#yeah that's relatively goth

[agave]

americans tag where you live

[sanguineterrain]

for the dc prompts you reblogged:

can i request jason todd x reader "someone likes being pinned down" + A flirting with B while sparring to throw them off their tracks

where reader is also a vigilante??

thank you so much 🩷

very sexy prompts thank u 😌

jason todd x gn!reader. r and robin!jay were friends, r doesn't know jason is alive/red hood but jason knows r is a vigilante. r's alias is 'nocturne' (if that's already in use oh well lmao). fighting/sparring, jason is mega in love with you as usual!!

all fics at @sanguinelibrary

****

"Still blindly following the Bat, huh?"

You land in a crouch on the rooftop, just like how Nightwing taught you. The Red Hood doesn't look at you, digging through two duffel bags. He doesn't even draw his gun, like you've seen him do with virtually every other vigilante in Gotham.

You wait, ready to spring into action. But Hood doesn't stop what he's doing. Slowly, you rise.

"What... do you mean?" you ask.

"I mean, why are you traipsing around Gotham as a bat-adjacent? Who are you s'posed to be anyway? Goth Bat? Alternative Scene Bat?"

"I'm Nocturne," you say, shoulders rising to your ears. Rude. You thought the chunky boots and star over your suit's eye mask were inspired.

Red Hood lifts a hand. "Don't get me wrong, I dig the threads. I'm just surprised B didn't have an aneurysm over the sequins. Then again, Discowing did do it first..."

Your first two meetings with the infamous Red Hood have been similar in that he's never very concerned about you stopping him (ouch), but he also isn't callous or cruel with you like he is with the other vigilantes.

Case in point: the last person who cornered Hood on a roof was Red Robin. Hood shot him in the shoulder before he could land.

In short, he's perplexing as hell.

Batman's forbidden the rest of the team to confront Hood without backup. And you're technically not supposed to be on patrol tonight. But if you can intercept Hood, that'll be a huge win.

Hood keeps on packing the duffels. You hesitate, then step forward.

"Get away from the bags," you say. "I won't ask twice."

Hood looks at you. "Nocturne's a pretty cool name, I'll admit. And I like the boots. But I still think you oughta call it quits."

He zips up the bags, stands, and kicks them to the corner of the roof.

"Because you're just that unstoppable?" you ask, hands curling into fists.

"Yeah. But mostly 'cause I know you're made for so much more than this, sweetheart."

And that is the third and perhaps most bewildering thing about your encounters with Red Hood: you've gotten the creeping feeling that he... likes you.

Which is ridiculous, and if you ever breathed a word of that to anybody, Batman would probably check you into Arkham.

You take another careful step forward. Hood leans against the railing and folds his arms.

"This the part where you apprehend and hogtie me for innocently packing a duffel bag?" he asks.

You glare. "Innocent? I know you're making a weapons delivery because I know you've been waiting for Batman to be off-planet to make it."

"Clever. Told ya you're too good for this," Hood says. "Should be in college with those smarts, not playing maid for Batman."

"Are you lecturing me?"

"I'm advising you as your friendly neighborhood drug lord. Lecturing makes me sound like a guy who's got too much money and too big of a savior complex to understand that the way he fights injustice is fundamentally flawed."

"Sounds personal."

Hood laughs. "Honey, you have no idea."

You strike.

Hood parries your first attack easily, which you expect. The truth is that whoever trained Hood cut no corners and you're still relatively new at vigilantism. It's only by the grace of God that Hood hasn't left you to bleed out on a roof.

You kick his shin, but Hood turns on the instep and blocks. You go for his shoulder, where his armor separates to give him more movement. But Hood's ready for that too, and he catches your arm.

"Gotta keep that right arm up," he says. "Surprised no one's trained that outta you yet."

You elbow Hood in the throat. He coughs and lets go.

"Like that?" you ask, muscles tense with adrenaline.

Hood makes a sound that might be a laugh, still choked from your hit. "Just like that, honeylove. Good job."

"I don't need feedback," you snap, immediately going back in for another hit.

"Sorry. I'll make this quick then. I do have a delivery."

On the next strike, you advance, using a technique Nightwing drilled into your head for bigger opponents. Hood goes down and you land atop him.

"Oh, that's a Nightwing takedown if I've ever seen one," Hood says beneath you.

You're close enough that you can hear his breathing through the decoder. Pride swells in you at taking him down. Not even Batman has managed such a thing.

Hood is warm and big. His shoulder span alone dwarfs you. When you'd seen him from afar, fighting Batman or Nightwing, you'd been terrified.

But now, perhaps stupidly, you feel comfortable. Annoyed, but safe. Something about him reminds you of home. Makes your stomach flip in a good way.

Which is terrifying.

"You're coming with me," you say, reaching for your cuffs.

"If only. Unfortunately, you've forgotten a teensy weensy detail, dearest."

Hood bucks you off, legs first. Your feet fly into the air, which allows him to flip your positions. You wince, preparing for a concussion upon impact as you go down. But Hood cushions your fall and neatly rolls you over. Your back is pressed into the concrete, hands locked over your head. Hood's weight holds down your hips and legs.

He looms over you, easily holding you down. Your face grows hot.

"How did—" You squirm in his grip. "I had you!"

"Weight distribution, sweets. Tell Al—one of the Bats to add weight to your boots. They keep you light on your feet, but you were depending on them too much to hold me down, and we ain't evenly matched there."

You thrash in his grip. "Hood, I swear to fucking—"

"Easy. Don't sweat it, sweetheart. You haven't been doing this for very long. That was a good takedown, regardless. I'm impressed."

"Screw you."

He hums. You can tell he's smiling under the helmet. "Sorry, I forgot. You don't like feedback."

Hood strokes the inside of your wrist. You aren't sure he's aware he's doing it. His grip is firm but light. He's not trying to hurt you. Your pulse is in your throat.

For a moment, you're both still. Hood seems caught in a trance, like even Superman couldn't tear him away from this moment. From you. And it's not that you're afraid, you're just... you're...

"How do you know so much about me?" you blurt, because it's puzzled the whole team. "You been spying on me?"

"'Course not. Unlike your boss, I respect privacy. No, I did research. I recognized you from when you'd hang around that second Robin. Shrimpy little guy. What'd ya even see in him?"

The grief overtakes you before you can control your mouth.

"You don't know anything about me or him," you spit. "Don't fucking talk about him. He had more skill and goodness in his pinkie than you'll have in a lifetime. And you could learn a thing from him about changing a city. He'd tell you that fear alone never works."

Hood is quiet for a long moment. Then he speaks.

"Where's your distress signal?"

"Why would I tell—"

Hood shifts over you, cutting off your reply. He pulls a ziptie around your wrists. They're not even a little tight. You could probably slip out of them if you had five minutes.

"I know you're not s'posed to be out tonight," he whispers in your ear. "'S not your patrol night. Good thing you're my favorite."

You nearly swallow your tongue. "How do you—I don't—"

"Uh-huh. So you be good from now on, yeah? Wouldn't wanna have to keep tying you up like this."

You lift your chin. "We'll switch positions soon enough."

Hood snorts. "Okay, I know you heard how that soun—"

"I heard it," you say grumpily. "Just get on with it. Jerk."

"As you wish. Distress signal?"

"Collar."

Hood presses the button under your collar. Your breath hitches as his gloved fingers graze your neck.

"Oh? Does somebody like getting pinned down?"

"In your dreams."

Hood laughs. He zipties your ankles last, then sits you upright against the railing.

"Not too tight, are they?" he asks. "I know you've got a circulation problem."

You squint. "You seem to know a lot about me. Not fair that I don't know much about you, Hood."

"'S just business, honeylove," he says, scooping up his duffel. "Now I don't wanna see you in a suit anymore, comprende?"

"Or you'll what? Shoot me?"

Hood pauses, eerily still. He turns those glowing white eyes upon you. Your heart picks up.

"No," he says, so serious it startles you. "But someone else might. And I don't want you to face the same fate as your good friend Robin."

He vaults over the railing before you can respond. Your head thunks lightly as you lean back and wonder if you're really just business to the Red Hood.

(pt 2)

[smusherina]

bridges burnt - chapter 2 [epilogue series] (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: When an invitation to Gretchen Wieners' wedding ended up in your mailbox, you'd been sure it was a mistake. Only, it read your name in neat, swoopy calligraphy. It was addressed to you. And Regina George, whom you hadn't spoken to in years.

additional clarification: This is set in the universe of yard work, a series of mine that can be found on my page! Reading this one might be a bit challenging without the context of the series :)

chapter 1 / chapter 3

You stared at yourself in the mirror. Your suit was still immaculate thanks to your incessant fiddling, adjusting, and pruning. If not for the gel wearing out in your hair and the sweat beading your brow, the illusion was almost believable. Your rings clinked against the sink's enamel, your silver accents glinting in the fluorescent lighting, while a person did their business in the stall behind you. You sighed and washed your hands.

Damn, the soap was nice. They'd really gone all out for the reception, the fall theme extending even to the cinnamon spice soap bars.

Who were you even trying to fool? You were hiding in the bathroom. You'd arrived on the scene of the reception party in relatively high spirits, convinced all was fine and dandy, that Gretchen was looking to make amends in this small way. But you'd been wrong.

The invitation hadn't been a fluke. There hadn't been some mistake, because on the little plaque where your name was scrawled in neat cursive sat another right next to it. On the round table where you'd be sitting, there would be Regina George directly to your left. On your other side would be Shane Oman. Across from you, Damian and Janis.

You stepped out of the bathroom, a lump still firmly lodged in your throat but resolve found. You'd brave it, be an adult about it. The breakup had been perfectly amicable, for the most part anyway, so there was no reason for you to be so wound up.

"The maid of honour is a major bitch." Amanda sidled up to you as you walked towards your table. She directed you to the bar by the arm.

"She won't let us switch?" You asked, dismayed but not surprised.

"She won't even let you move to the spare table," Amanda said indignantly. "The whole time, I swear, she was lookin' me up and down all judgy."

"Ugh," You groaned. "Can she get your strongest drink?" You motioned for the bartender. The man nodded with a smile, seeming relieved to be rescued from the old lady chatting him up. He was a good-looking fella, tattoo sleeves and a military haircut.

"Anything for you?" He asked you, eyes lingering on Amanda shyly. Amanda leered at him unabashedly, batting her eyelashes while he made her drink.

"Just a coke." You'd been sober for a good couple of years now, free of all substances. You'd had a nasty relapse in college, a disgraceful return to party drugs and obscene amounts of alcohol, but you'd been able to find your footing since. Largely due to Amanda's intervention.

"You gonna be alright?" Amanda asked, for now deciding not to make a move on the bartender. You knew she was biding her time, establishing tension before she struck. She picked up men like a shark.

"Sure, yeah. It's gonna be okay. It's just, y'know, my ex. And her ex. And her nemesis and that nemesis' best friend. All good."

Amanda eyed you warily. You sipped at your coke through a straw. She, too, took a large gulp.

By the time the bride and the groom made their entrance, you were sitting in your spot, desperately trying not to make eye contact with the other occupants of the table. Shane was squirming on your right, fiddling with what seemed to be an engagement ring. Janis and Damian, sitting across from you, didn't seem to have changed much, except obviously grown up.

Janis was still unapologetically goth, though seemingly turned more toward clean, angular lines rather than messy, smudged blacks. She had on a dress and a shawl, beaded bangles and silver jewellery covering her wrists. She'd gotten more piercings since you last saw her. Angel bites on her upper lip, a bridge between her eyes, and stretched ear lobes. There were some bold tattoos as well, such as a rose crawling up her neck and the head of a snake on the back of her hand, extending up her arm.

