#not in a mean way it's just that they've been sitting in the inbox for so long and i feel bad

[nguyenfinity]

Imagine Rinne and Hiiro preparing gifts for their mom in Mother's day, maybe doing a live of only the two Amagis then inviting her to the stage to be the family together(excluding the undeserving Papagi)

I don't think they'd put her on the spot like that but they would make sure she knows she's very loved!!

[anonymous-yandere-writer]

Requested by: @elysiumrealms

Sure! I did think some fleshing out on how the rest of the family acts around them would be cool to write. Sorry this took so long btw, my inbox gets stuffed pretty quickly and it was finals week. Anyway thanks for the ask!

-

Anon-Yan 💌‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Platonic Yandere Malleus

Pt.3

For you, the time before your punishment was nothing but a blurry mess.

Genuinely you don't remember all your horrible habits and manipulative tactics, you just remember acting on your insticts and not really thinking before you acted.

The few things you do remember is the interactions you had with your other family members.

The most memorable were the ones with Grandpa Lilia, when you were younger he loved cuddling you upside-down. Even if his grip was iron-strong it still felt so warm that you didn't want to leave.

When you got older he would allow you to play with some of his video games, he was always so sweet and helpful. Making sure you never got too frustrated at one certain part before taking the controller from you and completing whatever challenge had you stumped.

Lilia just loves babying you in a way he never got to with either of his original children.

He never failed to make you feel like the spoiled little brat you were.

"Ooh! Don't cry Darling, there's no need for that. Here, do you need Grandpa to help you? Okay sweet-pea. Don't worry, grandpa's here for you"

Then there's uncle Silver, who whose probably the most boring person to hang out with out of everyone in the family.

Don't get me wrong, you enjoyed his company but nothing even vaguely interesting happened whenever you hung around him.

He always really apologetic about it though, even going as far to bring you a little toy everytime he was allowed alone time with you. Typically is just a teddy bear, so that at night when you fell asleep you would think of your uncle Silver.

"Sorry we weren't able to play today. Here, have this. It's so when you fall asleep at night, you'll always remember your uncle Silver."

Your uncle sebek on other hand, he was hard to forget.

He was always loud, his voice commanded battalions after all. So a voice like his would definitely need for job like that.

You and him never played together, in his own words "WAKA-SAMA'S CHILD DESERVES A MUCH BETTER PLAYMATE THAN A LOWRANKING OFFICER SUCH AS MYSELF!"

Or whatever that was supposed to mean. You never really understood his way of thinking. While he was screaming his head off about not being good enough for you, you had sit and listen to him whilst daydreaming of all the video games Grandpa Lilia would play with you later.

It was boring, and eventually as you grew older you learned to tune him out.

Though I guess that wasn't the greatest idea, because within a week of learning how tune out his voice he came to you sobbing on his hands and knees begging for forgiveness.

"PLEASE FORGIVE ME WAKA-SAMA'S CHILD! WHATEVER SLIGHT HAVE DONE TO YOU, I BEG FOR YOUR FORGIVENESS AND MERCY! JUST PLEASE STOP IGNORING ME MY LEIGE!"

But I guess that all leads you to where you are now. Stuck in a boring old rickety tower. Stuck studying and doing chores all day. At least Father allowed for your family to visit from time to time.

Their faces and voices make the endless cycle you've been going through day-to-day slightly more bareable. But to be perfectly honest, with every passing moment that you're stuck here; in this damned tower made to be your prison, you lose a small peice of your sanity.

A peice of your mind that can never be returned to it's owner.

Trully a cruel thing to do, especially to your own child. Isolating them from everyone and everything they've ever known to prove a point, when it wasn't even truly their own faults that caused such a mess? Foolish, and downright cruel if anyone asked you.

Ah, but what can you do?

You did do this to yourself after all, might as well own up to your mistakes and pay the price.

[metalomagnetic]

I asked a question about your house elf lore a while back, are you still sitting on that one or did it not get to you? or maybe you don't want to answer it? sorry to bother you I just wanted to see if I should resend it or not

I'm sorry! I looked back through my inbox until I found your question.

Sometimes asks pile up and I lose track of them! I hope no one thinks I am ignoring them on purpose.

Now, with that out of the way, here is your initial question (I hope this is yours, at least):

I love the world building you did around house elves/goblins/the fey in "it runs" all the little tidbits that get dropped make me hungry for more. Can you possibly elucidate on the full story behind the fey vs wizard kind conflict? was the black family and astral magic actually instrumental in the war or is that just black propaganda? i'm not sure how reliable of a narrator a black family elf should be considered.

So, I picture the High Elves more like the elves from Lord of the Rings. As human societies started developing and advancing, the high elves diminished in numbers, losing forests and also they were very sensitive to materials humans started using, like iron and copper and such, that was slowly poisoning them.

I like to imagine they started fucking around with humans sometimes in ancient times. Muggles weren't too perceptive to what was going on, since the elves used magical trickery, but wizards took notice. At the time, wizards coexisted together with muggles in the Harry Potter universe.

There were attempts made to accommodate both species, treaties brokered and then broken, on both sides, until the first war started.

It ended with high casualties on all sides, and with no clear victor. New 'borders' were agreed upon, places for the elves to dwell into, where humans weren't allowed, and vice versa.

Of course, as centuries passed, and muggles especially developed more and more, their villages spreading into larger areas, their needs greater, cities being raised all around, things escalated again. It didn't help that most muggles either didn't believe in the existence of elves, either considered them plights/enemies sent by their gods. Muggles have shorter life spams, and shorter memory. Besides, education and written history wasn't easily available to muggles at large. Elves, on the other hand, have incredible life spans, and while wizards don't come close, they, too, live longer than muggles and they do 'see' magic, so wizards were always more aware of such things, as they are aware of werewolves and vampires etc.

In the second war, the Black family and other great wizarding families were already established powers around Europe, far more organised than their ancestors; by now wands were much more in use, which was a vast improvement from the past, allowing all magical people easier access to magic.

Because they had means of quick communication, unlike muggles, and because the elves were far lesser in numbers than they've been previously, the second Elvish war was mostly between wizards and elves, with very little muggle involvement.

The elves didn't think they could survive as a species in this new, polluted world, so this time there will be no end to the war.

They fought to extinction levels.

The Blacks and their use of astral magic were, indeed, a big part of the war ( in my backstory for this, it was a man named Helix Black the First that was in charge of the family back then). But other families were as instrumental as them. Many great houses perished in the war, and even the Blacks were decimated in numbers, losing nine direct family members, and many other distant relatives or in-laws.

As the war was drawing to a close, and wizards were emerging on the winning side, they started hunting down what remained of small clusters of elves still surviving in deep forests .

They found the elvish children, having been kept hidden during the war (elvish children age far slower than human ones).

Some wizards wanted them killed, to end this once and for all. Others weren't so keen on this plan. A great council was made to decide on their fates.

The side against the slaughter won, but everyone agreed it wasn't a good idea to just leave them be, risking another uprising in the future.

A witch of great power came up with the idea of cursing the elvish younglings, and forcing them into complete obedience. The curse affected the development of the elves, leaving them stunted, emotionally, mentally, and physically.

A Sacred Circle was made out of witches and wizards that gave their lives to power the curse. From England, twenty eight wizards and witches participated in the Circle, including a Black (And because of this, all the families that lost members to this curse, are now know as the Sacred Twenty-Eight. I know that's not what they are in canon, and it was simply a list made by one Mr. Nott, but this is just my head canon to give more depth and history to the wizarding world).

As the curse was cast (I like to imagine it took like two days of casting to manage such a feat of magic) some of the older elvish children managed to escape their makeshift prisons. They sought refuge underground. The curse still reached them, but because of their age (say around 30 years olds, which was still child by elven metrics) they managed to resist at least the compulsions and they remain hidden underground. Their bodies naturally adapted to the environment. They eventually became goblins.

The younger children that didn't escape, including a twelve year old Tessuth, were fully affected by the curse. They never grew properly, their bodies shifted, too, the dark magic wrecking havoc on them. They were then enslaved to wizards. There weren't that many children, but the Sacred Families that fought hardest in the war, and that sacrificed their own to cast the curse, had priority in picking. Helix Black demanded two elves. Tessuth, and her even younger sister (who will eventually become Kreacher's grandmother). People just thought he's a greedy dick for wanting two.

In reality, Helix had deep trauma from the war, had developed a begrudging respect for the elves in the years spent fighting them, but he had also lost his twin children in one battle. When he went to take one elf, he found Tessuth cradling her younger sister, and on an impulse, with his twins in mind, he didn't want to separate them, so he took them both.

Unlike many other houses that took their anger for the losses they suffered on the now newly made house elves, Helix never could put aside the tragedy of it all. He saw the extinction of elves as necessary, he never regretted it, it was wizards (in fact, all humans, not just wizards) or elves, and he served proudly in the war, but the horror of it all stayed with him, and he treated Tessuth and her sister more as prisoners of war than slaves.

He killed himself when his only surviving grandson, who was Tessuth's age, reached adulthood, leaving him in charge of the family.

Eventually, a century or two later, when goblins resurfaced, no one wanted another war. Concessions were made, goblins were allowed to live in the wizarding world, but it was never an easy peace, and that, too, led to many goblin rebellions.

In one of life's ironies, in the last goblin rebellion, the Head of House Black was another Helix.

By that time, however, house-elves had been completely brainwashed into hating goblins. The very old house elves like Tessuth and Kreacher's grandmother, were not only brainwashed, but held resentment for being abandoned by their fellow elven siblings, during the first war, that they escaped without them. The newer generations of elves, completely unaware of this history, simply hated goblins because their masters told them so. House elf magic was used heavily in goblin rebellions, to guard wizarding homes, because goblins and house-elves obviously share the same type of magic.

A true tragedy, and the story of the High Elves, regal, powerful, arrogant, that died off to make way for humans.

Some of the magic in the world died with them, which also affected wizards, turning them weaker. Wizards of today will never be as powerful as the wizards that lived in the time of the High Elves.

There will be short mentions about this in the fic, just a sentence or two, as we already had, but not very much. It is of no importance to Sirius and his journey, and we already know he doesn't care much about house- elves, even if he is fully aware of their history. He doesn't spend time thinking of this, he just barely learned to get along with Kreacher and he's a little scared of Tessuth, so there is no reason to have much of this mentioned.

[luxaryllis]

Can I request the dorm leaders and Jamil with a little sibling reader who’s like Elementary school young so like a 1st grader? It was their first day of “Big kid school!” (The reader adorably labeled it) and she was so excited to go practically bouncing off the walls and their older sibling was aware it would be their first day but obviously couldn’t be there because they have their own school to be at. Later that day wailing can be heard in the halls and when said students go to check it out they find outside the front of the school gates Crewel holding a sobbing, hysterical child who he’s trying to console who looks all scraped up or covered in dirt hair a mess and they realize it’s the reader and it turns out they ran all the way from their elementary school to NRC to see their big brother instead of going home because it turns out they had a terrible first day of school crying about how some kids were mean and they got pushed around shoved into a dirty puddle stuff like that? Basically made fun of and teased and their reactions to the whole thing? Like who’s drop kicking children? Who’s having the whole school board shut down? Who’s lowkey about to commit murder? Who’s about to burn the building down? and them just coddling the child the rest of the day. This was a long ask but I couldn’t get this out of my mind I’m sorry! Sjfnwnicsnjfkhnsrh I thought it would be precious seeing them soft for a little child sibling😭

First Day Gone Terribly Wrong: Part 1

Note: This was rly cute and gave me a good brainrot, so here you go!

Also, I'm gonna be making the younger sibling gender neutral since you didn't exactly specify what gender you wanted.

Just saying, the younger sibling reader in this is different from the ones on my other younger sibling reader fics. Unless you wanna give those cute and traumatized kids some fluff and comfort, you're free to interpret this sibling as something else entirely or the same.

Characters included: Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto

To be included (in part 2, possibly a part 3): Kalim Al-Asim, Jamil Viper, Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud (ft. Ortho Shroud), Malleus Draconia

Reader/the younger sibling is referred to with they/them and as [Name]. And considering the reader is in first grade, I'm assuming that they're around 5 or 6 years old, but I'll be saying 5 year old since that the age most people start grade one, at least where I'm from/from what I know.

