#which is a HIGH bar btw

[bidokja]

I thought you kin kdj?

anon i hope this is a joke cause if this is a genuine question it is the singlemost scathing read i have ever recieved in my life 👏 bravo

[hanzajesthanza]

actually wait. a full cauldron with water is really heavy. dandelion was right to ask her if she needed help. because milva did carry that full cauldron from the river back to the sand on her own. and making this more interesting is that when they have to take it off the fire later, both cahir and regis lift it off together. so milva is as strong as cahir and regis combined? a result of the draw weight of her bow? enough to knock out a man with her fists? i need to see her arms. for science

[capn-twitchery]

devastating epiphany that somehow reclusive nobody, persuasive -100, normalman grace has more actual, close friends than twitch*

twitch knows 500x more people than grace. they talk to an absurd amount of people all day everyday but they leaned so hard into refusing to be known by anyone that now This happened

(*grace has like Two close friends. by the way.)

[softservesoymilk]

BATTLE IN THE CENTRE OF THE MIND CONTINUES TO BE ONE OF THE MOST TROPES EVER

[felixravinstills]

Every time someone is like “the mentors are problematic” I remember the time that someone said about asoiaf “it’s not about whose more morally correct, it’s about whose your favorite sexual predator” (I’ve seen the war crimes version for hotd and referring to asoiaf too don’t worry)

[so-i-did-this-thing]

So sorry if you've answered this before, but do you have any tips for how to tell if something is actually 30s/40s vintage cut or a mix between vintage and modern? I've seen you talk a couple of times about how a company's vests will be too long and their jackets too short (or something similar), but I don't know if that's a "the vest shall be precisely two inches below the apex of the wearer's elbow" type thing or just something you get an eye for once you do it a lot.

There are rough Rules, but you're really best off by developing your eye. "How to read a suit" is a great book, btw, for learning how suits have changed over time.

Start a "look book" of vintage photos of men in garments you like. Use actual vintage photos (or movie stills) of real people and *not* fashion drawings. You want to get good at deconstructing the vintage suit silhouette -- generally, what makes the torso more "V" shaped and the legs longer.

Let's use Jimmy Stewart as an example:

This is a great photo that shows off where trousers hit at the natural waist. It also shows a period tie length, how full the legs are, how the pleats sit, the full length trouser crease, the wide jacket lapels, and shoulders that extend beyond the natural shoulder.

These photos show where waistcoats and knitwear hit. You can also see the waistcoat has a high neckline, and, despite being short, has a lot more buttons than modern cut. The waistcoat also has a sort of fishtail look when that bottom button is undone.

These garments don't extend much past the (also high) trouser waistband. They do not cover the hips. Also note that the waistcoat *is* form-fitting, a rare garment of this era that is "slim".

This is a good example of coat length -- see how his coat hits between the two joints on his thumb. Also note his trousers - a wide turnup/cuff, and how they don't have a "break" in this case (aka, they don't spill over on to his shoes, but are a perfect length to completely hide the socks).

Some other fun details are the double breast pockets, some kind of collar bar, the spearpoint (long and pointed down) shirt collar.

And here, you can see how the suit coat nips in at the waist. This, combined with the wide cut shoulders, gives more of a "V" shape.

Now compare to these two Thomas Farthing cuts (no major shade - I have several garments from them, but also think their suiting would be so much better with an accurately vintage silhouette).

See how short the coat on the left is? It barely hits his wrist! It also doesn't look like it nips in at the waist. He looks like a rectangle and not a "V".

And the waistcoat on the right - that torso is so long! The waistcoat should end roughly where those pocket flaps are, instead of going over the hips. It also fits a bit loose - not much of a snatched waist look. Again, the impression is of a rectangle.

The trousers are... fine (they tend to not be wide enough), but since the other details are off, the trousers can't really do their job of making the legs look long.

As you dial in your look and shop around, try to shop online from places that show the clothing on a model -- that will at least help you see general proportions and silhouette.

Once you develop your eye, you can translate your ideal look to measurements that work for your own body. It might be a bit of trial and error, but once you get a great-fitting piece, measure it and start your own custom measurements sheet. Then, shop based on those measurements vs what is actually on a label or what your body is.

It is important not to solely go off of your body measurements. This is because of the concept of "ease", which is how loose fitting a garment is. I like my coats to have enough ease to layer in a sweater/jumper, and my shirts to have a boxy cut - not slim. This has meant that I've started wearing a slightly larger size than modern fashion would put me in (because modern fashion tries to be form-fitting). But in the vintage silhouette, that larger size *works*!

I hope this all helps. It all boils down to what *you* like, which doesn't have to be "accurate". But it will help your fashion journey if you're able to articulate what does and does not work in an outfit for you.

[airybcby]

heloooo airy! can i order a cappucino, with marshmallows, hot served, with barou? (BTW SUPER EXCITED FOR THIS EVENT!)

order up!

hot cappucino add marshmallows!

જ⁀✦ miss americana & the heartbreak prince

( barou shoei x reader )

♡ a/n — for my for here or to go event! find the menu here! (masterlist )

♡ word count — 2.2k

♡ content — barou shoei x reader, kinda gn? prob more fem, friends to lovers, late night convos, secret crush (kind of), kinda au where blue lock isnt a thing?, really just normal HS, mention of Barou's family, not proofread.

♡ synopsis — You've known Barou Shoei for a long time, but how long can you keep your feelings from him?

── .��� you play stupid games, you win stupid prizes

Barou Shouei moves in the summer before second year of middle school.

You’re in your room when you see it happen — a sleek car, a mountain of moving boxes, and a boy who looks like he was carved from granite itself, standing stiffly in front of the front door while two movers argue over where to put a lamp.

You watch from your window, biting into a popsicle, eyes squinting. 

He doesn’t talk to anyone. Doesn’t help unload. Just crosses his arms and watches everyone else work.

And later that night, when your eyes drift toward his window again, you spot him inside — arranging his books by color.

Then by height.

Then changing it again.

You time it. He spends thirty-five minutes adjusting his pencil case.

So, naturally, you knock on his door the next day.

Three times.

You’re wearing a messy hoodie and pajama shorts, hands on your hips.

When he opens the door, he stares at you blankly — that same intensity from the window now aimed directly at your face. 

You smile like it doesn’t affect you.

“Hi! Come help me clean my room.”

And Barou Shoei — a boy you’ve never spoken to before — slams the door in your face.

You’d be embarrassed if it wasn’t so funny.

He doesn’t know you. He will, though. You make sure of it.

A few days later, you spot him again in his window — cleaning his desk for the fourth time in a week. 

You lean out of yours and launch a pencil toward his closed glass. Then another. 

Then a paper airplane with “stop being antisocial” scrawled in pink marker.

The fourth pencil hits dead center and bounces off the pane.

Barou slides his window open with the kind of rage you’d expect from a villain in a drama.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he calls.

You beam. “You talk!”

“I was cleaning.”

“Obsessively,” you grin. “Come help me clean my room instead.”

He stares like you’re speaking a different language. “No.”

But he doesn’t close the window.

And you keep talking.

That’s the real beginning of everything.

By the time you’re in high school, it’s become routine.

He’s your closest friend — though Barou never uses that word. 

You walk home together (sometimes two steps behind because he walks too fast), sit in silence in each other’s rooms after long days (his: spotless, yours: organized chaos), and share late-night conversations across your windows.

You leave your curtains open at night, lamps warm, music drifting.

Sometimes you work quietly in tandem, other times you swap notes, complain about teachers, or argue over which protein bar brand is best.

You’re the one who made him try strawberry milk.

He’s the one who remembered your test dates and bought your favorite snacks without ever admitting it.

He never lets anyone else close. But you’re in. 

Somehow, despite the way he snarls and glares and rolls his eyes — you’re in.

The truth is, you like him.

You’ve liked him since the day he opened that window.

He’s sharp-tongued and stubborn and infuriating.

But also quiet, observant, reliable in ways no one ever gives him credit for.

Sometimes, when you catch him looking at you — really looking, like you’re the only person in the world — your breath stutters in your throat and you think: maybe he likes you too.

But he never says anything. Never does anything. Just keeps letting you into his life, one quiet moment at a time.

So you don’t say anything either.

It’s raining one night when he knocks on your window.

Not his usual call. A real knock.

You open it, blinking. “You okay?”

He climbs in on the ladder you two set up your first year of high school — a little damp, hair mussed, shirt sticking slightly to his chest.

“Power went out at mine,” he grumbles. “Can’t sleep.”

“Your backup generator didn’t kick in?”

“I didn’t turn it on,” he mutters, settling on your bed. “Didn’t think it’d storm.”

