#i thought it was bad how far down the first aesthetic pin was but everything that could have been an outfit pin was just an item of clothin

[chronicowboy]

rules: first celebrity, outfit, quote, and aesthetic pin on pinterest is your vibe

can you tell i've been cultivating my lesbian cowboy pinterest board recently??? but yeah this tracks pretty well especially the cowboy belt buckle ;)

tagged by @alyxmastershipper ily ryan (edit: @diazass ashhhhhhhh ily <333)thank you!!!! and tagging @danielsousa @shitouttabuck @jjudaslips @binickmiller if u want <333

[oreoambitions]

46 for agentreign please

Anon I'm sorry this took me a thousand years, but here you go. This gets wildly NSFW after the cut. Enjoy!

/// The first time it happens, Alex figures it's a fluke.

There are, after all, extenuating circumstances. She's not sure how many glasses of wine she's had because every time she turns around Sam has topped her off again, and maybe she should stop indulging but the wine is good and the company is better and this is the first day off off she's had for so long that it's hard not to let go a little. Kara's been keeping the showtunes coming all afternoon, a little louder than her old bluetooth speaker can really handle but it doesn't matter because Spotify is really just an excuse for Kara and Sam to sing at the top of their lungs. Alex is not participating, but she is appreciating. Appreciating because it's nice to see her sister laugh and smile like maybe things are getting better and maybe things are going to be okay. And also appreciating because, well, Sam. It's hard not to appreciate anything and everything Sam.

The activity of the afternoon is ostensibly the production of baked goods for a fundraiser related to Ruby's soccer team. Alex says 'ostensibly' because the reality is that it's been more than three hours and they haven't gotten the first batch of cookies into the oven yet. There's flour all over the floor, and she's pretty sure Kara got butter stuck to ceiling before Sam took the mixer away, but sometimes that's just the cost of a slightly raucous afternoon well spent, isn't it? And they'll have it all done in time anyway. In fact, Sam is just now finishing up the first batch of cookie dough in the confiscated kitchen aid when Alex, perhaps inebriated or perhaps just feeling emboldened by the domestic comfort of the whole affair, lunges for the beater.

This, it turns out, is either a mistake or the best decision she's ever made in her life. Her hand does contact the beater. She does come within a few seconds of pure raw cookie dough bliss. But Sam is faster, and in a flash Alex finds herself pinned between the counter and Sam's hips, one wrist wrapped up in Sam's fingers, the beater now soundly out of reach in Sam's other hand.

"Mine," Sam growls, but her eyes have dropped to Alex's mouth and for one disorienting moment Alex thinks she might be about to kiss her, thinks maybe the word 'mine' has nothing to do with the beater at all, that maybe they've crossed into some alternate dimension where there's a future for her and Sam that doesn't involve a lot of politely smiling and politely never mentioning one another's romantic entanglements or the absence thereof.

And the thing is, Alex thinks to herself, contemplating the heat of Sam's gaze and the fact that she literally cannot move beneath Sam's hips, this is... attractive. This is very attractive, in an immediate and throbbing sort of way that would be frankly embarrassing approximately half a glass of wine earlier in the afternoon. But that can't be right, because Alex doesn't like to be pushed around. Alex is the one who does the pushing. Isn't she? Sam's grip tightens around her wrist and Alex's lips part of their own accord and-

"Oh for heaven's sake," Kara says, snatching the beater out of Sam's hand. "It's mine, because you two are both being ridiculous." She rolls her eyes. "I hate being the only adult in the room."

It was a fluke. That's what Alex thinks to herself later that night when she wakes with a start from a just-dozing-off dream featuring the immovable nature of Sam's hips. They were drinking and it was a long afternoon and everyone was a little wound up and a little giddy and Alex has been single for a long time. That's it. That's all it was. That's all it has to be.

///

It's harder to write it off as a fluke the second time, but she manages.

James is in town and so it's game night. Not their monthly game night as scheduled, but an extra at-the-last-second game night, and Alex is on call. Which is fine. She can count on her fingers the number of times she's had to handle something in the middle of the night while on call for the DEO, and she's not particularly worried. But it's a problem because she can't be drinking, which means she's sober when Sam corners her in the kitchen.

It's been a long night. Not in a bad way. Just in the sense that things have been a little more risque than usual, what with Nia falling over herself trying to make it clear to Brainy that she'd like to sleep with him without actually making it clear, and Lena shooting those long smoldering looks at a characteristically oblivious Kara, and then there's Sam. Alex can't stop looking at Sam in that shirt where it sits a little too tight across the shoulders, can't stop tracing the line of that necklace to the place where it disappears just below her collar, can't stop following the meaningless movement of her fingers as she absently fiddles with a beer that wouldn't have an effect on her even if she drank the whole case. She wonders idly if it's for the aesthetic or if Sam just likes the taste of a craft IPA.

The trouble is that every time Alex catches herself looking at Sam, she also catches Sam looking at her. And so, upon dragging her eyes up once more from Sam's fingers to find Sam staring back at her, eyes dark and expression unreadable, Alex decides it's time for a drink after all. One beer won't hurt, even if the world decides to consider coming to an abrupt conclusion in the next hour or so and it turns out to be her responsibility. It's just that her mouth is suddenly dry, and the room is suddenly too loud, and she needs something to roll between her fingers the way Sam is rolling that IPA back and forth and back and forth and- Yeah. Just one beer will be fine.

She slips into the kitchen while Nia is yelling about how they should all do a TikTok together. It's quieter here, and a cool breeze through the window over the sink raises goosebumps across her arms. She pops the fridge open, pulls a beer at random, leans up against the counter. Maybe she doesn't want a drink after all. Maybe she just needs a minute.

"Aren't you on call, Ms. Danvers?"

Sam. Alex pouts. "What are you, the party police?"

Sam steps up close, takes the beer from Alex without so much as looking at it. "Aren't you the alien invader police?"

That's a dumb line and it doesn't remotely reflect Alex's actual job description, but she laughs anyway. "It's just one beer. Like 4%. I can handle it."

"I know," Sam murmurs.

Alex thinks she's forgotten how to breathe. Sam's eyes are on her mouth and those hips are pressing into her again and when Sam slips one arm around her waist and one hand into her hair a sound comes out of her that might have been a whimper. There's an inevitability to the way Sam leans in, to the way Alex's lips part as Sam tilts her head back with a firm tug. There's a moment of hesitation, a lingering, an opportunity to say no. Instead, Alex whispers, "Please."

Sam obliges. She kisses her slow, languid almost, holds her firm against the counter as she licks into her mouth and Alex is thinking that maybe she's going to come right here just letting Sam kiss her like this when Sam presses a thigh between her legs and she gasps, grinds down hard without meaning to.

Sam chuckles into her mouth, drags one hand around to her throat, traces feather light kisses along her jaw, tugs on her earlobe with her teeth. "Good girl," she whispers.

Alex isn't sure if it's the heat of Sam's breath, or the praise, or the way she's been casually immobilized, but she shudders, and Sam chuckles again, lips against her ear, and that only makes it worse.

"Fuck," Sam says. "If I had my strap with me I'd rail you right here."

Alex is pretty sure that would kill her. She's pretty sure just the thought of it is going to kill her. Just the pad of Sam's thumb dragging across her throat as she kisses her again, just the roll of those hips, that thigh pressing hard into her, that deep ache coiling tighter as Sam pulls back just far enough to meet her eyes and-

"Hey, Nia wants- Oh!" Lena stops short just inside the kitchen door. "I'll just." She plucks a bottle of wine from the counter. "Take this and tell her that you've uhm. That you're busy."

"We'll be right there," Sam says. She straightens Alex's shirt with a tug and a smirk. "Wouldn't want to miss the TikTok dance."

"Nope," Alex chokes out. "Wouldn't want to miss that."

It's a fluke. Alex takes a long shower when she gets home, and she takes care of the lingering ache that's now outlived not one but two TikTok dances, and she thinks about texting Sam. She falls asleep with her phone in her hand and if she has dreams about a tall, handsome, strong woman railing her against a kitchen counter, well. That happens sometimes. Could happen to anyone. Doesn't mean anything except that Alex has been single for probably too long . She downloads Hinge in the morning and considers explicitly mentioning in her bio that she's the one who wears the strap.

///

The Hinge profile lasts about three days. Alex scrolls through a ridiculous number of women, all of whom are... fine, before she comes to the conclusion that the problem is that none of them are Sam. She's sitting on this stupid app pedaling her stupid profile and all she wants is the woman whose attention prompted her to download a dating app in the first place. And she can't want Sam because it would never work. They're fundamentally incompatible. This bedroom ain't big enough for two tops. It's not going to happen.

But the words if I had my strap with me I'd rail you right here are as stuck in Alex's head as that Lady Gaga song Brainy won't stop playing over the speakers at the DEO. She can't stop thinking about it. Picturing it, even. Dreaming about it when her mind should be anywhere else, on anything else. And she'd just avoid Sam, just look the other way until her hormones sort themselves out, except that Sam is virtually impossible to avoid.

Kara doesn't make it any easier when she calls on Friday night to ask her about a movie night at Sam's apartment.

"Ruby's on a school trip, so it'll be just the four of us," Kara says over the phone. "I'll bring snacks, and we can order whatever you want for dinner. Please? Lena's never seen Star Wars; we have to do something."

Alex doesn't know how to say no. No, I won't come to what feels suspiciously like a double date movie night at Sam's apartment, because Sam's strap is at Sam's apartment, and I'm not sure that she isn't going to try to fuck me on the bathroom floor, and furthermore, I'm not sure that I don't want her to. Instead she says, "Any Star Wars? That's a crime. Which movie are we starting with?"

It's probably a safe bet anyway. Kara and Lena will be there the whole time; Alex and Sam will never be alone. All Alex has to do is make sure that she leaves when everyone else does and they can avoid the awkwardness altogether, and no that is definitely not anticipation she's feeling in the pit of her stomach, and she certainly does not spend an extra half an hour in bed on Saturday morning keeping herself busy with the thought of offering to stay and help clean up, of finding herself pinned against the refrigerator door while Sam takes her from behind. That absolutely does not happen because that would be ridiculous, undignified, untoplike behavior.

Alex is certainly feeling ridiculous, undignified, and untoplike standing outside Sam's door that evening, anxiously smoothing out her shirt with one hand, a case of that IPA from game night in the other. She's arrived a carefully calculated fifteen minutes late just to be absolutely sure Kara and Lena will get here first, but she didn't spot Kara's car outside, and so she isn't particularly surprised when Sam opens the door with a warm smile and welcomes her into an empty apartment.

"Kara and Lena?" she asks as Sam takes the proffered beer.

"Lena got held up at the office," Sam replies, already disappearing into the kitchen. "They're running late. An hour or so. Told them we'd wait. Do you prefer an IPA or a lager? I don't have any stouts in the fridge right now. Might be a decent sour in here somewhere."

Alex lingers in the entryway, that not-anticipation feeling thrumming through her veins. She could follow Sam to the kitchen. Kitchens do seem to be their Thing. But Sam returns with two lagers, her question unanswered, and nods her head towards the living room.

Well, now they're alone together after all and Alex is feeling awkward. She settles onto one end of the couch and tries not to read into it when Sam deposits the lagers on the coffee table and settles in next to her, legs folded under her, almost too close, instead of occupying the perfectly good cushion on the other end.

"Sam," Alex tries. They should talk about this. "We should talk about this."

"Hmm." A hint of a smirk flickers across soft lips before Sam schools her expression. "Talk about what, exactly?"

If Alex had bothered to rehearse this conversation in her mind, she still wouldn't have imagined it going this way. Her eyes drop to Sam's mouth and then she struggles to look elsewhere. The records on the shelf under the window. The blank television screen.

"I-" she starts, but the words don't want to come out. The lager on the coffee table. She doesn't reach for it. "I can't stop thinking about game night," she forces out, and then she looks back up at Sam to gauge her reaction.

Sam is smirking openly now, a hint of laughter in her eyes. She reaches out to tangle long fingers in the hair at Alex's nape, the same grip she used to pull her into a kiss just last week, and Alex's arousal is embarrassingly immediate. "Really?" Sam asks. "Game night, huh? You want to know what I can't stop thinking about?"

It's Alex's gaze that drops first, to Sam's mouth again, and this time she can't look away. "What?"

"Tonight," Sam replies, close enough that Alex's eyes flutter closed, close enough that she can almost feel Sam's answer on her lips. There's probably a coy response for this somewhere in the lesbian handbook but Alex is reaching and coming up empty. She presses a soft kiss to Sam's mouth instead and feels that anticipation - there's no denying now that it's anticipation - thrum again when Sam's tongue immediately presses into her, hot and demanding.

"What's so special about tonight," Alex mumbles as Sam kisses along her jaw to her neck.

"Mmm." Sam nips hard against Alex's pulse point, smiles into her skin when she gasps. "Well, that depends."

"On what?"

"Take your shirt off."

Alex hesitates. That isn't remotely the answer to her question, but now Sam is sucking on her neck and her capacity for rational thought is rapidly diminishing. She fumbles with the first shirt button, fingers trembling, and then the second. Three undone is enough for Sam to pull the offending garment over her head. The sports bra follows, and then Sam is tugging on Alex's hips to reposition her so that she's lying back on the couch, and Alex suddenly understands what everyone finds so attractive about kryptonians, because it's effortless the way Sam moves her. She has about a half second to be transfixed by the abs peeking out from under Sam's own blouse before Sam is kissing down her collarbone and over her breast, chuckling when Alex's hips jerk underneath her.

"You know," Sam says, "I was expecting more of a fight out of Alex But-I'm-A-Top Danvers."

Alex opens her mouth to let out a retort but Sam's tongue is working a circle around her nipple and rational thought is once again threatening to fail. "Is that what you want?" She manages, struggling to sit up. "You want a fight?"

"No." Sam pushes her back again, pins her arms over her head with one hand, brushes the fingers of the other across her ribs, frowns. "No, I like you better like this."

Alex flushes and has to remind herself not to squirm, not to look away as Sam studies her in silence, drops kisses across her shoulders, traces the lines of her hip and the inside of her thigh. And then Sam reaches under the couch for a box, the implications of which are momentarily as immobilizing as the hand still holding Alex's wrists down, because Sam planned for this, planned far enough in advance to stash supplies where they might be convenient.

Alex swallows hard when Sam's pants exit the scenario, and Sam's eyes flicker over her face as she opens the box.

"How do you feel about being strapped on the couch?" she asks.

It's such a blunt question that Alex flushes again. "Uhm. Okay?"

Sam stops with her harness halfway out. "Just okay? I'm gonna need a clear yes or-"

"Yes. God. Yes please," Alex says, flushing an even darker shade. She's going to let... this... happen, but she's not going to beg. Christ. Consent granted; please let's move on before things get awkward. Sam chuckles a little at her discomfort and presses a kiss to her brow.

"Okay. But if you want me to stop you just say the word."

Alex nods, not trusting herself to speak, eyeing Sam's fingers where they're tightening the harness. And then all at once she blurts out, "Kara and Lena could be here at any moment," which she hadn't realized might be a concern until it came out of her mouth but now she can't stop thinking about it, and how embarrassing that would be, and Kara can see through walls for heaven's sake, and-

Sam chuckles. "Baby," she says, sliding herself between Alex's legs, "You're not going to last long enough to be worried about that."

Sam is embarrassingly, excruciatingly not wrong. By the time the strap is working into her Alex is pretty sure she's wound tighter than she's ever been, and she'd crack some kind of joke about how it's clearly been too long since she's had anyone inside of her but this is really not the time. Sam is pressing inexorably deeper and it's all she can do to hold her breath because otherwise she's going to come altogether undone before they've even gotten started.

Sam gives her a moment when she's all inside, waits for Alex to exhale, waits for her nod before she starts to rock her hips, and the drag of the strap is so intense that Alex loses her breath and her self control in the same instant with a groan that only deepens Sam's smirk. Alex is kind of wishing Sam would give her back the use of her hands, but that's not in the cards. She squirms instead, hips bucking of their own accord, head thrown back hard against the cushion of the couch.

"Thought about this every night," Sam murmurs, and Alex thinks she'll say since game night but she says, "Since the day I met you," which is almost as mindblowing as the pleasure somehow, incredibly, continuing to build between Alex's hips. "Thought about how good you'd be under me."

Alex shivers at that and then comes, bucking hard into Sam to take as much of the strap as she can, half aware of Sam whispering something in her ear that might have been what a good girl you are if Alex had been cognizant enough to comprehend it. She comes back down to soft kisses across her face, and when Sam lets go of her wrists she wraps her arms around her and tries to remember how to breathe, how to pull all the pieces of herself back together, how to be a competent and capable, dignified and toplike partner.

Alex runs a hand absently through Sam's hair and hums. "Do you want me to return the favor?" she asks. She doesn't have a strap with her but, well, it's not like that was ever the best trick up her sleeve anyway. She opens her mouth to make a quip about how a good top is always prepared but Sam reaches out and casually tips an untouched lager onto her discarded shirt.

Alex splutters.

"Too late," Sam says brightly. "You'll have to ask me after dinner. Lena and Kara are here."

"Lena and Kara are what-"

And there's the knock at the door. The door not ten paces from where Alex is lying in a state of naked disarray on the couch where they are supposed to be watching Star Wars. There is a moment of absolute stillness before Alex begins to scramble for her clothes.

"Bedroom is the second door on the left," Sam says, sneaking in a last kiss while Alex reaches for the underpants peeking out from under the coffee table. "Clean shirts in closet. Do pick something nice; I've been dying to see you in my clothes."

Alex scurries down the hall in her socks quietly cursing and thanking every star in the sky. It's going to be a long night. If she's lucky.

[obae-me]

hi!! may i please request nsfw headcanons of the brothers (+ Diavolo and Barbatos, if you can) with an MC with a pastel aesthetic who usually wears skirts and thigh highs who loves plushies and is a brat in bed??

This is my first time writing NFSW headcanons so I hope you like them! 💜

NSFW Below The Line, Please note that even if these are suggestive I always write with equal consent in mind.

Lucifer

Oh no. When they came down from the human world in light pink clothes, looking innocent and naive, he knew he was going to have his hands full. Their stark contrast against the Devildom’s bold dark colors was just screaming for some lower demon to take them.

The more he got to know them, the more MC drove him wild, but in a good way. They pushed his buttons in all the right places, puffing up his pride and then tearing it down in a tease.

Whenever they wore thigh highs, which was often, he would get distracted, wondering what those thighs would look like tied up in his many ropes or ribbons.

When they finally got to bed together, their behavior was even worse.

“Is this all the Demon of Pride can do?”

They were a brat, and he needed to put them in their place. If they were going to act like a child, they would be punished like one.

He wouldn’t stop till they were obedient. Till the mouth that would dare mock him was singing his praises. Till they knew who to obey. And he wouldn’t give them any pleasure till they begged for it.

Mammon

Their bright and soft aesthetic reminded him of a child, and the last thing he wanted to do was be a human’s babysitter. However he would never have guessed how deep MC would have him wrapped around their finger.

He’d end up giving them anything they wanted to keep them happy. MC would abuse this just a bit. If he was going to be their sugar daddy without knowing it, they wouldn’t refuse. He’d pamper them with clothes, cute gifts, plushies, all because he couldn’t resist how they looked when they pouted their lips and asked him for it.

They teased him though, god, how they teased him. Not only how they looked but how they acted, especially with demons other than him. But push Mammon too far and he can be even more possessive than Lucifer. He’s the Demon of Greed, and if he wants something, he’ll take it by any means necessary.

If they’re already in bed with him, kissing and teasing, but being a brat? Denying him what he wants with a smile and a roll of the eyes and watching him get flustered over it? That’ll drive him wild. He’ll growl in their ears and take what’s his. Making sure to mark them in several places so everybody can know who MC belongs to.

Levi

They remind him of a kawaii anime character. He’ll fall in love with them immediately. None of the demons around here ever looked like that. Even the school uniforms RAD had were always dark and mature. He could barely look at them without blushing.

MC knew this and lived off it. They’d purposely get close to him, grabbing his arm and pushing their chest close against it. Wearing extra short skirts just to expose just enough skin to make him all red in the face. He’s a shy baby most of the time, until the demon comes out of him.

They would dare question his otaku reputation? They would dare talk about being with someone else just to make him jealous? They would dare snatching one of his prized figurines to hide it behind their back?

“If you want this back, you’ll have to go through me~”

He’s played so many dating games that he knows the only way they’ll be satisfied is through force. He’ll play them like a game and make sure he wins. With his fingers in all the right places till MC finally ends up the one red and flustered.

Satan

He couldn’t care less how MC decided to dress. Aside from a cultural perspective, fashion was never important to him, what someone looked like was insignificant next to how much they knew.

MC knew this and so they would act dumb around him, but for the life of him he couldn’t discover as to why. They did just fine in their studies, and surely they couldn’t be as dumb as they pretended to be.

Until they got a little more familiar, and MC would do things to him and act stupid as an excuse to get away with it. Surely they knew how he felt when they rubbed against him in sensitive areas. About how he felt being compared to Lucifer. Were they insulting him? Insulting his intelligence? Nothing made him angrier.

“But how am I supposed to know unless you teach me?”

Oh Satan would teach them a lesson alright. Class was about to be in session. They would know how to behave around him. They would be taught how to act if they wanted for him to please them so badly. If MC knew what they were doing, they would have to be prepared for his wrath to be unleashed so well bad they’d not be able to walk to school tomorrow.

Asmo

MC is so cute he can’t stand it. They’re both pink and bright and beautiful. The Devildom is so bland and drab, meaning MC is such a breath of fresh air. He knows all sorts of outfits that would look amazing on them.

