#you are not here to conform; you could be the eye of the storm | things about maya

[errorsystemfailure]

tag dump

ignore this i'm just trying to clear out my drafts folder again

[sleeplesssmoll]

HC: What if Vertin is actually less human presenting but it's harder to tell because of her suit?

For example, there are a lot of human passing arcanists like Sonetto, Matilda, Melania, etc. Then there are arcanists like Shamane and Pavia where you see them reveal inhuman qualities at Insight II. Even further down the line you have Getian and Jessica. Arcanists vary so much in shape and size (not unlike humans tbh who also have a lot of variation among our species).

Here is what I conjured up:

Vertin's Silver/gray hair and eyes have a reflective quality to them so they reflect the color of things around them. This would also explain the inconsistencies in her hair/eye color. Her hat reduces the effect since it covers her head and she usually hides on eye. This way humans don't freak out as their talking by then changing color due to changes in light around them. You'd also end up staring at your own reflection in her eyes if you stare too hard.

If you could take a mirror and weave it into threads, that's Vertin's hair. Eyes have similar effect, they're like pools of liquid mercury.

Vertin might be able navigate through dark caves, labyrinths, and streets at night because she has a better night-vision than most. If you shine a light on her in the dark, her eyes do a that thing where they light up a like a cats. Just Sonetto lighting up the kitchen with her wand and Vertin's there nomming Picrasma candy like a naughty cat who got into the treat jar.

Then what about her suit? Maybe Vertin can temperature regulate like Sonetto, AEB her crossing the dessert in it, but she's sensitive to sun? The actual UV is bad for her skin if she's out there too long. Also her hair color is not good for protection either since she has negative melanin (this would also go for her eyes and be another reason for hat).

Or you could go further off the deep end. Embrace the arcanists blood!

What if Vertin barely even has body hair so she's more vulnerable if she doesn't cover up? What if you can see arcane shenanigans under her skin so she covers it up in public? Like her veins being a weird color instead of the blue-green humans are used too. Or maybe it's her overall body type in general?

Sonetto's parade uniform is shows off more skin. The Foundation...knows that she's pretty. They know what they're doing. There was even a trail about them using pretty girls as a distraction toward the beginning of the game. While her normal uniform covers up everything, the Foundation can make exceptions.

So what if Vertin's body doesn't conform to what humanity accepts? She has a lot of androgynous features and a lot of humans we see in-game like to put things in boxes. However, there's no box for people like Vertin who show a mixture of masculine and feminine features (although we see a more than few arcanists carry these traits). Because the Foundation wants humans to feel comfortable with arcanists, it's easier to only show off things they'll accept and quietly tuck away the things that they might not be as open too. Now that Vertin isn't a little kid anymore, those contradictory features are going to be more obvious. While Vertin is free to pick her own outfits, the stigma is still there. It actually gets worse with each Storm too.

In a world like that it might be easier to navigate to cover up as much as possible so people don't have time to dwell on what you look like underneath. Perhaps arcanists don't have that same obsession of what's going on underneath other people's clothes but they are subjected to it.

What if arcanists react to the full moon? Pavia needs to howl at it. Sonetto gets restless. Druvis NEEDS to bask in it and won't be interrupted. Then how does Vertin react? Turning into an Udimo? Big naps? Or she doesn't sleep at all. She becomes a menace! Becomes super strong! Or just lays on the floor and cries.

I forgot where I was going with this but here we are.

Embrace the arcanist blood and give me your "arcanist Vertins"! I will consume.

[reaper2187]

Cairo sweet x female reader

As the school bell rings, a cacophony of chatter fills the hallways, mingling with the light scent of morning coffee and the faint hum of fluorescent lights. Amidst this teeming sea of students, you find yourself drawn to a solitary figure perched on a windowsill near the library.

Her name is Cairo Sweet, and your gaze lingers on her with a curious mix of fascination and trepidation. Her face, framed by a cascade of raven hair, is a canvas of exquisite features: piercing brown eyes that seem to hold a depth beyond her years, a delicate nose, and a mouth that curves into a mysterious smile.

As your eyes connect, you feel an unexpected surge of kinship. She is an enigma, an outsider, like you

 You have always felt like a square peg in a round hole, never quite fitting in with the preppy girls who gossip and giggle in the cafeteria. But in Cairo's gaze, you sense a glimmer of understanding.

With a hesitant step, you approach her. 'Excuse me,' you say softly. 'I'm new here. I couldn't help but overhear that you're Cairo Sweet. My name's [Your Name].'

A faint smile crosses her lips. 'Nice to meet you, [Your Name].'

You sit down beside her, your notebooks open in front of you. The silence between you is comfortable, almost inviting. As the minutes turn into hours, you share stolen glances, whispered secrets, and dreams that have long been buried within.

Cairo tells you about her life before Miller's Creek, her nomadic childhood, and her passion for writing. You, in turn, confide in her about your own struggles and aspirations. For the first time, you feel truly seen and understood.

As the day draws to a close, you and Cairo walk together to your lockers. Your fingers brush against hers, and a spark ignites within you. It is a spark of connection, a desire to be near her, to explore the forbidden realms that lie beyond friendship.

But your burgeoning feelings are met with trepidation. This is high school, after all, and societal norms dictate that girls should only date boys. You fear the repercussions of breaking these unspoken rules.

Undeterred, Cairo leans in and whispers, 'I think you're amazing, [Your Name]. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.'

Her words embolden you. You take her hand and lead her to an empty classroom. The soft glow of the setting sun filters through the windows, casting a warm and intimate light upon the two of you.

With trembling lips, you confess your feelings. To your surprise, Cairo reciprocates. Her kiss is gentle, tentative, and yet filled with an undeniable longing.

In that stolen moment, time stands still. The world outside fades away, leaving only you and Cairo, two hearts entwined in a secret dance of love.

As you reluctantly pull away, Cairo whispers, 'This is against the rules, but it feels so right.'

You smile. 'Maybe we're destined to be rebels.'

Your secret rendezvous becomes a solace amidst the turmoil of high school. You carve out hidden corners in the library, linger in the shadows of the hallways, and steal precious moments together on deserted benches. Your love grows stronger with each stolen kiss, each whispered promise.

But the walls of silence cannot hold indefinitely. Rumors spread like wildfire, and soon you find yourselves at the center of a storm of gossip and condemnation. Some students whisper words of support, but many more cast judgment upon your forbidden love.

As the pressure mounts, you and Cairo face an impossible choice. You could deny your feelings and conform to societal expectations, or you could embrace your love and risk the consequences.

Together, you choose the latter. Hand in hand, you walk through the hallways, ignoring the disapproving stares and hurtful comments. Your love is a beacon of defiance, a testament to the power of the human heart.

In the end, your resilience and unwavering bond silence the critics. Cairo and [Your Name] become a symbol of hope and acceptance for all who dare to love beyond the confines of societal norms.

And as the years go by, your love story becomes a legend whispered among the students of Miller's Creek, a tale of two girls who dared to defy the odds and find happiness in the most unexpected of places.

[starz-4-mel]

Okay I looooove ancient dreams in a modern land (the song) by Marina like it's so shifting core yk??

"I am not my body, not my mind or my brain (ha!)

Not my thoughts or feelings, I am not my DNA..

I am the observer, I'm a witness of life

I live in the space between the stars and the sky.."

"You don't have to be like everybody else

You don't have to fit into the norm,

You are not here to conform..

I am here to take a look inside myself

Recognize that I could be the eye, the eye of the storm.."

Like I love this song omgg marina >>>

[konigbabe]

LUCKY PICK

Pairing: Toji Fushiguro x fem!reader Word count: 3.1k Tags/warnings: no y/n; gambling; smut; public sex; pure filth; getting caught; p-in-v; unprotected sex; Toji's a little bit of a meanie; blowjob; pussy slapping (like once) Summary: Toji's frequent presence at the boat races doesn’t go unnoticed by your observant gaze. Every time you see him, however, luck seems to elude him, leaving him on the losing end; until you offer the man assistance in selecting a boat–lucky you, he wins. So he finds a way to thank you properly.

masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi

Amidst the kaleidoscope of social strata, one thing that sticks out for you: his shoes.

While some attendees adorn themselves in lavish, bespoke suits, busy with their own affairs while the events before them serve as a mere backdrop, others, those less fortunate, come in more casual in hopes to earn some quick money.

He, on the other hand, is rather glaring with his choice of clothing. Too casual. Insouciant. Black tracksuit, something more fitting for a morning jog or a workout at the gym. The fabric seems slightly worn, a faint stain on the sleeve. His shoes, however, are the most intriguing part of his ensemble. They stand out. Like a flash of lightning on a stormy night.