Damian was in a cute, velvety green suit. His shirt, white with light green fleur de lis patterns, had ruffles going down the buttons. The length of its sleeves also surpassed that of the suit's, which made the whole look seem kind of piratey. His natural hair, a poofy afro, the bulky red-tinted glasses, and the pointy boots he had on gave off a bohemian seventies disco star vibe. He had a very specific aesthetic and you couldn't help but be impressed.

The seat on your left was pointedly lacking a person. Only the plaque was there along with its elegant scrawl. You crossed your legs and threaded your fingers together, bracing for the moment somebody said something to you. Or you were forced to do it yourself.

"So..." There it comes. Surprisingly it was Shane, of all people. "You and Regina."

"Huh?" You made a sound.

"I mean, you're here together, right? That's what I heard." He scratched at his neck, seeming nervous. All the confidence and obnoxious self-assurance seemed to have melted off of him.

"No, you- what? Where'd you hear that?"

"Just some nasty gossip. Don't worry about it. Aaron and I know what it's like." He smiled supportively but somewhere in the crevices of his cheeks, it seemed sad. "Have you been out for long?"

Your eyebrows furrowed. Shane and Aaron? Was he saying what you thought he was saying?

"Um, pretty much since high school. To be fair, I didn't tell a lot of people back then. You know how Northshore was." He nodded along solemnly. "But in college I sort of bit the bullet."

"That's really brave. Aaron and I haven't been out for long, only since the new law passed." He still seemed cautious and shy, but talking about Aaron clearly made him happy.

"When did you two get together?"

As Shane began to tell the tale, you slowly began to relax. Maybe Regina wouldn't even show up. If you and Gretchen were estranged, Regina and she were even more so. Regina had never given you details, but you did know Gretchen had been heavily involved in your shitty junior year. They'd had an explosive, very public falling-out that'd led to a whole lot of drama.

By that point, you'd sort of checked out of high school as well as your relationship with Regina, so you'd paid very little attention.

"Oh, here she comes," Shane pointed behind you, cutting off his own story. You whirled around, back crackling as you twisted your spine.

Regina George, in the flesh. Your mouth watered, pupils dilated, and there was no way you could've suppressed your reaction. Her eyes were locked on yours, a predatory glint in her eye as she strutted towards your table.

You almost didn't hear Damian's whistle or Janis' stunned laugh, but as Regina shifted the white fur stole she had to reveal her shoulders and chest, you went wholly deaf to all but the clack of her heels.

She had on a baby pink bodycon dress with a slit sinfully high up on her thigh, satin hugging her hips sensually. She had on white high heels with thin straps at the ankle and fur at the tops of her toes.

Her makeup was natural, with subtle browns and blacks, except for the prominent blush she'd picked. Her hair was a warmer blonde than before, complimenting her tanned skin. She had on golden jewellery, a familiar golden necklace resting on the dip of her clavicles like a taunt.

She kept on advancing towards the table. You could do little else but stare, slack-jawed at the visage of her. Other people were staring too, you could tell. You could only imagine what Gretchen was doing with her face at the moment, perhaps scowling like a pug or maybe looking like she was about to cry. Regina was but a guest and yet...

Regina was never just Regina. You knew that better than anyone. No matter how she dressed, behaved, or what her priorities were, she was an innate presence that influenced those around her. Gretchen inviting her to this wedding was essentially like shooting herself in the foot.

Regina didn't have to try to snatch the attention of the room, but when she did, there was no competition. And Regina had gone all out. You could tell by the movements of her hands, the way her lashes fluttered, and how her mouth parted just a little. It was obvious, at least to you, that Regina was doing what she did best: Revenge.

"Hi, baby," She cooed down at you. You took a moment to react, surprised by how she was suddenly there, right in front of you.

Her hands reached for you, long acrylics brushing against your collar, then your neck, then the back of your neck and in your hair. Her thumbs directed your head to tilt up. She pulled you close as she leaned down and then—peach lipgloss, glittery eyeshadow, saccharine perfume—your skin tingled where she touched you, sparks going off behind your eyelids as they fell closed, bliss pouring out of your pores as you became filled with it.

You kissed her back, took hold of her hips and pulled her to stand between your legs. Fuck, this was bad. But, fuck, it felt good to kiss her again.

Distantly, like someone shouting into the water in which you were submerged, you realized that this was perhaps the worst way, place, and time you could've reunited with Regina.

Even so, you kissed deeper, licking into her mouth until she made a sound you'd so missed all these years. Just as you began debating the pros and cons of laying her down on the table right there in the open, Shane tugged hard on your shoulder.

"What?" You grumbled, turning to him with a glare already in place.

He was red-faced, and frazzled, but had on a wide grin. "Get it, girl, but calm down. The mother of the bride looks like she's about to implode." He inclined his head towards the long table where all the important people sat. The mother of the bride did indeed look to be on the precipice of a furious blow-out.

"Okay," You swallowed, sense slowly coming back to you.

"Ugh, you're such a party pooper, Shane." Regina pulled away, leaving your palms achingly empty. She didn't go far though. She sat down on her chair before reaching into her white Valentino bag and pulling out some napkins. Then, she leaned in again.

Your eyes fluttered closed and lips puckered. Regina laughed.

"Silly, you have gloss all over your face."

"Oh," Your eyes opened. Gosh, that was embarrassing.

Regina wiped your mouth. Then, she pulled out a compact mirror and fixed her own lips. You watched her do all this. She and Shane started chatting. Apparently, they'd been in somewhat regular contact.

You'd just kissed Regina George. After, what, eight or nine years? In front of the whole goddamn venue. In front of Gretchen, in front of Gretchen's family, in front of basically your entire year from high school.

You got up. "Oh, where are you going?" Shane asked, all innocent. You hoped you didn't look as panicked as you felt. He didn't seem to think anything was wrong. You glanced at Regina.

Fuck. She totally knew. Obviously, she knew you. She could read you like a book.

"Smoke. Be back in a few." You fled.

"I'm coming too," Janis said.

Notes: Sorry for the long break everybody! I graduated and had a party for that! Went on a little trip to the countryside with friends! And now, at last, I'm back at my desk and ready to churn out some long overdue chapters.

Taglist posted separately! Comment on that post to get on it if you want!

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

It's a Wonderful Knife AU (Supercorp)

It's a Wonderful Knife is about a girl who, one christmas eve, witnesses and ultimately kills a spree killer (aka The Angel), who kills her best friend and a couple other kids. Once dead, the killer is revealed to be none other than Morgan Edge, the local sleaze who'd been trying to commercialize the small town of Angel Falls.

A year later, the following Christmas sees her clinically (yet untreated) depressed, unaccepted to her dream college, and overlooked by her family in favor of her cousin (who she saved the night of the killings). When she discovers her boyfriend has been cheating on her for the entire year, it's the final straw.

On her way home, she looks up to see the Northern Lights. As if they were a wishing star, she gives voice to the heaviness that has been growing in her since that fateful night.

"I wish I never existed."

She blinks, and suddenly the lights around her are dark, the previously festive boulevard now shadowed and eerie. Immediately on edge, she approaches a man to ask if the power went out-- only for him to collapse as he turns towards her, a knife in his gullet.

The Angel then appears like a ghost. Kara screams, running for help. She eventually runs into the local sheriff-- one of Edge's right hand men. Who definitely wasn't sheriff, last she checked. The oddities keep adding up, as she learns that not only is The Angel alive, he's been active for a full year. Her family home is dark and grieving for a lost scion-- her cousin who died the christmas before, because Kara hadn't been there to save him.

Kara isn't in any of the family portraits, her family doesn't recognize her, nor do her former friends when she tracks them down at the annual get-wrecked holiday party. In the absence of all that's familiar, she turns to the relatively unknown-- the local weirdo.

"Weirdo" is the slender goth girl who hangs around the periphery of their age group, appearing at large events without anyone seeming to invite her. This year she has her hair in space buns and though she says nothing as Kara frantically pleads for anyone to recognize her, her sharp green eyes take everything in. So when Kara finally turns to her, and their gazes meet, Kara feels a tinge of relief.

"You know who I am?"

The weirdo gives a nervous little smile, but doesn't balk. "Hi. I mean, no. I mean. I'm Lena?"

Lena's mere act of not ignoring her almost brings Kara to tears. She unloads everything onto the poor girl, who listens with wide eyes and a slightly bewildered look. But when Kara mentions The Angel, Lena perks up.

"You want to stop The Angel?"

"What?" Kara asks. Out of everything she's said, that's what the weirdo locks onto? "Yeah, but--"

"Come with me," Lena says quickly. She grabs Kara's hand and pulls her away from the party, out the door and across town. They don't stop until Lena tugs her up the front walk of a house with darkened windows. Unlocking the front door, Lena leads Kara inside the empty house.

Kara frowns. "Are you always alone on christmas?"

Lena's cheeks flush, but instead of answering she makes her way deeper in the house. "I want to show you something."

When Kara steps into Lena's bedroom, she's shocked to see one whole wall serving as a murder board-- literally. Thumbtacks mark the location of known murders on a large map of the city, with notecards detailing facts of each victim.

"Most of them are teenagers related to business owners in the town," Lena tells her. "Well, mostly former owners, now."

"It's Edge," Kara states bluntly. "He's The Angel. He's the one doing the killings."

Instead of dismissing her outright, or asking how Kara knows, Lena's brow furrows. She studies her board thoughtfully.

"Most of the families who've lost children to the attacks have closed up and left town... Edge, he--" Lena's eyes widen. "He's acquired every single one of them!" She mutters a curse to herself. "I can't believe I didn't see it!"

Before long, Lena is also hypothesizing on the how of Kara's circumstances. Kara relates the glowing aurora that still lingers above the town, and Lena gives a thoughtful hum.

"It's unusual to see it this far south," she observes. "It could be related, or it could be complete meteorological happenstance. But... the aurora does generate via a confluence of fluctuating solar energy. What if-- and I can't believe I'm about to say this, but-- what if, when Edge died in your reality, his spirit... lingered? And if it did, perhaps his ill intent, combined with the energy of the aurora, facilitated the change?"

Kara goggles at her. Lena blushes again, and scrambles to fill the stunned silence. "Of course, that's assuming this is a matter of different realities, which are purely hypothetical and I am *not* saying are real, let alone suggesting travel between them is even a feasible concept--"

"I had no idea you were so smart," Kara says bluntly.

Lena freezes, eyes flashing up to meeting Kara's. Her blush deepens as she reaches up to tuck the flyaway hairs at her temples behind her ears.

"There's a lot people don't know about me," Lena says softly.

Guilt forms solid and heavy in Kara's belly. "I'm sorry," she says. "For how people have-- how I've treated you."

Lena shrugs. "It's--"

"Please don't say it's okay," Kara urges, leaning forward intently. "You've just... existed, and we've acted like..."

Holding Kara's gaze, Lena's arrest softens. "Maybe things would be different, if you'd been here."

Shame courses through Kara's body, but she refuses to voice the knowledge that even in her reality, while never cruel to the weird girl in the corner, she'd never been kind.

"It will be," she says instead, firmly. She offers a crooked grin. "After all, who's George Bailey without her Clarence?"

Lena beams, a bright laugh bubbling out of her. Kara's smile grows, and for a moment, the world doesn't seem so grim.

---

The solution in returning the world to its rightful place is clear. They kill The Angel, Kara goes home. But before they can decide just how to execute their plan, Kara gives in to her desire to see her family. For help, maybe, to help them in their grief for Clark, she isnt quite sure.

When they get there, they find Kara's uncle in his office. Seeing his despondency, Kara can't help but reach out to him. She tells him she's a friend of Clark's and they spend the next few minutes reminiscing about some of Clark's most memorable moments-- his football career, the time he saved an elderly neighbor's life, etc.

