, you guys make up pretty fast! usually sakura tries to make up with some homemade pie(i just love sakura baking headcanon) if the argument gets too far

—she would give you great lessons on the whole dating world and she is a great gossip buddy as well! i'm pretty sure you guys have a gossip session with some sweets on saturday evening after sakura comes home from training all exhausted and wanting to just relax

—just like naruto, she would never let anyone talk bad about you. yes, she might complain sometimes about something you have done that annoys her, but god forbid if someone actually agrees with her and says that her sibling is a nightmare!

—«excuse me, only i can say that! take it back, shannaro!!»

— sakura is also that kind of sibling to always remind you to wear your jacket, scarf and hat if it gets too cold and tells you that you will get sick otherwise. of course, most of the time you don't take it seriously, before actually getting sick. sakura did some tea for you before preparing the medicine while she shook her head sighing «i told you to be careful!»

— overall, sakura is this cool older sister who helps you find your own style, sometimes makes your life miserable by nagging about the dishes, but always comes first whenever you are in help.

sasuke uchiha

— i can see him with a twin sibling that's younger than him by 5 seconds or a younger sibling with a 1-2 age difference

— sasuke before and after the massacre is a complete different person who behaves differently, so i think i should divide them

— sasuke before massacre is obviously a happy kid with his family and most importantly, his favorite elder brother. but just like sasuke looks up for itachi, you would admire him as well! which would make sasuke a bit competitive at times, but with good intentions

— since you and sasuke are about the same age, you guys would hang out a lot, since itachi is busy with training and missions, mikoto has tons of housework and fugaku is the head of the clan and the police, so i'm sure there's tons of paperwork waiting for him at his desk

— sasuke would train with you, but unlike with naruto, he would be much more serious about it. he would try out Itachi's tactics, sometimes mimicking him, which would just make you laugh.

— «next time..»

— there would be tons of competition. from training with itachi, to who folds the clothes better(mikoto made up that game so that kids would get used to housework as they get older, which worked!)

— those competitive games actually made both of you skilled and smart, which got you to get admired by many. some called you «the uchiha duo» because you were always together and your techniques blended well.

— obviously, everything changed with this tragic event, that definitely left both of scarred forever. now you had one another against this cruelty. sasuke changed, so did you. he stopped smiling, became more serious with his training, treated you with a distance

— but sasuke is still a sweetheart, who just shows his affection differently, more subtly. he would never say anything in words, but his actions show more. like he would give the best piece of meat to you, smirking with pride as he sees you training and thinking about your safety while you are on a mission. he makes the breakfast for both of you while you get up for the academy, makes sure you don't fall behind.

— sometimes you would meet up with his teammates that sasuke was so grumpy about at first. you were glad that he has found his own people and hoped that this would continue.

— sasuke wouldn't want to lose you, so other than revenge, his other goal for becoming stronger is to protect you from danger. he would never forgive himself if anything horrible happened to his last remaining relative.

— you guys would usually train together just to make each other stronger. but sometimes there is need for some peace and quietness, so you would just make some tea and talk about your day before slowly drifting to more subtle hints about the future, the past and the present. sasuke knows his path will differ from yours.

— when he goes over to orochimaru, sasuke doesn't let you come with him, as he knows this is too dangerous and understands orochimaru's motives.

— while revenge eats his alive, you, as his sibling would obviously be worried about his condition that seemed to get worse, so you tried to save him, multiple times, before finally with the help of team 7 saving sasuke and him coming back to the village

— even though so much history has happened between you, nothing made your bond weaker. sasuke is an elder brother who won't seem that affectionate at first, but it takes more to an eye to notice his love and affection for his younger sibling. also, he would make an omelette with tomatoes for breakfast, there i said it.

thanks for reaching this far! i took me a while to think about this whole scenario, but honestly i enjoyed it a lot! if you liked the post, make sure to like and reblog. thanks! 🌷

[yuriskies]

A fun element to Otherside Picnic vol 8 (spoilers ahead after the break, if you're still planning to read it) is an easter egg about the location of Toriko's apartment. Actually, "easter egg" might be underselling it a bit; it has a huge amount of thematic relevance to Toriko's character. So here's the easter egg: if you follow Sorawo's description of her path to Toriko's apartment, you can actually find the building on Google Maps.