You toss him a towel and flick your lamp on lower.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you say casually, trying not to show how fast your heart is racing. “Storms are always better with company.”

Barou hums, toweling his hair with sharp motions.

Then quiet.

For a while it’s just the storm.

Then—

“Do you ever think about…moving away?”

You turn, surprised. “What?”

“Like. Leaving. Doing something bigger. Somewhere else.”

You blink. “Is this about soccer?”

Barou shrugs. “Maybe.”

“You’ll go pro,” you say softly. “You’re so good. I’d follow your games even if you moved to Iceland.”

He snorts. “I hate the cold.”

You smile.

He doesn’t look at you when he says, “Would you actually come?”

Your chest tightens. “Anywhere.”

The storm rumbles outside.

And Barou Shouei — usually so composed, so shut off — looks at you with something wide and wondering in his eyes.

But he doesn’t say anything else.

It was supposed to be just another lazy weekend.

The match was on — a big one. 

National-level players, maybe even a few names Barou mentioned once, long ago, in that rare voice of reverence. 

You’re sprawled across his bed, half-eaten snacks on the floor, and the blue glow of the TV casting flickers across his neatly kept room.

You’ve done this a hundred times.

But today, something feels different.

Barou is quiet.

Quieter than usual.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, one leg bent, arms resting across his knee. Focused. Too focused.

You glance over at him, grinning. “You know that’s gonna be you one day, right?”

Nothing.

Not even the usual scoff.

You nudge him with your foot. “Barou.”

He lets out a grunt. “Tch.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s it? That’s all I get?”

He doesn’t look away from the screen. “It’s just a game.”

You sit up straighter, frowning. “It’s not just a game. This is what you���ve always wanted.”

He finally turns to you — and for a second, something unreadable crosses his face. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not starting anything,” you reply, gentler now. “I just… I know you. You’ve been talking about playing pro since middle school.”

“Yeah. Well.” His gaze drops. “I’m not going.”

You blink. “What?”

He shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like it’s always been this way. “I’m not leaving.”

The words sink like concrete in your chest. “You’re… what do you mean?”

“I’m staying,” he says again. Matter of fact. Final.

You sit up fully now. “But why?”

He doesn’t answer.

You press, voice slightly rising. “Shoei—this has been your dream since we were twelve. You used to train in the rain. You used to talk about living overseas. You—”

“I changed my mind.”

“No. You didn’t.” You shake your head. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.” Your voice cracks. “What’s really going on?”

He stands suddenly. Too fast. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“No, you never want to talk,” you fire back, standing too. “You want to bury it, pretend it doesn’t exist. But I see you, Barou.”

“Then stop.”

The words hit like a slap. The silence that follows is deafening.

You swallow, tears stinging your eyes. “You’re not staying for your sisters. Or your mom. You’re staying because you’re scared.”

He flinches. Just barely. But it’s enough.

You take a step forward. “You’re scared of what happens when you don’t have us around. When you’re alone.” You jab your finger into his chest. “You’re terrified.”

He’s silent. Breathing hard. Jaw clenched.

“There’s nothing here to stay for,” you say, quieter now. “We’ll all support you no matter where so just-”

That’s when it happens.

He moves. One step. Two.

And then he grabs your face and kisses you.

It’s not soft. It’s not sweet.

It’s years of tension, pressure, held breath. 

It’s all the things he’s never said, never let himself admit.

You gasp into it, stunned — and then melt, hands fisting the front of his shirt. You kiss him back like you’ve been waiting your whole life. Because maybe you have.

When he pulls away, you’re breathless, eyes wide.

“I don’t want to leave,” he says, voice hoarse. “Because I don’t want to leave you.”

You stare at him. “Shoei…”

“I know it’s stupid,” he mutters, eyes darting away. “I know I’m throwing shit away. I just—” his hands drop from your face, falling to his sides. “I don’t care.”

You reach for him.

This time, you kiss him. Softer. Calmer. Like you’re grounding him.

When you pull back, you rest your forehead against his. “You're not throwing this away. Not for me. Yeah?”

He exhales shakily. “I don’t-”

You smile. “Just do it. I’ll always be there.”

He doesn’t walk you home after practice the next day.

Which is… weird.

Because he always does.

Even if the team’s dragging themselves through drills, even if his backpack’s broken and spilling gear, even if you don’t talk the whole way home — he walks beside you, shoulder to shoulder, always.

But today?

You wait at the gate.

Five minutes. Then ten.

When you finally peek inside the gym, you catch a glimpse of him ducking out the back. He’s gone before you can call out.

You think — maybe he had to rush home.

Maybe it’s nothing.

Except the next morning, you wake up to overcast skies and Barou’s bedroom window is closed.

The curtains are drawn.

And not in the many years you’ve known him — through rain, typhoons, cold snaps and blazing summer — have you ever seen that curtain closed.

He’s shutting you out.

Literally.

You try to knock, once. Twice. 

Like that first time all those years ago. You even toss a pencil at his window.

Nothing.

On the third day, it hits you. He’s not ignoring you.

He’s hiding.

You see him at school — across the field during practice, in the cafeteria line, in the hallway — and every time, his eyes flick away the moment you look up. 

The worst part? It’s not even cruel.

It’s cowardice.

And that makes your heart ache in ways it never has before.

Because now you know. 

Now you’ve felt it — the way his hand curled behind your neck when he kissed you, the way he pulled you in like he couldn’t breathe without you. 

And now it’s like none of it ever happened.

Except it did.

And you can’t take it anymore.

So on the fourth day, you storm across the street, climb the little gate that separates your houses, and knock on his door with the weight of every word he hasn’t said.

No answer.

You try again. Louder this time. “Barou!”

You don’t care who hears.

Still nothing.

You pound once more and then snap, “If you don’t open this door, I’m going to make a scene.”

Silence.

Then… footsteps. Slow. Reluctant.

When the door creaks open, he’s there — tired eyes, hair down, tension across his shoulders like he’s bracing for a fight.

He stares.

You stare back. “Really?” you whisper. “This is what you do? After everything?”

He doesn’t speak.

So you keep going.

“You avoid me. You act like it didn’t happen. You shut me out like I’m some stranger—like we didn’t grow up together, like I don’t know exactly who you are.” Your voice shakes. “What the hell, Shoei?”

“I didn’t mean to,” he mutters.

“You kissed me.”

“I know.”

“You told me you didn’t want to leave because of me.”

“I know.”

You throw your arms up. “Then what is this?”

He runs a hand through his hair, breathing hard like he’s trying to keep himself steady. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Yes, you do,” you say, quieter now. “You just don’t want to.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then look at me and say it isn’t.”

And he does.

Slowly. Reluctantly.

Red eyes meeting yours.

“I meant it,” he says, voice low and rough. “Every damn word.”

You feel your heart stutter.

“But I thought…” He looks away again. “If I let you in, I’d lose everything I worked for.”

You blink. “Shoei…”

“I didn’t know if I could be that guy. The one who can be a boyfriend. Someone who—” he cuts off, jaw clenched. “I can’t mess this up.”

Your voice breaks. “Then why are you pushing me away?”

“Because I already feel like I don’t deserve you,” he says. “And you haven’t even kissed me twice.”

Silence.

Then, slowly, you step forward.

You take his hand.

And you squeeze it three times.

Maybe one a little too hard to get your frustration through to him. Oops.

“I didn’t kiss you back because I had to,” you whisper. “I kissed you back because I wanted to. Because I’ve wanted to for a long time.”

His eyes flicker.

Your fingers curl around his wrist. “You don’t get to pretend that didn’t happen. I won’t let you.”

He breathes out like he’s been holding his lungs hostage. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

Another breath.

Then: “You’re still gonna throw pencils at my window?”

You smile, watery. “If you keep being an idiot, yeah.”

He huffs, barely a laugh — and then steps forward, arms wrapping around your waist, forehead dropping against yours. 

For the first time in days, he lets himself breathe with you again.

And this time?

You know he won’t shut the curtain.

i LOVE barou so i'm very happy you sent this ask in :)))

i hope you liked it!!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!!

⋆.˚✮ 2025 ©airybcby ✮˚.⋆

[2ndkaiser]

MOUTHWASHING CREW HEADCANONS

This is my first time writing. I’m not the best at this, I’m just trying to pick up a new hobby so don’t come at me if this is ass. These are my headcanons, this is what I think, my headcanons do not need to be like yours.

꩜ Warnings: Extremely small mention of NSFW content for Daisuke’s part, one swear word.

CAPTAIN CURLY (PRE-CRASH)

Has a collection of cowboy stuff he’s extremely proud of. Pridefully shows it to the rest of the crew.