But when Kara tells her uncle that she knows who killed Clark, their reverie snaps back to reality. Her uncle grows cold, and when Kara tells him it was Morgan Edge, she learns that this version of her uncle not only works for Edge, but considers Edge to be a close friend-- one who paid for Clark's funeral.

He shouts at her to get out of his house, and Kara bolts, with Lena following on her heels. Once outside, Kara bursts into tears. Lena envelops her in a fierce embrace, holding her until her sobs subside.

"We'll fix this, I promise," Lena says. "We'll fix-- augh!"

Lena's cry of pain jolts Kara into a state of panic, when the source of the long slice in Lena's arm proves to be The Angel. They bolt for safety, and in the ensuing chase Lena devises a plan that has them splitting up. The Angel chases Kara, leaving Lena to loop back around behind him and shove him sprawling into the snow. Kara grapples him for the knife, and as soon as it's in her hands she plunges it deep into Edge's throat.

Except it's not Edge.

When they remove their would-be killer's mask, it exposes instead the face of Kara's uncle. Kara vomits, then wraps her arms around herself as the sobs return.

"I don't understand," she wretches. "It-- it was supposed to be Edge."

"I don't know," Lena murmurs, rubbing her hand against Kara's back. "But it doesn't matter. That isn't your uncle. This isn't real, not for you. And you did it. You got the killer. Now we can get you back to your real family."

Lena supports Kara to the boulevard where the shift first manifested. Once there, Kara offers a watery smile. "Thank you," she whispers. "I don't know-- I don't think I could have done this without you."

Green eyes gaze at her, warm and sparkling in the light if the aurora overhead. "I should be the one thanking you," comes the hoarse reply. "To be honest, I--"

When sudden emotion chokes Lena's voice, Kara reaches out in concern. Lena swipes at the tears gathering in her eyes.

"I'm okay. I just-- this was going to be my last christmas, Kara."

Kara blinks. It takes a long moment for her to connect the words to their meaning, and when she does, her heart lurches.

"Lena, no--"

"It wouldn't have mattered," Lena whispers. "Not to my family, or the kids at school. Not to anybody."

"Yes, it would, Lena. *You* matter."

Lena nods, tears falling free from her eyelashes. "I think maybe we got it all backwards," she says, huffing a soft laugh. "I wasn't your Clarence after all. You were mine all along."

They hug, and then it's time. Kara looks up at the aurora and wishes with all her might that she lived, that she existed. She wishes for her life back. Not just to have her family back, to have Clark and her uncle, but to have Lena too.

Nothing happens.

It doesn't matter how much she wishes, then pleads, then curses at the universe-- the world stays exactly as it is.

Kara stares helplessly at Lena, who can only shake her head. "I don't know," she says. "I don't know--"

She's interrupted by the squawk of a microphone coming to life in the nearby square. The voice of Morgan Edge soon follows, drawing them both to the periphery of the crowd gathered around the stage where Edge stands before the town's christmas tree.

Rage overcomes Kara at the sight of him. She pushes through the crowd towards the stage, only vaguely aware of Lena following close behind lest the crowd separate them. Before she knows what she's doing Kara vaults onto the stage and slugs Edge right in the face.

As his henchmen move to wrestle Kara away from her victim, Lena spies a familiar looking knife lying the podium-- The Angel's knife. Her gaze flicks to where Edge marches towards a restrained Kara with rage in his eyes. The decision she makes in that moment is hardly a decision at all.

She snatches the knife from the podium and slits Edge's throat from behind. Her only regret is that it showers a surprised Kara with arterial spray. For a moment they, the guards, and the gathered crowd all stare frozen at Edge's gurgling body, until it finally falls quiet.

Then, a clap issues from the crowd. A single person, clapping slow and deliberate until it grows into raucous applause. The guards reach for Lena, only for the townsfolk to intervene, giving Lena and Kara the opportunity to slip unseen from the mayhem.

They sprint to the boulevard, coming to a breathless stop under the rippling aurora that's slowly brightening.

"Go," Lena urges. "Now, before--"

Kara kisses her soundly. Her world becomes the feel of Lena's lips against hers, the scent of blood thick between them, and the pull of Lena's arms as they wrap around her neck--

She opens her eyes to the ceiling of her bedroom.

Morning light spills in through the windows, illuminating the world in warm relief. Kara bolts downstairs to find her family hale and whole, and nearly loses herself in the sweeping joy of her life returned-- until Lena's features flash across her mind. Lena's features, and the echo of Lena's murmured confession: "this was going to be my last christmas."

In a instant she's back on her feet and sprinting to Lena's house. She pounds on the door until it opens a crack for Lena to look warily out.

"What do you want?"

Kara's heart plummets, but she forges ahead without stopping. "Lena, this is going to sound crazy, but you have to believe me, because it was real, and you were there, and whatever you're planning *please* don't--"

The door opens further, revealing Lena in a cozy sweater with a puckish glint in her eye.

Kara stops short, hardly daring to believe. "You... you remember?"

Lena answering smile beams in affirmation, prompting Kara to sweep her up into a giant twirling hug. Lena squeals, but it ends with a delighted giggle.

"I love you," Kara says, kissing Lena. Their hands clutch together, holding tight as though the world might reset and tear them apart once more.

Lena smiles, sighing happily as she rests her forehead against Kara's.

"Merry Christmas, Kara."

[ssa-atlas-alvez]

Hi! I hope you're having a good day :)

I feel like Cowboy!reader has some weird but cool random talent, like he's oddly good at something or he know a lot about a certain topic or something

Warnings: none

A/N: I know next to nothing on planes, so it's discussed briefly at the beginning.

The jet was delayed by two hours, on the tarmac due to bad weather conditions. And it wasn't exactly like you could all leave and then come back again, meaning you were all stuck there, bored out of your skulls. The case you were heading to was rather technologically advanced, and so Garcia was joining you.

Half an hour had passed and you were all relatively bored already.

You huffed, before remembering that you had put your latest crochet project in your bag. "Fuck it, Imma do some crochet." You mumbled, thinking no one was paying attention, JJ turned to you.

"You crochet?" JJ asked, jaw dropped. This immediately caught the attention of the rest of the team.

"Yeah, my neighbour Edith taught me," You said, you opened your bag, grabbing the hook and your current project, "I'm working on a hat - it's called like a bucket hat or something, for Phoebe and Ava. Apparently it's all the rage on TikTok."

"TikTok? You have TikTok?" JJ raises her eyebrows with a smile.

"Yeah, well, no... It's complicated," You answer. Morgan and Prentiss look up from their phones.

"It's complicated?" Reid asks. Hotch and Rossi pretend not to be interested. They totally aren't listening... Totally.

"Well Phoebe made it," You shrugged, "Apparently there's quite a few followers. Honestly, I don't even know what's on there,"

Prentiss gives a snort, "You have a TikTok controlled by a sixteen year old girl?"

"Yeah, pretty much," You give a small shrug, "I don't really have much of a choice in the matter."

"We need that account name." Garcia said. "Immediately."

"I ain't gotta clue," You said, giving a small shrug.

"Then it looks like you need to find out, cowboy." Morgan teased with a grin.

You sighed slightly, "I'll see what I can do."

Taglist:

@xweirdo101x @xdark-acadamiax @ara-a-bird @poolclaws @chaosofmanyfandoms

@prmsn-17 @logicalhorror @shane18492 @iliketozoneout @goth-boi-atlas

@introvertpan84 @13thdoctor-run @winterwitchxxfan @ducks118 @woodandwaxwings

@aphroditeslovr @wizardmon3 @pinxeajin @pendragon-writes @chubbyboyinflannel

@migwayne @bigolgay @technikerin23 @supercriminalbean @honestlycasualarcade

@1s3v3n1 @oddmiles @kevyeen @stealing-kneecaps @criminalskies

@azeal-peal @luvfornick

[five-rivers]

archetypical changes

@echoghost1 @ghostfox_fuyu

It started out small.  Small enough that, in retrospect, Danny was surprised he noticed at all.  But he did.  At least, he noticed enough to dismiss it as nothing important. 

It was just hair, after all.  Just hair, growing a bit too fast.  He knew that people did have different rates of hair growth naturally.  Like, beards especially could grow fast.  That’s why five o’clock shadow was a thing.  

Just hair.  

He wound a curl around finger, where it peeked out from under his left ear.  This fast…  He could probably brush it off.  Maybe it was an extension of his healing powers.  He’d just need to cut it more often, so he didn’t go to the barber too often.  Would that even be something people would notice?  

He’d noticed.  It was his body.  His hair.  

Would anyone else?

He ran a hand through it, sweeping it back, and went on with his life.  

“Hey, Jazz,” he said, a week later.  “Will you give me a haircut?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Jazz.  She turned from her desk and looked him over.  “It is getting long, but didn’t you just get a haircut?”

Danny shrugged.  “Does it matter?”

Jazz walked over to him and looked up and down the hallway.  “Is it a ghost thing?” she whispered.  

“No idea,” Danny said.  

Jazz sighed, as if it was his fault he was a freak of nature.  

Well.  It kind of was.  Still.  She didn't need to act like it.

“Come on, we'll do it in the bathroom. I'll get the broom, you find the scissors.”

They regrouped in the bathroom a few minutes later.  Jazz had picked up a chair as well. 

“Go ahead and sit down,” she said as she pulled a comb from a drawer.  She ran the comb through his hair.  

“I did brush my hair before,” said Danny, leaning back slightly and closing his eyes.  

“Sure,” said Jazz.  “Just checking.  How do you want this?”

“However it was before.  Just shorter than it is now.”

“Well… I’ll do my best.  But you know I’ve not done this before, right?”

“Yeah, but I can’t ask Mom or Dad, and I’m broke, so.  This is about it.  Unless I want to ask Sam, and I’m not ready to go goth.”

“Going ghost is enough for you, huh?”

“Pretty much.”

“Okay,” said Jazz with a sigh.  “Let’s do this.”

The scissors snipped cleanly through his hair, over and over, ticklish strands falling around his ears and shoulders.  Jazz didn’t get fancy.  She kept things relatively even and didn’t attempt fades or different lengths or anything like that.  The result was somewhat strange, but it was workable.  No one would think he had some kind of weird hair-growing… thing.  

Yeah.  He was totally killing this secret identity thing.  

Jazz ran a hand through his hair, shaking loose a few more cut strands.  “Your hair is really fluffy, you know that?”

“Thanks, Jazz,” said Danny.  

“Thank me by helping clean up.  Your hair got everywhere.”

“Guess that’s why barber shops use those weird little capes.”

“Yeah,” said Jazz.  

They cleaned up relatively quickly, and Danny spent the rest of the afternoon working on homework, secure in the knowledge that he had, once again, protected himself from discovery via stupid means, like supernaturally fast-growing hair.  He didn’t have the time for it to distract him from what was really important.  In this case, transformations of functions.  

Math.  What would he do without it?

Then, of course, he went to bed and fell asleep.  No one disturbed him that night, ghost or human, which only happened about half the time, even if it felt like he was being woken up every night, sometimes.  

He woke up and ran his hands through his hair.  It felt longer than it had yesterday when he went to bed, but not by a huge amount.  He might have to get Jazz to cut his hair once a week or more.  Maybe he’d just have to learn how to do it himself.  Ugh…

He went about his usual morning routine in his normal somnambulant state.  Clothing, shoes, on to the bathroom…  

His reflection blinked sleepily at him.  Yeah, his hair was a bit longer, but only by a few millimeters.  It wasn’t growing fast enough that anyone would notice over the course of a few days.

Dismissing the problem as one that wouldn’t truly become problematic for a few more days, he picked up his toothbrush and made a face at himself in the mirror.  

Then he froze.  

He leaned forward, over the sink, baring his teeth.  He poked at his canines with one finger.  Yep.  Yep, that was real.  That wasn’t a hallucination, even if it seemed like it should be.  