Also, because of the fact that Leona is canonically 20 and Falena has a son (who, upon speculation, is around 5), I'll just make the reader Cheka's sibling (for plot reasons, I'll just say that reader is younger than Cheka by just a year or smthg-). Thus, this makes Leona the uncle of [Name] instead of [Name]'s older brother.

Also, the younger sibling may be described in some parts as having similar features as their respective elder brother/s. Like Idia's younger sibling would have blue fire hair like him, Leona's sibling would be a lion beastman, Malleus's sibling has horns, those stuff.

Oh! And Crewel calls [Name] puppy, pup, and other variations because... it's Crewel. And please ignore the semi-obvious plotholes cuz the characters have already went through their respective overblots by the time this whole thing happens-

I'll start trying to upload more works now too!! There's been so much stuff sitting on my inbox, I'm so sorry for making everyone wait.

Word count (including intro): 2864 words

Warning/s: Bullies, Possible OOC, Dorm Leaders + Jamil being protective of their cute sibling (or in Leona's case, nibling), The child cries a lot (IT'S A CHILD!!!), A couple of my personal headcanons would be thrown in sometimes, Not proofread, I accidentally mix up between 2nd and 3rd person I'm so sorry, Tell me if I missed anything

Full fic under the cut!

Intro:

As [Name] was getting ready for their first day of school, they were practically buzzing with excitement.

They've ranted and rambled about their excitement to their sibling/s, refusing to even stand still (much to the dismay of some) as they were given their bag and snacks.

Eventually, it was time for [Name]'s older brother/s/uncle to leave for Night Raven College. Since the child's school was also on Sage Island, they were entrusted in their older brother/uncle's care to head to the island for school.

On the way there, [Name]'s older brother/s/uncle gaze at the lively 5 year old with a fond smile, watching the child chatter about how excited they were for their first day of "big kid school".

Unbeknownst to them, however, there would be a sinister force awaiting the cute 5-year old. Bullies. The worst kind of bullies that left you running away to your big brother/uncle's school for comfort.

Although, unfortunately for the bullies, [Name] has quite the protective family backing them up.

Riddle Rosehearts:

Riddle's childhood has always been rough and strict, and the same could be said for his younger sibling, [Name]. When his mother had gotten pregnant with you, Riddle was silently and internally fearing for what would become of you. He knew what impact his mother's rules had on a person and he was worried that you learn to be stricter on yourself because of your mother.

Because of that, throughout your childhood, he teaches you to obey your mother, but is a lot softer on you. He wouldn't want you to topple over the sheer amount of pressure he went through. He grew to be protective over you, but he still prioritized his mother's orders over anything else.

After his overblot, however, he tried subtly showing you that it was alright to break some rules if it was harmless. He treated you over at the Clover family bakery to let you have some tarts. And this time, his mother had trusted you in Riddle's care, believing that he wouldn't dare break a rule. Your mother was wrong, but the Rosehearts siblings could care less about it as they were as happy as can be. In the end, both of you weren't caught and you ended up being close friends with Trey and his younger siblings.

When Riddle finally had to see you off at your own school, he was constantly worrying about you. From the moment he dropped you off and you left his sight, terrible situations started sprouting in his head.

He speaks his worries to his trusty vice, Trey, who reassures him that bad things are unlikely to happen. As an attempt to help Riddle, Trey tells him stories about how Trey's own younger siblings had great first days of school. While it did help a lot, he can't help but still be concerned for you in the back of his mind.

However, during lunch break, as the students were eating lunch, crying was suddenly heard nearby. The crying disturbed atleast half the student body, for a variety of reasons, but what bothered Riddle was the fact that he could practically hear you.

At first, he thinks that it's just him being paranoid, but he still decides to check it out. There, he sees Professor Crewel holding his younger sibling, who was crying. His younger sibling, [Name] Rosehearts, was covered in mud and had some traces of the strawberry tart (that Trey made) Riddle had sneaked in the child's lunch on their clothes. Not to mention how messy their hair was and the scratches on their arms and face. The sight made his blood boil.

Who dared to make his sibling cry? How dare they cause tears to fall from their eyes?

Riddle's face turns red, and Cater and Trey (along with any nearby Heartslabyul student) felt as if they were suddenly brought back into Riddle's tyrant phase. The redhead practically stomps over to Crewel and [Name], as his two seniors follow, trying to calm him down.

When Riddle finally reaches his dear sibling, he forces himself to outwardly calm down, and approaches the teacher.

"Professor Crewel, this is my younger sibling. May I know what the situation is?" the dorm leader asks. The dual-haired professor, having seen Rosehearts' little outburst, raised a brow. But the man shrugged off the sight and retold what he knew.

Apparently, Crewel found [Name] running to the school, all dirtied up while crying. The child had been calling out for "Brother Riddle", saying that today was "the worst day ever" through sobs. It was a miracle that Crewel even understood what the little puppy was talking about.

Riddle, who had calmed down a lot better by then, gently took the crying kid in his arms, holding them up. [Name] looks at the new person (who they had just noticed) and their face lights up when they see their elder brother. "Brother Riddle!!", [Name] cries out, wrapping their small arms around Riddle's torso, sobbing even louder.

Riddle immediately comforts his younger sibling, patting them on the back with one hand and quickly moves to go to Heartslabyul to get some privacy. He silently thanks his professor and makes a beeline straight to the Hall of Mirrors, glaring at anyone in his way.

As he finally reaches the comfort of his room, Riddle set you down gently on his bed. By then, both had calmed down, and Riddle kneels on one leg to look at his sibling eye-to-eye. He then asks the child to explain what happened.

When you explained to him what happened with their "bullies", who had made fun of you and pushed you to the ground, along with your strawberry tart after you had refused to share their lunch and dessert with the other kids. This enraged Riddle once more, but he hid it better.

You tried apologizing to Riddle for wasting the food and bothering him, but he only shushed them and gently patted your head, reassuring them that it was okay. Afterwards, he gets them all cleaned up and dressed them in the extra clothes your mother had packed. He then allowed [Name] to take a nap while he goes back to class.

Meanwhile, as the younger Rosehearts slept peacefully, Riddle decided to call up the school that held such disrespectful bullies. When the phone is picked up, he requests to speak to the principal or someone in charge of the first grade students.

When he gets to speak to the person, he starts sharing the same story [Name] told to him and requests that something would be done about the ill-mannered students who acted in pettiness over a child refusing to share their only food to the others. As much as this sounded like a 'karen moment', as the Ramshackle prefect would call it, Riddle spoke with courteousness and acted as if he were in an official debate.

The redhead's confidence and sense of authority, along with the obvious moral side of the topic, won over the other person and the bullies' parents were spoken to, while the bullies were given a severe warning.

Eventually, Riddle requests to his mother and the Headmage that his sibling, [Name] Rosehearts, would be allowed to stay in Night Raven College with Riddle to allow easy transportation between "home" and their school. And also so that Riddle can keep a close eye on his dear sibling, whom he would always protect.

Leona Kingscholar:

If anyone would ask Leona, he'd say that he wouldn't give a single care in the world when it came to his nephew & nibling. But the thing is, that's not exactly true. While he really does wish the children would stop clinging to him and stop causing trouble everywhere, there's still that small piece in Leona that helped raise these cubs.

The king and queen of the Afterglow Savanna were very busy people after all. And Leona would often be dragged into playing cub-sitter while his older brother and sister-in-law would be too busy. He didn't do any work, as he just supervised the hired nannies to make sure nothing bad would happen to the children.

Most of all, he can't help but somewhat see himself in the younger of his niblings, [Name]. While their existence obviously made Leona third in line for the throne (much to his utter dismay), he saw traces of how the servants would treat him in the way the young cub was treated. At first, Leona could care less. It wasn't his business after all. But upon hearing you cry in one of his original hiding spots (that you must have found on your own), his heart squeezed in his chest and he was brought back to his own childhood, when he himself was crying as no one wanted to play with him or even pay the slightest bit of positive attention to him.

This solidified the idea in his head that if this sort of behavior was still found within Falena's reign as king, Falena wasn't a good king nor a good father after all. Because of that, Leona somewhat took it upon himself to teach the young cub what they need to know. He taught them to be tougher, to be stronger, to not let anyone see weakness. He taught you what he had taught himself as a young child.

It was only after his overblot that Leona realized that you didn't need to be strong, you needed someone else to be strong enough to hold them and comfort them. So he started to teach the young cub to express themselves more, because he now knows that bottling it up won't help at all. He starts teaching them and showing them things he wished he could have done when he was their age.

When it was time for [Name]'s first day in first grade, Leona is left thinking why the heck his brother thought it was a good idea to send them off far from their home land? While the Kingscholar royal family had made arrangements that the young cub would stay with Leona in NRC, Leona can't help but think that this was the kingdom's way of saying that he and [Name] weren't welcome there. After all, there are plenty of schools in the Afterglow Savanna as well, which is where Cheka studies.

Regardless, when he drops his nibling off at their school, he watches over them as they are guided over to their class by a teacher nearby. On seeing that you were safely in your room, he turns and leaves to his school, yawning and muttering to himself.

In contrast to Riddle, Leona barely worries at all. After all, the school knows that they are housing someone of high royal status there, so he doesn't see why anyone would want to mess with his nibling.

So imagine his surprise, disappointment, and annoyance when he realizes that there are in fact kids that had the balls to bully the youngest child of the king of the Afterglow Savannah.

Leona finds out when Ruggie wakes him up from his afternoon nap in the Botanical Garden. The hyena was holding the nibling, who was currently eating their favorite food. The lion cub had tear streaks on their face, some tears still falling, but was mostly calm as they nibbled their food.

Leona saw your scraped knees, scratched arms, and bruised (and slightly bleeding) tail and promptly sat up, demanding to know what happened. Ruggie told him that you had ran to the NRC campus after a couple kids made fun of your lion ears and stepped on your tail, pushing you around.

Hearing all of that made him give out a low growl, tempted to just have those brats sent to the kingdom's prison or even punished for hurting his nibling. He calms himself down, though, when he notices your ears fall down in a sad motion and your tail twitching in pain.

He sighs and orders Ruggie to get a first aid kit and treat your wounds as he has you lay down next to him. While Ruggie left to get the first-aid, Leona silently caresses your ears and hurt tail.

"I'll tell Falena about this. Your parents won't be pleased, but I can promise you that we'll do something about those brats that did this to you," Leona mutters to you as he gently hums a tune to get you to sleep.

The next day, the bullies promptly apologize to you and had to clean the windows and tables after school as a punishment. Though if Leona had any say in the punishment, the bullies would be guaranteed to be in much bigger trouble.

Leona also paid closer attention to you, and even decided to teach you chess, saying that if anyone makes you feel bad about yourself, you should challenge them in chess, because Leona knows that you would win every time.

Azul Ashengrotto:

Azul, having been a victim of bullying, himself, Azul wanted nothing but the best for you. This meant that he would always make himself appear as a good role model for you, and that he would always make sure that you would be on top of everything.

All this, so that you wouldn't have to go through the same hurtful words he did. He helped you grow out of your shell so you would become much more confident than he was, and taught you just about everything he knows and wants to pass down onto you.

He taught you important techniques in socializing, studying, singing, and even making good first impressions. He was utterly determined on making sure that you wouldn't end up as the crybaby octopus he used to be. He didn't want you to end up hurt from the brutality of the world around you.

He has no idea what came over his parents when they told him that they wanted you, [Name] Ashengrotto, to start first grade in THE SURFACE!! When his parents suggested this, he argued that it was a terrible transition from merfolk to human, especially since [Name] has no idea how to walk on only two legs.

In the end, Azul hesitantly agrees with his parents and gives you some human form potions beforehand so that you can practice walking as a human. He takes a lot of care in making sure that you can make the perfect first impression in school so that you won't get bullied.

As Azul drops you off at school, he reminds you of what you have to do and tells you to always stay safe. He's quite sentimental in seeing you off and worries incessantly the whole day about you.