I like to think he’s not that much of a sweet tooth, but once in a while he eats a spoonful of biscoff spread because he claims that “Its not too sweet” but really he just can’t go one month without the taste of biscoff.

A terrible cook. Absolutely awful. I’m talking frying an egg and made it undercooked but overcooked at the same time.

Used to take immaculate care of his hair back on earth but ran out of products within 4 months on board.

Definitely misses his shiny curls…

Genuinely loves the taste of Alpen yoghurt bars, he could down 20 of them in one sitting.

Once asked Jimmy to help cut his hair and ended up with a frizzy bob look for a while.

CO-PILOT JIMMY

Y’know how one of his canon hobbies is weightlifting? Well he only started lifting because Curly did, he wanted to appear buffer than him.

He cant lift past 50kg btw.

Has a favorite shirt hes too attached to throw away. It’s a Misfits band t-shirt which now has holes in it, the hem of the shirt is practically falling off but he refuses to throw it out.

I know people like to say he probably stinks but honestly he probably smells faint of wood and light musk. It’s not the worst, kind of smells pleasant actually.

Heavily dislikes board games because every time he’s slightly falling behind the rest of the crew he rage quits, gaslighting himself that the game is rigged and storms off.

Secretly likes The Hungry Caterpiller. (Only because it was the only book he could afford as a child.)

Likes the smell of gasoline. I’m not elaborating.

NURSE ANYA

Originally, the Tulpar didn’t have any board games (considering how shitty Pony Express is), she brought them on herself. Theres now a small box of games for everyone tucked away under the table in the living room.

Ran one of those small businesses that sold slime when she was younger but stopped because she got slime stuck in her hair so bad she had to cut her hair.

Back on earth, she was often invited to school trips as a nurse or a medic. One of her fondest memories was when she was brought on a 5 day school residential trip to the beach with 9th graders. She got to go snorkeling with them and became close friends with a few other med students who also got invited.

Never skips leg day.

Theres a hidden cupboard of kids cereal no one knew about but her. She gate-kept it and pours herself a bowl every morning since the other cupboard of cereal is only filled with cornflakes and the granola ones.

Gave a box to Daisuke though but only because he promised not to tell anyone after he saw her taking it off the shelf.

Bonds with Daisuke over animes like Ouran High School Host Club, Assassination Classroom and Life Lesson of Uramichi Oniisan. They’re best friends now.

INTERN DAISUKE

I don’t care what y’all say, he loves playing Wii Sports, specifically tennis and bowling.

Once got scolded by his mother because she thought he was watching hentai. In reality, it was just an anime where the female lead sounds like shes making explicit noises every time she gasps. Poor Daisuke.

Wants to go to Hawaii so bad. He tells his friends that he just wants to go because he loves sunny weather and the beach but really he adores those tanned Sanrio plushes exclusive to Hawaii.

A sucker for malatang. He has the highest spice tolerance out of the whole crew and brought a few packs of Shin ramen to eat. (He offered Swansea one and later saw a sprinting Swansea dashing towards the vending machine for water.)

Won’t be able to sleep for MONTHS after seeing horror movie.

Surprisingly hates gummy bears. Claims the texture is too thick to chew on.

MECHANIC SWANSEA

Tried to convince Pony Express to let his dog on board. Got refused.

Makes a mean Texas Smoked Brisket which he used to make for family gatherings back on earth. Everyone would get upset when he doesn’t show up with one in his hands.

Uses Daisuke as his tool boy like those dads who make their sons hand them tools. Daisuke holds a flashlight for him all the time and Swansea gets annoyed when the light isn’t shining where it’s supposed to be.

Fears balding and asked Anya how to deal with hair loss. She gave him her set of scalp oils to use and now he has the best smelling hair on the ship.

Used to be a jock in his school days. Pulled like 50 girls.

Has a special pair of fun socks his wife gave to him on his 30th birthday, he brought it on the ship because it reminds him of her. Though, everyone laughs at the mini pepperoni pizza patterns on them.

Thanks for reading, this is my first time writing and I have no clue if this is what I’m supposed to be doing. Requests are opened but I don’t have any rules or a masterlist yet. Take care.

[szhreii]

A very very wild crack theory: Maybe they're Muu's parents?

Alright, so I saw this tweet long time ago, and I was wondering what could possibly happen between Muu and Kazui in T3, like it's gotta be intentional right??

Not to mention in Kazui's bday art his watch is now gold and there's bee in it🐝

How did I come up with that theory? Well it's just that the bartender is always associated with gold, example, his wedding ring, his pins and the ornaments (?) at the bar, so I think it has something to do with him

Although I don't really want it to be taken seriously because it's a crack theory.. I think there's still possibilities

In both novelgram prisoners have connections/know each other, so i think it's not too far fetched to theorize about this and it'd be cool if MILGRAM do the same

Muu doesn't seem to know much about her dad. When answering questions about him, she always says "I think" she's unsure about it. Also guys Muu literally said her dad has multiple jobs. In Kazui's first birthday TL, he said that his friend doesn't live close to him and he rarely meets them. It's possible he doesn't know what his friend's daughter looks like.

Uhh starting with, Muu and bar lady have the same eyelashes

But wait their hair color are different though?? I have explanations for this, naturally blonde hair usually darkens as you age. This is why blonde hair is much more common in babies than adults. There's also another factor, which is hormonal changes especially during puberty (which means Muu is quite lucky lol), pregnancy etc. can affect melanin production. Your hair can even go blonde to brown because of this. Also I know that MILGRAM itself is very animek but like we see Mikoto's hair dyes fade during T2, besides Muu is the only prisoner with colored eyelashes instead of black eyelashes like other prisoners (like in their sprites y'know) and in Crying B, Es said that Muu must've stands out a lot (Idk Es there's literally a guy who has blue hair)

BTW you guys ever wondered about the wedding topper on Kazui's bday art?? Like why is the bride blonde? Well I think it might be the bar lady because I color picked and compared them and it's just few shades darker, which fits with this theory

Based on Muu's guess about her dad's age, it can be said that her parents married at a pretty young age considering in 2000s the average age of first time marriage for Japanese guy was 28/29

Next up, do you know that the cocktail she's having is called Manhattan? Which is known as the queen of cocktails dunno if this is just JP thingy or not. Meanwhile Muu T2 VD is called Queen B, crazy coincidence (sad fact about Manhattan though, in JP, cocktail language for Manhattan is "Heartrending love" or "Love that brings you pain")

"Import foreign furniture from overseas" chair in Half maybe? I'll elaborate the chair in half has Fleur de lis. Though I wouldn't count it as a proof due to the image quality

But welll Kazui's mask has Fleur de lis and Muu has it on her bday (obviously)

And Muu said that her dad might be a landlord, that reminds me, Kazui and Hinako live in an apartment right?

Muu's hobby is taking care of tropical fish, meanwhile Kazui's childhood friend hobby is fishing coincidence or coincidence (don't remember the TL so I use his interro instead)

Oh yea back to the wedding topper, I feel like the tailcoat tuxedo resembles a fish tail because large gaps(?) like that is pretty uncommon for a tailcoat tuxedo so I think it's on purpose idk. The bride wears a pearl necklace anyway what I'm saying is that all are related to sea

In Muu's T2 sprite we see her wearing gold shell earrings, which is again related to sea

And like Muu's mom is from Nice, France, that place is famous for its ocean and beach. Heck even Muu said it herself. This is MILGRAM guys even the place they chose have a reason for it, for example Muu lives in Minato, it has a high cost of living and do you guys know more than 10% of Minato’s total population is foreigners? Like they can chose something generic like Paris but they chose Nice specifically

Lastly, I've seen ppl mention about the missing ring in Half but guys Bartender usually take off their wedding ring so it wouldn't get lost/damaged when bartending

I think that's all thank you for listening to my yapping session🙏🙏 Also about the location I don't really think it's really a problem because adult don’t necessarily live close to each other… especially since Kazui use birthday to have an excuse to contact them yk

[lunaticgf]

Sevika Headcanons 𝜗𝜚

Unspoken Desires.

— 🦇 MDNI. stranger!Sevika x stranger!Reader. Fem reader btw. Tension. Alcohol & Drugs. She hates you at first lol. But that just makes the sex better later on. Self indulgent. Violence. NOT FLUFF. Kinda enemies to lovers ? Lowkey !bullySevika. SADIST SEVIKA. !cluelessReader. Slowburn dabble?? JEALOUSY. Possessiveness. Highkey abusive. No sex but suggestive ™️.

𖦹 When you talk to her, she thinks you sound like a naive child and wonders how you survived in the world with your personality.