The train arrived in Nippori. Pushed by the rush of people, I got off, went down the stairs, and out the gate. I climbed the hill, out of breath, in the unrelenting rain. The wall of a graveyard continued along the left-hand side. Turning onto a side street at the top of the hill, I could see Toriko’s apartment in the middle of a residential area ...the building uses an autolock system... Getting off on the fourth floor, I headed into the hallway. The town I could see over the chest-high wall was misty in the rain.

The fun thing about this is that Sorawo's narration is just specific enough to follow along. In a way, it's an invitation to the reader to imitate Sorawo. Prior to the events of the series, she spent time tracking down the sites of ghost stories from the minor details that leaked into their narration. Tracking down where the weirdness happened placed it in context; stories from the edge of reality seem more reliable when the reality can be charted.

So, let's do it. Sorawo mentions a graveyard wall - this can only be Yanaka Graveyard, located on the west side of Nippori Station. Yanaka is located on the former grounds of the Tenno-ji Buddhist temple, and is one of Tokyo's largest cemetaries by area. It is the resting site of the final Tokugawa Shogun, as well as a who's who of Meiji-era academics, literati, and government officials.

The road along the north edge of Yanaka Graveyard goes up a steep hill, and where it reaches the top, a side road splits off on the left to go into a residential area. Going into street view shows that all of the buildings along this road are only two or three stories tall, except for a building at the very back. It's four stories tall. The building has an auto lock system at the front door, and chest high walls along the hallways to the apartments. Bingo.

The fun part of this is the name of the apartment complex: 山口マンション (Yamaguchi [Mountain Gate] Mansion).

The first part of the thematic relevance here is its relationship to Satsuki's monologue about being brought into the Otherside.

"What happens to the people who don't return?" "Who knows? They probably die, right?" "Life and death aren't the issue. Once you get to that point, that is." My brow furrowed. "What do you think mountains are made of?" Satsuki asked, smiling. "Trees and stuff?" I said without putting much thought into it. When I thought of mountains, the image that came to mind for me was the mountains of my home prefecture, Akita, covered in green. "If trees were sapient, they wouldn't think of themselves as a mountain. Only as a single tree. It's the same concept. People who go into the mountains, regardless of their mental state, are still people. But the wind that blows through the trees. The rocks. The birds. Every speck of rock covering the bedrock. The beasts, hiding in their dens. The ancient mollusks, sleeping in a geologic fold. The morning dew in a spider's web. The bacteria and microorganisms in the soil, breaking down the body. None of these individual constituting elements is the mountain on its own, yet the mountain is made up of them. So it is for those called by the mountain. Living or dead." She raised her hand, pointing all five fingers at herself. "That is how it is for me." Uncurling her fingers, she pointed at me. "That is how it is for you."

This "mountain gate" connection also ties back to Sorawo's previous visit to Toriko's apartment in File 4, where she opened the door to the apartment and encountered the ultrablue void of the Otherside. Thematically, this places Toriko's apartment at the interface between the surface world and the Otherside. The back of the building also abuts Yanaka Graveyard, and so thematically, also forms an interface between life and death.

Sorawo touches on this latter theme in the back half of File 26, when Toriko forces herself on Sorawo in her parents' bedroom. Sorawo becomes profoundly uncomfortable - equally, if not more disturbed by her surroundings than Toriko's behavior. After relocating to Toriko's bedroom, Sorawo realizes the following:

This home was a grave, and Toriko the crypt keeper—that's the image that I was getting. The sudden feeling of resistance I'd felt when we were in the bedroom might have come from that mental association. Even if it weren't the place where her parents had once slept, it was almost like flirting in front of a Buddhist altar. After entering Toriko's room, I finally got it. This room has color. It's the room of a living person.

Toriko's bedroom forms a small bubble of life in an otherwise dead house. The interface between life and death isn't simply close to Toriko's living space, it is actively defined by it. This ties in closely to Toriko's character, given that she's admitted her pushiness to do relationship things in the Otherside is driven by a fear of loss. Her mothers suddenly died, and Satsuki suddenly vanished. All she has left of them is her cherished memories, and she wants to form those memories with Sorawo, just in case.

Another element in play here is Sorawo's relationship to the Otherside. At multiple points in the series, the Otherside seems to suddenly draw closer when Sorawo gets stressed out with her thoughts about her relationship with Toriko. The most obvious example is in the hot springs when the mannequins appear immediately after Sorawo feels backed into a corner with Toriko's "cute boobs" comment, but those fears are also linked to Hasshaku-sama (both times the entity appears as Sorawo contemplates jealousy and the possibility that Toriko will be taken from her), Satsuki's surface world appearance (Kozakura implying Sorawo is manifesting Satsuki through her jealous fixation), the the love hotel girls' party (the lion dancers appear as Sorawo is trying to avoid a romantic bath with Toriko), and Satsuki's appearance in vol 7 (when Sorawo is considering where she would be without Toriko). In a sense, the terrifying aspects of the Otherside to Sorawo are closely related to the terrifying aspects of a defined relationship with Toriko.