Ooh, they’re going to be bratty? How cute, he can be bratty too, so who would win in the end? Anything MC said to him he just found endearing. He’s been in bed with everyone, honey, he knows how to handle them.

Ah but what he wasn’t expecting was for them to cut them off completely. To shun them and act like he doesn’t exist, on purpose. He had enjoyed the bratty game, because it was some form of attention, but now they’re not even giving him any of it? The shining Demon of Lust has to be the center of all their attention.

That outfit MC was wearing wasn’t cutting it. He’ll tear it off and give them something...better to wear. He has a separate closet full of clothes he wants to see MC in. Especially if it makes them turn that bratty attitude shy.

He’ll make sure they don’t forget him or ignore him again. He’ll have them memorize every inch of his body and sear it into their mind. He’ll have his moans be the only thing they hear all night. Ensuring it’s impossible to ignore him. He wants MC to know his body better than their own.

Beel

MC reminds him of something sweet like a marshmallow, he has to be held back not to eat them right off the bat. He only just needs to be patient...

He doesn’t really pick up on the behavior at first. They want something to eat? He’ll get it for them. If they throw a little tantrum if the food is wrong, they can have his, he’ll eat anything. He’s more of a protector, not a punisher, and so he doesn’t quite get why MC keeps acting like this around him.

So MC had to step up their game, and decided to eat the last of his special ice cream. When he found out, he was furious. MC knew it was his, and it was a limited flavor that won’t be back for another century. 

“What’re you going to do about it?”

If they ate his ice cream, he was going to have to eat something else. He’d just have to have MC as the appetizer, main course and dessert. He’ll take their clothes off with just his teeth. Leave them with faint bite marks as he nibbles on them. He’ll finally get to taste them through thoroughly, feasting off of them until he’s full.

Belphie

MC looked soft, like a pillow or a colorful cloud during sunsets he remembers seeing in the human realm. Even just looking at them made him sleepy. 

He’s Sloth, he doesn’t have the time or the energy to deal with MC’s taunts or advances. It exhausts him, and he’ll just sleep it off.

Or that’s what he’d like to do if MC would let him sleep. They’ll talk about anything to keep him awake. They’ll shake him. Bother him. Rattle him up. Even go so far as to sit on him and straddle his body, refusing to let him get rest. He gets cranky when he’s tired.

If that’s how they wanted it...he’ll stay awake, just to pin them to the bed. He’ll make sure MC’s noises are muffled by his pillow so they’re not too loud. He won’t stop until they’re so exhausted they’ll have no choice but to fall fast asleep, with him doing even more to them in their dreams. That night MC will be his pillow.

Diavolo

He liked how MC looked. It was different. It was human. He couldn’t get enough of amazing little humans. He especially was fond the way MC seemed to forget the fact he was a ruler. A Demon ruler. The brothers that MC had gotten to know so well were fallen, yes, but were angels originally. They weren’t Hell Breed demons. So no one had ever treated him the way MC did, and it drove Lucifer up the wall which he found so much more entertaining.

MC was trying so hard to get him riled up, but he’s been alive for ages, he’s had demons of all sorts out to get him mad, to lose his composure. To ruin his image. It wasn’t going to happen, adorable human, try as they so desperately may. He’d let them think it was working, just to humor them.

He thought it was so refreshing to be teased instead of worshiped for once. He wants to see how far they’re willing to go. How far they’re willing to push their luck. He’ll treat their boldness with rewards, but he also has an image to maintain, so there’s no way MC is getting out of this without ending up on their knees. He’ll just postpone it as long as he’s able.

He’ll have them discover how much power he has, how much people fear him, how much special treatment he’s given them thus far. They’ve never seen a demon like this before. His very presence emanates superiority. At the end of the day he’ll find out how much more satisfying it is to have MC at his feet than anyone else.

Barbatos

Barbados is Diavolo’s source of information. None other than him could be the one to directly serve the Lord himself. He knows everything about MC. Everything. Every MC from every timeline and possible outcome. Which means that the fact that this MC was here like this says he chose them. He chose to be here in this present with this MC.

He’s the most composed demon in the Devildom, even surpassing Lucifer and Diavolo himself. No one will ever know if they’ve pissed him off, his expression is unchanging and they’ll find themselves along the branch of time where they die their worst death.

So the fact that MC was purposefully trying to frustrate him up was amusing. Of course he’d never do anything to harm them since they were important to Diavolo and the program, and he was quite fond of them.

He’d show them possible bedroom events they could have together, but would never give them any until they asked for it. He was still a gentleman and a butler, and so he wouldn’t do anything until someone told him to. He’d be pleased watching MC spend ages trying to pry him out of his cool-headed nature so he could do as he would with them. But eventually they would succumb against his unwavering gaze and beg for Barbados to fulfill some of those futures that he taunted them with.

[instasiswetrust]

"Holy shit the school bad boy's courting you." Dustin whispered in disbelief as he stared at both the pin and the worn bloodied bat Steve had settled between them on the table.

"Wait, he's what?" Steve frowned, fingers picking up the pin adorned with a creepy smiling face. "No way."

"No, I'm serious Steve. This is like straight-up Jason Todd style courting. He totally kicked the whole baseball team's ass for you."

“That’s ridiculous man, Frank wo-” He ended up stopping mid-sentence because actually, Frank would. He definitely would. Everyone had heard the beating he had given Billy for smacking Hak-Quinn’s ass the other day, it made sense he would go against the baseball team as his way of proving he could provide for him.

Realization crossed Steve's face, lips forming a small surprised ‘oh’ while Dustin just shook his head as if he couldn't believe it had taken Steve this long to realize he was being courted.

"So what are you gonna do?" The younger boy asked, stealing a couple fries from Steve's plate before the other could react.

"What do you mean what I'm gonna do?" He said weakly, slapping Dustin's hand away when he tried to reach for more fries.

"What do you mean, what do I mean?" And it was clear in his tone he knew Steve was acting like this on purpose. "Are you gonna accept his courting, or tell him no?"

The Omega blushes, immediately flustered by the question. Having thought he would be a Beta or an Alpha for most of his life, he had known the whole courting thing would've eventually fallen on him to do it. Now with the roles reversed, he couldn't help but feel flattered by the gestures.

"Look, I don't know, maybe I will talk to him about it or something." Dustin seemed to catch the finality in his words because he finally changed topics, asking Steve instead about how Demo was faring.

Still, he had already made up his mind on this topic.

By the end of classes the next day, he hunted down the self-proclaimed leader of Legion. Steve might've been an Omega sure, but he was also taller and had the body of an athlete. Even so, he believed it wouldn't have been so easy for him to cage Frank against the wall had the Alpha not allowed him to.

"Are you... Are you courting me?" He cut right to the chase, wanting to make sure it wasn't all in his head.

"Been trying my best, yeah." Frank had a jackal grin on his face, looking up at Steve. Not intimidated in the slightest, with a flicker of something in his eye that stirred something up in Steve's gut. Something strange and new and not at all bad. "You like?"

Steve didn't answer with words. Doubts he even could. Instead leaned down and kissed Frank hard. Kissed him until they were both out of breath, Steve's cheeks flushed a pale red. A wide grin stretched his lips when he finally pulled away.

"Friday, 7 pm. I'll pay for the movie tickets if you smuggle in the food. Deal?"

"I got a key to the theater's back door. No need to spend money on me, doll." Frank's grinning again, all sharp cheekbones and even sharper fangs.

"You kick the whole baseball team's ass for me, and I don't get to spend a couple bucks on you? Unfair." And yeah maybe he was pouting, but really it didn't sit well with him not to repay Frank in some way after the way he left the baseball team.

"If you insist, ain't gonna put up a fight. Just thought I'd tell ya if you wanted to trade emptying your wallet for a little thrill." Frank shrugged, grin still solid on his face. Reaches out to cup Steve's face. "Comes with the bad boy package, y'know?"

Steve couldn't help leaning into the touch, eyes never straying from those stormy grey irises. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, dripping with honesty. "I think I would like to find out."

Frank laughed and Steve found himself liking the sound way more than he expected. It was rough and relaxed and shameless.

"Be happy to show ya, doll."

And Steve had to admit the excitement of knowing he had an actual date was enough to keep his mind off the bullying and taunts for the remaining days of the week.

Frank meets him at the theater entrance, right on time. Steve, who had walked the whole way here so as to not have to explain to his parents where he was going, is thankful that he will be able to catch a ride once the movie is done.

As promised Steve pays for two tickets then Frank drags him into another movie after the first movie ends, and another one after that. Steve doesn't feel like complaining, even if the movie genres are all over the place. He's having fun and this is the most he's broken the rules after the whole omega thing.

And really, if they makeout halfway through the second movie and end up missing half the bullshit plot, Steve only has Frank to blame. He kept heckling the cheesy bits under his breath making Steve laugh until he was hiding snorts behind his hand.

It's around midnight when they finally leave the theater, and as soon as they step outside Steve's phone starts ringing. His parents on the other end of the phone, angry because Steve's being careless.

"You should be more careful! What if something happened to you? And shouldn't you be worried about studying? You already lost that baseball scholarship-"

He must've made a face or something because Frank snatches the phone from his hand. Quick reflexes and firm grip. It takes Steve by surprise.

"Hello, Mister .. Missus Harrington -" He starts, and he's determined to take the weight off Steve as best he can and he's no Fairfield and he's certainly not Hak-Quinn, but he can play a part good enough for a phone call. "The movie ran a bit later than expected, but I'll see your son home safe and sound!"

And before his parents have any chance to respond, Frank hangs up.

Steve is stunned for a whole five seconds, blinking at Frank, before what happened sets in and he groans. "Ah shit, now they are gonna want to meet you!"

"I got makeup in my car," Frank says, clicking his tongue as he hands back the phone. "Nothing I can do about the hair."

And Steve looks at Frank dumbly for a second. Confused because, why would Frank need makeup?

"Tattoo. For hiding the tattoo." Frank waves a dismissive hand as he slings his other around Steve's waist. Comfortable. Warm. Close. "Hak-Quinn taught me how."

Steve is dumbfounded. "You would... For me? Wha-"

"... Well duh?" He kinda looks at Steve, confused himself. "I'm not exactly the kind of person people are proud to bring home but it stresses you out so I can play pretend." He raises an eyebrow, grins again, like a feral dog. "Unless you'd rather I show up as is? Full punk?"

"Oh. Oh Frank no, I'm not ashamed of being seen with you." Steve shakes his head, rolling his eyes. "I just know my parents and they will try to prevent me from seeing you. I don't want that to happen, that's all."

Frank looks at Steve. And he's quiet for a moment. And then a softer smile steals across his face.

"You have no idea how you smell right now, do you?"

Steve flinches a little, looks away, but he knows Frank's question is honest, not a jab. "I'm scent blind actually. Doc said it would get better with time but I can't recognize my own scent at all."

"You smell miserable, doll. Not too keen on handing you back to the cause of it, y'know?"

And then Frank scents him. It's light. Polite, even. But Steve knows the action even if he can't smell what it does.

Skin on skin contact and the soft rumbling purr of an alpha.

It kinda hits him then that he's not alone anymore. Frank cares. Cares enough to willingly offer to hide parts of himself just so Steve wouldn't get too hard a time with his parents. It's easily the most thoughtful thing someone that is not Dustin or Nancy, has done for him. Can't help it if he tears up a little.

"Waitin' on your answer, doll," Frank murmurs, probably aware of how Steve is feeling thanks to his scent. "Makeup will take a hot minute and we're gonna have to get you home .. eventually."

Steve ends up shaking his head, surreptitiously wiping a tear or two off his cheeks. "I'm not gonna hide you like you're something to be ashamed of. I'll just deal with them if they get too pushy."

"Cute." Frank's grin returns and he steals himself a kiss before pushing Steve towards his car.

They drive too fast and blast the music too loud. Steve doesn't know any of the lyrics, the music too far off from his usual tastes, but when he tries to somewhat sing along and Frank rewards him with a heart-stopping grin? Worth it.

As expected, Steve's parents are at the door when they arrive. Disappointed face, even more, disappointed scents. Steve's mom is glaring at Frank, his dad is just looking at Steve like he's a lost cause.

"Mister Harrington. Missus." Frank's got a jackal's grin on his face again, and Steve can't smell it, but his scent is twined around the anxious omega like an extra buffer.

It's amazing how Frank doesn't even care about the venom in his parents' eyes, writing him off near immediately with his dyed hair and throat tattoo and grunge aesthetic.

Steve's parents don't even deign to give a response, just march back inside and wait for him to follow after them.

"I had fun, thank you. I will see you tomorrow." Steve murmurs, leaning in to press a kiss to Frank’s cheek before going in and closing the door behind him.

They barely waited until the door was closed before they started demanding answers. Frank probably hadn't even left, but they didn't care and Steve hated it. Hated all of it.

His night had been amazing, maybe even the best night he had had this year, but that call had to ruin it.

Before presenting, when they had still thought he would be a Beta or a late Alpha, his parents wouldn't have bothered calling him for a night out. As long as he was home for breakfast, everything was fine. These days though, they had become protective to the point it was bordering on controlling and it bothered Steve.

Maybe he should be glad that they were trying to show they cared but it was hard to do when their words were “Stop putting yourself in unnecessary danger that will just cause more trouble for us.” and not “We are just worried something will happen to you.”

Ever since the goddamn results came back, it was always about them. How this would be a problem for them. How losing the scholarship meant they would have to invest more money in him. How Steve getting involved with a delinquent would look on them.

They don't bother asking how he is coping with it all. The changes in his body, the bullying at school they know nothing about, how he had to give up the sport he loved because society decided Omegas weren't made to be in sports. For God's sake, he had cried the morning he received the letter notifying him his scholarship had been suspended. But either they didn't know about that, didn't realize, or didn't care.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself, young man?” His dad demanded, disappointment emanating from every pore in his body.

Steve might've been scent blind, but familiarity and time had allowed him to distinguish his parents' scents and the shifts in their emotions. Because of this, he wasn't spared from the full brunt of disappointment, anger, upset coming from both his parents. It was hard not to reflexively make himself appear smaller but he knew that would just make his dad angrier.

"I don't really see what the problem is, dad." He said, running a hand through his hair and sighing in exasperation. "I told you guys I would be out till late, and that I was going out with a friend. You had the location of the movie theater too. So what really is the problem here?"

"When you said you would be going out with a friend, we thought you meant that nice girl Robin, or maybe the Wheeler's kid, Nancy. You guys made such a cute couple, Stevie." His mom interjected, her tone softer but no less upset than his dad's had been.

"Mom, please. Nancy and I broke up a year ago already, will you drop it? Plus Robin is not even my type!"

"Of course because apparently, your type is no-good delinquents, you have made that clear." His dad snapped, glaring down at him.

Steve frowned, glaring back at him. "Frank is a classmate and a friend. He defended me when the baseball team started labeling me as a slut just because I'm an Omega. I think that's more than either of you have done about this!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Steve knew he had made a mistake. His dad's nostrils flared and his mother gasped like maybe they were sensing something he wasn't. At least his dad might've because his mother was as scent blind like him, maybe worse. There was a reason scenting was something he didn't know how to do properly.

"Can't believe you needed the help of someone like that to defend yourself. Didn't we teach you to stand up for yourself, Steve? Or do you think just because you are an Omega now you get to play the weak card?" His dad snarked, eyes narrowed.

"Honey-"

"No." His dad shook his head, ignoring his mother's hand on his shoulder. "You are to stop any contact with that delinquent. Now to your room, Steve."

"Wha- Dad-"

"To your room, I said." He didn't yell but the growl was so clear in his voice that Steve couldn't help but flinch and lower his head.

Fine. He would play to their rules while they were watching, but like hell he would give up on what he and Frank had. Not after he had just gotten it.

[awesometheydontknowiamhere]

Breaking and Entering

Tony Stark X Reader Fanfiction

Summary: Reader has recently started dating Tony. With a new relationship comes the initial apprehension and nervousness. This fic explores the Reader’s (almost) first time with Tony and him being extremely considerate of her boundaries. Lots of fluff and smut.

A/N: My first MCU fic! Let me know if I should do more of these.

Warning: Make-outs, kissing, no sex though. 

Words: 1917 (I guess my longest fic so far)

Taglist: @scarletsoldierrr​

“Hey, it’s me. Just got off from work. I am heading home, let me know if you want me to stop by.”

You sent Tony the voice message and descended the stairs to the subway.

Life was grueling, but finally it was getting good for you. You had a job at The New York times (you were practically an assistant’s assistant, but everyone starts at the bottom), you had recently moved into your first adult apartment and you had a boyfriend who was God sent.

Agreed, he was Tony Stark, but that had nothing to do with the fact that you were slowly but surely falling head over heels for him. It wasn’t about what he had or who he was, it was all about how he made you feel.

You unlocked the door to your apartment and set down your keys and bag and plopped down on your couch, a kitschy thrift store find. Your entire apartment was boho and rustic, quite resembling a Tumblr page. You often liked to think that you were the warm and quirky to Tony’s sleek and mechanical.

You realized that Tony had never been your house and you tried not to let it bother you because you were aware of his insane schedule.

You stripped down to your underwear and pulled your cashmere blanket around yourself. You reached under your couch and pull out the book you had been reading currently, eager to get lost in and leave behind the exhaustion of the day.

You woke up startled, the sound of metal scratching wood clear in the dead silence of the night. You were on high alert and the waited to see if the sound would repeat, but you couldn’t hear anything over the sound of your heart.

The front door opened and you held the book out in front of you, obviously thought that might help.

A black-haired head poked in and you promptly chucked the book at it.

“Tony! What the hell is wrong with you? Ever heard of knocking or ringing the bell?”

He chuckled and picked up the book and closed the door behind him.

“Sorry, I just wanted to see you and well it’s really late and I thought maybe you were asleep, but I wanted to come see you because I haven’t seen you in nearly a week. I thought any noise might wake you up, so I decided to try the lock.”

He walked up to you and noticed your bare shoulder and the blanket wrapped around your body and froze.

“Did I interrupt something?” he said with a laugh and you felt blood warming your face.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, I fell asleep reading and didn’t have time to put on clothes for your B&E stunt.”

“The gutter is a wonderful place for the mind, Y/N. We should take a trip down there sometime.”

“How did you even get in here?” you asked incredulously.

“Well a little bit of charm and a bit magic from these,” he said while doing jazz hands.

“Of course, you know how to pick a lock. Why am I even surprised?” you said as you motioned for him to sit on the chair.

He plopped down on the couch beside you instead.

“How was your day sweetheart?” Tony asked, slipping his hand in yours and kissing it while you answered.

“It wasn’t bad, what about you? You said and snuggled up to him.

“The usual, blew up a bunch of stuff in the lab, bickered with Banner, and got new toys for the R&D. Same old.”

You laughed and smacked his chest affectionately.

“You trouble Banner way too much.”

“Is that so?” Tony said as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder as both of you sit together in comfortable silence. He started drawing lazy circles on your bare shoulder. You sighed at his touch and mentally willed him to continue that.

The truth was that as much as you were both enjoying each other’s company, you were yet to move ahead in the bedroom department.

The extent of your physical activities went up to just heated kissing and the occasional stolen make out sessions when you hadn’t seen each other in a long time.

It bothered you tremendously that you were this nervous. You were aware of his reputation and the long list ex-flames, each more breathtaking than the last. In fact, the closest he had seen you this intimately was today.

“Hey,” you said as you looked into his eyes, “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” he said as he tucked a stray lock behind your ear.

You looked at his lips and then into his eyes and placed a quick peck on his lips.

His hand cupped your cheek and he looked at your lips with burning intent. You nod and his lips touched yours. The pressure of his lips, sweet at first, grew maddening and you gave his tongue the permission it sought. With each passing second you grew more frantic, hungry for him, kissing him like you had never kissed before in your life. He slipped his hands around your waist and you ran your hand over his biceps, while the other still clutched the blanket around your bare chest. He pulled you into his lap, your knees on either side of his thighs.

You placed your hand on his chest and went back to kissing him. You pulled away from the kiss and took Tony’s bottom lip between your teeth, applying enough pressure to elicit a groan from him. You loved the rush of power, the feeling that came from drawing out moans from him.

Just as you lifted your hand, the one securing the blanket, you grabbed it back, realizing that it was slipping away. Tony ran his hand up your back and bunched it in his hand, tight and secure.

“Go on, baby, I got you,” he whispered.

You didn’t have to be told twice. With a hand now free, you were determined to put it to good use. You ran your fingers through his hair, trailing your nails on his scalp while your lips moved in unison. You looked at him and smiled, deeply touched by him still securing your modesty, allowing you to explore this on your own terms.

You pulled his head back, exposing his throat and you peppered his neck with short, wet kisses. You stopped at certain places and grazed with your teeth, careful not to mark him. You followed each bite with a salve of your tongue, a heady combination of pain and pleasure.

Tony’s free hand found your chin and pulled you back to his lips, devouring them in carnal hunger, his hands lost in your hair, keeping you anchored to him.

You both came up for air and he took the opportunity to go to your neck. He placed a kiss at the hollow of your throat, the contrast of his soft kisses and his sharp beard making you mewl.

“Tony,” you rasped out as he started a sensory assault, going from your collar bones to the back of your ears.

“Tony, please,” you squirmed on his lap, the play of his teeth and tongue getting too overwhelming.

You gripped his hair, trying to push away a shudder, and looked straight into his eyes, making sure that he could see the flame of desire clear in your eyes.

“Anthony Edward Stark, let go of the blanket,” you said with a smirk and he loosened his grip on the blanket. The fabric slipped down your body, but his eyes never strayed from your eyes.

“Y/N, “he said stroking your cheek, “You don’t have to do this.”