𖦹 She thinks you’re weak and easy to snap [you are.] Eventually down the road she will prove that theory. She also thinks you’re pathetic and desperate for attention.

𖦹 She hates how you never stop asking questions, especially about why she looks so grumpy. Don’t even get me started when you two get paired to deal with some dirty work in the undercity. She once tried to bribe some zaunite to trade partners IN FRONT OF YOU.

𖦹 You’re always smiling which makes her want to smack the smile right off your face. She doesn’t understand how someone can be cheery all the time and she hates how close that energy is to her.

𖦹 She hates how clueless you are about everything and finds it annoying that you don’t seem to understand when you’re being insulted. She’s never had a conversation with you where she doesn’t have to hold herself back from saying anything snarky towards you.

𖦹 She secretly gets satisfaction from making you feel insecure and uncomfortable with her cold demeanor. You’ll think she’s finally warming up to you but in reality she is just thinking cruel insults to say to your face next and imagining that sad look on your face. She really enjoys mocking you. She likes to see the frown form on your face when she insults you.

𖦹 She’s probably secretly tried to get you wasted or high multiple times just to see you let loose and drop your “goody two shoes” act. With that being said, she often makes “jokes” about taking you out to a nearby bar to spike your drink. The look of terror on your face always gets a loud chuckle outta her. Her favorite joke to make is saying “I’ll get you drunk enough to do things you’ll probably regret” just to see your reaction. (🫠)

𖦹 Sevika laughs to herself about how you would probably be a sloppy drunk, stumbling over your words and giggling at everything. She can only imagine how you’d act when slurring your words and how it would probably drive her mad, but she’s dying to see it

𖦹 She finds herself subconsciously protective of you, making sure nobody hurts you or takes advantage of your super trusting nature. Tells herself it’s for everyone’s safety rather than admitting her locked up emotions.

𖦹 Drunk Sevika is still as mean and sarcastic as sober Sevika, only louder and with even less of a filter. She’s brutally honest, she loves mocking you and pointing out your every flaw she sees in you. She becomes bolder, her snarky remarks are harsher and she gets even more annoyed by your cheerful attitude. She’s extra touchy-feely when drunk, often leaning on you and invading your personal space like it’s nothing. [She reeks of whiskey and tobacco in your bubble. You can’t help but be drawn to it.]

𖦹 If you try to walk away she’ll just grab your arm and pull you back, wanting to keep her favorite target within reach. When Sevika grabs your arm, her grip on your wrist is tight and unforgiving. She loves to see the surprise in your eyes when she yanks you back and doesn’t let go, forcing you to stay in place. Even if you resist or try to pry her hand off, she tightens her grip and grins at your helpless efforts.

𖦹 Her sharp tongue is just as deadly as her punches as she mocks your every move, highlighting your weaknesses and gloating when she gets the upper hand. Throughout the entire fight, Sevika keeps a dark smirk on her face, enjoying having you at her mercy. She’s definitely enjoys fighting you while secretly trying to deny her growing feelings for you.

𖦹 As soon as you start crying, She leans in closer, her voice filled with cruel satisfaction as she says something like “awww, is little old me making you cry?” The smirk on her face gets wider and wider, enjoying your vulnerability as you cry in the middle of the fight. Sevika is loving every second of this, your tears are like fuel to her. She’s getting a rush from seeing you break down as she towers over you, still smirkin. “Aww, did I hurt you?” She mocks, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Are you crying because of me? That’s cute.” “Maybe you should’ve thought twice before picking a fight with me. Now look at you, sniffling and sniveling like a pathetic wreck.”

𖦹 Sevika is caught off guard by your sudden distance She doesn’t like it, hates the sudden space and the lack of your presence. She’s annoyed and frustrated when you stay distant, probably thinking “why isn’t she chasing me? Why isn’t she trying to come closer?”

𖦹 You avoiding her makes Sevika more observant of you, her gaze constantly drifts to you whenever you’re near. She starts having thoughts she can’t quite explain, like maybe she misses the way you used to banter with her and how your carefree attitude would make her roll her eyes. Trying to figure out what’s going on in your head and what’s causing you to avoid her like this

𖦹 Sevika couldn’t believe what she was seeing. There you were, standing in some shady back alley, with another girl standing way too close to you for her liking, the girl’s hand grazing teasingly across your chest. Sevika’s eyes darkened as a wave of intense jealousy and anger washed over her. Without a second thought, she marched straight over to where you and the girl were standing, her footsteps echoing loudly against the damp pavement. As she drew closer, you and the girl seemed to notice her presence. Your eyes widened, the girl’s hand stilling on your chest . . . .

❥・・ ┈┈┈┈┈‪༚༅༚˳ . ୨୧ . ˳༚༅༚┈┈┈┈ ・・❥

Annnnnd that’s all folks. I might turn this dabble into an actual fic or something. This was super fun to do and if you made it this far we are besties. You lil freak.

[candycandy00]

Hi! I decided I'd try my luck with this. I love your writing btw, your Doll House fics are just amazing. Congratulations on 2k followers, you deserve it! Here's my request for the event:

Character: Tomura Shigaraki

AU Setting: Prison

Spice Level: NSFW or Slightly Spicy

Mood: Writers choice

Kinks: Daddy kink, size difference, virgin reader, praise kink, and if you want, non-con.

I was thinking maybe Tomura is a prisoner and Reader is a guard working at the prison. Thank you! I'm excited to see the results!

Shower Duty - A Shigaraki x Reader Fic

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Quirkless AU. Shigaraki is a prisoner, reader is a guard. Straddles the line between Dubcon and Noncon, so beware! 

Part of CandyCandy’s 2k followers event! Any feedback is adored! Dividers by @benkeibear.

You’ve only been working as a guard at this high security prison for three weeks, and you already want to quit. 

It started out so well. The pay is good, the warden isn’t a complete jerk, you get along with your coworkers, and even the prisoners are relatively well behaved. Sure, they occasionally flirt with you or make inappropriate comments, but as the only woman guard, you’re not surprised. 

However, a week ago you were transferred to a different section of the prison, and that’s when you found out that Shigaraki Tomura, the infamous serial killer and terrorist, is being held here. 

Everyone in the country knows his name. Everyone lived in fear of him while he was on the loose, carving a path of murder and mayhem across the nation. And everyone celebrated when he was finally caught and sentenced to life in prison, but the public was never informed of which prison he would spend the rest of his days in. 

That was six years ago. You were a teenager then, but even you had watched the trial on the news, being equal parts terrified and fascinated by the thin man with long white hair and peculiar red eyes. He had remained totally silent throughout the trial, showing no emotion whatsoever. No remorse, but no pride or malice either. At one point he looked directly at the camera, and the intense look in his eyes gave you nightmares for weeks. 

So when your coworker led you to a cell with no bars, only a tiny window slot to look through, you were shocked when you looked inside and saw the notorious killer.

He was sitting on his cot, reading a book. He looked a little different, naturally after six years. His hair was longer, still that shocking white color, and he was more toned than you remembered. He probably lifted weights like the other prisoners did for recreation. He glanced up at the window slot, and his ruby eyes met yours. By reflex, you pulled away. 

For the next few days, you had to patrol this hallway. No one ever went into Shigaraki’s cell, for any reason. Food was pushed through the slot on a tray. He was taken from his cell once every night to shower. It had to be when there were no other prisoners in the shower room, because the guards needed to focus their attention on him. Two armed guards had to escort him to the shower and then escort him back. 

The guards didn’t seem that worried about him. In six years he has been completely docile and quiet. He rarely speaks and shows zero inclination for violence. Actually, he’s a model prisoner. At least that’s what the other guards told you. 

Once, you were one of the guards in charge of taking him to the shower room. You tried to avoid looking at him as he undressed in front of you and the guard standing beside you. But it was literally your job to watch him, as awkward as it was. He didn’t seem embarrassed to have a woman in the room, probably because he has a surprisingly nice body, well sculpted, with impressive proportions. 

After he finished showering, he dried off and dressed in fresh clothes, and as you stepped beside him to escort him back to his cell, he spoke to you for the first time. 

“Enjoy the show?”

You looked at him in shock, more from hearing his voice for the first time than from his words. But once those words sank in, your face flushed with heat and you frowned at him. “Murderers aren’t my type,” you shot back, and nothing more was said. 

Today, three days later, you find yourself on shower duty again. You and a friendly coworker are standing just outside the reach of the water’s spray, watching Shigaraki lather himself up, when both your radio communicators buzz with sound. 

“Riot in Cell Block D! Everyone available head to Cell Block D to assist!”

You turn toward the door to rush over and help, but your fellow guard stops you. “I’ll go. You stay and watch him!”