In a sea of polished leather and high-end dress shoes, he wears a pair of scuffed, worn flip-flops. It's not just the stark contrast between his flip-flops and the elegant footwear of others that piques your interest. Rather the aura of confidence and a nonchalant demeanor that could easily be mistaken for arrogance.

Even for the outfit, he’s rather handsome. Raven hair tumbling down just to his ears, framing the chiseled planes of his face. The faint scar on the corner of his right lip only adds to the air of mystery surrounding him.

In contrast to the meticulously groomed individuals around him, his appearance carries an air of authenticity. As if he doesn't conform to societal norms but carves his own path instead.

He’s here often. Twice a week. A clockwork of unwavering routine. A regular fixture. Each time, he places his bet on the same number. It’s always three. No regard for any other possibilities. He’s staying the whole day, watches all the races and loses his money. Each and every time.

You stand on the stairs leading to the ticket vending machines, overlooking the racers warm up around the buoy. People passing by until he’s here again. In the same outfit, with the same aura of disregard, detachment.

He passes you as well. A solid wall, going straight, no disregard whether you move out of the way or not. Makes you take a step aside. You know he’s here to lose again. Letting out a grunt, an annoyed huff of air, your voice carries through the loud environment when his bicep brushes your shoulder.

"Here to lose again?"

It makes him stop. Look you dead in the eyes. You can feel the steel behind his eyes as he studies you. Tries to understand why someone like him – a man who’d been losing every race for months – is being confronted by someone like you, someone with nothing more than a passing interest in the track and its races.

For a moment, time seems to slow down as his gaze locks with yours. His eyes, like storm-touched steel, easily likened to polished basalt, peer out from under strong, dark eyebrows. Hooded. Locked onto yours. A thunderous downpour.

He stays silent for solid few seconds. Possibly aiming to intimidate you into leaving him alone. Yet, he fails as you stand tall next to him; not backing down or wilting away under his scrutiny.

"Who says I’m here to lose," he retorts, a touch of defiance in his voice. The hint of a smirk plays on his lips as he studies you, perhaps trying to gauge your intentions.

As you arch an eyebrow, you remark, "I haven’t seen you win yet. You've been betting on the same number, sir, every time I've seen you here. And from what I've observed, you haven't had much luck."

His brows furrow momentarily before he responds with a knowing smirk, matching your aura with his own brand of dry wit.

"Luck has nothing to do with it. Besides, one day, that number will hit."

His confidence is almost infectious, and despite the peculiar choice of his attire and betting strategy, there's an air of genuineness in his words.

"Then why don’t you bet for other numbers," your body pivots to face him, arms crossed over your chest, "try it," you hold your chin high, " buy a place-show, numbers four and six."

To your suggestion of trying other numbers, the man chuckles softly, seemingly amused by the idea, "and why would I do that?"

"You have better odds with the place-show ticket rather than the win ticket," you explain with a shrug, "and if you lose, you’ll have someone else to aim your anger at."

He smirks, nodding thoughtfully as if considering your proposition. "Ah, you're one of those logical types, ain’t ya? Always calculating the odds an’ playing it safe."

You chuckle at the characterization, appreciating his keen observation. "I haven’t lost in a long time. Plus," you blatantly look him up and down, "I have a feeling you could use some luck, and maybe a touch of charm wouldn't hurt either."

He raises an eyebrow, the faint scar on his lip accentuating the mischievous glint in his eye. "Charm, huh? What's in it for you?"

Flashing a grin at his question (it's a valid one, after all), you meet the playful spark in his laden eyes.

"Oh, nothing much," you reply, feigning nonchalance, a familiar mask that you wear to try to stifle the faint tremor of fear, "let’s just say if you win, you’ll owe me a favor."

One moment, you were sitting a few seats next to the man, a winning ticket grasped between your fingers; both watching the race unfold before your eyes.

Next, a subtle, self-assured grin spreads over his face as the winning numbers are announced.

("Would ya’ look a’that.."

"Who would’ve thought…")

And then, flicker in time. You find yourself in an alleyway, still at the stadium and next to a dumpster. Away from the fanfare of the racetrack. A putrid stench of decaying food still in the air overpowered by the potent, heady musk of Toji’s body as the concrete scrapes against your naked knees. Uncomfortable and rough.

Pants lowered down only enough for his cock to spring free; the tip glistening with pearls, a byproduct of his pleasure. Lifting your head slightly, you dip down to kiss the dew away as your hand, wet with precum and spit, moves over his length, pads tracing every curve and ridge.

Lips swollen. Jaw hurting from the tight fit, Toji’s fingers grip the top of your head; urging you to take him in deeper, feel him heave in your mouth. Careless to the fact you should need air. But at this moment, looking up and seeing his eyes already boring into yours, oxygen’s the last thing on your mind.

"That’s it," his husky froan reverberates in your ears as his thumb traces the arch of your eyebrow before his hand cups your cheek, cradles your face, "atta girl."

His words cause heat flooding into your core. A warmth to blossom from deep within. Feeling your heart thudding between your legs, you press your thighs together more. Fingers moving along the exposed, wet slit before pushing one in—

It’s barely a stretch. Disappointing.

—then two.

Letting his cock from your mouth, the sweetness lingering on your tongue as you move the top of your tongue along the underside of his head. Glistening, painfully swollen and painfully red. Hand gliding over the length, thumb pressing onto the sensitive slit, causing a stream of Fuck, Goddamn and your name stream from his bruised lips.

Spit-covered lips trace the underside of his cock, leaving a glossy trail behind. With a trembling breath, he taps your temple.

"Up."

You don’t even register his command before a hand encloses your arm, effortlessly lifting you on your feet.

"Wait," you squeal, a mixture of surprise and trepidation when he crunches down. Putting a hand instinctively on his shoulder to steady yourself, you feel the taut muscle, finely sculpted and responsive to his movements. Fingers gripping your ankle with determined strength; in one deft motion, he liberates your leg from the confines of the pant leg (and carelessly leaves the other be).

For a moment, you feel like a child again – pushed around, a small puppet, being dressed and undressed by another's hands.

It’s all happening too fast yet not swiftly enough.

His lips brush over your dripping core. Gives it a lick. A taste of your sweetness, humming in appreciation when your juices coat his tongue, lips, chin. And when you push your hips into his face, shamelessly chasing the feeling of his tongue – he stands back up. Palm making a benign impact with your swollen core, leaving you gasping from the sudden jolt of pain.

"Maybe ‘nother time," he speaks up. Hand grasping your ankle, resting it against his shoulder, heel digging into his collarbone, foot beside his face. Teeth grace your ankle, the wet tip of his tongue darting to lick a stripe over the fibula. All while his fingers spread the wetness leaking out of you, fingertips tracing your opening, teasing the entrance with his pads.

"Someone’s a lil’ eager."

You feel the blunt press. Too thick for his fingers.

The head of his cock spreads you open. You fight the urge to close your eyes, lean onto the brick wall barely touching your back. Instead, you force your gaze to remain on Toji’s face; his eyes hooded, barely open but piercing through you as he pushes forward. Slowly.

His hips push forward, fighting the resistance as you welcome the feeling. Heart racing, a groan leaves your lips when Toji grips your waist and pulls you onto him. Cock grazing your sensitive walls, you watch his eyes close in a blissful moment momentarily.

A feeling of triumph washes over you – you managed to capture the beast itself in its most vulnerable state.

Then he snaps. Gets impatient. And if it wasn’t for the hand on your waist, you’d certainly lose balance with the raw, almost inhuman strength with which he thrusts into you.

"Ugh—fuck, oh God," eyes closed, you succumb to the feeling; shallow, deep thrusts slowly speeding up, turning into something more resembling a pounding. Savage.

His lips brush the shell of your ear, fingers digging into the fat of your hips before moving upwards, cupping your clothed breast, thumb flicking your erect nipple, "told ya it’s Toji."

It goes like this. You try to steady yourself on one foot, clinging onto Toji’s arms as if he’s your beacon. Mouth agape, you rest your forehead on his collarbone. The hamstring in your leg feels close to ripping apart when his hand slides onto your thigh, providing a reassurance that makes the ache between your legs flare up with ardent fervor.

Toji pulls and pushes — forcing your body to twist, spinning you around to the point where your hands can rest on the wall. One leg’s still on the ground while the other is held against his broad chest. All while his thrusts remain merciless.

He fills you up, the fat head of his cock pressing against your depths, stretching you wider and deeper than before. Shameless squelching filling your ears whenever he bottoms out. Pulls out only halfway, his cock glistening with your juices and his precum when it almost slips free. Coaxing moan after moan from you.

"Damn," he stops, cock buried to the hilt and you feel the pads of his fingers swipe over your clit. Moving down, to the place you two are connected, "feel that?"