“I know, “you said and took matters into your own hands, flinging the blanket across the room, your body bare and glowing from the soft, yellow lights placed around the room, bare all but a pair of French cut panties.

Tony cursed under his breath and flipped you on the couch, covering your body with his. He kissed his way up from your belly, going over your sternum and stopped just above your nipples. His fingers stroked and played with your breasts, touching everything, but your sensitive peaks. He looked at your face, your trembling, waiting body and swooped down to take one aching bud into his mouth.

You let out a broken gasp, touched this way after long, touched by the man you craved the most in the world. You placed your hands on his shoulder, pulling him closer. Your arched your back every time his skilled tongue pulled a move.

Tony came up for air and you brought his face above yours.

“My turn,” you whispered and pushed him to the side.

He started speaking, but you silenced him with a finger to his lips.

“My turn to play, Stark,” you said as you straddled him, pinning him in place.

Leaning forward, you captured his lips in yours, teasing him with your tongue. Your hands caressed his shoulder, marveling over his strength and the contrasting soft heart within him.

You sat back up and ran your hands through your hair, coyly meeting his gaze.

The room was silent except the sounds of your combined breathing. Tony ran his hands over your naked thighs, his calloused palms making you wish he was touching you somewhere else entirely. You grabbed the soft material of his worn out t-shirt.

The charged silence of the room was pierced by a seemingly deafening noise coming from your severely famished stomach. A rolling wave of embarrassment drowned you and you scrammed off his lap and on to the nearest chair, covering yourself up with another aesthetically placed blanket.

Your work had been so hectic and your boss had you running all over the city with various errands. Eating had not been a priority.

“Oh my God, I can’t believe I just did that,” you exclaimed, the logic completely escaping you that grumbling stomachs are hardly audible. All you could think about was that the first time you decided to take a step ahead with Tony your stomach demonstrated the dying call of a blue whale.

He walked up to you and knelt in front of you and placed his hands on the arm rest.

“Y/N, my love, hey look at me,.”

You muffled a no into your palms as you hid your face in them. You did peak out from between your fingers and once you registered his worried face, and dropped them.

“Hey, it’s okay. You never have to run away from me. Don’t do that to me. I am not a middle-school boy. It’s just a bit of grumbling. I am more worried about why you were hungry in the first place. Did you eat dinner yet?” he said, his voice brimming with concern.

You shook your head.

“Lunch?”

You shook your head again.

“What am I going to do with you? Come on,” he said as he pulled you up to your feet.

“I am just going to buy The New York Times, if that’s what is going to get you to eat on time,” he said, but laughed when he saw you look at him incredulously.

He threw his arm around your shoulder and walked you towards your kitchen, if you could call an open area with cooking appliances and vintage equipment that, and said,” I am just kidding, baby. Let me cook you something.”

Yup, definitely falling in love with Tony Stark.

[salenakingston]

Mystery March Day 7 - Doubt

(Another gift fic for this prompt!

This one is for @nemesis-is-my-middle-name and their “the walls are alive” AU. Not sure if that’s the official name of it, but that’s what it’s tagged as. I love the concept of this AU, and thought it would be a good pick for today’s prompt. I hope you like it Swift <3)

Three friends and their dog had all been reunited. It took blood, sweat, and tears before a sense of peace washed over them. What was once lost to them began to return. Not all at once of course, but enough that they were certain their friendship could return to normal. Even with a skull for a head, it wasn’t hard to miss the compassion shimmering from his eyes.

The idea for the four of them to live in his mansion had been Lewis’ idea at first, but one that became accepted between all of them. It just made the most sense. It had been an idea floating around in their minds even before Lewis’ unfortunate passing, they were still close enough to Tempo that reaching their day jobs wouldn’t be a hassle, and they wouldn’t even have to pay a penny for their stay.

Their only payment to the ghost was ensuring they would never leave him again.

Never. How could they ever think to now that he was back in their lives? Arthur had personally spent so much time looking for him, making him the first to make that promise. He had his best friend back. Sure, he was a ghost now, something that might haunt him for the rest of his life, quite literally; but, he was becoming the Lewis he and Vivi knew in life.

Anger could always drive people to irrational acts.

Moving into the mansion was hardly a hassle. Most items either human had to bring were packed carefully into boxes, not worried about any furniture. The whole house was under Lewis’ control, and if he could make a kitchen, especially one with a fully functioning fridge and other household appliances, then it wasn’t too far outside the realm of possibility he could furnish any other room.

The ghost escorted each of them to their own room, taking the liberty of designing each in a way that suited its inhabitant. Vivi’s blue swam in her room, creating a mix with the magenta tint lining the walls. She had plenty of space for books, an open space for her to test out anything she might find, since apparently she’s got ice powers none of them knew about, and even a few turtles resting on her bed.

They seemed to look similar to the one she kept in the back of the van among her clutter. No, that wasn’t too fair to say when the mess was a split deal. Vivi had her clutter, and Arthur had his’.

Speaking of the blond, his room was next. He and Lewis walked side by side, taking note of the suits of armor. If the suits were not present, some sort of painting seemed to be. He recalled the first time setting foot into this place, neither one taking too kindly to the three intruders. Now that there wasn’t the lingering doom over his life, he could see why Lewis might choose them as an aesthetic choice.

The armor even seemed to make more sense around his room. The stories of King Arthur and all that jazz.

Arthur’s room looked nearly like his old one. Typical when it came to his bed, orange being there instead of blue. There was a desk resting just under the window, plenty of space for him to work on his arm and any other personal projects rattling in his brain. There were shelves in his room as well, space for any other spare parts and blueprints.

Lewis had even taken the opportunity to make a small corner just for Galahad, a touch he had done in Vivi’s room as well for Mystery. Might as well make the pets feel as much at home as their owners.

The ghost left the room, leaving his friend to set up the rest of his belongings however he chose. The first order of business was getting Galahad settled. With the hamster’s cage taken care of, he returned to the boxes he carried inside. There were more out in the van for both of them. Good thing that vehicle had so much space in the back. Once he knelt down to start unpacking, he could tell something was off.

The temperature in the air dropped. That was strange…

It wasn’t like this when Vivi or Lewis was with him. Maybe he just hadn’t noticed until now. Well, he might as well take care of his things. Nothing else seemed to be going on.

A few things here, a few things there, and he was done. For now anyways.

The boxes were set in the corner, the blond turning for the door. He couldn’t help but notice how cold the knob felt as his hand closed around it. It ran a physical shiver down his spine. How foreboding…

Shutting the door behind him, he began the navigation through the halls. He thought he was going the right direction, at least based on his memory, but when he was so sure he got to the right turn, it just seemed to lead down another long hallway. Did he go the wrong way? He wouldn’t be surprised if he had. The place already felt like a maze the last time they were here.

He’d have to ask Lewis the next time he saw him.

The longer he walked, the more unsettled Arthur began to feel. He was getting the feeling he was being watched, an all too familiar feeling. He didn’t understand what could be watching him. There was no one here except himself. He failed to notice the spark of purple leaking through the slats in the helmets.

Nor the extended leg to one of the suits.

The blond trip over the metal plating, landing face first against the carpet-lined floor. He began to push himself up, though another sound caught his attention. It was the sound of metal moving, but more than that was the subtle sound of something moving through the air. He scooted forward just enough to miss the sword from the suit ahead of the last one coming down. His breathing began to accelerate, even more when the helmet began to turn in his direction. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except he could see the other ones doing the same. Suddenly he didn’t like them as much as he did before. He scooted back, sure they were going to advance on him.

“Arthur, you alright?”

Huh?

The blond turned around, Vivi and Lewis standing there. He had to do a double take when his eyes fell back on the suits of armor, each one back in their proper place. Had he imagined all that? He shook his head, pushing himself up to his feet, “Yeah… sorry about that. I think I got a little lost.”

“No worries. Come on, let’s get the rest of your things.”

Right. Yeah that was easy enough.

A few more boxes later, and Lewis once more leaves him to his own room. The ghost agreed to walk with him, not only to help with carrying belongings, but to make sure he knew the way back to his room. Amber eyes trailed to the suits as they passed. Again, there was nothing out of the ordinary.

And once again, the moment Lewis was gone, the chill began to surround him. It couldn’t have just been a coincidence.

Well, everything was put up now. Rather than sticking around in his room alone, perhaps it would be best if he went looking for his friends. They were probably done too. Knowing Lewis, he was probably working on something for them in the kitchen, and who could tell with Vivi. If she wasn’t in her room, then she was probably with Lewis.

Another turn of the cold knob, leading Arthur back into the hall.

There came that feeling again. This time he didn’t miss the flash of color in the armor, something that made him pick up the pace. Best to get away before something happened again. Even with such a logical line of thinking, it didn’t stop the hall from appearing to have no end. He knew the way now, so how had he gotten this lost?

He could see the glint of silver out of the corner of his eyes, and it wasn’t the metal of his arm.

Their swords came at him again, his reflexes from all the adventures the Mystery Skulls had been on keeping him from taking an injury. Where was Lewis? How was he supposed to get out of this mess? He didn’t even know what was going on to begin with. Why were these dormant suits of armor suddenly attacking him?

Panic began to well inside him when he felt the tip of one nearly miss the side of his head, a few loose locks of blond hair falling to the floor. Getting tired of the slippery blond, one suit finally took matters into its own hands. Grabbing at his flesh wrist, he could feel his body being slammed against the nearby wall. The grip the suit held on him was one that could surely fracture his bones with just a tad more effort.

He kept his mouth shut, trying his best not to cry out from the pain. Then again, could anyone hear him? Where was Lewis?

Another suit stepped forward, plated hand pressed against his forehead, curling around strands of hair. It forcefully pinned his head back, pressure building on the back of his head. Why? He couldn’t understand WHY?

Then he suddenly felt himself fall to the floor, pain shooting through his wrist. A dark, bone-plated hand reached out to him, “Arthur? Are you alright? We heard a noise down the hall.”

Convenient was the word that raced through his mind. Wait… why?

Everything was one again in place once the ghost turned up. He knows he didn’t imagine it this time. Something was wrong. He shook his head, taking the offered hand with his metal one, “Y-yeah. I’m fine. Tripped on the carpet and slammed into the wall once I lost balance.”

Why lie? What was wrong with telling Lewis that the suits of armor came to life and were suddenly tracking him down? Maybe out of worry the ghost wouldn’t believe him? Or perhaps, it was a worry that it might get worse? Lewis was in control of this place. It would do him no good to make his friend mad with him.

It seemed that excuse was enough for the ghost to drop the matter. Well, now that he was here, he could follow him to where Vivi and Mystery likely were. He couldn’t help but notice the entire time he lingered around them, nothing unusual was happening. Was it only that hallway? If that was the case then why have his room there? Why put it in a place where there was an abundance of armor? Why did each one have to have a weapon at their disposal?

Unless…

Arthur cast a glance over to Lewis. Pieces were falling into place in his brain. The suits of armor only came to life when Lewis wasn’t around, though he could probably link that to when Vivi and Mystery were not around either. Lewis was the master of his own mansion. If anything was attacking him, then it would have to be by his order right? That was how it worked last time. Lewis had been angry enough to wish death on his best friend, an eye for an eye.

But they made up. Lewis didn’t hate him anymore. Right?

Maybe it was too soon to tell. After all, it had only been a few hours, and only the first day living in the mansion. Maybe there was the possibility his mind was playing tricks on him. Maybe it was just Lewis being a little apprehensive about his believed murderer to be living under his roof. Both of those seemed more plausible than the conclusion he immediately jumped to without thinking things through.

For now, all that mattered was the time spent with the people he cared about most. Everything would settle down. Things would go back to normal.

How foolish he was…

The days that followed hadn’t gotten any better. If anything, they were steadily getting worse. Nights were filled with a chilling air, and even under the covers of his bed, he couldn’t shake the cold away. Where he only had the bruised wrist, something he could thankfully hide away with his wristband, and a headache spiraled to the bandages he wrapped his body in. The suits got more daring, never holding anything back when he entered their hall…

Or anywhere else alone.

Arthur laid in bed, resting a new headache and the throbbing pain in his chest, tears streaming down his face. Truth be told, he couldn’t tell if the pain was from his heart breaking, or the cuts he treated not too long before laying down. Every time Lewis asked what happened, or if he was alright, he would nod and give some kind of excuse. He couldn’t break the façade in front of the ghost or Vivi.

But it hurt. It hurt so much.

He didn’t want to believe it, but the more he thought about it, the more he couldn’t help but believe it to be true. It only happened when he was alone. Lewis was the one in control of the mansion. If he was acting when they were together, it made sense his anger would be taken out on him when there was no one else around. He hated it. He thought Lewis had forgiven him. He thought they were friends again.

It couldn’t have all been a lie…

…

…

Right…?

[stusbunker]

What Lingers Within: Three

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Mini Series

Featuring: Past Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Written for: @thisismysecrethappyplace​

Word Count: 2316

Amazing Beta’ing by: @itmighthavebeenintentional​

Aesthetic and preread by @thoughtslikeaminefield​

Summary: Sam and Dean leave the reader in capable hands, but she doesn’t stay put.

Series Masterlist

^*^*^

               Dean was waiting for Sam to tell him to leave. They sat in the living room nursing beers and zoning out to a college football game. Her cousin, Michelle, remembered him, barely, but it helped establish a nearly tenable foothold into her life. Their hostess left them to check on her before calling it a night.

        They were completely out of their element now. Dean felt Sam’s discomfort like he felt the pull to her side, each their own piece of himself: empathy and reflex. But Sam held his tongue and for that Dean was grateful.

        Unceremoniously, they crashed on the coaches, backs protesting all the while. Soon Sam’s snores muted the peaceful country noises. Dean couldn’t sleep even if he wanted to. She was so close he could almost smell her and yet he felt farther from her than he had since the day he had set her free.

        He just needed to make sure she was settled, able to ward off your run-of-the-mill monsters and then they’d be off.  Never to darken her doorstep again. At least, that was what he kept telling himself.

*^*^*^*^

        Her little second floor walk up was shabby enough to be affordable and out of the way enough to be secure. The peeling white paint seemed to collect with each trip up the back steps. Dean brushed the remnants off the landing with the side of his boot as he knocked. He gave her a minute before bending down and snagging the spare key beneath the cracked planter, the dahlias had started to wilt with the autumn nights, but he knew she wasn’t going to scrap them yet. The old lock protested the force he used but gave in soon enough.

        He called out, finding her bag by the door, but little else to indicate she was home. That old familiar panic started to creep in as he came upon the abandoned living/dining room.

        “Honey? You home?” he sing-songed. “It’s me. I left Sammy at Bobby’s, hoping you’d--,” he broke off as he saw her bedroom door open a crack. “Have some time off.”

         He tapped the door wider, peaking around the frame. That’s when he spotted her, feet hanging off the end of the bed, shoes still on. She was drooling face down, pillow held tight in her arms with one of his old flannels spread out over the pillowcase, cradling her cheek.

         His breath caught in his chest, it felt like he was seeing something that wasn’t yet meant for him. A gift he had to wait to unwrap, but how he itched to. The way her lashes landed on her rounded cheeks; her lips open with the peaceful rhythm of her breath. Steady and serene. How’d he get so lucky?

         With practiced care, Dean slipped her shoes off her feet, setting them down so as not to wake her. Then he shrugged out of his jacket, since she was pinning all her blankets beneath her, and draped the heavy canvas over her torso. As quietly as he found her, he let her be, busying himself in the kitchen while she rested.

        She rushed out of the bedroom with his jacket an hour later, voice cracking in excitement. Dean thought his heart couldn’t stand much more aching fullness. She threw herself against his chest, smashing his ass against the edge of the counter as she scaled him like a tree. He’d craved how she used her whole body to love him, never dainty or timid. Before he could mention dinner, she was stripping him right there against the laminate.

        That was the day she gave him his own key.

^*^*^

               You woke up to an actual rooster crow, which was deceptively before sunrise. The wooden floorboards, worn and frigid beneath your feet. After creeping down the stairs to the bathroom you decided to poke around for some coffee. Overly aware that Dean and Sam were only a breakfast table away from your early morning sneaking about; you tried to be as quiet as possible. It didn’t work.

               “Hey---what are you trying to do?” Dean stage whispered over the edge of the couch. His hair fluffed at an angle and his face scrunched against the brightening day. You hated how cute he looked in that moment and replied justly.

               “Making coffee, butt out.”

               He licked his lips and cocked his head. “It’s in the pantry. Michelle gave me the heads up, figured I’d be up first.”

               Right, of course she did. You didn’t reply but stormed over to the sliding door off the kitchen and whipped it open, hundred-year-old tracks be damned. You woke Sam and didn’t bother feeling bad about it. He was involved with this fuckery too. Now that everyone in the direct vicinity was up and glaring at each other; the coffee took no time to brew. You let them serve themselves as you sat on the far end of the table, staring into the hazy morning across the hills to the east. You had a speech rehearsed, though now were too annoyed with their stupid faces to converse with them civilly. Instead, you stewed.

               Naturally, Dean sat down next to you, shoulders hunched over his coffee, toeing the line of being in your bubble. He still smelled like the leather of the car, maybe it was just his scent. You tried not to think about how soothing it was and took a long pull from your mug to stop yourself from letting go of your anger.

               “I almost forgot you’re less of a morning person than me,” Dean said as if to himself, the smirk evident in his words.

               “Yeah, well, it must be nice to know so much about me. Some of us don’t have the luxury,” you snipped, pulling your knees to your chest as you balanced against the back of the old chair.

               Dean sat back, turning his entire body to yours. “Fair enough. What else do you want me to say? I’ve apologized.”

               Your head snapped up, eyes boring into his earnest gaze. “I want you to fix me. My memories. I want it all back, Dean.”

               Sam cleared his throat. “I’m not sure that’s possible. Cas, the angels, none of them are like they used to be.”

               “He should at least try and call him,” you said to Sam pointedly about Dean.

               “Oh? He should, should he?!” Dean bit back. You hugged your knees tighter and glared at him, but something slowly unraveled within, as if he was a forgotten language you were deciphering. He was willing you to understand. You felt his frustration and his annoyance with you and himself, it came off him in waves. It felt so close to how you felt that you didn’t know whether to laugh or yell at him. God it was like he was inside your head, feelings that in tune came from somewhere, somewhere bone deep.

               “You need to stop looking at me like that,” you whispered, collecting the hair on top of your head into a rushed ponytail. “It’s too familiar.”

               “Like what?” Dean tried to brush it off.

               “Like that,” Sam agreed. Dean pursed his lips and gave Sam the stink eye. “Look, I’ll call Cas. But we are going to head out, let you get back to your life. Michelle said you’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”

               “Right.” Dean stood, pushing in his chair. He dug in his inside pocket for a card. “Look, if anything comes up or Cas doesn’t show in the next few days--- call me. I put Sam’s number on there too, just in case. In the meantime--- keep salt with you and uh, maybe brush up on your exorcisms.”

               You laughed mirthlessly until you realized he was serious. You swallowed, feeling his fingers brush against yours as you plucked the tiny card from his outstretched hand.

               “Tell me you’re going to be alright,” Dean whispered, looking at you through the lush foliage of his lashes.

               “Only if you can say the same,” you challenged, climbing to your feet. Dean shook his head and rubbed his lips. “Don’t think about disappearing for good. We’ve got beef now, buddy.” You pointed at his chest vehemently with his card.

               “Is that what it is? Awesome, really needed another nemesis, didn't we, Sammy?” Dean looked over his shoulder to realize that his brother had left you two alone, again. The infectious grin softened as he caught up to what lay under all your bravado.

               “Go on, I’ll be fine.” You rubbed your upper arms against the drafty kitchen. Dean didn’t say anything, he simply leaned down, lips barely a breath against your temple. Just when you didn’t think you could keep from touching him, he was gone, turning out of the kitchen and through the mudroom. Minutes later the rumble of the Impala disappeared over the hills. He hadn’t looked back.

^*^*^

               Three days at your cousin Michelle’s, and you were already itching for the city. No word from the angel meant you were slowly going out of your mind with boredom. Eventually, you came to the decision to clean out your cubicle. You wouldn’t face the constant scrutiny from your coworkers after everything that had happened from Chase’s death to Katelyn’s arrest at your apartment. One last rodeo and you’d be able to move on. Again. Always moving passed one hurtle or another, never stable, constantly in flux.

               Nervously, you climbed into the passenger seat of the old pick up. It had been years since you’d been to the farmhouse, since before your aunt and uncle had become snowbirds, leaving it to Michelle. But you knew every dip in the road out of the valley, the grooves in the earth held more pieces of your past than your mind seemed to anymore.

               “You gonna call him?” Michelle asked, overly casually.

               “I’m gonna give his buddy another day or so and then--- maybe?” You landed heavy on your own doubt.

               “He seemed like he misses you,” she added gently, not taking her eyes off the road.

               “Yeah, well, that sounds like it was his choice,” you tried to be flippant. Neither of you bought it.

               “Still, couldn’t hurt, especially after the last one,” Michelle kept digging.

               “I’m positive it still would hurt, Chelle,” you shifted, throwing your feet on the dashboard and leaning against the quilt covered bench seat.

               “His brother single?” Michelle tried to mask the tease in her tone.

               You couldn’t hold back the chuckle at her change of topic. “Do you want me to call him for you?”

               “He like older women? I’ve gotta have ten years on that one,” she shrugged, half considering it.

               “Couldn’t hurt,” you threw back, the mood salvaged as the truck crawled into the thick lines of traffic.

               It was just before quitting time when you arrived at work, stopping first by the copy room for a spare box to clear off your desk. You stacked the remaining reams of paper onto another box when you heard a dramatic gasp.