You glance at Shigaraki, who is taking his time rinsing off, then back to the guard. “Wouldn’t it be better for you to stay?”

He shakes his head. “Have you ever seen a riot before? It’s wild! People are throwing punches left and right, shoving, kicking… it’s dangerous! Look, Shigaraki has been perfectly behaved since he’s been here. He’s not gonna mess up his record now. Besides, you have a gun. If he tries to make trouble, just shoot him in the leg!”

With that, the other guard runs off, leaving you alone with the wet, naked serial killer. 

You place your hand on your holstered gun, just for your own peace of mind, and watch him warily. He glances over at you, and his eyes widen very slightly. He’s probably surprised to find you alone. A hint of a grin passes over his face, and he turns his body to face you, giving you a very clear view of his nakedness. 

It makes you want to avert your eyes, but you can’t. Especially not now, being the only guard in the room. He probably knows that. 

Suddenly Shigaraki groans and grabs the wall of the shower as he staggers toward you, as if he’s dizzy. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask, your hand still on your gun. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t know…” he mumbles, holding his head with his free hand. “Feel like I’m… passing ou-“

He lurches forward, falling, and you rush to catch him in your arms. It’s simply human nature to try to catch a falling person, a reflex you can’t control. And as soon as you feel his hard, dripping wet body against yours, you realize your mistake. 

His hand moves swiftly to your gun, pulling it from the holster and tossing it across the room, far out of your reach. Your first instinct is to reach for your radio, to call for help, but he has one of your hands in a vice grip as he knocks the radio out of your other hand. It smashes on the tile floor, and you have no options left but to try to fight him off.

The struggle doesn’t last long. He’s taller and stronger than you, and he probably has a lot of experience subduing people by force. He killed a lot of people with his bare hands after all. 

He manages to knock your feet out from under you and you crash onto the wet floor as the water from the shower pours over you both. He drops down to his knees, straddling your thrashing body, and quickly pins your hands back, on either side of your head. 

“Stop fighting, or I’ll have to hurt you,” he says, his voice frighteningly calm. 

You go still, smart enough to know better than to waste your energy on a losing battle. “You’ll never escape,” you tell him, trying to sound sure of yourself. 

A disturbing grin spreads over his face. “Who said I want to escape?”

“Then what are you…?” Your voice trails off as you realize what he intends to do. “No!” you shout, struggling beneath him. 

He grips both your wrists and then slams them against the floor. “Be still, or I’ll snap your neck! And when the other guard comes back, I’ll snap his neck too! I’m serving a life sentence, I’ve got nothing to lose!”

You go limp, whimpering as he straightens up, releasing your wrists. Even with your hands free, you’re still unarmed, on your back, helpless. Trying to fight him will only get you killed, and possibly your coworker as well. You’re dealing with a murderer, so his threats are definitely not empty. 

“That’s it,” he says, lightly stroking your now wet hair, “that’s a good girl. Now keep being good for me, and you might just enjoy this.”

You look at him with venom in your eyes. “I would never-“

He covers your mouth with his own, his tongue slipping past your lips and mingling with yours. When he pulls away, he’s grinning at you again. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, where your eyes linger. You can deny it all you like, but I know what you want.”

“You’re wrong,” you tell him, looking him straight in the eyes. 

“Really? Guess we’ll see.”

You can feel the water on the floor seeping into your clothes, the edge of the shower’s spray hitting your left arm and shoulder, as his hands move to the buttons of your shirt. With nimble, steady fingers, he unbuttons them, shoving your shirt open to reveal your white lace bra. Then he pushes it up, above your breasts, exposing you. 

Turning your head to the side, you avert your eyes as his hands squeeze and rub your soft flesh. You refuse to make a sound. You won’t give him the satisfaction. 

Once he’s done groping your chest, he moves down, unbuckling your belt, then unzipping your standard gray uniform pants. You draw in a sharp breath as he yanks your pants down your legs, but otherwise remain silent. 

“Moment of truth,” he says, then he pauses. You glance back at him, and he says, “I’ll make a deal with you. If your pussy isn’t wet at all, and not from the water, I’ll stop. I won’t touch you again. But if you’re all sticky and ready for me…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. You squint your eyes closed, and he pulls your panties off before opening your legs. You feel his fingers touch you, slide into you way too easily, and then he laughs. 

“In knew it! You’re drenched.”

You open your eyes, your face hot with embarrassment. “It’s the water! I’m not… aroused.”

He holds his fingers up, moving them like scissors to show the stretchy strings of fluid. “This isn’t water.”

You look away again, tears blurring your vision. Even you don’t know why you’re turned on by him. He’s a killer! “Just… don’t hurt me,” you finally say. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Huh?” He looks confused for a moment, staring at your face with red eyes until your words click. “Wait, never? So you’re…?”

You don’t say anything to confirm it, you don’t have to. You’re waiting for some gross comment or mockery, but he just leans his face down close to your ear and says, “I’ll take care of you.”

What does that mean? Before you can react, his fingers are inside you again, probing, stroking, making you feel things you’ve never felt before. You let out a small cry, and then clamp your hand over your mouth. You swore you wouldn’t make a sound! 

Shigaraki grins down at you. “Cute,” he says, before dipping his head down to kiss your neck. He’s being strangely gentle, kissing you like a lover, making your heart flutter even as your mind rejects everything that’s happening right now. 

You feel pleasure building in your core, and you fight the feeling with everything you have. You can’t cum from being touched by this monster! You just can’t! 

Mercifully, he stops, pulling his hand away and licking his fingers. You watch him, your breaths coming faster, your heart pounding. Then, you feel his hands on your hips, holding you in place. You don’t struggle as he pushes himself inside you, slowly and carefully, looking you in the eyes. You’re not even sure if you want to struggle anymore. 

There’s a disturbing beauty to him as he hovers over you, his damp white hair spilling over his shoulders, his intense eyes shimmering. When he begins moving inside you, he starts with shallow thrusts, slightly stretching you as he goes. There’s a bit of a sting, but nothing like you expected, especially with him. 

“You’re doing so good,” he says into your ear before kissing your lips again and thrusting a bit deeper. “Being such a good girl for me.”

As he starts to go faster, harder, he reaches down with one hand and strokes your clit with his fingers, making your hips buck reflexively. A moan escapes you, but at this point you’ve stopped caring if you make noise. You both hate this and love it, and you can’t decide which emotion is stronger. 

The pleasure builds again, spiraling through your body, and this time, nothing you can do will stop it. 

You cry out as you climax, your back arching. Shigaraki has one hand on your thigh, the other buried in your hair, and he keeps fucking you deeply as you ride out the storm of pleasure, clenching tightly around him. Eventually you feel him twitch inside you, and then he cums, not even bothering to try pulling out. He coats your insides completely, looking down at you with twisted affection in his eyes. “Good girl,” he says, before pulling out of you and standing up. 

He showers off again while you scramble to put your wet clothes back on, having no idea what to do about this. And so when your fellow guard finally returns, you’re silent besides telling him you got wet catching Shigaraki when he nearly fainted. 

Your mind is racing. Shigaraki dresses and smiles at you as you escort him back to his cell, looking almost smug. 

As you lock the door, he looks at you and says, “I hope you’ll be on shower duty more often.”

[erose-this-name]

Kabru is such a brilliantly written character, one of the best in Dungeon Meshi (which is a high bar as it is, most of the main cast are similarly genius). 

His thing is that he is very friendly and nice confident and maxed out his charisma stat, but is also kinda ambitious and manipulative. But not in an overtly malicious way. Which kinda scares me.

The most impressive thing about him, writing wise, is that it’s all show-don’t-tell. He very frequently uses his charm and empathy and understanding of how people think in really clever ways.

We’re often walked through his thought process of how he does these social deductions. We’re never told he’s scarily charismatic, besides other characters reacting to him being scarily charismatic.

Kabru is a natural-born leader and social engineer with superlative skills in both, which makes him the perfect foil for Laios, who’s too autistic and unambitious that he’s not even the de facto leader of his own party that he’s the official leader of. He’s so bad at leadership that his party just, sort of, doesn’t have a leader. They just kinda argue and do stuff.

What’s also neat, and perfectly inline with Meshi’s general theme of clever and logical subversions of fantasy tropes, is that Kabru’s character design in no way clues us in on this fundamental character trait of his.

He’s sort of a human fighter / knight archetype, which in the language of fantasy RPGs is a class most would associate with being a white bread jock, chivalrousness optional.

(Laios subverts the same trope in the same way. It’s really funny that the walking exposition dump of the group looks like the character creator default preset spec’d as the most generic class available.)