His upper canines had grown long and sharp overnight.  Their points descended until they almost touched his bottom gums.  He opened his mouth and discovered that it wasn’t just his upper canines, but his lower canines, too.  

His fingers roved over the rest of his teeth, searching for other changes.  He couldn’t find any.  That didn’t mean they weren’t there.  

He pulled off his shirt, then his pants.  He hadn’t noticed anything else while he was getting dressed, but he was so out of it in the mornings that his lack of noticing also didn’t mean anything.  

His skin… still pasty white, still lightly freckled.  His muscles seemed to move normally, but he wasn’t exactly an expert.  However…  He raised his hand to his side and slotted his fingers into the gaps between his ribs.  It hadn’t been like this before, had it?  He slid his fingers back and forth, thinking.  It felt… oddly satisfying, but also very wrong.  His hips also seemed slimmer, bonier.  

He’d never had all that much fat, he took after his mother in that way, but he was pretty sure this was over and above that.  Something strange was happening to him.  

He put his shirt and pants back on and walked through the wall into Jazz’s room.  

“Holy– Knock first,” said Jazz, throwing the first thing she could grab at him.  Which was her pajama pants.  Ew.  “What’s wrong?”

“I have fangs now,” said Danny.  

“What?”

Danny opened his mouth as wide as he could to show her. 

 “What are you doing, I don’t want to see your uvula, that’s– Oh.”

Danny let his mouth close with a click.  “What am I supposed to do?”

“I’m–”  Jazz looked lost.  “I don’t know.  You can probably hide, um, teeth for school.  It’s not as if people are going to be looking in your mouth…  Are there any other changes?  Other than that and your hair?”

“Um,” said Danny.  “I– Maybe?”

“If it’s important enough that you broke into my room–”

“I didn’t break anything.”

“--then you’d better tell me.”

Danny felt himself blushing. “It’s– I think that I’ve lost a lot of weight.  Like, overnight.  I can see my ribs now.”

Jazz hissed through her teeth.  “That’s serious, Danny.  That’s a serious health thing.”

“More than the fangs?”

“Way more than the fangs.  I’ll call us out sick, and we can go visit your doctor friend.  What was his name?  Frostfight?”

“Frostbite,” corrected Danny.  “You’re really going to help me skip school?”

“For a health thing?” asked Jazz.  “Yeah.  You basically are sick.  Or, at least, there’s something strange going on with your body that we need to figure out sooner rather than later.  Now get out of here so I can get dressed.  Is it cold where Frostbite lives?”

“Freezing,” said Danny.  “Wear long underwear and layers.  Lots of layers.”

“Ugh.  I might as well wear my hazmat.”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be a bad idea,” said Danny.  “We are going into the Ghost Zone.”

Jazz sighed.  “Great, now, seriously, get out and get ready to go.  I’ll get you when I’m ready.”

Danny fled back through the walls and dropped himself onto his bed.  He waited, thoughts whirling.  What could possibly be making his hair grow faster, his weight drop, and his teeth turn into fangs?  Was this some kind of ghost disease?  Ghost puberty?  Some kind of weird curse?

Jazz knocked on his door not long after, and Danny leaped up, eager to get answers.  

“I called us out,” she said, then did a double take.  “Danny, your hair.”

He reached up and ran his hand over his head.  “It’s longer,” he said.  

“A lot longer,” said Jazz.  “Visibly longer.  I was only gone a few minutes.  It’s getting faster.  A lot faster.”

Danny forced a smile.  “Well, good thing we were already going to see Frostbite.”

Jazz hesitated, then nodded.  “I got Mom and Dad to run off to Elmerton.  Told them there was a ghost sighting over there.”

“So they won’t notice us being gone.  Smart.”

“I know I am,” said Jazz.  She smirked down at Danny, then winked.  “Come on, let’s go.”

Danny went ghost and floated next to her as she made her way down the stairs.  “How are you on piloting the Specter Speeder?”

“I’m, well,” she made a face.  “I haven’t gotten much of a chance.  I’ve gotten up to level three on the simulator.”

“You should be fine to fly it, then,” said Danny.  “It’s not like there’s a lot of stuff to run into– you’ll just go through it.  And there’s no time to learn like the present.”

“Don’t use my words against me,” said Jazz, scowling slightly.  Danny stuck his tongue out at her.  

They went down into the lab, and started going through the flight checks for the Specter Speeder.  

“I’ll fly ahead,” said Danny, clipping on a Fenton Fone.  “Check for danger and all.”

“Are you sure you’re up for that?”

“Yeah, I feel fine,” said Danny.  “Just… weird.”  He licked his teeth.  “Really weird.”

“Okay, go ahead.  I’ll finish up here in just a couple of minutes.”

Danny flew through the portal and did a few laps of the portal.  “Everything looks clear for you over here.”

“Okay,” said Jazz through the Fone.  “Check your Fenton Fone.  It’s skipping a lot of what you say.”

Danny grumbled but checked it.  It seemed fine.  He popped it back in.  “I think we’ll just have to deal with it,” said Danny.  

“Great,” said Jazz.  “Stand clear.”

The Specter Speeder slowly slid through the portal.  Once it was all the way through, Danny tapped his Fone again and waved at Jazz.  “Follow me,” he said.  “It’s a long way there.”

.

The Far Frozen was as cold as ever.  Danny landed in the snow, his hair falling down to the curve of his jaw, and sighed at the pleasant sensation.  Flying wasn’t difficult, per se.  It wasn’t like walking or running, it didn’t really use muscles, but it was tiring, and the Far Frozen was far.  

However… was he more tired than he normally would have been?  Or was this another symptom?

“Great One!” greeted Frostbite, jarring Danny from his spiraling introspection.  “What brings you here today?”

“Well,” said Danny, trying to get his thoughts together.  

“Health things,” said Jazz, climbing out of the Speeder.  “Oh, gosh, it really is cold out here.”

“I see,” said Frostbite, leaning closer to Danny.  “You do not appear injured.”

“It’s more like… body… changes,” explained Danny awkwardly.  He glanced sideways at the other yetis walking through the public space.  “Can we go in?”

“Of course,” said Frostbite.  He gestured Danny and Jazz onward and towards a well-lit cave.  “Medical is this way, as you might remember.”

“I… guess I don’t, really,” said Danny, following Frostbite.  “It’s sort of a blur.”

“Understandable.  You were quite unwell.”

Danny could feel Jazz glaring at the back of his head.  He decided to ignore that.  Problem for later, if she remembered.  The hair and teeth and weight loss were the problems now.

They reached the medical wing in short order, and Frostbite ushered him and Jazz into a smaller private room.  There was a counter and an examination bench and a few cabinets.  “So, what seems to be the problem?” he asked.  

Danny, with Jazz’s ‘help,’ explained.  

“Hm,” said Frostbite.  “There are a few things that could cause that, but I need to make some measurements before I could say which one is happening here.  Could you sit up here and take off your shirt?”

Danny flew up - it was a bit too high to just jump up - and pulled off his shirt.  Frostbite produced a stethoscope, and asked Danny to cough and hum.  He listened intently.  Danny listened, too.  Humming felt… odd, as if his chest were more hollow, as if the sound was brushing the very edge of his ghostly wail.

“And all this happened recently?” asked Frostbite, after a few minutes.

“Yeah.  I noticed the hair thing about a week ago?  Everything else seemed to just show up today.”

“I think I may know what is happening.”

“Is it a ghost puberty thing?” asked Danny, unsure if he should hope for that or not.  

“I suppose it could be considered analogous to puberty,” said Frostbite, bemused, “although puberty isn't something that typically happens to ghosts.  We don't age.  It's more along the lines of adapting to a role after a period of malleability.”

Jazz let out a little sigh.  “It's not something that will hurt Danny, then?”

“Unfortunately, I cannot say that for certain.  There are a great deal of potential complications, which may be made greater by your half-human status, and the archetype you seem to be settling into…”  

“What is it?” asked Danny.  

“The role you have taken upon yourself is that of a tutelary, a protective spirit.  You are developing a very thin, almost gaunt appearance, and your hair is growing rapidly.  Fangs tend to be nonspecific, common to many types of ghost, the same with minor changes to your nails and skin tone.  Your wail on the other hand…”

“I sort of felt it when I was humming, earlier,” volunteered Danny.  “That hasn't happened before.”

“There is only one group I know of that matches all those traits,” said Frostbite gravely.  “Here, in the Realms, they are called the Keeners, or the Mourners, or, on occasion, Those Who Mourn Before, for their predictive abilities.  In the human world, I believe the more famous of them became known as banshees.”

“I thought banshees were all women,” said Danny, feeling a little blank. 

“The famous ones are,” said Frostbite.

Danny wanted to know more about that, but shook his head and returned to the question at hand.  “What's dangerous about that, though?”  he certainly thought it sounded unpleasant and inconvenient to the whole ‘secret identity’ thing, but he could admit there was a difference between that and actively dangerous. 

“A banshee’s wail is supposed to kill people, isn't it?” interjected Jazz.  

“They do, on occasion,” said Frostbite.  “Especially when they are younger and have less control.”

“I've had my wail under control for ages, though,” protested Danny, shooting a glare at Jazz.  She gave him an apologetic shrug.  

“When I asked you to hum, earlier, didn’t you feel something different?  Something unusual?” asked Frostbite, kindly.  

Danny shrugged.  “Maybe.”

“This is a change,” said Frostbite.  “One that affects more than your physical appearance.  The powers associated with your archetype will change as well, including your wail, and those changes generally come with a loss of control, however temporary.  The typical precaution in these cases is to, ah, use a gag, until a community of banshees willing to train the new one can be contacted.”

“I, um.  I don’t suppose that’s something that I can do, like, overnight?”

“Not generally,” said Frostbite.  “There’s some overlap between banshees and ice-cored ghosts, more than there is for fire-cored ghosts, but it isn’t a great enough number for us to have regular contact.”

“That’s… I can’t… Great.  That’s.  What am I supposed to do with that?  I’ve got my whole town–  The ghosts– I can’t just up and leave.”

“Danny, you can’t go back if your wail could just randomly go off and, you know, ki–”

“I know that,” interrupted Danny, dropping his head into his hands.  He rubbed his face vigorously. 

“You may not have that particular addition to your wail,” said Frostbite.  “In fact, I would be rather surprised if you did.  You are, like I said, primarily a tutelary.  A protector.  Banshees from such backgrounds more typically have predictive or clairvoyant abilities.  They do not cause the deaths that follow their cry, they only are aware of them.”

“Well, I guess that’d just suck for me rather than everyone else.”  He could already feel his mental health taking a hit.  “But I’ll be good, I’ll stay here and do whatever precautions you want.  Play the silent game, sit in the middle of nowhere in the Zone, the gag thing, whatever.  You’d better come up with a good excuse for me, though.  I think Mom and Dad’ll get suspicious if they don’t see me for days or whatever.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Jazz.

“Is there anything else I should know about?” asked Danny.  “Like, am I going to spontaneously combust or grow a tail or what?”

Frostbite chuckled.  “Probably not.  But we should take some fittings for the sound-dampening gag…”

Danny sighed.  “I really don’t want to wear a gag.”

“It will be temporary,” said Frostbite, “to prevent accidents before you can have proper training.”

Danny wrinkled his nose.  “That sounds wrong.”

“How so?” asked Frostbite.  

“Don’t want to talk about it.”  He fell back to lay down on the examination table.  

Frostbite patted his shoulder.  “It will be fine, Great One,” he said.  “Almost everyone goes through this eventually.  And while you’re here, I can give you more details about what other kinds of changes you can expect going forward.  I have simplified a good deal, after all.”

“Oh my gosh, it is just like puberty,” said Danny.  

“Are you sure you’ll be okay without me?” asked Jazz.  