               “Y/N?! What are you doing here? Oh my god, how are you doing? We heard what happened, or some of it. Can you believe they let her out on bail? Not even twelve hours and she was free as a bird,” Gracie had yet to pause for air.

               “I’m sorry, what?” You interrupted.

               “Yeah, Katelyn’s out. Something about evidence tampering or false statements from someone they couldn’t locate after the fact?” She looked apologetic; it wasn’t enough. Everything in your stomach seemed to plummet to the floor.

               “Have you seen her? Has she been back?” You tried to remain calm, it didn’t work.

               “What? No! God, that’d be rich if she showed up here. I think the upper ups were notified and then it kind of spread like wildfire. Roy is filling in this week until they bring somebody in from another branch.”

               “Roy? The DM?” You felt ill.

               “Yeah? Who else, I mean, no one else has access to everything Katelyn did,” Gracie said it like you were an idiot. There was only one person Katelyn would have done what she did for, and he was sitting in the office on the other side of the wall. You had to get out of there before he saw you.

               “Look, do me a favor? Don’t mention I was here? It was just too soon, ya know?” You tossed the empty box back onto the stack. You eyed the doorway and tried to make a quick exit strategy.

               “You’re kidding? You just got here. Everyone wants to see you!” Gracie insisted.

               “Yeah, about that--- don’t really want to be the center of attention. Or cause for alarm. Just, give me like ten minutes and you can tell anyone anything. Deal?” Your eyes kept darting about the space, hoping to make it clear of the large open plan office before anyone else saw you.

               “I guess--- Wait! You’re scared, aren’t you? What’s the matter?” Gracie stepped closer and did a terrible job whispering. “Is it Roy?”

               “Gracie, listen. I’ve had a terrible week. I can’t right now,” you gave up and just walked away, head down, slinking around the bend for the exit. The same door you stepped out of to find Chase’s bloody body a week before. The yellow tape was still fluttering in place as you booked it down the alleyway, away from your office. Just before you made it back to the street, your phone buzzed.

              >Everything alright? It was Michelle. 

You exhaled in relief and rounded the mouth of the alley to meet her out front. Before you made it to the corner, a grating voice called your name. Katelyn. The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, but as you contemplated ignoring her, a shadow stepped into your path. A heavy hand fell over your mouth before you could scream.

^*^*^

General Tags: @flamencodiva​ @dolphincliffs​ @dontshootmespence​ @thoughtslikeaminefield​  @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @foxyjwls007​ @tumbler-tidbits​ @defenderrosetyler​ @ericaprice2008​ @princessofthefandomrealm​                              @wingedcatninja​​

Series Tags: @tiggytaylor​​  @vicmc624​

^*^*^

Read On: Chapter Four

[rokutouxei]

the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop’s most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo’s pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 8 OF 22

And how impossible it still is: to train the heart to sit. - "The Kindest Thing She Almost Did", Blythe Baird

--

The College of Arts’ student council has rotating schedules on who gets to organize the university-famous Halloween party. This year, it was the Literature Department and the Film Department that paired up to choose a theme, decorate, and make sure the party is getting smoothly—and the very specific, not-required but entirely funny, theme this year was “Film or Book that you’d love to be turned spooky, but isn’t exactly spooky.”

This is why she thought of coming in as characters from the Night Circus. The black and white stripes matched with red really gives off a very Halloween vibe to begin with, but all the circus-y magic that goes on in the book itself also makes it very viable for the spooky vibes.

She’s now standing in front of the College of Arts’ event hall, where the event is set to happen. She tugs at the locks of hair dangling at the side of her face, the ones she couldn't get to obey her planned updo, even with all the bobby pins.

There's something about scavenging a costume on your own that is so nerve-wracking. There's something more when you're portraying a character from a book someone introduced to you. It feels like it's a duty to get it right. She couldn’t find any entirely matching dresses in the thrift stores she went to, so this was the best she could do: some sort of modern but 1890s-inspired fortune teller mash-up of a costume. The dress was fashioned out of this dizzying deep blue-black velvet fabric, with little speckles of silver glitter like stars across it; she wore a striped black and white petticoat underneath it to give it some volume since the dress ended around the knees. She’d re-sewn the sleeves and the neckline to be similar to that of the era, revealing a nice V along her back and a nice, wide boat collar. Then, she’s put on a small, decorative hat with some red flowers on the corner of her head, and then draped a sheer black scarf with little rosy red designs on the ends over her shoulders. Then she put on some knee-high lace-up boots to add a little grunge to the entire attire. Lastly, she had a few Rider-Waite tarot cards in her pocket (The Chariot and Temperance) just for the vibe of it.

(All this costume preparation was really to wind herself down after submitting her initial requirements to the scholarship selection committee earlier that week.)

Just as she begins to spiral in her thoughts, “Sorry I’m late,” she hears Theo’s familiar voice call out, and she looks up from staring at her shoes and gasps out loud.

Theo’s wearing his hair a little curlier than usual, a lightly-tinted pair of green contacts on his eyes and—as he’s promised—a well-tailored suit, in black and white and red, to suit the general aesthetic of the circus itself. She figured he would come in a suit, but—she wasn’t expecting him to take the extra effort with the hair and the eyes, either. She could even see the little silhouette of a journal peeking from underneath his jacket—he’s obviously prepared even to the smallest details! Maybe, maybe he does look like the Marco in her head. Just a little. Maybe if his hair was darker. She finds herself staring at him for a ridiculous amount of time, so much so that he has to cough to get her attention again.

"The green eyes look lovely on you," she comments softly, hand curling up to gently press his finger at his cheekbone near instinctively, allowing her to observe his eyes better. Theo feels himself flinch in surprise, but he does not pull back.

"Thank you, grey-green was a very specific color."

She nods. "I do prefer your usual blue though." Her hand falls back to her side. "Too bad I can't magic it back?"

"You see it blue all the time. Stop complaining when this was your idea," Theo says, but he offers his arm anyway.

"So sour," she pouts. "How unbecoming of you, Mister Alisdair," she says, as she slides her arm into his.

Theo only snorts; he does not hide the half-smirk. "Only to match you, Miss Martin."

--

The event hall is lavishly decorated in some sort of spooky, old vampire mansion vibes, with all the matching spiders and fake candles. It is a little silly to see the DJ on the far end of the hall, with his set-up on top of what seemed like a desk older from three centuries ago. The caterers set up the food on a buffet table—also beautifully decorated, how many fine arts majors did the production team get to bully into helping them out?—to get it ready before dinner at six.

But the bar—the bar is open.

“Do you drink?” she asks casually, already one foot towards the bar.

He takes a nervous gulp she pretends not to notice. “Not a lot,” he answers.

“Then a glass will be alright. I told Arthur we’d meet at the bar. Come on!”

Because her college stupidly attempts to seem puritan, official drink menus are not allowed to actually say out loud that they contain hard liquor, so instead have really creative names. This time, they are references to different, random books and films, with fine-print descriptions of what it is. She orders a glass of Pride and Prejudice and Theo gets a serving of Kafka on the Shore. Both of them had just received their drinks when her phone begins to ring, and with a short excuse me she heads to a quieter part of the room and answers the call.

“Dazai?”

“Hello, Toshiko-san. I’m waiting outside the hall, but you’ve entirely forgotten that I haven’t actually met who I’m bringing in.”

Oh! “Well, I told him to wait on a stone bench there… Dark blue-ish hair, blue eyes, a mole on the side of his lip? He responds to ‘Arthur’.”

“‘Responds?’ Are your bookstore friends all a bunch of dogs?”

“Well, this drools at the sight of meat,” you say, unapologetically. “I didn’t see him there yet when I was still out, but—”

She hears a shuffle from the other side of the line, and Arthur’s familiar voice through the phone, a small “Hello, could you be Dazai?” and her friend’s very, very meaningful pause—she can almost see Dazai looking Arthur up and down—before he answers, “Yes, and you must be Arthur.”

The phone call ends and she grins for only a half a moment before realizing what she’d done.

She walks ever so slowly back to the bar, letting it sink in. But once she’s got her glass in her hand, she downs it in one go, surprising both the bartender and Theo. She shakes her head and then sits back down on the stool, half-laughing.

“Something happen?” Theo asks.

She groans. “I may have made a mistake with Arthur.”

Theo takes a sip of his drink, just the littlest bit smug. “Everything is a mistake if Arthur is involved.”

“I didn’t think he’d—”

“Hello, lovebirds,” says the devil, Arthur coming up behind them with—

With Dazai glued to his hip.

She’s known Dazai for a few years at this point, and because they’ve known each other for so long, there are little things she knows Dazai does that may not seem obvious to the onlooker.

First: Dazai is not fond of touching, but he is rather great at tolerating it. It usually takes a few months before Dazai is fine with being touched by someone. Even she took around half a year before Dazai would allow her to hug him freely. When he’s being touched by someone he does not particularly like, he clenches his hands and fits them into his pockets, so it’s not as noticeable.

Observer’s note: Arthur’s got his hand around Dazai’s waist. Dazai’s hands are wide open, resting at his hip.

Second: Dazai is also good at having his practiced smile. He says he practices it in the mirror, did it every day for a year until it became natural to him; it looks genuine and otherwise believable, that is, if you haven’t seen his actual smile. And even if you have, sometimes it’s still hard to tell. His actual, genuine smile, that goes up to his eyes, crinkling the sides of it, and he flushes sometimes too; it’s so wide it reveals the little dimple on his cheek.

Observer’s note: Dazai’s dimple is very, very visible right now.

Third: Dazai has this thing where the longer he considers a person, the less he becomes attracted to them, for some reason, even if the extended thinking time only makes him feel like they’re a better match by the second. Dazai is only genuinely, passionately, instantly attracted to people he knows will pose him some sort of danger and excitement.

Observer’s note: Dazai met Arthur today.

She bites back the groan that’s bubbling out her throat and grins. “Hello, Arthur, Dazai. Having fun?”

“Where’d you been hiding this cutie all this time?” Arthur teases, squeezing Dazai closer to him. “Much fun now that he’s here. I see you’ve started drinking ahead of us.”

“Just a little,” she says. “Shall we find a table?”

The four of them choose a table in the middle of the chaos—Arthur’s suggestion—somewhere midway the bar and buffet. The tables are for six, and the number makes her remember.

“I couldn’t get Isaac to come.”

Dazai shakes his head. “I told you he said he wasn’t interested. Must be working overtime like he usually does.” He nods towards her direction. “Good attempt, though.”

She frowns. “He should really let loose sometimes… I know he’s good at what he does, but a little, one-night-a-year party isn’t going to hurt him is it?”

“Ohoho, what’s this, have another cute friend I have to know?” Arthur interrupts.

Dazai taps Arthur’s nose gently and she wants to vomit. What has she done. “Isaac Newton, a Ph.D. student from the physics department. Too serious for his own good.”

Surprise fills Arthur’s face. “My, isn’t that Newt? Teaches classes sometimes?” She and Dazai nod. “Small world!”

“Next year we’re really finding a way to drag him in,” she says.

To which Dazai laughs, “you won’t be here next year, Toshiko-san.”

There’s a small sliver of silence that settles in between them, just long enough to be felt but not for the conversation to come to an abrupt halt. It makes Theo flinch a little.

“Then it’s up to you guys, isn’t it?” she takes her second glass of literary cocktail—she doesn’t even know what’s in this one, just pointed at the menu, it was titled Wolf Totem—and downs half of it in one go.

“Maybe if a girl came around to bring him, he’d be more persuadable,” Arthur teases, “Look at my chap Theo over here.”

“So you’re Theo, huh?” Dazai purrs. She throws a glare at him that goes ignored. “Nice to finally meet you, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Theo only nods as a response and she takes the chance to get the conversation back in a direction that makes her a little safer from their teasing. “But no, really, Isaac? Coming for a girl? You don’t know him at all, Arthur.”

“Oh, even the toughest guys fall back to romance, don’t they, Theo?”

Theo throws a glare towards Arthur; it is shrugged off as the newly-formed suddenly-a-couple laughs in unison.

--

Despite the ruckus, the four of them still have some good fun at the party. Arthur Arthur’s non-stop insisting that they play the party games has them rewarded with many things: a stupid award here or there, minuscule amounts of cash that could be used in the future for dine-outs, and even a nice bottle of high-end “water”—it was definitely vodka, the organizers just couldn’t announce it out loud. She and Dazai had to stand up a couple of times to go meet their college-mates in their department, but the four of them stayed mostly together until past dinner—that is until the dance music started to rev up, getting ready for the long night ahead.

“Excuse the two of us, we’re going to do some actual dancing, like people do at parties to have fun,” Arthur says, but his face is already littered in glitter from the poppers and his face is dusted pink from all the alcohol. Obviously, dancing isn’t required to have fun at all. Taking Dazai’s hand like a gentleman, sliding his arm around the other man’s waist, Arthur makes a comical bow to which she makes a face. The two disappear into the crowd of people dancing on the dance floor, and the sight of them so obsessed with each other makes her lean back on her chair to take a sip on her—fifth? Sixth? Ah, who is counting?—nth glass of alcohol.

Wary of being the killjoy, Theo gently asks, “Don’t you want to dance?”

“I mean… you don’t want to, do you?” she asks, facing him properly, glass still in hand. “I just felt like it’d be great to hang out with you here and if you’re not up for dancing…”

“If you want to we should go.”

“I’m not going if you’re forcing yourself to.”

“No, I’m not, so—”

“Theo, sit down!” she says, laughing. The alcohol’s given her skin a beautiful pink flush, and her smiles have turned wider, more relaxed. “It’s okay, I promise. Just sit here and drink your—drink. It’s just nice to have company.”

He nods as she turns back to watching the crowd. A smile still settles on her face as she watches the mass of people dancing and shouting to the music. Theo asks, “Do you always go here with someone?”

She shrugs, taking another sip from her glass. “I came alone the first time, and then the next I went with Dazai. He’s pretty popular—when he’s alone, without anyone slung on him, you know? Lots of people dance with him.”

“And you?”

“Me?” she asks, forehead wrinkling. “I’m normal. I sit and drink until my liver begs me to stop. And then dance until my legs beg me to stop when I’m drunk enough.”

He scoffs, but only in that friendly way of defeated acceptance. “Sounds like fun.”

“So much more fun with you around though,” she asserts, tilting her glass to him. “Cheers?”

“For what?”

And she’s quiet for a moment, before she raises her glass again, saying, “To friendship and literature, of course.”

Theo thinks that’s good enough. They clink their glasses gently and then drink.

For the slightest of moments, Theo considers asking the one question that had been on his mind since she invited him to the party. Preparing the clothes to wear to the event only made his curiosity even stronger, but at the same time, he didn’t feel like he had the right to ask. Theo feels content sitting in his uncertainty, the mystery of it hanging in the air.

But the alcohol has made him a little more courageous.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot!”

“Why didn’t you go as Celia?”

It’s common for a pair of people to attend a costume party in matching outfits with characters that are paired as well. Celia is Marco’s natural pair in the book. Isobel is not. Why didn’t she go as Celia? Theo would not have minded if she did. Celia was fiery and romantic and could see through Marco’s every disguise.

And Isobel longed and longed and never got what she wanted.

“I kind of felt for Isobel, you know?” she answers, in that hesitant way that makes the asker wonder if it’s because of the embarrassment or because of the half-lie. “She was running away, after all. Didn’t you say that was what I was so fixated on?”

And Isobel is only the circus because she was the way for Marco to get to who he loved. Even before he knew who he loved.

“Wouldn’t have expected that from you,” Theo remarks, taking out his little Marco-journal to dust it away idly. “You seem like the type who always feels extensively for the protagonists.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in, but then, suddenly, her eyes widen brightly. She puts down her glass and quickly swipes the journal Theo kept with him before pulling him up by the wrist. “C’mon, let’s do the photo booth?”

“What?” Theo staggers up. Why so suddenly? “Who’ll watch over the table?”

She places her little hat on the table. “That’ll save it, let’s go.”

Theo can feel his pulse thrumming under his wrist where she’s holding on to him. Theo does not have the will to argue as she drags him to the makeshift studio on the far end of the hall. Instead, he focuses on her—the way her hair’s held up in an intricate braided bun on her head, the fall of her dress over her shoulders, the feeling of his hand around his arm.

She’s such a weird girl, he thinks.

When they get to the end of the line—a short one, bless the universe—she takes out the two tarot cards in her pocket and hands them to him.

“Switch props for the photo,” she explains.

When they get to the photo booth, they opt for two photos; one for her to keep, and another for Theo. They don't even bother with the poses, both half-drunk, holding up their character props as the cameraman fixes the shot. She settles, standing by his side, arms twined, head leaning toward him as the camera flashes once. And Theo can’t help himself when he turns to face her because of that, and before he knows it—the camera flashes once more.

She’s too far into her drinks to have time to think why Theo’s so concerned about seeing the photos first and choosing which one he wants to keep for himself.

--

 It is just a little past midnight when she, Theo, Arthur, and Dazai hop out of the hall. She insisted that it would be better to wait until the end of the night before leaving—making most of the ticket, or something—and the most that they had gotten out of that was a free coupon to a fast-food chain.

That, and this:

She’s half-slung over Theo when she yells at Arthur and Dazai, who are very obviously becoming a little too comfortable with each other, handsy as they huddle together. She shouts: “Jesus, guys, get off each other!”

“Hmm? Right now? Sure, we’d love to, if you don’t mind—”

“NO! NO NOT LIKE THAT!” she yells, pushing away from Theo to nudge Arthur away from Dazai. The new lovebirds just laugh mildly at each other as she huffs and frowns, falling back into step next to Theo. “Oh god, I’ve made the worst mistake of my life.”

“Best mistake of my life,” Dazai says with a slurred laugh, leaning against Arthur. She makes a gagging motion, to which Theo snorts.

Relative to everyone else’s lodging in the university, the van Goghs’ apartment is the one closest to the hall, so the four of them make their way to it, drunk feet stumbling on uneven pavements all the way there. Arthur and Dazai are walking ahead of them—Theo doesn’t know how Arthur knows where he lives, not when he’s never brought him there; that’s a question for a more sober time—and she and Theo walk side-by-side a few feet behind.

She’s not entirely drunk, no, but she’s a little closer to drunk than tipsy, and it shows when she speaks. “Did you have fun today, Theo?” she asks, ignoring the little misstep her conversation has cost her.

Theo has his hands in his pockets, but they’re only seconds away from grabbing her by the arm to steady her. Any minute now. “It was okay.”

She grins. “Great! That’s all I want.” She looks back up in front of them, and Arthur throws one glance upon hearing their conversation, but then quickly looks away. “It’s kinda, uuuuh,” she squints, the words lost. “Different, to hang out with you with ‘thur and ‘zai around.”

See, this is exactly why Theo capped himself off at three drinks. Look—he’s long accepted his less than average tolerance, but to have to babysit a group of drunk college kids… “Bad different?”

“Nuh-uh,” she says. “Jus’ different. Used to only us. ‘t’s nice being alone with ya.”

I don’t want to take care of a drunk you on my own, she hears in her head, and she isn’t quite sure if Theo had actually said it or if it was just a figment of her imagination.

Soon enough, the four of them stumble onto the van Gogh’s front porch, Theo just not-drunk enough to get the key in through the hole. With a click, the four of them are greeted by the bright light of the living room. Arthur must have been the one that hissed. They stagger in, Dazai slamming onto the sofa, Arthur right after him, and she, heading to the refrigerator for some water.

Theo disappears for a moment to check on Vincent in the studio and to tell him that he’s brought his unfortunate group of friends to sober up, and it’s a good thing the drunkards aren’t around with him because the brightness of Vincent’s smile would have knocked them right out.

“I’ll go take a shower,” Theo announces to no one in particular, shouting down the hall as he disappears into his shared bedroom with Vincent. She tries not to think of what that would look like, blaming her wandering thoughts on the alcohol. She’s about on her second glass of water when she spots Vincent headed to the kitchen.

She beams. “Vin-ny~” she reaches out to him and Vincent catches her before she falls.

“Did you have fun at the party?” Vincent asks, half-laughing, as he helps her to sit on the counter—which was what she was trying to do. “How much did you drink?”

She raises her hands up to her face and tries to count, fully knowing she stopped counting after the second glass. “Enough to make me happy,” she answers instead, smiling dumbly at the older van Gogh. “Theo was so grumpy.”

“He was so excited to go, though,” Vincent says, standing next to her. Of course he has no qualms ratting on his younger brother like that. “You should have seen him, preparing for his costume. Did he look just as you imagined?”

“…And better,” she admits, before taking a sip of the water again to sober up a little more. The ice in the glass is helping her brain to chill. “I’m not sure if he had fun, though. I feel kind of bad.”

Vincent hums. “He looks like he had fun. He wouldn’t have brought you guys here otherwise.”

“You think so?” she asks, eyes wide. The blond man laughs.

“I know so.”

By the time Theo comes out of the shower, he’s a little more dressed down, in jeans and a button-up shirt. He looks at Arthur and Dazai, both already long out like a light on the couch, and sighs.

“I suppose you’re sleeping here too,” he asks, looking toward her. She shoots him an awkward grin.

“She can sleep on my bed,” Vincent offers, but Theo shakes his head.

“She can sleep on mine. You sleep on your bed tonight, Vincent. I can sleep in the studio. I’ll just pass by the drugstore a few blocks down for some…” he frowns at Arthur and Dazai, “…Ibuprofen, for tomorrow.”

“Take care on your way out,” Vincent answers, taking a scan at Theo up and down to see if he’s sober enough to go out. Theo really didn’t drink a lot—purposefully, he knew this was going to happen—so he’s standing pretty straight. He nods and makes his way out, the door closing with a gentle click.