While he's actually kind of confident that nothing could possibly happen to you, there's still that nagging feeling in the back of his head that says that his efforts wouldn't be enough and that you'd leave him after possibly getting humiliated because of him. Floyd complains that Azul is starting to act like an octopus mother with how he's been acting.

Azul tries reassuring himself despite his worries, but unfortunately for him, one of his biggest nightmares became true. He found out when a knock came on his office door while the Mostro Lounge was dealing with the after-school rush. Opening the door, he's surprised to see his younger sibling there, with unshed tears in their eyes, messy hair, and a bump on their forehead that was sure to bruise.

Azul quickly lets his younger sibling in, fussing about them as he closes the door behind him. He asks you what had happened, though he somewhat knew what had likely gone on with your day.

Apparently, some of the kids there thought that you were an attention-seeker because you kept participating in class and answering the teachers' questions. So they decided that it'd be a good idea to take one of your hard-cover books and hit it on your forehead multiple times while you were getting ready to be dismissed from class.

They had called you a bunch of mean names like "know-it-all", "attention-seeker", "nerd", telling you to "go back under the water, where you came from" and things like that.

Hearing all that, Azul's head suddenly flashed back to when he was younger, and people had bullied him for what may as well be the opposite reasons. People called him "dumb", "a crybaby", and yet people bullied you just because you were smarter.

The thought made him feel guilty for you and kind of angry at himself for letting this happen to you. He then proceeds to gently wipe your tears, which started to fall while you were telling him what happened, and conjures an ice pack for your forehead.

Azul proceeds to spend the rest of the day practically coddling and doting on you, trying to "make up for his mistake".

He also calls up your school, telling them of what happened and started suggesting ways on how the school should punish the bullies. Regardless of what the school ends up doing with the bullies, Azul and the Tweels still make it their personal mission to make the bullies' lives hell for children (be it by scaring them away, or other things).

END!!!!

[gardenofnoah]

hi bea 💕 saw your note from a few days about gently pushing a writing prompt in your inbox 💌 if you're still taking them, here's a thought i've let run wild in my brain. hope it helps with your writing rut! bakugou and kirishima coming home to a non-pro hero!reader after a grueling 2 month stint overseas. it's the first long mission they've gone on since starting this fairly new relationship. it's a little awkward, but everyone underneath is brimming with longing. no one's not sure how to break the ice and settle back into a rhythm. maybe some insecurities come out as dinner is awkwardly made. how do the three of us get back to a safe and vulnerable place? a lil sweet? a lil angsty? all up in our feels? 👀 is it a soft kiss that breaks the tension? a lingering touch? a massive dam that breaks with clothes haphazardly ripped off down the hall?

i am kissing your brain directly for this one omfg

it doesn't feel like you thought it would.

to have your beloved heroes back home should have filled you with the familiar contentment that only they bring you. the knowledge that katsuki and eijiro are here and safe, back to you like you made them promise, should be a welcome thing.

but the hours that scratched at your loneliness until it bled are between you now. a great divide—one that widens with every touch the two exchange in front of you. you stand on the other side of it alone—an unfortunate voyeur to the very thing you've yearned for but could not have. how odd it is that the very people you have loved bring up a completely different sentiment now.

how strange it is that some part of you wishes they were still gone.

the apartment that felt too big now suffocates you. the mahogany under your fingers seems a far better sight than the alternative. they chat idly about situations you aren't privy to, missions you haven't gone on—you keep your eyes trained on the wood grain to ignore what's looking you straight in the face: you are othered—you are outside of this. you trace a chip in the tabletop and think with some detachment that you could get up unnoticed.

"you tired, babe?" eijiro's head turns to you as you stand. it feels foreign to have his eyes on you. you gather your bowl and utensils in your hands and fight the urge to tell him to look away.

"yeah, no, i just—i'm not hungry."

"oh! do you want to pick a movie to watch?"

you shake your head, looking anywhere but him. your feet take you past him, headed straight for the kitchen or anywhere else but here. "no, that's okay. don't worry about it."

"oi," katsuki's rasp commands a pause in your steps despite intending the opposite, "what's that s'pposed to mean?"

you don't move an inch—it's enough effort to contort your face into something resembling a smile. something to appease. you can't look at either of them—you keep your eyes on the floor and will it to open up and swallow you whole.

you jump when you feel katsuki's warmth in front of you—far too close. he takes the dishes from you, setting them on the table.

"don't worry about what?" he murmurs, reaching up to tip your chin up. forcing you to meet his gaze.

it doesn't take much else to make you crumble.

you whimper as your eyes burn, blinking furiously to fight the way his face blurs in your vision. he keeps you there and it's torture—fighting the wave that won't stop coming when no one has taught you how to swim. full of fear that it might be the thing that washes away everything.

"baby—" eijiro gets to his feet, startled at your outburst.

"sit down, red," katsuki mutters, holding a hand to the side to stop him. it's absentminded at best yet still effective—and the only thing you can notice is the unspoken between them. there is a trust there that existed long before you and has only been strengthened in the months without you. eijiro settles back in his seat. the canyon deepens—you get farther away.

you know that fighting katsuki's grip on you is futile and you try anyway. he lets you get as far as arm's length away before his fingers close around your wrist and drag you back to him. distantly, you can appreciate the metaphor.

the palm that cradles the back of your head and traps you against his chest is a cruel one. heart to heart, something inside yours breaks.

"it hurts," you gasp. god, does it hurt—the wound sears as hands that feel familiar and wrong hold you tighter.

"take a breath,” he says it so gently that you’re not convinced he’s not someone else in this moment, “tell me what’s goin’ on.”

you do as he says—shuddering and staggered, all torn up in his arms. you feel put on display here in front of both of them—an actor who’s been the butt of the joke the whole time, unbeknownst to them until the final act.

"you left and i—" you squeeze your eyes shut, bearing down on the sob that would love nothing more than to punch its way out of you, "y-you had each other and i was alone."

neither one speaks—the silence stretches and waits patiently for you to fill it.

"you left and i was the one to miss you. i—i feel like i missed everything—i don't feel like i have a place in this anymore—"

the grief knocks the wind out of you when you get to the root of it. it was silly of you to believe you could ever have a place in this, really. two heroes at the peak of their careers, and you—a chain around both of their ankles. how could you have ever held on to those that are held just as tightly by a whole nation? would it have ever mattered, with the hold they already have on each other? there could never be enough room.

"do you think we didn't miss you?"

the blatant hurt in eijiro's voice brings you back to the present moment. katsuki moves back just far enough for you to see it etched on to the red head's face in a way you haven't ever. something about it makes you want to step back into katsuki's warmth, as if it could shield you from it. you can't answer him—and the silence is more shameful truth than you're willing to part with.

"baby," eijiro breathes, strained and thick, "i—we—thought about you every single second we were gone. every single second, i thought about how you'd be spending your day, and i was so excited to get to call you to hear about it. at night we would talk about how you were probably burrowed in blankets and our clothes on the couch, and about how badly we wanted to be there with you."

"you are a part of me," he goes on, goring you any way but softly, "you are a part of us. this doesn't work without you. i know you're hurting and i'm so sorry we had to leave—but sweetheart, you are what we come back to."

your knuckles are white as katuski brushes his thumb over them. he brings them to his lips—brushing over each one softly. you shake in his grasp and he doesn't falter.

"i'm tired," you whisper to no one in particular. it's a half truth—the why hangs in the air between you—but the fatigue is bone deep. it hurts.

"alright," katsuki's voice is raw in a way that feels like a knife in your side—stoicism given away to something far too vulnerable for him, "shower first. then we're goin' to bed."

the ritual you had in place before distorts under the weight of the night. the act takes on new meaning as you let him peel the clothes off of you and corral you into the shower. you're only under the spray a short second before he's gathering you in his arms again--warm and damp in the steam as he dips down to press his face into your neck.

"don't you run off on me," katsuki’s lips brush your throat and it only feels melancholic. he whispers his fear against your skin and all at once you realize that it mirrors your own. you feel eijiro's chest at your back, and when he reaches over your head to wrap a palm around the back of katsuki's neck, the pain fizzles out into something like remorse. how blind you'd been to the knowledge that they held the whole time—that you were the thing they'd wrapped themselves around and sworn to protect.

there's nothing left to say, and yet you speak your apology anyway, hoarse over the patter of water against tile. much louder is what you don't say: i love you. i need you and i'm afraid.

katsuki dries you off slowly, like he's trying to commit you to memory, and it makes you ache. you let him preen you in some animal attempt at strengthening the tear in the bond.

but it's only a tear. blood dries and wounds repair themselves just as the connection between you will. when you settle into bed, it gives under the familiar weight of the two halves of your heart. it's almost comical, the way they both wrap themselves around you—nearly swallowing you whole.

it might be to keep you there—but your heart settles under their tangle of limbs and love and for the first time in the months they'd been gone, you sleep through the night.

[joannasteez]

with me, the world is yours

pairing: roman reigns x black reader authors note: i wrote all of this late summer/early fall and after breaking away from it for so long, i've kind of lost the drive to finish the story in the original way i'd intended to write it, BUT, i am willing to add to it in small ways with little drabbles and such. so whoever reads this, please consider it as background/exposition and or a prologue to whatever gets added to it. if anyone wants to see something added to this specific story please drop me scenarios in my inbox!! word count: 8k

he liked to walk the floor

carpet smooth beneath the expensive drop of his heel and toe. hubris a limitless force, the broad width of his chest swelling. pride, unsullied, raw and ever simple in its existence. it was a deep elegant staining streak along his being that refused to leave him, unless of course he willed it so. and the casino floor of The Summer Isle Hotel, his hotel, filled with this great thundering of rage and joy and desperation. tiny drops of poker chips like small striking claps. the flipping of cards giving that easy slipping swoop against padded black jack tables. the hum of the room was loud, because the room itself seemed, to his eye, to never end. a tenacious buzzing that simmered his blood quick, excited. 

the night was young. restless. ruby red suede heels moving, clever and seductive. the color of champagne at every corner his eyes took him, bubbling rich in flutes and set in the sweet form of silk dresses. pearls sitting tempting over cleavages and diamonds dressing the sturdiness of fingers that roamed the figures of excitable women. emeralds, jades and sapphires, taking every shape against the skin that would have it. 

earrings, anklets, rings, bracelets......

whiskey and brandy swishing in glasses......

dry champagne hitting the tongue just right......

bodies hugging, lips kissing, eyes glazed over and just so damn greedy......

this...this ceaseless atmosphere. the un-quelled need to have. to take hold. to win. 

roman loved to walk the casino floor of his hotel. 

but he hated, absolutely hated cheaters. fucking thieves, cunning-less and eager. their tact lacking just as much as their ambition. roman figured, if their schemes were anymore complex, then he'd feel somehow better about their stealing. he'd at least respect their finesse before using their heads to shove them out the entryway doors of the establishment. and what a fine establishment it was, built off the sweat of his brow, his, others, blood and many tears. owning a hotel on the vegas strip was no easy feat and he'd be damned if someone disrespected it. disrespected his work. his vision. 

...so then why?...

your eyes flit over to a table just some feet away. 

...why did he let you play your games?...

a man in muted clothes gives you a signal. many silent signals, ones roman was once oblivious to, but now overly familiar with, as if he created them himself. 

...four seconds of a stare. one mississippi, two mississippi, three mississippi, four. four meaning spade, given they were following the alphabetical order of the suits. 

the man, face more punchable by the minute, touches his nose. meaning, the spade is a face card. 

and the fucking dealer is young, flips up his card too easily, exposing just before he deals.

roman wants to do many things. to the man, the dealer, and the other pairs around the other blackjack tables following the same system. his fingers curl, ball inward till his palm pains him but his eyes remain as they always did. fiercely void, teetering delicate on some fine line of violence, until you move. speak. 

"blackjack", you call. with just enough disinterest that prides the flow of his blood. makes him smirk.

"they've all been at it for days", paul bristles. 

"end it", roman calls, walking away. 