“I’m more worried about you flying back.”

“We can give your sister an escort,” said Frostbite.  “If Miss Jasmine is alright with that.”

Danny removed his hands from his face to stare Jazz into taking the escort. 

“Alright,” said Jazz.  “If it won’t put you out.”  She walked over to Danny.  “And if you are sure you don’t need me.”

“I’m sure.  We can’t both be gone for who knows how long.”

She sighed and patted his shoulder.  “It’s going to be okay.”

“I know,” said Danny.  “I’m just going to complain about it the whole time.”

“As is your right.  I know I wasn’t too happy when it started happening to me.  I wasn’t always as handsome as I am now, you know.”Danny sat up.  “Okay, now, I’ve got to hear that story.”

[overflowingteacupoflove]

Roman's No Nut November! aka a collection of prompts everyday of November that include angst and fluff from my various different au's and maybe some new ones! i dont know how consistent ill be but i will try! (a lot of these are Chris i fear..sorry matt girlies...) (and alot of these are fratboy!chris..im on a high)

Pink for fluff, blue for angst, and red for anything that i feel has a relatively big TW (body image issues, abuse, sh.)

"Do you think im spooky?" {goth!reader x fratboy!Chris}

2. "Am I weird?".."Yeah but so what? everybody's weird." {Whimsy!Reader x fratboy!Chris}

3. "Im a pretty impossible lady to be with." {Misunderstood!reader x fratboy!chris}

4. "Im not as think as you drunk i am" {sororitygirl!reader x nerd!matt }

5. "And i have a thing for brothers." {bfb!matt x reader}

6. "Youre supposed to be my lab partner." {nerd!reader x fratboy!matt}

7. "I look better in the dark.." {insecure!reader x reassuring!chris.}

8. "I'll do whatever it takes to be an Alpha Chi" {Superhero!au}

9. "I wait for you (verse 2)" {Stuck in a music box}

10." Bones and All." {matt x reader}

11. "I'll find a new place to be from." {homesick!reader x actor!matt }

12. "You gonna break my heart?" {sororitygirl!reader x fratboy!chris}

13. "I wanna love you till we're food for the worms to eat." {lovesick!chris x lovesick!reader}

14. "piss off your parents." {badboy!matt x goodgirl!reader}

15 "Hey, Jane" {Dad!matt x mom!reader}

16 "Do I look like..him?" {daddyissues!reader x reassuring!matt}

17 "I dont like the cameras but i love it when you ogle." {popular!reader x nerd!matt}

18 "People say shes bad but they dont see the way she is with me." {misunderstood!reader x fratboy!chris}

19 "Love me anyway." {Carrington x reader}

20 "I hope you take off your mask." {misunderstood!reader x fratboy!chris}

21 "Fight for me" {Badboy!chris x 'popular'!nerd!reader}

22 "Kiss me like we'll never have sex." {Stuck in a music box}

23. "Sarah runs to feel the burning in her lungs." {trackstar!reader x chris}

24 "A diva is a female version of a hustler." {superhero!au}

25 "You turn me inside out, and then you want the outside in?" {Fwb!chris x reader}

26 "If I Were a Man" {Princess!reader x Peasant!Chris.}

27 "I get mean when im nervous like a bad dog." {misunderstood!reader x fratboy!chris}

28 "Im not a violent dog. I dont know why i bite." {misunderstood!reader x fratboy!chris}

29 "I dont understand i thought you liked me!" {popular!matt x scene!reader}

30 "Part of me will know deep down that i am pretty cool." {whimsy!reader x fratboy!chris}

BONUS!

december 1st. "I cant have a conversation if its not all about you." {head-over-heels!reader x fratboy!carrington}

[zinnie-zoloft]

I’m gonna draw some AUs based on my favourite childhood movies so here’s a list of what I’m planning

Monster House AU

This is what started it all, I had a dream about it and now I can’t stop putting these characters into kids movies

Cryland Coraline AU

Crystal and Charles as Coraline and Wybie… same friendship different fonts honestly

Paranorman AU

Edwin can see ghosts, he lives with Crystal, their families are related with a long mysterious history and a concerning number of relatives no one is allowed to talk about

Niko is an exchange student staying with Charles, she decides to befriend Edwin

Tragic Mick has spent his life keeping the witches spirit asleep, but now he’s dying and must convince Edwin to take over his work

Simon is the school bully, Jenny is a goth who knows all the history of the town, and so on

Catwin Labyrinth AU

The Cat King has a lot of Jareth vibes

Cats are essentially just furry little goblins aren’t they?

We’re Back (A Dinosaurs Story) AU

This is really about the eccentric circus part, the dinosaur part doesn’t really come into play at all

Things Esther Finch and Professor Screweye have in common: kidnap children, build child torture machines, betrayed by their own crows, serve exactly what you are: cunt

There’s also the extreme child neglect from the main duos parents… yeah when you look past the funny dinosaurs this movie is dark as fuck

Corpse Bride AU

Charles as Victor, Edwin as Victoria, and Crystal as Emily

A doomed relationship between two friends, one living one dead, where one is desperately trying to force it to work despite them only being together in an attempt to avoid dealing with their tragic circumstances? I could be talking about either Charles/Crystal or Victor/Emily here

Also featuring Niko the spider and David the maggot

[sofiadragon]

I love your hp fashion post! I have a question: what do you think is popular for teenager girls/young women to wear in the 90s? How does it differ from muggles? Would they have incorporate muggle fashion trends into their outfits? And is that a thing you would usually see younger wizards doing?

Thank you!

Ok, this requires me to sit at my PC to type. Got me out of bed and off my phone to make tea and type while I'm sick.

Obligatory link to the post in question which I wasn't the OP for.

Fashion is Political

Fashion in the 70's, 80's, and 90's was hugely political both in the UK and USA. Goths, punks, preps... It was an entire identity. I didn't paint my nails black, dye my brown hair with translucent red or purple highligts, and wear mesh layers just for the aesthetic, it was an entire philosophy that had political, moral, and social ideas baked into the culture those clothes represented. When I wore a yellow sundress, a hat that hid the highlights, and stripped the color from my nails to visit certain relatives it was because that was a Sundown Town and the ideas represented by the counter-culture I belonged to very well could get me hurt when walking around alone. Yes, I look entirely white (got some Japanese but so far back it doesn't show, and I'm basically French and Bulgarian) but that kind of conservatism didn't (and still doesn't) take kindly to those who support the queers, freaks, and weirdos.

And it's still true, if not quite as much as it used to be. Social cliques still dress alike, but it isn't as quietly political the same way it was then. People don't seem to associate fashion with a political statement using style as much as they use modesty and cleanliness, but it could be that I've just become Officially Old now that I've got a stripe of white in my hair. It seems a bit more on the nose these days, or more accurately on the head. I have a lovely bright red knit newsboy hat I had to stop wearing around 2016-17.

Yeah, but so what?

Fashion changes over time, so let's start with some 1970's makeovers and work our way to the 90's!

The Marauders Prequel: Kinktomato, and all the similar disclaimers, but I respectfully disagree entirely with giving Sirius, James, or any of the other marauders a Punk aesthetic. Sorry JKR, but what you have James and Sirius wear in your prequel needs a tweak. Sure, they wanted to fight against 'traditionalists' which sounds like it's punk... until you realize that the Light was the status quo before Tom came to power. The Order of the Phoenix is a vigilante group working to protect the Establishment and prevent change. Yes, realizing that while reading the 7th book hurt me in my heart too.

I have to throw JKR a bone about her recent nonsense, but she's right in the manner of a broken clock that the rebellious counter-culture going on in the Wizarding World was being backed by the Traditional Family Values set. The politics in the Wizarding World do not match up well with the real world, mostly because if you think too much about it the political aims of the Death Eaters implode. For blood purity, leader is a half-blood who hates the rich and treats the high society types with deep contempt; were not in power and had to have a guerrilla movement, members included half the House of Lords. You can't square those circles, so we get the Light Preppy types like the Marauders and the Dark Preppy types like Draco Malfoy, and then we have the punks and the goths who are the outcasts and queers that get indoctrinated into one or the other set. Don't blame me, I didn't write the books.

The Marauders should look a bit like The Monkees.

James and Sirius were not in with the queers and freaks, they did not read dark poetry in black clothing with sharp lines and heavy makeup that obscured bruises, they were Preppy Jocks and bullies picking on the outsiders. Remus Lupin might be 'one of the good people' who got wizard AIDS, but he's at best masking to fit in with a powerful social group for protection. The black leather with the rocker band t-shirts look? No, no. Put that boy in a polo shirt and chinos. Give him a cable-knit sweater or a blazer over a robe. (And many people do give these things to Professor Lupin, but I mean from the jump.) They'd all be clean-cut, perfectly groomed, and wearing light colors because their political movement is literally called The Light. Black T-shirts with a phoenix on them? No ma'am. White or yellow shirt, embroidered (or screen print to look like embroidery) phoenix. Yellow blazer jacket on top with creamy muggle trousers in a high-water boot cut to show off expensive white or tan boots. (The high-water boot cut on the trousers are muggle 1960's, but wizards lag behind on muggle trends.)

Moving on to the Dark Side

Snape's our punk, or maybe a broody goth gremlin reading poetry books. All via thrift-shop [charity shop] finds, of course. The set of upper-class future Death Eaters he eventually starts to hang out with would have started out in clean-cut expensive dark-colored robes, but might have embraced a morbid aesthetic, as we see Bellatrix wear in the movies. This would be a case of convergent evolution in a sense.

Snape dressed like that due to the poverty and muggle influences in his life, and I headcanon that he liked to visit a record shop and stim his autistic brain with niche experimental music just like I used to at that age, but the morbid and shocking aspects of Goth or Punk aesthetics parallel with Voledmort's completely unrelated skull and snake symbol inspiring trends among his more loyal followers, who are rich enough to be trend setters and social influencers.

Snape very well might have made friends with those awful boys because they liked the casual clothes he started to wear on weekends once his mum started tossing some money at him and telling him to get his own shopping done so she could get back to her crossword puzzle (or maybe he got a summer job at a bakery.) Snape chose that look because if he's styled punk (violent) or goth (morbid) the rips his father puts in his clothes when he gets tossed around are there on purpose and it's just a nice coincidence that the stains in the second-hand clothes he gets on clearance at the charity shop get hidden by the cheap black dye he uses to get that grey and black look. This way, it is not just because he can't afford better and washes both himself and his clothing in the same portable tin washtub.

This convergence was accidental, but the artfully tattered cloaks and general look of the Death Eaters in the movies is something I can get behind - minus the Victorian trousers on the men, of course. The movies make the clothes way too muggle especially for the pure-blood set! Regulus Black spent nearly a hundred galleons getting a robe made of the finest linen and fur, snipped and cut so artfully to look like it was moth-eaten and torn even though every edge is properly hemmed and trimmed with a bit of lace that merely looks like a frayed edge.

Then Voldemort got Blown up

Look, the actress has red hair and a preppy lavender top - it's too perfect a reference image for Lily Potter nee Evans in a fashion post.

The morbid aesthetic that was so popular in the late 70's doesn't just go out of fashion, it is jettisoned like the toothbrush mustache. Yeeted from a seaside cliff. Dropped in a ditch full of burning petrol. Abandoned at the side of the road in a bag. Morbid? Don't know her.

Draco Malfoy, as I earlier teased, wears the fashion of the Dark upper class. Flowing perfectly tailored robes with a rope belt. Crisp and clean lines, no jagged edges or anything to even suggest aggression. 90's pure-blood fashion is soft. For the girls, more color, but we are going to backpedal so hard nobody will ever think we were associated with that guy we don't name. Draco Malfoy's non-uniform robes are like spun clouds, opulent and decadent in beautiful pristine velvet, shining satin, and resplendent metallic embroidery. While Snape and the generation of men older than him now wear waistcoats over their robes to look proper and all buttoned up, Draco's set is all about looking sleek, clean, and comfortably ready for a dramatic breeze. I don't think there is a large difference between what boys and girls wear, the gendering is all in the accessories and embellishments. Lace for girls, metallic piping for boys.