After that, she slouches next to Vincent, like she was just holding herself up to seem a little put together for Theo. Vincent pats her on the head gently, like a little child.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

She sniffles a little, looking down at her shoes. “I was just thinking h’much I’ll miss this.”

“Are you going away?”

“Maybe,” she says, idly. “I want to. Don’t want to. Want to.”

Vincent smiles, the kind of disappointed-but-not-surprised, non-judgmental, gentle smile of an older brother one would give to a younger sibling. Carefully, he hooks her arm around his shoulders, saying, “C’mon, let’s get you to bed,” as he leads her to his shared room with Theo. She is pliant in his arms, legs wobbling but still planted with a balance onto the floor.

The costume she’s in doesn’t look entirely too comfortable to sleep in, so he offers her a loose shirt and some sweatpants to change into. It takes her two minutes too long to fumble into them, but right before he begins to get worried that she’s gotten stuck in the fabric, she knocks at the door to tell Vincent she’s done. He walks in with a glass of water.

“One last before you sleep,” he says, assisting her in drinking. “I hope you don’t have a headache tomorrow.”

But she’s intoxicated, and her brain doesn’t follow along with Vincent, so as she’s drinking the water her eyes are wandering the walls, where various canvases are hung. All of them are Vincent’s, and most of them are unframed, and perhaps have never been seen by anyone besides Vincent and Theo. Once the glass is empty, she turns to Vincent with a glazed look in her eye.

“Do you think there’s going to be something greater for us outside of this place?”

He blinks, taken off guard. She has officially transitioned from clingy, whiny drunk, to having an existential crisis, philosophical drunk. He only laughs lightly, placing the glass on the bedside table as he coaxes her into bed, tucking her under the blanket.

“I sure do hope so.”

[spectralscathath]

Clover Ebi and the World's Luckiest Pie

Fair Game Week, Day 2: Date/Domestic

Clover Ebi is many things. He's Captain of the Ace Ops, he's one of Atlas's elite Huntsmen, a member of Ironwood's inner circle, a damn good poker player, and an all-round decent guy. He's charming, calm, cool under fire, has a semblance that can swing the odds, and even without that he has the skills and raw talent to back up his confidence. He's a catch, basically, and he knows it.

Now if Elm could stop laughing at him as he tells himself this, that would be great. It wasn't techically a date.

Ao3 Link

Clover looked at his reflection and held up a shirt in front of himself, wondering if maybe this one would work. He’d heard Qrow occasionally make the occasional pun, usually under his breath. Maybe one of his more casual t-shirts would work. After all, he didn’t have to be in his uniform all the time.

‘Born to fish, forced to work’ stared back at him, a gift from Elm that had been delivered with a suspiciously innocent grin.

He tossed that one aside too, slowly building up a pile on the bed. He wanted to make a good impression. He may have been a workaholic, but in his own apartment, he could tone it down, treat Qrow like a friend and not just a colleague.

He was amazed that the old spy had actually agreed to come over, but if Elm’s friendship had taught him anything, it was that there was no better way to get a visitor then to offer something home-cooked and delicious.

Which was why Elm was currently snickering at him from where she leaned against the door frame, since his luck only went so far when it came to cooking, and he wasn’t going to risk it. Not on something important like this.

“What, no fishing jokes?” Brown eyes sparkled cheerfully at him, Elm in her own casuals. A pastel lavender apron protected her cream sweater, her hair out of the usual ponytail and giving her a softer look. “How about this one?” she held up a tank top that said ‘sleeves are for nerds’.

“Absolutely not,” he laughed and grabbed it out of her hands. “He wears sleeves, in case you haven’t noticed. Calling him names doesn’t make a good impression.”

“I don’t know, flexing to assert dominance might up your chances,” she mused, flicking her bangs out of her eyes.

He snorted and threw the shirt back at her face. “This is a friendly hang out, Elm.”

“Clover, when you arrested him you ignored the very important Relic just so you could stand over him spinning your horseshoe.”

“But I looked cool, right?”

“You’re a show-off.” She grinned and started folding the pile of shirts tossed haphazardly on his bed.

“You’re one to brag, miss ‘jumped off Atlas for a dare’. It’s been what, ten minutes since you mentioned that?” He helped her set them aside in neat piles to be put away later. Order and cleanliness were important.

“Okay, so we’re both braggarts. Now do you know what you’re going to wear?”

“At this point I may as well wear my fishing vest and beanie.”

“Absolutely not.” Elm held up one of his white dress shirts. “Do you still have that green waistcoat?”

------

He hovered around his kitchen as he waited for Qrow to arrive, alternating between looking around his small apartment to make sure that it was neat and taking deep inhales of the divine smell of tonight's dinner. His scroll sat next to his speaker, smooth Mantle jazz filling the air as he kept throwing hungry glances at his oven.

He heard a knock on the door and scampered over to get it, feeling oddly nervous. Sure, he hadn’t exactly dated in a while, especially not since the Fall of Beacon, but he’d had plenty of on and off relationships and dates over the years. Perhaps he just felt somewhat rusty because of the year of throwing himself into his work as part of Ironwood’s inner circle.

He opened the door and felt his heart stutter a little bit. Qrow-

Wow.

Qrow had dressed up as well, it seemed. A dark red button-up, the same colour as his cape, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his usual rings adorning his fingers. His hair had been slicked back, which was a pretty good look if Clover did say so himself. He’d left the top two buttons undone, a necklace with a sideways cross hanging between the divots of his collarbones. Clover recognised the necklace as one that Qrow had worn when he’d first arrived in Atlas. It suited him.  

Clover felt incredibly glad that he hadn’t taken Elm’s joking advice to wear a shirt with a bad fisherman pun on it. “Hello, Qrow,” he smiled at him, green eyes bright.

Qrow gave him a once-over that Clover hoped was appreciative and tossed a careless smirk at him, a faint slouch to his shoulders. “So you can wear sleeves.”

“If I have to,” he grinned, his usual armband wrapped over the shirt. “And you went without the cape, I notice.”

“Unwillingly. Ren stole it before I could put it on.” Qrow rolled his eyes. “Brat.”

“You didn’t steal it back? I thought you’d be good at that.” He stepped to the side a little bit. “Come in, dinner’s just ready.” Elm had left simple written instructions because she clearly didn’t trust him.

Qrow slank in past him, looking around the place with some sort of look that Clover was used to seeing in a set of lavender eyes. Clover would put money on the bet that Qrow had just spotted everything shiny and/or valuable in his apartment, and also every single point of entry. “Nice place. I was expecting something spartan, I won’t lie.”

Clover smiled proudly and closed the door. “Well, I find that having a home I actually like being in is an excellent reason to not spend all night working.”

Qrow hummed in what was probably agreement before he snorted. “Wow. The fisherman aesthetic doesn’t just stick to the weapon?”

Clover followed his gaze to his fish tank, set against the wall and large enough that his little aquarium was bright and lively. He had the water heated to provide a comfortable temperature for his fist. Danios, Platies, Swordtails, and Tetras filled the waters, darting about the habitat he’d made for them.

“I like fish,” he shrugged innocently. He’d leave out the fact that he’d named each and every one of them for now.

“Okay, I have to ask, do you actually fish?” Qrow raised a brow.

“I do, actually. One side of my family are fishermen in Argus.” He looked at his bookshelf, the top row filled with pictures while books were stacked in the other three. “My mother’s side, specifically.”

“Huh. I’ve been there.”

“I heard.” He really hoped it was exaggeration.

“... I’ve been there other times besides that. Normally I don’t get caught.” Qrow’s eyes held a teasing glint that definitely caught Clover’s interest.

He grinned back and decided to take the obvious opportunity. “So I got lucky?”

“You’re a terrible person,” Qrow snickered, watching Clover’s fish swim around.

“You think I’m great.” He flicked his pin and hoped he was right.

Qrow looked at him like he was about to answer before the alarm Elm had set went off, cutting through the Mantle jazz with a demonic screeching. Both Huntsmen jumped and immediately reached for weapons they didn’t have, attention focusing on the sound.

Clover relaxed first and strode towards the kitchen, looking at the instructions pinned to the fridge to make absolutely sure before he turned off the oven and grabbed a tea towel, reaching in to grab the shepherd’s pie. He chanted ‘please don’t burn’ in his head as a mantra and mercifully, fortunately, fantastically, it came out totally fine.

He placed it on the stove top to cool, taking a moment to just bask in the awe of Elm’s cooking skills, before he turned to grab plates and crashed headfirst into a curious Qrow Branwen, who had been looming behind him to try see what the enticing smell of dinner was.

Their skulls knocked together with a loud clonk, both of them stumbling back from the impact. Clover swore as he stepped back, one hand coming up to touch his forehead as the other went behind him, just barely avoiding the pie.

Qrow tripped over the table, sending the cutlery, both glasses of water, and a candle that Clover really should have never even got out of a cupboard over the floor and himself. Water splashed, glass shards went everywhere, a table leg snapped, and one of the napkins caught fire.

Qrow lifted his hands from where they had been clutching at his forehead, took one look at the absolute destruction he was now the centrepiece of, and let out a long-suffering groan of existential weariness. He didn’t even bother getting up, even as water soaked into his shirt.

Clover stared, gobsmacked, before he panicked and started moving his hands in useless fussy gestures. “Holy shit are you okay? I’m so sorry I didn’t see you there- how many fingers am I holding up?” What if he’d concussed him?

Qrow blinked at him, looking rather done with the situation before he threw up a hand. “Help me up?”

A smidge of colour crossed Clover’s cheeks as he realised he probably should have led with that, clasping Qrow’s wrist firmly as he pulled him to his feet. “Sorry, I should have paid more attention.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Qrow pushed his soaking wet hair out of his eyes, the back having fallen out of his usual swoop to cling to his neck instead. “I have quiet footsteps.”

Clover gave him a cursory glance, checking for damage. “I have shirts you can borrow if you don’t want to stay in something soaked,” he offered, before he processed what he was saying. Qrow in one of his shirts? With their… specific sort of camaraderie?

Qrow quirked a brow at him before a wickedly sharp grin slashed across his face, one that deepened the blush painted across the bridge of Clover’s nose. “Sure thing, Shamrock.” Clover could see nothing but future disaster in those mischievous, beautiful eyes. Qrow continued like he wasn’t being an absolute hazard to Clover’s heart health. “Just point me where I’ll find them then I’ll help you clean up.”

Clover swallowed and kept his voice steady. “My room, just to the left of the main room. The door on the right. There’s folded clothes on the bed, you can borrow one of those if you need to.”

Qrow patted his shoulder, let go of his wrist, and sauntered off, stepping gracefully around the broken furniture.

Clover looked at the disaster that had been his table and made an executive decision that Elm’s cooking was and always would be more important. He fetched two plates and some cutlery, dividing the shepherd’s pie neatly in half before serving it up. He carried the plates out to his living room, setting them on his coffee table with the cutlery before fetching more water.

He didn’t know what Qrow’s story was with alcohol, but he’d said that he’d given up, so Clover wasn’t about to serve him some for dinner. That would be in very poor taste.

He waited for about a minute before he heard Qrow’s husk. “Hey, Shamrock, where do you keep your towels.”

“Linen cupboard, I’ll grab you one.” He got off the couch and made sure to get the softest one he had, rapping his knuckles on the bedroom door.

Qrow pulled it open and grabbed the towel, immediately rubbing his hair with it. Clover looked at the shirt he was in and wanted to go stab himself with Kingfisher’s harpoon, ‘fishing saved me from becoming a porn star. Now I’m just a hooker’ emblazoned over black fabric in swirly gold letters.

He should have put the puns away.

“Dinner’s ready?” He tried, feeling rather more flustered than he was used to.

Qrow smirked at him and strutted by with an absolute lack of shame, practically crashing down onto the couch as he grabbed a plate. “This smells fucking good. You make it?”

“Elm. My skill in the kitchen begins and ends with stews and boiling things. Even my luck can’t do everything.” He’d cop to it.

“I’m banned from cooking anything that isn’t breakfast foods or microwaveable. It’s nearly impossible to fuck up breakfast food.” Qrow took a big heaping forkful of the world’s luckiest pie and shoved it all into his mouth in one big bite. Clover couldn’t quite make out what the next words were, they got mangled somewhere between the cheesy potatoes and the meat stew, but he hazarded a guess that it probably involved appreciative swearing.

Clover did the same, and had a moment to realise that Elm had definitely outdone herself on his behalf, before he fully committed to clearing his plate entirely and buying Elm something nice.

Talk was dead. There was only them, the pie, and the fucking beautiful moment they were having with it. Before long, the plates were cleared, and Clover was left to stare at the fishing joke on one of his tops as it mocked him.

He’d had a mission plan. He hoped that the backup option of sitting on the couch wasn’t too far a step down. “I’m sorry again, about before.”

“Don’t worry about it, it was my semblance anyway.” Qrow rubbed his hair with the towel again, and Clover spotted a faint scar on his right bicep, something his longer sleeves usually covered. “The couch is comfier anyway. Better view.”

Clover  raised a brow. “Oh?” Did Qrow mean him?

“Your fish.” Qrow nodded at the tank. “They’re pretty cool. I have a dog at home. He’s Tai’s dog, really, but I’m part of the pack.”

“I’m glad that plan B worked out.” Clover had been a little too focused on the food to be worrying about fish or Qrow. But he was glad to know things still went well.

“Definitely.” Qrow picked up the plates. “I’ll help you clean up.”

“No, you don’t have to, you’re a guest.” Clover shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’ll sort it out later.”

“Later, huh?” Qrow grinned. “But we just had dinner.”

“But we haven’t had tea,” Clover wagged a finger at him with a returning smile. If nothing else, he was going to show Qrow his collection of novelty mugs. The other Huntsman would probably get a kick out of that. “Tell you what, you tell me about your dog, and I’ll point out each fish in my aquarium by name.”

Qrow barked a laugh and shifted so he was resting one knee up on the couch, turned attentively towards Clover as he lounged there like he owned the place. “Deal. So his name’s Zwei…”

-------

Clover waved Qrow off, still in the borrowed shirt, with his own soaked dress shirt under his arm, and felt like he could be floating with how light his chest was.

He dialled Elm the moment he'd closed his apartment door behind him, grinning like he'd just found a pot of gold at a rainbow's end. She picked up, just as quickly, and he could practically hear her massive grin over the scroll. “So, how’d it go, fearless leader?”

“I got a second date!” It was totally a date.

-------

Happy St Patrick's Day, everybody.

[bcketts]

TASK 09. GOODBYE ALLIE!

thank you.

it's bittersweet waking up the next morning. she doesn't bring much with her, most of her stuff is still at georgetown, but she remembers thinking of when she first arrived at gallagher; how scared she was, how much she wanted to leave. she looks back at the fortress and pretty much thinks the same things, and by the time the hour-long car ride to washington d.c. is done, gallagher already feels a bit like a dream. the only thing that makes it seem real at all is jack's old watch, heavy on her wrist and clunky. it's already got a few scratches from where she keeps banging it on things, throwing her hands up in the air or about, whacking it on doors and windows. but it's a sturdy thing.

dazed and confused.

they're all allowed to pick up their things, which have been packed haphazardly into boxes for them by residential life, but allie gets two boxes. there's not much she can do with them but decide to ship them home, so she takes an uber to the post office with two boxes of things, not caring enough to go through what's inside, but mostly scared that she might start bawling. it's a weird thing, getting her phone back, and she doesn't expect it to be so dang heavy! she also thought she'd have missed a lot more text messages, but she supposes that she traveled with all her best friends, so how could they have texted her? she gets chipotle in town with a few of her friends before heading to the airport, and it feels nice to sit with the other members of the club and do something normal, just for a little while.

bring it on home.

getting home is the hard part, because she hasn't seen her parents in months and she's worried they hate her, but the second she sees them near the baggage claim, tears spring to her eyes and she's running at them full-force into a big bear hug. they smell the same. she loves her mom's perfume and her family's detergent and the way her dad laughs with his belly. but it's obvious that there's something missing, they can all tell, and the presence of their daughter just hammers home the absence of their son. the group hug feels awkward with just three people, like she's not sure where to put her hands without jeremy around, and her parents keep finding themselves saying "you two" or referring to allie as a plural when she's really just one, a half of a whole.

that’s the way.

"i'm sorry about that phone call, while i was at school," allie says.

"that's alright, you were under a lot of stress."

"no, dad, i meant it. i don't believe the same things any more." and she expects to get yelled at, to get chewed out, but he just looks at her and nods and there's a moment of prolonged silence between them.

"sometimes, i'm not so sure myself. but what else is there?" and that makes allie very quiet, and she thinks she understands why her dad clings so hard to the things he believes in, and it's the exact same reasons why she can't keep clinging to them any longer.

over the hills and far away.

what allie doesn't do: visit her brother's grave and mope around her sad house. what she does do: says forget about it and takes off to the hamptons.

she gets one perfect week. that's what she keeps calling it – her perfect week. where she goes to visit levi in his home in the hamptons, flinging herself into his arms and covering him with tiny kisses just because she can. it's a whirlwind of a week where she gets very sunburnt, laughs all the time, and forgets for a while what it's like to be arkansas allie. she misses gallagher allie sometimes, and she wonders if she'll ever figure out how to be the perfect balance between the two, but right now, she's happy to spend many hours feeling someone else entirely: and that someone is rich! or at least as rich as levi madden is! and that someone has a lot of sex and spends a lot of time laughing and even though she's getting a college degree from an ivy league that could make her a whole lot of money someday, allie thinks that maybe being a trophy wife wouldn't be so bad. she loves the way he smiles, or the way he smiles at her, and she tries not to count the amount of times he does it like each one might be the last and she's got to save every single one of them.

she cries her eyes out when they say goodbye at the airport because she knows it's for real this time, and the thanks him for all the ways he made her feel sane, made her feel like herself again when personhood seemed like an impossible label to reclaim. but she also knows that despite all their pretending, that he's from a different world than she is. "don't let yourself be alone," she says, "just because you won't have a normal person life doesn't mean you shouldn't have people." because most of all, she's terrified that one day levi will be forty-something and he'll look like jack, packing his bags up with no one to go home to. "okay? and please write. you promised. or, i guess you could text me, if you want to be all twenty-first century about it." and she kisses him one last time but she's so caught up in her head about it being the last time that she can't really enjoy it, not properly.

what is and never should be.

allie goes home sunkissed and smiling, because it's sad but it's the final goodbye in the weirdest chapter of her life thus far. and then, summer resumes like normal. she's going to church on sundays with her parents, working the food drive and the bake sale, and facetiming imogen, marlowe, or luce, or...whoever will pick up the phone at any chance she can get.

on the fourth week, she develops a urinary tract infection. this is because she hates to go to the bathroom and she's always holding it, because she knows to get to the toilet, she's going to have to walk by jeremy's room and remember that he's not inside, and wonder what it looks like. so, she makes herself sick, from holding it all in. but it's sort of a wakeup call, a way too obvious metaphor – almost like it was created by a really uncreative writer. she's got to face things eventually.

since i’ve been loving you.

allie can't even open the door to jeremy's room at first, mainly because her parents have plopped his big box of stuff right in front of the door. everything else is exactly how he left it. there's gum wrappers in the trash can, socks strewn across the floor. she checks under the bed and that's how she knows her parents haven't been there – there's still that box of dirty magazines, which atty used to make fun of jeremy for having. "you do know there's the internet, right?" but jeremy was into it for the aesthetic, there was something so much more authentic to jerking off to something on print rather than pixelated. and atty would say it was pretentious. conversations like this used to make allie want to die, and they still do, because she kicks the box back and whispers, "euch." and his weed is still in the sock drawer, which is a remarkably boring place to have put it. he never used to smoke or do anything until he went to college, but allie blames atty's influence. a while ago, allie would've been a good sister and thrown it out, in case her parents ever did catch him for all the weird stuff hidden in different drawers, but instead, she puts one of his led zeppelin records on and lights up, but she has to facetime milena to figure out how to use the grinder, so perhaps it's not as poetic as it sounds.

and then she goes through the box of stuff from his dorm. there's a lot of pictures of imogen, of course, and that makes her heart hurt, because she can literally see where he used to keep them on his walls, the holes of old push pins. his violin, his skateboard, all the things he used to do to keep himself occupied. allie never knew someone so busy and so lazy at the same time. she sighs, lays down on his bed and looks up at the ceiling, knowing every crack and line by heart. it aches, everywhere, but she has to get up to skip stairway to heaven, since that's just too dang ironic.

ramble on.

allie visits his grave on the last day of summer, but it's nothing like his room. she goes with her parents and allie's a sympathetic crier, so when her mom cries, she cries too, but she can't help but think that this isn't where jeremy is. with all the dead people. he's in his room, with all the things that made him himself, or he's at georgetown, laughing with her and her friends in an amnesty international meeting. he's still around, in a way. he's just not here.

bring it on back.

it's the first time that she's ever traveled from pointsett to washington, d.c. alone, but by now it's late august and she's feeling alright, almost excited for the fresh start – to see steph, hudson, and matt again, to start dreaming again how they'll save the world. because it's always more exciting to conspire with friends than alone. but of course, thoughts of gallagher academy linger in the back of her mind, and as she moves to get her bag, she whacks the clunky watch on her wrist on the overhead compartment. she shakes her wrist out, but she smiles as she wheels her suitcase down the aisles and head to hail an uber, grateful for the small reminder that she's not alone, and that it wasn't a dream.