---

you despised most men, despised their presence, looking at them, unnecessarily speaking to them, breathing the same air as them. they'd bred more trouble than they were ever worth and always, without fail, served up to you, on some disgusting dish, half baked and ill formed, the least discreet of charms, to win even slivers of your attention. it was the usual lousy song and dance, artless and heavy handed. you despised most of them, because they led you to places like these with promises too alluring to ignore. all you wanted, want still, is the money. its all you need. 

and they'd all but manhandled you from the casino floor to a room. two men, one barely distinguishable from the other, but then again...they donned shades that matched their disapproving looks. lips turned in scrutiny. but what the fuck did they know anyway?... fuck them and this...this room. a holding of some sort. walls white, chairs black, a purposeful minimalistic touch crafted to intimidate. and it was working...even if just slightly. 

your chair creaks, wooden and anxious. you hated this, always would. this forceful feel of surrendering. 

and you don't speak first, but because of that neither does he. 

grey's scattered about his beard, scarce but still there. slight face lines...stress maybe?...and tawny specks living as freckles. he's groomed to perfection but still there's something about him, a flare in his eye that lends itself to a buried ruggedness. a meticulous sort of brutality. 

and he's just sitting there... 

...close to you but not too close. enough to open you with his eyes, but not enough to leave you breathless...

he's practiced in this. patient. 

...he can't do this all day... you think, till his body sits more comfortable than before. he will if he has to, and he will. to prove a point. to win. 

the room is cold. sterile. you shiver some, the first to say anything. 

"i didn't do anything wrong". 

"then why so defensive?"

you felt some ways away from lethal and the reasons for such a feeling mounting more every second. forming knots in your belly, heat and pressure. guilt and a sickly intrigue. his voice was rich and deep. smooth and commanding. if in another place, at some other time, you could see yourself falling for that voice, lulled and taken by it. you hate it, the hot twinge it drives into your skin. you grow sharp, words throwing like daggers. 

"if you were me, sitting where i am, you'd be defensive too". 

"i could have you brought up on charges", he presses. toying really. flip and flopping between seriousness and sarcasm. the heels of his shoes click the floors, and you fall slow into the creak of the chair, pulling away from the size of him as he approaches. he bends, levels with you, but even this feels like a looking down upon. "cheating and swindling. maybe even restitution". 

"what?" you start. you cant help your self. "not nice enough for a little jail time". 

you see his jaw shift. "smart mouth". 

you move in with a sudden spell of boldness. "fuck you". your lips twist to spit against the floor. "and fuck your casino". 

it's quick. harsh. his fingers long and curling at your jaw. he's warm, grip steady despite the push of your hands. he feels the fight in you, regardless of how soft you are to the touch. skin tender, like untouched feathers. 

but still... that damn mouth of yours. 

"you tried remember", mirthless but not. 

"don't fucking touch me", you rant. hitting at him harder. attempting without end to pry away his fingers, until finally he lets go. 

and it's rather shortsighted but brave nonetheless, the way your feet carry you to go at him. to do what exactly? you're not to entirely sure. but it doesn't matter much anyways, not when he's this mountain of a man. herculean and spiting. resolute in fucking with you a little for whatever enjoyment he can get out of the situation, and you know this to be true when your momentum to him is soured, a scream bleeding coarse through the walls. 

the dense walls block most of the action, but the scream of pain is undeniable. the faint crush of bone breaking through to where you are, fixing you to the floor where you stand in some sickly mixture of fear and surprise. 

"the money or their fingers i asked them". his stare is heavy. daunting. "some of them chose money, but of course they get to keep neither". he walks to the single entry-exit door. body taking up most of the frame. "paul, escort the young lady back to her room". 

you scoff on instinct. hating the condescension his tone takes. you shift by them both in a way that knocks your shoulders into their arms. paul's chalky, round face as amused as his boss. 

"i can escort myself". 

---

amongst the other's lining the vegas strip, The Summer Isle Hotel is the second largest. and where the floors lack that bold blood red carpeting, there is laid instead a fine marbling, in the endless halls and walkways, polished enough to see even the faintest of facial details. the ceilings venture high, littered with crystal chandeliers and in the walls and on ceilings are engraved these renaissance inspired paintings. there is this rhythm to the place, something archaic and forever far away, that is meant to always be desired. as people sip champagne, drunk and more verbose by the second, bleeding their pockets dry to their hearts content, the artistry of the hotel leaves them wondered and greedy. that even as they eat the finest food and drink the oldest wines, there is more to indulge in. more to have, to reach that unreachable place of pure luxury.

it was extravagant and all consuming, and pieces of you wondered what it all felt like. to never want or lack for it, because it was just simply there, at the edge of your fingertips. 

the hotel was big enough to get lost in, big enough to lose others in, so when paul sits himself at your table for two, security detailing not too far, just at the edges of the bar, you grow weary and annoyed. he'd been looking for you. 

you swirl your drink with a cocktail straw. feeling the pressure of his stare. "im being babysat now?" 

his hands fold with an instinctive diplomacy. 

"just call it reassurance". 

reassurance...that was bullshit. you didn't need to be told things more than once, especially when the talk was as loud and showy as it was earlier. "he made it pretty clear what can happen. i'm a cheater, not stupid". 

"there isn't always much of a difference between the two".

you hum, sipping what's left of your drink. "if you're gonna chat me up, buy me another drink then". his brow raises, as if in waiting. you sigh, annoyed at having to perform niceties. "please". 

its expert and concise, a look and just under a handful of gestures to the bartender, but his awareness never wavers from the already empty cocktail glasses where vodka-cran once filled. three to be exact. this fourth, he hopes, would be your last, as it was now that the glazing over of your eyes was coming underway. and he'd originally been an advocate for roman's earlier display of brutish prowess, and still is in all honesty, but seeing you, it did unsettle him in very few but poignant ways. he knew enough to know that you were attempting a drowning of frenzied nerve. sitting here, he hopes you understand, like everything else on the strip... its just business. 

paul shifts. bringing his chair slightly closer. "the system you use on the blackjack tables, how long did it take to come up with it?" 

"not long, maybe a few minutes", you start. sipping and thinking on whether to indulge him or not. but it seems to you now that the whole trip has gone to complete shit so why not. "it's all about assigning basic signals to cards but it's the memory part that fucks people up. memory and performance anxiety". paul chuckles at the absurdity and you grin, slightly pleased at his interest. "practicing in a warehouse versus being on a casino floor, at a table. it's different. anything can happen". 

you push away the drink. satisfied. paul's eyes turn soft, with what you think is relief. why relief?

"and then theres the whole finding a weak dealer situation", you continue. "no offense, you guys have a better looking hotel but the venetian runs tight security". 

"noted". 

its your turn to shift in your chair. asking the question you've been wanting the answer to since the moment happened. "why didn't he break my fingers?" 

"who knows. maybe he's waiting for you to get stupid", paul jokes. 

"you either are or you aren't. no in between". 

"that means you'll stay put then?" 

you scoff. "what, i'm on lockdown?"

"the boss says you're free to do as you please. just no stealing".

you smile coy, standing to leave. "you wouldn't mind covering the tab then? can't seem to find my wallet". 

---

thief. cheater. schemer. you've heard many names and resented none of them, because at their root, the truth remained what it was. it was artistry. and if you're clever enough, sharp enough, quick enough, finessing could be masterful. the constant putting together of a challenge, a game. and it was practical to love games, because good players win. 

but this? this was not practical. he was not practical. 

he seemed to be playing a different game entirely. you figure solely to spite you. a figurative spitting in the face if you will. 

every waiter of every bar in every corner of the hotel knew your cocktail order. vodka-cran with lime, extra ice. a splash of club soda. 

the security detail seemingly doubled overnight and each of them never failed to greet you. a smile and a head tipping nod. 

casino floor personnel, always with a subtle but sudden direction, pointed out to you the slots that paid out the biggest and the most often. 

the restaurants you dined in refused to give you the check and when you asked why, flustered and confused, they gave the same answer every time. 

"because the boss said so". 

complementary goods in your hotel room. aged wines and sweets. 

tickets to shows you neither wanted to attend or cared for.

if you were a different woman, who lived a different life, you figure she'd find this every bit as enticing as it was. enchanting even. grand gestures made out of some sickly sweet distant admiration. but you were not her and most men you knew or had known only did things; provided, loved, cared, with condition. so only one questioned remained. why? and after days of guessing games, a stomach turning foreboding shifted swiftly to irritation. he'd upped the ante finally, moving from these fairly small gestures, which to you were not small at all, to something a little bit too much for you to take. 

and you wonder now if he knows that he's reached your end, knocking hard at the ceiling of your limits. body simmering hot with this slow to finish unraveling feeling. as if at any moment unknown to you, you'll break in some uncontrolled fit of rage. he was becoming more persistent, silent still but more persistent and the affects of such persistence were all around you. soft wool carpeting where marble floors ended, a detailed fretwork spanning every corner of the ceilings, and french sliding doors connecting you to a wide stretched pool looking over the vegas strip. 

"the boss sends his regards", housekeeping said after it was all said and done. 

from the 6th floor straight up to the 39th, he'd gotten them to move everything you'd bought with you. your clothes, shoes, purses, from a studio room you could just barely pay for, to the penthouse suite. 

all of this, and a tiny note atop the dresser. 

enjoy your stay - roman

"roman", you try aloud. 

it isn't till the next day that you realize he's quite fond of leaving these little letters. words thin and cursive. messages brief enough to never reveal even a semblance of his thoughts. 

friday morning his words scribble a small card stuck to the center of a bouquet of white roses. 

white desdemona's. enjoy the roses - roman

you struggle for sometime in the bright silence of the morning. the busyness of the vegas strip bleeding a hum in through the sliding french doors. it wouldn't be hard, indulging him. cling fast and easy to soft petaled gestures, quelling finally that wayward need for a romantic sort of fascination. buried so long ago but clawing upwards tirelessly still, begging for relief. but it would be more sensible to deny yourself, which in the same breath meant denying him. tearing that pristine white card in two and setting the roses out to sit just in front your suite door. to send a message, simple but strong, enough for him to understand. 

a sudden knock urges you to settle into a resolution quickly. quicker than you were prepared for. the white card now in your hand tearing into two pieces with a twist of your wrist as you go to open the door. 

its house keeping. 

you place the torn paper in their hand before stepping out of the suite, furthering more down the hallway to the elevator by the second. the roses themselves were too lovely to get rid of anyways. 

"tell your boss i send my regards". 

---

would you believe them?

a less than modest woman from the north east, standing above the illustrious wonder of the vegas strip. and from your glass flute a slow, smooth sip, along with some restless awakening of a dream, even if it last only for a moment. an imagining from this high place, that with a deep sure breath like some figure from beyond with a vast primordial power, you gave life to this idle desert, and with sun and sand, birthed from pure will what they call fabulous las vegas. but this must be what he feels, day after day, night after night, standing above the rest, the staunch rush of pride, like something simmered well into the run of his blood. for you it was this endless day dream, the money, the power, the access, but for him, it seemed real. it was real. 

and still the question remains... would you believe them? a cunning woman, wrapped strapless in leather fine enough to please even the most marred skin, and heels that extend the vicious form of your legs. 

just tuesday you were cursing the good name and fortune of this place with your dna splat just mere inches from his shoes, and now here you are friday, waiting for him. 

if they, whoever they are, told you sometime ago that you'd be here, you wouldn't have believed them. 

he'd done well to send another card, and with it, another gift. 

the rendezvous. 7pm - roman

he'd gotten house keeping to do more of his dirty work, the poor bastards, but even their precision was daunting. the placement of the card, and the gift, and the complementary wine, and a single blooming stargazer. the petals dainty and blushing. it'd left you standing deep in a well of emotion, finding everything he'd left, and your bed taken by a box. the lid pulled off quickly by that gnawing urge to indulge him. and despite his initial brutish behavior and persistence, it was safe to say that the man was not void of taste. 

but it would be more sensible to deny yourself,  like a chant, it'd echoed, and your fingers ran over the plains of something silky. a dress, cool raven color, strong and subduing, but the fabric was so fine to the touch it'd felt criminal to hold. and with it had lived perfumes, bottle after bottle, as if he feared you'd somehow go without. and... fuck... sitting, waiting really, in a satin pouch... two pairs of goddamned diamond earrings. one pair smaller than the other, but both far more delicate than most things you'd ever owned. and soon the short warm swell of excitement had grown cold and hesitating. why was he doing this? what did he want from you? 

they were questions you intended to get answers to and it seemed if they weren't answered now then who knows when, unsure if you'd ever see him again. 