Wetness; his fingers dip between your folds, trace your core.

"Look at that."

And you look — wishing that maybe you didn’t. He scissors his fingers before your face, showing off the sticky substance connecting his fingers, glistening in the daylight. Heat shoots up your whole body when his smug face watches your reaction, a sly grin spreading on his lips when a moan comes out of you.

His thrusts come back without warning. Deep. He pulls you back into his cock.

It’s blissful. Euphoric. But painful.

"Can’t," you breath out, feeling close to cramping, "m’not that flexible."

"Oh really," he remarks. Yet, his grasp loosens on your body.

It feels like hours have passed with the way Toji ruts into you. Truly living up to the expectations one would’ve expected from a man his build and reputation.

Bend over, palms flat against the rough surface of the brick wall, Toji relentlessly pounds into you. The spongy head of his cock feels as if it’s breaching the opening of your cervix, mingling pain and pleasure in a confusing mix.

"Hey," a high-pitched voice startles you, Toji’s pelvis kissing the flesh of your ass as he buries himself to the brim, "What you doin’ there?!"

His hand moves from the arch of your back, fingers burning as they trace onto your hip. Squeezing, locking you against him.

"Takin’ a piss," Toji remains unfazed. Voice laced with a subtle hint of boredom while his cock pulsates inside you.

Taking a hand off the wall, you slap it across your mouth. Gentle fear of even your breaths being heard (and it doesn’t matter that you are good ten meters from the passerby).

"The toilets are right over there," the man shouts, making you question whether he’ll take a step toward you.

You’re aware that for a passerby, your figure is hidden behind the dumpster and unless Toji thrusts into you, it would look as if the man is simply relieving himself in the alley. Still fully clothed, only the front of his pants down enough for his cock to be free, one might think he’s telling the truth.

Silence falls onto you, forcing your head to turn to the side. Neck straining, you look over your shoulder – Toji’s unphased, nonchalant demeanor combined with the overly muscular physique visible even with loose clothes on radiates authority. Brutality. His demeanor serene; a tranquil lake at dawn. It would frighten you as well if you weren’t impaled on his cock.

His head lurches to the left, eyes locking onto the poor man's soul with an intense and penetrating gaze. It might be enough to scare the man away. To leave you alone.

That’s when he pulls back. Only an inch, mere centimeters but still enough to thrust back with rough intent. Body jolting forward, a surprised yelp gets muffled by your hand. Heat ripples through you.

He’s shameful, you realize. Salacious with his indecency.

The corners of his lips turn upward. Not enough for the passersby to see but from your point of view, it only fuels the sadistic image of the man behind you. The man whose cock keeps massaging your walls with shallow, almost non-existent thrusts.

How dare he.

"Whatever."

Loud footsteps echo through the alley before Toji’s fingers curl around your nape and he yanks. Hand pushing against the lower of your back, the other moving to the side of your neck as he twists your body into his own, pliant toy. Into a position he desires.

"Damn–," he breaths against the hairs on the back of your neck, chill breath washing over the shivering area, "does that turn ya’ on? Being watched?"

He pulls back at a leisurely pace. Unhurried. In and out.

"Fucked dumb on my dick–"

In and out.

"–while some loser watches your drippin’ cunt soak me."

Hitting that sweet, sensitive but delicate spot deep inside you; that even your fingers cannot reach. The one that makes you see stars, feel the heat in your core spread.

"Shut up," you basically snarl, pushing your ass into his crotch with fervor, forcing him deeper, causing his breath to hitch with his lips brushing over your burning skin, "shut up."

He chuckles at that. Licks a stripe over your shoulder. Moves to the side of your neck before his teeth sink into the earlobe, tugging.

"Could feel you squeezin’ me back then," the hand on the side of your neck inches forward; now resting firmly against the front of your neck, a silent reminder of the power it wields. The pressure is gentle but firm, a subtle yet unmistakable display of control. All while Toji matches your rhythm, thrusting at a pace that gets you closer to the sweet abyss.

Your hand moves from the wall, slides over the curve of your belly and find its place between your legs.

"Close ‘em," Toji’s thrusts grow in intensity. Forcing your body forward – to prevent falling, his hand on your back moves to rest against the wall, trapping your delicate hand underneath the roughness of his palm, the other holding you close by the neck.

"Ugh–wh–what," you barely breathe out, legs straining to keep the pace as the heat spreads.

"Your legs. Close ‘em."

And you do. Pushing your thighs together, a whole new sensation surges through your body as his cock fills you up. And it seems Toji feels the same by the way your name leaves his lips in a heavy groan, forehead resting against the crown of your head.

"Fuck yeah," he sighs, palm kneading the flesh of your ass. He’s pushing his hips against yours. Pulls you back into him with fingers itching to your aching nub. Finger flicking over it, making you shudder and moans to grow louder.

The coil in your abdomen grows tighter with each flick of his finger, kiss of his cock. Breath catching in your throat, you push back against Toji when the searing bliss washes over you.

He fucks you through it all.

"Gonna cum," you feel him thicken, pulse inside you. Hips stuttering, speeding and growing in intensity as he chases his own high.

"Not inside," you don’t struggle. Let him absolutely destroy you.

And he listens. Gives you few more fucks before he pulls out. Fists his cock, eyes watching your dripping, swollen pussy before you feel the sticky globes land on your core, slide down your clenching thighs.

He groans behind you. Hand resting on top of your ass, thumb caressing the skin there as you try to catch your breath. All while the man seems only slightly fazed by all the fucking. Makes you feel weak, pathetic — looking like you’d done a full workout while he’s standing behind you.

You stand back up. Wipe the cum off with a tissue you dig from your bag before pulling your pants back up, breath still slightly labored.

"Was this what I owed you?"

He fixes his pants, adjusting the waistband to hug the defined muscles of his lower abdomen, fleshing you his happy trail.

You shake your head to which his eyes narrow softly, "I want to hire you, Mr Fushiguro," hands fixing the mess on top of your head, you turn your back to The Sorcerer Killer, "take the win as your upfront payment."

[naomijoestar]

⋆.ೃ Tethered By Fate ࿔*:･

A Jolyne Cujoh love story

This story’s masterlist here <3 (+ important info on the story so I highly recommend checking it out before proceeding)

Main masterlist here <3

Chapter 1 - The First Thread

next chapter >

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

The late afternoon sun streamed through the wide windows of the gallery, painting streaks of amber and gold across the polished floor. You tightened your grip on your messenger bag as you stood near the entrance, the low hum of chatter filling the air. This wasn’t your usual scene. Most of the attendees were older, dressed in crisp linen suits and cocktail dresses, swirling glasses of wine in their hands as they discussed brushstrokes and color theory like seasoned critics.

You were only here because your art professor had insisted. “Your work deserves to be seen, Y/N,” she’d said. “And more importantly, you deserve to be proud of it.”

Easy for her to say. She didn’t have to stand here, face to face with strangers scrutinizing the most vulnerable parts of her soul. You glanced around the room, trying to spot your piece among the other works hanging on pristine white walls.

When you finally found it, your stomach twisted.

There it was—your painting, titled “After the Storm”. It was a raw, swirling mix of blues, grays, and muted greens, representing the chaos of grief and the tentative hope that followed. It had been born out of countless sleepless nights, the ghost of your sibling haunting every stroke.

Now, it hung on display for the world to see, a fragment of your heart exposed.

You considered sneaking out before anyone could notice you, but your resolve faltered when a voice nearby caught your attention.

“This is it?” someone said, his tone sharp and unimpressed. “It’s so… basic.”

Your stomach dropped as you turned toward the source of the voice. A tall man in a tailored blazer stood before your painting, his nose scrunched in mild disdain.

“Abstract, maybe,” he continued, tilting his head. “But I don’t see the skill. It’s just messy brushstrokes and a moody color palette. Anyone could slap that on a canvas.”

Before you could process the sting of his words, another voice cut in, this one bright and mocking.

“Maybe you should try slapping something on a canvas, then,” the stranger said. “See if anyone puts your crap in a gallery.”

You blinked in surprise as a young woman stepped into view, her presence magnetic and commanding. She had short, choppy hair tied into twin buns, with loose strands framing her angular face. Her black leather jacket clung to her frame, the silver zippers glinting under the gallery lights. She stood in stark contrast to the room’s muted tones, like a spark of rebellion in a sea of conformity.

The man bristled. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” She crossed her arms. “Art’s not about pleasing snobs like you. It’s about expression. Maybe try having an emotion sometime—it might help with your ‘critique.’”

The man sputtered, his face reddening, but he seemed to decide she wasn’t worth the argument. With a huff, he stalked off, muttering under his breath.