[flattired]

(     JACOB ELORDI,   CIS  MAN,   HE / HIM     —     oh  gosh,  sorry  THOMAS  “TOMMY”  BARNETT !  i  didn't  see  you  there !  y'know,  i  can't  believe  you're  already  TWENTY FIVE  years  old;  seems  like  just  yesterday  you  were  tripping  over  yourself,  or  was  that  yesterday ?  just  kidding,  just  kidding  !  anyway,  i  hear  that  you've  been  here  since  1978,  or  so  you  think;  congratulations  !  at  least  that  shining  OBLIGING  personality  of  yours  hasn't  changed  a  bit,  especially  that  LOYAL  +  AMICABLE,  but  FOOLISH  +  RESTLESS  way  about  you.  look,  i  gotta  get  back  to  the  group,  but  i'll  see  you  around  !

        hello,  hello!  my  name  is  rion,  though  at  this  point  you  might  know  be  better  as  admin  jay  on  the  main!  i...  i  just  need  you  guys  to  know  how  absolutely  excited  i  am  that  you’re  all  here.  lilah  will  tell  you  that  basically  every  time  we  got  an  app  she  had  to  listen  to  me  say  holy  shit  again.  we  also  sent  each  other  the  paul  rudd  ‘  hey,  look  at  us  ’  video  a  lot.  it  just  really  means  the  world  to  us  that  you  guys  took  the  time  to  join  this  and  we  hope  you  enjoy  what  we  have  planned.  so  yeah!  mush  out  of  the  way,  let  me  introduce  you  to  the  sweet  but  easily  lead  astray,  tommy  barnett.

full  name :   thomas  barnett

age  upon  check  in :   twenty  five

gender  &  pronouns :   cis  man  &  he / him

trait :   obliging 

personality :   loyal,  amicable,  foolish,  restless

aesthetic :   survival  came  thanks  to  quick  hands,  the  ability  to  stay  upright  despite  the  strikes,  and  an  uncanny  ability  to  find  friends  in  high  places   (   just  like  you  were  taught   )   —   let  them  pull  you  up,  believe  that’s  what  they’re  doing,  and  repay  that  kindness  with  service.  a  well  worn  deck  of  cards  dictates  the  shape  of  your  back  pocket,  the  faces  of  queens  and  jacks  rubbed  soft  to  the  touch  by  your  left  thumb.  brother  was  a  soldier,  you  were  conscripted  to  a  different  brotherhood,  orange  prescription  bottles  standing  at  attention,  waiting  to  be  carried  off  by  you.  marked  body,  both  for  lust  and  anger.  low  expectations  allow  one  to  slip  through  life  unnoticed ;  that’s  an  asset,  not  a  concern.  just  keep  your  mouth  shut,  kid,  your  comforts  come  at  a  certain  price.

WHO  ARE  YOU ?

         tw.  parental  neglect,  toxic  relationships,  verbal  abuse,  drugs  /  drug  dealing

thomas  barnett  was  the  younger  of  two  sons  born  to  eliza  and  charles  barnett,  a  dysfunctional  couple  living  just  above  the  poverty  line.  tommy  grew  up  learning  how  to  avoid  their  often  explosive  arguments,  which  often  spilled  onto  those  around  them   (   skills  include:  knowing  which  way  you  could  walk  pass  the  kitchen  without  being  noticed,  which  window  opened  without  squeaking,  which  headphones  were  worth  saving  up  for  because  they  actually  blocked  sound  like  they  claimed   ).  thankfully,  tommy  was  not  alone  in  this,  he  had  james:  an  older  brother  who  faithfully  looked  after  him  in  ways  their  parents  never  did.  without  james,  it’s  unclear  where  tommy  would  be  now.

he  was  never  seen  as  the  smartest  child.  liked  by  teachers  when  he  was  young  for  being  kind  at  heart,  but  it  took  him  more  time  than  others  to  grasp  concepts  they  were  teaching.  he  struggled  to  pay  attention,  and  as  he  grew  older   kind   didn’t  seem  to  be  enough  anymore  when  compared  against  his  struggles  to  focus  or  retain.  he  skidded  by  in  school,  passing  by  the  skin  of  his  teeth,  his  parents  far  too  preoccupied  with  the  bills  they  couldn’t  pay  and  their  anger  with  each  other  to  notice  how  their  younger  son  was  struggling.  tommy  didn’t  care  enough  to  seek  out  help  on  his  own,  frustrated  with  the  way  academic  pursuits  made  him  feel,  and  while  james  was  doing  his  best,  there  was  only  so  much  he  could  do.

tommy  was  fifteen  when  james  was  conscripted,  and  suddenly  he  was  on  his  own.  that  buffer  between  him  and  his  parents  was  in  one  of  the  carolinas,  attending  basic,  and  tommy  was  forced  to  bare  the  brunt  of  their  anger  that  spilled  over.  they  used  him  as  a  tool  to  wound  each  other,   no  wonder  he’s  failing,  he’s  your  son,   but  tommy  was  the  one  who  ended  up  wearing  most  of  the  injuries.  yet,  it  would  not  be  the  last  time  would  become  a  weapon  for  someone  else.

he  would  find  new  excuses  to  spend  time  away  from  the  small  house  that  had  no  place  to  hide,  mostly  spending  time  at  various  friends’  houses,  but  when  a  teenage  boy  is  seeking  to  find  things  to  do  it  is  often  that  he’ll  find  himself  with  new  and  exciting  bad  habits.  he  started  smoking,  getting  into  fights  when  there  was  nothing  else  to  do,  and  eventually  helping  a  boy  named  davey  deal  drugs.

david,  davey  to  tommy    —    though  he  accepted  the  nickname  from  no  one  else,  was  the  other  constant  in  tommy’s  life  besides  james.  they  met  in  the  third  grade  and  davey  was  seemingly  everything  tommy  wasn’t.  people  thought  he  was  clever,  he  didn’t  worry  about  school,  and  as  far  as  tommy  could  tell,  davey  was  absolutely  loaded.  despite  the  differences,  they  were  fast  friends,  and  tommy  became  extremely  loyal  to  the  other  boy  over  the  years.  that’s  why,  when  davey  got  involved  in  some  things  that  were  less  than  legal,  tommy  found  himself  involved  as  well.

for  all  the  cleverness  davey  was  touted  to  have,  the  scheme  was  rather  simplistic.  maybe  that  was  the  genius  of  it  though.  davey’s  father  was  a  doctor,  a  psychiatrist  specifically,  and  apparently  it  was  easy  enough  to  pull  rx  pads  from  the  desk  within  their  home.  then  davey  would  fill  them  out  in  the  way  he  wanted  to,  forge  his  father’s  signature,  and  take  the  scripts  to  various  out  of  town  pharmacies  to  get  them  filled.  then  he,  with  the  help  of  tommy,  could  sell  them  at  a  premium.  

tommy  was  never  certain  why  davey  did  it,  but  for  tommy  it  was  about  achieving  a  bit  of  freedom,  independence.  the  deal  was  never  something  that  fits  who  he  was  at  heart,  especially  with  some  of  the  more  questionable  things  davey  did,  but  he  tried  not  to  think  about  that.  his  bartending  job  was  something  that  left  him  living  paycheck  to  paycheck,  but   this   ...   well,  it  let  him  move  out  of  his  parent’s  place,  and  it’s  the  first  time  he’s  just  had  cash  on  hand  without  having  to  think  about  it.  he  wouldn’t  like  to  admit  it,  but  there’s  also  something  about  the  excitement,  the  way  it  scratches  that  restless  itch  of  his,  that   (   in  addition  to  his  loyalty  to  davey   )   kept  him  in  the  game.

WHERE  &  WHEN  DID  YOU  CHECK  IN  ?

when  tommy  opened  the  door  to  his  room  the  next  morning  to  find  the  raven  house,  he  knew  instantly  something  had  changed.  it  wasn’t  hard  to  figure  out  considering  he  had  checked  into  a  motel  6  off  of  i - 95  the  night  before.  sure,  it  had  been  a  late  night  and  he  hadn’t  gotten  much  sleep,  but  when  you’re  expecting  to  step  out  onto  a  concrete  walkway   (   red  metal  railing  in  front  of  you,  a  half  empty  parking  lot  that  hosts  an  above  ground  pool  that  is  closed  for  the  season   )   and  are  instead  greeted  by  a  dark  hallway  and  someone  wearing  what   must   be  a  halloween  costume,  it  doesn’t  take  a  genius  to  tell  that  something  has  changed.  which  is  good,  considering  no  one  has  ever  accused  thomas  barnett  of  being  a  genius.  there  were  plenty  of  other  things  people  called  him,  and  he  tried  to  not  let  those  things  bother  him.

but  it  was  1978,  and  no  one  dressed  like  that  anymore.  at  least   ...   he  didn’t  think  anyone  did.

this  wasn’t  even  supposed  to  be  a  trip.  just  a  night  drive;  windows  down  in  his  car  and  recorded  cassettes  with  his  favorite  songs  playing  at  top  volume.  it  wasn’t  his  fault  he’d  lost  track  of  time  and  ended  up  further  from  home  than  he’d  planned.  now  he  was   ...   here,  wherever  here  was.  the  raven  house  didn’t  look  like  anything  he’d  ever  seen  before.  the  luxury  is  almost  off  putting  to  he  who  is  far  more  comfortable  in  dive  bars  and  parties  in  unfinished  basements.  it  reminded  him  of  davey’s  house,  almost,  a  place  that   (   despite  the  years  that  they  had  been  friends   )   tommy  never  felt  like  he  belonged  inside  of.

except,  this  was  even  nicer  than  that.

WHAT  WENT  WRONG  ?

        tw.  drugs  /  drug  dealing

a  flat  tire.

which  would  have  been   fine.   he  knew  how  to  change  a  flat  tire.  so  technically,  what  had  gone  wrong  was  that  he  also  got  a  flat  tire  three  months  before,  and  he’d  never  replaced  the  spare.

tommy  managed  to  pull  the  car  over,  and  upon  discovering  this  and  checking  the  time  on  the  car  radio,  he  decided  there  was  nothing  he  could  do  tonight.  a  neon  vacancy  sign  was  visible  from  where  he  was  standing,  and  he  was  sure  they  had  a  payphone  he  could  use  in  the  morning,  call  a friend  or  call  a  tow  truck.  it  would  be  fine  to  leave  the  car  here  until  then,  right?  of  course  it  would  be.

as  it  turned  out,  it  wouldn’t  really  matter.

there  was  a  bag  in  the  trunk,  something  inspired  both  by  his  occupation   (   occupation?  side  gig,  to  supplement  bartending,  to  help  out  his  friend...  it  was  just  pills   )   and  advice  from  his  older  brother.  james  had  seen  some  shit    —    or,  that’s  how  tommy  would  explain  it.  james  had  never  given  him  any  of  the  specifics,  so  he  had  none  to  pass  on.  inside  the  bag  were  the  essentials,  certainly  everything  he’d  need  for  a  one  night  stay  at  a  motel.  could  you  even  call  it  one  night  if  it  was  already  past  midnight?

WHY  WERE  YOU  BROUGHT  HERE  ?

it  might  be  easy  to  pin  tommy  as  the  extraverted  type,  but  the  truth  is  under  a  somewhat  loud  exterior,  there’s  a  kind  heart:  someone  who’s  loyal  and  easy  going  and  could  certainly  be  considered  obliging.  that’s  the  trait  that  brought  him  to  the  raven  house,  and  if  you  think  about  it  for  even  just  a  moment,  it’s  not  hard  to  see  why.  an  individual  who’s  never  a  leader,  always  the  support,  and  doesn’t  mind  it.  a  good  listener,  someone  who  will  do  anything  for  those  he  cares  for,  or  who’s  happy  just  to  play  the  music  a  little  louder  and  sing  along  with  you  if  that’s  what  you  need.  the  fights  he  used  to  get  into  were  just  something  to  do,  to  assuage  the  restles  spirit  that  needs  to  stay  occupied,  of  something  for  a  friend  wronged   (   though  this  definition  has  become  somewhat  muddled   ),  but  truthfully  he’s  good  natured  at  his  core.  he  knows  what  it  is  like  to  receive  help  when  you  need  it,  and  he’ll  return  that  favor  to  the  world  any  day.

WHICH  ITEM  IN  YOUR  POSSESSION  IS  THE  MOST  IMPORTANT  ?

it’s  just  a  deck  of  cards.  it’s  just  a  deck  of  cards  except  it  was  a  birthday  present  from  james.  it’s  just  a  deck  of  cards  but  they’ve  been  worn  soft  to  the  touch  by  the  repeated  pressure  of  being  rubbed  between  his  thumb  and  fingers.  he  used  to  do  card  tricks  with  them,  but  now  he’s  worried  they’ll tear.  a  new  deck  was  picked  up  in  the  lobby  convenience  store,  but  the  old  deck  is  important,  even  if  it  is  no  longer  useful.

   ...   WAS  THERE  ANYTHING  ELSE  ?

can  be  goaded  into  almost  anything  with  the  phrase   ‘   i  dare  you.   ’

is  the  guy  who  suggests  that  everyone  play  the  black  betty  game  at  parties,  and  feels  clever  when  he  explains  it.

will  kick  your  ass  at  a  game  of  quarters

was  an  obnoxious  car  signer.  his  ability  is  average,  the  issue  lies  in  his  inability  to  truly  focus  on  driving  at  the  same  time.

now  an  obnoxious  hotel  shower  singer.  my  apologies  to  whoever  has  the  room  next  to  him.

to  compound  that,  he  tends  to  keep  strange  hours.  time  isn’t  real  here,  but  his  body  is  still  on  the  schedule  of  his  bartending  job  and  mostly  nocturnal,  if  such  a  thing  is  possible  here.

has  argued  with  the  empty  other  side  of  the  bar  over  how  a  drink  is  made.

hates  the  feeling  of  being  cooped  up  here,  more  than  he  dislikes  the  issue  of  time.  he  used  to  drive  a  lot  and  has  replaced  that  by  wandering  the  floors  of  the  hotel.

[sunritual]

Let’s try this again

They should make a law where if the police don’t read you your Miranda rights you get out of jail free, like if you don’t get your receipt at fast food restaurants you get a mail free

The shaggy law - There should be a law that if you continuously and shamelessly deny doing something, no matter how indisputably obvious it is that you did it, you should get off free for pure savegery.

Confederates as “rebels for tradition” is laughable

Ram rainbow spiral horns profile.

People think grammar rules are etched into the universe — they’re not. When people say AAve is incorrect and ignorant, they say that their conception of how one should speak is inherently correct despite no evidence/truth. Grammar is agreed upon not mandated

Hippie sauce infusion pizza joint

Plain nude balconette with little purple and pink flowers at wiring

How could anyone predict anything happening but how could any be surpised either

Hierarchies - nahhhh

Humans aren’t inherently higher than any other creature or thing, but as humans i don’t think it’s wrong to prioritize other humans. There no better or worse but there is optimal for certain environments and lifestyles.

What differentiates a piece of art from a slightly different replica - when is it an entirely different piece altogether? Moving a figure slightly? Adding a splash of paint ? Changing a color to the point where no one could tell? Is the persons perception the deciding factor or what’s actually on the canvas. If abstract art is about the perception, and the waning behind it - does it change with these things?

An exhibit where people are invited to paint over and destroy or change the art

The differences between us and other. Are feeble - not illusory but

Periwinkle sky blue black and white each of a half circle . Faded out

Uni should be about exploring ideas — new and old famillar and foreign - honeing writing reading reasoning debating listening etc skills.

Umm, Karen were your parents married when you were born?

Ummmm no, umm i mean , uh ,yes —what??

Then why are you policing what other people do?

Dark blue light blue orange lemon circles layer on top of each other, several difffent sizes

Job apps tip!! For every job you apply to , Change your last name on your resume to the last name of the hiring manager and they will think you are related to them and hire you with nepotism. ( then, or coarse, legally when you get the job)

Unpopular opinion: i don’t really mind diarrhea

I for one think it’s incredibly brave of the brats girls to reclaim such a derogatory term

Starting every Describtion of every British show with “its kind of like skins but..”

Beanie baskin took that treat she snatched it - she ain’t even askin

The squad bod - a group of ghost friends share one body in which they have to live their lives -

My playlists are a matter of fact, not opinion. They reveal truths about the human experience

A cats gorilla imeritive of aesthetics.

I don’t chose them, they are not for joy but for truth. They are not intelligible but feel able

📝 narrative - longing

👼 chaotic

🌾 childlike wonder

Things that seem homo and phobic ATST

- Woodstock

- Brown eyed girl

Life has a funny way of sneaking up on ya when you think everything BG a gone wrong and everything bows up in your face

If women can’t do drag because they have an advantage then what is drag? Is it having good looking tits and a waist ? Looking like woman? or is it about having charisma uniqueness nerve and talent?

Examining Tik toks through different philosophical lenses

What makes it so they put parenthesis around lyrics in a song? What intonations and such make it parenthesis worthy

What’s an article of clothing from your childhood that you viscerally remember for seemingly no reason

I feel like the problem with the property brothers is they had too good of a childhood

Do you ever wonder if personality traits would be diffferntnin different cultures? Would a quiet person be even quieter if they were brought up in North Korea? Or the same amount of talkativity? Do we have the traits no matter what, or are we inclined to be more of one way than the others around us. Are personality traits created by comparison to those around?

Maybe the anxiety comes from knowing your not “supposed” to be as quiet as you are. You don’t really want to talk, that’s okay , but it’s expected that you do. So you are anxiety that your not living up

I find happiness every single day

This feeling has made me so appreciative of my mental state usually. How many people feel like this on the regular? How many people have this as their default? I am so lucky. My default is happy. I have my issues, but i need to appreciate the gift i was given. I was given elation. Childlike wonder. Curiosity. Adventurousness. Self completion and fullness. The rest will come.

If you see a celebrity you want to talk to in public but don’t want to bother them, make sure they don’t see that you saw them and start a fake conversation telling a friend that they should buy a product they are a sponsor for, and that they should use their coupon code. When they approach you to thank you for being such a loyal fan, obviously pretend to be shocked that they just so happened to be there

Christianity excuses selfish politics and beliefs

Things i never would’ve noticed if they weren’t pointed out to me:

-Left and right handed ness

Rating sports teams by uniform colors

Balloon animals but make it clothing!

Logics doesn’t care about your feelings, but it certainly cares about your biasees.

He who findeth keepith, whilst he who loosith weepith.

Religious thought often starts at the conclusion they want and attempts to make arguments justifying it.

Jewish debate starts with an agreement that we are going to follow the book, but argues about what the book truly says. Not good enough when you are still just following the book

Why did Jesus need to die for our sins

Dream - swimming in a lake and bump into something you think is a human tying to save to but is it! Oct 29 9:03

Candle company logo etc

I’m sorry for your loss

It’s not oka

If people can accept that stupid bad jokes can be

Is there a reason for each thing existing? Sufficient reason

Understanding if an area is a matter of perspective or fact? Is it Emperical ?

If you assume you have free will you limit your critical thinking ability and therefor stour actual free will - you need to navigate technology such as algorithms that show you why at you want to see or you completely loose free will - you cannot chose when you don’t even know a choice. there is Somthing controlling you

Revelation is within it doesn’t involve others - can happen in a moment

Revolution- requires work and years and years of convincing others m

What counts as a second chance? What counts as a first chance? What does giving someone the benefit of the doubt entail ? Letting them out of jail , or letting them have a 2nd term as president.

**Picture of coke or Pepsi book**

Trump supporters be like: THIS is the BALLOt sleepy crooked joe SEND to MY neighbor. So much FOR democracy

One flew over the coup coups nest

Ashge-nazi = Jewish trump supporter

The heathers of the USA are Cali, New York and Texas. Florida, too

Shape shifting would solve all of this. I could go to Washington DC, pretend to be trump, concede then leave. It would be hilarious, however if me and trump looked identical and had to so the most idiotic crazy shit to prove to America that we indeed are the true DJ.

Coup busting outfit - light cute short sleeve camo shirts , army green super utalitarian cargo pants , double sash belts in leather with grommets studs or spikes (to be decided by team (with democracy) or left up to the individual) leather (vegan available) lace up knee high boots (maybe with spikes if not too 2012) and the pies de resistance two army green denim shoulder high gloves that fold down as far as needed for the comfort of the fighter. Will be adorned with patches decided by the wearer. Edges will be frayed to honor to the coup busting aesthetic and spirit of the endeavor. We can decide on a signature lip color, but spf is required for all fighters. Of coarse we will have those football stripes below the eyes, don’t be stupid.

How far away can something be from a face and still have humans think it’s a face

Senator Portman - i hope you are well, and want to thank you for the hard work you have put in to this election. However, it has become abundantly clear that joe Biden and Kamala Harris have secured more than enough electoral and popular votes to warrant recognition as president and vice elect. Upon reading the transcripts of he hopeless court cases, there is absolutely no evidence of vote measurable fraud. is time you stand up for democracy and face reality by congratulating he pair on their success. Americans and scared and they need a powerful republican voice to demounce the unsubstantiated conspircy theories that attempt to thwart democracy in this beautiful county. Please do the right thing , and stand with sanity, freedom and democracy. History books and citizens will thank you. May god bless you, your staff and loved ones

Could mermaids exist through evolution in the future

Me learning about real us history - all the nations destroyed by the USA—- I’m the baaad Guy

The rest of the world - duh dodododosodo

Print that looks like a page of writing that has been sourced in water so it’s bleeding and darker in speckles

Zamps= examples

Clothes with green screen cut outs

Robots don’t need to be sentient to destroy us.