"you didn't like the roses"

your heart takes to some quick instinctual beating. a ragged fraying of nerves just off the simple sooth and strength of his voice. before, in that silent white room, you were sharp, aware of him but the power of his aura did nothing to sway your wanting to see him pained by your indifference to him. now though... it was so damn different now it seemed, as you were a small ways away from a purely formed nervousness. 

you turn just enough to give him your profile, sipping slow at the flute, steeling one buzz under your skin away with another. "i'd like them more if they were red". you face him finally, staying leant up against the balcony railing of the restaurant. "but it seems i don't have much option or choice here". 

"no need to choose when everything is the best". 

"that doesn't sound self important at all". 

"doesn't make it any less true". 

champagne has never tasted so good, you think, sipping and fighting the impulse to look away from him. his eyes softer than before but still lying in them are traces of searching for some unspoken truth. it was a much more subdued attempt compared to before, every pass his eyes made about your own, short flickers to your lips, the way you clutched the glass, your hair, your jewelry, the dress you were wearing, like a gentle pealing back of a layer. less scrutiny out of a short bout of anger and more of a learning. he'd come to the conclusion after watching you leave the white room all those days ago that he wanted to learn you. 

here now, watching you sip champagne, he wondered if you'd let him. 

"listen", you start. taking a closer step to him, with some new found form of resolution, and its hard to keep this will strong and steeled away when he's this close. scent heady and soothing to your senses. "i don't know what you're thinking, but i do know that you got me a lot of fucked up for just hauling my shit-"

"the suite is yours for as long as you want it" 

"i'm not paying for it"

his grin is warm. inviting. long fingers slipping the flute from your hold after its been emptied to set it down at a nearby table. "it's yours anyways". 

your confusion is palpable, lives in the way you retreat closer to the banister again, for fresher air void of him. in hopes to think more clearly. "just the other day you practically had me hemmed up and now you're-"

"that was different. it was business". 

you scoff. "business my ass, fuck you-"

"and fuck my casino, i know". 

it's your go to insult it seems, this time having less of an affect on him, but still there is something there. a small stinging pain bruising the very large stain of ego. 

you look to him with searching eyes of your own. "so the wine... and-and the roses and just... everything, i mean thats?..."

"gifts. just gifts. not to be payed back ever". 

your face fixes in a fashion similar to the first time you spoke to him. eyes defensive and unsure, brows pulling in for a full measure of scrutiny. "why?"

"have dinner with me". 

you press again. "why?" 

"because", he starts, with a streak of vulnerability. "all of my attention is taken up by a casino resort on the strip of one of the busiest places in the world but for some reason, for the last 72 hours or so i've only been able to think clearly about you".

your eyes roll off instinct despite the flutter feeling in your gut. "am i supposed to be flattered?"

"its the truth". 

roman hadn't been a man who lent himself to believing in chance or possibility for sometime. if he wanted something, or hell even someone, it simply happened, because thats the way it had been, since the first burst of the resorts success till before this very moment. when he spoke, the world of the resort opened and bent, twisted and curved till it formed to his liking, so much until the effects of his wants rippled through the whole of the strip till they echoed miles away, through the rolling of nevada desert dust. but you...

the click of your heels, the soft sway of your hips, the way words twisted from your lips comfortable because you knew yourself well enough to know that regardless of his capabilities you'd do something drastic and a bit ways away from reckless before ever letting him get the best of you. 

that bravery, an unflinching flame, new and unpredictable and different and more exciting than anything he'd seen in sometime. 

whether you were leaving or staying, he follows you and savors even the cut of your eyes. it's quick and fierce, unsure of its power but stripping the resolve of him all the same. and of course a curt look is all you give him, as he opens the door to the rendezvous and follows you in, not a word to him as waiters and well off patrons pass the both of you by. a leisure walk around pristine white cloth dressed tables and velvet chairs, each of your steps like some small conquering of a widely secured territory. his territory. you move more sure of yourself by the second and it rushes his warm and wanting. 

with no real hurry, roman pulls out the chair you've picked to sit in just before you can make to do it yourself, finding himself closer than he needs to be, just some inches from your face. each breath in, sweet and tempting. the perfume he bought you...

you sit without a word, not even a thank you, and he finds himself more drawn in by the second. 

it isn't until he sits himself that roman realizes you've chosen a seat at the center of the restaurant. and whether it's purposeful or not, it's damn sure fitting. 

a trivial orbit of faces and voices. 

"you don't take no for an answer do you?"

"when you're where i am, after a while, you stop asking and getting asked. you never even have to hear no". 

its arrogant, eye roll worthy even, but you don't miss the truth in it. the pull of his brows together, lending themselves to a pure honesty. and it's hard, quelling that pull up of envy. to be so well off, so rich, never having to answer to any one. i wish, you thought. i wish

your finger trails along the fine table cloth. "i must have you so out of sorts then, how rude of me". 

"it's fun", he grins. a single finger signaling someone. " 'm learning my manners again". 

and there was this fidelity to his words ......everything is the best because i am the best...... a quality that spilled over into everything that he touched, spoked to, looked at, and did. it was this undeniable thing, a force, that caused such a natural hesitation in you, but also this impulse to fight. you wanted to struggle against him, war with the easy diligence of him till he folded. cracking under the weight of his hubris till large fragmented pieces ground to dust. but you would not win that battle today, no, not as waiters execute their level of precision, plate after plate set atop the table in such a meticulous manner that it seemed to be planned. a well thought scheme with the intent to impress. dish after dish, revealed, one after the other smelling more divine than the one before it. 

the waiter, an adorably eager young man, falls into a spiel about the wine you can't be bothered to care about. his work of a perfect pour all for nothing. it nearly pains you. "i'll take a water please". 

the waiter flattens. a curt nod as he hurries away. 

"it's vintage", roman says. seemingly unaffected by your disinterest in old aged wine. 

" 'm sure it is". eyeing him. the sip his lips take. "seems you've had things all planned out. what if i'd said no?" 

"someone else's lucky night then. a free meal on the house".

"do you have a ready made answer to everything?". 

"i am who i am. it's impossible not to".  the cut of your knives into plated steaks reveals this smooth buttery finish. the meat tender against the blade and more so to the taste. and it takes everything in you not to moan or go cross eyed, not when he's watching your every move. seemingly studying and committing your eyes and lips and words to memory. no, you simply chew. sip at your water and live as quiet in your delight as possible. till of course it hits you, not as hard or sudden as one would expect, but it's more of a washing over. a stilled piecing together that quickens your pulse and frowns out the apathy on your lips. 

you stare down at your plate. a short ways away from dumbfounded. "you know how i like my steak".  even the way he chews is perfect. measured and steady. a luxurious sort of etiquette steeped into the make of him. but you find that his manners are selective, as he doesn't even bother to meet your eyes. low sitting and accusing. he chews as you did, but with more leisure. the slice of his knife and the clink of his fork fighting against the waiting you do in the silence. even when he works to indulge you, he abides in his own time, lets you wrestle with the trivial chatter of the room the way you did not so long ago with the abundance of his gifts. 

he wipes his mouth with a cloth. a feigned unawareness about him. 

"the chefs know how you like your steak".

you scoff. maybe your tenth eye roll of the night. " and the bartenders so conveniently know how i like my cocktails too". 

he sips his wine easy like he would water. "they have an eye for detail, thats why they work here". 

"or maybe", you start. fork an obnoxious clinking at the plate as it drops dramatic from your fingers. "just maybe it's someone else's eyes they're looking through. someone else's words they're following". 

"maybe". 

...so fucking goddamn frustrating... you think. eyeing the full table of food. and it's less anger and more confusion, that slow to finish fraying of nerves. these things that he does, says, that leave you emotionally inconvenienced. 

"you don't know how insane it feels, night after night, trying to pick up a check for dinner and the waiter refuses your money. it feels like stealing". 

he chuckles. "something you should be used to then". 

"fuck you. i only steal out of necessity". 

and this was it, the thing from which his curiosities where born, feverish in his fingers. an ache to flex broad and wide, to do and make till need was just a distant word laying dead at the recesses of your mind. necessities were strange, and if it became flesh and bone with legs and the will to speak it too would be a stranger to him. roman had not wanted for anything in some time, and if he felt in himself that he needed something, the readiness by which it came to him revealed only that he did not need it, but that he wanted it, in that covetous way that a man wants another mans woman. and so it became natural, that others around him would not need for anything either. 

the way he's settled into the velvet of the chair becomes less leisure, leaning in slightly with a more focused determination. "what do you need?" 

your smile is wry. unconvinced. "like you care". 

"if you could have anything, what would it be?"

the list was endless it seemed, a question you'd asked and answered thousands of times and then thousands of times again. cars, houses, shoes, clothes, jewelry, yachts, boats. trivial and obnoxiously expensive things even, if it meant that you could feel the freedom of just being. it was an easy thing to answer, but so hard still when all the answers were far away from you, never even brushing faint at your fingertips. 

and he thinks in this moment, your eyes softening, this is the most serious he's ever seen you. 

"i wanna be comfortable. enough not to worry about anything". 

"and why aren't you there yet?"

"i tried", a finger of yours slipping against the grip of the cutting knife. "but you stopped me". 

but how could he question you? was your drive, your diligence to get what you wanted not legitimate because it was not legal? and with this, the question forms clear again, why the fuck were you here? 

"a man at the top asking me why i'm all the way down here", your head shaking in this sly build of indignation. he had some nerve. "you don't see how shitty that is?" 

roman feels something in him lessen. a deep pulling away that reflects in the flare that takes to your eyes. an edge that leaves the room a bit cooler than before. how could he have been so stupid and blind? judging you for the very thing that had left him in this whirl of curiosity and admiration. 

" 'm not tryin to offend you". 

"but here i am. offended". 

he shifts, reaches the wide stretch of his palm to lay open against the table. an olive branch close enough for you to reach out and take. "let me make it up to you". 

you consider him. the outstretch of his palm. fingers strong and waiting. the way his eyes settle into this mild sort of kindness that still lends itself to something not so pleasing. the warm lights amongst the crystals of hanging chandeliers casting along his face in such a way that it shadows his eyes some but still shines against his features. speaking so clearly to the deepened well of his hubris, always revealing and hiding itself in his own time. he is a sure man, wanting only what he wants, but seeks it in such a diligent way that it suffocates the things, the people that he desires. but maybe, just maybe, if you leave him wanting, challenged and needy, he would give you everything. 

your finger tips move to tease at his. this faint dancing along his palm. "if you're gonna send me gifts, make sure it's things i like". touch a sly caress at his wrist. "i'm not a wine girl, and i hate seeing flowers die". 

he lets your touch play along his skin. revels silent in the rush it sends, a jetting stream into his blood. 

"what do you prefer?"

you slip off a ring that shines against his pinky. fitting it onto your middle one. your stare is this rapturous thing. hypnotic and breath taking, and he understands why you've probably gotten away with so much till now. 

"i have a sweet tooth". 

"i can work with that".

you hum into a sigh, considering still. your hand balling his own to close that reaching opened palm before you settle back into your chair. more eased now than you've been the whole night. 

"i hope so for your sake". 

and roman does not hesitate often, certainly never out of fear. he doesn't mind the manner of his words much, or their phrasing and the life it breathes into his expression. he doesn't suffer much to care for the thoughts of others and their own words, unless of course it somehow seeks to exist against his money, the resort or the greatness of his name. roman wasn't fearful, no, but being here with you, caution takes him all the same. like those tentative seconds where the lucky struck gambler is suspended in possibility, waiting for the dealers reveal. 

his words take to a mindfulness, as if each word is brought out selectively. "has anyone ever offered, to take care of you. buy you things. take you places". 

you laugh in that small uncontrollable way, when something, after so much confusion, becomes clear. because of course this is what he wants. of-fucking-course. 

"some have. i always told them no".

"why?"

to think of it, even if just slightly, annoyed you. "conditions. restrictions. rules. you can't go there, you can't do this. that's not care". 