The gallery buzzed with whispers as the young woman turned back toward your painting, tilting her head slightly as she studied it.

“Ignore him,” she said casually, as if you were already part of the conversation. “It’s good. Better than anything he could do.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. “You think so?”

She glanced at you then, her green eyes sharp and appraising. “Yeah. It’s got feeling. People who don’t get that shouldn’t even be here.”

You felt a flush of warmth at her words, though you weren’t sure why. “Thanks. I… wasn’t expecting anyone to defend it like that.”

“Someone had to,” she said with a shrug. “Snobs like that piss me off.”

You laughed softly, despite yourself. “Yeah, me too.”

For a moment, she seemed to study you, her head tilted slightly. “This yours, then?” she asked, gesturing toward the painting.

You nodded, a little self-conscious. “Yeah.”

“Thought so,” she said. “You’ve got that whole ‘artist’ vibe. All quiet and thoughtful.”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Depends. Do you take it as one?”

There was a teasing glint in her eye that made your cheeks warm. You weren’t used to people being this forward with you, especially not strangers.

Before you could answer, a gallery staff member approached you, holding a clipboard. “Excuse me, are you the artist of ‘After the Storm’?”

You nodded, your heart skipping.

“Someone’s expressed interest in purchasing it,” she said with a polite smile. “Would you like to discuss pricing?”

Your eyes widened. “Oh—um, sure.”

The staff member gestured for you to follow her, and you glanced back at the young woman, who raised a brow.

“Guess that’s my cue,” you said awkwardly.

“Go get your money, Picasso,” she said with a smirk. “You earned it.”

You bit back a smile as you turned to follow the staff member, her nickname lingering in your mind.

Later that evening, you found yourself replaying the encounter as you sat alone at a small café near the gallery. The offer to buy your painting had gone well—better than you expected, actually—but the highlight of the night wasn’t the sale. It was her.

Something about her had stuck with you. The way she’d stood up for your work without hesitation. The confidence in her voice. The way her sharp green eyes seemed to see right through you.

“Who is she?” you muttered to yourself, poking at the last crumbs of your muffin.

“Talking to yourself already?”

You nearly jumped out of your seat as the very person occupying your thoughts slid into the chair across from you. She set down a steaming cup of coffee, leaning back like she’d been invited.

“Do you always sneak up on people like that?” you asked, your heart still racing.

“Only the interesting ones,” she said with a smirk. “You looked deep in thought. Figured I’d save you from whatever existential crisis you were having.”

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “What are you doing here?”

“Coffee,” she said simply, gesturing to her cup. “Same as you, I guess. Or are you just here to brood?”

You gave her a look but couldn’t hold back a laugh. “I wasn’t brooding.”

“Sure,” she said, her smirk widening.

For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, the sounds of the café filling the space between you.

“So,” she said finally, breaking the quiet. “Do I get a name, or am I supposed to keep calling you Picasso?”

You hesitated. Something about her felt unpredictable, and you weren’t sure if giving her your name would invite trouble. But then again, what harm could it do?

“It’s Y/N,” you said.

“Y/N,” she repeated, testing it out. “Nice. I’m Jolyne.”

“Jolyne,” you echoed, feeling the name settle in your mind. It suited her somehow—sharp and bold, just like she was.

“Well, Y/N,” she said, leaning forward with a grin. “Looks like fate keeps throwing us together. Think that means something?”

“Probably that Florida’s small,” you said dryly.

Jolyne laughed, the sound warm and unguarded. “Fair enough.”

As the evening wore on, your initial awkwardness began to fade. There was something disarming about Jolyne—something that made you forget, even for a little while, about the weight you carried.

And as you walked home later that night, her voice and her laughter lingered in your mind, a thread that had quietly begun to weave itself into your life.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

Next chapter soon (hopefully). If you didn’t check this story’s summary already, this is your sign to go check it out now! If you don’t know where to find the summary it’s linked in this story’s masterlist in the beginning of the post. Also if you guys enjoyed reblogs are appreciated ★

[kquil]

PLATONIC SIRIUS AND REGULUS BLACK | 14:10 ⏤TWO EMPTY CASKETS

SUM. : your life as regulus black's twin sister and the only daughter of the noble and most ancient house of black.

G. : angst ; reader is regulus's twin sister ; no romance

LENGTH : 0.7k

NOT PROOFREAD OR EDITED

Growing up as the only daughter of the noble and most ancient house of Black, you determined early on in life that you were never destined for happiness. That was bearable, however, because you had your brothers. They were your only solace. One, your protector, the other, your platonic other-half. 

Nevertheless, as time passed, those same consoling figures grew apart and a once unintelligible rift in their bond had become a crumbling tower that all but collapsed before you even reached 15 years old. 

Sirius had run away and left you and Regulus in the house that wasn’t a home to any of you. You couldn’t blame him; if you had the same courage, you would have done the same. That was the only comforting thought you could muster to quell the bitter ache sprouting from the flagrant, indisputable fact that Sirius had practically abandoned you and your twin brother. 

From there, you and Regulus had become one another’s comfort, the pillar both of you knew you could rely on when close to your own collapse, whether emotional or physical. You treated his wounds, he treated yours and as twins, you never could have been closer. 

There was a noticeable acrid flame alight in Regulus however, that pushed Sirius further and further away while you remained unemotional over the ordeal. Your twin was rightfully hurt by the one figure he had always looked up to and you needed to be the neutral calm to his torrential storm of acrimonious sorrow. He was silent about it, speaking through his actions and rebellion against Sirius through the conforming of your parents’ ideals. They were overwhelmingly proud when he took the mark but you worried inexhaustibly; you knew that if Regulus had a choice he wouldn’t have chosen such a path and you knew that if Sirius was still here then maybe…

You steeled yourself and leaned into your twin brother’s back, your forehead between his shoulder blades as your arms wrapped around his waist. He grew to be a silent man who spoke through actions rather than words and so you had built this silent habit to comfort him wordlessly. All Regulus needed was to feel that someone, someone tangible and who was right beside him was always going to be there despite being out of sight. He appreciated your actions deeply. 

Sirius, caught up in the distractions of his friendship, neglected to see the flat coldness that consumed your mannerisms, your silhouette and once bright eyes. Gone was his sweet sister who sought comfort in him, instead you stand on your own, strong but terribly alone. He had also failed to acknowledge the deep hurt reflecting in his only brother’s eyes. They plead him to notice, to look his way and miss the past, to, somehow, rekindle a past bond that was so strong it won against all that stood before it. But it never came. Sirius never once looked and a cold steel metal accumulated in Regulus’s bones. There was no point. 

But that wasn’t true. Sirius did look. And he did notice. But something held him back, perhaps it was his own cowardice, maybe it was because he was still taking the time to come to terms with the fact that things were never going to be the same or maybe it was because of the shame he felt for having abandoned his younger siblings. He knew you and James exchanged brief letters concerning his condition, his happiness and wellbeing but those letters were quickly dwindling in frequency - Sirius couldn’t conclude whether he should feel relieved or saddened by that. 

It wasn’t until Regulus disappeared without a trace that Sirius felt a jolt inside him, pushing him forward to reach out and contact you regardless of any lingering emotions. However, he was delayed by the actions of war and soon was left in hysterics over your successive disappearance as well. 

Sirius couldn’t collect himself enough before he was barging back into 12 Grimmauld Place to confront the woman who, not only succeeded her husband, but her two youngest children as well. He demanded answers, his throat sore from the shouting and tears he shed. 

The only answer he was able to grasp was that after Regulus mysteriously disappeared and presumed dead, you had grown anxious and paranoid, determined to investigate his inexplicable death. You had raided Regulus’s room for answers and with your investigations and, perhaps even your bond as a twin, you followed what little traces Regulus had left behind.

“She wouldn’t take no for an answer,” Walburga spat, “so she got herself killed too,” there was a visible lining of tears in her eyes - the nerve, “now I have to bury two empty caskets,”

A/N : I wrote this listening to skyfall by adele on repeat and after I cried my eyes out reading the angstiest fic I had ever read on ao3 - here's a link to it if you're interested but be prepared to cry: the last heir by smokingtulip

TAGLIST : @melinajenkins ; @astonishment ; @until-i-found-you ; @goodoldfashionedluvergirl ; @tiensmamains

NAVI.

[starsandpigs]

you don't have to be like everybody else you don't have to fit into the norm you are not here to conform i am here to take a look inside myself recognize that i could be the eye, the eye of the storm !

[aslyfcx]

❝You don't have to be like everybody else, you don't have to fit into the norm, you are not here to conform. I am here to take a look inside myself, recognize that I could be the eye, the eye of the storm...❞

This is an independent and mutuals only Zootopia, Nick Wilde, canon character blog! Heavily headcanon-based character. Mun’s Ollie (they/them pronouns). If you’d like to interact and/or spread the word around, feel free to like/reblog this promo if interested and I’ll come check ya out!