One puzzle piece in play is a conversation from vol 7, as Sorawo, Kozakura, and Toriko are figuring out their approach to exorcize Satsuki. They discuss the concept of "atmosphere" and its ability to transmit emotions, particularly fear, and explore ways to change that atmosphere. Toriko mentions that she's mostly heard ghost stories where sex changes the atmosphere. Sorawo then elaborates to a doubtful Kozakura with the following:

No, it's true. There's stories where they were in a real bad situation, but then they started saying all sorts of lewd things and they survived. I don't tend to say that ghosts are this way or that, but sex is the source of life, so that makes it the polar opposite of ghosts, which belong to the world of the dead... At least, there's that sort of reasoning. It's an idea that's been around since ancient times.

Sorawo also goes on to mention that in some situations, the atmosphere can be overwritten, but in others, these attempts only reinforce it more strongly.

The thing about ghost stories is that for all its other indiscretions, it's an elegant genre in strange ways. There's not a lot of bawdy stories in it. Maybe that's because if you're trying to scare someone, and then sexual elements get involved, it hurts the atmosphere. Anyway, I only brought up the sex stuff as an example of how the atmosphere can get changed. It's too weak to be her weakness. There's some real nasty ghost stories with sexual elements, and there are people who've had scary experiences at love hotels.

All of these concepts start to interweave with one another when the two relocate to Toriko's bedroom. Sorawo immediately notices a change in Toriko's demeanor.

Her expression looked uneasy, without composure. She wanted me, but also feared rejection. Despite the way she'd been breathing heavily through her nose as she led me here by the hand, now Toriko was just standing there awkwardly. As if once she'd dragged me into her room she didn't know what to do anymore. Maybe as we entered what remained of the domain of the living inside this house of the dead, Toriko had come back to life.

This scene firmly links Toriko's fear of the Otherside (death) to Sorawo's fear of the Otherside (relationships). In her moms' bedroom, Toriko had been demanding, frustrated, and angry - the malicious emotional states traditionally occupied by spirits in ghost stories! However, she settles down when she enters her own bedroom. For Sorawo, passing through this interface changes Toriko from an unknowable force who inspires fear into a very human entity with whom she can sit down and discuss the uncomfortable topic of sex. In turn, this allows Toriko to an explore an aspect of their relationship that she views as fundamentally life-affirming. After this scene their Othersides are no longer totally different, or inspire mind-numbing terror, but are now operating on a common logic.

The concept of an atmosphere comes up again just after their first try at sex. Toriko has finally found a turn-on for Sorawo, and Sorawo describes the feeling in the same analytical voice she uses for ghost stories.

Until mere moments ago, our nakedness had been no more than that. Just another awkward state of undress, like when we got in the bath. Not anymore. My nudity, and Toriko's, took on entirely new meaning. One little switch inside of me got flipped, and it caused a startlingly dramatic change in my perception. It was mystifying how, as that change occurred, it swallowed up the entire atmosphere of the scene, including Toriko. Stuff like this can happen... I thought in a daze. The room was dominated by my lust which had suddenly materialized. As it overlapped with Toriko's desire, the atmosphere inside the room became something kind of extraordinary.

Prior to their second go at sex, Sorawo and Toriko take a moment to talk over their last remaining fears about sex - using their Otherside-altered body parts on one another. They come to the mutual realization that they have both been afraid of harming one another, but not of being harmed by the other. This last discussion is important, because it totally diffuses their fears around sexuality prior to indulging it. So as they travel into the deepest reaches of the Otherside, they have total trust and intimacy with one another - and an absolute lack of fear relating to what the Otherside represents to them.

The color of the calm world was blue. As we whorled together, intertwining, the ultrablue abyss spread out endlessly beneath us. We didn't fear it. Because this was our place. No one was watching us. No one knew we were here. We were the only ones watching, and the only ones who knew. So the only things Toriko and I have to fear are each other.