Navy mock neck long sleeves big orange and little white stripe on tube cage sides

A veritcal line stretch waistband

Cross cross and straps back

Square high neck

Scarlet polka dots around can light blue text and beach image as front

Blue stroke red inside square, blue triangle rainbow with eye and funky font

Y either know a particular topic or not , but it’s hard to pin down intelligence on one category

Cream background , ice cream pink script name kinda bev hills hotel script looking ish

Move your mouth in a differ way

Supersonic vibrating butt cleaner

Half magenta half red violet a blue teacup in the center with white floral frills thick serif font

Pink background am orange flower in a vase white present ribbon n red as a table

An app that familiarizes people with science - through experimental learning ― hands on experiences that make it seem less top down and authoritarian , and more like a set of steps that we take, things that anyone can do to get closer with nature and the world

A social media philosophy app - teaches what others said and gives people a chance to express their views , postulate, argue, etc gadfly? How would be avoid a shit show, how can we make social media more humanitarian. how can we care about people while also expressing deeply held ideas , how can we encourage users to examine their deeply held ideas without alienating them. How can we discourage hatred and abuse and groupthink with design? How do we slow people down and encourage them to recognize the human behind the screen. Street epistemology? Socratic dialogue?

Socrates - asking questions. Breaking it down to bits. Deeply understanding their argument. Asking about different possibilities and circumstances. Take vast assumptions and show scenarios that make go against them.

Build fact checking into apps

Narrative self vs experiential

Walks you through steps of the sciefitifc method and encourages you to explain how you feel each step actually helped you- then walks you through a scientist doing the same for their reasarch

Republicans only want to be free in the specific ways that benefit corporations

Are Christians more willing to support the death pen early because they already believe in the cruel and overstepping punishment of hell?

Where did the idea come from that you need to remain impartial when trying to persuade

The idea that there is someone in a similar but different dwelling, hearing similar but different sounds and feeling similar but different feelings is wild

We synthesize sets of traits, and particular actions in a super biased culturally constructed way

With the way we see things as humans- we categorize things into groups that aren’t really reaaal ― paratheletic groups

I just want the people and jobs that benefit society

Connection to nietzsches Dionysian art and eckheart tolle/Taoism

No matter your personality, there is probably a part of the world that you would fit in with naturally.

An ordinary girl is selected as one of the representatives of earth in the first meeting of various alien species after one advanced planet discovered and United 10. Confused as to why she was chosen, she goes on her journey meeting

Wha ba Bada da da da da dada he’s a wha ba ba dadada as a matter of fact it’s not my fault if you came up here thinking that you would win

Wanting to break boundaries and rules for the sake those who are hurt by the rules

You are imagining the best case scenario of the life you want to have and experience Ming the reality of the life you so have.

Yes her drips cosmetics line to students i. Class

Chez it people can goldfish people

Your personality flows where a system needs it to go to maintain balance

[thatmultifandomhoe]

The Extremely Large Tag Game

ATagged By: @dreamystuffers​ thank you sweet pea and HOLY SHIT THIS REALLY IS THE ULTIMATE TAG GAME BUT I AM READY.

SECTION ONE: First and last tag: post the first line of a wip as well as the last line you’ve written so far!

So I have several Wips at the moment and whelp, I’m gonna do them all lol.

The Size of a Heart: Wonho and Reader (Drabble)

First Line Written: The sky was burning as the sun set for the night, cloaking the city in its familiar darkness.

Last Line Written: “I tell myself that it’s better if it hurts, but I…I can’t anymore…I can’t.”

Tentatively Falling: Vampire Jongdae and Reader (Series)

First Line Written: Strobe lights flashed around the dark bar, drawing your attention every now and then when they went wild as the bass dropped.

Last Line Written: It was more than you ever thought, but it was exactly what you dreamt about hearing him say.

Heavenly Father: Boyfriend Yoongi, Priest Jimin, Alter boy Jungkook, and Reader (Smut Crack Drabble - Title May Change)

First Line Written: The stain glass windows in the Church were a sight to see during the day, the sunlight streaming through and bringing life to the images during the service, and brought a sense of comforting to those during times of trouble.

Last Line Written: Jimin groaned and your eyes watered when your nose was pressed against the base, his dick down your throat.

Knitting You a Home: Wolf Hybrid Namjoon and Reader (Series)

First Line Written: The wind howled while rain pelted your house as the storm refused to let up.

Last Line Written: For the moment, his thoughts were cleared, allowing him to fall asleep with you safely in his arms.

SECTION TWO. Enter 15 of your biases and put them in this order to discover the story of your life

Parent: Hongjoong

well I mean he is pretty daddy at times

Sibling: Jongdae

Grandparent: Sammy

Haunts you: Vernon

Significant other: Jooheon

HELL YEAH BITCHES

Ex: Yuta

damn that’s...that’s a change

Best friend: Chanyeol

Proposed to you: Yoongi

Was this before Jooheon or after Jooheon? Who’s my ass with?

Your boss: Taeyong

Random person you meet a the bar: Seonghwa

Rival: Bang Chan

BUT HE’S THE SWEETEST HUMAN BEING THO

First kiss: Namjoon

Drunk and singing karaoke with: Wonho

Played seven minutes in heaven with: Felix

Gave you your favorite dessert: Jackson

I...I can see this one. He’s sweet to do that

SECTION THREE. Describe your bias by their vibes as if they were someone in your life. (I’m doing my Ults, 1 from each group.)

Jongdae (EXO): The guy that everyone knows because he’s the one with that distinguishable laugh. The class clown that knows the limits and only crosses them on rare occasions. You think you know him but then he’ll say something that you never knew about him. Craves his independence but is the quiet one when in a large group, smiling as he watches the more energetic ones run about. An old soul trapped in a young body.

Yoongi (BTS): The one who devotes himself to his work and rarely sees the light of day. His room is littered with empty to go cups of coffee mixed with his own assortment of coffee mugs Coffee ring stains on furniture. You think he’s not listening or paying attention but when you least expect it, he’ll quietly do something or hand you a gift that he knows you treasure. He’ll never ask for cuddles, but he’ll always give them to you and refuse to let you go when you try to get up. Wise beyond his years because he’s suffered and doesn’t wish it on anyone else.

Yuta (NCT): The popular guy that at first everyone warns you about, but once you get to know him yourself, you don’t know why they warned you in the first place because he’s a total sweetheart. The guy who flirts with everyone and anyone, but remains loyal to his girl. He’s never without his iced coffee, and he’s dyeing his hair in the bathtub with a friend to help make sure it doesn’t go too wrong. Will entertain your drunk texts. He’s the one to text at 2 am when you’re feeling alone and down and he’ll do what he can to lift you back up with nothing but the truth.

Hongjoong (Ateez): He’s the guy who doesn’t give a shit about trends or styles, he creates his own. The guy who does the piercings at the local tattoo shop knows him by name because he’s gotten so many of his piercings done there. He is the Fashion DIY King. Will roast his friends the hardest  because he loves them the most and takes it when they dish it back. Somehow manages to rock hairstyles - long live the mullet - that no one thought should have ever existed. Don’t let him cook though. If he cooks you’ll end up with food poisoning. He’s the one who will let you try makeup tricks and new products on him. Secretly amazing at painting nails.

Wonho (Monsta X): He’s the guy friend that you never expected to be friends with. Him? You? Total opposites on a physical scale. On completely different levels. Once you get to know him, he’s a total teddy bear. Doesn’t question it when you suddenly appear and hug him without saying a word, he’ll simply hug you back while maintaining the conversation he had going. Or he’ll simply surprise you with a hug because he likes them.

Bang Chan (Stray Kids): He’s the one that always has his earbuds in even during class. Like he’s the guy that has the earbud going through the sleeve of his hoodie and is pressing his palm against his ear to listen to the music. Listens to everyone, even if he doesn’t know them that well and gives really good advice if they ask for it.

Jackson (Got7): The guy that you can hear a mile away. Hyper. Can’t sit still to save his life. He was the guy that you’d see doing laps in the hallway with his friends when he should have been in class, but he was the nice one. Passionate and when you ask him about what he’s working on, he’ll talk about it for hours. Will also apologize multiple times for going on but then continue to go on.

SECTION FOUR. Search your name + “core aesthetic” on Pinterest and make yourself a moodboard

SECTION FIVE. Make a normal and fantasy version of yourself using this !

SECTION SIX. Writing tag game!

What is your ideal setting for focusing on your writing?

A quiet office where I can play music softly in the background and be at a desk with a comfortable chair.

 What Genre do you prefer to write?

Slice of Life, Young Adult, College Age.

Do you prefer to write on paper or digitally?

Both.

It’s the middle of the night and you suddenly wake up with an idea. What do you do?

Make a note of it in either my notebook or in the notes section on my phone.

Who is your favorite person to write about?

Jimin and Hoseok

Do you like making your own characters, or do you usually write about real people?

I like to do both. Honestly, it’s kinda like a mix of both. With some of my fics, the only thing that makes them fanfics are that I’m using the real person’s name, and I’ll pin point on certain aspects of their physical features. In Brotið Hjarta, the only thing that connects to it being Namjoon is his name, and maybe his hair style/color and ear piercings, everything else was what I imagined it to be.

Have you ever written a book/story with more than 15 chapters (100K words)?

Yes. Strawberry Cream and BBQ

How often do you get ideas?

From everyday life, sometimes I’ll be daydreaming and it kinda morphs into a story or a fanfic and so I’ll make notes so that I don’t forget it.

Do you ever get an idea that you really like, but just can’t seem to finish?

Yessss, all the time.

What is your least favorite plot?

I don’t know about least favorite plots, but I do hate it when fics dive straight into a story without any background or anything. Wait, so maybe that’s pwp fics????? I don’t want to be a hypocrite, but even with my fics that primarily focus on smut, I still add in those background details and give them a teeny tiny plot.

SECTION SEVEN. Put your music on shuffle and reveal the first ten songs that come on.

The Kids Aren’t Alright - Fall out Boy

In the Dark - Bring Me the Horizon

Teeth - 5 Seconds of Summer

All In - Monsta X

To the Beat - Ateez

Shot - Lil’ Jon

Daechwita - Agust D

Treasure - Ateez

Adore You - Harry Styles

Guys My Age - Hey Violet

SECTION EIGHT. Questions tag:

Relationships: 2

Break-ups: 2

Kids: Right now? 0

Brothers and Sisters: 1 older brother.

Pets: 0

Surgeries: 0

Tattoos: 0

Countries you’ve been to: 0

Been in an airplane: yes

Been in an ambulance: yes

I sing karaoke: hell no.

Ice skating: I like it but I suck at it and have only been able to go during school events in the past.

Been on a cruise: hell no

Driven a motorcycle: nope

Ridden a horse: yes

Stayed in a hospital: nope

Favorite fruit or berry: Raspberries

Favorite color: Magenta

Last text: “Perfect! I’ll let you know when I am able to send yours out!” - I do pen palling and was letting someone know when I could send them a post card in exchange for the one I’m getting.

Cat or dog: Cat

Favorite pizza: White sauce pizza with chicken and feta cheese

Met a star: nope

Flown a helicopter: nada

Been on TV: nope

Broken my leg: nope

Seen a ghost: don’t believe in them.

Been sick in a taxi: nope

Seen someone die: no

SECTION NINE: Fifteen questions tag:

One ; it’s your birthday! what did you ask for?

Gift cards, um...(this is bad because my birthday is actually coming up) maybe some things from my Amazon list?

Two ; what was the last song / album you listened to?

WAP by Cardi B

Three ; what is your go to snack when you’re hungry?

Chocolate, cookies or cookies dipped in peanut butter

Four ; what is your morning routine?

Wake up, check messages on my phone while still in bed, get up, make coffee, maybe eat breakfast, drink coffee in bed, listen to music/watch videos or read on phone while drinking coffee, get dressed, brush teeth and skincare routine, make bed.

Five ; what mythical creature would you be?

An Elf? Or a Forest Witch. Something that has to do with the Earth and nature.

Six ; how do you interact with someone you don’t like?

I give short and straight to the point answers, if I’m working on something and they come up to me I’ll pointedly focus on that task instead of them.

Seven ; how do you define a toxic person?

Someone who lies, who makes you feel bad about the things that you do, that puts you done while lifting themselves, who is constantly bragging about their own things, who puts down others, who acts like they’re better, who acts like they’re way of life should be the only way of life.

Eight ; have you ever been to a concert or a fan-meet? if not, would you want to?

I have not, but I would like to one day because they seem fun and it would be nice to see a performance in person.

Nine ; do you believe in astrology? why or why not?

I do, mostly because it’s fun and interesting and I tend to find that I do a lot of the things and act like my zodiac sign without realizing it (aka I’m a Virgo).

Ten ; if you could have only one sense (hearing, touch, sight, etc.), which would you keep?

Hearing.

Eleven ; who is your favorite celebrity or idol?

At the moment, BM from Kard.

Twelve ; if you could talk to your favorite celebrity for a limited time, what would you tell them?

How do you keep going when it gets hard?

Thirteen ; I’m taking you out on a date. where are we going?

Maybe an art museum, or somewhere with flowers?

Fourteen ; do you prefer sweet or savory?

Sweet.

Fifteen ; do you have any Merch from any of your favorite artists?

I have several BTS albums and an EXO album.

I AM Tagging: @mygsii @myforeverforlife  @peonybane  @hobicomeholla29  @loser-dot-com @jeonsdear @namsjoon  @kpopcinnamonswirlroll @eashmo201 @1997jk @soulofatiny @cherryeoo​ @minniepetals​ @minniesmarshmallow​ @yoongi-sugaglider​  @crystaljins​ @taestfully​  @hyyunjins​ @i-am-delaney​ @worldwidebt7​ @flurrys-creativity​  @apurpledheart​ @holyfluffly​ @yunception​ @boymeetsweevil​ @chans-chair​ @brokecollegenerd​ @jinyoungsir​ @writersrealmbts​ @kpophoneybunny​ @actuallythatwaspromise​  @ladyartemesia​ @haylo4ever​ @ggukcangetit​ @kpopfanfictrash​ @wwilloww​ @jingabitch​ @kigurumu​ @jamaiskook​ @thatlongspringnight​ @ot7always-main​  @hauntedlilies​ @koophoriia​ @lorealchanelll​ @sweetheart--sannie​  @sweetae-tae​ @iniquitouspoppy​  

[forunfeltimaginations]

Let’s try this again

They should make a law where if the police don’t read you your Miranda rights you get out of jail free, like if you don’t get your receipt at fast food restaurants you get a mail free

The shaggy law - There should be a law that if you continuously and shamelessly deny doing something, no matter how indisputably obvious it is that you did it, you should get off free for pure savegery.

Confederates as “rebels for tradition” is laughable

Ram rainbow spiral horns profile.

People think grammar rules are etched into the universe — they’re not. When people say AAve is incorrect and ignorant, they say that their conception of how one should speak is inherently correct despite no evidence/truth. Grammar is agreed upon not mandated

Hippie sauce infusion pizza joint

Plain nude balconette with little purple and pink flowers at wiring

How could anyone predict anything happening but how could any be surpised either

Hierarchies - nahhhh

Humans aren’t inherently higher than any other creature or thing, but as humans i don’t think it’s wrong to prioritize other humans. There no better or worse but there is optimal for certain environments and lifestyles.

What differentiates a piece of art from a slightly different replica - when is it an entirely different piece altogether? Moving a figure slightly? Adding a splash of paint ? Changing a color to the point where no one could tell? Is the persons perception the deciding factor or what’s actually on the canvas. If abstract art is about the perception, and the waning behind it - does it change with these things?

An exhibit where people are invited to paint over and destroy or change the art

The differences between us and other. Are feeble - not illusory but

Periwinkle sky blue black and white each of a half circle . Faded out

Uni should be about exploring ideas — new and old famillar and foreign - honeing writing reading reasoning debating listening etc skills.

Umm, Karen were your parents married when you were born?

Ummmm no, umm i mean , uh ,yes —what??

Then why are you policing what other people do?

Dark blue light blue orange lemon circles layer on top of each other, several difffent sizes

Job apps tip!! For every job you apply to , Change your last name on your resume to the last name of the hiring manager and they will think you are related to them and hire you with nepotism. ( then, or coarse, legally when you get the job)

Unpopular opinion: i don’t really mind diarrhea

I for one think it’s incredibly brave of the brats girls to reclaim such a derogatory term

Starting every Describtion of every British show with “its kind of like skins but..”

Beanie baskin took that treat she snatched it - she ain’t even askin

The squad bod - a group of ghost friends share one body in which they have to live their lives -

My playlists are a matter of fact, not opinion. They reveal truths about the human experience

A cats gorilla imeritive of aesthetics.

I don’t chose them, they are not for joy but for truth. They are not intelligible but feel able

📝 narrative - longing

👼 chaotic

🌾 childlike wonder

Things that seem homo and phobic ATST

- Woodstock

- Brown eyed girl

Life has a funny way of sneaking up on ya when you think everything BG a gone wrong and everything bows up in your face

If women can’t do drag because they have an advantage then what is drag? Is it having good looking tits and a waist ? Looking like woman? or is it about having charisma uniqueness nerve and talent?

Examining Tik toks through different philosophical lenses

What makes it so they put parenthesis around lyrics in a song? What intonations and such make it parenthesis worthy

What’s an article of clothing from your childhood that you viscerally remember for seemingly no reason

I feel like the problem with the property brothers is they had too good of a childhood

Do you ever wonder if personality traits would be diffferntnin different cultures? Would a quiet person be even quieter if they were brought up in North Korea? Or the same amount of talkativity? Do we have the traits no matter what, or are we inclined to be more of one way than the others around us. Are personality traits created by comparison to those around?

Maybe the anxiety comes from knowing your not “supposed” to be as quiet as you are. You don’t really want to talk, that’s okay , but it’s expected that you do. So you are anxiety that your not living up

I find happiness every single day

This feeling has made me so appreciative of my mental state usually. How many people feel like this on the regular? How many people have this as their default? I am so lucky. My default is happy. I have my issues, but i need to appreciate the gift i was given. I was given elation. Childlike wonder. Curiosity. Adventurousness. Self completion and fullness. The rest will come.

If you see a celebrity you want to talk to in public but don’t want to bother them, make sure they don’t see that you saw them and start a fake conversation telling a friend that they should buy a product they are a sponsor for, and that they should use their coupon code. When they approach you to thank you for being such a loyal fan, obviously pretend to be shocked that they just so happened to be there

Christianity excuses selfish politics and beliefs

Things i never would’ve noticed if they weren’t pointed out to me:

-Left and right handed ness

Rating sports teams by uniform colors

Balloon animals but make it clothing!

Logics doesn’t care about your feelings, but it certainly cares about your biasees.

He who findeth keepith, whilst he who loosith weepith.

Religious thought often starts at the conclusion they want and attempts to make arguments justifying it.

Jewish debate starts with an agreement that we are going to follow the book, but argues about what the book truly says. Not good enough when you are still just following the book

Why did Jesus need to die for our sins

Dream - swimming in a lake and bump into something you think is a human tying to save to but is it! Oct 29 9:03

Candle company logo etc

I’m sorry for your loss

It’s not oka

If people can accept that stupid bad jokes can be

Is there a reason for each thing existing? Sufficient reason

Understanding if an area is a matter of perspective or fact? Is it Emperical ?

If you assume you have free will you limit your critical thinking ability and therefor stour actual free will - you need to navigate technology such as algorithms that show you why at you want to see or you completely loose free will - you cannot chose when you don’t even know a choice. there is Somthing controlling you

Revelation is within it doesn’t involve others - can happen in a moment

Revolution- requires work and years and years of convincing others m

What counts as a second chance? What counts as a first chance? What does giving someone the benefit of the doubt entail ? Letting them out of jail , or letting them have a 2nd term as president.

**Picture of coke or Pepsi book**

Trump supporters be like: THIS is the BALLOt sleepy crooked joe SEND to MY neighbor. So much FOR democracy

One flew over the coup coups nest

Ashge-nazi = Jewish trump supporter

The heathers of the USA are Cali, New York and Texas. Florida, too

Shape shifting would solve all of this. I could go to Washington DC, pretend to be trump, concede then leave. It would be hilarious, however if me and trump looked identical and had to so the most idiotic crazy shit to prove to America that we indeed are the true DJ.

Coup busting outfit - light cute short sleeve camo shirts , army green super utalitarian cargo pants , double sash belts in leather with grommets studs or spikes (to be decided by team (with democracy) or left up to the individual) leather (vegan available) lace up knee high boots (maybe with spikes if not too 2012) and the pies de resistance two army green denim shoulder high gloves that fold down as far as needed for the comfort of the fighter. Will be adorned with patches decided by the wearer. Edges will be frayed to honor to the coup busting aesthetic and spirit of the endeavor. We can decide on a signature lip color, but spf is required for all fighters. Of coarse we will have those football stripes below the eyes, don’t be stupid.

How far away can something be from a face and still have humans think it’s a face

Senator Portman - i hope you are well, and want to thank you for the hard work you have put in to this election. However, it has become abundantly clear that joe Biden and Kamala Harris have secured more than enough electoral and popular votes to warrant recognition as president and vice elect. Upon reading the transcripts of he hopeless court cases, there is absolutely no evidence of vote measurable fraud. is time you stand up for democracy and face reality by congratulating he pair on their success. Americans and scared and they need a powerful republican voice to demounce the unsubstantiated conspircy theories that attempt to thwart democracy in this beautiful county. Please do the right thing , and stand with sanity, freedom and democracy. History books and citizens will thank you. May god bless you, your staff and loved ones

Could mermaids exist through evolution in the future

Me learning about real us history - all the nations destroyed by the USA—- I’m the baaad Guy

The rest of the world - duh dodododosodo

Print that looks like a page of writing that has been sourced in water so it’s bleeding and darker in speckles

Zamps= examples

Clothes with green screen cut outs

Robots don’t need to be sentient to destroy us.