              // guidelines // about // verses // credits // memes // starter calls //

                                                               promo template

[lovelykil]

OMG kyle and stan reqs okay hear me out (this is for either or both!)

the sappiest things you do with them. im talking hallmark slow dancing in the kitchen at 2am or baking with them!!!!

「 Take my Hand 」

kyle x reader older ver.

cw; fluffy fluff

note; the scenarios I had making this went wild, also kyle has sm rizz in this?? oml

"Dude Kenny, stop hitting me with the mushrooms!!"

"Don't get in my way then, Stan-leyy."

Kenny cooed, smirking at Stan as he frustratedly tried to get back on the track but his go-kart kept spinning no matter what he did.

Kenny's tear-wheezing laugh filled the bedroom, controlling his kart and making it to the finished point while Stan cursed up a storm right beside him, his kart still spinning.

"And I winn! Take that Marsh." Kenny set the controller down, jumping around in his spot in celebration while Stan threw his controller to the side moping. He laid on the floor in defeat with a groan.

"You so cheated– Kyleee, Kenny cheated he made my kart stop working." Stan whined, standing up to glare at his friend. Kenny stuck his tongue out just to get on Stan's nerves.

"I didn't cheat you just suckk"

"KYLE, KENNY IS BEING an ASS.. Kyle? KYLEEEEEE!" The raven haired teen cried out, his eyes scanning the room to find his bestfriend. Kenny also took notice of his friend's non-responses, taking a look all over the room for himself.

"Where the hell is he?" Stan asked, he looked over at Kenny for conformation but Kenny just shrugged being as clueless as he was.

"What the hell.."

. . .

"Okay open your mouth and go ahh, now."

"aaahh." I opened my mouth as Kyle held my chin up slightly and raised a fork into my mouth. Once I bit down on the treat that was being fed to me I chewed the gooey desert putting a hand to my mouth. Kyle watched in suspense, waiting for my opinion in his cute apron that was complimented with a dreidel in the middle.

I looked at him as I chewed, feeling a smile grow on my face from his pleading light green eyes. I swallowed slowly taking one final moment just to raise the tension in the air.

"Kyle," I spoke, my tone serious as I put my hand down.

"Y/n." He answered.

I slowly put my hands on his shoulder, staring into his eyes trying to be stern.

"These were... THE best brownies ever!" I squealed, shaking him back and forth.

"aaAaaH- reallllyy?"

"Yes they are very good, see I told you that extra milk makes them so much better." I took my hands off of him and smiled. Once he got his focus back he blinked slowly then scoffed with an eye roll.

"Okayy maybe you were right, whateverr."

"Oh my god you are so sassy, come here." I punched him in the arm before wrapping my hands around his neck on the tips of my toes.

Not cause I'm short it's just he's unreasonable TALL for some reason.

The kiss took him by surprise just by the he grew tense for a second but soon he kissed back, his hands finding its way around my waist. He held my body closely towards him to deepen the surprise kiss. I could feel a stupid smile creep upon my face as we kissed.

Oh, how he knew exactly how to make me fold.

"Oh, you liked that didn't you?" As we pulled away Kyle teased with a slightly mischievous grin, watching my face heat up. I broke eye contact with him and groaned, ignoring what was blankly obvious he giggled trying to get my attention back with guiding my chin toward him.

"I'm just playing sweetheart, forgive me?" He whispered softly, pouting some bit. He seemly came off as adorable so I had no other choice but to forgive him. I shoved my hand in his face right after I leaned in to pretend to kiss him to get him to lean back into me.

"Yeah you're forgiven or whateverr." I mocked and snickered, walking away from the ginger to grab my phone.

"You're mean." I saw him grab a brownie and put it in his mouth with a frown from being fooled. I laughed solemnly to myself, shaking my head at his words. I scrolled through my phone trying to find something when I finally found what I was looking for.

"Hey, wanna dance?" I clicked on a song then shook my phone in my hand towards him. He looked at me with a mouth full of brownies, clearly confused.

"Giwrl whaat"

"Very cliché and random but the lighting in this kitchen is perfect for dancing, sooooo.." I walked myself over to him and held out my hand. He looked at it then me, I patiently waited with a smile.

"My beautiful princess, would you care to take my hand and dance with me?" I extended my hand out more with a smirk, teasing him more. I could see a faint blush on his pale skin knowing I won, he sighed with a sheepish smile.

He wiped his fingers on a paper towel before taking my hand.

"Wow, you're so weird it's almost cute."

"And you're a pretty princess." I brought him closer to me, swaying him around with an innocent smile. He let out a chuckle before returning to a neutral expression, his eyes fixed on me with a warm smile.

I stared into his colorful eyes from above getting lost in them with a sappy smile, even though they sometimes freaked me out they can be so lovely to look in. In the dimly lit kitchen, we swayed to the slow rhythm of the song I picked, our eyes locked in an intimate gaze that spoke volumes.

As we moved together, our bodies naturally drew closer, his hands gently finding their place on my hips, while I wrapped mine around him in a tender embrace.

With a soft smile, I delicately swirled some of his curly hair around my finger, savoring the sensation as my eyes closed slowly on their own. I could feel his gentle touch caressing my body lightly in his care, I couldn't help but feel tingly and lovesick.

The song playing was one of my favorites, it was a song I used to play to think about him before we started dating. I never told him this though just was to shy to tell him about it I guess.

"You like Lana del Rey?" Kyle asked in a hushed tone, bringing me away from him just to hold my hips from a distance. "Yeah, why?" My hands reverted to his shoulders, as we swayed together. A hum was his only response before closing the gap between us, he looked at my lips and connected them with his, his soft hand traveled on my cheek as he did so.

I closed my eyes once more despite his remark, our lips danced in sync slowly filled with passion. I placed my hand on his face where my thumb rested on the side of his cheek as the kiss grew slightly more intense, feeling his tongue reach mine and grow in contact.

"Thought that was her." Our lips separated with a tiny string of saliva falling in between us when he answered my question. I tilted my head "You listen to her?"

"Mmh, like heard of her.. from you." He brushed some hair away from my face. I thought for a moment trying to recall when I ever played this song around him. "I don't remember playing her around yo-"

"I took a sneak peek at your phone once and saw a playlist with my name on it, the first song was this one." He smiled, some faint redness spreading on his face. My eyes widen as I stared at him, my heart immediately dropped and my face grew in heat.

"You made a playlist about me babe? Oh my gosh–" Kyle beamed, his smile growing wide looking at me.

"nonononono you didn't see that correctly.. oh my god."

"Yeaah I'm sure it was the one with the hearts by it, all cute and like you're in love with me."

"nuh uh.."

"yeah huh."

"NO."

"It's okay I found it adorable, Y/nn." Kyle held my face with both of his hands and proceeded to kiss my nose, forehead, all over my face as I stood still in embarrassment letting him kiss me.

"You are the worst"

"And you are just the cutest pretty princess."

"I hate you"

"I love you too sweetheart."

─────────

bonus—

"Kyle stop swirling me around I'm mad at you."

"Cause I found out the playlist you had for me?" Kyle twirled me around some more, dragging my mopy body around. I blushed sighing loudly, I fixed my posture and held his hands as we danced together, never making contact with him.

"Yes, that was embarrassing how long did you even know."

"Well, we've been dating for 6 months so like... a week before we dated." He recalled, spinning me quickly before I could react to what he said.

"A WEEK BEFORE WE DATED?? KYLE WHAT THE HE-"

His lips quickly crashed into mine, sending me into a hypnotic trance for a second. Silencing me in a smooth twirl and dip pose, he held my chin toward him still holding onto the kiss for a while.

"You mad at me now?" He panted, as he pulled away. I huffed trying to catch my breath once I did I gave in, bopping his hooked nose.

"No I'm not mad at you, you dumb red head." I saw his expression change to a less tense one, his cute smile growing.

"Can I kiss you again?"

"Yes please do." I brought his face near mine in the same position we were in when he dipped me and kissed him. The smile on his face never went away even when I kissed him it made the kiss warm and tender when I smiled myself.

"Kyle, what the fuck are you doing?"

"See I told you they were making out." The lights flickered on and two boys emerged from the dark, staring at me and Kyle.

"Stan?!"

"Kenny?" In a flash, me and Kyle pulled away and looked at them in shock, so much in shock Kyle had the nerve to drop me.

"OW"

"Oh shit, Y/n are you okay?!"

"Okay now I'm mad at you."

"Haha your bitch is mad at you."