"Was it just me who wasn't that scared?" "Nah, it was the same for me. Everything around us was blue, but it wasn't scary." "I wonder why?" "I dunno, maybe because we were on the side that scared people?" Toriko got a mystified look on her face when I said that. "The side that scared people? You mean the Otherside's side?" "We weren't human anymore, were we, Toriko? When we were there." "...Yeah." Toriko suddenly moved closer to me and chomped down on my ear.

So to bring this full circle, this is why I love this particular easter egg, and Otherside Picnic in general. The setting is treated as an important aspect of the story, and it is carefully chosen for its emotional content and thematic relevance. Toriko's apartment isn't just some random place in an upscale neighborhood of Tokyo. It's a fundamental part of who Toriko is as a person. It's a location that lends a huge amount of thematic subtext to Otherside Picnic as a relationship story, and to the reader's interpretation of the Otherside.

Is it a metaphor for death? For queerness? For our ability to truly bridge the gap in understanding between self and non-self? The reader is invited to imitate Sorawo, and in doing so, finds a treasure trove of understanding. The little rush of discovery shows us what keeps Sorawo interested in exploring a totally alien world and trying to understand its workings.

Miyazawa's writing actively rewards readers for engaging with every little bit of the story, and it really tickles the analytical part of my brain.

[eldritch-spouse]

I reeeeaaaaaallllllyyyyy want a pumpkin cream pie if you get what I mean

I wanna IMPRRREGNATE THAT DULLAHAN!!

Can we imagine his firefly getting her hands on a spell that gives her, like, maybe artificial tentacle cocks or just 1 really big one for a limited amount of time, and she spends all that time fucking Patches and filling him up w cum

:3c

TW: Genital modifications; Egg-preg; Surprise sex; Feral mindset; Large insertions

You glance at yourself in the mirror.

This is certainly something...

You're not going to lie, being stuck inside of Patches' lab while he's attending to "urgent matters" on the other floors is probably toxic for you. Because you always end up touching things you shouldn't, messing with concoctions that probably aren't safe for humans, or reading incantations aloud. Speaking of that last one- Trying to read a paragraph from a book with a leathery cover and suckers on it was ill-advised.

In your humble defense, it looked like a Lovecraftian cliché, and the paragraph you tried to read was the only one that used an alphabet you could vaguely identify.

It's not as if the results were instantaneous. You let the words hang in the air, felt stupid, and simply closed the book, thinking nothing of it...

Only to end up squealing and tearing your own pants off when it felt like your pussy was being warped into a different dimension. You can't even describe the sensation! The panic of feeling like your very nethers were shrinking out of existence, leaving a Barbie-like void in their place, before something wet and gross erupted out of your pelvic zone, proudly installing itself there.

So there you stood, clad only in a shirt, hyperventilating at the sight of a purple-ish mass of tentacles where your regular mound would be. The things connect seamlessly to your skin, glossy and wriggling aimlessly. One of the trio seems to be the main attraction, thick and heavy between the legs of a species that likely isn't meant to carry something as... Endowed. The other two are much smaller, auxiliary almost, ridiculously futile adornments to something that is already capable of easily gaping someone.

Fascinating. You hope it's not permanent, you really do. Even then, maybe Patches knows how to reverse it, right?

To touch upon the thing was to receive a myriad of new sensations your brain wasn't quite ready for, struggling to find new pathways, until oh! It all sparks, and you feel. What it's like to have a cock? No, what it's like to have something so much more different than what a human would sport.

Marvelous...

Hands fumble for the best way to handle this new piece of anatomy. Slimy and wriggly as it is, when you try to handle it the same way you would a humanoid length, it doesn't provide that much satisfaction. Tentative experimentation proves -Ugh, you're starting to sound like him- that using both hands to create a shoddy imitation of a cavity is much more fruitful, providing sparks of potent sensation as the tentacle frantically tries to wriggle past the tight creases of your clasped fingers.

It's actually forcibly trying to squeeze into the gaps between your digits! And the worst part is that it feels good enough that you don't care to stop it.

It's secreting something, but you definitely didn't orgasm. Precum? No, it's... Gelatinous. A tingle spreads across the palms of your hands to the tips of your fingers, causing you to immediately pry them apart and shake it off- Onto the counters of your captor's already messy laboratory. It feels... Numbing?

This spell, whatever it is, grants the bearer a reproduction-oriented appendage, which is probably meant to pierce into someone's womb. It doesn't take much for you to guess that maybe, just maybe, it also deposits something inside. But it's not as if you can feel the presence of eggs within you. Everything about this set of anatomy is foreign to you, how would your poor brain recognize anything of the sort?