If Kabru was a bard or noble and Laios a wizard, their character traits would be far less interesting

Even better is that we would expect someone who looks like Laios to have Kabru’s personality, and vice versa. Their character designs are flipped; the confident super charismatic leader is a short wide-eyed twink, while the slightly naive and very autistic monster enthusiast is a tall conventionally attractive Aryan lookin’ mf.

(see what I mean by Kabru being such a good foil for Laios?? No wonder everyone ships them, they’re perfect for each other!)

Yet, their designs also work for them. Kabru just has a face that’s easy to talk to, his piercing blue eyes and curly hair gives him a false sense of naïveté, while his iconic 👁️👁️ expression hints that there’s actually quite a bit going on inside his head. Meanwhile, Laios believably looks like someone who doesn’t know what hair conditioner is. His armor’s collar gorget thing is also pretty dorky.

You can’t trust people like that (I mean overly charismatic people with a manipulative streak, not blue-eyed twinks) because you can’t know what their real motives are. You can’t know they aren’t pretending, you can’t know they aren’t trying to or haven’t already manipulated you. How could you? When he has so much more social intelligence than you do, average socially awkward Tumblr user? He’s touched all the grass!

In episode 16 (spoilers, btw) Kabru finally meets Laios’s party, who he’s been trying to find and fight for the better part of the season, and he just decides that no confrontation is necessary. Like, immediately upon meeting the guy. Just from how Laios looked at him. He figures that since Laios didn’t seem to recognize him, they either have never met meaning he has the wrong guy, or Laios forgot meaning he didn’t think it’d be a big deal, meaning the treasure was a trap or something. Which is pretty in line with Kabru’s established ability to always roll nat 20s for every charisma and deductive reasoning check, so cool.

But he doesn’t even seem curious about which of those cases is true. (He might be interested to find out some of the treasure wasn’t dangerous, but accidentally got thrown off a bridge). Much to Rin’s dismay, he’d rather just not bring it up because that could upset the leader of the party he might be working with for the foreseeable future.

Actions speak louder than words. So, all we really learn in this scene is that Kabru’s goals and M.O. can change on a dime, and that he values reputation and political capital more than money and vengeance. More than his own party’s desire for those things. Not only is he someone with a silver tongue, but he knows its value and is determined to use it at every opportunity.

Kabru and his party might not be very good at fighting or surviving in the dungeon, in fact their frequent TPKs are a running gag. But, he also doesn’t need to be when he can just manipulate Laios’ and Shuro’s much more proficient parties into helping him.

So far, Kabru seems like the most likely one to become king of the dungeon or whatever the mcguffin is. He is the only protagonist so far who has said that’s an actual goal of his. He’s said that he doesn’t think someone like Laios who isn’t a born leader should get it.

In fact, Kabru seems to have very strong opinions on what kinds of people should be allowed to adventure in the dungeon, evidenced by the fact that he murdered an entire party over it, justified or not. Kabru seems to think that Kabru is such a leader, and he’s probably right about that, but what kind of leader? 

What would Kabru do with that kind of power if he gets it? Because I’m not sure. All I know is that he is the kind of person with the ability to use real political power to its full potential. For good, or for very, very bad.

I’m not saying that Kabru is evil or that he’s secretly gonna be the surprise villain. I dunno, I haven’t read the manga. He could just be a nice guy that’s just, like, is like that. Everything he’s done could be justified by the explanations he’s given. He actually reminds me a lot of one of my IRL friends, and I’d trust him with my life.

But, I can’t help but feel a distinct sense of unease whenever he’s on-screen. I try not to trust confident natural-born leaders like him right out of the gate. I don’t like that our instinct as humans is to blindly follow them without thinking about it.

Tyrants and psychopaths also use confidence and charm and a friendly demeanor to make people think they’re a good guy, while manipulating everyone into thinking their self-serving actions are altruistic. Benevolent, confident, skilled leaders do exist. But there exists many more snakes wearing their skin. Wolves rarely bother with sheep’s clothing, they dress as shepherds and sheepdogs.

Anyway, my point is that I think it’s kinda neat that it’s possible to overthink this much about a character whose probably just a nice guy that is the mirror opposite of an autistic person. Writing that kind of ambiguity is hard, and employing it in this way is inspired.

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

Hi love, I’d probably wear a dressy top, jeans, and high heels. My rizz is staring at Soap a hot guy and looking away if he catches me. 😅

(these requests are now closed, btw, ty <3)

wearing jeans that fit juuuust right with those heels. Soap clocks you the second you walk in. he's fully aware of your stare--he's just letting you stew. it's nice of you to give him a little ego boost. and a little something to chase after later. 

he angles himself just so, just to give you a good view of how tight his sleeves fit around his biceps. damn near preens when he sees your gaze drop to the taut v of his henley. 

you really think he doesn't see you. you don't even look at the mirrored wall behind the bar, which gives him prime viewing of your inner struggle, staring at him like that. you lick your lips and he decides maybe it's time to make contact. 

you look away and (not) stealthily let your gaze wander back to him a minute later-- oh, shit, he's looking right at you. he holds your gaze without breaking his conversation with the scary guy next to him.

"LT, you ever get the feelin' you're being watched?" said loudly enough for you to hear. 

oh, god, you could die. 

Ghost glances at you, snorts, and tells Soap to shut the fuck up.

Soap steps away, purposefully brushes past you. "accidentally" knocks over your half-empty IPA. 

he turns to you with that fox smirk. "shite--your drink. let me buy the next one, aye? no' every day a bird like you eyes up the goods."

caught dead. no survivors. what are you supposed to say to that? you don't. you stutter. 

Soap grins. "nae harm done." he leans in a little, voice dipping. "better view from close up."

up to you whether you abandon that drink or not, whether you let him put his hand on your back and steer you out. he says he'll make you another drink at his place anyway. he's curious to see if you'll keep those heels on after everything else comes off. <3

more Soap / masterlist

[archangeldyke-all]

okay i’ve seen people talk about werewolf sevika but what about werecat sevika like she gives off such cat vibes she’s an introvert who so would love sitting by her window or on her porch watching things also i’ve always headcanoned that she literally purrs when you scratch her head so werecat sev just makes sense to me

YES i fucking LOVE THIS

this is what i think sevika would look like in cat form btw hehehehehe (send me cats u think sevika would look like too! i want to see all ur ideas)

men and minors dni

it all starts with a loose lab-cat. singed had pumped the thing with shimmer and underestimated its strength. he returned to the lab the next morning to a broken glass cage, quickly followed by hissing and hollering coming from the bar.

sevika stepped on the cat's tail where it had been sleeping beneath a table. in return, the cat sunk it's claws into sevika's calf-- four deep scratches running down her leg-- dripping half blood red, half shimmer pink.

singed told her she'd be okay.

he told her to go home and sleep it off and that she'd be fine.

singed is a fucking liar.

the next full moon, sevika turns into a cat.

not a panther, or a lion, or a fucking tiger or something cool. a fucking house cat. and a tiny one too.

she didn't tell anyone. who could she tell? singed would just try to strap her to a lab table and start experimenting on her. silco would probably just laugh. jinx might be her best bet if she wanted answers, but she fears that jinx would do something horrible like pet her or something.

so she just... deals with it.

the more full moons that pass, the more used to it she gets, and the more she can transform herself at will without the moon's powers.

she kinda likes being a cat. it's useful as fuck in the undercity, with all it's steep walls and drop-offs. it gives her crystal clear vision, even in the deepest darkest streets; it gives her great instincts, even in her human form, and...

there's nothing quite like finding a stray beam of sun and curling up for a few minutes to snooze on a peaceful day. both in her human and cat form.

which is how she meets you.

you live on a high floor of a big apartment building in the lanes. it's miserable climbing up and down the stairs multiple times a day, but the nice thing about it is you're high up enough to get some direct sunlight in your home for a good few hours a day.

you don't have a cat-- your landlord would kill you. but you keep a two little pots of catnip and catgrass growing on your fire-escape, a little tin of water and some tuna or chicken when you've got scraps to spare.

you've got a few cats that come to visit you a few times a week, all varying levels of friendly.

the white stray visits every afternoon to snack on your plants, sometimes bringing a skinny orange friend along with her. you let them be, watching fondly through the window as they groom each other.

there's a fat tuxedo cat that you know has an owner somewhere in the neighborhood, that seems to know when you set out food scraps-- always there in a flash to gobble them up. he's friendly as hell, meowing incessantly at your window until you open it up for him and let him come in to get pets for a few hours before returning home for dinner.

there's a new litter of calico kittens you've caught sight of. you think there's five or six separate kitties, but you can never keep track because they grow so and change so much between your sightings of them.

and then there's your newest visitor.

she's a unique cat, silver eyes, only three legs, her left front leg missing completely. there's blue scratches running down her left side, shimmering in the sun when the wind blows her fur away enough for you to see them.

and she doesn't eat any of your plants, or drink any of your water. most of the time, you come home and find her sleeping in a ray of sun. and every time when she wakes up and realizes you're home, the cat will jump up on your windowsill and simply watch you; her tail twitching occasionally in the wind, purring loud enough for you to hear through the little window as her silver eyes follow your every movement inside.