"CARTMAN?" (all of them)

"Where the hell did you COME FROM"

"I was cutting all of Kyle's clothes, so Kyle, you have nothing to wear. Night guys"

"... Eric you son of a–"

[dandelion-blues]

Bittersweet Blood

About:

What if Sally Jackson was Loki Odinson? See Loki and Percy take the Marvel Universe by storm.

First - Previous - Next Chapter

Chapter 2, Part 1: The Sea Protects

Loki wakes up the next day clinging to Poseidon. He sighs, his bloodshot eyes, dried tear tracks, and dry throat greet him as he is raw from crying and sobbing into his lover's arms for most of the night. Poseidon appears to still be asleep (a rarity for the god to actually sleep), and Loki goes to grab some water, once again frustrated he had to seal his magic, but comforted he changed back to his original form for now, so he is in a physically conforming body for once. Especially since coming to Midgard when he's in a male mindset instead of his default as Sally physically all the time. 

He gulped the glass of water greedily down, the cool water refreshing and very much needed. He stares at the yellow light of the sun making its way through the cabin's windows as rain lightly drips down the window pane. Loki wondered if his late maternal grandfather Freyr was somehow looking at him, his essence now infused with the universe around him, as is the fate of all faded gods. He was, after all, the god of the sun, fertility, peace, and rain, and all those things were currently present. Loki thought it was an omen, a good or bad one Loki wasn’t sure of, though. Maybe his baby would join his grandfather as well. 'No! Stop, thinking about your baby's death, Loki!' 

Ugh, Loki's mood is in the gutter again. Maybe he can grab more sleep before Poseidon wakes up, so he doesn't have to think about anything anymore.

Unfortunately, once Loki got under the covers, careful not to wake Poseidon. All he could think about was his child's doom.

He knew that it wouldn't be easy to have this child, but he didn't think that his unborn child already had a death sentence on them. The child, If going by the prophecy, they will die when they are sixteen! They won't even make it to their first ᛈᚨᛋᛋᚨᚷᛖ ᛟᚠ ᚲᚺᛁᛚᛞᚺᛟᛟᛞ ("Passage of childhood"). 

They won't even make it anywhere close to adulthood, at least by going how Asgardians age (if the child will even age like an Asgardian!). Asgardians reach adulthood on their 500th birthday (or an equivalent of midgardian's 20th), and ugh Loki himself is only 1036! Equivalent to 25 for midgardians! He's too young to be a mother!

Loki won't even age an adult Asgardian year when this child's birth and death is set (which is every 100 years)! Loki can't breathe! It's too soon, he hasn't even had his child yet and he's going to lose them in a blink of an eye!

Loki thought he was done with his crying last night, but here it is again. Luckily, before Loki can get lost in his sorrows, strong arms wrap around him and hold him steady while he cries. Loki smells the soothing ocean, and he is glad his lover is right here with him.

"Are you alright, my dear?" Poseidon asks once Loki shaking and sobbing dies down.

Loki nods into Poseidon's chest and sighs into his embrace, "I just feel so incredibly overwhelmed, Poseidon. I don't know what to do, and I already feel like I'm mourning a child who isn't even born yet."

"Not to mention all the hardships this child will have to go through by being our child. Will they even have support from any gods aside from us? Or will their very existence have to remain a secret? Their powers and magic sealed away, lest other gods try and kill them?!" Loki yells frustrated.

Poseidon breathes deeply, troubled and worried for his child. However, he knows that not all gods will be against this child, perhaps it's time for Loki to meet some of his family.

"My star, I can't speak for all the gods, but I know not all will be against our child. While I do think the child will be safer with less people knowing their full heritage, as word will be less likely to spread, I know my wife Ampritrite and my son Triton are loyal to the sea, to me, and would never harm any of my children and I know they would help if they are informed of this dire situation."

"Your wife?! Wouldn't she be like Hera, and resent you and my child for being born of unfaithfulness."

Poseidon laughs, "My αγάπη (“love”)," he looks fondly into Loki's emerald eyes, so much like the jewel but more - filled with life and magic of the worlds, "We are Greek. We rarely conform to one lover. When Amphitrite agreed to be my queen, she agreed because she and I got to keep our freedom. We both take our own lovers from time to time. Sometimes we even find partners we both favor. However, we still love one another as husband and wife, as she is forever my queen, as I am her king."

Loki huffs but still feels a pang in his heart. He knew their love was temporary, but he still wants Poseidon’s comforting embraces and nicknames and love. However, he hides his pain by rolling his eyes, "You didn't think to tell me this before?"

"Like you didn't tell me that you were a god?" Poseidon shoots back playfully.

"Fair." Loki concedes.

"And you're sure that Amphitrite and Triton won't mind, and even help?" Loki asks worriedly, searching into Poseidon's eyes and finding the greens and blues of the calm ocean waves to be reassuring.

"Absolutely." Poseidon says with absolute certainty.

Notes:

My chapters here on Tumblr are going to be shorter than what will be posted on my Ao3 account for practicality.

I will link the Ao3 fic as well when I post it there.

Also, for how Asgardians age. They age normally until they reach 12, and then their age slows significantly (and will physically and mentally age a year for about every 61 years lived). Then, they reach adulthood at 500 (or 20 for us humans and will physically age a year for every 100 years lived).

First - Previous - Next Chapter

[radioactive-earthshine]

Truck or treat~ 🧛

Hope you have a lovely spooky night!

🧛‍♀️ A TREAT! 🎃

Here is more of the KonBart unpublished "coming back to life blues" fic.

Enjoy!

👻

Inside the barn loft was a magical place. It was for Clark when he was a teenager almost 30 years ago and it was to Kon too. Fairy lights hung on the unfinished ceiling casting them in a soft yellow glow while outside silver stars glittered. There was an old old old hide-a-bed type couch pushed against the wall that looked like it was from the 80s and it likely was. Kon wasn’t bothered by sitting on it though and he watched amusedly as Bart explored the loft. 

“Dude this place is cool! How come you never showed me this?! Hey, izzat that a telescope?!” Bart was at the window and his eye was pressed to the eyepiece before Kon registered the question. 

“Yep, belonged to Clark back when he was our age.” 

“Woah… I can see the neighbor’s farm!” Bart said with a grin but then it suddenly  fell as he pulled his face away from the telescope. “Maybe I can see a little too much of the neighbors heh. Guess no need for curtains when you’re this rural. You said this was Clark’s?” 

Kon made an awkward grimace and he did not want to think about the more creepy implications of that telescope. “I’m sure he was looking at the stars, Bart.” 

“Do you think you can see Krypton’s star?” Bart suddenly asked as he sat next to Kon, the couch was worn down from decades of use and he fell a little deeper into the couch than he expected but righted himself almost instantly. 

“Krypton’s star?” Kon repeated and he looked out the window towards the dark. “I’m not sure.” 

“Well Krypton was from our galaxy so you might be able to find its star. Do you think that’s why Clark has the telescope? Was he looking for where he came from?” 

“That’s… a good question. I really don’t know,” Kon admitted and he thought about Clark. He thought about him at his age, feeling alone and scared of his forming abilities, knowing he wasn’t human but also feeling so connected to humanity because it was the only thing he knew. He imagined him worrying if he was a threat, if he was always going to be loved, if he was going to be rejected the second he was found out that he was an alien, and finally he imagined him looking through that telescope to see if he could find something to latch onto to make it all make sense. 

Kon wondered if while Clark had all those feelings did he also feel guilty about having them because he was loved. 

“You asked me how I just accepted not feeling like I belonged.” Bart’s voice carved Kon away from his thoughts. 

“Yeah,” Kon sighed. “Out of all my issues being a clone and all the shit-terrific things I’ve been through, I never felt like I didn’t belong here. How did you do it?” 

Bart stared out that window as he answered him and his voice was weighted. “I admit, it never really bothered me. I always knew that no matter what, I’d be the speedster that just didn’t fit with the others. I’m not supposed to be here Kon, I was born one thousand years in the future to two families that should never have met, and I should have died twice before even coming here! I’m like a red sprite in a lightning storm. I’m an anomaly that just showed up that people had to deal with. I’m weird and because of that I am never going to belong, really. No matter what I do, no matter how much I try to conform, even if I read the entire contents of the San Francisco Library will I make myself fit better.” 

“So that’s why you-” 

Bart cut him off with a wave of his hand. “It didn’t bother me until I started seeing people not believe in me. I got tired of people thinking I was stupid and I tried to make myself be someone they all wanted me to be and I’ll be honest, it fucking sucked!” 