Just as you stand there half-naked, lightly tapping the appendages, the noise of a lock clicking open reaches your ears.

And with one inhale, it's as if time stops.

Inexplicably, you become hyper-aware of everything surrounding you. The noises of every little piece of machinery idly running, the growing creak of the door turning open, chatter from people that didn't leave the elevator far away.

Something compels you to turn, and you silently face the dullahan as he walks in, looking tired.

" It's the fourth time this week! I've told them eons ago that the pool bar needs safer- " He freezes. " Firefly? "

While you can't find it in you to move, or look anywhere else for that matter, Patches is clearly taking in your current state. He's nothing if not intelligent, eyelights surfing from your swirling genitals to the very book you've just misused.

It's not uncommon for him to come back to something amiss in his own lab, courtesy of your curiosity, but the undead is usually very quick to find a fix for the situation.

Not this time. He looks stumped, nervous. A bead of magical sweat runs down that gourd head and his carved smile crooks anxiously, gloved hands tentatively closing the door behind him. Patches maintains eye contact.

Although inwardly panicking, you can't help glaring into him, fixated, feeling the monster cock between your legs pulse hard.

There it is, your brain screams.

Hole.

Easy.

Warm.

Fuckmate.

You don't even notice you're drooling until the sound of your own saliva hitting the ground manifests.

Overshadowinging the mild concern on the magic caster's face is a lurid sort of wonder that seems to war with his common sense.

" F- Firefly... I need you to stay calm and still, okay? This- This is temporary, you're in an extremely volatile state a- and-... "

You rip your own shirt off. Your bra, everything. You can't stand anything against your bare skin, it's too much stimulus, too much heat.

He chokes a noise out. " That's fine, that's fine- You're overheating, I- I know-... I'm going to have to put you back in the cage now, okay? "

You don't respond, his gaze flickers to your tits for the briefest second, then your newfound cock. Patches shakes himself back to seriousness.

A silence so thick and so tense compresses your cranium, like a spring, counting down the seconds.

One step.

That's all he gets to do before you lunge.

With a force and drive you've never possessed before, your limbs race past desks and stacks of thingamajigs, tossing everything aside, uncaring of the bruises to later form as your body crashes against Patches'.

He screams, naturally, and the two of you fall to the ground, your nails sinking deep into his arms, holding them to his midsection as you sit on his torso and huff down at the dullahan.

There's a fog caressing your brain, a certain dimness taking over, hiding any and all higher thought and leaving behind only animal impulses you've never felt before.

The monster beneath you trembles slightly. And perhaps if you had more of a mind present, you'd know that Patches isn't helpless, he's never been, he just enjoys pretending to be.

" Ough... Firefly? "

What were you doing again...?

It throbs, sloppily playing against the undead's clothes.

Hole.

Frenzied, gluttonous, you start pushing and pulling at the undead's clothes, frantic and confused. Patches already has a habit of dressing in a weird manner -You'll excuse that on his age- But now more than ever, all you want to do is tear those fabrics away with the sharpened teeth you never had.

You're not getting anywhere, the frustration has you gnawing on his pant leg, shaking it like some kind of feral creature. At some point, you must have bitten his leg because he yelps.

Patches makes a noise, you're not too sure if it was a snort or some kind of garbled giggle, but he eventually mumbles some kind of request and begins fumbling with his own clothes, trembling thin digits struggling to catch the right parts. Excitement? Doubt? You don't care.

Faster- You want to yell at him, but the only thing that comes out is an exasperated groan.

The undead doesn't get to do much more than unzip himself before you're yanking his pants down, throwing them away while he scrambles to get the rest of his outfit off, before it can be ruined by your enthusiasm.

" I- Let's take this easy now- "

He's hard.

Good, that'll help. It's not what you want though.

Uncaring, your one-track mind ignores his useless blabbering and pulls him closer by those green legs, parting them as wide as his flexibility will allow- Granted, being undead gives him a certain pain tolerance and unnatural nimbleness you can appreciate.

Patches gasps, worriedly eyeing the thing between your legs and comparing it to his own body. The size of it... Enough to rearrange organs. Thankfully, he doesn't make use of most of them anymore.

" Firefly...? Earth to my- my flame- Look at me- Look at me... "

You do look at him, for about two seconds, before feeling your tentacle slap onto his pelvis. It writhes against his hard cock, offering the two of you some mockery of friction, the wet sensation causes his back to arch and the resulting noise makes something crackle in your brain, driving you just one step closer to mindless lust.