"control is an acquired taste". 

a grin slips into the seam of your lips. curious. "is it yours?" 

his tongue peaks, a short run against his teeth, and something deep within, this buried and slow to rise feeling tightens at your core. maybe it wouldn't hurt to have a taste of wine.

his grin matches yours. "not if it ain't yours". 

"out of all the woman everywhere, why me?" 

"you try to steal from me, you spit on my casino floor, and you ain't missed a chance yet to tell me how you feel". 

"we're into degradation i see", you joke. and it gets a laugh you think not many have experienced. it's something sincere, crinkling for some seconds the corners of his eyes. and despite the short bout of fondness that forms at hearing him laugh, he's got to be joking right? pulling your leg hard for an even bigger laugh. "i'm a thief roman". 

"a very transparent thief. i don't meet people like that a lot". 

it's a losing fight but still, it's hard not to push back. 

"you barely know me". 

"i could know you, if you let me". 

"what's in it for you?" 

sex, you think. when he's given you enough of his money and access, he'll ask for sex. 

"your company". 

---

riverside, california was not the vegas strip, and by all intents and purposes did not claim to be the notorious sin city. the breeze here was something warm and patient. a soft flowing about, satisfied only by its own directionlessness. but in a small whispered taunting way, it was unadulterated. the vegas strip was loud, this harsh numbing sort of droning that buried the more subtle, truthful noises and those skittish undercurrents in the skin that lent to fervent thoughts and ideas. the silence of riverside and the quaint rooftop air of antonella's was this exposing thing. and you'd come west to unashamedly connive your way into some money, but now you were here, unsure of the minutes, hours and even days to come, with him. sipping at coffee, and picking gentle but anxious at his diamond ring, feeling as aimless as the riverside wind. 

and then, seemingly from no where, his shoes click against the cobblestone, steps slow and uniformed, a pace all his own. and as he sets down a fine spread atop the table; meats, cheeses, fruits, and small cakes, he can sense rather acutely this refusal to acknowledge him. from you, an amusing fight; one leg crossed over the other, a fidgeting in your fingers and this far away look else where, feigning indifference. 

antonella's at noon - roman

he'd written as he liked to do, and yet it was a little passed two in the afternoon. the drive over to riverside lengthy and unknowing. 

"you're late"

" 'm sorry?"

roman is amused but taken a back all the same. in the years of his success, lateness was not something to treat with avoidance or fear but just another trivial idea. something purely subjective. or maybe it was because things just ran on his time, started and stopped when his desires had not been met or when they'd exceeded his expectations. it was new to think that something like that was so bothersome for you. 

he sits in the empty space of a double seated chair beside you. the wood fine and stripped, carved with intricate designs. his arm falling against the top. your bodies closer now than they've ever been. 

"if i'm-", you shift to face him. eyes taken by the tan of his cheeks, sprinkled with freckles. lips full, and beard thick. his eyes softer than normal but still traces of an intensity to them. he's beautiful, even in his arrogance and persistence. "if i'm gonna do this. whatever this is, you have to be on time. i'm not a woman who likes to wait". 

his eyes drop to the plump of your lips. existing there this thin tempting line of gloss. "yes ma'am". 

and his stare lingers, a gentle taking in of the slight pout forming into the line of your lips and the soft round out of your cheeks. your eyes under the cast of the sun, more ethereal than not, but guarded some still in this impatient game of waiting for something that will quell that burden of unknowing. the small tells of your anxiety live in the way you play aimlessly at that ring you took from him, or rather the ring he let you take. even with your demands that fight against his own desires and your quick wits and your curt looks and your own bouts of teasing, you still hesitate for fear of the feelings that come with great disappointment. he wonders now if his words for you are not enough, and that though it had been enough for mostly everyone, you are not them. you are new and different and he'd have to treat you as such. 

roman cuts a piece of cake easy, and on a fork it waits for you to indulge in it. 

"taste this", he gives, handing you the fork. 

"what is it?" 

"panettone". his voice deep and delicate about the shape of the vowels, taking on a slight accent in reverence of the treat. italian?, you wonder. 

the cake is buttery and sweet, a taste of fruit with each pass it takes over your tongue and theres something there as you sit with the taste of it that tells you that it's homemade. its a perfect mixture of everything, as if the baker had made it a thousand times, and then a thousand times more. 

he reaches to pick off a piece of fruit with a slim pick, sleeves loose and revealing the beginnings of what you think is a full arm of connected tattoos. you wonder how far they travel, and where they possibly might end. 

the strength of espresso wafts against the flow of a simple breeze as he takes to refilling the teeny size of your cup and then a splash of his own to taste. 

he sighs, satisfied at the warmth of it. "you like it?". 

"mhmm", you give. a sincerity lining your lips as you give him a small smile. it's something new, relaxed. an earnestness lacking that natural wary look you wear when you look at him. "you're taking my words to heart. i like a man who listens". 

"i aim to please". 

you slip the ring back onto your finger, less fidgety with it now. an easy settling of the tensity in your shoulders that allows your body to rest closer to him. facing inward so that the cross of your leg touches his. and it's this innocent, dainty step towards intimacy. where the gentle quiet of the day fills the air with a more tender possibility. guards are fallen away, more than before if anything, and your eyes shimmer warm and a little more accepting. i'll try, you think to your self, to believe him even if only for a moment. i'll indulge him. 

"you like that ring?", he asks. staring at the way it shines against your finger. 

at the mention of it, you twist the band about your finger. 

"my mother thought the best thing a woman could do for herself was have jewelry. it's the only thing that doesn't disappoint". nostalgia a fine thread in your words. remembering the woman that taught you everything. and he sees the soft way your cheeks turn up. feels a need to keep them that way, but even more so when you look at him. "it's a little big, but it goes with my earrings". 

my...my earrings. claiming fully the things that he'd gifted you. 

his longer, stronger fingers reach for yours, for the ring, seemingly possessed by memory. and his touch is a light caress. featherweight and reverential. a shiver strums your skin there. teeming with the want for a heated relief found only in another pass of his finger, till it folds, along with the others, his over yours, to lock in an embrace. 

"i had it made ten years ago", he tells you. "about a month after the resort opened. a gift to myself". 

his thumb dances with a sweet brushing along your skin, with nothing particularly amorous, but there is comfort here, in your touch, a stranger. the way skin passes slow and steady to feel the other, lax and patient. 

"it's still beautiful", your hand dropping to your lap, locked with his still, and the pull brings him just that much closer. a comfortable leaning in that gives way to him taking in more readily the heady sweetness of your perfume. his eyes and his mouth something like a foot away, but feeling so very close, so much so that it steals breaths. kickstarts that harsh beating in your blood, a drumming pulse in your fingers. you wonder if he feels it. 

"it doesn't disappoint". 

you smile. interested in him. "how old were you then?"

"28. you?"

you can see him at 28. untainted by the burning pace of vegas. his eyes ever intense but in them more of a smolder. his hair longer, with no flecks of grey. more unsure and less persistent. grasping at things that come to him so easily now. 

"24". 

and he'd love to meet 24 you. maybe not as quick witted but clever still. fast in your schemes with a maybe not so predictable temper. but still, a covetous touch to the things you wanted. needed. 

"causing trouble where?", he chuckles. 

"new york". 

he looks at the ring. loose on your finger. 

"ill have the ring resized to fit".

you shake your head. unsure. "it's something special. i don't wanna take that from you". 

"you don't ask and you don't say thank you. if i give it, it's yours. simple". 

he is as serious now as the day you first met him, and beyond all of your own doubting, there's this burden to believe him. the quiet fervor of his words and his touch, the warm glow of him amongst the day light and the unwavering hold his eyes take to yours. and his thumb runs a simple caress over where your pulse quickens harsh at the inside of your wrist, from surprise and need. a soft lulling that only seems to stoke the flame of a slow but sure to rise desire. it's yours, words promising and unfazed by the endless unknowns of tomorrow. so much so that he proves it, slips an envelope from his pocket till it finds its way into your hand. 

and the envelope is mere trash compared to whats inside. a sleek black card, engraved with his own name. 

your fingers slip at it. failing somewhat to hide the growing excitement. but there is disbelief here also, coming alive quick but dying quicker the more you feel the fixed weight of his decision, heavy in his eyes and warm at his touch. his intensity is a power all on its own, working well to lull you in. to subdue. a twinge at your core tells you that you are not immune. "is there a limit?" 

"why would there be?" 

you chuckle. "you're serious?"

"dead serious". 

there's that twinge again, lingering hot and teasing. scares you away from his eyes and the tender hold of his touch, but he doesn't falter, even when your fingers leave the tangle of his. and then, caution breaks against the luxurious sort of excitement teeming quick, tightens into your fingers so that the card feels heavy. too fine to hold in your hands. but still, he remains, sitting with an endless patience, sure that he will win you over fully. if not today then soon. 

the moment still seems too good to be true for you. 

you sigh. "this all isn't just some round about way of trying to fuck me is it?" 

but he doesn't hesitate. amused even. 

"that only happens if you want it to sweetheart". 

and it takes courage not to imagine it. the details of a daydream where his lips slip against your skin, hands strong and leading as they push and prod to his will, till you're just how he wants you, playing in these fast to leave flashes in your minds eyes. you think though, under his heavy gaze, that it's something to wonder about when he's not this close and determined to commit your every expression to memory. so you steel your face, fingers grabbing his cup to sip at his espresso, the curiosity of your daydreams attempting with a desperate sort of vigor to run away from you. they barely succeed. 

with roman, you were in for something interesting. 

[justatalkingface]

Hi there,

I'd love to know your ideas and opinion on Hori going out of his way to make Bakugou the second OFA user as it was shown in the movie. Are you a fan of it?

This post has aged badly because of how long it's been sitting in my inbox, but... well, I was the one who did that, so that's my own fault.

Hahahahahah, yeah, wow, sweet flying fuck no. In a series that has been escalating in how many bad decisions they've made lately, that is one of the worst. More than that, it is telling, in this deeply concerning way, about how little Hori seems to like his own main character.

I've never watched the movie, and I have no desire to, because I'm pretty sure all that'd happen if I did would be me spending the entire movie picking out plot holes than anything, but I have done some basic research on it, and my impression is that it's very... Naruto filler-movie-y, where the protagonists get Random Power up that is basically never spoken of again (note that this is basically official confirmation of Bakugou's promotion), the same general kind of big fight sequence where both of them work together, etc.

It's just... it's just shallow, though, is the thing. At least the filler Naruto movies had the basic decency to make up whatever power up they used and threw away; here Izuku is taking one of the foundational parts of the entire story and just.... giving it away. All of his emotional attachment to it, as a Quirk, as his Quirk, as part of a legacy connecting him to All Might, One For All, and what is singlehandedly keeping him in his current place in society (since at this point he wasn't allowed to be smart anymore), and he just throws it away to Bakugou.

And then, to top it off, it just comes back to him. Some Fucking How(TM). And, because this is, again, one of the foundational parts of the fucking story, that just leaves... so many questions. So many.

Like. If the Quirk could yeet itself from hosts it doesn't like, could AFO ever really take it? Or would it Yeet Thyself from his body, and presumably take a copy of AFO with it in the process (and doesn't that mean, since there was that nod to this happening in canon, that Izuku should have Explosion now? That he literally, by Hori's own logic, has taken that fundamental core of Bakugou's character, and should be in the perfect place to invalidate his entire, badly managed and over all atrocious 'character arc'?).

Really, the more I think on this, the more I realize that that is proof that, not only was Explosion drastically warped to contort to Hori's whims, but so was OFA; OFA, originally, was just supposed to support Izuku, as an assistance to his character, but as time passed, it became clear that that was no longer true, and Izuku only existed to assist OFA. And no, I'm not even talking about the actual person, I'm talking about the set of powers Izuku's entire purpose in the story had been reduced to helping display on demand.

And the fact that, looking at it with that symbolism in mind, that movie's ending was a perfectly horrible encapsulation of what happened in the overall story, of Izuku handing his entire self identity over to Bakugou, for him to take and use however the hell he wanted.

...Fuck, that's depressing. Really, honestly, I wonder why the hell Izuku even exists. Seriously. It's clear that Hori doesn't want him, and he wants all the good Izuku things to go to Bakugou; there's plenty of manga and anime with an asshole of a main character, although a lot of early things would have to be changed to explain how that'd work...