Kon suddenly felt guilty for all the times he called him an ‘idiot’ or a ‘nimrod’, but before he could even try to apologize Bart kept talking. “When you died Kon, it really made my whole earth shake, you know? It made me really start thinking about myself, where I wanted to be, who I was and then… BAM, there I am dead as dead can get too. Well, for a speedster anyway.”  “Being dead sucks by the way,” Kon revealed even though he didn’t remember much of anything. Only a vague feeling of contentment and loneliness.

[namusthetic]

Marauders' Era

The Slytherin Skittles

From the Marauders' Era fandom. Decided to lounge about in the Slytherin common room? Join the Skittles for a late night Slytherin chat.

Regulus A. Black

"From far away I wish I'd stayed with you, but here face to face, a stranger that I once knew.

I thought if I wandered I'd fall back in love. You said distance brings fondness, but guess not with us."

- Astronomy, Conan Gray

Doesn't ask for help

Overachiever

Covers his deep insecurities with a god-complex

Abandonment and trust issues

Suffers panic and anxiety attacks, the others know exactly what to do when it happens and huddle around him, holding hands and grounding him, until he starts breathing normally again and stops shaking

Protective of his chosen family

Instead of fighting to keep people in his life, he lets them go because in the end he thinks he's never enough to stay for

Hates loud noises and making noise when moving or walking

Deeply misunderstood

Tries to remain detached and cold as much as possible because knows he'd end up caring too deeply

Self-isolates when he doesn't know how to deal with his feelings, luckily, whenever that happens, the others storm his usual hiding spots and force him to go outside and enjoy himself

Escapes from his own thoughts by reading or listening to music compulsively

Barty Crouch Jr.

"I used to like liquor to get me inspired but you look so beautiful, my new supplier. I used to like smoking to stop all the thinking, but I found a different buzz.

The world is a curse, it'll kill if you let it I know they got pills that can help you forget it, they bottle it, call it medicine, but I don't need drugs. 'Cause I'm already high enough, you got me, you got me good."

- High Enough by K. Flay

covers his need for attention and approval with loudness and chaos

Fear of missing out

Afraid that people will forget about him and leave him behind

Avoids talking and thinking about his own feelings

Cannot control his emotions when overwhelmed

Hides it when deeply hurt

Clingy drunk, cries if left by himself

Has a soft spot for pets, especially dogs (once he even accidentally cuddled Padfoot without knowing it was actually Sirius)

Hopeless romantic when in a serious relationship

Incredibly intelligent, he just doesn't want to please his father in any way so he acts out

Jokes about his trauma in public, but ends up sleeping in Evan's bed whenever he has nightmares

ADHD kid

Makes dirty jokes all the time but is afraid of having a stable relationship and not being enough for his partner

Evan Rosier

"And hey, you, don't you think it's kinda cute that I (I) died (died) right inside your arms tonight? That I'm fine even after I have died? Because it was in your arms I died.

I cry in the afterlife, I cry hard because I have died, and you're alive. I try to escape afterlife, I try hard to get back inside your arms alive."

- Arms Tonite by Mother Mother

Calm and collected most of the time

Silent anger

Insomniac, spends the nights reading and listening to chill music

Deadly afraid of spiders, always asks Pandora to take them outside

Energy drinks and caffeine

If looks could kill

Tries to keep everyone from getting in trouble together with Dorcas

Doesn't pay attention in class but gets good grades anyway

Grew up too quickly

Joins Barty and Dorcas whenever they are tipsy and start a singing contest

Likes nights out with friends, randomly walking with no precise destination, a few drinks in hand and the warmth of chosen family around him

The observant, silent one

Always carries small perfume vials since he can't stand smells (sweat, cigarette smoke, etc.)

Pandora Rosier

"You don't have to be like everybody else, you don't have to fit into the norm, you are not here to conform. I am here to take a look inside myself, recognize that I could be the eye, the eye of the storm.

I am not my body, not my mind or my brain (ha), not my thoughts or feelings, I am not my DNA. I am the observer, I'm a witness of life, I live in the space between the stars and the sky."

- Ancient Dreams in a Modern Land by MARINA

Already figured who was going to end up in a relationship with whom years before it happened

Has a private gardening spot where she grows their own plants (especially herbs)

Follows the lunar calendar instead of the solar one, they all celebrate both new years with big parties

Wears long airy dresses with flower patterns and a dozen crystal necklaces and rings

Talks enthusiastically about everything she's passionate about with no restraints (and everyone loves listening to her talk)

Knows weird knowledge nobody knows from where

Walks Hogwarts' halls singing and with a spring in her step

Spends afternoons in the forest sketching fantastic beasts and feeding them treats

Loves making flower crowns, Regulus wears them whenever she makes one for him and hexes anyone who dares say something about it

Always has paint on her hands or face

Dorcas Meadowes

"Say my name, as every colour illuminates. We are shining, and we will never be afraid again.

And when we come for you, we'll be dressed up all in blue, with the ocean in our arms, kiss your eyes and kiss your palms.

And when it's time to pray, we'll be dressed up all in grey, with metal on our tongues, and silver in our lungs."

- Spectrum (Say My Name) by Florence and The Machine

Hates small talk and superficial friendships

Direct, immediately cuts straight to the point

Politically active against all kinds of discrimination and violence

Strong and determined to achieve what she wants

Ready to argue with anyone, anytime, anywhere

Knows exactly what she wants

Stays up late to read and listen to music in the common room

Has everything planned out

Neon lights and cocktails, loud music and cherry flavored lip balm

Travels a lot but is ready to return home immediately if one of her close friends needs her help

Elegant style, always impeccably dressed

Storms out of the dorm and takes a long walk whenever she feels she can't control her anger

Loves to listen to true crime podcasts

------------------------💚🐍

So I love the Marauders' gang, but (I don't know if you guessed it) I really have a soft spot for the Skittles. To me they feel like the ones who never really even had a chance to be saved, who were left to fend for themselves and to die just because of their families and house. They were damaged as much as the others but found no one to help them but each other.

[bonefall]

I wanted to ask something queer because it’s pride month but I can’t think of anything… do you have any queer bb rewrite stuff to talk about?

HERE, have a queer jumble of a bunch of the gay changes in BB;

As far back as DOTC, Thunder Storm was transmasc. His childhood best friend is also his lover; Lightning Cry.

There is a third gender in Clan Culture; Meewa. Gray Wing was Meewa and to this day, the role is associated with parenthood and wisdom.

Bumble and Turtle Heart were mates.

The Clanmew parental terms are decoupled from gender; the Mi is the primary parent, a Ba is a secondary.

For an example; Breezepelt is the Mi of his litters, Harestar and Heathertail were both Ba.

In Clanmew, Harestar had so many Ys in his warrior name (Yywayayiaoyyr) that Breezepelt got the kits to call him Yya.

Bluestar was queer. She had strange relationships with almost everything personal, but the only thing that matters is how much she LOVED her friends and how far she would go for them

The entire Forget-me-not friend group was queer in some ways.

And Bluestar’s friend Rosetail, turns out she's aromantic!

She loves romance, matchmaking, but eventually realized she doesn't like being in one. She just likes the idea a lot.

So of course Thistleclaw was PISSED when his sister claimed Queen’s Rights and adamantly refused to name a father.

She matched up her son Redtail with Runningwind, I like to think she was a very "when am i getting grandkits" kind of mom

Redtail was trans, but also gave birth to his children. That was Sandstorm and Longtail.

Redtail's transness was why Bluestar gave Dustpaw to him, she could see that Dust was working something out and hoped that Red would help

Dustpelt is genderqueer! He doesn't conform to the expectations of toms for his society; construction is largely a molly activity.

One-eye was a legendary builder in her time. It was a high honor when she came out of retirement to mentor him, when she was nearly 20 years old no less!

Cinderpelt was a lesbian, but there wasn't really anyone in the Clan she was interested in. Meh.

I do want to write a little scene where she goes to BloodClan to learn about mobility devices to help Wildfur, and has an AWOOGA moment at Cody

Leafpool and Mothwing are in love with each other, and look forward to every meeting. But they serve their Clans above all. The yearning.

I am very partial to Daisy x Squirrelflight, loooong in the future, after Squirrelflight has found fulfillment in her family and mentorships.

Conversely the untapped potential of Spiderleg x Bramblestar is unmatched. Nightmare husbands, this is the funniest thing I've ever heard of

Heartbreaking! the worst people you know have gotten gay married

Brokenstar and Runningnose were so gay I don't even have words for it, there's homosexual and then there's whatever the hell is going on over there

"My childhood best friend is a manifested curse and I would do anything for him, so I dedicated my whole life to becoming a more ruthless and brutal asset to serve his wants and desires, rejecting the stars and walking into the netherworld with glee, and only finding that it is hell because he isn't there. When you look between us, it's impossible to tell which of us was the monster, and which was the man, and yet I have never made a choice that I wouldn't make again."