Wrapping around Patches' dick, it squeezes and prods for something that's not there, slithers past his balls and lands on his ass, squished between his skin, slicking it grossly. Instinctively, it finds its' goal, the ring of muscle that clenches as soon as a rounded tip flirts with it.

" Oh my Lord- "

You spread his legs wider, observing.

" Ah- Ahn- I never actually tested this one out- I suppose mmn- I should be taking notes? "

A frown settles on your face.

No, no this position won't do it.

" Where's... Where's my-? Ohn fuck that tingles- The recorder! "

Patches twists slightly to reach an object deposited on the nearby desk, it was just the motion you needed for an impromptu eureka.

As soon as undead fingers clasp a gray device, you flip him stomach-down on the floor.

" Huh- Oomf! " There's a clicking noise. He starts blabbering something or other, date, time, location, you aren't listening.

In fact, you're more preoccupied trying to get him to raise his ass and bend for you.

" Hh- Human specimen has interacted with Transmutation Grimoire number five, speci -Firefly I need you t- to slow down- Specifically the tantric incantation in chapter six and- And oh Gods- "

The irritating buzz of his stressed words is ceased when you growl and crash his head to the ground, keeping it there as you slot yourself behind the dullahan's ass, spare hand poising on a bare ass to spread him out.

" And although I cannot yet know the timing of this action, I can guarantee the phhhh- Oh- The physical effects have manifested as well as the expected lack of higher awareness and overwhelming urge to mate. I am- I'm currently... At the specimen's mercy. "

Mercy that you aren't willing to give.

Thrusting won't work, because even as your hips angle and roll, the tendril is too restless, not at all like the hardness of a human, slipping past the monster's hole every time. You have to somewhat clumsily guide that thin tip and keep it pressed there, preventing it from aimlessly twirling around.

Your struggling eventually proves fruitful, because as soon as that inexperienced tip forces its way past Patches' entrance, the rest stretches to accompany, unforgiving in its increasing growth.

You pant, open mouthed, muted moans and overheated exhales falling out your lips as your eyes nearly roll back from the wave of sensation raking across your brain. It doesn't leave room for anything else except the impulse to fuck. Anything to keep this ecstasy going.

The dullahan on the other hand, howls.

Maybe it was pain, maybe it was shock, the slick of the massive tendril might have helped the insertion, but truth of the matter is that you must have flipped his dormant stomach when you snapped your hips against his ass and bulldozed the rest of it into him.

Relief. Blessed relief. You hold onto the magic caster with all the strength in your body, legs around his and arms coiled over his chest as you use your weight to keep him pinned. A grossly primal visage reminiscent of wild animals in rut.

" Ohn Gods ahn ffuck- I can feel it everywhere hhhn- " He sounds incredulous, laughing breathlessly. "This is still recording...? Uh- "

Although the tendril stuffed inside Patches starts pistoning without input, instincts collide and you can't help thrusting along too, creating an erratic rhythm that eventually clicks into plunges so deep Patches starts crying like an overstimulated baby.

You don't have the mind to care, don't have the chance to see his face twisted in a depraved, tear-soaked mess as he blubbers and starts arching back into you, trying to cling to his nearby hat for dear life.

Not even five minutes ago he was standing and clothed, now he's getting the guts fucked out of him by his own human captive.

" I wish- I wish you'd fuhh -Fuck I'm cumming I'm cumming ghhn- I wish you'd fuck me this enthusiastically more often- "

It feels incredible, an endless stream of pleasure that strains your vocal chords, for you can't help but moan with every breath, especially when his walls clench down on you with intense force, over and over amidst relentless fucking- Perhaps if you could stop to think, you'd realize you've been forcing him to orgasm several times since this started.

But you can't.

You can't do anything except cry out and mechanically bounce him on monster cock, surpassing your own physical limitations for the sake of climbing to a climax that constantly teases you, ever so slightly out of reach.

At some point, you have the feral impulse to look down, this sick and crooked smile on a sweaty face as you get to watch that ridiculous girth stretch Patches repeatedly, a steady wet clap of sound following the hypnotizing view, overshadowing even your labored panting and the undead's garbled sniffling wails.

For some reason or another, he starts moving a little too much, manic with overstimulation, trying to hold onto anything that can help draw away from the way his ass must be burning and his brain fried with feedback too intense. His cock throbs uselessly between numbed legs, a dirty puddle of his own release beneath it, he's entirely spent and yet can't flag at all, body scorched and confused.