.....

sevika's fucked.

she's so, so, so fucked.

she's been fucking stabbed, twice, and she's loosing blood so quickly that she's starting to see spots.

the men who stabbed her are chasing her, and she's leaving a trail of blood right to herself. no matter how fast she runs, she's not going to lose them.

she's so woozy that she almost forgets that she's got fucking magical powers. she ducks into an alley and quickly transforms, before sprinting away. that takes care of those idiots beating her to death-- but it doesn't change the fact that sevika's dying.

she doesn't know where to go.

the last drop is way too far for her to get there before she bleeds out. she's got no friends in this neighborhood-- and people down here don't have the spare time, money, or sympathy for a dying street cat.

wait.

she knows someone who likes street cats.

someone sweet, and pretty, and always smiling and talking to her like she can speak human language. she can, but she knows your other cat visitors can't-- and it just makes her like you all the more- - the idea of you talking to some clueless cat, just like you talk to her.

she makes it to your fire escape just before her three legs give out.

and while her vision starts to fade completely, the clouds overhead move and a beam of sun shines down on her, the smell of your cat plants wafting over her as the wind blows.

well, sevika supposes. if i'm gonna die i guess this is the nicest place to do it.

you come home and find a dead woman on your fire escape... which isn't a total surprise in this neighborhood.

it's only when you go out to prod at her that you get really freaked out-- because she's not dead, just barely breathing.

you scramble to pull the woman inside your apartment, spreading her out on your bed and nearly throwing up at the sight of two deep stab wounds in her sides.

you've got some shimmer stored in your medicine cabinet in case of emergencies, and you quickly slide the liquid down her throat before scrambling to find something to stitch her side together with.

you aren't sure if it's a good thing or a bad thing when she starts blinking awake, groaning in pain and weakly trying to shove you away from her wounds.

"hey hey hey, wake up." you say, shaking her shoulders. she grunts and scrunches her face up. when her eyes blink open, your stomach twists.

you've never seen eyes that silver besides on the cat that comes to visit you. they're different on a person. much more attractive.

"uh..." you say, trailing off for a second suddenly realizing that the woman beneath you is very naked. and now that you're looking at her, the blue scars on her left side seem awfully familiar. you clear your throat. "uh, wake up." you say again, gently smacking her cheek.

she gasps awake when you start stitching up her second wound. "fuck!" she shouts. and then, she seems to process where she is. "fuck." she says.

you gulp. "uh, i'll get you a blanket." you offer.

sevika nods numbly as you-- the woman she's been shamelessly peeping on for the past year-- stumble out of your bedroom.

"i thought you were dead, honestly, and then you started moving and i got really freaked out. gave you some shimmer-- i hope you don't mind." you ramble as you walk back into your room, throwing a blanket over sevika. "is there anyone i should call for or...?"

"you're even prettier up close." she says. then she cringes.

fuck she didn't mean to say that. it must be the blood loss. and the shimmer. and your pretty eyes.

"uh..." sevika watches as you start to back away like you're scared, and she huffs before she gathers all her energy and transforms into her cat form. "what the fuck?!" you squawk as the woman in front of you disappears in thin air.

and then, a little lump under the covers starts to move.

and the three legged silver eyed cat comes crawling out, two new wounds on her side.

"what the fuck?" you ask, immedietly reaching forward to pet the cat in front of you. you don't consider that the cat is a woman-- it's your natural instinct-- you see a cat, you pet it.

but then the woman's back and your hand is in her hair and she's blushing all the way down to her tits which you can see because she's still naked.

"wha--"

"i'm sevika."

"hi, sevika." you giggle, slightly hysterical. sevika's blush gets even darker. "i'm--"

"i know." she cuts you off, then bites her lip in embarrassment and presses her head harder against your hand, like she's a cat. well, you suppose she kinda is. "i... sorry for stumbling into your life like this. i thought if i died as a cat i died in real life." sevika shrugs. "guess the whole nine lives thing is true, though."

"i don't--"

"i can leave, if you give me a pair of sweats or someth--"

"no!" you squeak. sevika smiles, and now you're embarrassed. "i-i mean... you're injured. you should stay until you're better..." sevika raises an eyebrow at you. "plus... you're kinda cute."

she grins. "as a cat or...?"

"fuck off." you giggle, crawling into bed beside her. "you've fucking... been watching me for a year! it's only fair i get to interrogate you, too, you creep."

"i-i'm not a creep!"

"you've seen me naked!"

"you didn't seem to mind at the time..." sevika pouts.

you can't believe how ridiculous this whole fucking situation is. sevika's blood drying into your mattress underneath the pair of you, but her skin is becoming more vibrant as the shimmer works through her system, flashes of pink sparkling in her silver eyes. she's practically purring as you scratch her scalp. you burst into laughter, and sevika grins up at you.

when you finally catch your breath, you shake your head and look down at the only sorta-stranger beneath you. "so, what are you... a werecat, or something?"

sevika groans before bursting into laughter with you.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @claude999 @nhaaauyen

[katiekatdragon27]

GUYS DO YOU REMEMBER I EXIST???? (I saw having not posted anything in a month sorry gang)

Anyway, the long awaited (lying) continuation of this post!

This is the rest of Boxten and Poppy's friend group. They make Boxten worry and Poppy worse.

Gigi is the youngest of the group and arguably the most chaotic. She is not the loudest in the room, but she is definitely not the one leaving empty-handed. Her kleptomaniac tendencies got her barred from a lot of jobs early-one, so why not open up her own shop? Gigi's resourcefulness in finding treasure out of trash, social media literacy, and money-savvy attitude has made her small business very successful. She also has a constant supply of support from her parents and aunt, along with her dad's friends who own the lot her store is in. What can she say? She has extremely good luck.

Flutter is a quiet and well-mannered butterfly with only a reasonable amount of chaos in her brain. She grew up in a poorer environment with a ton of siblings with only one (Flyte) that she is close to. She loves to write and create stories but took journalism as a more "practical" degree in order to get out of her family's house. She works as a barista to pay off her debts while also working on her debut novel, "Into the Pits of Ichor", and journalism job hunting. She also has two small pairs of arms under her cloths (as all butterflies do), but they are hardly useful. She and Gigi are also high-school besties and are seen hanging out all the time.

Razzle and Dazzle are conjoined twins living on their own. They grew up in foster-care with no knowledge of their family before and aged out once they were old enough. With their combined bodies, they can work longer hours (each taking breaks while the other works) and get double the pay, which allows them to pay off their one-person apartment with little issue. They do not butt heads often, but they do have things they disagree about. Razzle does yearn for more, wanting to leave this mall and state to make it big as an actor or Broadway performer (despite singing terribly). Dazzle, does not have large ambitions, being content enough with their situation and not wanting to put their livelihood in jeopardy for something that is not guaranteed.

Cosmo is a Swiss roll who works for his family's small business. And by small business, I mean there are a couple stores around the mall all run by his family. He is an only child but grew up alongside a lot of cousins, so he understands the sibling experience. He also a hard worker who is kind of a pushover, often taking more work for himself to give other people an easier time, to his detriment on occasion. Despite that, he grew up in the mall's kitchen and loved every second of it, even going to a trade school after high school to get a certification for it. One day, he wishes to leave the nest and build his own restaurant, but as for now he is content in the mall.

After Poppy and Boxten became friends, Poppy met Gigi while looking for decorations for Classic Records. They became fast friends, and the three of them became a mix-matched trio. In Galactic books, Boxten met Flutter while sitting in for one of Brightney's book club meetings. The two of them became aquainted, but they did not become friends until Gigi formally introduced Flutter to the group and they hung out. After a bit of being a group, they enter Ribbon Captures to take some photos together. Razzle and Dazzle are working that day, and some small talk and Dazzle being recognized from the book club roped the twins into the squad's photos.

Badda big badda boom ✨friendship✨

Later on, Cosmo enters the picture too, but he's more of an extra because he's usually too busy working to hang out. But that does not stop the gang from coming over and being annoying on their breaks~

More to come if this gets uhhhhhhhhhhm... 12 reblogs (I'm kidding btw I love this AU and I'ma post it regardless.)

Have a good one gang ✌️✌️

[inmydr3amz]

Hello!! (climbs in through your window but trips over) ehm-

i have a tinyyy little request 👀 okay, so..

