#this was supposed to be just the first image

[lymtw]

Poor Shiu, spontaneously thrown into the un-designated driver role for both you and Toji. You both called him relentlessly to see if he could pick you up from the restaurant you were standing outside of, as neither of you were sober enough to drive back home. Meanwhile, Shiu and his wife were already cuddled up and sleeping like logs. When his phone started buzzing and he turned it over and saw Toji's name, he let it go straight to voicemail. He saw your name on his screen just five seconds later and also let it go to voicemail. No more calls came in for a while, and then he woke up to the sound of his phone buzzing, again. With an annoyed groan, he finally decided to answer your call.

That's how Shiu ended up with both you and Toji in the backseat of his car. The ride home was quiet for a while, because you both thought he was mad. He didn't say anything to you two when you hopped in the backseat and he accelerated the car aggressively once he started the drive to your house. If he wasn't actually annoyed, his demeanor sure didn't make it seem that way.

"Toji knocked over his glass of whiskey and it shattered everywhere," you tell Shiu, finally breaking the awkward silence, looking at him through the rear view mirror. "Like this, like this. I'm Toji... Oh look, a glass cup..." You, exaggeratedly, push your arm into Toji's chest during the reenactment and mimic the sound of the glass shattering. Shiu's gaze flits between the road and the mirror. He's trying not to laugh at your little performance and the offended look on Toji's face.

"Baby," Toji says, as if that little moment was a secret that no one besides you—and whoever else was around—was supposed to know.

"Sorry, baby," you say, smiling sweetly, while squeezing his hand, comfortingly.

"It's okay," he says, pecking your cheek. Then, he looks at Shiu through the rear view mirror and returns the favor. "She almost didn't make it to the bathroom and was about to pee all over the floor, like a dog. She was all like: Toji, where's the bathroom?! I'm gonna pee, i'm gonna peeeeeee!" Toji quotes you, for Shiu, this time. The man is fighting so hard not to crack up at the drunken lovers banter between you and Toji.

"Babe, you said it was okay," you whisper, still loud enough for Shiu to hear in the driver's seat. He just chuckles at your paired ridiculousness. You really are the perfect Dumb to Toji's Dumber.

"Sorry, doll," Toji says, giving you another longer kiss on the cheek. You both grin at each other and forget that you were ever beefing in the first place. You hold hands and stay quiet for the rest of the ride home.

-

"Toji, hold her hand. Make sure she's not trailing behind you," Shiu shouts, watching from outside his car as you hold your hand out and get air instead of Toji's hand. "And you, stop being so gentle. Hold on tight," Shiu says, referring to the two times your hand slipped out of Toji's, leading to your grasping of air.

"Come on, baby," Toji says, stopping to grab your hand. He drags you along with him to the front door and yawns as he pulls out his keys. Shiu stays until he sees the door open and you waving goodbye. He waves back, before you turn around and follow Toji inside the house. Then, he gets back into his car and quickly speeds off, rushing to return to the arms of his beloved.

Toji locks the door and kicks off his shoes, then waits for you to do the same so he can lead you to the bedroom. He's still holding your hand as you make your way through the dark hallway, only letting go once you reach the room. You crawl onto the bed and lie down, stretching your limbs as much as you can, until Toji gets there. He climbs into bed and lies on his side, turning you over so that you're facing him.

"You're so pretty," Toji murmurs, despite not being able to see you clearly in the darkness of the room. "Gonna put triplets in... in your belly," he slurs, poking your stomach.

You giggle at the thought of walking around with a huge belly, the image of it being way bigger than you only further egging on your amusement.

"Let's kiss," Toji says, pulling you until you're up against him. "Right now," he murmurs, leaning in. He manages to graze the corner of your lip, before you push his face away.

"Mm... Why not, pretty baby?" He whines, confused. "Want you to kiss me."

"Okay, fine. Let's kiss," you say, as if it was your idea. You both miss when you lean in to kiss each other. Your lips land on Toji's nose and his land on your chin. It's fine, you're both into it, just kissing random parts of each other's faces, but when your lips finally find each other, it's amazing. You're lost in the contact and the warm feeling, so desperate to give and receive more kisses. You think rolling on top of him will give you an advantage in speed and quantity, but Toji also thinks the same for himself—that it will favor him—so he assists you in getting on top of him. His hands go under your shirt and feel the warmth of your skin beneath them, but when he maneuvers his hands so that they're on your waist, you stop kissing him back and laugh at the ticklish sensation, rolling over to get away from it.

"You're gonna fall," Toji says, a quiet gasp leaving him when your leg slides off the bed. He grabs onto the hem of your shirt, and pulls you back with whatever strength he's conscious of in this inebriated state. "No, baby. Hey," he calls, attempting to grab your attention. "This way, this way. Roll over this way," he says, still pulling you. "Ah, shit." He sighs, defeated, when he loses the grip he had on your shirt and hears a thud.

"Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!" You cry out, cackling on the ground, deliriously, afterwards. Not even ten seconds later, the pain settles in and you stop laughing. "Ow, I think I cracked my head open," you say, lying there, not even attempting to get up. Out of context, it would look like you are having an existential crisis, because of how you blankly stare up at the ceiling.

"Shut up. No, you didn't," Toji says, a tinge of fear causing his heart to beat a little faster. He sluggishly moves to lay across the bed and leans over the edge to check on you. "Can you get up?" He asks, and you simply shift your eyes in his direction, not moving an inch.

"I can, but I won't. I'm a bug. And the floor? It's a goddamn Venus Flytrap, that is slooowly digesting me."

Toji snickers, his concern for you being injured dropping by the second. "You're so dramatic, sometimes, ma." The longer he looks at you on the ground, the harder it is to hold back his laughter. "Get back up here. We're supposed to be mackin'."

You interlock your fingers and rest your hands on your stomach. "Any chance you can come down here?"

"No. Absolutely not," Toji responds, instantly.

You sigh through your nose. "Keep the bed warm for both of us, then, 'cause, like I said, I've fallen... and I can't get up," you say, dramatically throwing an arm over your eyes, as if the predicament you're in signals the end of the world.

"Ma, stop playing. I'm cold."

You peek at him from under your arm, with narrowed eyes. "You're not even using the blanket, genius. Cover up." You lift your heels off the floor and let them fall, finding amusement in the recoil of your feet.

"You come cover me up." He kicks the blanket to the other side of the bed, until it falls on the ground. "It's a stupid blanket and I don't want it, I want you. I want you to warm me up."

"Shh, listen." You raise your feet, again, and let them fall, grinning at the dull bonking noise your heels make when they hit the floor. "That was cool, huh?"

"Babyyy," Toji whines, frustrated by the lack of affection he's getting from you. "Babyyy! Babyyy!"

You sigh and sit up, feeling all the ache in your back from the fall. You reach forward and peel your socks off your feet, folding them into each other, so that they're balled up.

"Bab-" Toji's cut off by the impact of something soft that was thrown at his forehead. Something that leaves him confused, when he can't find it after being hit.

"Finally." You groan as you stand up from the floor, stumbling a little as you work to balance yourself. You feel like you're in a daze as you look around the room. Your vision remains bleary, no matter how much you blink to try and clear it.

"Come over here," Toji says, sitting up on the bed. He outstretches his arms and watches as you slowly walk towards him. His arms wrap around you once you settle in his lap and he lays down with you, both of you on your sides, face to face, like before.

"I'm tired," you mumble, resting your head on his chest.

"I know, pretty. Me too," Toji responds, following the words with a kiss to the top of your head. His hand slides up the back of your shirt and rubs your back, occasionally applying pressure to some areas. He's aware that the fall must have hurt more than just your head, so he's trying to make it better, even if his touch only offers the smallest bit of relief for you.

Clearly, it did something, because your eyes fell shut, you stopped talking and you weren't moving around anymore. You fell asleep. The soothing motions he did on your back, worked wonders. Normally, when you're drunk, you ramble so much and you talk Toji's ear off. He doesn't hate it, but he always ends up having to humor you about the most random things.

Usually, he can't get you to settle down until you sober up a little, but tonight is different. Tonight, he gets to coil around you and warm you up manually, since the blanket he kicked off the bed has been forgotten on the floor. He gets to wake up and put you back to sleep with those same soothing motions on your back, when you stir awake in his arms. Best of all, he gets to wake up to your pretty face in the morning and take in that smile that expresses your remembrance of the night before.

[heavenorhella2001]

This had never occurred to me way back when when I first watched playthroughs of the game/played it myself, but;

Seeing this post made me remember Max's meltdown, when she was trapped in her own mind/a broken version of reality.

And seeing this now?

Max definitely has PTSD.

Everyone always primarily discusses/ focuses on Chloe's trauma (which is understandable. I'll always be a Chloe defender and don't want to downplay her trauma by any means.)

But, unfortunately, Max's is overlooked.

Now, a lot of people might view this skeptically, question the idea of Max having PTSD. To many, it might seem like Max doesn't really have any lasting form of major trauma after the events of the game. Maybe she really was content and at peace and happy-go-lucky. (I've always scoffed at that scene at Chloe's funeral, when Max smiles at the butterfly.) And I'll admit, within the context of the story maybe we aren't supposed to think so. But if that's the case I just have to assume that's due to the developing team's lack of knowledge, experience with mental health and how it works, the impact things like this have on someone. Not that they are coming from a malicious place, of course. But very rarely does a person 'get it' unless they've been through it themselves. The average person simply won't understand.

But if you see everything I've described here as it's laid out, it makes total sense;

Let's talk about Jefferson. He is just one of many elements in the game contributing to Max's trauma. He was her teacher, someone she looked up to, respected, and was supposed to be able to trust. She truly felt safe around him. It's implied she had a crush on him. But her image of him completely shattered. After the truth about him was revealed, she was no longer able to trust her own judgement of people, her perception of reality.

He drugged her when she was vulnerable, and she was helpless to watch as he shot and killed the love of her life right in front of her. He kidnapped her, and she was thrown from the frying pan right into the fire. When she woke up she was tied up in a basement, helpless, and he had burned all her photos. Not only precious memories, but also one of her only means of going back and fixing things. He then took photos of her, over and over, this went on for who knows how long, while she was drugged, tied up and helpless, in order to satisfy his own perversions. Throughout, he mocked and tormented her.

Then, let's go into what happened with Chloe. Having to watch her best friend, the girl she loved, die over and over and over again. Max felt responsible for fixing it, preventing it, because she was the only one who possibly could. She would blame herself, think of it as a failure on her part each time Chloe died.

After watching her die in various ways, so many times, I'm sure Max questioned if she really even could save Chloe- or if Chloe was supposed to die from the start, and the universe was determined to restore the balance, no matter what Max did or how hard she tried.

And then there's Kate. This could go one of two ways depending on your choices, one of which is infinitely worse and more traumatizing, but either way it would definitely have haunted Max and left an impact on her.

Imagine how you would feel, knowing one of your closest friends was being bullied. Knowing they have been drunk/drugged and taken advantage of at a party. Yet instead of anyone coming forward, doing the right thing and helping Kate out of that situation, everyone at the party instead weaponized it, used it against her, slut-shamed her even though she wasn't in her right mind, was barely even conscious and was in no way able to consent to anything that was happening. Not that slut-shaming her would have in any way been okay or excusable even if Kate was acting of her own volition. Knowing that, even though you don't agree/don't identify with that, that your friend is deeply religious and clings to faith as a means of comfort. Knowing that she feels like a failure, that she feels like she's betrayed her faith, everything she stands for, and her family, even though she was in fact a victim in her situation. Being able to read letters, watching her family victim-blame her, hide behind their beliefs as a means to tear down someone they should feel obligated to protect, to support. Watching your friend be alienated by everyone around her, including her own family. Watching the school bullies write obscenities about your friend on the walls, and in the bathroom, make jabs at her and taunt her at every possible opportunity. Your friend's light has begun to dim, she starts pulling away from you, begins hiding away in her room more, which now feels like a dark, oppresive void. You know your friend is depressed, and you're trying to be supportive in any way you can, but there's a distance building between you you feel you can't bridge.

Then it happens. She kills herself/tries to kill herself. In front of you, and everyone who tormented her. Even then, the people who hurt her have no shame, laughing and recording her when she's in crisis. You begin to question and blame yourself, blaming youself for not noticing something was severely wrong earlier, not recognizing the impending signs for what they were. You want to help your friend, to save her, but your powers at failing you at the worst possible time. You only get one chance to do this, like everyone else, and you have to do it the right way.

If Max managed to talk Kate down, that's still an instense emotional weight, still a serious event to work through and process.

If Kate jumps…well…

Max feels like a failure. Like she contributed to Kate's death just as much as everyone else. Like she may as well have pushed Kate off that ledge herself. Not only watching your friend die in front of you, but knowing that it was self-inflicted in a moment of desperation, that they chose to do so and your words had no effect…

Now, the end of the game. Depending on what you choose, Max either has to to feel an immeasurable weight on her conscience, the responsibility for the destruction of the town where she was born. Where she grew up. Where she has countless memories, despite its' faults. The deaths of almost everyone there she's ever known.

Including (especially) Joyce.

The guilt of feeling like she took Chloe's mom away from her too, after Chloe had already lost her dad.

Oh. And that reminds me.

It was an incredible miracle, Max discovering her ability to go back through time via photos. Being able to go back 5 years, to when she and Chloe were only 13, before all the horror had happened, and save William. The sense of sheer relief, happiness and accomplishment she felt. She felt like a hero.

Only for it to all blow up in her face in the worst possible way.

Seeing Chloe, now a total shell of her former self. Completely disabled, and paralyzed. Helpless. Unable to live on her own. Seeing firsthand the emotional and financial stress William and Joyce are going through as a result of the accident. Chloe having so little quality of life that she pleads with Max to kill her, because she can't even do it herself.

(This is not my narrative or opinion on Chloe's situation, by the way. This is how it's portrayed. Quality of life, determining whether your life is worth living to due a life-changing accident or consequent disability is the choice of the invidual whom it effects. I'm not saying that anyone in Chloe's situation, who is paralyzed would inherently have no quality of life or no reason to live. That really depends on the invidiual, what that person needs in order to truly live and thrive, whether that person has family and friends and an emotional/practical support system in their life, etc. For Chloe, for me, and for many other people, though not all, living that kind of life would not be worth it.)