I wonder, but I actually know that answer: beyond needing a more acceptable hero, beyond changing plans, having Bakugou as the focus the way Izuku was would, A, put a spotlight on the traits of him Hori clearly wanted to avoid doing, and B, would put more pressure on Hori to make Bakugou change in way he so clearly wasn't allowed to do, to make the reality of him match up with the narrative version so many people love (You could argue that Izuku, in a similar place, stopped changing after awhile, but at the same time his complete lack of growth is the main reason why the people stopped liking him anymore, because he stopped feeling like a person, and one of the major reasons the second half of the story became so overwhelmingly shit, to the point even people just casually enjoying the story on a surface level read couldn't miss; combining that clusterfuck with Bakugou's shit characterization is probably the only reason Hori didn't just... have Izuku die at some point so Bakugou could flat out replace him, along with shallow nods to their 'rivalry' (like this movie!) to help the story sell).

...I've gotten off topic. So, to sum up: No. No, I hate it, it's terrible, I'm glad I've never had to actually watch it happen.

[angelsdean]

another funny thing about people saying spn is only "a brother show" and not acknowledging it's "the destiel show" is that dean and sam (cain's instinct) don't kill each other under spells and etc thanks to outside interventions (a not-working-weapon, bobby, garth, cas), while dean and cas don't kill each other only bc of each other DESPITE outside interventions urging them to

sorry this has been sitting in my inbox for a few days but god yea sooo real.

literally the crypt / prisoner fight scene parallels make me insane the way dean and cas hardly put up a fight against the other, esp once they think they're gonna die by the other's hand. they give up the fight, don't want to hurt the other bc they know it's not them, they're being manipulated and controlled (by naomi / the mark) and it's usually that moment of just giving up and asking them to stop that snaps them out of it, when they shouldn't be able to snap out of it. (similarly w/ them snapping out of lucifer and amara's control too, cas is able to gain control back for a bit / dean is able to snap out of amara's spell when cas is around)

like obvs i do think the brothers care abt each other but just, nearly every time** they've tried to kill each other it's been other people / circumstances that stop them. whereas for dean and cas it's usually them snapping themselves out of it. and that sure is something !

also like. i can just never ever ever forget dean trying to bargain with chuck to get everyone on earth back including cas (and the birds!) by saying he'll straight up kill sam if that means they all come back (crucially. cas. "you got to bring him back.") he'd kill sam ! that's how crazy desperate he was. he'd be willing to do that if it meant bringing cas back. insane insane. how do the brothers only ppl reconcile with a line like that huh??? i mean, they probs just pretend it doesn't exist. like they seem to do with so much of this show lol

(also the flipside of that line, "or sam will kill me. we'll kill each other" just. speaks to how suicidal he was feeling then imo.)

**sam DOES fight through lucifer's possession and stop him from killing dean in swan song. see more re: this in the replies

[ddarker-dreams]

This is how I imagine Chrollo's face when Darling goes too far and actually manages to piss him off 😅 (also, sorry for the double post).

" It's funny— ever since the start of your confinement, you'd looked forward to the times that Chrollo's true feelings would betray his carefully crafted facade. A slight frown, a furrow of his brow from a particularly sharp observation of the criminal's hypocrisy, or even the occasional look of genuine confusion; anything was satisfying. As long as you drew it forward,you were satisfied. Though now, you find yourself sitting across from said criminal, awkwardly staring at your plate of untouched food, hoping that that same change of pace on his face goes back to the familiar. You've seen all kinds of reactions on Chrollo's face—and enjoyed them— but never have you seen it look like this before and truthfully you want nothing more than for it to go away... "

This is how I imagine Chrollo's face when Darling goes too far and actually manages to piss him off 😅 (also, sorry for the double post).

aaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA NEVER HAVE I BEEN SO BLESSED!!! SO GRATEFUL FOR MY EYES!!!!!!!!! his expression good god it's eerie in the best way, the shadows falling over his face, his body language looking so tense... then darling's hands curling up in realization that uh oh. this is truly a dangerous situation they've found themself in. (you draw hands so well, how do you do that??? your power is unmatched...)

i love that he's reading a newspaper, he really does seem like the type to get news from the traditional avenue. especially if it's reporting on the gruesome escapades of the phantom troupe. the thought of him reading about his crimes while enjoying a morning cup of coffee, across from his darling, is chilling. AA i just love the atmosphere you get from it being in black and white, the sketchy lines/shading, it has this dark vibe that i can't get enough of. i don't know what i ever did to deserve such a blessing in my inbox.

thank you so much for sharing 💖💖💖😭😭😭 also, no worries at all!! it just means i got to see mr lucilfer twice <333

[bettsfic]

hello! here's an excerpt of the snowbaird modern AU i've been working on. it's a holiday fic, so i'd love to have it posted before christmas. in this fic, coriolanus is a server at a restaurant and lucy gray is the bartender. she's recently started asking him for rides home, so they've been getting to know one another. it's currently sitting at about 10k and i hope to god it maxes out before 25k.

With his texts still pulled up, he decided to reach out to Lucy Gray. They were friends, after all. Friends texted each other. But what to say? “How are you” was boring and banal. She might find it sweet but he knew her well enough to know that she liked getting to the root of things. 

Where was that song from? The fare thee well one

She didn’t reply right away. He tried to occupy his attention with organizing his email inbox and checking his Canvas assignment calendar, but he found his eyes straying repeatedly to his phone. Twenty minutes later, he received a text back. He snatched up his phone, expecting the name of an artist and album, or a link to a YouTube video, or an inquiry as to why he didn’t just google it himself, but instead when he opened the message he found a wall of text so long that he had to scroll three times to reach the top.

HI CORIOLANUS!, it began. He thought all caps and an exclamation point was stylistically redundant but he appreciated and was relieved by her enthusiasm. Fare thee well has an interesting history dating back to 1909…

Were it not for the myriad spelling and punctuation errors, he would have thought she’d copied it from Wikipedia. From anyone else, the infodump would have bored him, but from her it only warmed him to think she’d been willing to spend so much time sharing her knowledge with him. To him, both time and attention were precious commodities.

He’d put off texting her for so long in part because he worried the conversation would become strained and awkward, but the reverse was true: texting her was so easy—and he was so eager to respond to her messages—that he did it while he drove and nearly veered into a median on the way home. He knew she was working that night and so the messages slowed down in the evening. He had to pocket his phone at the dinner table per one of the few household rules, but he could still barely pay attention to the benign chatter of Tigris and the Grandma’am about grocery store deals and soap operas.

While he did the dishes, Tigris leaned against the counter, arms across her chest, and said, “You’re in a good mood today.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you work sixty hours a week and don’t sleep.”

He glanced over his shoulder to find the Grandma’am had returned to her easy chair in the family room, the television blasting an obnoxious commercial jingle for a local car dealer. 

“I met a girl,” he said.

Tigris’s pale eyebrows rose up to her equally pale hair. “A girl? Like, a girl girl?”

“How is a girl girl different than a girl?”

“I just mean, like, a girl?”

“I have a crush, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Tigris squealed and hugged him from the side. “Baby Coryo’s got his first crush!”

“It’s not my first—” He stopped. It was his first crush, aside from Geena Davis in A League of Their Own. His usual date for high school dances and makeout parties was Livia, who was easily the prettiest girl in his cohort just as he was the prettiest boy, although he had never been attracted to her and the feeling, or lack thereof, seemed to be mutual. But that was the Academy for you—if you looked like you should be together, then you were, by definition, together. The power of appearances.

“I guess it is,” he said to the dirty dishwater.

“Does she like you back?”

He hadn’t considered that. He’d just assumed she didn’t and never would. Everything he’d ever wanted had been out of his reach and Lucy Gray was no exception.

“I’ve been driving her home from work,” he said. “And we’ve been texting.”

He showed Tigris the text thread.

“All of this is from today?” she asked, scrolling and scrolling.

“She’s a bit verbose.”

“She uses so many emojis.”

“It’s so cute.”

“And look at all these spelling errors.”

“Also cute.”

Tigris looked up from the phone. “You’re really gone on her. I never thought you’d like a girl who messes up there, their, and they’re.”

“I’m not a pedant.”

“Pedantry is a core facet of your personality, Coryo. You started correcting my use of ‘whom’ when you were four.”

“You may have noticed I’ve changed a bit since then. If nothing else, I’m taller and slightly less obsessed with Spongebob Squarepants.”

She gave him a look.

“Okay, very slightly less,” he amended.

[pjsk-writin]

i feel a little bad for requesting right after the inbox opened again...but also i don't want it to get overloaded before i do so 😭

weirdly specific scenario..what abt rui/ena x a dyscalculic reader who hasn't been talking/hanging out with them much and they're not quite sure why, so they plan to ask them on an upcoming school day, and then *on* that school day the reader has a breakdown in the middle of class over a report card/missing assignment report because they have just about all their math assignments for that semester missing, and the reason they haven't been spending time with their partner is because they've been getting detentions because they just have. that much missing work they cant get thru because mat h.

take ur time with this !!! don't overwork urselffff

-💠

VDNSKFJDN glad u did bc hoo boy did it get overran/lh but I gotchu, math is a btich and I am sending u support!! hope u like this !! <3

♡ DYSCALCULIC - Rui Kamishiro and Ena Shinonome x Reader

Rui:

Rui is, unsurprisingly, used to people dropping his company out of nowhere. This is why he's not too surprised when you stop hanging out with him, but he still wants to ask anyway

On the day he tries to ask you, he walks in on you breaking down in class, clutching a piece of paper in your hands.

It's more instinctual than anything when he embraces you in a hug and kisses your forehead, holding you close as he looks down at the paper

It shows your report card, and how you've been failing your math class due to the amount of work you've missed.

"Oh dearest, is this why you haven't been around much?" You simply nodded, and he hugged you closer. "Shh, it's alright, I'll help you."

True to his word, he helps you out, even offering to sit with you during your detentions to tutor you!

He knows that your dyscalculia makes math incredibly difficult, but he's more than willing to find what works best for you if it means you passing math and hanging out with him again <3

Ena:

Ena is more than aware that it's hard to talk to someone who only takes night classes, but she still notices how your messages have dwindled. What was up with that?

She decides to visit you during the day (which takes a lot for her to do) but is surprised to find you breaking down in class

She does not care if she is trespassing, she's taking you by the hand and bringing you to a more private place, hesitant but wiping your tears either way

She glances down at the paper in your hands while doing so, and finds out how you're failing math because of how much work you've missed.

"Hey, I know I'm not one to talk, but this doesn't look good." She mutters, looking at the paper before looking up at you. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

She may not be the most academic person, but she's definitely going to try her best to find anything that can help you out-

The last time she tried to help you with your math, she cussed your homework out, so she helps you find other ways. Still though, she's with you the entire time as moral support, your number one cheerleader <3

[kellanved-ammanas]

TF2 Drabbles: Scout/Pyro - Decorations

Summary: Perhaps something silly with Pyro and Scout drawing together! It could be more platonic or more romantic, I genuinely don't mind either way.

I didn't get enough winter/winter holiday themed requests so I took several from my normal list and made them themed so. Which in hindsight, I maybe should've just decided to do from the start since they've been sitting in my inbox for so long already.

~

“What do you mean we can’t get more decorations? The Christmas party is like our big thing before we all leave for like ages. We gotta decorate for it.” And Scout wasn’t going to admit it out loud but he quite liked decorating the common room for it with everyone willing to assist. It was fun.

Engie frowned at him as he finished dropping the last of the water logged, partially moldy cardboard boxes that had once contained all the base’s Christmas decorations in the garage’s trash bin. “Son, in case you somehow forgot with how gosh dang cold it is, we’re on top of a damn mountain currently. The drive down to the nearest town is four hours in good weather. Which it is currently but that’s still far too long to for any of us to want to put up with for something that ain’t needed. We went yesterday to stock up with enough food and supplies to last ‘til we all leave for holiday. You should’ve said something before then.”

Scout followed him back into the warmer part of the base because it was indeed quite cold. “We didn’t know everything was ruined yesterday.” It was just this morning they’d pulled the boxes out and found them and most of what was inside ruined. They’d search through most of it, looking for anything salvageable with almost not success.