~ Another house party happens (different than the one in the movie). The reader was Alyssa's friend and she was into Benj for a while but never made a move because she knew Benj was into Bailey.

~ The school incident still happened. And after that the reader and Benj became closer (somehow idk)

~ Benj gets a little drunk/high in the party , acts whiny and clingy, gets in trouble and all other stuff iykwim and the reader takes care of him.

~ Just a little fluff with kissing cuddling and affection :>

~ Benj is also into the reader btw but realizes it a little late

Thank you already!

°⋆｡drunk words, sober thoughts

​🇧​​🇪​​🇳​​🇯​ ​🇳​​🇮​​🇪​​🇱​​🇸​​🇪​​🇳​

✦ synopsis: in which benj is a clingy and very honest drunk

⟡ content warnings: not proof read at all + fluff!

✦ word count: 1606

✮⋆ a/n: I always take so long im sorryyyy ⋆✮

"Bailey's a dick."

You find him hiding out in the alcove under the stairs at the very end of the hallway, by the art classroom, that empty space facing the wall and covered by the stairs so no one can see inside.

He looks up at you. His face is still red and he looks queasy, nervous. "Huh?" he asks, like he'd been so far-off mentally he didn't hear you. 

"Bailey. She's a dick," you repeat, and he just gives you a hum of acknowledgment. You hand him a chocolate bar with a little awkward smile. His favourite: an off-bran snickers, with peanut and nougat. 

He takes it. "Thanks," he whispers. The plastic of the wrapper crinkles and creases as he just fidgets with it for a moment, eyes distant and glassy.

You duck to avoid the steps sticking in as you walk further into the alcove, settling in next to him. 

Close. Not quite touching, but you can feel his body heat.

You could almost laugh, one of those pitiful, sad laughs as you watch him take a small and defeated bite of the chocolate.

You lean your head back against the wall behind you, just looking at his profile. "I thought it was cute," you say.

He glances up at you, a small flicker of hoping lighting up his pretty eyes. "Really?"

You nod, smiling a little. "Yeah. You're really good. If Bailey was really as into you as she said, she would've liked it. Any girl would've liked it."

"Yeah, but she didn't. God, that was so fucking embarrassing," he whimpers, sliding down the wall and burying his face in his hands. "I'm gonna be the cringey musical guy who got rejected in front of the entire school for forever."

You run your hand into his soft hair, brush it back. "You're too in your head about this. Do you know many people are in this school? Everyone's gonna forget about this in, like, two weeks max. Besides, you're only a freshman. Everybody does stupid, embarrassing shit in their freshman year."

He doesn't sit up or unhide his face, but he does peek an eye up at you. "Did you?"

You laugh, scrunching your face up as you cringe remembering yourself as a freshman. "Of course, I did."

"Like what?" he mumbles against his hands.

Normally you wouldn't open that vault but this is for the greater good. A heavy sigh as you try and pick a moment. "Um . . . one time I bled through my pants and no one told me. I didn't realize until I'd bled literally all over the chair."

He lets out a little huff of what could be a laugh. "That's bad but not as bad."

"That's 'cause I'm not as good at singing as you are, so that was never an option for me."

He smiles behind his hands and finally uncovers his face. "Thanks," he murmurs.

You nudge your shoulder with his. "Anytime. And, hey, if you do get exiled from your social life for this, you always have me."

Benj snorts. "Yeah, Alyssa will never let me hang out with you two."

"I'll deal with her," you say. You're quiet for a moment, mulling over what you're about to say. "Or . . . we could always just hang out. Just you and me."

His eyes widen, face flushing a little. "Really?"

A small shoulder, you nudge your shoulder with his again. "Yeah."

★

Benj and Alyssa are already at the kitchen counter having breakfast when you walk in through the side door. Bailey isn't there because she stopped coming in at breakfast—and coming over in general—so often after what happened.

"Good morning," you smile, ruffling Benj's hair. Then you hold his shoulders from behind, lean down to speak in his ear. "Party tonight. You coming?"

"Freshmen aren't allowed," Alyssa interjects quickly. 

"They are if they're plus-ones," you argue. "So, you coming? You'll be my plus-one."

He grins. "Yeah, I'll be there." He holds out a piece of bacon from his breakfast for you over his shoulder. 

You let out a little "yay!" and bite it out of his hand. 

His cheeks are pink and he's a little light-headed, dazed as he watches you walk over to Alyssa.

★

He deserves this. Anyone would deserve this after the social murder that was the way Bailey brutally humiliated him in front of everyone at the assembly.

And so Benj is very much drunk. He'd never drank before so he was already enough of a tipsy lightweight early into the night, but a game of beer pong (which he totally crushed, by the way) just did him in.

You're sitting in the corner of the couch on your own, scrolling through your phone because you don't really talk to Bailey anymore and Alyssa is still trying to get Nicole back when a wasted Benj collapses across you, head on your chest as he giggles.

You let out a surprised squeak before softening up when you realize it's him and pocketing your phone, petting his hair.

"Hi," you say amused.

He hooks his chin on your chest and looks up at you, all flushed and pink and giddy. "Hi," he hiccups, still giggling. "Did you see me playing? I was good." (See?) "Wasn't I good?"

He practically purrs as you scratch his head. "Yeah, I saw. You were good."

He just stays there, content as you pet him. Eventually you sigh and pat his shoulder.

"Ok, up," you say.

He whines. "I don't want toooo."

"Benj," you scold. 

He pouts up at you. "Why?"

"Because I want a drink."

Benj perks up at that. "I want one too," he slurs.

"No. You've had enough."

He whines again but eventually huffs and rolls off you anyway. "Fine, mom." You snorts as you stand up. "Wait! Wait, wait, wait—" He almost falls over as he scrambles off the couch and throws his arms around your shoulders from behind. 

It's now that you realize you're going to be dealing with a clingy baby all night, no matter how cute. 

He spends the entire time hanging off of you, an arm around you at all times. He's whiney, refusing to let you separate from him for even a moment.

. . . That is until he gets dragged off by some Juniors to do god-knows-what.

It takes you a whole 5 minutes before you give up on being alone and start looking for him and another 10 before you find him.

He's outside in the backyard sharing a blunt with the Juniors who dragged him away.

Oh, jesus christ.

You quickly walk over to him, tugging on his arm. "Benj, what're you doing?"

He turns around and—oh god help you. 

He's got marker all over his face, drawn-on sunglasses and a doobie at the corner of his mouth and "drugs" across his forehead and a penis on his cheek and just a bunch of shit he definitely didn't draw.

"Y/N!" he exclaims excitedly like a toddler. 

"You've gotta be kidding me . . . ," you mumble. Sighing, you make him get rid of his blunt and pull at his arm, forcing him to stand. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

He pouts as you pull him into the house and weave through the crowd. "It's not that bad."

You pull him into the first empty bathroom you find and close the door, sitting him on the closer toilet. You stand between his legs, push his hair back. "Trust me, baby, it is."

You turn to find a cloth and dab it in water and soap and he slumps back like a toddler, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"I'm mad at you," he grumbles. 

You let out a breath of laughter. "Are you now?"

"Yes. I didn't want to leave and I don't want you to clean my face."

"Too bad." You settle back in between his legs with the damp cloth and hold his chin despite his protests and attempts at being defiant. "Benj, please? Your mom will be really mad if you come home looking like this, you know?" you say like you're speaking to a child. 

You can see his face change as he considers this until he finally concedes, realizing you're right. "Fine," he mumbles. 

"Thank you."

You rub at his face, slowly but surely cleaning the sharpie mask off. Occasionally he hisses or pouts and turns away when you go too hard. 

At some point, his hands go to your thighs and just holds you. 

When you're done, you turn around and put the cloth in the sink. You go for the door but he tightens his grip on your thighs and pulls you back, drops his forehead onto your stomach. 

You stiffen a little, eyes wide in shock. "Benj—"

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, nuzzling your stomach. "You're so nice to me and I'm being mean."

You sigh, running your hands into his hair. "It's ok."

He wraps his arms all the way around your thighs and hugs them. "You're so nice to me. So nice . . . And you're so pretty. So pretty. So pretty, so soft, so perfect . . . ," he babbles, half drunk, half high. He pulls his face away and looks up at you, eyes dazed. Then his face flickers like he just realized something. "Oh my god."

"What?" you ask, caressing his face. 

"It's you." He kisses the skin of your stomach that's been exposed from his nuzzles lifting your shirt. "I love you."

He's a very honest drunk.

You lean down and peck his lips because you can't, in good conscience, do anything else. "Tell me that again when you're sober, yeah?"