Navy mock neck long sleeves big orange and little white stripe on tube cage sides

A veritcal line stretch waistband

Cross cross and straps back

Square high neck

Scarlet polka dots around can light blue text and beach image as front

Blue stroke red inside square, blue triangle rainbow with eye and funky font

Y either know a particular topic or not , but it’s hard to pin down intelligence on one category

Cream background , ice cream pink script name kinda bev hills hotel script looking ish

Move your mouth in a differ way

Supersonic vibrating butt cleaner

Half magenta half red violet a blue teacup in the center with white floral frills thick serif font

Pink background am orange flower in a vase white present ribbon n red as a table

An app that familiarizes people with science - through experimental learning ― hands on experiences that make it seem less top down and authoritarian , and more like a set of steps that we take, things that anyone can do to get closer with nature and the world

A social media philosophy app - teaches what others said and gives people a chance to express their views , postulate, argue, etc gadfly? How would be avoid a shit show, how can we make social media more humanitarian. how can we care about people while also expressing deeply held ideas , how can we encourage users to examine their deeply held ideas without alienating them. How can we discourage hatred and abuse and groupthink with design? How do we slow people down and encourage them to recognize the human behind the screen. Street epistemology? Socratic dialogue?

Socrates - asking questions. Breaking it down to bits. Deeply understanding their argument. Asking about different possibilities and circumstances. Take vast assumptions and show scenarios that make go against them.

Narrative self vs experiential

[dylan-o-yumm]

ABC’s of Vergil

(WARNING! Obviously nsfw) 

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Vergil won’t do much after sex except for maybe letting you rest your head on his chest or use his arm as a pillow. He’ll occasionally stroke your hair, but only if he’s in a good mood. He’ll also maybe help clean you up a bit, but most times he doesn’t bother, because “that’s your problem, not mine.” If it was a particularly rough session, he might stay awake to talk to you a bit, or read some poetry to bring you back down to earth, but that’s about as soft and romantic he gets with aftercare. 

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partners)

Doesn’t really care about what he looks like, whether its because he knows deep down he looks like his brother, or because, why care about his own looks when there are much more pressing topics to endure? With you, he kind of feels the same way, he feels that a persons appearance shouldn’t matter at all because… well, whats the point? But, if he had to pic a part of you that he might find himself gazing at once every while, it would either be your lips or your hips. 

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

After discovering he has Nero, he did his research and becomes a little worried whenever engaging in sexual intercourse with you. So, he will never cum inside you, even if you’re on the pill or any other contraception types. Even if he’s wearing a condom, he will try to pull out before he cums because he is so paranoid that you’ll end up pregnant. He has heard of contraception failures, like condoms breaking or whatnot. He also knows that precum can get a woman pregnant, so he always makes sure to use protection. 

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Dante was talking about some odd kind of videos, saying that Vergil would probably like them since he’s into the whole Japanese aesthetic. He was just goofing around of course, but Vergil didn’t know what this was (cause he’s been in Hell for a long time and is only just getting used to the internet) so, he looked up this… “hentai” that Dante spoke of and was more than surprised at what he found. He became even more surprised when he found he didn’t exactly hate it either…  He doesn’t watch it often, hardly at all actually. Much prefers your body over some pixels on a screen. 

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

(Nero’s mum was his first, fight me) Poor dude had little to no experience when he first slept with you. You want to help him develop his skills? Too bad, shut up and let him discover what he likes most for himself. He will not let you, in any way, shape or form, suggest other things or positions he might like. If you happen to enjoy what he’s doing so far, good. If not, thats not his problem. He’ll slowly gets better at actually focusing on your pleasure instead of his own, but in the beginning he doesn’t even think about what you’re feeling. You’re moaning though, thats a good thing, right? 

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably exclude a visual)

Vergil likes positions where he doesn’t have your eyes on him. He doesn’t like when you face him and stare at him, because he feels a bit awkward when you moan and look at him with lust and desire in your eyes. Anyone else would find it hot, but not Vergil. So, taking you from behind while you’re on your knees, face pressed into the mattress or floor is one of his favourites. Also bending you over furniture is very arousing to him, with his hand pressed firmly on the side of your head, pinning you down while he snaps his hips against your ass. Just the thought of you like that is enough to make his mind spiral into nothing but dirty thoughts. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment or are they humorous, etc)

He is as serious as they come! Unlike Dante, who loves to make his s/o laugh at any given chance, Vergil much prefers to simply focus on getting the pleasure he so desires. If you start laughing about something while he’s balls deep inside you, he will straight up cover your mouth with his hand to shut you up. But, for whatever reason, if that doesn’t stop you, and he can still hear your giggles, he will either set a brutal pace to insure you can’t even remember how to laugh, or simply walk away. Want to laugh like its all a joke? Have fun reaching an orgasm by yourself. 

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc?)

His hair is surprisingly down a lot more than you’d expect, he only really keeps it up during the day, but will let it down at night. He’s very well groomed, always hygienic. He seems bare up top, crazily smooth even on his arms and legs, but he does actually have hair there, they’re just very fine and, because they’re white, you can only really see them in the sun. However, he does have a nice and even patch of white hair at his crotch. Literally never lets it get to be too much, he basically has a shower ritual, so don’t worry about him getting all scruffy and smelly on you. 

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Hardly romantic. Especially not at first. In the beginning he only cares for his own pleasure, and that will always be somewhat of an issue with him, but he does manage to get better as time goes on. It was actually his poetry that made him realise that, some love poem about treating your partner better than anyone. He kind of brushed it off at first, but it was always in the back of his mind. However, before then, he is very cold and distant, even when he’s got you shuddering as you reach your climax right under him. 

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcannon)

Doesn’t do it. He did a few times before he met you, but he always felt disgusted about it. He found it dirty and almost repulsive at some times. He knows that its a normal thing that a lot of people do, but he finds it uncomfortable when he does it himself. Doesn’t mean he hasn’t, there were a few times when he felt very needy and simply couldn’t ignore the tent forming in his pants, so he quickly jerked off and came into his hand, trying to make as little of a mess as possible, then washed his hands almost frantically. 

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Likes choking and breath play, giving not receiving. He always has to be in charge, so he’s heavily into being dominant. He always found bondage to be fascinating, but never acted on it, because he felt like it would be too weird and he would be judged or made fun of for it. Basically anything where he’s the alpha who gets to be in charge of everything, is what really gets him going. If you tell him you want to be in charge, he will most likely laugh in your face and say “oh, you think you can make me submit? Foolish” so, feel free to try, but he won’t go easy on you, it’ll take a lot of strength and power to get him to do what you say. 

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Isn’t too kinky when it comes to location. A bed will suffice him well enough, but he won’t say no to a good, sturdy desk or table. He isn’t one for having sex in public places, more so because he has a reputation to uphold, not because he doesn’t want anyone seeing you naked or anything. He would probably like other people to see what it is they can’t have and practically rub their faces in it, but thats more of an unsurfaced fantasy that he will never be making a reality. 

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Sitting in his lap and grinding against him is probably the quickest way to get him riled up. But surprisingly, even though he’s always rough and tough and hardly ever shows his emotions willingly, he is a sucker for your lips on his neck. Shockingly, something he isn’t in control of and could be a sign of weakness in his eyes, gets him hard in no time, if done correctly. Suck his sweet spot, maybe bite a little bit and you might just pull an unwilling sound out of his mouth. As soon as that happens though, be ready to be slammed down on whatever surface is closest, because he needs to put you back in your place. 

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Inviting other people into bed with you is a big no. I mean, theres a chance he might go for it on one of his good days, but don’t expect that person to be walking out of the room alive afterwards. He wont be submissive, he wont be humiliated, he wont be tied, bound, blindfolded or gagged. He doesn’t even want to hear about golden showers or anything involving pee or fecal matter. Toys used on him are a no. Pretty much anything that sounds like it could be used against him in a humiliating fashion, he won’t even think about it, it will be a straight up no. 

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Does’t really care for either. He’ll go down on you rarely, because his pleasure comes first remember? He is very skilled at it though and will have you begging for him to eat you out whenever you two have free time on your hands. If you go down on him, he just gets impatient, because he can’t go as hard as he wants or he will literally kill you, and he prefers to hear your erotic sounds, rather than them being muffled around his cock. 

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Almost always fast and rough with you, likes to have you screaming his name with tears streaming down your face from the intense pleasure he gives you. Likes to leave a red print on the side of your face as he holds you down with your cheek pressed into whatever surface you’re on. He likes how you get lost in the pleasure and can’t think of anything to say other than his name. He gets cocky when he watches you walk funny for the next couple of hours, the ache between your legs making you shuffle around awkwardly like a penguin. Why be slow and sensual when nothing can beat those fun, little details? 

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He’s not really for or against them. He doesn’t like the idea of having to rush, but if you both have a minute to spare through a busy schedule, he will pin you against a wall, take your pants off, shift your panties to the side and fuck you nice and fast to quickly bring you both to climax. He does much prefer to take his time with with you though, savouring the feeling of your warmth and tightness, while listening to your moans and screams as if they’re his favourite song. 

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

The biggest risk he ever took with you was teasing you under the table while out for dinner with the Devil May Cry crew. You were being bratty before hand so he had to teach you a lesson somehow, and just how lucky were you to be wearing a skirt? He usually wouldn’t do such a thing because he found it dirty and unnecessary, especially in public. But if you rile him up, he has to assert his dominance somehow, even if he is arguing with his brother while doing so. He didn’t want to get caught for his own benefit, so he didn’t draw attention to you, didn’t tease you by making you talk to anyone while pinching your bundle of nerves. Which you were thankful for. You did hate how calm and collected he looked the whole time, while you were left biting down on your tongue to keep yourself quiet. 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they last for, how long do they last…)

With his demonic side, he has a lot more stamina than an average man, so realistically he can go for maybe 5+ rounds if he really wanted to. But, he finds just one to be quite enough. He isn’t a sex fiend like his brother who could have sex all day, every day, finding that indulging his sexual pleasure just once a day or so is more than enough. He doesn’t push himself after his first orgasm, because he thinks ‘what is the point of continuing when I’ve already gotten what I so desired?’ One round can last a while though, he’s pretty good at control so he can last as long or short as he wants, ranging from a 5 minute quick to over an hour, but it both depends on his mood and whether or not you’ve been bratty. (Be bratty if you want him to last longer). 

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

No toys for himself but he did manage to get into the use of handcuffs and blindfolds for you, but only if you bought them yourself because he would never be caught doing anything more than merely looking in the direction of a sex shop. If you have a vibrator or dildo for yourself for when he’s away or whatever other reason, he wont mind too much, surprisingly doesn’t get offended or jealous, but he will say something along the lines of “Do what you want while I’m away, but I know a piece of plastic cannot be more pleasurable than I?” Just know that while he is in the same house as you, you wont even think of using them or you’ll be punished. 

U = Unfair (How much do they like to tease)

(I’m in two minds about this one) Vergil doesn’t tease too much surprisingly, not the kind of guy to beat around the bush. His form of teasing is more of a punishment, like not letting you cum, or making you cum too many times to the point your begging him to stop. That’s only if your bratty and question his dominance. That’s also later into the relationship, earlier on he doesn’t even bother with any form of teasing, its just, get whatever pleasure you can before I finish and thats it. If you tease him though, you’ll be in for a real treat… 

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

He’s very quiet. Maybe a few grunts here and there, but you’ll never catch him moaning. Even when you kiss and bite his neck how he likes it, he never releases a moan, its more of an animal-like growl instead. (He totally purrs when you massage his scalp or play with his hair, but he suppresses it enough that you can’t hear it, however there is no stopping the deep rumbling in his chest, like he’s vibrating)(Don’t mention it to him though, or he’ll swat your hand away any time you go to touch his hair). 

W = Wildcard (Get a random headcannon for the character of your choice)

Vergil is only as rough and focused on himself, because he is surprisingly pretty self conscious. In his mind, its better to be the monster everyone sees him as, rather than showing a different side of him and either being judged or belittled because of it. He feels that if he were to be gentle, loving and passionate with you, he would be seen as vulnerable and weak. So, even if he is feeling a little touch starved, and wants to be more kind and gentle with you (human side of him), that feeling inside him that doesn’t want to be weak or used (demon side of him) is much stronger. 

X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Vergil is above average, nice in both thickness and length. He has a prominent vein on the underside and curves upwards slightly, and a round, pink tip. Honestly, he just has a very attractive looking penis. He doesn’t get cocky about it, doesn't like to walk around naked, so theres no showing off from him because he doesn’t care.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

He could last a week without sex if he wanted to, but he enjoys the act like most people do and finds himself being greedy sometimes. He will want to have you at least once every day or two. However, if you two are separated for a while, he doesn’t find it to be a problem and can handle going a week or even a few weeks without indulging in any sexual activities. 

Z = ZZZ (…how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Since he’s got supernatural stamina and doesn’t go many rounds with you, he doesn’t tire himself or get worn out, even though at the pace he goes, it would be enough to make any ordinary man exhausted. However, while you are struggling to keep your eyes open, since you are human and his strength easily wears you out, he will be siting beside you, resting his back on the headboard of the bed, probably reading while you curl up to his side and fall asleep. 

Hope you guys liked this, sorry if it wasn’t as romantic and soft as you hoped lol

[theprodigypenguin]

if u are still taking prompts can u do 54. “How long have you been standing there?” With jegulus????

54. “How long have you been standing there?”

This was reaaaaally fun to write eheheheheh~

Regulus had seen some pretty bizarre stuff in his years at Hogwarts. Things he couldn’t explain, things he understood but just couldn’t mentally deal with because of how truly absurd it was, things he simply ignored because he didn’t have the time or energy to deal with it. He’d walked in on Severus Snape in the Slytherin boy’s lavatory sitting in the corner ugly crying with a brush in one hand and wand in the other, his hair a nest of actual rats (likely aftermath of a hex). He’d witnessed his brother splashing into black lake screaming he wasn’t coming back until he’d married a mermaid, while Peter clung to his waist begging him not to, James laughing his ass off on the shore as Remus stood beside him with an open book lifted in front of his face to make it easier to ignore his foolish friends. He’d even accidentally walked up on Professor McGonogall and Professor Dumbledore in a heated discussion about what sounded like love.

“It’s Black, Minnie dear, trust me, I know these things.”

“Absurd! It’s Evans!”

“Thirty Galleons as agreed, Minnie.”

Regulus didn’t know what the hell they’d been talking about or what they were betting on, but he did remember how adamantly McGonogall had refused to pay without “concrete proof”. Whatever that meant.

Bottom line, Regulus had seen and been witness to many strange occurrences, but through the years he’d come to just accept the oddities. It was a day to day normality when your older brother was Sirius Black, who smuggled weird Muggle crap into Grimmauld Place and spent his summers locked into his room reading magazines with pictures that didn’t even move. If anything was weird, it was his obsession with “motorbikes”, whatever the hell those were.

Still, this would definitely be strange enough to add onto Regulus’ list of weird happenings. It was just after curfew, Regulus was walking along the hall that lead to the stairs towards the Gryffindor common room, Prefect badge in view so teachers wouldn’t think he was breaking any rules (he was just doing his job). Standing in the middle of the hall was James Potter, who was positioned in front of a glass display case holding Quidditch memorabilia. At first Regulus thought he was just admiring what was there, until the older boy leaned closer to the glass, squinting and grinning his teeth, lifting a hand to pick something from between them, then turned his head and wiped at a smudge of dirt or chocolate on his cheek. He then bowed his head, eyes lifted to watch his reflection as he ran his fingers up into the untamed fringe of dark hair.

Regulus had absolutely no idea what the idiot was doing. Normal people would go to an actual mirror to freshen up, but James seemed fully satisfied in admiring his reflection in the glass display case, standing straight and fixing his tie where his Head Boy pin was secured into it, smoothing a hand down the front of his white button up to wipe away the wrinkles, then fidgeted with the buttons of his sleeves, folding them back to show off his forearms and the muscles built up from years of Quidditch. He has nice arms, Regulus thought in passing, watching with squinted, still confused eyes as James lifted a hand to rub roughly at his jaw. Regulus was close enough to note the shadow on his face. Was James already old enough to be getting stubble like that?

“Should I come back later and give you two some privacy?” Regulus asked on a drawl, finally interrupting James, who jerked so violently to the side it looked like someone had cursed him.

“Mother of Merlin’s bloody bitch!” the Gryffindor screamed, hugging the wall and gaping over at Regulus with wide, startled eyes. Regulus couldn’t control the snort, lifting a hand to his mouth to hide the smile as he dipped forward a little and James glared at him. “How long have you been standing there?!”

“Long enough, I imagine,” Regulus snickered, looking off to the side and rubbing the back of his hand over his lips to force the smile off his face, then looked back at James, who looked like a deer caught in the headlights (whatever headlights were, Sirius used that expression a lot). “What are you doing, exactly? I wasn’t aware that admiring one’s reflection was part of your Head Boy duties.”

James’ entire face went dark red and he stepped away from the wall, lifting a fist to cough into before setting both hands on his hips. “Of course! It’s important to observe everything as Head Boy!”

“Including yourself?”

“Exactly!”

“You know you can’t fool around like that with me, right?” Regulus arched an eyebrow and James seemed to deflate, lifting a hand to ruffle the back of his hair, one corner of his lips curling into an awkward grin that had Regulus staring. He had a lot of smile lines in his face. James looked… older, suddenly, now that Regulus was looking. When had that happened?

“Ah, I’m man enough to admit I admire myself, Reg,” James said, looking back at his reflection and snapping his fingers before pointing charmingly at the glass with two finger guns. “I’m just wise enough to pick up on the aesthetic. It’s important to admire beautiful things, isn’t it?”

Regulus just squinted at James. “I think you’ve busted your head one too many times, Potter.”

“What, you don’t think I’m hot?”

“Is it a requirement to answer?”

James strode towards Regulus unexpectedly, and Regulus backed up, startled, until his shoulders hit the sturdy stone wall and James was hovering over him. Had he always been this tall? Or was Regulus just smaller than he thought? James had a smouldering smile on his face that Regulus had heard girls squeak over before, and suddenly he felt very on edge, his fight or flight response making his fingers tingle as James leaned closer.

“Absolutely,” James said, and for a minute Regulus forgot what question he was answering. “As Head Boy, I can give points, but I can also take them away you know. Depending on your answer, maybe I’ll give you five or ten, yeah?”

“You’re bribing me, are you?” Regulus narrowed his eyes dangerously as James continued to grin. This idiot had gotten unbearably cocky this year alone, what was his problem? Regulus wanted to knock him down a peg or two, but what was he supposed to say to rattle the idiot? What was the best way to startle a Gryffindor who was a little too in love with himself? Regulus tried not to smirk as he purposely raked his eyes over James, from head to shoe and back up, taking his time and twisting his face into a scrutinizing stare that did its job as James went rigid, looking uncomfortable.

Regulus had to admit, James wasn’t bad looking, and it looked like he could potentially crush Regulus just with his arms, which was admittedly a little impressive. His clothes seemed to fit him better, the black pants and belt with the white button up that was only half tucked into the waist of his uniform pants, and the red and gold tie that was snug around his neck. It looked odd like that, not at all the style Regulus expected to see on James Potter.

He reached up slowly and James went rigid, eyes locked with Regulus’ and smile gone as Regulus took hold of the tie knot under his chin, hooking his fingers and tugging once to loosen it a bit, then tugged at the first button on the collar of James’ shirt, flicking the collar open before dropping his hand to his side, not moving his eyes from James’ even once.

“There,” he said, and James’ brow twitched just enough to show his confusion as Regulus moved his gaze to the now visible column of James’ throat. “Not that I’m one to objectify people, but if you want a compliment, you should probably earn it.” Regulus met his eye again, lifting his chin in a haughty air people had come to recognize from him, though normally it was just a ploy to hide insecurity. “But you know, Potter… I’m more inclined to think I’m a little better looking than you. Black genes and all. It runs in my blood.”

“What does?” James asked, and Regulus had to note the almost drunk drawl to his voice.

He lifted a hand, tucking his fingers into the side of his own black hair and tilting his head into his hand, grinning at James, who looked completely out of it. “Aesthetic.”

The last thing he expected was for James to close in on him, hands pressing flat to the wall on either side of Regulus, pinning him there with his chest as their face came inches from touching. Regulus was startled, but somehow able to keep his steely composure as he narrowed his eyes almost daring James to do something. He looked completely at ease and unaffected by the sudden closeness, but under his chest, his heart was racing. They were close enough that Regulus could see when James’ pupils expanded, as if he was staring at something he wanted, something he was hungry for.

It was elating to realize what he wanted was Regulus. He felt powerful for a moment, even if this was a fluke and would never happen again. Regulus wanted to see how far James would go. All he had to do was look down, flick his eyes to James’ mouth, and suddenly the heat was on him, their lips crushing together. Regulus pinched his eyes closed and gasped at the tongue prying between the seam of his mouth, hot and deep and making his entire body feel like air. Regulus dug his hands into the wall to keep from touching James, though he wanted to, so badly, to run his hands along his chest and feel the muscle in his arm. He didn’t, because this wasn’t passion, this was just a game, and Regulus intended on winning.

When James pulled away, his eyes were dark with something mature and indecent, but Regulus just lifted a hand, swiping his thumb across his lips as if he was cleaning a meal from his mouth, staring at James through his eyelashes.

“How many points does that get me, Mister Head Boy?” he asked, and James blinked, cheeks red and hot, opening and closing his mouth before muttering.

“Fifty points to Slytherin…”

“Thank you very much,” Regulus smiled slyly, passing James and reaching out to drag a teasing hand across his side as he passed, grinning at the Gryffindor from over his shoulder. “Nice doing business with you.”

And with that he continued on his corridor towards Slytherin common room, trying his hardest to forget the kiss, though James made it incredibly difficult when the next morning he still looked starry eyed and for some reason wouldn’t let anyone fix the tie that was crooked and loose on his neck.

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