Those boxes had been left to sit and rot in the leaky back corner of the storage area since they’d moved into this base several months ago. The base hadn’t been warm enough to allow the leak to drip so they’d all missed it at the time, resulting in their current predicament. “It’s not fair.”

Engie shrugged. “Sorry but that’s just how it is. We’ll have a real tree this year though so it ain’t all bad.”

“Yeah but a Christmas tree isn’t a proper Christmas tree unless it’s not a star and stuff on it.”

No response this time so after a few more seconds of no sign of Engie changing his mind, Scout headed off. Technically he could steal the car and go by himself. But while he did have some experience driving in snow, nothing like what was out there. And his reckless driving had gotten him banned from using the team van – which he’d never had any desire to fight because it was more work to drive anyway – and thus he hadn’t driven at all in over a year. So his chances on the road weren’t great. Respawn could snatch him up but it could do nothing to save him from the team’s wrath if he totaled their only form of transportation that wasn’t Engie’s two man truck. And he didn’t want to risk doing that to all of them anyway. Meaning he was stuck.

He did know someone who would commiserate with him though. Even if he hadn’t even tried to argue with Engie’s decree, Pyro had seemed just as disappointed as Scout, if not more so, when pulling out the boxes to find them ruined.

It took a bit of searching but he eventually found Pyro in his room. The door was unlocked, allowing Scout to just walk in.

Pyro was standing at his table, piling stuff into a box at the edge of it. Curious, Scout stayed quiet as he stepped closer, allowing him to see into the box before Pyro could spot him. … It was his art stuff. Mostly paints but pencils and markers too.

“Why you packing up your stuff?”

Pyro didn’t startle, indicating he’d heard Scout come in and hadn’t minded. “I’m putting it in a box so I can move it easier. It’s good you’re here though because I need some of your paper and pencils and maybe some of Spy’s stuff too and probably some scissors and glue too.”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll help you gather stuff.” It’s not like Scout had anything better to do right now. “What you planning on making?”

“Christmas decorations. We don’t have any and can’t go buy any so I’m gonna make some. You want to help?”

“Oh, uh… yeah, sure. That’s a good idea actually.” It hadn’t even occurred to Scout as an alternative to make their own decorations. They wouldn’t be super durable or fancy but it’d be far better than nothing. And well, doing art with Pyro was always fun. Working on a big project like this together would likely be even more so.

[yong-bokie]

You don’t need to post this. Just want to offer you support. It’s brave to stand up for what you believe in when others offer you violence and hatred. You’ve opened yourself up to abuse because you are standing up against a very powerful and dangerous entity. I’m sorry if any of that abuse has had any sort of negative effect on you. Wishing you the best

I don't get asks like I used to, so this honestly means so much to me. 🥹 I got a few, recently, but I never know what to say or how to say it, or if I do, I think "I'll get to that later", but I never do because I actually suck. 😭 I have several anons from years ago that I wasn't sure how to respond to, so they've just been sitting unanswered in my inbox forever.

So far, I've had 2 or 3 people insult me, and I lost 5 followers. One person told me I'm not human, and another person told me I deserve to die. I'd really hate to see what they'd say or do if I told them I have Jewish ancestry on my father's side.

I've also been blocked by so many STAY that all the Stray Kids tags I follow have been dormant.

I've always been very strong willed and stubborn, and I've never followed the crowd. I could never imagine being so immersed in propaganda and political bias to the point that it controls my life, choices, and relationships. I know that what I say and what I do won't make a difference because I'm just one person, but those of us who don't follow the majority or allow ourselves to be controlled by the media need to start fighting back. They want those who dare to challenge their belief system to remain silent and cower beneath them and I refuse to comply. They want to say and do whatever they want without a dissenting opinion because they can't handle that. They won't "tolerate" it, and they don't "accept" us.

They say, "You can't fight with the devil." And while that may be true for a lot of cases, I don't believe it means that we shouldn't fight at all.

We need to step up and start raising our voices the same way that they do. We need to fight for humanity and defend the truth.

I definitely went off the rails here, but I truly appreciate your words and support. 🫂❤️

[lesbiansforboromir]

Why does it matter that the actors and creative team are book fans when the finished product grossly misunderstands and misrepresents the text? No background detail or linguistic accuracy will fix the total invention of 99% of the plot, or the deviations from canon. If a cake is made with concrete dust instead of flour it doesn’t matter if a pastry chef made it. It fails as an adaptation and it’s been very honest about that from the start, so why get excited about it when you like the books?

Alright. Firstly, what I want you to do is read this message again, then imagine it is about the Jackson films, which it absolutely could be and in fact it fits them BETTER since we actually know the vast extent to which PJ misrepresented the books and deviated from canon, cus his films have been out for 20+ years already. And then think about how much of an impact those films had anyway. Think about how many book fans enjoyed those films anyway including myself.

And then think about all the extraneous other adaptations of Tolkien that have happened over the years, from cartoons to games, and think about how book fans have also enjoyed those despite their own massive changes that go all the way too cutting out main characters entirely! And THAT is when we are talking about adaptations that change the actually written stories that have a real narrative and a plot and characters. RoP is basically adapting a sparse tale of years at this point, which have themes sure, and the bare bones of characters, but there's a lot of space to fill in with their own creativity. Which is literally what I do all the time!

This entire blog in fact is dedicated mostly to me taking what the text has given me and fleshing out the parts I like in ways that I enjoy. Because tolkien's writing is not some religious canon that requires legions of supplicants and holy warriors to defend it. It is good enough to be adapted in countless ways and still have more to offer, that is exactly what classic stories are there for.

And that's all the things I'd say if I even agreed with your strange assertions. How do you know the showrunners are grossly misunderstanding the text? The various disparate versions of the Akallabeth you mean? As far as I can tell they've gripped the actual meat of the narrative very well. Religious debates, free will over suffering, mortals dying for immortals and that sparking a growing resentment to flourish, that's all IN the promo material for this show. Are you talking about the time compression? I assume you are. Yeah it's a massive squish and it's cutting out a lot of kings and queens but, and this pains me a little to say because I still am grieving Tar-Telperien, the only thing the actual NARRATIVE is losing here is an agonisingly slow burn to the end. All the beats are the same!

In the end, they are putting enthusiasm and effort into investigating pieces of Middle Earth history that I had never expected to be depicted like this before. And they aren't the worst people in the world or betraying the fans or causing some irreparable harm to Tolkien by changing parts of that history and inventing things within that history to tell a story that they think is good. And this vitriolic rhetoric is completely inappropriate, especially when, again, it isn't even out yet! Like you're in my inbox talking about a finished product that doesn't even exist, they're only on season 1! So yes, just like I do with the Jackson films, just like I do with the old cartoons, just like I do with every fan made film and all the lotr films made in other languages that I've seen and enjoyed for themselves, I'll sit in my book fan little seat and enjoy this adaptation with my friends too. I'm excited to see what they come up with! And if I don't like it then it won't be the end of the world, which I know from experience.

[youngpettyqueen]

if you are shamelessly fishing for garashir requests then i am shamelessly rolling a 🎲 for garashir

IM SO SORRY I DIDNT DO THIS YESTERDAY I made the mistake of opening my inbox and losing the notification so I forgot ;_;

you rolled... 11! which is... a kiss to the neck! thats very fun. uh, yeah, this is turning out a lil horny. not, like, super explicit, I dont write explicit smut generally, but this is hornier than what I usually put out there

this is post-canon, also post-A Stitch in Time. you dont really need to know everything in the novel to understand this, just know that theyre on Cardassia and Julian's been there for a while. hope you enjoy!! <3

"Elim..." Julian's voice is soft, caught halfway between a murmur and a chuckle, the sound warm and pleasing where it comes from low in his throat.

Garak pulls back slightly, his eyes drifting down to track the sound. He'll get there soon enough. "Yes, my dear?" He asks, his voice practically a purr as he lets his eyes wander back up to meet Julian's. He looks so warm and inviting like this, sitting in his lap, the lantern giving him a golden-orange halo.

Julian smiles at him, his head tilted slightly as he regards him. "How am I meant to tell you about my day when you keep-" Garak knows what he's going to say, so he swoops in and steals another kiss, which Julian laughs into. He's still laughing when Garak pulls away again, his eyes glittering with affection, "When you keep doing that?" He finishes asking.

Garak's lips curl into a grin. "Whatever do you mean?" He asks, batting his lashes, all faux-innocence.

"Oh, you know very well what I mean, you old badger," Julian huffs, winding his arms loosely around Garak's neck, "Do you want to hear about my day, or not?"

Garak can guess how Julian's day was. His days are by and large the same- go to the makeshift clinic at first light, spend long hours doing everything from first aid to surgery, come home as the last of the sunlight faded. He's spent several days at the clinic with Julian, helping where he can.

He can also read it from Julian's face. It's been a long week. Julian's let his stubble grow in, something Garak hasn't seen in a while. There are stress lines under his eyes, so deep they look like they've been carved in. Garak understands- he's been dealing with it on his own side of things, as well. There's no shortage of things to be done, and only so many hours in a day.

"I think," Garak hums, sliding his hands up Julian's side in a way that makes him shiver, "That I would very much like to kiss you some more. And then, perhaps," He leans in again, steals a kiss at the corner of Julian's mouth, "I will be ready to hear about your day."

"You're ridiculous." Julian tells him.

Garak kisses the angle of his jaw. "You need a shave." He counters.

Julian laughs at that. A real laugh- not something soft and quiet, a proper bark of a laugh that comes from the gut. Garak grins like a wolf and pulls him in closer, starts peppering kisses along his jaw. Julian continues to laugh, hugging him close, very much not protesting this development.

Then Garak ducks lower, plants that first kiss on Julian's neck. And Julian's laughter cuts off with a little gasp, his breath hitching. Garak feels him tilt his head away, giving him better access, and he eagerly accepts the invitation.

Julian makes such pretty little noises as Garak kisses down his neck, his hands coming to find hold in his hair. "Mm... that's it..." He breathes, his body rocking forward to press more into Garak's.

Garak answers by grazing his teeth against Julian's throat, making him gasp. He slides his hands up underneath Julian's shirt, glides his palms up warm, smooth skin. Julian's entire body shivers under his hands, a happy little moan slipping past his lips.

They never do end up discussing Julian's day.

[illusioncanthurtme]

I just... need to say... I HAVE BEEN A FAN OF YOUR WORK FOR YEARSSSSS like i remember you were one of my first tumblr blogs i ever followed once i made a tumblr account in 2018 and have been following EVEN before i had a tumblr blog in 2017 because i was so obsessed with your one south park creek art XD like? your art has improved so much? like? OMG????? and its like? so good? and so amazing? and such an inspiration? (and tbh learning a year or two ago that you also drew invader zim art before was just like??????? omg) AND also that you drew danganronpa art too! just like! wow! and zelda and like so many other cool fandoms too!!! its super awesome! AND NOW learning that you are back into invader zim? is just? omg? (and plus ship and draw zadr) its so mega awesome for real. like? your art is so awesome? love your shading? like how you draw? like i can go on and on .... you art is amazing! seriously! Have a good one!

@cinnamonghost I am SO GLAD I checked my inbox. I never look in here ever at all, so I apologize if this has been sitting here for a while!

But holy shit, I am SO flattered. This really did make my night. It's so crazy when people say they've been following me for years, I honestly can't wrap my head around it, but it means so much to me. In this weird parasocial way, it makes me feel like I have these ancient friends that I share old memories with. I'm pretty sure I know EXACTLY what creek drawings you're referencing, I was weirdly proud of that post because it did NUMBERS, but hell if I know why. Looking back on it, the drawings weren't very good, but I guess tumblr had more users then, and sp was popular.

AND YEAH, I really do get around when it comes to fandoms don't i?? I really don't tether myself to any one thing, I just draw whatever I like at the time. Iz is a source of nostalgia, now in more than one way (childhood watching the cartoon, my teenage years participating in fandom), and not to be cheesy or anything, but it's like a Home in a way. Familiar territory I guess. I'll always like iz!

Thank you so much for sending me an ask!!! Literally so kind of you, this means the world.