I'm talking flowy, I'm feeling swishy, I'm saying that 'looks like a dress' was a completely fair take from Harry's perspective. Yes the above characters are female and Frieren herself wears a lot of white, but you get the idea. The Dark Lord is dead, we need a rebrand yesterday. More lighter colors even for Dark-aligned [read:Tory, Conservative] families. No evil here! Nope, nope nope.

Harry is a Self-fulfilling Prophesy in More Ways than One

Harry accidentally has a hand in this trend in his earlier years, since he is wearing Dudley's castoffs and he's incredibly famous. Baggy is in! Just relax, chill, be comfortable. Dress like you just don't care what you look like. (You know, pandemic style.) He wears jeans, and probably most of his bottoms are jeans. They are one of the most durable things any boy Dudley's age would wear, and so wouldn't be as destroyed as the rest of his wardrobe by the time Harry got his hands on it no matter how hard Duds is on the trendy fast fashion clothing Petunia buys him. Petunia, a social climber, is set on making sure her family looks like the next rung up on the social ladder after all.

Later, when we can assume Harry has bought at least one wizard outfit that isn't his school uniform if he's got enough money on hand to buy Omnoculars, he's probably taken his fashion cues from himself indirectly. He likely gets his advice from Hermione and Ron, who get their fashion sense from looking at their peers, who get their fashion sense from... the trend of super casual heavily muggle-influenced baggy clothing in mismatched colors that Harry started as a first year.

Bit harder to find male examples than female ones, but that's fashion gifs on Tumblr.

Shorter robes with jeans underneath - or knee-high socks or dhoti style trousers in blue heather fabric that look like jeans provided you have never seen jeans before in your life. Open, short robes over closed-front ones, aping an overlarge muggle jacket over a robe. Floppy shapeless clothes held on with an overlarge leather belt. Squashy hand-knit jumpers. Girls in the Lighter political side also take cues from muggle women's fashion, which is more form-fitting than traditional wixan wear and shows off the legs. In the muggle world, this is the time of the babydoll dress, slim-cut trousers/jeans, and tightly tailored suit skirts for women.

Imagine way, way, way more gold embroidery on the above dresses.

And, because I can, because it's headcanon time, 90's Indian/ Bollywood fashion influence on the Light side after James Potter is martyred because #Indian Harry Potter is real and I love him. Music, clothing, art, it is in style among those who honor James and Lily's sacrifice. Harry's green eyes looks so bright next to chestnut brown skin. He can speak to snakes because his ancestry includes a bit of naga blood, not because of the Horcrux. Petunia certainly never taught him about it, and he's confused when an especially devoted fan sends him blessings addressed to Hindu gods instead of the Christian or pagan ones he hears about more often at Hogwarts. One of the Patil twins asks him what's wrong with him expecting, from his attitude and excitement about Christmas, that he's a devout Christian who hates his dark skin. Then they monopolize some of the time he's not teaching the D.A. or in detention to Educate That Boy.

[ccazimi]

WARNING: this blog contains dark content

amidst all my other nonsense

the biggest thing is i write for sukuna and sukuna only sorry i have just one love. also i only write fem reader inserts!

things i’m willing to write: stepcest/fauxcest (preferably between step siblings rather than stepparents), somno, noncon/dubcon, piss (the well hydrated kind!), blood (including period sex), violence, etc.

things im on the fence about writing: stepcest/fauxcest between between reader and a stepparent, heavy gore, anal, ddlg, large age diffs, hybrids

things i will not write: minors, scat, incest, a/b/o, furries, zoophilia, ships

Milk - little bit fluff, smut, heian era au, true-form sukuna x f!reader

??? - fluff, heian era au, true-form sukuna x f!reader

Poltergeist! - crack, maybe a little fluff if you squint, heian era au, true-form sukuna x ghost!reader

Nightingale pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4 - smut, noncurse au, stepbrother sukuna x f!reader

hi i’m cee i have severe adhd and im still relatively new to writing, so bear with me while i figure out how to be decent at this!

im goth, love art (literally just anything pretty at all), sukuna, tattoos, makeup, sukuna, and tbh literally anything that catches my interest.

i’m a full time university student meaning i write very sporadically so don’t expect consistent updates (honestly this would be the case even if i wasn’t busy). this blog will contain literally anything i feel like posting sooo yeah…

right wingers, republicans, choice feminists, zionists, xenophobes of any kind, and people that struggle with nuanced thinking: this is not a safe space for you

that’s all for now, bye!

all dividers on my blog are from: @cafekitsune

[y-rhywbeth2]

Considering gemstones do have meanings and magical properties on Toril, I decided - while organising some kind of Faerûnian Crystal Bible for some reason - to look up what the sacred stones of the gods present in BG3 mean and do (the Dead Three, Shar, Selûne, Jergal, and Mystra).

So here's certain gods being boring; Why Bane announces he's pissed by throwing a broken carnelian at you; and maybe ideas for what gemstone Gale's earing is made of? idk.

Bhaal:

Is a boring bitch who doesn't have any sacred stones. Ffs dad, stop disappointing me. Impractical for sneaking around and stabbing people? What about organic materials? Bone? Bone jewellery? Is amber acceptable if it has a dead thing in it? It's tree blood! You love dead trees and you love blood! Coral? Jet?

Bane:

Black sapphire (approval), Red carnelian (disapproval), hematite, emerald, bloodstone

Black Sapphire: Locks time, preventing magic that tampers with it from functioning (time stop, for example). tbh I think Bane just likes them because they're very rare (thus luxury items) and, oh yeah, black.

Carnelian: Dreams of carnelian are believed to forewarn of danger to come, but the stone itself has protective magics against harm and evil. Which explains why Bane only considers them sacred when destroyed and informs his followers he's pissed at them by crushing them in front of their faces.

Hematite: 'prized by fighters and often used in magical periapts.' Such as periapts of healing. In case we forgot that the fighter of the trio prizes martial might and war.

Emerald: When somebody lies or hides their ill intentions/'concealed hatred' emeralds will break, essentially acting as lie detectors and alarms. 'many kings have worn rings carved entirely of emerald to parleys to detect treachery and deceit without the use of spells.' ...no comment.

Bloodstone: If laid over a wound it staunches the bleeding. It's used as currency on the Sword Coast, the Moonsea, and amongst mercenaries in particular. Serves as a component in invisibility and divination magic.

In conclusion, Bane's jewellery chest spells out 'paranoia.'

Myrkul:

Jet, obsidian, onyx

Jet: 'A deep black gemstone, this fancy stone is a tough variant of bituminous coal that can be facet cut and displayed either as a pendant or inset into a larger setting. It is the stone of mourning and sorrow in wealthy cities (such as those in Amn, Calimshan, and Sembia, as well as Waterdeep and Westgate), and remains a preferred material for magic jars, a use contributing to its fell reputation. Certain treatments of a jet stone (or specific spells cast too close to one) may well unintentionally free a furious, long-imprisoned mage or strange magic-wielding beast from its depths or summon a wizshade to the spot. Some such imprisoned beings can use their magic in limited ways to try to bring about their release but possession of their prison gemstones rarely gives one any influence over them.'

Onyx: 'Contact with onyx aids in safe, relatively painless childbirths, but the stone is otherwise considered unlucky.'

Obsidian: Nothing too fancy. It's magical properties are limited, but it's a material component in arcane variants of blade barrier and can be used to make an ioun stone. Waterdhavian parcel-binders make rings out of them that allow them to cut twine on their fingers for ease of work.)

We got it, you're a goth edgelord too.

Shar:

Minerals are a symptom of planets daring to exist and thus are sinful or something. idk, regardless Shar doesn't care to manifest as anything much past 'tentacles made of darkness.'

Selune:

Moonstone. She knows her theme and she's sticking with it.

Moonstone: Moonstone absorbs ambient light and will glow with faint white light in total darkness when all other lights are gone. Dreams of moonstone forewarn oncoming danger. Moonstone is useful as components in barrier magics, deflection of spells, and other abjurations.

Jergal:

Grandpa cares not for pretty trinkets. Or joy. Or anything that isn't personal amusement and the apocalypse. Grumpy bastard.

Mystra:

Rainbow tourmaline, amarantha, beljuril, blue and clear gems of any kind

Rainbow tourmaline: Absorbs magic, turns it into electricity, and then fires it back as a lightning bolt.

Amarantha: Or Shieldstone. A mineral unique to Toril that forms deep within the earth, typically mined from the Underdark. A sparkling jewel that comes in ‘greenish white or very pale green.’ The stone attracts, absorbs and stores ambient electricity. Normally this means static charge, but it can be used to protect against weaponised magical electric strikes, with the forewarning that the stone has limits and if it breaks from overload it may discharge all the electricity into everyone and everything around it.

Beljuril: Another mineral unique to Toil. Also known as 'fireflashils,' due to their tendency to periodically flash with blazing fluctuating light, described as 'dazzling' at night. Generally the stone is a deep, sea green, and is hard enough that cutting it will go through several sets of tools. Never found in sizes more than 5 inches in diameter. Beljurils replicate ambient heat, light and vibration (not disrupting or taking away from the actual surroundings), which is what causes them to light up when they discharge. They don't do much, but they are popular as security lights for the wealthy (as they will react to heat and movement in their vicinity).

Aventurine (blue): Used to penetrate magical disguises, as touching it will dispel illusions and shapeshifting.

Azurite: Absorbs heat in a fashion that prevents or mitigates harm from said heat. Calishites often wear azurite while dealing with fire, such as if cooking.

Iol (iolite): Has a strong symbolic association with magic in Faerûnian legends.

Diamond: Can be used as a universal ingredient for any form of spell ink. Well suited for divination magic. If worn at the throat or on the head it protects against seeing visions (as it prevents the individual from dreaming at all, making it useful to avoid nightmares too) and keeps one from being enchanted by others

Euclase: Explodes into a fireball if it comes into contact with magic.

Flurospar: Glows with a green radiance if there are invisible things/people nearby.

Sapphire: Widely used in the making of magical items, especially swords. Linked to magical prowess, the mind, and air (the element.) Protects against and soothes negative emotions, such as fear, despair, and corresponding mental illnesses.

There are a lot of blue and clear gemstones and I'm not listing them all, and I'm wondering if some gods don't have gemstones because somebody is hogging them all. Suffice to say they do something-something magic. Like glowing when somebody's scrying on you or exploding if you use the wrong spell. That kind of pattern.

[dfastback68]

Tried and failed to write yesterday but was successful today!! Finally started the goth fam sequel (yeah, not the prequel... oops) and also a short fic that's 99% finished at around 4k. It needs editing and polishing and then I'll try to post it in the next few days.

I just want my blorbos interact and was possessed by the sudden need for Perona and King to not only meet, but also braid each other's hair. I mean come on. It's the perfect activity for them. Plus, their captains have history!! I wanted to write something relatively light hearted anyways. So, here's a snippet:

__

“Moria complained all the time about your captain, you know,” she says, which gets his attention. He’s not keen on talking about Kaido much these days, but he supposes it can’t always be avoided. “That if not for him, he would have stayed in the New World. It was one stupid fight and he never shut up about it! Ugh, it was so annoying.”

“I was there,” Alber says without thinking. He does remember that fight, too, because Moria’s zombies had been a pain in the ass to put down. They were as susceptible to his fire as anything else, though. Kaido handled Moria himself.

“What?!” Perona drops his hair and braces her hands on his shoulder, leaning over to see his face. “Really? Moria was in his prime back then, I wish I could have seen it!”