Max, depending on your choices, having to kill Chloe, to choose the merciful path, allow Chloe to exercise her autonomy in a world in which she can no longer do so and put her out of her misery. Knowing that she's doing for Chloe what she'd want someone to do for her if she were in that situation, yet still full of pain and regrets.

Max then having to go back and undo it all. Allow William to die again. Watch Chloe experience that horror and trauma again, knowing now she could've prevented it. But at what cost?

Lastly, if you chose to let Chloe go. To let her die.

That makes it immeasurably worse in my opinion.

The week she and Chloe spent together, reconnecting and rebulding their friendship, everything they went through together, would essentially never have happened.

Chloe, in this timeline, died alone in a bathroom. She never recieved any sort of closure, never got to know what happened to Rachel, questioning if Rachel perhaps just abandoned her, similarly to how Max did.

She never got to resolve things with Max, never heard from her again. She never got to know that Max still loved her, still cared about her and thought of her, but was too scared and guilty to reach out.

She never got to patch up things with her mom, or with David.

Everything Max went through. Everything she experienced.

To recap:

Having to watch her best friend, the woman she loves, die over and over again, feeling helpless, trapped in this endless, hellish cycle of death.

Being lulled into a false sense of security, betrayed and abducted by someone she thought she could trust, someone she looked up to.

Witnessing firsthand Kate's suicide/attempt, feeling like she failed her.

Being forced to let William die again, and force Joyce and Chloe to suffer that loss again.

Having to watch Joyce mourn her only daughter, after already losing her husband. Knowing she could've prevented it.

Everything that happened would still exist, but only in Max's mind.

She has no one she could ever confide in, talk to, or open up about it.

Chloe, for her, was that person.

No one would believe her, albeit understandably.

It's implied her powers vanish after she goes back that final time to let Chloe die.

She'd have no way to prove her story was true.

Carrying the weight of that burden, that knowledge and trauma, alone, would drive anyone insane.

Feeling like everything she went through, all the efforts she made to keep Chloe alive, were pointless.

I don't believe there is any way Max could be okay after that.

She'd be a hollow shell, just going through the motions. Totally disconnected from the world and the people around her. (Understandably. Who the hell could she connect to? Who would understand her?) Everyone at Blackwell, and their student lives and petty drama would feel so insignificant. So incredibly stupid and shallow to Max after what she's been through.

In fact, I've always felt - years after the events of the game, were you to choose to let Chloe die - that Max likely killed herself.

Over time, she probably began to question herself, to feel crazy, and begin wondering whether any of what happened, actually did, or if it was just something her mind created.

Max's trauma, her thoughts and emotions in regards to all of this are reflected in this part of the game, her mental breakdown. You can see her self-loathing, the way she blames and criticizes herself, in her interactions with herself and in her distorted journal entries.

Anyway. I never really liked Max all that much as a protagonist.

I thought she was a pushover, a little shallow, cared too much about what people like Victoria thought of her. I thought it was pretty unforgivable the way she ghosted Chloe, at the most traumatic, formative time of Chloe's life, when she had just lost the most important person in her life, besides Max. I understand anxiety, feeling awkward, helpless and flailing in that situation and not knowing what to say or do to make it better, but it just doesn't matter to me. Nothing excuses that.

However…

Max, did ultimately (well, depending on your choice at the ending,) make it right.

This has given me some perspective, and I have a lot more empathy for her now.

     you thought you could control everybody and everything, huh?      —   twist time around your fingers?

[yierrem]

dating headcanons - zzzero men edition (((o(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)o)))♡

ft. gn!reader x anton ivanov, ben bigger, lighter, von lycaon, wise ; no applicable warnings! my first request (i tried to finish it before christmas in my timezone, but still, merry christmas to the anon who requested this :DD and to those reading!!) hehehhe i hope its good enough｡ﾟ(ﾟ´ω`ﾟ)ﾟ｡

anton ivanov

you cannot look me in the eye and tell me this man isn’t the type to yell “this is for you!” or “if i hit this you give me a kiss” and completely miss whatever target he’s supposed to hit. he hits it. sometimes. he still gets a kiss anyways.

[“dude” “we’re literally dating and you’ve placed your lips on mine do NOT call me dude.” “…babe”]

big on gift giving and words of affirmation in terms of love languages. he makes sure to put a lot of thought into whatever he gives to you to properly convey his appreciation and show just how much you mean to him.

"strong, sincere, and straightforward." he's definitely the type to encourage you to try new things especially when you're the type to get easily nervous. if you're scared of looking stupid, don't worry; he'll do it with you hand-in-hand so you can be stupid together. becomes your no. 1 hype man and would give you his honest opinions whenever you need ‘em.

you see or hear him talking to his jackhammer bro for the most mundane or random things and you've become used to it at this point. its honestly endearing (you're hopeless)

["bro do you think they'd still love me if i was a worm?" "vroom vroom vroom" “you think so?” “vroom” "yeah, you're right."]

ben bigger

scary bear privileges meaning no one wants to mess with you knowing that you're dating someone who cuts such an intimidating presence but you know better than them because ben would much rather use his paws to tap away at a calculator or spreadsheet than willingly get into fights.

on that note, he's most likely to be the best companion for grocery shopping; he'll know how to get all the good discounts and haggle for the best prices for sure.

best cuddle partner to have during colder seasons no. 1. although he puts his fur care second, it's still soft and fuzzy to the touch and he likes that you appreciate the warmth it provides too.

since he struggles with some of his accounting responsibilities due to the size of his paws, sometimes you help him with sorting some of belobog industries' financial documents and eventually you end up finding the task quite relaxing after a while of doing it.

but, of course, he loves spending time with you outside of work. anything to take his mind off of the horrors of accounting. he'll mentally file away anything he learns about you when you're together for future purposes, may it be gift or date ideas.

he's the bear thiren between both of you, but in private he loves cuddling against you like you're some sort of plush toy. you don't mind. another win-win situation because you get to rest against him like a giant pillow as well.

lighter

he tries to be flirty with you and sometimes it works! but when you match his energy and it backfires on him he turns into a blushing mess who doesn’t know what to do with himself.

also the type to want to show off or act all suave. he has an image to keep as the undefeated champion! the red scarf! (he’s internally giggling and kicking his feet from one [1] cheek kiss you left in passing).

date nights with him sometimes consist of drives on his bike and stargazing at a nice little spot he found in blazewood. then halfway through, he’d get distracted from seeing the stars in your eyes and think that its a hundred times better than the real thing and fall in love all over again.

“gets as many challenges as love letters” but he makes sure that you and anyone who tries to make a move know that he only has eyes for you. could be in the form of having an arm around your waist or his jacket on you when you feel cold.

a physical touch and acts of service guy because. well. he did say he’d like to die for love one day. that’s a very romantic thing to say and do. also his heart still races whenever you hold his hand but he swears he’s getting used to it (he isn’t). probably melts when you gently run your fingers over his face or any of his scars

i honestly feel like he's one of those "me and my bae don't argue they just tell me to shut up and i do" types.

von lycaon

an ideal date for him would be a fancy dinner or picnic somewhere nice and discreet. complete with scented candles, your favorite flowers, and homecooked food (which probably tastes better than anything you've ever eaten at any restaurant). then at some point when both of you have finished eating and you're both in conversation, he brings your hand up to his lips and leaves a kiss on your knuckles.

["darling, your face is...concerningly red. are you feeling alright?" "i'm fine. i think."]

you WILL be receiving that prince/princess treatment (threat). breakfast in bed when he isn’t busy, spontaneous massages offered when you mention ONCE that you feel tired, and all that jazz. you probably will never have to open another door yourself with him around and he ALWAYS offers his arm for you to take when you're walking together.

best cuddle partner to have during colder seasons no. 2. just prepare yourself for horrendous shedding as summer begins… but you don’t mind helping him brush through his fur (*´ω`*) its therapeutic and you’re one of the very few people he trusts with the task so its a win for both of you.

since he's a wolf thiren, he sometimes unwillingly attracts the attention of stray cats and dogs; he usually pays them no mind but it is somewhat of an inconvenience for him. however, the sight of you playing with them while quietly cooing eases some of his discomfort. seems like you aren't the only one suffering from cuteness aggression.

his guilty pleasure is squishing your cheeks in his hands. no i will not elaborate

wise

this is one of the random play managers we’re talking about, so. movie date nights are mandatory. both of you alternate when picking movies but sometimes you bicker over options like an old married couple just for the fun of it.

a lot more chill when it comes to PDA but he can be flirty when he wants to be. if he knows you have a weak spot for it, he uses it to his advantage to get what he wants. scheming little minx. /pos

words of affirmation and quality time guy, i think. since he's always so busy with managing the store and completing commissions alongside belle as proxies, he makes the most out of the time you guys can spend together alone. even if it's just laying in his bed or on the couch doing nothing together sometimes.

everyone and their mothers and grandmothers on sixth street will probably know that you’re dating or figure something out at some point even when both of you don’t really do much together in public/are trying to keep it on the low. never underestimate these aunties man

unfortunately for wise, he will become the target of teasing or nagging from belle when it comes to your relationship. once you get close enough she'll also share embarrassing stories from when they were younger or before you and wise started dating much to her brother’s chagrin.

secretly likes clinging and cuddling up to you like a koala. both of you are in bed? oh okay, don’t mind him, he’ll just scooch a bit and wrap his arms and legs around you, claiming that having you in his bed helps fix his insomnia (it does, to some degree). [“wise i can’t move.” “you don’t need to.”]

on the days you help out with tasks in random play, you could quite literally just be standing while doing something and then you’ll feel a pair of arms sneak around your waist from behind as he leans his head on one of your shoulders with a quiet, satisfied sigh.

[rayshippouuchiha]

The Lone Wolf Dies

End-Class Princess: the Other Assassin

In which Takeshi looses the plot, Kurokawa Hana ends up dragging him along with it anyway, and a dog starts to revert to a wolf.

—

The first day of middle school, Takeshi hears some classmates sniggering about a prank they played on Sawada-Chan. They seem so pleased with themselves, at the reaction that Hibari-Senpai will have when she makes it to school tomorrow. Takeshi frowns slightly. Sawada-Chan is nice. She didn’t deserve that. He resolved to try and be extra nice to her when she came back.

—

Takeshi is restless. Sawada-Chan hasn’t been at school all week. They’d had a test already, and everyone had laughed about his low scores, saying that at least he had baseball. It stung worse than usual, turning his head slightly and not seeing a distressed pair of brown eyes and wringing hands. He hadn’t realized that he kept an eye out for her, or noticed that she worried about his grades. It’s been a week, surely she’s not sick? Hibari-Senpai has been rougher than usual too.

—

It’s a month into the new school year, and it feels like he’s the only one who’s noticed that Sawada-Chan hasn’t shown up. Everyone else seems to be forgetting about her altogether, except Kurokawa-San. She occasionally glances at a particular empty desk and frowns.

—

Takeshi squints his eyes shut to hide his irritation, flashing a toothy grin. To be honest, it feels more like he’s baring his teeth. The baseball team is getting on his nerves. Before, he’d been able to work it out on the diamond, the sheer physicality and camaraderie of the team pulling together soothing him. But as the weeks drag on, it works less and less. The team favors him as a star player, but they seem to be pulling less of their own weight.

He tells himself he’s just being overly sensitive. This year has just been unusually stressful. Once he adjusts to middle school, it’ll get better.

(He glances at an empty desk, than away. He accidentally locks eyes with Kurokawa-San doing the same. Maybe he should see if she wants to talk.)

—-

Kurokawa-San seems to be the only other person who’s noticed that Sawada-Chan hasn’t been to school once. Even Sasagawa-Chan just brushes it off with a vague, “who? Oh, Dame-Tsuna! Do you think she had to go to another school for extra tutoring?” She’s nice about it, at least.

Kurokawa-San is surprised when he points out no one has seen her in town either.

“I didn’t think you paid her that much attention,” she stated. “Huh. I suppose even a monkey like you can tell what would happen if you asked her out.”

It’s not that. It’s just. He didn’t realize how much the glimpses of her had settled him down before. Right now it just feels someone is rubbing sandpaper on the inside of his skin. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, it always happens over the summer. Usually it goes away when school starts up and he can play baseball. But baseball isn’t working like it usually does. Sawada-chan’s mysterious disappearance gives him something to focus on so he doesn’t use his bat like a shinai and makes the second string players run faster.

His dad would be upset if he did that.

—-

Takeshi realizes intellectually that he should be proud to be playing an away game in his first year of middle school, even with his less than stellar grades. He’s more distracted by imaging all the ways he could really hurt people. Kurokawa is helping, a little, ever since she noticed his struggle to keep his smile up.

“Stop pushing yourself around me, like some sort of stupid monkey,” she said bluntly. “I know you’re a wolf, try not to go rabid.”

He’s pretty sure people are starting to think they’re dating, the way he seeks her out. She mostly doesn’t care, and uses it as an excuse to get away with physically grounding him. The desperate rasping inside him is growing worse.

If this keeps up, they’re both worried he’s going to kill someone. And not even Hibari-senpai is paying enough attention to notice.

(She would have.)

—-

Takeshi whips his head around as they’re escorted to the sports field. Had that been, Sawada-Chan? What would she be doing here?

—

After the game, the coach lets them wander around the market a bit, as a reward for winning. Takeshi takes him up on it, managing to shed the usual hangers-on that he has after a game. The sandpaper and chisels that have been steadily working away inside his skin are joined by anxious jangling bells. He can’t figure out what’s wrong with him.

“Yamamoto-kun?” A familiar voice rings out, puzzled.

He turns and the bells go silent, the chisels drop away from his bones, and the sandpaper pauses. Sawada-Chan is staring at him, pale amber eyes meeting his properly for once, a cloth bag slung over her shoulder. Takeshi beams at her. Oh. So this is why Kurokawa called him a wolf.

“Sawada-Chan! How have you been? Kurokawa and I have missed you,” he comes up to talk to her without hesitation. He’s almost dizzy as whatever has been clawing at him finally quiets down.

—

Eventually, he manages to convince her invite him back her place. She leads him to an apartment, tossing him concerned looks from the corner of her eye. Takeshi feels something in him preen in pleasure. He’d never noticed her do that before, but the feeling is very familiar. She has worried about him, and not because of his baseball skills.