The moment he manages to wiggle forward a bit, a noise of beastial aggravation rips from your throat, and you claw him back to you with malice, one hand reaching beneath him to trap a neck that hardly matters to his survival, while the other reaches to hold his head in place once more, digits hooking into his sockets.

It works well enough, Patches is back to incoherent sobbing and limp beneath your punishing pace.

" Yeah, I found his nasty ass like this. " The waiter snorts, showing his phone to a couple of coworkers.

The break room nearly vibrates with laughter.

" His desire for humiliation knows no bounds. "

Nebul notes, watching the clip of you biting onto the dullahan's back and screaming in pleasure as another concerningly fat oval figure travels from the length of the tentacle attached to you and into the swollen figure of his half-conscious coworker.

" But I can appreciate the knowledge, I was wondering if that incantation could be marketable. "

" BwaHAHA- Do you think those things are alive?! Is gourd for brains going to be laying eggs around? " Vinnel snorts like a pig at his own joke.

" Chicken- " Sybastian giggles, waving his arms.

" UHUHU- Buk buk buk ba-gawk! The human got me preggers buk bawk bawk- "

The two of them have entertained themselves imitating chicken noises.

Gallon looks at his shroom coworker. " Do you think you could cook them? "

Morell viscerally grimaces. " Hell nah, ya fuckin' sicko- "

" Grimbly, send this to me. " Santi mumbles, avidly watching the sad display.

" Eww no, so you can jerk off to it?! "

" Ye- "

The elevator dings.

Not a single sound rings as they expect either Belo or Admin to step inside the room.

Instead, in shambles a disheveled and barely covered dullahan, exhausted, and looking heavily gravid.

Faces turn a variety of colors as everyone holds back any reaction.

Sybastian cackles so hard he spits the mimiclings out his mouth.

[insuke69]

Imagining Hobie being so fucking clingy when you’re gone on a vacation or something:(((

★ Headcannons with Hobie x Latinx reader <;33

☆ Warnings: fluff, ‘implied’ smut (yes, they fuck in a memory), explicit words.

__________________

——————

You’re off visiting family, away from Hobie just for a short visit since it’s a younger cousins fifteenth birthday.

You aren’t close with her but she adores you like an older sibling so why not? Two weeks isn’t that long anyway since you also would like to catch up with the very little non-toxic Hispanic family you have.

The flight is smooth besides the fact that it was over two hours of no service, songs on repeat in your headphones, and the book you’re so happy you remembered to pack.

______

You forget the time difference between Hobie in Camden and you over here, for you it’s midday and for him it’s the middle of the night and he seems so.. desperate.

His texts are slow and it’s obviously being done by his singular non dominant hand.

“Hi can you pls send a pic”

“2 me”

“Please??”

On your end, it’s almost so clear that he wants to see you like the good adorable partner he is, already missing you. You send him an innocent picture where you’re holding your phone at an angle above you and smile up at it through your lashes.

Meanwhile Hobie..

Hobie always would have an arm around you, or holding your hand, or his lips on any part of skin he could access on you.

He was alone on his houseboat, laying on only his side of the bed even if the usually warm and used spot beside him was empty and void of his lover.

He didn’t like the idea of porn, even if he was ‘living the dream’ of most men where his partner wasn’t around to stop him, he still hated it. It was fake and unrealistic with plastic or disgustingly young looking actors, so he settled for closing his eyes and thinking of the one who’s truely his.

Remembering how pretty the little whines were as they escaped your lips when he slowly eased himself into your tight warm hole..

And before he knew it; he was palming his erecting and fumbling his phone to text you.

His breath shudders slightly at the sight of you and he began imagining how your adoring hand would look around his length, his own fist trying to imitate his imagination tightly.

How your lips would wrap around the head of his weeping cock, how your cheeks would hollow out and make it all disappear, those cute gag sounds and tears that threaten your eyes when your nose reaches the small trimmed bush at the base of his member.

You fully expect a normal response from Hobie in a way. Anything ranging from “You look nice td” to something dirty, hence why you’re positioned in a way where nobody around you could see your phone screen.

Instead, a voice message pops up and a part of you wants to hesitate in checking what it is because you know that Hobie doesn’t really send voice messages unless his hands are really busy.

You play it against your ear quietly and your heart bangs against your chest at how needy his voice is, his gulps and whimpers and you can only imagine how beautiful he looks right now.

“Oh my fuckin’.. you’re so good lookin’ for me, I need ya so bad righ’ now.” You can hear his heavy breaths in the message and slight rhythmic sound, fap fap fap fap.