“I was Kaido’s second from the very beginning,” he says, frowning. Back then. Had it really been that long ago, or is she just that young? “It was a fairly short fight. Moria didn’t belong in the New World, and we made sure he knew th - ach.”

Alber winces as Perona yanks a fistful of his hair.  “Don’t speak ill of Moria! How could you? After I’ve been so kind to you!”

As if she hasn’t complained about Moria several times already, and now she’s trying to exact some sort of transactional cost out of this activity again? He offers no apology, nor does she seem to expect one.

“Well,” she says with a sniff. She smooths her hands through his hair again, and picks up where she left off braiding. “If you hadn’t chased him out, he would have never found me, so. It’s alright, I guess.”

“Hm,” is all Alber says in response. It’s the closest he’ll get to an olive branch, but he’s never been above being petty. Perona is much nicer company than Queen, though, and if Mihawk allows her here, he needs to respect that, too.

“Hawkeyes told me to be nice to you if I ever ran into you,” she says, immediately undoing whatever goodwill had been extended just a moment ago.

[stevenbasic]

Growing into the Job, Post 427: Sharpening the Weapons: Stephanie, Prologue, p1

Marisela and Stephanie were touching palms, hand to hand, across the breakroom table. Some of the girls have learned recently that the effects of the Bliss could be intensified if they were in contact with each other. On this bright, crisp November Friday morning, it was obvious that Melissa and Dr. J were  together somewhere, enjoying one another’s company. Marisela and Stephanie were now savoring the benefits, enjoying the sensations of the the expansion in their busts and limbs, their minds and muscles.  

“W-wow, that was a good one,” Stephanie chuckled, almost shyly, as the final flutters of growth ebbed out of her body. She drew her hands back from her co-worker, feeling a tingle in her fingers before, tucking a strand of long blond hair behind her ear. Her swollen bicep inadvertently flexed, stretching the sleeve of her pink scrub top a bit further than it had when she put it on this morning. 

“Yeah,” Marisela agreed, her dark hair shimmering in a sunbeam filtered through the breakroom’s window as she  ran her tongue across her canines. Just a little sharp, thankfully. The fangs, she knew from experience, would fade after a couple minutes, and luckily nothing had  sprung from her shoulders this time. That’d be embarrassing. Plus, this wasn’t even her dress. She didn't really do ‘color’ in her basically all-black wardrobe, so, just for today,  she’d borrowed this luridly pink, body-hugging dress from Josie. She basically hated the thing, but still that didn't mean she wanted to ruin it with a pair of giant black raven wings busting through the back. 

These moments of Bliss, though, especially when shared, always brought the girls of FHMA closer together. Marisela hadn’t known Stephanie for too long. The blonde was a friend of Melissa’s, the two having worked together at the car dealership.So many of the new staff had migrated from there, and like so many of the others Marisela had bonded with her over the past couple months. It was strange, she realized, the affinity she felt for all these girls. Marisela knew herself, she knew she’d never been what people would call “open” or “friendly” or “nice”. She knew she had her sharp edges. And now, well…some of those edges were very sharp. Still, though, the connections she’d been making - connections they’d all been making - were now some of the most important things in her life. 

On the other side of the table, Stephanie also found it unusual how well she and this goth-nerd chick with the tattoos, the piercings and the acerbic tongue got along. While she herself had always been a generally conservative girl, pretty but actually relatively shy, Marisela was anything but. Quiet at times, yes, and darkly gorgeous, but she was edgy to a fault. And so, so smart. Where Stephanie had spent the larger part of the last several years in pursuit of fitness as a die-hard gym-bunny, Marisela spoke of her past days in the underground clubs, in art school, and on her computer. And, Stephanie knew, there were the more recent times that Marisela decidedly didn’t speak about, the hours she spent alone after dark. No one seemed to know exactly what she did, and they didn’t ask a lot of questions. So far the police, such as they were, hadn’t caught up to her. 

The two young women had been sharing tea together, taking a break from work before the big event of the day. The news team would be arriving after lunch to film the ribbon-cutting for the new wings, and then there’d be the party in the atrium later tonight. Stephanie blew on her oolong, and took a sip. 

Stephanie made an attempt to break the moment of awkward silence.“So, I like your dress,” she commented. 

“Yeah I hate it,” Marisela immediately clipped back, glancing quickly down at the sheath of spandex-or-whatever that covered her like a second skin, “Pink is most certainly not my color.”

“I dunno I think you look pretty,” Stephanie smiled, amused if anything by Marisela’s consternation. It made her look cute, in her own bat-girl-from-the-dungeon way. She watched the pale-skinned girl awkwardly pull the swooping neckline up over her chest. On most people, the dress would actually be relatively modest, long-sleeved and not too short. On someone with Marisela’s curves and new height, though, it wasn’t modest at all. 

“I think it just makes my tits look huge,” Marisela quipped back, huffing in annoyance. The new growth spurt certainly didn’t help matters. She couldn’t wait to change, when all this was over. 

Stephanie giggled, and adjusted her own bra strap through her scrubs. Her muscles were pleasantly sore after last night's monster gym session, and now her DD-cups were squashed inside too-tight confines. She knew she should have worn the new expandable bra Melissa had given her, but this one was so cute, and she wasn’t ready to give it up just yet. Tea mug back on the table between them, Stephanie reached up behind her head to tie her hair up into a messy bun. 

“Speaking of huge, though,” Marisela continued, now taking a sip of her own tea and appraising her new friend with a careful eye. The girl’s biceps were impressive, for sure, dancing and flexing as Stephanie finished with her hair. “Look at your crazy muscles.”

Stephanie chuckled, again a bit shyly, and lowered her arms. 

“Really, I mean, how long have you been working out?” Marisela asked. Despite her (now) seemingly supernatural strength and agility, Marisela had never stepped foot in a gym. Like, ever. She’d never had the patience for it, or the desire to be surrounded by meatheads leering at her chest, and vapid girls just trying to grow their instas. She did, however, have quiet admiration for the girls that were there for real. Stephanie was one of them.

“Oh, I dunno,” Stephanie replied, “Like, years.” Stephanie did know, actually. She knew exactly how many years she’d been lifting. It had been five years and three weeks to the day since she started lifting as heavy as she could, to get as strong as she could. It all harkened back to that October night, her sophomore year at Southern State, and the night in Kurt’s car, with his friends. 

If only Kurt could see me now.

Marisela, technically, should not have known any of this; Stephanie was careful to never tell anyone, not wanting to be seen as a victim - even though the trauma had followed her to this day. Marisela, though, had ways of finding things out. She had seen the police report, and Stephanie’s abbreviated files at the University. It was important to Marisela to know with whom she was working.

“So, how’s it been going? Recently?” Marisela asked, knowing the answer already, “You know, with all the…lifting?” 

Stephanie chuckled again hugging her arms together as she swayed back and forth.

Dang she’s adorable, thought Marisela.

“At the gym? Ah, I can’t do what I want anymore,” she answered, before idly picking up her mug and tracing her finger along its lip. “It’s all gotten…too small.”

“Sounds like you might have to find yourself a new gym,” Marisela proposed, sipping her own tea. “There’s that one down the road that everyone’s talking about…”

Stephanie nodded, but didn’t offer any more. Many of the girls, she knew, were gaining powers. But no one talked about it too much.

“It’s okay, it's not that hard to guess,” Marisela offered gently, “I may have heard a little.”

Stephanie paused, unsure of how much she should say. The changes that were happening in her had been unsettling at first. It had all been a bit much, the changes, the urges. They scared her, but they also thrilled her. It was not something she normally talked about much. She looked at Marisela, though - into her bright, piercing blue eyes - and immediately knew that she was dealing with a kindred spirit. It was clear - as everyone knew, even if it was never discussed - that Marisela was dealing with her own private demons.

Stephanie set down her tea, took a breath, and let the words come out.

“I mean, all this time I’ve put in at the gym to build my body, year, and, like, yeah…I got in shape. But I never really got super strong. And then it’s like: boom, just overnight,” she began, “Gains. Like, gains upon gains upon gains. But, like, not just stronger. When I want to, I can get, like….bigger. Like big. Big big big.”

Marisela nodded, making mental notes, subconsciously running her tongue over her eye teeth again. She stayed quiet, eager for Stephanie to continue.

“I’ve been experimenting with it at home,” Stephanie explained, “...what I can do.” The blond fidgeted, hesitating. “It’s pretty fucking scary.”

Marisela nodded again, adopting a gentle tone, “Some of us girls are getting these abilities, these new…powers. You know that. Even he - Dr J -…he’s starting to know it.”

“Yeah,” Stephanie agreed.

“And you know this is all coming from Melissa, right?”

“Yeah,” she nodded, agreeing again.

“So, some of  the girls are getting these abilities to support Melissa, get her new followers, expand the…whatever you want to call it.”

“The Hive?”

“Yeah I guess,” Marisela conceded - though she didn’t love the term. “But then there’s girls like us,” she continued, “You, me, Amelia. Maybe even Brittni and Bobbi. We’re a little different.” 

Stephanie paused, thinking for a moment before she looked at Marisela. In her, despite the dark makeup, the piercings, and the pale skin, she saw herself. Like a mirror image shadowed, reflected in her eyes.

 “So…what are we?” Stephanie asked, her voice having dropped, not knowing if she was ready for the answer..

“We’re weapons,” Marisela answered, immediately.

“W-weapons?” 

“Yes, weapons, whatever. We’re getting strong, dangerous, and we’re going to be asked to do things we haven’t done before, to protect ourselves. To protect Melissa, and to protect him.”

As disturbing as what Marisela was saying sounded, Stephanie wasn’t surprised. Not really anyway. She’d been afraid of it, the urges, the ones she felt when she let herself grow late at night. The thoughts, the fantasies she had, she knew they weren’t natural. But she knew that what Marisela said made sense. “I’ve never hurt anyone in my life…I don’t know if I could do it.”

”I can change that,” Marisela offered, her eyes gleaming as she put her hand delicately on Stephanie's shoulder. A dark thrill ran through both of them.

“Wh-what do you mean?” Stephaine asked, in an innocent tone betrayed by an imbalanced smile slowly creeping across her face.

Marisela took Stephanie by the hand and looked into the blonde young woman’s eyes. ”You and me, Saturday night. We’re going out, for a little practice session.”

Stephanie’s smile widened, her eyes flashed. “Okay,” she agreed.

Marisela’s own eyes glittered in response. “Well then,” she spoke, “it’s a date.”

===============================

[itslouisan]

C!Ranboo headcannons!!:

(art by @C0RPSING on twitter)

• So, Ranboo is an anxious person, probably he owns some toys to deal with anxiety that he keeps on his suit or in a messanger bag he carries

• Sometimes when it's Christmas or any events or it's dark and he is without his torches, he places little jolly lights on his horns creating a tall walking lamp

• He doesn't own just a memor book. He has SEVERAL, some have photos, doodles, notes, objects glued, but he eventually just abandons them and starts new ones because he thinks the memory books aren't "up to date" anymore to his current moment

• He likes to dress fancy and presentable because he finds this way he can create impressions of being more in control and less scared than he actually is, probably also a fan of ouji lolita, vintage, victorian, goth and grunge fashion

• I like to imagine C!Ranboo loved to map all the places he was so he'd never forget them, so he creates little maps of things like L'Manberg or the syndicate room or just designs in general of how these places are because he wants to keep a forever fresh memory.

• Isn't THE artist, but can draw, loves to draw landscapes and animals but barely draws people, also I always imagined C!Ranboo played violin or piano or both, having an old and rusty out of tune piano on the syndicate room together with the syndicates other instruments and vinyl player and records and discs

• An all nighter type of person, sleeping all morning and part of the noon and only waking up when it's night, probably due to his enderman side since enderman tend to appear more on the night and The End was always quite dark like the night

• Grossed out by enderpearls and hates to use them thinking if maybe it ain't an eye of a relative of his or something, also hates when people kill enderman in front of him, WOULD CONSIDER ENDER FARMS AS GENOCIDE.

• Obviously non-binary and gay so yeah.

• I imagine he'd love cats but be scared of them at the same time, loves bats though

• Loves to collect random bs and keep in a corner of his house, probably a collector of a lot of different stuff like discs, books, quills, anything really due to his enderman instincts of just picking random bs

• Always has a pair of headphones with him

• Probably the time he was the most unhappy and unstable memory, anxiety and depression wise was L'Manberg, all the wars, the feeling of dread of maybe losing your home and friends, being constantly manipulated and used, not knowing who to trust, keep remembering stuff you don't want to, make things you didn't want to, the fear of dying, I can say this was the time he just isolated himself and followed others more than ever

• He DEFINITELY can't do stuff under pressure and will break easily, can't deal with expectations and hates when people observe him doing things even the simplest

[scarlet--wiccan]

We're still undoing the damage done by Teen Titans 2003, I think. Jinx is another Indian sorceress from that franchise and they've really only *just* stopped whitewashing her. Starfire with afro-textured hair is still a hit or miss but with black women recently being used as a base for her visually (Zendaya, Rihanna, Anna Diop) it seems to be getting better.

Raven definitely got the worst of it though- she used to wear lehengas and saris all the time with pastel colors and actually looked Indian (Persis Khambatta, the actress she was based on, was relatively light skinned), now she's been claimed by the goth/witchy aesthetic with the purple hair and grey skin. She wears upside down pentagrams. And pants, even though I distinctly remember her hating pants and preferring skirts and dresses. She's unrecognizable- Marvel's taking measures now to fix Wanda, but DC isn't doing the same for Raven. She recently got her classic look back but I have no idea if it's sticking around.

The Jinx character in Teen Titans is so weird. This is on me, because I'm just not as much of a DC reader, but I legit believed that she was a random OC that was intended to be a Scarlet Witch knockoff. Because they give her, like, a reductive version of Wanda's hex power, and she's designed in the same 2000s goth vein as TT Raven and Evo Wanda.

But anyway, yeah, for all its merits, Teen Titans really did a number on a lot of Black and brown characters, and Raven's had it pretty rough for a long time. I was so surprised that the gender-bent version from Teen Justice was actually designed as a South Asian character with darker skin, but I was also completely unsurprised that he immediately started getting lightened and whitewashed.

I'm not totally sure how I feel about Raven's fashion choices. Her traditional clothing is important, but in the current continuity, she's a young adult who, to the extent that she's lived on Earth, mostly grew up in America. So I understand the impulse to make her feel a bit more youthful and contemporary, and I think it's possible for a character to explore different styles, especially alternative fashion, without compromising their culture and ethnicity. Obviously, the first step would be to stop drawing her like a white girl. Or a Monster High doll, for that matter. But I'm not an expert on the character-- sound off if you think I'm wrong, I guess.

[raccoonfallsharder]

not an ask more paying respect lol, i did the ask abt showing rocket more terran references/ goth music and you did it amazingly thank you so much. i like how it made me think differently too! i bet rocket wouldn’t like too much horror thinking abt it now but stuff like supernatural/ creepy sound better than gore for him. i bet stuff like the toxic avenger is right up his alley lmao. i love how you included reality tv and video games and just showing rocket other genres. i loved what you did with it! i feel like rocket would like rupaul too for the drama and art. i feel like like they could make their own drive in/ outdoor theater on knowhere and can watch anything in the galaxy lmao😭. and i loved how you wrote rocket w music he is the definition of listens to everything <3. i completely loved this thank you <3

you are SO fucken kind (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥) holy shit i will cry now. like, just how sugarsweet are you? thank you bby ♡♡ also i am going to just take a moment to cosign your drive-in/outdoor theatre idea! this was absolutely EXACTLY what i was imagining in the second bulletpoint on this #marvel critique post. i want a whole stupid disney+ show of this, mst3k style

also, you are so right about rocket loving drag and you should fucken say it.

that furry bastard is such a dramatic little punk in his own way. you just know he likes shiny gems and glittery shit far more than he says (i have a ton of headcanons about this but it comes down to — rocket craves lovely, luxurious things and also doesn't believe he deserves them. and also believes most people who have them don't deserve them, and thus, he has few qualms about stealing them. but also never trusts he'll be able to keep them. look, our lil guy is so conflicted.)

the first time you take him to a drag show, i hope you keep it a surprise. let him gripe and complain the whole way there until the uber driver looks like he wants to scream. look, it's not rocket's fault. he frickin told you he'd had a shitty three cycles since he'd seen you last, and now he just wants to crash on your couch with you and order in sushi and rewatch edward scissorhands (you're not sure how that last part's supposed to help — he always ends up silently crying into his fur two-thirds of the way through). he gets even grumpier when you have to wait outside in the relative cold. once you're finally seated at a small table house-left, he's still sulking and snarking, to the point that you almost wanna wring his furry neck yourself.

but then the music starts. maybe a little aretha franklin. gloria gaynor, or some classic cher. yeah, i'm guessing the show stars with cher. slow, silky, low notes pouring out over the stage. strong enough, maybe. when the first queen steps out, rocket's jaw actually drops. by the time the bright pop of disco-synth hits the song, you'd swear the mirrorball is reflecting little stars and hearts into his candied-apple eyes. he's drinking it all in: the drama, the sly and exaggerated winks that put his own oversized winking habits to shame — the gowns, the sequins, the feathers, the heels. the long lashes and sultry stagecraft, the pageantry, the snark, the fun. the music, the theatre of it all, the spotlights and the perfections and the imperfections — and the brightness, like staring into the spiritual equivalent of an anulax battery explosion.

you leave him at some point, just for a moment —making your way to the bar, bringing back the sugary tequila cocktails he's lately taken to liking so much — and he doesn't even touch it. maybe takes a sip, but forgets it's there. it's probably the first time you've seen rocket ignore an opportunity to get at least slightly buzzed (hey, he's made progress in recent years). but this time, the temptation isn't even present. he's staring at the stage, swaying and bopping to the lip-synced lyrics — completely glitterdrunk. he's fixated on the satin corsets and the braying laughter and the ribald jokes, the irreverence that somehow feels like coming home, and all the while he’s wondering what his own long claws would look like if they were painted that color.

it's not like rocket hasn't seen theatrical gender performance before. it's a common-enough phenomenon in deep space, where there are as many expressions of identity as there are stars in the sky. a lot of cultures are far more chill about crossing gender lines or leaning into extreme caricatures, for a kaleidoscope of reasons. some planets don't even have lines to cross, either because gender is a nonconstruct or because it's so extremely flux that it might as well be superfluid helium.

but there's something about this kind of performance that just hits different for rocket. he probably doesn't know enough terran history to understand what he's picking up on. sure, in the far-reaches of the galaxy, diverse gender expression may be the norm — but here on terra, there are conservatives and bioessentialists and police raids and worse. what rocket sees — folded in between the blade-sharp eyeliner and the spun-sugar wigs and the gunmetal-glint of sequins — is rebellion. it's the core blazing fire of demanding the right to be exactly who you are or who you want to be, even if only for a moment. it’s throwing fists when you have to and protecting your people when you can. it's the freedom to give an acrylic-tipped middle-finger to anyone who ever thought they had the right to reinvent you according to their idea of perfection.

it's a fuck-you to every high evolutionary out there, herbert e wyndham or otherwise.

and — maybe more importantly — it’s not just the struggle. in the face of every hostile neighbor and violent lawmaker, it’s taking back some fucking joy.

rocket can taste it.

which is probably why he doesn't want to leave, even after the show draws to a close and someone's yelling about last call. by the time you finally convince him to go out to the sidewalk and wait for your uber back home, a small number of the queens are departing as well — clustered on the sidewalk like gems snatched from taneleer tivan's jewelry box. you don't think you've ever seen this damn raccoon treat an adult-humie-stranger with anything softer than semi-polite suspicion — yourself included — but suddenly, he's turning up the charm, sidling up to the ladies to thank them for their performance.

the queens, of course, are immediately smitten. who's this handsome fucking dreamboat, and how’d he get those biceps, and does he want a selfie? rocket lets them coo over him with exaggerated, syrupy delight — not even snapping when one of them scritches his ears. he shrugs and juts his thumb at you and gives one of them your goddamn phone number, and they squish in for the aforementioned snapshot. he's got big ol' lipstick-prints in his fur already and when someone raises a paint-arched brow and comments suggestively on the many possible uses of his tail, rocket finally sinks into that familiar shit-eating smirk.

you breathe a sigh of relief when you see it. for a couple seconds there, you’d barely even recognized him.

the uber pulls up and the queens pout — how did the surly jackass who steals your pillow and eats all your lucky charms manage to dazzle them all in less than five minutes? — and when rocket gets in the vehicle, he immediately goes quiet in that way he does — suddenly pensive. thoughtful.

your phone buzzes. it's the selfie of him and the goddamn queens. you lean over and show it to him, and he nods, the corner of his mouth curving faintly. His tail flicks on the seat between you, and his ears twitch as he turns to look out the window.

thanks.

you startle when he speaks, despite the fact that you usually can't get him to shut up. but the quiet gratitude sits between you on the bench like a third passenger in the backseat of the car, studded with distant stars and the receding lights of the city.

no problem, you say slowly. i knew you'd like it — i just didn't know how much. you tilt your head. maybe trust me the next time i tell you i wanna take you somewhere.

he scoffs quietly, but the sound is only made of soft camaraderie and old habit. and then — slowly, like the words are hard to find between stoplights and midnight shadows — he adds, this was... special.

you can hear him swallow. his head is still turned to peer out his window, but you can see the ghost of his reflection in the glass: eyes red as lollipops and sour candy, sometimes turning flat-gold with the passing light. His eyelids flicker shut, then reopen.

some asshole once told me— he starts. stops. swallows again. clears his throat. some asshole once told me we all had this — this sacred fuckin' mission to — to take a cacophony of sounds and turn it into a song.

you can hear the words he's quoting, and his voice drips thick with disdain — and also maybe some uncertainty. some vulnerability. whoever it was who'd said this thing to him — it had cut deep, and put down venomous roots. but you don't respond. not yet. you've learned to wait in moments like this — to let the silence curl around you both, low and comforting as old quilts.

but this, he says finally, four blocks later. this was like... taking songs and turning them into a cacophony. but of — of good things. his brows crease in his reflection, and you an see his eyes flick back and forth, searching the darkness.

a cacophony of liberation, you suggest quietly. and of — joy, and reclamation, and — togetherness, i guess.

he lets out a breath so heavy that his shoulders drop when they're free of it. you stretch across the bench-seat, and you know he's watching your hand reach for him in the window's reflection — but he doesn't draw away from you, not even when you card your fingers through the soft fur at the base of his ears, tousling a soft cloud of pixie-dust sparkle into the air.

and of glitter, you add lightly. you hear the uber driver muffle a grunt of dismay.

but rocket just smirks out the window.

yeah, he says, and it takes a second for you to realize that even though he's agreeing with you, he's also confirming something he's been turning over in the privacy of his own head — all night, maybe. when he repeats himself under his breath, it sounds — it sounds like a soft new bandage, almost. like he’d gone to check on a wound he’d thought had turned to rot, only to learn the the scar’s looking clean and smooth and healthy, and healing up just right.

yeah. that fucker was frickin' wrong.

as per frickin' usual.

headcanons & imagines masterlist | navigation | fanfiction masterlist

raccoon & star dividers by @/thecutestgrotto support banners by @/saradika-graphics

gotg rocket