Blackstar was aromantic! Russetfur was his lifelong best friend and partner, her death devastated him

He had flings and friends with benefits, though. Specifically, he's homosexual/aromantic.

Russetfur was gay too, I'm not sure if she ever had a wife though

I haven't drawn her yet but I see her as butch. Also she had large eyebrows.

Rowanclaw, honor sired for Newtspeck, was transtom

His apprentice, Talonclaw, survived the mauling because Smokefall did not die in the mountain this time around! They had a summer wedding

Irony struck when Rowan's kid Tigerheart also ended up being trans, but transmolly

Funny coincidence that everyone around Rowan ends up being queer

Tigerheart, who later becomes Heartstar, was in love with Dovewing from the moment they were apprentices on the Beaver Quest, before she even hatched

Dovewing dated Bumblestripe, even choosing him and ThunderClan over the instability of running off with Tigerheart

But when she got pregnant she SKEDADDLED

Lightleap and Shadowsight are biologically Bumble's, but Heartstar adopted them immediately

Heartstar is incredibly smug about this. "My wife. My kids. Cry about it"

Ivypool went through something similar, in a pretty bad relationship with Blossomfall and eventually getting with Fernsong

Only Fernsong is NOT smug, he's an ex-kittypet who joined during ThunderClan's Tempest and BOY HOWDY did he not want to make waves

But now he's dating the deputy's grandchild (thru Lionblaze), has an angry Blossomfall on his ass, and.... it's worth it lmao, have you seen his wife? Marvelous

He is the Mi of the children, this is the life for him

Thriftear and Plumstone are gay

Over in RiverClan, Hawkfrost and Reedwhisker were an item and were going to get serious... but then, well. Hawkfrost went through TNP and ended up dead.

In SkyClan, Violetshine, Dragonfly, and Tree are a polycule

I'm not quite sure what's going on with Echosong, Leafstar, and Billystorm. But Leaf and Billy are together, and I think Leaf has a thing with Echo. But Echo and Billy are not together, and Echo isn't involved with the kittens.

This isn't a queer thing but Sharptooth's wife Cherrytail was spayed. I think Hawkwing and co were surrogated by Echosong, but I'm not sure yet

But I do know that Cherry did not birth those kittens

Over in WindClan, I combined Jake and Sparrow into one character. Tallstar’s Collapse is reworked into Talltail traveling around with him and his group, until ultimately, he realizes it's not that easy to leave his Clan behind

I want to approach it as a tragedy, that he couldn't stay somewhere he was truly loved and happy

He was raising kids with Jake, two orphans they found. One of them followed him, even though he tried to tell him to stay with Jake and his sibling

That kid becomes Flytail, and then Flylight as an honor title

Sunstrike and Furzepelt are gay, and Furze is going to be an AVOS save thanks to Brushblaze, Breezepelt, Harestar, Heathertail, Crowfeather, and two more cats I haven't picked yet

Speaking of Brushblaze, Leo is an ex-BloodClan trader who joined WindClan to be with Onewhisker

It fell apart and he's been bitter about it ever since

Onestar is a disaaaaaaaster

He had a fling with Firestar before Fire realized he was aromantic, and it never would have worked anyway since Firestar was leading a clan

He always had an excuse for why he wasn't doing PDA with Brush, but while he was going through apprenticeship (despite being a qualified adult cat, very frustrating) Onewhisker was seeing Smoke

I kinda just want to remove Onewhisker having Whitetail as a mate entirely, I already fixed the apprenticeship thing but I kinda just like him having someone honor dam for him and he raised Heathertail alone

And lastly, Firestar

Firestar is totally aromantic.

He honor sired Sandstorm's kittens and raised them with her, because she is a deeply reliable friend and ally. They're in a QPR!

There's definitely a couple I missed (toadnettlepool, Sedgecreek x Greenflower) but that's enough for now

[misterbardman]

Songs on my favorite songs from my Falling from Olympus playlist, with lyrics, that just remind me of trials of Apollo:

•”I’ll blow up into smithereens and spew my tiny symphony all up and down the city street while tryna put my mind at ease. Like finishing this melody, this feels like a necessity, so this could be the death of me or maybe just a better me.” - Worlds Smallest Violin, AJR

•”You don’t have to be like everybody else, you don’t have to fit into the norm, you are not here to conform. I am here to look inside myself, recognize that I could be the eye, the eye of the storm. I am not my body, not my mind or my brain, not my thoughts or feelings, I am not my DNA.” - Ancient Dreams in a Modern Land, MARINA

•”They give so much to me, I’m losing touch, get me? Served on a silver platter, ask for seconds they just let me. They tell me I’m a god, I’m lost in the facade, six feet off the ground at all times, I think I’m feeling odd.” - My Ordinary Life, The Living Tombstone

•”Well, well, look who’s inside again. Went out to look for a reason to hide again. Well, well, buddy you’ve found it, now come out with your hands up we’ve got you surrounded.” - Look who’s inside again, Bo Burnham

•”You’re a loser, baby, a loser goddamn baby. You’re a fucked-up little whiny bitch, you’re a loser just like me. You’re a screw-is-loose loser and only one-star reviewer.” -Loser, baby, Hazbin Hotel

[corruptedcaps]

Hairpin Turn

Kayla stormed out of the principal's office, seething with anger. She couldn't believe she had just been expelled from school. She had always been able to get away with anything, but this time, it seemed, her luck had run out.

As she made her way down the hallway, Kayla spotted Victoria, the quiet, bookish girl she loved to bully. That’s when it clicked in her head how she got expelled. Kayla approached her with a scowl on her face.

"What did you do?" Kayla demanded, her voice dripping with contempt.

Victoria looked up from her book, her eyes wide with fear. "I didn't do anything," she stammered. "I swear."

"Don't lie to me," Kayla said, her voice rising. "You got me expelled, and I want to know how."

Victoria hesitated for a moment before finally speaking up. "I didn’t say anything Kayla! I never would, I promise! But maybe it’s better that you take a break from here?"

Kayla's face twisted into a sinister smile as she leaned in closer to Victoria. "You know what, since you want to play hero, I’ll just have to make you into the new villain around here. You can take my place as the school's resident bully while I'm gone," she said, her eyes glinting with malice.

Victoria recoiled in horror. "No, I could never do something like that," she said firmly, shaking her head.

Kayla's expression turned sinister. "Oh, but you won’t have to do a thing," she said, her voice low and menacing as she took out an ornate and sharp hair pin from her hair. "Let me help."

Suddenly, Victoria felt a strange sensation wash over her body as Kayla pricked her with the pin. She looked down in horror as her body began to deflate like a balloon, leaving her in a pile on the ground. She let out a scream of terror as Kayla cackled with glee.

Victoria tried to scream, but no sound came out. She could feel Kayla's eyes on her and hear her cackle with glee as she picked up her lifeless body with ease.

"Like my magical family heirloom? Thanks to it, you'll make a fine new outfit for me to wear," Kayla said, grinning wickedly as she stepped into Victoria’s mouth and began pulling it up over her body.

Kayla gasped as she felt the sensation of Victoria’s body conforming to her own. The more she put on, the more Victoria’s body became hers. However their body differences were having some interesting side effects. Kayla’s bigger tits and bigger ass stretched out and expanded Victoria’s meagre set. Kayla felt their now combined nipples hardening against the fabric of Victoria’s shirt, giving her an even more perfect pair than her own.

Kayla’s longer more pristine nails grew out of Victoria’s nail bitten and dirty ones. Her cheerleading muscles and toned stomach grafted perfectly onto Victoria’s flat, definition less body.

Finally Kayla slipped her head inside of Victoria’s mouth and adjusted her face until it sat perfectly on her own features. But like the other changes that had happened, Victoria’s face took on aspects of her bully’s face. Kayla’s medically enhanced pouty lips absorbed Victoria’s thin smile. Long thick eyelashes popped out from her eyelids. Even Victoria’s green eyes were now hidden behind Kayla’s bitchy brown pair.

Kayla walked over to the mirror and examined her new body with satisfaction. "Not bad," she said with a smirk. "I could get used to this." She ran her hands over her new curves, reveling in the power that her new form gave her.

Kayla chuckled to herself as she realized the full potential of her new form. "They'll never see me coming," she said, her eyes gleaming with a fierce intensity. "No one will suspect little old Victoria, and I can use it to my advantage." She grinned wickedly, knowing all the fun she was about to have.

Victoria meanwhile was stuck as a passenger in her own body. Kayla had twisted her body into some evil funhouse mirror version. Worse still was Victoria kind of liked it. Despite her lacking any control over her own body, Victoria felt kind of powerful as she saw her reflection. Kayla had a confidence that Victoria lacked and it looked good on her body. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad….