#classroom with deck

[uscatholic]

Deck - large, open-air transitional side yard deck idea

Stuart Photographics

[jamesconcannonart]

Deck - Uncovered a sizable, uncovered side yard deck in the transitional style

[i-like-books-and-women]

Ok do you guys know the card game spoons? Cause I played with some friends today and God this is some shit that Saturday would eat the fuck out of and if we've ever said they have like weekly or biweekly game nights I'm retconing the entire history of this fandom and pretending like we have cause it'd so be in their game night rotation

[wizardlyghost]

super weird how childhood events that have had years-long mildly traumatic impacts on my psyche can be attributed to the autism or the adhd with the after-the-fact knowledge that i have those two things. like, one time in like third grade there was a class party sort of thing and all the kids were encouraged to bring in board and card games and stuff to play, and i was super excited to bring my dragonology card game that nobody at home wanted to play with me (because, let's be honest, i was Weird about dragons), but nobody at school wanted to play it with me either, so i just sorta sat at the table in the corner sadly shuffling my dragon cards because i didn't want to give up on the chance that someone might want to play, until i eventually gave up and played other peoples' games that i didn't understand for the remaining fifteen minutes of class. and i just remembered about that right now and remembered all the times that that disappointed and frustrated lack of understanding has haunted me over the last fifteen years and realised Oh, Somebody Should Probably Have Been Concerned Or Something Maybe.

[luvsupa]

“WHATT? NEVER SEEN A GHOSTT..”

summary: next time be respectful for gojo’s memorial. . .

tags: ghost!gojo x fem!reader, smut, threesome (ig ..?), use of clone techniques, jjk spoilers, mean gojo, ōral sex (f!recieving), size difference,belly bulging, full nelson, degrading, dumbification, etc, mdni.

w.c: 4k . . .

a/n: GUYSSS WE GOIN UPPP ☝🏽 TYY FOR 1,7K MWAAAAA

+ sorry for the errors

kinktober masterlist

the halloween theme park buzzes with screams from rollercoasters and actors in horror costumes that look almost too real. you walk arm in arm with your friends, all of you decked out in matching monster high costumes. at first, you weren’t into it, but after enough pestering, you caved and ordered clawdeen’s full outfit.

the crowd can’t stop complimenting the four of you. from the boots to the hair, everything is spot-on. but gosh these platform boots are killing you. you can already feel tomorrow’s regret setting in.

“ooo, let’s try this ride before we leave,” one of your friends says through the fake fangs she’s wearing as draculaura. you all turn your heads to see what she’s pointing at. a sign reads infinity maze, with eerie, glowing blue eyes blinking on and off. it’s famous, mostly because the guy who designed it—gojo satoru—died a few years ago, turning it into some kind of attraction with ghost stories attached.

you scoff. people are suchwimps.

as you approach, you’re grateful for your speed passes because the line is insane. “okay, how about we make a bet?” your cleo-dressed friend suggests. “slowest time pays for dinner.”

you grin at the challenge, nodding along with everyone else.

as you wait, something catches your eye—a giant memorial statue of gojo satoru, standing tall near the maze entrance. his cocky grin is frozen in stone, and beneath it, the descriptiom reads,

in loving memory of satoru gojo. forever lovable and the strongest.

you roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. “who gives a fuck about him?” you say, loud enough for your friends to hear. they giggle, and you continue, “seriously, they’re doing the most with this memorial. it’s not that deep.”

one of your friends shakes her head, trying not to laugh too hard. “it’s haunted, remember?” she says mockingly, to which you just snicker.

“haunted, my ass.”

your first friend goes into the maze, and you start timing her on your phone. almost three minutes later, she comes out breathless, claiming the only scary part was a worker grabbing her ankle at the end.

next up are the others, who all manage to escape in under two minutes. the pressure’s on now, but you refuse to be the one paying for dinner. with a quick glance at your friends, you flash your speed pass to the coordinator, ready to sprint through this lame maze and leave them all in the dust.

your platform boots thud heavily against the creaking wooden floor, each step echoing in the suffocating silence. the door slams shut behind you with a sharp clack, sealing you inside. a deep breath fills your lungs, but the air feels heavy, thick. the faint glow of flickering lights ahead barely cuts through the darkness, revealing the first room—a classroom?

it’s an old, japanese-style classroom, but something feels off. chairs are scattered across the floor like a struggle took place, and bloody handprints—too real for comfort—smear the walls. your heart races as a sudden crack of thunder rips through the air, making the weak lights above you flicker wildly. it feels like you’ve been transported, as if this isn’t a theme park anymore... like you’re somewhere else, somewhere you shouldn’t be.

you inch forward, boots sinking into the floorboards with each loud creakk. you can’t shake the feeling that the room is watching you. the chalkboard looms at the front, with jagged, uneven writing smeared across it

look behind you

your stomach twists. your mind fights to stay rational—it’s just part of the maze, it’s not real. but your hands are trembling as you slowly turn. nothing. just scattered desks and the harsh, stuttering light overhead. thunder crashes again, timed too perfectly. 

your heart rate slows a bit, but you mutter under your breath, stupid maze, trying to shake off the unease as you head toward the next door. the sign above it reads, hall of mirrors,

the knob feels cold in your hand as you twist it, stepping into the next room. pitch-black darkness swallows you whole, except for the mirrors that tower from floor to ceiling. hundreds of them, endless reflections stretching out in every direction. your eyes adjust to the faint, flickering light—just enough to see yourself, but not much else.

“fuck,” you whisper, hating mirror mazes with a passion. you move cautiously, knowing you’ll bump into a dead end at some point. your reflection multiplies with every turn, making it feel like you’re being watched from all angles. you stop in front of one mirror, catching your breath, and take a moment to adjust your costume.

you smooth down the sheer purple mini skirt, making sure your wolf ears are straight on your head. you shift slightly, checking out your ass in the reflection, appreciating how well the outfit hugs your body. you’re about to laugh at yourself when your eyes catch something—a shadow

a figure. behind you. 

your breath stops cold. your friends hadn’t mentioned anyone being in here with you. you freeze, heart pounding as you stare into the reflection, too terrified to turn around.

“o-oh um, did I come in the room too early?” you stammer, your voice barely steady, assuming he’s the worker who grabbed your friend’s foot earlier. you swallow hard, trying to make sense of the tension creeping up your spine. the lights flicker again, casting shadows that stretch too long. your eyes twitch as you stare into the mirror—he’s still there, standing so still it sends a chill down your spine.

the lights flicker again, plunging the room into darkness. your pulse races. you can feel his presence behind you, closer now, even though you haven’t turned around. every hair on your body stands on end, anticipation mingling with fear. when the lights finally come back, your breath catches in your throat.

gojo satoru.

he stands right behind you, towering over your smaller frame, his eyes glowing like cold fire through the mirror. his presence is overwhelming, suffocating, andelectrifying. his ocean-blue gaze locks onto yours through the reflection, freezing you in place. you can’t move, can’t breathe, as his lips curl into a slow, dark smile.

“nahhh, you came at a good time,” he drags out, voice low, rough, as it echoes through the room. the sound of it, mixed with the flickering lights, makes your knees weak. he steps closer, his icy fingers brushing the hem of your skirt, sending a shiver down your spine. your breath hitches as you feel his touch, subtle yet possessive.

“and who are you supposed to be?” his voice is condescending, almost mocking, as his hand continues to toy with the fabric, lifting it just slightly. the way he says it makes your heart race faster, your skin prickling with a mixture of fear and something else—something darker.

you glance up, meeting his gaze in the mirror, tears forming in your eyes. this can’t be real. his white hair falls messily around his face, his long lashes shadowing those dangerously beautiful eyes.

“h-how? y-you’re dead,” you blurt out, ignoring his question as panic takes over. but his chuckle—low, dark—vibrates against the back of your neck, making you shudder. you’re trapped between the mirror and him, his breath warm and taunting against your skin.

“that i am,” he murmurs, his lips so close to your ear, “but you know what they say… energy never dies. you brought me here.” his words wrap around you, suffocating, intoxicating. your mind spins, trying to comprehend. you brought him here? how could you possibly—?

“h-how?” your voice is barely a whisper, trembling as you try to make sense of his words. it feels like the room is shrinking, like the walls are closing in, the air too thick to breathe.

“don’t play dumb now,” he chides, his hand sliding higher up your thigh. the heat of his palm sends sparks through your body. you shouldn’t want this, but the way his fingers tease your skin, the slow drag of his hand, has you clenching your thighs together.

suddenly, it hits you. images of you mocking his memorial, laughing at his statue, flashing through your mind. his low chuckle tells you he knows exactly what you’re remembering.

“i-i didn’t mean-”

“didn’t mean it? nahh, pretty, you fuckin’ meant it.” his plush lips press against your neck, leaving a trail of kisses that make your knees weak. fuck, you shouldn’t be getting turned on by this, by a ghost. yet, your body betrays you, burning up under his touch.

he leans into you, his teeth grazing your exposed skin, making you flinch. fangs? you tremble as he brushes his fingers under your chin, lifting your face so your wide, glossy eyes meet his through the mirror.

“all that nasty energy you have within you… mmm, that’s why.” his voice drops as he nibbles on your earlobe, tugging lightly on your hoop earrings, making you wince.

“‘m sorry, j-just don’t hurt me, I’ll do anything,” you stammer, your voice shaky as his grip on your chin tightens. his movements still, and the way he smirks behind you makes your heart sink. you’ve never felt so exposed, so vulnerable—like you just handed him your dignity on a silver platter.

without a word, he pushes your back down, forcing you to brace yourself against the mirror, your fingertips smudging the glass as you struggle to keep steady. glancing to another mirror, you see him crouching down, eyeing your clothed cunt with dangerous curiosity.

“anything, she says”, gojo quietly says, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as you arch your back just right for him. his eyes darken when he notices how soaked your panties are, the fabric clinging to your folds, sucked in by the wet heat between your thighs. of course, the lights choose now not to flicker—how fucking embarrassing.

with a quick, rough tug, gojo hooks his finger into your panties, pulling them side to side, watching how your chubby folds swallow the fabric before yanking them aside, fully exposing your dripping cunt. you clench hard at the sudden cool breeze against your exposed skin, and he pauses, mesmerized.

“you like this, huh? getting off to a dead man… ohh, you’re disgusting,” he mocks, his voice low and sinister.

“‘m going to make sure you live your dirty fantasies,” he growls, his tone laced with intent.

and he really is.

gojo has been diving into your cunt for what felt like hours, his impossibly slimy tongue lapping up your juices as your gummy walls snugly embrace him. your hands grip the sides of the mirror for dear life, feeling him reach the deepest parts of you. you’re moaning like a bitch in heat, your desperation rising as his spare hand mercilessly toys with your clit, not in cute circles, but pinching and pulling on your sensitive nub with no mercy whatsoever.

your thighs begin to shake uncontrollably as he pushes you to your third orgasm, broken moans escaping your glossed lips. your pussy slowly feels numb, overwhelmed by how hungrily he’s eating you out. do they not feed him in his world?

“ngh—‘toru, it’s too m-much,” you hiccup, and he growls behind you, the sound vibrating through your body. at this point, you’ve completely forgotten about your friends, about the stupid bet—you’re lost in the most toe-curling head of your life.

your stomach churns unexpectedly as you cum again, your brain so fuzzy that you can’t even comprehend it. he loudly slurps up your mess, not wasting a single drop as he licks you clean, your cunt twitching around his tongue. when he pulls his tongue from your gaping hole, your swollen folds throb in response as he grins at your state.

“heh, look at you—just a slut for a ghost!” he taunts, now standing behind you, grinding his achy bulge against your exposed cunt. his eyes never leave your face in the mirror.

“let’s see how much dick she can take,” he mutters to himself, cupping your pussy, clearly addressing her rather than you. as you catch onto his words, a wave of confusion and excitement hits you. how much? there’s more than one?

before you can process anything, you blink once and find yourself in the most insane position you’ve ever been in—full nelson. gojo has you completely at his mercy, holding your legs high above your head with a firm grip, locking you in place like a ragdoll. your tall platform boots dangle helplessly in the air, the sensation thrilling and humiliating as you stare at your reflection in the endless mirrors surrounding you. your stomach twists at the sheer size difference between your body and his, your eyes widening as you see your slick, swollen cunt clenching around nothing, desperate for him.

your miniskirt is now so short that it’s bunched up around your waist, exposing more skin than you’d ever intended. your eyes drop lower, and you gulp as you take in the sight of his cock, standing proudly upright. the base is a tan colour, thick and powerful, with mean veins decorating the sides that pulse with each heartbeat. the bulbous tip is a deep pink, glistening with droplets of cum that catch the dim light.

with one hand firmly securing your legs, gojo uses his other to tease you, rubbing the tip of his cock along your folds, the sensation sending electric jolts through your body. you bite your lip at the girth of his shaft, feeling a mix of excitement and horror. he’s definitely bigger than all your previous exes, and with every second you spend in this position, he brings undeniable shame onto them.

“can you handle it, baby?” he taunts, his voice dripping with condescension as he revels in your predicament.

“yes, I can-”

without lettint you finish, he thrusts into you, burying himself deep within your slick warmth. the suddenness takes your breath away, and you let out a gasp as he fills you completely. his girth stretches you in a way you’ve never experienced before, almost burning as your gummy walls clench around him, trying to accommodate his size. each thrust sends waves of pleasure crashing over you, a delicious blend of pain and ecstasy as you realize you can only take it.

gojo holds you firmly in place, using this ruthless position to keep you utterly at his mercy, revelling in your helplessness. with each powerful thrust, he drives deeper, hitting spots inside you that make your vision blur and your legs tremble. you can’t escape, all you can do is take what he gives you, your body completely surrendered to the pleasure.

“look at you, taking it so well,” he growls, a wicked grin stretching across his face as he watches your reflection in the mirror. your moans fill the room, echoing off the glass, mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin. the sweat glistens on his body, making his white hair stick to his forehead, adding to the rawness of the moment. “you’re nothing but a greedy little slut, aren’t you?”

you can only whimper in response, your head spinning as his relentless rhythm pushes you closer to the edge. your thighs shake uncontrollably as he hits that sweet spot, the coil in your stomach tightening with every thrust. you’ve completely forgotten everything but the way he stretches you out, your body fitting around him perfectly as if you were made for him.

as gojo thrusts into you relentlessly, your collar jingles with every powerful movement, a stark reminder of your current position. each chime echoes in the room, amplifying your vulnerability as he drinks in the sight of your pretty, disheveled form. he watches how your eyes flutter in bliss, how your lips part with each thrust, and how your reflection reflects the pure ecstasy etched across your face.

“what happened to all that toughness?” he sneers, his breath hot against your ear as he quickens his pace. “wanna tell me how stupid this is?” his laughter reverberates through the air, as he reminds you of your sly comment.

the humiliation of his words ignites a flame deep within you, and despite the embarrassment, your body craves more. your jewelry clinks and jingles as he pounds up into you, each sound mingling with the echoes of your moans. the sensation is overwhelming, and you find yourself teetering on the edge of submission, your mind hazy as pleasure clouds your thoughts.

as you struggle to keep your eyes open, the world around you blurs and spins. you can’t tell if it’s the overwhelming pleasure or the way he’s wrecking you, but you swear you see multiple gojos swarming around the two of you in the mirrors. they grin wickedly, each one reflecting the same smug confidence, but you’re too lost in ecstasy to process it completely.

am I seeing things? you wonder,

your mind foggy from the pleasure coursing through your body. each thrust sends you spiral deeper into submission, heat pooling in your core, ready to explode.

then, without warning, you feel another hand, another gojo, playing with your pussy. your eyes shoot open, panic flooding your senses as you choke back a gasp.

he can clone himself!

your body responds eagerly to the dual sensations, the original gojo still jack hammerinh relentlessly inside you while his clone teasingly rubs your clit, heightening your pleasure to unimaginable heights. as if sensing your need, the clone moves closer, rubbing his chubby tip along your widened folds. you scream internally, panic flashing through your mind as he presses against you, the overwhelming stretch igniting both fear and pleasure.

there’s no fucking way.

the clone pushes in slowly, stretching you beyond your limits, sending shockwaves through your body. you cry out, your voice a mix of pleasure and pain, tears brimming in your eyes. he’s moulding himself deep within your walls as you feel every inch of your velvety walls being re-designed for him.

the original gojo leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “c’mon, big baaaad wolf, can you handle both of us?” he taunts the nickname referring to your costume, as his thrusts becoming more forceful as the clone fills you. “i thought you were a big girl.”

you can only moan in response, the sound mingling with the jingle of your jewelry as they continue to drive you wild. the mirrors reflect your state—multiple gojos swarming around you, each one more enticing than the last. their mocking smiles deepen your humiliation, but the pleasure they bring you makes it impossible to care. both their cock heads rushing as if it were a race to reach your cervix as you squeak at the brutal thrusts.

“look at you, a pathetic mess,” the original gojo mocks, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction as you squirm between them. your gaze lazily drifts to the your tummy where a large bulge forming beneath your costume, moans escaping your lips at the sight. “you love being filled up like this, don’t you? who’s the stupid one now?”

your body betrays you, your pussy clenching around both of them as they thrust in sync, stretching you to your limits. the lewd squelches and sloshes of your dripping cunt fill the air, drowning out all coherent thoughts. each thrust pushes you closer to the edge, the overwhelming sensations causing your mind to spiral into oblivion.

the clone suddenly flicks your head, thr pain forcing you to look at him, and you feel a rush of clarity amidst the haze. “stay with us, pretty,” he demands, his tone both condescending and sultry. 

“we- hgnn -want to see that face you make when you fall apart.” you shudder at the sound of his voice, the way it sends waves of heat coursing through your body.

“mmf—i can’t. . . ’s too much,” you babble, your voice rising higher as the clone continues to push into you, the overwhelming sensation of fullness sending shockwaves through your body. pleasure and pain blur together, and you find yourself lost in a whirlwind of ecstasy.

“ohhh, but you can,” the original gojo growls, thrusting harder, your body shaking as you sob loudly, the sounds echoing off the mirrors as your achy walls clenching around his thick shafts.

every angle captures your struggle—your skin glistening with sweat, your costume soaked and clinging to your curves, and the way you’re trapped between two versions of the man you crave. the reflections amplify the chaos, a never-ending loop of desire and degradation as you’re thrust deeper into submission.

“what about your friends?” the clone taunts, a wicked smirk plastered across his face. “what will they think when they find you like this?” the thought sends a wave of humiliation crashing over you, but the pleasure is relentless, drowning out any semblance of reality.

“anddd what about that bet you had?” the original gojo continues from behind, his voice dripping with mockery. “i bet they wouldn’t believe how much you enjoy being filled up by us.” you nod at his words, sniffles escaping your nostrils as fat globs of tears streak down your cheeks, your makeup a ruined mess.

they’re so deep inside you that it feels like they’re going to split you in half. each thrust stretches you to your limits, their relentless rhythm pushing you closer to the brink.

you swear you feel him in your chest.

“please… i need to—” you gasp, your body trembling as the clone toys with your clit, electric jolts of pleasure coursing through you. your senses blur, and all you can feel is the overwhelming fullness and the pleasure spirall out of control.

“let go, pretty,” the clone whispers, fingers dancing over your sensitive bud. “show us how much you want it.”

with one final thrust from the original gojo, the heat builds to an explosive climax. you feel your body tighten around them, walls pulsing as a tidal wave of pleasure crashes over you.

“fuckk!” you scream, body convulsing as you squirt, release gushing out of you and mixing with his cum. gojo’s thick cum shoots deep inside as he paints your gummy walls a pretty milky white, creating an intense mess that ends up coats your inner thighs. the overwhelming sensation sends you spiraling into a realm of ecstasy, every nerve ending igniting as you succumb to the bliss.

“what a sight,” the original gojo grunts, breath heavy with satisfaction. you’re lost in the aftermath, body shaking as you ride the waves of pleasure, mind fogged with overwhelming satisfaction and disbelief at the chaos that has consumed you.

as you try to come back from your intense orgasm, the clone pulls back and disappears. when gojo finally slides out of your cunt, a waterfall of cum oozes from you, thick globs spilling forth—it’s utterly inhumane. gojo carefully places your wobbly legs, which had been in the air for what felt like hours, back on the ground as you collapse, the numbness too much to bear.

the mess cascades down your gaping hole, sticky and warm, creating a thick pool beneath you. you can’t help but feel utterly exposed, the evidence of their domination staining your costume and making you acutely aware of how thoroughly you’ve been filled.

the sight is almost too much to bear, the way your body quakes with the remnants of pleasure while the glistening fluid slowly drips, accentuating the chaos you’ve just experienced. you feel humiliated yet impossibly aroused, the reflections in the mirrors surrounding you amplifying your vulnerability as he stands, watching you tremble.

“c’mon, baby, your friends have been waiting,” he coos, picking you up bridal style as you mumble nonsense, your brain so fucked that you can barely string a thought together. he strides through the mirror maze and into the last room, steadying you onto the ground for you to exit on your own.

he fixes your hair and outfit, quickly pecking your lips before opening the door and giving you a final push. you stumble out, the cool breeze hitting you like a splash of cold water, bringing you back to reality.

“girl, what the hell took you so long?” your friends shout as you try to steady your wobbly legs. one of them shoves her phone in your face, and your jaw drops.

50 fucking minutes.

“t-the worker was—”

“t-the worker- shut up. now you’re buying us food.” one of them mocks, handing you your belongings while they stare you up and down, taking in how badly you’re shaking and your frizzy hair.

“jeez did a demon fuck you? you look like you got meannn dick in there,” she jokes, and everyone bursts into laughter, including you. they have no idea what you’ve just been through, but you can’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

[oleg-rybak]

Los Angeles Deck Deck - large transitional side yard deck idea with no cover

[sarahmackattack]

🚨 Cool new project alert 🚨

WE- you, me, everyone- need to work together to get important science messages out to people.

We're in an all-hands-on-deck moment here.

We've learned the hard way that talking to each other on social media about these problems, while very important, is insufficient to get CORRECT information to a critical mass of people.

That's why, if you ask me, it's time to hit the street.

4 artists & 3 scientists collaborated on these posters. We hope YOU will put them out in your community. Each poster comes w/info about each topic.

Where should you put these posters?

Community Bulletin Boards

Classrooms

Your street-facing window

Wooden street poles

ETC

Here's who worked on this project:

Science Funding Saves Lives

Poster by Amy Schwartz

Article by @mikefeigin.bsky.social

Biology is Bigger than Binaries

Poster by@franzanth.bsky.social

Article by@jfmclaughlin92.bsky.social

Protecting Wildlife Starts with YOU

Poster by@zillahsmith.bsky.social

Article by me

Will our Oceans Thrive or Nosedive?

Poster by@invertebabe.bsky.social

Article by me

Alright now go buy some posters and put them in the public space. I'd give them to you for free but uhhhh I'm broke and can't afford to. We're making them as cheap as we can.

[haru-dipthong]

I had an argument several months ago in a japanese learning discord server that still annoys me whenever I think about it. It annoys me because I lost the argument so I’ve written a dramatic reenactment with Northernlion cast as myself and NL’s chat as The Rest Of The Discord Server in which I win the argument to soothe the psychic wound this shit has wrought on me.

NL: [while in the balatro shop] I dunno man, call me crazy but I think sometimes it would be better for some people to learn casual form first. I dunno why the masu-form-first thing is so universal. [reading chat] “-2, -2, it's just how everyone does it” Oh so just because everyone does it it means it has to be universally applied in every classroom and by every self-taught language learner without exception? C’mon dude, the world is a complicated place, let's not be boiling things down into absolutes. [opens arcana pack and puts finger on chin] What am I doing here? [gets distracted by chat again] “It’s probably more efficient for learning that’s why everyone does it.”? How do you figure that? Also literally every single native japanese speaker learns casual form first bro, they’re speaking with family. [voice starts getting more bombastic] And I can tell you now, an infant is learning quicker than you. You’ve probably been studying for four years on a 12 hundred day duolingo streak trying to minmax your spaced repetition algorithm on your fuckin uhh anki deck, you got the JLPT N3 kanji list memorised and still can’t say the three words you need in an average exchange with the lawson clerk - meanwhile a toddler whose brain isn’t even half as developed as yours is spitting coherent grammatical japanese 12 straight hours a day, and you think your method is [does finger air quotes] “more efficient”. Right. [pauses for 2 seconds] Now I know what you’re gonna say: [whiny nerd voice] “oough but NL first language and second language acquisition are different” [starting to sound genuinely pissed] Oh yeah how? How are they different and how does that difference mean that this specific thing needs to be taught differently? Read some Krashen bro, educate yourself. [picks the hermit, goes to next stake] [makes another inadvisable glance at chat] [reading in a doubtful tone] "In a classroom setting you have to speak formally to a teacher, it’s a respect thing.”? Some people don’t learn from a classroom, man! Some people learn from their families and friends and partners! A lotta people are self taught, are you telling me they need to start genuflecting to themselves?! ALL I’m sayin is that SOME people [puts both hands up to camera] NOT ALL, SOME people MIGHT have a better learning experience if they started with casual form, okay?

[scealaiscoite]

‧₊˚ 🏞️ ✩ 200 setting prompts

¹⁾ an er waiting room 

²⁾ a funeral home car park 

³⁾ a dimly lit alleyway 

⁴⁾ a cramped holding cell

⁵⁾ an empty museum exhibit

⁶⁾ a dusty wine cellar 

⁷⁾ an ex’s spare room 

⁸⁾ a disused garden shed 

⁹⁾ a seedy, cheap motel room

¹⁰⁾ a 24/7 diner

¹¹⁾ a strip club dressing room

¹²⁾ a half-flooded basement 

¹³⁾ a dark classroom

¹⁴⁾ a sparsely-stocked walk-in fridge 

¹⁵⁾ a crumbling mausoleum 

¹⁶⁾ an aquarium’s shark habitat 

¹⁷⁾ a draughty bus stop 

¹⁸⁾ a posh hotel lobby 

¹⁹⁾ a quiet bakery 

²⁰⁾ a department store dressing room 

²¹⁾ a sold-out stadium 

²²⁾ a lofty airplane hangar 

²³⁾ a murky riverbank

²⁴⁾ a mostly-empty cinema 

²⁵⁾ a clearing amidst a dense forest 

²⁶⁾ a bar’s service well 

²⁷⁾ a mechanic’s office 

²⁸⁾ a 31st birthday party

²⁹⁾ a ship’s brig 

³⁰⁾ a sacristy 

³¹⁾ an amusement park 

³²⁾ a garish costume shop 

³³⁾ a mens’ bathroom 

³⁴⁾ a restaurant kitchen right before service 

³⁵⁾ an f1 marshal’s outpost 

³⁶⁾ a yacht’s bow 

³⁷⁾ a drive-thru chapel 

³⁸⁾ a stranger’s hotel room 

³⁹⁾ a dark evidence archibe 

⁴⁰⁾ a loud hair salon 

⁴¹⁾ a failing coffee shop 

⁴²⁾ a retirement home’s staff lounge 

⁴³⁾ an office building’s 12th floor 

⁴⁴⁾ a dying retail chain’s last store 

⁴⁵⁾ an upscale casino 

⁴⁶⁾ a ranch’s bunkhouse 

⁴⁷⁾ the deck of a dilapidated fishing trawler 

⁴⁸⁾ an away team’s dressing room 

⁴⁹⁾ a mortuary waiting room 

⁵⁰⁾ a long-disused storage locker 

⁵¹⁾ a phlebotomy lab 

⁵²⁾ a run-down stash house 

⁵³⁾ a tense conference room 

⁵⁴⁾ a humid greenhouse 

⁵⁵⁾ a jazz club 

⁵⁶⁾ a well-stocked storm cellar 

⁵⁷⁾ a decommissioned sanitorium 

⁵⁸⁾ an embassy under attack

⁵⁹⁾ a marathon aid station 

⁶⁰⁾ a luxury car dealership 

⁶¹⁾ a coastal holiday home 

⁶²⁾ the underside of a bridge 

⁶³⁾ a two-person tent

⁶⁴⁾ a draughty coal shed 

⁶⁵⁾ a labyrinthine warehouse 

⁶⁶⁾ a half-rotted apricot grove 

⁶⁷⁾ an off-the-books laboratory

⁶⁸⁾ a disturbing shrine 

⁶⁹⁾ a circus tent 

⁷⁰⁾ a freezing cold lake 

⁷¹⁾ an actor’s dressing room 

⁷²⁾ a news studio 

⁷³⁾ a broken-down elevator 

⁷⁴⁾ an office’s copier room 

⁷⁵⁾ a library archive 

⁷⁶⁾ a bustling betting shop 

⁷⁷⁾ a peruvian food truck 

⁷⁸⁾ a city bus depot 

⁷⁹⁾ a preschool play room 

⁸⁰⁾ a marina’s creaking dock 

⁸¹⁾ an army recruiter’s office

⁸²⁾ a butcher’s cold storage 

⁸³⁾ an abandoned storage mill 

⁸⁴⁾ a perfumer’s store 

⁸⁵⁾ a high-security prison perimeter tower 

⁸⁶⁾ a cordoned-off crime scene

⁸⁷⁾ a fire station simmering with tension  

⁸⁸⁾ a creepy furniture outlet 

⁸⁹⁾ a boudoir photographer’s set 

⁹⁰⁾ a maternity ward 

⁹¹⁾ a muddy farmyard at dawn 

⁹²⁾ a ballet company’s rehearsal space

⁹³⁾ a dusty record shop

⁹⁴⁾ an isolated, rural cabin

⁹⁵⁾ a detectives’ breakroom

⁹⁶⁾ a bridal boutique dressing room 

⁹⁷⁾ the back row of seats in a cinema

⁹⁸⁾ a bustling dockyard

⁹⁹⁾ a cheap massage parlour

¹⁰⁰⁾ an empty dormitory

¹⁰¹⁾ a stiflingly tense courtroom

¹⁰²⁾ a conspiracy theorist’s doomsday bunker

¹⁰³⁾ a cobweb-littered attic

¹⁰⁴⁾ a crumbling remote farmhouse

¹⁰⁵⁾ an arcade at close

¹⁰⁶⁾ a snowy chalet 

¹⁰⁷⁾ an out-of-use abbatoir

¹⁰⁸⁾ a bougie art exhibition

¹⁰⁹⁾ a neighbourhood paletería

¹¹⁰⁾ a headmaster’s office

¹¹¹⁾ a liquor store at midday

¹¹²⁾ a gold-for-cash outlet 

¹¹³⁾ a train station restroom

¹¹⁴⁾ a country club tennis court

¹¹⁵⁾ an acupuncturist’s office

¹¹⁶⁾ a mansion’s guest bathroom

¹¹⁷⁾ an overwhelmed military outpost

¹¹⁸⁾ a disused santa’s grotto

¹¹⁹⁾ an ambulance bay

¹²⁰⁾ a whiskey distillery

¹²¹⁾ a submarine command center 

¹²²⁾ a lesbian bar 

¹²³⁾ the boot of a parked car 

¹²⁴⁾ a bachelorette party 

¹²⁵⁾ an oncologist’s office 

¹²⁶⁾ a penthouse apartment 

¹²⁷⁾ a coastal cave at low tide 

¹²⁸⁾ the passenger seat of a humvee

¹²⁹⁾ a private plane at 40,000 feet

¹³⁰⁾ a murder-mystery party 

¹³¹⁾ an outdoor beach shower 

¹³²⁾ a sushi restaurant 

¹³³⁾ a trashed pawn shop

¹³⁴⁾ a divorce lawyer’s office 

¹³⁵⁾ an opium den 

¹³⁶⁾ a kids’ ball pit 

¹³⁷⁾ a silversmith’s workshop

¹³⁸⁾ an unassuming safehouse  

¹³⁹⁾ a turkish embassy 

¹⁴⁰⁾ a grimy sewer

¹⁴¹⁾ a federal evidence storehouse 

¹⁴²⁾ a loud public park 

¹⁴³⁾ a busy cocktail bar 

¹⁴⁴⁾ an army mess hall 

¹⁴⁵⁾ an empty stable 

¹⁴⁶⁾ a private investigator’s office 

¹⁴⁷⁾ a dog pound 

¹⁴⁸⁾ a hayfield 

¹⁴⁹⁾ a drive-in movie screening 

¹⁵⁰⁾ an apartment’s fire escape 

¹⁵¹⁾ a shipping container 

¹⁵²⁾ a yoga retreat

¹⁵³⁾ a duplex in a state of disarray 

¹⁵⁴⁾ an ice hockey rink 

¹⁵⁵⁾ a shooting range 

¹⁵⁶⁾ a blood drive 

¹⁵⁷⁾ a timber quarry 

¹⁵⁸⁾ a niche publishing house 

¹⁵⁹⁾ a private arts college 

¹⁶⁰⁾ a fairground in the dead of night 

¹⁶¹⁾ a last-chance rehab clinic 

¹⁶²⁾ an advertising agency

¹⁶³⁾ a theater on opening night 

¹⁶⁴⁾ a hectic rave 

¹⁶⁵⁾ a suburban pharmacy 

¹⁶⁶⁾ a green, sprawling valley 

¹⁶⁷⁾ a veterinary clinic 

¹⁶⁸⁾ a retirement community compex  

¹⁶⁹⁾ a hastily-emptied apartment 

¹⁷⁰⁾ a nightclub bathroom 

¹⁷¹⁾ a lush rose garden

¹⁷²⁾ a childhood bedroom

¹⁷³⁾ a military blacksite 

¹⁷⁴⁾ an airport lounge 

¹⁷⁵⁾ a television show set 

¹⁷⁶⁾ the 46th floor of a skyscraper 

¹⁷⁷⁾ a backpackers’ hostel 

¹⁷⁸⁾ an italian deli 

¹⁷⁹⁾ a failing hair salon 

¹⁸⁰⁾ a sensationalised haunted house 

¹⁸¹⁾ an off-grid commune 

¹⁸²⁾ a makeshift soccer pitch 

¹⁸³⁾ a landscaper’s toolshed 

¹⁸⁴⁾ a cruiseship’s engine room 

¹⁸⁵⁾ a photographer’s set 

¹⁸⁶⁾ a brightly-coloured daycare 

¹⁸⁷⁾ a neglected playground

¹⁸⁸⁾ a hardware store 

¹⁸⁹⁾ a nurses’ station

¹⁹⁰⁾ a tobacconist’s 

¹⁹¹⁾ a biker clubhouse 

¹⁹²⁾ a hunting club

¹⁹³⁾ a newsstand 

¹⁹⁴⁾ a sinking speedboat 

¹⁹⁵⁾ a monastery 

¹⁹⁶⁾ a medical examiner’s mortuary 

¹⁹⁷⁾ a grafftied phone booth 

¹⁹⁸⁾ a soup kitchen

¹⁹⁹⁾ a speakeasy hidden beneath a florists

²⁰⁰⁾ a pumpkin patch in july

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 6:34

do u want to celebrate your bday, mr. great explosion murder god dynamight

Bakugou stared at your message for a while. He sits by his study desk, supposedly taking a break from his homework. His brows are contorted to one of contemplation, a pout on his lips as he types in his reply—rather quickly, too.

hell no

(ꃋᴖꃋ)

He shook his head. Bakugou turns off his phone and sets it to the side. 

If anything, he hates and genuinely gets upset with surprises, especially when celebrating his birthday. He doesn’t get it; why people celebrate another year closer to death. When he was younger, he remembered loving the attention, the gifts, and the praise. 

But now that he’s older, he’d much rather just spend time by himself. Maybe cook himself a dish or two to celebrate, but that’s it. He doesn’t need anything grand—not anymore, at the very least.

Then again, why would you be asking him a question like that as if you weren’t on the other side of Japan? He thinks it’s childish; besides, celebrating his birthday is a complete waste of time. He’s a hero-in-training, and so are you, so he’d rather use that time of celebration to either train or study (and he has the audacity to call other people nerds).

Bakugou decides to go to school earlier than normal because he doesn’t want to give those idiots (his classmates) time to even prepare for a surprise party (yes, Kaminari’s horrible at whispering and keeping secrets) for him in the dorms (and also the classroom; it just slipped from the tip of Kirishima’s tongue).

A hand holds onto his shoulder, and by instinct, he moves away from the contact and turns to the person with a scowl. If he weren’t alert, he would’ve blown said person to bits, and yet the moment he hears that familiar laugh, all raised defenses are lowered and his tense shoulders relax.

“What the fuck?”

“Surprise! I knew you’d come to school early,” you greet him with a bear hug. Bakugou scowls as he tries to push you away.

“Kats, I missed you so much! It’s been forever since we last saw each other—”

“How the hell did you get here?”

You grinned, ignoring his non-serious threats of exploding you to the skies. “Come on, Grouchy. I don’t have much time, y’know?” You dragged Bakugou toward one of the private lounge areas within the grounds of U.A., and he’s surprised you knew how to navigate your way around the campus. “Don’t worry, I asked for a bit of help from Midoriya since he’s the only one I know aside from you that goes to this school.”

“That damned—”

“Don’t get mad at him! Getting mad would make you wrinkle quicker, and don’t furrow your brows; I think I’m seeing wrinkled lines in your forehead.”

“You—”

“There’s no time for scolding me, Kats!” You held up a bento cake to him. 

He notices the two little boxes of what he assumed would be his presents behind you and the lighter you used to light up the candle. He thinks it’s wasteful when he could’ve just lit it up himself with his Quirk. Then again, he couldn’t really do anything anymore because what’s done is done.

The cake itself was thoughtful. Frosted with light orange frosting, decked out with what he assumed were mini explosions made out of fondant at the sides and a little lettering that said, “hbd dynamight,” with a little spark of red, orange, and black at the end of the sentence. 

Bakugou looks back on it, and the realization dawns on him.

This is the first time someone—aside from his parents—made the effort to give him a cake for his birthday. 

“Do you want me to sing happy birthday?” You ask when he doesn’t immediately blow out the candle.

“Fuck, no.” He rolled his eyes and took a moment before doing so.

“You didn’t have to do all this, nerd.”

“But I wanted to.”

That made Bakugou smile, even if it was only a little. “Thanks.”

“You’re seventeen now, and that is one year older than being a senior citizen,” he chuckled, “and as always, don’t smoke, drink, or do anything that would get your hero license revoked. Lessen the frown and turn it upside down; remember that I’m an awesome friend for remembering your favorite cake flavor even if you don’t eat it often—and finally, happy birthday, Kats.”

His heart is beating too quickly as he tries to play it cool by nodding to everything you said. He’s missed this, though he’d rather die than tell you that, knowing damn well you would never let him live it down.

“Whatever, you sap.” Bakugou stuck out his tongue, and you did as well.

“Well— shit, I have to go before I miss the next train.”

“Don’t have morning classes, then? Shiketsu’s a four-hour commute from here.”

“Uh huh. Remember—”

“Yeah, yeah. Cake goes in the fridge if I don’t want to eat it, and send you a video of me opening your gift. I hope it’s not ass, like last year’s mug with our picture on it.”

“Hey–! It was a very good picture,” you replied. “I have one too, just so you know,” you chuckled after finishing packing everything up. “Because it’s cool to match mugs. Really good way to strengthen our relationship. It makes you think of me whenever you have your morning coffee or tea.”

He snorts. “As if, nerd.”

Bakugou watches you leave, but not before seeing you stumble against your feet, which made him cackle obnoxiously at your misery. With the bento cake and gifts in either of his hands, he thinks this is one of his best birthdays yet. And spending it with you, even if it were only for a short moment, is surprisingly fulfilling.

He may start to enjoy surprises if they were this pleasant.

Now he just has to worry about getting back to the dorms without being seen by any of the idiots that would pester him about where he got his cake and gifts from.

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[humunanunga]

So here's what I think it means: Ramb was most likely talking about Noelle, right? She'd be on the right with the laptop, maybe playing Cat Petters, while Kris was on the left, maybe using the cards and dice to learn parlor tricks (if web searches wouldn't pull up results for teaching humans magic, they might've still been interested in learning sleight-of-hand).

And I think that explains what happened to Spamton.

Tenna doesn't recognize him anymore because they knew each other back when Spamton was a [[BIG SHOT]] in a matching red suit. He might've even had his own commercials on Tenna's screen, but this was also when he resided in Queen's mansion alongside Swatch. (And if this was when the King and Queen met, then it's also when Spamton would've met Jevil.)

Meaning... Spamton's calls with his mysterious benefactor could've been through the landline. Especially if they were still on dial-up internet back then. They stopped because Noelle stopped coming over with the laptop.

And as for Tenna... the dates 12/25 (Christmas Day) and 2/13 (Valentine's Eve) prominently show up, and Kris' implied aversion to watching TV might've been because it was always shoving the tragedy in their face. But it's still unclear whether Tenna knows Dess was never found, or if he was trying to focus on better times, or if he really was trying to push Kris' buttons; but he should at least know she's gone. Dess was the mayor's daughter, after all. If she went missing, it would've been all over the news.

And that could've been why Asgore was removed from the force. He wouldn't let it go, so Carol made him. And if Chapter 4 says anything, he's still investigating in secret– and suspicious of her. And maybe she's just a coldhearted ass who got tired of her public image revolving around an unsolved case instead of her success as town mayor. But she's definitely sus as fuck.

Back to Ramb, though: I think him petrifying establishes what generally makes a Darkner "belong." Darkners are animated objects, and maybe he was simply an overdue loan like the tutorial for drawing dragons, but Ramb was library property regardless. That one Zapper might've been for Asgore' TV all along, since he seems to have the same kind at the flower shop, and his remote could've been borrowed or mixed up.

Meanwhile, the Pippins were safe because they were... that property's property. The Rudinns, according to one, were from Kris' deck, explaining why Lancer and Rouxls were unaffected.

What it doesn't explain is Chapter 4 (which so far is likely more to do with the two Dark Worlds being treated as flipsides) or why the classroom Darkners don't seem to recognize Kris, but maybe the latter's for gender reasons. If Ralsei is an outdated sona, then Kris at least used to present as a boy like the brother they wished to be more like, and the Card Kingdom simply wasn't there to witness Kris' transition. Or maybe those Darkners forgot the Lightners just like the Lightners forgot them, but... speaking of Dark Worlds...

...belonging. The storage closet is an ideal place for a Dark Fountain because anything could belong in a place like public storage.

And maybe that's why Ralsei was put there in the first place. Safekeeping.

Darkners in Castle Town are safe from the Player. We can harm Darkners and even Lightners in other worlds, but not this one. We're not given the option. That's how Ralsei's been kept safe all this time. Chapters 3&4 give us opportunities to hurt his feelings, which Kris will resist, but he can't be damaged or killed through Kris.

Maybe not just Ralsei either. Kris' side of the room, or at least the side they sleep on, is empty... and noticably desaturated like the door to Dess' room... and their locker is also empty. The locker could be due to their implied absence, but it could also be because they knew a Player would come (or come back) and they didn't want to give us access to anything of theirs that they wanted left untouched.

It's been speculated since Chapter 1, I've been coming back to the possibility that this isn't Kris' first time being under a Player's control. We don't know how we seized Kris' body or why, or if we're the first; even if we are, though, there's a chance Kris knew to expect us. And so they prepared accordingly while they still had bodily autonomy.

Might post another ramble after I finish my Chapter 3&4 replay, now that I have save files with Dealmaker, Jevilstail and the original Starwalker again.

[moonyslipstick]

I’ll Marry You Tomorrow

You were curled into the corner of the Gryffindor common room, a book half-open in your lap and Sirius Black tangled into the armchair beside you like he owned it — and you.

Which, according to the gossip circling the school like Nifflers to gold, he did.

Not in the terrible, possessive way. But in that impossibly Sirius way — all wicked grins and lazy arms thrown around your shoulders, like your body was his favorite piece of furniture and he couldn’t be bothered to sit up unless Remus said something especially cutting.

You shifted slightly, your legs tucked up beneath you, brushing his thigh. He smirked without even looking up from the deck of Exploding Snap cards he was flicking through with one hand.

“I felt that,” he murmured, low and lazy in your ear. “Careful, love, or I’ll have to drag you onto my lap again.”

“You make that sound like a punishment,” you replied sweetly, turning a page you weren’t really reading. Your pulse skittered in your neck.

Sirius tilted his head just enough to look at you, that crooked, dangerous smile spreading across his mouth. “You like it when I punish you, then?”

Your jaw dropped slightly. “Sirius!”

Across the common room, James nearly dropped his butterbeer. “Oi! We’re right here, mate!”

Remus didn’t even flinch, just turned a page in his book. “I warned you about sitting that close to them.”

Peter muttered, “They’re like Kneazles in heat.”

You tried to look scandalized. Really. But Sirius’s hand had slipped behind you, dragging his fingertips along the waistband of your jumper, and your brain had turned to soup.

Sirius leaned into your ear again, voice practically a purr.

“Want to sneak out? Just you and me? I know an empty classroom with a view of the moon.”

“You just want to cop a feel without an audience.”

He looked mock-affronted. “I always want to cop a feel, but the moon view is a bonus.”

You laughed despite yourself. “We’re not sneaking out. You’ll get us both detention.”

“You love it when I get detention.”

“Only because it makes you cranky and snuggly for a week.”

“Exactly.”

He kissed your temple with a casual softness that turned your whole body to butter.

You hated how easy he made it. How easy it was to love him.

Because Merlin help you, Sirius Black loved hard. And loud. And fiercely. The entire castle knew what you meant to him. He’d hexed a Slytherin for calling you a name last week and spent the next hour with your hand in his, fingers tapping your wrist like a drum, refusing to admit how worried he’d been when you cried in the lav.

And then there were the moments like now. Quiet ones. Domestic. Half the common room lounging near the fire, James and Lily bickering about Quidditch stats, Remus reading, Peter asleep with a chocolate frog half-melted on his lap.

And Sirius? Wrapped around you like ivy. Warm and smug and impossibly handsome, like sin wrapped in silk.

You closed your book. “Fine. Five minutes. Empty corridor. That’s it.”

He was on his feet before you could blink, pulling you with him and calling over his shoulder, “Don’t wait up, boys!”

“We won’t!” came James’s voice, followed by Lily’s very loud, “USE PROTECTION, YOU ABSOLUTE MENACE!”

You shoved Sirius as you passed the portrait hole, cheeks flaming.

The corridor outside was quiet, dimly lit by torches. He pulled you into the alcove just past the first suit of armor and pressed you into the wall like he couldn’t help himself.

“I’ve been wanting to do this all bloody day,” he whispered.

And then he kissed you.

Really kissed you.

The kind of kiss that had teeth and tongue and promise. The kind that left your knees weak and your chest aching and your soul clinging to him like a vine in storm.

His hands slid beneath your jumper, fingertips trailing fire across your skin. You gasped into his mouth, and he grinned like the devil himself.

“You’re cold,” he murmured against your neck. “Why didn’t you say?”

“I didn’t notice until you touched me.”

“Get used to it, love,” he said, his voice thick. “I plan to keep doing that for a long, long time.”

You kissed him again, because talking felt impossible with his mouth so close, and breathing wasn’t nearly as important as memorizing the taste of him.

“Tell me something real,” you whispered into his lips. “Not just snogging.”

He stilled a little. Eyes dark, serious. “Alright.”

You waited.

He rested his forehead against yours. “I think about marrying you sometimes.”

You blinked.

“What?”

He laughed softly. “I mean, not right now, obviously. We’re seventeen. But… yeah. I do. I think about it when you laugh like that. Or when you fall asleep on my shoulder in the library. Or when you hex James for being an arse and I just—” he shook his head, frustrated. “I can’t picture the rest of my life without you in it.”

You couldn’t breathe.

“I’m not joking,” he said, voice thick. “I’m a mess. My family’s a nightmare, I’ll probably die young, and I’ve got a list of issues longer than Filch’s record books, but… I love you. Madly. Stupidly. Completely.”

You didn’t answer.

You just grabbed his face and kissed him again — so hard and so slow that he made a sound low in his throat like he might lose his mind.

When you finally pulled back, you whispered, “I think about it too.”

His hands stilled at your waist. “You do?”

“Only all the time.”

And for once — the mighty Sirius Black, rebel of the Noble House of Black, flirt extraordinaire — went absolutely silent.

“Bloody hell. I’m going to marry you.”

You laughed. “One day.”

“Tomorrow.”

“Sirius.”

“Fine, next week.”

You rolled your eyes. “Come on, we have to go back before they start placing bets.”

He grinned. “Too late. Remus is the bookkeeper.”

Back in the common room, you both returned red-faced and smug.

Remus looked up from his book, unimpressed. “One galleon says they’re engaged by seventh year.”

“Two galleons they elope,” Lily added.

James raised his butterbeer. “To Sirius and his poor future spouse. May she never get tired of that bloody hair.”

You just leaned back into Sirius’s chest as he wrapped himself around you again, hands resting on your thighs now, more possessive than before.

“They’re not wrong,” he murmured in your ear. “I’ll marry you the second you let me.”

“You’ll wait,” you said, smiling against his collarbone.

“Not forever.”

“No,” you agreed, closing your eyes. “Not forever.”

[shaunaswhore]

The Smiths

I love The Smiths.

Jackie Taylor x Reader

Word Count: 1,676

Trigger Warnings: jealousy, poor ending.

Synopsis: Jackie Taylor listens to the Reader’s favorite band as a way to get her to fall madly and deeply in love with her. Only the Reader already is in love with her.

Request here, please! | Check out my masterlist.

Jackie stared down the classroom to where (Y/n) was sitting beside Lottie, laughing about something she had said. It was moments like that, when she was deep in her jealousy, that she regretted not taking health class with Shauna and risking being in a class with her ex-boyfriend, Jeff. She instead took anatomy in hopes of getting closer to (Y/n), who seemed to be reserved for Lottie. She understood that people probably felt the same way when she was with Shauna. However, she couldn't see how this was about her. This was about (Y/n) and Lottie, and the way she was knee-deep in jealousy. Seeing them touching and laughing with each other was absolutely killing her. This was how it was every class.

She turned her attention to the empty page that was supposed to be filled with notes. Her mind was so jealous that she didn't notice (Y/n) and Lottie approaching her. "Hey, want to be in our group?" (Y/n)'s question snapped her out of her haze as Lottie sat beside her. Jackie hadn't answered properly until she finally realized the whole class was split into groups of three (with one group of four). "We have to make the skeletal system." (Y/n) said with fake enthusiasm and a sarcastic smile on her lips. Jackie couldn't help but let her eyes be drawn to (Y/n)'s shirt. It read The Smiths. Jackie quickly let her eyes shift over so she wouldn't be caught staring.

"Okay. so I can start the sketching if you two want to do the labeling." (Y/n) said with a cheeky smile. She knew she was giving herself the easiest task, but neither Lottie nor Jackie knew how to draw for shit. "Unless either of you want to draw."

Jackie shook her head with a playful roll of her eyes. It was obvious what she was doing, and both she and Lottie knew (Y/n) was going to get her way. "Oh, fuck you… Yes, we will do the labeling." She sighed, making sure it was obvious that she was joking around. (Y/n) winked Jackie before beginning her drawing. "So, what's your favorite Smiths song?" Jackie asked, pretending that she knew enough to keep the conversation going. The only song she knew was the song about Joan of Arc and Shauna was really into them. She also knew that she constantly changed the tape deck to Madonna or something more pop every time she got into Shauna's car. Now, she was regretting it.

A smile found its way onto (Y/n)'s lips as she glanced up. A thoughtful look flickered in her eyes as she leaned back, still working. "Okay, well, are we choosing mainstream or not mainstream songs? If we're going non-mainstream, they wouldn't play it on the radio because they're cowards… I would say, Cemetery Gates. But! I really enjoy Back to the Old House." She answered after a moment of contemplation. (Y/n) then glanced up at Lottie, who gave her a subtle nod. She knew that (Y/n) got a little nervous when she talked to Jackie too much. "What about you, Jackie? Do you like The Smiths?" She questioned, and Lottie gave her a thumbs up when Jackie wasn't looking.

"Oh, yeah, I love The Smiths." Both Lottie and (Y/n) heard the rise in pitch when it came to Jackie's voice. It was obvious that she wasn't being completely honest. Neither of them said anything though, and they just allowed Jackie to continue to dig herself a hole. Lottie, of course, knew The Smiths since she listened to them with her best friend often. "I like that Joan of Arc song. You know… Now I know how Joan of Arc feels… It's like pretty revolutionary, you know? Joan of Arc… a hero."

(Y/n) glanced at Lottie and they both tried not to laugh, instead, they both nodded. "Oh, yeah, super revolutionary. She was very influential, huh, Jackie?" Lottie teased, earning a kick under the table as Jackie's ears went red from obvious embarrassment. They couldn't help it when it was obvious that Jackie knew absolutely nothing about The Smiths.

"Well, how about I make you a mixtape full of all of their best songs then? That way you can tell me how you feel about a few of my favorites." (Y/n) was just trying to give her a little help so she'd know what she was talking about. Jackie just took it as (Y/n) making her a mixtape, and it made her incredibly excited. (Y/n) continued to draw a bit before passing over the sheet when she was done. "Besides, I think I am the most qualified to make a mixtape about The Smiths since I have the best music taste in the entire school."

Lottie snorted which caused (Y/n) to pout. Suddenly Jackie felt she was third wheeling again. "Yeah, (Y/n), you have the best musical taste," Lottie spoke sarcastically, labeling some of the skeletal systems that (Y/n) drew out for them. "I feel like not every niche taste of music is considered to be the best music." Lottie hummed, passing the paper to Jackie so she could do some. The conversation consisted of a back-and-forth until the bell finally rang. (Y/n) turned in their paper before making her way back to Lottie and Jackie.

Jackie was a bit quieter due to the back-and-forth and the strong feeling of being left out. "Well, Jackie, tomorrow morning, expect me at your locker with the perfect mixtape. Bring your Walkman, you're not going to want to stop listening when you start." (Y/n) declared, causing Lottie to roll her eyes playfully. She put her hand on Jackie's shoulder for a quick 'bye' before making her way across the opposite side of the hall to her next class. Lottie stayed with Jackie since they had athletics for their last period of the day. They watched (Y/n) throw one more wave goodbye before disappearing.

"So, you're into (Y/n) enough to listen to her favorite band? A band that we all know that you're not going to enjoy?" Lottie questioned with a tiny smirk. It was clear that Jackie was about to attempt to make several objections, so the taller, dark-haired girl stopped her. "Look, it's nice to know that you actually like her back. I want the best for my best friend. I think you can give her that. I like you for her. Especially if you're willing to listen to a band you know you don't like just to get her to notice you. Only, you don't have to. She already does see you. She's just been waiting for you to see her."

Jackie stopped at Lottie's words, a small smile growing on her face. "She likes me, too? There's no… you two, or whatever?" She asked, her heart racing. If (Y/n) liked her, that changed everything. She would maybe try to flirt with her instead of just hanging around in the background, pining for her while Shauna teases her and tells her to go for it. This was everything she'd wanted to hear since their junior year of school.

Lottie almost scoffed at her question, raising a brow. It wasn't that she was offended, but she was rather surprised that Jackie thought that given her current friendship, it was just as hard to separate. "She is my best friend, my heart and soul. But, no, we are not dating. We just aren't into each other like that. She likes you. Whether you like The Smiths or not." She stated, gently nudging Jackie in hopes of encouraging her to go for it. Admittedly, she was also pushing for it so (Y/n) would stop moaning and groaning about how "Jackie will never like her." Now Lottie pretty much has it on record that Jackie does like (Y/n) back.

The next day, Jackie had a new perspective on life, it seemed. She came to school with a big grin, a grin so big it was scaring Shauna. She was going to ask out (Y/n) today, for a date. That was the goal. As (Y/n) approached, extending the mixtape to her, she almost melted. There were little hearts where (Y/n) wrote 'Jackie's Mixtape' on it. Putting it in her Walkman, she tried to encourage herself.

"Thank you for the mixtape. I was thinking though. I could listen to this now, or would you want to listen to this with me later on a date?" She asked as she put her mixtape in her locker. She looked over to (Y/n) who looked shocked but smiled slowly. Jackie was starting to feel more nervous as she waited patiently for some kind of response. "(Y/n)?"

There was a short moment of silence. (Y/n) didn't realize that Jackie was serious at first "Are you serious? You want to go out with me?" (Y/n) tried not to look too excited, not wanting to get her hopes up. The captain of the Yellowjackets had a crush on her, too; and it had her heart raced. "Yes, I would love to go on a date with you later. What time should I be ready?"

Jackie grinned at her acceptance and the excitement she had. It made relief escape her. "Okay, I have practice until 5:30 so let's say 7? I can pick you up at 7. Is that okay?" Jackie watched as (Y/n) nodded before Lottie came in and swept her up. She leaned back on her locker, feeling like everything she had ever worked for in life was clicking into place. Just because (Y/n) said yes to going on a date with her. Taking out the mixtape, she turned around to smile. None of the music was The Smiths. It was all music that (Y/n) knew Jackie liked. Biting her lip, she put it back in her Walkman, going to her first period, floating on air.

[writerspirit]

Chapter I

Pairing(s): Melissa Schemmenti x Fem!Reader

Series: Schemmenti Family Agenda

Synopsis: After a student makes a comment to Y/n, Melissa takes into consideration what the next steps in your relationship should be.

Themes/Warnings: Fluff, Angst (please let me know if there are any warnings to be aware of)

A/N: I first wrote this part in an early morning surge of energy. I've already started on part two, so be on the lookout for that. I've also started an outline for an Agatha Harkness/Agnes x Fem!Reader w/ "magic baby" trope.

WC: ~ 2.15k

Having kids wasn’t something you thought to ever be on the agenda. It never was with you and Melissa. Both you and her being elementary teachers for Abbott, the only kids you two ever talked about “having” were your students. It has been a nice flow between you professionally. You being the other first grade teacher in the school, a good amount of kids in your class progress to your wife’s classroom in their following school year. These handful of kids are called by the other teachers as the “Double Schemmenti” kids, which you and Melissa find endearing.

These little aspects of your life at Abbott make being a teacher for these kids the best job anyone could ask for. Not to mention having the role of being these kids’ mentor, even sometimes their parent, is a gift in itself. So, whenever babies were a thought, it was more of a subtle whisper, rather than a thought-provoking idea.

That is until Melissa walks into your classroom after school one day to find you with one of your students playing with the deck of cards she so graciously lent for the room. 

“Hey, honey,” she smiles, making her way inside.

“Mrs. Schemmenti!” Aspen squeals. “Mrs. Schemmenti is teaching me how to play Kings in the Corner. It helps with my counting.”

“That’s great, sweetheart.” The redhead looks over at his hand and smiles. “Maybe next year you’ll be able to get a good grasp on poker so that you can beat all the chumps at the table.”

Aspen gives her a quizzical look. You, a furrow of the eyebrows, telling her to test the waters. She mouths a ‘sorry’ along with a low smile. Bringing her attention to your cards, she chuckles. “I don’t know, Mrs. Schemmenti. I think the kid’s hand is just enough to rattle you outta luck.”

Aspen’s smile turns to a little dance in place, in anticipation for his next move. 

You bring yourself to feign a sigh. “I think you might be right. I just can’t believe Aspen is so good already, and it’s his first time playing.”

Melissa shuffles back next to Aspen, who glances at her before she nods. “Take her down, kid.”

He rushes for a card before calculating his line of moves to play. With what seems to be one swift motion, his cards disappear from his hand and onto the floor with the others. “I got ya, Mrs. Schemmenti! Victory is mine!”

You giggle along with him. “You got me!” You and Melissa dance with him, doing your own little dances in place. Once he’s seemed to settle down from his victory dance, you help him pick up the cards.

“Why don’t you practice your shuffling while I talk with Mrs. Schemmenti?”

He nods. “Okay. I’ll go sit at my desk.”

“Okay.”

“He’s a quick little guy, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, he is. Smartest kid in the class. Maybe the smartest I’ve ever taught.” You peek at him, seeing if he’s focused on the cards in his hand, which he is. “His mom is working a little late today. The divorce hasn’t been easy for either of them, so I told her that I can stay with Aspen a little later than the allotted time for pickup.”

Melissa sighs. “Don’t I know it. Divorce is tough. I can’t imagine the added stress of having a child during the process.”

You quickly take a look at your watch. “You don’t have to wait up for me. Janine and Ava have step practice today, and I’m sure I can catch a ride with one of them if you want to go home. I know you have grading to get done.”

“I can wait here with you and the little guy. Grading can wait a little longer, and besides, I don’t want you catching a ride with either of ‘em as long as I’m here. I couldn’t live with myself if I knew I’d been responsible for another Janine car ride migraine.” Her lips perk up into a smile.

"I swear if I hear another lecture on the benefits of different colored highlighters, I’ll–"

“Mom!” Aspen squeals, getting out of his seat and running to his mother’s arms. She lays a soft kiss on his head.

“Hi, Aspen. How was school?” Dina’s eyes turn from his to yours. “Was he okay?”

You nod. “The little champ beat me in Kings in the Corner.”

“And I know how to shuffle now. So now I can help you when we play Uno.”

“Great job, honey. And I’m sure now you can help me beat Grandpa when he comes to visit next week.”

Aspen seemingly lights up brighter than before. “Grandpa’s coming? Yay!” He envelops her in a hug.

“Honey, why don’t you grab your things so I can talk to your mom?” Your eyes quickly glance at his belongings that sit on and around his desk. 

“I’ll give you two a minute.” Melissa moves towards Aspen. “I’ll help him get his things.”

“Thank you for everything. Really, you’re a lifesaver.” Dina lets a sigh leave her lips. “He’s really been doing great through this whole thing.”

“No disruptions, no problems. I wish I had his positive attitude all the time. And hey, don’t worry about it. I don’t mind getting beat at cards. He’s a smart kid.”

Dina smiles.

“I’m ready,” Aspen says. He walks up to meet his mother’s side, where she places a hand on his shoulder. “Mrs. Schemmenti?”

“Yes sweetheart?”

“You’re gonna make a great mom one day,” his smile widens before he says his goodbyes to you and Melissa. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay, kid. We’ll see ya,” Melissa adds. She turns to you. “Ready to go?”

“Mhm,” you grab your bag’s handle, but it’s quickly taken away from you when the older woman grabs it. “Melissa, I can carry my stuff.”

“I never said you couldn’t.” She smiles as you grab hold of her arm.

Walking out of Abbott, you both send smiles and your own goodbyes to a few colleagues. Your hand never strays from her arm, and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“So what are you feeling like for dinner?” She asks.

“Are you asking because you feel like cooking, or are you asking me because you want to just order takeout?”

She chuckles. “I was actually asking because I could go for anything you wanted to cook.”

“Enchiladas, then.”

“Well, they’re your signature.” She places a kiss on your temple.

When you reach the car, she walks with you to the passenger’s side, opening the door for you. “My lady,” she smiles watching you take your seat. She hands you your bag, and closes the door.

You reach over to the door and pull the door handle for her. “Thank you, sweetie.”

“Anything for my girl,” you say. Her hand instinctively rests on your thigh as she starts the drive to your shared home. You move a hand to graze her arm.

“So,” Melissa starts up a new conversation when you hit upon a red light. “Aspen gave you a really nice compliment there, huh?”

“What?” You take a moment to think back. “Oh… yeah, he’s a really sweet kid. I hope you get to teach him next year. I mean he already loves you.”

Melissa turns the music up a bit, as your favorite song plays. While you’re jamming, she hums along, singing the words in her head. Unbeknownst to you, Melissa is thinking harder than she’d care to admit to about Aspen’s words. Had you given any thought to having a child of your own? She hasn’t expressed any interest in having a mini Melissa since she was younger, when her sister had her first baby.

As if the memory played out word for word, she remembers how crushed she was when, while holding her then baby nephew, Joe completely shut down the idea of growing their family. 

As if you know she needs a distraction of sorts, you speak up, taking her out of her thoughts. “Oh, honey, I think we need to stop at the grocery store. Is that okay with you?”

She nods and forces a smile for you.

– – – –

Melissa’s hand never leaves the small of your back while you push the cart. Along the journey of getting the ingredients necessary for your dinner, she looks around every aisle that you walk through. Almost finished with the aisle you two are currently in, you start your way towards the registers. As you wait in one of the lines, Melissa picks up bits of the couple’s conversation happening in front of her, talking about their excitement in welcoming their own bundle of joy in seven months. 

“Melissa?”

“Hm,” she turns her attention towards you.

“Is everything okay? You’ve been almost quiet since we left school. The only times I ever experience quiet Melissa is when you’re scheming. Well, that or you’re planning someone’s meeting with justice.”

“I’m fine, hon.” She places her hands on either side of your waist, and places a few light kisses on your temple. “I’m perfect.”

– – – –

“Amore,” she starts.

“Hm,” you hum, sipping your wine.

“Nothin’.”

“Baby,” you reach your hand and place it gently on her own. “What’s up?”

She has a glint in her eyes. One you’ve only seen two other times – when she was too nervous to ask you to be her girlfriend, and then again when she asked you to be her wife. By this, you know she has got something big on her mind.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, her voice not leaving a low tone. She focuses her attention on her plate, trying to collect her thoughts.

“Okay…” you start. “But I will. You have the look.”

“What look?” Her eyes bounce to you, now wide, awaiting your response.

“You’ve only ever looked at me twice like that before, and both times they were because you had something big to get off your chest. Now please…” You place your hand on her thigh. “What is it, Melissa?”

“You ever thought about maybe… I don’t know… it’s just us here. And sometimes I feel it. The… space.”

You stay silent, trying to piece together what she’s going on about. Was she getting sick of you? Was this marriage too much for her? She doesn’t skip a beat though. Her rambling is starting to sound like she is convincing herself of something, in hopes you’ll say what’s bothering her, so she doesn’t have to. That’s when in the midst of your spacing out, there is only one sentence that makes you freeze.

“Maybe an addition to us wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

“You want to have a baby,” she can’t tell by your tone if you were stating it as if it were a fact, or rather forming it in a question. “Like… a baby.”

“No, wait, I didn’t say that,” her voice rises in pitch. “Per say.”

You wait a minute, in case she has more to say. “Okay…”

Crap! May day! May day! Retreat! Her thoughts tell her.

She downs the beer that is left in her bottle. Her hands grab for your plates and starts her way to the kitchen. “Just forget I said anything.”

“But, Melissa–”

“Please, just forget it, Y/n.”

– – – –

After dinner, you and Melissa snuggle up on the couch. Your face is nestled in her neck, giving soft kisses where you know she loves them. This would usually lead to you ravaging each other until the sunrise spills through your curtains. Tonight, however, doesn’t look like that is in the cards for you.

Your hand begins drawing patterns on her thigh, as you continue your kisses on her skin. “Your thoughts are loud tonight, my love.”

“Hon,” Melissa whispers, her voice almost impossible to hear over the television. As if on cue, the Dancing With the Stars theme sings for you. “Look, the show is starting.”

The rest of the night is much quieter than usual. Adding to your worry, Melissa doesn’t seem as enthusiastic about the episode as she usually is. There’s no yelling at the television, rarely a chuckle, and not even a snack to go with the episode.

As the episode ends, Melissa breathes a heavy sigh. “Ready for bed?”

You take a look at your phone which reads the time. “Yeah,” you say with simple directions. “Just… give me a minute and I’ll be up.”

She nods as she rises off the couch. She makes sure to place a gentle kiss on your cheek before heading upstairs.

At the sound of Melissa ascending the stairs, you quickly grab your phone. Opening your Contacts app, Barbara Howard’s phone number is already in view for you. With a second to think on a decision, a sigh leaves your lips, and the clicking of the power button shuts the device off.

Sleep on it. Whatever it is.

[scvderianat]

𓂃𖤐 SIREN SONG

pairing . . . charles leclerc x demigod!ofc

read all . . . part two

summary . . . “she was absolutely perfect, voice echoing and turning every word into a siren song. He would see her again, he could feel it in his bones.”

wc . . . 1353

scvderianat’s radio . . . My very first fic! I am so excited for this one, specially as I am merging two of my favorite things: pjo and Charles Leclerc. Be warned of the canon divergence: Poseidon stayed with the Jacksons! If you like this one, you might get a part two.

EVEN AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, Charles still vividly remembers the first time he saw her. He was young then, still trying to dodge school to focus on racing, when he found something else to live for.

He rushed through the streets of his hometown, eager to get home after another day inside a stuffy classroom learning things he would never need to know — all he needed was his helmet, good ears, and good reflexes. Charles fumbled with the straps of his backpack, trying to put his left arm back in the gap when his right shoulder ached from the weight of his books. He sighed once the weight was evenly matched and grumbled a bit about the pain when melodic laughter echoed in the marina.

His head shot up, eyes wandering around the numerous boats stationed on the Monegasque coast. He heard it once more before being able to pinpoint the source.

There, in the distance, stood the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Her hazelnut hair glowed and her tanned skin seemed covered in golden glitter in the sunlight. She was giggling next to a boy who looked like her, while an older man, maybe a father or an uncle, chased a woman through the deck. They were all laughing, but it was like her giggles were carried by the winds directly into his ears.

Charles breathed, watching her just as attentively as she watched the adults with her, his own lips stretching into a smile to mirror her own.

As if sensing the sudden attention her head turned, hair flying in the wind, and stared directly into his eyes. Charles could feel the heat on his neck, the red creeping up onto his cheeks as he realized he was standing still but the world was still going on. He gave a small wave, shyly, and kept on walking, cursing himself for his foolishness.

He sees a gorgeous girl and embarrasses himself immediately without saying a thing. Would she think him a creep? Or even worse, stupid?

In his rush, he missed the way she grinned and waved back, and the way her eyes, filled with curiosity, tracked him until he turned into a narrow street.

“What is it?” Percy questioned worriedly, looking around to see if a monster had caught her attention what had caught her attention.

“Nothing.” She smiled at her brother before turning back to where her parents were now dancing with no music.

She wanted to live a love like theirs someday.

YEARS PASS BEFORE THEY MEET AGAIN. Charles had won the Formula 2 championship and was signed into Formula 1 for the following year. He floated through the celebrations and interviews, high on happiness and success.

The sand felt hot beneath him, coarse and promising a great amount of itching if he didn’t wash it in 10 minutes after standing up. He could see Arthur in the water, and he knew his Maman and Lorenzo were not too far either, sitting under the shade a few dozen meters to his left.

Charles’ gaze was locked on the waves breaking on the shore. The Persian Gulf stretched for miles ahead of him, an infinity made of the prettiest shades of blue.

The young man felt accomplished but suffocated. He had done it; he reached one of his biggest dreams, and he still felt… empty. Jules wasn’t there to see it, his father wasn’t there to see it.

He could feel the fear settling low in his gut. What if he wasn’t good enough? What if Sauber decided it was a mistake to sing him and he was canned at the end of the next season with no contracts in sight? What if everything he worked so hard had been for nothing? What if—

A familiar bell-like giggle sounded right behind him as he felt a nudge. Charles froze for a millisecond before turning his head, and he could not believe his eyes.

There, standing up was a girl— well, a woman really, but that doesn’t matter! What does matter is that he recognized her.

The chestnut hair was the same: long and wavy, with some tiny braids hidden among the locks, only identified by little charms that decorated them; her skin still glowed, but now, up close, he could see faint lighter lines — scars — spread over her legs, arms, and torso. Had those been there when he had seen her for the first time? He was too far to see it then but some of those looked old — years old.

Time stilled as he met her eyes. They were as blue as the ocean ahead of them, and her button nose had a light layer of freckles. Charles snapped out of it as he saw her open her mouth.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” She had an accent, Charles noticed absentmindedly. It was small, from somewhere in the States maybe? “But your mom, I think, asked me to call you when she saw me coming this way..”

“Oh…” Very eloquent, Charles, Congratulations! “Thank you, uh… sorry what’s your name?”

Smooth.

She smiled, head still a bit tilted as she looked down at him, “I’m Vivienne…” Her eyes followed Charles as he stood, turning to face her fully.

Now he was the one staring down at her, “Thank you, Vivienne.” He savored the name, testing it. The French rolled easily off his tongue, and he smiled, “I’m Charles.”

“Nice to meet you, Charles.” Vivienne’s eyes trailed to her right side. He followed her line of sight and found a man laid back in a lounge chair, the same one from the boat all those years ago, staring at them. He looked a lot like Vivienne and tilted his head to the side, eyebrows raising a bit.

Vivienne scoffed, pulling Charles’ attention from the man who was most likely her father and turned back to him.

“Sorry, my dad is getting impatient.” She smirked and Charles could see movement in his peripheral vision, as though her father had heard what she said and turned fully to them. “I got to go…”

She turned halfway before Charles called out, asking if she had Instagram. Vivienne grinned softly and swiftly told him her username before walking away. Charles watched for a while, still enraptured by her simple presence, before making his way to his mother.

On the way back to Monaco, he got lost in his thoughts again. Only this time they were much more pleasant as they laid solely on Vivienne Jackson.

Her Instagram feed was filled with pictures of her family and friends, and many more pictures of the beach and marine life. She had a twin brother named Percy and they both went to University — but which one wasn’t clear.

The most curious part of it was the exclusively pink sequence of posts at the top of her feed. She was an actress! She had just starred, a few months back, as Mean Girl’s Regina George on the new musical and had just finished the last of the showings. Charles had looked up clips of her performance and she was absolutely perfect, voice echoing and turning every word into a siren song.

He would see her again, he could feel it in his bones.

VIVIENNE WAS SCROLLING through her notifications when she saw it.

charlesleclerc requested to follow you.

Her stomach did a funny thing when she opened his profile, his feed filled with red and cars and champagne showers. She noticed the way his eyes glowed when he held a trophy and the dimples on his face when he smiled.

Public figure, she mused as she saw the little blue symbol next to his name. What a coincidence, Vivienne thought, that two people who met years ago were rising in fame at the same time had met again.

She clicked on the follow button and turned off her phone.

What a coincidence indeed.

UP IN OLYMPUS, Aphrodite giggled. Oh, yes! Her greatest work since Perseus and Annabeth was starting to bloom, and she could not wait to write their romance.

[peariote]

death's sweetheart

request; I have a Victoria Neuman request that draws inspiration from Rio Vidal and Agatha Harkness' relationship where the reader's abilities matched those of death due to the compound V that was given to them as a baby and they have a complicated love hate relationship with Victoria and the boys basically find out that Victoria is in a relationship with the literal personification of death during the barn scene.

warnings; blood, death, canon-typical violence. traumatized kids (you and Vic). y'all are basically divorced parents. stan edgar and butcher get their own warning.

You were forcefully introduced when you were both just children. Not in the traditional sense; there were no friendly parents pushing you together, or classroom seatings, or stuffy, overcrowded summer camps. But, thinking back on it, perhaps it is the fault of your parents—yours, for shooting you up with V, and hers, for doing the same and then dying. 

The memories you hold of this moment are hazy, slightly distorted by age but sharped by the sheer distress you felt. One moment you were happy under the sun, submerged in the salty ocean for the first time, held sitting by your mother’s soft, yet water-wrinkled hands. The next you were torn from it all, falling and flailing until you landed… somewhere else. 

Suddenly, instead of warm sand and cool water there were cold tiles against your nylon-covered behind and sticky, the lukewarm blood pooled there coating your small hands and the backs of your legs.

Two bodies lay, headless and circled around you, luminescent mist coalescing above their chests. Without thought you reach for one of the masses, and it reaches for you. It enters your crimson palm, wiggling past your skin in a way that makes you shiver violently. The other one twitches as the first is absorbed, shooting to your other palm and writhing its way in. 

Only after the sensation passes and the unsettling tremors stop do you notice her. She’s small, knees curled to her chest in the corner, with the biggest eyes you’ve ever seen. You’re taken back to the doe you saw, grazing on the edge of your backyard. You’d stared, and it met your gaze head on. It crept closer, slowly, despite there being no incentive. Then your brother had come rushing out, feet pounding on the wooden deck, and the bright-eyed creature fled back into the shadows.

She stares at you in much the same way—though with terror you’ve never glimpsed in your short life, swelling waterline making her eyes glossy and overflowing down her bloodied cheeks. You attempt to stand, but your small, childishly-clumsy hands slip in the floor’s crimson sheen. Instead you scoot, staying low and crawling towards her. She cowers, bottom lip quivering, eyes intent on your outreaching hand. Not much changes, but a decision is made—she reaches out. 

Her fingers meet yours, bloodied palms pressing tight enough to make the sanguine liquid drip down your wrists. She shifts, and you do as well, squeezing into the corner next to her. It’s a tight fit, but it’s warmer being next to her than sitting alone on the tile—especially only in your swimsuit, doing nothing to halt the cold settling over the kitchen. 

You sit there far too long to tell, long enough that the police kick down the door. Their knocking had reverberated through the entire house, but when you’d moved to get up and let them in she’d tugged you back down by your hand and pulled your very veins towards her. You felt the pounding in your neck, the straining in your arteries, as they attempted to separate you. It mirrored her own, dragging you into her panic unintentionally. When your fingers slipped, slick, down to her wrist, the bold thump, thump, thump echoed the hammering against your skull. 

Eventually they take you together, a tall, broad officer raising you both in his arms. The sirens you heard before are no longer muted, loud and ringing in your small ears. They load you into the back of it, place you down on the stretcher with the care of parents you’ve both lost now. You’re unsure how far away you are from your mother. Will you ever find her again? It hurts to ponder, so you just press closer to your silent companion.

The sirens halt, finally, and the pair of you are hurried out and fussed over. Once they find you both uninjured, their gazes switch from worry to some kind of moony-eyed curiosity, as if they’d found a two-headed cow and not two children refusing to part, traumatized by the gore joining their hands. As if you’re dolls to bathe and clothe and tuck into a bed. 

The appeal faded quickly. They couldn’t find out who you were, and the girl—who refused to talk—had just lost hers. Now, burdened by two children in a busy hospital, they sought out other alternatives. You heard whisperings about your bloodwork, something abnormal the two of you shared. The nurses spoke out in the hall, but their voices still reached you. How they spoke unsettled you, their low tones and conspiratorial murmurings speaking of powers and super and the name of a place you’d never heard—Red River. You curl tighter around her and try to appreciate the care while you have it. Stubbornly, you attempt to stay awake, even as the girl falls into restless sleep, hoping that if you’re awake you can stave off whatever comes for you. But it’s, unfortunately, pointless. You drift off, despite your stubborn attempts, and you wake up in a different bed, with the girl still clutching you. At least they didn’t take her. 

“Oh fuck!” They all race into the barn one-by-one, wincing as the flying sheep slams head-first into the closed door. You can hear her heaving breaths, briefly exerted by the chase. It makes you huff a laugh. The sound snaps all attention to you, wide eyes and gritted teeth greeting you. Sat on a hay bale, you’re still coaxing a soul from one of the researchers. He’s a stubborn man, worried about his children—but it’s his time, unfortunately. You’d hoped that there would be a bit more time before they noticed you, but surely it was inevitable.

“Who the fuck are you?” The french man huffs, blistering with faux-confidence, even as his shoulders draw up with fear. 

“You’ll find out, in time.” He blanches at your ominous murmur. You pay him—and the rest of his companions—no mind. Truly, despite your attempts, your eyes lock in on her. You can’t resist the pull of her. Especially not when she looks so disheveled, blood dried on her cheek and her perfect, slight curls out of place. So you coo at her, smile wide. “Nadia.” 

Before she can respond—though, you have no doubt she had something brewing, ready to snap, her trembling hands fisted at her sides—her “father” steps between the two of you. Or hobbles, really. He’s really gotten old, grey at the temples. You can feel the wisps of him already reaching out. They feel sour on your fingertips as you brush them, the motion, though invisible to everyone else, makes both Stan and Nadia—Victoria—stiffen. 

“Don’t.” He insists, his eyes narrowing much in the same way hers do. Well, it’s more likely that she’s like him. Always paranoid—though you can’t blame him. He doesn’t know the full scope of your powers, but then again, no one does. “It’s not your time, Edgar. Stop it. We do this every time.” You bite flippantly, exhaling a sharp breath at his condition. It’s not as if you want to take him—really, he could stay for all you care. His soul’s rancid enough. You don’t want that on your hands. 

“So, is anyone going to tell me who the fuck this is—?” 

“Shut up, Butcher!” Victoria’s voice makes the place go silent. There’s a heavy pause, the stale air feeling very limited all of a sudden. 

Thump. Well, there’s that sheep again. Relentless, really. You want to give it more thought, you truly do, but you’re interrupted quite rudely by Victoria’s voice. 

“What are you doing here.” She’s stiff. She must think you’re here for her. Truly, you’re always there for her, but now you’re just doing your job. You’re not interested in collecting her, even as the blood-soaked thing in her chest pulls against her ribs. The familiar tug at your pulse point returns, the unconscious actions of her powers making you smile. You’d missed that feeling. 

“I’m just here for the bodies.” 

“Liar.”

“When have I ever.”

Her jaw grits visibly, even across the room. Stan interrupts her vicious stare by stepping into your gaze, even as he addresses the rest of the group. You think they’re unimportant, but sure. Have him misconstrue your relationship yet again, to an audience this time.

“They were… childhood best friends. She knew Victoria before I adopted her. Despite the fact that she was left behind—” the last words are harshly pointed, needling you despite its pointlessness, “she still came back, deflowered my daughter. Left her pregnant.”

Victoria flushes prettily at that, the blood blooming as sweetly under her skin as it does on it. It really shouldn’t embarrass her after this long—she knows how he feels about you, about your daughter.

“Okay—not the point. I was twenty, already thoroughly deflowered.” Victoria huffs, brushing a frizzing ringlet from her cheek. Starlight—that’s her name, right?—gapes openly. 

“...you’re both women.” The blonde murmurs, stark with confusion. The look you both aim at her makes her shrivel as if she wasn’t, at one point, a member of the largest superhero organization in the entire world.

“...I can bend the rules a little bit. Every once and a while.” You murmur, suddenly, intensely focused on picking a piece of dirt from under your nails, as if your words explain everything. A barn spider hovers near your shoulder, spindly legs working the web closer and closer until it can drop down without injury. The French man shutters, but you don’t even spare it a glance.

“...right. So. Aside from that.” The blonde tries to pivot, though awkwardly, and turns the conversation back to the quivering scientist—Henry? You hadn’t paid him much mind when you came in, only here to collect his colleagues, but something told you to stick around. There’s a wound you feel, a stream of blood steadily dripping that you know Victoria herself senses. He won’t be alive long. Still, they have to get out of here with the virus and alive. Mostly. You wouldn’t protest a few extra souls, though some of them would be less than pleasant to collect.

Prickling at your neck, Victoria’s gaze burns into your skin. She doesn’t falter, even as her companions’ discussions spiral further and further into chaos, problems about the virus and how many lives they’re willing to sacrifice popping up. 

“Well, I’ve already gotten four today. We can increase that number… or you guys can stop being dumbasses and just get out of here alive.” 

They all pause, the argument breaking so they can turn and look at you. The gruff Australian man, who’s name you’ve parsed is Butcher (probably because they’re all yelling at him) speaks up. 

“So we’ve got a serial killer in our midst?” He grunts, as if everyone in this room doesn’t have a body count. 

“Not exactly.”

“Oh, so you’re just the grim reaper, then? Where’s your cloak?” Despite his low tone, it’s obviously supposed to be a joke. When you go silent, glancing over to Victoria, he squints. You barely see it, but he falters—taking a shaky, small sidestep. Where he thought he was going—could go—is a mystery to you. 

“...Jesus Christ.” You’re not sure who says it—your eyes are focused, locked with Victoria’s. She stares back hard, eyes already glinting with that milky white sheen you love so much. As if she’d be able to. You’re not even sure you can die.

“Let me see our daughter and I’ll get you all out of here.”

She pauses, thinks. That you admire, for the few seconds you get to. She was never so thoughtful before—always brash and breaking things. It’s preferable in situations like these, but you can’t help but miss Nadia.

“...fine. Let’s go.” The irritation doesn’t drop from her face, instead deepening between her brows and around her mouth. Yet, when you smile, all teeth, her lips can’t help but quirk.

© peariote, 2025