She looks good, her shoulders held back and her gaze steady. He had never noticed her eyes were so light before, almost the same shade as fossilized amber. She’d always had her head down before. Takeshi likes it.

“I texted Rika-Chan, she said it was alright to lend you her slippers,” Sawada-Chan pulled out a pair of guest shoes for him.

They were still a little stiff, but he was too distracted by how many pairs of shoes were tidily tucked into the shelves of cubbies by the door. While she’d been gone, she’d become close enough to a lot of people, close enough to have guest slippers. He ruthlessly suppressed the urge to mess them up. What if she got mad at him and threw him out? He wasn’t ready to face the noise yet.

—

Her apartment was small, but cozy. There was a beat up old kotatsu where she was putting some tea for him, and a faded couch. There were little touches everywhere that called to mind comfort. (He liked the amateur ink painting of a puppy of some kind, tripping over its paws chasing a ball.) Takeshi was seized by the desire to roll around the whole place and never leave. A plate of dumplings, lopsided and mismatched, found themselves next to the tea.

—

Eventually, he has to go, but he managed to spend several hours talking to Sawada-Chan. She’s bolder than she used to be, but still doesn’t say much. Takeshi is pleased with himself when he manages to get her to forget to be wary and snark back at him. She even let him take a nap on her couch while she did homework leaning against it.

No wonder she’s in Kunugigaoka now. He doesn’t even know where to start, and she’s flying through the worksheets.

—-

There’s a slim hand nudging his shoulder. It’s not Kurokawa, and it’s not his otusan. His hand snaps up, snake quick, to latch onto the wrist. He misses. It’s so unusual, that he actually pauses before remembering where he was.

“Oh, sorry, Sawada-Chan!” He grins desperately. “I didn’t recognize you!” Please don’t send him away. He doesn’t want to have her shrink away from him again. He doesn’t know what he’d do if she flinched from him. Kurokawa is getting better at genuinely not flinching, even when she gets cut by the edges he can’t hide anymore.

“It’s fine,” he almost collapses as she waves it off. “But the buses are going to stop running for the night, your otousan has already called you.”

—

He gets her number before he lets himself be ushered out the door, nearly running into her neighbor who eyes him suspiciously. Not even Takeshi’s best sheepish grin erases the unfriendly look in the man’s eyes. It, probably didn’t help that he was disheveled, and still smelled a bit sweaty from the baseball game earlier. It didn’t look good, a teenage boy walking out of girl’s apartment looking like that.

Takeshi avoided his gaze and hurried to the bus depot. His otousan had been pleased that the reason he’d gone missing was running into a friend and loosing track of time, and not something, else. But he’s heard the warning to make it back tonight, and so had Sawada-Chan. She’d all but thrown him out the door, tugging on a worn pair of running shoes to lead him to the bus depot in time to catch the last bus to Namimori.

As the bus tumbled into the night, he wonders when he can make time to come back again, and how many times it will take before his shoes have a space in her entrance.

[dee-writes-anime]

Hiiii

If you’re not doing requests then feel free to ignore this, or if you dont wanna do this ignore or delete this if you’d like! I was wondering if you could possibly do bakugo x fem! Hawks daughter! Reader if possible?? She has wings like him but instead reader has large black wings? And if possible telekinesis?😖 I dont have a specific idea in mind but if possible they could be meeting for the first time or if they’re like together if you’re okay with that! Feel free to ignore or not do it if you’re not comfortable!!

Eat and drink! Have a good one ☺️

Bound by Blast Zones

FEATURING Katsuki Bakugo x Reader

SUMMARY Bakugo takes a liking (?) to Hawks' daughter

CONTENT WARNINGS Bakugo being Bakugo, brief descriptions of fighting, violence, BANTERRRR, fluff, angst (if you blink, you'll miss it)

AUTHORS NOTE this ask has had me in a chokehold ever since I read it!! This was the cutest idea and the opportunity for banter had me on the edge of my seat! thank you so so so so much @montybooks for sharing this beautiful idea! <3

The streets of Musutafu were alive with chaos. Sirens wailed in the distance, and smoke coiled into the sky like jagged scars against the blue. Bakugo Katsuki skidded to a halt in the middle of the destruction, the sharp scent of burnt concrete filling his lungs. Another villain down, another notch in his belt—but the work wasn’t over yet. His crimson eyes scanned the wreckage, searching for any lingering threats or bystanders in need of evacuation.

The faint sound of wings slicing through the air snapped his attention skyward. A shadow darted across the sun, moving with precision and speed that rivaled any aerial hero he’d seen. His brow furrowed as the figure grew closer, the sun’s glare giving way to the sight of massive black wings. The sheer size of them was impressive, the way they moved even more so—controlled, purposeful, like every beat was calculated.

The figure descended gracefully, landing with a gust of wind that sent dust and debris swirling. When the air cleared, Bakugo’s scowl deepened, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of curiosity. She stood before him, black wings folding neatly behind her back. Her dark hero suit hugged her form, the utility belt and protective padding marking her as someone who didn’t just rely on her quirk but understood the battlefield. Her posture was relaxed, almost casual, but there was an undeniable sharpness in her gaze—the kind that told him she didn’t miss much.

“Bakugo Katsuki?” Her voice cut through the noise around them. It was smooth, but it carried a subtle weight, a confidence that made him bristle.

“Tch. Who’s askin’?” he snapped, crossing his arms. His eyes darted to her wings, the sheer span of them making it impossible not to stare. They were nothing like Hawks’—darker, more imposing, less of a symbol and more of a statement.

She didn’t flinch at his tone, her lips curling into a faint smirk instead. “Blackwing. My dad said I might run into you.”

The name struck him like a stray spark. He narrowed his eyes. “Your dad?” His mind raced to piece it together, but when she tilted her head just slightly, her golden-brown eyes catching the light, it clicked.

“Wait… you’re Hawks’ kid?”

“Guilty as charged,” she replied, her smirk widening. “And you’re the guy who’s always yelling in the headlines.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” he growled, though the faint heat rising in his cheeks betrayed his irritation. He’d spent years perfecting his hero image, but having it boiled down to “yelling” was infuriating.

“Relax, it’s a compliment,” she said, her tone dripping with amusement. “You’ve got a hell of a reputation. Dad said you’re… intense.”

“Damn right I am.” He straightened, puffing out his chest. “What’s it to you?”

Instead of answering, she crouched and raised her hand, her fingers splaying as if gripping something invisible. Bakugo watched as a chunk of debris—easily the size of a car door—lifted into the air. His eyes widened slightly as the slab hovered for a moment before she gently set it aside, clearing the path for the emergency workers. The air around her seemed to hum faintly as she stood, brushing her hands off.

“Wings and telekinesis? What are you, some kinda overachiever?” he muttered, trying to mask his genuine surprise with his usual snark.

She shrugged. “Guess I’m just efficient. Not bad for someone who’s ‘stealing the spotlight,’ huh?”

“I didn’t say that,” he snapped, though the edge in his voice softened slightly. There was something about her—her confidence, her ease on the battlefield—that he couldn’t ignore. Most people folded under his glare or tried too hard to impress him. She, on the other hand, acted like she had nothing to prove. It was… frustrating. And intriguing.

They worked in silence for a while, clearing debris and checking for civilians. He caught himself glancing at her more than he’d like to admit. The way her wings moved, instinctively shielding others from falling rubble, or the way her telekinesis allowed her to lift objects with the kind of precision he’d only ever seen in machines—it all made her stand out.

When the last of the wreckage was cleared and the villains were hauled away, Bakugo stood at the edge of the scene, watching as she spoke to one of the rescue workers. Her posture was still relaxed, but her wings shifted slightly, their dark feathers catching the light. He wondered what it was like to have that kind of presence—to be someone who could fly above the chaos and still keep control.

“You gonna keep starin’, or are you gonna say something?” Her voice snapped him out of his thoughts. She was looking at him now, one brow raised, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“I wasn’t starin’,” he shot back, scowling.

“Sure you weren’t,” she teased, her smirk returning. She stepped closer, her wings folding tightly against her back. “You’re not as scary as Dad made you out to be, you know.”

“Scary?” he repeated, his voice rising. “Who the hell said I was tryin’ to be scary? I’m a pro hero, not some damn—”

“Relax, Ground Zero,” she interrupted, holding up her hands in mock surrender. “You’re good at what you do. I’ll give you that.”

The unexpected praise caught him off guard, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. He settled for a gruff, “Damn right I am.”

She laughed, a sound that was surprisingly soft given her sharp demeanor. “Maybe I’ll see you around, Bakugo. Try not to blow up too much in the meantime.” With that, she spread her wings and took off, the powerful beats kicking up dust as she soared into the sky.

Bakugo watched her disappear into the horizon, his scowl softening into something more thoughtful. She was annoying, sure. Cocky, like her old man. But there was something about her that stuck with him—something he couldn’t quite put into words.

“Blackwing, huh?” he muttered to himself, his lips twitching into the faintest of smirks. “Tch. Show-off.”

Weeks later, the crisp scent of autumn clung to the air as Bakugo trudged toward the staging area for his latest mission. The briefing had been clear: a rogue villain group with dangerous quirks was causing havoc in an abandoned factory outside the city. The task sounded simple enough—neutralize the villains, secure the hostages—but Bakugo had learned long ago that simplicity on paper rarely translated to reality.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her. Leaning against one of the transport vehicles, Blackwing looked every bit as casual as if she were waiting for a coffee order, her massive black wings folded lazily behind her. She tilted her head slightly when she spotted him, her smirk almost a challenge.

“You following me, Blackwing?” he barked, hefting his gear onto his shoulder with an exaggerated grunt.

“Please,” she replied, pushing off the vehicle with a fluid grace that irritated him for reasons he couldn’t explain. “You’re not that interesting. Besides, it looks like we’re stuck together for this one.”

“Tch. Great,” he muttered, rolling his shoulders as he turned his attention to the briefing officer. Despite his grumbling, there was an undeniable flicker of anticipation in his chest. Watching her on the field would give him something to focus on other than the noise in his own head.

The mission went sideways almost immediately.

The villains had fortified their position far better than expected, filling the factory with traps designed to incapacitate heroes. A dull orange glow filled the air as fires from earlier skirmishes crackled in the background, and the acrid stench of melted plastic and singed wood burned Bakugo’s nose.

He blasted through the front entrance, his explosions precise and deafening, but even his confidence took a hit when he saw the maze of barriers and booby traps ahead. Before he could charge in recklessly, Blackwing swooped past him, her wings kicking up a gust that momentarily cleared the smoke.

“Try not to set off every alarm in the place,” she called over her shoulder, already scanning the area with an analytical eye.

“I don’t need your advice!” he barked, but she was already moving.

Using her telekinesis, she disarmed traps with a finesse that made his blunt approach look almost amateur. Pieces of debris floated and shifted under her command, clearing paths for them to maneuver while neutralizing hidden explosives.

“You know,” she said as she floated a metal tripwire mechanism safely out of their path, “you could try being a little less predictable. You might even survive longer.”

“Shut up,” he snapped, vaulting over a barricade. “I’ve got this under control.”

It was a half-truth at best. As much as Bakugo hated to admit it, having her there was an advantage. She moved with calculated precision, her wings shielding her from attacks and her telekinesis providing a level of support he rarely experienced. She wasn’t just cleaning up after him—she was complementing his chaos with her control, and it made him grit his teeth in both irritation and reluctant admiration.

At one point, a villain dropped from the rafters above him, aiming a serrated knife at his unprotected back. Bakugo twisted too late, bracing for impact, but the attacker stopped mid-air, their body suspended in an invisible grip.

“Seriously?” Blackwing’s voice cut through the tension as she yanked the villain away with a flick of her wrist, slamming them into a wall hard enough to leave them unconscious. “You’re welcome.”

Bakugo glared at her, heat rising to his cheeks. “I didn’t need your help.”

“Sure you didn’t,” she replied, her smirk returning as she turned to the next obstacle. “You’re lucky I’m here to keep you alive.”

They fought side by side for the rest of the mission, their synergy growing despite the occasional snide comment. By the time they reached the hostages and secured the villains, Bakugo found himself begrudgingly impressed.

As they walked back to the staging area, adrenaline still thrumming through his veins, she nudged him lightly with her elbow. “Not bad, Ground Zero. Maybe we should do this more often.”

“Tch. Don’t get used to it,” he muttered, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

The hero gala was every bit as obnoxious as Bakugo had expected—too many people, too much chatter, and absolutely no peace. He tugged at the collar of his suit jacket, already regretting letting Kirishima drag him here. The red-haired idiot had insisted that it was a great opportunity to make connections, but Bakugo had his own opinion: a waste of time.

Scowling, he scanned the room, trying to find the least crowded corner. The ballroom was grand, glittering chandeliers hanging high above polished floors, but all he could think about was how suffocating it felt. That was until he saw her.

She wasn’t in her usual hero suit, but the sight of her was just as commanding. The sleek black dress she wore hugged her figure in a way that was both elegant and effortless, while her dark wings draped behind her like a cloak. They caught the light with every slight movement, drawing attention despite her attempts to remain inconspicuous. She stood near the edge of the room, her posture as casual as ever, but her sharp eyes missed nothing.

“Don’t tell me you actually clean up,” Bakugo blurted as he approached her, his usual filter nonexistent.

She turned slowly, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “And don’t tell me you actually know how to talk to people without growling.”

He bristled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I talk just fine.”

“Uh-huh,” she replied, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Nice to see you too, Ground Zero.”

“Tch. Didn’t think this was your scene,” he muttered, his gaze drifting to her wings. Even in a room full of heroes, she stood out.

“Ditto,” she shot back. “But even I can play nice when I have to.”

They ended up gravitating toward the same quiet corner, away from the noise and spectacle. Bakugo leaned against the wall, arms crossed, while she sipped on a glass of champagne, her wings shifting slightly as she adjusted her stance. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, though it was charged with something Bakugo couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“So, how’s the hero gig treating you?” she asked eventually, breaking the silence.

“Fine,” he replied curtly. “Same as always. Blow up some villains, save the day.”

“Charming,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Do you ever try to make a good impression, or is this just your thing?”

“I don’t need to impress anyone,” he snapped, though there was no real bite to his words. “What about you? Enjoying your dad’s shadow?”

Her expression flickered, just for a moment, before she shrugged. “I’m used to it. Comes with the wings, I guess.”