It immediately makes your heat grow warm between your legs and you adjust yourself in your seat with your thighs together tightly as an attempt to ease this, knowing that you’re at a nice fancy restaurant for your cousins ‘birthweek’.

You decide to excuse yourself to the bathroom and be a little more generous with Hobie, locking yourself into a stall and sending him a better picture where you’re topless and your chest and abdomen in perfect sight, pointer finger and middle finger holding a nipple between them.

“Here’s your damn meal <3” you captioned it before sending, putting your shirt back on as you awaited his response.

It was a video this time, angled so you could see his pretty dick being desperately fucked in his ringed left hand.

his eyebrows are knitted together and his mouth is dropping the cutest curses and whimpers before he cums, his seed spurting out onto his abdomen and hand before his lips move to utter a whisper.

"I need ya so bad, can't wait 'till you're back, love."

[goldfades]

👒 trevor zegras realizing that his new gf is nothing compared to what you were

𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞 | tz¹¹

♡ ─ word count | 937

♡ ─ warnings | so much angst, idek what i was on (this week was terrible, okay?) drunk!trevor, comparing y/n and new gf and just overall angst.

♡ ─ ev's notes | god angsty trev content makes me so miserable LOL, i this doesn't ruin ur night

Trevor sighed as he stumbled into his home, shutting the door after him. His eyes were red and his clothes smelled like alcohol once again, he wasn't sure the last time he hadn't went drinking. As he walked through his vacant home, his heart felt empty. He felt weak and numb at the same time, he didn't really understand what had happened the last three months.

He found his bedroom door and drunkenly stumbled in the room, falling onto the bed wearily. His mind somehow wandered off to you once again and he felt the pain seep into his heart once again. You and Trevor had been broken up for almost six months now but he still thought of you every single day without a doubt, even with his new girlfriend.

You were his first everything - his first kiss and his first love and he thought that you were gonna be last, as well. However, things didn't go his way. Somewhere along the line, Trevor became everything he was afraid of and eventually, you had left; the one thing who was stable in his life.

As Trevor lay there, staring at the ceiling, the old memories flooded his mind. He couldn't shake the image of your face, the way you used to smile at him, the warmth of your embrace that now felt like a distant dream, something he couldn't believe. But now, he was slowly beginning to forgot the sound of your sweet voice and the way you used to laugh. He closed his eyes, willing himself to hold onto those memories just a little while longer, afraid that once they were gone, there would be nothing left of you.

His new girlfriend was nothing more than a temporary distraction, a feeble attempt to fill the void you had left behind. She didn't understand him like you did, didn't see the broken pieces he tried so hard to hide from the world. Sure, she looked like you but she was nothing like how you were.

She didn't understand his sarcasm or his jokes. She didn't laugh the way you did, she didn't talk like you did and she could never compare to you - she wasn't even in the same league. In her presence, Trevor felt more alone than ever, more aware of the gap that separated him from the happiness he once had known. He longed for the comfort of your embrace and the sound of your voice whispering reassurances in his ear, but she could never provide that comfort.

He couldn't escape the truth – she was a placeholder, a temporary fix to numb the pain of his heartbreak. Each moment spent with her only served as a reminder of what he had lost: the intimacy, the connection and the comfort that came effortlessly with you were now replaced with a mere attempt at a "relationship." Your absence had left a void that no one else could ever fill, and this new relationship felt like a desperate attempt to grasp at something familiar. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, Trevor knew that she could never compare to you. You were in a league of your own, a rare gem in a world of imitations, and he had let you slip through his fingers without fully realizing how special you truly were.

You were there for him when no one was. When no one had believed in him, you believed in him, telling him he was worthy of his dreams. You stood by Trevor's side through the darkest of times, your unwavering faith in him was the reason he had achieved his dreams. You were his rock, through everything. Your belief in him had breathed life into his heart, igniting a fire within him to pursue his dreams with determination. You saw the potential within him, the raw talent waiting to be unleashed and you refused to let him settle for anything less than his best. But somewhere along the way, he had lost sight of what truly mattered, had let his own insecurities and fears cloud his judgment. He had taken your love for granted, he knew that now. He just wished you didn't hated him with all your might, but could he blame you?

He had shattered your trust, broken your heart, left you to pick up the pieces on your own and embarrassed you. He had torn down the walls you had worked so hard to build around your heart, leaving you vulnerable. He fucked up so bad, he began hating himself too.

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thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