Bakugo frowned, realizing too late that his comment had hit deeper than he intended. “You’re not just ‘Hawks’ kid,’ you know,” he said gruffly. “You’re good. Real good.”

She blinked, clearly caught off guard by the rare compliment. Then, she smiled—a small, genuine curve of her lips that made something in his chest tighten. “Thanks, Ground Zero. That almost sounded sincere.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he grumbled, but the tension in his shoulders eased slightly.

As the night wore on, their conversation shifted. They talked about the absurdity of gala events, swapped stories of ridiculous villains they’d faced, and even argued over who had the more annoying fans. It was the most relaxed Bakugo had felt in a long time, though he’d never admit it out loud.

By the time the event began winding down, he found himself reluctant to leave. She turned to him, tilting her head slightly. “You know, you’re not as bad as you make yourself out to be.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re not as annoying as I thought you’d be,” he replied, smirking.

“Careful, that almost sounded like a compliment,” she teased.

He rolled his eyes, but there was no heat behind it. “Whatever.”

As she started to walk away, her wings brushing lightly against his shoulder, she glanced back at him. “See you around, Bakugo.”

He watched her go, the noise of the gala fading into the background. For once, he didn’t mind the chaos. Not when she was part of it.

Years later, Bakugo stood in front of the mirror, scowling at his reflection as he adjusted his tie for what felt like the hundredth time. The fabric refused to sit right, and every attempt to fix it seemed to make it worse. His palms felt clammy, a sensation he despised, and the faint sound of chatter filtering in from outside the room only worsened his irritation.

From the corner of his eye, he saw her sitting on the edge of their bed, her black wings folded neatly behind her. She wasn’t doing anything in particular, just watching him, her golden-brown eyes filled with a mix of amusement and affection. She’d always had that maddening ability to look completely unbothered, no matter the circumstances.

“Hard to believe you’re nervous,” she teased, the corner of her lips quirking up in a smirk that still managed to rile him up after all this time.

“I’m not nervous,” he snapped, tugging at the knot of his tie yet again. The way his hands fumbled with the fabric, though, betrayed him. He wasn’t one to show weakness, but something about today was different. It wasn’t fear, exactly, but the weight of the moment pressed on him in a way he couldn’t shake.

She stood, crossing the room in a few easy steps. Her wings shifted as she moved, brushing lightly against the edges of the furniture. Without saying a word, she took over, her fingers deftly fixing the tie with the ease of someone who’d done it a dozen times before. Her hands lingered for a moment as she smoothed his lapels, her touch grounding him in a way nothing else could.

“You’re gonna be fine,” she said softly, her voice steady and sure. It was the same tone she’d used on countless missions, the same quiet confidence that had drawn him to her all those years ago. “We both are.”

He huffed, crossing his arms as she stepped back to look him over. “Tch. You’re way too calm about this.”

“That’s why we work,” she replied, her smirk softening into a genuine smile. “One of us has to be.”

His eyes flickered to her wings, the same imposing, beautiful black feathers that had once made her an unforgettable silhouette on a chaotic battlefield. Those wings had shielded him more times than he cared to count, but it wasn’t just the wings—it was her. The woman who’d gone from being a rival to a partner, from an annoyance to the most important part of his life.

The memory of their first meeting flashed through his mind: her sharp wit, her infuriating smirk, the way she’d effortlessly saved his ass while making him feel like she hadn’t even broken a sweat. And then the missions after that, where they’d learned how to move as a unit, her precision balancing out his explosive power. The late nights, the quiet moments, the laughter and arguments and everything in between—it had all led to this.

He glanced at her again, taking in the way her dress hugged her form, the subtle shimmer of her feathers in the light, the way her eyes held him steady even now. She looked like she belonged in the sky, untouchable, and yet here she was, tethered to him.

“You look good,” she said, breaking him from his thoughts. Her hands rested lightly on his shoulders, her touch steadying him even as his mind raced. “Even if you can’t tie a damn tie to save your life.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbled, though the faintest smirk tugged at his lips. “You don’t look half bad either.”

She laughed, a sound that still made his chest feel a little lighter, no matter the circumstances. “High praise from you, Ground Zero.”

“Don’t push it.”

As they prepared to step out of the room, the noise from outside growing louder, Bakugo couldn’t help but glance at her one last time. She caught his gaze, her head tilting slightly in question.

“What?” she asked, her brow arching.

He hesitated, the words forming in his throat feeling too soft, too vulnerable for someone like him. But as he looked at her, at the woman who’d been there through every explosion, every triumph and failure, he let himself say it anyway.

“I’m glad it’s you,” he muttered, his voice low but steady.

Her eyes softened, and she reached for his hand, her fingers lacing through his. “Always.”

As they stepped out to face the world together—whether it was a high-stakes mission, a major announcement, or their wedding day—Bakugo couldn’t help but reflect on how far they’d come. She wasn’t just his partner on the battlefield; she was his partner in every sense of the word. And as much as he hated to admit it, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[cosmic-kiwi]

^^shamelessly stole this image from another reblog because I wanted it on this version of the post

Except I would amend it to say that the entire concept of "gender" itself (whatever the term is even supposed to mean) (+ astrology) is to gen z as harry potter houses and, idk, buzzfeed quizzes, are to millennials.

Also, this (at least the money example in the first post and other things people are bringing up in the replies) seems to me like just another manifestation of the internet's ''avoidance of responsibility culture'', where people either victimize, or in this case, infantilize, themselves so that they don't have to take accountability for their own failings.

Except now they're inadvertently projecting it onto and infantilizing all women generally to even avoid having to accept that they're the ones responsible for infantilizing themselves -- wow, layers.

And yes, I know that these are all just jokes, but they are, by definition, sexist ones -- something this site once used to screech about, not join in on. (Not saying we should go back to the former, but... there's a happy medium here.)

All this to say: if you, personally, can't do math or be an adult or you have a shopping addiction, accept those things as you problems. Don't try to drag the rest of us all down with you. It's insulting and makes us all look bad.

saw someone refer to not knowing how to keep track of your money as "girl math" ......why are we in this weird era of treating women like idiots but repackaging it to sound cute and quirky. We All Need To Stop

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Private Screening

23/12: Home Videos and Voyeurism - Billy Washington Word Count: 1.5k~ | Warnings: masturbation (m), voyeurism, home videos of sexual acts, smut

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

Fuck work Christmas parties, Billy thinks with displeasure as he slobs across the sofa, half a can of Stella in one hand, the remote control in the other.

He felt a bit pathetic missing her after only a few hours. Suppose that was the worst bit about having a girlfriend that was also your best mate. But it did sound a bit precious when he thought about it like that.

The choice in TV shows didn't exactly sour him to pass the time either. It was that crappy few days between the last of the working year and Christmas, and there was sweet fuck all on tele.

Turning the volume down on a Christmas special of First Dates he glances outside, seeing that it's just begun to rain and he pulls lazily at one side of the curtains just enough to obscure his flat from passersbys on the street.

Propping up to fish his phone out his pocket, he scrolls mindlessly for a bit on Instagram Reels. But even then,  the doomscrolling and repetitive music his algorithm thinks he likes gets boring fast.

A messenger bubble pop up on his screen.

‘missing me baby? 😘’

He huffs a short laugh, typing with one hand.

‘Bored out of my mind’

She reads it immediately, and the three bubbles feel like edging.

‘I’m sure you'll find a way to entertain yourself 😉’

Cheeky, he thinks with that warm feeling in his stomach. She knew how bricked up he was when he saw her leaving, in that velvety dress he always likes her to keep on when they come home and pull each other needily to the bedroom.

With a heaved sigh, he uses one hand to pull the buttons of his jeans apart, then the zip and slides his hand into his boxers, stroking his currently soft member while he found something to ‘entertain’ himself to.

The locked folder in his photos app was a godless place.

He blinked as the face recognition granted him access, his cock stirring in his palm when he was greeted by video after video and photo after photo. 

Some, just her.

Some, both of them.

His breath hitches at some of the previews. It was something he started getting into to about six months into dating her. She was much more willing to discuss what she was into sexually than his other girlfriends, and he supposes it rubbed off on him. 

And when he suggested if it was okay if he recorded them during sex, he'd never seen that naughty gleam in her eyes so bright before. 

Like most things it was awkward at first. The first time they tried, she kept laughing nervously, her cheeks flushed as she covered her face and body with her hands. “I feel weird,” she had said, glancing briefly at his phone camera in one hand.

But when he reassured her that the videos and photos he had of her went absolutely nowhere beyond his eyes only, she was more...confident. She'd tease him when he started recording, cast sultry glances over her shoulder and pull him close to whisper ungodly things for his ears only.

His heart rate kicked up as his thumb hovered over one video in particular, remembering how she’d looked that night. Her skin glowing in the low light, her lips parted in soft moans, her eyes locked on his like he was the only thing in the world that mattered.

He tapped on the video, and immediately the screen came alive with her image. The frame started with her face, soft and radiant, her lips curved into a teasing smile as she leaned closer to the camera. Her eyes, half-lidded and filled with mischief, sparkled as she adjusted the angle, her voice a low murmur, “You better enjoy this later.”

She laid back, clad only in the lacy black bra and underwear set he loved so much. The fabric was so delicate it barely covered her entirely, teasing more than hiding really.

She was looking up at him, the movement of the camera making it obvious he was on top of her. The video caught the slow, deliberate rhythm of his hips moving against hers. Her body writhed beneath him, her chest rising and falling with each deep, shuddering breath.

Her moans were soft at first, little gasps and whimpers as she adjusted to the fullness of him. “Billy, you feel so good,” she whispered. His pace quickened slightly, the sound of their bodies meeting filling the room alongside her cries of pleasure.

He watched the video as his hand made its way down her front, kneading one breast before travelling downwards, his breath catching slightly as the angle caught a glimpse of the way he disappeared inside her over and over.

He adjusted slightly, pushing her knee back to change the angle, and the gasp she let out was enough to make his breath catch as he watched. “Right there, baby,” she murmured, her voice breaking into a moan as he thrust deeper—

Fuck.

That's where the video ends.

He'd clearly been so caught up in the moment that he'd abandoned the video.

But keen to keep up the building heat in his stomach, he swiped to the next. The feeling coiling tighter at the new video.

This time she was on her hands and knees, the view was tantalising, the curve of her spine leading down to where he was behind her, his hand firmly holding her hip. Her body moved in time with his thrusts, rocking forward with every deep push, and the sound of her breathless moans filled the otherwise quiet apartment.

Her head turned slightly toward the camera, and her eyes were glazed with lust, her lips parted as she gasped his name. “Harder,” she whispered, her voice raw and needy.

He stroked himself tighter, harder. So fucking close.

On the screen, she reached back, her fingers brushing against his thigh, urging him on. “Don’t stop,” she gasped. 

And her voice was what finally sent him over the edge.

As the video reached its peak, he pulled back slightly, his hands sliding from her hips to the small of her back as he drove into her one last time. Her moans hit a crescendo, her body shuddering as she buried her face into the pillow.

His own hips stuttered, squeezing himself hard towards the tip, warmth coating his knuckles as he came.

The last few seconds of the video showed him pulling out, her body still trembling as he finished on her lower back, his pearly release glistening on her skin. She turned her head toward the camera with a sly, breathless smile, her voice soft but teasing as she said, “You’re cleaning that up, you know.”

He looked down at himself, chest heaving, and thought with a soft, tired chuckle, ‘yeah, no shit.’

He let his phone flop against his stomach as he laid his head back against the sofa, spent, boneless, with his softening cock loose in his palm.

“Am I interrupting something?”

He nearly jumped out of his fucking skin. His hand pulling so quickly out of his boxers out of sheer reflex, he was immediately brought back to the heart-wrenching moments his mum would enter his room without knocking.

But luckily, it was her.

She was smiling against the doorway, arms crossed and smug, her coat over the hook in the doorway.

“Fucking hell, babe, how long have you been there?” his voice was shaky, trying with sheer willpower alone to reduce his heart rate.

“Long enough,” she said, her voice dripping with teasing satisfaction. 

Her gaze flicked down to his lap, and he followed it instinctively, moving quickly to pull his boxers back up, but too flustered to do up the buttons of his jeans. There was something both embarrassing and exhilarating at the prospect she'd been at the door, quite blatantly, watching him pleasure himself to her image.

She huffed a laugh and stepped into the room, deliberately swaying her hips, eyes darkening slightly as she stood in front of him. He could tell she was flushed from a few drinks, but not enough to be drunk. Just enough for her inhibitions to waver, and her confidence skyrocket.

“I’m guessing you were watching one of those videos,” she mused.

He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling very exposed. “Maybe.”

She smirked, pulling the hem of her dress up so she was able to straddle his lap, relishing the hitch in his breath. “Which one?” she asked, casually, her arms slung over his shoulders, as if she were just taking a seat.

“The, uh…” He cleared his throat, trying to focus. “The one where you’re on your hands and knees.”

“Oh,” she teased, drawing the word out. “That one.”

She placed the phone on the coffee table. “Well,” she murmured, her hands sliding up his chest, “since you clearly couldn’t wait for me…how about we make a new one?”

He felt his body zing with excitement, but his cheeks quickly flushed at the realisation he'd only just…

She caught the look, “or do the soldiers need time to recuperate?”

Billy snorted, a boyish, albeit, embarrassed smile lighting up his face. “Uh, give me like…five minutes.”

With a barely suppressed smirk, she clambered off him and made for the bedroom. “I'll be waiting!”

“Keep the dress on!”

General Taglist:

@1lluminaticonfirmed @aemondsfavouritebastard @all-for-aemond @bellstwd @blackswxnn

@blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @cl-0-vr @eddieslut69

@emmaisafictionwhore @eponaartemisa @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @justbelljust

@minholy223 @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @nixiefics

@primonizzutto @qyburnsghost @randomdragonfires @risefallrise @sheshellsseashells

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Hello, again with ideas for your new event. Hope nobody made you uncomfortable. I want interaction between Ramshackle ghosts and Baul (for somebody who don't know:it's Sebeks' grandpa) or Zigvolt siblings

Or interaction Mrs. Zigvolt with Mrs.Spade about "oh what good young mans are growing, just little rowdy, don't you think so? "

Dylla (Mrs. Spade) has been getting a lot of interactions, so I decided to give Baur and the Ramshackle Ghosts some time in the limelight :>

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

"Behold, grandfather—the majesty that is Diasomnia’s lounge…!” Sebek presented the room with all the flair and bravado of a ringmaster in the final show-stopping act of the circus.

The stoney walls lined with tapestries were tall, creating a massive chamber where sounds echoed into the night. Wooden tables with candelabras littered the room, circled by leather furniture. To one side, a lonely fireplace. A set of matching staircases led to an upper floor where a grand throne with dragon wings awaited, lit an ominous violet.

“You may seat here… or there.. or here… if you so wish!!” Sebek cried, pointing. “On cold days, we light the fireplace to ensure that Diasomnia is well-heated! And right up there is where the young master sits while we gaze up and salute his noble visage!!”

Baur let out a growly hmph—something Sebek had come to learn as a sign of begrudging acceptance. “It still pales in comparison to Castle Blackscale and Castle Wildrose’s throne rooms, but it I suppose it is adequate,” he sniffed.

“I am pleased to hear that we have your seal of approval, sir!!” The first year’s smile was toothy, showing all of his pearly whites.

Baur’s chest warmed. He fought to keep his mouth straight—but the corner of it betrayed him, lifting.

But it didn’t last.

Over Sebek’s shoulder, the air seemed to shift, as if an image rippling in a pond. A pale face slowly materialized. Bulging eyes, bulbous nose, shockingly blue mouth cavity and dangling tongue.

Adrenaline shot through his veins, synapses firing on all cylinders.

“GET DOWN!!” Baur commanded at the top of his lungs.

“What—!!”

Sebek had only cocked his head halfway back when grandfather tackled him. With his full weight crashing into Sebek’s at full speed, the two hurtled onto the floor, tumbling behind a leather sofa. Placing a hand on his grandson’s head, Baur forced his head close to the ground. His eyes darted around the room, quickly surveying their surroundings.

Where did it go…?!

“G-Grandfather, what is going on?!” Sebek demanded. Pinned down flat on his stomach, he appeared less like a knight and more like a startled puppy. “Please, if you’ve sensed enemies nearby, allow me to prove my mettle by lending my assistance!”

“I saw it behind you!! It can appear and disappear, slipping into the shadows,” Baur snapped—not at Sebek, but out of habit. “You mustn’t let your guard down, or it could be the last of…”

“Um, ‘scuse me…” a voice offered. It came from beneath Baur’s boots.

A white head in a top hat poked out from between the warrior’s feet. When his eyes met it, the ghost gave a sheepish grin. “Is now a bad time to do jumpscares?”

“You charged at that other guy like a magift player in the tie-breaking round,” cackled a voice from within the walls. A long, withered face protruded from a portrait of Malleus. “I thought you were going to snap his neck!”

“Even ghosts start feelin’ a little bad sometimes,” sighed a third. Round, full-bodied, and fazing through an armchair.

Sebek blinked. “Oh, it’s just the Ramshackle Ghosts.”

“The what?!” Flabbergasted, Baur careened, releasing Sebek from his grip.

The first year stood, brushing off his uniform. “The Ramshackle Ghosts?” he repeated. “They are the spirits that haunt a defunct dormitory. The ghosts roam the campus on occasion, seeking scares to keep their boredom at bay. They are a normal fixture of Night Raven College.”

“I-I see…” Baur fumbled, but managed to clear his throat. An attempt to save face, to look confident. “W-Well! I certainly hope you are thankful that I took the necessary precautions to ensure your safety! Doubtless you would have been able to handle this threat by your lonesome!!”

“Hm?” Ghost A made a face. “… I dunno about you boys, but it looked to me like you were scared of us laying a hand on the kid.”

“Same here,” B said.

“Ditto.”

"N-Nonsense!! What utter nonsense you spout…!” Baur insisted, his volume rapidly climbing, cheeks flaming. “Y-You have NO IDEA what my true intentions may be, but it is most certainly NOT to protect this… this grandson of mine!!”

“Grandfather…”

The ghosts interrupted, each of them cackling loudly.

“Awww, he’s shy!”

“He looks scary, but he’s actually a super good guy deep down. Looks can be deceiving.”

“It’s okay,” Ghost B reassured Baur. “We’ve been around for a while. We know you care without you having to say it.”

“AS I SAID…!”

“… GRANDFATHER!!!” Sebek’s voice crashed like thunder upon the earth. He straightened, his mouth stretched wife as he saluted Baur. “SIR!! I’m most thankful to be under your watchful eye!!”

“Huh?!” The Ramshackle Ghosts glanced at one another.

“I was not sharp enough to sense an enemy sneaking up on me from behind. Hnnngh…! It is frustrating, but I completely confess it was the result of my own inadequacy! Please, grandfather…! I implore you, teach this Sebek your ways!!”

He bowed deeply, his back frighteningly parallel with the ground.

Baur and the ghosts gawked at him.

“Hey, uh… kid? You alright th—”

C’s question was cut off by a rumbling chuckle. Baur folded his arms and straightened himself. He was the drill sergeant, and Sebek, his soldier awaiting molding.

“SO BE IT THEN!!” Baur declared, puffing his chest outward. “I will teach you my ways, since you show such potential.”

Sebek’s eyes sparkled. His cheeks were the delicate pink of rosebuds. “Yes…! I promise I won’t disappoint you, sir!”

“… Is it just me, or is this family a little weird?” A asked the other two ghosts.

“Nope, it’s not just you.”

“This is definitely a weird family.”

[mr2swap]

Late Christmas gift

I looked at the kitchen clock again, “6:36PM” It had only been 2 minutes since I last looked, after that I looked at the phone just to confirm that the time was correct, Maybe Grandpa Greg's flight had missed. Delayed? We hadn't seen each other, I placed my grandfather's glasses over my eyes, which I had easily gotten used to always having at my side.

I hated these stupid glasses, Grandpa's eyes work as much as his tiny, wrinkled cock, it's been over a year since me and Grandpa swapped bodies, I'd forgotten to buy a damn gift for Grandpa Greg, I didn't even know he liked me. To old people before I became one... I should have given him a foot massager. This huge belly makes my feet so tired that I prefer not to move from the couch for hours.

Anyway, I didn't have a gift, so I just wrote on a piece of paper “Valid for any gift.” How the hell was I supposed to know that what I wanted for Christmas was to be young again?”

The day after Christmas we simply woke up in each other's bodies and the worst thing of all is that we can't say anything about this ridiculous body swapping! Every time I try to tell my parents or one of my friends that I'm trapped in my grandfather Greg's obese, disgusting decrepit body, those thoughts just disappear from my mind and I start talking like I'm a 60-year-old old man. The last time I tried to tell my ex-girlfriend Stephanie, I “woke up” at the racetrack showing off my enormous stomach with a pipe in my lips and several empty beer cans around me.

But all this would end soon... or at least it was supposed to. We had tried everything to swap again, we even watched a long marathon of body swap movies to try various methods, but nothing worked... the only solution was to try to recreate what caused this problem in the first place, I just had to give him the same gift, and he would write “my body back” or something like that.

My family was preparing for dinner when suddenly a sound that came from my cell phone made me put the beer I was drinking on my huge belly.

“I'm sorry kid, but I didn't know how to tell you in person, I decided to leave things as they are for a while, I still have things to do with your body, but don't worry I'll be back for the new year... maybe, I just met a guy incredible on the beach and I wouldn't want to ruin it”

Hey guys! happy holidays!

This is a little story I wrote last year for my Ko-Fi page, thank you all so much for another wonderful year, if you like bodyswap and stories you can support me on my Ko-fi page to access my archive of over 250 bodyswap stories, from my old patreon and discord…

oh! And join my discord server, if you like RP or if you have any ideas that you would like me to write in a future story, I'm taking suggestions for ideas and images.

[violenteconomics]

“so what?” ace says defensively. “mind your own business. deuce is his own person — it’s not like i’m forcing him to do this.”

riddle clenches his fist. reminds himself that it won’t be smart to get angry. “deuce said it was because he didn’t want to cause problems. whether you meant to or not, you coerced him into working himself to the bone because he didn’t want to bother you.”

“and? that was his choice.” ace steps back towards his room, face stone-cold. 

(for whatever reason, ace's frosty, unforgiving expression brings to mind a memory from what feels like years ago.

an image of ace, holding a hodgepodge of hedgehogs in his arms, laughing as the perfect day glimmers behind him, smiling at riddle in a rare moment of earnestness, flashes across riddle's eyes.

back then, riddle had thought: this is must be what true happiness feels like.)

“he’s still a child, ace.” riddle spits back through tight lips. “he’s impressionable. you can’t just pressure him into doing nothing but study and expect that to end well.”

“look, if he doesn’t get it up into high gear now, he might actually flunk out of school.” ace explains, crossing his arms. “i’m trying to help him out here. figured you of all people would understand “tough love”, housewarden.”

strawberry tarts glistening in the store window like forbidden jewels. books stacked all around him like the bars of a cage. the garden outside but a distant dream. the woman in the doorway, smiling down at her perfect trophy.

the boy standing in front of his housewarden, looking at him like he’s all that’s wrong with the world, just like riddle did in his first week at night raven college.

“he and i came here experiencing the same thing, y’know?” ace says, sneering. “we tried to indulge you because cater and trey told us it was the right thing to do. how is it my fault deuce hasn’t broken out of that mindset yet?”

riddle grits his teeth. “even still, that’s no excuse to exploit it.”

he loved you, he thinks. and you’ve used that love against him.

(much like he did with trey, he supposes.)

“maybe not.” ace concedes with a shrug of his shoulders. then, because he’s not done tormenting riddle, he puts on a snarky grin. “but hey. i’m a child. i’m impressionable. you can’t just put a collar on me and expect that to end well.”

and that burns. embarrassment and shame and frustration and misery — in equal measure, all at once.

and it all burns inside of riddle, flames lapping at the broken boy inside of him that screams for his mother to forgive him.

ace turns away and walks back into his bedroom with a two-fingered salute. “if that's all you have to say, i'm turning in. g’night, housewarden.”

I am in dire need of more of that AU that The First years get The upperclassmen toxic traits,i realy want more of It,like;

A way to include octavinelle and scarabia,maybe like,3 First years(Ace,deuce,Jack) get some of azul's toxic traits,other Three(epel,ortho and sebek) get Jamil toxic traits and yuu get both

Second thing

More reactings please,i NEED The staff,ALL The dorms and even the relatives seeing The First years developing those toxic traits,the overblots+Trey and cater for deuce getting their toxic traits right back at their face i beg you🙏🙏

anything 4 u, baby.

(but for real, though, this is an AMAZING idea, love you so much for tilling the ground for my brainwormies, mwah mwah 😘)

(also, this might get REALLY long, so hang tight!)

it was just a seed at first — a tiny idea that stuck around despite the first-years not even realizing it was there. but as the poison from their actual housewardens starts to develop into something truly deadly, so does that seed. it shows up later... but it makes itself known nevertheless.

ace, deuce, and jack have all worked for azul at the mostro lounge at one point, and though it was a very brief moment in time, it was just long enough to worm its way into their heads.

it starts with ace trappola, who's already pretty slippery with his words. but working at the mostro lounge, taking subconscious note of all the underhanded deals azul is making, he starts to pick up new... skills, let's say.

it starts small, with ace starting to give out certain favors to his fellow freshmen to earn some money. if you give him ten thaumarks, he'll do one of your everyday chores for you — dusting your room, cleaning your bathroom, making dinner, what have you. if you give him fifteen thaumarks, he'll do your homework if you don't feel like doing it, or take class notes for you if you don't feel like showing up. if you give him forty, he'll help you with something less-than-moral and definitely against the rules (he did it once back at the atlantica memorial museum — he can do it again).

there's an obvious power imbalance in all of these scenarios, but ace effortlessly words in a way that makes it seem like it's a win-win situation, when in reality, it's more like a zero-sum game.

it gets to the point where ace builds a black-market sort of reputation, and all of the freshmen know that if you need something done, ace is the person to go to.

...but then, something shifts.

at some point, ace starts a black-mailing campaign for the people who paid for the forty-thaumark favor. if you don't want your secret — one that might get you expelled, suspended, or worse — getting out, then you can pay for ace's silence with a favor or more money.

the worst part is: there's no way out. if you try attacking ace, it'll seem like you assaulted him for no reason, since if you try to explain he was blackmailing you, you'll have to tell them what he was blackmailing you with, which you obviously can't do — or else what was even the point? the same rule applies if you try tattling on him to one of the teachers or the housewardens or anybody else. and ace is a better liar than most people will ever be in their lifetime, so it's a losing battle even if you do manage to get someone to take your side.

so if you want to cross the bridge, my sweet, you've got to pay the toll.

(it's not even about the money anymore, really. riddle's thirst for control and azul's desire for recognition have clashed inside of ace in the most violent way, and now, it's all about the power it gives him over other people. and after how powerless he's felt this entire school year, being thrown left and right by overblot after overblot with no say at all, this is a power trip he never wants to come back down from.)

but ace realizes he's making quite a few enemies with his little money-making strategy, and he needs someone to help him just in case someone does come up with a plan to wipe him out. i mean, just look at azul — even with all of the loopholes and leverages in the world, even he was taken down eventually without outside help. if he wants this to last as long as possible, he needs... incentive for people to listen to him.

his own jade and floyd.

his own red-and-black collar.

using his riddle rosehearts-born dominance, and taking advantage of deuce's trey-and-cater-born passiveness, ace convinces deuce spade — one of the strongest people he knows — to help him in his economic ventures.

and deuce, seeing this as a way for ace to vent some frustration and unwilling to be on the other end of ace's ire, hesitantly agrees.

he doesn't piece together that ace is acting suspiciously like azul, but he still recognizes his own role in this whole scheme. ace is running a business, right? and deuce has only ever worked in one business before. he remembers what jade and floyd were like back when he worked under them, and so he uses that experience to inform his new position.

deuce becomes known as ace's right-hand man. he'll hunt you down if you don't pay, and he's not afraid to use force to "compel" you to. there have been stories about cat beastmen getting thrown up into trees and being left there for hours. about students getting forks "accidentally" thrown at them in the cafeteria with such precision, it doesn't really feel like an accident. about a student with a spade on his face who can throw back any attack sent his way with just as much force.

and there's nothing you can do about it, because he's in service to someone who has made himself pretty powerful. ace's silver-tongue gets deuce out of any and all trouble he inevitably finds himself in — and is ace is so brutally honest, why wouldn't people believe him? so even if you try to do something to deuce, ace has his back no matter what — and he'll win almost every time.

you mess with deuce, you mess with ace, which is already bad enough. but if you fuck around with ace, you better be prepared to find out with deuce.

they're a pair — that's always been true. but never before has that fact been so threatening.

jack howl comes next. we all know how much jack despises octavinelle's business model. but, begrudgingly, he will admit there are a lot of things he can learn from octavinelle. and more knowledge is never bad. as long as he doesn't actually use it, it should be fine.

(jack is more dangerous than ace and deuce, in a way — his toxicity is insidious in a way it just couldn't ever be with them.)

with excellent hearing, eyesight, and memory, he silently keeps note of every bribe he hears being taken. every lie he knows is being told. every mistake that gets swept under the rug. it's not long before he starts actively looking for it. it's not long before jack's uncovered dirt on almost every freshmen in school. it reminds him a bit of his time working at the mostro lounge. but instead of memorizing orders from customers, he's memorizing all their dirty secrets.

it's to protect himself, jack reasons. after all, it was only his input that put a stop to leona and ruggie's plans back during the spelldrive exhibition. he's just... preparing for another disastrous event, that's all. it's just precaution. insurance.

if it's not, then he'll have to accept that leona's overblot bothered him more than he thought. that he was weak enough to let it.

(and jack can't face that yet.)

and if, once in a while, ace comes to him looking for a little bit of information, then well, that's just lending a friend some advice. nothing wrong with that.

epel, ortho, and sebek don't have any direct ties to jamil, but they are certainly... impressionable, aren't they?

sebek zigvolt is a bit dense, certainly, but even he can see how well jamil takes care of his master. and with a master that's as ditzy and forgetful and all-over-the-place as kalim, that can't be easy. even if they are merely humans, and their experiences can't even begin to compare when it comes to serving a fae prince, sebek reckons that he can learn a thing or two by observing them. so that's exactly what he does.

one day, when kalim spills food on the floor in a hilariously ridiculous move, sebek notices something few others ever would. jamil gives the tiniest twitch of annoyance — the same way silver, in all his stoicism, often does when sebek gets too loud — but then he's back to being perfectly dutiful and polite and says "i'll go get a napkin."

it's... admirable, honestly. sebek doesn't put it into practice right away, but it stays in his mind long after he first sees it.

and then, after malleus's overblot, sebek's emotions feel like they're on fire. after being stuck in a world where it took just the tiniest crack to shatter a perfect illusion, he's wary of nearly everything that disrupts his day. now every single slight against him, no matter how unintentional it may be, feels like a personal attack on his very life. but sebek can't show these ugly emotions so outwardly — that would be dishonorable behavior that could damage malleus's reputation. instead, he resorts to subtle methods that can't be easily traced back to him like putting in frogs in schoolbags and setting brooms on fire or replacing shampoo bottles with tar.

but his repressed feelings of anger start to build to the point where he's now feeling unprecedented resentment towards... well, almost everybody.

when sebek has very first negative thought about malleus in history class — "reckless bastard" — he instantly hates himself for it and throws up then and there because how dare he.

he tries to shut them out, but the more he does, the more these intrusive thoughts start to bombard him with their uncharacteristic cynicism.

he looks at lilia from across the breakfast table, and his first thought is: heartless liar.

he spots leona lying in the botanical garden and he thinks: brainless cretin.

he even sees jamil, walking through the halls, and his mind screams: manipulative bitch.

but sebek shoves it all down because he's in no position to say that. it gets to the point where he's walking around as a silent, unfeeling husk, because to be anything else would be like inviting his inner demons to visit him on the outside. he pushes his emotions down as far as they'll go, and that's just going to have to be enough to get him through the day.

ortho shroud begins to follow a similar principle. his idia-inspired pessimism has led ortho to see others as less like people and more like characters. it's easier to think of every school day as a dungeon in an rpg. it's easier to convince himself that the other students are taunting him because they're programmed to be that way than face the reality that they just don't like him.

but the problem with seeing life as a video game is that you start seeing others as just ways to complete your objectives. like npcs or maps.

and when it comes to using people, jamil viper is king. or, for ortho's purposes, the ultimate survival guide.

ortho shapes himself into a model night raven college student — kind, charming, and sweet for the teachers, but just mischievous and rude enough to still fit in with the students.

he goes to housewarden meetings with idia to "gain leadership experience", taking notes and hearing out of every single little idea he can get his hands on (these are the people who have not just survived, but thrived. they must be doing something right). one time, riddle even pats his head and praises him for his proactiveness.

his classmates adore him for always been willing to help and being so calm about even the worst outcomes.

ortho makes himself as available as possible to the rest of ignihyde, brushing off homework or studying to help them with whatever they need — fixing game consoles, wiring in controllers, checking the internet connection, et cetera.

eventually, everyone believes in him almost as fiercely as scarabia believed in jamil, once upon a time.

ortho doesn't like telling all of these lies, but it's necessary to protect himself. it's like grinding to earn coins until you have enough money to buy that special armor in the shopkeeper's store.

...or maybe it's more like those cheesy dress-up flash games ortho used to play all the time — fleshing out the perfect outfit and hairstyle and makeup that'll earn you the most points.

if people feel like they need him, he'll be able to breeze through school without any more problems. he's put the whole system on easy mode! it feels a bit like cheating, almost.

it is like a game, isn't it? it's fun.

(at some point, ortho forgets how to stop.)

as for epel... well, he knows that his sudden snappish behavior towards the other pomefiore students won't go unnoticed for too long. but this is one of his only ways of venting, so he needs it to go under the radar long enough for him to... to squeeze out all of this sudden venom that's built up in him.

epel's not oblivious. he knows how sebek and ortho have changed over the weeks, and he knows why. but epel can't pull off "repressed" like sebek, and neither can he suddenly turn into the best person ever like ortho. but they do have the right idea about taking inspiration from jamil, so epel can fall back on what there is left: gaslighting.

every time kalim blacked out, jamil blamed it on him being sick. every time someone thought kalim was being awfully uncharacteristic, jamil called it a "mood swing". every time someone asked jamil about why kalim was acting so weird, jamil claimed ignorance.

at least, that's what yuu tells epel.

and it's perfect.

so now, every time someone confronts epel about his overly critical behavior, he lies and says he's doing it for their own good. you need pressure to make a diamond, after all. and besides — vil won't settle for anything less than absolutely perfect.

("i'm just trying to catch your mistakes before he does. and i think you and i can both agree that i'm a lot nicer than he is about it.")

every time vil confronts epel about all of the complaints he's been hearing from the other students about how epel's been tearing down their ideas for outfits and hairstyles with no mercy, and disregarding all of their achievements as "not good enough" to be proud over, epel dons a confused face.

("vil, between studying for tests and the crazy physical regiment you have me do, i barely have time for myself. you honestly think i have the energy to criticize other people?")

epel even starts turning people against each other so they won't focus on him. epel subtly threatens to take away the upperclassmen's position in the hierarchy, which sets up the other underclassmen as a threat, and epel grouses to the underclassmen that the upperclassmen look down on them for not living up to pomefiore standards, under the guise of regular teenage bitching.

but all of this, combined with their self-entitlement, leads to a mini-war in pomefiore. but since this is, well, pomefiore, where being perfect and poised is the standard, the others make sure never make it obvious in front of vil or rook.

epel plays everybody like a fiddle, and ensures that none of it can be traced back to him. it's a good way to get out his frustration. and hey — it seems like everybody's upped their game along the way. vil seems pretty happy that everybody's improving in their efforts so greatly, practically overnight!

epel wakes up with a feeling of accomplishment everyday. for once, it seems he did something right.

now if only rook could stop looking so somber...

then we come to yuu, whose inner darkness has been left to fester all year. if people think they can treat them like a ragdoll, it's only fair they do the same.

there's a lot yuu doesn't have, but one thing they're really lacking is a bit of respect. that's what it means to be magicless in an arcane academy. you're at the bottom of the food chain.

and look at what a bit of self-interest can do for you! yuu studies in the library until late into the night, burning the metaphorical candle at both ends, learning everything they can about magic until they're more well-versed in it than most students in the school. yuu starts making potions that aren't nearly as good as azul's, but they're cheap and work well enough. they start making study guides for others with their new-found knowledge, even if they do bristle with the fact that a damned study guide is what caught them in azul's tentacles in the first place. they start learning anything and everything, clinging to whatever scraps of knowledge they can write down.

with this, they successfully make their case for why they should join ace and deuce's business. eventually, they're just as feared as they are among the other first-years.

but that's not enough for yuu. the power of fear is nice, but the power of controlling other people would be much more cathartic.

so that's what they do. while ace is more focused on monetary gain, yuu uses their mountains of blackmail to convince others to do whatever they want.

if crowley throws another ridiculous task at them, yuu simply hoists it off to somebody else to do. if ramshackle dorm needs a few repairs, it's only a matter of contacting a few people before a whole construction crew paid off by somebody else comes knocking at their door. and they'll do it, if they don't want to get kicked out of the school or have their reputation ruined.

but somehow, even with all of this, yuu sets themself up as the nicest out of their little trio. they're willing to let payments slide from time to time. they listen to their clients' problems. they take constructive criticism and always seem to improve in their potions and study guides based on feedback. and if you do do yuu a favor, they'll give you certain favors right back.

so even when yuu is a covetous, greedy, all-consuming shark, the students still think they're so very, very nice. because compared to ace and deuce, what else is there to think?

but this can only go on for so long. and yuu knows that.

one day, they get called to the headmage's office. yuu is already going through their contact list — a list that's quadrupled ever since they joined forces with ace and deuce — to see who'd be willing to do them a teensy little favor for them, but when they step through the door, they pause.

inside the office are all the housewardens, their vices, the teachers, and everybody else yuu has grown to know over the past year.

yuu narrows their eyes as riddle steps forward.

"yuu," riddle starts sternly, "from one housewarden to another, i believe we need to talk."

^

(i will address everyone's reactions in a reblog, because this is honestly getting really, really long, lol. but don't worry, the reactions are coming! 🥺)

(but i should mention that there is already a good reblog of the original post by @thenumberhuntress which addresses the upperclassmen's reactions that you can find here. go read it. it's peak.)

(once again, thank you for the great ask! this was fun to make!)

[syndrossi]

Thinking about Restoration AU (again). What POV would you like to write/or are you just interested in? Well, besides Cersei :D Even for the time of the first book, she can't be called sane. Maybe Jamie? Like you said, in the first book he wasn't in the mood for redemption, but here he meets the ghost of the man he was loyal to and whom he feels he has failed (I tend to think that Rhaegar just didn't want to take a 16 year old boy to battle, so he gave him an important "assignment").

Or maybe Robert's POV during the meeting with the twins? We know that Ned is mentally praying at this time, while Robert may not remember Rhaegar's facial features and his reaction is: ho ho our noble Ned is just a man too, we're not so different.

Or Catelyn? I don't share the fandom's hatred of her, but it would be very interesting to see her thoughts, especially how she tries to recreate the image of a "rival" to Rhaegar: his looks, charming singing, soft demeanor.

Personally, I'm probably most interested in seeing Darmon and Daenerys' POV. With Darmon, it will be both painful and fun - painful because he finds himself in a world where his children aren't around him, dragons are extinct, and the Targaryens have fallen (the story of Rhaegar's death might cause a sudden painful flashback). But watching him terrorize first the people of the valley and then Volantis, who have no idea where the hell the dragon came from or what children this madman is talking about (they're already willing to give him their children just to get rid of him) would be fun.

And for Daenerys I'm just happy, she'll probably be a little scared of Darmon at first (he's a little crazy during their first meeting) but then she'll appreciate him: the fact that there's finally an older family member protecting her from Viserys, and his dragon, and the way he treats her gently (she'll 100% remind Daemon of Rhaegar, only a girl). Or Viserys? In terms of insanity it should be something close to Cersei in the last few books.

Would love to see your thoughts. By the way, have you decided whose POV will be next?

Hmm, it's less for me about POVs and more about certain story events, other than the aforementioned Cersei POV. Like, the Robert meeting the twins is an obvious one, but I don't think I'll write Robert's POV. For that, I'm leaning toward Ned's, especially because he'll get to see little!Jon/Willam staring absolute daggers at Robert, both as in the I HATE YOU sense and the DON'T YOU DARE TOUCH MY LITTLE BROTHER-DAD sense, but Ned will likely interpret it as "you killed our older brother! 😡" Whereas Rhaegar/Raymar is deer-in-headlights "if I don't move he won't see me" mode.

(Oh, or could THAT be our first Cersei POV? Ehh, I still think Ned, but I can absolutely see Cersei being huffy about Robert going to greet Ned's bastards after he meetings the trueborn ones, viewing it as him rubbing his adultery in her fave, and then she catches a glimpse of Rhaegar and goes why hello yes target acquired ned stark's bastards you say?

Goodness, I hadn't thought about Rhaegar becoming the symbol of the boys' mother to Cat, but he probably would, wouldn't he? Jon and Willam remind her enough of Ned, but she's staring at this dainty-looking child with the long braid, imagining the woman's silver-blond hair and beautiful eyes and quiet demeanor. Did she sing? Is that what drew Ned to her?

Okay, I may have to steal the "Volantis just starts flinging Valyrian-looking children at Daemon in a bid to appease him" bit for Daemon's reign of terror across Essos. 😂 They just round up every child that looks the least bit like him, and even throw in some dark-haired, grey-eyed ones like the other child he mentioned. Daemon is all "wtf am I supposed to do with these?" and they're all "feed them to your dragon if they aren't what you want, please just leave us alone."

I think Dany and Daemon's first meeting will definitely be a Dany POV, so I suppose that's one I'm looking forward to! I still haven't decided the exact timing there. Canonically per the book, her wedding to Drogo has already occurred by now, so either I shift the time so that Daemon can dramatically prevent it, or he rocks up on the Dothraki and starts burning until they give him his kin.

I have not yet decided which POV is next, though that's up after Knight of Stars pt2. (Assuming I don't get sucked into the "Rhaella gets summerhalled" AU I'm very tempted to write first. And we still need the wintery hot springs prompt fill! Lots to write this week.)

[bradleysass]

Gifts and Christmas Day - @noblehouseofgay - word count: 613 - 25 Days of Jegumas - Part 1 | part 2 :) James gets his present from Reg

Regulus wasn’t much for grand gestures or sentimental speeches, but when it came to James, he found himself going to lengths he never thought he would. For weeks leading up to Christmas, he had been quietly working on something that, if executed properly, would leave James speechless.

The morning of Christmas was a blur of warmth and laughter. James had been practically vibrating with excitement all day, basking in the magic of giving Regulus the book. Regulus, meanwhile, had been his usual composed self, though James swore he caught the faintest flicker of nerves as they worked through their pile of gifts.

There was one small box left under the tree, wrapped in plain black paper with a neatly tied ribbon. Regulus picked it up, holding it out to James without a word.

“This from you?” James asked, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

Regulus rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

James tore into the wrapping like a child, grinning the whole time—until he pulled out a small, glossy frame. His grin faltered, replaced by a look of pure astonishment as he stared at the photograph inside.

It was a picture of his parents—Fleamont and Euphemia Potter—taken years before their health had declined. They were younger, standing in front of the Potter family home, arms around each other and smiling wide, full of life. The photograph wasn’t just moving, as wizarding photos often did—it was practically glowing. There was something about the way it captured them that felt alive, vibrant. James’ mother’s laugh was almost audible, and his father’s mischievous wink might as well have been directed at him.

“How…” James’ voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. “How did you—?”

Regulus shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable under James’ wide, astonished gaze. “Your house is like a vault of family history,” he said quietly. “I found it tucked away in one of the old trunks in your attic. It was damaged, but I—” He hesitated, then gestured vaguely. “I repaired it. Restored it, really.”

James was utterly silent for a moment, his thumb brushing over the edge of the frame. He’d thought he’d lost every image of his parents like this, healthy and happy. The memories were there, of course, but seeing them again like this—it felt like a gift from another time.

“I—Merlin, Reg—” James exhaled sharply, his eyes suspiciously glassy. He set the frame carefully on the floor beside him, then lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Regulus in a fierce hug.

Regulus made a startled noise, stiff at first, before relaxing into James’ embrace. “You’re crushing me,” he muttered, but there was no bite to his words.

James pulled back just enough to look at him, his face split into a grin that was somehow brighter than the firelight. “This is—you have no idea what this means to me.”

Regulus tilted his head, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. “I think I do.”

James surged forward again, kissing Regulus like the world was about to end, pouring every ounce of his gratitude, his love, his everything into it. When they finally pulled apart, both breathless, James rested his forehead against Regulus’.

“You’re bloody perfect, you know that?” James whispered, his voice still thick with emotion.

Regulus huffed a quiet laugh, his hand finding its place at the nape of James’ neck. “And you’re insufferable. But I suppose I don’t mind.”

And for the rest of the day, James carried the photo with him, setting it carefully beside him no matter where they went, as if it were the most precious thing in the world—second only to the man who’d given it to him.

[safficranger]

Fake Scenarios In My Head #34

Christmas had never been Alex Cabot’s favorite holiday. All the fuss, the kitsch, the endless renditions of “Jingle Bells”—it just wasn’t her thing. But this year, she had made an effort. Her apartment was modestly decorated: a garland draped over the mantel, a small tree with twinkling lights in the corner. She had even ordered a special dinner, far from her usual takeout. All of it for one reason: Casey Novak loved Christmas. And Alex loved Casey.

That evening, Casey arrived, her cheeks flushed from the cold wind, a bottle of wine in one hand, and a Santa hat perched crookedly on her head. Alex couldn’t help but smile.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” Casey teased with a playful grin. “Picture me wearing just the hat.”

Alex’s breath caught as the image flashed through her mind, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. Before she could say anything, Casey leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to her lips.

“You’ll have to earn that,” Casey whispered with a wink, handing Alex the bottle. “Now be a dear and open the wine.”

Chuckling, Alex headed to the kitchen. This was exactly what she loved about Casey—her humor, her warmth, the way she effortlessly lit up any room she entered. Alex poured two glasses of wine and added a few snacks to a plate. Dinner could wait; for now, she just wanted to enjoy the evening.

When Alex returned to the living room, she froze, surprised by the sight in front of her. Casey’s Santa hat lay discarded to the side, and she was sprawled on her back beneath the Christmas tree. Her copper-red hair was a tousled mess, her gaze fixed upwards. The lights from the tree reflected in her open eyes, and a faint smile played on her lips.

“Do I even want to ask?” Alex set the glasses on the table, eyeing her skeptically.

“It’s my tradition,” Casey explained calmly, her gaze never leaving the tree. “I’ve done this since I was a kid. I lie under the tree and look up at the lights. It’s like a kaleidoscope—so calming, so beautiful.”

“And now you want me to join you, don’t you?” Alex raised an eyebrow but could already see the hopeful look in Casey’s eyes.

“Of course,” Casey said with a sweet smile. “Please? Humor me.”

Alex let out an exaggerated sigh, but she could never say no to her girlfriend. So, she lowered herself to the floor, lying down beside Casey. At first, it felt strange—the floor was hard, and the tree branches seemed dangerously close. Alex wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

Instead of looking at the tree, however, her gaze drifted to Casey. She lay perfectly still, her eyes wide and focused on the twinkling lights above. A serene expression softened her features, almost dreamlike. Alex couldn’t look away—the way the lights danced on Casey’s skin, the way she seemed so peaceful and content, made Alex’s heart swell.

After a while, Casey must have felt Alex’s gaze. She turned her head, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be looking at the tree?” she asked, mockingly.

Alex shrugged, a small smile on her lips. “Why would I? The most beautiful thing here is lying right beside me.”

Casey let out a soft laugh, her cheeks tinged with a faint blush. “Flatterer,” she murmured, though her gaze was full of affection.

Alex grinned back, her expression tender. “Thank you for convincing me to lie down here.”

Casey leaned over and placed a kiss on Alex’s cheek. “Thank you for doing it for me.”

Suddenly, Casey sat up, a mischievous smile on her lips as she looked down at Alex. “I need to kiss you. Right now.”

Alex laughed and sat up as well, letting Casey lean in and capture her lips in a warm, soft kiss. When Casey began to pull back, Alex placed her hands on her waist and deepened the kiss, her lips growing more insistent.

Casey chuckled softly, breaking the kiss with a grin. “Oh no,” she said, her eyes sparkling with playful defiance. “Delayed gratification, Alex. Dinner first. Anticipation makes everything better.”

Alex gave her a mock pout. “Can I at least have you for dessert?”

Casey laughed, leaning in to place a quick kiss on the tip of Alex’s nose. “Promise,” she said with a wink. “You can have me all to yourself—after we eat.”

And though Alex hated waiting, in that moment, she couldn’t imagine loving anything more than Casey Novak and her unique, irresistible way of making every moment special.

[fancyfade]

Sword of Azrael: The rhetoric of violence

Very long image set but there were lots of images I wanted to include.

Anyway got inspired to make this after re-reading sword of azrael. Review from LOCG below a cut

From what I recall* this is the first time we see what the system looks like in jean paul valleys head. We also delve back into his guilt and status of being perpetually at war with the programming that was installed in him since he was a baby.

What I really think helps this not be just another comic is the analysis of the rhetoric around righteous violence. Jpv says that the system uses righteous fury because it's easy to manipulate, it feels good, and he's proven right. Brielle and the character of azrael (program of the system) justify the violent acts they have committed as being part of a higher power - poor fellow appeals to brielle by asking her if knowing that the people she killed were part of her finding her true path, and the fact that angels are not beholden to human morality, makes it better and Brielle says yes. Azrael (program) shuts down in horror after finding out his orders founder did not believe he was ushering in God's mercy or w/e but rather creating a tool he can use** - because of azraels actions exist without the justification of it being gods will, they are simply sin.

Jpv works against a world where murder is acceptable with the right rhetoric, and he also has to confront that he can't blame azrael/ the system on everything. The fact that azrael shuts down When he's fighting Satan, the first angel the order created, and jpv is the one who has to fight and then kill Satan, because if Satan gets back to the machinery that has kept him alive for the last 800 years, he will keep killing people in the nearby town to maintain his life. And jpv gets mad at azrael because isn't this violence supposed to be his job? If azrael doesn't do it, jpv has to accept that he has that capacity in himself, without the system, and cannot blame it on another being (which I think foils azrael really well , whereas in either case the violence committed is removed and the committer imagines he has less responsibility - in azraels case the violence is an act of God and a good thing, and becomes abhorrent when he can no longer justify it that way, and in jpvs case the violence is bad, but can be necessary however he can remove himself of the responsibility by letting the system commit it). Then jean paul valley uses this experience, of having killed Satan, to engage with azrael and admit that they are not necessarily so different.

There is a LOT of good character work and interesting rhetoric anyway is what I'm saying

[thefearedashantis]

Part Time Cupid (pt 2)

Pt 1.

Pairing: Roommate! Sirius Black x Fem! Reader

Summary: When Reader's attempts at finding love fall short, she turns to her roommate, Sirius Black, for assistance. As Sirius offers his unique perspective and charm to help her navigate the complexities of romance, unexpected feelings begin to emerge between them, blurring the lines between childhood friends and something more.

Word count: 2.9K

Warnings: I'm going to put bodily insecurity just in case.

'I kinda hate it- Jermaine'

It’s been two weeks since your date with Frank and you still haven’t managed to uproot the seeds of insecurity he’d sown in you with a single word.

You'd be going about your work, completing whatever mundane task, when his voice would make its now customary rounds in your thoughts. As clear as day and as fresh a sting as if he was standing directly next you, whispering into your ear. The image of his eyes flittering up from his phone for a split second, snapping across your face with a scrutinizing glint, kept you up at night. Disappointed. Your appearance had disappointed someone.

It’s not like he’d even specifically called out your weight, but your mind kept telling you that was the main thing he'd been alluding to.

You'd been on a yoyo diet since your teen years as someone who’s weight fluctuated easily. It was usually enough to keep you at a size you were comfortable at, but maybe your sedentary job was finally catching up to you. You could never get into the rhythm of a full exercise routine, the sweaty consistency of it. But you had to find something to appease yourself and James Potter was the closest solution. A lover of all things physical for as long as you'd known him. He went on a run every morning. If you asked to join him, he'd probably be ecstatic. However, your nerves would never allow you to do it directly.

So, you'd taken to getting up with the sun and lingering amongst the shadows of the kitchen in hopes of catching him leaving so you could spring yourself on him. Propped up on your toes checking the peep hole every few minutes. You'd wait until he was stooped down tying his laces to scuttle outside with a soft greeting, half expecting to be met with annoyance.

But it was James.

A sleepy smile and a raspy line like "What have I done to deserve such company?" was all there was to it.

The first few days it made you feel better. The quiet of the streets. Taking in sights that you'd never notice otherwise. The colorful pops of graffiti splattered across any available cranny. The same few taggers battling for space. Little shops with their lights already on, setting up for a busy day. People swaying on their feet at the bus stop, bundled up to twice their sizes. The fresh air. The yellow tint of the sky. The burn in your muscles.

You enjoyed it all up until you realized you're holding James back with your lack of athletic prowess. His long limbs purposefully dragging to remain in step with you. You assured him he could run a little ways ahead, keep his regular pace, but he waved you off. Instead, lingering by your sluggish form, regaling you with whatever funny tale one of his swim kids had told him. He taught afterschool lessons at the community pool.

You run four miles, much less than usual for your benefit, and head back home. When you get to the complex, huffing and puffing your way up the steps, James offers to cook you breakfast the same time he prepares his own, but you decline. You’re supposed to meet Lily this morning and need to shower and have a quick lie down before. You’d have to walk to the shop and your legs were already screaming at you to get off them.

James wishes you a good day before disappearing into his apartment. You enter your own, heaving yourself down the hall towards your bedroom.

When you throw the door open, you’re surprised to find Sirius already in there. Still in his pajamas, sprawled across your unmade bed with one of your magazines in hand. Flipping through the thin pages with heavy lidded eyes and a pencil dangling from his fingers. His tongue pushed into his cheek. Gone now is the sparkly black polish, replaced with a rich bloody red.

“What’re you doing?” you ask, clicking the door shut, bending to pry off your sneakers. Sweat drips from your hairline, splattering to the wooden floors.  It wasn’t weird for Sirius to be in your room, just not while you weren’t there. You hoped that was the case.

He circles something on the page, frowning deeply at whatever is there.

“Taking a quiz to see when I’ll meet the love of my life.” He circles something else, and his frown only deepens.

You aren’t all that interested in knowing. You’d taken that quiz when you first bought the book but only received vague and undecipherable answers. “What does it say?” you ask anyway, feeling it rude if you didn’t.

“Says I’ve already met them.”

“What do you think?”

He juggles the idea for a minute “Maybe that girl I met at Claire’s?”

“With the chunky highlights you hated? You only dated for a month”

“Or septum ring girl, she was fun” Fun up until she started sending you death threats under the assumption you wanted to hoard Sirius for yourself. You were not that brand of girl best friend.

Rummaging through your closet for underclothes you make your way to your bathroom. You crack the door back open twenty minutes later swaddled in a robe, feeling lightheaded from the heat. Curls of steam escape, drawing Sirius' attention.

“Off somewhere today?” He calls. The magazines been placed back where he found it. He's rolled onto his side, picking lint from your comforter.

“Coffee with Lils” you reply around a mouthful of toothpaste.

There's a beat of silence. “I’m glad you two get on better now.”

You wholeheartedly agreed with that. Lily was the only member of Sirius’ crew who wasn’t very welcoming from the get-go. You’d always assumed it was because your personalities just didn’t gel, but she at times would make it a point not to even try. And by some greater power you’d gone from her holding her head straight while passing you in the hallways, from purposefully not inviting you on group outings, to one on one catch up dates.

“Don’t you have work?”

“Shops closed, busted water pipe” Ah, so he was just bored and looking for someone to bother.

Finishing your bathroom routine, you make your way to the closet. You pull down two shirt options. One is yellow with a thin line of ruffles along the sleeves. The other is blue with a white peter pan collar. “Which one do you think?” you ask, holding each to your chest.

“Blue” he answers without even giving them a good look “You always look lovely in blue.”

You get dressed in the closet to the occasional ruffle of Sirius tossing and turning. As soon as your jeans are over your ass you throw yourself down onto the bed, exhaustion finally catching up to you. Your face is sunken into the pillow, you can barely breathe, but you lie still none the less. Stretching your shoulders out and hoping you won’t be too painful in the morning. The longer you stay there, the more you realize your pillow doesn’t even smell that much like you. You preferred light scents for day to day use. This was something much stronger, a smell that already lingers around every other room of your apartment.

Sirius must have had enough of your silence. He shimmies closer, the heat of him present at your side, and places his palm on your back. It doesn't move, just rests there.

“Running with prongs, still can’t believe it” he whispers.

Turning your head, your eyes catch and spark. His are much prettier than yours you think. A metallic grey that twinkled when he was up to no good. His hair spills between your faces. Glossy and tangled.

Sirius breaks out into a grin at your attention, one of his canines a little sharper and more protruding that the other “Shall I drop you off?”

“I was planning to walk”

“On these sore legs?" your thigh is shoved for emphasis "Not a chance, I was heading into town anyway.”

“For what?”

There was that twinkle “for brekkie with you and Lils of course”

A startled snort bursts out of you “it’s a girls thing. You aren’t invited.”

“Aw, please? I'm starving.”

“Well, why don’t you go into the kitchen and make yourself something to eat.”

“You know I'm a shit cook.”

“Jamie is cooking, go next door.”

“But I want to come with you, please, I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”

“Sirius.” You aren't one to say no to him. But you had yet to get the chance to tell Lily the full story of your date from hell. You had some things you wanted to get her opinion on, and you wouldn't be able to do that with Sirius there. He'd already been hounding you nonstop to tell him what went wrong, but you’d stuck steadfast to your story that everything was just peachy.

“Please darling, I’ll buy you a blueberry muffin.” He gazes up at you with puppy dog eyes and a quivering lip. A known weakness for you.

There's no other good reason you can give for him not to come besides just not wanting him there, and you'd never say such a thing. “fine” you relent “Get dressed quickly, or we’ll be late.”

You've rolled onto your back to grab your phone and text Lily the change of plans when you realize Sirius hasn't moved yet. Scolding words crowd your mouth, telling him to hurry before you change your mind. However, instead of rushing to crawl from the end of the bed like you assumed he would, Sirius chooses to trample directly over you. His weight settles on your stomach for a moment, and he’s leaning down. Hands on either side of your head, you're assaulted with the same sweet scent now embedded in your pillows. His lips land on your cheek with an exaggerated smack “love you!” He's off you as quickly as he'd gotten there, feet thumping loudly down the hall.

Your chest burns all the way to the cafe. You start fanning yourself with the menu as soon as you sit down. "Sorry we’re late.”

"No sweat, you’ve brought company." Lily chimes with a saccharine smile on her painted lips.

Sirius plops down in the chair across from you. Lily between you, back straight, not a hair out of place.

"Evans," he greets.

"Black."

"Did you order?" you ask, finally starting to cool off.

"No, I was waiting."

The café isn’t much. A cute place equal distance between your respective living arrangements. Nobody is here so early in the morning. Pop music plays softly over the speakers. A waitress brings you three waters and promises to be back shortly for your orders. You aren’t much of a breakfast food person, so you decide on something light. An iced coffee and a blueberry muffin, secretly giddy that you wouldn’t be paying for this meal. Everyone places their orders and hands over their menus when the waitress returns.

Once she’s brought all your food, you settle on your elbows, waiting, but none of the regular friendly small talk picks up as you're used to. In fact, Lily is looking at you very expectantly. Your stomach drops. Why didn’t you just reschedule?

The red head clears her throat. Two sets of eyes bore into you.  

You look at her, then look at Sirius, then look back at her in hopes she’d get the hint. Her eyebrows raise in acknowledgement, and you think you’ve successfully conveyed your message until she turns on Sirius “Always one to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong aren’t you?”  she breathes in good humour.

Sirius holds his hands up “Don’t mind me, ladies. I’m not even here”

Lily nods, bringing her attention back to you. She rests her chin in her hand, patiently waiting for you to begin. Your date was the only thing of interest to happen of recent anyway, so the stage was yours to set and perform.

You spare Sirius one last look. His gaze is directed out the window, watching people go about their lives. You’re sure he’s listening, however. It takes effort, but you shove down the anxiety bubbling in your throat. Sirius was your best friend; you told each other virtually everything. Why did you feel such a need to keep this pain from him?

With a deep breath, you dive into the tale, keeping your focus on your muffin. Going into every detail you’d purposefully left out when telling the story the first time.

When you finish, instead of the comfort you’d hoped for, when you look up again, both of your friends are frowning in irritation. You can’t help but laugh a bit. They look far more upset for you than you’d felt in the moment. But it seems as though what angered them the most is the same word stamped into your brain forever. Lily holds a slender hand out.  

“Let me see the photos babe.”

Huh?

“Show me the pictures you uploaded” she asks again, shaking her fingers in impatience. You fish your phone from your purse, open your dating app and hand it over.

She and Sirius converge on it like two birds of prey. They scroll through the profile together, having some kind of silent conversation. 

“These are what you chose?” Lily asks, an air of disbelief apparent in her question.

You sink into your chair “What's wrong with them?”

“Well for starters” she turns the phone back for you to see “that lighting does you no favors”

“You were the one who took it!”

“Well yeah, it’s cute for a little post but look it’s even kind of blurry! And you’ve got red flash eyes!”

Sirius looks surprised. He puts a hand on her wrist, an obvious signal to lay off you a bit. And you’re grateful for it because this was not at all the response you thought you'd get from her. Being the one who encouraged you to try out apps to begin with. Sure, Lily had always been the spearhead, straight to the point type, deadly so in more recent times. And usually, you were grateful for such blunt criticism. You just don’t think you have the gall for it today. A buzz starts up behind your ears as you withdraw a little.

“A dating profile is like an audition” her tone is gentler, but not by much “would you send this in as a headshot?”

She must see the answer in your face “Be honest.”

No.

So, it was your fault then? That you’d been treated so horribly. A few not-so-great photos warranted you that. The disrespect didn't matter because that's what a profile such as yours attracted. But what did she know anyway? She and James had been dating since school. It’s not like she ever had to ‘audition’ for love. She could never understand the desperation that clawed beneath your skin. How undoing an emotion such as loneliness could be.

“Ok, how about we take a step back here.” Sirius pipes up when neither of you speak. Getting his own phone out he hands it to you “look at this.”

“I thought you were on a break from dating” you mumble, seeing a profile on the devices screen.

“Yeah, but my profiles still exist.”

He has a lot of nice photos on display, but the best is his main. It is an upper body shot. Clear and in focus. A cream-colored sweater hugs his form. Dark hair slicked back; shadow smudged around his light eyes. He’s smiling at the camera full blast, lips stretched to capacity. Cheeks pink with an alcohol blush.

“I remember this” In fact you’d been the one to snap it at some party he’d dragged you to last year.

Sirius nods “but you see how it leaves nothing of my personality up to interpretation.”

Charming, easy going, fun.

“Theres nothing wrong with your profile, but it doesn’t do very well at capturing who you are.”

Lily pulls your phone back. She runs through everything wrong with your profile like it’s a checklist. You were completely underselling yourself apparently with an uninspired bio, uninteresting hobbies and poor-quality photos “We need to revamp this whole thing, but a new photo will be a good start.”

You don’t know how long the three of you sit there sieving through your photos. One by one, they are all shot down for some reason or another. You begin to wonder if Lily is just having a bad day herself, or maybe shes annoyed with you for allowing Sirius in on your personal time. But you'd asked her, and she hadn't objected.

Soon enough you’ve had enough and ask for your phone back, embarrassed. Lily has to run after a bit more clipped conversation on what you should and shouldn’t include. She leaves you and Sirius seated at the table together, your phones between you.

You can barely speak around the tightness of your throat. You hated crying over pointless things, but tears are building without your consent. You rest your head down, so he doesn’t notice your wet eyes “This is hopeless. The only chance I have at love is if Cupid himself comes down here and shoots me in the ass.” Your voice sounds reedy.

You don’t know why you'd allowed yourself to dream. To think that apps may be the solution to all your problems despite hardly ever working for anyone else.

Hot droplets dribble down your face. They slide along your nose before plopping onto your knee.

 “You'll waste your time waiting for that to happen but I'm willing to fill in part time until then.”

“What?” You raise your head slowly, sniffling.

Sirius is angled as if he’d been trying to catch a glimpse of you beneath the table. He stays low, voice impossibly soft “I'll be your part-time cupid.” He states matter-of-factly “It makes sense. Nobody knows you better than I do, so who better to help find your perfect match.”

As sweet as the offer, a piece of you didn’t want his help. Sure, you could outsource to Lily, James or even Remus if absolutely necessary. But to fall back on the same person who’d instigated most of your relationships to begin with? It would be like you’d made no self progress at all. You can’t rely on him to act for you forever.

“Ok.”

[prepareforspamcalls]

Horrible Sister

(More insight on Lilli. Sad one guys. TW: child abuse and physical abuse.)

PEEPS!: @myluckymoon @city-of-c0rpses

Life has always been hard. At least to me, that is.

I want you to imagine what it's like to not be wanted. To not be loved. To know that you're just another burden and a failure to your family's expectations. Now imagine a little girl having to endure through all of that.

To this day, I still find myself crying to that. Because it happened to me and it hurt, a lot.

I was a child in a horrible situation. I couldn't do anything. It felt hopeless as each one of us was torn apart in pain and suffering.

Xena used to tell me about "the first failure". I remember it clearly. We were in her room, she was 10, I was 7, sitting on her bed painting our nails. What was supposed to be a fun activity turned somber as Xena looked me dead in the eye and asked, "Do you know what the first failure is?"

I remember being so confused. I was only 7 at the time. Sure, I was already more "mature" due to my father's teachings and mother's lectures, but this was a concept I had never heard of before. The sad thing is, this concept never applied to me. It wasn't for me. It was for Xena, and only Xena.

I only shook my head at her before she went into detail about it. All I could feel from it was pity. "Think of the first failure as this. You're born into the world, hoping to have a loving and caring family for who you are. Instead, those dreams get crushed as you realize from the beginning that you're not wanted here. Your parents, the people who have birthed you in the beginning for one specific purpose, don't want you. They see you as a burden and make it clear to you that you'll always be a failure to them because you we're born with a dick between your legs!"

The rest of that day has been long since forgotten. All I could remember was seeing the slight anger from Xena. Her fists clenching, lowering her head as she sniffles to prevent the tears from falling out. I don't blame her for getting upset, after all, she was just a child.

That conversation would always stick to me though. There would be nights where I would just lay in bed, unable to sleep as I thought about that conversation. I never knew why I would refer back to that conversation, not until the day he was born.

Xavier, what father always wanted. Because having four daughters wasn't good enough for him. Dad finally got the son he wanted, so there was no need for the rest of us.

I remember that day when we first visited him in the hospital, I can remember every detail clearly. And I feel horrible when I think about it. For I wasn't happy when he came into the world. I was mimicking Xena, not caring, feeling dull and empty. By now, both her and I have been through a lot with mom and dad. We knew that this baby would suffer like the rest of us.

I tried to somewhat be a decent sister. At first, I didn't want to take my anger out in him. He didn't ask to be born in a sexist family. So I would just hide in my room instead, studying early so I can leave early once I'm 18. As long as I didn't have to come into contact with him, we can live somewhat peacefully in the same house.

I only avoided him because of dad. Just by looks alone was a striking comparison to dad. He looked just like him, a spitting image. That's what I hated most. I hated dad, with my entire being I hated him, but that hate would spill over and hurt the innocent soon enough.

It wasn't meant to be like this, but it happened one day. Dad called me into his office, I was 11 at the time, he was angry about something I did. I can't remember what. All u remember was him yelling at me. Commanding me to look at him while he's speaking, only for him to slap me a few times. I think he broke my glasses that day as well.

It hurt and once I was allowed to leave, I was sobbing my way out of his office door, carrying my broken glasses with me. I went upstairs to go hide in my room like always, until I saw Xavier coloring in the floor in the middle of the hallway. Just something about him sparked anger in me despite the tears still flowing from my face. He wasn't even in my way to get to my room, he didn't do anything wrong.

But I went out of my way, I threw my glasses at him before getting close and slapping him as hard as I could across the face. "I HATE YOU!" I yelled at him before I ran off to my room, slamming the door and locking it. I could hear his crying from outside, I tried to ignore it using my ability but the guilt was already sweeping through the cracks.

It was a horrible night from there on out. Not only did mom yell at me, dad slapped me again and took away my door privileges for a week, but I was sent to bed with no dinner that night and in the mist of all of it I was having a internal battle with myself. The guilt trying to make me feel bad but my anger trying to justify my actions. It was truly a horrible night, and I just wanted it to end. I was so fueled by hate and anger that one thought led to another, and before I knew it, I was standing at the foot of the bed of Xavier's room, late at night.

Everyone else was asleep. He was asleep, vulnerable, and unaware. I had my shot. I could have had my kill. I could have taken that knife and jammed it in his throat. All just to spite dad. All just to I can get back at the man who has slapped me. Who has hurt me multiple times. Who has hurt everyone in this household in some way.

I could have killed my brother that night. I could have, but the guilt stop me. I'm glad it did. I would have felt horrible if I actually killed him. He was just a child like me. He didn't ask for this. He didn't ask to look like dad. He isn't dad.

That realization made me feel awful. Not just because I was about to kill someone. No, I was about to kill a innocent child who I didn't even see as a person, just a reflection of someone I truly hated. With the hate of my father, the guilt of standing there with a knife at hand, and with the realization that I had let hate blind me to the point where I didn't see my brother for who he is all caused me to slowly drop and break down crying. I think I slept in Xavier's bed that night, holding him close and sobbing sorry to him the entire night.

All I could say was sorry.

From that day on, I tried to improve myself and be somewhat of a better sister. At first, it was hard, considering the trauma from dad, but slowly, I started to spend more time with my brother. I don't regret it. It wasn't as bad as I expected. On the contrary, I actually enjoyed being around him more. I would go as far as even defending him when needed.

I wanted to make up for what I have done. To be a better sister and to let him know that it wasn't him who I hated. I didn't want to be a horrible sister. So I hope he has forgotten about the slap, but even if he hasn't, I want him to know that I'm sorry.